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monzabee · 1 year

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you'll change your name or change your mind - cl16

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Summary: The one where you find your way back home, even if the journey takes longer than you think.

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!bianchi!reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: mentions of jules and his accident, ANGST, talks about college acceptances in the US but it’s not accurate because i’ve never applied for US schools, mentions of alcohol and underage drinking/clubbing (only in the US though), mentions of a fake id, mentions of cheating, fighting, charles being stupid and not realising it, talks about processing grief, GRIEF, survivor’s guilt, talks of therapy, friends to lovers y’all.

Request: “The Charles fanfic was so good!! Can you write more angsty but happy needing Charles? I think it’s be cute for a man who loves Monaco so much to got to wherever his girlfriend lives Ike London or nyc often and deal with that. Maybe she hates monaco lol” + “if your requests are still open, max or charles + “you have to promise you won’t fall in love with me.” thanks!”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i decided to give into the whole angst thing and i can honestly say that i’m having a great time. i wanted to include Jules somehow in this one because i’ve been seeing some edits on tiktok and let me tell you proofreading was a bitch because i kept crying. also, my spotify kept bringing up lorde and hannah montana songs, so there you go. this was definitely a hard one to write and i know it’s messy, but all feedback is appreciated. thank you, anon, for the request, i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Monaco is full of memories. It’s filled with memories of your childhood, your parents picking up you and your siblings from school in Nice, and getting the train to Monaco for your brother to compete in karting races. It’s filled with laughter, and ice cream, and friends. It’s also filled with fears, loss and uncertainty, and you suppose that’s why you didn’t ever want to go back. But you find your back there every time, even if it is only for a couple of days at a time. Although it reminds you of the bad times, it’s hard to erase the good ones completely.

Charles is just one of the people Jules brought into your life. He was right there since your birth – apparently, the Leclercs were visiting your family in Nice when your mother suddenly went into labour. You will always be thankful to Pascale and Hervé for stopping Jules from choosing your middle name to be Michael Schumacher. Neither Charles, nor you will forget the type of shenanigans you got up to as little kids, there is only a year difference between the two of you after all. There’s that one time you stole Charles’ kart and tried to go down the road, in which he caught you but instead of ratting you out to Lorenzo and Jules, who were supposed to be looking after you by the way, he helped you get it down the stairs and passed you his helmet as he explained how to go about it. Neither of your brothers were impressed by your ability to go fast or Charles’ sudden interest in maybe becoming a race engineer if the whole driver thing doesn’t work out. There was also the time when the two of you, along with Arthur, snuck out from a family friend’s wedding to only get lost in a city in the South of France; Charles got so stressed that he forgot how to speak French and proceeded to ask how to get back to the venue in Italian for the rest of the night. Needless to say, the two of you are there for each other no matter what; you stayed together through heartbreaks, wins, losses, losing Jules and Hervé, funerals, weddings and much more. The majority of your time together is spent in your family’s house in Nice. Charles doesn’t mind the half-hour journey, an hour if he decides to go back but he hardly ever does. Sometimes, he manages to convince you come to Monte Carlo for the day by bribing you with promises of sunsets and ice cream, but he will always drive you back if you insist you want to go home without any complain.

The first time you bring up the topic of moving, you’re in your last year of high school; by that time, Charles is already racing in Formula One, so your time together is limited to breaks between the races. However he tries his hardest to be there for you, from talking you through breakdowns that occur after long study sessions, to looking up pre-med programmes for you to apply all over the world. You never wanted to live your entire life between Nice and Monte Carlo in the first place, so is he is more than happy to help you explore your options. Your application results arrive when he’s on break between the races, so the two of you sit on the small table in his Monaco apartment’s kitchen, the light from your laptop lighting up both of your faces as you open up the emails one by one. You’re most anxious about your application to Columbia, which is 3.462 miles away from Nice, and 3.993 from Monte Carlo. By the time you finish opening up all the emails, both of you are sitting there with a silence between you. The acceptance letter still open on your laptop is congratulating you for your offer to join Columbia’s pre-med program the following September.

“Yes,” He looks at you expectantly, “Accept it, Y/N, you shouldn’t be even thinking about it!”

“Yes?” You let out a nervous laugh. “It’s not that simple, Charles–”

“But it is!” He argues, a big smile on his face. You can tell he is proud of you by the look in his eyes and the way his emotions carry through his voice. “It’s your top choice of school!”

“It’s also in New York, it means that there will be an entire ocean between us!”

He shrugs. “So?”

“So?” Your eyes widen in surprise, you start staking your head a little without being aware that you are doing it. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Chérie,” Charles coos, pulling your chair by its leg to bring you closer to him and wrap a supportive arm around your body. His chest rumbles from his low laughter as he presses kisses to your hair. “We’ll be fine, look at everything we’ve been through, and we’re not even that old.”

You scoff, hitting his chest in an attempt to get away; you start furiously typing on your computer. “You are old,” you point to him with a tilt of your head, “I’m not, though.”

He rolls his eyes and turns his concentration to the tab still open on your computer, “You’re going to accept the offer, though, right?”

You end up accepting the offer. Charles and his family is there alongside yours to send you off on a plane to New York City. Both your mother and Charles’ have tears in their eyes as they say their goodbyes, with your father giving you a similar look. Being the youngest of four siblings, it must’ve been hard to send their youngest all the way across an ocean, but they let you know that you have their support in every step of the way. With Charles’ schedule for the remaining races scattered all over the world, he tells you not to force yourself and to enjoy your first months as a college student.

You surprise him in Austin, though. Arranging this surprise is definitely not the easiest, but you ask Lorenzo for his help and he is more than happy to make arrangements for you. It’s the end of Friday’s last practice session when you surprise him in the Alfa Romeo garage. He almost walks past you, to get rid of his helmet when you say his name, but once he realises it is you he quickly pulls in for a hug. “What are you doing here?” He asks you while laughing with glee.

“Heard there’s an immunology seminar in town about the effects of talking a shower and then going out without drying your hair.” You answer with all the seriousness you can muster.

“Really?” He asks in confusion, taking his helmet and balaclava off and trying to fix his sweat-soaked hair.

You hit the back of his head lightly, shaking your head in disbelief. “No! I came here to see you race, you idiot!”

He shakes head in understanding. “Oh, oh!” His eyes widen once again with recognition this time.

“Yes, oh, now come on, we’re going out.” You’re quick to add, “To dinner because airplane food sucks. We’re going out clubbing after the race, though.”

True to your word, you go clubbing after his race on Sunday, which Charles is not entertained by. He’s paranoid by the fact that you are in the club with them in the first place, which should not be happening because you’re underage. He keeps silent as you show the bouncer your id, which he knows is a fake, by the way; as he sends Lorenzo an incredulous look, his older brother’s reaction consisting off a shrug of the shoulders makes him more paranoid.

“Y/N, you should not be drinking.” He voices his concern, as you’re on your second drink of the night. “This is wrong.”

“How is this different than me drinking back at home?” You argue with your eyebrows raised. “You don’t tell me I can’t drink when we’re back home.”

“Because it is legal for you to do so there!” Charles exclaims, somehow gathering the attention of some of the clubbers nearby, but he offers them an apological smile and then turns back to you with his voice lowered. “You’re not twenty one, ergo – you shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Pfft,” You shrug him off, “You’re stupid, and I’m bored. You want to dance?”

You help Charles to move into his flat in Italy when he starts racing for Ferrari. Though he still lives in Monaco full-time, he rented a small place in Maranello to stay when he’s travelling. It’s an emotional event, which has both of you sitting on the floor of his new apartment going through boxes of old photographs. He finds one of his brothers and Jules with you, standing in front of a karting ring with big smiles in all of your faces. You fingers involuntarily trace over your brother, your eyes misting when you think about the day.

“He was so young,” You whisper, having to swallow a sob which threatens to escape.

Your eyes linger on the photograph for a while, and Charles quickly understands that you were not talking about the photograph as the tears you were trying to hold back find their way onto your cheeks. “He was.” He agrees; there aren’t enough words in the world to describe what losing a family member does to a person, and he understands you in a way most people cannot.

You offer him a sad smile through your tears. “He would be so proud of you.”

“He would be also so proud of you,” He whispers right back, leaning closer to you so that he could wipe away the few stray tears. “In fact, I am pretty sure he is.”

“Stop it.” You laugh softly through your tears as you push yourself to get off the floor, and dry under your eyes with your fingers as you look across the room. “Oh my god, Charles, we have so many boxes to go through.”

He gets up after you and looks around the dusty living room as he attempts to get rid of the dust on his clothes. “We do, don’t we?” He watches as you kneel in front of an unopened box and slice through the tape with a knife, and starting to go through the items in the box. He watches you go through the items silently for a while, noticing how seriously you take the task. His eyes linger on the frown on your face for a while, the way your eyebrows scrunch in question, or how you tuck a stubborn piece of hair, which escapes from the braid in your hair, to the back of your ear. He stalks closer, gently gripping one of your wrists and pulling you to your feet. “Dance with me.” He asks – which comes off less as an ask and more of a demand, which causes you to playfully roll your eyes at him.

“Charles, the boxes–” You try to argue.

His laugh is laced with mischief. “The boxes will still be there, chérie, just one dance won’t change anything.”

You try to come with arguments in your head but all your attempts are quickly thrown out the window when you realise just how green Charles’ eyes actually are. “We don’t have any music.” You try to offer as a measly argument.

Charles raises his eyebrows as he wraps his arms around your waist after making you wrap yours around his neck. “We don’t need any music, Y/N.”

So you give up in any attempts in stopping him, as he starts to slowly sway both of your bodies from side to side. You let out a chuckle when he stars, terribly, humming to an old song you used to hear on the radio. “This is stupid.” You mumble as you keep up your pace with his movements.

“You seem to keep calling me that.” Charles recalls, making both of you laugh in recognition. “I need to tell you something important.”

“So tell me,” you encourage him, motioning him to continue.

“I met someone.” He announces, a small smile playing on his lips.

You breath get stuck for a moment, in which you remind yourself that Charles is waiting for your reaction – most likely a supportive one at that. “Wow, Charles.” You breath out and give him a smile, which you successfully manage to pass off as a supportive one, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your voice breaks off in the end. “I’m so happy for you.”

You’re not stupid – thinking that either of you could stay single forever is an unrealistic one. But it hurts to imagine him with another person while he looks at you like that makes a part of you crumble up into a ball on your bed and cry. And that’s just what you do when you go back to the hotel that night (because the house is still unliveable when the two of you decide you’re done for the day). You try to keep your sobs as quiet as possible because you know Charles is in the hotel room next to yours. As you’re looking out the window, watching the night sky light up with stars in Maranello that night, you tell yourself you, somehow, need to move on from your best friend.

The next time you see Charles is during Christmas time. You have a tradition – Lorenzo, Charles, Jules and you, a tradition, which Arthur joined once he was old enough. It’s a peculiar one. While it’s not uncommon for most families to watch Christmas movies during this time of the year, your choice of movie has not Christmas elements in it at all. Every Christmas, the four of you watch The Sound of Music. It’s a silly tradition which was born out of boredom and lack of movies one Christmas, but it’s a tradition you managed carried out every year.

You can still remember Lorenzo complaining because “It’s three hours of songs about whiskers and bass clef.”

While Jules gives his best friend an unamused glare, both you and Charles try to mimic the Frenchman who you idolise. “It has nuns, songs, Nazis and familial love, Lorenzo, what more could you ask for?” He shrugs as he turns his attention back on screen, “Plus, Julie Andrews is hot.”

“Why would she be hot?” You remember asking, the woman on the screen not seeming uncomfortable by the weather.

“No reason,” Jules assures you, wrapping one of his arms around you.“Watch the movie, shortcake.”

And yes, while it might be stupid to watch the same movie, which has no Christmas value at all, every year on Christmas day, it’s a reminder that you have each other even if you’re not always together. So when you sit down to watch the movie that Christmas, there is a bad feeling in your stomach when you realise Charles is not there to watch it with you. If his brothers also find it weird that he’s not there they don’t make a comment, neither do you, for that matter. You try to push it to the back of your mind and enjoy the moment, telling yourself that even if this is a tradition between the four of you, it’s not the end of the world if you fail to do it. So you smile, and have fun throughout the day – when you’re watching the movie, or when you decide to hold a gingerbread house competition (Arthur wins, by the way), or when you sit down to have dinner with your families, and it makes you feel a thousand times better.

It’s late when he comes home that night, Lorenzo and Arthur have already passed out on the couch with you trying to read the anatomy textbook on your lap in the low light.

“Hi.” He greets you as he gives you a tight-lipped smile.

“Hi.” You whisper back, trying not to wake up the boy sleeping next to you. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, it was a good day.” He answers truthfully, and then motions the book resting on your knees. “Aren’t you going to go to sleep?”

“No, I think I’m going to stay here tonight.”

He doesn’t argue as he presses a kiss on your temple. “Okay, good night, chérie.”

One thing about Charles, is that he is very secretive about his relationships – to the point where he won’t introduce someone to you or his family if he doesn’t think the relationship is going somewhere. So, when he brings over Charlotte for lunch the next day, there is a buzz around the house. The lunch goes well, you think. Charlotte is sweet, and the two of you talk about many things including your universities; she’s very impressed that you want to go into the medical field and you tell her that architecture must be a pain in the ass to study and she agrees with a loud laugh.

When Pascale asks them what they did for Christmas yesterday, Charlotte leans against Charles’ arm as she answers, “Oh, nothing. We just stayed home and watched that old movie – what was it again?”

“The Sound of Music.” Charles answers, his eyes are focused on his hands, and you know this, because your eyes don’t heave his frame until Arthur forces you to carry the dishes into the kitchen.

“We’ll do them, maman,” he announces when Pascale attempts to tidy up the dishes, “Y/N will help me, won’t you?”

“Yeah, sure.” You nod, the voice coming off from you not matching the sunny disposition you present to the rest of the room.

You carry the dishes Arthur passes to you to the kitchen, holding your breath in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, and you succeed, too. At least until Arthur comes after you, carrying more dishes and places them next to the other ones near the kitchen sink. You start scrubbing them with intensity, your sniffles and the sound from water whooshing around in the sink filling the room. Arthur pulls you against him as you lean your forehead to his shoulder, or where you can on his arm due to your height-difference, as you start quietly sobbing. Arthur turns the tap on as he lets you cry into his shoulder.

The two of you return to the dining room after the dishes are done, and continue the conversation as if nothing happened. After Charlotte announces that she should be on her way, you walk her to the door with everyone, the two of you exchanging numbers as she makes you promise to go shopping with her the next time you’re in Monaco. You agree with a chuckle and tell her only if she teaches you how to draw because your “Anatomy notes are seriously suffering.” After she gives Charles a kiss and leaves, Charles turns to you.

“It’s just a movie.” He says in a low voice.

“You’re allowed to have fun with your girlfriend, Charles.” You assure him and pat his shoulder for good measure. Then, you turn to Arthur, who is watching the exchange with a confused look on his face. “Want to play a round before I leave?”

“Sure,” he agrees and the two of you move into the living room to play a round of F1 on the PlayStation. He sets it up for you as you try to get comfortable on the couch, trying to get rid of the feeling of unease as Charles watches you from the other side of the couch. “Who do you want to pick?” Arthur asks you, the cursor hovering over his choice – who is of course his brother.

You stay quiet for a moment and answer him in a calm voice, “Give me Max.”

Charles scoffs from the other side and pushes himself off, his arms crossed over his chest. “Rich, Y/N, just rich.”

“What?” you ask him with faux innocence and a shrug of your shoulders.

His voice is accusatory when he snaps, “Stop being childish for a moment.”

“Oh, I’m being childish?” You ask him, getting off the couch as well.

“Yes, you’re being extremely childish right now.” He agrees, nodding his head. “Glad we at least agree on that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask again while narrowing your eyes.

He scoffs, “It’s just a stupid movie.”

“I didn’t say a fucking word about the movie, Charles.” You point out, mimicking his pose as you cross your arms over your chest. In reality, it’s a short attempt at trying to hide your shaking hands. “But it’s not a stupid movie, it’s tradition.”

“Traditions can be broken from time to time.” He argues.

“I didn’t say they couldn’t.” You shrug, trying to appear indifferent to the man in front of you.

“Maybe if you tried to stick around for more than three days at a time, you wouldn’t be so upset about these type of things.”

Your mouth hangs open in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Charles, maybe you should–” Arthur tries to stop his brother, but Charles waves him off.

“Sometimes I think ‘Did I do something?’, but then I realise that maybe the problem is not me–”

Though you’re shocked by his words, you find yourself assuring him, “It’s not, it has nothing to do with you.”

Both you and Arthur can see something snaps in him, causing him to raise his voice. “Then what is it? Tell me so I can fix it and you can stop running away!”

You shake your head, your arms which are wrapped around you becoming tighter as an attempt to provide yourself some sort of protection. “You can’t fix it, Charles.”

His arms become undone as his fists ball on either side of his body. “You don’t know that–”

“No you can’t!” You scream, somehow more tears flowing from your eyes. “You can’t bring Jules back because he’s dead, and you can’t fix me because I’m not a toy! You think I want to live this way? You think I want to go back every damn time I set foot in this city because I just hate it here? I can’t bear the thought of staying here because of the fact that my brother died while I was here and I didn’t get to say goodbye to him.” You point a finger towards him, your voice gradually becoming louder to match his. “He was dead by the time I got back to the hospital and they told me he couldn’t hold on any longer, how do you think that makes me feel every time I feel like I’ve overstayed in this city, huh?”

“You need to stop living in the past, Y/N.” He shakes his head. “Don’t you see you’re letting the past hold you back?”

“‘Letting the past hold me back’ do you even hear yourself right now? I am trying my best to move on!”

“By moving across the ocean?” He asks you, “By leaving the people you love you behind?”

“You– you can do this!” You scream as you walk towards him and jab your finger against his chest. “You told me to take the offer, you told me to move away because you were so sure we’d be fine.”

“Well maybe I was wrong.” He whispers, grabbing both of your wrists to stop you from poking him and curling his arms closer to his chest.

Your eyes widen with a furious look in them, which makes him realise he sees more of Jules in them than before. “Screw you, Charles.” You struggle against his hold, hitting his chest with your fists with every word as you scream, “Screw you for trying to dictate how I process my grief, and screw you for acting so indifferent.” You win your struggle in the end, taking advantage of the fact that he is both distracted and speechless to get out of his hold and quickly grab your things.

“Where are you going?” He asks you as you’re putting your coat on.

“Anywhere but here.” You snap at him, refusing to meet his eyes.

Arthur quickly comes near you with a concerned look, “You shouldn’t be driving right now, at least let me drive you.”

You give him the warmest smile you can muster up, “I’ll be fine, ThurThur,” your eyes find Charles’ as you continue, “Don’t ever change, okay?”

After the disastrous Christmas last year, you two didn’t talk for a whole year, even though the people around you tried their hardest to bring you to talk to each other. Even Charlotte tried to trick you into spending time, claiming that she had a work emergency just as you arrived at the lunch you two scheduled to find Charles sitting there – you quickly left without being seen and spent the day walking through the marina because “Fuck Charles if he thinks you can’t spend more than three days in Monte Carlo.” He spends Christmas with Charlotte again, but unlike this year, you don’t feel sad about his absence, choosing to call it growth when reality it’s actually packing it away to deal with it another time.

The two of you eventually do make up, though, when you go to one of Arthur’s races to support him and run into Charles on the track. You talk between breaks, both of you succumbing and apologising to each other for the things you’ve said – him more than you, but you still apologise for the way you’ve acted afterwards. Arthur has a strange smile on his face when he finds you, releasing a relieved breath when you told him that you’re fine and you’re going to take baby steps.

“Good,” he smiles, “maman was about to lock you onto Charles’ yacht.”

Your therapist calls is ‘survivor’s guilt’. Yes, you have one of those now because although you want it to be false, you think a part of what Charles said might be right. She explains to you that it’s a natural response where someone has suffered a loss and you didn’t. This confuses you, though, because even if the loss in question is the death of your brother, you weren’t there to experience it with the rest of your family. Dr. Gambini is there to explain that “Although it implies experience, it doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t not feel the loss of something you didn’t get to suffer.” So, you go through the therapy experience to try to understand your own feelings, which makes you think maybe it is what you should be focusing on in the first place. It’s an overwhelming feeling, understanding things about yourself which you didn’t before – the things you used to feel slowly gain meaning as you go about it. You’re proud of yourself when you talk about it to your parents, and they tell you that they are proud of you for giving it a go. Charles joins you in one of your sessions – it’s Charlotte’s idea, actually. He tries to understand why, and how he can help you – he leaves the session feeling proud of you for taking care of yourself.

A few months later, you get a phone call from him when you’re in the middle of the week when you are studying, while all of your friends are away for spring break. His voice is thick with tears as he tells you that it’s over between him and Charlotte, but refuses to give you a reason when you ask why. It leaves you confused in New York, but when he asks you if you can come home for the weekend, you don’t hesitate to book a ticket for the next flight out. He’s shocked to find you standing in front of his door, but pulls you in for a hug anyway. Neither of you care about the duffel bag that hits the floor at your feet, even when you’re stumbling over it to get to him. You don’t talk, but hold each other throughout the night. He offers to cook for you, but you decide that ordering pizza is a better solution than trying to each what Charles attempts to cook. So, you end up deciding on pizza and a movie.

You look at him confused when you realise which movie he’s selected, “It’s not Christmas, Charles.”

He sits down on the couch, and pulls you under his arm as he reaches for the pizza box sitting on the coffee table. There’s a nostalgic smile on his face which you cannot understand. “I owe you two screenings of this movie, Y/N. Now eat your pizza and watch it.”

So, the two of you watch the movie in silence – with silently laughing in relevant scenes and Charles even attempting to sing the Lonely Goatherd, which leaves you in tears because of how much you’re laughing. At the end of the night he walks you to the guest room in his apartment and pulls you for one last hug, whispering, “Thank you for coming,” into your hair.

“Of course, Charles.” You whisper, turning your head and softly pressing a kiss to his shirt-covered chest. “Try to get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.

He’s in the kitchen when you wake up in the morning, focusing so intently on something on his phone to notice you. You ruffle his hair as you make your way through the kitchen to make some breakfast for the two of you. “Good morning to you too, you grump.” You tell him, when you finish getting out the ingredients for the breakfast you have in mind.

“Morning, chérie.” He answers, in a non-committal voice.

“And to think I was going to make you pancakes.” You sigh as you halt the movement of your hands and lean against the counter.

A playful smile is on your lips when Charles excitedly raises his head. “Pancakes?” He asks in a soft voice.

“I was going to add chocolate chips, too, but you didn’t say good morning to me and now I don’t think I’m in mood to be honest with you.” You shrug, starting to put away the bowls you took out.

He quickly comes behind the counter to tickle some sense in you, and you use the bowl in your hands as a shield as you start laughing. He gives up after a while, pressing a kiss to your temple and fixing some of your hair which fell out of place during the ‘fighting’. “Good morning, how can I help you?”

“Wow, you actually want to help me cook for a change?” You coo, ruffling his hair again and hitting his hip with yours to get him out of your way. “Go wait on the other side, you grumpy baby.” He complies to your directions to sit on the other side of the island, but doesn’t bother with his phone this time. You make a motion towards his phone on the island with your head as you crack the eggs into the bowl. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just some problem with the car.” He answers. “I might need to go to Maranello for a day or two. When is your flight back to New York?”

“Oh– I can change it if you know the date–” You start to say, but he quickly cuts you off.

“What? No, I don’t want you to go back.” He quickly says, shaking his head. “I just thought you might want to come with me rather than stay here.”

“Oh,” You say, looking around. “It’s not a problem, I can stay and study.”

There is a confused look on his face. “Stay? Here?” He asks over and over again. “Here? Stay? Alone?”

“Yes, Charles, I can manage to stay by myself.” You sigh. “I did it last summer for a month, you can trust me, alright?”

“You were in Monte Carlo for a month, last summer? How did I not catch you at all?”

You let out another sigh, “In case you don’t realise, I’m very good at avoiding you.” You continue when he gives you yet another confused look as you start mixing the batter. “Charlotte told me to meet her at a restaurant but it was a set up for me to meet with you, so I got in the car and drove away. It was probably the closest we got to each other.”

“Wow.” He looks at you with wide eyes. “Just, wow.”

You roll your eyes and glare at him. “Stop looking at me like that. My classes are all online this semester and Dr. Gambini thinks it’s good for me to spend more time here; it’s supposed to help me get closure, or something.”

He gives you a big smile. “I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You ask him, his smile quickly mirroring on your own lips.

“Yeah.” He breathes out. “And you can stay here all you want! And cook me breakfast, you know.”

You let out a laugh this time. “I can get my own place, Charles.”

“But then who will cook me breakfast?” He asks with a small pout.

“You are a child, Perceval.” You laugh at the way he looks at you, with his elbows bent over the counter and his upper body leaning over the stove. “I’m only cooking you breakfast; you have to promise you won’t fall in love with me after this.” You joke.

You turn around to look in the cupboard for the chocolate chips as you hear him mumble, “Too late.”

You almost hit your head at the open cupboard door when you turn right back to look at him. “What?” You walk towards the island as you mumble out, “No, no, no, no, don’t say that. You just broke up with your girlfriend, Charles.”

“We broke up almost five months ago.” He announces, no hint of joking in his voice. “Right before the Abu Dhabi race.”

“That’s not true.” You say, shaking your head. “I spoke to Charlotte; she told me everything was fine.”

He shrugs, then offers you an explanation. “We announced it a couple of months later, but we’ve been broken up for a while.”

“But then why did you call me a couple of days ago to tell me it was over?” You ask him, visibly confused.

He looks guilty as he admits. “I– I don’t have a good answer for that.” He stalks over to the other side of the island again to trap you between himself and the marble in an attempt to prevent you from evading. “All I can say is that I love you.”

“Oh, wow.” You say, suddenly you can find the right choice for words. “Say that again for me?”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“Now in French?”

“Je t'aime.”

“In Italian?”

“Ti amo.” He laughs this time, leaning down towards you to bring his face towards yours. “You done?” You nod your head with a giggle escaping past your lips. “This would be a perfect time to say something, you know.”

“Oh, right.” You nod in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

“What?” He asks in horror.

“Yeah, thank you. You know, for the–”

“Chérie!” He exclaims with his eyes wide.

You continue your giggles as you place your hands on his cheeks and pull his face towards you, resting his forehead on yours. “I love you too, chez moi,” my home/place. The pancakes are long-forgotten when you pres your lips on his to give him a kiss, somewhere in the universe your twelve year-old is high-fiving with herself, but you are happy to be finally home.

#monzabee #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst

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russellsppttemplates · 21 days

Note

have u done the reader meeting charles' family for the first time🥹🫶🏻//

hey friend I think you got the prompt reversed. they requested reader meeting the leclerc family, not charles meeting the readers family.

Note: I absolutely did 🤦‍♀️ my bad! What's worse is that the piece I mentioned in the I also the right way around - I'm going with "it was late for me" 🤡 thank you for letting me know!

Charles parked the car in his spot in the garage, having just picked you up from your place since it was raining and he didn't want to you to catch an Uber or something like that.

"You don't need to worry, amour, my family won't think you're a 'snobby princess' because I went to pick you up", Charles shook his head, "my mother was the one who kicked me out of my own apartment to come and get you", he kissed your cheek, "ready?", he asked as he unlocked the door.

"Hi Y/N, I'm so happy you could join us for dinner", a blonde woman said, pulling you into a warm hug, "hi, thank you for having me with you", you smiled as you walked to the living room.

"I thought I told you I didn't want your feet on my coffee table", Charles swatted his brothers' feet from the piece of furniture, "That's no way to receive a guest, boys, c'mon", Pascale scolded.

"Hi, I'm Y/N", you smiled, waiting for them to get up and greet you how they wanted, going for a quick hug and a kiss on each cheek.

"I'm Arthur", the youngest one said, "glad we can finally meet you, we've heard so much about you that I feel like I know you", he smiled.

"I doubt I'm that interesting", you joked along as Charles squeezed your waist softly, "I'm sure you are, mon coeur".

"Charles actually made you sound like this unattainable example of perfection", the oldest Leclerc brother said, "I'm Lorenzo, who can believe you're all he said, but can't quite believe you chose him of all people", he winked.

"You should be kinder, Lorenzo!", a woman said as she stepped into the living room, "I'm Charlotte, Lorenzo's girlfriend, it's so nice to meet you, Y/N, I've been needing girl company whenever these three get together", she smirked.

"I'm happy to help with anything you need", you said as you set your things down in Charles' bedroom, "I just need to bring these to the table, it's no problem - but if you want to take the bread and the tapenade while you're here", Pascale smiled as she carried a bigger tray.

"Just so you know, my mother already loves you", Charles said once he caught you in the kitchen alone washing your hands before eating, "it hasn't been too long for me to ruin it that much", you joked.

Charles tapped your butt, "not like that, that's not what I meant and you know it! I mean she loves you since she noticed how happy you make me, and that goes beyond helping set the table or stuff like that", he kissed your lips, "you have a way with the Leclercs, they fall at your feet, amour".

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

#charles leclerc blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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larluce · 2 months

Text

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace , @star-rie , @error-username-not-available , @dogberryrowan , @jamieweasley13 , @tansyuduri , @tercais , @robynnemrys because we deserved a better epic battle between Merlin and Nimueh.

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10 , PART 11 , PART 12 (You're here) , PART 13

More of "The Poisoned Chalice"

Arthur: Do you want to see what you'll be wearing tonight?

Merlin: (thinking) Not those ridiculous ceremonial robes again! (says) My clothes, obviously.

Arthur: (smiling brightly) No, the official ceremonial robes of the servants of Camelot!

Merlin:(fakes excitament) Oh, I can't wait to see them.

Arthur: (pulls out a very nice and elegant robes, nothing to do with the buffon custome he wore in his timeline)

Merlin: (mouth open) You... you can't be serious.

Arthur: (frowns in confusion) You don't like them?

Merlin: Are you kidding? Arthur, they're gorgeous! They look more like noble's clothes than servant's clothes. I... I can't use that.

Arthur: Too bad. You're using them. (throws robes at Merlin, who catches them in reflex) In fact, Keep them. They're now yours.

Merlin: What?! Wait! Arthur-

Arthur: You're welcome (leaves before Merlin can't give him the clothes back)

Merlin: (in shock for a few seconds, but then puts the robes on and smiles) Uhm, they fit perfectly. Just like the other ones. (processing) Wait, how did he know my measures? 😧

Time skip. Just after the revelation the cup was poisoned.

Uther: (furious) Who dare to try to poison my son!

Merlin: (raises his voice) I know who did it!

Arthur: Merlin don't-

Merlin: (points at Nimueh) It was her! I saw her entering the room were the ceremonial goblets were at night!

Nimueh: (surprised pikachu face)

Uther: (suspicious, to Bayard) Doesn't she work for you?

Bayard: (unsure) I don't recall her face.

Merlin: (mumbles a revelation spell to undo the glamour Nimueh put on herself)

Arthur: (subtly stands infront of him, so nobody sees Merlin's eyes turn gold, thinking) Has he always being this careless for gods' sake!

Uther: (livid, shouts) Nimueh! (to guards) Seize her!

Nimueh: (Runs)

Arthur: (tries to go after her)

Uther: (stops him) Don't. She's too dangerous.

Arthur: Do you know her? Who is she?

Uther: Nimueh. She's a very powerful sorcerer. No one you should mess with.

Arthur: (thinking) And yet you messed with her (turns to Merlin) Merlin, we have to-

Merlin: (already gone)

Arthur: Merlin! (thinking) He did not go into danger alone again! He did not just go to confront a powerful sorcerer all by himself. This motherfu- (shouts, between furious and concerned) Merlin! (leaves where the guards went)

Uther: Arthur! (sighs and turns to his knights) Go with him.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the woods.

Nimueh: (stops running to take a breath)

Merlin: (appears) I must say that was a really intelligent plan. Pretending to be some innocent maiden and trying to make me believe Bayard poisoned the goblet. But you won't fool me. (thinking) Not twice.

Nimueh: (laughts dryly) I understimated you. I'll give you that.(straightens up, smirking) Come now. We are too valuable to each other to be enemies.

Merlin: (dryly) I share nothing with you.

Nimueh: Don't you want Arthur to become king?

Merlin: You just tried to poison him!

Nimueh: No, I was trying to poison you. You keep interfiring in my plans when we have the same enemy. I have nothing against Arthur. It's Uther I want to destroy.

Merlin: By killing innocent people? Sorry if I'm not okay with that.

Nimueh: Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.

Merlin: You just seek revenge, not justice. Nothing justifies what you've done. (Steps forward) I'll make Arthur king when the time is right. But you won't see that day. (extends his hand) Astrice! (strikes her with light of energy)

Nimueh: (traps energy in her hand) Your childish tricks are useless against me, Merlin. It's a shame, you could've been a powerful sorcerer, perhaps, if you had the time, the training and the experience, but you are no more than a newly hatched chick that hasn't learned how to fly. I, on the other hand, have been practicing magic for decades. I'm a Priestess of the Old Religion. I am an opponent you could face but not defeat Forbearne! Akwele! (Throws fireball at him)

Merlin: (stops fireball midair without moving a finger)

Nimueh: (utterly confused) ... What? 😨

Merlin: You're right. Immature talent can't overcome decades of experience. But an experienced talent can. Akwele! (Throws fireball back with more force and bigger)

Nimueh: Scildan! (makes a invisible shield so the fire doesn't touch her) Forbairn ypile! (Makes a circle of fire around Merlin)

Merlin: Cume þoden! (Makes a whirlwind that blows the fire and then strikes Nimueh against a tree) Fire is not the only element you can work with, you know?

Nimueh: (smiles) Oh, I know. Gewican ge eorðe (makes a hole in the ground and Merlin falls there while he screams. Then she stands up and starts walking to the hole, limping a little, and says to herself, rubing her back) Oh, that hurt.

Merlin: (emerges floating in a piece of earth and stone, eyes golder than ever) This is going to hurt more. Eorðe, stanas, hiersumaþ me. Akwele! (Jumps from the rock and it goes to strike Nimueh)

Nimueh: Stanas tobrytan! (manages to break the rock into pieces but she's still hit by them and is severely injured)

Merlin: (stands over her with a somber expression)

Nimueh: (recoiling in fear, weakely) How...? How can this be? You shouldn't be this powerful! You manipulate magic as if you've been practicing it for a life time!

Merlin: (coldly) You don't have to know. (Starts to create a fireball in his hand, about to make the final blow)

Lancelot: (appearing in the distance, meters behind Merlin) Hey! What's happening?

Merlin: (the flame dies as well as the gold in his eyes and he turns around, wide eyed, whispering overcome with emotion) Lancelot?

Nimueh: (takes advantage Merlin is distracted and pulls out a dagger hidden in her leg)

Lancelot: Look out! (Runs to them)

Merlin: (moves away just in time so the dagger cuts his neck superficially)

Knight 1: (far away, but getting closer) I think I heard something!

Knight 2: (far away, but getting closer) This way!

Nimueh: (runs away as fast as she can with all her body hurting)

Lancelot: (goes to Merlin) Did she hurt you?

Merlin: I... (falls)

Lancelot: (catches him before he hits the ground) By the gods! She did! (Checks him, full panic mode)

Merlin: (thinking in Lancelot's arms, only able to move his eyes) No, she did not. The wound is barely a scratch but she put a paralyzing poison on the blade, the sneaky bitch. 😑

Lancelot: (sees Merlin's neck is bleeding, worried) There's so much blood.

Merlin: (Thinking) No, there isn't. 🙄 Honestly, Lancelot, have you seen a serious wound before? (Analysing his symptoms) Hum... It's not a letal one, the effects should go in an hour or so.

Lancelot: (checks his vital signs and sighs in releaf) He's still alive.(shaking Merlin) Hey! Can you hear me?!

Merlin: (Thinking) Yes I can! I just can't talk or move, damn it! 😠 I did miss you though 🥺. Why did we have to meet again like this? 😖

Arthur: (arrives with his knights) Merlin! (raises his sword, furious) Stay away from him!

Lancelot: (puts Merlin on the ground gently and steps back, hands up) I was just helping him! The girl. She did something to him. He's seriously hurt! He needs help!

Merlin: (thinking) No I'm not! I'm just... ugh, never mind 😒.

Arthur: (finally sees Lancelot's face and his features harden due to the resentment he feels towards the man he once considered a friend but then betrayed him by getting involved with his soon to be wife in his other timeline) Arrest him.

...

Before you ask why doesn't Arthur know Gwen was echanted and Lancelot was a shade that time if he's from the future, well the only one who could've told him that was Merlin and he was a tree so... And I don't recall Merlin ever mentioning any of this to Gaius. But even if he did, I think Gaius just focused on telling Arthur everything Merlin did for him with his magic, and the man is old, he could easily have forgotten to tell him a couple of things.

#merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin #merlin fanfic #merlin fic #merlin prompt #merthur fic #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merthur prompt #Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

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skylarsblue · 16 days

Text

★RDR2 Incorrect Quotes★

(If you see duplicates from my COD version of these? Shh, no you didn't) ★Border made by @fairytopea★

Ms.Grimshaw What are you doing, you oaf? Young!Arthur, staring at Y/N: They’re pretty. Ms.Grimshaw …and you’re ugly, now get back to work.

- (Pre-joining the gang) Abigail, trying to get paid: What’s your favorite color, John? John: Blue. No, green. Abigail: Awesome! I love learning about you. John: I fucked up, it’s yellow.

- Arthur, cutting a huge knot out of John’s hair: I fucked up, we gotta go bald. *head locks him still* Young!John, flailing violently: WAAAAAHHHH-

Seán: Psst, Lenny, ay mate, wake up! Lenny: Huh- Wh-what? What is it? Seán: I heard something outside the tent. Lenny: What? Seán: Like a woman crying in the distance, but I couldn’t hear her footsteps. Lenny: Okay?? What do you want me to do? Seán: Come look with me! Lenny: Hell no! Seán: Why not? Lenny: I got too much melanin and too much sense for that white people shit. You wanna let demons get you, be my guest, leave me out of it.

- (John HAD to have SOMETHING that captivated her, for humor’s sake? We’ll say he had jokes)

Abigail: You have to find my darling husband, I’m so worried about him. Arthur: Seriously, what do you see in that guy? Abigail: He makes me laugh.

- Micha: I've got the urge to say something. Arthur: And what's that? Micha: The N-Word- Arthur: WHOA-

- Bill: But seriously, is it your whole emo thing that she’s into or what? John: …yeah, long flowing straight hair, very emo.

- Karen: This- Hmm. Tilly: Be nice. Karen: I’m findin’ it. Mary-Beth: …it takes you that long to find- Karen: It does, it does.

- (O’Driscoll troubles) Kieran: Arthur we’re going to get murdered. We’re going to get murdered by a man who can’t tie a fucking bow tie. Arthur: At least he won’t torture us, can’t tie a rope either.

- John: Ugh, you know they’re gonna make us do one of those tacky family happiness photos that comes in the restaurants shitty frame. Tilly: Why are you so fucking negative all the time? John: Wh- uh- I just- Arthur: *slowly sucks tea through straw*

- Seán: Someone just said; “You’re a criminal!” Seán: *handkerchief on, gun in one hand, bag of money in the other* Seán: Well I’ll tell ya what, Sherlock Holmes. You are unbelievable.

- The Gang: Arthur is dying and Micha is a rat! Dutch, dancing with money: *insert that audio that goes “I don’t give a fuck cause I’m a ✨millionaire✨, I do what I want, middle finger in the air!”*

- John, drunk: You think the wind is ever tryna tell us something and we don’t know how to hear it anymore? Charles, loading up a drunk Arthur into a wagon: I just want you to stop saying odd shit.

- Abigail: If we lose, I’m gonna cut the judge. John: Wh- you brought your switchblade?? Abigail: Mhm. John: But they patted us down on the way in, where did you hide i- ohhhhhhh.

- Arthur: …you ever wish you could just, turn into a bird and fly away from everything? Charles: I think we need to get you to a therapist for depression. John: I’d wanna be a wolf. Charles: And we should get you psych evaluation for Autism.

- Sheriff: You seem like a reasonable and good natured person. Arthur: *looks around* And you look like you need glasses.

- Abigail: What would your father say?! Jack: Uhhh “I’ll fix it!” And then make it worse until luck comes around and makes it work, and then act like that was the plan the whole time? Abigail: …that’s my bad, I should’ve used a different phrase to express my disappointment.

- (I dunno why but John being super mean to some people is so fucking funny to me. I don't hate Bill, but bullying him is fun)

Bill: You enjoyin’ the wife everyone else paid to have? John: You mean the woman I never had to pay for? The woman who liked me so much, she didn’t ask for any money to sleep with me? In fact; she liked me so much, she married me? The woman who makes me a warm dinner and kisses me everyday? Mother of my child? John: I am enjoyin’ yeah. What about you, Bill? Bill: John: You enjoyin’ your lonely life, you unlovable sorry sack of shit? You enjoyin’ having to pay for someone to pretend they like you? Cause they never actually do. They hate you actually, like me. I hate you. Eat shit and die, Bill.

- Arthur: …him? Really? Mary-Beth Don’t be mean! Arthur: He looks like a rescue dog, Mary-Beth. Mary-Beth: I know, I like that! Arthur: ….you like that?? Mary-Beth: His pathetic wet eyes and general wimpy stature have captivated me. Arthur: *sigh* Whatever makes you happy.

- Bill: At the end of the day, Arthur. I am a MAN. Arthur: A MAN WHO’S GAY. You like fellers GETTHATTHROUGHYOURHEAD!

- Dutch: I have a plan. Hosea: You haven’t planned shit. Dutch: I’ve planned it.

- Hosea: Arthur! What on earth are you doing?! Young!Arthur: Getting rid of this demon. Young!John: *screeching and trying to get out of Arthur’s grip* Hosea: And why do you plan to get rid of him? Arthur: Because, Hosea! He woke me up by leaning over me and whispering, “I know what death feels like, it’s cold. Have you felt death?” Arthur: HE’S CLEARLY EVIL, HOSEA Hosea: That’s just how children are, Arthur. Dutch: He’s right son, put the boy down. Dutch, leaning and whispering to Hosea: But maybe we should buy a Bible just in case. Hosea: And a cross.

- (Modern au and suicide joke)

John: It’s not a phase! It’s a lifestyle, you just wouldn’t get it! Arthur: You think I didn’t go through the “I can’t tell if I want to kill myself or everyone around me” phase? Come on. John: What? I don’t wanna kill myself at all. Arthur: … John: … John: Should I- should we go talk to Hose- Arthur: We should forget this conversation happened. Take this Nirvana CD and keep your mouth shut.

- Abigail: …John. John: Yes, my angel? Abigail: You forgot something. John: No I didn’t! I took the list with me, checked it three times, even crossed things off when I put it in the cart! See, look. Apples, frozen hamhocks, cranberry juice- Abigail: John. You took Jack with you. John: Abigail: John: Abigail: John: SHIT I LEFT HIM BY THE PASTA SECTION Abigail: STOP STANDING THERE AND GO GET HIM!

- Jack: Pa, how did you get mom to marry you? John: Well son, I- John: John: I have no idea. Jack: Should I ask mom? John: I’ll be honest, I don’t think she knows the answer either.

- Charles: You did good back there. Arthur: Oh? Heh, nah, you did all the fancy stuff. I just helped. Charles: Don’t undersell yourself, Arthur. I wouldn’t be complimenting you for no reason. Arthur: Oh yeah? And here I thought you were just trying to fluff up my ego. Charles: Wouldn’t hurt to do when you work so hard, no? Arthur: Now you’re just being’ sweet- John: Can y’all wait til we’re done before you start your spiritual dick sucking? Arthur: Can you repent to the lord fast enough to save your soul in the time it’ll take me to throw you into the damn ocean, Marston?!

- Arthur: Do you even have a brain? John: Do you even have someone that loves you? Arthur: John: John: I heard it that time, I’m sorry. Arthur: This is what Abigail hears sometimes, just so you know. John: I heard it that time, I got it. I- I’ll just- Arthur: Whiskey, full bottle. The nice kind. John: Apology alcohol, got it.

NPC: My husband’s parents are so crazy. In-laws always are, huh? Abigail: Well, uh-

*John being an orphan* *John’s adoptive dads being criminals, one particularly off his rocker*

Abigail: ….aha, yeah;;

- Abigail: John Marston, you useless, foolish, stupid man! Bill: To hell with John! Abigail, suddenly with a very large gun: NO ONE INSULTS MY HUSBAND.

- Arthur, holding up a proper painting he actually put time and effort into: Could a depressed person make this? Charles: The painting: *a wolf in the rain laying it’s head over the body of a deer shot with an arrow* Charles: I’m, in fact, more convinced you have depression now. Arthur: …yeah this wasn’t the best evidence for my argument, huh? Charles: No. Not at all.

- John: What are you talking about? That’s completely normal, it’s like having opinions. just cause it doesn’t happen to you doesn’t mean- Tilly: No, John! No. It’s not normal to have that reaction to the sound of hearing metal on metal. John: No look, uh- Arthur! Arthur come here! Arthur: What now? John: What happens when you hear metal on metal? Like, a can bein’ rubbed with a knife. Arthur: Ugh, I hate that sound. It makes my damn skin crawl, like I got beetles underneath. Makes me wanna skin myself to get’em out. John: Right! See, Tilly? It’s not just me! Tilly: ????

Charles: …and you never got them evaluated? Hosea: In hindsight, an autistic diagnosis probably would’ve made more things make sense. But, what can ya do.

- Arthur after a dog didn’t positively react to him: Maybe this is my final straw. Charles: No. Arthur: It might be. Charles: It’s one dog. There are twenty that you stopped to pet along the way here, plenty more for you to pet after this. Arthur: You don’t understand, this is devastatin’. Charles: Arthur, please- Arthur: Utterly devastatin’, Charles.

- Arthur, tipsy: Just cause you’re gorgeous don’t mean I’ma do whatever you say. Charles: Drink the water, Arthur. Arthur: *grabs the glass* Yes, sir.

- (Got a Y/N one, also, modern Au)

Arthur: That’s the Aberdeen farm. Y/N: …what’s wrong with it? Arthur: What’cha mean? Y/N: The vibes, they’re off. Arthur: …the…vibes? Y/N: The energy, Mister Morgan. The vibe of the place. They’re off, they’re weird, wack even. I sense insidious and wretched wavelengths wafting from the aura of that property. Arthur: I see…well, to answer your question, it’s cause they are weird. And I ain’t even confirmed why cause I don’t really wanna know. Y/N: I see you can also sense the vibes are rank. Arthur: …sure, whatever that means.

- Micha: Well I think- Y/N: Well I’m certain no one fucking asked, Micha! Not a single damn person asked what the hell you thought, ever! In fact, I’m pretty sure you don’t think. I’m pretty sure your skull fills with all the bullshit in your organs, and it just spills out your mouth! Micha: Micha: I- Y/N: Shut up, Micha!

- Arthur, after Albert explains some super dangerous plan in order to get wild animals near him to photograph: You’re stupid, I like that in a man.

- Y/N: Bye Arthur, bye Karen, bye Hosea, bye Arthur. Sadie: You said ‘bye Arthur’ twice. Y/N: I like Arthur.

- NPC: Lovebirds, eh? Sadie: Arthur: Sadie: I’d rather eat a poison ivy plant with Holly Berries for dressing. *looks at Arthur* No offense. Arthur: No no, none taken. All things considered, I’d rather dive into a pit of tar and then drag myself face first through a plain of rotten chitlins. Sadie: Completely fair!

- Bill: I need you to realize you ain’t in charge here. Y/N: I need you to realize I don’t give a shit.

- Arthur: Hey Charles, uh, I got an Uhm…a spiritual question. Charles: Any particular reason you chose to ask me? Arthur: Uh well- I didn’t mean for it to be like that- I just- Charles: *sigh* What is it? Arthur: Do you know what it means when an elk stands up on its back legs? Charles: That means- Charles: WE SHOULD LEAVE, we need to leave, that’s what that means!

- Jack: …why are your boobs so big? Charles: They’re not boobs. Jack: Do you have to wear a brasier? Charles: *sigh* Arthur: He asked me the same thing a couple weeks ago, don’t think to hard bout it.

(Story spoilers!!) Y/N: I'm sorry, let me get this straight. Y/N: You picked up that man when he was a destitute child, grieving and starving. Taught him almost everything he knows. Y/N: Then, you did that with, what? Three others? In similar circumstances? Y/N: Created a sense of family and community, a strong bond between so many misfortuned people. With your trustworthy long term friend by your side. Y/N: And then. Y/N: One RAT. WHO IS OPENLY ANTAGONISTIC AND REEKS OF SUSPICION AS MUCH AS HE DOES HORSE SHIT, SOMEHOW CONVINCES YOU TO GO OFF YOUR ROCKER AND HARM YOUR GANG?! Y/N: Explain! Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: He praised me- Y/N: YOUR PRAISE KINK GOT YOU TO AIM A GUN AT YOUR SONS????

- Arthur: Naaah they’re an angel. Lenny: They punched Bill in the face. Seán: They told Strauss he was a waste of human material, in his own language, which they’re not fluent in. Mary-Beth: They framed Micha for a crime and got him put in prison again. Arthur: Like I said, an angel!

- John: Woman. (Translation: Darling.) Abigail: Moron. (Translation: Lovebug.)

Arthur: You tellin’ me they’re being affectionate right now? Jack: Can’t’cha read subtext, Uncle Arthur? Arthur: ???

(Insert Alcohol is truth serum reference)

Drunk Bill: Not to be gay, but you’re gorgeous bro. Kieran, afraid: You don’t have to be gay to appreciate a man’s beauty. Absolutely shit-faced Bill: Nah, like I’d fuck you, bro. Kieran, terrified: Okay, never mind!

- (How I imagine their first couple years together went)

Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: How do you feel about me? Hosea, naked & beside him: ….we’re sharin’ a bedroll, Dutch. Dutch: Yes, but what are we, Hosea? Hosea: ….we’re both naked, alone, in a tent, Dutch. Dutch: That doesn’t answer my question. Hosea:

- (This one's sad, not funny, sorry-) John: You’re such a hypocrite, why is it that anything I do that you’ve done before that you get so bent outta shape?! Arthur: Because I’ve done it before you, John. John: So why do you think it’s fair to tell me not to?! Most people are proud when their younger brother ends up like’em. You don’t want anyone like you, is that it? Arthur: John: John: …oh. Arthur: Now that you got my point, will you take my god damn advice without a big fuss…please.

- John: She drives me insane! She somehow managed to make me the angriest I’ve ever been almost daily. NPC: Then leave her. John: The fu- no. What? She’s the wind beneath my wings, my darling wife, my beautiful angel. How the hell could you even think to suggest such a thing? NPC: But- John: Get outta my sight, you fuckin’ disgrace.

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lokideservesahug · 29 days

Text

For How Long!?!

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-Pairings: Logan Sargeant x fem!Reader SMAU

But, platonic pairings of reader x:

Oscar Piastri, Arthur Leclerc, Mick Schumacher, Liam Lawson, Max Verstappen and many, many more.

Warning: None to my knowledge and reader is faceless- there are no mentions of ethnicity or body type. Pictures are there only as a visual, you can imagine them however you would like!

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you all so much for the support!

This is my first piece of writing or even smau so I apologise for how bad it is and the lack of characterisation. No photos are my own. This is by no means an attempt to harm or distress any people mentioned in the story. This is a work of fiction!

Please don't steal, translate or copy my works in any way.

P.S. Also I don't know how to title this so it may change but for now here is the intro...

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When the year changed to 2024, the last thing you expected was to be racing in F1. But after a sudden drop out of a certain Canadian driver, you recieve an extremely unexpected phone call with an offer that you would have never ever expected; this leads you to question where your loyalty lies and your future in general...

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Google:

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You sit down and stare at the camera. The woman behind gives you a nod and at that moment a red light turns on on the right hand side of the recording device. "State your name for the camera please" Someone says to you.

This is a nice, calm break from the constant stress recently. "My name is Y/N Y/L/N" you say as the woman from before nods. She turns to speak to an assistant as you look down. You're used to being overanalysed in motorsports but to have that feeling whilst also having every move recorded...It's already nerve-wracking and you haven't been here for more than a few minutes. "That was good but could you add a bit more detail afterwards this time around?" You accept her request as she returns to her original position behind the camera.

"Hi I'm 22 year old Y/N Y/L/N. I drive for Aston Martin Aramco Formula 1 team, and you're watching drive to survive."

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So it's not much but this is the introduction of sorts to this story.

Likes, reposts and especially feedback is greatly appreciated. :)

#logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant x reader #f1 #ldah's writing #logan sargeant #logan sargeant fic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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project-sonadow · 2 months

Text

happy hour drabble # 2

Sonic had been dragging his feet all day. It was Monday again, which meant there wasn't much to do at Speedy's. Count the change, polish his roller skates, clean the fryers. That was his routine. By the end of his shift, it felt like there were lead blocks stuffed in his socks.

One of his coworkers gave him a strange look when he hung up his hat. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," the girl replied. For some reason, her eyes looked sad. "Get some rest tonight, won't you, Arthur? We can't have you calling out; you're our best skater!"

Sonic raised an eyebrow, but before he could ask what she meant by that, she disappeared out the back door. Though her voice was muffled now, he could still make out her last request: "And don't forget to lock up!"

Rolling his eyes, Sonic twirled the keys in between his fingers and shook his head. This wasn't his first rodeo! After switching out his skates for his regular, non-wheeled shoes, he left the restaurant with his laces still untied. The door closed behind him, and he locked it with a soft click.

Shadow was waiting for him in his usual spot. The headlights on Shadow's motorcycle illuminated the dark parking lot with warm yellow light, and its engine filled the air with a weighty hum. Sonic hopped onto the back of the bike in one swift motion, and then wrapped his arms around Shadow’s waist like he'd been waiting to do it all day.

"No detours tonight," Sonic said. "I'm bushed!"

Shadow glanced back over his shoulder and was greeted by a mess of wild brown-and-blue quills. "Fine," he said. "That disaster you call a coat would give us away in an instant. Save your strength so I can fix it before bed."

If Sonic replied, it was drowned out by the sound of the motorcycle's engine as it roared to life. Sonic rested his head against Shadow's shoulder as the dark hedgehog drove them back to their apartment. The cool air felt nice against Sonic's fur as the wind whipped through it.

Soon, they arrived. Shadow parked the motorcycle in front of their apartment building before the two of them got off. Only then, under the bright white streetlights, did Shadow see the red flush on Sonic's cheeks. Without so much as a word, Shadow stepped forward and pressed the back of his hand against Sonic's forehead.

"Uh?" Sonic blinked. "Sh-- Lance? What're you...?"

Shadow dropped his hand from Sonic's forehead. "You're burning up," he said matter-of-factly. Then, he took Sonic's hand. "Come. Let's go inside."

Sonic let Shadow lead him up the stairs as he processed what he'd just said. "Wait," Sonic said as Shadow pushed open the door to their apartment. "I'm sick? But it's Monday!"

"Correct."

After both of them were inside the apartment, Shadow shut the door. Now, Sonic's face was screwed up like he was trying to solve a difficult math problem. "That doesn't make any sense," Sonic was saying. "I wasn't sick last Monday, or last last Monday, or--"

Shadow interrupted, "It's possible our minds aren't the only things that remain intact throughout time."

Sonic frowned, "So, someone's germs from the last loop are making me sick in this one?" He paused to think about that for a second. "That's not good, dude. That means..."

"Any consequences will persist regardless of our current place in time," Shadow finished. He was frowning now, too.

"Great," Sonic said, even though nothing about this was great. "Well, there goes my Plan A."

"And what was that?"

Sonic grinned, "'Run straight at the bad guy and hope for the best'!"

Shadow pursed his lips and sighed. Loudly. With agitation. "That's always your plan."

Sonic opened his mouth to reply, but a sneeze cut off whatever snarky remark he had prepared. His grin faded as he remembered how tired he was. Talk about a buzzkill! Next time he saw Tails, he'd have to ask him to make a shrink ray, so he could fight off germs with his fists.

Shadow shook his head as he watched Sonic's ears droop. "Go. Sit," he said. "I'll take it from here."

Sonic wanted to argue, but Shadow’s stern brown eyes made him feel funny. “Whatever,” Sonic muttered as he averted his gaze. “Just don’t take too long. I can’t promise I’ll stick around if you do!”

In truth, Sonic wasn’t going anywhere. Now that he was free from the constraints of his 9 to 5, and the horrors of capitalism were held back by the immutable strength of their apartment door, he was left with nothing to distract him from his fever. He shuffled into the bathroom and plopped down on the stool, waiting for Shadow to come in with the dye.

He sniffled. His bones hurt. He scratched his head, irritated. This never would’ve happened to world famous superhero, Sonic the Hedgehog. It was only because he was disguised as some random punk that he’d gotten sick.

“I seem to remember your fox friend recounting a tale to the contrary,” Shadow suddenly said. He’d appeared in the doorway, dye in hand. “Something about you and Arabian Nights…?”

Sonic waved his hand. “That was different,” he said.

Shadow popped the lid off a bottle of brown dye. “Oh? Is that so?”

Huffing indignantly, Sonic replied, “Yeah. That time, my worst enemy was a super powerful genie. This time, it’s customers!”

Shadow lowered his head. Sonic could’ve sworn he saw him smile. “Hold still,” Shadow said, his hands freshly gloved up and covered in dye. “I’ll be quick.”

Regardless of the truth of that statement, Sonic was physically, mentally, and emotionally incapable of holding still. He tried. Of course, he didn’t want to squirm around like a worm in the rain. But he couldn’t help it! Just like he couldn’t help but tap his foot against the linoleum, his claws clack-clack-clacking against the tile as he did so. That was, until one of Shadow’s hands moved to the back of Sonic’s left ear, and Sonic froze.

Sonic felt Shadow rub the dye into his fur. He felt his claws brush gently against the softest part of his ear. And Sonic stopped thinking about how lame it was to be sick. He didn’t worry about holding still. His heart fluttered in his chest and his eyes closed, totally focused on how good it felt to have Shadow’s fingers in his fur.

Shadow paused, having noticed the strange shift in Sonic’s behavior. But there was no time for him to lean forward and investigate, because a gentle pressure was now pushing against the palm of his hand, urging him to continue.

It was Sonic, leaning into Shadow’s touch.

Shadow nearly choked, but he managed to keep his composure. He isn’t feeling well, Shadow reminded himself. That’s all this was.

And yet, when Shadow resumed styling Sonic’s quills, he wasn’t thinking about covering up all the blue spots anymore. Instead, he focused his attention on just that one spot behind Sonic’s ear. He didn’t know why. Maybe he pitied Sonic. As the Ultimate Lifeform, he would never know how it felt to be ill.

Sonic leaned deeper into Shadow’s touch. His tense shoulders relaxed. His job, their mission, the time loop–none of that mattered anymore. Somewhere inside his chest, next to his heart, a soft rumbling began. Purring.

Sonic was purring.

Abruptly, Shadow stood. He turned away from Sonic, so he didn’t see him blink his eyes open sleepily.

“Shadow…?”

“That’s all for now,” Shadow said stiffly. “Count yourself lucky. If not for your… illness… you would’ve been sitting there for much longer.”

And then he exited the bathroom, leaving Sonic sitting there as the last of his purrs quietly faded away.

#project writes #sonadow #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgheog #happy hour au #hehe :)c

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lordofthecherubs · 2 months

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Hello Euphoria [Part 1]

“Knew it was too strong for your liking.”

“For my liking? I looove this stuff, Arthur.” You slurred, pointing to the drink in your hand for emphasis.

“Love is a strong word, cowpoke.” He offhandedly said.

“Strong feeling, too.”

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+, MDNI. Eventual Smut. Slight slow burn. Reader is part of the gang already. Drunkness. Horseshoe Overlook Chapter. Reader is a lightweight.

The summer this season was particularly grueling. As the sound of birds twittering overhead remained the same as they always were, everyone in the camp seemed to be barely making it day by day without turning into a melted puddle in the ground. Even Charles, stoic and resilient as he was, seemed to be letting the heat get the best of him; nearly planting Micah into the dirt ground after he had made one of his insensitive comments. Tensions were high.

In the late 1800s, there were scarce few ways to find relief from the heat and cool down. Modern luxuries of air conditioning or plug-in fans were not of access. You could swim in a lake, or buy yourself a small handheld fan; which seemed to be an idea Mary-Beth was keen on, holding the piece of plastic close to her face while attempting to still appear presentable. She was a nice young girl. She still had that going for her.

However, there were others who didn’t care to remain modest. Sean had taken to waltzing around camp in nothing but his drawers, which was more unpleasant to see than surprising— if you were anyone but Karen. John seemed to think this was a good idea, because he soon was seen in the same attire, or rather lack thereof. Abigail was not as thrilled with the sight as Karen was.

“John Marston!” She shouted. “Get yourself decent before folks start thinkin’ you’re a drunkard!”

You laughed at the sight, pulling pieces of hair away from where they’d stuck to your neck with sweat. The two of them weren’t exactly the perfect couple, but you could tell there was love there. If your judgement of love was educated enough.

Your gaze turned to another area of the camp.

Arthur sat at the base of a tree, head leaned down, and arm resting above his bent knee. You rolled your eyes at his ability to look how he did even given the harsh circumstances of the weather. The cowboy would never agree with you, but he was very easy on the eyes. So easy, in fact, sometimes you stared at him with such intensity it was like you were preparing to hunt him for sport. Not a bad idea.

Your daydream doesn’t last long. Not when Dutch, the gangs leader, voices his opinions about the current situation loud enough for everyone to hear.

“We are better off laying down and dying in the middle of Valentine than staying here and looking miserable all day!”

For once, you agreed with him. Dutch was a man of many thoughts and opinions, ones it seemed he couldn’t bear with keeping locked inside his head for long. Which is why, he continued his remarks.

“Arthur, Lenny, Micah, John—“

For the first time today, Dutch caught a look of what John’s best idea of cooling down was. The two shared a look for a moment until Dutch shook his head, waving his hand in the direction of the long-haired cowboy. Then, the gang’s leader looked in your direction, a smile filling his face as he walked over to where you were.

“Well now, I believe it would be in our interest to have a lady on this trip.”

“A trip? In this? You really are losin’ it, Dutch.” A voice commented, the sound of gravel crunching signaling to you that someone was heading your direction.

Arthur looked at Dutch with a hint of fatigue in his eyes, having been woken up from his nap by another one of Dutch’s antics. Lenny and Micah soon followed behind him, and the once empty table you occupied was now surrounded.

“Listen, I think it would be best if a few of us went down to some of the cities.” Dutch explained, looking between different members of the small group he created. “You two—“ He gestured to Micah and Lenny, “See if you can find some information about O’Driscoll’s in Strawberry, maybe steal us some supplies. And you two,” He pointed at you and Arthur, but paused for a moment after reviewing the exhausted look on both of your faces.

While Dutch wasn’t a soft man, he wasn’t evil. He cared about every person in the gang like they were his family. And, in a way, they really were his family, or the closest he’d ever get to one.

The dark-haired man opened his mouth to speak again. “You two, go to the saloon in Valentine. See what you can find out there.”

“What? That’s it?” Micah scoffed, stepping closer to Dutch. “We gotta go robbin’ and chattin’ while these two get to have a bar date?”

You tried to tell yourself the heat that crept up the back of your neck was not because of the inclination that Arthur and you were going on a date, but because you might’ve been getting a sunburn. Yeah, that was it. Looking upwards from where you sat, Arthur’s jaw visibly clenched. It could be unrelated. Maybe he had a bad dream during his nap?

Dutch began walking away to his tent, ignoring Micah’s complaints. “Just find something useful to do, would you?” A hint of annoyance in his tone.

In an attempt to hide his embarrassment, Micah shrugged his shoulders back, feigning nonchalance. “So, it’s you and me kid, huh? Hope you’re ready for the ride of your life!”

Stepping off into another direction, you gave Lenny a sympathetic look before he followed behind Micah, no hints at all in his step that he was happy to be sent on this mission. Who would be?

“Can’t help but feel bad for him.” Arthur said, watching the duo ride off on their horses in the direction of Strawberry.

You laughed, shaking your head. “It was him or us. And, Dutch is smart enough to know sending you off alone with Micah is a recipe for disaster.”

“Disaster?” The cowboy parroted, smiling down at you. “What kind of disaster, cowpoke?” His eyes seemed to pierce right through your own, possibly even right into your brain, where your thoughts were aimlessly spinning around, trying to stay focused on the fact that you were in the middle of a conversation.

You cleared your throat and broke eye contact, opting instead to ease yourself up from where you sat instead of sitting and sharing eye contact any longer. “The kind of disaster where one of you gets killed,” You quickly said, pushing away from the wooden table. “Preferably, Micah.”

This made Arthur laugh heartily while he followed you to where both of your horses were hitched. The sound of his voice was enough to make you smile softly to yourself, patting the animal on its side while readying your saddle. Almost in sync, the two of you mounted them, slowly exiting the camp while riding next to each other. You wanted to look at him, but instead you focused your attention on the road ahead of you, hands clasping tightly onto the reigns.

***

The trip to Valentine was as quiet as it was short. You and Arthur hadn’t shared many words to each other, but you assumed that was because he was still tired, being woken up from a nap was never fun. You almost felt bad that Dutch had sent the both of you on this mission. You’re sure you’re not the only one to have noticed, but Dutch really liked to send Arthur off on missions that could be done by anyone else. The cowboy worked hard, if not the hardest out of everyone in the camp. But, all things considered, you weren’t one to complain about having such pleasant company.

Tying your horses up at the front of the saloon, Arthur walked up the steps, leaning against the front of the building as he waited for you to follow suit. He watched as you removed a gun you had stowed on your horse and placed it in your holster, surprise bubbling in his stomach. Most of the women in the gang didn’t have guns. And while he wasn’t opposed to it, he wondered if there was more to you than you let on.

You were a fighter, he knew that well enough from how you never shied away from telling Micah off when he disgustingly flirted with you, even having drawn a knife one time when you were slightly intoxicated. You had no real intentions of using said knife, but the blond man needed to be shut up one way or another. That same occurrence was when Arthur had learned you weren’t the best at handling your alcohol. A lightweight, the term he commonly heard being used.

The cowboy, still leaning against a wall by the entrance of the saloon, had a keen eye for things when it came to you. He wasn’t sure of how obvious it was, but he didn’t miss the way he’d sometimes catch you staring his direction when you were sure he couldn’t see you. The thought made him smile to himself, hands resting on his belt as he waited for you to catch up with him.

“All ready?” You asked, admiring the way stray pieces of hair stuck to Arthur’s forehead due to perspiration. He nodded, moving himself off the wall to push the saloon doors open, holding them for you to walk inside.

With a smile towards the cowboy in thanks, you followed him to the bar. The table in front of you wasn’t the tallest, but it was hard not to notice the way Arthur basically towered over it. Looking away before you were either caught staring, or consumed in your thoughts, you began to wonder why Dutch sent the two of you on this “mission”. Before you could get whisked away in your head with that topic, Arthur spoke up again.

“Got a preferred drink?” He asked, elbows leant against the wooden platform in front of you.

“Even if I did, I doubt they’d have it in a place like this,” You said, looking upwards at the bartender in front of you. Your eyes widened, not realizing the owner would be standing right in front of you. “Oh— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” You trailed off, a feeble attempt at an apology, and heard Arthur bite back a laugh beside you. You kicked him beneath the bar.

“Don’t you worry, miss. I’ve been to enough saloons to know this one ain’t all that pretty.” The bartender said, smiling genuinely. “And,” He paused, wiping down the wooden expanse in front of him with an old rag, “I don’t actually own the place, I just work here.” The man in front of you winked with a laugh, standing up straight to formally address the you and Arthur.

Arthur, smiling and obviously very entertained by the whole interaction, sighed out contently before speaking up. “I’ll have a whiskey, and for the lady…” He looked down at you, examining your face for a quick moment. “Brandy.”

The bartender nodded, turning around to fill up some glasses with your drinks.

“What’s brandy?”

Arthur laughed again. He seemed to be in a better mood now, thankfully. “Think it comes from a fruit, if I remember right. Not much of a drinker, are you?”

You shook your head silently, looking down at your hands. As much as you wanted to be able to drink like the rest of the gang, you knew all too well that you and alcohol did not mix well. Loose lips, unsteady feet, tiredness, and giggles were your common reactions. All of which are far too embarrassing to display in front of Arthur, someone you wanted to think highly of you. Yet, here you were, thanking the bartender for the drink as it was handed to you. For a moment, you examined the glass in your hand with an eyebrow raised.

“Scared?” Arthur teased, turning towards you with his own glass gripped between his fingers.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes playfully. “Of a drink? I think I’ll be fine, cowboy.”

Were you a bad liar? Or did Arthur always have a look of suspicion in his eyes whenever you spoke to him? Despite whether or not he truly believed your words, he raised his drink towards you, cheersing it with yours, the sound of the glass clinking filling the space as you both took your sips.

Being the man that he was, Arthur didn’t flinch at the bitter taste whiskey left on his tongue, or the way it burned down his throat. Especially not when he wanted to see the way you reacted when your drink did the same to you.

Pulling the glass to your lips, you were met with the initial taste of something slightly fruity. The flavor wasn’t too bad, compared to any other alcoholic beverages you’d had before. Then, as the liquid traveled down your throat, a sweltering feeling overcame you. With great effort, you managed you swallow it, despite your brain's efforts to try and get you to spit it back out. The overall feeling was intense enough to make your eyes water, looking up at Arthur in front of you.

The cowboys face read a mix between surprise and concern. Clearly, whatever reaction you just had was not the usual. You grew embarrassed, cheeks turning a shade of crimson.

“Should we get you somethin’ different—“

“No!” You almost immediately said, clearing your throat. “No, this is good. I like it.” You half-lied, reaching for the drink again.

Arthur seemed to be shocked by this response, because he tilted his head to the side slightly. “Really? You like it?”

You nodded, taking another sip and willing yourself not to have the same reaction as before.

The cowboy carefully watched your face as you drank, taking note of the way your eyes watered again after you pulled to drink away from your lips. He wondered why you were lying to him about something like this. It wasn’t a bad thing to not be able to stand strong drinks, especially if you were someone who didn’t usually drink in the first place. Momentarily, he remembered the first time he’d been offered a drink by Dutch. He was about fourteen, and as soon as the liquid met his tongue, he spat it back out onto the ground, gagging dramatically. Compared to the way he was casually drinking the whiskey in his hand, that memory was laughable.

“Can I try yours?”

Arthur was shook from his memories by your voice, glancing down at his drink to your face with a nod. Handing the drink over, he spoke up to try and warn you. “Just be careful. This is a lot stronger than—“

Before he could finish speaking, you quickly pulled the glass to your lips, eyes closed tightly as you gulped the entire drink down. Arthurs jaw fell slack at the scene before him, looking around to see if this had been some kind of joke. Upon surveying his surroundings, he noticed the cup that had once been full of the brandy he ordered you was now empty. You placed his now matching glass beside it, wiping a hand over your mouth.

“S-sorry, I drank all yours…” You sheepishly said, looking up at Arthur. “I’ll get you another, ‘kay?”

Was it possible for someone to fall under the influence that fast? Or had he been daydreaming about his childhood for too long? Whatever the answer was, his feeling of shock lingered as you pulled two large mugs of whiskey towards the both of you. “Maybe we’ve had enough for today.” Arthur said, voice laced with concern for where this would go if you got any more liquor in your system.

“Let’s find somewhere else to sit, it’s too loud here.” And with that, you were off, both drinks clutched in your fists as you wobbled to find a quieter place to sit.

The cowboy had no choice but to follow you, worried for your wellbeing. Maybe it was his fault, getting you started on brandy of all things. But in his defense, he thought it would put you off from drinking altogether, not send you into a spiteful frenzy to prove you could drink the same way that he did. Arthur stayed close behind you as you made your way outside, using your weight to push the back door open. Luckily for you, there was a small table with two chairs on the back patio, looking almost as if they had been waiting for you and Arthur to come and use them.

“Perfect!” You exclaimed, carelessly plopping yourself down into one of the wooden chairs, placing Arthur’s drink on the table and bringing yours to your lips.

The outlaw carefully sat down across from you, reaching for his drink at a more relaxed speed than your own. Carefully, he eyed you. You were definitely drunk, there was no denying that, but he had underestimated just how quickly that could happen to you. This was a fault of his memory, because only now was it reminding him of the time when you got woozy from one beer.

“You know, after a while, it doesn’t even burn anymore.” You laughed, turning your head in the mans direction.

“So it did burn you,” Arthur couldn’t help but smile. “Knew it was too strong for your liking.”

“For my liking? I looove this stuff, Arthur.” You slurred, pointing to the drink in your hand for emphasis. Now, you turned your entire body towards him, almost leaning completely over the table in his direction. This action caused a sleeve of your shirt to slip off, revealing a soft shoulder to Arthur’s eyes, making him gulp down his drink with a new intensity.

“Love is a strong word, cowpoke.” He offhandedly said. Unlike many of the other women in the gang, besides Sadie, you tended to dress less traditionally. Your wardrobe consisted of different pairs of worn in pants, and some button up shirts that happened to fit you sometimes, while others did not. Only so often did Arthur ever witness you in something like a dress. And presently, the shirt you wore was probably a size or two too big. Not a fault of your own, though. It was rare to find clothes made for working in diverse sizes, more so ones that fit women.

Within his thoughts, he reached forward to ease your shirt back onto where it belonged, willing his hand to not linger on the spot longer than it needed to.

“Strong feeling, too.”

Arthur had almost forgotten what he’d said to make you respond with that, but the look in your eyes brought the same spoken of feeling to burn in his chest. Still leaning over the table, eyes trained on the cowboy in front of you, your pupils were blown wide and your cheeks were flushed.

It was nearing dusk, crickets began chirping ambiently, and the air was starting to cool down from its prior harshness.

“We best start heading back.” Arthur quietly said, all too aware of the way you were silently staring at him. It’s not as if he was opposed to you being this close to him, in fact, it was killing him inside to not reach over and pull you across the table into his lap, where he could finally get his hands on you. But you were drunk. He wasn’t going to take advantage of you like that.

You hummed in response, eyes lowering from his to now look at his lips, coated with the whiskey he had been nursing all this time. They were entrancing, really. Everything about Arthur was. The way he carried himself. His voice. His arms. His calloused hands. The way he always seemed to look out for you. How could you not feel some kind of way about him?

The sound of your name coming from his mouth made you focus up, albeit you found it hard to keep your attention on one thing.

“You alright?”

“Y-yeah… just thinking…’s all.”

If you weren’t so drunk you’d be embarrassed of the way you were speaking.

“Thinkin’, huh? What about?” Arthur challenged.

You pulled yourself back into your seat, the final drops of your drink finding its way down your throat before you spoke again.

“‘m not sure I can tell you.” You mumbled, leaning your head back against the wooden chair.

At this, Arthur felt a bit defeated. He wasn’t going to make you talk if you weren’t comfortable with it. If there was something you were withholding from telling him, he was sure there was a good reason.

“Well, looks like our time here is up.”

As the cowboy began standing up from his seat, he felt a force grip his wrist, making him instinctively turn on his heels. What he was met with shook him to his core.

Eyes glazed over, lip pouted outwards, hair a beautiful mess, you reached for Arthur.

“What’s goin’ on—“

“Please, Arthur.”

He was going to pass out. Your voice, defeated and pitiful, spoke his name in a way he’d never forget. Regaining his composure, Arthur spoke up again.

“Please what?”

Cheeks flushing an even darker red, you looked down at his wrist, turning it in your hand from where you had grasped onto it. For a second, there was no apparent reason for what you were doing.

But then, calloused palms met soft cheeks.

You had pulled Arthurs hand to caress your face, leaning into it with a soft smile.

“‘thur... I don’t wanna go back to the camp…”

Confused, but compliant, his brows furrowed on his face. “How come?”

You nuzzled your face against his hand for a moment before responding. “Not enough room on my bedroll for both of us…”

Arthur hoped the way his whole body stiffened wasn’t noticeable. How could you say something like that to him? He was going to lose his mind. Right here, on the back patio of Valentine’s saloon. He started thinking of ways to solve this problem. At this rate, getting back to camp on the horses without a fuss from you wouldn’t be possible… There was a hotel not too far of a walk from here, maybe that would work? Only, he’d have to get one with two beds. You weren’t in any condition to be consenting to share a bed with another person, even if your previous statement said otherwise.

“Can you walk?”

Removing your face from his hand, you used the table as leverage to stand up again. However, walking proved to be a difficulty, akin to a baby deer taking its first steps. Yeah, this wouldn’t work.

“Okay, I’m gonna pick you up. Is that alright?” Arthur said, hovering his arms around your shoulders momentarily.

Immediately, you nodded, leaning into his touch as he carried you bridal style to your next location. Wherever it was, you didn’t care as long as you were in his arms.

The cowboy made quick work of the situation, careful of the mud that laid the town of Valentine as he made his way to the hotel. He was lucky it was still open at this hour, pushing the door open to be greeted by the owner.

“Well howdy, you two! Looking for a room?”

“Yes, a two bed, please.” Arthur said, trying not to sound too strained. It wasn’t that he was having trouble holding you, no, that was far from the problem. It was the way you buried your face into his chest that caused his heart to race. He hoped you didn’t notice.

“Two bed?” The man behind the counter said, raising a brow at the two of you. “You sure? I got plenty of other—“

“Yes! Just a two bed, please.”

Arthur was never more thankful to be a threatening man in his life than right now, it seemed, because the tone of his voice was enough to send the man on his way to find keys to a room.

“Up the stairs to the left, mister.”

And with that, Arthur made his way in the direction he had been told, carefully unlocking the door with you still in his arms. None of this felt real, if he was honest with himself. One second, he was talking to you inside the saloon; and the next he was carrying you to a room to put you to bed. He paused to look down at you, your eyes closed as you quietly breathed. There weren’t many things that could make the heart of a man like him soft, but you were definitely one of them.

As Arthur entered the room, he took note of the two beds that were inside of it. While they were on the smaller side, there was no doubt they were probably much better than the makeshift beds the gang had back at the camp. Slowly, he pulled back the covers of the bed and placed you in the one furthest away from the door, his mind considering the situation where an emergency might happen, even amongst its slight buzzing from the whiskey.

When he began to walk away to get into his own bed, he felt the same grip on his wrist from before. Only this time, he knew there was no threat. Slowly, he turned around, looking down at where you laid.

“Please… sleep with me. I don’t wanna be alone.”

If his heart hadn’t softened entirely from the sight of you dozing in his arms, it was melted right out of his chest now.

Opening his mouth to give you an excuse as to why he shouldn’t, you cut him off.

“If you don’t, ‘m just gonna get into yours later.” A slight sleepy giggle in your voice.

Who was he to deny you right now?

Finally, he gave in, sighing quietly before sitting himself down on the bed. Maybe if he slept as stiffly as he did at camp, you wouldn’t want to lay so close to him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you near him, at this point, he craved you near him. But he couldn’t be entirely sure that this is what sober you would’ve wanted. So, as he laid down on the small bed, likely intended for one person, he was surprised to see you keep your distance initially.

But, it was short-lived. Once Arthur had completely settled into the bed, you grabbed onto his arm, hugging it close to yourself.

The cowboy squeezed his eyes shut, not in an attempt to sleep, but rather to keep himself contained.

“Night, Arthur…”

He could die right now.

He’d be happy.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fic #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 fic #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 community #rdr2 smut

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chip-in-a-bag · 1 month

Text

What would have happened of hunith did talk about balinor to merlin growing up?

I don't know if someone has made this a fic, if so please comment or something. It doesn't even have to be merthur.

Would merlin grow to be hateful and want to seek revenge on the pendragons? And how will that go when he finds out he is destined to protect the son of the man who caused his father to leave them? Would it take longer to become friends with arthur? Would he get made Arthur's manservant, and not go?

Arthur is already curious of merlin, the man who sassed him even after he found out who he was, and basically tries to become merlin's friend. Like he doesn't know why he wants to become merlin's friend but he tries everything. Merlin is a stubborn person so he will put a mask of hating arthur but secretly wants to see how far arthur is willing to go to be his friend. All while he is saving Arthur's life... but like on accident. Like he stubbles on the bad guys plans and is like, well I'm already here.

I also would find it funny, even if it was out of character If uther sees his son trying to become merlin's friend and merlin is not having it. He's curious now and watches, "why doesn't gaius' nephew not want my son's friend?" "Gaius is my friend, gaius says his nephew is nice and has already become friends with morgana and her maid. Why not my son? Why does he look at me like that? He kinda looks at me like how morgana looks at me when she's mad at me... they look alike. Did I sleep with gaius' sister? No, I'm 100% sure of it. Why does he look familiar?"

So now uther asked arthur about his mission on becoming merlin's friend, and uses "he is gaius' nephew and his apprentice, he's going to be your physician if something where to happen to giaus. You must be friendly to the person who is handing your health.", as an excuse to know more about merlin.

At somepoint I feel like merlin learns that arthur is not his father and learns to tolerate him. But like if arthur brings up his father in any conversation, he just turns slightly treasonous. And when he has to be in the same room as uther he just ignores him and exclusively speaks to arthur. Uther gets slightly angry at this, and it has landed him a night in the dungeons a couple of times.

(Oh and like lancelot learns why merlin hates uther and also doesn't speak to uther. Idk what broken timeline im thinking of but i love this idea. The most friendly knight hating on one person.)

I don't where else this can go but if someone where to do something with this or something similar that would be cool. Tag me or something my ao3 is in my bio.

#merlin #merthur #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #merlin emrys #merlin x arthur #prince arthur #bbc merthur #uther pendragon #bbc gaius #bbc morgana

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 5 months

Text

Just Papa Solomons Things

Visiting Scotland with your dove

TH Masterlist

Even though you don’t want to

Alfie’s not a fan of Scotland. Not because of the people or the culture.

No, it’s because everything, right, is on a fucking mountain!

Or so he claims regardless of whether you’re walking to Old Town in Edinburgh via Princes Street, going up the gentle sloping pathway on Calton Hill, are trying to hike up to King Arthur’s Seat in Holyrood Park, or are walking down (I repeat, DOWN) the Royal Mile.

And that’s only in Edinburgh.

It honestly makes you wonder why he decided to tag along, especially since you’ve also planned to explore the rugged north. Then again, you know your grumpy partner well enough to be aware that part of the reason he’s with you is to offer protection.

Truth be told, Alfie gets bloody anxious when you’re on a trip by yourself. Enough so to disregard the issues he has with his leg. Your needs come before his. That’s “non-fucking-negotiable, mate”.

Fortunately, well, for him, the amount of solo trips has drastically reduced since you started dating. He still gives you plenty of space to do things on your own, but it makes him feel better knowing he’s nearby should anything happen.

And it’s nice because now you have him to drive you around so you don’t have to make use of public transport (depends on where you two are, though), watch your luggage when going to the restroom (again, if applicable), and hold your hand as winter casts the streets in dusk as early as four in the evening.

Another added bonus is that you get to stay in the most comfortable and sometimes downright fanciest hotels. Alfie might be frugal, having been raised that way, but he doesn’t want to do you short. Plus, having the finances, he doesn’t mind occasionally splurging a little bit if it concerns spending time together.

Now, Papa Solomons hates the cold and becomes snappy when the heating isn’t on in your coach in the train to Inverness.

“‘S bad for me sciatica. Also ain’t good for your health. They better get the heating here or I’ll make them. My cane should be plenty conviction.”

When one of the staff members walks by, Alfie beckons them over. However, before he can so much as open his mouth, you place your hand on his arm.

He glances over his shoulder, rolls his eyes with an irritated sigh as you shake your head, and clears his throat to politely inquire about the state of the heating in a strained voice. “You see, mate, my wonderful missus is gettin’ cold and we can’t ‘ave that, can we? If she starts getting the heavy shakes between let’s say now and ten minutes, I’ll personally come turn the fucking system on, right. Do you understand?”

With a stammered “y-yes, sir” and frantic nod, the attendant is off.

Three minutes later, you feel the coach warming up. Alfie leans back, eyes closed, his fingers entwined with yours. “Much better. Fucking trains. Don’t like ‘em.”

You kiss his cheek. “Thank you for not using your cane.”

“Mhm, doin’ it only for you.”

And he does. Alfie tries to reign himself in whenever he’s with you, afraid of showing you the always seething rage beneath his skin, the wrath inside looking for a way out. So, while he hasn’t discussed it yet with you and remains highly skeptical about how much good it’ll do, he’s thinking about anger management therapy or taking classes in it.

If only so he won’t turn into his father.

So he can love you properly.

So he can settle with you.

Albeit perhaps not in the place he’s envisioned.

It all happens on a day trip you booked for the two of you.

Perhaps it’s the way he sees how enamoured you are by the language, the way your eyes light up when hearing about local folklore, the strange familiarity he feels when the Norse history of Skye is mentioned while you’re at his side.

Maybe it’s the glamour of the faeries.

Whatever it is, it makes him want to stay on Skye with you.

He doesn’t mention it while you’re having lunch at Relish in Portree, but Alfie can’t stop envisioning having a little bakery in a town like this. He’d leave London and Margate behind, settle here, and live out whatever days remain for him in the peace and quiet of the island.

On the long drive back, he lets you snuggle up to him for warmth and to function as your pillow. He only wakes you up once when you stop in Broadford for refreshments, gently forcing you to get out of the van and accompany him to the Co-Op to get a semi-decent dinner and snacks.

It’s safe to say, for its rarely any different, Alfie pays for everything. “‘S what I’m supposed to do, innit? Good men take care of their wi- women.”

Despite his stoic expression and casual tone, meant to dismiss the slip of the tongue, the quick glance to check your reaction is telling. He knows he fucked up, played his cards too fast, too rashly.

You catch it, but decide to willfully ignore it. Instead, you take a sip of coffee. “Let’s go back to the bus.”

Nevertheless, once you’re back at the hotel, he goes nearly feral. It’s similar to what overtakes him every summer, but now it’s driven by the desire to claim your unbearable cuteness, completely under the spell of the magic that seems to surround you, lingering.

There’s a precarious balance when it comes to how vocal Alfie is in bed. Some days he’ll guide you to your orgasm without a single silence, each word pointed and full of purpose. Other days, the only thing he can do is growl and grunt, lost in the pleasure you grant him and vice versa, but also in the way his brain is finally off. No schemes, no secrets nor hidden motifs. Only the simple act of fucking.

Nonetheless, this is perhaps one of the few times you’ve heard him beg. Desperate and blunt, no polish to his utterances yet crystal clear diamonds compared to the muttering meant to confuse.

“Marry me, eh? Let’s, fuck, hm, yeah settle,” he murmurs in between kisses, which grow sloppier as his thrusts get more and more erratic. “Settle with me. Be Mrs Solomons. Want, hrm, need my wife. Only you. Want. Want you. Only you.” He pulls your hair so you’ll bare your neck to him. Lovingly he bites the skin, the sting and burning warmth heated by the words spilling from his lips. “Please, dove, please. Marry me.”

He doesn’t need a spoken answer, just the mere fantasy you say ‘yes’ and the way you look when he’s inside you, especially as you come undone because of him, is enough to send him over the edge with you.

As you’re basking in the afterglow, Alfie caresses your arm. His fingers slowly slide over your skin, lost in thought, wandering in the chaos reigning in his head until he’s found the words to start the conversation. Or, rather, to tell you what’s been on his mind since the afternoon, the wee bakery on Skye.

There are no words for the bleakness washing over him as you frown, taken completely unawares by his attitude. It’s unlike him to be this spontaneous, without a plan. “Alfie, don’t be rash. It doesn’t suit you. Come up with a business plan first. Is it viable? Would we manage to get by? It won’t be like London.”

“I know, but…” he groans, reluctant to admit he’s in the wrong, “you’re right, dove. Silly, ain’t ‘e, this old man and ‘is fantasies.”

“You’re not old.”

“Older than you. Old enough to be-“

You shut him up with a kiss. “No, none of this. I love you for who you are. I’m proud to be Papa’s little dove.”

“Would you one day be ‘is wife?”

You furrow your brow, wondering where this is coming from. That is, until you recall his pleading in his sex drunk stupour. “You meant that?”

He nods. “Mhm. Maybe not the proper way to ask, but I mean it. This, ‘ere, right, between us, I want it to be long term.” Voice lowered and steady blue eyes filling with the fight between panic, disbelief, and determination, he asks the question that makes him grow pale. “It is, innit?”

“It is, don’t worry.”

He cups your cheek and pulls you towards him to rest his forehead against yours. A tapered breath escapes him, shivery and frail. “Stay with me.”

You run your fingers through his beard, a burden falling off of your shoulders as you see him relax. Though you appreciate Alfie’s occasional openness, when he shows his struggles you can’t help but feel your own heart crack.

Then again, that’s Love.

For whatever our souls are made of, if we’re lucky, we find one that’s compatible. That’s the same.

“I won’t go anywhere without telling you.”

“Don’t go at all without me.”

You feel something wet warm your hand as you kiss his forehead. The sensation moves to your chest when Alfie rests his head on it. His arms wrapped around your waist in a fierce bear hug, you run your fingers through his hair, weaving them through his messy brown locks.

Alfie rarely if ever allows himself to show his vulnerabilities. Nevertheless, when he’s around you and alone like this, he does. And it still stuns him you stay at his side, that you haven’t run from, in his words, “tainted bein’, uglier than a golem”.

But how could you? How could you leave a man as doting and loving as him? Sure, Alfie’s gruff and a little rough-handed at times, even to you, but you know he tries not to be.

Sleet gently ticks against the window, filling the silence in the hotel room. As per usual on nights like this, you use it to calm the both of you down.

Until your skin is tear-stained.

Both your hearts cracked a little more.

And Alfie’s asleep.

Tag list: @potter-solomons @zablife @vir-tual @hecatemoon87 @dreamlandcreations @liliac-dreamer @rose-like-the-phoenix @hoodeddreams13 @buttercupsandboys @solomons-finest-rum @wandawiccan60 @mollybegger-blog @babaohhhriley

#Alfie Solomons #Alfie Solomons imagine #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders imagine #Alfie Solomons x Reader

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roseghoul26 · 2 months

Text

Part 4

Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

"'Do you love me?' You asked, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Arthur nodded, gazing at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

'Then say it. I promise you, nothing bad is gonna come from it.'"

Synopsis: A retelling of the mission "Blessed are the Peacemakers", where instead of Arthur getting kiddnapped, it's you.

Tags: fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut, smut, torture, mentions of sexual assault, no actual SA, dutch is father figure, so is hosea, arthur morgan deserves everything, fem reader, afab!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, not beta read

Author’s Note: this part is the smut part, with some story too. i struggled with this chapter cause i’ve only written smut like twice so here we go lmao.

next fic i’m thinking of doing javier or charles (loml), and i have different ideas for both. and i’ll def. write for arthur again, and feel free to send requests or ideas (or literally send whatever i love getting messages)

Taglist: @photo1030

part 1 ❉ part 2 ❉ part 3 ❉ part 4

And it was a long ride, done in silence as the two of you made it to the meetup place. The cowboy occasionally looked over his shoulder at you, but other than that there was little interaction. There was tension between the two of you that was on the cusp of snapping into a million pieces, but there was nothing you could do about it right now. Mustering what patience you had, and also pushing down your desires, you made your way to Emerald Ranch.

Lenny arrived a short while after you and Arthur, sweaty and anxious, but thankfully alive. And he wasn’t followed, so you thanked the universe that luck was on your side that day.

After meeting up, you’d sold the stolen goods to the fence, and with the combined cash you’d pick up, the three of you had a nice haul of about 750 dollars. After everyone received their cut, there was almost 400 dollars left to donate to camp, which you stuck in the box with a proud smile. Not bad for your first job back, you thought.

Dutch seemed to think so too, complimenting you as you wrote in the ledger. “How we managed to survive those weeks without you, I’ll never know. Thank you, dear.”

You just shrugged. “Don’t mention it. And you can thank Arthur for keepin’ us afloat.”

Dutch didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he lit a match for his cigar, moving so his back was facing his tent as he smoked. Now facing you, you saw him in your peripherals observing you as you finished writing, letting the ink dry before closing the book. Not appreciating his staring, you questioned him with a look.

“Take Arthur to Saint Denis to… look for leads. Yeah, go look for leads.”

“Huh? Right now?”

“That’s what I said, right? I’ve heard that the hotels ‘round there are brimming with opportunities. And take as much time as you need, if you catch my meanin’.” He gave you a wink, but you continued to stare at him like he grew a second head. “You’re smart, dear. You’ll figure it out. Now go, before I change my mind.” He dismissed you with a wave, staring out at the open water as you left.

“Oh… o-okay?” You were halfway to your tent when it dawned on you: Dutch was giving you permission to leave camp for a bit, which was convenient, to say the least. You turned to thank him, but he seemed lost in thought, so you saved it for later. “Make sure Lenny gets sent out too,” you still shouted out, hoping that Dutch heard you.

Entering your tent, you found Arthur already there, which was no surprise. He had practically beelined there after you all arrived at camp, barely giving you a passing look. You hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but when you saw him hunched over as he sat on the edge of the bed, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the cot, you immediately became concerned. Racing through your thoughts, you tried to remember if it seemed like he was in pain earlier. It wouldn’t be unlike him to get injured and then hide it.

Rushing to his side, you were on your knees as you looked at him, scanning his body for any blood or obvious injury. When you found nothing, you looked into his eyes which you found closed. “Love? What’s wrong? Are you alright?” you asked, brushing back some of the hair that had fallen in his face, his hat discarded somewhere nearby. His cheeks were rosy too, you noticed.

When he opened his eyes, you were startled to find how dark they were, and he stared through you. “Shit, did you hit your head?” You moved to stand and examine his head further, but a gentle hand on your shoulder had you sinking back down to your knees.

“I’m alright,” his voice was strained. Arthur didn’t provide any more details, and you heard him let out a huff of air when your hands rested on his knees, your face only a few inches away from them as you peered up at him.

“Then what’s goin’ on, Arthur? You’re scaring me.” He placed one of his hands atop yours, fingers shaking slightly from the strain of gripping the cot. It tickled when he started dancing his fingers across the skin, but you kept your face still as you watched him.

“Oh, princess. You’ve got no idea what you do to me, do you?” His voice was breathy, barely audible to you as his hand stilled. Finally, his eyes focused on yours, growing impossibly wider when he realized the position you were in. “Here,” he extended a palm up, offering you to put your hand in his. When you did, he kissed the back of it gently, before bringing it right above his heart and pressing it to his chest. Even through his shirt, which you had just noticed he had a few more top buttons unbuttoned, you could feel his heartbeat, which was beating like the speed of a hummingbird’s wings.

Suddenly things started making a whole lot more sense with the dilated pupils, heavy breathing, and his sporadic heartbeat. Immediately your concern was replaced with something less selfless, a hungry need growing in you as you took in Arthur being in such a state, and all because of you.

“Since last night, I can’t stop thinkin’... and ever since the house it’s gotten worse. I can barely look at you without remembering the way you felt… and you’ve got me so damn turned on I can’t function.” His voice turned into a growl at the end, and you felt yourself pressing your thighs together, trying to ease the growing tension building between them from his confession. God, everything felt warm.

Arthur didn’t miss the movement, as subtle as you tried to be. With a knowing grin, he pressed one last kiss to your hand before setting it back on his knee. “It took everythin’ in me to not take you right there in that house,” he said it so casually that you almost didn’t register what he said. Your grip on his legs tightened, and you found yourself sitting up straighter on your knees, now at chest level with him.

“I would’ve let you,” you confessed, and Arthur moved closer to you, almost touching his lips with yours. Slowly, just like Arthur had done to you, you brought your hands up his thighs. You felt them tense under your touch, and you heard Arthur let out a little noise as your hands traveled up.

And up.

And up until they rested at his belt, and you toyed with the loopholes as he started down at you. You could feel his breathing grow rapid, huffs of warm breath against your face. As you halted, you heard him groan. “You want me to touch you?” It was a redundant question, but you asked anyway.

Arthur swallowed. “Yes.” He tried to press his lips against yours, but you kept your head far enough away. The hands on hips helped him stay put, and you relished in the fact that he could easily break free from your “hold”, but he didn’t.

“Then tell me. Tell me what you’ve been thinking of.”

You saw his blush extend past his face and down his chest. “That… it ain’t proper.”

You chuckled at that. “Since when do we care about what’s proper, Arthur?”

“I suppose we don’t,” he agreed, and he relaxed some. A few moments passed, then he was resting his head against yours. “You want me to tell you, or show you, princess?”

“Why not both?”

“Can’t do that.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” You pestered, a teasing grin on your face.

“I can’t, cause there ain’t gonna be much talkin’ when my head’s between your thighs.”

Whatever rebuttal you had died instantly in your throat. “Oh,” was all you were able to get out, your mouth growing suddenly dry at Arthur’s boldness, and that tension growing was starting to become unbearable.

“Oh?” He mocked, laughing when you softly slapped him on his leg.

“Shuddup,” you rolled your eyes. Placing your hands back on his thighs, you felt the thick muscles there, built from years of a hard life and survival. “Tell me more,” you asked, moving your fingers closer and closer to the zipper of his jeans, looking down at your task at hand. Your face flushed when you saw the very noticeable bulge between his legs.

“You never answered my question,” you felt rough, calloused fingers under your chin, which gently brought your gaze back up to Arthur’s.

“Show me, Arthur.”

He nodded, a light smile on his lips. “Alright, princess. We’re gonna have to be quiet though.”

The whole reason why you came into the tent came back to you. “Well, maybe we don’t have to be. And I did say I was gettin’ you out of camp, and, well, Dutch has told me to bring you to Saint Denis to ‘search for leads’,” you said, hoping that Arthur got the hidden meaning quicker than you did.

“Did he now?” You nodded. “Well, why didn’t you say so sooner. Don’t wanna waste any time now, do we?”

“In my defense, I thought you were in pain when I walked in. You jerk,” you bopped him again. Arthur just shook his head at you.

Standing up, you supported your shaky legs by holding onto his shoulders. Despite being fully upright, you still held on, not really wanting to stop feeling him. You now stood above him, able to look down at him as he sat on the edge of the bed. Bringing your face lower, you kiss the space between his brows, then moving down the arch of nose and planting one on the tip. Then kissing the apples of each cheek in quick succession, you hovered just above his own, and you cupped his face in your hands. Your thumbs rubbed the stubble of his cheeks, and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel between your thighs. It wasn’t the first time you’d wondered, but you hoped that soon your questions would be answered.

At last, your lips finally made contact with his. If there was one thing you would never tire of, it would be kissing Arthur. His lips were surprisingly soft, plush yet firm. Even though you had kissed him many times before, each time felt like the first, the overwhelming feeling of him taking over every sense, every nerve in your body buzzing with energy. Eagerly Arthur reciprocated, lips moving against you like they were created to fit with yours perfectly. Before you allowed the two of you to get swept away, kissing his forehead before stepping away.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” you grabbed his hat, affixing it atop your head with a wink as Arthur scoffed. “Let’s go to Saint Denis. I’ve heard the hotels there are… lucrative.”

Arthur stood now, rebuttoning up his shirt and attempting to make himself more put together. “I’m sure they are, princess.” He gestured you out of the tent, and the midday air did little to cool you off.

Walking toward your horses, you saw Dutch talking with Lenny, before the older man patted him on the shoulder and walked away. Because Lenny was facing you, you gave him a questioning thumbs up, and he nodded in return. “Have a good night then, Lenny,” you called out.

“You too, miss.” You saw his eyes flick behind you. “Both of you,” he added, before walking to a nearby campfire and plopping down, laughing lightly to himself. Reaching your mount, you patted TT on his neck, and then offered him a sugarcube from the saddle bag. He gladly ate the treat, snorting when he finished.

You went to mount TT, but Arthur calling your name had you halting, only one foot in the stirrup as you turned over your shoulder to look at him. He stood beside his horse, holding the reins in his hands. “Ride with me?” he asked, smiling brightly when you made your way over to him.

When you got close enough, after giving you a quick peck on the cheek he placed his hands on your hips. Easily lifting you on the rump of his horse, you immediately wrapped your arms around him when he mounted. Scooting forward as best you could while sitting sidesaddle, your chest pressed against his back, and you rest your head on his shoulder. His hat was kind of in the way, but you didn’t dare take it off.

After ensuring that you were secure, he began moving, the camp quickly leaving both your visions shortly. He kept his horse at a fast pace, which was nowhere near as fast as you were going earlier, but you didn’t mind. You sighed in contentment, finally able to be alone with Arthur and place any worries about camp behind you, at least for a couple days. No petty squabbles, no jobs, no Pinkertons. Just you and Arthur.

Arthur seemed to feel similarly, based on the way he relaxed in your grasp, leaning back slightly against you. Letting go of the reins in one hand, he rubbed your leg affectionately. His chest tumbled beneath your hands, and you realized he was talking, but you could barely hear him.

When you asked him to repeat himself, Arthur turned his head to the side, making it easier to hear him, but it made you have to lift your own off his shoulder. “I said ‘thank you’.”

“Okay? You’re welcome?” you responded with uncertainty.

“For gettin’ me out of camp like this, and despite how much I wanted to fight it, you knew I needed it.”

“I mean, I wasn’t the one who got you out. You can thank Dutch for that.”

Arthur shook his head. “Sure, only after you presumably said somethin’ to him. And you’ve been the one trying to get me out all day! Don’t downplay yourself like that.” Arthur paused for a moment before continuing. “And you’ve always stuck your neck out for me like that, even before,” he gestured to your arms wrapped around him, “this. You’ve always seen me as more than the camp workhorse, more than a means to an end… more than myself… and I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is I appreciate it. For carin’ about me.” Arthur sighed. “I don’t really know what I’m saying…” he trailed off, refacing forward.

The sincerity in his voice had you heart breaking, but you also felt angry. Not at Arthur, but at the others, for using Arthur until he wore thin. Angry at the world that told him he wasn’t worthy enough to be loved, to be cared for. And you were angry at yourself, for holding off on telling him how much he mattered and meant to you.

Grateful that he had his back to you so that he couldn’t see the tears in your eyes, you clung on tighter to him. Your voice cracked as you spoke, and you prayed that Arthur didn’t hear it. “You don’t gotta thank me for that. You deserve more, so much more, but I’ll give you all I have. I love you, Arthur Morgan, and I mean it. I’ll never stop sayin’ it until the day I die.”

Something wet hit your hand, and you realized Arthur was crying. Not sobbing, or making any audible noise; his shoulders didn’t shake either. But a few tears had left his eyes, one of them hitting you as they fell. “Arthur?” You asked, concerned.

Arthur, who clearly wasn’t expecting you to see his tears, quickly wiped them away, his hand no longer resting on your leg. “I… shit. Sorry.” You could tell he was embarrassed, trying to gloss over his emotions.

“I didn’t mean-”

“You ain’t done anything wrong,” Arthur reassured. “It’s just… I never thought I’d feel this way again, not after… not after Mary. I thought this part of me died a long time ago, and I just accepted that. I thought I’d never be loved again.” He chuckled humorlessly. “A part of me can’t believe this all ain’t a dream. I’ve wanted it so long that it seemed unobtainable.”

You knew about Mary, from the bits and pieces you learned from Hosea and Dutch. Arthur had never spoken about her with you, and you never asked, not wanting to push that boundary. Shamefully, you expected to feel some tinge of jealousy at the mention of his ex-lover, but you didn’t. You felt angry at her, for the way she broke his heart, and made him believe that he was unlovable. And strangely enough, you felt the tiniest bit of gratitude, but you weren’t quite sure who it was towards. All you could say is that you were thankful that you were now entrusted with Arthur’s heart, and you were going to cherish it.

“Well,” you returned your head on his shoulder, “you’re very much awake, and I hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with me now.”

“Thank God,” he responded. You couldn’t tell which part he was thankful for.

Glancing around, you saw the outskirts of the town or Rhodes behind you, and the fence marking off the Gray’s property ahead of you, meaning you and Arthur were well on your way to Saint Denis. Another ten or so minutes of riding would get you there. Arthur had returned his grip on your thigh, and you settled in for the remainder of the ride.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

You weren’t a fan of Saint Denis, with the polluted air and dirty streets, and the equally filthy people. Although it was deemed to be the pinnacle of modern civilization, you had to disagree. What “great” city like this would leave parts of their population unhoused, unfed, uncared for. Or elect snakes in positions of power instead of people, whose only interest in mind was their own. Or how the joy of living seemed to be sucked out of the people, and how they’re now only soulless husks whose only purpose was to work and sleep.

You voiced your thoughts to Arthur as you rode in, the metal archway proudly reading Saint Denis disappearing behind you. Passing by a group of well dressed individuals, Arthur nodded in agreement.

“And to think, they wanna make everywhere like this.”

Arthur didn’t respond, just continuing to lead his horse though the streets. The sounds on hooves on the cobblestone was quite loud, but it was still barely audible over the sound of machinery and engines. People stared at you two as you passed, and their eyes lingered on you for longer than necessary. It occurred to you that you probably looked quite out of place because of the way you were dressed.

You wore skirts and dresses from time to time, and you liked wearing them, but they weren’t the practical option for days like today, where you’d need to quickly get on and off your horse, and would have to move quickly and silently. But every scrutinizing glance from well-dressed strangers had you regretting your choice of apparel. You told yourself that you shouldn’t care what these people thought of you, but the innate human desire to fit in and be accepted was overwhelming, especially now.

“You’d think I’d grown a third arm, the way people are lookin’ at me,” you joked.

“Don’t let ‘em get to you,” Arthur sent a deadly glare to one said person, whose face turned ghostly white as he scampered away.

Chuckling, you kissed Arthur on his cheek. “My knight in shining armor,” you swooned, earning an eye roll from the cowboy.

“Not like you need one.”

“Maybe not. But if my knight was you, I wouldn’t say no.”

He chuckled lightly. “What’s so funny?” you questioned, laughing slightly yourself.

“Nothin’. Nothin’ at all, princess.”

Turning the corner, you were met with with a rather crowded street with buildings towering over you. But directly ahead of you stood your destination, a large hotel that spanned three floors and the name of the establishment sprawled across the front in a language you didn’t recognize.

As Arthur made his way to one of the many hitching posts in front, you felt your heartbeat begin to accelerate as you remembered why you were here. Anticipation had your body on edge, almost tense in the way you held on to him.

You were always impressed at the way Arthur seemed to notice every small detail, but right now you found yourself cursing that ability. He took note of the way your body went rigid, and he reassuringly squeezed your thigh. “You good?” You knew that he wasn’t just talking about right now; he was asking if you were still comfortable continuing what had started last night.

“Yeah,” your voice was breathier than you would’ve liked. “I’m just… excited.” Sure, you were nervous as well, but it was easily alleviated by the trust you had in the man.

“Good,” he smiled. Bringing his horse to the post, he quickly dismounted, securing his mount with a loose knot. Next, his hands met your waist as he helped you off. Your legs were slightly numb from the way you were sitting, but you stayed steady as your feet made contact with the ground.

After double checking that his horse was secure, and had plenty of food and water nearby, he held out his hand, pulling you along when you took it. He held the door open for you, and the joke you were about to make fell short as you took in the interior of the hotel.

Large, swooping archways cascaded above your head, the large vaulted ceilings filled with paintings and statues that observed you as you walked in, your hand still linked with his. It reminded you of something you'd heard about a while back, some chapel in Italy with painted ceilings like this. The walls were stark white, and no less decorated, paintings with golden frames facing you, and the marble floor beneath you clacked as your boots made contact. An ornate chandelier lit the room, located directly in the center of the entrance area. Its jewels glinted in the light, reflecting tiny rainbows across the walls.

It was breathtaking, to say the least. Eyes wide, you let yourself be pulled by Arthur as you took it all in. “Maybe it ain’t so bad they’re tryin’ to make cities like this, if this is what it turns into.” You laughed in disbelief. “It’s beautiful.”

Arthur seemed less impressed than you, eyes barely glancing over the various art pieces adorning the walls and ceiling. “Don’t go changin’ your mind now. This,” he waved his free hand around, “is how they get ya. This is all just a front.”

“You’re no fun,” you chidded, and your vision was suddenly obscured as Arthur flicked the hat down on your head. A very improper squawk left you as you quickly fixed the hat, glaring up at him with no real heat.

“I’m plenty fun, princess.” By this point, you’d reached the front desk, where a very impatient looking man stood. As Arthur ordered a room, you continued to peer around, not paying much mind to the conversation. We weren’t only distracted by the art now, but your mind began to wander to the events that were sure to transpire shortly. You shamelessly ogled his body, now realizing he left his usual jacket back at camp, only down to his undershirt now. His well built shoulders caused the fabric to be pulled taught against his body, leaving little to the imagination. How would they feel under your touch? Would you grip on to them tight as he took you, letting you leave scratches down his back? Would they spread your legs apart as he-

Your thoughts were broken when you felt a tug at your arm, and you glanced at Arthur who regarded you with an amused glance. Based on the way he was grinning at you, you knew he knew where your mind had gone. “Bath?” He asked, and your mouth felt dry as you tried to respond.

“After.” The clerk couldn’t have done a worse job hiding his disdain, but you ignored him. Arthur took the room key from him, not even thanking him before heading up the staircase behind the front desk.

It felt like forever, the walk to the room. You’ve had your share of encounters in the bedroom, but it had never felt like this. It never felt this right.

It seemed like hours went by before Arthur was unlocking one of the rooms, letting go of your hand for the first time to get it open. Like the gentleman he was, he held the door open for you again.

The rooms were no less decorated, but once the original splendor wore off, you found yourself caring less and less. A large four poster canopy bed sat in the center of the large room, a plush fur carpet beneath it. The room was well lit, with a balcony on the right side that was allowing copious amounts of sunlight into the room. The window for the balcony was left open, and you found yourself quickly closing it, the curtains settling as the wind was cut off. A basin with water along with a few towels and rags occupied the leftmost side of the wall with the balcony, with a wooden dresser neighboring it.

Now in the room, you took off your boots and socks, not wanting to track too much dirt across the carpet. Leaving them near the wardrobe, you made your way to the bed. The fur, which had to be some kind of large white bear, felt pleasant against your bare feet as you approached. The sheets felt even better than the carpet, rich silks flowing through your fingers like water.

Sitting down at the foot of the bed, you dragged your hand across, and you made your way up one of the wood posts, the material sturdy and well polished. You wondered how much a room like this cost to rent for a night or two. Turning to ask Arthur, you found him at one of the nightstands that framed the bed, unholstering his gunbelt and placing it there, as well as taking off his own boots.

When he felt your attention on him, he smiled warmly, leaning up against the post you were examining after reaching you. He had his hands on his hips, about where he would rest his hands if his gunbelt were there, looking at you with such fondness that you completely forgot the question you were going to ask. Staring up at him, any rational thought went out the window to your right; the only thing on your mind was him. He must’ve seen this change in your demeanor, pushing off the post and stopping now right in front of you.

“Show me, Arthur.” It came out less like a request and more like a demand.

Arthur chuckled, a low yes ma’am leaving him before his lips were on yours. It wasn’t soft like you were expecting. The force in which he kissed you had you nearly landing flat on your back, but you caught yourself with one arm, the other finding purchase on the side of his face as you cupped it. Kissing you like you were the only thing keeping him alive, he leaned over you now, but the angle he was doing it was not the most comfortable, relying on only his core muscles to keep him upright and not crush you.

Breaking away, you took a gulp of air, laughing at the way Arthur chased after you, like he couldn’t bear to be without you for only a few seconds. Scooching back on the bed until your back was resting against the multitude of pillows available, you opened your arms up. Crawling up after you, Arthur sighed, content, when your touch returned, still holding him in one of your palms.

Wasting no time, he fervently resumed his kiss, teeth grazing your bottom lip gently. His hands tangled into your hair, his hat falling somewhere on the bed, but you were too engrossed to care. One of his knees slotted between your legs, the other resting by your hip. As the tension in you returned, you found yourself inadvertently grinding against his thigh, trying to find some sort of relief. Arthur groaned when he felt you begin to use him, his mouth going slack against yours.

Moving from your mouth to your jaw, he pressed open mouth kisses as he went along. When you tried to move your head to follow him, you felt his grip in your hair tighten. Not enough to cause any pain, but it kept you still as he continued his exploration. You weren't able to do much but sit there, hips grinding against Arthur, but it wasn’t doing anything except get you more and more heated.

You expected to feel him start to leave hickies across your neck, especially when his mouth started trailing down your throat. But he didn’t, rather he was gentle with the soft skin, leaving no physical evidence that he was there. Before you could even comprehend what you were asking for, you were speaking, combing your fingers through Arthur’s hair like it was going to help convince him. “You can mark me, Arthur. Please. Let everyone know I’m taken.”

Your whispered pleas were not met on deaf ears, an almost painful sounding moan leaving the man as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His breath tickled your ear as he panted, his hands releasing your hair as they framed each side of your head. You thought he was going to turn the idea down, but you were elated when you felt his lips return to your neck, now sucking and biting as well.

“Anythin’ for you, princess.” He sounded positively wrecked. Traveling down the column of your neck, you felt him leave marks, marks that you were certain were going to be dark purple by tonight.

“Fuck, yeah, you’re so good to me. My pretty boy,” You cooed, nails scratching his scalp lightly. “Everyone back at camp is gonna see these marks; they’re gonna know what you did to me. They’re gonna know you fucked me so good.”

Arthur sat back on his heels, hair in disarray from your fingers. The sunlight filtering in caused the strands to become golden, like the color of the frames you saw downstairs. He looked almost heavenly in this light, the way the sun illuminated him. God, he looked beautiful. His blue eyes were nearly black with lust, and the normally stoic man seemed to be falling apart. “You- you can’t keep sayin’ things like that… then sayin’ I’m beautiful,” he murmured, running a hand down his face.

So your thoughts weren’t as secret as you believed. “Why not?” You questioned, a teasing smirk on your face. “I’m only tellin’ the truth.”

“Truth or not, if you keep goin’ on like that, I’m ‘fraid this night’s gonna end quicker than either of us would like.” Glancing downward, you saw Arthur readjust himself. The bulge in his pants looked uncomfortable, painfully even. With a sympathetic noise, you reached for the zipper on his pants, ready to alleviate him.

You were surprised when he stopped your hand, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. “Next time. I… I need to taste you, princess.”

“Is that what you were thinkin’ about earlier?” You tried to sound unbothered, knowing damn well that you were practically throbbing at the idea of him going down on you. The desperation in his voice added fuel to the fire in you, finding yourself growing increasingly wetter at each thing coming from his mouth.

“One of many things,” he confessed. “Is that a yes?”

“Arthur, if you don’t get your ass-” your comment was cut short by his mouth on yours. It didn’t last long, before he was returning to where he left off on your neck. This time, however, you felt his hands work at your belt, throwing it somewhere behind him when he got it unlooped from your pants, which were next to go. It took a little bit longer, but eventually they were tossed behind as well, leaving you in only your undergarments from the waist down.

You went to start unbuttoning the shirt you wore, but Arthur beat you to it, his dexterous fingers quickly undoing the buttons. He rested his head against yours, eyes looking down as we worked, grumbling obscenities when one of the buttons was stubborn. Eventually it was off as well, the shirt and the bandana adding to the growing pile on the floor. “I thought you liked me in your clothes,” you teased.

“I think I like you better without any. Now,” he nudged your arms, “up.” You complied, lifting them to allow Arthur to slip your chemise up and off your body, and, like the other articles, found a new home on the floor of the hotel. The cold air on your bare chest caused you to gasp, goosebumps erupting across your skin. All of that was forgotten when you saw Arthur, the heat in his gaze easily melting the chill of the air.

He sat back on his heels again, taking in your almost entirely exposed body, the only remaining thing on your body being your drawers. Letting out an appreciative noise that sounded almost like a purr, he rested his hands on your hips, squeezing lightly at the flesh there. Bringing his hands up, more and more goosebumps formed following his path, like your body was mapping out the way he touched you.

“God, you’re so gorgeous, princess. Even more so than I imagined.”

“You imagine me naked a lot, Arthur?”

He was right below your breasts now, running his fingers right below where you wanted him to touch. “You already know the answer to that.”

“For how long?”

Arthur stilled at this, a flash of panic cutting through his lustful eyes for a split second. “You want the truth, or a lie that would make me less of a creep?”

Well, now you were curious. Raising a brow, the man on his knees in front of you gave out an exasperated sigh, no longer looking you in the eye as he responded. “Roughly two years ago. I…” he trailed off, moving to rub the back of his neck, but you caught his hand in yours, forcing his eyes back on you.

You laughed, mostly at Arthur’s expense, but also at how long you firmly believed that your attraction was one-sided. “You silly cowboy,” you urged him back by tugging his arm, and he rested on his forearms, caging you in. “I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t been doin’ the same.”

He hovered a few inches above you, and you could feel the heat emanating from his body. “I’ll have to see that sometime,” he spoke low in your ear. “You spread open, touchin’ yourself to the thought of me.” He paused for a second. “But that’ll have to wait. You,” he tugged at the lobe of your ear with his teeth, “keep distracting me. Let me get back to work.”

Sitting back up, he returned his hands to your body, still keeping away from where you wanted, just taking you in with his eyes. When you tried to push your chest up into his hands, he gave you a disapproving frown before pushing you back down. “No one ever teach ya patience, princess?” The absence of his body heat caused you to shiver, your nipples pebbling from the cold and arousal.

His hands brushed over the scars across your body, his touch lingering on the one on your left shoulder, the one the O’Driscolls gave you over a month ago. You didn’t have time to feel self conscious before his lips were pressing light kisses on top of it, murmuring soft words under his breath. Finally, you felt his hands cup your breasts, kneading the mounds in his hands, his mouth leaving marks as it joined his hands in his touch. His hands did feel even better without a shirt blocking them, the callous of his fingers deliciously rough against the soft skin

He didn’t stay there long, his own patience being worn thin. He moved down your body now, pepper kisses across the various marks on your body. His fingers pulled at the strings of your drawers, quickly unlacing the bow there. Lifting up your hips to help him, he pulled them off, and they joined the pile. Finally, you were completely bare to him, and you heard him groan appreciatively. Trailing his mouth down your body, he halted just below your belly button, his hands resting on your thighs.

He looked up, and his smirk was downright sinful as he lifted one of your legs across his shoulder, further exposing yourself to him. One hand held your hip, the other lying unused by his side. Your hands clutched uselessly at the pillows supporting you, gripping even harder when you felt him part your folds with fingers. His eyes were fully locked onto your cunt now, letting out a whistle when he saw how obviously wet you were. “This all for me, princess?” he asked, peppering kisses along the inside of your thighs.

“Just for you. It’s only ever you.” You panted.

You felt him smile. “Good.” He removed his hand, and you almost let out a small whine at the loss of contact. You were quickly silenced when you felt those same fingers sweep through you, gathering your arousal on them. The digits were soaked, but you had little time to feel embarrassed before he was running his tongue up them, tasting you. You let out a noise, somewhere between his name and a moan as Arthur cleaned his fingers, his eyes closed as he savored the taste.

“Gonna get me addicted, princess,” he groaned, his fingers leaving his mouth and resting on the inside of your thigh, keeping your legs propped open. “But I bet ya taste better right from the source.” You felt him place one last kiss on your thigh before his mouth was on your cunt, his tongue following the same path as his fingers through you. Going bottom to top, it was a broad sweep of his tongue, not targeting anything specific but you still felt your hips buck against his face when he grazed your clit.

The hand on your hip moved, resting across your lap to keep you still as he passed his tongue through again, and again. “Easy, girl,” he rumbled, and you would’ve been offended that he was talking to you like a horse if he wasn’t currently buried between your legs. Instead, you threw your head back, the soft feather pillows preventing you from smacking the headboard. Your grip moved from said pillows, moving to burrow into Arthur’s hair. Your fingers went to weave between the strands, but you second-guessed your decision, especially when he started focusing his tongue on your clit.

You tried to retract your hand, but Arthur caught it no longer holding your legs open. He brought it back to his head, and you gripped on to his hair. Arthur let out a pleased groan at that, and it seemed to spur him on more, lapping at you like he was dying of thirst. Every flick of his tongue sent jolts through your body, cries and whimpers of his name leaving your lips every time. You knew he had a silver tongue, but you never expected to be falling apart on it.

Because he was no longer holding you open, your thighs closed around his head with both legs on his shoulders, but you were too lost in your pleasure to notice. Now you were able to feel his beard against the sensitive skin, feeling better than you’d imagined. It would probably be chaffed and irritated in the morning, but every time you felt it you’d remember the way Arthur was devouring you.

You were so caught up on that new sensation that you hadn’t noticed the newly freed hand move between your legs, a gasp leaving your lips when you felt him pressed against your entrance. He stopped at your reaction, but he continued to use his mouth, the tension in you growing and growing at each flick.

When you provided no protest, he continued, slowly pressing his finger into you. It didn’t take much effort, your arousal helping to ease the digit in with little resistance, and within moments he was knuckle-deep. He was big, far bigger than your fingers, and you let out a small noise at the stretch. “You’re doing so good,” Arthur praised, his finger not moving to let you adjust. “My good girl.” His words were muffled, tongue still pleasuring you between words, but you heard them loud and clear.

You weren’t quite sure why that got a reaction out of you, but a very audible moan left you, and you clenched around Arthur’s finger, pulling even harder at his hair. He let out a surprised groan that turned into a chuckle as he felt you, and you could hear him smirk. “You taste so good, and you’re so tight,” He bent the digit inside you, almost in a beckoning motion, which caused you to see stars. “My good girl’s gonna cum for me, right? Let me feel you, princess.”

You were close, that was certain. That tension, the one deep inside you that had been begging to be released since what seemed like forever, was about to break. You just needed one more push.

He started slowly pistoning the finger in and out of you, at least as best he could with your thighs in the way. Before long, he was adding a second finger, the additional stretch just about making you finish right there. You tried to convey that to Arthur, but it was coming out as an incoherent ramble. “Arthur… I- I’m… please…”

“I know, princess.” He kept at the same pace, drawing your pleasure out of you. The thing that broke you was seeing Arthur rocking his hips against the bed as he laid on his stomach, trying to find some relief. With a loud wail of his name, you came, trying and failing to thrust against his face as he pinned you down, fingers flexing against your hip bone. It felt like every nerve in your body was alive, buzzing with energy as pleasure wracked your body, and your eyes shut on instinct, which seemed to heighten the sensations you were feeling. Arthur removed his fingers from you, but he kept his tongue moving, obscene noises leaving him as he worked you through your orgasm.

Boneless, your thighs went lax against his head, hands slumping to the sides of the bed, releasing the man from your death grip. But he either didn’t notice or didn’t care, still drinking you in. But you were starting to feel overstimulated, and you let out a small noise of complaint, which got Arthur to stop. He tried to hide a proud smile as he came back up, but you saw the corners of his mouth were raised slightly as he lay on his side next to you, letting you take a moment to recuperate.

You took a few moments to just breathe, regaining control over your body and heart rate. Turning your head to face him, you slowly opened your eyes, and you nearly immediately shut them when you saw your arousal absolutely soaking his face. “I-,” if you weren’t flushed before, you sure were now.

Now Arthur was grinning, realizing what you were looking at. He wiped his mouth like he just finished a delicious meal. “I could do that all day.” He brushed his fingers across your body, not demanding anything, but just feeling you. “You doin’ alright?”

You scoffed. “You’re askin’ me that? I nearly killed you with my thighs!”

“I told you I don’t mind if it hurts. And it’d’ve been a hell of a way to die,” he joked, and you slapped him lightly on the chest, which, much to your disappointment, was still covered with a shirt. You noticed, as your gaze went south, that he was still fully clothed, and you found yourself frowning at that.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked, confusion and worry now etched on his face, and he began to retract his hand slowly.

“You’re wearin’ too many clothes,” you whined, tugging at Arthur’s shirt.

He sighed in relief. “Whatever my good girl wants,” he chuckled, even more so when your breathing hitched. He got up, standing right next to the side of the bed. He slowly began unbuttoning his shirt, and you sat on your heels in front of him, waiting.

When you deemed that he was taking too long, you started untucking his shirt, working the buttons at the bottom. “Impatient?”

“I’ve waited two fuckin’ years, Arthur.” You hadn’t meant to sound angry, but your patience was truly wearing thin. You didn’t feel too bad when he started unbuttoning faster, the article off before you realized, joining the pile beside him. His pants were off shortly thereafter, the belt still in them hitting the ground with a clang, and he kicked them off his feet.

You moved back to let Arthur get back in the bed, and he sat where you were minutes prior, back against the pillows and headboard. Straddling his waist, your hands immediately started roaming the newly exposed skin, his muscles twitching under your touch. He truly was beautiful, almost aggravatingly so. He was well built, strong muscles protected by a healthy layer of fat that made him even bigger.

Various scars and marks littered his body, all proof of surviving a hard life; you kissed each one you saw. Your fingers ran across his abs, the muscles tensing as you went along. You were surprised to find that his entire body was covered in hair, not just his arms and legs, but you definitely weren’t complaining, the pure masculinity from it all the more attractive.

Speaking of masculinity, an experimental roll of your hips against Arthur’s had the man groaning, head rolling back slightly. But it also let you know that he wasn’t just well built, but well endowed. Quite endowed, if you were being honest.

After giving him a quick kiss, you moved back until you were more on his knees, and you tugged at the waistband of his undergarments. Like you, he lifted his hips up, and you quickly discarded it behind you.

One look and you knew you were in for a long night. He was long, yes, but thick as well, able to stretch you out in all the right places. You tried to wrap your hand around the base of him, your fingers nowhere close to reaching each other. Slowly, you began to pump him, and he let out a strangled moan. His tip was red and leaking, and you wanted nothing more than to lean forward and lick it. And you tried to, at least, but he redirected you with his fingers around your jaw, bringing his lips crashing against yours.

The kiss was filthy, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he owned it. The fingers on your jaw kept your mouth open, a moan leaving you when you tasted yourself on him. He pulled back, eyes shutting when you continued to move your hand up and down his length. He stilled you by grabbing your wrist, pulling you back up so that you were straddling his waist again.

“Y’feel amazin’, princess, I just wanna last.” He let go of you, settling his hands on your waist instead. “You ready?”

“Please, Arthur.” One hand gripped his bicep, the other on his shoulder. “I need you.”

“And you’ll have me. Just don’t wanna see you hurt.” You felt his hand creep up your front, hovering just in front of your face, and his pointer and middle fingers brushed your bottom lip. “Suck,” he instructed, digits pressing gently against the seam of your lips. You parted your lips, enthusiastically taking them into your mouth, running your tongue alongside the bottom of them. Your eyes never left his, and you felt him twitch beneath you as you bobbed your head up and down. “Atta girl,” he praised, “get ‘em nice and wet for me.”

You’re sure you were soaking his lap at this point, but you didn’t care. Working your tongue along the knuckles, his hand quickly became covered in your drool. With a pop, his fingers left your mouth, leaving you panting around nothing. You watched, transfixed, as Arthur brought his hand to his cock, slowly stroking himself as he coated his length. He let out a soft gasp, eyes rolling to the back of his head, and the delicious noise had you clenching around nothing.

After a few passes, he stilled at the base, holding himself upright. Urging you to get up on your knees, you scooted until you were just hovering above him. His tip nudged your entrance, and you both let out similar moans as you slowly sunk down on his length. Your fingers dug into the muscles of his bicep, most likely leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake.

“That’s it. Nice and slow now…” he spoke, voice strained and clipped. The hand on your waist was vice-like, Arthur using every ounce of restraint in his body to not just sink you down on to him.

Even though Arthur had done some prep with his fingers, and your mixed arousal and spit helped to ease things along, the stretch still burned. You rocked up and down, slowly taking more and more of him in you. Small noises left your lips as you worked yourself down, feeling every ridge of him in you, and your face buried into his neck. “Relax,” Arthur murmured, the hand on your hip rubbing reassuringly on your back. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Arthur…” you moaned, your legs beginning to shake at the exertion.

“I know, princess. You’re doin’ so well. Just a lil’ bit more.” He kissed the top of your head, which would’ve been more wholesome outside the current circumstance.

It took a little bit of you moving up and down him, working yourself open until you were able to take him completely. Eventually, your hips were flush with his, and your head rolling back as you finally felt him fully sheathed in you. You’d never felt so full before, his cock reaching places you’d hadn’t realized existed.

When you leaned back, it puffed your chest in his face, and his mouth was on you in seconds, lapping and sucking and kneading at the soft flesh there. “Oh, Arthur.” Your hands were in his hair, keeping him close as he lavished your breasts. “You feel so good.”

Not stopping for a second, you heard him something, and the tone was almost proud, but it was hard to tell over the blood rushing in your ears. As you let yourself get used to him, rocking up and down him slowly, you moved your head to the side to let him bring his mouth up your neck, and you saw something brown out of the corner of your eyes. Turning even further, you saw Arthur’s hat a few feet behind you, and a wicked idea crossed your mind.

It took a bit of reaching to get the hat, causing you to pull yourself away from Arthur’s mouth. He let out a noise of complaint, hands trying to bring you back until he realized what you were reaching for. “Princess…” his usually gravelly voice was even more so, the word barely audible through his clenched teeth.

“What?” You flashed him an innocent smile. Clutching his hat in your hand, you slowly rode him, sinking up and down his cock. You tried to seem unaffected, but you couldn’t stop the whimper that you let out.

You secured it on your head, clenching around him when you heard the almost predatory growl that left him. He was losing the battle with his restraint, and you wanted nothing more than to see him succumb to his desire. Running your fingers though the hair on his pecs, you brought your lips close to his, only a hair’s width away from connecting. “Princess.” It was more of a warning than anything, and you felt him let out a huff of air.

“What’s the matter?” You teased.

“Nothin’,” you watched his eyes flick down to your entrance, watching his cock disappear into you. You would’ve believed that he was content with you just using him for your pleasure, enjoying the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, but you’d seen the look in his eye when you put his hat on, and felt the way his fingers tightened on you as he fought to not to just take you as he pleased.

You wanted to see him lose the control he fought so hard to maintain.

“Really? Cause you seem tense, cowboy. Like you’re holdin’ back.” You smiled gently, rubbing his chest reassuringly.

“Dunno what you mean,” he tried to play dumb, looking away from you as he spoke.

You brought his gaze back to yours, caressing the side of his face as you did so. “I don’t want you to.”

It took a few moments for Arthur to respond, eyes not leaving yours as you continued to ride him. “Are you sure, princess? I…” he exhaled shakily, “It might hurt-”

“I know what I want, Arthur. You’re not the only one who likes it a little rough.” You brushed your lips over his, and you could tell he was still fighting himself. “I wanna feel you for days after this, Arthur. I wanna be able to feel you whenever I walk, every ache I feel remindin’ me of when you absolutely ruined me. I need you to ruin me, Arthur. Please, fuck me-”

Your rambling was cut short when he smashed his lips against yours, muffling your noises as he effortlessly lifted you off his cock before slamming you back down. He set a brutal pace, hips snapping up as he fucked up into you. The kiss didn’t last long, your head rolling back again, hat barely staying on your head as he took you as he pleased.

The sound of your collective moans filled the air, the sound of skin-on-skin muffled by your voice. “Yes, Arthur!” you cried out, and you felt yourself working up to another climax, already worked up from riding him previously. You tried to praise him some more, but you words came out garbled and incoherent, too overwhelmed with what he was doing to be able to develop a sentence.

“What’s that, princess?” you could hear him smirk.

You tried to respond, but all you could let out was a loud moan. You were just happy you weren’t back at camp, or else you’d never be able to look anyone in the eye ever again.

You heard him moan out your name. “You feel so good, you know that?” He panted. “Like you were made for me to ruin.”

You let out another cry of his name, growing closer and closer to your release. “That’s right, let everyone know who’s fucking this pretty cunt so well.”

In the back of your mind, you knew that Arthur was going to be embarrassed as hell afterwards, saying stuff like this. But the filthy words coming from his lips had you gasping, a jolt of arousal shooting through your body. You said his name like a mantra, spurring him on even more. “Arthur, I’m- I’m so close,” you moaned.

“Fuck, me too, princess,” he didn’t slow down his pace, and you felt him bring his fingers to your clit, caressing the bundle of nerves. “C’mon then, cum for me.”

The added stimulation from his fingers, plus the sharp drag of his cock across your walls was enough to make you cum, his hat finally falling off as your head was thrown back in pleasure. This one was much more intense than the the last one, and you swore you blacked out for a second.

You probably did blackout, because you hadn’t realized you were on your back until a few moments later, Arthur’s hips snapping into you as he chased his own release. He pulled out suddenly, and you felt yourself pulse around nothing, feeling empty at the lack of him. Arthur was on his knees above you, pumping himself quickly as he came all over your chest, hot ropes of cum hitting your stomach and breasts.

He sagged forward once he finished, hands on either side of your body as he laid there catching his breath, being mindful to not crush you. You ran your nails along his scalp, the man shuddering under your touch. A few moments passed, both of you just basking in the afterglow of your release. The room wasn’t cold anymore, the heat generated from the both of you causing a sheen of sweat to cover your bodies. A bath definitely sounded good right now, but you didn’t want to get up, body pleasantly sore and exhausted.

You felt Arthur sit back up, getting off the bed entirely. You watched him grab one of the rags from the water basin, pouring a bit of water on it before returning to you. You let out a small hiss as the cold water made contact with your skin, Arthur apologizing as he cleaned you up. His touch was light, reverent, his eyes filled with an emotion you weren’t able to place as he wiped down your body. As Arthur walked away, wiping down himself as well, you situated yourself under the covers, the silk feeling wonderful against your skin as you nuzzled into the pillows.

Arthur joined you shortly, the bed shifting under his weight as he joined you under the covers. You watched him open his arms for you, and you gladly let yourself be wrapped up in them, your chests pressed together, and you felt him press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “You alright?”

Smiling, you looked up at him. “I’m amazin’,” your voice was scratchy. “Just sore. And don’t you dare apologize,” you glared at him when he opened his mouth to do just that.

“We can get you a bath later, if you’d like.”

“As long as you join me.”

You felt Arthur chuckle, his chest rumbling against yours, kissing you now on the forehead. “Whatever you want.”

Sighing contentedly, you stared at Arthur, who had now closed his eyes, his tiredness now making itself known. You were too busy scanning his features that you hadn’t noticed him cracking an eye open, raising a brow quizzically at you. “What?”

“You’re very beautiful, Arthur.”

You watched him stammer for a second, the bright red flush returning to his face from minutes prior. “It’d be pointless to disagree with you, wouldn’t it, princess?”

“Yup,” you giggled. The two of you sat in comfortable silence after that, until a question you’d been meaning for a while came back to you at that moment. “Why’d you call me that?”

“Call ya what?”

“Princess. I thought we already established that I ain’t one.”

“You want me to stop?”

You shook your head. “You better not. I like it. I’m just curious why you use it.”

“To be completely honest, I ain’t quite sure why either,” he chuckled. “It started as a bit of a joke, before we became serious. But I liked the way you reacted to it, so I kept callin’ you it just to see your reaction. I kept sayin’ it after because you deserve to be called somethin’ unique, somethin’ that’s special to us.”

“Earlier, you said I was something’ better than a princess. What’s that?”

“It’s cheesy,” he tried to avoid the question, but you gave him a pointed look. Sighing, he relented. “You’re, well, you. You’re an outlaw, a gunslinger, a survivor. You’re a confidant, a friend, a leader. You’re my girl, my angel, the best thing that has ever happened to me. All things that are infinitely better than some royal title.” He shrugged. “And sure, maybe you ain’t a princess, but you deserve to be treated like one. I guess callin’ you that, it’s a constant reminder for me to treat you like the incredible person you are, and to not take your love for granted.”

You held back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. “You’re oddly poetic at times.”

“I told ya it was cheesy,” he grumbled, the bashful smile on his face dropping when he saw the tears in your eyes. “Shit, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Despite the single tear rolling down your face, you laughed. “I love you so much, Arthur Morgan.”

He said your name slowly, wiping away the tear with the pad of his thumb. “I love you too.” You tried to smile at him, but a yawn overtook you, causing Arthur to laugh lightly. “Let’s get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2

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anonymousewrites · 29 days

Text

Burden of Truth (Book 1) Chapter Three

Father Figure! Marc Spector x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Steven Grant x Teen! Reader

Mother Figure! Layla El-Faouly x Teen! Reader

Chapter Three: To the Neighborhood

Summary: (Y/N) and Steven are brought to Arthur Harrow's London community.

Steven looked nervously between Kennedy and Fitzgerald and (Y/N). The teen cursed themself for not making it out the window in time. In the mirror, Marc looked between all of them and narrowed his eyes.

“Who’s that?” demanded Kennedy.

“My, uh…neighbor’s kid…I’m babysitting,” said Steven.

The lie was so terrible (Y/N) didn’t need their abilities to hear it, and they could see Kennedy and Fitzgerald didn’t believe it. In fact, they had recognized (Y/N).

Harrow knows my face, they realized in horror.

“What’s your name?” said Fitzgerald.

(Y/N) really didn’t want to answer. It was bad enough Harrow knew their face, but if he had their identity, their life as they knew it was over. They remained quiet.

“Come on, what’s your name?” said Kennedy.

“They, uh, don’t like strangers,” said Steven.

(Y/N) glanced at him, still deciding whether or not to make a run for it or risk exposing Layla. They knew it was in their best interest to run now, but at the same time, Steven was being kind and trying to defend them, and Layla didn’t seem bad, either, and (Y/N) would feel bad if they abandoned them to Kennedy and Fitzgerald by leaving on the roof.

They knew Ma’at had given them a job, but (Y/N)’s was the guardian of truth and justice. It was in their heart to try to help people. They wouldn’t leave Steven.

“So, um,” continued Steven. “Is this about the toilet? ‘Cause it’s been dealt with. Yeah. I’ve been sacked. And, uh, yeah, that’s…”

As he rambled, Kennedy and Fitzgerald looked around his flat, undoubtedly for the scarab. (Y/N) drifted over to him.

“We need to go,” they whispered.

“What?” said Steven.

“We can’t trust them, we need to go,” said (Y/N).

“But everything is alright. The museum said I could pay them back in installments, so I’m not in trouble,” said Steven.

“Steven, listen to them,” said Marc in the mirror. “You need to get out or give me control.”

“Steven Grant, you’re in possession of a stolen item,” said Kennedy, and (Y/N) stiffened.

They needed to get out, but every part of them said to stay and help Steven. They didn’t feel right abandoning anyone. It went against their heart.

“Oh, yeah, no…I don’t have it,” said Steven. “I don’t. It’s not here.”

It’s nice of him to cover for me instead of just handing me over. Steven had a good heart. (Y/N) felt bad that he was being thrown into all of this.

Fitzgerald crossed the duffel bag and opened it to see the many passports inside. “ ‘Marc Spector?’ ” he said.

“That’s not mine,” said Steven quickly.

“Funny, that,” said Fitzgerald. “Fella looks just like you.”

“Fake passport and a thief,” said Kennedy. “I think you best come with us, son.” She pulled out handcuffs.

Steven hung his head in disappointment and nodded.

“We’ll need to talk to you, too,” said Fitzgerald, looking at (Y/N).

“Oh, no, I need to send them back to their flat if I can’t keep an eye on them,” said Steven, trying to keep up the pretense that (Y/N) was just being the neighbor’s kid.

(Y/N) appreciated it, but they knew Kennedy and Fitzgerald weren’t buying it.

“We need a statement about your whereabouts,” said Kennedy in a “friendly” manner.

The lie made (Y/N)’s skin prickle. No getting out of it, though. They couldn’t fight their way out. “…Alright.”

“And we’ll need your ID,” said Kennedy.

(Y/N) looked nervously between her and Fitzgerald. “I don’t have it with me.” Truth.

“Don’t lie to us,” said Fitzgerald.

“I’m not.” I can’t.

“It’s fine. We don’t need an ID,” said Kennedy. “But we need a name.”

“…(Y/N).”

This was the worst.

“Wow, lookie, lookie. Guess what we’ve got here, Billy,” said Kennedy, looking through Marc’s passport information online.

“Go on, tell me,” said Fitzgerald.

“We’ve only got ourselves a full- blown international fugitive,” said Kennedy.

“It’s not-It’s a mistake. That’s not me,” said Steven.

“Marc Spector was part of a team of mercenaries that hit a dig site in Egypt. Here’s what they did to the archaeologists,” said Kennedy. “Zip-tied and shot in the back of the head, execution-style.”

“That’s dark, man,” said Fitzgerald.

(Y/N)’s blood chilled. Archaeologists. That’s what their parents had been, and Marc was capable of killing those people. They felt the desire to curl in on themself build. But there was nowhere for (Y/N) to go. They were stuck in the car with two DCs they couldn’t trust and a man who’s alter wouldn’t hesitate to kill.

And (Y/N) had no idea how to deal with it. Ever since 2018, they’d followed Ma’at’s instruction. Strange? Yes. A terrible decision? Probably. Unexpected? No. (Y/N) had been ten and lost their parents. How else were they going to survive?

How am I going to survive this?

That was the real question.

“(Y/N) (L/N).” Kennedy flipped to the information on (Y/N). “Presumed dead in accidents following the Blip.”

“Wonder what you were up to until now,” said Fitzgerald.

(Y/N) didn’t respond, too tired to put together anything that was truthful enough to be spoken but omitted anything to be used against them. They knew they’d been declared dead. Part of them was.

Whatever life they’d been meant for before the Blip had died with their parents.

The car rolled to a stop in a back street. Steven frowned.

“I thought we were going to the police station,” he said.

Fitzgerald adjusted the rearview mirror. “Now why would you think that?”

(Y/N)’s blood ran cold as they saw the scales tattoo on his wrist. They’d been right. These two worked for Harrow.

“Sit tight, yeah?” said Kennedy, getting out of the car without listening to a response. Fitzgerald exited with her.

“What do we do?” said Steven, panicking. “They’re not real officers!”

“They’re real, but they don’t have any loyalty to true law or justice,” said (Y/N), frowning.

“How do you know so much?” said Steven, looking at them.

“You saw me in the Alps. I’ve dealt with…people like this before,” said (Y/N). That was enough truth.

“Then you know a way out?” said Steven hopefully.

“I’m a thief, not a fighter,” said (Y/N). And now that Harrow has my face and name, I’m ruined…

Panic grasped at their lungs and stole their breath. They had never been so exposed, never. They had always kept their privacy, their identity. Now that had been stolen from them, too. Their one bit of safety was gone.

A football (“soccer”) rolled to the side of the car, and a girl picked it up. Instantly, Steven knocked his head against the window.

“Hello. Hello! Excuse me! Could you help us?” he called. “Help, please, we’ve been kidnapped—”

“Steven,” said (Y/N), eyes trained on the girl’s tattoo of scales. She was part a follower of Ammit. “She’s one of them.”

The girl barely glanced at them before walking away.

“Oh my god—Agh!” Steven squeezed his eyes shut as his head pounded.

“You don’t need to fight me, Steven,” said Marc, and Steven’s eyes went to his reflection in the window. “Surrender control.”

“No. No, I saw what you did to those people,” said Steven, not even caring he was in front of someone else. He needed speak back to Marc. He refused to be pushed around.

“It’s not what you think,” said Marc.

Can’t tell if that’s a lie or not. The phrasing was too ambiguous.

“Just give me control. I can get you, the kid, and the scarab out of here,” said Marc.

“I am never giving you control again,” said Steven, slowly, firmly. “Ever? Do you hear me?”

They really need to talk this out, thought (Y/N), though it was hardly a helpful thought at the moment. (They also wanted to tell Marc and Steven that they could hear them both, but they really weren’t in the right place to do so).

“I hear you loud and clear, Steven Grant of the gift shop.”

(Y/N) and Steven’s eyes flicked to the radio on the car’s dashboard. Harrow’s voice hung in the air.

The door of the car opened, and Steven tumbled out. (Y/N) stepped out a bit more gracefully. Waiting for them in a white linen outfit was Harrow himself, his crocodile cane in hand.

“I’m sorry for the wait,” said Harrow, as gracious as ever. “We just needed a chance to better understand your situation.” He smiled at (Y/N). “My apologies. We will get to you.”

Anything that (Y/N) could say which was truthful was also rude, so they opted to remain quiet.

“Do you have the keys?” said Harrow, glancing at Kennedy. She handed them to him. “Let’s get you out of those cuffs.” Harrow undid Steven’s restraints. “There you go.” He nodded to Kennedy and Fitzgerald. “Thank you both.” He guided Steven to his feet and smiled at him and (Y/N). “Aren’t they terrific?”

“Yeah, they’re lovely,” said Steven.

“Efficient,” said (Y/N).

“Well, it’s no wonder your scales don’t balance, Steven,” said Harrow. “It must be very difficult having all those voices inside one head. Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Khonshu…I’m curious, do you think that Khonshu chose you as his Avatar because your mind would be so easy to break or because it was broken already?”

“No, I-I’m not broken,” said Steven.

(Y/N) didn’t need their senses to know that was the truth.

“Just need some help, maybe,” added Steven.

That was also true, but (Y/N) was inclined to believe the “help” needed was just some communication.

“That’s right. That’s why I’m here. To help,” said Harrow.

Lie. (Y/N) shivered at the intensity of their senses.

“And you. (Y/N) (L/N),” said Harrow. “I wonder what voice you have in your mind.”

(Y/N) narrowed their eyes warily.

“Oh, yes, I know you’re an Avatar,” said Harrow, smiling. “I recognize the signs. Listening for what others can’t hear. Trying to hide from attention. Hollow eyes.” Harrow continued to gaze at (Y/N) with a benevolent look. “So, who is it?”

“Be careful,” warned Ma’at.

(Y/N) raised their eyes to see Ma’at standing, a story tall, behind Harrow.

“Ah. They’re here. Don’t worry. You don’t need to be afraid,” said Harrow.

Lie.

“I understand how you feel. I was once an Avatar,” said Harrow. He chuckled kindly, and (Y/N)’s hairs stood on end as he tried to make them relax with him. “When I was younger. Perhaps, though, not as young as you. Your age is quite…unusual. Maybe that’s why they chose you. Easy to mold.”

“I was chosen by Ma’at because of my heart,” said (Y/N). Because truth and lies are a part of me.

“Ah. Ma’at,” said Harrow, and (Y/N) frowned. “Another deity devoted to justice like Ammit.” He looked at Steven. “Like Khonshu. We’re all so similar. We all serve the same ideals.”

“Kill him!” Khonshu materialized, shouting, and Steven gasped.

“Oh, is he here now?” said Harrow. He hardly seemed concerned. “What’s he saying, huh? Is he telling you to kill me?”

“Break his windpipe!” ordered Khonshu.

“Get away with the scarab,” said Ma’at. “Escape before Harrow does any harm.”

(Y/N) absolutely wanted to, but one quick glance around said that they were surrounded by Harrow’s people.

“Yeah, he’s saying that,” said Steven nervously.

“Well, just remember, neither of you have to do everything your deity asks for,” said Harrow kindly. “So, Steven, before you get excited and put on the cape, and (Y/N), before you try to run, I’d love to take this opportunity to show you around.”

“We can’t just walk away,” said (Y/N). Truth. They were stuck.

“You can after we have a brief talk,” said Harrow.

It didn’t register as a lie, but (Y/N) knew he was omitting that he wanted to scarab in order to let them go.

Khonshu kicked a trashcan across the alley in anger. Steven jumped, and (Y/N) flinched.

“Khonshu, do not act rashly,” said Ma’at harshly.

“Do not think to order me,” retorted Khonshu.

“It’s alright, it’s alright. Listen to me, not them,” said Harrow. “That’s all either of them can do without your help. Come.” Harrow guided them further into his neighborhood.

(Y/N) felt like a fly walking farther into the spider’s web.

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