#it’s in moment like this that you wonder because there is just something in arthur’s words

[gdn7-dollopole]

There’s something so sweet about this scene. Not only Arthur is surrounded by his knights, his friends, he still can’t seem to forget there’s someone missing.

And the way he approaches Merlin is nothing funny or sarcastic: it’s pure concern, it’s love, it’s respect.

Merlin admits he’s scared, without thinking about it twice, because yes, this is Arthur, the same man who makes fun of me on a daily, but he’s also my best friend, the man I love, and who I could lose, but I can’t tell him, but, oh God, if he needs to know I don’t want him to die. I’m the most powerful warlock on earth, yet I’m scared of Morgana, because she wants to kill Arthur, and I’m weak when it comes to him, I’m scared I won’t be able to protect him as I should (especially since Merlin has heard the prophecy that spoke of Arthur’s bane).

I like Arthur’s stunned face. Merlin is referring to his life. “You don’t care you could die?” And not only Arthur is shocked by it, because he thought Merlin knew his reasonings by now, knew that Arthur would never risk losing his knights, losing Merlin. But Arthur doesn’t care as long as his men are safe, as long as Merlin’s safe (because, let’s be honest, this conversation is nothing but a way for them to tell each other how they feel towards one another, without exposing themselves to the danger of this revelation). And Arthur needs to make something clear:

“Only about you.” Because Arthur brings Merlin everywhere like he’s a solider, a warrior, someone who knows how to fight with a sword, who’s an asset to Camelot and the kingdom itself, so he considers him an equal, someone he can sit with on a lower step and chat with about his fears, because he can be vulnerable with Merlin. Arthur knows he’s safe with him.

Arthur includes Merlin in his speech, and this is something that could mean, “Oh, so Merlin isn’t a friend, isn’t a brother, he’s so much more.” This scene is so impactful, because it’s one of those rare moments where Arthur shows how deeply he can love, how much risk he’s willing to take to bring peace to his kingdom and to his people: to the ones he loves.

And he knows his knights, he knows Merlin won’t abandon him, because he has never done it, and Arthur truly believes Merlin has no reason to do it now, even if he’s scared. It’s as if Arthur is asking, just to make sure, just to have the confirmation that they think the same of it.

And they do:

I wish I didn’t understand how much I’m willing to risk, and have already risked for you. Because this is why I’m here: for you and only for you.

The self deprecating smile, because Merlin can’t back down, he never will. He’s so frightened, yet not even the prospect of battling against Morgana and her army will make him run.

He has Arthur to protect.

The way he smiles, it’s as if he’s saying, “Why didn’t I understand this sooner? Arthur’s just like me.” But it’s the fact that they told each other this, they know now, after ten years, that they’re willing to do anything and more for the other to stay safe, to be alive, even if one of them isn’t.

Merlin tells Arthur. He watches him intensely, because Arthur needs to understand. He’s honest.

Arthur gets it, and he’s finally happy. He’s relieved that Merlin won’t abandon him, that he will stay by his side, like he always is, protecting him, fighting with him, and helping him.

Arthur smiles at Merlin like he’s seeing him for the first time, and he falls in love with him just that tad bit more.

[zae-heeyyy]

Seraphic

Summary: You are Arthur's angel. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,222 Tags: smut, high honor Arthur Warnings: 18+ MDNI

a/n: Whew 😅 I'm a little nervous to post this one. 🫣 Been sitting on it for a while (no pun intended) I've read and reread it a million times, and I'm ready to share. Also, we're pretending like Arthur's tent actually closes. Anyway thanks for reading!

Seraphic: something angelic or celestial in nature, often suggesting purity, beauty, or holiness.

By 1 a.m., the sounds of camp had reduced to the songs of crickets and the crackle of the fire. While everybody else slept, you waited up for Arthur, reading a book under lantern light in his tent. He arrived eventually, keeping his greeting short and joining you on his cot with slouched shoulders, seemingly exhausted. When he took his hat off, the grimace on his face became all the more apparent. His expression and tense body language told you all you needed to know; whatever happened out there wasn't good.

You handed him a match and a cigarette from his nightstand, and he thanked you with a nod. Using the heel of his boot, he struck the match and lit the cigarette, holding it with his thumb and index fingers. Flickering lantern light and the burning ember tip illuminated his bruised knuckles.

"Should I ask?" You traced a gentle finger over the bruises, and he shook his head.

"Best not," he replied, exhaling a ribbon of smoke.

"Well, I'm glad you're still in one piece," you said, looking him over. His shirt had seen cleaner, less wrinkled days, and sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. "Well, mostly in one piece."

He let out a gust of air, a failed attempt at a laugh, before pinching the bridge of his nose and groaning.

"Headache?" you asked, and he confirmed. The discomfort came with the life he lived. Loud gunfire, the rush of adrenaline, and focusing on his shots all combined to leave him in pain afterward. You exited the tent momentarily and returned with a bowl of warm water, a cloth, and a bottle of miracle tonic.

"Here—for your head." He took the medicine and snuffed his cigarette. Rejoining him, you sat on the cot and dabbed his face with the wet cloth, wiping away dirt and sweat. A soft kiss on his temple prompted him to lean into you, the tension finally dissipating. You wrapped your arms around his big frame and held him close. Obviously, he was your safe space, but oh—were you his. Eyes shut, he rested his head on your bosom.

Arthur found comfort in his typical role as protector and provider. But in these moments, when roles faded, he could feel the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders—a crushing weight he didn't even realize he was carrying. Being with you like this made him wonder if heaven was real because you were godsent.

To Arthur's dismay, you unraveled yourself from him to tie the tent flap closed, sealing the two of you away in the dark. Walking between his legs, you untied his neckerchief and dusted his soiled shirt.

"—Needs a wash. Your blood or someone else's?" you questioned, fingers undoing the top button.

"Not mine," he answered. Peeling the shirt off and tossing it aside, you studied him for a second time tonight. He'd seemed more relaxed than when he arrived, but his brow stayed brooding. Still positioned with his legs on either side of you, you caressed his face, one of your thumbs stroking the hairless scar on his chin.

"What else can I do?"

"You done enough; I'm fine." He gave your hand on his face a reassuring squeeze.

Leaning forward, you kissed him tenderly. His arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you nearer until your foreheads touched. You spoke low against his mouth, a playful grin forming on yours.

"You gotta stop getting yourself into so much trouble, Arthur Morgan."

Your demand was met with a chuckle, and he replied, "I'll do my best, darlin'." You peppered his lips with loving, tender kisses, making him smile against them and squeeze you tighter in a hug. You would do just about anything to see that man smile at you the way he did, all soft and endearing.

Your kisses subsided, but Arthur's affectionate gaze stayed fixed on you. The slight smile on his face had straightened, his expression mirroring the intensity of the one he wore when he first confessed his love for you.

"Got that look on your face," you told him, and he just blinked slowly, awestruck. Though he often swore he was a man of few words, he could fill volumes with his devotion for you. You loved it when he got like that, entranced and overwhelmed with love.

The way he watched you set a fire within you that warmed the most intimate parts of your being. He was surprised when you let yourself fall heavily into him, trying to get as close as possible. Maybe he was going to say something or make a noise, but he didn't have the time before your mouth was on his again, your tongue pushing through his lips to tangle with his. You only pulled away when you needed to breathe.

Instead of pressing your lips to his once more, you dropped to your knees in front of him. Eyes widening, he tried to bring you back up to your feet, shaking his head, once again astounded by you.

"Sweetheart—"

Still on your knees, you patted his cheek and looked up at him with doe eyes. "Shhh, let me take care of you, Arthur." His hand found yours on his face, and he turned to kiss it, nodding placidly. Both of you managed to keep your volume low as you helped him strip down to his union suit. You began working at the buttons of his neckline, doing more ripping than unbuttoning, shoving the fabric down his shoulders.

As more clothing fell away, you trailed sweet kisses down his abdomen. At the same time, his hands roamed wherever they could. The rough pads of his fingers lightly tracing your skin mirrored a faint electric charge. Despite being a brute of an outlaw, he was overly careful with his hands when it came to you; your body was fine china and deserved to be treated as such. Goosebumps formed in a wake left by his touch.

As you kissed down the trail of hair under his belly button, his rapid breathing hitched, and the bulge between his legs strained against the flannel fabric, begging to be unleashed. You tried to find his eyes as you groped him through the underwear, but his head was tipped back, his mouth agape.

"Look at me." You whispered, and he snapped to attention like a soldier following commands. Eyes locked on his, you unclasped the last button, and his length sprung free, the pink head of his cock primed with anticipation. A teasing laugh crept up within you as you trailed soft kisses from the base of his shaft and left one long lingering peck on the tip. The loud, rhythmic thumping of his heart was music to your ears. Not wanting to keep him waiting any longer, you took his entire length in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down, taking him deeper until your nose touched the curly hairs at the base.

Then he couldn't hold it in anymore; a deep, guttural groan escaped him.

Your mouth was the warmest, most intoxicating blanket he'd ever been wrapped in, and he never wanted to leave. He gaped at you, seeing your mouth full of him, his pupils dilated with pure lust. The blunt tip of his cock pressed to the back of your throat, making it constrict around him. His whole body shuddered.

"Look whatchu' do to me, woman," he rattled, tangling his hands in your hair. Despite his eagerness, you withdrew from his aching sex, a string of saliva joining your lips to him. Something reminiscent of a whine exited him when you stepped away, but his open mouth fell shut at the sight of your bloomers slipping down your legs. You kissed him, savoring the salty, bitter taste of his arousal mixed with the tobacco and herbs of his mouth.

"Lay back," you murmured in his ear. Obeying your command once again, he let out a grunt as he felt your weight on top of him. You straddled him, and he held you up, his fingers digging firmly into your sides. Bending at the waist, you kissed longingly, your hips undulating against his. He pulled your nightgown up around your midriff, one of his hands gripping the flesh of your ass while the other one went between your legs. His index finger sank painstakingly into your weeping cunt, then brushed over your clit, making you shiver. He raised himself on his elbows, reaching for the hem of your sleep dress.

"Take this off; let me see you." You raised your arms and let him yank the garment away, leaving you completely exposed on top of him. "Beautiful," he breathed, using the back of his hand to graze your skin. Breathy sighs escaped you as he traced delicate circles around your nipples. His eyes bored into you, absorbing every detail like you were the most captivating thing that ever lived. Hyperfocused on your body, he fondled your breasts before gliding his hands down your torso, ogling, taking all of you in.

Freezing, his stare intensified as you massaged the tip of his cock up and down your glistening slit. Touching his lips to yours, you pushed him into your wet folds. Neither of you could contain the sounds building with you. He split you open, stretching you, making room for him, filling you. You held yourself up with your hands braced on his chest, but you went weak as he bottomed out within you, brushing against that deep, tender spot. You would've fallen if he wasn't there to hold you up, a thought mirroring one he had about you so often.

"I got you," he whispered into your ear. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to snap his hips up into you, the warm embrace of your center clearing his mind and driving him mad all the same. Finally, you started to ride, surging and sinking into him. He was a simple, agnostic man, but being with you like this made him believe in all the theocracy of angels, soulmates, and divine intervention. This was his bliss. This was his heaven, and you were his seraph. He'd go through hell every day if it meant coming home to this—to you. Hypnotized in the rhythm of you, a new thought crossed his mind every time you bounced.

Up.

She's so goddamn beautiful.

Down.

So perfect.

Up.

My girl.

Down.

My girl, my girl, my girl, my girl.

Up.

My angel.

Down.

I love her so much.

Up.

So wet.

Down

So warm.

Up.

So danm tight.

Down.

Shit.

And before you could come back up again, he squeezed his eyes shut, halting your hips with all the strength he could muster, fighting the damn-near irresistible urge to cum inside of you. Sweat had built up on his brow, and his stomach rose and fell quickly with each panting breath. You folded to kiss him, your hard nipples grazing against his chest.

"It's okay," you whispered, patting his face and grinding antagonizingly slow against him. You wanted him—needed him— to come undone for you. With that goal in mind, you picked up the pace and rolled your hips relentlessly, moaning your every thought into his ear.

"You feel so good inside of me."

"I need you."

"I love you."

Your climax was building fast, and you reached to give relief to that sensitive bundle of nerves atop your center. Arthur pushed your hand away swiftly, replacing it with his own. Always a giver, he'd do anything to feel useful while you were treating him like royalty.

While one hand worked your clit, his other gripped the meat of your hip, rocking you in time with his upward thrusts. His head tipped and hit the pillow, and you could feel his thighs tensing and shaking beneath you. Lips parted, he stared up at you. You felt him twitch inside you, and his brow finally relaxed.

That did it for you.

You were wordless as your orgasm ripped through you, your head swirling, and your veins on fire. Arthur's guiding hand on your hip didn't stop, and he fucked you through your climax. Hugging your body close and nuzzling his face into your neck, he growled as he painted your inner core with his own release. You stayed like that, glued to each other as you came down from your highs.

"You're too good for me," he finally said. You clasped a hand into his, kissing the long-forgotten bruises on his knuckles.

"Shut up." You responded, and he didn't say another self-deprecating word. It was the least he could do.

You cleaned up and redressed, nestling into the small, one-man cot. Finally settled for the night, you resorted to your regular bedtime positions: your head on his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you, your legs tangled in one another's.

He rose before you in the morning, perching himself on the cot's edge while you slept behind him. He wrote in his journal, his thumb leaving a smudge on the page:

"For a long time, I believed I could not live a bad life and expect good things to happen to me. Yet somehow, this woman of pure goodness entered my life, and it is clear now that I have been a fool."

[pettyprocrastination]

Art “oral fixation” Donaldson ya’ll. Type of kid who always got a pop upside the head from his momma because “quit chewing on your nails arthur! You’ll get pinworms.” A habit that was once curbed as a child but still rears it’s head in times of stress. You can always tell when he’s nervous about something because you’ll catch him absentmindedly chewing on a pen cap while working or studying. 

Art being the sloppiest and most selfish kisser on god’s green earth. It’s never one kiss (he always promises it will be though). One turns into two, then another to your cheek, then the other side and down your neck until he’s leaving hickies and humming against your skin and the funny thing is he doesn’t even have to want to have sex he just loves having his mouth on you that goddamn much. You start keeping a small travel bag of concealer in his dorm because of how often you need to hide the goddamn hickies he leaves on you everytime you visit him. 

“You might as well just not bother with covering them up.” 

“You’re not the one who looked like they got jumped by Dracula, dipshit.” 

You see the way he was waiting to kiss Tashi when she was kissing patrick? Eyes all glazed over and mouth open? Yeah that. Baby boy will gladly just suck and kiss and bite you all over- you dont even have to do anything! Just lay there and run your hands through his hair and maybe tell him he’s doing a good job now and then he’ll be in fucking nirvanna. 

The way he eats you out verges on being selfish tbh. He’s practically drooling over your cunt, moaning against your clit like it brings him more pleasure than it does for you. He won’t pull away until you’ve cum more than once and even then you’ll have to pull him away from his spot between your legs, where he’ll look at you with confusion wondering if he’s done something wrong before it melts into that grin and he’ll lay his head on your stomach, content to simply sit in this moment with you before the pair of you have to return to the normal hustle and bustle of your lives.

[messrmoonyy]

- The gilded cage

Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Request- how about some of the girls going along to the mayors party in Saint Denis. Have you seen the cut content of Molly when she was meant to be at the party? So Dutch takes Molly along, Arthur takes reader? And what if Arthur gets a a little jealous of reader mingling and then they sneak away for some smutty time together…

A/N- this is my first Arthur fic so he may be a lil out of character whilst I get to grips with writing him. I also have not written straight smut in like 2 years. But we vibe. Enjoy

Also shoutout to @devnmon for supporting and enabling my rdr2 brainrot. You’re a real one

Warnings- 18+ | smut: unprotected p in v, semi public sex ( wc - 7.7k )

Masterlist / AO3

Saint Denis was a little too rich for your blood. You’d only ventured into the city a handful of times, but the times you had you’d decided you didn’t really like it. You felt too… common. You never had liked the wealthy, flaunting their security and safety that was wrapped up in dollars and gold. 

But. You loved money. God did you love money. And as much as you hated the residents of the city, you sure loved robbing them blind. You always had had a knack for making the rich mysteriously lose their dollars and their watches, it had been the sole reason you’d ended up in Dutch’s gang in the first place. 

You’d even tried picking his pockets at first.

But you were on best behaviour tonight. Under Dutch’s orders. And you figured as boring as that sounded, you’d oblige. Simply because the men rarely let the girls get involved with any of the interesting stuff in camp. There was only so much laundry you could do before your brain truly went numb from boredom. Only so much listening to Miss Grimshaw nagging at you to do some work or Micah antagonising someone over something stupid. 

So even with Dutch’s strict orders to behave and your dislike of the city, you had jumped at the chance to come along to the party. 

“ i can practically smell the money “ you sighed as you took Arthur’s hand to step down from the coach, already hearing the bustle of the party happening somewhere out the back of the mansion in front of you “ you sure I can’t go pickin? Just a lil “ you were half joking, half not. On the times you had wandered into the city, the stuff you’d gathered picking your way around the saloons and back alleys had been a decent haul. The stuff some of these people carried around on the average day was enough to fund the food for the whole of camp for a couple days or more. 

Who knew what kind of goodies they’d have on them in their finery. 

“ no miss “ Dutch’s stern voice sounded, but he was sporting a small look of amusement “ keep those talented hands of yours to yourself. This is about business. We steal nothing. That goes for all of you. Steal. Nothing. Unless it’s information “ 

“ don’t worry. I’ll keep her in check “ Arthur spoke with a small chuckle, placing a hand lightly to your back. 

“ this is why we shouldn’t have brought the women. They always cause trouble “ Bill complained, as he stepped out of the second coach with Hosea, making you scowl. 

“ I hope you aren’t grouping me into that Mr Williamson “ Molly piped up with a disapproving scowl of her own as she stepped out of the coach, seemingly more mad at Dutch for not helping her out more than at Bill though. Arthur offered her his hand instead, helping her step onto the path without breaking her neck in her extravagant dress. 

Always the gentleman. 

She looked wonderful and you had begun to wonder if she had owned that dress all along or had gone out and got it special. Maybe Dutch had picked it up for her. It wouldn’t surprise you if she had been lugging it around from place to place, waiting for some perfect moment to pull it out. She always did look more put together than the majority of camp. Though you really didn’t understand how she could walk in the dress she was currently wearing, skirts full and you guessed pretty heavy too. 

“ no need to bring you “ Bill continued. 

“ I ain’t even causin’ trouble “ you piped in, throwing your own scowl Bills way again “ When did you last contribute to the box anyways huh Bill? I don’t see you doin’ nothin’ but sit around all damn day. No need to bring you I say. Jus’ cause you ain’t got no lady on your arm you’re complainin’ bout me and Molly “ 

“ what? A lady like you? I should be damn lucky I ain’t “ 

“ why you- “

“ Bill I suggest you leave it “ Arthur murmured lowly, planting himself between you and Bill before you did in fact cause some trouble. Bill grumbled something, spitting on the floor with a look of disgust and turning away from you. 

Dutch sighed heavily, looking increasingly pissed off at the group in front of him and held his arm out to Molly. 

“ Miss O’Shea “ It pained you a little to know he was probably only being nice to her tonight for appearances sake. He’d been practically ignoring her recently. And wasn’t doing Molly any good. You hoped a night out of camp would do her well “ now would you all just calm. Down. We, are simple distinguished gentleman, here for business. So start damn acting like it “ you scoffed at that, making a pointed look in Bills direction as you did 

“ distinguished my ass “ 

“ play nice now “ Arthur said quietly, but you heard the smile in his tone as he did. He then offered you his arm as Dutch had done to Molly. But unlike Dutch the act didn’t feel performative, a way to blend in and appear far higher class than they actually were. Arthur actually was a gentleman. For the most part anyways. 

“ why thank you mister “ you said in a cheery tone, throwing him a coy smile and slipping your gloved hands into the crook of his elbow. 

It did feel a little funny to be walking beside him like that. All dressed up and in clothes that weren’t smeared with gun oil, dust or god knows what else. It made your mind drift a little to what life could’ve been like. 

Your group crossed the street, promptly being stopped at the gates 

“ gentleman “ the guard greeted, taking the invitation from Dutch’s hands “ the mayor doesn’t allow guns at official functions “ the way he looked at Dutch and the others was almost demeaning. Like he knew you were all riff raff and of course would be the sort to attend such an event armed “ Not after last years incident “ none of the boys seemed particularly thrilled to be handing over their firearms. Arthur in particular sighed heavily beside you as he handed his pistol over. 

He didn’t like being unarmed. Especially when he was out with you. You usually also had your gun belt permanently fixed at your waist. But it wasn’t exactly fitting with your current attire. 

Though you did note the guards didn’t even spare a glance to you or Molly, which in turn made you all the more smug knowing you had your knife tucked into your boot. Just in case of course. 

“ Luca here will take you gentleman to Mr Bronte. I believe he is expecting you “ 

“ I know you got that knife in yer boot “ Arthur said lowly so that no one else would hear. 

“ he ain’t said anythin’ about knifes. Only guns “ Arthur smiled and shook his head slightly, placing his hand over yours for a moment. 

“ that’s my girl “ 

You walked up the neat cobbled path to the mayors house then, unable to do anything but look in awe at the huge house in front of you. You’d thought Shady Belle was something spectacular, had walked around every room imagining what it had looked like in all its glory. Amazed at the vastness of the place and all the rooms it had. 

And yet it was nothing compared to this place. This was real money. 

“ I look okay? “ you asked, suddenly feeling ever so slightly nervous, smoothing your hand over your skirts. Even in your attempts to look as clean and put together as you did, some part of you felt like everyone would see you were a walking sham. 

All in all you knew you probably did look fine. The dress was the most lavish thing you’d ever owned, you didn’t even want to guess how much it had cost Arthur. It was still on the simpler side, skirts not quite as full as Mollys and not as detailed. But it was beautiful. Pale pink and ruffled shoulders and details on your skirts, gloves up to your elbows in a material so soft you’d sighed when you’d first pulled them on. 

It all made a nice change from the usual simple clothes you wore, hips weighted by skirts rather than your gun belt. And skirts that didn’t have a million holes darned over. 

And Arthur had picked it all out. Had picked it himself especially for you. 

It did make you smile to imagine him in the tailors, completely out of his depth when it came to women’s fashion but determined to find you something nice. Your big, tough cowboy staring blankly at fabric swatches and fancy hats. 

“ gonna be the prettiest girl here “ you smiled warmly at his words, hand smoothing over your dress again. 

He’d turned up that morning into your shared room of shady Belle, finding you hiding away from Miss Grimshaw on the balcony, the dress draped over his arm along with some fancy suit and tie get up for himself. He’d looked almost sheepish as he’d shown you it, promising to go get you something else if you hated it. Which of course you hadn’t. 

You’d practically jumped with joy at being able to go out on a job. The boys so rarely let the girls do anything meaningful other than tend to camp. Though this particular outing you knew Dutch had only brought you and Molly along because it would make your group seem a little more agreeable. Something about women making them look a little less intimidating. And of course Dutch and Arthur’s partners were the most obvious of choices. 

Much to Mary-Beth and Karen’s dismay. Though they had very quickly changed their mind at the idea of having to hang off Bills arm all night. 

It wasn’t exactly the reason you wanted to be brought along. But you took it. 

The inside of the mansion was as glorious as the outside, it almost made you angry that people had such wealth. That these people could sleep in a new room each night of the week if they felt like it, when people were starving outside of their gates. 

“ Hosea, Bill. Take the ladies out and enjoy the party. We’ll join you after we pay our respects to signor Bronte. Arthur, with me “ Arthur gave a curt nod 

“ I won’t be long “ he assured, hand slipping down around your back and leaning down to your ear “ hands to yourself “ you scoffed as he said it, looking up at him as he stepped away from you. 

“ I can’t promise “ you caught his smile as he walked over to Dutch and the staff. Disappearing up the stairs. 

“ it’s just this way “ one of members of Lemieux’s staff spoke, gesturing the four of you in the direction of some doors leading out into the party. 

“ let’s go ladies. You fancy a drink? “ Hosea said cheerfully, following closely behind you and Molly as you headed outside. You were ushered out into gardens, a mass of the rich and wealthy of Saint Denis all crowded around. Drinking and laughing at things you were sure were not as remotely funny as they were making it out to be. 

Bill quickly made himself scarce, disappearing into the crowds to do lord knows what, much to your joy. 

“ right. Champagne? “ Hosea excused himself to collect some drinks and you stood on the back porch looking down at the groups of people. 

So far removed from what you were used to. You wondered how they’d react knowing you and your little group were currently sleeping in a barely standing plantation home, half of you out under the stars. That you were frauds. Not glamorous and wealthy like them. 

In your experience the rich liked to pretend the poor didn’t exist. Unless they were hiring them as help. 

“ oh I missed this “ Molly said beside you, almost dreamily in tone. And seemingly more to herself than to you. It was quite possibly the happiest you’d seen her look in days. 

She fit right in. Her gorgeous dress rivalling that of some of the other woman down in the courtyard, her hair piled up on her head and her fancy jewellery that was actually hers. Not something stolen from an unsuspecting lady in town. This was Molly. Money and wealth. It still baffled you how she had ended up with Dutch, how she could leave that all behind for a life wandering. 

“ you go to party’s like this a lot? Before Dutch I mean “ she gave a small shrug, searching in her small purse for a moment before placing a cigarette between her lips. You could imagine an even younger Molly, a bright eyed teenager done up all fancy and weaving her way through a party just like this one. 

“ sometimes “ her eyes were scanning the crowds, practically sparkling at being surrounded by the upper class again “ wonder what kind of people are here “ she seemed to be talking more to herself than you again and very promptly dismissed herself, heading down the stairs and gliding between the guests. Like some true social butterfly, decked out in her finest. 

Hosea returned with three glasses of champagne and a slightly confused look noticing Molly had vanished. 

“ eh more for me “ he said with a smile, handing you your glass before promptly finishing his own and moving onto what would’ve been Mollys “ I’m going to do some snooping. You’ll be alright? “

“ I’ll be jus’ fine Hosea “ you said with a smile and watched him too disappear down into the crowds. 

It was interesting to watch them, to see them behave as if this entire event was a normal evenings activity. Maybe for them it was. But it all felt so… false. People who appeared to be friends but didn’t seem to even really like each other, some silent competition between everyone to have the better dress. The better hat. The biggest house. 

You’d take your creaky cot under the stars with Arthur any day, would much rather sit around the campfire getting tipsy and singing. Surrounded by real family. Real friends. Relationships built on loyalty and protection. Not on trying to out do each other. 

You walked between the small crowds, eavesdropping on conversations in hopes to find something useful. Something to take back to Dutch to prove bringing you along wasn’t a useless endeavour. But it was mostly women discussing their elaborate hats, sharing stories of the terrible jobs their maids did, or complaining about their husbands poker habits. Or gossiping about how they had heard one of their friends was in delicate condition. 

You heard mentions of Leviticus Cornwall, but nothing concrete enough to warrant telling anyone about. 

You tried hunting down Molly, simply to have a friend to stand beside and not feel so…out of place. But she had vanished into the crowds somewhere. So you planted yourself on the side of an ornate water fountain, simply hoping Arthur would return soon. Maybe he’d dance with you, or take you walking around the vast garden laid out ahead of you. 

You two never really got the chance to do things like that. Romantic things. Arthur had his ways, of course. He’d take you out riding or sit with you on his lap by the fire, telling you about whatever interesting thing he’d discovered that day. He’d bring you flowers he’d pick from time to time, find you interesting things when he went wandering, let you read aloud to him with the excuse he wanted you to get better at it. When in reality you had seen him confess to his journal that he simply just liked to listen to your voice. 

He was far softer than he appeared. With you anyway. And as much as you didn’t like the kinds of people in attendance, you thought it might be nice to pretend for the night. To be two wealthy young oil tycoons, dancing and drinking champagne together, gushing about your money and your jewels. 

You made your way through another flute of champagne before he returned, interrupting your frivolous daydreaming. 

“ there she is “ you turned your head with a beaming smile at his voice, relief at a familiar face “ been lookin for ya “ he sat down beside you, looping an arm around your waist “ you behavin’? “

“ course I am. Ain’t took as much as a pearl “ you said quite proudly, though decided not to mention that the temptation had truly been hard to deny. Not only were these people rich, they were getting drunker by the second. They were practically begging to be robbed. 

“ good girl “ 

“ it go okay with ugh.. what’s his name? “ you asked, turning to face him. He looked just as uncomfortable with the entire situation as you did. This wasn’t his scene. It never had been. He’d grown up just as poor as you had. 

Arthur robbed the rich, he didn’t fraternise with them. 

“ Bronte. Yeah. Fine. Dutch he’s tryna find the mayor or somethin “ he ran a finger between his neck and collar of his shirt, clearly growing uncomfortable with it. It made you laugh a little. 

“ you ain’t cut out for the finer life “ 

“ no. I ain’t “ he was looking around at the guests in a similar way to you. With a mild sense of disgust “ saw some woman back there, hat so big she were topplin over “ you smiled and leant your head against his shoulder, he tucked you in closer to his side and dropped a kiss to the top of your head. 

“ was daydreamin whilst you were with Dutch “ you mused. 

“ yeah? About what? “ 

“ playin’ pretend. Bein’ fancy for the night. Y’know dancin’ and pretendin’ we got buckets of money “ the small sigh Arthur let out made you wonder if he thought that was a life you pined for. It wasn’t. Not really. Yeah, you liked money but.. you just wanted to be comfortable. Little ranch or a cabin some place quiet. Not poor. Not rich. Just. Existing happily “ ain’t us though “ 

“ you and me we… we ain’t like these people. We ain’t ever gonna be like these people “

“ we don’t gotta be. Me, you. Some pokey lil farm someplace out west? Now that’s the dream cowboy “ he chuckled and nodded, dropping another kiss to your head 

“ that’s the dream darlin’ “ you both sat quietly for a short while longer, watching the rich get drunker and more foolish. The odd person acknowledged your presence, greeting you as they passed or tipping their hat. But mostly they left you alone. It was at the point that one man drunkenly stumbled into a bush a few feet away that made you speak up again. 

“ never thought I’d miss that damn swamp. But lord above… these people “ Arthur scoffed as he too watched the fool try and right himself again, leaves sticking to the pomade in his hair 

“ yeah. I think I need a drink “ he patted your side lightly so you’d stop leaning on him and stood up “ champagne? “ 

“ oh well ain’t you just so kind sir “ you said in your best attempt a dramatic upper class drawl “ and you gonna dance with me after mister? “ you asked with a teasing smile and he rubbed a hand at the back of his neck for a moment looking almost sheepish. But he was smiling, the sweet genuine kind he only really seemed to show around you. 

“ sure darlin’. But I’m definitely gonna need that drink for that “ he ventured back into the crowds then and you stayed put, continuing to watch the guests laugh and talk about how incredible their lives were. 

“ I don’t recognise you “ an inquisitive voice spoke, tinged with that accent that the wealthy had started latching on to in some attempts to make themselves sound more superior. Smarter. Whatever. You thought it was quite ridiculous. You turned your head to look at the man, seeing if he was in fact talking to you. 

“ talkin’ to me mister? “ he was eyeing you up and down like he was somewhat intrigued but amused by you at the same time. A stupid top hat on his head adored with plumes and the chain of a pocket watch hanging from his pocket. It almost made you laugh at how your brain immediately began thinking about how you could steal it and how much it was worth. 

“ I am indeed miss “ he stepped closer, puffing on his cigar and not taking his eyes off of you for a second “ I have frequented many of the mayors parties but you… I do not remember you “ a small wave of panic flushed your skin but you remained calm. Not recognising you was far easier to work your way out of than if he had recognised your face. 

“ I’m new in town. My… uncle. He’s friends with Mr Bronte “ the man hummed, sitting himself down beside you. 

“ so you’re here with your uncle? “ you shifted slightly at his closeness but remembered you needed to keep up appearances so forced a smile onto your face 

“ yeah. And my husband. He’s around here someplace “ the man’s eyes immediately darted down to your gloved hands, probably noting the lack of a ring on your finger. You and Arthur weren’t married. But you may as well have been. He often referred to you as his wife, and he as your husband. 

He’d ask you one day. 

“ a lucky man “ the man said, blowing smoke in your direction and still looking you up and down. You decided at that moment you very much wanted to steal his watch. Dutch be damned. Having to put up with the likes of slimy rich men for more than ten seconds… well you figured that warranted you at least getting something shiny in return. 

“ oh well ain’t you just a charmer “ you said with a smile, placing a hand to his arm “ you here with your wife mister? “ the man laughed and shook his head, scooting a little closer to you.  

“ I’m more of a… free spirit “ you gave a small laugh, trying not to crinkle your nose at the smoke blowing in your face again. 

Arthur often smelt of fresh smoke, both cigarette and fire, and that fresh air smell that clung to your clothes after being out in the open air for hours. And you loved it on him, because it was well… him. The smoke from this man was far from appealing. But that watch…

“ ohh I see. You ain’t one to be tied down huh? “ your fingers inched closer to the man’s pocket, wrapping lightly around the chain. 

“ everythin’ okay here? “ Arthur appeared behind you, a glass in each of his hands.  

“ ah is this the fine man that brought you along? Well aren’t you lucky sir “ the man spoke and you noted he didn’t even glance in Arthur’s direction as he spoke, you were now looping the chain of his watch around your wrist. Just one small tug…

“ Mr Callahan “ Arthur murmured, handing you a glass and standing behind you with a hand to your shoulder

“ wonderful to meet you sir. Me and your wife were having a delightful conversation weren’t we dear? "The pressure of Arthur’s fingers increased as he spoke the sweet name, though you weren’t entirely sure it wasn’t because he’d noticed the man’s watch was now safely hidden in the fabric of your skirt. 

“ oh yes. Wonderful mister “ the watch discreetly made its way into your boot and you were ready to get away

“ where’d you find a beautiful thing like this sir? I may need to frequent the place myself “ he placed a hand onto your arm and finally looked up at Arthur rather than at you. He made your skin crawl. You didn’t hold a single ounce of remorse for the stolen watch 

“ oh no where you’d like “ his tone was a little snippy, the kind when someone was starting to piss him off but he was trying to keep his cool. And Arthur kicking off in the middle of the mayors party wasn’t exactly a part of Dutch’s plan. 

“ now I am so sorry but i believe my husband did promise me a dance “ you rose to your feet, sipping your champagne before placing the glass down and taking Arthur’s from his hands “ ain’t that right my love? “ 

“ yeah… need ya to come with me “ he said lowly, offering you his arm. His face had gone slightly dark, not entirely able to read him, you frowned slightly. But let him lead you away from the man, completely bypassing the area with couples twirling to the music. 

“ where we goin? “ you asked with a small laugh, latching onto his arm again and having to take quick steps to keep up with his purposeful strides “ Arthur?”

He didn’t answer immediately, simply led you away from the crowds and around the side of the mayor's house. 

“ You mad cause I took that watch? Look he deserved it- “

“ ain’t mad “ he mumbled, still leading you along. 

“ okay… so we stealin’ somethin�� else? “ you asked with excitement filtering into your words, already trying to figure out what it could be “ need me to act like a maid? I can do that real good y’know. Is it money? Papers? Oh, is it jewellery? Gold? “ Arthur chuckled at your excitement and shook his head, bringing you to a halt between some elaborately trimmed bushes and trees in planters. 

“ we ain’t stealin’ a thing “ you pouted with a mild disappointment and he chuckled again, advancing on you and backing you up against the wall behind you “ don’t gimme that look “ he tucked his fingers under your chin, nudging your face upwards to look at him. He was a god few inches taller than you, but he always made you feel ten times smaller when he looked down at you like that. 

“ what’s gotten into you? “ you asked with a giggle, hands slipping under his jacket to slide over his waist. 

“ just wanted some time alone with you is all “ 

“ behind some trees? You are a strange man sometimes Arthur Morgan y’know that? “ he gave a heavy sigh and brushed his thumb across your cheek softly, watching you intently. He always looked at you like you like you were the only woman on the planet “ you sure you ain’t mad about the watch? “ 

“ no. I ain’t mad. Feller flirtin’ with my woman and only loses his watch sounds like a good deal to me “ he grumbled, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. 

And a light bulb suddenly pinged on in your head. 

“ are you jealous? “ you asked, unable to hide your complete utter joy and amusement as the realisation hit you. He grumbled some kind of an answer and tried to kiss you again but you turned your head to the side, so he settled for your neck instead “ why Arthur Morgan. You are jealous “ 

He didn’t answer you again, simply tilted your head so he could get at your neck more, his other hand splaying over your lower back to tug you close against him. A mischievous streak ran through you and you chewed on your lip for a moment deciding whether or not to push his buttons. 

“ he was kinda nice to me y’know. He seemed a nice feller “ Arthur’s teeth grazed your skin at your words and your smile grew bigger “ kept me from bein’ so lonely with you gone “ 

“ he wanted to do more than keep you company “ your fingers ran through the long strands of his hair, sighing softly as he continued to kiss your neck 

“ you think? You gonna keep me company now? “ 

“ oh I’ll keep you company “ you had said it only really to tease. Thinking that actually, a sordid little moment with your lover behind the bushes would be an incredible improvement on the evening. 

But it was hard to simply just kiss Arthur. He had wandering hands, had lips as addictive as whiskey. Even when you assumed he wasn’t particularly trying to work you up, he did. But the way he was tugging at your body to keep you pressed against him, the way his lips were burning a trail along your neck and across your jaw…

“ Arthur… y’know anyone could come round here “ 

“ stay quiet then and they ain’t gonna be none the wiser “ your skin prickled with heat at his words and your hips involuntarily rolled against him. Maybe it was the thrill. Maybe it was the fact that he was so… needy. Desperate to remind himself that you were his and not some stupid rich man in an equally as stupid hat.

He groaned against your hot skin as you pressed against him, the sound igniting something deep in your bones. Flaring up through your veins and cursing like lava through your veins. 

Your hands found themselves back under his jacket, fingers tugging at his shirt to free it from where it has been neatly tucked into his pants. You knew you couldn’t get it off of him but you still wanted to feel. 

You hummed softly when your fingertips met his skin, as hot as you knew yours must be. He loved to feel you touch him, loved when dragged your nails across his back, sunk your teeth into his shoulder to quiet your moans when you were dangerously close to other members of camp. 

You wished you could do it in that moment. Wished you were back in your room, truly the only good thing to come out of Shady Belle was the fact that you had a room. 

But Arthur didn’t seem keen on waiting. Seemingly having some point to prove to himself. And you were more than happy to let him. 

His hands drifted down to the floaty material of your skirt, reluctantly pulling himself away from your neck to frown at the material in front of him. 

“ why you gotta have so many damn skirts? “ he grumbled, fumbling with the layers of fabric hanging from your waist. 

“ you picked the dress “ you reminded him with a smile, chasing after his lips again. Desperate to kiss him properly now that he had stopped his assault on your neck. He kissed you with a energy that demanded your attention, that drew you in and locked you in place. Hot. Wet. Addictive “ least it ain’t as big as Mollys “ you said when you let yourself pull away. 

“ yeah well I weren’t plannin’ on keepin’ you in it when we- god damn there’s enough fabric here to dress the entire camp “ you couldn’t help the giggle that fell past your lips, watching him try to figure out how he was going to play out whatever sordid thoughts were running through his head. 

Your own mind had quite ungracefully fallen into the gutter itself, realising exactly what Arthur wanted. And your constant desperation for the man in front of you overruling all your concerns at the location. 

He seemed to be getting a little agitated with your dress and you held back the urge to giggle at him. Instead opting to try sooth the frown lines worrying at his forehead, reaching forward to palm at him through the material of his pants. In hopes it would be some kind of incentive for him to hurry up as well. 

As much as you needed him as badly as you needed air, you were also still aware of exactly where you were. And how long it would take until Dutch came looking. 

“ c’mon Arthur “ you whispered, desperation beginning to fill your words “ ‘fore they notice we’re gone “ it had been his idea to take you away, and yet you were seemingly the more desperate of the two of you now. But how could he or anyone else blame you? When he was all gussied up like he was. In truth you liked his normal attire a little more. Liked him a little more… rugged. But lord did he look handsome in his suit, his hair and beard all neat and tidy. 

Arthur’s breath audibly caught in his throat from your touch and it seemed to effectively spur him on. 

“ yes ma’am “ He spun you around with strong hands to your waist, your own hands bracing yourself against the wall. The next moments were a flurry of his hands hitching your skirts over your hips, grabbing at your undergarments before a strong arm looped around your waist to pull you back against him. 

His hand disappeared under your bunched up skirts making you gasp softly as his fingers dipped into the warmth between your thighs. 

“ this all for me darlin? “ you could hear the smirk in his words, feel it as he brushed his nose against your cheek. The short stands of his beard tickled at your skin, sending a shiver snaking along your spine. 

“ course it is “ the sound of a lady drunkenly laughing a little too close by made you freeze, hand reaching around to grab at Arthur’s arm. 

He didn’t seem discouraged by the idea of someone stumbling upon you both, simply moved his hand up to grasp gently at your jaw, turning your face towards his to kiss you. His other hand was still between your thighs, and you sighed softly against his lips as he drew a thick finger between the wetness of your folds “ oh Arthur…“ 

Your cunt clenched around nothing. As if silently begging for his fingers to just push inside of you, take you in a way you had always found so much more personal than just sitting on his cock. His fingers that held his guns, that he used to beat people to death more times than either of you could care to count. Those same fingers working you open, covered in the slick evidence of your desire for him instead of gun oil. Fingers that cause pain and damage, but also sent you spiralling into mind blowing pits of pleasure. 

And paired with the current location? It just felt… dirty. Erotic. You felt no better than a common whore loitering in a saloon for custom. You wanted him so desperately, needed him. 

“ Arthur “ you sighed, pushing your self against his hand as he toyed with your swollen clit. 

“ tell me what y’need pretty girl “ he said softly, tickling your skin with his beard and dragging his tongue across your neck before sinking his teeth into the flesh, making you whimper. 

“ you- Arthur. You. Please “ his hand continued its gentle movements as he worked at your neck. You pushed your hips back against him, grinding against the hardness still trapped by his pants in a way that couldn’t be comfortable. His breath shuddered against your skin as you did, holding you flush against him to let you wiggle your hips in a silent invitation to just take you already. 

A smashing glass drew your attention briefly away from him again. And as much as you could let him do that all evening, you were still hyper aware of your surroundings. 

You silently wished he’d just waited until you were back at camp, could take his time with you on that shitty little bed in the privacy of your room at Shady Belle. 

But there you were. And there were hundreds of others only a few feet away too. 

“ stop teasin we ain’t got the time “ at any other time he’d have worked you into a mess with his fingers, even dropped to his knees and disappeared under your skirts, have you coming on his tongue over and over again just because he wanted to. But he hadn’t planned the situation well at all, and you weren’t exactly in the best of locations. If anyone so much as peaked around the corner of the building a little too far you were certain you’d be spotted. 

And wouldn’t that be a tale. 

“ ain’t you bossy “ you opened your mouth to snip back at him, but your words evaporated into nothing but a soft whimper as Arthur followed your demands, pushing past his desires to take his time with you. Truly it was his own fault that he couldn’t though, as he withdrew his fingers and fumbled with the buttons on his pants. 

“ Arthur “ you whimpered softly, breath stuttering at the feel of his swollen tip brushing between the wet folds of your cunt. 

“ quiet now darlin’ “ He pushed in slowly, in the way he so often did. Making sure you felt every single devastating inch, your back arching against his chest as your body flushed with warmth. Even after so many times the stretch was still a lot, a deep burning ache that eventually melted away into a blinding hot pleasure that burnt its way through your veins. 

He pressed on until he was flush against you, the material of his opened pants scratching against your soft skin as he held you there a moment. He exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your skin. 

It was never fucking with Arthur. Not very often anyways. It was love making. Soft. And slow. And a brutal pace that made sure you remembered he’d been there the next morning, but oh so drawn out. He was gentle. Tender. It had always shocked you how violent he could be and yet become so careful and soft with you. And even there, concealed by a few perfectly trimmed bushes and planters, he was taking his time. Reminding you that you were his. And maybe reminding himself of the fact too. 

Reminding himself that maybe there were men only a few feet away that wanted you. That would pay for the pleasure of your company. But only Arthur could have it, that he was the only one you would ever offer it too. 

That this deep rooted instinct to protect what was his wasn’t entirely necessary but god was it wanted. That his desire made your blood boil with lust, skin burn under his touch. 

“ That’s my girl “ he whispered, tone low and steady as he set himself into a bruising pace, still tightly holding onto you as he did. His face had fallen to your neck again, lips latching onto every inch of exposed skin they could. 

You were certain you were going to walk back into the party looking like you’d taken a dip with some leeches. 

You tried your best to be quiet, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in some hopes that mixed with the sounds of the party happening only a few feet away you wouldn’t be heard. But it was so hard to be silent when he was fucking you like that. So determined, so strong, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in hard. 

Your hand was still gripping at his arm, blunt fingernails digging at his skin through his jacket. His pace increased a little, settling into a steady rhythm that carved a devastating stretch inside of you. 

“ y’know I think that feller- that feller back there. He wanted you like this “ you couldn’t help the smile that pulled its way onto your face, still flushing with joy at his jealousy. You knew Arthur desired you carnally. Always had done and always would. But a reminder like the present one was always nice. 

“ y’think so? “ 

“ I know “ he grumbled, his pace increasing a little more, clearly attempting to take out his frustrations with the handsy man. But also maybe simply trying to assure himself in the process too. 

Arthur didn’t like to admit it but he was a little self conscious. You’d heard him talk down to himself in the mirror countless times, had seen the way he spoke about himself when you peaked over his shoulder at his journal. Had an almost crippling fear of abandonment that sometimes he did need to be reminded that you wanted him. 

“ poor feller “ you said with a small sigh before pushing lightly at Arthur’s arm so he’d let you go. You winced slightly as he pulled out, immediately missing the heavy feel of him there, and spun around tugging him back towards you by the lapels of his jacket “ ain’t got nothin on you “ you hitched your skirts up in your arm and wrapped your spare hand around the now slick length of his cock making him stutter a breath. 

His face was flushed, bottom lip shiny from kissing you. You wanted to absolutely devour him, strip him of his fancy clothes and remind him just how much you wanted every part of him. 

The look in his eyes was almost primal. Desire and lust burning so brightly it made your chest ache, to feel so wanted. To feel so desired. 

To have a man so usually controlled and put together, be reduced to not being able to even wait until you got home. That he had to have you there. Right there in that moment. He couldn’t wait. 

You needed him to pull you apart. To worship every inch of you in the way he so often did. 

But the side of the mayor's house was truly not the place for such a thing. 

“ no one could make me feel the way you do “ you whispered, stroking him softly in your hand as you tried to stoke the fire under his ego. Make him realise he truly had no reason to be jealous “ and him back there? He thought he could huh? Poor feller “ 

“ poor feller “ he echoed, sliding a hand over your leg and hitching it over his hip, sliding back into you with a welcome ease that made your head fall back against the wall. 

“ Thinks he could fuck me better than this? Man must be damn crazy “ you said with a smile, breathless as he fucked into you. You were practically dripping around him, the lewd sounds between you enough to make your skin flush. 

“ you’re mine darlin “ you nodded immediately. Not a single doubt in your mind on the matter. You were his. And he yours. That was how it would always be “ all mine, you hear? “ 

“ all yours Arthur. Ain’t no man in this whole damn country could replace you” 

He moved with more determination, thrusting into you harder in a way you knew was going to bruise your back from rubbing against the wall. His all too familiar deep, hard pace. You pulled him down by the back of his neck, muffling your whimpers with his mouth cautious again that you were getting a little reckless. 

“ that good? Makin me feel so good darlin’ such a good girl “ the entire thing felt almost animalistic. Desires so strong they couldn’t be withheld. Dirty. Filthy. Perfect. 

“ God Arthur “ the look on his face alone made you clench around him, never wanting him to leave, needing to feel the heavy bruising sensation as he split you apart for the rest of your life. He hitched your leg higher, hitting some new devastating part inside of you that made you see stars. Eyes rolling to the back of your head and unable to contain the sounds escaping your throat any longer. 

“ There she is, jus’ like that darlin I got ya” his grip on your leg grew restless, fingers dancing over your skin and trying to pull you as close to him as he could get you. He always wanted you close. Always wanted to feel your skin against his own. A moment later his thrusts became sloppier and you knew he wasn’t far off. Though quite frankly neither were you “ so pretty for me like this ain’t ya? My girl “ his words only pulled you closer to the edge, knot twisting tighter. 

“ Arthur I- “

“ I know. I know darlin, can feel it “ he almost cooed, lifting a hand to cup your face gently “ that’s it look right at me. That’s a girl right at me “ with his gaze so intense you couldn’t hold it any longer, biting down on your lip as you attempted to conceal your sounds of ecstasy as you came over his cock. 

He was barely a second behind you, a stuttered groan of a sound leaving him as he dropped his forehead against yours, painting your slick walls with rope after rope of come as you clenched around him. Holding him in place so that not a single drop of him would go to waste. It was a risky business letting him finish inside of you, truly it was. But in your sex drunk haze you didn’t care, couldn’t give a damn because it simply felt too good to give up. 

He nudged his nose against yours, brushing his lips against your own and kissed you softly. So tender and gentle, his hand carefully lowering your leg back down, slipping his softening length out of you making you wince. He kissed the crinkles it caused to show at the corners of your eyes, whispering a gentle sorry. He soothed his hands over your waist with a care very few men had for women those days. 

“ my girl “ he murmured, littering kisses across your cheeks and nose. 

When he pulled back you couldn’t help but smile. The dopey, soft kind. He was looking far less put together than he had done when you’d arrived, the pomade in his hair no longer serving its purpose after your fingers had gotten to it. He’d broken a sweat too, his forehead shiny. His skin flushed. 

The smugness was overwhelming though, could see it in his eyes. In the small smirk pulling at his lips. He seemed incredibly proud of himself. 

“ you are somethin’ else “ he mumbled as he finished readjusting his clothes, reaching forward to slip the ruffled strap of your dress back up your shoulder from where it had slipped. Pressing a kiss to the skin there for good measure. 

“ I ain’t the jealous one “ you teased as you combed your fingers through his hair in some attempt to tidy it. 

“ ain’t jealous. No idea what you talkin about girl “ he said with a small clear of his throat in some attempt to hide the obvious lie, you simply smiled again and pressed a kiss to his cheek 

“ mhm sure “ 

There was something about having to go back out into the party with the light ache between your legs, with the evidence of Arthur’s jealousy slowly dripping down your thighs. And Arthur seemed to think so too 

“ now. I believe you wanted to dance? “

[vroomvroomcircuit]

Early Risers vs. Night Owls

(A/N): Special thank yous to @foreveralbon and @disneyprincemuke for helping me choose which drivers are morning people and which are more of night owls.

Summary: Some people are night owls, others are morning people. But there is another sort that some drivers learn to fear: Morning Monsters (it's the reader)

Pairings: (All platonic) daniel ricciardo x driver!reader, charles leclerc x driver!reader, carlos sainz x driver!reader, oscar piastry x driver!reader (max and lando get a guest starring)

Word count: 1.2k

🏎Masterlist🏎

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It’s difficult, being a night person in a day people’s world. It really is. Especially when you are around morning loving human beings.

“Oh, don’t you look happy?” Carlos comments, when (Y/N) steps into the breakfast room. Coincidentally, several teams are accommodated in the same hotel during this race weekend.

As she lets herself fall in a seat at his table, the young female whispers an annoyed “Don’t”. “I wasn’t saying anything mean?” He genuinely questions. Is his English failing him again?

“Please, just stop talking. It’s only the ass crack of dawn, how can someone be so chatty?” (Y/N) puts her head onto the table, effectively stopping any further conversation with the Spaniard. He looks a little bit lost into his fruit bowl, not sure how to handle this situation adequately. 

“Top of the morning, my sunshines,” a smiling Daniel Ricciardo strolls into the room. The happiness radiating from him reaches (Y/N) even through her closed eyes.

Just as Daniel arrives at their table, she gets up with the most sluggish motions a sober person can muster. “Coffee” is the only thing mumbled, answering to the confused looks around her.

Shortly after, she sits down again with a cup in her hands, not even bothering to try to follow the chatting between Daniel and Carlos. (Y/N) just stares into space, wondering where she went wrong in her life to have to sit in between two morning people. Surely, this is a punishment of some kind.

“Ok, what is up with you? You look like you are about to murder everyone in this room if someone just dares to breathe in the wrong direction,” Daniel observes. (Y/N) takes another sip from her coffee. “Because it’s true.”

Carlos can’t wrap his head around it. “But what happened to the sunshine-in-person-(Y/N)?” “How am I supposed to be a sunshine, when I’m barely a person at this moment?” Well, that is not a lie. She does look pretty rough. Not everyone can wake up and look perfect like Florence Pugh. Some people have to look more like Merida herself in the mornings.

“Why are you talking to this woman during the early hours?” Charles, who just entered the breakfast hall, fears for their lives. “Because this is what people do? They talk when they sit together?” Daniel is confused. What is so bad about making conversations?

Charles steps closer to their table and (Y/N) immediately latches onto him, burying her face into his stomach.

“Don’t you value your life? A tired (Y/N) in the morning needs quiet and some hugs.” The young woman mumbles something, making the Monegasque laugh. “Yes, and coffee. This is the recipe to get the sunshine person you know and love.”

Confused, the other two drivers blink. Did they miss the manual that came with the rookie?

“And you know all of this, because?” Carlos asks the question that popped up in both their heads. “Because (Y/N) and Arthur were together in F2 and he had been ‘chewed out by her like a pack of gum by a class of elementary schoolers’, his words, not mine. She is not all bark and no bite, isn’t that right?” (Y/N) nods, her head still buried into his front.

“Do you want to catch a ride to the paddock with me? I plan on leaving in five minutes.” (Y/N) nods again and quickly gathers her things before waving the other drivers goodbye.

The ride is filled with silence, Charles even leaves the radio turned off. This lets the female drive in and out of a state of half-asleep until they arrive at their destination. At the same time a certain papaya wearing aussie his own car not far away from Charles’ Ferrari.

“Oh, is it still too early?” He asks her with a small smile. Just like Arthur, Oscar is aware how much of a night owl (Y/N) is, having witnessed her outbursts first hand several times during his own career in F2.

The driver nods as she throws herself into his embrace. A tired (Y/N) turns into the most cuddly person. “Let’s get you a cup of coffee, can’t have you go around screaming at people. You will scare everyone off.”

Oscar is pretty much the only smiling person she tolerates in the morning. Whenever another human being dares just grinning in her direction during her own waking up phase, she is ready to jump their throats. But Oscar is different. He doesn't do it out of mocking or pitiness. He is genuinely happy and wants to show and share it. Also, he radiates a nice calm aura, which is the complete opposite to what she experiences during the days of a race weekend.

When Carlos passes (Y/N) by later, he walks up to her with caution, keeping his teammates' warning in mind, “Hey Carlos, have you heard the rumors about the newest Taylor Swift album? Do you think it will feature a song about Nando?”

The woman in front of him has nothing in common with the one he interacted with just an hour ago. She somehow even looks completely different from her. It’s the kind of freshness that doesn’t come with a shower.

“Uhm, no I did not. Are you ok? You seemed… a bit out of it this morning.” There is a hesitation in his voice, not wanting to accidentally offset her.

But (Y/N) just laughs it off. “Oh yeah, that. I’m sorry for being a grump back there. Just like Charlie said, I’m absolutely not a morning person. During the first hour of being awake I’m an absolute monster. Just, don’t talk to me or only when it’s absolutely necessary during that time. I apologize for my behavior, it wasn’t nice. Today was particularly bad, because I do my best work at night and I have been pouring over some data until 2 am. I’ll try to give you a warning next time!”

With that she is off, looking for her partner in crime aka her teammate to start some kind of mischief with the social media team.

Carlos is just flabbergasted. The duality of some people and how a small cup of caffeine can bring that out of them is astonishing.

Just remember to never fuck with night owls during the early hours of the morning.

Bonus Scene

During a free week some drivers set a date to play a private paddle tournament together in Monaco. Daniel enters the court with a big smile. After all, it is a fresh, sunny morning. This day is a promise of having a good time with his friends and colleagues, playing their favorite game and having lunch plans together.

What sets the Australian off are the three frowning faces, sitting on a bench nursing each a can of Red Bull solemnly. “What happened to you?”

Max answers his question first with a grumpy voice. “I had to leave my cats cuddled up in my bed alone.” “My alarm woke me up while the first number on the clock was still a single digit.” Landoo sounds about as tired as (Y/N) next to him looks like.

“Life”, Daniel answers for the young woman already, who just nods and pulls the strings of her hood closed, hindering someone else to make more conversations with her until the caffeine has kicked in.

Desperate times call for desperate measures after all.

[immajustvibehere]

Touch Starved Arthur x fem!touchy Reader

Pairing: hh!Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader (fluffly)

summary: Arthur wonders why you, the most touchy person who doesn't mind hugging and being close to everyone in the gang, avoids him. Then you catch him alone one night and he finds solace in your closeness.

warning: Mentioning of Micah's abuse, it's platonic now but maybe second part for some lover action if y'all want?

2400 words, about 10-13 minutes reading time

Arthur didn't understand how you could be so open, giggly, and affectionate with anyone in the gang but him. Your willingness to engage in physical touch made no difference of man, woman or child. He had started to observe your interactions with others more closely, ever since he had found out that they gave him a bitter feeling of jealousy. You held hands with the girls, play-wrestled with Jack, leaned into Hosea's hugs at the camp-fire or happily jumped on Sean's back for some piggyback rides. Even when talking to someone, you'd stand unusually close, a hand on the arm of whoever you were conversing with.

Everyone came to you with their problems, because they knew they could expect hugs or soft caressing. Your role as source of comfort and support within the gang was truly valued, but you weren't stupid or overly naive when it came to intimacy. When you found it not appreciated or uncomfortable, you'd soon let it be. After Micah had joined the gang, Arthur had kept a close eye on how you proceeded around him. For a couple of weeks, until he had settled in, you had kept your distance before approaching him. Arthur almost boiled when he saw how gently you rested your hand on his arm and he almost intervened when he saw Micah's prudish reaction of pulling you closer, groping you and asking if you were the camp's whore. After this encounter with Micah, you wisely chose to keep your distance.

Arthur wondered if he had done something wrong, but he coulnd’t remember any occasion where he would have abused your trust. You had been closer to him before, but it seemed a long time ago. You'd lean into him during story times or greet him with a hug after coming back from a big score…but eventually, it had stopped. Had he given an unintentional signal that he didn't want to be touched?

Those were Arthur’s thoughts as he sat opposite of you at the campfire. You were seated on the log which Javier used as backrest. You sat exactly behind him, your arm and head resting on his shoulder. Sometimes, Javier would snuggle his cheek against your arm. A lover's touch, Arthur thought. He wondered about certain situations that felt needlessly…loving. Keeping in mind that you weren't as restrained and conservative when it came to touches, he thought that some people tended to abuse that. Dutch, especially. You'd sit on his lap and while Arthur was sure your thoughts were naive and you'd just figured out that Dutch likes the attention and you saw nothing more behind it than similar physical intimacy you granted the others, Arthur was convinced that Dutch's thoughts weren't as pure. It was he who had picked you up from a saloon one day, praising your carefree and happy character, warning everyone to respect you. But when he pulled you onto his lap, Arthur swore it was a patronizing move with afterthoughts. Not that he thought either one of you would act upon it.

But it riled Arthur. You'd hold Lenny's hand when he had a bad day and even massage Uncle's back if he asked kindly enough…but Arthur had been ignored for a while now. Arthur had been starring at you and Javier, at your arm that rested so comfortably on him, but as Arthur's eyes wandered up with the intent of studying your face, he found you staring back at him. Slowly, you receded your arm and sat up straight, no longer in contact with the man in front of you. Arthur felt like you had caught him daydreaming. Then you nodded towards the outer rims of camp, standing up and signalling Arthur to follow. He waited a few moments and gave you a head start, before following you into the darkness, away from the group and the campfire.

Arthur had soon caught up with you, as you headed straight for the little patch of woods.

"What're ya up to?", he asked, watching you curiously as you made your way through the forest.

"Nothing specifically, will you join me for a walk though?", you invited with a kind smile.

"Sure. Ain't exactly safe to wander away from camp in the middle of the night", Arthur commented and stomped through the dry leaves on the ground, right at your side.

"How have you been recently?", you asked, your eyes trying to catch his.

"Jus' fine."

"Mh, don't you lie to me, Mr. Morgan. I can tell you have something on your mind."

"Yer that good at reading people?", Arthur said surprised.

You giggled: "Not particularly. But you always have something on your mind, so that wasn't a far-reaching guess."

"Suppose not", Arthur chuckled warmly.

"So?"

Arthur shrugged and caringly extended his arm for you to hold onto, as you climbed over a fallen dead tree. For a moment, he was very focused on your warm and soft hand that had a tight grip on his arm as you tried not to lose balance. Though as soon as the obstacle had been crossed, your touched ceased from his arm, only its memory remained a while longer.

"I don't like 'round here. The way we are foolin' with both of 'em families. I don't think it'll work out,” Arthur said truthfully, "Besides, I don't like the stifling weather."

"I understand", you answered. You never argued when someone was confiding in you, neither did you come up with solutions, if not requested. But you listened, and this was enough.

By now, you had crossed the woods and had reached the meadow with some old ruins of houses and fences. You strolled towards a wall barely higher than a log and watched as Arthur sat down on it. You stood in front of him, carefully inching closer between his legs. Then you reached out and fixed his collar: "Has been annoying me all night..."

Arthur blushed profusely at this domestic gesture, but you barely noticed as you sat down next to him.

"You saw Mary Linton back in Valentine, didn't you?"

"I did", Arthur admitted briefly.

"So tell me more! I bet it's been on your mind", you said.

"I don't know,” Arthur sighed, “I think I miss what we had, but I'm no idiot. It didn't work before, and it wouldn't work now… Maybe I am an idiot, 'cause I keep entertaining those thoughts."

"Why wouldn't it work?"

"Ain't the best time to go off and stay away from camp. There's always something happening, I'd feel like a fool if I pursued her. Besides, her daddy never liked me and that for sure didn't change."

"What would make you happy, though?", you asked and looked at him. Arthur looked you in the eye.

"I think I just miss having a woman by my side. Marston is a damn fool to behave so cold around Abigail and little Jack,” Arthur complained. His gaze wandered off in the distance, searching for a landmark to focus on.

"He'll come around eventually", you smiled, knowing a lot more about John's situation after he had confided in you only a few weeks prior.

"I hope. I just want him to do right by her and the boy,” Arthur said.

"There it is,” you smiled and bumped your legs into his, "big, bad outlaw – lovingly caring for his friend’s wife and kid."

"Yer a damn tease, don't know how they all flock to you talking about their problems", Arthur quipped, now bumping his shoulder into yours. To his surprise, you stayed leaned against it, sighing happily and watching as he lit himself a cigarette.

Suddenly, your hand now rested on his arm, very lovingly and gently.

"All of a sudden, huh?", Arthur commented.

"All of a sudden what?"

"The touchin' and listenin' and stuff. Thought you'd keep ignoring me."

"What? Ignoring you? I'm sorry if I gave you this impression...I thought you didn't like that with other people around."

Your hand had disappeared from his arm, which pained Arthur.

You were right, of course you were. Arthur wasn't too big of a fan of showing that he needed loving attention as much as anyone, but you had figured it out. And now he realised why you had stopped, because you always felt him tensing up, shutting down and avoiding your gaze when you initiated some intimacy.

"Oh", Arthur mouthed. Now he took your hand and placed it on his thigh, squeezing it lightly, "I'm a moron, Miss y/n. I didn't realize you had picked up on that."

You smiled, satisfied that you'd been right, and leaned your head against his shoulder.

"I feared I had said something improper to scare you away", Arthur admitted in a quiet voice.

Of course not, you thought, if anyone in the gang was as gentle, pure and seemes the revel in those little touches, it was Arthur. And it was rewarding to see him soak up those little attentions like a sponge.

"Then you're right about being a fool. You haven't done anything wrong, Arthur", you said and squeezed his hand to emphasize those words. Hearing his first name roll from your lips had something very comforting. Arthur felt right at home, though he was sitting in a field.

"Yer a good person", Arthur said, "I'm damn sure you're the person holding this gang together. We'd have crumbled if it wasn't for you."

"You're giving me too much credit. You work way harder to keep us on track", you admitted and snuggled your face on his shoulder. Your thumb was slowly stroking his arm, Arthur watched shyly how the finger disturbed the hair that was growing on his forearm.

He had forgotten how much he needed that.

You heard the shaky breath the man next to you took.

"'s it dumb that I enjoy that?"

"No. Not at all", you honestly answered.

"What's the most ridiculous thing you've ever done for one of the fellers?", Arthur asked, feeling slightly embarrassed about asking you for something, even though all it would have been is if he could wrap an arm around you. After all, you had initiated all touch.

"Mh, well Micah-"

"No that", Arthur scoffed, "Could have beaten this rat's head in when he called you names, but i felt like you could handle the situation."

"Yes, I had", you said, squeezing his arm.

"I meant more like...did any of the man ever request something funny?"

You giggled: "Oh, you'd be surprised. But I won't tell you. Their secrets are as save with me as yours would, so don't feel bad about asking. I've heard that I give brilliant head-massages."

"That so?", Arthur said.

But he kindly refused the offer to lie his head in your lap, but when he offered this service in return, he was surprised when you readily agreed. "Thought you'd never ask!"

With your head resting on his thigh and looking up into the night sky, you could feel his muscles flex and tense under the weight of your head. Arthur took a while until he relaxed, even longer until he leisurely started to play with strands of your hair. He was very gentle, barely daring to touch your head and only letting few strands of hair run through his fingers.

Arthur closed his eyes and could imagine things that he normally would never let himself indulge in. A family, a cabin out west, a wife and a kid. Boy or girl or both, it didn't matter. A time where he didn't have to worry about the law chasing him down. Maybe, also a dog.

Lost in thoughts and thinking about what could have been, Arthur lost sense of time. It was your voice that brought him back to reality after a while.

"Arthur, dear? I'm getting a little tired. Could we head back?", your voice was soft and whispery. It didn't quite shake him up from his dreams. It's as if his wife called him back inside. But of course, you weren't his wife. And there was no "inside", only back to camp, back to the others.

"Of course, sorry. I didn't want to keep ya from sleepin'", Arthur apologized and waited until you had risen, before standing up himself with a stifled groan.

"I enjoyed this a lot, you know", you admitted. Even though neither of you had spoken, you felt like you had been part of Arthur's imaginations. And maybe found some solace in the same little dreams that he had.

"Me too. Thank you", Arthur said, and still was surprised when you hugged him gently. He hesitated for a moment, before putting his hand in the small of your back. Arthur felt good. It was a feeling that he hadn’t felt in a while. Having confided in you, the intimacy…there was this warm sensation in his chest. It had been a energizing experience, to say the least, dreaming without being judged.

You walked back with your arm intertwined with Arthur's. So not to "trip" on branches in the darkness, but also because it felt right. Arthur didn't dare to ask if that could become a regular thing. You only said good night when you had reached camp and he watched as you walked off to your bedroll.

Something had changed though, because the hugs after coming back from a long day of robbing and killing came back. Suddenly, when you handed him a plate of stew, your fingers would briefly touch. Whenever you found the opportunity, and Arthur gave you plenty, you fixed his collar or suspenders. With time, he lost the hesitation and would pull you closer when you were busy with dusting off his shirt.

Yet, you were occupied most of the nights. Arthur would see you at the jetty, talking with Lenny or deep in concentration while playing a game of Dominoes with Bill. You’d help Kieran with the horses and most of all, you’d always take time for Jack. It was you that put Jack to bed most nights, Abigail exchanged a few words with Arthur one morning on what a great help you’d been. From this point onwards, Arthur loved watching from a distance when you interacted with Jack. Slowly, an idea started to form. Maybe, if he worked up the courage, he could ask you to spend a night or two away from camp. Take Jack with them, as a kind gesture towards Abigail and to give the boy some distraction from his daily life in camp. Hell, you spent more time with him than John did anyways, and Arthur doubted that Abigail would have trouble entrusting you with him for a few nights. But it involved asking you…out, sort of. It wasn’t such a selfless action, though Jack would benefit, Arthur craved some time with you alone. And Arthur wasn’t sure if asking for this was overstepping a line.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Second part with Arthur taking out reader and Jack? Anyone interested? Wanna be tagged?

Second Part here!

[grymghoul]

It didn't take long for you to find out that teasing ARTHUR MORGAN was fun. Batting your lashes at him is one thing.. you take it to a whole other level. The moment there's no eyes on you two, your palm is pressed to the front of his pants. You can trace the outline of his cock and you won't stop until you can feel every vein and ridge. Until his head is neatly outlined against the inside of his right thigh. Then you scoot off to do something else, smiling in self satisfaction. Sometimes, when he's journaling or otherwise distracted, you'll sneak between his thighs. Not really sneak, he's all too aware of your presence and the almost nuisance like quality you contain. Hell, his hand even rests on the crown of your head, a subconscious tic. However, it always jolts him when he feels your hot mouth on him from outside his pants. He'll shift his hips, as if asking nicely for you to not tease him this time. It's like you're trying to suck on him from outside of his jeans. He can be a proud man, but he's not too proud to admit he's almost cum from that alone. You can be absolutely torturous to the poor man. He'll bite his bottom lip, try to go back to journaling or reading, he'll tug at your hair. None of it deters you. Especially the hair tugging, seeing him squirm and be too much of a gentleman to tell you to stop unless you plan to choke on his cock. Some of the things he can be teased with are so simple, it's nearly laughable. When you tug him by his belt, the bandana around his neck, even tugging on a singular button of his shirt gets him going. Just enough for his dick to twitch. The worst part? You always choose times where he can't just have you. He can't just pull you into bed and fuck the teasing right out of your silly brain. He can't just shove you face first into the mattress and egg you on for as long as he wants, ignoring your whimpers and sobs. Partially because he's not entirely a degenerate, the other part is that canvas tents aren't really sound proof. He makes a whole elaborate show of getting you back. A nice (as nice as it can get) dinner, something fun like dancing, and a room for the night. Complete with a bath. He's sure to space it out between your teases and his nights out with you that you remain unsuspecting. But the second he's got you well fed and pampered and entertained (so you can't cause him anymore grief), he's on you. Deep kisses and wandering hands, slowly your clothes fall off. Before you realize it, he's got you crying out into your pillow, make up all ruined (he insisted you dress nice for this outing, he really just wanted your face to stain even more hotel pillows). He thought he was so clever. That you'd never catch on. That you'd always be in the dark. He never stopped to wonder why you insisted on teasing him so much.

[chaostudee]

meeting the family, charles leclerc

summary : you are nervous about meeting charles's family but you feel at ease once they welcome you with open arms. warnings : none words :

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

charles gave your hand a small squeeze, soothingly rubbing his thumb over your palm as he pulled the car up into the drive. you had charles had now been dating for a year and you both had finally agreed that it was time for you to meet his family. although you were nervous about making a bad first impression you were excited to meet charles's favourite people.

"you okay?" he asked as he brings his hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. he could sense your nervousness.

"what if they don't like me....." you mumble, your inner thoughts being voiced.

charles sighs as he wishes that you could see yourself that he sees you. "i know that you don't believe me but they will love you i promise and even if they don't i love you and that is all that matters"

he places a small kiss onto your hand and you can't help but smile at him. in everyway he was perfect every time he touched you, you couldn't restrain the butterflies that emerged in your stomach.

"you always say the right words" you confess as you place a tender kiss on his lips, one that he greets with a smile.

a few moments later he pulls away.

"you ready?"

this time you nod confidently because now with charles by your side you felt much more relaxed.

charles hops out of the car and he gestures for you to wait as he walks around the opposite side to open your door for you. he grasps your hand as he helps you out of the car.

his childhood home made you gasp in awe. the garden was adorned with ferns and countless flowers and ivy creeped up the walls of the building. you turn to smile at him as you both walk up to the front porch.

charles knocks on the door, taking your hand and giving it one final squeeze.

"i love you" he mouths to which you reciprocate those words.

his mother is the one who opens the door and is immediately take aback by the sight in front of her.

"oh charles come here mon coeur" she gestures for him to give her a hug as she invites him in with open arms. "i missed you maman" he admits as he rests his head on her shoulder. she pats a hand on his back in comfort and then looks up to find you standing there awkwardly.

she pulls away from charles and smiles at you.

"and you must be y/n, god charles won't shut up about you whenever we call". you smile once hearing that and can't help but giggle when you see charles blush at his mothers words.

"come here my dear so good to finally meet you" she also invites you in for a hug which makes you feel simply at ease and when you notice charles give you a thumbs up all the anxieties fade away.

once you pull away from the embrace pascale closes the door and encourages you to come inside to the dining room.

"sorry charles but lorenzo said he couldn't make it because he is working or something but arthur is around here somewhere" pascale looks around, wondering where her son has gone off to.

"don't worry about it mother im just grateful for you for organizing this" he places a kiss on both sides of his mothers cheeks in gratitude.

arthur comes running in and stops in his tracks when he sees you. "omg charles is this y/n" he asks pointing to you.

charles responds nodding proudly at you.

"its so great to finally meet the girl who made this idiot fall madly in love like omg all he talks about is y/n this or y/n that like im so surprised that he hasn't proposed yet". arthur chuckles at his words but you were deep in your own thoughts. did charles actually want to propose to you.

what brings you out of your thoughts is charles hand slipping into your own. "c'mon baby let's sit down".

pascale and arthur join you. arthur sits across from you, pascale beside you and charles on the other side.

charles holds your hand in his lap as he catches up with his family, you listening intently, watching as his dimples showed whenever he smiled. you couldn't stop the blush creeping across your cheeks.

"so y/n tell me about you what do u do for work?" pascale asks as she takes a sip of her wine.

you hesitate and clear your throat before speaking. "well i've just finished medical school and now im looking for a nursing job in monaco so me and charles can be together when he's home". you turn to look at charles and he rubs your cheek comfortingly.

"she forgot to mention that she attended harvard" charles added never failing to voice your accomplishments.

"wow y/n im impressed" pascale reponds smiling at you and taking your hand. "i also have to thank you for taking such good care of my son and making him happy, i havent seen him smile this much in years".

you place your hand on top of hers. "it helps that i love your son very much and that his mother raised him right".

charles smiles at the scene before him, his girlfriend and mother bonding but he is brought away by a glipmse of arthur in the corner of his eye. arthur is holding up the left hand and pointing to wedding finger to which charles just rolls his eyes at him. truthfully he had been thinking about it and he was actually going to casually bring it up to get your thoughts about it.

after dinner had ended charles had offered to clean up, along with you also. you and charles had come up with a system. charles washes and you dry. as charles hands you a dirty dish you notice him give you a cheeky grin.

"why are you smiling at me like that?" you giggle as you bring the cloth to dry the plate.

charles stops scrubbing and pauses. "i'm just happy that tonight went well, my mum really likes you".

"i'm happy too"

charles sighs in relief. "i told you it would all work out".

he places a kiss to your forehead before returning to the dirty dishes.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

pascale pulls you and charles in for one last embrace and you both earn a wave from arthur as you both exit the house.

"take care you two" pascale calls out as you and charles walk down the steps to the car.

"you too" you call back giving one last wave before charles helps you into the car.

once charles had hopped in he started the car and you were off. you couldn't keep your eyes off him as he turned the wheel and moved the gearstick. in noticing that he took your hand and brought your knuckles to his lips.

maintaining his eyes on the road he speaks. "you know i love you right?"

you chuckle because anyone who had eyes could see that it was blatantly obvious. "i know and i love you too"

charles smiles to himself. he briefly flicks his eyes to you. "i'm going to marry you someday"

it was like all the breath left your lungs when he says those words. but those words excited you.

"pls say something" charles urges unsure if what he had said upset you.

"charles from the minute i saw you i knew i was going to marry you".

charles bites his lip before placing a hand on your thigh.

in this moment there was nothing that could make you happier than you are now. with your boyfriend beside you and a hopeful future ahead you couldn't wait to see what was in store for you.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

The Weasleys Aren't Great Parents...

I know a lot here love to talk about how the Weasleys were so good to take Harry in and all that... But the truth is, the parenting skills of Molly and Arthur Weasley are questionable at best.

I'm not saying they don't love their kids and Harry — they do, and they do so honestly. I'm just here to say they aren't actually a good example of parenting.

Like, when fans talk about the Weasleys what I usually see is either treating them like they are a perfect example of a family or unfair bashing. So, while I definitely believe that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley love their kids, this post showcases where their parenting skills are lacking...

So, the Weasleys, to Harry, seem like the perfect example of a happy, loving family. Now, I'm not saying there isn't love there, but the family dynamics we see aren't great, to put it lightly. Harry just has no reference for anything better.

Children Running Away

The first thing I want to mention here is that all Weasley children leave the Burrow and their parents the first chance they get.

Bill goes to work for Gringotts in Egypt.

Charlie goes to tame dragons in Romania.

Percy, well, Percy is a whole can of worms right there. But once his parents shun him for being more successful than his father in the ministry, he doesn't look back.

Fred and George leave Hogwarts in the middle of their seventh year and move out of home then, before their even done with school.

I don't think that's normal. This is what we see in houses where there is mistreatment of children, so they don't want to stay any moment longer than necessary. Because all of this, what all of them did, was running away from home.

Each of these Weasleys was seventeen — maybe eighteen when he chose to leave (sometimes the country). This is running away, even if they still talk to their parents, they did rub away from living under the same roof.

This already suggests to me something unhealthy is going on there.

favoritism

Any child psychologist would tell you one of the worst things a parent could do is pick favorites amongst their children. All children, favored or not, suffer from it.

And Mr. And Mrs. Weasley.... well, they showcase favoritism constantly, here is an example from Order of the Phoenix:

“Get him red and gold to match his badge,” said George, smirking. “Match his what?” said Mrs. Weasley absently, rolling up a pair of maroon socks and placing them on Ron’s pile. “His badge,” said Fred, with the air of getting the worst over quickly. “His lovely shiny new prefect’s badge.” Fred’s words took a moment to penetrate Mrs. Weasley’s preoccupation about pajamas. “His . . . but . . . Ron, you’re not. . . ?” Ron held up his badge. Mrs. Weasley let out a shriek just like Hermione’s. “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That’s everyone in the family!” “What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?” said George indignantly, as his mother pushed him aside and flung her arms around her youngest son.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 163)

Molly is so glad to have prefects in the family, that she actually ignores the fact Fred and George aren't prefects and are her kids. George actually calls her out on it, except she isn't actually listening to him l. No, she pushes him aside. This treatment is insane, and I don't blame them for up and leaving the moment they turned seventeen.

This favoritism is seen more, this is from Chamber of Secrets:

“Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to —” All three of Mrs. Weasley’s sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them. “Beds empty! No note! Car gone — could have crashed — out of my mind with worry — did you care? — never, as long as I’ve lived — you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy —” “Perfect Percy,” muttered Fred. “YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK!” yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred’s chest. “You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job —” It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away. “I’m very pleased to see you, Harry, dear,” she said. “Come in and have some breakfast.”

(Chamber of Secrets, page 38)

Prefect Percy is better than Fred and George and they should learn from him and be more like him, according to Mrs. Weasley. This sort of comparison between children is really harmful to their development and is frowned upon by most. Definitely by me.

Not to mention how Harry is definitely a favorite of hers, so much so he does not get shouted at for the same crime, but get's food. That is honestly the bare minimum she can do for him considering...

Harry's Abuse

The Weasleys are aware of Harry's abuse. They are made aware of it time and time again, and with all their love for Harry — they do nothing more than give him food when he asks. I don't think I need to explain why this is terrible.

“I don’t blame you, dear,” she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. “Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we’d come and get you ourselves if you hadn’t written back to Ron by Friday. But really” (she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate), “flying an illegal car halfway across the country — anyone could have seen you —” She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background. “It was cloudy, Mum!” said Fred. “You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Mrs. Weasley snapped.“They were starving him, Mum!” said George. “And you!” said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him.

(Chamber of Secrets, page 39)

George here outright tells her Harry was being starved — this goes ignored. When Harry writes to her to send him food, she sends it, but doesn't ask him why he isn't being fed:

She had no idea that Harry was not following the diet at all. The moment he had got wind of the fact that he was expected to survive the summer on carrot sticks, Harry had sent Hedwig to his friends with pleas for help … Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had obliged with a sack full of his own homemade rock cakes. (Harry hadn’t touched these; he had had too much experience of Hagrid’s cooking.) Mrs. Weasley, however, had sent the family owl, Errol, with an enormous fruitcake and assorted meat pies.

(Goblet of Fire, page 28)

No, she sent him food but didn't bother doing anything to help a child out of a clearly abusive situation. Not even asking why he isn't getting enough food.

Arthur Weasley isn't any better. He knows just as much as Molly and even met Harry's pleasant relatives:

“Harry said good-bye to you,” he said. “Didn’t you hear him?” “It doesn’t matter,” Harry muttered to Mr. Weasley. “Honestly, I don’t care.” Mr. Weasley did not remove his hand from Harry’s shoulder. “You aren’t going to see your nephew till next summer,” he said to Uncle Vernon in mild indignation. “Surely you’re going to say good-bye?”

(Goblet of Fire, page 48)

He acts as if the Dursleys are normal. As if a child saying their caretakers wouldn't care he wasn't there isn't cause for alarm. No, Arthur Weasley just thought it impolite and odd, but not enough to actually do something to help Harry. Just annoy Uncle Vernon.

Blaming Kids For Things Not Their Fault

“You?” she said, catching her teacup as it scampered happily away across the desk on four sturdy little willow-patterned legs and replacing it in front of her. “Why should I be worried about you?” “When Mum’s next letter finally gets through Umbridge’s screening process,” said Ron bitterly, now holding his cup up while its frail legs tried feebly to support its weight, “I’m going to be in deep trouble. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s sent a Howler again.” “But —” “It’ll be my fault Fred and George left, you wait,” said Ron darkly. “She’ll say I should’ve stopped them leaving, I should’ve grabbed the ends of their brooms and hung on or something. . . . Yeah, it’ll be all my fault. . . .”

(Order of the Pheonix, page 679)

After Fred and George leave Hogwarts, Ron tells Hermione she should worry about him because he would suffer their mother's ire. He speaks about it as if it's a regular occurrence. Like he regularly gets blamed for Feed and George's mishaps when the twins aren't there.

This is incredibly unfair to Ron, Fred, and George. There is no reason Ron should fear his parent's response for something he had no control over.

Conclusions

As I stated above, I don't think Arthur and Molly Weasley are abusive or neglectful or that they don't love their kids. They are far from perfect, loving, and dotting parents I see them sometimes portrayed as. Neither are they as awful as I sometimes see them. Like many characters in this series, they are more complex than that.

[rivetingrosie4]

Duet

(Part 2/2)

RDR2 | Arthur Morgan x Female Reader | Rating: Explicit (mdni) | Part 1 | tumblr masterlist | Ao3

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

[bimrsadler]

hello, i was wondering if you were down and vibing to do some tired and sleepy arthur sneaking into f!readers bed late late at night after being away from camp for a long time? ty!

Goodnight and Goodmorning

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader

Word count: 1,000

Warnings/tags: fluff, high honor Arthur, mutual pining, first kiss

Notes: I absolutely vibe with it! Since you didn’t specify I went ahead and just made it good ol’ fluff, if you had more in mind like smut (or if anyone wants a smutty part 2) feel free to let me know!

ETA: part 2 is here

Sleep didn’t come easy for you when Arthur was gone, not for lack of trying. Tossing and turning, the emptiness beside you and the constant worry of if he was safe kept rest at bay. You wondered if he was somewhere in the The Heartlands under the stars, worrying the same about you.

There was a mutual desire that hadn’t been spoken aloud. Arthur was surprisingly shy for a man of action, you found, and you didn’t want to push him because of this. It happened naturally in moments of solitude away from the others, around the fire when neither of you could sleep, on the outskirts of camp when you found excuses to run into each other. It became more with your head on his shoulder as you drifted off against a tree, his hands on yours as he taught you to shoot even though you already knew how.

Eventually you found your way to his bed on a cold night. Diverging to head to your own tents your gazes lingered and walking slowed; finally hinting to Arthur that there was no harm in wanting company. It was endearing to watch as he stammered a nervous, “I ’spose,” placing a gentle hand on the small of your back.

For a man who kept company at arms length most of the time, he held you close that night. Reassurance was needed before he felt comfortable of course, wanting to hear that you were okay with it multiple times over.

“Promise I won’t do anything untoward.” He must have said that and other iterations of it at least five times before you placed his arm around your waist yourself and confided how much you trusted him.

And it was true. Though Arthur was intimidating, angry and tough as nails; he always made you feel safe. You’d been around “gentlemen” who were perfect on paper but predators behind closed doors.

You’d been in the company of many lecherous and pushy men — some even in the gang, but Arthur? He would put them in their place and apologize to you with their blood on his knuckles.

You always missed his presence in camp but it was a far worse struggle now that you shared a connection.

Drifting in and out the time of night was indiscernible each time you briefly woke, the sound of chatter and guitar steadily replaced by crickets and the dying fire.

As the night wore on the familiar feeling of Arthur’s rugged hands on your bare shoulder roused a fluttering jolt in your stomach. It took his shifting weight behind you and warm chest against your back to convince you you weren’t dreaming.

Peering back the faint moonlight breaking through the canvas revealed Arthur gazing down at you with a grin. “M’sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya.”

“Was worried you weren’t coming back, big guy,” you murmured only half-joking, voice heavy with sleep.

“I’ll always come back darlin’, just hopefully a little sooner nex’time.” He pulled flush to him, “now try’n get some more sleep.”

“Gonna hold you to that,” you stretched underneath his bulky arms with a yawn.

The unexpected feeling of Arthur’s lips pressed gently to your temple made a warmth blossom in your chest, spreading to the rest of your pining body.

Slowly rolling over to be face to face you saw an anxious expression highlighted by bruises and cuts along Arthur’s cheekbones. “I missed ya sweetheart,” he admitted softly while rubbing his thumb delicately along your shoulder.

You inquired worryingly with a gesture towards his face, “what happened?”

“Eh, weren’t nothin’.” He shrugged, brushing it off as usual.

“Sure looks like something.” Propping yourself up on your elbows you reciprocated the comfort and allowed your lips to meet Arthur’s skin for the first time. Lightly wetting them you pressed gentle kisses to each bruise, his breath hitching before he let it out in one long, relieved sigh.

He looked at you with a reverence that was almost overwhelming, how a man as rough and wild as him could radiate such softness for you.

“Guess I needed that, thank you.”

“Maybe you need a proper one Mr. Morgan?”

“Huh?” Arthur’s eyes darted, not quite catching on as you smirked with anticipation. “A proper wh—oh!”

Blushing at the realization that you meant a proper kiss, he swallowed hard. “Well uh, if that’s somethin’ you wanna give me…I’d be a damned fool to say no.”

Brushing a lock of hair off his brow, you leaned in and parted you lips for his. Arthur met you the rest of the way and locked them tenderly, staying still together to savor the moment.

He moved back slightly to peer down at you for any sign of hesitation — finding none of course. Cupping the side of your head with his sizable hand he pulled you close for long, languid kisses, accentuated by his tongue gingerly meeting yours.

The moment was soft and sweet and everything you never thought you’d have with Arthur Morgan. The light whimpers with smiles in between, the ever so subtle urging of your hips wanting more but unsure of how far to take it. It could have easily been a dream you’d had in days past.

As Arthur slowed he pressed his forehead to yours with eyes closed, peaceful and unworried. “This is the only place I wanna be right now…”

Gently adjusting you to lay on your back, Arthur tucked the blankets around you before resting his head on your chest and draping his arm across your midsection.

“Let’s sleep darlin’, we’ll take our time in the mornin’ too…”

It was a gift to know Arthur was this comfortable with you. He wanted to talk to people, to let his guard down and be vulnerable. You were sure he wouldn’t admit it and hadn’t noticed that you had noticed, but it was clear as day in his quieter moments.

Whatever happened on whatever mission Dutch had sent him on, he was battered and tired. If Arthur made you feel safe then you could be his safe haven too.

Running your nails along the expanse of his back and broad shoulders, you watched his head rise and fall with your breaths as he drifted off. The warmth of his skin on yours meant you were sure to follow suit, relieved to have him back and looking forward to what the morning might bring.

[zae-heeyyy]

Erudition

Summary: Arthur teaches you how to read. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,790 Tags: smut, high honor Arthur Warnings: 18+ MDNI

a/n: I spent an unnecessary amount of time perfecting this one. Tried my hand at sketching/tracing/cut and pasting pieces of Arthur's original journal to make this one (don't look at it too close lol). Hope you enjoy!

Edit: If you didn’t know, it was common for adults to be illiterate in 1899 due to the lack of widespread public education.

erudition: the quality of having or showing great knowledge or learning; scholarship.

Poor Hosea had tried everything in an effort to teach you how to read: encouraging you with kind words first, then employing tough love tactics when your stubbornness hindered your progress. On one particular day, you had enough of each other. In a rare moment of weakness, he slammed his hand on the table when you refused to try.

"Wanna be an illiterate ninny your whole life, do ya?" A scowl etched deep lines on his face, and you stormed off, not saying a word. A cough riddled him, and he bowed his head in part frustration and part regret for letting himself lose his temper with you. He only wanted the best for you, even if you didn't want it for yourself.

A particular contemplative cowboy had been watching a short distance away, a pattern Hosea had noticed lately. Still coughing, he waved him over.

"Ah, Arthur. I know you're smarter than you look. Maybe you can reach that girl. I've done all I can, I fear." He pressed the book into Arthur's hand in more of a silent demand than a request. Arthur nodded in understanding, sighing, wondering how he'd been demoted from gang enforcer to teacher.

Cursing under your breath, you prayed that Arthur would just walk away, not because you didn't like him, but because you liked him too much. You and the other women got a kick out of watching him do chores around camp, his shirt nowhere to be found. He was damn gorgeous and didn't have a clue. Nobody else had a clue, either, that you wanted him. You wanted him in many ways and cared about what he thought of you.

The hope that he'd refuse Hosea's request or come another time fell short when his figure towered over you, shading you from the high noon sun. You kept your head bowed, refusing to meet his gaze until he tapped the book's hardback cover, bidding for your attention. Your eyes met his sheepishly. Reading him did not come easy either, especially in your interactions. Something about the way he carried himself around you left you feeling unsettled. There was a perpetual tension that he seemed to shed in the company of anyone but you. You didn't quite get it, though, because he always remained gentlemanly despite it all.

"C'mon." A sculpted, outstretched arm reached down to you, and you took it reluctantly, letting him lift you up from your spot. Following close behind, you let him lead you to the outskirts of camp near a boulder and a broken wagon. The cacophony of camp faded away as you joined him on the ground, your backs against the rock. You sat expectantly, concentrating on your fidgeting hands and fighting off the urge to cry.

"You just gotta focus," he said, opening the book to where you last left off and putting it back in your hands. Shaking your head, you tried to blink away hot tears building up behind your eyes.

"Don't want you to think less of me, Arthur. Don't wanna do it." Keeping your voice steady and suppressing the lump in your throat proved increasingly futile.

"Hush and focus." His tone only made the mystery of him hazier. How could he so easily switch between evil debt collector, out for blood, to nothing short of a gentle giant, so comforting and protective? The thought only made your vision cloud up more.

Blinking rapidly, you took a deep breath to calm yourself before reading the words on the page aloud. You could only get through the first sentence before your voice betrayed you, shaking unevenly, accompanied by a saline drop rolling down your face and onto the page.

"Hey..." Arthur clutched your chin and turned it to face him, forcing your eyes to heed his. "You gotta stick at things. I know it's hard, but that ain't no reason to cry about it." A rough thumb wiped away your tears. He scooted closer to you, wrapped one arm around your shoulders, and held the book with the other hand. "Just relax. It's just me and you out here. I ain't gonna think less of you or let anybody else, for that matter. Forget about all that." You held one side of the book with your left hand, and he had the other with his right, " Here, start again, slow now."

Goosebumps prickled your skin as a wave of calm washed over you. Arthur stayed patient while you composed yourself and read through twice, the second time outshining the first. He nudged you with his elbow, flashing a toothy grin. "See? Not so bad," he remarked. With another breath, not as shaky as your other ones, you closed the book and returned it to him, feeling more accomplished than you had in a while.

Now that your attention wasn't being spent so much, the pounding in your ears grew louder, the source of the sound leading to none other than the relentless beating of your heart. The musk of tobacco and leather infiltrated your nose, making you suddenly aware of how close you were to him. He removed this arm from your shoulders, the missing weight of it making you feel unexpectedly empty. Before he could scoot away some more, you turned to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you, Arthur, for helping me. I know I'm not easy to work with." He smiled shyly and dipped his head, avoiding eye contact. A silence fell between you, and you spoke again, dismissing yourself. "I should probably get back to it." You gathered your skirts to stand, and he wrapped his fingers around your wrist before you could walk away. Even though crimson had crept up in his ears and neck, he kept his face impassive as always.

"When Ms. Grimshaw can spare you, come find me, and we'll keep at it."

So you did. You'd meet in the clearing behind the rock on the rare moments of shared free time, continuing the routine, and you were getting better every day. Then, Arthur brought you a mystery book that he'd found or stolen, and it was nothing like a Penny Dreadful, too complex and challenging for you to decode. You felt like you'd taken one step forward and two steps back.

And just like you'd done with Hosea a few days ago, you tried to storm away from Arthur. You didn't get far before his hands were on your hips, dragging you down into his lap. Faces inches apart, his hot breath warmed your face as he spoke, eyes stern.

"You can't just throw a tantrum whenever life gets hard, woman." Huffing in defiance, you opened your mouth to argue, but you closed it promptly, keenly aware of the change in his demeanor. Your eyes were on his, but his were on your lips. He licked his own, face set with resolve. Letting his forehead press against yours, he kissed you. Without a thought, you kissed him back, melting into his arms. Gaze intense, he tore away from you, talking low and firm. "You're gonna sit your pretty self down and do this, alright?"

Your hand went absentmindedly to your lips, drawing them in as you tasted him. Who knew a kiss was all you needed? With a gentle shove, he settled you back on the ground beside him, retrieved the book, and opened it once more.

When you finished, you looked at Arthur, and he was staring back at you with a cocky grin. It was the first time you'd read with no mistakes. You threw yourself back into his arms, climbing into his lap, a knee on either side of him. Holding you firm by the waist, Arthur didn't hesitate to kiss you again this time, letting desire he didn't even know he had guide him to you. He could have you like that for hours, and he did, only easing his grip on you when you heard pans banging, alerting you to dinner.

Arthur had discovered the key to motivating you, and since then, you discovered a newfound love for reading. You eagerly awaited your lessons, knowing the handsome outlaw's lips would be there for you when you finished.

Arthur was happy to help, but it wasn't just about the makeout sessions for him. Of course, he could die a happy man with you on top of him, but he loved how your eyes lit up when you made progress. He loved seeing you feel confident. He loved making you happy.

Though he wouldn't dare complain, he couldn't help the nagging feeling that Hosea had knowingly arranged this? Arthur tried to go unnoticed in his subtle observations of you, attempting to conceal the fact that he was sweet on you and had been for a while.

"Can't con a conman, Arthur," his surrogate father once told him. Maybe that wasn't just about robbing. The gunslinger wanted you so bad after all this time, needed you, and hoped you needed him just as much. He'd made himself free today, waiting patiently for you to finish your chores, keeping himself occupied with minor tasks. Just as you finished, you watched him disappear behind the grass and head to your spot.

You joined him; the book rested in his lap while he smoked a cigarette. You took the cigarette from him, having a drag yourself and giggling at your own mischief. He snatched it back from you, pretending to be annoyed but smiling nonetheless. Taking one more puff, he snuffed it in the grass. Before he could make another move, you took the book from his lap, replacing it with yourself. Your hands went to the nape of his neck, drawing his lips into yours. He kissed you back, entertaining you momentarily, but withdrew with his hands still resting on your backside.

"Read first, then I'll take care of ya', sweetheart." His eyes were half-lidded, and his voice lowered a few octaves, both weighed down with desire. You huffed and unmounted the cowboy, opening the book and reading, anything to feel his touch again. As you finished the last paragraph, your attention shifted to his hand kneading circles into your thigh. Breath thickening, his other hand fell to the hem of your dress, making it ride up as his hand traveled slowly up your leg.

The reading grew choppier now, your attention too consumed by his touch. You stopped reading altogether when his hand snaked over your thigh, and three of his fingers pressed against a warm, damp spot in the center of your bloomers. Flushing, a faint gasp escaped you.

"Gonna need to get these off, darlin'," he huffed into your ear. Wasting no time, you tossed the book aside and lifted your hips to slide the garment down around your ankles. Desire almost overpowered him; he wanted to devour you, to have his fingers and face buried between you, but he had a job to do, and he always finished the job.

Stopping, he moved his hand from your heat to your thigh and reached across you to grab the discarded book. Clearing his throat, he thumped the book, "Another page." Incredulous, you blinked a few times, gawking at him.

"Arthur, how do you expect me to focus when—"

He cut you off with a curt whistle and a stony glance, "Shut it, woman, and read." His grip tightened on your thigh. Those pools of blue and stern tone sent another jolt through you; god, if only he knew what he did to you. Like you were hypnotized, you opened the book, still very aware of your aching womanhood. He kissed your neck, his chest vibrating with amusement.

"Good girl," he murmured in your ear.

You were wrapped around his finger figuratively, and you craved to be literally, too. As you began to read aloud again, his hand smoothed over your thigh and landed right where you wanted it. He glided a finger up and down that sacred site, stopping on your clit and rubbing tiny circles there. Involuntarily, you arched up into his hand, and his name fell off your lips in a moan, your focus tearing away from the printed words at your hands. Then he stopped, taking away that sweet attention you loved so much.

"Shhh...Keep going;" his voice was low and deep, and he kissed down your neck to your shoulder. He moved his hand back when you started again; it was the most fluent you'd ever read. You don't know how you managed. As soon as you finished the last word on the page, you tossed the book and grabbed Arthur by the hairs on the back of his head, tugging him towards you and tasting him. He groaned and let a finger slip inside of you.

You gasped at the invasion, raising your hips off the ground and tilting into him. Pressing his lips to your ear, he kissed it and whispered mischievously, "You tryin' to get us caught?" You could feel him smile against your ear, and you pulled him to you once more, letting his mouth muffle your sounds of ecstasy.

He loved the way you felt, so velvety, slick, and tight. He teased you, pumping you with just one finger, then lightly circling your clit just to stop and caress you all over. You knew, and he knew, that he could bring you to that peak at any moment, but he didn't want it to be over just yet. He'd dreamed what you felt like for so long, how you'd respond to him, and now that it was reality, he wanted to savor every minute.

You were rocking your hips now, trying to feel any semblance of friction, trying desperately to reach the climax that Arthur kept you right on the edge of.

Then he sank two more large digits inside, making you press your head on his shoulder and squeeze your eyes shut. He waited for you to adjust, kissing your ear and talking you through the girthy new additions. His thumb back on your clit caused a shiver to run down you as you relaxed.

"There you go," he mumbled in your ear, and you knew it wouldn't be long then. His thumb never left, keeping a constant speed and pattern as he worked you. Your stomach burned as that sweet, sweet tension built inside of you. Arthur buried his face in your neck, focusing on bringing you bliss. "That's it, sweet girl. Give it to me."

He groaned along with you as your embrace on his fingers tightened, and your body shuddered. He kept his hand there as you came down, relishing in the way your insides squeezed and released him over and over again. His head spun when he removed his fingers from you; you were so wet, all for him. He'd been so focused on you that the bulge in his pants went unnoticed until now.

Meanwhile, you had replaced your bloomers and smoothed out your skirt, trying to reset after the fireworks behind your eyes had exploded. You giggled, seeing Arthur give attention to his own building arousal. You beamed at him, all cheeky and coy.

"I think I hear Ms. Grimashaw looking for me," you teased, standing and dusting your skirt. His face fell bewildered, and you couldn't look at him in fear that your innocent act would falter. "Gonna have to bed me properly if you want more, Mr. Morgan."

With that, you winked at him and walked away, leaving Arthur with just his hand and imagination to satisfy him. You'd decided to join Hosea at a table, taking a piece of discarded newspaper and reading it yourself. He watched, a proud smile growing on his face. It only took Arthur five minutes to calm himself, reappearing from the treeline with eagle eyes that focused only on you.

Crazed, he approached you, placing a heavy hand on the small of your back before removing it hastily, remembering he was out in the open now. Hosea's eyes shifted between you discerningly. He coughed and gestured to the paper in your hand. "Well, Arthur, it seems you're a better teacher than me, after all." Neither of you caught the hint of amusement in his voice. You patted Hosea's shoulder and stood.

"Thanks, old man. I love reading now. In fact, me and Arthur are gonna go to town right now for some more Penny Dreadfuls. We'll bring you another paper, too."

Arthur perked up at this new suggestion and followed after you, practically tripping over himself as you headed towards his hitched horse. Hosea returned to his newspaper, kicking his feet up and chuckling to himself knowingly. His hunch had been right about you two, after all.

[starlight-library]

Birthday races | CL16 & AL14

pairing: Charles Leclerc & Arthur Leclerc & reader

summary: your best friends are both in October with one day apart. Usually, you're on top of the best combined birthday ever and somehow the one year you rarely plan happens to be the best one yet.

warning: platonic fluff!! lil platonic trio!!

fc: none!

a/n: in honor of my favorite leclerc duos & being charles birthday twin (yes, my birthday is october 16th!) please enjoy this belated/early birthday blurb!

wc: 1.3K

October is your favorite month. You have a giant list of reasons why October just so happens to be the superior month: the weather, flannels, spooky season, pumpkin carvings, and libra season. There was just so much to do but your absolute favorite thing about October is your best friend's birthdays.

It was even better considering their birthdays were only a day apart. October 14th and October 16th so you had just planned a fun filled day with activities they would boy enjoy on October 15th and spent the day celebrating your two closest friends. You really went all out since the activities started typically at midnight on October 15th. Typically from then to noon, you three celebrated Arthur and then from noon to midnight it was Charles, always ending at midnight with you and Arthur singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Charles. It was simple and routine and almost like second nature.

“We leave on my birthday for Austin.”

You stare at Charles and Arthur like they grew three heads each. This is the first time in years that you had to cut your celebrations short due to scheduling and you’ve fully planned things around their races to make sure this happened but this was different. You were so busy with things going on in your life that their birthdays have completely slipped from your mind and now have nothing planned and only…24 hours to figure something out.

“That’s fine!” You beam a smile so they didn’t pick up on the panic coursing through you, “I’ll just adjust my plans.”

“Are you sure?” Arthur asks, “I know you spend forever planning these things…”

“And really they are wonderful and if I could I would fly out first thing Thursday morning but with media day—” Charles asks.

“Guys. Guys. Guys!” You finally say over Arthur and Charles talking about maybe somehow leaving earlier, “It’s fine! Really. You have work and you want to support Charles. When have I ever been upset about this before?” You giggle softly while leaning forward slightly, “I’ve planned around your schedules before, I can do it again! Besides, I’ve been dying for a challenge lately!” You clasp your hands together, “ this will be great!”

This was not great. You had spent Arthur’s birthday running around town trying to plan something. Anything. It seemed the universe heard you and really amped it up because there is nothing to do in Monaco. Everything has magically been booked up and you are about to pull all your hair out because you’re certain that this is going to be the worst birthday you’re going to throw for them before an idea clicks.

Why bother going out and running the town when you guys can just stay in and be lazy? It’s perfect! Charles and Arthur can nap and last minute pack before their flight while still celebrating both their birthdays. You take a second trip around town and collect everything that you need, including last minute birthday presents (not your proudest moments this year but hey, you do what you got to do) and a huge surprise, and then get home roughly close to 8pm and only have 4 hours to get things together.

You decorate your living room and giggle happily seeing your hard work. You somehow found Ferrari and racing themed decorations (balloons included) and had happily turned your living room into a mini race track to mirror Monaco. It was…a valiant effort on your party as you tilted your head at the rather wonky layout. Table at the start for drinks, each section existing with something else. Mostly mini party things: sunglasses, shot glasses, balloons (that didn’t make the cut so were now sacrifices to being victims to Charles and Arthur trying to see how could have the higher voice off of helium), cupcakes (which currently had a placeholder), and a few other things. You set a table up for the food which would be the pit lane.

It was all coming together.

You spent the last two and a half hours between baking the desserts and cooking the appetizers. While that’s happening, you also start getting the drinks ready. You were so in the zone that you didn’t realize how much time had gone but you managed to get it done. You step back to admire your hard work after setting the stations up and your huge surprise before there’s a knock on your door.

“Coming!”

Ushering to the front door you glance at your ring camera panel seeing Arthur and Charles standing outside talking to each other. You open your door just enough to stick your head out and smile brightly. “Boys!”

“Y/N!” They say in unison.

“Okay, the two of you close your eyes,” you instruct and watch them before opening the door. By some miracle, you manage to guide the two of them in without them tripping over one another as you lead them to the ‘start of the track’. “Almost there.” You have Charles shuffle into pole position, given he was older, and then place Arthur in p2. You step back and quickly take your phone out to snap a photo before smiling. “Open your eyes!”

You watch them open their eyes and look around. Charles’ eyes widen while Arthur whispers a soft ‘wow’. The two of them break out into wide smiles (almost identical, thank god they looked different). “Tadaaaa,” you say while giving them some jazz hands, “I made a…rough layout of the Monaco track.” Turning, “the snacks are at the pit lane, drinks are at the start and you have to take a shot before you start racing and then each corner has a little surprise. Cupcakes, candy, birthday presents,” you list off before turning to them, “also if you look behind you—”

Charles turns and gasps loudly, “Y/N!” Arthur turns and covers his mouth before laughing loudly.

The huge surprise happens to be three electric ride-on cars. Charles was a black Ferrari with red accents, Arthur’s was the reverse of that, and you had picked a white Jeep, “They’re remote control and derivable on its own. I also replaced the batteries with drill batteries so without further ado,” you go to your laptop and play the iconic countdown to start a race. Rushing over, Charles had managed to pour shots without making a huge mess.

“Lights out and away we go!” Croft’s voice rings from your laptop. The three of you immediately take your shots. You manage to get in your jeep first and turn it on before taking off, forgetting that the drill battery is much more powerful and you almost take yourself out. You laugh loudly as Charles curses, struggling to turn his car on while Arthur screams when he starts driving and Charles is shouting at Arthur to be careful.

The three of you race till the wee hours of the morning. Mostly because you had to pause to recharge the drill batteries but also Charles had spilled two drinks, Arthur got frosting in his face after grabbing a cupcake and accidentally pressing the gas and you were playing host and driver. You ended up winning the race by 2 seconds. After, the three of you settled down as the boys opened their boo baskets (that you were calling ‘boo birthday baskets’) and all the gifts you had picked. The boys loved them.

Three of you ordered a huge breakfast and just chatted. You bring the cake out about three hours before Charles and Arthur have to leave to pack and you sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to both Arthur and Charles and watch them blow out their candles (having given them candles on opposite sides of the cake) and settle down on the couch, all cuddled up together, watching some trashy reality tv to end the birthday celebration which the three of you had decided would be the go to birthday celebration from now.

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Making a Move

Summary: Spencer's been seeing someone new, and the last thing he wants is to mess this up

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Word count: 1.8k

Hotch called a meeting over the phone, and the team is waiting for him and Rossi at the Roundtable. In the meantime, everyone else has made their stops at the coffee machine, Spencer included. He was having his second cup (the first one was from his apartment), but he didn’t need the team to know that. Although not as romantic as expected, his late night was worth the extra yawns and blurred vision. He’d rather the team not know about that too.

“What’s got you so tired, kid?”

Too late.

Morgan fiddles with a pen between his fingers. As he asks, his eyebrow arches; he’s ready for an answer. His question brings everyone’s eyes to him.

“Nothing,” Spencer says.

“Nothing?” He knows that’s not it. The pact to not profile each other basically ended before it started. “Cause this is the third time in the past two weeks you’ve come in here yawning like every ten seconds.”

“It’s nothing. Maybe I need more coffee.”

Garcia pokes her head up from behind her laptop. “You never have more than one cup of coffee at the office unless you really need it.” She’s still typing while looking at him. “You don’t even suggest it. Until now.” Typing halts, and Spencer sees the realization in her eyes. He knows he can’t stop the tide from coming. “Ooo, what’s his name?”

“It’s not a guy.” Spencer sips his coffee, sugar granules sliding over his tongue as he swallows.

“So it’s a girl.” Prentiss butts in with a smirk.

Spencer rubs his hand on his forehead.

“It is!” Garcia unleashes a squeal. “Okay, what’s her name?” Her magenta nails are out like a cat exposing its claws, and Spencer knows she’s prepared to start a free background check.

“He’s not going to tell us,” Prentiss says.

“What about her job? What does she do?”

A kindergarten teacher. “Not saying that either,” Spencer replies.

“Well, has anything happened between you two?” Morgan joins back in.

Just hello and goodbye hugs.

“Guys,” J.J. calls. She’s standing by the projector, remote in hand. “It’s Spence’s business. He’ll tell us when he wants to. Okay?” She uses her mom voice, and Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if the following words out of her mouth were, “If I hear another word about this, you’re all grounded.” It’s comforting, even though he knew she’d have his back.

Sighs of disappointment and protest around the table were not subtle, but they were as close to a verbal “okay” as she was getting. J.J. accepts it anyway and eventually takes a seat. Garcia leans over and asks about Hotch and Rossi, likely regarding where they could be. Spencer wonders the same thing; so they can get started.

And because Morgan keeps staring at him. He’s eager for Spencer to spill. He even leans over. “Seriously, kid, nothing?”

“I’m not afraid to tattle,” Spencer whispers back. He finds his book, The Life of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He read it a couple days ago, yet opened a page and busied himself with the paperback. Morgan’s eyes are still staring. He’s not letting this go, even if this briefing led to the jet. Spencer makes the mistake of looking back at him for a moment, and he has no choice. He turned the page of his book and mumbled, “I want something to happen, though.” He bites his lips closed when the words finally leave them.

Spencer’s opened the door, welcoming Morgan and his sleazy smile. Something he — hell — that they’ve all seen and grown too familiar with at bars and clubs. “Alright, that’s what I like to hear.” He shakes Spencer’s bony shoulder. “My man.”

Spencer can’t help but grin, not in response, but because of last night. He was worried you’d consider him cheap or creepy for choosing to watch a movie at his apartment instead of the theater. He was hoping to make a move. Spencer thought you looked so cozy in your polka-dot sweater; he wished he could reach out and touch the material. It looked so soft. But all the mistakes he made might’ve ruined the chance for that.

“What’d you do?” Morgan whispers.

“I sat too far away at first. I tried moving closer but… I didn’t want to come off as weird. Then I excused myself to get some water, but then it still didn’t feel right and —”

“So you chickened out?”

“I didn’t chicken out.”

He chickened out.

“Okay, well, it’s good you’re not all over her. You’re giving her space and showing her respect. But Reid,” He ruffles his hair. Spencer smiles, and it’s the only thing that keeps J.J. from giving a lecture. “You’ve been on three dates. She likes you, man. She’s probably waiting.”

“But what if she —”

“She does. And you need to go in knowing that and display some confidence. When are you seeing her again?”

“Tonight. We’re getting ice cream.” Spencer tries to suppress his lips curling. It doesn’t work.

“See. Now let me give you some pointers.”

It’s been a while since Spencer’s built such a natural rapport with someone, especially someone in a field furthest away from the grim glimpses of humanity he sees.

He surprised you with a visit during your lunch last week. The vibrant colors in your wardrobe match your classroom. The walls covered in handmade decorations and class-made crafts are a refreshing difference from the dark basements and fluorescent-lit interrogation rooms. The light in your eyes when discussing your students is something Spencer doesn’t get to see often, and he didn’t want to lose it by moving too fast.

Displaying confidence was something that came naturally to Morgan. “Displaying” didn’t feel honest, Spencer thought,  more like a front. Then again, that’s what all displays really were. Spencer’s only known how to be himself. Morgan does have a point, though. He’s already been on three dates. So being himself has worked so far. But he’s sure he needs a little more.

On the walk to the agreed-upon spot, Spencer grips the strap of his satchel as he trudges uphill. It helps him burn off the nervous energy as he gets closer. But when he sees you sitting at one of the outdoor tables, he’s reminded again why he should be. You’re wearing a flowy yellow dress and white tennis shoes. The one difference from last night is the ends of your hair, brunette roots leading to dark pink ends.

You stand up and start walking toward him, beaming already. “Hey!” Your arms are already out, and you hug. Spencer notes you smell like coconut.

“Hey, you,” He tries to make it sound natural. His hand lingers at your waist for a second. “Your hair,” That same hand touches the ends. “It’s pretty.” He smiles, taking in your individuality. He thinks about how much you and Garcia would get along.

“Thank you,” your brightness radiates as you giggle. “It’s the most I can get away with at school, so I figured I might as well push the limits while I can. Plus, the kids love it.”

Spencer’s brain immediately goes to statistics about school dress codes and how they likely change the following year. He holds back. Morgan’s taught him that sharing statistics can apparently kill the mood. He even reminded him before Spencer left (early). “I’m sure they do.”

Your eyebrows quirk. “You okay?”

“Yeah, doll, I’m fine.” He tries again, but it’s taking everything for him not to cringe in front of you.

“No, you’re acting weird.” You cross your arms.

“Am I?” Spencer’s chest tightens.

“Oh yeah.” You snicker. “What’s up? Tell me about it.”

Spencer doesn’t exactly know how to say, “I really like you but I’m terrified of messing this up so I’m attempting to put on a terrible impression of a macho man because I want to kiss you and I feel like being myself isn’t going to get me anywhere” in a form that’s going to sound coherent and not like a crazy ramble that ends in you running away. So he doesn’t say it at all.

“Spencer,” You reach out to hold his hand. “You can tell me.”

“I…” He feels like he’ll stumble over his words before he gets a sentence out. He looks at you, and your grip tightens a little. He returns the gesture. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Mess what up exactly?”

“Well, this.” He moves his hand where his thumb is on top. “I like you a lot.”

“Oh, well, I like you too!” You say. “We’re on the same page there. So how could you mess this up?”

“Because I don’t know how to make the first move. I don’t want to push you.” The wind blows, and both of you push hair out of your faces, and Spencer tries not to lose his thoughts. “I even let one of my coworkers give me pointers on how to be… smoother.”

You try hard not to laugh, but it slips out, and the insecurity on Spencer’s face spreads. “Is this the one you told me about? Dirk Morgan?”

“Derek Morgan. But, yeah, him.”

“Okay, Doctor,” You step closer, and now both your hands lead up to his biceps. Spencer cautiously moves his hands to your waist. He’s hesitant about public displays of affection, but you started it, and he won’t be the one to end it so soon.  “I’m going to bring you into my field for a minute. I’m assigning you a pop quiz.”

Spencer’s mouth quirks a little, wondering where this is going.

“I have no doubt you’ll ace it.”

“I’m usually good at acing things. Exams, tests, quizzes.”

“Good. It’s one question: am I dating Derek Morgan?” Your thumbs glided back and forth against his cardigan.

“Are we dating?”

“We’ve been on dates. Therefore: dating.”

“Then, no, you are not dating Derek Morgan.”

“Congratulations, Dr. Reid, you got a 100.” You push yourself up on your toes to kiss him gently. You both pause for a moment. His hands trail to your back as yours glide to hang on his neck. His breath is extra minty for six in the evening, and it made you realize that was the move he wanted to make. “Feel better? Now that that’s out of the way?”

Spencer leans in to kiss you again. His response is clear when he pulls you in to make it deeper, but still innocent. When you open your eyes, you can see the weight that’s been lifted, a weight you lifted.

“Next time you feel like making a move, you’re more than welcome to go for it. Okay? You have my permission to go for it.”

“What if I don’t know your boundaries?”

“Just ask.” You put your feet flat on the ground, but other than that, neither of you moves or shifts eye contact. “Spencer, I like you the way you are. You don’t need some sort of smooth rhetoric to make me fall further for you.”

Spencer, once again, fails to hide the smirk as it grows. “You’ve… fallen for me?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” He says quickly. “It’s more than okay.”

Thank you for all the love from the last fic. I'm glad so many of you liked it 🥹 For anyone curious, I don't have a schedule. I just write and upload when I have something. I'm focusing on getting back into writing so feel free to send oneshot ideas if you have any. Thanks again 🩵

“Good. Now let’s get ice cream.”

[leosxrealm]

ꜱᴀᴜᴅᴀᴅᴇ

pairing(s): prince! Arthur Leclerc x male! knight! reader

warning(s): mentions of injury, mentions of death, royal au! forbidden romance(?), angst

(a/n): a lot of backstory and angst. also this was inspired the moodboard i made. and inspired by the song– sign of the times by harry styles. also the dynamic was kind of inspired by patrochilles from tsoa.

wc: 1.6k

!not proofread!

"Y/n! Uncle!"

You hear the high-pitched voice of a young boy. On turning around, you see him running towards you. But he never reaches you.

You let out a sigh. Seeing Arthur trip on his own feet was not an uncommon sight for you. You could never understand how a prince could be so clumsy. You walk over towards him, helping the poor boy up.

"Prince Arthur," your father greets him with a small smile.

"Uncle!" the younger beams.

"What brings you here, your Highness?" your father asks him, curious about why the youngest prince was near the soldier's quarters, which happened to be on the opposite side of the Prince's room.

Arthur stills for a second, gathering his thoughts. "My father has requested your presence. He said something about- about-" He trails off, not remembering the rest of what his father had said.

Your father smiles down at him. You didn't know what he found amusing about him. Your father turns to you, giving you a small smile, "I have to go. Please take care of Prince Arthur and escort him back to his room."

"Yes, father."

---

You look around the hallways as you walk behind the youngest prince. The royal quarters were completely different from what you were used to.

Arthur's room soon comes into your field of vision. It was only a few paces down Prince Charles'. "Do you want to come in?" he asks excitedly, eager to show you the new toys his father had brought from his recent travels.

You accept his request. It's not like you could say no to a Prince; you were a nobody compared to him.

---

You had been practicing your sword skills near the river bank before you were disturbed by the presence of another person. It took you a second to recognize him. After all, you didn't expect him to be here. 

"Hello!" he said after spotting you, his eyes full of innocence and with the biggest smile on his face. 

"Your Highness," you bow, just like you were taught to. He frowned, he never liked how you treated him like a prince. He wanted to be your friend, and friends don't bow to each other. Or act like one was superior.

He quickly changed the topic, asking you to teach him some of your sword moves.

"You have a trainer already," you pointed out, "appointed by the king."

"But I don't like him," he replied, pouting like a child. You sometimes forget that he's a prince. From what you were told, a prince shouldn't act this way. Maybe he got away with it because he was the youngest, you wondered.

"I'm not a teacher," you replied, hoping the annoying boy would go away already. "But you could teach a friend!" Arthur replied happily. You take a moment to answer. "You're a prince. We can not be friends." You walk away from the river, going back to the soldier's quarters.

Arthur watched you walk away from him. He didn't understand why you disliked him so much. All he wanted was a friend.

---

You were appointed to accompany the youngest prince while he went to the local bazaar. He wouldn't let anyone else accompany him and of course, the king couldn't let him go alone.

Arthur had made it known that you would be the only one he would allow to be near him. So upon receiving direct orders from the King, you couldn't exactly say no.

---

His eyes beg you. Trying to covey the words his mouth couldn't. Was it selfish of him? To want you to stay when the kingdom was under attack? He searches your eyes. What was he trying to find?

You step closer to him. Your hand gently cups his face, bringing him closer, till your foreheads touch.

"I have to go," you whisper, your breath tickling his face. A lump forms in his throat. He doesn't want you to leave.

His stomach churns at the thoughts that cross his mind. The 'what if' scenarios running through his mind. He can't shake off this feeling he has.

"Don't." It's so quiet you barely hear it. "Please."

"My Prince." You pull him into your embrace, gently tucking his face in the curve of your neck. One of your hands around his back, the other supporting his head.

"My love," you try to console him. It hurt you to see him like that. It hurt you the most to know you were the reason for his current state. 

"At least..." he tries to say before his own sobs cut him off. "At least stay the night." 

You look at Arthur. He was clutching your vest, scared that if he let go, you would leave. He reminded you of the young boy you had met all those years ago. 

The clumsy little boy, who used to run around the palace barefoot, tripping so often that his arms and legs were scattered in scars. 

The determined little boy, who used to beg you to teach him how to fight because he didn't think he was strong enough to deserve the title of prince. The smart little boy, who taught you how to read and write, something you had never learned because a soldier had no use for such things.

The caring little boy, who stayed up all night once to look after you after you had caught a severe cold.

The sensitive little boy, who cried when he found a dead butterfly in the garden. You didn't have the heart to tell him that those things barely lived for a few weeks. The brave little boy, who fought his father, the king, because the king forbade him from spending time together with lowlifes.

You smile at the memory. Arthur had fought his own father all because he called you a lowlife. You knew your place in the system. It wasn't the first time you had heard such a thing. It's what you were so you didn't ever consider it an insult. 

But seeing Arthur defend you like that, against the king of all people, had really made you see him in a new life.

You tighten your arms around him. You didn't want to leave him here. But this was a war the kingdom couldn't afford to lose. Things had been especially tough on the frontlines. 

"Of course, my love," you reply softly, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head. 

---

Arthur woke up the next day to an empty bed. You were nowhere to be seen. Deep inside, he knew you had already left. You were probably about to reach the battlegrounds.

He rolled over to your side of the bed. At least that's what he had been calling it ever since you had started spending the nights in his room. It was already cold.

He tried to sleep again, to get away from the thoughts clouding his mind but to no avail.

Something caught his eye. It was sitting on top of the nightstand. He reached out grabbing the small piece of jewelry.

He recognized it. It was a simple silver chain with your birthstone hanging from it. It was the most precious thing you had. You had told him once. A gift from your late mother.

He carefully wrapped his fingers around it. He knew how much it meant to you. It was your treasure and you had left it in his care. He brought the necklace closer to him. Like he was holding a piece of you. 

He curled up in a ball, weeping quietly. The reality of the situation hit him. There was only one instance he could think of where you would leave behind your most treasured necklace.

---

The Sun had already settled for the day. The stars, shining like little gems in the blanket of darkness. It had been a long day for the two young boys. Sweaty and tired, they laid in the freshly trimmed grass. 

"You did good today." the shorter of the two turned  his head to look at his companion. You had never been the first to start a conversation with him, much less compliment him. Arthur felt himself turning red as you laid there oblivious. 

"Thanks," he meeked out. He turned to look at you once again. Your had laid comfortably on the ground, your eyes closed, the moon that had previously been hiding behind the clouds was now shining its luminance onto you. 

Heavenly. You looked heavenly. It was the only way he could describe you. He closed his eyes, taking in the smell of the grass surrounding him, and of the blooming flowers through the wind. the sound of the leaves rattling, and you.

"I want to learn life with you."

You opened your eyes slowly. It had been so quiet that you barely heard it. You turned to the boy next to you. Or rather the man next to you. He was fifteen, turning sixteen in a few weeks. 

He was no longer the clumsy little boy you had met. He fitted into his role as the prince perfectly. He knew how to fight now. He was attending meetings when his brothers couldn't. His opinions were heard in the council. Everyone had acknowledged him as a man, as a dutiful prince. 

He had even changed physically. He was taller than you remembered. Stronger, even. His muscles were starting to show. His voice was slightly deeper. His hair was longer. He had grown. Before you knew it, a smile had appeared on your face. 

---

He holds the letter close to him, the edges of the paper crumbling under his fingers. The tears staining the paper. It was written in a hurry, he could tell. Addressed to him, sitting neatly on the nightstand next to your necklace.

He wailed.

Please forgive me, my prince. I would not be there to accompany you till the end. I wish it didn't had to end like this. I wish I got learn more of life with you.

I hope we can meet again somewhere. Somewhere far away from here. Maybe in the after life. Until then, take care of yourself, my love.

Love,

Your Knight

(a/n): i've written after soooo many months so its kinda weird and all over the place. and a little rushed. I'll get better when i start writing more eventually i promise🤞🏼i still hope you guys enjoyed it

[tongjaitongjai]

CrypticGod!Merlin and Worshipper aka fanboy Mordred CRACK AU - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Merlin learns that being a god in semi-mortal form is very difficult when having a strong follower like Mordred.

Mordred, like many who pray to their god as some kind of anchor, will often pray something along the lines of ‘Emrys, give me strength and courage’ or ‘Emrys, please be with me through this difficult time’ unconsciously.

Except, unlike the normies, his commitment and belief are EXTREMELY STRONG, so when he prays strong enough, HIS GOD ACTUALLY SHOWS UP:

Arthur, charging him during sparring: Come on, Mordred! You can do better than this!!

Mordred: (anxiously praying) Emrys helps me

Merlin, suddenly appears between Arthur and Mordred, with Arthur about to smash him with the sword: THE FUCK—

Obviously, he is banned from praying during sparring, but occasionally Merlin will still pop up out of nowhere when he is anxious, and the knights eventually have to get used to it:

Arthur: Today, the neighbouring kingdom’s knights will join us for the practice, and there will be some competitions. I hope all of you are ready to protect and uphold the honour of Camelot’s knights. Any defeat is unacc—-

Arthur:

Arthur: any defeat is understandable, for one must lose before learning true victory, so please don’t get too stressed, especially you, Mordred.

Mordred: How do you know I am stressed?

Gwaine, carrying Merlin, who pop up above his head the moment Arthur said ‘defeat’, on his neck : Yeah, I wonder how

As their relationship improves, the power of Mordred’s prayer gets stronger. Not only can Merlin feels his emotions and more in-depth thoughts through the prayer, it also affects Merlin’s power, in both endearing and also straight-up ridiculous ways.

Lancelot, whispers: You are very upset because of that Lord Asshole’s shitty comment toward the Druids, aren’t you.

Mordred, calm and composed: No, I am a knight of Camelot and a grown man, I will not be bothered by something so trivial. I am not upset at all.

Lancelot: You aren’t praying to Merlin now are you.

Mordred: How is that relevant?

Merlin: *BARGING INTO THE MEETING* *SHOOTING FIRE BEAMS FROM HIS EYE, DESTROYING THE PATH AS HE WALKS* *GRABBING LORD ASSHOLE BY A COLLAR THEN PROCEEDS TO GERMAN SUPLEX HIM ON THE TABLE*

Arthur, watching this happens for the third time this week:

Arthur: Mordred, we talked about this, you have to express your thoughts and feelings verbally, not by praying to Merlin

Merlin: Don’t force him Arthur! He will talk when he is ready!

Arthur: STOP SPOILING HIM YOU ARE JUST HAPPY YOU GET TO PUNCH NOBLES

Also, when he is extremely happy, he prays to Merlin as well, like ‘Thanks Emrys for all the good fortunes that happen to me today’

Elyan: Arthur complimented Mordred at training today didn’t he? Maybe saying something like ‘you are going to be one of Camelot finest knights soon’

Percival: How do you know??? you were not there today????

Elyan, watching Merlin’s skin glows, not even in an oh so beautiful ethereal way but like a radioactive sun way: It’s .. hard to miss…

The first time Mordred wins a tournament, Merlin radiates for three days straight. His voice also sounds godly with all the weirdly smooth echoes and harp melody complimenting his every word. Mordred is exhilarated. Arthur is going insane. Merlin finally officially bans Mordred from praying to him.