#arthur is a brute too

[lesbian-for-arthur-morgan]

do you have any headcanons for arguing and making up? i’m a slut for angst with comfort 🙈

Making Up After a Fight

Gender Neutral Language!

Genre: slight angst, fluff Featuring: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Javier Escuella, Charles Smith, and Sean MacGuire Warnings: Dutch is kind of toxic | Not edited

AN: Sorry it took me so long to get these written! I went through some nasty writer's block and decided to play the game a little to help out but all that did was distract me for a week. This is definitely pretty roughly written - I'm also a huge slut for angst with comfort, though, so I hope you like these! <3 ---> Requests are open! Check out guidelines if you have any questions

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Arthur Morgan:

Arthur gets frustrated easily when he feels like he’s not being listened to or understood. It’s not really anyone’s fault, but his emotions can get the better of him and he’ll say something that he doesn’t mean.

“You got bait for brains or are you just being an idiot for fun?” (or something like that)

You know in the back of your head that he doesn’t mean it, and he regrets it the second the syllables bounce off his lips. Your brain can know something but your heart will still hurt all the same.

Usually when Arthur is getting too big for his britches with you, you can shut him down and put him in his place. It’s something he highly respects about you - not putting up with his bullshit when he gets like that. Sometimes, though, your eyes will start to water and you can’t say anything without feeling a lump in your throat constricting your vocal chords.

You have to turn and walk away or else you’ll cry in front of him. That would just make everything worse.

Seeing your form retreating, knowing that you’re running off because you’re hurt rather than angry, made Arthur’s chest grow heavy with guilt. His first instinct is to follow after you and hold you until you’re feeling better.

But since he’s the one who hurt you, he just lets you walk away and he goes to pout since he thinks he deserves to be outcast for a little while.

He’ll give you as much space as he can bear, avoid you for an hour maybe two, but he comes crawling back with those puppy dog eyes and a singular wild flower in his fist.

He’ll go to his cot where you’re sitting with his hat in your lap. You stopped being upset five or ten minutes after the argument. Once you took a few deep breaths you understand, but you also had to understand that Arthur would come back to you after he was done punishing himself.

So you waited.

When you saw him approach with that sheepish expression and slouched posture your heart bled for him. He was a brute and an ass at times, but he meant well.

“’M’sorry, Darlin’,” He’d mumble and get on his knees in front of you. “I didn’t mean it, I never mean it.”

He places the flower in your lap by his hat and gazes up at you. His hair is long and falling in front of his eyes a little, so you brush the strands away from his forehead to get a better look at him.

His blue eyes are a little red and there’s a deep crease in his forehead from an hour or so of constant worrying.

“You can be so mean sometimes, Arthur Morgan,” You scold him lightly and he sighs, nodding.

“I know.”

He spends the rest of the week making it up to you. Truly it doesn’t matter exactly what was said or what the argument was about, when you are truly hurt by his words/actions it kills him. He’ll punish himself for a bit then come back ready to spoil you with words, presents, kisses, and anything else you could possibly ask for.

John Marston:

He’s constantly arguing with you about something. A lot of the time he just picks at you to get a rise out of you - he thinks it’s funny.

Things can get out of hand quickly with him if he grates on a nerve of yours and you bite back though. His first instinct is to give a smartass retort and it just spirals into a full-blown fight from there.

“John Marston you are a pig!”

You storm off and hide in your tent for a while. He’s just standing there dumbfounded. He starts asking himself why he let it get to that point, why did he have to open his big ol’ mouth and antagonize you?

He tries to get you to talk to him, he’ll pace in front of the tent and start calling your name nicely. He won’t ever open the flap though, he doesn’t want to invade your space and risk riling you up anymore.

When you ignore him he’ll eventually get the hint and wander off.

He tries to figure out something to do while he thinks about how to make it up to you. He offers to help Arthur out with any bounty hunts or little jobs, he’ll offer to take Bill or Lenny into town, or he’ll just pick up extra shifts of being on lookout for the camp.

When you finally come out he has to restrain the urge to run to you and scoop you up, demanding that you forgive him so that he can stop pouting.

He does drop whatever it is he’s doing to approach you and makes small talk to test the waters.

“How are you?”

“Fine, John.”

“That’s good… You still mad at me?”

You roll your eyes and try to walk away, but he shoots out and grabs your hand before you can get too far. He doesn’t hold you tightly; his fingers gently encase your own, if you wanted to leave you could easily. But, you falter with your back turned to him and wait for him to speak.

“I’m sorry, really. You know I’m an idiot.” He’s practically whining as he says it, begging for you to look at him.

You turn your head slightly to give him a side glare. At first, the sight makes his heart drop into his feet and he thinks he really screwed up this time, but when a small smirk starts to quirk the corner of your mouth upwards he lets out a low sigh.

“You are cruel,” He chuckles and tightens his grip as he pulls you into his arms and wraps you up in a bear hug.

Your laughs are loud and genuine as he twirls you around, pressing chaste kisses to your cheeks as he does so. Your voices echo throughout the camp once again.

Everyone in camp knows what’s going on with you and John whether you’re fighting or making up, your business is everyone else’s.

Dutch Van Der Linde:

I want to start out by saying Dutch never actually apologizes when you two fight. He’ll buy gifts, say pretty words, whisper sweet nothings, and all the like, but the words “I’m sorry” have never left that man’s lips in his entire life. He will not start now.

Dutch’s obsession with the O’Driscoll’s can cloud his judgment on many things, it makes him blind to reason. Further than that, it makes him hateful and sometimes just plain mean.

He trusts you, he loves you. So, you’re stuck listening to his plans and his grievances with the gang, the law, the O’Driscoll’s, and any other misfortune he has had to endure in his life.

He’ll go on and on, plotting, groaning, whining. One night, after being sat on his cot for hours, you’ve had enough. You beg him to do anything but complain and come up with a half-brained plan to get rich quick.

It hits a nerve and he blows a fuse.

“You don’t understand what’s at stake, do you?” He’s practically yelling. “It’s so easy for you - I spoil you!”

You’re stunned into silence as he shouts at you. You didn’t expect him to blow up.

“Get out of my tent, get out of my sight!” He sends you away. In a daze you stumble out of the tent and into the dark camp.

There’s a few people still up wandering around. Mary-Beth is singing by the fire and Kieran is trying to sing with her, but doesn’t really know the words. Your feet start moving on their own and you take a seat across from the two at the fire.

“What’s going on, gunslinger?” Karen shuffles to a seat beside you and settles down. Mary-Beth’s singing falters for a minute but she continues on, just quieter.

“Dutch is pissed.” You mumble, staring into the flames.

“When is he not? Have a drink,” Karen shoves a bottle of beer into your hand and watches as you take a long swig. She continues, “Have some fun without him for once.”

The night takes a turn from there. You sing and dance and laugh. A few more people join in until it’s gone from moping around the fire to a proper party around it. Javier even brings out the guitar. The noise is enough to draw Dutch from the dark hole in his tent to see what’s going on.

When he sees you, the tears on your cheeks have dried and your face is flushed from the drinks, he can’t help but feel a little guilty. To him, afterall, you were just naive. You didn’t understand what was truly going on in the camp, didn’t understand his plans.

He creeps out of the tent and sneaks up behind you as you’re dancing along to Javier and Mary-Beth. When a pair of arms wraps around your waist, you let out a little squeal.

Dutch spins you around so that you’re facing him, your bodies pressed flush together causing a heat to flare in your stomach.

“My beautiful dancer,” Dutch mumbles and presses a soft kiss to your lips. You don’t fight, don’t ask any questions. You’re just happy that he seems to be sorry for what he did. He’s holding you after all of that, kissing you. He must be sorry, and so are you.

When he pulls back you gaze at him with half-lidded eyes. “I’m sorry, Dutch.” You whisper.

“Hush now,” He starts swaying as he holds you, leading you into a dance.

Your fight is practically forgotten by the end of the night. In the early hours of the morning, everyone is stumbling back to their respective beds. Stomachs are full and heads will be aching come noon, but to you it was all worth it. So long as you and Dutch aren’t fighting anymore.

Javier Escuella:

He hates fighting. I mean not in general, but just with you.

He won’t allow himself to be taken advantage of or walked all over, but if there’s some stupid argument that’s making you mad he will roll over and apologize. Just to keep the peace.

He loves you more than he loves being right, and if it makes you happy to just admit that then so be it.

When y’all do fight, though, it’s over something big. Stupid quarrels are so rare that the first time anyone catches wind that the two of you had a falling out it shocks half the camp to the core.

Javier would only truly get upset with you in a life or death situation. Like when you decided to not tell anyone you were heading into town really quick and met a few O’Driscoll’s in the general store.

When you saw them you recognized them as few that had gotten into a fight with Javier in town a few weeks ago. Javier let them walk away to save face, there was a large group of witnesses that would have pretty much guaranteed him an execution if he had taken their lives.

Your heart skipped a beat as one of them turned to look at you, but they left shortly after you entered the store and you prayed that would be the end of it.

After you finished at the store, though, you walked through the door to find the three men standing in the road before you. Their arms were folded across their chests and their legs spread in a dominant stance.

You clutched the items you bought to your chest and tried walking away from the trio, but one of them called out and made you stop in your tracks.

“You’re one of Dutch’s people ain’t you?” The tallest one said. It wasn’t really a question, he knew who you were.

“And what’s it to you, mister?” You shot back, reaching for the dagger in your belt.

“I’ve got a few questions for you about your boss.” The three of them started moving towards you. They surrounded you and backed you to the wall of the general store. You whipped out your dagger to tell them to back off, but it wouldn’t do much against three of them - you knew that and so did they.

The only reason you had made it out of that situation without even a scratch was because Arthur happened to be riding through town on his way back to camp and noticed the commotion.

He brought you back to camp, and that’s where you saw Javier standing at your cot with this arms crossed and a scowl darkening his features.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He practically shouts at you.

You didn’t mean to, you held them back as long as you could, but tears start flowing freely down your face in large, hot drops.

Javier’s scowl disappears almost immediately. He didn’t expect you to cry. Maybe yell back or explain yourself, but not cry. He drops his arms and grabs both of your hands in his.

“Are you okay?” His voice is low and laced with worry. Arthur got to him first and told him what happened briefly, so he knew you weren’t physically hurt, but other than that he didn’t know what happened.

“They surrounded me. I was - I was so scared, Javier.” Your throat was thick and it was hard to speak. Javier embraced you, rubbing your back and holding the back of your head as you cried harder into his shoulder.

“You’re safe now,” He assures you and presses soft kisses into your hair.

He spends the next few days feeling guilty for being mad at first.

You tell him you understand his reaction and that you were sorry,but he just says sorry back to you and claims he shouldn’t have been angry when you were scared.

You’re both equally sorry, I guess.

After that, though, Javier refuses to let you go anywhere alone. You don’t have to go with him but you have to have a traveling buddy in case anything like that happens again.

Charles Smith:

Doesn’t fight with anyone, really.

Sure, you can get mad at him and yell and hold a grudge, but he just lets you figure your emotions out from afar if that’s what you need. He gives you space when you need it, attention when you want it, and does anything that he can for you.

He loves you more than anything in the world, so when you’re mad at him it eats away at his insides until you make up. He’s literally the consent king, though, and will wait for you to come to him before he initiates anything.

It feels like he doesn’t care sometimes. It drives you crazy that he doesn’t chase after you and try to make up with you then and there or rectify the situation immediately, which turns into another argument.

“Do you even give a shit what I feel?” You frown at him one morning after a small argument that he just brushed off from the night before. He assumed since you slept with him in his bedroll, that meant you were over it.

“I love you! What are you talking about?” He rubs at the little stubble on his chin in exasperation.

“You never listen you just say ‘okay’ and move on. You don’t learn that way, Charles. You roll over and the same thing will keep happening because you aren’t listening.” You try to explain yourself. Charles nods but you can’t tell if he actually gets what you’re trying to convey since he never acknowledges it more than that.

You sigh and get up.

“I need a minute, come talk to me when you can.” You walk away from him and towards Miss Grimshaw doing the laundry.

Charles just stays where he is and lets out a long deep sigh. He thought it would be better for him to just agree with you, it would make you happy to be agreed with rather than continuing to fight over something so trivial.

He hasn’t been with the group for a super long time, but he’s created a strong bond with Arthur. So, that’s who he goes to to ask for advice on the whole situation.

Charles relays as much as he can back to Arthur and the cowboy just starts to chuckle at the absurdity of the conversation. He’s used to people coming to him for advice (he doesn’t really get why), but the situation with you and Charles came out of nowhere for him. He didn’t realize you two fought ever.

“No relationship is perfect, Charles.” Arthur suggests.

That’s literally no help to him so Charles walks off and tries thinking what to do. He comes up with nothing, though. Which makes him frustrated.

He starts walking towards you. You look up and see his determined face and scrunched brow and excuse yourself to meet him halfway.

“We need to talk.” He says, his words are intense but his gaze is still soft. You aren’t scared of him anyways.

“I think we do.” You reply and follow him to a private area right outside of camp.

The whole time he goes off about how he doesn’t get what you want from him. What you expect him to do or say when you get mad or annoyed.

“I just want to know you care about me and my emotions.”

“Dear, I care about you more than anything in the world. More than life itself, why do you question it?” He’s basically pleading with you to understand him, to finally see that just because he isn’t as forward with every single thought (good or bad) on his mind doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you or your emotions.

It takes little to no time for you to throw your arms around him in an embrace and mumble an apology into his hair.

Even your big fights aren’t really fights.

Sean MacGuire:

Sean does stupid stuff all the time. Literally he does stupid stuff more often than he does anything smart.

Especially when he’s drunk.

One night a small group of some of the gang decided to head into the saloon in town for a drinks for the night. You and Sean were always up for a good time and tagged along - obviously.

It presented opportunity for a little pickpocketing as well (if you didn’t get too drunk and sloppy to do it).

Everything went well for the first hour. Drinks were shared among the group and laughs were bellowing through the air with a contagious warmth. Better yet, no one seemed to be testing the waters and starting a bar fight.

Sean had his arm around you the entire night. He claimed it was to let all the scoundrels at the bar know that you were his and no one should even try to stake a claim to you.

You rolled your eyes but stayed nestled in the spot.

That is, until you were pulled away by your bladder. All the drinks were catching up to you and you slipped from under him to run to the restroom really quick.

When you came back, though, a working woman had taken advantage of your absence to catch Sean’s attention.

In his drunken state, Sean couldn’t even realize that the weight of the woman beside him wasn’t the same as when you were sitting there before. He didn’t say a thing as her arms wrapped around his torso or when she ran her fingers through his longish hair.

Tears fill your eyes almost instantly. You try to blink them away and get a better look at the scene in front of you, but it doesn’t change. It only gets worse as her lips start leaving rougey red stains on his neck.

“Sean!” You shove at his shoulder. When he sees you in front of him, his bleary red eyes turn to the woman beside him. His brain takes a minute to put two and two together, but by the time he has figured the situation out you are pushing through saloon patrons to get out into the night air.

Sean sobers up immediately. He pries himself out of the grasp of the other woman and follows your trail out the door.

He calls your name over and over again until he finally finds you sitting on the street corner crying into your knees.

“Please, Love!” He approaches you and your head whips up at the sound of his voice.

“You stay away from me you dog.” You snap and get up. You’re still pretty drunk as well however and you wobble and nearly fall over at the sudden movement.

Luckily Sean catches you by the arm before you can tumble into the dirt.

“I didn’t know she was there, honest. Thought you was there beside me.” He lifts a hand to your cheek, ready to brush away some of your tears, but you turn your cheek and shrug him off.

“Sure.” You say and try to walk away. He catches your arm again and turns you towards him once more.

“Honest, Love. Why would I pay for sex anyways - I’ve not a penny to me name and you give it to me for free.”

The sentiment was there, but definitely not the right thing to say.

You have to physically restrain yourself from hitting him upside the head at his words.

He sees the struggle on your face as soon as he says it and clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Sean MacGuire you bastard!” You shout at him, but can’t help a weak laugh from erupting from your throat at the end.

“I didn’t mean that, oh lord I didn’t.” The terror in his face only causes you to laugh harder.

The laughter surprises him and even yourself, so much so that the both of you are laughing. Though you don’t really understand why.

“If you ever-“ You say with a mocking glare, “Ever do something like that or say something like that again, I am leaving you Sean MacGuire.”

“I wouldn’t blame you one bit,” He says somberly, still with a small smile.

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I didn't write for Sadie because I genuinely could not think of a situation for her or how she would be, my brain died halfway through writing Sean's. I'll just have to write some Sadie focused hc's next time teehee~

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption #john marston #john marston x reader #dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #charles smith #charles smith x reader #sean macguire #sean macguire x reader #rdr2 headcanon #rdr2 headcanons

[johnpriceslamb]

I will always love the idea of being rescued by a cowboy (Arthur Morgan).

Just the image of running away from someone in Saint Denis. Maybe it’s due to a misunderstanding, robbery or simply a creep. Making the dumb mistake of not hiding in a shop and finding yourself in an alleyway trapped. Except the real person in trouble is the stalker because Arthur Morgan is about to serve a knuckle sandwich. Or gun. Doesn’t matter, dead either way.

𝓜𝓨 𝓗𝓔𝓡𝓞 ,

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ˚₊‧꒰ Things take a really wrong turn once visiting Saint Denis to stock up on food for camp. Luckily, Arthur insisted on accompanying you. ꒱

BEFORE YOU PROCEED ! ┊ Hyper-fem(?) ! reader • female ! reader • reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below • gun-slinging mention • brute cowboy bf x shy princess gf • arthur morgan being a complete nut over u • harassment • attempted assault • not proof-read :P • very rushed ‘m sorriiii!!! • 1.6k wrds

“But Arthur—”

“No.”

The small stuffed toy in your hands looks hurt from his rejection, as do your expression on your face. You hug the little guy to your chest, and you put on your best puppy eyes to try and make him change his mind. This usually works, but unfortunately- it did not, this time.

“We ain’t gettin’ that.” He grumbles, lazy eyes looking around the fancy store. He’s uncomfortable, you could tell. From the way he glances at all the bright coloured items sitting preciously on such elegant shelves, you’d think it would’ve costed at least a finger or too to even manage one, the golden floral designs embarked in the corners of the interior, to the fancy looking tiles beneath your feet.

It’s too.. fancy. He stands out like a larger thorn amongst a stem of a rose.

You puff out your cheeks at his slow-growing irritation. Before reluctantly putting it back on the shelf you found it on.

Then, he continues on with a low sigh. Your hand was in his, and he leads you around very similar to a grumpy dad leading his daughter from all the chaos happening which surrounds them. There was too many people, and he feels like he’s about to become crabbier each second will pass being in this awful store.

“We’re here to buy food, not toys.” He grunts, before gently giving you back your empty woven basket.

You begrudgingly force yourself to not reply, sticking close to him.

Suddenly, your eyes perk up at the small sign embedded with ‘Spices’ in bold which hung up from the ceiling. You tug on his sleeve, “Arthur?”

“Hmm?” He looks back. His heart almost aches from the way your beady eyes stare up at him like a small puppy.

“Can we get some spices? Y’know, for the stews Pearson makes. Only a bottle or two!” You pleaded sweetly, gesturing to the sign afar. “It’ll make his food taste more.. appetising.”

He ponders, before nodding slowly. “Hm.. Alright. Get two though, make sure it ain’t so spicy.” He pats your lower back to encourage you to get it quicker. You beam and nod, but before you go, you hand him the basket so he could continue shopping, scampering away to get the said items.

The array of little wooden jars sealed tightly with spices made you in awe. You can practically smell each and one of them from a literal mile away despite the thin layer of sticky-tape which goes around the rim of the jar multiple times.

You unconsciously place a finger on your cheek, pondering on which one to get. Not long, your hands reach up to a jar embedded with the words ‘pepper’ and another reaching up to ‘nut-meg.’ Each selling for only a dollar. Not too bad.

And you feel a towering presence behind you. Believing it was your beloved, you eagerly turn around with a squeak— “I’ve got the!— uh..”

A few blinks and an abrupt pause. It was not Arthur.

Rather, a man with leering eyes, and a predatory-like gaze.

You shift around uncomfortably, “..Um. Can I help you, mister?” Posing to be polite, perhaps the man just wanted help with something.

He stares at you for a bit too long, and you can see his eyes lowering and lowering, before travelling up your figure once again.

He coughs, “Ain’t you a pretty lil’ thang..” Before scratching at his long unkept beard.

Your steps are quick, almost backing into the shelves of spices.

“..Please leave me alone,” You meekly stutter.

He flashes you a crooked teeth grin. “Now why in the hell would I do that?” He takes another step towards you. All instincts inside you rise up quickly, and not long after you pocket the spices inside your light-pink dress before immediately turning to the side to leave.

You don’t notice the fact that he follows you. Only until you reach the same spot Arthur beckoned you to go and get the items you wanted, he wasn’t there. You feel insanely insecure due to the fact that you could not find Arthur amongst the crowd of people inside the large general store. Only then do you stop, and feel..

hot breath hitting your neck.

You squeal, turning around immediately and backing away.

“Get— get the hell away from me!” Your frilly cries cause a few people to turn their heads towards your direction, only to ignore you as soon as they assessed the situation.

He has the same crooked teeth smile on his face as he slowly creeps up to you again. And with that, you hitch up your long floral skirt and run. Run to the exit of the general store with a squeal- only for some crazy man to quickly follow after you.

You want to hit yourself on the head. You didn’t have any guns, nor did you remember to pack the pocket knife Charles gifted you to protect yourself from anyone. You were never one to raise your hands to anyone, nor try to cause conflict.

You bump into a few people, earning scowls and empty threats. You didn’t care, not with a lunatic right on your feet.

“When I catch you—” You hear him heavily breathing, “‘M gon’ do real bad things t’ you, real bad.”

You want to tear up. Badly. But you don’t. Your mind is in shambles as you turn a corner, only to almost run face-to-face to a brick wall which stands tall and high.

You were cornered.

You sob loudly, scratching at the brick walls- you’re well aware that this alone will do absolutely nothing, and your painted nails will probably have cracks on the tips of them. But with panic crumpling your brain, you tend to do things a bit.. weird.

The walls between the two of you are so close it feels like you’re about to faint. An echo of laughter is what catches your attention as you slowly turn around.

“Please, mister!” You plead with a loud sniffle, “I— I— we don’t even know each other!” You let out a loud enough wail when he approached rapidly.

“Ohoh, dumb and pretty. What a package.” He rubs his hands eagerly, almost drooling at your pathetic sight, “You really thought you could outrun me?”

“Don’t make this harder, sweetheart. Just take them frilly lil’ clothes off.. In-fact, why don’t I help ya..”

You clumsily slap him once he’s just a centimetre away from you. Hardly. A low growl escapes his lips, his head turned sideways from that harsh slap.

“You little bit—”

A bullet whizzes past you. It hits the bricks behind you, just a hair-length away. It causes you to yelp loudly, as does the man who was about to slap you back. You peek your head over his shoulder, only to let out a loud cry of relief.

“You better let her go, friend.” The same cowboy who’s uttered the sweetest praise to you and only you, talks in a tone too cold for your liking. Something you’ve never heard nor experience.

“Who the hell is that?” He snarls to you.

“I said, let her go.” Arthur is not afraid to put a bullet through his head. His shoulder is gripped tightly and yanked away from you, leaving you to allow your knees to buckle from shock as you leaned on the wall to help you balance yourself from the shock.

With a harsh bonk to the head with the butt of his revolver, the man slumps on the dirty ground. An obvious purple dent on his head.

Arthur rushes over to your shaking form, immediately scooping you into his arms and squishing you into a tight bear-hug. You’re probably gonna regret the fact that some of your powder will get onto his chest, but you hiccup and hug him tighter for comfort.

You stammer out, “I— he.. I thought I was gonna die..”

He brushes your hair with his burly fingers, “You’re okay, sweetheart. Don’t think about it no more. No one’s gon’ kill ya if I’m here.”

Suddenly, he looks you up and down quickly to assess you. “You ain’t hurt anywhere are you..?”

“No,” You shake your head meekly, “‘M okay. I.. I think I need a bit of time to myself at camp, though.”

“I understand.” He nods and gently puts an arm around your waist to guide you back to the wagon parked a long way away.

His hands brush past against your pockets and notices two hard cylinder shaped objects in them.

Suddenly, your eyes widen, “Oh darn- I-I forgot to pay for the spices!” He’s amused at your lack of profanity used.

He interrupts you with a soft chuckle, before squishing you a bit tighter, “Guess that makes the two of us. Rushed out with the groceries in the basket to find ya and didn’t pay. Reckon we gotta go another route to get to the wagon, passing by the general store will surely just get us into more trouble.”

You could envision that scene playing out. Arthur realising that you weren’t there, and immediately rushing out of the general store with a bunch of items inside the basket to find you.

“Don’t think we’ll be visiting Saint Denis anytime soon.” You feel a tug on your hand as you see a shopkeeper loudly calling out for the two of you.

You squeak and giggle as he easily grabs onto your waist and ran for dear life to the wagon with your shop-lifted grocery items. If you were to give a quick glance to the insides of the basket again, you can see a faint blur of a stuffed toy.

#fem! reader #rdr2 x you #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #afab! reader #arthur morgan x fem! you #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan x fem! reader #arthur morgan fic #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fanfic #hyperfem! reader

[emrys-merlin]

They fall out straight away when Merlin doesn’t take too kindly to the way Arthur is treating a servant. Arthur tends to use brute force and ignorance to get what he wants. His privileged upbringing has an effect on his personality. When you grow up with people deferring to you it has an impact on the way you behave. But Merlin is a catalyst for a change in his behaviour. He sees in Merlin a lot more than he judges at first and it helps him realise the kind of man he could become.  -  Bradley James

#merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #arthur pendragon #bradley james #colin morgan #merlinedit #my edit

[mcumorningstar]

A Rose By Any Other Name || Part One

part two part three

series pairing: tommy shelby x reader, hints of john shelby x reader, hints of tommy x lizzie

summary: Resigned to a life as a whore, the infamous Shelby brothers find you in a compromising position and you apprehensively accept their protection. (Set in s2).

warnings: 18+ minor’s dni, prostitution, 1920s attitudes toward women and prostitution (physical and verbal aggression), unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, typical peaky blinders content, (slow burn sorry)

author’s note: I was bored and it’s missing Tommy Shelby hours (he’s so fit I can’t cope). This is kinda short but I’m hoping to make it a series. Also this is the first fic so if anyone reads please be nice :)

Work was a little more bearable if they fucked you from behind.

That way you could imagine the man rutting into you was a handsome actor like Tom Mix or Rudolph Valentine, or even a dashing soldier in his uniform, and not some brutish married factory foreman after too many drinks in The Garrison.

“Mhm fuck,” The nameless man grunted, pulling out and painting splatters of his cum on the backs of your thighs. Whiskey-laced breaths evened out against your skin and his grip on your neck loosened.

You didn’t look at him as the pair of you redressed, only thinking about the money now in your purse. From his clothes, you could deduce that he worked in the BSA factory but he was too clean to work on the factory floor. It was more than you usually knew about your clients and, when he opened his mouth to speak, you winced.

“Does Harry know you’re whoring behind his pub?” The man laughed, slurring his words and pulling his suspenders over his shoulders.

Ignoring him, you fixed your dress and tidied your hair. The brute wrapped his meaty fingers around your jaw and pulled you into him. He was probably quite handsome in his youth.

“Too high and mighty to open your fucking mouth?” He goaded, squashing your cheeks between his calloused fingers, “How much for your mouth?”

Noise from the pub spilled out into the streets, raucous men wasting their wages on cheap liquor. Any plea for help would be futile. Even if they could hear you, a whore caught behind the pub with a man was hardly worth a second look.

“You’re hurting me,” A weak croak escaped your rouge-smudged lips. It was a gift from one of your regulars but maybe wearing it at the local pub was a mistake.

“On the house?” He sneered, yellow teeth and thinning hair visible in the dark of the alley. With an iron grip, he pushed you to your knees, the thick mud and jagged stones cutting into your skin.

Aggressive clients were an unfortunate commonality but, whenever it happened, it was as frightening as the first time.

The scratch of a match drew you from your panicked stupor, crowded against the grimy brick wall.

Light from The Garrison illuminated the alleyway as the backdoor opened and slammed shut, casting the alley into darkness again. Your breath caught in your chest, your fate no longer in your own hands as you silently pleaded for the stranger's presence to startle the man.

A shadow appeared on the wall from the man’s lit cigarette. A Peaky Blinder. Shit.

The man above you stepped back, his eyes on the man’s shadow as it tripled. His jaw tightened before he dragged you to your feet. The commotion caught the three brothers’ attention, their hushed conversation halting.

Thomas Shelby’s scrutinising gaze fixed on you until the man excused himself and hurried out of the alley onto Garrison Lane.

John and Arthur Shelby chuckled, nudging one another and failing to hide their smirks. Whiskey dripped from Arthur's moustache and John's tooth pick hung from the corner of his mouth.

With flushed cheeks, you brushed the tiny and blood-smeared stones from your knees and righted your skirt.

Deep blue eyes didn’t falter, pinning you to the spot.

“Is Lizzie still inside?” You asked meekly, attempting and failing to meet Thomas Shelby’s eyes.

Thick fingers ran his cigarette across his pink lips, taking another drag as his gaze assessed you. Fighting the urge to touch your hair or tug your lip between your teeth, his eyes finally broke away from you and it seemed his assessment of the situation was complete.

You were aware of one another, only by association. Lizzie was now Thomas’ secretary and she dragged you to The Garrison whenever she could. The Shelby brothers acknowledged your presence, as Lizzie’s friend, and they will look out for you as a favour to her.

Arthur broke the silence, his gruff voice full of cheek, “Yeah, talking to a BSA worker. Your fella outranks hers. Does that mean you can charge more?”

For men who frequently pay for whores, they were at ease to laugh at your expense.

It was the middle brother who spared you, snatching the whiskey from the eldest and offering you a swig. Against your better judgment, you took the bottle and swallowed a mouthful or two.

“Don’t worry, his cock went nowhere near my mouth,” You spat with no real bite behind it, “Didn’t want to take the piss with his shallow pockets.”

John and Arthur stood in stunned silence, their cheeks reddening and their eyes averting away from you. A wiser woman may have kept her mouth shut but you were banking on Lizzie to save you from any potential consequences. And you were humiliated, what else did you have to lose?

Thomas took a drink from the bottle before handing it back to his older brother. His deep Brummie lilt travelled through the silence, “We’ll drive you home.”

Without waiting for a response, he headed onto Garrison Lane and the brothers looked at one another, dumbfounded. You weren’t in the business of saying ‘no’ to a Blinder, especially not the Blinder, and especially not after your spiteful words. With shaky legs and sweaty palms, you followed the brothers.

A brand new Bentley was parked in front of The Garrison. Thomas held the passenger door open, finishing his cigarette. Arthur and John wrestled until Arthur manhandled his younger brother into the backseats, releasing his neck from a firm headlock.

Stepping back, Arthur motioned you towards the backseat but Thomas cleared his throat. The two brothers shared a moment of unspoken disagreement.

“I’ll sit in the back. I don’t mind,” You said as if your voice wasn’t yours. Three gangsters within arms reach was more than enough to set your nerves on edge.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Just a chair,” Arthur grumbled with a soft and crooked smile, as he clambered into the back with a more than delighted John. Smiling politely, you took the passenger seat.

This was your first time in an automobile. Thomas started the engine and glanced over when you crossed your legs, unsure how to sit lady-like in the confined space.

Your skirt rode up as you got comfortable and your grazed knee was exposed. Thomas kept his eyes on the road as he reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, handing over a white hanker-chief with a small embroidered T.S in the bottom corner.

Opening your mouth to protest, Thomas cleared his throat and focused on the drive. A silent order to accept the offer. Carefully you dabbed at the small trickles of blood, staining the white fabric, until all that was left was raw, grazed skin.

Thankfully, the drive to your lodgings wasn’t quiet; in fact John and Arthur talked your ear off as they passed the bottle of whiskey between them. You didn’t have much to say, mortified by the situation they found you in and frankly a little terrified to be in a car with the Shelby brothers in the first place.

Thomas was quiet. Lizzie said he’s been like that since he got back from France, but his silence was unnerving as you sailed through the streets of Small Heath.

“You live with Lizzie?” John asked as the car pulled in outside your lodgings and the engine cut. Clumsy hands gripped the back of your seat as he leaned over the front seats to smile at you.

Lizzie said John was a good boy, the best of a bad bunch. Nevertheless, blood rushed in your ears and your fisted the material of your dress at his proximity and hot whiskey breath.

Thomas sighed and lit a cigarette, surprising you when he got out of the car. Plumes of smoke followed him as he rounded the car and opened your car door.

“Yes, I- There’s three of us,” You answered, your scuffed brown heels stepping onto the uneven cobblestones.

“Three whores living together? Sounds like the start of a joke,” John laughed, his tooth pick long gone, and you were pleasantly surprised by the lack of insult in his voice.

“Or a very nice dream,” Arthur chuckled along too, his deep voice at full volume making you jump. With his brother distracted by you and the bottle, John scrambled into the front seat.

Arthur's swift smack to the back of John’s head echoed in the quiet of the street. A small smirk twitched at Thomas' lips but you averted your eyes before he noticed you watching.

"Lizzie is a secretary now, John," You played along, most comfortable with the younger brother. John's shining eyes were glued to you as you searched for your door key.

Arthur scoffed and mumbled against the lip of the bottle, "Yeah, Tommy's secretary." Nobody acknowledged the insinuation that hung in the air.

Opening your front door, you turned to the three men, slightly less afraid than you once were, "Thank you for driving me home. Goodnight."

"Night love," John and Arthur responded; Arthur's deep grumble and John's cheery lilt. They turned their attention back to the whiskey, fighting over it like children.

Before you shut the door, Thomas stepped closer to you, exhaling smoke through his nose. Did he want to come in? Payment for the lift home? Or, payment for the lift home? Whatever it was, your stomach felt like you swallowed a tonne of lead.

"Is everything okay, Mr Shelby?" Your voice carried between you, like a dainty flower ready to wilt.

"Tell Lizzie," He began, his cigarette hanging from his lips as he reached into his pocket, "That she's to come to work early tomorrow."

Folded paper money appeared from his pocket and suddenly the wad of cash was in your palm.

"Is- Is this for Lizzie?" You stuttered, blushing like a maiden at your suggestion. There was something heart-stopping about being the subject of Thomas Shelby's arresting gaze.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at you, taking his cigarette between his fingers and looking you up and down. Shit, was that the wrong thing to say? The Peaky Blinders never harmed women but that wasn't a comfort as you stood in front of him.

"Come on Tommy! It's fucking freezing!" Arthur yelled from the car. Thomas ignored him and threw his cigarette to the pavement.

"It's yours,” He said as if it was obvious, “Whores working behind The Garrison is bad for business."

That bastard! Lizzie told you all about her sessions with Thomas Shelby. Prostitution is only acceptable when he's doing the fucking?

"I'm not a charity nor a bookie you can bribe Mr Shelby," You pressed the money to his chest, "Save your white knight persuasion for Lizzie. Goodnight."

The sound of John and Arthur's laughter disappeared behind the wooden door, as you slammed it in Thomas' face. Muffled conversation between the brothers carried into the house, relieving you once the car drove away.

You had only been in your bedroom for a moment before gentle footsteps hurried across the landing.

"Is everything okay? I saw the Bentley parked outside," Thelma's brows were furrowed and she pulled her robe taunt against her body, peering into your bedroom.

"Yes," You nodded, slightly out of breath from your racing heart, "The Shelby brothers drove me home."

Thelma's jaw dropped, "With- Is Lizzie with you?"

Shaking your head, you draped your bag over the railing of your bed frame and unpinned your hair in front of the mirror.

"They said she was flirting with a BSA man. Caught me on my knees behind The Garrison," You flushed, failing to keep a straight face. Thelma burst into a fit of giggles.

Through the mirror, you saw her covering her mouth with her hand to stifle her amusement. You turned to face her, giggling at the ridiculousness of it.

"I'm sorry I don't mean to laugh," She sat at the bottom of your bed, as you unlaced your dress.

Living with other women was a comfortable situation but living with other whores was even more so. Who else would you go to for a second opinion if you thought you had the clap?

Your dress fell to the floor in a ripple of fabric and your heels were kicked off, "No it is funny. John is sweet. Arthur was drunk and loud.."

"..and Thomas?" Thelma goaded with a teasing grin.

"I slammed the door in his face," You winced and Thelma gasped," Do you think Lizzie will be mad at me? I couldn't help myself."

As much as Lizzie protested, it was glaringly obvious that she was in love with Thomas Shelby. When he started meeting with her on a regular basis, her heavy pockets and orgasmic bliss clouded her judgement. It would be hard for any of you to not fall in love with a client who makes you cum. Now she was his secretary but nobody was disillusioned by that title and, after a few drinks, she giddily confirmed that he bent her over his desk semi-regularly.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think that he loved her too but a man like Thomas Shelby was not bound by such silly notions.

Thelma giggled with a warm smile, "The sun shines out of his cock as far as she's concerned, but she’ll get over it.”

Giggling along, you hoped that Lizzie would be a few drinks in and find the whole ordeal hilarious...

#tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader smut #tommy shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #cillian murphy #tommy shelby x fem!reader #cillian x fem!reader

[aro-geo-turtle]

Thinking about a potential angsty malevolent au that role swaps Arthur and Parker because I honestly don’t think Parker could have reformed John like Arthur did

Like, obviously this is super speculative cause we’ve never met Parker and only know a bit about him 2nd hand

But we know he looked at pathetic drunken mess Arthur Lester, decided that was the man he wanted to be detectives with, and then somehow actually managed to drag him back into being a quasi-functional human being.

We also know he and Arthur were a very effective investigative team, so he probably Arthur balanced out in a lot of ways. Arthur is very reckless and stubborn and throws himself at his problems, maybe Parker was more wary and cautious, more of a planner. Arthur has a remarkable talent for getting people to hate him in a weirdly obsessive way, perhaps Parker had the genuine kind-hearted charisma.

And we know from part 39 that Parker was the one who did most of the physical intimidation and brute strength parts of the job, so he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty when it came to it.

And I feel like this paints a picture of a man who could get along well enough with the John Doe we have today…but maybe not the Entity he started as.

A big part of the reason Arthur and John’s relationship works is because they have basically the same response to feeling threatened: yell, scream, blame the other person for everything wrong in the world, hit where it hurts, give as good as they take, refuse to give an inch. And when they push too hard, this leads to some really horrible fights. But eventually they wear themselves out, all the feelings are out in the open, they pick themselves up, apologize, and move forward.

This dynamic is established very early on. In the first episode, John/the entity has all the knowledge, he knows more about what happened, about the supernatural, about Arthur’s surroundings. And he immediately uses this power to lie to and manipulate Arthur. But Arthur doesn’t let him keep that power over him for long. He gets his wits about him, establishes his own power as the one with the physical body here, and starts shoving back against John. Every time he does what John says, he makes it clear it’s because he has agreed it’s the best course of action. They establish a balance quickly.

This early in his independent existence, basically all John has is the King’s instincts of “humans are weaklings to be manipulated” and Arthur immediately asserts that that attitude is not going to stand with him, forcing John to rethink his relationship with humanity

Parker…likely wouldn’t have Arthur’s stubborn reckless audacity. I think he’s be more likely to respond with caution, bide his time and try not to make this thing mad until he can figure out how powerful it really is. With the lie that he was the one to kill Arthur, Parker might even extend compassion and empathy towards the entity, thinking that this thing has no memory of who he once was and no bodily autonomy at all, he’s probably really scared and covering it up.

This caution and empathy would serve Parker well in a whole lot of situations and probably save him from a lot that Arthur blunders into, but if he does a lot of what the entity tells him to do with little complaint…he’s going to be accidentally reinforcing the kings instincts that humans are to be bossed around instead of challenging them

And if bides his time until he’s fairly sure the entity can’t really hurt him and then starts pushing back and challenging him, that might feel like a betrayal or deception to the entity

I’m not sure exactly how things would go down, but I just think that Arthur was really the only person who could have set John on the right path by reckless challenging him from the beginning

(Parker paired with Yellow on the other hand… now that’s perfect and everyone needs to go read Refrain from the Surrogate AU right now)

#malevolent #long analysis #malevolent au #parker yang #arthur lester #john doe malevolent

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven In Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Beaten with guilt and shame after losing his temper again, Arthur's aimless wandering leads him to church. There she is and, after diving into her heavenly eyes, he is convinced God has sent him His sweetest angel to save his bastard soul.

Words: 2.6k

TW: Blood, a bit of angst, slight blasphemy and bad use of holy water, reckless x caretaker Inspired by the prompt "Where does it hurt? - Everywhere" by @the-three-whumpeteers

Notes:

✞ Timeline: between seasons 2 and 3

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here). Heaven’s voice and song is linked, all you have to do is click on the lyrics.

NEXT CHAPTER || Masterlist

The stumbling tall silhouette of Arthur Shelby was crossing through the thick haunting mist of Birmingham. As unwelcoming the town was during the day, it was nothing compared to night time. When sun faded behind the horizon, chased by the pale glowing face of the moon, the whole city turned into a cut-throat area. Arthur brought the neck of the bottle he was holding to his chapped lips and gulped down a mouthful of pure Irish whisky. The fire trail the beverage left behind it as it went down his throat reminded him he was alive — he could still feel something, even though it was the alcohol’s burning. An animal growl escaped from his lips when the bottle left them only for him to lean his back against one of the church’s gigantic concrete walls. A loud raven’s croak torn the silent veil of the night, making him swears. The gravel in his voice answered to the dull bird, which was watching him from a tree with his tiny and beady eyes.

« Fooking bird, laughing at me like the rest of ‘em eh? »

The raven — which was rather large for a bird — tilted its head to the side and kept staring at the drunk man with a cunning interest. Its black eyes, shining under the moonlight, seemed filled with both a wise glare and a mocking sparkle. Soon, Arthur’s curiosity for the raven’s unusual behavior turned into a senseless anger when he understood why the bird was focusing on him, his explosive rage strengthened by the incredible amount of alcohol he had drunk a bit earlier.

« It’s the damn blood is it? Stop lookin’ at me like I’m — I’m some kind of monster, or a beast or I don’t fookin’ know what else! Go to Hell! »

The bottle flew towards the raven but it did not flicker, as if it knew Arthur was not in the shape of being quick nor particularly precise with aiming. As the glass smashed into the ground, Arthur hit the wall behind him with the back of his head and let out a frustrated scream. No more cocaine, no more auto destructive behavior nor suicide attempts for two years straight, and tonight he fucked it all up. He was convinced he could get better, and God knows he tried his best to do so. Got sober from every poison he used to take, got a religious wife that was trying to turn the wolf in him into a sheep… Hell, he even brought her flowers every damn day. But then came troubles, taking the shape of his little brother, Thomas Shelby.

He asked him to do the dirty job — again.

With his calloused hands, he took another man’s life. At first Arthur thought he would not be that disturbed at the idea of killing someone, after all he had done that almost his entire life. Just one last time, he told himself, just one last time and I’ll go back to my little peaceful life with me wife.

Yet, the guilt and the shame that struck him after bashing the lad’s head against the edge of a sink until his face became a pile of squishy flesh soon became too much to handle.

As the last spurt of blood spattered his face, Arthur’s clouded mind became suddenly crystal clear: it would never stop. After that epiphany, the older Shelby brother contemplated how everyone he deeply loved tended to use him. For Thomas and the rest of the family he was a mad dog, the combat brute whose only times he could enjoy life without a muzzle were when he had to rip someone’s throat apart. For his father, he had been nothing else than a poor naive hound that would have done anything to receive his respect. As for Linda, her love was a cruel mirage he wanted to believe with all his heart — but the illusion had vanished in smoke. Whether she considered him as her personal test subject for Christian brainwashing or as a tool to get what she wants, Arthur could not tell. What he could tell though was that he knew she did not really loved him. She wanted to mould him at her will, but he was no lamb. He was a wolf, a beaten and lonely wolf, but still one. And there was no love for rabid wolves, only a bullet through the brain to cure the madness.

As his skull buzzed with macabre thoughts, whose unpleasant noise reminded him of a furious beehive, a bewitching voice pulled him out of his auto-destructive spiraling. Standing at attention and listening carefully, he came to realize that someone was singing inside the church. Arthur’s eyelids fell on his steel blue eyes and the back of his head gently rested against the cold wall behind him, the same wall he had been previously smashing it with. A sighed escaped from his liquored lips as the angelic and hypnotizing voice, slightly muffled by the church’s heavy wooden doors, plunged him into a soft but oh-so-warm haze.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold…

Lulled by the sad melody carried away with Birmingham’s cold night breeze, the swarm of raging hornets in Arthur’s brain stopped crashing against the bony walls of his skull. Another sigh — one of relief this time, for the unbearable noisy thoughts and violent buzzing had vanished. His trembling fingers, numbed by the blows he had hit his target with one hour ago and still covered with half-dried blood, slid along his temples and slicked his hair back. The utter and feral anger he had felt was reduced to void, for even his old heart had slowed its pace down in his ribcage.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

The tune, embedded with melancholy, soothed his troubled mind and to be honest, he could barely believe it. When that switch in his brain flipped, God knew he was not in control anymore - even dear Linda, who still managed to hush down some of his tantrums, could not tame the beast inside when it broke free a bit more fiercely than usual. Yet, this voice did so. This stranger, faceless and nameless ghost of the night, brought him back to sanity with the sole power of her voice. The words she was singing, with her a juvenile and enchanting tone, were wrapping his heart. Arthur sniffed and fought hard against the dawning tears that were forming delicate crystal beads at the corner of his closed eyes.

If he had been the jolly sailor bold, he would have thrown himself out of the boat to join the siren that was singing.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

She repeated, sadder than she previously sang.

Her song sipped through his heart and filled the cracks with molten gold. Arthur’s lips stretched in an almost invisible grin without even realizing it — By her voice, he was convinced she could repair the damaged creatures like him and make them even more beautiful than they were before they had been dragged through the trenches’ mud and shit. He had barely came to his senses, almost miraculously sobered up, when silent fell again in the church. Arthur reopened his eyes, and shook his head - Had he dreamt? Had it been the whiskey singing to him? No, he could not be that crazy right? Not quite sure if he was starting to hear voices and see things, Shelby decided that he had to found out who had been singing to his very own soul. He wanted to see her, the girl who soothed his foul heart and his twisted mind. He wanted to know, no, he HAD to know, even though his whole being was fragile like a flickering candle flame caught in a hurricane and would probably shatter in million of pieces if she turned out to be an illusion.

Gathering all his remaining strength, Arthur grabbed the handle and opened the church’s door.

[…]

A shiver ran down your delicate spine at the loud silence that floated in the gigantic and empty church. The peculiar sweet yet strong scent of myrrh, wood and frankincense filled your lungs with its holy fragrance. The vibrations of the last word you sang was still echoing in the room, swirling to the high and sculpted ceiling, from which marble angels were watching over you. If someone would have told you two years ago that the only place you would find comfort would be a church, you would not have believe it. You had never been particularly fervent about religion, but you did believe in higher forces whether they were good or bad. More than a matter of faith, the church itself was an old friend of yours. A gargantuan friend of stone, holy titan always welcoming you even in the darkest moments of your life. What you liked the most were these lonely moments at night, during which you could light up dozen of candles and sing your sorrow to the status and colorful stained-glass windows. No gossip from the parish, no believers swarming like ants within these mighty walls. There were just you, the candle lights and the soothing silence. For a few hours, you could finally find peace.

Brushing the varnished wood of the altar with your thin fingers and painted-red nails, you let your mind drift and, suddenly, the world around you vanished. You sunk so deep in the abyss of your thoughts that you did not hear the creaking sound of the heavy door opening, nor the footsteps that followed. All you could heard were the « Burn witch, burn! » that hundred of villagers screamed at you in the woeful remembrance of your past. And in spite of your immaculate porcelain skin, you bore the scars of their words deep in your soul.

[…]

Arthur made a few steps before freezing, his body refusing to come closer as if the aura around the creature that was standing back to him , right in front of the altar lightened up with dozen and dozen of small dancing flames, was too sanctified to be violated. Bathed in the soft and warm orange hue of candles, the long white hair of the woman fell down the small of her back like an ivory waterfall. Right above her the pale glow of the full moon coming through the stained-glass window formed a luminous halo around her head.

His breathing stopped, choking in his throat at such a divine vision. The gangster opened his mouth to speak but no words managed to come out. He had never been good with words anyway. Instead he moistened his lips and swallowed, his mouth dry. The white-haired girl had started to hum the same song she had been singing a bit earlier, not aware of his presence — and he did not dare to disturbing her as if he feared God’s punishment. He took another step, the wooden floor creaking under his sole.

This time the angel — because he was convinced it was one — jumped and turned around, an expression of utter surprise veiling her sweet face. Her fox eyes, adorned with two iris so fair it reminded him of aquamarine stones, scrutinized his slightest movements. She remained petrified for what felt eternity for her but, regarding him, time had stopped for good. Arthur finally inhaled sharply, coming back to life.

All those endless nights of crying, all those endless nights of praying in vain for something or someone to save him, and here you were… His salvation.

He had asked God to send him, the most desperate sinner of all, His most beautiful Angel and He had done so.

She was not just pretty. She was otherworldly and vaguely threatening. Almost ethereal in her short white dress whose cut let her naked back for the world to see.

« I waited for ya. » He whispered.

She blinked, her full and juicy lips opening with surprise.

He stuttered, looking down and decided it was better for you if he stopped talking. The gravel in his hoarse voice, as strong as it was, sounded indescribably frail. As if this tall and slightly threatening man could shatter at your single touch. Now he felt stupid, clumsy with words contrary to Tommy and his naturally eloquent and charismatic speech. In addition to the unpleasant impression of being a fool, Arthur’s own whisky-scented breath and the strong metallic smell of blood reminded him of his horrific appearance. Overcoming the awe you infused in him, panic started to kick.

You frowned, and all of sudden he did not look that impressive anymore. Swept away by the wind, your face relaxed and wrapped itself with a calm, almost placid expression. You exhaled through your nose and walked towards the gangster, who had brought his bloody hands to each side of his head and was now pulling his own hair in a desperate attempt to not lose track.

« Where does it hurt? » You asked with a quiet and soothing tone, for you were concerned about all the blood he was covered with.

Arthur raised his gaze toward the petite white-haired doll who had just pressed one of her cold little hands on his. Your ice against his fire made his legs weak and his heart missed a beat. How his breathing calmed down at your touch was a mystery, but it did. Not quite comprehending why you did not seem scared of him, he stuttered again, all flustered.

« Shhh, shhhh. Everything’s okay, take a deep breath and answer with all the time you need. » Your hand gently tightened its grip, willing to show him you were there and you were not going anywhere until he feels better.

« Where does it hurt? »

« Ev-Everywhere love. It hurts everywhere. »

His hands, his face, his body, his brain, his soul, his damn tortured soul… It all ached too much, and too constantly for him to bear anymore. E-ve-ry-where, that was all he could say because pain was all he could feel.

Without answering, you pulled him to the altar and invited him to sit on the marble stairs. The strong and fierce gangster followed you without the single physical resistance and gave in between your hands, as a rag doll. All he did was looking at you with his charming but oh-so-exhausted blue eyes as you tore the fabric of your dress near your thighs and soaked it in holy water.

« Let me wash away the blood. » Your voice echoed in the vastness of the church, enticing and haunting at the same time — enough to send a pleasant shiver down his spine. You had barely finished your sentence when you started rubbing the wet cloth against his hollow cheek to clean his pale skin from the dark red blood. Once again, he could not help watching you during the whole ordeal all the while enjoying the fresh sensation of the holy water cleansing the dirt of his soul. Not minding his stare filled with fascination, you focused on your task, brows slightly furrowed and fingers blessing him with the softest and most caring touch someone had given him.

« Yer an Angel. I swear you are eh. »

You quickly glanced at him, a sparkle of amusement shining in your cunning celeste blue eyes, before looking back at what you were doing. The weight of his gaze brought fire to your cheeks, for he looked at you like he had just realized what love was.

He looked at you, and to his greatest surprise, found Heaven in your eyes.

I'm super new in the Peaky Blinders fandom, so please bear with me... Especially since English is not my native language. To be honest I am kind of scared to post it so any comment, review, reblog or constructive criticism is welcome. Also, I'll be more than happy to meet people in the Peaky Blinders fandom! In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed some Arthur and Heaven. Still don’t know if I’ll write a full series or snipets of these two love birds.

Tags: @areyenotfondofmelobster

#Arthur shelby #Arthur shelby x reader #Peaky blinders #Peaky blinders x reader #Arthur shelby x oc #arthur shelby x ofc #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fluff #Arthur shelby imagine #Thomas Shelby #Tommy shelby #Arthur Shelby x Heaven #Heaven Shelby #Arthur Shelby fluff

[yallemagne]

Luthur (Lucy/Arthur) Propaganda

I'm writing this with all the pent-up rage of an entire year of seeing "Lucy's so dumb, she should have picked my favourite suitor" posts and "who should Lucy have chosen?" polls that always result in practically no votes for Arthur.

This is not an anti-Jack or anti-Quincey post by any means, though it may come across as defensive. It is just a pro-let-Lucy-choose-for-herself post. And yes, letting her choose for herself even includes letting her be monogamous when she has made the conscious decision to remain monogamous.

So, to the proposal descriptions--

Seward tries to hide his anxiety by putting up a front of sternness. From how Lucy describes it, it sounds like he's negotiating a contract:

He spoke to me, Mina, very straightforwardly. He told me how dear I was to him, though he had known me so little, and what his life would be with me to help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he would be if I did not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said that he was a brute and would not add to my present trouble. Then he broke off and asked if I could love him in time; and when I shook my head his hands trembled, and then with some hesitation he asked me if I cared already for any one else. He put it very nicely, saying that he did not want to wring my confidence from me, but only to know, because if a woman's heart was free a man might have hope. And then, Mina, I felt a sort of duty to tell him that there was some one. I only told him that much, and then he stood up, and he looked very strong and very grave as he took both my hands in his and said he hoped I would be happy, and that if I ever wanted a friend I must count him one of my best.

Sounds like he hardly popped the question so much as stated: "I would be honoured to have you (I need you I need you I need you I need you) as my wife. If you don't love me back, I will die."

This proposal comes across as very neurodivergent to me. He goes into it thinking mostly about what he wants from Lucy and how good the marriage would be for his mental health, not stopping to consider if she's already seeing someone (literally the man who introduced them) or just maybe... that he's putting too much of a burden on her with this style of proposal. This approach would work better with another no-nonsense B, but Lucy is overwhelmed. He didn't think of her feelings in the matter because he was too busy schooling his own emotions so he wouldn't screw it all up. It comes across as very scripted until he sees that he's upset Lucy-- that is when we get a glimpse of his care for her. But then he's back to his bullet points of "but could you love me one day? do you love another now? on a scale from one to ten, how would you rate this interaction?"

Lucy gets through Seward's entire proposal without getting carried away and writing about Arthur instead, but with Quincey--

I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him. I know now what I would do if I were a man and wanted to make a girl love me. No, I don't, for there was Mr. Morris telling us his stories, and Arthur never told any, and yet—— My dear, I am somewhat previous.

She certainly finds Quincey charming, but she cuts herself off to talk about Arthur. While she momentarily thinks that telling adventurous tales would win a woman's heart, she says that it didn't win her own. There's a sort of peacocking going on with Quincey prefacing his proposal with tales of his adventures. It's very much like Seward's stoic attempt but with far more confidence and pizzazz.

Mr. Quincey P. Morris found me alone. It seems that a man always does find a girl alone. No, he doesn't, for Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and I helping him all I could; I am not ashamed to say it now. 

Quincey "found [her] alone". Now, before, she said "Mr. Morris was telling us his stories"-- who is us? I am guessing that perhaps Lucy's mother or someone else was sitting in as a chaperone? And then Quincey found an opportunity to talk to her in private?

Again, she drifts off talking about Arthur while she's trying to explain Quincey. "Arthur tried twice to make a chance"-- my best guess for what this means is that Arthur has tried to have un-chaperoned time with Lucy twice before in order to propose to her, but he never succeeded despite her attempts to aid him.

Which makes this all so much funnier? Some joke that the Suitors probably arranged it all, but this hints that Arthur has been trying his damndest to propose, but the one day he actually gets a chance to, he finds out his two friends proposed to her first! Those dogs!!

I do not know myself if I shall ever speak slang; I do not know if Arthur likes it, as I have never heard him use any as yet.

Lucy interrupts her "haha the silly American talks silly American gibberish" with "would Arthur like it if I spoke this way?" Gah, she's so in love with him. It's funny that she says she's never heard him use slang considering she's already mentioned "Dress is a bore." which she even called slang.

Well, he did look so good-humoured and so jolly that it didn't seem half so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward; so I said, as lightly as I could, that I did not know anything of hitching, and that I wasn't broken to harness at all yet. Then he said that he had spoken in a light manner, and he hoped that if he had made a mistake in doing so on so grave, so momentous, an occasion for him, I would forgive him. [...] And then, my dear, before I could say a word he began pouring out a perfect torrent of love-making, laying his very heart and soul at my feet. He looked so earnest over it that I shall never again think that a man must be playful always, and never earnest, because he is merry at times. I suppose he saw something in my face which checked him, for he suddenly stopped, and said with a sort of manly fervour that I could have loved him for if I had been free...

She remarks that Quincey's more light-hearted nature makes him easier to refuse than Seward. However, she finds it harder to reject him when he drops the act and starts behaving more earnestly. She finds it easier to imagine loving him when he's being sincere. She doesn't have this same thought with Seward because, unfortunately, even when he snapped out of his legal negotiation of the potential marriage, he still kept himself emotionally guarded through the rest of the interaction.

Why can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not say it.

I must say... Lucy here is not saying "I want a harem of men.". Stop. Just stop saying that she is. That interpretation has led to every single adaptation that brands her an insincere cheater who strings along men and deserves to be punished by the narrative. Just stop. What she is expressing here is guilt at not having an option that would please all parties involved. She's been raised as a people-pleaser, but in this scenario, there is no choice she could make that wouldn't lead to someone being hurt. So, she makes the decision to follow her heart rather than her guilty conscience.

And think, just earlier, Jack planted this seed of insecurity by saying that he'll be upset if she does not love him. And then goes even further to imply her loving another robs him of his hope. It makes it so that, even when Quincey is more gracious in accepting her refusal, she can't help but beat herself up for practically destroying these men's lives (hyperbole, of course) all for her own happiness!!

Lucy clearly displays polyamorous traits. She laments that, if she did not love Arthur so much, she could love Quincey (rip Seward). But she has chosen not to explore those feelings. Part of her cutting herself off while writing about Quincey to talk about Arthur could be subconsciously reminding herself: "nope, there is no chance with him, I want Arthur". She compares the two constantly as if to remind herself she made the right choice. There's also her love for Mina, but she has plausible deniability in this era and can claim that as just classic girl love.

But when she considers a woman marrying "as many men as want her" it is not reflective of her being polyamorous because she doesn't have this thought out of "I love these three men enough to marry them" but "I feel guilty about being loved by three men at once, and I have to repay the favour somehow, but I can't". She does not say "as many men as she wants" because it's not about the woman's feelings but about the feelings of the men that surround her. But you know what? She showed agency when she picked the man she wanted and didn't bow and pick the man who would be the most devastated upon being rejected, and I'm proud of her.

Lucy is incredibly brief when describing Arthur's proposal, but let's. just. think about this. Previously, she has tried to hold back her overwhelming love for Arthur in her writing to Mina (she failed, lol). Other than wanting to be discreet, she explains:

My dear, this quite upset me, and I feel I cannot write of happiness just at once, after telling you of it; and I don't wish to tell of the number three until it can be all happy.

She doesn't want to taint her happy feelings with bitterness about how "oh, I'm so horrible and selfish for picking the man I love! I don't deserve to be loved by anyone!" And even then, she goes into a bit more detail in her post-script:

P.S.—Oh, about number Three—I needn't tell you of number Three, need I? Besides, it was all so confused; it seemed only a moment from his coming into the room till both his arms were round me, and he was kissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don't know what I have done to deserve it. I must only try in the future to show that I am not ungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in sending to me such a lover, such a husband, and such a friend.

Such a friend. Before this, Seward and Quincey were not friends of Lucy's. They were acquaintances that knew her through Arthur (though she does not explicitly state this about Quincey, so she could have met him somewhere else?), and upon being rejected romantically, they swore friendship to her. Before then, they saw her as a potential bride.

But Arthur was already a friend to Lucy. They have been close for longer than she's known either of her other suitors, and while they'd never said the L-word (love) to each other before, I think what wins Lucy's heart is that Arthur is genuine with her. We don't get to see it (she teases us!! how dare!!), but that feels like the most plausible thing that would set him apart from Seward and Quincey. Now, the other two are honest men (we see it when they comfort her), but they both initially put up a front to impress/entertain Lucy. Meanwhile, Arthur doesn't bother with that. He comes into the room, and she's practically already in his arms! It's so effortless with him. She doesn't have to imagine herself being happy and in love with him because she already is.

#dracula #dracula daily #re: dracula #lucy westenra #john seward #jack seward #quincey p morris #quincey morris #lucy x arthur #arthur x lucy #luthur #may 24 #wrote this like a few nights ago lol #just had to

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Exclusive Sneak Peek of the Main Story!

Unveiling the Two Faces of Drake

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors.

After that, Drake fully joined our everyday lives, spending more time with everyone at the mansion and even going to the mall with us.

Comte: "It's not good for you to keep using the guest room forever, so I'll prepare a room for you, Drake."

Comte: "Is there anything you need? Just let me know, and I'll get everything for you."

Drake: "Oh, in that case, I'll make a request."

Drake: "How about a luxurious chandelier? And a top-quality fur carpet? And..."

(T-They are all expensive stuff!)

Leonardo: "Are you thinking of selling them?"

Drake: "Oops. You caught me."

The next day, while observing a match between Drake and Jean一

Jean: "Hah!"

Drake: "Whoa! My turn!"

Jean: "You're quite good, Drake. It's a different kind of challenge compared to Napoleon."

Drake: "It's fun, but I never thought that the Maid of Orleans was a guy with incredible swordsmanship."

Mitsuki: "I think everyone would be shocked by that revelation about Jean."

Mozart: "Discrepancies between what is known and the truth are common throughout history."

Jean: "Drake, I'll make some marorons for you later to thank you for the training."

Mitsuki & Mozart: "!!"

Drake: "Marorons? I don't know what it is, but I look forward to it."

Mozart: "I'll warn you, Drake. Jean is the most terrifying when he's in the kitchen."

Then, on another night, when everyone was gathered in the parlor room一

Arthur: "Checkmate."

Drake: "What the?"

Drake: "Did I lose again? I thought I had a chance of winning at some point."

They were playing chess tonight, and Drake seemed to be on a losing streak.

Arthur: "You're relying too much on brute force. Chess is a game of strategy, you know?"

Drake: "If it were a battle at sea, I'd send a flaming ship charging in."

Isaac: "It's scary how a pirate thinks."

Mitsuki: "Hey, Drake! You can't sleep here!"

Drake: "Huh, I can't? Then I'll sleep on some random floor."

Mitsuki: "That's not allowed either!"

(We shouldn't encourage more people to sleep anywhere like Leonardo!)

Mitsuki: "Sebastian, is there any unused room available?"

Sebastian: "I'll have to confirm with Comte. Even if there is, it might not be well maintained."

Sebastian: "For now, let me show you to the guest room. Mitsuki, please help me prepare it."

After preparing the guest room for him to lie down, he nodded and smiled, saying it was more than enough.

Mitsuki: "Then, take your time and relax, Drake."

Drake: "Hmm. Thanks for going through the trouble, Sebastian, Mitsuki."

Just as I was about to leave the room after Sebastian一

Mitsuki: "Waah!"

He suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the room.

He pressed me against the wall, and his face came close to mine, his eyes cold.

Drake: "Hey, Mitsuki. Did you tame everyone in this mansion with your blood?"

Mitsuki: "Huh?"

Unable to understand the meaning of his words, I simply stared back at him.

Drake: "I've heard about your situation and the people in this mansion from Comte. After talking to them, I realized they're not bad guys."

Drake: "But I just don't get it."

Mitsuki: "What do you mean?"

Drake: "Because they're vampires, right? No matter how you look at it, they're different from humans."

(Ah...)

Drake: "They're creatures driven by the urge to drink blood and capable of taking lives like beasts."

CG Preview

『 If I betrayed you, don't hesitate to pull the trigger, and I'll die with that bullet in my heart. 』

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp francis #francis drake #ikevamp drake #ikevamp jp #ikevamp #ikevamp translations #cybird

[scarfacemarston]

same thing of how ppl are so cringy about Arthur being a soft bany who picks flowers and journals and someone fucking says his rough personality is an act? THE FUCK YOU MEAN IT'S AN ACT, HE'S AN FUCKING KILLER 😭 Not only that, you can pick flowers as John in rdr1 and rdr2 too i fucking don't get them lmao there is literally a side mission in rdr1 to pick flowers for some dude

plus, they always praise Arthur for being an gentleman or something but ignores how John is so too. Him literally saving a barn for a woman, being so loyal and devoted to his wife, in an mission in rdr undead nightmare he comforted a woman who had a bad panic attack (hugging her, giving her a chair and shit), defended Eva in rdr1 as well. He always tried to help and did, people ignore this shit. Even good things he does, Arthur gets the credit for everything.

Arthur fans are exhausting most of the times, i'm sorry.

ALL of the gang members are killers and thieves. That's one of the points that the game tries to show us. That's why it's shocking when someone as hilarious and down to Earth as Sean jokes around with someone one second and then brutally murders them the next. It's why Hosea is dangerous, too. That's why there are questions about redemption to begin with. The rough personality is not an act. Why would Hosea and Dutch both call him a brute so often? Why would they repeatedly ask him to slow down or act like a gentleman -something Grimshaw also encourages. That's all three parental figures. If Arthur was perfectly soft and gentle, he wouldn't need these reminders from his 'parents'. That's why it's charming when Arthur IS soft because it's two sides to the same coin. It's complexity and hidden depths and that's beautiful! That's what I like to see in characters! Arthur is the enforcer of the gang for a reason. He's somewhat the boogie man because of how intimidating he is and how he is NOT afraid to rough people up. Was it an act to rough up Mr. Downes? Was it an act to rough up any of the people Strauss sends him after? If Arthur didn't have any problems, why would he need redemption? Arthur himself admits that he had some issues and that he actively wants to change. Again, that's the point of the game. Same with John, if he was perfect, there would be no need for redemption there either. As for the flowers, yes. John even says, "Come here, you little beauty" or something similar to that. Yes,you're totally right about picking flowers for someone's wife being a mission. John is such a gentleman in rdr 1, that Bonnie thinks it's an act because she's not used to men being so genteel, especially a man like John Marston. She says it adds to his mystery. Both men are gentlemen. I'm not sure why that's hard for people to see.

I love Arthur, I do, but I agree that some of his fans make it hard not to feels sour towards Arthur. (Who did nothing wrong.)

#rdr 2 #john marston #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #van der linde gang #dutch van der linde #red dead redemption #hosea matthews #sean macguire

[margowritesthings]

The Greatest Gift A Cowboy Could Ask For

a @rdrevents winter gift exchange for @cowboydisaster

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Arthur Morgan x pregnant!f!reader word count: 3215 words warnings: teeth-rotting fluff, pregnant reader, labour, birth a/n: Bea! i cannot BELIEVE i got you for my winter exchange but i was SO HAPPY when the email came through! I tried to combine all three of your prompts and then proceeded to lie to you for a month about what i was writing for gift exchange whoops

anyway, merry christmas my love! this year i met you and im so glad i did! you're such a lovely soul and such a talented writer and i hope you enjoy this!! <3

tagging: @cowboydisaster @cassidylynnj @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @reaveries @elifsukirdaghehe @musicallisto

It’s the smell that wakes you up, that sweet aroma you instantly recognise as drinking chocolate. For a moment, it disorients you, because Pearson never has drinking chocolate in, but your eyelashes soon flutter open and your mind registers that you’re right where you should be: yours and Arthur’s shared tent. You’re alone, the bed beside you cold enough to know that Arthur has been up for a while, so you reach over to the gold pocket watch you stole from that poker player with the shifty eyes in Blackwater all those months back, finding the time to be 37 minutes past 9.

“Shit…” You’ve slept in. Normally, you’d lurch up, throwing on your boots and clothes and rushing out to catch up on chores, but you physically can’t anymore. Your swollen belly restricts any and all quick movements, that usual ache waking up and settling right in your spine. It’ll stay there all day, it always does nowadays. 

It’ll be worth it, you reassure yourself, imagining Arthur holding his child, the one you made with him, in those big strong arms, loving it unconditionally, and the ache somehow doesn’t seem so bad, after all. There’s a weird feeling that remains that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you can ignore it enough to get on with your day, you think.

Slowly, you sit up, wrapping a woollen blanket around your shoulders to protect you from the chill of the December air. When Ms. Grimshaw found out you were pregnant, she hounded Dutch until he set you and Arthur a proper tent up, which your eyes scan over now. The cup of chocolate is still steaming and when you wrap your hands around it, the heat radiates through your hands and settles in your core when you sip. It tastes so good, the rarity of such a treat only making it better. You smile to yourself, picturing Arthur leaving it there for you to wake up with and sneaking around as to not wake you, the big old brute. 

It takes you far too long to get ready nowadays, but in time you do, pulling three pairs of socks over your swollen ankles to protect your feet from the cold. Your boots are tricky to get on thanks to your 8 month bump, but you eventually manage to do it and stand up all by yourself. What a morning of achievement. And all before 10AM… just about.

═══════☆═══════

The snow crunches under your feet as you pull your coat tighter around you and step outside onto Horseshoe Overlook. Your breath dances in the air whenever you exhale while surveying the camp and your brows knit together when you don’t spot Arthur. You can see his horse by the hitching posts, munching from the trough, but Diesel, your own steed, is nowhere to be seen. You’re not concerned, Arthur has started alternating between Diesel and his mare since you became too pregnant to ride him yourself, but that doesn’t stop you from missing the both of them. 

“Auntie y/n!” As usual, you hear Jack before you see him and you just about jump out of your skin when you feel his little arms hug around your leg. You have no idea how he manages to sneak up on you every damn time, and by god does it make you nervous for when your own child can crawl out of sight, but you laugh nonetheless, ruffling his hair like you so often do when you see him.

“Y’alright there, Jack?” You look down to the boy, actually having to peer over your belly to see him beaming up at you. 

“Yep! Santa’s coming tomorrow and mama said if I’m good and I put one of my socks outside tonight I’ll get presents.”  He’s so excited he can hardly stay still, releasing his hold on you to shuffle from foot to foot restlessly. Looking at Jack, you can see your future. You see Arthur reading Christmas stories to your own son or daughter before bed and bribing them with presents every time they misbehave in the entire month of December. The magic of Christmas is alight in Jack’s innocent little eyes, unburdened by any of the shit the adult members of the Van der Linde gang have to worry about. And you just can’t wait to share that magic with your own little family.

“Is that so?” You raise an eyebrow questioningly at Jack, crossing your arms and resting them on your belly gently,

“Uh huh! She said we have to leave room at the hitchin’ post for his reindeer, too. I told Uncle Arthur so he leaves space when he gets back with Diesel.” Now he’s stepped back, you can see just how red the tip of Jack’s nose is, despite the four scarves Abigail seems to have wrapped him in.

“You saw Uncle Arthur this mornin’?” Your curiosity piques at the mention of your husband and his curious ongoings. Jack nods, but looks off to the side, much less eager to talk about this subject.

“Uh huh. But he made me promise not to tell you where he went.” He can’t seem to fight off the smile pulling at his near-blue lips and it's goddamn adorable, but it doesn’t stop you from at least attempting to corrupt this child’s promise, planting your hands on your hips.

“Oh, yeah? What about if I had a word with Santa for you, huh? Ask if he can bring ya’ an extra chocolate bar?”

So this is what it’s come to, huh?

Bribing a 10 year old… 

Forshame, Mrs. Morgan.

═══════☆═══════

It’s another hour before you find out where Arthur is. Jack doesn’t break under interrogation and you make a mental note to let his Uncle Dutch know what an asset he is to the gang. Pearson makes you bacon and eggs even though you missed breakfast on orders from both Arthur and Grimshaw to never let you go hungry in your condition. The strange feeling from when you woke up doesn’t seem to budge even with a full stomach, but that thought is pushed out of your head when you see a dog, covered in snow, burst past Charles keeping watch and come barreling towards you. You don’t have time to react or figure out what the hell is going on before there are wet paws on your lap and a fluffy, panting smile only inches away from your face.

“MOOSE! Get back here, Moose!” Arthur’s voice bellows through the camp and you can hear Diesel's gallop, but you can’t seem to see anything but dog as the hound in front of you grabs the last piece of bacon from your plate and begins licking your face.

Somehow, Arthur runs over to you and grabs who you assume to be Moose, picking him up with an ease that only his strong arms could take. You seem to be frozen in shock, your mind working triple speed to catch up with your surroundings. 

Okay, what can you feel?

My face is wet.

What can you see?

My husband, holding a 50lb dog like it’s a baby.

What about smell?

Not sure, but it definitely isn’t my last piece of bacon.

“God, darlin’, are you alright? Did he hurt’cha?” Arthur’s concern is evident, wrinkling his forehead with worry as he puts the dog back on the floor, who has considerably calmed now that there is no more bacon. Arthur takes a few strides before he’s in front of you, kneeling beside you to take your face in his huge gloved hands and wildly scan his eyes over your features. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine. The only casualty was my breakfast.” At 8 months pregnant, it’s hard not to find that completely and utterly tragic, but at least your baby is safe.

“That damn dog… I should’a listened when the guy told me he’s got a mind of his own.” Satisfied of a lack of wounds to your person, Arthur stands, holding out both hands to help you up too. You fall into his embrace perfectly, finally feeling the relief of the first contact with your beloved for the day. It makes everything feel that much better, that much safer in his arms that you hum contentedly.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Arthur whispers into your hair, placing a kiss right atop your head, “Good morning…” you sigh out, basking in the bubble that’s forming around the two of you, as if you’re the only ones in the world. “Thanks for the chocolate this morning.”

“My pleasure.”

You both stay there for a while, swaying in your embrace, until you eye what’s going on around you and have to break the moment.

“...Arthur?” “Yeah?” “Why is there a dog eatin’ one of Dutch’s books?” “Ah shit… Moose! NO.” Arthur all but barks, his arms slipping from your waist to retrieve Moose. He slips a rope around Moose’s collar, which seems to calm him quite a bit, enough to be able to lead him back over to you. Now the excitement has died down, Moose sits beside Arthur, doting up at you with the epitome of ‘puppy dog eyes’.

Alright… it’s pretty damn cute.

And when Arthur sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, you know he’s yours. You can read your husband like a book.

“I, uh… The other month y’said you’ve always wanted a dog, and I figured it'd be easier to get a dog then a baby rather than the other way around and… and well you’re giving me so much this year, more than I can ever repay and… well, merry christmas, Mrs. Morgan.” His nervous ramblings that only you seem to have the ability to enable are a pleasure to watch. They grow your grin by the second, as does the goofiest dog you’ve ever seen smiling up at you. You’re so happy you could burst, though you certainly wouldn’t want to in your state. You’re completely speechless for a second.

“You’re… you’re not mad, are ya?” “I mean, I ain’t never heard’a somethin’ so bold as gettin’ a new dog a month before givin’ birth, but no. I… I love him. Thank you, Arthur.” You reach onto your tiptoes to throw your arms around his neck as best you can with a baby between you, kissing Arthur with enough force for him to drop the makeshift leash in complete distraction. Moose feels his release happen and runs off again, this time finding and chasing Jack around in circles while he laughs madly. Arthur snakes an arm around your waist and you feel your head fit perfectly into the crook of his neck while you watch the chaos. 

“How’re y’feelin’ today? Still achin’?” “Uh huh… But I’m okay. Feel a little weird, but I think that’s normal at this stage.” You reply honestly, feeling the smallest bit of relief from the thumb circling your lower back.

“Well, take it easy, alright? I’ve done chores enough for the both of us.”

“Alright… Thank you.” You sigh, actually rather missing the hustle. You’re a ranch girl at heart who isn’t used to just sitting around, your decreasing list of things you can actually do nowadays getting more frustrating by the day.

“Not long to go now till we meet her now, angel.” “We don’t know for sure it’s a girl, cowpoke.”

“I know… I just gotta feelin’.”

═══════☆═══════

Later that evening, everyone in camp is sitting around the fire breathing like dragons as they sing christmas carols to Javier’s guitar and you’re tucked under Arthur’s arm, cuddling into him to keep warm. You’re pretty sure Moose hasn’t left Jack’s side all day. Not since he slipped him an entire bowl of stew at dinner, at least. 

The strange feeling of pressure that has been building in your abdomen all day hasn’t yet relented, but you haven’t yet found good enough cause to worry anyone about it. You’re 8 months along, surely you’re supposed to feel weird?

You’re the only one close enough to Arthur to know that he has absolutely no idea what the words to this song are. He’s mumbling along to the general tune, sounding a lot like Uncle’s slurs after a few too many whiskies. It takes everything in you to not snicker at his poor attempt to guess how many of which kind of bird or performer or… maid(?) this songwriter got for Christmas, especially when you’re pretty sure you hear the words ‘seven fish-a-shittin’ leave his lips. 

Everything is one fat man in a red suit away from being the perfect picturesque Christmas Eve, which you’re about to point out to Arthur when the sharpest stabbing pain rips a strangled cry from deep within your throat. Your hands shoot to your belly helplessly, wanting to grip at it to ease the pain but knowing you can’t. The carols are too loud for anyone but Arthur to notice, who instantly crouches in front of you.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” He’s panicked, grasping at your arms and attempting to capture your attention away from the considerable pain you’re clearly in. Your face is scrunched up, teeth clenched down in some poor attempt to brace the pain.

“I… I don’t know. It hurts. Feels like pressure.. Right- argh!” 

This time, your cry is loud enough to gain the attention of those around the fire. Javier stops playing and most everybody looks over at you. Ms. Grimshaw and Dutch both stand, concern evidently written in their expression. 

“Is she alright?” Dutch asks,

“What’s happenin’, honey?” Grimshaw kneels beside Arthur in front of you. You try to breathe through the smallest hole your lips can make, focusing on the sensation as much as you can rather than whatever is happening to you. You’re trying your hardest not to worry about the baby, but it’s hard, especially with so many people now worrying about you out loud.

“I… dunno. Hurts.” You manage to get out, finding Arthur’s hand and gripping on it with a downright bruising force.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside and out of the cold, alright?” You nod, feeling Arthur holding onto one arm and who you assume is Dutch on the other helping you to your feet. You lean on them as much as possible and somehow you make it into your tent. You’re laid down on your cot just as the pain begins to subside and your lungs feel like they can open back up again. When your eyelids soften again, you see Arthur’s worried face right beside you, Grimshaw pottering around with towels and Dutch waiting by the entrance to the tent with Dr. Strauss.

“Darlin’? Y’alright?” The sheer intensity of the panic in his voice is almost more than you can bear and you know he’s being plagued by the same nightmare you are right now, just hoping to god or whoever the hell might be listening that your baby is okay.

“Mhm. S’easing now… It just came on real quick, that’s all…” Your breaths are struggled but ever so slightly more stable than before. Arthur’s thumb runs over your knuckles soothingly. 

Over by the entrance to the tent, you see Dutch and Strauss in a hushed conversation that frays your nerves something awful. “What’s happening, Arthur?”

“I… I don’t know, sweetheart. But you’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Enter Dr. Strauss, carrying his medical bag. Arthur stays right by your side as the Doctor sits in front of your cot, mumbling his apologies as he lifts up your skirts and pulls a blanket over your legs.

You’re panicking, not knowing how you know exactly, but knowing that the pressure is going to come back soon. An awful anticipation clamps your hand onto Arthur’s tighter, but Strauss’ head pops up from under the blanket before it happens. Arthur’s head whips around.

“What’s happening, doc? Is she okay? Is… is the baby gonna be okay?”

The second between Arthur’s question and Strauss’ answer lasts a lifetime. It’s an agony worse than anything this pregnancy has thrown at you in all its 8 months in existence. 

“I believe you’re in labour, Mrs. Morgan.”

═══════☆═══════

It’s a long, hard labour but Arthur never leaves your side once. Not when your waters break, or when he can barely keep his eyes open. Not even when you almost break his hand the first time you try to push. He stays with you. 

He’s right beside you when you start to panic between contractions, tears falling down your reddened cheeks. “It can’t be here yet- we just got a dog and it’s only been eight months and I-I don’t know if I’m ready…” 

But he knows just what to say. Of course he does. He even brings Moose in to say hello and prove he has relaxed a lot since his first arrival.

He’s with you when you break, sobbing that you can’t push anymore, your forehead falling against his in pure exhaustion. “Shut up, stupid.” He scolds gently, earning a confused look from you. “You know damn well you’re the strongest woman alive and you can do goddamn anything. It’s one of the many reasons I fell for ya’. Now push, before I name this baby Hoagy after it’s Godfather.” 

He’s there when she’s born, such a tiny little thing, a month early but just as healthy as if she were overdue. He’s got that smug look on his face when Strauss announces her arrival, the loudest silent ‘I told you so’ you’ve ever seen. 

Arthur holds his daughter in his arms for the first time on Christmas Day, his eyes glistening in the candlelight. 

“She’s… She’s perfect. She’s so perfect…”

Your energy is depleted, truly, after so many hours of labour, but you manage to sit up against the makeshift crate headboard to watch your husband and daughter meet each other.

Her tiny hands reach out for Arthur, holding onto his cheek and if you could freeze time forever and live in this moment, you would.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Arthur whispers, shifting to kiss her palm, “Isn’t she?”

“I mean… she is, but I was talkin’ to you.” He looks up at you and you decide not to mention the tear tracks you spot on his skin.

“Oh, hush…” There’s an attempt to wave him off, but your shaky limbs don’t quite manage.

“No, I mean it. You… You’ve given me everything. I never knew I wanted to be a dad, but now she’s here and I’m holdin’ her I…” He’s choking up in a way you’ve never seen before. The great outlaw Arthur Morgan, who has killed and robbed and beaten, breaking in front of you in the most beautiful, vulnerable way imaginable. “It’s everything. I can never thank you enough. This is the best gift I could ever get, my beautiful, amazing wife.”

His words radiate through you, relaxing your spine and calming each ache bringing life to the world has given you. You can feel your eyelids get heavier by the second and it gets harder and harder to fight the sleep you so desperately need.

“Arthur?” You’re barely audible, but Arthur is sat close enough to hear you,

“Uh huh?”

“We don’t have to name her Hoagy, do we?”

“We’ll talk about it later, angel.”

#rdrSecretWinterExchange #margos christmas spectacular #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x y/n #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan rdr #rdr2 #rdr #rdr2 fanfiction #arthur morgan red dead #red dead redemption

[huntingingoodwill]

til' death do us part (t.s.)

masterlist

requested by: @runnning-outof-time (ilyily) + anons

prompts: menswear by the 1975 + "it scares me how fast i fell for you"

pairing: yan! tommy shelby x reader

The gravel lining the path of Tommy’s driveway crunched under his gleaming leather dress shoes as he made the long walk from Arrow House to the imposing wrought iron fence that guarded it. 

Puffing on his cigarette, he approached the car idling at the end of the road, the headlights illuminating him in their streams of light. 

“The money.” His gruff voice demanded as the lackey hopped out the driver’s seat, the young man shooting nervous glances at the men flanking Tommy. 

His quivering arm jutted out, thrusting a briefcase toward Tommy. 

Tommy nodded toward the case, prompting John to rifle through the bills neatly stacked within it. 

John’s brow furrowed. 

“Some’s missing.” He muttered. 

“Where’s the rest?” Tommy asked, his voice dangerously quiet, teetering on the line between complete calm and unbridled fury. 

The man recognised the menace in his tone, fumbling over his words as his cheeks heated up, heart thrumming in his chest. 

“Don’t look at me! I only brought what the boss gave me, I don’t know-” He blurted out, desperately trying to push the blame away from himself.

Tommy felt a presence hovering over his shoulders, eyes burning into the back of his head. He turned, looking up toward his bedroom window, the large glass panes looking over the expanse of his stately front lawn. A silhouette stood behind the glass, looking down at him. Just as quickly as he had turned around, the figure turned away, hips swaying as it sauntered further into the bedroom. 

“Fuck.” Tommy breathed. 

He inhaled sharply, a sense of crushing irritation pressing down on him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the ache settling behind his eyelids. 

“Deal with him.” He ordered Arthur, leaving the lackey quaking before his formidable brothers as he turned around, marching back into his manor. 

The door swung open to his bedroom, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning around to greet him. You rested your chin against the palm of your hand, looking uninterestedly into your vanity mirror. 

“What’re you doing up here, eh?” He asked. “They’re asking after you down there.” He swung the bedroom door shut, the chatter of the party below muffled behind the hardwood. 

“I was just waiting for my dear husband.” You spat the words out like they were poison in your mouth. “But he was busy. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that a brute like you wouldn’t let up on the criminal activity, even on his wedding night.” You sighed, tone flat as if the subject bored you. You reached for your lipstick, daubing some of the colour on. “What was it, Tommy? Tobacco? Opium? Or something more exciting?” 

“You don’t need to know.” He retorted, voice clipped as he adjusted his tie. 

“Oh, but I would like to, Tommy.” You whipped around, finally looking at him. Your voice turned venomous with sarcasm. “After all, I love a good bit of gossip. It is so dull being held captive here in this awful house.” 

“Don’t use that phrase.” He sighed. 

“What, ‘held captive’? What would you prefer: forced to marry you? Coerced, maybe? What would you like to call it, Tommy, blackmailing my family, taking me away from them, trapping me in this damn house, trapping me in this damn marriage. Enlighten me on the vocabulary you want me to use.” 

He huffed, eyes travelling toward the door already, as if he had no time for this, as if your anger was nothing more than the result of a silly spat. “Get up. My family’s waiting downstairs. They all want to meet my new wife.” 

“I hope I end up like the first one.” You spat. 

“(Y/N).” 

“What, Tommy? I bet she couldn’t stand living with you too. At least she found a way out. And got a nice fucking portrait out of it too.” You snorted. 

He reached forward, wrenching you up from your chair. His fingers locked around your arm, digging into the flesh. A part of you expected him to rebuke you, to scold you for all the things you said to him, and you embraced it. You relished in making him angry, a little payback for all the things he had done to you. 

But, instead, knowing just how to push all your buttons, he refused to sate that desire you had to piss him off. 

Tenderly, disgustingly so, he reached up his hand toward your face. He ran his knuckles gently across your cheekbone, the coldness of his wedding band an ugly reminder. 

“You know why I did all this?” 

“To make me suffer?” You responded. 

He carried on, ignoring your words. 

“I did it for us. As soon as I saw you, I knew I had to have you. I could never let you go.” He sighed, stroking the line of your jaw, your throat bobbing as you swallowed thickly, blinking away tears of rage. “It scares me, how fast I fell for you.” He whispered. 

“Funny, isn’t it?” You rasped out, your voice low and quiet. His presence felt as though it was crushing you, closing in on you. “How you’re the one who’s scared. But that’s good.” You snarled, nodding resolutely. “You should be scared of me.” You growled. “You have me now, but not for much longer.” 

“I’ll always have you.” He retorted, nodding resolutely, eyebrows furrowing as if he was explaining a simple concept to an idiot. He jerked you toward him, locking his arm around yours as he opened the bedroom door, leading you back down toward your wedding reception. “Til’ death do us part.”

#tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby hcs #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby blurbs #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fics #bbc peaky blinders

[cowboydisaster]

Aesthete

Aesthete (adj.) someone with deep sensitivity to the beauty of art or nature

repost, originally posted on 12 march 2023

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 4.7k

summary: when Arthur finds himself with a lack of inspiration, you offer yourself as a blank canvas

a/n: this was inspired by a post I saw about canon Arthur v fandom Arthur. Essentially that he isn't just some dumb himbo, he's intelligent and creative/artistic and has a clearer world view than most. I cant find the original post/er, but if you know it please drop me a message!

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @luvliewriting @tillith @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow

warning: nsfw, 18+, minors dni (teeth rottingly fluffy, emotional smut)

"a work of art that did not begin in emotion is not art"- paul cèzanne

The rain is a steady, soothing thud on the roof, as you rest, sitting on Arthur’s bed at Shady Belle. It's a stormy day, with rain and lightning falling from the sky, painting everything in a gloomy gray hue. There are a few little puddles on the creaky, wooden floor from the broken window and the old roof, where water has leaked inside. You cherish days like this, days where you can huddle inside, wrapped in a thin blanket while reading a book. Now you are reading a relatively newer piece, Huckleberry Finn, while cozied up in Arthur’s bed. He sits opposite of you, against the footboard, while you are against the headboard. It’s a very comfortable silence, with only the rain and the thunder to break up the quiet afternoon. 

Arthur is very focused in his journal, sketching and scribbling away at something on the ivory pages. His eyebrows are drawn together, and every few minutes he holds the journal at an arm’s length away, ensuring he has the correct perspective. The more he draws, the less interested you find yourself in your novel. Your eyes flicker from him, to your page, and you find that you’ve been so interested in what Arthur is doing that you’ve been stuck re-reading the same paragraph for nearly five minutes. 

But can you blame yourself for being so easily distracted? Arthur is so detail oriented, so intelligent and creative. Very rarely does he allow people to see this vulnerable side of him, and you’ve been lucky enough to peek through the curtains into Arthur Morgan’s fragile, beautiful heart. He has a reputation among the gang of being thick headed and more of a brute than a thinker, and you chuckle at just how ignorant those opinions are. Arthur is one of the smartest men you know. He is an enjoyer of literature, although he prefers writing a novel rather than reading one, he is well versed in history and enjoys mythology. Arthur may not have gone to a school, or have fancy degrees on his wall, but he is a reteller of stories. Arthur soaks in the information he hears, and thinks over it heavily, oftentimes writing about it in his journal, like he is now.

His big hands have an expert grip on the charcoal as he sketches something, his face is contorted into a beautiful little confused pout as he tries to ascertain whether or not the perspective on this particular sketch is perfect. Your eyes trail from his hands up to his lips, the forbidden, soft lips that you dream about kissing at night. Oh, how you wish he was yours. You sigh, refocusing yourself and watching his hands. The curiosity becomes too great, and needing a distraction, you finally speak up.

“What are you drawin’?” You ask, leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse. He perks up at your voice, startled out of his deep focus. Before he responds, he runs his hand through his stubble in thought. 

“Finishin’ up a sketch from a few days ago. Just this old church I found, ain’t nothin special.” Arthur responds, flipping the little book around to show you. 

You recognize the church, he’s drawn a very good likeness. It’s the old, crumbling church just off the road from Shady Belle. The Lemoyne Raiders have been camping out there, and you recall Arthur stopping to inspect it when you’d rode past earlier. He’s perfectly captured the broken walls, and the way vines squeeze the old building like a cobra. You could step into the drawing, and never realize it wasn’t reality. 

“Oh, Arthur, it's beautiful.” You whisper, noticing the attention to detail. Arthur has managed to capture the swaying of the grass, alongside birds taking flight off the roof of the building. 

After some more inspecting of the intricate piece, you hand it back to him, smiling at the blush that colors his cheeks. He never was good at taking compliments. He continues the sketch, and you realize it's the first time you've seen him drawing in a while. Your eyebrows pull together as you try to think back to the last time you'd seen the outlaw with the book in his hands. 

"I noticed you haven't been drawin' as much…?" You inquire, picking Huckleberry back up and glancing over the printed words before looking back up to him.

"Ain't easy findin' pretty things' in the swamp. Back when we was in Valentine, there was so much to draw, so many things caught my eye." Arthur whispers, never bringing his eyes away from the paper as he shades the windows with his charcoal. You toy with your lip, feeling that it's your time to finally bite the bullet and be brave. You take a deep breath, setting your book down again. 

"So you draw beautiful things?" You ask, barely over a whisper. Your voice travels across the expanse of the bed like a breath on the wind. 

Arthur finally looks up to you, green eyes locking onto yours as he thinks over the meaning behind your question. He leans back against the footboard, and brings his knee up to lean on. 

"I- well yeah, mostly. I like to draw things how I find em, natural, beautiful and the like." Arthur responds, brushing through his beard with his hand while thinking of sketches of deer, flowers and birds, crumbled buildings and landscapes. 

Arthur's heart stops when you stand up, slowly tip-toeing to the center of the room and turning to him. Your eyes are locked onto each other, nothing can be heard but quiet breaths and the patter of rain on the ceiling. Warm light caresses your face as you bring your hands up to your shirt, heart pounding. 

"And… Do you think I'm beautiful…?" You ask, pulling your shirt out of your jeans so it's no longer tucked.

Arthur is frozen, shocked as his eyes glance between your own, laced with bravery and lust, and your hands which are slowly pulling your shirt out of your jeans. He swallows thickly, at a loss for words. 

"Well a course- I think you're, you're very beautiful…" 

Arthur's eyes are wide, his jaw open with shock, and cheeks pink as you unbutton your shirt. His face lasts only a moment before he schools himself, evening out his features to appear nonchalant.

"What are you uh…" Arthur clears his throat quietly, "What are you doin'?" Arthur asks, slipping his eyes closed and growling as your shirt hits the floor.

"Let me inspire you… in my natural state." You quote Arthur back to himself, unclasping your belt buckle and pulling the leather through the loops until the belt clunks to the floor. Your motions are slow, graceful, in the candlelight as you slowly hook your thumbs under your jeans and undergarments sliding them to the floor. Your jeans hit the floor with a thud, and as you step out of them, Arthur pulls out his journal. 

Your body is beautiful. Perfect in his eyes. Round and curved, full and feminine. Your legs, your hips, your collarbones and breasts, all he can do is sink in this canvas that is your body for a few moments. His lack of inspiration is completely gone, and Arthur thinks that with an infinite amount of blank paper he could reference your body as art forever. He's never seen anything so beautiful, so enchanting. You seem to beam with a golden light, shadowing the v in between your thighs and the valley between your breasts. All he can do is stare, and all he can think about doing is taking the time to study every inch of your beauty.

"I…" Arthur stops, speechless as you pull an old ottoman from the corner of the room.

"How do you want me?" You whisper, glossy lips shining in the candlelight, and all Arthur can think about is kissing the perfect rosy petals. 

"How do I- I want you?" Arthur asks, not understanding your question because he wants you in so many ways right now. You're nothing short of a goddess standing before him, an angel. 

"Yeah," You chuckle, "pose me. However you think, you're the artist after all. Go on, it's okay." You encourage when Arthur is hesitant to touch you. He doesn't want to overstep a boundary, and he's terrified to touch you, to taint you with his hands that have been the cause for so many terrible things. He truly thinks that you deserve so much better than him, but he is a fool for it. Because he is all that you want. 

With a nod, he comes over and helps you position yourself. He’s incredibly polite, of course he is, not wanting to touch you anywhere indecent even though you’ve just stripped in front of him. Your left leg is bent under you, and you sit under it, while your right is propped up at an angle, brought up almost to your chest. He positions your arm over the bottoms of your breasts, and your hand is placed on your shoulder. Once he steps back, checking that the position is to his liking, his fire hot touch leaves your skin. 

“Good?” You ask, stretching your neck back so that your hair falls down your back, exposing your throat. 

“Absolutely perfect…” Arthur whispers, sitting on the edge of the plush bed, just a few feet in front of you. He picks up his leather journal and the charcoal, turning to an empty page in the back of the book. 

The sound of thunder, rain and charcoal against paper fill your head as your eyelids flutter, watching Arthur. Seeing him like this, so focused and in his element, is both heartwarming and incredibly attractive. He bites at his bottom lip, hyper focused, as he follows the slopes and planes of your body, perfectly transferring them onto the paper. He gets to your breasts, watching the goosebumps that trickle down your stomach and arms. His eyes are hot on you, studying you. You blush when he steps forward, gently brushing a stray hair away that had fallen in front of your shoulder, tucking it behind your ear so as to not obstruct the view of his model. 

When he sits back down on the creaking bed, he crosses his ankle over his knee, leaning back to get another perspective before resting his journal on his calf. He resumes his sketching, and his eyes linger on you before every stroke of the charcoal. Arthur watches the charcoal trace the lines of your hips, your thighs and your breasts onto the paper, and more than anything, he wishes that it was his lips tracing your skin, instead of the charcoal. The sound of the rain is soothing, and the thunder is one and the same as the pounding of your heart when Arthur’s eyes linger on your lips, your body. Heat lightning flashes the sky through the broken window with warm tones of orange as a shiver runs down your spine, though you are far from cold. 

Arthur really focuses now, leaning into his journal, glancing up and down frequently to capture the tiny details of you, some of his favorites. Like the little flyaways of hair, slightly frizzy from the heat that falls around your face, the freckles on your skin, the scars and stretch marks, the imperfections that color you. Once he’s finished, he leans back, eyeing both you and the journal before writing your name at the bottom, all capital as if a title. 

“Alright, should be done.” Arthur whispers, leaning forward to hand you off his journal.

You take the heavily used book, and look at the mirror-like reflection on the pages. Arthur has captured you perfectly. You look up to his green eyes, with tears. He’s drawn you in his journal as if you are the most gorgeous of any of the sights his eyes have seen, because you are. Every detail is perfect.

“Arthur, this is incredible.” You praise, completely truthful. He is a wonderful artist, and doesn’t give himself enough credit. You stand up, and fold his journal carefully closed before sitting down on the bed beside him. Your hand meets his knee, and boldly you look up at him just hoping. You’ve been head over heels for the man for some time now, and if there was ever a time to bring it up, it's now.

“Arthur I'm gonna ask you somethin’ and I want you to be honest with me, yeah?” 

Arthur is sincere, maybe worried as his eyebrows draw together and he places his hand overtop of yours. 

“Of course, anythin.” Arthur says, quietly. 

You look down at your bare lap, gathering courage that causes your heart to pound in your ears before glancing back up.

“I… Do you want me?” You ask, words hanging heavy in the air as you wait for a response. But much to your embarrassment, Arthur doesn’t give you one. He looks into your eyes, glancing around with his jaw open slightly. He opens and closes it a few times, as if he can’t find the words he's searching for. After a few moments, you hang your head, blushing and feeling like a goddamn fool, because you’ve overstepped and he doesn’t want you. 

“Oh, I see. I’m so sorry, Arthur, I’ve misstepped terribly.” You mumble, shame and embarrassment starting to drag you down. You can’t bear to look at him as you stand up to grab your clothes and leave.

 As you do, his hand grabs onto your own. 

“Darlin’ wait-” Arthur pleads, and his eyes are overflowing with emotion as he sits back down onto the bed, holding your hands in his. For a moment, you feel hopeful, maybe you were wrong, and your best friend who you are desperately in love with, wants you back. 

“I aint so good with my words sometimes. Always been better at writin’ my feelins rather than sayin’ em out loud.” Arthur says, eyes locked onto your conjoined hands before trailing up your torso to those beautiful eyes. 

“I want you. God- more than anything, I want you, sweetheart,” he pauses, brushing another stray hair behind your ear, “But I want you to understand that this isn’t about just layin’ together.” He continues, and tears well up in your eyes at his words because your feelings are being reciprocated and he's all you’ve ever wanted.

“You see I want what's tucked away in here,” Arthur whispers, pointing to the left side of your chest, right over your heart, “and I love what’s in here.” Arthur smiles, tapping your temple.

“Do I want you? Yeah, I do, sweetheart. But I want all a’ you. Your heart, your mind, your body… God- I've been sweet on you longer than I care to admit.” Arthur squeezes your hand before running his thumb under your jaw, and pulling your chin up so he can look into your teary eyes, “and well, when you asked me to draw you just now, sayin’ yes was easier than breathin’ because darlin’ you are the art. I just had to transfer that beauty onto paper.”

You lean in, pressing your forehead against his own. His big, warm hand cups your jaw, and you feel as if you could melt into his touch. You want nothing more than to be enveloped by him, to have him in every way possible, because you want him too. His beautiful, creative mind, his soft heart with so many walls around it, and you've crumbled them all to nothing more than shattered ramparts. You’ve broken him, and rebuilt him back into the man he is now, changed him forever with your heart. 

He pulls you closer until your lips meet his own. It's shy at first, two strangers meeting in a coy peck. But the familiarity comes soon, because this is Arthur, and you find yourself clinging to him, like if you let go he may disappear, or bottle back up and you can’t lose him now. You open your mouth for him, letting him in to intertwine his tongue with your own as the kiss grows more passionate. He tastes like whiskey and tobacco and Arthur, and it's too much as tears silently fall down your cheeks. Arthur pulls away for a moment, smiling softly as his thumb brushes away your tears.

“It’s rainin, we have all day…” You smile as his eyes run over your face. 

“That we do,” Arthur whispers, kissing your temple before pulling away again, “Y’know… I've had gold and silver, horses, and books worth more than this estate, but darlin’ I ain’t never had anything in my hands that was as beautiful, or as priceless, as you.” He says before leaning into your neck, kissing your pulsepoint and your collarbone. His hands toy with your breasts, running over the soft skin until your nipples harden and you lean into him. 

“Oh, Arthur,” You whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you further. 

“You’re perfect.” Arthur nibbles at the flesh of your earlobe before whispering against your skin, “My blank canvas.”

Your hands come to either side of his face, pulling his gaze up to your eyes. 

“Then make me art, Arthur… mark me, have me, please I need you.” you whimper, pulling him down to your lips again, and savoring the feeling that you’ve been aching for for so long. As soon as the kiss breaks, he caresses your cheek. Again, the only sound is the rain and the thunder. His lips are swollen from where yours have left kisses, and you decide it's your favorite sight. 

“Sweetheart, I already told you. You are art, but markin’ you? Havin’ you? Now that I can do just fine.” Arthur whispers against your flush skin, illuminated as lightning flashes in the distance.

Everything makes sense, everything falls into place, when his lips crash against yours again. They are no longer shy, but needy and loving, lustful and wanting. Your hands reach to the buttons of his shirt as he lays you down on the bed, making sure the pillow under your head is comfortable before moving his lips to your neck. Once you’ve undone the buttons, he leans away to pull it off of his arms, throwing it to the side. It lands on the bedside table, knocking over a container of ink that spills onto the floor. You gasp, leaning up to inspect the damage, as Arthur anchors you, pushing you back down to the bed with his kisses. 

“It’s okay, it's alright, we’ll clean it up later sweetheart.” Arthur shushes, and you melt back into your state of euphoria with him between your legs. His lips caress your own as his hand swirls your nipple, toying with the hardened peak before it trails down to your hip. 

“I'm gonna touch you, okay?” Arthur whispers against your lips as another quiet rumble of thunder sounds out. You nod, spreading your legs for Arthur as he adjusts himself on top of you, leaning his weight on his forearm. 

“Please Arthur-” You beg as he trails his fingers down your knee to your inner thigh before running his fingers along your folds. He stops, and groans lightly, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Shit- you’re so wet. I'm sorry, darlin’ it's been awhile since I-” Arthur starts, but you lean up, pressing a kiss against his lips before whispering to him. 

“It’s okay… been awhile for me too.”

He nods against your forehead, kissing it before continuing. You spread your legs even more for him, and he sinks two fingers into your pulsing heat. Immediately, your grip on him tightens, and you whimper, eyes squinted shut as he slowly works you open. 

“Shh…shh… that’s my girl.” Arthur coos, stretching you with his fingers as you cling to him, gasping for breath at the way he touches you like you’re his canvas, his masterpiece, and the more he caresses, kisses and touches, the more beautiful you become underneath him. He didn’t think it was possible for your appearance to become any more entrancing, but as you moan, arching your back so that your breasts find release against his chest, he finds that he was wrong. 

He curls his fingers inside you rhythmically, pressing down right in the perfect spot before gently stroking your clit with his thumb. It's a delirious combination, and the only thing anchoring you from ascending to the heavens, is him. 

“That’s it, darlin’. Let it go, let me watch you unfold.” Arthur whispers, keeping a steady pace with his hands while kissing your stomach, up to your breasts. He begins to lick at your breast, swirling his tongue over your stiff nipple and kissing your skin every chance he gets. It proves to be your undoing, and just as the rain pounds on the roof even harder, and thunder sounds out, you find your release. Your nails dig into Arthur’s back as you reach your climax, the building coming in waves that have you gasping for breath and moaning. 

“Arthur-” leaves your lips in a mantra as you clamp down on his fingers, the waves of your orgasm washing over you and drowning you in the most indescribable, emotional show of affection. You see stars, flashes of bright white as you gasp and shake, hanging onto the man who you love. 

“Good girl,” Arthur whispers, kissing your forehead a few times as you come down from your high. 

“Real good, darlin.” Arthur coos, sinking his fingers into you until he has completely drawn out your release. Once your back stops arching, and hits the bed again, you pull his face down to yours once more. His hand cups your neck, and you feel your juices on his fingers as he runs his hand from your neck to your jaw, holding it while he kisses you again. His forehead meets yours as you whine. 

“I need- Arthur, I need to feel you, please.” You cry, hands running down the muscles of his chest, down the trail of sandy blonde hair that runs down below his jeans. You pop the button open, biting your lip as you press the palm of your hand against the pressure there. Arthur releases a deep groan, thrusting involuntarily against your hand. 

He leans down, kissing your nose with a smile before standing up and shedding his jeans to the ground. He steps out of them, and you prop yourself up on your elbow to admire him. 

Arthur is big. A bit longer than average, but he is girthy and thick. You scan over his rosy head, and the vein that bulges from the underside of his shaft. And as you follow up the trail of hair, to Arthur’s chest and face, he sees the worry. It’s been a long time, and truthfully you’re not very experienced with this. You don’t know if you can take him, but god, you want to. 

“Arthur I… you’re beautiful.” You whisper, watching the flex of his muscles in the candlelight, the soft, light hair that falls into his face as he chuckles, looking down to hide his smile. 

“Beautiful? Really?” Arthur asks, sarcastically. 

“Yes, Arthur, beautiful.” 

He shakes his head, not agreeing with you really, as he comes back down to the bed. He rests himself between your legs again, kissing your thigh, then your hip… and so on until he reaches those plump, bruised lips. 

“You ready? You still want this sweetheart?” Arthur asks, massaging the tender skin of your thigh as you breath out shakily. You nod, but he senses the trepidation and doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

“What is it?” He asks, pulling away from your lips to look into your eyes. He sees you smile, blushing before wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Be gentle, please. You’re- well you’re big Arthur and I really want this…” You whisper, chuckling at yourself for a second. 

“I’ll be gentle, okay? N if it hurts, you tell me. Right away.” Arthur says, almost darkly. He does not want you putting up with any pain for his sake. You nod, before leaning into his chest and wrapping your hands around his neck. Your legs, around his waist, spread a bit more and you feel his head against your entrance. Slowly, Arthur thrusts into you, and everything you were worried about shatters to the ground. God- he feels so good. And before he's fully in, you feel so full, and so stretched. You’ll never get enough of this, you realize. It’s perfect, like two puzzle pieces fitting together as he enters to the hilt and you moan as he bumps your sensitive spot. 

“You okay?” Arthur asks, stopping his hips completely, and you dig your heel into his ass, begging him to do anything but stop.

“Move, Arthur, please. Oh, you feel so good.” You whimper, your hips rising to meet Arthur’s as he thrusts into you. Your moans mix with Arthur’s groans and the thunder, and it’s all washed away by the rain. Not a peep can be heard from outside, but inside the room there is so much raw emotion, lust and love, that even the air feels like it's intruding on you two.

“Shit, sweetheart.” Arthur growls, thrusting into you with more rhythm now that he knows you’re okay. The stretch is the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain that has you inching towards a climax. He kisses your lips, and you lean up to meet him halfway. The kiss is hot and passionate, with gasps for air in between and moans as you two commit the rawest act of love known to man. He rocks against you, swaying you with his hips. The pleasure combined with the emotion of him finally against you is overwhelming. You’ll never be closer, more whole than you are like this. He’s with you. The tightness in your stomach pulls, stretching and coiling all the like until it snaps. Once again, Arthur is your anchor, rocking you, and steadying you as you completely come undone beneath him. You constrict around him, muscles tightening and contracting as an intense wave of pleasure washes over you. Your moans are loud, breathy as you release the tension he’s created within you. It’s too much for Arthur, and as you squeeze around him, he thrusts into you a few times, hard and deep before he cums inside you, filling you completely with his seed. 

“You did so well, darlin. You’re so beautiful…” Arthur whispers, kissing your forehead before placing a long, slow kiss on your lips. He stays there for a moment, letting you catch your breath before sliding out of you. He lands on the bed beside you, and you curl up against his chest. 

“Arthur?” You ask, placing your hand on his chest and cuddling further into him. He takes a sheet from the bottom of the bed, pulling it over you until you’re decent.

“What is it sweetheart?” Arthur asks, brows furrowed as he runs his hand along your arm and watches the rise and fall of your body against his. 

“Did you mean it? Everything you said before…” You ask, propping your chin up to look into his eyes. He runs his hand up and down your back, soothing you while smiling. 

“Course I did.” Arthur whispers, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. 

“I… I love you, y’know.” You whisper back, leaning your head against his chest, too nervous to look into his eyes. Arthur only chuckles, pulling your head closer to his chest with his hand.

“I know, and I love ya too.”

The rest of the rainy day is spent in various forms of affection. You and Arthur lay together all day, whether sleeping or not, reading and drawing or just holding each other. Everything seems right now. Like for the first time in your life you’ve found your purpose, your person. He is your other half, your strength, your ecstasy, and he loves you too, your little aesthete.

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you

[lovearthur]

ahh hihi!! i love your fics so i just had to request something!!

could i possibly get an arthur x rich! reader? like reader has grown up in luxury but left that for the freedom of the van der linde gang

i hope you have a good day/night!! <3

𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 (𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓡𝓔𝓐𝓓! afab/fem reader . chap4 . big brute x hyperfem dynamic . kissing him cos ur so in love . unsure arthur . he absolutely is head over heels for u .

𔘓 u were a rich girl. the type to wait until marriage, the type to wait until ur parents picked a man for u, the type to been shielded away from anything fun and exciting.

𔘓 ur life was boring. worse than boring. but, only in the past... few years, u have been deceiving ur parents. nothing too big, sorta. a small white lie, even. every night, u would quietly leave ur expensive home to meet a rough cowboy, arthur morgan. u always got so nervous meeting with him, he was just... such a sweetheart with u that u would almost melt into a puddle. only this time, u planned to leave ur luxury life to join the gang. the van der linde gang.

𔘓 u and arthur always spoke about it. but he was never sure if u were kidding or not. he wouldnt want u to leave ur rich life unless u were sure. “there she is, my sweet girl.” he would say, his arms gliding around ur waist in an embrace. ur head pressed against his chest while his head rests above urs. “i missed you so much, arthur. you've been gone for so long-” and then, he began stroking ur hair, trying his best to comfort u.

𔘓 arthur was away for so long because he was often busy with the gang, which was something u understood, of course. “'m sorry, angel. was caught up with the gang, had t'pick up and move.” he mumbles before kissing ur head.

𔘓 u smiled at his words, a small nod of ur head as a reply. “im glad you're doing well. the gang, too.” sometimes, arthur couldn't believe the fact that u were romantically involved with him. an ugly outlaw... has a a pretty, rich girl in love with him? it seemed like a dream. a dream that was so far and now his reality.

𔘓 and soon, u dragged him to one of the many pretty parks that the big city of saint denis had to offer. u both sat down on a bench, talking and laughing... even kissing here and there.

𔘓 “i want to join you. the gang, i want to live like you, live fee.” u say, looking at him. u knew he felt so much at once which u understand. and so he thought for a moment. he couldn't believe that u wanted to leave. ur life was perfect, wasn't it?

𔘓 “... i dont think ye know what yer sayin, doll. i mean- the life i live, it ain't proper like yers.” he says, lightly protesting. oh, arthur would love it if u joined the gang but arthur was the kind to think morally. “i know what im doing, really. i want to be with you, all the time. i know i have your and you have mine.” u say softly, doing ur best to convince him that its okay. he thought once more. “once yer in, there really aint goin' back. y'know that, right?” and u quickly nodded at his words.

𔘓 u were sick of the shielded life ur parents gave u. yes u knew they meant well but u wanted to leave, u wanted to explore but they didn't give u that. "there's creepy folk out there" was always their excuses.

𔘓 after more talking about the plan of u being involved with a... outlaw gang, it was perfect. arthur would be sure u would be welcomed but maybe not with open arms since u were coming from a rich background u like the rest of them. he'd be sure to set whoever straight, if they decide to mess with u.

𔘓 after more hours of talking, giggling and kissing... it was soon time. he lifted u up onto his horse and he hitched on up after. ur chest pressed against his back as u held onto his torso, just in case u fell off because u haven't quite nailed horse riding yet.

𔘓 with a small “ya sure 'bout this?” from arthur and a nod from u, the horse began to trot onward. on the way to leave saint denis.

𔘓 starting a new life of adventure. sorta.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic

[call-sign-shark]

To Bark and Bite || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Arthur has to face the awful truth: there is another man in your bed tonight and there's nothing he can do about it.

Word Count:  2.6k

TW: mention of animal abuse

Notes: This work is a part of Heaven in Your Eyes' universe, but you can obviously read it as a stand-alone. Reader has chosen their new companion, following this polls' results.

Masterlist here if you want more.

The fresh air of the night jumped at Arthur’s face when he exited the bar, the frozen fangs of the wind biting his skin so suddenly he winced. Wrapping up himself a bit more in his long black coat, he let out a grumpy groan and started to walk through the sleepy streets. It has been a few months since you have both left Birmingham’s filth and stink to move into a cozy house at the end of a vast forest. The more day passed, the more he was satisfied with such a decision. Sometimes, he would spend hours outside listening to the murmur of the trees’ thick foliage shaken by the wind and the soft melody of the stream nearby while you were gardening. But despite this new setting and your peaceful life, you still remained traumatized by your stay in Birmingham’s jail for women. The sensation of the hanging rope tightening around your neck had stirred painful memories you had spent years locking up in the deepest part of your brain. Since then, you would often wake up at night, screaming and pulling your hair because your dreams were plagued by the grim sight of your father’s limp body dancing at the end of a rope. When John asked both of you to go for a drink, you politely refused and decided to rest at home after two sleepless nights. At first, Arthur wanted to decline and take care of you, but you insisted he spent time with his brother. Especially because you did not see him very often since you moved here. He accepted and had fun, but his thoughts never left you during the whole evening.

Arthur, fighting against the cold, blew in his hands before rubbing them in the hope of warming his skin. His steps hastened, motivated by the warm fire and the cuddling time in bed that was awaiting him. He was about to turn to his left when a loud howling sound tore the silence of the night. Slightly jumping, he turned around and looked in the direction from which the sorrowful scream came. Right after the thrilling shriek followed an odd sound of chains rattling against the concrete and muffled whines. Arthur stood there, conflicted. A part of him just wanted to go home while the other, tinted with a childish curiosity that never left him, wanted to check what was hidden in this dark alley. It did not take more than a few seconds for him to give in to his curiosity and walked toward the source of the noise. He had barely stepped in when he froze, welcomed by two threatening eyes glistening in the twilight. When the creature noticed Arthur’s presence, growls echoed in the dark alongside the ringing of chains dragged on the ground.

“Bloody hell!” Arthur exclaimed, taking a few steps back as the mighty silhouette of a dark dog came out of the shadow, chops curled and teeth bared, “Back off, bastard,” He growled back at the massive brute, showing his teeth as if it was enough to shoo it away.

But despite the dog’s firm will of attacking the tall gangster, it suddenly collapsed on the cold pavement with a painful whimper. Realizing how weak the beast was, Arthur’s muscles relaxed. Now that his piercing blue eyes were adapting to the darkness, he could look at the dog more carefully. The latter started to lick its flank, where a gruesome and infected gash was exposing its swollen flesh. It was not mad, it was wounded. Moreover, the poor creature was so emaciated its ribs were poking under its skin, “Yer in a really bad shape, aren’t ye tough boy? Would you let me check?” The gravel in his voice caught the dog’s attention again, who let out another growl even though it did it with less fury this time for it was far too exhausted, “Absolutely no, alright,” Arthur rubbed his mustache, lost in his thoughts for a few seconds, before exhaling deeply through his nostrils. The dog needed help, and he knew exactly where to find it.

“That’s okay buddy. I’ll take ye with me and we’ll get you all fixed, eh.”

“Argh! Come on!” He barked, desperately trying to control the beast by holding its chain firmly and doing his best to avoid getting bitten all along the way. Usually, Arthur as well as the rest of his family had a gift with animals, let alone Thomas who knew how to charm dogs. However, no Romani tricks could make this one obey, “No, no, stop that! How many fookin’ times should I tell ye eh?!”, The black dog, completely panicked, had tried to jump at Arthur several times, which resulted in muddy paw prints all over his new suit. Not content with ruining his clothes, it also pulled so hard on the makeshift leash that Arthur had tripped at least tenth times on his way home. Along with the dog barks, a collection of flourishing insults echoed in the night, “Aaah yes, good ol’ Arthur thinking it was a good idea to bring a damn stupid hundred pounds monster home, eh. Serves me right for trying to be nice.” He cursed, opening the door of his house while still trying to overpower the dog.

The brute barked and growled in reply. Arthur stopped in the corridor and looked at the dog, bewildered.

“What the hell? Yer talking back? I can’t bloody believe it. How about I shoot you right in ye fucking face, eh?!” Arthur was so busy yelling at the beast he did not notice you at first. You stood there, arms crossed on your chest and an amused smirk plastered on your juicy lips, wondering why your fiance was arguing with a dog in the midst of the corridor.

“Who is he you want to ‘shoot right in his fookin face?’” You finally said, mimicking his gruff voice and accent to tease him, “Care to explain?” You raised a brow, halfway between amusement and surprise. Let’s say that the evening was taking an unexpected turn. A turn that weighed around one hundred pounds and who took the shape of a massive Cane Corso. When he heard the enchanting tone of your voice, Arthur raised his gaze to you and strengthened his grip around the chain he was holding for the mutt kept pulling and he did not want it to jump on your frail body.

“Look — I’ve found it in the streets and noticed it was wounded,” He paused, trying his best to handle the situation, but the fact remains you feared for Arthur’s long and thin arms. At some point you were pretty sure the dog would break them, “But I also thought about your nightmares and how anxious you are when I’m not by your side. So, I thought having a guard dog to watch over me angel when I’m not home could be a good idea eh — FOOK!” This time, Arthur stumbled on his own feet after the dog had wrapped the chain around his ankles. He fell on the wooden floor, his body collapsing in a big thud, “YOU BASTARD, I’M GOING TO MURDER YOU, GODDAMN BEAR-LOOKING FURRY THING.”

Now you could not help but burst into laughter at the whole scene, especially when Arthur screamed so loud and spat swear words so fast it sounded more like barks than the dog’s howling themselves, “Oh! Are you okay, chéri?” You inquired, trying hard not to give in to the giggles even though the way Arthur looked at you, confused and mad, cracked you up harder.

“Can I try?” You asked, managing to calm your giggles.

“You can but if I were ya I wouldn't give it a try, love. He’s nothing but an uncontrollable idiot.” He groaned, looking side eyes to the beast.

However, you still came closer to the nervous and unruly animal, both curious and worried for him. As soon as his amber gaze dived into yours, the dog froze as if he had been petrified by a deadly blizzard in a bleak midwinter, “Hey. It’s alright. It’s alright cutie…” You whispered, offering the palm of your hand. The dog’s big and wet snout gently bumped against your skin, after a long seconds of hesitating, and he ended up smelling you. The warm sensation of his breath as it sniffed your scent brought an endeared smile to your face, “There. You’re a good boy. A very good boy.” The dog sat and let out a pained whimper in response, letting you pet it with indescribable tenderness.

Arthur looked at you, half surprised and half fascinated. He knew you were the best when it came to fixing broken creatures in the middle of the night — after all, that was what you did with him the first time you met.

Surprisingly enough, the dog fell limp in your hands and allowed you to manipulate its powerful body as if it had been a rag doll. Despite the awful infection it suffered from, you managed to clean its disgusting gash from pus, filth, and maggots properly before applying a homemade ointment and stitching up everything. Following the laborious treatment, you offered it fresh water, rice, and chicken — all of these it ate with haste, starving and afraid someone would steal its food. But the most tedious part had been when Arthur and you had to bathe the stinky beast.

“I got him! Oh wait — no no I don’t! HELP! I’m slipping in the bathtub!” A hoarse scream echoed.

“Arthur, darling, can you — Oh no really?! He’s chewing on my expensive nightgown! Bad, bad Kaiser!”

You had decided to call him Kaiser, in reference to the German word which meant Emperor, as well as being a kind of pastry.

“Fucking bastard, he almost swallowed my wedding ring! I swear I’ll cut you open if you do so.”

“Okay, now you gotta listen to me big boy alright?” You said with the quietest and most patient tone you could make. The huge dog looked at you with his large pink tongue hanging from his mouth, “You’re all clean and smell nice. Now I’m going to wrap this towel around you alright? No shaking off water okay? I want you to act like a proper gentleman.”

“I don’t think he understands you angel, he’s got a wicked gleam in his eyes eh.” Arthur whispered. He was on his knees, next to you, facing the bathtub with his sleeves rolled up. Following the mess Kaiser did, you were both soaked wet, and exhausted, “he’s up to something.”

The dog barked joyfully.

“You see Arthur! You’re not positive enough. He’s all quiet. All obedi— NO!!” You didn’t finish your sentence for the dog shook off his body, splashing water everywhere in the bathroom, and soaking you more than you already were. While you tried to protect your face, Arthur remained motionless, his face neutral even though he gazed at the animal with a desperate look.

“All quiet, eh. Of course, he is. As quiet as John in a Russian orgy.” He grunted.

"You weren't quiet neither."

"Oh," Arthur gritted his teeth -- he hated to recall this memory, for he was still very much ashamed. Even though he was not happy with Linda he always felt it was no reason to cheat on her, "It was... Different... I'd never do this to you."

“I know, Arthur. At least it made you sober up.” You remained silent one short moment before chuckling, unable to hide your amusement any longer. Letting out a sigh from his lips, Arthur looked at you and your beaming smile infected him. How beautiful you were when you laughed, he thought. Joining in the fun, the tall gangster laughed along, his shoulders jolting as he did.

“By the way, you’re hot when your hair is a mess.” You added. Blood rushed to Arthur’s cheeks, who looked away, all flustered, and mumbled something only the dog seemed to understand. No matter what the gangster had said, Kaiser seemed to agree for it trampled on Arthur and gave him one huge lick all over his face, drooling on his mustache.

“FUUUCKK!” He yelled, falling back under the Cane’s weight.

You laughed even harder to the point your ribs were hurting, joy filling both the bathroom and your soul. The awful memories winced, knowing you’ll soon find enough strength to lock them back in their cage.

After encountering so many struggles in a matter of three hours, peace fell again in the house. After the hellish bath time, Arthur and you decided to have a well-deserved cuddle session in bed. You were half naked, the tall gangster's body above yours and his tongue dancing with yours when the dog started to cry. At first, you both decided to ignore his little whimpers, far too eager to find each other’s warmth and body. But the noise went so bad you ended up gently pushing Arthur away and got up from the bed to open the bedroom door. He obviously complained, pestering under his breath, but he resigned himself and pulled up his boxers. His steel-blue eyes looked dagger at the giant beast when you allowed it to lay on the bed, right between you and him.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, angel?” Arthur asked, one brow raised.

“He’s scared. And I haven’t been sleeping for two nights. So I’m trying my best to stop him from crying.” You answered, right before gently putting your small hand in the dog’s short fur and stroking him while taking care not to touch his wound, “The poor baby is all confused you know… The gash looks like a knife wound. A human did this to him. Probably a man. That’s why he was scared of you.”

“Yes I get it but how about you cuddle me instead?” His gravelly voice asked, visibly displeased by not keeping you in his arms. As stupid as it seemed, he was getting a bit jealous. But silence was the only thing that responded to him. Even the gargantuan mutt had stopped whining. Arthur lied on his side and leaned on one elbow to lift his upper body and looked at you above the massive creature to see if you were okay. As soon as his piercing eyes fell on you, he was met with the softest sight he could have ever imagined.

You were lying on the bed, facing the dog, and cuddling with it. One of its paws was wrapped around you, and its big snout rested against your little nose. Every protest, every complaint, choked in Arthur’s throat, who found himself captivated by the way you were looking at the dog. You were staring at the beast with your Celeste blue irises shining with sincere love. Despite not being the center of your attention tonight, Arthur could not help but grin — his eyes squinting as his lips stretched. That was at this precise moment he realized another man had just entered your life, and no matter what he would do he had no other choice than to share your love with this troublesome giant.

“Alright, but just for tonight eh. Cause he’s not a little pug or something. That bastard has the size of a fookin small pony.”

“Just for tonight,” You whispered, your nail scratching behind one of the dog’s ears. Its tail wagged in contentment.

Arthur rolled his eyes, reluctantly giving up on the idea to sink into your body tonight. However, he still passed his arm above the dog to rest one large and calloused hand on your hips, unable to sleep well if he was not touching you. He closed his eyes, and even if he was at the edge of the mattress because Kaiser took all the place, Arthur stayed in bed.

“I might allow you here and accept to share me angel’s love, but I ain’t sleeping on the bloody couch, mate.” He warned the dog.

Kaiser looked above his shoulder and opened up his mouth in a big teasing smile, his tongue hanging. A smile in which Arthur Shelby could almost read the words “maybe, but I’m the one in her arms tonight.”

Say hi to your new best friend and slightly catastrophic guardian, Kaiser!

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

Tag: @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybridrid @shelbyssins @kxnnxyasdfg @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld

#Peaky blinders imagine #Arthur shelby x reader #Arthur shelby #Peaky blinders x reader #Arthur shelby x oc #Arthur shelby x ofc #peaky blinders #Tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #Peaky blinder fanfic #Heaven Shelby #Arthur shelby imagine #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x oc #Paul Anderson #tommy shelby

[sweetflanfiction]

Second Chances - Part 5

Universe: Read Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Arthur x reader

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about 1899 is from google, so inacuracies will be plenty. The reader is on the older side, and identifies as a female

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

• ··········· • ············ •

Arthur looked around, surrounded by trees. He could kick the Arabian into full throttle and disappear. To where though? To revenge Micah and Dutch? To find Charles or John, wherever they were? To get caught by the law and get back to where he started? He looked back at the woman, still leaning on top of that brute of a horse.

'Kill'em with kindness' one of the girls from the camp told him once. Is this what good people do?

• ··········· • ············ •

You looked at the trees in front of you as you spoke your peace. It was the truth. Maybe you were naive, and the truth was you were being selfish, at the time. And now he knew it, you had laid it out. One thing your father taught you was to be honest and let others know what you thought. People are like books and if you don't let people know what's written in them, they won't see it.

The man hadn't hurt you two, and was completely mobile for 4 days. And he had been a 'guest' at your house for a little over a month. In addition, you had washed him, fed him and treated him during that time, so you were rather comfortable around him. Despite the fact that she understood he wasn't feeling that way about her.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, while both reeled from the words you had spoken. You could almost hear the gears in his head turning. He was deep in thought. Under the hat his brows furrowed and the wrinkles around his eyes became deeper. And then he returned to his blank-faced manner.

He cleared his throat and restarted the track search without another word. He kept looking at the ground and you kept looking up, searching for the tanned horse among the foliage. Surrounded by nature you only heard the hoofs of your horse, their whines, the sounds of birds and the wind in the leaves. Relaxing, if it wasn't for the purpose of your visit.

"Why do you keep him?" Arthur asked suddenly, not looking at you. "From what your father says, this ain't a first time thing."

"He's injured." You answered and Arthur looked back. "We think it's a sprain, the vet thinks it's a sprain… hell, for all we know the mighty God up in heaven thinks it's a sprain. The thing is, he is too stubborn to understand that we need to keep him still and quiet while it heals. Then he can go frolic wherever he wants."

He mumbled something under his breath but you didn’t understand what it was. You had no time to decipher it before he put his hand up, mentioning for you to stop. You did so and instructed Mac to stay. Your faithful companion halted as soon as he heard you.

“Up ahead.” You heard Arthur whisper and looked at the place he pointed.

It was a small clearing with some grass. The horse was grazing there, limping, his hind leg probably in pain. You shook your head and snorted in annoyance.

Arthur dismounted and you followed him, crouching in the area, a tall bush hiding you both, shoulder to shoulder.

“You see that…” You referred to the horse's hind leg and saw Arthur nod. “That’s where it’s sprained. He keeps putting weight on it and it keeps getting worse…or at least stayin’ the same…stubborn mule.”

“We could just leave him be.” Arthur proposed and you looked at him, noticing he was looking at you from under the brim of his hat, weighing your reaction.

You narrowed your eyes at him and tilted your head, positive the dislike of his tone was apparent in your expression.

“No."

"Why not?" He probed. His face was blank, but his words exuded disdain

"Because I’m as stubborn as that horse, I’m gonna get him better and after that he can decide to do whatever the hell he wants." The parallels between Arthur's situation and the horses didn't escape you. "And then I’ll tell him the same as I told you five minutes ago. Now, you can help or leave. Either way, that horse is returning to the ranch.”

You heard an audible sigh behind you but the rustle of leaves told you he was about to help. 

“How are we doing this?” he inquired and you turned back to him, hands on your hips.

“I usually ride after him in circles until I can get him near the ranch and then let Mac do his thing. It usually works, but it entails exactly the opposite of what we need him to be doing.” He was nodding silently and, once again, you noticed him going into that deep thought expression. 

You tilted your head curious about what he was coming up with, quietly letting him run through his scenarios. He looked up at you once satisfied. You grinned at him.

“I’m all ears Mr. Callahan.” You told him without him saying a word, and you noticed a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Can you ride bareback?” You nodded and grabbed the lasso from his saddle. "OK, here's how we go about it.”

• ··········· • ············ •

It took you about 40 minutes to get Arthur’s plan to work, but in the end, you got the horse. Arthur's plan was a crazy scheme that consisted of a well-timed bark from Mac, and an opportune lasso throw by Arthur. It ended with you getting on top of the runaway horse while your companion kept him calm.

He led the horses back, with you still mounted on the runaway horse, Mac following happily beside Dusk, his job done. Around the front of the house you saw your father and two other figures. 

When the horse was safely inside the enclosure, you jumped down from the injured horse and grabbed the rope around its neck. Arthur led the other two horses by the reins beside you. Mac knew his job was done and ran over to Luca, sitting next to your father’s legs.

Your father looked back at you both and waved, waiting until you got near. The two other figures were Doc Brant and his wife Eleanor Brant. 

“How far did he reach this time?” Your father asked as you both approached the group, hands crossed over his chest and eyes looking at the stable.

“The same as always I reckon.” You shrugged. "He never travels far, not with that leg."

"Would you like me to check it?" Doc Brant smiled, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

"You got a promotion from people doctor to animal doctor and told me nothing 'bout it, huh?" Mrs. Brant joked, smirking at her husband.

Mrs. Eleanor Brant stood smiling next to her husband, her blonde hair already filled with grays, twisted in a braid, her skin always having a rosy tint above the tan. You liked her. She was homely and motherly but a jokester. When your own mom passed, she was one of the people that cared for you the most. If you had to write down the formula for who you take after, she'd be one of the first names on the list. 

What you truly loved about the woman were her ideas, the way her mind worked. Unlike many of the people on the surrounding farms and ranches, she and Mr. Brant couldn't conceive children. So they turned to assisting others. And while her husband was an actually certified physician, she knew as much as him and more. She liked to study herbs and other types of medicine that helped you in a pinch. Sometimes normal medicine was expensive or inaccessible, but she seemed to always have some herbs that would help anyone. 

"The basics are still the same." He replied in a mock angry tone.

"It's fine Doc. The last two times the actual veterinarian was here he said the same thing. The fellow just needs to rest." Your father noted and everyone nodded.

Nobody liked the animal doctor, but he was the only one around. Unlike Doc Brant he wasn't in it to help. He was in it for the money and the business. The three of you were silent, cursing the vet and his way when Arthur cleared his throat and your heads jerked in his direction. 

"Ah, my boy!" Doc beamed, patting the younger man on the arm. "I see you are recovering well! How are you feeling? Is the dust giving you trouble? You get tired quickly?"

"Morning sir, ma'am." He tipped his hat and you had to force yourself to not smirk at his cowboy-ish charm. "I've been feeling better, thank you. Still trying to figure out how this happened."

"This?" Doc questioned, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

"I was told by a doctor in St. Dennis that it was TB. For all I knew I was dying." Arthur said, honesty dripping in his words.

"Well, sometimes those big city doctors forget that there are more diseases out there that ain't deadly." Doc patted Arthur's arm and smiled. "Just be glad we got you when we did. If the sickness hadn't killed you, something else would have."

You were about to joke about his earning a peaceful death, but he cut you off.

"I'm still trying to come to terms with it, but I reckon hell wasn't ready for me yet."

"Oh Mr. Callahan, maybe it's heaven that thought you needed a second chance." Eleanor smiled softly at him.

• ··········· • ············ •

@photo1030 :: @sylum :: @marislittlereadingcorner

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

[atlabeth]

hi, i hope i’m putting in this request correctly (sorry if i’m not). but could you do a benedict bridgerton one-shot/blurb with the prompt: “(She’s/he’s/they’re) just a friend.” “We used to be friends to be ‘just friends’ too.”

or really any friends to lovers kinda thing with him, i’m just a sucker for it. thank you!

not just - benedict bridgerton

summary: benedict realizes he does not just want to be friends with you. not anymore.

a/n: hi!! thank you so much for this request, im sorry it took approximately 100 years to come out but yeah. i tried to make this different from my other friends to lovers fic w him, and this is my first time writing daphne so hopefully she's accurate lol. i hope you enjoy, once again sorry for the wait!!! (also i changed the prompt a bit to fit more but it's still the same meaning)

wc: 2.3k

warning(s): an overuse of commas and em dashes, signature bridgerton boy obliviousness. also i wrote this in one go when the inspiration finally struck so i apologize if it's kinda messy

Benedict had let out, likely, his hundredth sigh of the night. It was certainly bothersome to those on the outskirts alongside him, but he could not have cared less. 

Not when you were on the dance floor, dancing with a man that was not him.

Benedict did not quite know why the sight of you twirling with another annoyed him so. It must have been the man you were with. Lord Arthur Annesley was, frankly, a good match for any lady, especially as the well-regarded son of a viscount—just not you. 

He knew that the two of you would not be a good match—he was certain of it. Not when he had overheard the man talking of how he viewed women as nothing more than accessories, to birth children and then be shown off on a man’s arm. Benedict still remembered that night, Colin having to stop him in the middle of Mondrich’s gentleman’s club from clobbering the brute.

The worst part was that, with the wealth he partook in due to his ancestry and the good breeding afforded to him by his family name, Benedict could do nothing about Annesley if he decided to court you. Yes, your family had money of its own, but not nearly enough to allow you refusal should he propose. If he made the choice, you would be forced to accept, no matter your feelings or thoughts of him. His bigger fear was that you actually felt affection for the man.

Well, he thought helpfully, he could always challenge him to a duel. And though it seemed like an excellent idea to him, Benedict doubted his siblings nor his mother would allow him to do anything of the sort. 

And thus he was doomed to stand on the sidelines of the ballroom forever, watching you dance with another, eventually marry another, and leave him fully behind. 

So his statement could not exactly be counted as true. He did know why the sight of it annoyed him.

It was because he was in love with you, and you were not in love with him. It was as simple as that, and yet it could not have been a more devastating truth.

Benedict supposed that was what he got for never being brave enough to tell you of his feelings. But that did not mean he had to like the outcome. 

“What has got you in such a twist, dearest brother?”

Benedict glanced over as Daphne took the open spot next to him, a glass of champagne held tenderly between her gloved fingers. She was the image of perfection, as usual—ever since his sister had become a duchess, she seemed to always emanate light. He was proud of her, but he could not help but feel a bit inferior in comparison. His sister was years younger than him, and yet she was while she was the walking body of grace with a duke for a husband, he could not even tell the object of his affections how he felt of her. 

Benedict supposed it was no surprise she had managed to seek him and his poor mood out. She’d always been good at knowing when he was upset, even when they were children. 

“No reason,” he muttered, plucking a glass of his own from a passing servant and tossing it back in one motion. “I am simply not enjoying the party.” 

“Ah,” she said, fully disbelieving, if simply by the fact that he could not possibly dislike a party organized by her, “is that why you are attempting to assassinate Lord Arthur with your gaze alone?” 

“I—” Benedict huffed and looked elsewhere. “I am not.” 

“You were,” she said. Daphne looked to where his attention was prior, and it only took a moment for her to realize. 

“Ah.” Daphne pursed her lips as she turned back to her brother. “It is Miss Stanton.” 

“It is not,” Benedict quickly covered up, realizing only a moment too late that he should not have been so hasty to reply if it was the truth. 

“Do you have affection for her?” Daphne asked, and though coming from another it might have been mocking, his sister was anything but. 

“No,” Benedict said, and he shook his head. “No—I do not. The only affection I have for her is of the friendship sort.” 

He did not quite know why he was so adamant in denying his feelings for you. Perhaps because he thought it would make it easier—if he did not accept the truth, then he would not have to accept he was losing the woman of his dreams when you took the surname of another and left him behind. He would not have to accept that it was a very likely story that you would be out of his life far sooner than he would ever wish. 

Yes, he thought, that was it. Though it brought an unexpected sadness alongside the revelation. 

“That certainly is not the way that a man looks at a woman he feels nothing but friendship for,” Daphne murmured. “I recognize it very clearly.” 

“Then maybe you have had a bit too much to drink,” Benedict said, “as you could not be more wrong.” 

She did not take offense at his words, instead allowing the briefest glimpse of amusement to pass. “You are the one attempting to drown his sorrows in nothing but champagne. I regret to inform you, brother, that it will not likely work.” 

He let out a long sigh as he crossed his arms across his midsection. “What is it that you recognize then, Daph?” 

“I recognize,” Daphne said, “the very same way that I looked at Simon. When I was first beginning to realize my feelings, with no hope of them being reciprocated and yet all of the love in the world to give to him.” 

Benedict shook his head with a huff. “That is nonsense. We are nothing more than friends.” 

Daphne’s lips quirked up at the edges. “Simon used to be nothing but a friend as well. And now I have been madly in love with him for two years.” 

Sometimes Benedict wished his sister was not as attentive and caring as she was. There were plenty of other sisters in the ton, sisters that would not think twice about the sour moods of their brothers. If that were the case, he would be able to revel in his misery for the rest of his life instead of being forced to confront it instead. 

“...Fine,” he conceded. “I do have feelings for her. I… I love her. And I have for quite some time. I love that she is my friend, and I could not think of a life without her, though I cannot help but want so much more. But I fear if I speak up I could lose her.” 

“Benedict,” Daphne said softly, “if you do not say anything, you will lose her anyway. You will never know what could have been, simply because of a fear that may not even be reality. Do you truly think you could take that chance?” 

Benedict did not respond. It was a heavy question—one he did not quite know how to answer. 

He did not want to lose you—of course not. It was unimaginable, his world without you in it. But just as well, by confessing his feelings, he could lose you all the same. He could push you farther into that lecherous man’s arms, and he would not be able to do a thing. 

But deep down, Benedict knew the truth. 

“No,” he said. “I could not take the chance.” 

Daphne smiled, fully this time, and she patted her brother on the back. “Then I believe you know what you must do.” 

As if by perfect timing, the orchestra ended their current piece, and your dance with Annesley was complete. You bowed to him and him to you, and he grimaced as he touched your shoulder and said a few words. You said a few back to him, then exited with a polite nod and a smile. Before Benedict could question his next actions, he had handed his empty glass to his sister and started towards you. 

“Miss Stanton,” Benedict started, and then he shook his head, “Y/N. I wish to speak with you, if that is alright. It is… it is an urgent matter.” 

Your eyes alit with concern as you took his offered hand. “Benedict, whatever is the problem?” 

“There is no problem,” he said, and he did not think he could be stumbling through this harder if he tried. “I just wish to speak with you, if you have the time.” 

You smiled, and Benedict thought it was the most stunning thing he’d ever seen. “Why, of course. I always have time for Benedict Bridgerton.” 

He smiled back. “And I am eternally thankful for it.” 

Benedict guided you out of the ballroom, checking behind him every so often to ensure they weren’t being followed—he could only imagine the sort of scandal this would cause, and he did not quite feel like giving his mother a heart attack tonight—and eventually, the two of you were in a quiet but well lit hallway of the Basset’s enormous summer home. 

“Now I am truly worried something is the matter,” you said wryly. “What, with all this secrecy.” 

Benedict chuckled, but he could not stop his hands from fidgeting. In another split second decision he took your hands in his own, the warmth a welcome comfort. You did not even flinch, instead looking at him with the softest expression imaginable. 

Great God, how he loved you. 

“Nothing is the matter,” Benedict said, his voice a bit shaky, and he gave himself approximately two seconds to prepare for what he was about to do. “I’d rather say things have the opportunity to go quite well.” 

“And why is that?” you asked with a coy smile. 

“Because I have a confession to make,” he said. “I… I could not stand watching you dance out there tonight, to tell you the truth. And— and it is not because of you—you were as perfect as you always were—but because of your partner. Arthur Annesley is nothing more than his title, and he is not worth any more of your time. And— and I tell you this, because—” 

Benedict took a deep breath, and it was as if a dam had been broken, the way the words came tumbling out. 

“I do not just want to be friends,” Benedict rushed out, “and I have wanted much more for so long. I love you, Y/N Stanton, and I have loved you since the moment you walked out the doors for your debut. I have loved you since you pushed me in the mud and ruined my clothing just to get me out of French lessons. I have loved you since you sat with me for hours in silence whenever I needed you after my father’s death. Y/N, I have loved you for as long as I have known what love is. To me, you are what love is. And I love you—foolishly, wholeheartedly, completely in love.”

“Truly?” you asked quietly, your eyes slightly wide from such a sudden confession. “That is… truly how you have felt about me, all this time?” 

“For quite some time,” he admitted, and the light of concern in his eye was telling of his nerves. “You consume my every thought, Y/N, my every waking moment—you are all I dream of, day in and day out. And I cannot bear the thought of you being near that wretched Annesley any longer. I beg of you—please, do not marry him.” 

“I was never going to marry him,” you said breathlessly, and you could not help but laugh, however inappropriate it might have been. “Benedict, every moment I spent with him was to humor my mother and his father over their own delusions of a courting. I harbor nothing but ambivalence towards that man. You,” you reached your hand up and cupped his cheek with it, and you could not help but smile as he unconsciously leaned into your touch, “are the one that I love. Foolishly, wholeheartedly, completely in love.” 

It was Benedict’s turn for his eyes to widen, to repeat your own words. “Truly?” 

“It is the most truth I have ever spoken,” you whispered. 

Benedict immediately pulled you into a kiss, the feeling of his lips against yours like pure fire dancing through you. It was maddeningly addictive, passionate, the complete opposite of gentlemanly, but everything you had ever needed. Everything you had been longing for, for a longer time than you’d known. 

“I love you,” he said, breathless as he pulled away for just a moment, just enough time to say the words before he was back on you with an unrivaled fierceness. “I love you so much.” 

Your entire body was heated to the touch when you finally pulled away, your lips sore and swollen and Benedict’s hair a complete mess thanks to your combined efforts. You could not help but laugh at the sight—it was beautiful. He was beautiful, and he was the man you loved.

The man who loved you. 

“I love you too,” you murmured, and you suddenly could not believe you had managed to go so long without saying the words you now knew were etched into your soul. 

Friends, you thought with an inward laugh. The notion seemed so silly now. 

Benedict Bridgerton was your best friend, but he was also the man you loved the most. You could hardly believe you nearly passed it up from some half-hearted fear of rejection. 

You had never been so glad to not be friends. 

No—you weren’t not friends. 

You simply were not just friends. 

And that was not just good. It was perfect. 

-

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77 @simonsbluee @kwyloz @masteroperator

bridgerton tags: @theonewithallthemilkshakes @rach2602 @milkiane @korol-lantsov 

#sadie’s 1k one shots #even though i’ve hit 1.5k now. oops #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict x reader #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton fluff #bridgerton fic #bridgerton fluff #sadie writes