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gogogodzilla · 14 days ago

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✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟙𝟠: 𝐵𝑜𝑑𝑦𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑 ✧

【𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑂𝑛 𝐴𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑙 】

╰› 〖 𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜��𝑠𝑖𝑠 〗: If there's one thing for certain about Arthur Morgan, he's going to take more than what he's paid for

╰› 〖 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 〗: nsfw 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, infidelity (reader cheats on their husband w/ arthur), medium/low honor arthur

✧ 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑡𝑜𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑚.𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ✧ 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑜3 ✧ 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑝𝑎𝑑 ✧

The noise of the party drifted up the stairs and filtered into your bedchamber. Not that you were paying it much mind, but it proved to be effective in covering up the sounds of furniture scraping across the wooden floors.

You’d been lucky enough that your husband was drunk enough to not notice your disappearance, but you knew the clock was working against you. Each rut of Arthur’s hips against yours brought you closer and closer to ecstasy. The air was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against slick skin and Arthur’s soft grunts.

You wondered how your plan could have gone so wrong yet so right. The party was meant to be a distraction— something to cover up the sounds of you leaving this damned marriage far behind you. Your packed bag still stood neatly by the bedroom window, and it consumed your gaze from your bent-over position on your bed.

It was the same bed you’d shared with your husband for years now. He was a rich man, and the perfect match in your parents’ eyes. You were content, for a while. However, contentedness could only take you so far, and you quickly grew bitter, exhausted of tumbling into the same routine day after agonizing day.

You’d nearly jumped for joy the day Arthur Morgan came into your life. It was a warm summer night, and the bones of your corset dug into your ribs as you watched over the main hall as people filed in for your husband’s monthly card game. It was mostly a chance for him to flaunt his wealth and take even more money from those who could afford to lose it.

Your husband sauntered over to you and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek as a greeting. Your eyes drifted to the man lingering behind him. His hat hung low and his eyes piercing blue eyes scanned the hall. He was rugged, with an air of quiet intensity that made you want to avoid his gaze. He looked as solid as the old oak tree in your backyard, and your eyes trailed over his broad shoulders. His hulking appearance contrasted sharply with the lavish furnishings of your great hall— the deep red leather of his vest blending in with the black cotton of his shirt, and the dark leather of his boots caked in a fine layer of dust.

“My love, I’d like you to meet Arthur Morgan. He’s going to be watching over you tonight while I entertain our guests,” your husband said, his voice casual.

He was mentioning the last time you’d attempted to escape. You’d been too eager and didn’t wait until your husband was too inebriated to wonder where his darling partner had run off to. You wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Arthur took his hat off, revealing tousled dark blonde hair that fell messily around his brow. Your heart nearly skipped a beat as those blue eyes of his caught yours— sharp and clear with an edge of caution.

“Ma’am,” Arthur said with a slight bow of his head, his voice low and gravelly. His politeness was clumsy, almost as if he wasn’t used to formalities.

You curtsied in response, dipping low just like you were taught.

Your husband smiled, “Arthur, here, is the best money can buy.” He then turned to face Arthur and took your hand in his. “My wife here likes to wander, Mr. Morgan. I trust you’ll keep a close eye on her,” your husband said as his hand squeezed yours.

Arthur’s eyes scanned over your form, and you suddenly felt vulnerable under his scrutinizing gaze. He crossed his arms, and you couldn’t help but notice how his muscles strained under his shirt.

“Yes, sir,” Arthur answered, his gaze remaining glued to yours, “they won’t get far.”

Arthur had kept his promise. You’d nearly jumped out of your skin as he grabbed your bicep and turned you around to face him. Your suitcase was clutched tightly in your hand and the window was cracked open enough for you to slip through. You’d removed the frilly dress you’d donned earlier and opted for something more inconspicuous.

He tsked his tongue as he loomed over you, a smirk working its way onto his features. You hadn’t even heard him come in.

“What do we have here?” he questioned. You shrunk slightly in front of him, trembling. “This big house and everything you could ever want not enough for you?”

“I didn’t want this,” you spat, attempting to wrench yourself out of his grasp.

He chuckled, tightening his grip on your arm, “And what is it you do want, hm?”

“Something more,” you murmured as your heart raced in your chest.

He was quiet for a moment as he looked down at you. He tugged your suitcase out of your hand and set it next to the window.

“Is he bad to you?” Arthur questioned, his voice husky and low.

You shook your head, your cheeks flaring. It seemed imprudent to leave this privileged life you lived, but your heart yearned for more.

“Is he,” Arthur paused, his eyes flickering to your bed before meeting yours. “Is he good to you?”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “I’m not… satisfied.”

A slow, roguish grin formed on Athur’s lips. “I can fix that.”

The next few moments were a clash of teeth and lips as Arthur pulled you closer, wrapping his strong arms tightly around you. His lips moved fervently against yours, and you’d never felt need like that course through you. Your entire being hummed with desperation as he touched you, his calloused hands grabbing and kneading whatever he could reach of your soft skin.

You moaned against his lips as he pulled the skirts of your dress up and ran a hand over your thigh before moving upward to caress your clothed heat. You leaned your head back as he teased you through your undergarments.

“Think you can be quiet while I show you what a real man feels like?” he questioned low against the shell of your ear.

You nodded your head quickly, too focused on what his hands were doing under your dress to forge a proper reply.

“Good girl,” he grunted, and it sent a jolt straight to your core.

You let out a squeal as Arthur bent down and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. His grip was firm on the back of your thighs as he made his way toward your bed.

He threw you onto your bed and flipped you over, maneuvering your body like it was nothing. He grabbed your hands and pinned them behind your back. “Keep ‘em there, darlin’,” he ordered as he let them go. You obediently stayed put as your heart pounded in your chest.

His hands roamed over the plush of your ass as he hovered over you. “Pretty little thing with a man who can’t please her,” he hummed as his hands trailed up your sides.

He pulled your hips up so your ass was in the air and he kneaded the flesh there. He slid a hand up your calf and then under your dress once more. He lifted your skirts up and over your hips. He dragged his thumb over your clothed core before tangling his fingers in your undergarments and ripping a hole in them, leaving you bare before him.

He slid a finger through your folds, and you arched your back, preening into his touch. You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, stifling a moan as he dipped his finger down to tease your entrance.

The clinking of his gun belt being undone was music to your ears, and you pressed your core against him, whining as the rough denim jeans rubbed against your core. You rested your cheek against the mattress as he freed his weeping cock from his jeans. He stroked it once and then twice before gliding it through your folds, eliciting a breathy moan from you. He gripped the plumpness of your ass as he ground against you, hitting your clit with every drag of his hips.

He leaned down so his chest was flush against your back. “Such a dirty girl,” he purred, his breath fanning against the shell of your ear, “begging me to fuck you while your husband’s downstairs none the wiser.”

You whimpered at his words, which went straight to your core, as he teased you. He didn’t give you enough time to answer before he was agonizingly pushing inside you. You groaned at the way he stretched you, and you relished the way he alighted feelings you never knew were possible.

He nudged your knees further apart, opening yourself up to him further as he began rocking his hips against you. He placed a firm hand on your lower back, keeping you still as his pace increased.

Each rut of Arthur’s hips against yours brought you closer and closer to ecstasy. The air was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against slick skin and Arthur’s soft grunts.

You let out a high-pitched mewl as he reached a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, and he leaned forward to cover your mouth with one of his hands.

He reached his free hand around you to rub harsh circles against your clit. His pace was brutal, but you savored every second of it. You let out a breathy moan against his hand, and shoved your hips back against his, matching his pace.

With one final stroke of his cock, you were coming undone over his cock. Your pussy gripped him in a vice grip as you rode out your high, and Arthur’s hips stuttered against your own. He came with a strangled groan as his release painted your walls. His cock twitched inside you as he came down from his high, and his hips slowed.

Within a few moments, he was pulling out of you. You whined at the loss, and he watched as his cum oozed out of you, dripping over your folds. Arthur groaned at the sight.

You rolled onto your back and looked up at him. He ran a gentle hand over your thigh.

“Still thinking about leaving?” he questioned.

You shrugged, “I don’t know, are you gonna catch me again?”

“I’ll give you a five-minute head start this time.”

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan #reader insert #no y/n #kinktober #kinktober 2024

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rivetingrosie4 · 1 month ago

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Duet

(Part 2/2)

Summary: Arthur takes you out for a much-needed fancy date. Though you both thoroughly enjoy the whole evening, you’re both eager to get home and make love. When you finally arrive home, Arthur invites you to take a steamy shower with him.

Tags: romantic smut, established relationship, hot date, shower sex, cunnilingus, romantic angst, comfort, loving marriage, parenthood, modern au, post gang

Chapter word count: 7,412

Not sure to whom the credit should go for the Arthur edit above.

𑁦𐂂𑁦

This work is partially inspired by the following song lyrics. It’s been my sincere goal to capture both the spirit of the lyrics and the feel of the song’s music in this work. Please consider giving this beautiful song a listen at the link below.

- Penny and Sparrow, “Duet”

As Arthur lifts a large, roughened hand and barely touches it to your smooth shoulder, he wonders to himself what you might be wearing underneath. Maybe he’ll see a lacy thong, its scrap of fabric tucked neatly between your round ass cheeks and framing them perfectly.

With a glance into your eyes, he thinks on how unspeakably sexy you are to him. Mere thoughts of your body, and he’s nearly slid from a ramp up into the night’s dark and starless sky.

He brings his other hand to your opposite shoulder, and the moment he’s longed for is here. With hardly any movement, his thumbs slip both straps away, and your lovely, tiny silken gown slides to the floor like ripples of lake water from a waterfall.

There you are, wearing no panties.

A powerful flush of desire overtakes and courses through him, quick and hot and merciless. He smothers the involuntary groan that wants to pour from him. All the air is sucked from his lungs anyway, as if he’s withstood a kick to the belly. He’s forced to gulp past the dryness in his throat.

His heavily lidded gaze glides up your form, from your bared sex, over the strapless bra cups that lift your breasts, until he meets your eyes.

The flint-spark look undoes you. He always seems to do just exactly what it takes. So you refocus your gaze to his white shirt and reach up to his chest to release the topmost button. You work downwards, releasing them, one button at a time, their slow undoing a ceremony to mirror his unspooling of all your painful anxieties and insecurities.

At the same time, he reaches around to peel away the strapless cups as you’re tugging his button down from his trousers. It’s hardly fair that you have so little clothing to compare with his journey of undressing. Because he’s thoughtlessly tossing the undergarment away, and now, there you are, completely bare, with him scarcely half-dressed.

Arthur watches you, eyes never leaving the way your breaths come to you deep and slow, gradually lifting and lowering your chest. His gaze rakes over the flecks of life in the forms of scars, stretch marks, and sun-kissed freckles here and there across your skin. He admires your breasts, heavy with milk. The dusty rose blossoms of your areolae, their slightly uneven positions something he’s always loved despite your own chagrin. At the thought, he's nearly brought to an inward laugh, because it seems you never allow yourself the slightest break.

You slowly lift your head and meet his eyes. Before you can think, his lips are just below the corner of your mouth. Their cushion gently recedes as he pulls away.

Without hurrying, you set yourself again to the task of undressing him. You can already feel it—the viscosity of sweet syrup you’re both ensnared by. The perfervid, voracious need to prick oneself to the needle’s sharp tip while at the same time whetting it mercilessly with a nurtured apprehension to press too deeply too quickly, that the red bloom of pleasure may not spread and dissipate and be gone too soon. You both want to savor this. Its every moment.

You unlatch his belt and listen to the jingle of its buckle, letting yourself saturate and shiver with the heady lustiness of the sound. After unsnaking it from the loops of his trousers, it falls to the floor with a clatter. You crumple his crisp shirt as you push it up his body, then pull his white undershirt up from his slacks and over his head, allowing him to slip it from his shoulders himself. It musses his pomaded hair, and he jostles it from one wrist onto the floor, though his attention is on you. He reaches for your jaw and kisses you again, this time landing squarely on the corner of your lips.

When he pulls away, you meet his eyes with a soft smile.

You push his trousers and black boxer briefs together down his trunk and legs in one motion. You hear the unsteady breath he can’t prevent and know that the fabric has necessarily brushed his half-hardened sex. He steps from the heap of his clothing and is now as bare as you are.

Though you’re mere inches apart, the two of you gaze at each other for a few moments, taking in the sights of your bodies. The personage of the only one you know like this. The only one you love like this. And what you can’t know is in the union of your minds, you’re both esteeming the other:

This body that has obeyed him to the uttermost;

this body that has carried her through every day of her life;

that has borne it all;

that has fought so hard.

These bodies that are of the two of you.

There is no Arthur without his body. There is no you without yours. What illimitable comfort to know that you both love all of the other. Not in spite of, but including your bodies. And that all of that love is right here.

The mere nearness of Arthur is enough to send a powerful, heady wave of pleasurable desire through you.

You let your gaze peruse his form. The faint moles on his torso, beneath the bold hair that fans and spreads over his sturdy chest, their whorls of wayward coils unimaginably sexy to you. The wide bulge of his back that veers out from under his arms and narrows towards his waist. Even now, you can see his back in your mind’s eye: the softly rippling dimples of muscle under his pale skin, speckled with dustings of hair.

With lifted palms, you draw closer, until you can rest a hand on each pectoral. One arm slithers over his shoulder, and your softly curled fingers come to rest and drape there now, upon that back you know so well. As your chests are pressed together, your areolae are brushed by his hair, and the meeting of the twain sends deliciously tingling bolts of pleasure through you.

With the other hand, you slide your fingers up his profile and along his temple, letting your fingertips brush lightly into his golden-chestnut hairline.

He is so beautiful, you think almost audibly as you watch his face, just as his eyes shutter at your soft and loving touch.

You’re transported to the first time you ever touched each other as lovers. How thoroughly struck with fright you had been, standing before him, trembling, and quietly heaving to catch your breath. You’d tried to tell him you’d never, ever been touched, did not know how to receive touch, how to be touched.

How did it happen, how did it ever happen to anyone, you had spilled, that they could trust another person to love them enough to touch them in places no one ever had? To meet body to body and trust the other person to go right on loving them, and not throw them away? How could you let his hand be where no other hand had been, let his very body be inside your own, and not fall apart with joy and terror and fulfilled longing and passion and fear? You had been alone so very long, so very, very long, you had sputtered—had always been, and you simply didn’t know how to not be.

And when he saw you, you had groaned your plea through a jaw clenched in near panic, could he please, please not hate you, please?

He’d simply sat on the edge of the bed and had drawn you to him with soulful, cerulean eyes filled with empathy and not a speck of pity, annoyance, or rancor.

You had gasped as you’d let yourself be pulled close, because was it already happening?

You didn’t know anything about what to do for him, you’d explained. You didn’t know anything about this—well—of course, you knew what happens. But you didn’t know anything for yourself. What to do for him, or what it feels like.

In that moment, you’d envisioned his bare chest and belly, both dusted with a fine coat of coarse hair, as you had seen bared many times during outdoor activities. But what could it feel like to touch him there, to feel the warmth of him, to rustle the hair with your fingers, or rest your cheek upon his breathing belly? You could not imagine the feel of any of it. Could only guess or envision it. Because you had never in your life been wanted or welcomed graciously into another’s bared and intimate nearness.

In this way, your rash mouth had gone ahead of you, before your mind could chide it: Didn’t he want someone who knew what to do for him? Who knew what to do because she had been wanted before?

With the last, you had dipped into a whisper to try to hide your breaking voice. But the new runoff upon your cheeks had damned you and could not be hidden.

No, he’d replied, he wanted you.

And your stupid mouth had blurted: Well, you wanted that for him.

No sooner had you said it than you required a shaky breath.

“You— I—” You had struggled to dive into black waters for words to convey to him that you were not interesting, not beautiful, young or fresh or smooth in body, not talented, confident, redeemable, not worth anything. With your trembling chin dimpled in pain, your voice broken and with eyes pleading for understanding, you had come up for air with only a few words in your hands: “I’m just a person.”

His soft, growing smirk had somehow been gentle and kind, and he’d reached up to stroke your jaw with the pad of his thumb. “You’re right,” he’d said. “You’re a person.” His smirk had faded just a little, to something more thoughtful. “Person I love.”

He’d taken your pinked face in his hands and had quietly spoken as he’d kissed your lips, your jaw, and eventually your neck. He’d poured into your heart the words you needed to believe in order to trust, to love, and to find yourself no longer alone: that good love was a choice, and that he would always make it. That your soul overlapped with his. And that if he was right, he knew you could find it in yourself to trust that he’d care for you well, and let him show you his love in each touch, and stay in your life forever after.

And he was right. To this day, you can’t remember removing your clothing. If it had been possible, they’d simply slipped off, as they’ve just done now. Together, you’d proceeded to experience breathtaking intimacy—every moment uncomfortable and new and wonderfully rapturous in its visceral potency. And after your union, he had not left you; and he had not loved you less, but even more, somehow.

Years later, you’re still unable to express all that the meeting of his skin to yours means to you—even something as beguilingly simple as his kiss. What an unfathomable gift, his every touch, after having lived so much life without knowing any at all, without believing you ever, ever would.

Your thoughts return to the present when Arthur brings a hand gently to your profile and cradles your face in his loving fingertips.

Feeling the moment slow, Arthur looks into your eyes. He takes in their shape and shade, the chaff and flagstone flashes in your irises. He even notices that you didn’t don mascara this evening, yet your lashes remain fluffy and feathery, if not fanned and curled. He notes the naturally round glisten to your eyes, blazing with quiet passion and empathy as they are, while returning his gaze.

You feel Arthur’s arms slink around your bare waist, tickling you. His large hands fan out over your back, and the two of you meet in a kiss. It gradually deepens to pulsating, until you’re both on the verge of reeling, both pressing the other closer by the back.

Arthur finally breaks the kiss only to tuck himself into the crook of your neck, enfolding you in a hug.

Your cheek skids against his as you listen to your breathed name from his lips. And, with your eyes faintly ruddled and breathing through an open mouth, you float amidst the hazy, whelming concoction of bliss and arduously tested love in his embrace.

After several moments of holding you, he retreats until his mouth is near your cheek. With a soft smile that you can’t see until after his invitation is quietly spoken, he asks,

“Take a shower with me?”

When you catch a glimpse of that soft grin on his down-tipped face, your mouths hovering near each other, you look up into his eyes. At the thought, you wear your own grin, and it grows as you simply nod.

The next minute’s passage sees him standing inside the stone-tiled, walk-in shower while the hot water streams, holding out a hand to you. He watches with a smile as you take it and step over the shower’s threshold into its balmy warmth. You couldn’t have avoided your own smile at the sweetness of the gesture if you’d tried.

Once inside, he closes the door behind you, and you both wet your hair, hands sluicing back to smooth it. The steamy air is aglow with minuscule orbs of silver, their collected effect coating your nostrils with the same fine sheen that crowns your skin. Their bigger cousins are already congregating on the spangled glass door, shaking and catching the light as though lined with silver foil, until they accumulate and fall one by one like a tear, leaving an empty trail through the veiled layer of mist. A feathery fog rises and envelops you both, until you’re tucked away somewhere celestial, just you two. You smile with lust as your gaze ambles over the shape of Arthur’s body—perfectly plump ass, bold shoulders, strong thighs, and carved hip bones framing his thick manhood—all outlined with slick, glistening light.

Your first impulse is to swing your arms up around his neck and kiss him. As you do, his arms slip into place around your waist, hands resting on your lower back, beneath your wet, darkened tresses. You tip your head to the side and kiss him deeply, pushing your fingers into his wet hair. But you’re quick to briefly tilt your head to the other side, continuing to kiss him.

Arthur can taste the distant remnants of tawny port on your tongue. You notice the day’s-end stubble on his cheeks and dimpled chin as you dip your head back to where you’d started, never breaking the kiss.

You feel him moan a quiet, “Mm,” before the kiss comes to a natural end, and he pulls his lips away from yours.

Your head remains in the position you’d kissed him, stuck in bliss. There is nowhere you would rather be than here, in the shower, wrapped in your love’s arms, your own hooked up around his neck.

He begins to grin as he glances into your eyes and presses another short kiss to your lips. You feel his hands lift from your back and hear them gently turn the bottles and things on the soap ledge behind you.

“Gonna let me bathe you?” he asks.

Your tone is bleary and quiet rather than insolent. “Bathe me?”

“Mm.”

“What about you?” you ask, brushing back a stray clump of wet strands from his forehead.

The first syllable of his answer is a drawled, softly grunted mix of well and yeah. “You can bathe me too.”

You lift your head at the thought, and after a moment, offer, “I get to bathe you first.”

He pauses perusing the items on the ledge and looks into your face with an incredulously annoyed smirk. “You stole my idea.”

“You’ll never get bathed if I don’t bathe you first.”

With a large, open grin, he lifts his head back and chuffs a stuttered laugh. “Ah. I see.” You purse your lips against a burgeoning grin as he gives his head a tip, conceding. “I see.”

His hands return to their home base at your lower back.

Lowering your arms and reaching them past either side of his waist towards the soap ledge behind him in the opposite far corner, you ask, “Which soap?”

Watching your face and fighting the flicker of a smirk, he answers, “River birch.”

Of the two bars on the ledge, you take the one swirled with white and dark green. You pull it under his arm and hold it below his nose.

“Mm-hm,” he mumbles, never taking his eyes from your face, the gravel of his voice warm in his throat.

Gratified, your eyes flit down to the soap, and you take it in a swirling motion through his chest hair. “Have to get a lather.”

His smirk widens to a bright grin, and when he laughs, you smile with him. He’s mesmerized by your beautifully dark, clumped, wet lashes radiating from both your eyes as you begin your work.

You take the bubbly bar up over his shoulder, admiring its striated bulk. You swirl the bar across his large back and pass it to your other hand, then bring it forward over his opposite shoulder.

After passing the bar through the hair under both his arms, you slowly bring it down his gently scored abdomen. You lower yourself to a squat in time with your hands, letting yourself savor the beautiful sight and sensation of his belly—the form of its strong, firm plane, while the skin itself is simultaneously plump and healthy; the smattering of dark hair half-hiding the small mole below his ribs; the soft buoyancy beneath your fingers that bespeaks the natural lack of bone beneath the surface; and the dulcet rim of his perfect navel.

Without thinking, you lean forward forward and kiss that navel—initially a chaste, clicked kiss, then you open your mouth and dip your tongue to sweep the water droplets from its crater.

An airy, broken moan escapes him, and you smile to yourself.

Drawing back, you gaze at the long, taut span of his lower abdomen, just above his pubic bone, that stretches from his navel to his sex. It’s a portion of him that often lowers itself to meet the same portion of you in all your soulful lovemaking, each brushing the other with every lithe undulation of your torsos.

With alternating hands, you let your featherlight fingers dance upwards through his trail of hair there. You lean forward and kiss a path down his lower abdomen, savoring the taut, sloping incline of his pubis.

Giving him a moment to gather himself, you spare him any touch of the soap bar to his erection, swiping it instead through his pubic hair. But you make sure to pass it beneath his testes before finally taking the suds in your palm and gently cupping the base of his erection, its surface like a wooden staff in your hand.

He stiffens and grinds out a windy huff, trying hard to avoid sounding as though he’s been beaten senseless.

“Got frisky hands there,” he says.

“Gotta get you clean,” you almost sing.

“Just remember, your time will come,” he says, smirking at you. “Just remember.”

Your smile flashes wider. “I’m counting on it.”

You stand and draw your body closer to his as you return the bar to his back and reach to swipe it down over his firm ass cheeks. You dip your fingertips into his cleft and swirl the bar in a circle down and around each cheek. You avoid his intent eyes as you let your fingers linger there, clearly taking your time to savor the smoothness of his skin and the gloriously, perfectly round shape of each cheek.

You swipe the bar around both his thighs and squat again to begin gently scrubbing his hairy calves. With your face again so near his tightly erect sex, you can’t help but place a kiss sweetly to the side of its tip.

He hisses and catches himself upon the tile wall. “Baby, don’t, you’ll fell me.”

“I won’t,” you respond, continuing to bathe his calf. “You got plans, huh?”

He nods, his clenched expression still recovering. “I got plans.”

“I think I’ll like ‘em.”

“You will,” he assures. And after another few moments, decides to add in quiet tones, “Ain’t only about me. Not tonight.”

Though you continue to swipe the soap over his leg, the spoken words have you inwardly considering them.

You stand and return the soap to the far ledge as he steps under the water to rinse.

“There,” you sigh as you resume your place before him, slip your arms around his neck again, and kiss him. You feel his hands return to your back and hold you. “Did I do a good job?”

“A very good job,” he says between kisses. When you slip your mouth up his jaw and nibble his slick earlobe, his eyes roll back into his head, and he chuffs an open-mouthed laugh. After taking a moment to recover, he reaches for the items on the ledge behind you, mumbling quietly near your ear, “Come an’ pick one a’ these,”

You turn between his outstretched arms, suddenly feeling as nude and as cherished as a babe when your slick breasts brush against him. Facing forward with him, you smile and nibble your lip, relishing the warmth of his cheek tucked beside yours.

“The almond.”

He mumbles satisfactorily, “Good choice,” and kisses you pertly on the cheek as he reaches for your bottle of almond wash, an oil that turns to a fine, milky lather when met with water.

You watch him pop the back of the cap and pour the amber oil into his wet palm. He sets the bottle back and rubs his hands together, creating the fine white suds.

“Here we are,” he says, his low voice laced with grit.

Arthur wastes no time, flattening his hand against your sternum and slowly taking it straight down, between your breasts, over your belly, and further to the triangle of hair between your legs.

“Gotta get you clean,” he says as he runs his sudsy fingers through the coarse hair between your legs, and the blatant cheekiness is not lost on you.

You sigh, lean slightly back into him, and hook one arm up around his neck, giving him a full, unhindered view to the front of your body.

Bringing his hands to your chest, he cups and kneads your breasts, savoring their silken texture and making sure to flick his thumbs across your beaded nipples. You take a half-step forward, letting the water rinse the suds he’s placed down the front of you.

He leans down and kisses the point where your neck and shoulder meet. You lower your arm from around his neck, though you continue to keep your arm back and grasp the side of his thigh. He swipes the lather over your shoulder and down the length of your arm.

With the residual suds left in his palm, he stretches his hand out across your side, fitting you snugly into the web between his finger and thumb. He slowly brings it down your form, past your waist and over the curve of your hip and sumptuous body. As he does, he watches your shimmering, plump flesh continuously squeeze out from under the web of his hand.

“Goddamn,” he breathes.

After several moments, you feel the rim of his open mouth along the curve of your shoulder. You glance back to find him practically slumped to you with cupidity, his drowsy eyes glazed with longing, upper lip curling as it skids across your skin, ready to mouth any point on you he can get to.

And he does. He abandons the bathing, as you thought he would. With a moan, he takes the round corner of your shoulder into his mouth. His tongue is eager to rake over you, and you watch as he begins to suckle your skin as though it were the sweetest of honey to him, and all he needs.

The far gone look in his eyes does something more to you than merely tell you he’s been given into the arms of desire. At once, it both feeds a previously frail flicker in your chest and melts you entirely.

Without warning, you turn to him and take his jaw in your hand, promptly kissing him deeply. He pours a moan into your mouth. Your tongues meld as he brings a hand to the back of your neck, propping your jaw up with his thumb.

While maintaining the kiss, he backs you to the cold tile wall, gently pinning you there with his body. At the chill, you briefly gasp and break the kiss, but you’re quick with penance, hurriedly seeking his mouth again. You feel the lovely cage of his forearms on either side of you where he braces himself against the wall.

He braces the other side of your throat with his hand and thumb as his mouth traverses your jaw and downward, where he kisses your neck. Such a simple act of loving-kindness as this has you smiling dazedly with a sigh, has your eyes rolling back at the sensation of his sweetly sucking kisses, at the perfect fit of the plane of his cheek tucked flush to the underside of your jaw.

He pecks a trail along your collarbone and licks the soft space between your breasts. He trails further towards the curved swell of one breast and its pursed bead. There he takes you in his mouth and laves you, feeling your slipknot leak warmth, tasting your droplets of sweet milk.

Each drag of his tongue over the face of your nipple sends tiny sparks of pleasure through you, some reaching your belly and causing it to lurch and flip inside you. Letting your head loll back against the shower wall, you sigh and caress the back of Arthur’s head, weaving your fingers through his wet hair.

When he releases your breast and ventures lower as his hair slips from your fingers, your eyes flutter open, and you lift your head from the wall.

“A-Arthur,” you sigh. “What about… I thought you said—”

“Shh-shhh…” he mutters between kisses to your skin as his hands slide down your hips.

Surely he must know you mean to refer to his sentiment, that tonight was supposed to not be about one or the other, but both of you.

“Does this fit into your plan?” you ask.

In the middle of kissing your lower belly, he pulls back. With lifted brows and a flat affect, he answers, “Perfectly,” before hungrily returning his lips and tongue to your skin.

Smiling dazedly, you take liberty to reach both hands back into his hair as he goes on kissing you.

Arthur pauses above your pubic bone, beneath which he knows rests the central, womanly parts of you that will respond to all his loving touch, will coil with the heat of your climaxes, and will be relied upon to radiate pleasure to the rest of you. And he blesses it with a kiss.

As the shower’s stream falls steadily at his back, he stoops ever lower. He peppers your mons and vulva with kisses and parts you with his fingers.

At the first hot flick of his tongue, your breath catches. As you shut your eyes, your lashes saturate amidst the shower’s dew collecting atop your cheeks. He licks up your labia, and you keen, nearly sobbing when you rest your head back against the tile wall and whine, “Oh my God.”

You narrowly avoid squirming when you feel the heated slip of his tongue running against you, delving between your pillowy folds, feel his breath in a sigh of his own pleasure.

Arthur lifts your left thigh until your foot comes to rest on the stone shower seat and hears a growly moan seep from your chest as he dips his chin forward to take you with his tongue, entering you slowly, diligently. He sips at your abundant arousal, then slides his tongue up towards the apex of your sex. He finds your sweet, tender bud beautifully swollen and nearly thrumming with need for him. He swirls his tongue there and relishes in the outcry it elicits from you. It’s better than any music to him, and he can’t restrain his groan against your sex.

He brings the tips of his fingers to your margin, eager to feel each new rush of wetness—one of the best signs from your body that he’s pleasuring you well. He’s further aroused by your canal’s every flicker, by the tightening of your fingers in his hair, and your whimpered gasps. They nearly send him over, and he hurriedly pulls away and stands to his feet.

In a state of desperation and honed purpose, the two of you clamber for each other, hands scrambling and ragged breaths running away like stallions at a gallop. You come off the wall for him, and he turns you to stand before him, facing the shower head. You feel his chest at your back between your shoulder blades, feel the insistent stiffness of his length near your soft rear.

Taking a blessed moment for tenderness, you force yourself to slow and lean back into his solid form amidst the shower’s steam. You rest your head all the way back onto his shoulder, hoping for his mouth to meet yours. You swallow and gasp, your tongue clicking dryly as you hook an arm up around his neck.

“Arthur,” you whine, trying to press all your love and need for him into the simultaneously feeble and glorious shapes of words. “Oh, God, Arthur!”

Before you can say any more, his mouth fully covers yours. “I’m here, baby,” he says between kisses, though his lips never completely draw away from yours. “I’m right here with you.”

A cascade of moaned devotednesses falls from your mouths, each syllable overlied by the return of the other.

“Won’t ever leave me?”

“Never.”

“So good to me.”

“Mother of my child.”

“You’re my home.”

“My soul. ‘Ve told you that before.”

As your kisses halt, you simply nod, gazing into his eyes.

His head dips down again, and he begins to suckle your neck. When you next catch a glimpse of his mountain melt eyes, there’s a shimmer of wry, smiling light to them.

“You my baby?” he hums into your neck, a new playfulness in his tone.

“Yes,” you breath.

He trails his fingers to your side and digs them into a spot he knows very well is ticklish. A grin widens his mouth when your brief, squealed giggle doesn’t fail him.

“You were a downright woman tonight,” he says, his large hand beginning to slide more slowly than a stubborn, clinging water droplet down your chest, over the heavy swell of your breast, and down the front of your body.

“Proper vixen,” he says, his voice husky in your ear. “Had to dig my nails into my palms to keep from gettin’ hard all through dinner.”

You release a low, unctuous moan at the revelation, feeling all inhibitions leaving you completely and the pool of slick between your thighs warming deeply.

“Somethin’…ain’t quite fair about that… Doin’ that to a man,” he says, his ambling voice growing gruff and laden thickly with lust. “‘Specially one who loves you.”

Ever conscious of the torturously-paced lowering of his hand, you struggle to heed his words. You gulp as his hand finally, finally begins to reach your pubis.

“You know I need you, hm?”

You nod.

“Gonna let me show you?” As Arthur takes your mons into the pocket of his palm, he watches you from over your shoulder—watches the way your lips quiver when enraptured. And he is stricken by the gentle sincerity of your trust him, by the mere thought of having your body, sweetly warm and swollen with need, in his hands. He lowers his mouth closer to your ear and nearly growls, “Gonna let me take you?”

You nod hurriedly, chest heaving. Your hissed breath hitches at the sensation of his other hand reaching beneath your buttocks and lower, to the folds of your femininity, heated and tender and swollen, slick with arousal, and more than ready—famished with need for him.

“I just—” you huff and swallow, trying to collect your thoughts amidst the haze of passionate desire just enough to voice your concern for him as you begin to straighten. “Just want to make sure to take care of you too.”

You hear him chuckle with affection behind you. “You are, darlin’.”

Exhaling a soft, bleary whimper, you lower your head and shift your feet to stand with parted legs.

With one hand below your ass, he spreads your labia and dips his fingers into you, and with his other hand, he begins to stroke your clit in loving, syrupy circles. For a moment, the fingers of both hands brush each other between your legs. You shiver and mewl at his masterful handling.

His chest presses snugly against your back, and you feel him languidly enter you. A loud, feral groan escapes you both. You lean forward and reach one hand to the tile wall before you to brace yourself.

He clutches you to him, outstretched fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your lower belly. You both begin to slowly rock and jut, taking your time to delight in devouring every part of each other. Arthur’s hand that isn’t stroking your clit comes up to knead your breast. He kisses your shoulder, now covered with beads of dew. Before long, you’re both moaning and shouting in a sultry duet.

He fills you and reaches deeper with each undulating thrust. Together, one. In that reaching press of a joining, a voice. One without words, inarticulate and formless and spectral, yet communicating to your soul. Yes, I love you here, it says. In the depths of you. And, with each slaking heave: Yes, you mean something to me. Everything.

The overwhelming, intoxicating pleasure begins to reach your brain in a misty stupor. You lift your eyes and notice your hand upon the tile wall, splayed fingers squished tightly against the diamond-shaped inlay of smaller, transparent glass tiles, a shade of dark maple. Their shine winks at you mischievously from under your hand. On any other day, you would have hardly noticed them as you went about your mundane hygiene routine. But today they have become a naughty, scandalized witness to your steamy lovemaking.

With a glance to the glass door, you find scattered swipes through the tiny beads of mist clinging there—another evidence of your heated, rapacious coupling.

You moan and squeal in impassioned delight, each new outcry more desperate than the last. Shutting your eyes, you lift your face to feel the stray flecks of water on your skin. You listen to Arthur’s breathy moans, disbelieving expletives, and unconstrained mumbles of pleasure.

The thought briefly flutters through your mind—what you must sound like together, hidden in such an innocent place as the master bath shower, moans and cries slightly muffled amidst the soft sound of a steadily running stream—and your arousal heightens further. You mewl unintelligible endearments and encouragements to him, calling his name.

“Nah,” you suddenly hear him grind out in a breathy whisper. “Cm’ere.”

In one swift move, he indelicately turns you to stand with your back against the wall, facing him. There’s hardly any time lost as you gasp for breath and he wedges himself between your thighs, quickly sliding forward to bury himself inside you again.

Shuddering, you desperately reach for him, gripping the hair at the back of his head by the root and searching his mouth feverishly, keen to breath his every breath and hold him and feel his smothering love, his nearness bound tightly all around you. It’s in the midst of this fever that you come to realize he’d needed the very same.

With your mouth dropped open and chest heaving wildly, you let your eyes close and feel the warmth of his skin between your thighs, feel his flesh inside you. With roaming hands, you chart a course over the dips of muscle in his back, smooth a path down the dimples above his rear, savor the slick sheen over the pronounced curves of his plump, firm ass—the same ass that flexes and contracts with each sweet, rolling thrust into you.

Somehow, even in this moment, something inside your heart and mind, some niggling frailty, seems to still wish you could be all to him that he is to you—set apart, miraculous in your world, adored. Love of your life.

But maybe there are no such things in the real world.

“I love you,” he breathes with a moan, face hidden in your neck. The bulk of his chest expands, and he exhales it again.

Your face nearly crumples with the sheer force of emotions that crash over you like a surging whitecap. With a strangled, stuttered laugh, you confess it in return to him.

He lifts his face and cradles the top of your wet head in his large hand. “Love of my life,” he whispers before covering your mouth with his own.

The next minutes are a sweltering fit of rolling, jutting hips and clasped fists as you both enter a near frenzy to bring the other to climax. Who will be filled with a leaden plume of delight, will die first, and be revived to shepherd the other?

Your heart thrums a fiery, spasmodic beat. The sounds of your ragged gasps and Arthur’s moans fill the shower. It’s not long and your whole body is clutching tightly to his, clenching with the immediate demand of ecstasy, gripped by the throes of some violently inversive vacuum, desperate to house a proffered portion of his soul within yours. Two vessels pouring back and forth into each other, the smoky incense of life breathed from mouth to nostrils.

Arthur jerks and convulses, and there it is: starlight. That splintered smear of luminosity he’d missed in the murky penumbra of the city tonight, he’s found here with you.

You’re reeling with the massive flood of pleasure that overtakes and saturates you, contracting and groaning with it, and Arthur is almost hiccupping and whining at the tail end of each gasped breath as he releases himself inside you.

Cemented together, you hold him secure as he quivers and trembles against you. Panting hard, bodies a mirror to the other as parts of you both unfurl, one piece at a time, like petals. You stroke his back and feel the rush of his breath against your collarbone. With open hands, you press the pads at the base of your fingers to his cheekbones and gently lift his face from its hiding place. As he emerges, you pull your chin back to look at him and find that his eyelids are lowered. But his eyes are clear and bright, a sated glimmer resting in the irises as a smile—small, but confident and strong—begins to tug at the corners of his mouth. You feel your chest effervesce with quiet rejoicing at the sight, and you press several kisses to his cheeks and the corners of his lips.

When he receives your mouth to his, the grinning kiss is messy and shining with saliva, lips and tongues knitted by a soft, rested laziness.

After a few minutes, Arthur twists the shower’s nozzle. He admires the darkened tendrils of hair stuck to the curve of your neck in beautifully slender waves as the water sluices down the curves of your form in hastened rivulets. As the stream dissipates, you remain clasped together, arms around each other and body to body. When Arthur steps from the shower, you step with him, one leg at a time. You’re held fast to him, letting no space come between you. The thought occurs to him then that the way you cling to each other is both very childlike, and very adult, somehow.

Taking a towel from the rack, Arthur makes measly efforts to dry you both while you remain in each other’s tight embrace. Still holding onto each other, you clunkily walk together to the bed and flop down.

For a long time, you remain quiet, feeling the dew of leftover water droplets gradually cool atop your skin and dry against the sheets. He’s on his back, and you’re lying belly down, halfway overtop of him, chin perched on his chest, one arm curled up with its hand resting on his pectoral, one leg woven between his. One of his arms cradles you, pressed between you and the mattress, hand limp at the small of your back, fingers thoughtlessly tracing patterns into your velvety skin.

A moment of perfect slowness, peace. Love.

Arthur reaches up to brush the hair away from your forehead, closing his eyes and opening them to simply look at you.

He folds his free arm up behind his head, and you watch as his eyes venture away for a few moments, up at the ceiling. A few minutes pass, and you listen to his breathing, his swallowing.

“I wonder…” he suddenly begins, his voice quiet.

“What Grace is doing,” you say together, and you both chuckle when you glance into each other’s knowing eyes.

Your head bobs where your chin rests on his chest as you speak. “Think she’s sleeping?”

“Yeah,” he responds softly, tenderly. “Yeah, I do.”

At once, you’re seized by a depth of something raw and incalculable, even fearsome in its size, and you gulp it enough to scoot up just a bit, until you can gaze down into his face. He shifts and looks back into your squinting eyes. You reach up and run your fingertips over his crows’ feet, down his cheek bone, over the outermost borders of his mouth, and across his plump bottom lip.

“I love you,” you breathe, and your voice around the confession is small and hoarse.

A clearness, a staidness, filters over his features. “I love you more than life,” he says, addressing you by name. There is no duplicity or hesitation in his firm voice, and his arresting gaze is sure.

You lean down for his waiting mouth, and he reaches to brush a thumb across your cheek during the gently lissome kiss.

You nestle back down into the sure cleft of his embrace, resting your cheek on his chest. He strokes his big fingers over your temple, attempting to swipe your hair behind your ear, or otherwise dually caress and assure you in his funnily insouciant and sweetly masculine way.

After a few more minutes of quiet, a wry smirk begins to creep onto your mouth at the return of a certain thought, and you venture it aloud. “That was really good, by the way.”

Your smirk blooms into a shimmering grin at the rumble of the chest beneath you in response.

“That was damn good, is what that was,” chortles your lecherous lothario, his deep voice lined thickly with gratified gravel.

Still beaming, you glance up at him as he laughs, because you’re more than thrilled to be debauched by your debonair husband, who clearly still loves you and still wants you every day.

When you return your cheek to his chest, you add mischievously in an intentionally sultry and groggy tone, “My new favorite place.”

The laugh in his chest rattles you again.

“Shower,” he hisses with a snicker.

After a few minutes of stillness, he begins to shift underneath you.

“Well then,” he mumbles saucily, producing the beginnings of a low giggle in you as he tumbles and rotates the two of you until you’re beneath him and he’s splayed over you, kissing your lips and neck. “I’ll just have to remind you how good a place the bed can be.”

His spirit is more exultant than those of the richest of kings at the way your giggle trills, loud and sweeter than any honey, at his quipped tease and at the love that flows through all his sugared, caressing touches.

a/n: Comments are genuinely always welcome, and re-blogs are very, very much appreciated. A sincere thank-you for taking the time to read and for your gracious support.

Taglist: @shootybangbang @photo1030 @appalachiancowboy99 @clevergirl74 @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @subpopizzy @cassietrn

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copinghex · 6 days ago

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TOMMY SHELBY

Family bonds

After a hurtful comment at a fundraising event, you wonder what really bonds Tommy to your child.

Lie

The end of vendetta brings the crisis in Tommy's marriage to light. When his attempts of conciliation fail, he refuses to face the truth, finding much more comfort in a lie.

The tunnels within our minds

Tommy's guilt for sending his family to the gallows reaches his nightmares about France. His wife does the best she can to comfort him.

Under his wings | dark!AU

The peculiar details of your relationship are nothing but small inconveniences compared to how much Tommy loves you.

From his tenderness 🔞

After a long and tiring day, Tommy tucks his wife in bed.

The noose

Tommy's wife returned home after the failure of his plan got the whole family arrested. The way they deal with her trauma ends up sending her to a worse place.

Blood hands

After killing someone for the first time, Tommy's wife has to deal with the emotional consequences of it. Luckily, he's there to look after her.

Behind the curtains | dark!AU

You, who once dreamed of being an actress, find out Tommy wasn't supportive as you thought he was.

Sincerely yours, me

Tommy receives anonymous gifts and letters. All the signs point to a single conclusion - he has a secret admirer.

Delirium | dark!AU and 🔞

Thomas pays a last visit to the woman he always had a thing for.

Basis

"His day had been awful, the stock market crash gave him an awful headache, his family certainly would be against any solution he could possibly find and at last, her words made him stumble and crash."

3:00 a.m in Birmingham

Tommy's wife has trouble sleeping and resorts to a method he disapproves of. As usual, he tries to solve this issue in his own way.

Green Lane

The Green Lane had trees, pretty houses with flower vases in the windows, Fiats and a few Bentleys parked by the clean sidewalks. Tommy set his wife free.

ARTHUR SHELBY

Deus ex machina

When three armed men broke into yours and Arthur's house, you knew you were doomed. You locked your newborn into a room and prayed he'd be spared. When Arthur told you to hide and got rid of the invaders, you didn't believe it. It felt like an unrealistic, badly written book. But life isn't a book, and if Arthur had such skills, there clearly was much about his past you didn't know.

Out of the Eden

When Arthur makes an unpleasant discovery about his drinking partner, he has to make a hard decision.

#tommy shelby x reader #arthur shelby x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #reader insert #masterlist

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 2 months ago

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An a/b/o fic with maybe Bruce Wayne or Arthur curry, where they have been searching for their omega for most of their life, and when they are fighting a villain fem reader comes in and helps them, I was thinking that reader she has telekinesis or something and, she helps them and they are blown away by her, never thinking that their omega could be a hero as well

.⋆｡Crashing Waves｡⋆.

alpha!Arthur Curry x plus size reader

He has been looking for her for his whole life and she arrived just in time

Warnings: a/b/o, true mates, hero!reader, omega!reader, violence against robots, reader is shorter than Bruce and Arthur (but who isn’t), implied smut WC: 1.4k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Even after serving as Atlantis’s king for five years now, Arthur doubted he would get used to the searing smell of salt that constantly clung to everything around him. It burned his nostrils even when he was lounging around the JL tower and part of him wondered if he would ever be able to properly scent out his mate while the sea constantly invaded his senses. Though even before he claimed the throne, he wasn’t exactly successful on that front.

He felt like he had searched everywhere for his omega, the biological urge deep down in his chest driving him to scour every inch of the earth for them. But they had eluded him and even if his parents (themselves being true mates) assured him that the right omega would appear when the time was right, he remained alone with the smell of the sea.

Arthur was almost glad, at times, for a good fight. Smoke, sparks from his trident, even blood gave him a break from the usual salt that surrounded him, temporarily cleansing his pallet so to speak. But maybe not today he thought with a wince.

Hundreds of broken robots surrounded him, the never-ending wave of enemies only getting thicker as his exhaustion began to mount. Batman was somewhere deep in the crowd, attempting to override their programming as Arthur tried to keep him safe enough. New enemies were always a pain in the ass but this one was definitely levels above the other newbies they fought. And Arthur was already fantasising about what he’d do to the skinny little white guy as soon as he got his hands on him, that is if Batman didn’t get to either of them first.

“Is there any way to hurry this up!” He shouted above the screaming of gears and failing electronics.

“This would go faster if you stopped hitting them at me.” The Bat growled as he hit yet another firewall in their programming. Arthur took another swing of his trident, knocking away a flying robot that had gotten way too close to his partner’s head for comfort. It let out a high pitched whine as it was launched into the horizon.

“This would be faster if you didn’t type in the wrong code to begin with!” A batarang screamed past his ear, landing right in the huge glowing eye of the robot hovering just over Arthur’s right shoulder. Oil sprayed from its side, coating Arthur’s hair.

A deafening roar sounded through the empty field as another shipping container rose from the ground, releasing even more robots. Batman turned back to the computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard all while the swarm closed in around them. “This is gonna hurt.” Arthur cocked back his shoulder and raised his trident, maybe he could knock out a few rows of them before they got too close and he’d have to switch to his fists.

Just as he readjusted his grip to throw the trident into the thickest grouping of robots, everything went silent.

The now frozen robots hung in the air like someone had just paused time, though they still whirred and whined, their huge red eyes glowing even brighter. Then, with little more than a sharp click from somewhere to his right, they were pulled backwards, the mechanical bodies slamming into each other as they were forced together into one huge sphere hundreds of feet off the ground.

“What the fuck?” Suddenly, the sphere crumpled like tin foil, the metal warping and collapsing until all that was left was a flat sheet of wires and dying LEDs. It slammed into the earth, disappearing behind the long grass as Batman’s screen turned green.

“Great timing there bats.” But Arthur’s tone held no bite, not when the salty smell of the ocean and ozone slammed into him.

Immediately, every nerve in his body came to life, buzzing like he was drunk but his mind was clear, clearer than it ever had been before. A figure was walking through the grass, elegantly avoiding the mangled carcasses of their battle. As she approached, her scent became stronger and Arthur could now smell the subtle hint of something flowery like a warm spring breeze.

The light of the sunset made her practically glow as she moved, her thick curves and perfect dips highlighted by a tight catsuit that looked like it was pulled straight from his teenage fantasies.

“I hope I didn’t show up too late.” Her voice floated around him and Arthur’s knees buckled.

“You’re right on time.” Her e/c eyes met his golden ones and he watched as her nose turned up and she took a deep breath of his scent. Her heavy chest hitched and her own scent turned sweeter. His stomach flipped as something deep inside him stretched awake for the first time in what seemed like years.

“Y/N. What took so long?” Batman crossed his arms as he looked down at her, his jaw ticking in anger. Yet her expression never faltered, in fact she glanced at Arthur with a raised eyebrow. Her smile was bright, shining with something ethereal.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe the fact that you gave me a coded message with the coordinates instead of being a normal person and sharing your location with me? I may have psychic powers but I suck at math dude.”

“That was you?” Arthur hadn’t noticed that his body was moving on its own until he finally spoke again and she had to crane her head almost all the way back to make eye contact with him. Warmth unlike anything he had experienced before bloomed through his chest as she leaned towards him, fluttering her lashes up at him.

“I have a lot of tricks better than that.” Her scent was almost overpowering now but all he wanted to do was drown in it. Y/N’s shoulder brushed against his pec and something snapped.

The world tilted on its axis and he suddenly knew what his parents were talking about when they said that the moment they met, nothing else mattered. “Omega.”

Her body sagged into him as she breathed out an almost inaudible “alpha”. His trident dropped unnoticed to the ground.

“I’ve finally found you.” She fell easily into his arms, like they had been made to hold her. She pressed her face as close as she could get, her words muffled against the thick armour but he could hear her clearly all the same.

“You stole my line,” he whispered into her hair, breathing her scent as much as he could, “I’ve been waiting for you for so long. Who knew I’d find you after you saved my life?” Her giggle made his heart swell with affection and pride.

“You’ve obviously been looking in the wrong place.” Y/N looked up at him as he cupped her full cheek with a massive hand, guiding her face upwards. His eyes dropped to her lips.

“I could say the same about you.” He leaned down and just as his lips were about to touch hers-

“Alright that’s enough,” Bruce snarled, “need I remind you both that there’s still a villain we need to deal with.”

Y/N never looked away from Arthur, in fact she wound an arm around his neck and tugged him even closer. His alpha roared to life, hyper-focusing on the softness of her curves beneath his hands. “You go ahead, I think my alpha and I have done more than enough heavy lifting for the day, we have better things to do.”

“I’m going to regret asking but what exactly is more important than dealing with a potentially global threat?” Arthur smirked, catching on to the game she was playing.

His right hand dropped from where it was resting on her wide hip down to the plump cheeks of her ass. “I’m going to rip her clothes off and fuck her brains out right in this field. So unless you’re into that stuff-“ she slapped his chest at that, “-then I suggest you move on, Bats, cause right now, nothing is going to stop me from claiming my omega.”

“You two are disgusting.” He grumbled and walked off, finally leaving the newly discovered mates alone.

“Now where were we?” Arthur purred before Y/N yanked him down and finally kissed him, making the smell of the ocean explode around them.

Her scent had been haunting him for years, etching itself into his mind and suddenly, Arthur loved the smell of salt again because it meant that he finally had his omega.

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tame-the-lion-writes · 1 month ago

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SFW Kinktober 2024

Surprise, bitches. These are all going to be very short and SFW (but obv still spicy) drabbles--released at 9AM PST. This mini masterlist will have hyperlinks once each section is out. Cheers.

Oct 1 | Bondage | Ghost

Oct 5 | Photography/Exhibitionism | Price

Oct 9 | Knife Play | Jason Todd

Oct 13 | Praise | Miguel O'Hara

Oct 17 | Predator/Prey | Konig

Oct 21 | Overstimulation/Toys | Price

Oct 25 | Strength Kink | Arthur Morgan

Oct 29 | Gun Kink | Jason Todd

Oct 31 | Aftercare | Ghost

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xxhexwolfxx · 5 months ago

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Can I request dating headcanons for Sean, Javier, Hoesa, John, Arthur, and Charles with gn s/o?

𝓓𝓐𝓣𝓘𝓝𝓖 𝓗𝓒𝓢

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you enjoy! :)

DISCLAIMER: None of these are really connected.

WARNINGS: Some of these have angst!

CHARACTERS: Sean, Javier, Hoesa, John, Arthur, and Charles

~~~~~~~~~~

Sean

If he sees that you're upset, then he'll start to make jokes to make you laugh. He hates seeing you sad.

Once he starts to date you, he'll cut back on his drinking. He wants to remember every moment with you.

If you don't like to talk then don't worry! This man does enough talking for both of y'all. Although it does end up in a fight with whoever he's talking to sometimes.

When he has nightmares of the time of his capture, he'll immediately seek you out. He finds himself comforted by the fact you're there with him.

Javier

He'll help you learn the guitar, so he has the excuse to hold your hand to help adjust your fingers along the frets.

On nights when it's difficult to sleep, he'll softly sing to you with you in his arms.

In the mornings he'll let you put up his hair. He likes the simplicity yet lovingness of the act.

If he messes up when speaking English, he'll look to you for help. You always have to reassure him that everyone makes mistakes and that it's okay.

Hosea

He is an old-fashioned lover. He would want to take it slow so you both can learn more about each other.

When you guys are doing nothing, then he likes to read you, his book. Then he likes to talk about what happens in it.

When its nighttime and you guys are about to sleep, he likes to tell you stories of his youth to help you sleep.

On some days when it's bad, he finds himself thinking that you deserve better than an "old man" like him.

John

(Epilogue) When he's building a home for you guys, he likes to do the dirty work, so you don't worry about getting dirty.

On days when you guys don't have anything to do, he likes to take you and Jack out for family time.

Sometimes he feels super useless from the constant insults from Arthur. You'll need to reassure him that he is not useless and that he does a lot for the camp.

When he gets out of prison, he wouldn't let you go for hours. He's spent so long away from you that it makes him feel better just holding you.

Arthur

When he's busy working or resting without his hat on. He'll put it on you, so he won't lose it. It warms his heart to see you wearing it.

He knows how much you love his voice, so he'll make it slightly deeper to tease you.

If you don't know how to ride a horse, then he'll teach you. He'll even make it a little date for you both.

Sometimes he thinks so badly about himself that it takes a lot of convincing that he isn't ugly or unlovable.

Charles

He likes sitting with you while you guys do your own things. Like you are reading a book while he makes arrows.

Sometimes he just wants to sit in silence with you. Holding you or just sitting next to you while you guys bask in each others presence.

When he goes out to hunt, he likes to bring you back little trinkets or flowers that remind him of you.

Due to the others, sometimes he feels like an outsider to the group. The thoughts go away when you come over to him with a big smile on your face.

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charlesf1leclerc · 1 year ago

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I have no ideas but i love to support writers so here we are

Charles with reader that speaks italian and french fluently, but they're not her first languages. and he didn't know that. So he's Very pleasantly surprised when he hears her talking with the ferrari people in italian. And then with his mom in french and he's all heart eyes for her😌

Summary- you learn French in order to make a great first impression on Charles family and Charles is over the moon about it

Warnings- poorly edited , badly translated French, mention of marriage

Authors note- I hope that this is ok and to your liking

It was a sunny evening in Monaco you and Charles where on your way over to his mums house for a family dinner. You were quite nervous was you had never met his mum before, you had met his brothers around the paddock and at races but you had yet to meet his mum and your really wanted to make a good impression. You ha doit your nicest dress on and tried to look as classy as possible not wanting to look tacky around the mother of the love of your life. You also had another little trick up your sleeve you had been learning a little bit of French so you could interact with the family in their native language, Charles hadn’t known you had been learning the language and you couldn’t wait to see his face when he found out , you just hoped tou wouldn’t miss pronounce anything cause that would ruin your prefect first impression.

“ here we are “ Charles spoke up

“ it’s really nice, this where you grew up” you inquired

“ yep this is where little Charles lived”

“ aww it’s so cute”

Charles came around and grabbed your hand as you walked up to the door. He could obviously feel your sweaty palms and he turned to face you before ringing the bell.

“ it’s gonna be ok Cherie, she’s gonna love you, how could she not”

“ yeah it’s just meeting your mum is a big deal I just want to make a good impression”

“ and you will “ he says pulling you into him kissing your temple before ringing the doorbell.

After a few minutes the door finally opened. “Bonjour”

“ bonjour mama” Charles spoke leaning in to kiss his mum on both of her cheeks.

“ et vous devez être o/n” ( and you must be y/n) she spoke turning to you

“Oh mum y/n dosent speak French “ Charles spoke this was your moment

“ c'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer Mme Leclerc” ( it’s so nice to meet you Mrs Leclerc )

Charles turned to you stunned at the fact you had just spoken such fluent French, he didn’t know you knew how to speak any other language other then English and he wasn’t gonna lie this made him fall in love with you even more.

“ oh tu parles français “ ( oh you do speak French ) she looked humorously at Charles.

“ juste quelques petites choses alors peut-être ne comptez pas sur mon français pour toute la nuit” ( just a few things so maybe don’t rely on my French for the whole night ) you laughed

“ well anyone nice to meet you dear, come in come let’s go settle inside and get to know each-other.

you and Charles followed her inside. Charles stopped you by grabbing your arm . You turned around to face him.

“ since when could speak French” he looked at you

“ since a couple weeks ago, I learnt some specially for today although I only know a few things I thought I might need to say “ you laughed rocking back on your heels

“ marry me “ he stared at you

You burst out laughing

“ what”

“ I mean I’m just so in love with you right now , you went to all that just for my family”

“ I mena i love you and I will do whatever for your family to love me”

He pulled you in to kiss your lips

“ your perfect for me” he looked lovingly in your eyes still holding your cheek.

“ you guys ok” Pascale shouted

“ coming mama” Charles linked his hand with yours as you walked further into the house. It’s safe to say the rest of your French knowledge paid of that night

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grave-z-boy · 1 year ago

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Sharing clothes with Arthur Morgan

Paring: Arthur Morgan x male!reader

Warning: sex mentioned a few times.

Summary: Very short headcanons about sharing clothes with Arthur

Masterlist

It started with you borrowing his shirt.

Back before you were really dating and more so just fucking, you'd done it of accident

You'd nearly forgotten about the man you'd brought home, rolling out of bed and picking up the first shirt you saw on the floor.

Forgoing any other clothes and heading to the kitchen to cook, only to be forcefully spun around a few minutes later by a mildly possessive Arthur.

“That's my shirt.”

“I'm borrowin’ it, you can have it back in a minute.”

When you turned back around you could still feel his presence behind you, and see his hands caging you against the counter in front of you.

“Looks good on you..” he hummed out, sleep still evident in his voice.

You smiled to yourself but eventually had to break away from him to continue preparing breakfast.

As your casual fucking turned into dating your habit of wearing his clothes increased.

Stealing his hat straight off his head, then disappearing on a hunt for days.

“Accidentally” washing your clothes together and claiming what's his was yours.

Wearing his spare coat during the winter seasons.

Complimenting him on his clothes only to steal them later.

Buying him new clothes that you knew would end up back with you eventually.

Arthur isn't completely innocent either.

He's a clothes thief too, thought he might not be as conniving as you were when it came to this particular area of theft.

He’ll purposefully steal your clothes after sex, you hardly even realize it until you see him walking around camp wearing them.

Getting confused as to who clothes are what.

“That’s my shirt!”

“It was mine first!”

Your clothes eventually become a giant mixing pot of both of your things until it is impossible to tell what used to belong to who.

#arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x male!reader #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 x male reader #red dead redemption 2 x male!reader #rdr2 x male reader #rdr2x male!reader #rdr2 x reader #x male!reader #male!reader #x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #✮ — z boy

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ahqkas · 6 months ago

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Can I request kissing headcanons for Charles Smith and Arthur Morgan with gn!s/o please?

THE KISS OF LIFE ; arthur morgan & charles smith

PAIRING! arthur morgan x gn!reader, charles smith x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! how his kisses constantly bring out the joy of life

RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2 MASTERLIST!

ARTHUR MORGAN IS A ROUGH MAN. Everyone knows. From the people he considers family to the strangers he meets on the streets. His shell is strong to keep him intact but even the strongest breaks.

To you, he’s hopelessly devoted.

His kisses carry the scent of nature - fresh pine, flowers’ scent. They also carry the spicy side as well - the smoke of cigarettes, the faintest hint of gunpowder. The characters of his kisses are the same. They can be gentle and sweet and they can be rough and desperate.

He’s a man of a few words, but his kisses show exactly what he wants to say. A kiss can communicate thousands of words.

A protective edge seeps to his kisses when he returns from a particularly dangerous mission, where his wits and strength were tested to the maximum. He’s gripping at your waist, thighs, and jaw that night as if reassuring himself he’s really there and you won’t just vanish into the thin air.

Life with the Van der Linde gang means moments alone are rare, especially with the noisy members. Arthur often steals kisses in hidden places or when no one’s looking. He doesn’t need to have Sean hanging on his shoulders, chuckling about forbidden love. But those kisses turn into something else quicker than anything when the moon is high enough on the dark sky. His affection is no longer timid but rather bold, messy kisses placed anywhere the skin of your body shows up uncovered by clothing. He’s making up for the times he couldn’t kiss you openly and he sure does know the way to convince you.

CHARLES, KNOWN FOR HIS CALM DEMEANOR, APPROACHES EVERY KISS WITH THE SAME THOUGHTFUL INTENSITY. When he’s kissing you, it feels like he’s truly present in the moment, giving you all of his attention and care. His kisses are slow. Each one a vow of loyalty and love.

The man’s kisses are often followed by the essence of nature as he’s always spending the time outside in the wilderness. There’s a distinct freshness to them, a mix of earth and pine. When his lips meet yours, it’s like suddenly being surrounded by the tall trees and growing plants. He’s always warm and inviting for you, and there’s a sense of peace that comes with every kiss, as if he’s sharing a piece of his own inner calmness with you.

He cups your face every time he kisses you with a gentle hand, his thumbs softly tracing your cheeks as his lips brush against yours.

However, when passion takes over, Charles’ kisses become more intense, more needy. His usually composed behavior crumbles and even through the thought of it seems scary, he doesn’t mind when it’s with you. He pulls you closer, trying to show you things he can’t say.

Regardless of the situation, kisses with Charles always leave you feeling cherished and loved. He has a way of making you feel like you’re standing on top of the world. Whenever it’s a soft peck on the forehead to soothe your worries or a passionate kiss that sets your heart racing, Charles enjoys all of it.

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sleepyyywriter · 29 days ago

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Just You Is Enough For Me

A/N: I’d like to point out that my recollection of the movie is vague because I have only watched it once, but I needed a fix it fic asap. This one is for me but if you enjoy, yay! (Also, might’ve altered or moved events around but, you know. Fiction. Also, also! I did ridiculous research on pleas and whatnot and again, because this is fiction, I used what I liked and ignored the rest.)

Word Count: 8k

Genre: Fluff, fix-it fic

Heads up, this is not the fic for you if you liked Lee's character. Sorry.

Finally, thanks to @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend for listening to me spiral about Arthur and for giving me the space to come up with this idea. Love youuuu! 💜

The pencil in her hand snapped in half as she gazed up at Arthur, her eyes wide and the terror clear as day in them. The biggest mistake he could make at this point was firing them as counsel.

“My client needs a break, your hon-“

Before she even knew what she was doing, she had grabbed at Arthur’s suit and yanked him down, her eyes boring into his and effectively halting his protests.

She wasn’t sure what she was trying to tell him with her eyes, she couldn’t actually say anything aloud, even if she could get her mouth to open, but Y/N needed him to understand what she knew in her heart.

They were his only shot at not rotting at Arkham for the rest of his life. They were his only shot at getting the help he so desperately needed. That he deserved and had been denied his whole existence. She knew that, why didn’t he?

The voices around her sounded so distant as they looked into each other’s eyes, hers pleading and his avoidant.

No. Not avoidant. He was looking for her, no doubt. All he did was look for her, the one responsible for this shitshow. The one who was in it for the fame and publicity that came with being the joker’s girlfriend, or whatever the fuck she was.

Y/N knew about her, who didn’t? And she hated her. She told herself it was because of the harm she was causing Arthur’s case. And because it was so obvious she didn’t actually care for him. Not all of him anyway. But if she were to be honest with herself… Well. There was no time for that right not.

Right now, they had to figure out if there was a way to salvage any of this.

As they made their way to the room they were provided with by the court, Y/N could tell Maryanne was pissed. They had been dealing with the repercussions of everything Lee said and did in front of the media, and Arthur’s outburst could very well be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if Maryanne herself asked to be dropped as counsel.

As the bailiff shackled Arthur to the table at the center of the room, Y/N intercepted Maryanne at the door, involuntarily cringing at the glare sent her way.

“Let me talk to him first?”

“This is not the place for your stupid cru-“

Y/N yelped and shut the door, hoping Arthur hadn’t heard that from the other side.

“This has nothing to do with that!” she interrupted, lightly shouldering Maryanne away from the door and towards the bench outside of the room. “You need to calm down. If you go in there, guns blazing, he is going to shut down and we won’t be able to convince him to stay.”

“You think we can? You think you can?” she sneered, her lips pursing in anger as she massaged her temple with her fingers.

Y/N smiled tightly and made her way back into the room, “I’m gonna fucking try.”

-----------------------------

She didn’t know how long she had been standing there, arms across her chest as she leaned into the closed door, her eyes on the squirming, hunched over figure in front of her.

A part of her was trying to find the words, nice ones at least, to try to talk some sense into Arthur. Another part of herself, the pettier side, was enjoying how uncomfortable Arthur seemed.

Good. She hoped he knew he had fucked up. She especially hoped he knew how he had hurt her feelings.

She was very aware the crush was one sided, judging by the dopey smile he got on his stupidly handsome face every time Lee was brought up. And that was okay. Really! Her main concern was getting Arthur the help he needed, not any silly schoolgirl fantasies her exhausted brain would concoct right before she passed out on her bed.

Y/N had accompanied Maryanne from day one as she worked Arthur’s case, and she thought they had formed a friendship. Maryanne of course cared for him and wanted to help; she was more centered, maybe even more professional? And that why she was so damn good at her job.

Y/N was the younger associate. She could afford to be swayed by emotions. She could afford the reassuring smiles and the daily jokes and teasing banter. She was the good cop to the clients. And more so with Arthur. She could still remember how skittish he was at the beginning. How accustomed he was to people hurting him or making fun of him, that he didn’t talk to them at all for the first three days.

It wasn’t until Y/N told a joke, a very bad one she profusely apologized for, that he finally acknowledged them. She remembered how her heart ached at the sight of his scabbing eyebrow and his busted lip. How a smile made its way to her lips at the sight of his smile, so child-like and innocent and a perfect match for the twinkling seas of juniper leaves in his eyes.

It was with that memory in her head and those emotions in her heart that she finally moved. She pulled the chair next to him and sat, her elbow on the table as she rested her face on her palm.

“What the fuck, Arthur?” she sighed, her eyes searching his.

Laughter burst from his lips, but she recognized this one. It wasn’t that breathy huff before a genuine smile painted his lips. This was the laughter he couldn’t contain. The one that hurt him and wouldn’t let him get enough oxygen into his lungs. This was the laughter that left him hunched over in pain, gasping for air and afraid.

Y/N pursed her lips, mentally kicking herself for triggering him like this, and placed her hand on his back as she hummed Durante’s Smile, hoping it was as comforting for him as it was for her.

He was always singing something, nothing she ever knew of course. He had once wrinkled his nose in the most adorable way when she had played some of her music for him, her AC/DC and Bon Jovi “too loud” for him. She had laughed and they had both agreed that music could be important to both of them without necessarily meaning the same type of music.

Still, this one was one of the few “oldies” she had in her repertoire, and she hoped it was offering him some comfort.

As his chest stopped heaving and his laughter had been reduced to sporadic bursts that didn’t leave him as breathless, he began to speak.

“Lee is trying to free me. She is helping me, Y/N.”

“Arthur,” she began, her eyes shutting as she tried to keep her distaste for Lee from her face.

“We’re going to build a mountain! We’re going to be happy! And you just want me locked up. She said-”

Her hands balled into fist over his suit, and she had to make a conscious effort to pull away and not pull at his clothes.

“She said what, Arthur?” she asked, her voice tight with poorly disguised anger.

“That you- you don’t want to help. That- that you’re like them. You underestimate me and you think I’m dumb, and you don’t care about me. And-”

She raised her hand to silence him, using the other to push away from the table and get herself to her feet, needing space from him.

“I’m here, jeopardizing my job to beg you to please let us help you. Every day I go home from the office, I have to make sure nobody is following to scream at me, throw rotten shit at me or hit me because I am defending you. Which has happened by the way. And every day, every fucking day Arthur, I go back into that office and stay there until the break of fucking dawn trying to find a way to help you. And you’re telling me I don’t care? Because the one who is actively sabotaging your defense told you so?”

Maryanne came back inside at that, surprise on her face at the tone Y/N had taken which usually only she used when she needed to strongarm stubborn clients.

“You know what? I actually don’t fucking care whether you fire Maryanne or not. I quit regardless.”

Y/N ignored Maryanne’s calls and she certainly didn’t look back at Arthur as she stormed out of the room, with what felt like her whole heart stuck in her throat as she blinked the tears away.

She knew it wasn’t fair to talk to Arthur like that and much less to up and abandon him. Even if that was what he was asking for. She had proved to him once more that everyone left him when he needed them the most, but his words had cut her too deep.

She had poured her heart into doing everything in her power to help. She had called witnesses, she had read over files numerous times, fighting through the tears as she read about every despicable thing Arthur had lived through.

When what she read began plaguing her dreams, she would get back up and continue her work at home, hoping to find the smoking gun that would get the world to see he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. He was a product of his fucked-up upbringing and the disregard society had for the poor and ill. Arthur needed help, proper help he was not going to receive where he was currently locked up at and so every day she worked. How could he say she didn’t care? How could he believe her? Y/N was in his corner first. Which was a stupid sentiment. Childish even. She still couldn’t stop feeling it.

-------------------------------

Y/N couldn’t remember how she had gotten home. She must’ve taken the right buses because there she was, keys in her hand and her back to her door as she blinked into her dark apartment.

With a sigh, broken and drawn out, she took off her shoes and chucked her briefcase and purse somewhere into the living room. She’d look for them in the morning but now, she was a woman on a mission as she stalked toward her kitchen, two things on her mind. Vodka and ice cream.

As she carried her bowl and the entire bottle into the living room, the phone rang. She groaned and looked down at her occupied hands. There was clearly only one thing to do. Y/N poured a hefty amount of vodka into her ice cream and set the bottle aside as she grabbed the phone and carefully held it between her ear and shoulder.

“What the hell happened to ‘I’m gonna fucking try’?” the voice on the other end laughed.

“I will hang up on you if you’re calling to scream at me. Or make fun of me. I’m off the clock, you can do it tomorrow and pay me for it,” she grumbled, shoveling a spoonful of her special ice-cream into her mouth.

“You’ve been ballsy today,” Maryanne snorted and Y/N rolled her eyes at the sound.

“Can I help you or…?”

“He’s not firing us.”

“Good! Best of luck to y-”

“-on one condition. He wants you back on the case.”

Y/N scoffed, wincing as the too big spoonful of ice cream momentarily froze her brain. “And you told him to fuck off?”

“I most certainly did not. I said we would go up to see him tomorrow bright and early because you have a good head on your shoulders and a lengthy career ahead of you and you’re not going to let a stupid crush keep you from working this case, winning it, and watching your career take off.”

Y/N glared into her bowl, her eyes following the puddle forming around the lump of speckled white, both from the vodka she had added and the heat from her hands that was melting the rest.

“He’s a person. Why can’t we just help him because he deserves it? Not because of what that can do for us?”

Maryanne sighed and her tone softened, “We’re doing that too, Y/N.”

They spent a couple of minutes on the line going over ideas on how to salvage the shitshow that was today before they both agreed to meet at Arkham bright early tomorrow morning.

Y/N had an idea. She thought it would gain sympathy from the jury and get rid of Lee. That would break Arthur, but it would help their case. Even if it meant he hated her for it.

-----------------------------------

Y/N refused to look at him. It was “Mr. Fleck” this and that and even Maryanne couldn’t contain her laugh.

Still, the backstabbing bitch found a way to leave them alone for a bit, something about speaking to the warden about something. Oh, Y/N could’ve killed her.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I-”

Okay, maybe shoving an unlit cigarette in his mouth was childish, but if it kept him from speaking to her, who was actually winning?

Absentmindedly, she lit the cigarette with the lighter she always seemed to carry now. Even though she didn’t smoke. This definitely did not coincide with meeting Arthur.

Arthur sighed and took out the cigarette, putting it out on the ashtray as best he could with shackled hands before trying to apologize once more. “Y/N I-”

“You hurt me. What you said was mean and hurtful. And-” Y/N faltered as she tried swallowing down the knot in her throat. “I know she is, you know. But you know me. You know I care. And you still doubted me.”

Their eyes met and her breath caught in her chest. His eyes had the tendency to change according to his surroundings. The room they were in was poorly lit, but the pale hues of his jumpsuit still found a way to reflect on his eyes. They were favoring the ocean today, the one that used to be in her backyard during her childhood. The ocean that lulled her to sleep and brought her safety and comfort. His ocean was currently twinkling with unshed tears, and she hated being responsible for that.

Maryanne barreled into the office in that moment, not paying attention to them as she slammed a file on to the table.

“She has been lying to you and using you to get back at her rich daddy. And it’s about time you knew.”

Y/N turned to Maryanne, her eyes wide in shock. This was news to her and certainly not the plan of attack they had come up with last night. The plan was to get Arthur to denounce the Joker as a figure meant to incite riots and violence. Y/N figured that the minute that Arthur separated himself from the madness and violence done in his name by people who didn’t know or care about him, Lee would leave. Since she was just in it for the exposure. For Joker, not Arthur.

Arthur was meant to bring attention to who he was. A hardworking, devoted son who woke up day after day and went to work and sought out help and wanted to get better. He just needed a little bit of help to get back on his feet and the death penalty was not the way to go. That was the fucking plan. Not this!

“Maryanne?”

“Y/N? Did you know?”

At this, Y/N found herself at his side, his shackled hand in hers as she gazed into his eyes. “No, Arthur. I did not. Please believe me this time.”

Arthur nodded and Y/N dropped his hand, sending Maryanne a glare before she picked up the file and read on.

She could feel the warmth of Arthur’s body as he leaned into her to read the file as well.

Arthur had told her that Lee had set fire to her mother’s home. She had painted quite a story for him, and Arthur believed her.

Instead, she was a rich girl who hadn’t struggled a day in her life. What’s more, she had voluntarily committed herself for some crazy reason, and had then convinced Arthur it was his fault she was being sent away. The only truth she had ever told him was her name. “That bitch!”

Arthur stiffened beside her, and Y/N gritted an apology through her teeth. That was still his girlfriend at the end of the day.

“I want to talk to her.”

Y/N and Maryanne looked at each other; they both knew that was a bad idea. She would find a way to twist the facts and he would believe her. She would be free to continue wreaking havoc and inching him closer to the death penalty.

Arthur was trusting and more than anything, he just wanted to be loved. To be seen. That was the key to manipulating him. She could do it too. While she knew he didn’t feel the same way for her, she was aware that she become a friend to him and she could use that to get him to do what she wanted him to do. What she needed him to do for his own good.

Just thinking about it made her feel wretched and she knew she couldn’t do that. Especially after she had just begged him to trust her seconds ago. No. She had to do better. He deserved that much.

“Arthur,” she began, turning to him and taking his hands into hers once more, “can you give me a few moments of your attention? No interruptions. No questions. Just listen to me for a minute. And then I promise to listen to you. Can you do that?”

His head tilted to the side as his eyes bore into hers, trying to figure her out. Everyone always brought up his upbringing, his poverty, his low IQ. As if that made him less. As if life hadn’t seen all of that and still deemed it necessary to teach him lessons in the hardest, most despicable ways possible. Arthur had the uncanny ability to see through people’s intentions. He knew when he was the butt of the joke. But he wanted to be loved and so he put up with the taunts and the abuse because a part of himself thought it was a small price to pay to be loved. What a silly, hauntingly beautiful man. God, when had this become more than a crush?

With a nod and a squeeze to her hands, Arthur broke her from her reverie. And so she talked.

She explained how it would be a good idea to hold off on talking to her. How, it was great that they loved each other (that was a lie but he didn’t need to know that) but the public didn’t care for that. How, as much as we shouldn’t care what the world has to say about us, in this instance, public opinion literally held his life in their hands. Finally, she explained how she would not be able to live with herself if they were unable to win his case, if the same society that failed him again and again won in the end and took his life. Y/N begged him to please let her help him in the best way she knew how. She reassured him how Lee and he could go back to being a happy couple as soon as this was over and nobody would be able to tell him otherwise. What she didn’t say, however, was how she didn’t think Lee would stick around when the news outlets and camera flashes stopped following her every move. He could hate her for the rest of his life so long as he was off death row and living the life he always deserved. She could live with that.

“I know it’s not what you want. You deserve to talk to her and ask her to clear this up. I’m asking for the impossible from you, Arthur. But I need you to help me help you. Yes?”

His face was contorted in agony and despair, the lines around his eyes deepening as he furrowed his brows and a part of herself broke knowing she was once again the cause for his pain.

She didn’t speak and neither did Maryanne; they both knew the ball was now on Arthur’s side of the court and whatever he decided would dictate the course of his case.

“How much longer will this go on for?”

----------------------------------

They left with a tentative agreement from Arthur. He wasn’t willing to cut off contact with Lee for too long and so now they had the difficult task of trying to end this trial quickly, and in their favor.

“I have a feeling he would hate this. But… what if we file a written motion for a change of venue?”

“That would push the trial date back, Y/N.”

“Yes, but you know the riots and general unrest in the city are not doing him any favors. Any jury picked from Gotham is going to convict him no matter how good our case is. And-” Y/N trailed off, collapsing into the sofa in Maryanne’s office.

“-and it creates more distance between Arthur and Lee if we move it?” Maryanne finished knowingly, handing her over her own glass of whiskey.

Y/N grumbled a plea for her to be quiet and took a generous gulp of her drink, scowling at Maryanne’s laughter.

“You know, Dent is not going to agree to that.”

At this, Y/N smirked and straightened in her seat, “oh! Did I forget to tell you how he got Sophie Dumond to testify in court?”

“Did you find something?”

“No. But I can.” She begun, shushing Maryanne before she could even get a word in. “Do not ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

Maryanne nodded and with that, Y/N left her office and made her way to her own, to draft up the motion and call up one of her old contacts.

Fabricated evidence would never hold its own in court, but the threat of said fabricated evidence tarnishing Harvey Dent’s stellar reputation? Well. That would work. Y/N meant it when she said she would do everything in her power to give Arthur a fair shot at the life he always deserved. And he would never know the lengths she’d go to. Because she didn’t need him in her debt. Y/N just wanted him to have his happily ever after. With whoever and wherever.

-------------------

Lee had not taken the forced separation from Arthur well. It had been a week since they had filed the motion and had gotten it approved. Once news outlets caught wind of it no longer taking place in the city and noting Lee’s absence from the hearing, and general cluelessness about everything that was going on, they had lost their interest in her. She was no longer page one worthy news and judging by the number of times she stopped by the office, shouting and shoving at the security guards, she was not handling it well.

Which is why it was no surprise to her when she received a call from Arkham’s high security wing from a contact, letting her know Lee was currently in a visit with Arthur, despite explicit instructions to the warden to not allow her in.

She was in the area and so she quickly flagged down a cab, cursing up a storm and throwing the driver a few extra bills to entice him to break any laws necessary to get her there as soon as possible.

Once there, she knew exactly who had allowed Lee in, if the terrified expression on his face was anything to go by.

“Sullivan, I swear to God I will sue you and every single one of your fucking descendants if you don’t open this goddamn door.” She seethed, satisfaction filling her as he jumped off of his stool, his fingers clumsily clicking and clacking in his rush.

With a final glare, she stalked into the visiting area as soon as the gate was unlocked. She paused momentarily and gave a final warning over her shoulder, locking eyes with the only one who needed to hear it. “And if you take this out on Arthur, I will know. Remind me, what was your lovely granddaughter’s name again? She’s a second grader now, isn’t she?”

She watched him gulp and nod before she gave him a smile dripping with every ounce of distaste she had for him and continuing her trek.

Instantly, she caught sight of Lee’s back. She also saw Arthur. His lips pursed even if his eyes shouted the love and adoration he felt for her. Her heart melted at the knowledge that he was trying to keep his word and not talk to Lee. Even if she was right in front him and there was likely nothing he wanted more.

“What are you standing there for?” She barked at the guard in the corner. “Get her out of here. She is not an approved visitor, and you know that.”

Arthur’s eyes flew to her face the minute he heard her voice; his eyes wide and pleading, almost as if begging her to believe he had nothing to do with the woman currently in front of him.

Y/N barely had the chance to reassure him before Lee’s hand connected with her face, a sharp smack ringing into the silence of the visitation area.

Her jaw tightened as she brought her hand up to her cheek, her eyes hardening as she wiped away the blood drawn by the ring Lee was wearing.

The silence was cut by Arthur’s shout of Lee’s name and Y/N felt the proverbial butterflies in her stomach at the sight of Arthur’s angry expression directed towards Lee. His eyes, stormy and narrowed as a scowl marred his usually smiling lips; Y/N was ridiculously in love.

“Don’t you get it?!” Lee shouted, struggling against the guards who were dragging her out, “She is trying to keep us apart because the little bitch wants you all to herself!”

Y/N watched as she was finally out of the visitation area, smirking in satisfaction as she hissed after stupidly banging at the iron door keeping her out.

A part of her wanted to stay that way, her back to Arthur as she willed the universe to open up and swallow her whole. She likely would’ve stayed there long after visiting hours were over had she not heard the soft call of her name. Like a moth to a flame, like a sailor falling prey to the siren’s song, Y/N turned and closed the gap between them. As much as she could with the glass in between them, at least.

“Is it true?” Y/N didn’t know if he was asking about whether she was trying to keep them apart on purpose or even worse, about the crush, but answering neither would be of no help.

“I told you from the beginning, everything I do is for your own good. Not because you can’t make decisions on your own, but because I know how things work in these cases and I want to use that knowledge to help you. The power is in your hands, Arthur. You can choose to let me go whenever you like.”

And he could. He could choose to hire someone else. Or worse even, to represent himself. But she didn’t mean it that way and she prayed he hadn’t caught her slip up. Even if it would be good if he did.

Maybe then he could release her from the hold he had on her, a hold he likely didn’t even know about. Maybe then he could stop doing things that were confusing her. Like smiling at her like she was the only person in the world. Or murmuring her name, soft and intimate, like it was made from fragile glass. Maybe then she could get her head out of her ass and behave like the professional she was before she met him. Before she fell for him.

Oh, but sweet, shy, lovely Arthur didn’t catch it. For someone who was as in love with the idea of love as he was, he was quite blind to people who actually cared for him and loved him for him. She hated and loved that about him.

He nodded, his face softening with a smile that lit up her whole world and she cursed him and loved him a little more for it.

--------------------------------

These had been the most agonizing weeks of her life, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine how Arthur had been feeling. Alas, the day was finally here. Today would decide Arthur’s fate.

These last few weeks had been tedious, and Y/N had learned just how high her threshold for hate could go. More than once, she was ready to bash Dent’s head with a chair, that’s how despicable she found him. She didn’t understand how he had built a reputation of a respectable, protector of justice, when he was quite frankly a piece of shit.

Y/N had convinced Maryanne not only to change the venue, but also to move it to a more affluent area. Y/N knew there was nothing rich people loved more than pretending they cared about the little people and with the evidence they had to support Arthur’s not guilty by insanity plea, she knew the rich people who would encompass the jury would be on their side. They would be able to boast about their good deed and feel better about being filthy rich while the rest of the city died.

They wouldn’t be making the wrong call. They had more than sufficient evidence to support their claim, and anybody with half a braincell would agree that Arthur needed help in the form of rehabilitation, not incarceration.

Why then, was it that this pillar of justice was so adamant to lock Arthur up and throw away the key? Almost like he was also just after what convicting Arthur would do for his career. God, Y/N could kill him.

Arthur was a bundle of nerves beside her. She was a tad concerned that he would dislocate a knee with how he was bouncing it. She couldn’t look at him, afraid that he would see how nervous she was as well and that that would set him off, so she simply placed her hand on his knee and squeezed reassuringly.

She heard him inhale to say something, but the jury walked in, the bailiff and judge right after. Her insides origami’d themselves into a gnawing creature as she helped Arthur to his feet and stood as close to him as professionally acceptable.

As the foreman affixed his reading glasses atop his nose and cleared his throat to begin reading the verdict, Y/N sent one last prayer above. This had to go in Arthur’s favor, or she didn’t know how she would live with herself.

“We, the Jury, having carefully considered all the evidence presented in this case, find the defendant, Arthur Fleck, not guilty by reason of insanity.”

Everything else was drowned out in the rush of blood inundating her head and she found herself with an armful of Arthur, his face cradled in the crook of her neck as he cried. She was counting on Maryanne to listen to the rest of the verdict as she clung to Arthur and whispered reassurances in his ear.

------------------------------

“So what now?” Arthur asked, looking so fragile and small as he sat in the corner of the interview room they had been sent to as they made preparations for his transfer. The minute he had been uncuffed and had been able to decide himself where to go, he had picked that corner to retreat to.

Y/N’s heart broke at the realization that this had been the first time in years he had been able to make a decision as simple as this and she had found herself sitting next to him, his hand in hers as she traced soothing patterns on the back of it.

“Maryanne is drafting a document asking the court to take into account the time you have already served. If we are lucky, you’ll only be required the three-month rule in a state institution, and then your life begins. Well, kind of. You’ll be required therapy for the rest of your life, but that is a good thing. I will ensure that whoever sees you now actually cares and helps. I promise,” she finished with a squeeze to his hand, a smile on her face as he breathed out a soft laugh.

“Will you visit?” he murmured after some time, not quite turning to look at her but she could feel his eyes gazing at her from under his eyelashes, as if afraid of her answer.

“As many times as you want me to,” Y/N reassured, slightly distraught at how vehemently she meant that. Fuck, she was stupid in love with a man who saw her as nothing more than a friend.

“Every day,” he beamed. His eyes finally meeting hers and she marveled at the weight that had clearly lifted from his shoulders. His bejeweled emerald eyes shined brightly in the dimly lit room and for a split second, she forgot how to breathe. She didn’t think breathing was as important as not missing a second of the awe-inspiring sight in front of her. The way his chestnut locks framed his face, or the way his thick lashes dusted the thin, purplish skin of his eyelids. He was beautiful and how she wished to be the one to gaze upon him every day. Sadly…

“Have you talked to Lee?”

Her smile tightened and she cleared her throat, hoping to swallow down the distaste. “I called her myself after the verdict but got her answering machine. As soon as she calls back, I will let you know.”

“I think she’s mad. I hope she doesn’t hate me,” he mused sadly, his shoulders slumping forward.

“You did what you had to do for your wellbeing. She loves you, I’m sure she’ll understand,” Y/N consoled, nudging him with her shoulder. “Besides, you can blame me if you want. That way she can’t be mad at you.”

His eyes searched her face until they settled on the new scar on her face, courtesy of Lee. From the corner of her eyes, she saw his free hand nearing her face, but right before he could make contact, she jumped up. Y/N didn’t know if she could come back from knowing what his hands felt like on her face.

“There is another thing we must discuss, Arthur,” she began, hoping she was successfully playing off how flustered being so close to him made her. “Medication. I know you don’t like the way you feel but taking it will likely be a requirement.”

He slumped over once more, an adorable pout taking over his lips and Y/N cursed the heavens for the feelings lighting up sparks within her.

They discussed the topic a bit more, and Y/N died a little when he admitted he was not aware he was allowed to ask to be switched to other medications until they found a good fit for him. He assumed the lifeless, zombie-state was the norm and Y/N’s heart broke a little more for him. He deserved the world and she wanted to be the one to give it him.

Maryanne came in then, a grin on her face as she sat on a chair, beckoning for the other two to do the same.

Y/N obliged and offered Arthur her hand to help him up, then guided him to a chair and took one next to him. He looked at her then, questioning, but all she could do was shrug as she did not know what Maryanne’s grin was about.

Their questioning looks soon turned to astonishment as Maryanne explained how the judge, who happened to regularly play golf with her husband, had agreed that the time Arthur had served should be taken into account. What’s more, he believed one of the ways society could atone for its sins against Arthur was to waive the three month rule and set Arthur free, to the care of a guardian who would assume responsibility for him. He would still be required to attend counseling for the rest of his life, and follow any guidelines his medical team recommended, but that was of course next to nothing compared to being institutionalized.

Y/N’s mouth hung open; she could almost feel her jaw unhinge as she tried to comprehend the feat Maryanne had just accomplished.

“I- I don’t have anywhere to go.”

Her heart, bruised and battered, broke a little more at the sound of his broken whisper and she turned to him, words of comfort on her lips before Maryanne cut her off.

“Sure you do. Y/N is the court-appointed guardian the judge, Dent and I agreed on.” Maryanne said this nonchalantly, but Y/N could hear the smugness on her voice. “By the way Y/N, verify your address with accounting. Due to your new circumstances, we’ll have to ship a PC to your home. I’m thinking you can do three days at home and two in the office? Or as necessary. We’ll figure that out later. For now, we have accommodations to make.”

She then sashayed out of the room, and had it not been for Arthur’s hand on her shoulder, Y/N would’ve sat there frozen for God know how long.

“Is- is that okay? You can say no, Y/N. I don’t want to trouble you.” He said this with a smile, and she knew that even if she refused to house him and this meant he would lose his freedom and go back to being incarcerated, he would truly not hold that against her. God, he was so good. How could anyone ever think about hurting him? When he deserved nothing short of the world?

“And why would I do that, roomie?”

The grin he gave her was like the sun peaking from the horizon on a freezing December morning. Nothing could’ve ever topped it, except for the tight hug he gave her.

-------------------------------------

It had been a couple of months since Arthur had moved in. The first few days were… a learning experience. She tried to accustom herself to having another person living under her roof, a person she had feelings for but could not act on. And Arthur was trying to remember how to be free again. As free as he could be considering the restrictions he had on him.

Y/N’s heart broke every time he forgot where he was and would wait around for the door to be unlocked and opened for him. As he waited for permission he no longer needed to accomplish mundane tasks, Y/N would approach him carefully and softly, as if afraid to shock him, and she’d remind him that he could move as he pleased. She’d remind him that he was home now (God, how she hoped he felt like he was home) and was in charge of his actions.

Without fail, wonder filled his eyes, and he looked around the room, as if taking it in and reminding himself where he was before settling on her face. And then, then he’d steal her breath as he smiled at her, soft and sweet. Oh, how she loved him.

Lee had seemingly disappeared from the face of the earth. As much as she didn’t want to, for Arthur, she had called in favors to try and find her. To no avail.

Last she heard, her parents had shipped her overseas to distance her from everything she had said and done in front of the cameras, but that was the last they had been able to find about her.

Arthur was of course heartbroken, but he claimed he was at least happy knowing she was safe. It didn’t matter that she no longer loved him and didn’t want to see him.

For her part, Y/N swore that if she ever saw her, she’d rip her face off and keep it as a trophy.

Today was one of the rare days off they had. Arthur had no session today and she had finished her work for the week. After breakfast, she had asked him what he wanted to do for the day and, without missing a beat, he had suggested a walk around the city.

The area Y/N lived in was on the other side from where Arthur grew up. It was decidedly nicer, cleaner and nobody seemed to know or care who Arthur was. Arthur loved going on walks whenever they both had the time, and without fail, he would steal yet another piece of her heart as he marveled at the most mundane things they encountered on their walks.

She recalled the giggle that escaped his lips the first time they had come across a flock of ducks in the park and Y/N could do nothing more but slip into a bodega to purchase frozen peas so Arthur could feed the ducks. Nothing could put a price on the delight lighting up his face.

And so, the plan was the same today. As they walked out of the familiar bodega, hand in hand and frozen peas secured, Y/N marveled at how good of a life she had.

As they made their way to the park, they stopped every few houses and marveled at the Halloween decorations adorning the streets. It was mid-October, her favorite time of the year, and she loved the way the city looked.

As they approached an empty park bench, she turned to Arthur, wanting to point out the ducks to him only to find him already looking at her.

That had been a recent development and she wished she could ask him to stop. She, of course, couldn’t do that. Not without explaining that her heart threatened to leap out of her chest and into his hands whenever he looked at her like that. Not without confessing her feelings to him, which would be incredibly unfair.

He didn’t feel that way and she had no right to take away the only safe place he had ever had. Arthur deserved a good life, he deserved to experience everything that had been denied from him his whole life and she couldn’t rob him of that by telling him about her silly little feelings.

What was she supposed to do when he told her he didn’t feel the same? Even worse was the thought of him feeling pressured to reciprocate out of fear his new world would be yanked from his feet. No. She would never tell him. But God, how she prayed he would stop looking at her like that. How she wished to dig into her chest and rip out her heart, to lock it in a box and shove it somewhere it could never come back from. How she wished not to feel. Just for a bit.

They sat at the park for what was certainly hours. He talked about his sessions and how they had finally settled on a medication that did not make him feel dead. It made him a bit sleepy, he said. But he could think, feel, and eat.

That she could attest to. He often asked for seconds during meals and just last week, when she was coming out of her room for a mid-day break from work, she had encountered a shirtless Arthur coming out of the restroom after a shower. Recovering from the shock, she turned back to her room with a squeak but not before allowing her eyes to roam his shirtless frame. She had noticed how his ribs were no longer protruding, and there was a softness cushioning his belly that was not there before when she had helped him dress for his trial, which seemed like eons ago now.

In turn, she talked about work without going into many details. Confidentiality and all. And she asked about the at-home nurse that would come in whenever Y/N had to go into the office. Arthur had no complaints and he confessed she almost felt like a mother, a proper one. Y/N grabbed his gloved hand and squeezed, a surprised squeak leaving her lips when he pressed his forehead against hers. If her breath hadn’t abandoned her, and her limbs obeyed her, she likely would’ve pushed him away. Instead, she shut her eyes and allowed the tremors to wash down her back and could do nothing but nod dumbly when he suggested they head back.

--------------------------------

The walk back had been quiet. She thought she had done well at not making it awkward despite the silence from her part.

A talk would likely need to happen. If she wanted to hold on to the last bits of her sanity, boundaries would have to be set. Maybe she’d take up Sam’s weekly invitations to go out for drinks after work. Maybe that was what she needed to get over Arthur. Or to at least not go into cardiac arrest over physical contact.

He unlocked the door for them, likely realizing her dazed state and gently guided her inside and on to the couch.

Arthur left her eyesight for a bit, and she figured he had gone into his room. Even as she heard clattering in the kitchen, she didn’t turn to look, too lost in her thoughts.

It wasn’t until he reappeared in front of her, a steaming mug of hot cocoa in hand, topped with whipped cream and marshmallows like he knew she liked, that she broke through her dazed state.

“I thought you were cold, so I made this for you,” he began as he set it on the coffee table in front of her. He then reached around and grabbed the blanket draped over the couch and fluffed it before wrapping it around her. “I shouldn’t have made you stay outside this late. I forgot how cold it gets.”

Like a petulant child, she pulled the blanket over her head with a groan, wanting to lovingly punch his stupid face for making her feel feelings. This was too much for her.

Arthur laughed out a ‘what’s wrong?’ as he attempted to free her from her self-made blanket prison, soft giggles leaving him the more she fought against him.

Knowing she wasn’t going to win this battle, she broke free, furrowing her brows as she looked at the giggling man beside her.

Arthur snorted and reached over to smooth down her hair, his eyes twinkling with amusement, his cheeks flushed and lips curled in a smile.

“Arthur,” she began, grabbing his hands and placing them on his lap before folding hers in front of her chest, as if that was going to protect her heart.

“You know I care for you. And I will always be here for you. But-”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have…” he trailed off. He remained silent for a few seconds before giving himself a reassuring nod. His eyes met Y/N’s briefly before he turned to focus on the long-forgotten mug. “Dr. Sloane recommended I tell you how I feel but- I’m not good with words, Y/N. I hoped my actions could, I don’t know,” he trailed off with a half-hearted shrug.

Y/N, on the other hand, was fighting through the static ringing in her ears as she tried making sense of Arthur’s words.

“How you feel?”

“I’m sorry Y/N. You’re probably just being nice. I knew you didn’t feel the same. But Dr. Sloane said I should try and-”

“Arthur!” she called to him firmly, her hands finding his as she tried to keep him from going down the spiral he currently was. “You have feelings for me?”

Arthur nodded shyly, his eyes on their intertwined hands as he rubbed the tips of his index finger and thumb together, a nervous habit he had picked up now that he was trying to quit smoking.

“You like me? But, Lee?”

“I don’t know if she was real. If what I thought she felt or what I felt for her was real. But you,” at this he smiled, so blindingly bright that for a moment she wondered how he had captured the moonlight in his smile.

“And you haven’t noticed I’ve liked you since day one?” she interrupted him, fighting a smile as his hands stiffened in hers.

Arthur’s head snapped up as his eyes searched hers, trying to decipher whether she was lying or not. She let him look, making sure to let her face and eyes shout about the love for him she had been trying to bottle up for what felt like an eternity.

“How- Y/N, how long?” he whispered, his eyes wide and pleading.

“Since I set foot in that room, shitty joke in my notebook. Since you laughed, so soft and shy and then told me one of yours.”

He made a choking sound and before she could worry about hearing him choke on that laughter that rarely made an appearance now but he still feared, he had closed the distance between them by pulling her into him.

She squeaked and surprised, allowed him to wrap his arms around her. He felt so warm. So safe. So right.

“We’re going to have to talk about this Arthur!” she laughed, succumbing to the kisses being peppered on her face.

“I’m serious, Arthur. We’re going to talk.” Y/N valiantly tried once more, sighing at yet another peck to her nose. Her forehead. And the corner of her lips. God, this man was a fuckin’ tease.

He groaned before cupping her cheeks with his palms, warm and calloused. “We will, later. But can I please kiss you now?”

It was Y/N’s turn to silence him, her lips finding his and her eyes fluttering shut. She didn’t know how the fireworks going off in her stomach had travelled to just behind her eyelids, but as Arthur pressed his lips to hers, urgently yet sweetly, she found she didn’t really care.

In that moment, nothing mattered. Not the road they had travelled to get here. Not where the road would take them tomorrow. All that mattered to her now was how his lips, chapped and warm moved against hers. How his hands felt, one on her back, branding her with his fingertips through her clothes. The other on her cheek, his thumb ghosting over her skin, staking claim to what had long belonged to him.

Nothing mattered but him. Always him. Forever him.

#joker folie a deux #joker: folie à deux #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x y/n #arthur fleck imagine #arthur fleck fic #arthur fleck fluff #arthur fleck self insert #i have NEVER written 8k for anybody #oh the man you are arthur #excuse any mistakes. very minimal editing was done #kinda proud of this considering its been years since I last wrote for arthur...or at all

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