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fleckcmscott · 11 months

Text

Pillow Talk

Summary: While Y/N spends some time away, she and Arthur find a way to play.

Words: 3,992

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

A/N: This story stems from a request made by @jokerownsmysoul. I really hope I got it right. 😂 Please enjoy, everyone! And thank you for reading! 💜

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Y/N's happiness at attending the Atlantic Legal Society's conference had rubbed off on Arthur. Made her upcoming absence worth it.

Often he'd tag along, see the sights while she worked. Check out clubs, sign up for open mics where no one would ever see him again. Low-risk refinement. But this week's jobs were too good to pass up, and Amusement Mile's opening day meant lots of families and plenty of tips.

He could hold down the apartment. Hell, maybe he'd even enjoy it. Pour condensed milk over frozen strawberries, smoke as much as he wanted, catch a movie on Gothamvision. (When their rabbit ears had required aluminum foil to get a TV signal, he'd convinced her cable was a dire need.)

He wrapped an apple in a paper towel, tore a banana from the bunch, and stuck both in her purse. A breakfast that'd tide her over for the three-hour ride to Baltimore. Stirring milk into her coffee, he side-eyed the oven clock. When the java was halfway cold, he made his way to the bathroom.

Toes flexed in annoyance, Y/N grumbled around her toothbrush. "I can't believe I overslept."

"You'll get there," he said, and took the hairbrush from the shelf. "Here, let me." He drew horsehair bristles through her untamed mane.

"Thanks." The foam in her mouth made it sound more like fankhs. She spat into the sink, rinsed and spat again. "I don't want to buy another ticket."

A soft scowl crossed his brow. "You shouldn't've had to buy the first."

"Well, you know my boss. He didn't think it was necessary, which is silly with the WARN act being passed. That kind of ridiculousness makes me want Phil to come out of retirement." She hung her robe on the door hook and jogged to the bedroom, calling over her shoulder. "At least they're paying me!"

Minutes later Y/N emerged, frazzled around the edges but smart. She straightened a ruffle at her collar, tugged the corner of her blazer. She wore her age and era with pride. She guzzled her coffee like an engine on empty, poured herself another and skipped the dairy. "I'll regret this on the train."

They dashed to the elevator, vinyl suitcase in his grasp, her hand hooked at his elbow. As the steel doors parted, he made a show of holding them open with his foot. A beam to rival the rising sun crossed her face.

"Thank you, sir," she said, and curtsied. The gesture made him want to lift her, spin around. They were running late - and she'd still taken a spare second to be playful.

God, how he loved her.

At this early hour, only a handful of Gothamites rode the subway. A guy sat in a corner seat. Sixty, gray stubble, wearing a flat leather cap. His outstretched arm held a wrinkled centerfold. Ms. December, judging by the Santa Hat, the sole fabric in the photo. A familiar friend that must've been in his pocket for a while.

Y/N grasped the stanchion at the other end of the car. Arthur moved to stand behind her, a protective arm at her waist.

At every stop she inched towards him. Her round bottom nudged his thighs, her back grazed his chest. She smelled good, like the strawberries he'd eat tonight. He pressed his nose to the crown of her head, filled his veins with her scent.

A scarlet stripe bloomed from collarbone to temple, her ear a crimson shell. The corner of her mouth threatened to curl. Pink tongue darting to wet satin lips.

He squeezed her hip. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," she said. An obvious untruth given how her neck tightened.

Suspicion slanted his stare. But he let it lie. For now.

Wayne Central Station was a Beaux-Arts beauty smack dab in the middle of modernization and commercialization. And it had far too many flights of stairs. After the ups and downs of finding the right track, they landed on thirty-seven, the platform for the commuter line.

"You know," Y/N said, steps slowing to an amble. "I bet there are clown conferences. You could learn to juggle."

His days of working with other clowns were long behind him. But the suggestion was sweet, so he smiled. "My hands are already busy. You're a handful."

She stopped at a concrete column and riffled through her purse. "I'll call you when I check-in and give you the room number. There'll be a direct line." Then her riffling escalated to a frantic search. Patting her coat, the inner breast pocket. Checking her bag one more time. Taking advantage of her distraction, Arthur reached into his jacket. Anticipation tickled his shoulders into a shrug.

"Oh no," she said. "I could've sworn I put my ticket with my credit card."

He reached as if to tuck her hair back. Pulled a green card from behind her ear. "Is this it?" A relieved huff as she snatched her prize. She swatted his chest, wound her arms about his neck.

The squeal of metal on metal bounced off tile walls, announcing the oncoming train. A gust of wind whirled her silvery brown locks. Despite the mundanity of it all, the thousands of people about to step onto public transportation, the moment felt like a movie. A bona fide blockbuster. The ordinary suddenly extraordinary.

Fingers brushing his, she took her bag, speaking between kisses. "I love you. We'll talk soon."

~~~~~

The McKeldin Exhibition Center seemed a blunt, bulky building for the Atlantic Legal Society's twenty-fifth conference, a number Y/N would've considered celebratory. Four stories of concrete, cold steel, muscular exterior. A once modern design that now represented an idea of the future that, if the first five months of 1990 were to go by, wasn't bound to happen.

The registration attendants were friendly and professional. But Y/N wasn't a member of the guild, so she was directed to a line at the other end of a vast, airy hall. The additional hundred dollars she'd paid to attend included extra exercise. A gilded stripe ran along the top of her name tag, like she was a flake of gold to pan for, from which extract a membership fee.

Goodie bags contained the usual swag. A pen with the organization's logo, two legal pads, a folder to hold her notes. At the bottom were a blue stress ball and a gavel pinback button, which she'd pin on Sylvia back at the office. The young intern had received so little recognition in her short life that it'd thrill her.

White tablecloths and serving trays covered the tables in the reception area. Y/N maneuvered to a buffet to the right, snapped a napkin, two cheese and pepperoni skewers, and a paper cup of goldfish crackers. Munching away, she took the temperature of the room.

Lawyers and attorneys general, magistrates and judges swarmed, chatting and laughing, giving handshakes and back slaps. Legal secretaries and paralegals circled up to chat amongst themselves. Judging by overheard introductions, their origins stretched from the Eastern Seaboard all the way to Chicago.

Y/N recognized a former Gotham District Attorney, a lawyer from one of Shaw & Associates' satellite offices. The passing years had salt and peppered his hair, too. The city's newest criminal court judge was on the premises, one Henry Jake. An upset after an affair with one of his legal aides, his promotion from magistrate had been splashed on all the front pages.

He appeared eager to continue the scandal, proceeding to flirt in the way of men who like to wield their authority. A palm on the forearm here, an unwanted compliment there. It made Y/N want to chuck a stress ball at his head.

She stirred powdered creamer and irritation into a styrofoam cup of coffee, noted the restroom sign on the left wall. A woman in a floral shower curtain of a dress approached with tiny steps. Said she'd never been to a big city before, took a sip of Lipton and pushed her plastic glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"I'm Flossie Barteux, but all my friends call me Flo." The red stripe on her nametag denoted her as a fresh recruit.

"Nice to meet you, Flossie." Though maintaining distance, Y/N spoke with warmth. "I moved from the Ozarks to Gotham ten years ago. The lobby has some brochures. I think there's an aquarium on the waterfront, a couple museums, too. You should take advantage while you're in town." Then she gave a friendly nod and excused herself to the Industry Auditorium to sign up for presentations.

Whistleblower protections sounded interesting, considering past capers; she made a note to review Gotham's statutes for the next. Tips for wage and hour investigations filled an entire notebook. The presenter droned on in one agonizingly long sentence. It was impossible to keep up, even in shorthand. Y/N's fingers grew so fatigued she dropped her pen. It took several tries to regain the ability to make a fist.

When the conference broke for the evening, Flossie hopped in the same revolving door as Y/N and suggested dinner at a chain steakhouse across the street. A good number of attendees already stood in line.

To be honest, she could've used a break from the whole thing. But she didn't want to hurt the woman who sorely needed a work friend. She put their names on the waitlist and browsed chalkboard specials. Listened to Flossie's story of how going through probate for custody of her granddaughter had led her to the legal profession.

By the time Y/N stumbled back to her hotel, she could've dozed upright. At the bar, she ordered a variation on a Sidecar, a little number called Between the Sheets. She didn't ask for permission to take it to her room. She dropped a dollar bill in the tip jar and turned towards the lobby.

It was well equipped, a fax machine and pay phone in one corner, a stand with free chocolate chip cookies to the right. In the center of the far wall stood a bookshelf, flanked by overstuffed aqua chairs. A sign was propped on the coffee table: "Please read and return!" A set worthy of Donahue's photo studio.

She stepped onto the woven rug to browse the plethora of outdated bestsellers. Self-helps with mountains on the covers, charlatans offering poor financial advice. Children's books were piled haphazardly on the bottom shelf. And right in the middle was an entire row of romance novels, the ones in which every heroine's bosom heaved and bodice ripped. Ragged covers told the tale of how popular they were, spines split from overuse. As a pre-teen, Mabel had caught her reading a few. ("Why's your face red, Y/N? Are you sick?") Amused, Y/N took the one with the deepest seams.

Forbidden Seas was a terrible if fitting title, given the coverhunk's puffy shirt. He was alarmingly muscular, as though a bee had stung him, and he desperately needed an ice bag. Long, blonde tresses brushed the careening cleavage of the woman bent over his knee. Arthur's wiry frame held a hidden strength, cleaved her tightly whenever they danced, but that position would've ended with her on the floor.

Cackling, she returned the paperback to its place, betting the hunk would be at full mast by chapter four.

When she reached her room, she stretched her arms over her head, pushed herself to her tiptoes, released a short squeal. The conference center's folding chairs had next to no padding. Soreness nagged at her tailbone, a deep-seated throb ached her rear. She could really use a bath. She checked her watch. Arthur would be calling in about fifteen minutes. Luckily, the restroom had a phone.

Pantyhose rolled down her legs, a nail caught on the reinforced toe. The star-patterned vinyl floor was cold on her feet. A claw clip kept her hair off her shoulders, spare tendrils falling to her cheeks. Steam coated the mirror as the room filled with a pleasant heat. She dabbed away her mascara and eyeliner before it could streak. She sipped her cocktail, stepped into the bath. Gave her breasts a casual squeeze and sighed out the stress of the day.

The ringer rang right on the dot.

Voice as light as a game of I Spy, she said, "This isn't reception telling me to pipe down, is it?"

On the other end, Arthur's smile sucked his teeth. "No, it's just me."

"I'm glad it's just you."

The day had gone well, he told her. One of his gigs had cancelled, but that was all right. It let him get some work done around the apartment. He'd replaced the window shade that no longer rolled up, mopped the kitchen, sorted the drawers of his desk. He'd just tuned into a movie on TMC, a screwball comedy she'd deem too silly and dislike.

When he asked how the conference was going, she told him about Flossie, how she hoped the woman's eagerness to excel wouldn't result in her being suckered into membership upgrades. That the WARN act - while a step forward - put some guardrails on the mass layoffs that'd become the norm in the last decade but didn't prevent them. And the overeager judge she was happy to never have to face in court.

"You should teach a class on how to be a gentleman." She slunk deeper into the heat. "I'm learning a lot, but I'll be happy to be home."

"You're not missing much."

"I'm missing you."

"But you saw me this morning!" His protestations didn't fool her; he was pleased as punch. A hitched giggle, one of his many laughs she loved. "Me, too. I mean, I can't wait to see you. But don't worry. I'm fine. Talk to me more. Tell me about the hotel."

"We'll have to stay here someday. There's a bar with a player piano, and I'm having a cocktail in the bath."

"You- You're on the phone in the tub?" The sound of him puttering. A drink set on the coffee table, a middle-aged groan as he sat on the sofa. "There is one thing I can't get out of my head." Nervous tongue smacked his lips. "What were you thinking about on the subway?"

Mercury threatened to crack the thermometer. But still. She was reticent to go there. "I already told you. It was nothing."

"Come on. You were as red as my clown nose."

She pressed the cool glass to her sweaty forehead. The flight of fancy had been completely inappropriate, not to mention out of character. She knew exactly what telling him would lead to, the direction in which this conversation would race. Tacky and cheap, belonging to a $3.99 a minute hotline.

And yet. She was grateful to have a husband she could blush around, whom she could fantasize about, whom she wanted to fantasize about. Besides. It'd been a stretch since they'd last made love. Tacky and cheap might be just what the Doctor of Laughter ordered.

She let the cognac trickle down her throat. Knuckles dragged up and down her breastbone. Her forearm brushed her pebbled nipple. A drop from the faucet plopped.

"Do you want to continue this?" she asked, an eager if uncertain invitation.

"Yeah," he purred. That rasp, the one positive of his cigarette addiction. "But I'm- I'm not sure what's next."

Neither was she, not quite. The next steps felt at once natural and as if they belonged to an unread novel on a hotel bookshelf. But it was him, so it would turn out all right. They'd figured it out every time before. "Tell me what you're wearing," she said. "Or what you're thinking about. Whatever you want."

"I'm in my pajamas. Um. I found my old journal when I was cleaning. I hadn't read it for years - it has everything from when I met you. Anyway, I read what I wrote our first night together? I'd wanted to touch you so badly and-" He gave a throaty laugh. "And all I knew what to do was squeeze your breast too hard."

The recollection struck a match in all the right places. She'd wanted him, too, more than was smart after such a short acquaintanceship. There'd been something that'd set him apart immediately. Whenever he'd looked at her, her heart had skipped to a new but familiar beat. His good looks, his kindness. Passion and flair hiding beneath a surface shyness, a mask you could see through if you took an extra minute.

"You knew how to look at me. How to listen. How to be gentle." She caressed her hip absentmindedly, a movement that soon became deliberate. "And when not to be."

Her knee shifted to rest on the lip of the tub, opening herself to the warm water. "I wouldn't want you to be gentle now," she whispered, and tugged at the curls between her thighs.

"I wouldn't be." Ragged breaths tempted over three hundred miles. A muted moan that meant he was palming his shaft. Her own palm felt empty. How she hungered for him to be in her grasp. Then he asked, "What- What did you pack for bed?"

"The blue nightie you gave me. The one that ties at the neck." It was six years old but a perennial favorite for both. The approval that'd radiated from him when she'd modeled it flashed in her memory. Strokes blazed at the crease of her thigh. "I'll wear it tonight - unless you want me to sleep naked."

A husky chuckle before he pressed her. Again. "Tell me what you were thinking about on the train. I wanna know."

Fingertips dipped to where she ached for him. Lower to tease plush, squishy flesh, plump with desire. Her eyelids fluttered shut, returning to the occasions she'd pleasured herself in front of him, both when he was inside of her and out. Even on the occasions he wasn't able to get hard, he loved it, asked her to do it again. Holding her. Stealing her breath from her mouth. Covering her hand with his. His thumb taking over until she cried his name.

Fever rippling through her arteries, she tapped her slick nub, body throbbing with need. She cleared her throat. She thought she'd lost her ability to be bashful with Arthur. But dirty talk didn't come as naturally now that she was alone, not the way it did when it was foreplay. When she'd beg him to fuck her, plead for more, more, more.

Yet, she wasn't alone. Though he was afar, she was abuzz with his presence. Spreading joy and happiness to others, always entertaining his audience, he was the performer in the relationship. Tonight the performer became the audience, and she was putting on a show for one.

A show she'd drag out a bit longer. Make it worth his while. "I'm touching my clit, Arthur. Slow and soft, like your tongue. God, I wish it was your tongue. You feel so good."

He groaned. Her grip on the telephone tightened, knuckles gone white. "When we were on the train," she began. "I imagined you shushing me. Your breath was hot on my ear. I wanted you to put your hand on my skin, down my skirt." Her strokes halted while she laughed. "I don't know why. I wasn't even horny."

"You're horny now."

"All hot and bothered."

A grunt came through the copper wire, luring her along. Her foot pressed the tub's curved rim. Splashes of imagery knotted her belly. The play of light on his slender abdomen when he'd put on a shirt. How his biceps flexed when he'd wash his hair. The tightening of his brow the second he lost himself to euphoria. The musky weight of him on her tongue.

She rubbed herself a little harder. A steady, firm pace. "When I come I feel your cock at my back-"

"Keep talking."

"-and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning, because I know you'll fuck me as soon as we walk through the door."

"Oh, fuck..."

Water licked at her labia with each flick of her wrist, awakening every nerve ending, cresting wave upon wave of sensation. She shoved the receiver under her jaw, lifted her shoulder to lock it in place. Cradled her breast, nipples just at the waterline Lapping, lapping, lapping. She circled the right with her middle finger, wishing her hand was as large as Arthur's, so that she could play with the left. Shivering, her knees drew together and upward, pelvis striving towards her wanton touch.

Splish, splash. Splish, splash.

A growl rumbled out of him. "I- I'm gonna come."

"Yes."

She was there. She was there. About to fly over the edge, her feet about to leap. Gasps caught in her throat. Half his name lost in a whimper. The peak of delight finally reached...

The phone tumbled off her shoulder and plunged into the water. Landed on the fiberglass. An unenthusiastic thud.

"Shit, shit-"

Locked in spasm, she watched air bubbles rise from the sunken plastic. It was hard to move mid-orgasm. Her legs weren't yet in the Jello stage. Hanging onto the towel bar, she stood on very shaky ankles.

She plucked the receiver from the water, shook it out over the tub. Yanked the drain and placed the handset on the rim. Fingers a blur, she dialed their home number on the bedside phone. How quickly had Arthur realized she wasn't on the line?

Had he heard any of the denouement?

Nine rings and Arthur answered, out of breath but with a laugh. "What happened?"

She covered her face. "I dropped the phone. It's ruined." It would be the one time she would pay a fee for damages.

"Oh. Well, I was just cleaning up."

The cord twined through her fingers. "Did you?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Me, too."

"I know. I heard half of it."

Giggling, she excused herself to dry off. Pulled the clip from her hair, retrieved her nightie from her bag. She crawled between cool sheets, fluffed her pillow, pressed Arthur to her ear.

"What'll you do tomorrow," he asked, scratching his cheek.

A Department of Labor inspector would give a presentation on the Severe Violators program, a list of closely monitored companies that violated labor laws like it was a talent and never lifted a finger to change their ways. The padding to their bottom lines was bigger than the fines. She'd chatted with the inspector during a break.

"ACE Chemicals being on the list isn't a surprise. But Wayne Steel?" A sharp inhale before she yawned the rest. "I hadn't even heard of them."

"You're tired.”

"No. Relaxed. Happy. But not tired." She curled up on her side, burrowed deeper into the blankets. "This bed is empty. I have no one to press up against." Another yawn betrayed her.

At her third, Arthur interrupted. "Y/N, go to sleep." A grin in his words, like he was about to call her cute. "You need your rest."

"And why is that?"

His voice lowered to the volume of secrets. "Because when you get back, I'm going to fuck you as soon as we walk through the door."

Her eyes went wide, then she burst out laughing. A wave of dizziness swept through her. She brought the heel of her hand to her forehead. "What time'll you wake up tomorrow?"

"Six, probably. Maybe 5:30?

"Let's have coffee together. I'll make a cup at 6:15."

He agreed before she'd completed the request, said how dearly he loved her. And, yes, to her consternation, called her cute. She kept the eyeroll out of her reply. "You're wonderful, too. Now take your own advice and get some sleep. No journaling until dawn. All right?"

"All right. Have a good night. And Y/N?"

She was already fading, his lilt her favorite lullaby. "Yeah?"

"Wear your blue nightie for coffee. I’ll be in my briefs."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes @fleckficgirl

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck smut #arthur fleck x reader #arthur x ofc #joker 2019 #arthur x female reader #watchwhathappens

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karmashatty · 11 months

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Arthur Morgan x F!reader

“Headaches”

Rating: Anyone

Warnings: Mentioned self insecurity, short story.

Description: Arthur comes into camp with a headache, you help him out knowing he won’t do anything about it.

Word count: 700~

A/N : A short request a got over on wattpad, finally got it done. Requests are open.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

It was a muggy day outside and the heat was near unbearable. You fanned your face as you sat down for a short break, a deep sweat broke across your forehead and neck. Miss Grimshaw had been on your ass after your arm had gotten better, and dear god she hadn’t let up.

A few minutes had passed when you caught your breath, allowing you to stand up without thinking you were going to pass out. A familiar brindled horse was rode into camp; the man on top of her just as acquainted. Per usual the blonde held a grumpy scowl across his face, though it looked a bit worse than usual.

When he snapped at Lenny you figured you knew what was wrong, after knowing Arthur these past few years you became aware of his customs. You grabbed your canteen and filled up it with water as you watched him snap at a few other people, trying to get to his tent.

During the times Arthur was more stressed you knew he struggled with headaches, but from the people he scorned today you knew it was bad. You grabbed a rag and wetted it with cold water, ringing it out, and walking over to the man's tent.

Arthur had his head in his hands as he sat on his cot. You approached carefully, ready to havea few words thrown your way. Multiple times Arthur had deemed you ‘one of the sneakiest of the gang’, and today that could be seen as a curse when he heard you clear your throat.

His face had hardened, but relaxed again when he noticed it as just you. The man eyed the canteen as you held it out to him, a few mumbles leaving his mouth as he uncapped the bottle and took a drink. While he took another chug you gingerly pushed some of his locks off his forehead, before putting the cool rag against his skin. Arthur immediately shut his eyes and let you hold the rag against his head.

As many times as he said he wasn’t a good man, you couldn’t bring yourself to agree with that statement. He’d done more than his share of good deeds for you, and never had placed a contemptible hand on you.

“You should take a lay down, Arthur.” You suggested quietly, not wanting to be too loud around him in the moment. The man in question looked up at you with tired eyes, “I still hafta’ go get a debt for Strauss, both him ‘n Dutch’ll be up my ass if I don’t.” He sighed.

A frown crossed your face, “I’ll go get it for you, or send someone else off; sleep.” You ordered gently, pushing his shoulder a bit. He get out a grunt and took the place of holding the rag against his forehead.

You ran a hand through his hair gingerly. “What debt, and where is it at?” Arthur looked up at you sheepishly and shook his head. “I’ll get it sometime later.” He declined, and you looked down at him with a stern brow.

“If you pass out from exhaustion somewhere I’ll be blaming it on myself, you deserve a break too y’know.” You said softly, his gaze focusing on anything but you. He shrugged, “Jus’ doin’ what I’m told.”

A sigh left you. “Arthur, please. Just this once, I want to get out anyways.” You practically begged, both on his and your behalf. “Strauss said he needed ‘talked into giving the money.’” He stated warily.

“Do you not think I’m capable of scarin’ a man?” You asked, crossing your arms as you peered down at him. A panicked expression passed his face, “N-no, it ain’t like that.” He said with a even voice, “Then, where and who?” You prodded.

“Thomas Downes… his ranch. Jus’ west ‘f here, near cumberland falls.” He fell in, speaking in a defeated tone. You nodded, patting his shoulder affectionately. Arthur eyed you uncertainly as you turned around to leave the tent.

“Gst some sleep Mister Morgan.”

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption arthur #red dead redemption two #rdr2 #rdr #Arthu morgan x reader #female reader #arthur x female reader

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ivoryfioritura · 10 months

Text

The Evening Song

This little one shot fic is originally posted on AO3, decided to post here as well!

Please do not repost my work to any platforms.

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48095656

I love comments, and since I’ve finally decided to post my writing, I’m gonna roll with it so I am taking requests!

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The only notable sensations in your body are heat and pain. You’re vaguely aware of the continued sounds of gunfire and shouting, but mostly your ears are just filled with a shrill ringing. The sun beats on your skin, and the rocks beneath you dig into your back, amplifying the agony of the heat searing through your shoulder blade like a branding iron. You aren’t entirely sure who shot you - it could have been any one of those Lamoyne Raider bastards that ambushed your group. The only thing you’re acutely aware of, aside from the pain lancing through your shoulder, is the sound of Arthur’s voice breaking as he had shouted your name, moments before the bullet had found its mark within the muscle and sinew of your gun arm. The pure panic in his voice, panic you’d never heard there before, echoes through your mind as the shots ring out slower, eventually fading out entirely before unconsciousness sweeps you under.

——

Blinking into the sun, you become aware of the solid press of something warm on your back, the equally warm press of a large, splayed hand against your stomach, holding you upright in the saddle of a familiar horse. Words are being breathed into the back of your head, whispers so soft that their contents are lost in the tangled mess of your hair before reaching your ears. The comforting smell of leather, tobacco, and sage wraps around you and you breathe it in, sagging further back into the wall of strength behind you, and you allow your body and mind to fall back into the sweet embrace of darkness.

——

The next time you wake, you find yourself in the medical supply wagon, back at camp. You remember only flashes of how you arrived back here - a man hoisting you up in front of him on his horse, holding you close to him, words like prayers pouring over you from his mouth. Glancing down over yourself, you see that you’re still in your riding pants, but your overshirt has been torn open and removed from your wounded shoulder, which is now wrapped in fresh gauze. Pain lances all the way down your arm and reaches out across your entire chest and upper back as you attempt to lift yourself to a sitting position. Ms. Grimshaw’s presence near you becomes known with a disapproving huff, and she hurries over to aid your movement with a firm hand at your back.

“Glad to see you’re back with the living, dear. I think you gave them boys a right scare.” Grimshaw’s face is disapproving as always, but you don’t think you’re imagining the hint of relief you can see shining in her eyes.

“Oh, I’m just fine, Ms. Grimshaw. I think we’ve all been shot a time or two.” You try to say this with a smirk, but it turns to a grimace as you shift your shoulder, feeling with agonizing clarity the two holes that bullet left in your body. “At least it was a through and through hit. I’ll be back to work in no time.” Grimshaw simply clicks her tongue at you in annoyance, and saunters back off to yell at whichever of the girls isn’t carrying her weight today.

Sighing, you lean back against the inside wall of the wagon, gritting your teeth against each movement. To the left of you are several tonics stacked against the crates lining the outside of the wagon, and you shift your weight to try and reach the one you want. It’s just a hair too far away, and the hand supporting you slips, causing you to tip over and slam into the wooden slats beneath you. With a shout of pain, and a grunt of annoyance, you gingerly lift yourself back to a sitting position using your good arm. You tilt your head back against the wall, lifting your gaze to the dusty ceiling, and decide you’ll give yourself three deep breaths before you try again. God damn this injury - you’ve never felt this completely helpless before. Just as you’re readying yourself for another attempt at simply getting yourself the tonic you need, the sound of approaching boots on gravel pricks your ears, and you turn your head in their direction.

“Well, look at’chu. So battle-torn you can’t even grab the medicine sittin’ three feet away from ya.” The approaching outlaw meets your gaze from beneath the brim of his hat, a teasing glint in his eyes and that stupid grin on his face. He snatches up the bottle you were reaching for, and slides it across the wagon floor into your grasp.

You roll your eyes dramatically, scowling at him as you uncork the bottle and raise it to your lips. He tracks your movements with those intense eyes of his, no longer filled with teasing lightness, and you swallow down the whole thing. “Nice of you to finally come and visit me, Arthur. What took ya so long? I’ve been awake for nearly ten whole minutes, and I figured you’d be here to give me shit after about five.”

He tilts his head down and gives a low laugh, his calloused hands finding rest on his gun belt before he lifts his gaze to your bandaged shoulder, the wound now slightly agitated and causing blood to bloom across the previously pristine white cotton. There’s a seriousness there, behind the facade of his teasing smile, and he looks to be trying to settle on what to say before clearing his throat and lowering his head once again. “I’m just glad you’re alright. Coulda been real bad, had that bullet hit you a couple inches over.” He scuffs a boot across the dirt in front of him, then finally looks at you again, his expression less serious and more the casual, smug expression you’re used to seeing on him. “Better rest up, sweetheart. Uncle and the Reverend are all the dead weight we can afford to carry.” He winks at you with a grin, and turns to walk back to the other side of camp from which he came.

“Fuck you, too, darlin’!” You shout after his retreating from, your voice sweet as honey and a sarcastic smile on your face. You see his shoulders jostling in quiet laughter as he shakes his head and rounds a corner, out of sight. A small chuckle escapes you too as you lay back down on your makeshift cot to get the rest that was requested of you. You try not to think about those emotions you saw flitting across his face when he took in the state of you, assuring yourself he’d be just as concerned if any other members of the gang had been shot. The tonic you took begins to set in, making your body feel lighter and your head heavier. As you close your eyes and drift off back to sleep, you note the scent of leather, tobacco, and sage dancing around your nostrils in Arthur’s wake.

——Five Weeks Later——

“Goddammit!” Your exasperated shout echos off the cliffs to your right, and the cloud of dust and rocks you’ve just kicked up in your frustration begins to settle in front of you. Behind that dust cloud, a particular outlaw leans against the fencepost you’ve been aiming at, clad in all black attire, his shirt unbuttoned low enough to reveal a trail of sweat glistening down the column of his throat, pooling in the groove of his collarbone. He looks like death incarnate, and you choose to roll your eyes at his choice of attire in the summer heat, rather than continue tracing the sweat rolling down onto unseen skin. Once those thoughts are out of your mind and you’re able to meet his gaze again, you can see that he’s smirking at your little outburst, and shaking his head in mock disapproval at the two bottles still remaining untouched on the fence.

“Three out of five ain’t terrible and you know it. My damn gun arm was completely mangled just five weeks ago, you know.” You puff up your chest in indignation, already reloading the Schofield in your hand to blast the remaining two bottles. You accomplish it in little more than a blink, and once nothing but lingering smoke and shards of glass remain, you give Arthur a grin.

“I didn’t say nothin, darlin’.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender and saunters closer to you. “I think you’re comin’ along just fine in your recovery. Honest.” He does look sincere, but with your history of nonstop teasing banter you’re unsure if you can trust it. His hands go to his gun belt and he sighs, stopping a few feet in front of you. “I know you want to get back out there with us. And I promise, once I think you’re ready, there’s nobody I’d rather go robbing with.” He gives you a lazy smile, and you hate that his words affect you the way they do.

“Just wish I’d have seen who shot me. Wish I could have at least gotten him before I passed out.” The gravelly dirt beneath your boots crunches as you idly kick the small rocks in front of you.

“Don’t worry. He was on the ground before you were.” You look up at Arthur as he speaks, his tone icy. His brows are furrowed and his gaze is dark, murderous, and completely trained on yours. “The way you dropped, I thought” His voice breaks along with his eye contact before he continues with a low, dangerous rasp, “I thought they got you. That bullet looked like it went clean through your heart. I don’t remember much between that and getting you on my horse. Just know all those bastards are dead. I made sure of it.”

You stand rooted in place with shock, and you try to swallow the dryness in your throat as Arthur takes another step towards you, looking back up at you from beneath the brim of his hat. “I didn’t realize it was you that brought me back here. I was knocked out pretty much the whole time.” This is a lie, of course, as you were fairly certain weeks ago that you had pieced together exactly who had been holding onto you like a stolen treasure, racing you back through the woods into camp. The intensity of his gaze searing into you suddenly becomes far too much to bear, and you look down at your feet. “You really killed all of them? There had to be more than half a dozen men in that ambush, and only three of us.”

“Javier killed one of ‘em before you got shot. After that, he says it was just me. Like I said, sort of blacked out a bit at that point.” You can tell he’s not trying to brag, just telling it like it was. There’s no hint of pride in his stare when you glance back up at him. What you do see is a raw openness, completely foreign to you. You tilt your head and look at him, feeling unsure of your footing on this uncharted ground. He simply stares back at you with those oceanic eyes, and takes the remaining step towards you, now standing chest to chest, his face turned down towards yours. His mouth works on unspoken words, and he slowly reaches his hand up to brush away a tendril of your wild hair that had fallen over your face. “I can’t stand the thought of you not bein’ around. I was goin’ out of my mind, thinking maybe I’d never get a chance to do this.”

Before you can open your mouth to ask what he means, he trails his hand through the tresses of your hair, cupping the back of your head as he leans into you, his lips a tentative question against your own. It feels like lightning, his hand on your scalp, his breath on your skin. You press your lips against his, just as tentatively, and you share a moment of calm - your bodies pressed against each other, your lips exploring, his hand tightening its grasp in your hair. You can’t think, can’t take a full breath. How long has he been wanting this? How many years with this gang have you laid awake at night, silently touching yourself with his name on your lips, when you could have just gone to him? Your hands fist the fabric of his shirt, pulling the heat of him impossibly closer to you, feeling his heart beating wildly against your own. When your tongue dances exploratively across his bottom lip, you can feel something snap inside of him. The calmness is gone, the sudden heat of the moment marked by an almost feral groan in his throat.

He grips your waist in a bruising hold with his free hand, and you wrap your arms up around his shoulders, feeling the way his muscles roll and move beneath the skintight fabric there. His lips chase yours, his tongue now exploring your mouth with fervor. Your breath mingles together, coming hot and heavy as you continue to meld your lips to his. Nothing matters to you in this moment save for your tongues battling in hard caresses, teeth clacking together as you can feel his hunger reach a breaking point.

You realize belatedly that Arthur has been steering you both backwards, taking you fully into his arms as he presses you against one of the trees peppering the terrain. You feel the cool breeze hit your moistened lips and whimper at the loss of him, but without wasting a moment his lips are seeking the soft skin behind your ear, and you moan at the feeling of his stubble scratching the sensitive curve of your neck. His hold on your waist tightens almost imperceptibly and he all but growls into your ear, “Such pretty little noises, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs all the way through you at the sound of his voice, and your hips press harder against his own, allowing you to feel the growing length beneath his gun belt, straining against the buttons of his trousers. A groan escapes his lips then, and he scrapes his teeth down the juncture of your neck and shoulder, soothing it with his tongue afterwards. Suddenly aware of how locked in place you’ve been, you start to hurriedly push his suspenders down his arms, followed by his over-shirt and union suit, your fingers fumbling on the buttons. Your mouth dips to his toned shoulders then, almost of its own volition. You taste the salt of his sweat and the musky flavor of his skin, eyes rolling back into your head as his hands drift down to grip your ass, hoisting you up until you’re forced to wrap your legs around his hips. He holds you up like that, showing absolutely no difficultly keeping you there, his muscles barely even straining with your weight. You focus on his breath, lips, and tongue still working their way across your neck and shoulder, the bark on the tree digging into your skin through your shirt, and his now rock hard length pressing deliciously against your aching center. You feel completely ungrounded, entirely weightless as if you could float away were it not for Arthur’s hands beneath you keeping you steady.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, Arthur.” Your voice comes out breathless, each word an effort to escape your mouth as your chest heaves with the pleasure this man is pulling out of you. His hot chuckle against your skin is the only confirmation you get that he heard you at first, but then he’s lifting his mouth from your skin, and unbuttoning your shirt with an almost unnatural fluidity to his movements. He rips the shirt from your body once its opened, taking greater care on your still slightly sore shoulder. His eyes rove your newly exposed torso, widening almost imperceptibly as they behold your full breasts, your rosy nipples peaked with pleasure. Lowering you gently until you’re standing before him, his hands caress your bare skin as he looks deeply into your eyes.

“I’ve probably wanted it longer, darlin’. If I’d have known…” You cut him off with another bruising kiss, your hands free to explore his firm body now that you’re steady on your feet. He moans softly into your mouth, setting your desire freshly ablaze. The soft breeze blows across your bare torsos, causing you to shiver slightly and press yourself closer into his warmth. His gaze on you is searing as he brushes his strong hands up and down your sides, along the curve of your breasts and back down to your hips. There’s a question in his eyes as his fingers linger along the buttons of your pants, and you answer him with a small nod and a smile. He mirrors that smile with his own as he begins to slowly, gently peel them down to your ankles, kneeling to remove your boots and socks with that same gentleness, his touch on your bare legs like fire. You watch him from above, smiling a bit as you tilt your head, wonderstruck at this trained killer, knelt before you like he’s in a house of worship. You run your fingers through his hair, knocking back his hat, and he looks up at you with stars in his eyes, his fingers rubbing circles into the backs of your calves. He kisses his way back up your legs, thumbs hooking beneath your bloomers, and he maintains eye contact as he slowly pulls those down as well, helping you step out of them. His eyes seem to be memorizing your body now as he traces his gaze across every bare inch of you, the reverence there not allowing space for your own self-consciousness. You marvel for a moment at how powerful you feel, standing naked before this man.

His lips begin to make their way back up your legs, and still kneeling, his mouth nears the slick arousal now painted on the insides of your thighs. Your breath catches and you let out a soft whimper as his tongue laps up the moisture there without hesitation and he growls, deep and primal in his chest. His eyes meet yours, his heated gaze alone pinning you back against the tree. Steadying one of your legs in a firm grasp in his hand, he lifts your other leg and slings it up over his shoulder, baring your glistening core to him entirely. He licks his lips and bites his bottom lip, inhaling the scent of you deeply. You blush at the animalistic look on his face, and without further warning his mouth is upon you, the sensation making your head fall back against the sharp bark behind you with a long moan.

“You don’t know what them noises do to me, girl. And this pretty cunt of yours…” He growls against you, his hot breath ghosting along your entrance, making you moan even deeper. With a growl, he adjusts his legs beneath him, seating himself more comfortably as his lips and tongue continue their pleasurable assault. His tongue laps at you, diving into your core and then dragging back up to circle the sensitive bud nestled above. A gasp escapes your lips, and you close your eyes, running your fingers continuously through his tousled hair. The indecent noises coming from his mouth as he completely devours you only stokes the flames of your arousal higher, until soon enough you begin to feel that delicious, familiar tingling sensation in your extremities, the tightening of your muscles a signal to Arthur as well, and he brings up his free hand to stroke a thick finger through your folds, collecting your moisture there before circling it against your entrance and slowly pushing up into you, your cunt fluttering happily around the intrusion. His tongue never slows, circling and lapping against your clit as his finger slides torturously slowly in and out of you.

“A-Arthur…” You stutter out his name on a breathy moan, silver undoubtedly lining your eyes as he brings your pleasure to a fever-pitch, that tightening in your belly near to snapping. His eyes flick up and lock onto yours, and the bastard gives you a smug grin right as you feel him add a second finger and hook them inside of you, massaging the rough pads of them across the spongey area along your inner wall, making you see stars.

His hair gripped in your fingers, the scrape of his stubble on your inner thighs. His delicious tongue helping you ride out the explosion of pleasure. The bark of the tree scraping your back. The vibrancy of the world above as you throw your head back and cry out, your orgasm positively ripping through your body. Your entire existence is narrowed down to these sensations around you, until you are once again floating back down to earth. Mindless, boneless, your legs shaking, your hands tightening and massaging along Arthur’s scalp as he slides his fingers out of you. You lock eyes with him again, watching as the outlaw brings them up to his mouth and brazenly licks off the remnants of your orgasm left there.

Your lips part as Arthur raises himself back up to stand before you, not missing his opportunity to taste every inch of your skin on his way. He pauses at your breasts, long enough to wrap his lips around your sensitive nipples, swirling his tongue around the peaked buds one at a time. Your hand maintains its hold on his hair - you’ve always loved this man’s sandy brown tresses, especially when he keeps it longer like this. You feel less out of your mind now, more grounded in this moment with him and it occurs to you that being here with him now, being able to run your fingers along his skin and kiss his sensual lips, is something you thought you’d only ever dream of.

With him finally face to face with you again, you’re completely uncaring of the way his lips and chin are still shiny with your slick, and you kiss him deeply. The taste of yourself on his tongue reignites your arousal, and you run your hands down the tight muscles of his stomach to where his belt is slung low across his hips. With a few deft movements of your fingers, you remove it and undo his trousers, never letting your lips leave his. He helps you slide them down his strong legs, stepping out of his boots before removing his clothing entirely. He slides his arms around your back, thumbs trailing a featherlight path up and down the curve of your spine, making your skin erupt in goosebumps.

His eyes are locked onto yours, and you feel yourself getting lost in the stunning, rugged beauty of the man before you as he lifts you up, turns you both around, and lays you down beneath him on a pillowy bed of grass nearby. You can’t stop touching him, can’t stop marveling at the duality of strength and gentleness that come so naturally to him. The soft caress of his calloused hands along the smoothness of your skin has you closing your eyes, shivering slightly. His arms move up to cage your body, covering you completely with his own as you reach down, finding him hard and wanting. You feel him shudder against you as you stroke the impressive length of him, gathering the beads of arousal already dripping from the head of his cock onto your stomach, and using it to glide your grip up and down his velvety skin there. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips part as he drops his head next to yours, and you whisper sweet, encouraging words into his ear while you continue pumping him between your bodies.

After another moment, you can no longer stand the emptiness inside yourself, your need for him overwhelming. You widen your legs enough to guide the head of his cock to your entrance, still weeping with desire. He lifts his head just enough for his lips to meet yours, and his hips rock forward ever so slightly. You gasp at the feeling of him filling you, inch by slow, torturous inch, making sure you’re prepared for the entirety of him.

“Please, Arthur.” You whine, breathless, unable to help yourself from begging.

“Shh darlin’, you’re alright.” He croons, one hand smoothing back the hair from your face as his hips continue their steady motions. You glance down between your bodies, and the sight of him slowly disappearing into you makes your eyes widen slightly, and your breaths come a little heavier. Finally, he bottoms out with a low groan, thumb brushing over your lips before capturing them again with his own. His retreat is nearly just as slow, and you’re about to beg for more friction when you feel the thick tip of his cock drag along the sensitive spot just inside your entrance, making you moan. With his body on top of yours, and his cock inside of you, you can feel the effect your sensual noises have on him. His arms tighten around you, propping himself up more comfortably on his elbows, still caging you in. This time when he thrusts, it’s less slow, less controlled, and you run your hands down his back, gripping his firm ass, encouraging him further. With a growl and a nip to the curve of your neck, he begins moving his hips faster, snapping them into you with a tight precision, the friction and pressure deep within you causing you to cry out, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders.

The noises created from him fucking you in earnest are obscene enough to make you blush, and you would, were you not entirely focused on how incredible he’s making you feel. You can’t stop the noises coming from your mouth - ragged, breathy moans broken up by shouts of pleasure, sweet and dirty words pouring from you without thought. His arm snakes between you, and the rough pad of his thumb circles your clit with featherlight strokes, a delicious contrast to the hard snap of his hips that sends your pleasure once again spiraling to otherworldly heights.

His teeth are gritted and his eyes search yours, reading your expression and the tightening of your body beneath him for exactly what it is. “That’s a good girl,” the deep timbre of his voice is encouraging as his deft fingers and cock continue to drive you further into ecstasy. “Come for me, sweetheart.” His mouth latches onto the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his teeth sinking into your skin while he continues fucking you to your climax, and you cry out with unrestrained pleasure as you crest that peak, eyes squeezing shut and your entire body trembling with the intensity of your second orgasm.

He rides it out with you, his groans of pleasure rumbling in his chest as your body milks his cock, squeezing and fluttering around him even as he continues the same bruising pace, snapping his hips in and out of you. He pulls his arm out from between you, his hand now sliding up your body to palm your breast as his movements become sharper, more erratic. His breath is coming harder now, and he moans around a curse, pushing into you faster before withdrawing himself completely. You watch in dazed, blissful silence as he strokes himself twice, releasing thick ropes of his seed onto your belly. Your eyes meet, and you can’t help the satisfied smile that spreads on your face.

He smiles back at you, a soft thing, still full of that same sort of reverence as before, and he falls to your side, reaching over to grab his handkerchief to wipe up his spend.

You look into his eyes, now alight with some emotion you haven’t seen there before. The two of you lie together in the grass, neither of you quite able to speak yet. The smiles on your faces and the deep, steadying breaths you take communicate what you do not yet have words for. After a while, when the the sun starts to dip and the insects begin to sing their evening songs, you help each other dress, and walk back to camp side by side. A large, calloused hand finds yours, entwining your fingers together as you go, sneaking glances and exhaling soft laughs all the way back.

#rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur x female reader #smut #fluff and smut #protective arthur morgan #dom arthur morgan #hurt/comfort #injury recovery #gunshot wound #friends to lovers #arthur morgan fanfiction #ao3fic #cross posted on ao3 #plot what plot #one shot

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serawritesthings · 4 months

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hi! Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. I don't know if you're accepting requests, if you not, just ignore. But I'm wondering how you would write something related to a jealous Arthur Morgan, high honor of course (with smut or without smut sincerely you know what looks best). the way you write is addictive and passionate, i believe anything you write from this would be great.

OUR DEAR, GREEN LITTLE FRIEND

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader Summary | Oh, jealousy. When the thought of you straying too close to the comfort of Charles, the green monster claws its way into Arthur's head. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, tiny bit of angst, description of violence and wounds, fluffy at times, smut Word Count | 10k A/N | Hi everyone! I just HAD to write this request, hope you like it! Also, thank you dearly anon♡

While many found the biting cold of the climate north of West Grizzlies to be bitter–sharp air seeping into your very bones–you saw it oddly liberating despite the current predicament. The circumstance was dire, indeed, and you pondered many times if this would finally be the end for all of you, thinking of the incredible luck you had managed to have so far. Fate, or an astonishingly fascinating knowledge on how to escape the grappling arms of the law with a suspicious amount of people trashing through the roads in utter, sheer panic.

Glancing around you as you huddled closer to the fire, hands rubbing furiously against the wool of your gloves to gain even the slightest warmth to your biting fingers, you were met with the flushed cheeks of your comrades. The skin that now glistened from the melting snowflakes was caressed by the warm, orange glow from the flames lighting up the small hut you had taken residence in.

The road leading to here had been long, and the time spent in the wagon that did nothing to shield you from the penetrating wind that howled into the night, your thoughts had been entirely focused on the man who now lay dead a few meters away, tucked in some fabric to shield the paling flesh of a corpse. While the thought might not make you uncomfortable, it did its thing on the others who looked weary at the covered man.

You had done your best to tend to him amidst the severe trembling of your fingers and numbness spreading through you the longer you rode in the worrying storm, finding his blood still staining the cotton of your gloves–a reminder that you had done what you could to help the poor fellow. Despite not knowing him well enough to shed a tear, death was still a death, and a slight melancholy set its claw in all of you as you tried to regain some warmth.

“Stupid man.” Glancing beside you, you took notice of the dark-haired woman muttering angrily as she held a sleeping Jack close to her body.

“What’s wrong?” You inquired quietly, curious of her obvious disdain.

“John Marston is what’s wrong.” Blazing heatedly into the fire, you could almost see the depths of hell through her furious eyes. “He didn’t come back with the rest.” Shifting her eyes to yours for a quick moment that, although short, showed the worry hidden beneath her anger.

Nodding slowly as you leaned against her slightly in comfort, you realized you hadn’t taken notice of the man’s absence until now. Returning with empty hands and another mouth to feed had instead been the case, no Marston as far as the eyes could see as he probably whirred around in the blizzard somewhere.

“Do you think he…” As you spoke, you trailed off, growing unsure of your words while realizing your comments might be prodded into a sensitive subject.

“No.” Firmly, she sniveled harshly, shaking her head in protest. “No, he wouldn’t leave again.” Although her words were sure, you still felt a lingering doubt cloud your mind, remembering being told of his earlier departure from the gang that caused more scars in their relationships than good–not that it wasn’t faulty from the very start.

As you were about to let your prying win against your common sense, you were interrupted by the door being audibly slammed open, the noisy winds from outside growing louder as snowflakes whirled inside. Walking inside was the prominent figure of Charles, nodding respectfully to its residents as the door shut behind him, once more letting the warmth settle.

“Folks.” He mumbled quietly, treading through everyone huddling by the fire as he glanced curiously at the new woman before settling beside you. You glanced up at him, taking in his snow-covered self before lingering on his hand that rested motionless on his legs, bandages visible under his gloves.

“It’s not too bad; the cold seems to numb the pain.” A slight smile graced your lips at his observance, finding it unique to the man to be so tentative to everyone around him. Letting out a small laugh, you reach to remove your gloves before taking his hand in yours so you could lay it in your lap, unwrapping the bandages to examine the burns covering his skin.

You had given it a quick look-over before you had to tend to Davey, doing the best you could to ease his pain you were sure would be unavoidable. Although the sight was quite gruesome, it didn’t look as bad as you had expected.

“You’re stronger than me, that’s for sure. I would be a crying mess if I burned my hand like that.” Your voice was gentle as you started to rewrap the fabric around his hand, finding it increasingly irritating you didn’t have the tools you usually did that would indeed do a fine job at lessening his pain.

You had managed to gain a slight smile from the otherwise aloof man, probably finding your words humorous. “Let’s hope it’ll never come to that.”

Sharing a look, you heard the door open once again, the irritated voice of Uncle damning whoever was letting in the cold for the second time. Both you and Charles laughed slightly, and as you looked up, you were faced with a pair of squinting, blue eyes, the icy cold from the outside seemingly enhancing their sharpness although making a welcomed warmth spread through you as they gazed over you in a quick motion–departing to look at the hand that rested in your lap.

“A sad loss, folks,” Hosea stated as he stepped onto the wooden planks, speaking out loudly in the otherwise calm hut, groaning as he helped Arthur lift Davey’s lifeless body, limp like a ragdoll.

Glancing subtly, you observed him as Arthur’s bulky form lifted easily, unlike Hosea, admiring how he made it seem so effortless. The others called him the camps workhorse, and you didn’t fail to see why, keeping your eyes firm on the man as he carried him towards the door.

He shrouded you in uncertainty; he did, and you weren’t sure how to behave in his bold presence. You often felt like a goody two shoes, and even though you weren’t the perfect picture of a law-abiding citizen, you could honestly say you were a wimp compared to Arthur.

You should be embarrassed, you really should, but there was something in his eyes– something that made your heart race. Utterly shameless, yet desperate to lock gazes again despite contradicting yourself and avoiding them every chance you could. Before you could get caught this time, you directed your eyes, focusing on tightening the bandages so they wouldn’t come loose.

“Try to be careful, will you, Charles?” You spoke quietly while patting his hand, motioning that he was all set to go, but his hand stayed, giving you a grateful look.

“Thank you.” His soothing voice was hushed as the loud bang of the door slammed shut not long after, ridding you of the tumult after their departure.

–

Oh, it burned. It burned so deep in his loins that it felt like he would erupt into flames any second. Despite the cold surrounding him, he was sure it could be possible the more he was left with his thoughts. The hushed whispers, the soft touches, and the ever-so-gentle look in your eyes made him want to empty the little food in his stomach.

“Sneaky little rat,” Arthur grumbled to himself as he shoveled his way through the deep layers of snow. Here he was, out in the cold, tortured by the howling winds of the snowstorm, while Charles remained inside the warmth of the hut, seated next to you, all because of a slight burn.

He knew what he was up to–what any man would do if it meant getting your attention–and he wasn’t humored. Taking advantage of your good nature was downright uncalled for, bordering on immoral, which Arthur would probably realize wasn’t Charles’s character if his mind didn’t seek to find faults with the man the more his blood boiled.

He scoffed to himself, stabbing the ground maliciously, imagining your warm hands around his instead, the nimble fingers of yours tending to him as you moved in closer, your sweet smell reaching his nose as you gazed up at him, face blushed from the cold with lips begging him to warm them up with his. The thought did nothing more than cover his whole body in shivers, only to be reminded that it wasn’t him that received that attention from you.

“What are you huffing about over there, Arthur?!” Hosea’s strained voice attempted to shout over the loud winds, standing up to rest momentarily.

“Why don’t we just bury him when the storm has settled?!” Annoyance was apparent in his voice, the green jealous monster still wreaking havoc in his mind.

“I told you, the snow will be too heavy tomorrow, so we need to finish it while we still can!” He groaned, starting to shovel once more. “And I’ll be damned, we are going to give Davey a proper burial. He deserves that much!”

As Hosea blabbered on about justice and other forms of respect Arthur had no intent on listening to, he zoned out, feeling sorry for himself as he imagined you might be keeping close to Charles right this moment, warming yourself to his body in a desperate search of bodily heat. Rubbing the melted snow off his face, Arthur damned the heavens above for making him the unluckiest bastard in the West.

Despite Arthur seeming dead set on you being lovey-dovey with a man you barely knew, Charles had left you after making some small talk, mentioning that he would try and get some well-deserved rest after the tumultuous past few days. Many others did as well, attempting to ease their minds from the constant threat against their back amidst the terrible cold.

Although, as days passed and John being back rid you of Abigail’s constant muttering, the cold only seemed to take its toll on you, unlike the others who quickly got used to the environment. Furthermore, the days only seem to get longer up in the mountains, and you wondered obsessively when you would get the chance to leave–damning everyone who thought seeking out Colm O’Driscoll in your compromised state a good idea instead of moving forwards.

Despite your dismay, you put yourself to use like the others, preparing to help Pearson in the grim act of cutting through the poor deer that had been brought back. While the sight gladdened you, knowing you would finally get a meal in your stomach, the brooding aura of a chestnut-haired, blue-coated man seemed to rain over you endlessly.

What could you have done to gain his stinging glare? It was almost cutting through you entirely from the burning that resided deep in his eyes, watching you ferociously, making your hair stand on edge. When he had returned with Charles, it had been nothing short of unpleasant ever since, although thankfully–despite his glare–his harsh words were directed towards Pearson instead of you, which you were glad for.

“How’s the cold treating you?” Glancing away from the two men bickering, you laughed slightly at Charles’s innuendo, dressed worse for wear as you pulled the thick, woolen scarf tighter around your neck, hugging yourself to keep warm.

“Could be worse, I guess,” you said, clouds like smoke surrounding you as you talked.

“I suppose. Still, I don’t want you freezing your fingers off.”

“Mhh,” you nodded thoughtfully, speaking up after silence. “Who would look after your hand if that happened?”

He chuckled heartily at your unsuspected joke, and you glanced up at him bashfully, a light smile covering your face at his apparent amusement. While your embarrassment of being so easily swayed by the cold, it felt nice having someone take notice of your obvious discomfort, even though you would say you were pretty good at keeping it to yourself. You couldn’t be surprised, though, well aware you and Charles were both tentative to your surroundings, always knowing but rarely telling.

“Here.” Taking off the large gloves covering his hand, no doubt doing an excellent job keeping him warm, he grabbed your trembling hands in his, rubbing them between his pleasant temperature hand and bandage-covered skin before gliding the fabric over yours.

“No, Charl-” you protested, trying to stop him from continuing.

“They’ll do you more good than me, I promise. They’re just in the way.” Stubbornly, he planted your hands back into your lap, petting them like you had done to him some nights ago before raising with a huff.

“Thanks for the help, Arthur.” Charles nodded at the now grumpy man observing him as he rested against the wood of the wooden wall with arms crossed, seemingly ignoring Mr. Pearson’s lecture about the navy he felt so strongly about, only providing a quick tilt of his hat before heated eyes were set on you.

Your gaze faltered, the blush on your face from the cold only intensifying the spread of warmth you felt from gaining his profound stare–something you rarely took notice of. It wasn’t that he didn’t look at you; he probably looked too much at times, but he was never so ardent with it, scrutinizing you under their heavy weight–making you feel ten times smaller under his towering height.

“Well, why don’t you skin the deer, Arthur? I’ll help you cut them up in a while, miss.” Mr. Pearson’s words were hasty, and you didn’t miss the bottle glistening under the sunlight as he tried hiding it behind his coat, scurrying away. He would, in fact, not be back; you were sure of that much.

It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with Arthur, and you never strayed too close, finding his presence somewhat daunting. Not that you’ve had many chances to speak amidst all the chaos surrounding you, and being relatively new to the gang meant the trust lacked significantly from both sides. But, the intrigue was always present in every glance and movement.

You felt his gaze fixed on you a moment longer as you stared heedlessly at your hands, rubbing them together anxiously, having no clue what to do with yourself. While you weren’t one to speak the ears of others, you never had any problem socializing with those around you–but Arthur, he was something else entirely. Finally, though, he moved, approaching the hanging carcass.

“How are ya?” His sudden words surprised you, hanging awkwardly in the air.

“Oh, um. Good?” You cringed at yourself, finding the words stuck in your throat as his voice rumbling was loud and confident.

“Cold?”

“A bit,” you said softly, staring at his back as he heaved the skin away from the animal, movements rigid and harsh. “Charles gave me his gloves, so it’s a little less chilly now.” You stumbled over your words, admiring his strength unabashedly as he hauled the skinned deer over his shoulder, slamming it down the table with a loud bang. He gave you no answer, instead bringing out the knife in his belt to do the job you were assigned to.

“Oh, let me!” Standing abruptly from your seat, you stepped towards him hurriedly in shame, feeling like you were just lazying around while Arthur was doing all the hard work.

Grabbing his thick coat to let you take his position, you found him staying right where he was, looking down at you when your hand rested on his bicep. It was unusual for him to be so close, and a blush warmed your cheeks as his towering frame became more apparent when standing a short distance from one another.

“S’alright.” He spoke lowly. “I’ve got it.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as he gazed wholly at you, letting you know he had no problem with helping you. It warmed you, finding his action kind–just like the small acts of kindness he reserved for the other girls. You would sometimes glare after them, intensely jealous that Arthur seemed to have a soft spot for them, yet acting like you didn’t exist.

“Anything else I can do to help since you just did my job for me?” A shy smile found you, peering up at him as he sniveled, glancing at you while you sat on the bench again.

“Well, you’ve already done your charity work for the day, so you’re fine.”

“Charity work?” You wondered, staring at him curiously as he cut through the meat. “What do you mean?”

He only sighed heavily, like you should be able to understand his cryptic words.

“He won’t die from a small burn; it ain’t enough reason to coddle the man like a child,” he grumbled.

It took you a while to get the gears turning, but when you did, you felt yourself grow shy from his statement. “Charles? His hand isn’t looking too good…”

“Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t be so forward. You’ll give the poor man false hope.” He scoffed, stabbing the poor carcass harshly.

Staring at his back in disbelief at the sudden hatred, you had trouble understanding where it came from and why he suddenly grew so invested in whom you diverted your attention. You and Arthur rarely spoke, only changing quick words occasionally ever since you found yourself staying with the gang, and for that reason, you had failed to understand the reason for his hatred.

It seems all you ever did was look after everyone else, paying attention to their various troubles and tribulations regarding bodily harm. It wasn’t strange to you, and by no means did you give anyone false hope, merely trying to find your place with these people, an attempt to prove your usefulness.

“False hope?” You questioned, baffled. “I’m trying to help; I fail to understand how that is a problem.”

“It ain’t a problem!” He grumbled, voice roaring hotly in his chest as he resheathed his knife and began to make his way out, repositioning his hat without glancing at you. You followed him, stopping short by the table as you didn’t want to stray too close to the fuming man.

“Well, it is since you are so angry about it?!” If this was how he carried out every conversation, you were glad the exchange of words wasn’t typical between you, more so the simple fact that your company had never seemed to bring him any enjoyment. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Wha-” He stops short, suddenly turning around and stalking towards you in significant strides. Gasping at suddenly having him so close, you backed away; his sharp eyes penetrated you as the warm blue of his orbs turned ice cold, glaring daggers into your own.

“What’s wrong with me?” He spoke dangerously low as his brows raised, grabbing your upper arms as he hoisted you up the table without an ounce of struggle. “I’m not the one taking every small, insignificant chance to take advantage of your good nature.”

“Charles’s not like that. He’s very kind.” You spoke in his defense, leaning back from his prolonged stare that seemed to cut through you deeper the more he stared. You had always pitied the people who got on Arthur’s lousy side, finding his presence at those times unnerving.

Now, it seemed you were at the receiving end of it, and while it chilled you to the bones, you weren’t sure if your beating heart were because of fear or the thought of him being the closest to you he’d ever have.

You had never quite got to admire his eyes, always hidden under his furrowed brows and squinting eyes. Now that it wasn’t because of the blazing sun down west, it was from the blaring whiteness of the snow surrounding you as you found his eyes glaring at the current climate more often than not–displeased.

His eyes being dead set on you didn’t help as you could hear his breathing grow heavier, the warmth of his breath hitting your cold cheeks as his broad frame blocked the chilly winds from reaching you.

“Kind, huh?” Although momentarily distracted, you recovered as you heard him speak in a low voice, still finding his assumptions wildly out of reach while insulting you and Charles. Times were hard, and if you couldn’t look after one another, it would surely lead to your doom–Arthur, if anyone, should know that.

“Yes, kind.”

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he backed away from you, shrugging his shoulders while walking away–like your conversation hadn’t happened in the first place.

“Sure.”

–

It wasn’t like Arthur didn’t know how to restrain himself, for he applauded himself for avoiding his apparent anger when Charles had, yet again, stolen away your attention–not that Arthur had any plans on striking up a conversation with you anyway.

It became clear to him that when you two were left alone, you almost turned into a living statue, barely responding to him. It was unlike you, for the time he had spent observing you, you had no problem talking to anyone else–and although it was usually calm, it never deterred you from gaining the likes of the others and liking them in return.

Why did you cringe away from him and not Charles, he pondered, glaring at the picture that plagued his mind. The reason he knew, deep down, but his stubbornness didn’t let him justify your actions. In all honesty, Charles was a more reliable man than himself, intentions often apparent with a slight sense of, well, goodness perhaps—something Arthur didn’t possess in the slightest.

Goodness, in all honesty, wasn’t something he was too familiar with, and he didn’t doubt one second that you found his character to be callous, seeing as the dirty work no one wanted to do fell upon him; work everyone else found to be too cruel to do themselves. He could almost feel your disapproving gaze when he picked up his slack from Mr. Strauss’s poor victims that he always tried to prolong, and while it wasn’t his most favorable way of lending a hand, sometimes he did it out of spite.

If that’s what you thought about him, then he couldn’t do much to sway your opinion, finding it much easier to continue with his ways than realize that your sudden carefulness off him wounded him more profoundly than he let on.

And, he was indeed a harsh man in your eyes, and although his company wasn’t entirely unwished for, he was still grim–ignoring your presence like you weren’t there most of the time. It made you wildly unsure of him, but the allure he had kept bringing you back, always wondering when you would see a glimpse of him again. You chastised yourself for it, more so now that you got a taste of his famously sullen mood that pestered everyone around him, but your eyes were still drawn to him when he was nearby.

Maybe it wasn’t what everyone else would describe him as, but you thought of him as mysterious. Gods, you have stayed with this group for quite some time now. Not once had he spoken to you more than the standard greeting, and you didn’t know much about him besides the sharp-shooting, brutal force of a man who had no problem letting his thoughts be voiced, even though the listeners might be less inclined to its harsh deliverance.

He had been cruel, sure, but you couldn’t help but remember how close you had been before when he spewed words that clung so viciously from his tongue. Faintly, you remembered the deep scent of gunpowder and smoke, something you were certain probably penetrated his skin by now, but also the slightly musky scent hidden underneath. Your head raced in curiosity, wondering how his hands would grab you if it wasn’t in anger. Was he even capable of that, you pondered.

It’s ridiculous you knew those thoughts were born from misconceptions and assumptions. You had heard how he behaved amongst the camp women, forever gentle and careful, and you had sharpened your ear when you’d been told timidly about his earlier flings. He could be more heartfelt than your head let you acknowledge, and the thought made your head spin even more with your endless imagination.

Despite the inner turmoil that filled you from your earlier argument, you had avoided him for some days now, and it seemed to grow easier the colder you got, huddling close to the fire with every chance. It was the only thing keeping your thoughts occupied, wondering when you would get to leave this desolated mining town that grew more covered in snow the longer you chose to stay.

“Do you need help, Hosea?” Just after you spoke, heavy blankets were handed to you, the fabric made from a thick wool that looked heavenly. “Yes, thank you. I take one step outside; I fear that it will be the end of me.” You only stared warmly at Hosea, who patted you on the back. “Don’t you worry, miss. We found more blankets we thought had been lost in that dreadful storm, so we all will sleep warmer tonight.”

“Oh, of course, I’ll help-” Despite the whistling winds that had picked up as the sun shone its last tendrils, you didn’t oppose the idea, but you were interrupted by a mischievous look handed to you by the older man.

“Make sure Arthur grabs one, too; you know how he gets.” Before you could question his meaning, he slunk away, pulling the warm fabric tighter around his shoulders without a glance at you, chuckling merrily. You chose not to ponder too hard on his strange ways, instead making your way to the door, shivering badly as you stepped outside.

Smiles were all you were greeted with as you handed them off, and it was no surprise as it was a welcome sight to everyone to gain some extra warmth to wrap around themselves. Although feeling content by being of help, you couldn’t help but wonder where Arthur could be, a single blanket now left in your hands.

Grumbling to yourself, you stepped out from the hut Dutch and Molly resided in, glancing at a smaller building some paces away, finding the orange glow of a candle lighting up the smaller barn where the horses were kept. A small smile found you, finding it very fitting for him to be where there were fewer people.

Although slightly fearing what could come to be an awkward encounter, you found yourself being too forgiving many times, and you damned yourself for it. What he said hurt you deeply, making you ponder if you had given Charles other signals than intended. It could be a possibility, yet you had never had too many romantic dealings with men to presume that that was the case, but his eyes held something tender the last few times you spoke as you recalled it.

“Arthur…” As you stepped inside after pulsing through the thick snow, you searched for the blue coat you had grown familiar with in this weather. “Are you here?” You asked quietly, wondering if he could hear you.

You cautiously stepped further into the barn, placing your feet steadily on the ground before you so you didn’t slip and embarrass yourself. It was friendly out here, you could admit, the snow muting every sound and almost making every slight sound caress your ears.

As you stepped further inside, it turned out he was here, and he took no notice of you as you rounded the corner to gaze at his seated form, seemingly writing something in his journal. It was an unusual sight. Sometimes, you observed him as he wrote in his journal back at camp, yet you didn’t make a habit of it, too shy to question him at the time.

How he didn’t freeze to death in this climate was beyond you, his fingers bare as he scribbled, fingertips red from the cold and dirty from the chalk. You made a motion to speak up once again but found yourself tongue-tied as you took him in, and as you did, the thought struck you that he wasn’t writing but drawing.

How unlike him, you thought, watching his brows furrowed from time to time, fingers moving expertly while the soft glow of the candle beside him almost softened his features. Your presumptions might be harsh, but you had never found him to be a man well-versed in the creative aspect of life, and while the brutal ways of his life spoke for him, you found it to make him slightly more approachable.

“I didn’t know you draw.” You stated fondly, his eyes fitting into yours the moment the first word left your mouth, growing visibly stressed as the journal was planted into his coat pocket. A rough cough left him as he did, eyes faltering when he saw your observant gaze linger on him unabashedly.

“I don’t.” A small laugh left you at his abrupt words, not teasingly but perhaps warmly, choosing not to bug him since he grew uncomfortable before your questioning eyes.

You were given an expectant look that reminded you of your actual business here as you stepped inside the building, closing the barn door behind you to shut out the wind that somehow managed to find its way through the cracks in the walls.

“Here, we found some more blankets. Hosea asked me to bring you one.” You met his eyes briefly as you stretched out your arms for him to take the blanket, eyes faltering to it at his piercing gaze.

“Hosea, huh?” A scoff left him, resuming his arms to cross over his chest, shaking his head slightly. “You keep it.”

“No, I-”

“Nah, you chattering your teeth keeps us up at night. Take it.”

His words should have taken you back since his voice was stinging, but a light laugh left you, knowing he was right. Wrapping yourself in the soft, warm blanket, you surprised Arthur by sitting beside him, heavily clad shoulders touching each other as you did.

“I don’t understand.” You stated, staring at the large shadows that flickered on the wooden wall before you. “How can you not be cold? I feel like if I spend one more day out here, I’ll freeze to death.”

You turned your head towards him, caught off guard when you felt his gaze already set intensely on you. Your eyes faltered to his chest, growing shy as you always did when you had his attention on you. It wasn’t unwanted, but you didn’t know what to do with yourself in moments like that, unused to the fire that always burned so deep in his eyes.

“Used to it, I guess.” His voice rumbled hotly in his chest, fingers flexing against his will as he took the chance to observe you. He had never had the opportunity to see your face this close. Your wet lashes clung together as you blinked, undoubtedly from the heavy snowfall outside, framing your eyes that Arthur always noticed were so very easy to read, yet at many moments also locked away.

“I don’t believe you.” How could anyone possibly get used to this? It was raw, pure torture.

You didn’t get an answer, and as you returned your gaze towards the wall, Arthur’s eyes found your features again. He had indeed been cold before you came, but it was his only chance to find a moment of peace; the thought of spending another night in that god-forsaken hut with his dear friend and his lover giggling the night away grew incredibly distasteful.

Here, he could finally hear his thoughts, the solitude of the snow muting every sound heavenly; the only noise was the familiar scribbling in his journal as he wrote about the past few days. Though his head was calmer than before, he still dreamt of your fingers encasing his like they had done Charles, the small, elegant touches rising his arms slowly, making him shiver wildly as the scene flashed before his eyes.

He knew he shouldn’t think of you like that, and he certainly had no right to be angry at Charles since he felt so unabashedly filthy things about you, but he couldn’t help it. Your every scent, every motion set his blood afire; small deeds of good you always found yourself doing so harshly contrasted his actions he couldn’t help the fact that you intrigued his whole being.

So good, so… soft and warm. As he stared at you, all he wanted was to reach out and pull you closer to him so he could feel your shivering body close to him, knowing many ways to warm you up. Sighing, he removed his hat, running his fingers through his hair as the thoughts took a turn he always hated himself for.

“Hey, I uh…” Arthur trailed off, finding the words he wanted to speak stuck in his throat. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, like I did back then.” He stared before him, yet he felt your eyes heavy on his.

He did feel bad, and it had been the reason for his brooding temper since then, not coming to terms with his wrongdoings until now. He had probably scared you, he concluded, and could only assume he was right as you had done your utmost to avoid him as of late.

“Don’t be,” you said with a light smile, not expecting his apology, even though he didn’t say sorry directly. “It’s a lot right now, I understand. But I still don’t understand why you’re so angry at Charles.” You were briefly met with a light sigh, eyes flickering to yours before diverting the flickering candle.

“Nah, forget it. Just me being stupid is all.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. Maybe you’re mean sometimes and grumpy,” you said, giving him a teasing glance. “But not stupid.”

A scoff left him at your words, yet you could see the corners of his mouth chirp up lightly. “You’d be surprised.”

As your snickering died down, you rested your head on the wall behind you, not wanting to leave the quiet comfort you found yourself in nor the conversation that panned on longer than you had anticipated, much to your surprise.

“Why are you out here if you are so cold, girl?” He questioned you, catching a glimpse of your almost blue lips. “Go on inside; you’ll freeze to death if you stay here.” It would be best for you to return because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his thoughts progressed like they did before in your presence. As he placed the hat on his head again, he glanced down quickly, doing a double take as he found you staring at him.

Was the cold finally getting to your head, or was it simply being in the presence of the man you were so unsure of but wildly intrigued by? You couldn’t tell, but the warmth spreading in your stomach as he glanced down at you spread ferociously through your stomach, almost warming you to your fingertips.

Suddenly, Arthur moved his arm slightly, and the motion made you jump, leaning away from him as you unconsciously drew closer to him. You couldn’t tell, but it almost felt like your body sometimes contradicted your mind, defying your sense of morality.

“Are you afraid of me?” He questioned, gazing at you unexplainably. Both of your breaths were audible in the quiet night, blowing like smoke out your mouths as the world around you blurred. It wasn’t like Arthur couldn’t contain himself around women, but you were something else entirely. Only in his wildest dreams did you stare at him like that, like you were expecting–waiting– for him to do something.

Yet, you looked guarded, like a cornered lam, waiting for the right moment to sprint away. You pulled away, only to lean in further, the cogs in your head turning something so awful in your mind, observing his every move yet not registering your own that reached out to him.

And gods, did he want to do the same; his internal battle proved to be more difficult as your hand gripped his coat tightly, only wanting to warm your blue lips with his own and show you how he could warm you up better than Charles’s damned gloves ever could.

“Sometimes.” You let on, voice shaking from both anticipation and uncertainty.

Leaning down towards you hesitantly, he felt hot all over when he realized you didn’t shy away from him like expected, mouth only parting further as he drew closer. As you did, you felt your breath hitch when a hand was placed on your upper back, Arthur’s weight only making you glide further down the wall until your head was resting in the crook of his elbow.

“Arthur…” He was so close now you could almost feel his heartbeat through the vast amount of clothing, breath hitting your cold, blushing cheeks as he leaned closer, the calling of his name only drawing him in. He was sure you had bewitched him, for not a single thought in his mind was about anything but the woman in front of him, entirely and utterly overtaken by what was solely you.

And through those few moments between frustration and desperation, all senses of logic disappeared as the skin of your lips conjoined, drawn together like magnets that snapped together like they never wanted to be apart again. Eyes grew shut, the only sound now the deep humming in Arthur’s chest as your hands found his cheeks, caressing the chilly skin under your palm with your thumbs.

It was ragged and scarred, a deep contrast to your own that had never tasted the metal of a gun and the blood of a foe, and the thought made a gasp rise in your throat as his weight fell heavier onto yours, pressing you into the hay-filled, snowy ground.

“Tell me to stop.” He grunted against your now wet lips, only taking a second before joining them again. He was covering your entire body as he lay above you, resting his weight on his elbows as your head rested on his arm.

“No…” You mumbled, words almost not audible against his desperate mouth, feeling just as affected by the desire as he did. You felt his face scrunch up almost painfully before he took the hand that rested on your back to glide under your coat, resting it on the side of your waist as he stroked gently, feeling the curves that hid underneath the damned fabric.

It was torture. It was an unexplainable torture that you would freeze to death if he removed the clothes that covered you, and he would surely go insane if he couldn’t feel the skin he imagined would be so very soft under his rough fingers. Just a taste, he thought sinfully to himself, slowly lifting the fabric of your shirt from under your skirt’s waistband, worming a freezing hand inside to feel the warmth that hid underneath.

You gasped at the sudden sensation but were quickly silenced as his tongue massaged your own, and the slight moan that left you only made a groan rumble loudly in his chest. The feeling of his cold hand rose your skin, stroking every bit it came across as if memorizing it to his brain, mapping out every single inch.

It was too much for you, the sheer desperation and want, not knowing what to do with yourself or how to dampen the intense feelings that nailed your firm to the ground. Every bit of you grew into static, and every touch from Arthur sent shockwaves through your body as his fingers caressed you.

“Come here.” Opening your eyes, you found his, although lidded with desire, gentle eyes gazing into yours, pulling his hand reluctantly from your waist to help you sit up. “I won’t let you lay on the ground.”

You only stared at him as he seated you on his lap, chest flush against his as his hands stroked along your arms as if to warm you up, tightening the blanket around your shoulders. You felt your heartbeat pick up at his actions, your stomach fluttering fiercely as he ensured you stayed warm.

You could tell he grew wildly unsure as you remained silent, clearing his throat as if he had been in a daze before speaking.

“If you’ll have me, that is.” You didn’t give him a chance to say more, hands finding sanction in his hair as the motion knocked off his hat, exposing the sandy locks he always kept hidden underneath it.

“Stupid question.” You mumbled softly against his mouth, pressing yourself closer to him as your fingers started fiddling with the buttons on his coat. You could already feel the heat emitting, and your fingers grew hasty as you tried to move faster, the motion of your lips faltering against his eager ones.

You would have been ashamed if it weren’t for Arthur being just as stressed about getting the buttons of your coat loose, hands wounding their way around your waist and pressing you closer to him the moment they became undone. Likewise, you wormed your arms under his shoulder, gasping as you felt the heat buried underneath the fabric, hugging him close as you placed your face into the crook of his neck.

Breathing in your scent, Arthur revealed in the way you nuzzled against him, feeling a warmth spread in his groin when the thick coat didn’t keep the pressure of your middle away from him any longer. It was heaven, he concluded, trailing his hands down to your backside as he caressed the curves, pushing you flush against his.

Oh, how he reveled in it. He was selfish; there was no denying it any longer, but he craved you so profoundly it would eat him up bit by bit if he couldn’t have you. It wasn’t about Charles any longer; it was about the fact that you had never spared him a glance, almost bordering on fearing him, deciding that everyone else company had been much safer than his own.

He knew it and had seen it in your eyes countless times. Arthur wasn’t unfamiliar with the look of utter horror plastered on people’s faces, for he faced it every day, and he wanted nothing more than to show you that you had no reason to feel that way with him, for he would never put a single finger that was unwished for on you.

And he couldn’t possibly hold it against you, for he wasn’t a good man, quite the opposite actually, and every lingering touch made him hate himself even more, wishing you would find it in you to push away from him–let him know that if he ever touched you again, you would kill him.

But, he would find that you didn’t, instead only pressing yourself even harder against him in the cold of the night, breath shaking something so terribly as he moved your lower region against his in a gentle movement. It only fueled his want for you, hands struggling their way up your skirt, caressing your stocking-clad legs as he did, reaching your undergarments with a content sigh.

His touch lighted a path up your legs, the cold nothing but a memory now even though the brisk air found its way underneath your skirt, following his hands that caressed your inner thighs in soft motions.

It was suspenseful, waiting for the skin to touch the skin, for his strong hands to wound around you as he had already wormed himself around your heart. And as he did, the coil in your stomach grew so incredibly tight you felt like it was too much like his touch alone wounded your every fiber, but instead of hurt, it was an undeniable pleasure that hit you tenfold.

The hand that had crawled its way inside your undergarments stroked alongside your tender parts, never touching you where you wanted him the most–the place that longed for his touch. He had to be teasing you; there was no other explanation as he smiled softly at your expression, gasping for air as you gripped the sides of his arms, trying to push against his fingers.

“Ah, sweetheart.” He only cooed at you, gripping your wrists with one hand as his other finally glided over the wetness of your heat, gazing directly into your eyes with his sharp gaze, admiring your pleasure-filled face that begged him to give you more, to provide you with his all. And, as he spread your folds with his fingers, the filthiest whimper of pleasure left you, laying its noise into the quiet night with no worry about anyone hearing, only fools deciding to stray outside in this bleak, frigid night.

Falling into his arms yet again, you let him enter a finger into your warm cavern, gasping desperately for air as the unfamiliar stretch widened you, dragging wonderfully against your clenching walls. It was vile, the way Arthur reveled in how tight you felt against his finger, and as he pondered on how you would feel when he pushed it you. The thought made a striking, white pleasure shoot through him, making him grunt out against your neck.

“That good?” He spoke out, adding another finger into you while placing wet, hot kisses against your blazing neck, wanting nothing more than to hear your heavenly sound of approval.

You attempted to nod, but the motion was interrupted by the increasingly more extensive stretch from both of his fingers; gasping like a madwoman as you moved against his hands, wishing to pull his fingers even deeper into you, dissatisfied when you realized it didn’t do the job.

He could only groan when he realized your intention, slipping his coated finger from your warm heat, bringing them to his mouth quickly while his other hand found the zipper of his jeans, fumbling in a stressed fashion to get rid of the constraint.

A dissatisfied moan left you as he did, wishing for nothing more than to feel the delicious stretch yet again carry alongside your walls. But, as he fumbled with his zipper, you quickly got your senses together. You helped him undo his suspenders, then slipped underneath the fabric to trail your hand alongside the apparent bulge that stretched underneath, finding his groans to fuel your actions.

For a short while, your eyes met amidst the hurry your bodies experienced, and the moment slowed down to a halt as your lips found each other once more, moving against one another like starved men. You couldn’t be closer to him, and he couldn’t possibly be closer to you, and while you earlier had pondered that this was a good idea, you couldn’t imagine anything else at this moment.

And, as your hand wrapped around him momentarily, Arthur could feel his brain’s short circuit, like he had never been able to hold a single thought in his mind his entire life. You had to have bewitched him, for he complied to your every touch, body moving against your every move like your hand was glued to his body.

“God,” he mumbled against your lips that massaged his own, thrusting against your hand as you stroked him tenderly, gasping against him quietly. It wasn’t hurried but warm and slow, basking in each other’s presence like you had never before discovered the feeling of another’s touch against your own.

“That good?” You replied teasingly, mimicking his earlier words as you smiled a toothy smile, feeling him chuckle lowly at your apparent teasing, giving you a playful slap on your behind as his breathing picked up.

Suddenly, you felt a hand encase your own. As he removed it from his throbbing member, he only grabbed you closer, wounding his arms around your back as he pulled you into a hug, the feeling of him underneath you wonderful as you glided along it–moaning wantonly as the friction shot sharp streaks of pleasure up your body.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll warm you up.” As he spoke, he could feel himself shudder as your wet lips encased his tip, groaning audibly as he thought you rubbing against him. You were illegal, he concluded, for nothing could ever be allowed to feel this good–it wasn’t possible.

“Please,” you gasped against his lips, moving your hips slightly as you felt his hands circle your waist. “Please, Arthur.”

He hushed you quietly, finally feeling you wrap your lips around him as he slowly entered your warm cavern, the walls fitting him snugly as a grunt left him unexpectedly, lost in the pleasure you brought him.

While it felt too good to imagine, you could only keep your mouth open at the sensation, wondering how something could ever fill you up quite as good as this. Without a single thought, you sat down entirely, feeling him stretch you wonderfully as you wrapped around all of him, wounding your hands around his neck.

You didn’t need to move much, for he thrust up into you when you had gotten used to his size, feeling yourself being hitched up to his body as the motion made your whole body rise to then fall back down on him, once more filled to the brim. His grunting in your ears filled your senses, and while the slight consciousness entered your mind, wondering what you were doing, you pushed it far back, relishing in how your body responded to his.

Despite the cold that was surely creeping into your bones the more you stayed out here, the sound of skin against skin filling the empty spaces around you made you feel more connected to each other than you had ever felt with anyone else.

You started to move with him, bringing down your hips to meet his while he thrusts into you, growing more desperate by the minute. You found the hands hugging your waist, circling their arms around it, pushing you even further against him as you rested your hands on his cheeks, having no choice but to stare into his lidded eyes as he grunted roughly underneath you.

God, how he wanted to push you down onto the ground and drive into you, damning the snow that covered the ground. Instead, he glided down further from the wall, feeling your weight press against him more as your head found sanction in his neck, feeling his thrusts grow more in power as he pistoned into you harder from the new position.

“Arthur.” You breathed out, feeling the stretch of him grow as the position made him reach even deeper inside you, one arm reaching down to grab your bottom so he could hold you firmer against him.

“I know, honey.” He murmured, head growing dizzy as you clenched around him so wonderfully, mewling sweetly into his ears as you let him take control.

Did it make him an evil man for reveling in what he knew Charles would never gain from you? Maybe it did, but those thoughts were placed far back in his mind as your lips found his, small moans now muted as you grew desperate for his affection, growing insatiable to once more feel the fondness that laid in his every touch.

He had been so angry that someone else had gained the courage to do what he couldn’t, realizing he had been too late. Yet now, as you remain unknowing above him, it only made his lips plant themself firmer against yours, determined to make you understand that nobody could make you feel this way except him.

Grabbing the blanket off your shoulders, he threw it down towards the ground as you gasped, stroking your waist tenderly before slowing his movements.

Your breath heaved something so terrible, your voice shaking as you spoke. “Don’t stop, Arthur. Please.” He felt his stomach coil at your words, throbbing inside you as he moved to a seated position.

“I ain’t stopping, sweetheart,” he let on, leaning you backwards lightly. “Lay back for me, okay?” You did as he said without a protest, the cold now gone as your legs spread from him.

He almost groaned from the sight, taking a moment to observe you as you stared at him through lidded eyes, blushed cheeks so wonderfully red against the whiteness of the snow you almost looked like an angel–your hair spread like a halo around your head where you laid on the blanket.

Crawling over you quickly, he grunted as he felt your hand encasing itself around him, stroking slowly as you guided it to your clenching hole. For a moment, he felt a relief spread through him at the feeling of your walls surrounding him before the sheer and utter desperation set in, beginning to move into you at a faster pace than before.

Your breath hitched at the sudden movement, yet you gripped his arms to keep him there, not baring the thought of him stopping again. Being over you gave him more control, and his primal instincts set in as the coil in his stomach shot burning flashes throughout his body, wanting nothing more than to feel your warm walls around him forever. Maybe it was the desire talking, but he swore that the thought of you being like this with any other man than him would make him heave.

Encasing his arms around you as your hands found his hair, he felt your legs wrap around his waist, now so close he was grounding into you relentlessly. Rough yet tender, he moved into you with care, but you could feel that he was holding back as he panted above you.

“Don’t stop!” You begged him once more amidst his thrusts, pulling on his strands as his lips found the softness of your neck. Why you were begging, you couldn’t say, oblivious to the words leaving your mouth in utter bliss.

“Hm?” He mumbled, smiling lightly from hearing your ruined voice beg him. He felt like a sick man gaining pleasure from it, but his mind was too hazy to take notice, longing to hear those words leave your sweet mouth once more. “What was that?”

“Don’t stop,” you voiced breathlessly as his hand found your breast, rolling the nub softly between his rough fingers. Despite your begging, for his own sickly twisted pleasure his hips ceased their movements, moving torturously slow as he raised his elbows to stare at your tear-filled eyes.

They shot open as he slowed his pace, displeased he didn’t listen as you already felt shameful for sounding so desperate. You couldn’t help it, for it felt too good, and now that he had stopped, you wished he never had. Was he teasing you? The thought made you blush from embarrassment and annoyance, pleading with your eyes.

“No…” You mumbled, trying to move against him, yet his hands held you firm against the ground.

“Say it.” Arthur’s voice was coarse as he spoke, grabbing your hand to place tender kisses on it as your displeased sounds reached his ears. He only got a confused look, smirking slightly at the longing and apparent dissatisfaction plastered on your face. A biting shadowed lust replaced his usually sharp eyes as he watched you, carnal written deeply in his eyes.

“My name, sweetheart. Let me hear you say it.” Suddenly, he pistoned his hips against you, driving up your wet walls as a mewl left you from the sudden force. You felt his intense eyes on you as your eyes shut momentarily, and through your blurred vision, they didn’t stay open for long.

“Arthur,” you moaned, eye-rolling into the back of your head as your back arched, a wave of pleasure shooting through you at his demands. He held the same controlled yet sensual pace, knowing he’d slip out of you if he went any harder. Still, his accuracy was wicked–hitting the right spot with every move.

“That’s it,” he praised you, placing another kiss on your palm as his thrusts increased, grunting roughly as your walls squeezed him tightly. You break into sobs as you reach out to grasp his arms, tilting his head up just enough to let you know he’s watching you, his hazy gaze roving over the devastation on your face.

The snow around you mutes the sound of skin hitting skin as he sets a brutal pace. “I didn’t tell you to stop, sweetheart.” The deep rumble in his chest as he spoke the words laced with possessiveness made your heartbeat pick up faster than it already was, the light ringing in your ears increasing as your body was hoisted up with each of his thrusts.

You call his name like a prayer amidst the pleasure, and satisfaction at hearing his name come so sinfully from your mouth made his eyes roll back, knuckles turning white from gripping the ground so harshly. Oh, you had no idea that every noise you let out from his advances made his heart soar with pride, feeling the softness of your skin under the palm of his hands.

Arthur feels the abrupt stop of movements from your hand, gripping tightly on his arms as you spasm around his cock, clenching tightly as the pads of his fingers come down to rub at your swollen nub as your orgasmed, a loud whine leaving you at the contact. It’s too much for you, the sensation too unfamiliar yet devastatingly addictive–not knowing if you wanted to drive your hips away from his brutal assault or enjoy him even more profoundly.

Even if you had decided on the prior, he didn’t let you, pushing you firm against the ground as he twitched inside you at the noises you let out, groaning lowly as he came inside your warm walls, planting himself deep inside you.

“Christ-” He grunts out, teeth clenched as you feel his cock throb inside you, cum gathering at the base of him as his hips slow to deep thrusts, grinding into you in sheer pleasure as the knot in his stomach unleashed, feeling you placing small kissed on his neck.

The slight motion made him smile amidst his pleasure-filled mind, caressing the curves of your waist as he nestled his head into your neck, still panting heavily. As you both calmed down, it didn’t take long for your hand to find his, fingers wounding themselves around the others in the blissful aftermath.

As you opened your eyes after catching your breath, you found a pair of blue ones already gazing at you. You didn’t speak for a while, both of you trying to digest the situation as tiny snowflakes could be seen falling from the sky through the cracks in the walls. It reminded you of how cold you should have been, but with Arthurs’s broad chest covering you, it felt like you were clinging to a furnace.

“Shit, you must be freezing.” He suddenly let out, shaking his head slightly as if in a daze before rising to pull you with him. As he pulled your skirt down your legs, rubbing them between his hands to warm you up, you could only stare at him in quiet wonder.

“What?” He grumbled out, sniveling lightly as he glanced at you. Had you not wanted this, he wondered, doubt starting to fill his mind. You were too quiet for his liking, only staring at him as he tried to prolong touching your soft skin, fearful of the hurtful words that were sure to come.

“Are you jealous of Charles?”

If crickets had been this far north, they would surely be the only thing audible as Arthur stopped. Bear of a man, hardy and stubborn to many, yet a faint blush could be seen rising to his cheeks as his face lowered–wishing so dearly he could find his hat that had seemingly disappeared so he could hide.

If he had been looking at you, he would have seen the toothy smile covering your face, a tender laugh leaving you as your assumptions became reality. You had to give him credit, though, for he had you completely and utterly fooled.

“No.” He stated firmly, rising on his legs to pull up his pants. He found himself unable to, though, your hand grabbing his suspenders to pull him back down. The same heat that had lessened in his stomach came back as he felt your nimble touch caress him through his pants, gaining a mischievous look from you as you widened your legs.

“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll give Charles his gloves back if you stay here and keep me warm.”

Oh dear, that would do it. Whatever thoughts that filled his mind flew out the window, wholly consumed by you as your hands caressed his back, staring expectantly up at him.

“Only me, right?”

“Only you, stupid.”

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption smut #red dead smut

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mclqren · 19 days

Text

THE LECLERC CHRONICLES ★ F1 GRID

PAIRING ✦ charles leclerc x fem!younger sister!reader ; f1 grid x fem!leclerc!reader

SUMMARY ✦ you're the younger sister of charles leclerc, and your relationship with the rest of the f1 grid has the internet going crazy [ SMAU ]

WARNINGS ✦ cursing

REQUESTED ✦ here!

NOTES ✦ reader is 22 years old, and the youngest leclerc sibling. this one is a bit shorter than my other smaus, sorry for that! the fc i've used is lexi jayde, but feel free to picture whoever you want! my requests are open so feel free to leave a request :)

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liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 981,003 others

yourusername it's tough work being the hottest leclerc 🤷‍♀️

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user1 UGH SHE'S SO PERFECT

user2 my fav leclerc sibling!!

charles_leclerc the caption 🤔🤔

yourusername am i lying though?? 😘

arthur_leclerc i think you are!

yourusername i think it's just you (& charles) who think that!

landonorris so what's the crown for then?

yourusername because im a queen. i need no other reason 😊👑

landonorris self proclaimed queen or-?

yourusername im queen of the grid, now bow down, bitch!

alex_albon you don't even drive-???

yourusername stop it rn or i'll tell charles to ram into both of you on the track 😊❤️❤️

georgerussell who are the flowers from 🤨🤨

yourusername my man, who else?

georgerussell okay be honest now y/n...who are they from.

yourusername and if i told you ur girlfriend then what 🤷‍♀️

carmenmmundt only woman i need 😘😘

georgerussell WOAHHH SLOW YOUR ROLL GUYS

carlossainz55 loving the sunglasses, y/n! 😎😎

yourusername awww you type like such a dad but ur forgiven bc ur my fav ferrari driver 💗

charles_leclerc helloo i'm your older brother??

yourusername hey, i'm still allowed to have my favorites!

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and 985,110 others

yourusername bahrain weekend woohooo!! TEAM LECLERC (third slide is for motivation ❤️)

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user3 THE THIRD SLIDE IM WHEEZING

user4 SHE'S SO FUCKING FUNNY

charles_leclerc the last slide??? im telling maman ☹️

maxverstappen1 maybe you can beat me with that motivation!

yourusername he speaks the truth charlie soz 🤷‍♀️ AND PLS DONT TELL MAMAN IM SORRY

francisca.cgomes ur sooo 😍😍

yourusername leave pierre for me rn. im richer i swear

pierregasly huh?

yourusername see, not a thought behind those eyes! run away w me bbg 😘

francisca.cgomes okay you've convinced me, give me ten minutes x

yourusername HAAA GOT UR GIRL GASLY

landonorris the coat in bahrain weather??

oscarpiastri how is she surviving??

yourusername a girl does what a girl has to do 🤷‍♀️ maybe you should both take fashion tips from me anyway xx

charles_leclerc you aren't being rude are you y/n?!

yourusername noooo!! im offering friendly advice 😊

lance_stroll i wonder who bought you the first shirt...🤨

yourusername my rich nepo baby friend, thanks again boo 😘

lance_stroll wowww you're literally a nepo baby sister idk what ur on about

yourusername im actually famous for my incredible looks & witty humor, not my fugly brothers

charles_leclerc why are you so rude to us ☹️

yourusername it comes from a place of love 💗

logansargeant i wonder whose sunglasses you're wearing?!

yourusername idk i just found them!!

yourusername

( caption one: the third wheel lifestyle is NOTTT for the weak 😔 + tags | caption two: yeah i took this photo asw. can they stop being so fucking happy please it's making me depressed 😔 )

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, and 979,990 others

tagged francisca.cgomes

yourusername who needs a man when you have kika 😘 ( ps no clue who the other people in the last pic were, but whatevs )

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user5 the y/n lifestyle is something i needddd

user6 SO REAL FOR THIS

user7 outfitsss!! 😍

francisca.cgomes love you 😘

yourusername LOVE YOU MORE 💗💗

landonorris what on earth were you drinking

yourusername idk but it was fizzy and orangey and it was yum

alex_albon orangey isn't a word ❌

yourusername ACTUALLY ☝️ it is. sooo idk what ur on about mate

pierregasly are you even of age to be drinking

yourusername IM THE SAME AGE AS UR GF??? ur just jelly she prefers me to you

pierregasly ☹️☹️

logansargeant the winnie the pooh shirt 🔥

yourusername do americans even know winnie the pooh...

logansargeant clearly??

charles_leclerc how much did you have to drink

yourusername none of ur concern brother!

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63, and 1,002,665 others

tagged yourusername

landonorris y/n's signature pose: hands under the chin (she forced me to post this please come save me guys)

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user8 SHE'S SOOO ICONIC

user9 CAPTION LOOLLL LOVE Y/N

yourusername live laugh love me!!

alex_albon is it now...

yourusername SHUT UP ALBONNN IT IS

yourusername guys the caption is a liee i swear he just loves me 💗

landonorris urm who told you that mate

yourusername shut up or i'll send you back to the basement 😁 no one cares enough to save you

georgerussell63 carmen's looking over my shoulder and says y/n's a cutie

yourusername TELL CARMEN I LOVE HER AND TELL HER TO COME OVER TONIGHT 😘😘

pierregasly are you just after everyone's girlfriend then?

yourusername yup! single life = hoe life, @/alex_albon lily's next 😘

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, and 976,220 others

yourusername hey alexa, play art deco by lana del rey ( 📸 @/arthur_leclerc )

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user10 SHE LISTENS TO LANA?

user11 SHE'S ONE OF US FR

user12 the dress wooowwww

charles_leclerc when did you take these 🤨

yourusername don't worry about it 💗

arthur_leclerc we had tons of fun without you ❤️❤️

yourusername ARTHUR DON'T BE MEAN (it's true)

charles_leclerc ☹️☹️☹️

lilymhe 😍😍

yourusername LOVE YOU LILS 💗

yourusername but also ops on leaving alex for me...just for research purposes

alex_albon Y/N STOP IT SHE'S MY GF

yourusername leave me alone im single and sad :(

lance_stroll did i not buy you that dress for christmas

yourusername yes you did!! thanks again lance it was a LOVELY investment 😘

yourusername

( caption one: guess where i am!! 🇦🇺 | caption two: yeah yeah the flag gave it away whatever look at my new best friends 🦒 )

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 988,612 others

yourusername aussie aussie aussie... (australians finish the chant)

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user13 she's so perfect

user14 wait is she charles' sister??

user15 yup!! she's the youngest of the leclerc siblings

oscarpiastri coming from an australian...no 🧡

yourusername lucky for me ur not the only australian i know...so!

danielricciardo OI OI OI 🇦🇺🇦🇺

yourusername @/oscarpiastri LOOLLLL POINT MADE

oscarpiastri DANIEL WE'RE MEANT TO BE AUSSIE BUDDIES WHY WOULD YOU BETRAY ME

danielricciardo THE CHANT WAS CALLING TO ME I CANT HELP IT

charles_leclerc FORZA FERRARI

carlossainz55 ❤️❤️❤️

yourusername idk red's not really my color...might have to step into the mclaren paddock next time to see if orange suits me better

charles_leclerc as my sister you can't fraternise with the enemy

yourusername yeah but y/n leclerc does whatever she pleases and right now she wants to wear an orange jacket 🤷‍♀️

landonorris *papaya, not orange

yourusername yeah yeah pls give me a vip paddock pass for japan thank you lan 😘🫶

georgerussell63 the first picture??

yourusername i dropped my ice cream and my WONDERFUL brother decided to capture the moment instead of comforting me ☹️

charles_leclerc it was so funny you just had to be there

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 1,191,454 others

tagged charles_leclerc, carlossainz55

yourusername FERRARI 1-2 I KNOW THAT'S RIGHTTT!! PROUD OF MY BROTHER(S) (and little lando norris congrats on 3rd 😘)

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user16 THE CAPTIONNN BROTHERS IM CRYING

user17 the way she said in a podcast once that carlos being in her life was like having ANOTHER older brother makes me cry its so sweet

user18 FERRARI IS MY RED FLAG YESSS 🚩🚩

charles_leclerc rare post of you being proud of me?

yourusername it's mainly for carlos...but i'm proud of you too i guess!

charles_leclerc but i'm your brother??

yourusername idk ur both my brothers in my eyes 💗💗

carlossainz55 te amo y/n! ❤️

logansargeant embracing your inner cowboy, i see! very american of you 🤠

yourusername RAHHH WHAT IS A KILOMETRE 🦅🦅🦅

lance_stroll nurse, she got out again

yourusername SHUT UP LANCELOT ur just jealous that i prefer america to canada!! ❤️

landonorris thanks for the caption y/n, but are you not looking for a way out of the ferrari paddock...🤨🤨

yourusername unfortunately mr norris i have to be a supportive big sister on days like today, where my dear brother has done an exceptional job at racing. i hope you understand, and i offer you my deepest condolences ❤️

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might make a p2 to this idk :)

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angelltheninth · 7 months

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Arthur Morgan Teaches You How to Ride Him

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, dick riding, guidance, encouragement, inexperience, age-gap

A/N: Can we all agree that he is the hottest cowboy dilf?

"You wanna sit on there nice and slow sweetheart. Know you're eager for it but don't hurt yourself now." That was funny coming from the man who was just in a bar fight. You can still see the bruising on his knuckles and see where his lip was split. "Did seeing me fight do it for you? So wet down there, I'm thinking it just might've."

"It's not the fight I promise you." Maybe a little but more of it was Arthur's charm and boldness. And how delicately he treated you. Sure you knew he could give you a rough pounding, enough to potentially break the bed but he was set on teaching you something new today.

Today was a riding lesson. Dick riding to be exact.

You tried to take him in right away, which proved a little painful even with how slick you were. You balanced yourself on your knees above his hips, your pussy touching the red tip of his cock, hands on his chest, feeling the chest hair and the scars from knives and bullets. This sounded much easier then it proved to be when he suggested it.

"I might not be as young as I used to be but I'll still throw my fists for a pretty young lady's honor." Arthur wanted to protect you as much as he wanted to corrupt your mind with all sorts of sinful ideas, such as meeting him night after night, sneaking out just to fuck him, "Besides I reckon none of those wannabe tough guys back there could teach you half the things I know. Ain't that right baby?" His hands pushed you down with the right amount that you felt the pressure, but not enough to bruise as the cockhead pushed just past your entrance. "There we go, right where my cock should be. Now I want you to start rolling your hips downwards, slowly, until you're able to fit the whole thing inside there."

Your hips started moving, breath hitching with every inch of his cock that you managed to take. You've taken it plenty of times in the past but you were never the one on top, and even with this newfound control you had over the movements you thought it better to listen to Arthur's advice then take him all at once. Instead on the feeling of lust you focused on how his cock stretched you open more and more, causing you to tighten and release around him, looking at his smile which grew wider and wider until settling on a permanent grin when you took his whole length.

"Atta girl." With his feet firmly planted on the bed Arthur folded his arms behind his head to enjoy himself to the fullest. "Gotta say I'm real comfy like this."

"Yeah? Am I making you feel good, Arthur?" A big, satisfied smile split across your face. Your hips were still touching him when you tried wiggling around a bit, feeling every inch of his twitching cock, perfectly angled to hit your deepest spots, "Can you tell how good you make me feel too?"

"I'd be worried if I didn't. You're gonna need to go up slowly, repeat the sliding until it goes in smoothly for you, then you can start to pick up the pace. Be sure to keep your balance too, because sometimes," He pushed his hips upwards, making you moan his name along with a deep whimper, "you might get yourself a surprise or two."

Nodding you let his body settle back down and you on top of him again, filled with his cock and the new found confidence that you could make him feel just as good as he made you feel.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 smut #rdr2 x female reader #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption x female reader #smut drabble #smutember 2023 #x female reader

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twola · 2 months

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Riding arthur and him just putting his hat on you and laughing, I feel like we need more fun smuts yaknow

Your hips splay over his; large, warm hands encircle your waist. Your fingers spread out over the broad planes of his chest, granting you leverage as you undulate atop him.

The sinful sounds of wet skin sliding against wet skin fill the room, interspersed with deep grunts, high-pitched moans, and gasping breath.

Clothes litter the floor, a gunbelt is slung over a chair. The sheets of the too-nice bed are bunched up near the foot of it, while the frame squeaks with the flurried movements of the bodies atop it.

“Tha’s it, you’re such a good girl.”

The deep drawl of his voice goes straight to your cunt, making you moan aloud when your hips come down on his, your knees shaking with the exertion you’re putting your legs through, thighs burning like you’re in the saddle.

A hand moves from your waist up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your spit-slicked nipple and you shiver, your whole body shaking as you cannot help to clench around him.

“Arthur-” you pant.

Laid out beneath you, the outlaw bucks his hips up when he senses your fatigue, and the hand on your breast leaves, moving over to the side table next to the bed. You slow your hips, a questioning look in your eye.

Arthur grins, one hand moving down to your rear and squeezing mischievously. He grabs what he’s reaching for with the other - that old, beat up gambler’s hat.

Before you can ask what he’s doing with it, he pushes that hat down on your head - it’s far too big for you and lands slightly crooked before you right it, finding his face again. He chuckles, laugh lines appearing underneath the sandy brown stubble of his beard.

“Yer a right cowgirl now - y’like ridin’ me, dontcha?”

You laugh, the smile on his face infectious as you place one of your hands upon the hat to keep it atop your head. You lean down and place your lips on his, tilting the brim back as to not impede.

His tongue presses into your mouth, and your hips still as your attention is fully on kissing him, your other hand braced on the bed above his shoulder as his arms wind around your ribcage.

You begin to roll your hips again, and with him buried so deep within you, the both of you moan into each other’s mouths - losing yourself in each other once again.

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #twolafic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #twola1k

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gloomyandpitty · 11 months

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WhY CaNT hE Be ReAL😭

#arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #pookie #love my bbg

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12welveinched · 4 months

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Y'all literally write fanfics like you're men. How is it that in your own fantasy world, you're not getting pleasure from it? With every reader x character, it's you pleasuring the character. Women write fanfics like how men view porn.

You're so feminist that even in your own fantasies, you think that you are ugly and that this character would never want you. So unless they're degrading, using, and beating you. That's the only true way you think that they could ever desire you.

I'm not even going to get started on the of-age-reader x underage characters because if I need to tell you why that's wrong, you need to be put on a watch list.

#eddie munson x reader #sukuna x reader #yuuji itadori x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #arthur morgan x reader #levi ackerman x reader #billy hargrove x reader #tony stark x reader #leon kennedy x reader #john marston x reader #jjk x reader #f!reader #steve harrington x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barns x reader #geto suguru x reader

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mushrubes · 10 months

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I promise

Masterlist | Red dead redemption masterlist |

Requested : no

Based on chub venus { athur morgan by @/Ladyreefer}

(i’m spending too much time on that someone help)

Pairing : Arthur Morgan x female reader

Pronouns : you/yours

Type : angst + fluff

Word count : 4.1k

Warnings : Swear words, friends to lovers, mutual pinning, slightly ooc <3

Have a great day !! <3

——————————–

Drunken laughter filled the camp as Arthur pulled up, a small smile on his face as he hitched his horse up, feeding it a carrot before approaching the party. “There he is! The man of the hour!” Dutch announced as he saw him walk in, patting his shoulder. Arthur brushed him off, making sure to greet the others. They were celebrating his haul from a theft. “Arthur!” he heard a voice call, groaning to himself as he saw who it was. “Not now uncle.” he grumbled, grabbing a beer and taking a seat in front of the bonfire. His eyes looked around, settling on an unrecognisable figure. Her hair was differently styled than normal and she had a new dress on, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tried to figure out who it was.

“And just who might you be?” he questioned, earning a giggle as she stood up next to him, standing on her tiptoes to push his hat up slightly. “Forgotten me already Arthur?” She teased, his cheeks blushing slightly as he saw his best friend, Y/n. His eyes widened as he recognised you, trying to hide him checking you out. “Well, look at that! It’s been a while hasn’t it?” he recalled chuckling lightly as he appreciated the teasing tone in your voice. “I can’t forget anyone as lovely as yourself.” he added, smoothly grinning as he flashed his charming smile.

As the night passed and more drinks were passed around, Arthur was more talkative than normal, sticking to you more despite his reservations about getting close to anyone. He leaned close, his features illuminated by the flickering firelight. His brown hair was cut not too short but short enough, with yellow flecks in his baby blue eyes and a small cut he currently had on his face. “You know, I ain’t exactly good company,” he said quietly, his tone almost apologetic for what he is. “But if you’re willing to take your chances with me, I’d be glad to spend some time with ya.”

You frown, shaking your head at him. “You’re my favourite company.” you assure, your voice nothing but genuine. His expression softened at your words, evidently touched. He knows his lifestyle has caused too much destruction for your compliment to be deserved but still enjoys the time he spends with you, grateful for the peace he gets from the dangerous life. “I’m glad to hear that,” he responded, hesitantly reaching his arm out to wrap it around your shoulder. “I enjoy being around you too.”

While the night dragged on, he found himself more relaxed, his guard dropping slightly and enjoying your presence without worrying about what is to happen next. “Do me a favour,” he called, taking another drink of whiskey and feeling bold under the influence of his alcohol. “Stay here tonight. Don’t leave until morning.” he requested, looking at you intently as he hoped you understood what he meant - something more than just physical proximity or a companion for survival's sake.

His request made you grin, taking the chance to run a hand through his hair, his eyes closed as a sigh of relief left him. “I won’t go anywhere, cowboy.” You replied, using the nickname you’d given him since you met. He couldn’t hide his smile, relieved that you didn’t feel put off by his favour and felt his heart skip at the nickname. You both enjoyed each other's company more and more, Arthur starting to feel something different within him, a feeling he’d easily forgotten about: hope. He stood up, deciding he needed some space to think. “I’m gonna take a walk.” he said gruffly as you stood up, nodding and mumbling a soft ‘be safe’ before he made his way into the darkness beyond the campfire’s glow.

Taking the chance, you set his tent up, ready for when he returns. You put the sides down, making sure he had some privacy, as well as fluffing up his pillow and placing a spare blanket you had down on the end of his cot. Meanwhile, he wandered through the darkness, his mind overthinking and thoughts a jumbled mess. He thought about all the people he’d hurt, all the mistakes he’d made, uncertain if it was too late for him to redeem himself. But then he thinks of you. Your kind and encouraging words, your presence he finds himself craving and your gentle touch - and everything feels brighter. Maybe there is hope. He walks until he can no longer see the dim glow from the campfire before turning back and walking to where his camp was set up.

As he approaches, it’s clear you’d already set it up, the way you always did when you knew he’d had a long day and wanted his own space. A warmth spread in his chest at the sight, pulling you into an embrace as he reached you. It was brief, but you’d known Arthur long enough to know what it meant, a new determination in his eyes when you pulled away. “Thank you, for being here.” he said quietly, his gaze soft but still lingering on you. Your face softened, feeling grateful for his words. “Anytime, Arth. You know that.” you reminded, a look of fondness in your eyes. He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew you’d always be there for him (along with John), even when it seemed like everyone else had given up on him.

He stepped into the tent and settled in his cot, pulling the blue blanket you’d left for him up. He drifts off, thankful for having you in his life - someone who sees past his flaws and accepts him for him, despite his way of life. You sat in the chair he had next to the cot, waiting for him to fall asleep before pressing a kiss to his forehead, taking one last look at his peaceful state before heading to your tent to get some rest.

----

Arthur stretched out and rubbed his eyes, remembering that you’d stayed in camp for the night, not setting out on your mission yet. He smiled to himself, remembering the feeling of your hands running through his hair as his exhaustion caught up with him. He emerged from his tent a few minutes later, feeling well-rested. He walked over to where you were packing some things nearby, greeting you. “Morning, did ya sleep okay?” he spoke, his morning voice still there. You felt your cheeks heat up slightly, trying to hide the impact it was having on you. “Yeah, you?”

He nodded, stretching again as he watched you finish packing. “Yeah, I did. Thanks for asking.” he scratched his neck, hesitantly speaking. “Listen, about last night...I don’t want you to think that I was just taking advantage of the situation or anything. I know that we’re both here because we have to be but...” he trailed off, thinking of the right words to express his emotions. “But what?” you prompted, smiling gently as he spoke his mind, his gentleman-like nature evident. “But...I’m glad to have you here with me, it felt good to have someone close again.” he finished quietly, looking at you with slightly rosy cheeks.

You smiled softly, hugging him and swaying side to side. “Anytime...” you paused, frowning. “I’m going to be gone for two days, something Dutch wants me to do. Stay safe, alright?” you told him, eyes full of concern and a look you only gave him. He returned the hug, feeling a sense of warmth and affection, too shy to tell you he’d miss you. “I will. You be careful out there too. I don’t want anything to happen to ya.” he promised.

You made your way out of camp, Arthur watching every move with a sense of longing in his heart. He shook off the feelings, aware of being an outlaw means not much room for a relationship - especially meaningful ones like yours - but he couldn’t help but long for more. For now, he was certain the few moments they got were enough

----

“I’m sure she’s okay, Arthur.” Dutch spoke and sat in his chair as he watched the younger male pace back and forth. You’d told him you’d be two days - four days ago. He’d asked all around, no one knowing where you were so he resorted to the person who’d given you the mission. “Dutch!” Charles called as he rode back into camp, jumping off his horse and jogging over to the pair, Arthur perking up as he saw the note in his hand. “For you,” he spoke, handing it over to their leader. He saw Dutch’s face drop as he read it, not meeting Arthur’s eyes as he finished.

“Dutch?” Arthur called, his anxiety growing more as he saw his father figure refuse to meet his eyes. “What’s going on?” he demanded, snatching the letter from him. “No...” he muttered as he read the words ‘$2000 for the pretty lady or she’s ours’ signed by the O’driscolls. He immediately made his way over to his tent, grabbing his hat and necessities before walking over to the horses. “You’re not going by yourself.” Charles spoke up, climbing onto his own as he tried it protest. “Don’t be stupid, Arthur.” John warned, doing the same as Javier also got on his.

They set off at night, riding to the location mentioned in the note, an old abandoned warehouse, just outside of Saint Denis. They left the horses slightly further down, seeing the patrol outside. As they moved closer he grits his teeth, able to hear the sounds of guards taunting you and injuring you. “Ready?” John whispered, squeezing Arthur's arm as he nodded. He made his way inside, getting into the room where you were supposedly being held, his heart dropping at the sight. “Oh, darlin’..” he mumbled, quickly cutting through the ropes, careful not to hurt your battered body even more.

He helped bring you up onto your feet, wrapping an arm around your waist to help you balance. “C’mon, we gotta get out fast.” he warned, guiding you out while the other three covered you two. His rage sieged throughout his body, angry he was not able to protect you and allowing something like this to happen to you under his watch. Charles helped him lift you onto his horse, climbing on behind you. They’d found your horse on the way here, Arthur making sure to whistle and let it follow them. They rode away as quickly and safely as possible, making sure there was no chance of anyone following or catching up.

“... Arthur? That you?” you got out, your vision blurry and head throbbing as you were close to falling unconscious. He noticed your state, concern filling his as he tried to keep you awake. “It’s me, don’t worry. We’re getting home.” he assured, holding onto you tightly as they rode back, keeping an open eye on the surroundings. Once they had reached the campground, he’d quickly got you off, now carrying you in his arms as they stumbled into camp. “Dutch! Miss Grimshaw!” he called, eyes widening as a deep wound on your body started bleeding again.

He watched Susan tend over you the whole time in the makeshift infirmary, recuperating from those beatings inflicted by the O’driscolls. He became increasingly more protective, glaring at anyone (specifically Micah) who made harmful comments about you. The realisation that he could’ve lost you terrified him even more as he sat by your side. You’d fallen asleep, Arthur almost half asleep next to you as she finished tending to your wounds. “Arthur, get some rest, she’ll be okay.” Miss Grimshaw assured, squeezing his shoulder.

He reluctantly left your side, knowing he needs to rest and stay strong if he was going to help you. He spent the next few days alternating between checking on you and helping when needed around camp, but the second that was done, he’d be straight with you again. His anxiety grew as the days passed, his mind finding more things to worry about like whether they’d gotten all the O’driscolls or someone else might try to harm you. “Arthur, are you taking care of yourself?” Susan asked, coming in to change the bandage. She gave him a look when he went to answer, sighing in defeat. “I’ll go grab something to eat,” he grumbled, grabbing a bowl of stew.

----

You groaned as you opened your eyes, waiting for the world to stop spinning violently. You found yourself in the infirmary, your body sore and aching but most of the wounds had been cleaned and bandaged. “Where am I?” you spoke, your voice raspy as you looked over to your side, seeing the person you wanted the most. “You’re at camp, you were taken captive by O’driscolls...but we got you out.” he spoke softly, sitting down beside your bed as he watched you take the information in. “You’ve been here for a few days now, Miss Grimshaw’s been taking care of ya.” he paused, not knowing how to express how he was feeling. “I...I was worried about ya, I’m glad you’re alright.” he finally admitted, feeling his heart drop as he saw your eyes well up, looking back at him.

He reached out, gently brushing a tear away from your cheek before caressing it. “Hey...it’s okay. You’re safe now.” he softly spoke, letting a silence settle over him while he gathered his thoughts before continuing. “I care about ya, y’know? You mean something to me.” he rambled, his words carrying more weight than they seem - he’s not the easiest to get to express feelings but when he does it’s always genuine. “I’m here for you.” he finished, brushing your hair back out of your face. “I...I thought that was it for me.” you whispered, remembering the fear that filled you.

Arthur nodded sympathetically, his gaze soft as he understood you. Aware that being held captive - especially by them - is a terrifying experience, and hurt filled him as he saw you in so much pain. “I’m sorry ya had to go through that, but we got ya outta there. You’re safe now.” he assured, sitting on your bed in the little space you’d made for him. He reached out, taking your hand in his and squeezing it gently. “I promise you...I’m gonna make sure none of this ever happens again.” he declared. You hugged him tightly, your grip secure as if he could fade away at any time.

He wrapped his around you tightly too, pulling you close to his chest as he returned the hug. He held onto you as if he’d never let go, like nothing bad could ever happen again if you stayed in his arms. “Shhh...it’s okay darlin’. I’m here for ya, I’ve got ya.” he murmured softly into your hair, staying like this for several minutes as he ran his hand up and down your back. “You should rest now, we can talk more later.” he reluctantly pulled away, looking at you tenderly. He held back a smile as he saw you frown at his words. “Stay with me.”

Without hesitation, he nodded, his heart swelling at the thought of being close to you again. He laid down next to you, reaching out and taking your hand in his as he settled beside you. “Of course, I ain’t going anywhere.” he comforted, telling you stories of the past, a mix of things he’d never told anyone as well as memories with other gang members. The hours turned into minutes as the night turned into dawn, realising how much this moment meant to him - just being here with someone who cares enough and vice versa. He pushes his fears and doubts aside, noticing how much he cares about you - deeply and unconditionally.

He stays with you, holding onto you as you fall asleep, watching over you as he guards your slumber. Calmness washes over him, being close to someone like this is something he’d longed for. When the first light of dawn starts filtering in, he closes his eyes and allows himself to drift odd, feeling content and at peace for the first time in a long while.

----

The morning light filtered in, Arthur stirring first as he spent most of the night watching over. He smiled softly as he took in your sleeping form, a sense of affection and tenderness overcoming him. He brushed a few stray strands of hair away from your forehead before leaning down and placing a gentle kiss. “Mornin’. How’d you sleep?” he murmured, still tired as he felt you move slightly. “Good, you?” you hummed, yawning as you looked up at him.

He nodded, his gentle smile still plastered. “I slept alright, mostly just watched over ya all night.” he admitted, reaching out and taking your hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze that was more for him. “Ya scared me, y’know? When they took ya...I didn't know if we’d be able to get ya back.” he cleared his throat, aware of how open he was being but felt himself melt again as he looked into your eyes. “I’m just glad yer safe now.”

“I thought I’d never see you again.” you admitted, caressing his cheek as he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes as warmth spread through him. He took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it before looking up at you once more. “I ain’t ever gonna let anything happen to ya again, I promise.” He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing. “And...I don’t know if I’ve ever said this before but...” he trailed off, searching for the right words as he felt his heartbeat speed up, his palms sweaty as he felt shy despite what had happened between them the last few days. “But I care about ya, more than anyone else in my life right now.” he softly admitted, his cheeks flushed as he saw you smile at his words.

“I care about you more than anyone else too, Arth.” you confessed, his heart skipping a beat as he felt a sense of warmth and affection towards you, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before settling back down beside you. “I’m not good with words or feelings,” he admitted, carrying on. “But I want ya to know that I’m here for ya. No matter what.” he squeezed your hand gently as he looked into your eyes, feeling like everything was starting to make sense - the reason why he was drawn to you since the beginning. “Arth?...” you spoke up, seeing his thoughts get loud in his head again, clear what he was thinking.

“Yeah?” he asked, looking at you with his eyes full of concern, his instinct telling him to protect and care for you. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, searching your eyes for any sign of discomfort or worry. “It wasn’t your fault, I know what you’re thinking,” you mumbled, eyes full of love and gentleness. He nodded, understanding the weight of your words. “I know it wasn’t, but I still feel like....like there was something more I could have done, y’know?” He paused for a moment, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I just hate seeing ya hurt like that.” he caressed your cheek tenderly, silently swearing to himself he’d never let anyone or anything hurt you again.

“You did all you could. I didn’t know that was going to happen - I don’t know if Dutch did but that’s besides the point.” You reminded, Arthur humming in agreement. “Yeah...Dutch is a complicated man.” he chuckled, a silence settling over as uncertainty filled him. But then he looked at you, his heart swelling with love and affection. He’d gotten you out - you were alive and safe, and that’s all that mattered right now. He pressed another kiss to your forehead before settling back down. “I’m just glad yer okay.” he mumbled softly into your hair. “I’m always okay with you.”

He felt a rush of emotions at your words, realising he’d finally found somebody who truly understands him. His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding onto you like he never wants to let go. “I’ll always be here for ya, no matter what.” he promised, staying there for a while longer, holding onto you and talking softly while the day goes on. He feels a sense of hope stir within him, realising as long as they have each other, they could make it through anything. “I know, same for you.” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

He turned to look at you, cheeks flushed as he softly smiled, taking the chance and pressing a kiss to your lips, taking his time and savouring the feeling of closeness between them. When you part, he rests his forehead against yours, a soft grin on his face. “Thank ya, for everything.” he breathed out as you blushed at the sudden action, Arthur tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and his eyes softening at you. “You’re so beautiful, ya know that?” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re flirting with me.” you teased, knowing what he was doing. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, the feelings between the two of you were evident but never acted on them. He chuckled at your teasing words, his lips dangerously close to yours. He had a mischievous glint in his eye as he looked at you, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe I am. What are ya gonna do about it?” he played along, his hands travelling down your sides, winking at you before tickling your sides lightly, laughing as he heard you giggle and squirm under his touch. “S...stop..it!” you got out in between laughs, your face lighting up as he grinned widely.

He settled back down beside you, pulling you close and holding onto you as if he’d never let go. “I love that sound,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah?” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his, his hands grazing your hips. He nodded, feeling a sense of warmth spread through him at the closeness. He pulled you even closer. “Ya have no idea how much I love hearing ya laugh, it’s like...like everything else just fades away,” he admitted, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

“You wanna know what I love?” you grinned, a playful glint in your eyes as you looked at him. He looked at you, his eyes showing his curiosity, wanting to hear what you had to say. “I’d love to know.” he said softly, his voice genuine and loving. “You.” you smiled, seeing him grin widely at you as he kissed your lips again. “I love ya too, more than anything. I ain’t never gonna let anything happen to ya again, I promise.” he vowed, his hand softly caressing your cheek. You leaned into his touch, eyes closed as a sigh of relief left you. “I know, Arth, I know.”

He leaned back against the headboard, pulling you close to him as he drew patterns on your back with his hand. “I’m glad we’re together, I ain’t never felt like this before.” he blurted out, closing his eyes in contentment at everything feeling like it was falling into place. You raised your eyebrows at his words teasingly, Arthur not having actually asked you. “Oh, we’re together now?” you commented, earning a chuckle as he leaned up, whispering into your ear. “Oh yeah, did ya think we were just cuddlin’ or something?” he teased, his southern drawl stronger than normal as he sent shivers down your spine, enjoying the playful banter. “Thought we were just cuddle buddies.” you joked along, earning a laugh.

“I guess we can still be cuddle buddies if ya want, but just so ya know...I’m gonna be pretty clingy” he winked, running one of his hands through your hair. “Being your girlfriend sounds better.” you smirked, Arthur grinning widely at your words, feeling a sense of warmth and affection towards you.

He looked at you with tender eyes before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips." I like the sound of that," he murmurs gruffly against your mouth. "Yer mine now."He wrapped his arms tighter around you, holding onto you like he never wants to let go.

There's a sense of contentment settling over both of you - maybe everything will be okay after all, as long as you have each other.

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sickvictorianangel · 8 months

Text

I need some inspiration for my next chapter. Also, my computer died on me and writing being an adhd queen in the cellphone is literally hell 😭

In the mean time, tag me in the good smut fanfics out here (Arthur Morgan x Female reader) pls! If you have a favorite, be more than welcome to show me! 🩷

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

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fleckcmscott · 1 year

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Room Service

Summary: A radio program spurs Arthur's bolder side. What he comes up with is just what Y/N needs.

Words: 4,389

Warnings: Swearing, Smut

A/N: This story has been percolating in my brain, since my husband and I rewatched Vertigo a few weeks back. 🌃 Hope you all enjoy this fun little excursion! A special thank you to @iartsometimes for beta-ing! 😃

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

It was a sunny day in Gotham City, and Arthur's heart beat with a warmth to match. Three sugar cubes sweetened a mug of staff room coffee, a stale but free offer. He tapped cigarette ash into the metal sink, counted down the seconds. Pressed painted lips into a line, crimson curved by unfurling pride.

When - when exactly - had he become the kind of man who'd book a hotel for a rendezvous?

Sure, Y/N and he had overnighted before. Hotels and motels and one inn with strands of hair stuck to the soap. And they'd made love at most of them. But getting it on (as one of her favorite songs called it) hadn't been the purpose of their stays. One weekend, he'd tagged along to Philadelphia during the East Coast Paralegal conference, where he'd shrugged at the Liberty Bell and taken in a comedy show. Despite her comment that Boston felt like a sibling trying to keep up with Gotham, the city had had its charms.

Maybe he should thank Dr. Sally. They'd finally caught her show together, sans tight fit in the tub. "It's Perfectly Normal" had been the episode's title, exemplifying the good doctor's usual encouragements. In what she'd described as an effort to put listeners at ease and start a dialogue between the sexes, she'd discussed men and women's most common sexual fantasies. He'd licked his thumb and turned to a fresh page in his notebook.

Men dreamed of touching their lovers' intimately (been there), going down on them (done that),and receiving in turn (check, check, check). Beyond faceless fantasy women, sleeping with a stranger held no interest for him. He'd be liable to crack up and droop in five seconds flat.

Domination was what women desired, a type of power play. The notion had made him shift in his seat. Those dynamics hadn't ever existed between he and Y/N, not that he was aware. They went with what felt natural, what felt good, what felt right. Why complicate it when life was already complicated enough? At Dr. Sally's mention of threesomes, Y/N had taken on the look of a woman who'd eaten bad fish. But the phrase New Location had ironed out the wrinkles on her nose.

From where she'd knelt to dust the TV stand, she'd shot him a look brimming with suggestion. "Write that one down."

He had. Over and over in the margins. That was a language his romantic inclinations understood, a vocabulary that matched.

On his way home from an appointment, he'd walked seven extra blocks, muttering and smoking and wondering where they should go. Dinner at Bamonte's was guaranteed to start with gnocchi and end inside her. A romp in her office was out of the question. The mere thought of it made his frame stiff as a ramrod. If they screwed up and her boss somehow caught wind of it...

Then the answer stopped Arthur in his tracks.

A four-story sign dominated the early twentieth century building, read "Hotel Empire" in vertical neon letters. The place was six stories short with a stucco façade. It was narrow, four rooms across, squished between the apartment building to its right and the club to its left as an afterthought.

With the practiced swagger of the hoping to impress, Arthur crossed the lobby's faded marble floor. He lay an arm on the mahogany front desk and addressed the lone receptionist. "Hi. I'd like to book a room for next week."

The middle-aged man in a bellman cap gnawed a soggy toothpick. He had the craggy face of a fellow working stiff. "The whole week?"

"No. Just Thursday. Thursday night."

Toothpick flipped through a reservation book, tapped a series of blank lines. "We've got a couple on the third floor. Non-smoking. Two doubles or twins?"

"One king?"

A hotel reservation sheet slid across the desk. "Fill this out. I'll need an ID."

Once Arthur had stuffed his Gotham City ID back in his wallet, he jotted his name, address, and initialed the nonrefundable deposit agreement. But the form demanded a phone number.

"You can't call about it," he said. Realizing how this could be misconstrued, he fumbled with the pen. "It's a surprise. For my wife."

Toothpick's pause said he'd heard this story often enough to disbelieve it. "Uh huh. Well, show up or not. It's no skin off my nose." He stuck the papers in a leatherette folder, where gold letters spelling Hotel Empire had flaked off. "Check-in starts at three, you've gotta check out by eleven. We have in-room dining, but if you ask me, $6.95 for a BLT ain't worth it." He bent and spit his toothpick in the trash as if hawking tobacco in a spittoon. Arthur managed to blink instead of recoil. Toothpick continued and straightened his cap. "Dunbar's is two blocks down, that's a better bet if you ask me. If you've got any questions, just call. See you next week."

Arthur had exited with his pulse racing like a snare drum - and it hadn't slowed since.

"Hey, my man."

Ryan's energetic greeting tugged Arthur back to the present. Ryan was a teacher in what was called the resource room, which meant he taught children with learning challenges. Children like Arthur. Ryan's wife Sheila had hired Arthur for a birthday party last summer, and they'd found Carnival so charming, he'd been recommended for Gotham Elementary's winter fundraiser. A return to his old stomping ground.

"Lunch period's almost over." Ryan offered a divided lunch tray with five chicken nuggets, reconstituted mashed potatoes, canned peas, a cinnamon roll, and a small carton of milk. "The kids are already lining up for more of your puffy stickers, and it's my turn in the sponge toss."

Stubbing out his cigarette, Arthur took the tray. His grip on it tightened. "Do you think I could get out of here at three? I know we'd said four, but I have a date. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I'll give you back the six dollars for the hour. You- You can put it in the donation bo-"

"It's all right. These kids'll be ready for a nap at two. Hell, I'll want one." Ryan sat on the metal table parallel to the sink. "What's your girl do, anyway?"

"She's a paralegal. She has a three-day trial this week, and I wanted to, you know. Make it easier."

Ryan snagged a nugget from the tray. "You don't have to explain. Sheila's been nagging me to go see that new movie, the one where the chick dies just when the guy tells her he loves her? What a waste." A long resigned, sigh. "I should probably take her this weekend. It'll make my life easier."

Arthur grinned. Maybe he and Ryan were on the bumpy track to becoming friends. And a good friend would offer advice. "Y/N and I go to Capitol Cinemas. They have couple seats, and the popcorn has three types of toppings."

~~~~~

Y/N strode along the Ditmas Ave subway platform, excusing herself, weaving her way in and out of the throng. She ascended concrete stairs, sucked in a long breath. Crisp air filled her lungs, eased the tension from her tendons. Welcome invigoration after hours of being trapped inside Gotham Central Court House, a grand old Romanesque building in dire need of an updated ventilation system. Its chlorine corridors stank of a YMCA pool.

When she slid through her apartment's door, her canvas court bag dropped to the floor. She toed off her commuter boots, peeled away her suede gloves. "I'm home!" she called.

Only to be answered by silence.

She stepped forward into the living room. A rerun should've played on TV, or the radio set to Arthur's beloved golden oldies while he puttered about. She checked her watched. Hm.

He'd said he'd be back by five; it was nearing quarter to now. The doors to the bathroom and bedroom stood open, tiles and blankets bathed in inky blackness. Itching to glimpse the burning end of a cigarette, she went to the glass door to the fire escape. It was nicotine free.

The O line could've gotten stuck on the tracks, or Arthur's gig might've gone so well that he was in the middle of handing out business cards. She hoped it was the latter. Unbuttoning her wool coat, she turned towards the kitchen, ready to throw together a dinner with whatever was in their cupboards. A spaghetti and garlic tomato sauce kind of night.

A low light in the corner of her eye, slivers of soft yellow behind the room divider in the rear corner. Ah ha. That was it. He was lost in thought and notebook in equal measure. She padded to the writing nook, ready to cup his shoulders, peck the crown of his head, drown in the potent musk of his hair.

The empty chair arched her brow. But there was a crème brûlée envelope on his desk, her name in uneven cursive. Smack in the middle, sure to grab her attention. A magnet that drew all the iron in her blood.

Eager fingers tore the flap. Aftershave wafted to her nose, smoked sandalwood and man. A black business card peeked out, framed by gold Gatsby corners, an ad for a hotel in Hinkley she'd never heard of. The accompanying note was folded in half. "Meet me here. Room 307." She pressed the lined paper to her sternum, iron rushing to spots below her waistline.

Whether it was thoughtful gestures or his simple presence, Arthur had a knack for brightening the most stressful day. Just a couple weeks ago, he'd called her office to say he'd picked up her favorite bottle of wine. It was as though finding someone wasn't the only thing he considered an accomplishment (a point of view that too often led to low efforts), but also the choice to maintain, to nurture the ideas that defined their couplehood. A beautiful perspective that made him so easy to love.

It made Y/N sheepish, how initiating those gestures didn't come as naturally to her, nor as often. No, she never missed special occasions and holidays. And she was good at the tough stuff, a stabilizing wall, stalwart and true. Still. She wanted to get better at the return.

Another whiff of cologne hit her nostrils, spurred her to hurry to the bedroom. She flicked on the light, rifled through the top right drawer of the vanity, where she found a bottle of perfume. Puckering her lips, she swept plum pink along the bottom, applied a dot of pigment to the corners. One hand unbuttoned the first two buttons of her scarlet blouse. The other touched up her eyeliner and shoved the stick in her skirt pocket.

She'd make what he'd planned for tonight a chance to start evening the score.

~~~~~

Not too shabby, not too fancy. A good room and Arthur had done well to book it.

Two bay windows overlooked the street, cracked pavement mottled by slush. Drawn velvet drapes allowed neon light to coat the space in a rich verdant. Pointed blocks intersected egg-and-dart molding at each corner, stark white on satin walls. The dials on the television threwback to the age when he'd have to get off his ass to change the channel. A compact writing desk buttressed the far wall, Mr. Coffee machine and paper filters ready for use. Perfectly plumped pillows had a thank you card along with two after dinner mints, like out of a movie. He ate them both.

He sat on the edge of the bed and bounced twice. The right amount of give, the springs' squeaks quiet enough to be a pleasant soundtrack instead of a disturbance that'd prompt a call from Toothpick. Arthur peeled back the polyester blanket and comforter, ran a palm over the sheets. Freshly laundered, smooth and luxurious. Six hundred count that'd feel like silk on his skin. He set the woodgrain clock radio to GCR, just in time for Down Memory Lane, which featured songs from the 1920s to 50s, guaranteed to make every listener swing.

Strolling to the bathroom, he muffled a laugh. This entire adventure felt illicit, as though Y/N was his dirty little secret, a secret he knew inside and out. A sort of reversal of when she'd propositioned him, invited him over with candidly explicit intentions. A race of sensation goosepimpled his flesh, a tickle that shivered his bones. A kind of nervous anticipation akin to what he'd felt backstage during his debut at Pogo's - the difference being that success was guaranteed tonight.

Arthur breathed into his palm to test his breath. A streak of blue paint lingered under his left eye. He wet the corner of a white washcloth and scrubbed it away.

Just then there was a knock at the door.

Light on his heels, he straightened the collar of his V-Neck sweater. Tucked brown waves behind his ear and turned the knob.

There Y/N stood. Lovely, ravishing. Her feathery tresses smelled of fresh cut flowers and orange blossoms, a flustered pink flushed her cheeks. Her glass heart pendant shone. She puffed at a rapid one-two count. She braced herself on the doorframe, right hand on her hip. Her overnight bag dangled from the other. "Good evening, Mr. Fleck."

"Hi," he said, mirroring her stance. "Did your breath run away from you? If we hurry, we can catch it."

She stuck out her lower lip and blew a stray lock from her forehead. "The elevator had a line - tour bus - so I took the stairs." Her step over the threshold forced a foot's retreat. After he took her coat, her arms wound about his ribs. "How was your gig?"

"Good." The small talk felt perfunctory, a box to check on the way to what he wanted. He resolved to go with it, anyway. Truly set the scene. "I made coffee."

A soft sound, a peck right above his collar, and she was off, sashaying to the desk. She poured them both a cup, perched on the corner, crossed her legs. The position lengthened her calves. It was then he noticed she'd traded her winter boots for navy pumps. Given the slipperiness of the sidewalk, it was a miracle she'd arrived in one piece. (That would have been a night to remember: a rendezvous in the ER with a cracked fibula and vending machine M&Ms.) She offered a paper cup, the kind with playing cards printed on them.

He sat in the faux leather executive chair before her. Stirred sugar into coffee, examined the poker hand he'd been dealt. A royal flush. He leaned back, the chair tilting a relaxing thirty degrees. "How'd the trial go?"

"It's over, finally. Defense counsel spent their closing argument trying to impugn our client: a man who lost a leg. But being a recovering alcoholic has nothing to do with improper forklift maintenance. He wasn't drinking on the job. Juries hate cheap tricks, especially when they're full of working people. I'd be surprised if we didn't have a verdict tomorrow."

Arthur smiled along with her. They'd had plenty of ask and answer sessions, and he'd watched enough episodes of Gotham Law and Night Court to have a general understanding of her profession. "So you think the good guys will win?"

"Yes, and it's about time, too. But enough of that now." She angled her legs nearer, shoe dangling above his lap. Gaze flitting about the room, she took a sip. "When did you decide to do this?"

"When we listened to Dr. Sally awhile ago. Do you remember? I wanted to do something special but wasn't sure what."

"I can't believe that. You're wonderful at it."

He gulped his drink, took her foot in his grasp. He slipped off her high heel, rubbed his thumb into her arch in firm, vertical lines. A groan left her throat, her toes spreading wide. "Well," he said. "She helped me figure it out."

"Don't give her too much credit. It was somewhere in that head of yours." Gently, she pressed her foot to his chest, where his pulse thundered under her sole. Her voice dropped to a purr. "Or your romantic heart. I'd say you were inspired. You certainly inspired me."

Fingertips traced to the hem of her stockings. She'd changed into the pair with lace tops. His abdomen tightened. "Yeah?"

The shoe dropped from her other foot. "Yeah."

Suspense burgeoned between them, thickened into a heady haze. Her pupils locked on his, dilated by the low light and a hefty helping of desire. Her toes drew a line down his chest. He watched the descent, every follicle suddenly aware of that sketch.

"Mm." She sighed when she reached the growing bulge in his pants. "You're hard already."

Laughter caught in his nose. "I've been waiting for this all week."

Arthur stood to seize her waist, lift her from the desk. A surprised cry, a shriek of delight. Hot coffee splashed his sweater - the perfect excuse to get it off posthaste. He deposited her on the foot of the bed.

Y/N stretched as she sat. The motion lifted her breasts against her blouse, nipples sticking out like exclamation points, the size of blueberries. That meant her bra was in her bag, that she was naked beneath that thin satin. He yanked his sweater over his head, tossed it to the floor. She unbuttoned his pants, parted the zipper in one smooth motion. The shadow of movement brushed his length, gaped his lips. She tugged his briefs an inch below lean hips and took him out.

His cock rested flat on her palm. She curled her fingers around it. Rather than pumping, she swiped her thumb across the engorged tip, a delicate paintbrush on the canvas of his flesh. The tenderness of the caress seemed at odds with the carnality of the act. He liked it. He grew stiffer, until he was sure all blood had rushed to his lower head.

Smiling, she smooched his V-line, his patch of springy hair. His stomach stuttered at the exquisite fever of her mouth. "This isn't what I expected tonight," she said, and crawled up the mattress on her elbows.

"Well, what did you expect?"

"Oh, I don't know." Her legs splayed, woven polyester bunching at her waist. "A nice, respectable evening at home with you, It Could Be Yours, the paper. Maybe a joke or two."

"Are you disappointed?"

She gave his torso a raking stare. "Never."

He pushed her flat on the bed. Kissed her knuckles, the inside of her wrist, the crook of her elbow. He bent and sucked a nipple through her shirt. Wet the fabric with his tongue and sucked the moisture back out. Insistent tugs at his curls until he sucked again. The plain of her pubic bone tilted upwards and towards him. He slid a palm up her skirt. Unfastening, opening, throwing the cloth in a haphazard arc.

His erection brushed her stocking. His gaze traversed her curves, the faint stretchmarks on her thighs. She'd donned the panties she'd gotten as a bachelorette gift, the ones that tied at the hip. A triangle of black cloth that exposed more than it shielded. He pulled at one of the ribbons, eased the nylon aside. Caressed her open till she was liquid in his hands. Pointer and middle fingers formed a V around her clitoral hood, fluttered in a come hither motion.

A gasp, irregular breaths that were a hallmark of her pleasure. His mouth did not soften as he kissed her. She tore the buttons of her blouse, pressed her tongue to his, nipped at his lip. When the satin pooled at her elbows, her breasts spilled out in a tantalizing jostle. The right was slightly larger, the areola on the left a centimeter lower. Both beautiful and alluring and ready to fill his palms.

One hand dragged from his neck, followed the length of his spine, pushed his pants to his knees to squeeze his rear. Chuckling, he reached to yank them the rest of the way down, but they caught on his ankles. One kick, then one more. Y/N's foot hooked in the waistband and shoved them off.

Once she was nude, once only her panties remained, she loosened the other ribbon. Raising his lips from hers, he met her eyes.

"I want you to fuck me," she whispered.

A sharp exhale. "You want me to fuck you?" A repetition that meant renewal. To ensure, to savor, to carve into his soul.

Her reply was to grasp his shaft, press the length of it to her vulva. She rutted upward and against it, did so again. Wet and slick and all he ever wanted. He groaned at that damp heat, a compass that always led home.

He sat on his haunches. Ran a palm over her flank. Took hold of her leg and brought it higher, so that the swell of her calf touched his bicep. Poised to enter her, he bent forward.

She pushed at him. "Ow, stop."

"What?"

She lowered her calf, wrapped it around him instead. "Your legs are younger than mine."

"But I wanna be between them forever." He eased just inside her entrance.

"Deeper." A greedy fist at his shoulder. "Go deeper."

So he did. Inch by aching inch. Grunting, he grabbed her breast, squeezed what was likely a bit too hard. No complaint came. Rather, her pelvis rose up into his. Walls gripped him tight, tighter. Hot and sleek. Warmth so feminine, so bracing, the essence of this act.

Propped on his forearms, he studied her. Her head twisted into the pillow, arms sprawled at her sides, fingertips digging into the sheets. A writhe that was nearly a dance. The neon light cascading through the windows spilled over her, cast his shadow onto her form. Sweat stuck her heart pendant to her chest.

At his next thrust, she moaned. A laugh rippled through the air. "Mr Fleck..." A rare second use of that nickname within one hour, a sure sign she was high on him. He wasn't too far behind. Another twist of her hips, as if trying to wring him out. "If you're not careful, I'll want a surprise every week."

His ruts slowed, stopped. He wiped hair from her cheeks, thumbs stroked her temples. "Where next?"

"The shower, your desk. There's always our bed." She turned to kiss his wrist, traced its tendon with the tip of her tongue. "I'm not picky. As long as you're inside me."

A golden wave of affection passed between them (and not a little ardor), a happy hum against her lips. She reached to toy with her clit, her knuckles pressed into his abdomen. She whimpered, tensed, hips rising in a frantic pattern that didn't quite match his. All at once her arms flung about him, clutching, clinging. But she hadn't finished. She'd caressed herself to the peak of the precipice but not over. She wanted them to get her off together.

Arthur drove into her again, pace quickening to an allegro. Nails biting his thigh, she seized around him. Pulsing, pulsing, pulsing. He watched her drift away, expression scrunching and smoothing into bliss. Harsh pants hit his chin, her sharp cries a song in his ear.

He nuzzled her cheek, kissed the curve of her jaw. "I love watching you come." It made him feel powerful, a king who could conquer anything.

Giggles and fluttering lashes, her hands cupping his ass. A flash of light and love in her eyes. She moistened her lips, lifted her mouth and hips to claim him.

Stomach to stomach, chest to chest, heart to racing heart. Thoughts fragmented, his body continuing its hungry hunt for relief. That hunt ended on a clipped moan, a prism of sensation. White-hot pleasure that doubled as surrender, surrender that felt like victory.

He rolled off her, onto his back. Armed sweat from his forehead and worked on slowing his breath. Feet turned out as relaxation oozed through his veins, slackened his limbs.

A kick to his calf, the flick of the bedside lamp, a flood of unwelcome light. He squinted in her direction. She was doubled-over the side of the bed. A smear of his release glistened on her thigh. Her shoulder blades moved as if two conversing waves, rising and falling with each bit of gossip.

"What're you looking for?" he asked.

"You'll see."

Using the nightstand as leverage, she pushed herself to the shore. The covers rustled as she lay on her stomach, mewling and stretching. She took his left hand. A point dragged across his palm, dry but smooth. His fingers twitched under her breath. It reminded him of when he'd tried to cheat his way through remedial English during freshman year, to be foiled by smudged ink.

When she released him, he studied what she'd done. It was an odd squiggle. A loop like a balloon, its string connected to what may have been a Y. He followed its oversized tail to the end, where an upside-down hook resided. He'd seen similarly strange markings at her office, when he'd dropped off lunch or picked up her set of keys.

"What is it?" he said.

"'I love you' in shorthand." She used her eyeliner pencil to explain how three symbols representing vowel sounds and common words connected into one. An analogy for how they'd connected and made one life.

Averting his eyes, he pressed the mark to his chest. "Will you write one in my journal?"

"Of course I will. You pick the page." She patted his belly, lay her cheek on his abdomen. "Does this place have room service? I'm starving. And I've never had room service. Think it'll come on silver platters?"

Arthur recalled Toothpick at the front desk's warning. Paying too much for the basics should've made him cringe, would've any other night. But she deserved a rare splurge. They both did. Even if it cost every cent he'd earned today. And he wanted to keep her undressed, wrapped only in a comforter, for as long as possible.

He tucked her in, then grabbed the phone on the nightstand. "I hear they have BLTs."

~~~~~

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck smut #arthur x reader #arthur x ofc #joker 2019 #arthur x female reader #watchwhathappens

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lovecanyon · 4 months

Text

YOUR #1 WAG/F1 REPORTER

charles leclerc x reader

MASTERLIST | PATREON

liked by charles_leclerc, f1 and 1,374,019 others

yourinstagram “what do you mean i can’t drive for mercedes next year?”

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charlesfan2 GOODBYEEEE

charlesfan6 forever a y/n stan account

charles_leclerc Mercedes?

yourinstagram should i have said redbull? idk sorryyy

charlesfan3 she is so 😭😭

carmenmmundt So gorgeous! ❤️

charlesfan9 CAN YOU INTERVIEW YOUR BOYFRIEND AGAIN PLS

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love4wags Charles and Y/N in Ferrari’s hospitality today!

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charlesfan5 LITERAL PARENTS

charlesfan8 manifesting they stay together forever

charlesfan11 you don’t understand how much i love them 😩😩😩

charlesfan2 mother and father!!!!!

charlesfan6 i hope y/n is interviewing him again…i will die

charlesfan12 she is always the best dressed in the paddock sorry not sorry

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leclercdaily Charles in Y/N’s TikTok recently!

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charlesfan6 they are so cute.

charlesfan10 CRYING AND THROWING UP

charlesfan4 charles is so happy with y/n i can’t 😭

charlesfan8 they way he was looking at her…goodbye…

charlesfan3 y/n having charles in a chokehold ‼️

charlesfan2 I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE

charlesfan5 sleeping on the highway tonight

liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 3,382,109 others

scuderiaferarri In this exclusive interview with Y/N L/N, a celebrated reporter, delves deep into the inner world of Formula 1 driver Charles Leclerc, unravelling the strategies, challenges, and triumphs that have shaped his career.

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charlesfan2 I MANIFESTED THIS

charlesfan8 wanna bet you they were flirting the entire time

charles_leclerc Had an amazing time!

carlossainz55 Lol

charlesfan9 LMAOO 😭

dualipa Best couple in the world x

charlesfan3 something shifted

f1 Both dominating the racing world!

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yourinstagram box box

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charlesfan8 HER CAPTION BYEEEE

charlesfan1 live laugh y/n

isahernaez See you soon babe!

yourinstagram cannot wait ❤️❤️

charlesfan6 FOREVER MY FERRARI GIRLS

charlesfan5 i miss isa and y/n together so bad

scuderiaferrari Ferrari forever ❤️🏎️

(liked by yourinstagram!)

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charlesandyn Y/N and Charles in Monaco recently with his family!

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charlesfan10 i am so in love with them

charlesfan5 SOMEONE SEDATE ME

charlesfan2 charles won the lottery with y/n…truly

charlesfan11 they are my royal family 😭😭

charlesfan4 y/n and charles are perfect together, i love them so bad

charlesfan12 without them i am nothing

charlesfan1 cutie patooties

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ferraristyle In the paddock with style. Y/N L/N wearing Ferrari Style.

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charlesfan1 THE BEST WAG TO HAVE EVER LIVED

charlesfan6 y/n being a ferrari girly 💅

yourinstagram back to work!

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charlesfan4 y/n l/n the woman that you are

kellypiquet Pretty girl

charlesfan7 nobody is doing it like her

charlotte2304 Truly the best dressed on the paddock!!

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charlesleclercnews Y/N via Charles’ Instagram stories!

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charlesfan9 he wants to kill us

charlesfan4 CHARLES IN HIS FOREVER BOYFRIEND ERA

charlesfan10 can they get married already 🙌

charlesfan3 literallyyyy

charlesfan5 i love them so much 😭😭

charlesfan7 y/n l/n scuderia ferrari driver…i like the sound of that

charlesfan11 AJAKAKSBVSVAHAJSJJEKW

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joris__trouche Happy birthday to our #1 wag 🎂 🎉

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charlesfan5 IT’S Y/N DAY

charlesfan11 the way it’s her anniversary with charles too 🥲

yourinstagram thxxx jor ❤️

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arthur_leclerc Happy birthday Y/N!!!!

charlesfan7 today is a big day for her omggg

francisca.cgomes Ahhhh happy bday 💕

charlesfan10 the caption is so real

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yourinstagram happy anniversary to my angel, i love you so dearly! ♾️ ❤️

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charlesfan2 this shit has me crying omg

charles_leclerc Happy anniversary my love ❤️❤️❤️

yourinstagram i love u

charlesfan8 BABIES 🧎‍♂️

charlesfan4 the prince and princess of monaco

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carlossainz55 Happy anniversary you two.

charlesfan9 NEXT MARRIAGE

leclerc_pascale Mes anges ❤️

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charles_leclerc Double the celebration, double the love. Happy birthday to the most incredible girlfriend and the one who has filled my life with endless joy and love.

Here's to another amazing year of creating beautiful memories together. Happy anniversary, my love!

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charlesfan1 tears are streaming down my face

charlesfan6 THEY ARE SO PERFECT TOGETHER

yourinstagram you are so sweet, i love you so much

charles_leclerc I love you more ❤️❤️

f1 Forever our Ferrari couple

landonorris Love you two!

charlesfan8 mother & father of ferrari

scuderiaferrari Another year of love ❤️

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yncharlesdaily Charles and Y/N last night in Monaco celebrating their anniversary!

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charlesfan5 still not getting over the way charles asked out y/n on her birthday 🥲

charlesfan7 THE REAL ROYAL COUPLE OF MONACO

charlesfan2 paps need to leave them alone…

charlesfan10 the way y/n is hiding 😭😭

charlesfan6 charles looks so smiley

charlesfan11 he has never been this happy in his entire life

charlesfan4 they are the cutest

tag list: @harrysmatcha @harryspinkpillow @helen-with-an-a @florencepughily @peterparkerbae @toji-dabi-wife @fallonx @drphilssoulmate @cherriesrae @alienorknight @valluvsu @ayeshathestyles @hazgoldenstyles @eiffelmezarry @tsukishimawhore @renatavieira @michellekstyles @eleanordaisy @shawnsblue @agustdpeach @hannahnikohl @whoscamila @ch3rryrry @msolbesg @futuristicpalacegardenpsychic @youusunshineyoutemptress @cherryfragrancx @milkiane @golden-hoax @sunshinemendes8 @your--sweetest--downfall @melllinaa @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cashtons-wife @stellarossii @scenesofobx @manifestrry @lomlolivia

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fangirl-dot-com · 27 days

Text

Drive To Survive

key:

indented italics - flashbacks, display other than interview, screen changes

February 14, 2025

The screen is dark as the newest episode of Drive To Survive plays.

The title read “The Rookie.” It was finally time for the episode that everyone had been waiting for since the 2024 season ended.

The opening scene starts with multiple flashes of cameras. If people watched the 2023 season, they would know exactly what circuit it was. The Elvis impersonators would give it away as well.

Standing in a circle was the current world champion, two Ferrari drivers, and the Papaya duo. They smiled forced smirks for the cameras. Yet, they dropped them once they realized the cameras were not pointing to them. The Netflix camera filmed them all turning to face the front. Most of the drivers had confused looks.

“I didn’t know Checo was a Cars fan,” the microphone picked up the words from the red clad Spaniard.

Max smirked, the camera zooming in on the Dutchman.

“He’s not.”

The camera angle changes to the back of a young woman, blond hair bouncing with every step. A red scarf flowed behind her, white body suit sparkling under the flashes of all the cameras.

The screen flashed the title before a producer chair was put in a spotlight. The camera angle switched to a back view as a driver walked around and sat in the chair. Their face is completely nonvisible from the camera angle, but people know who it is.

The lights dim before brightening, and the camera angle is back on the chair with the driver. Blond hair reflects the lighting, as well as a nice smile. The episode clapper is in her hands.

“Please state your name and team for the camera.”

The woman in the chair took a breath.

“My name is Y/n L/n and I drive for the Italian team, Scuderia Ferrari.”

She clapped the black and white box. A loud beep sounded in the studio as the camera crew started to laugh. The girl in the chair started giggling as well, before acting serious again.

“Yeah, that was a lie. I drive for the best, the Honda RBPT Oracle Red Bull Racing Formula 1 team. Red doesn’t look the best on me. I prefer navy.”

She smiles, trying not to laugh once more.

The camera quickly cuts to black and then fades into a clip, that looks similar to a home video. A young girl is smiling for the camera, tiniest helmet in her hand.

“How old were you when you started karting?” a voice sounded over the video.

The blond cocked her head in thought. She smiled at the nostalgia that was running through her mind.

“I was five.”

The same little girl was now in a kart, doing donuts on a driveway.

“My parents had gotten me a kart as a present. They had been talking about starting me as soon as possible. I mean, I had toy cars before for practice. My first one was a bright pink Barbie car and I got that when I was 3.”

The clip changes to a different scene. This time, it was of a karting circuit. Multiple kids were aiming for the first place spot, but a singular pink kart was going around the outside, taking it from them.

“I remember my first time winning. It was 2008, a few months after I got my kart. All the boys there looked at me weird when I showed up with my hot pink helmet.”

“Where you scared?” the interviewer leaned in, awaiting the answer.

“Of the boys? Not one bit. They should have been more scared of me.”

It was now a black screen, but multiple voices shouted over it.

“Y/n L/n wins her first feature karting race.

“That is another win for the female karter!

“Y/n L/n wins the European Division for karting in 2010!

“L/n takes the 2012 Italian Karting Division Championship!”

“Karting will always be a part of me.”

“Who kept you going?”

The girl gave a sad smile to the camera as she looked down at her hands. She knew she had given them permission to talk about the subject. She just didn’t know that they’d go right off the bat.

“My godfather, Lorenzo.”

The screen changed to a clip of the small girl running to a taller man. The man was knelt down in the grass, arms open wide to catch the running girl. A gentle smile was on his face as he looked at the trophy in the child’s arms: almost too big for her to carry on her own.

“I believe that without him, I wouldn’t be in this chair. I owe it all to him.”

The scene changes once again, to multiple clips of an F4 and F3 car crossing the finish line.

“Y/n L/n wins her first F4 race of the season!

“Is she going to take home the championship today? Yes she does! Y/n L/n is the 2018 Formula 4 Champion!

“It is a new year and we are seeing a lot of new rookies in Formula 3. Hold on, is that Y/n L/n? Ah it is! So glad to see the girl here today especially after last year!

One of the regulars on the show, Will Buxton, was now in the seat.

“What are your thoughts on L/n’s rise in Formula 3?”

Will leaned in, getting focused.

“You have to have such a good foundation in your family and close friends, to be supported, to be good like that. Because without good support, a driver cannot be a good driver.”

“L/n is across the line to take home her first F3 race win. We were seeing her looking a bit down earlier, so I hope this brings her spirits up because she is making history today.”

“So, I was disowned right before that race that I won in F3.” The blond shrugged. “I really never had any good support other than like three people. At the time, two of them were just staff too.”

She giggled at the revelation, knowing what Buxton had said beforehand.

“Another win for L/n, making her the 2019 Formula 3 champion. Ladies and gentlemen, you do not want to miss watching this racer ever again.”

Somber music now plays in the background.

“How nervous were you when you made the jump from the Formula 3 division to Formula 2.”

The girl gave a nervous scoff. “I was terrified.”

Clips of pictures filled the screen.

“I had just lost the only person in the world who I know still cared for me.”

“Heir to the Alessandrino Fortune Has Died”

“Former Italian Karting Champion Lorenzo Alessandrino Has Passed Away”

“Lorenzo Alessandrino, 2001 Formula 2 Champion, Is Dead”

“Y/n L/n Makes Motor Sport History as the First Woman To Start in Formula 2”

“L/n Takes the Formula 2 Feature Race”

“Y/n L/n, History Maker: First Female To Win a Formula 2 Race”

The headlines fade into a video of the podium. A 25-year-old Max Verstappen is visible, holding the 1st place trophy. He is seen watching the 17-year-old Y/n L/n shed some tears during her national anthem, while pointing to the sky when it finished. He gingerly stepped out and handed it to her when cued. She graciously took it from his hands and offered him a wide smile. Max stepped back, watching the young girl openly cry in front of thousands. On the inside, he wished he had that strength.

“I could tell something was off that day.”

A new driver was in the chair. Male, blond, and in the same team uniform as the female was. Anybody who’s anybody knew exactly who that was.

He sucked in a breath. “Obviously, I didn’t know her or what she had been through at the time. Now knowing, I wish I had given her a hug.”

Max let out a chuckle as he reminisced on that day.

The screen flashed and the woman was back in the chair.

“I knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was.” Her hands waved around. “Max Verstappen, probably one of the greatest drivers to grace the grid. No one just skips most of F3 and all of F2. You have to be great. And that was Max.”

“Was he your favorite driver on the grid at that time?”

She let out a snort. “Oh gosh no.”

Everyone in the studio laughed.

The scene changed to you sitting next to Charles at one of the debriefs in Las Vegas. You had no clue why they put you there, because last you knew, you weren’t driving. However, they had said something about wanting the pole sitter and you (who had done the fastest lap in FP1) to talk for a bit.

Your cheeks were a bit heated as you were truly sitting next to your hero. Charles could only smirk at your very shy nature next to him. He watched you rattle off about some part of the car and the balance.

The Monegasque cut in.

“See, this is why she is perfect to be Max’s teammate. They could talk all day.”

Everyone around them laughed, along with you who gave some quiet giggles. You rolled your eyes.

“Let’s not talk about the fact that you have your own ‘Leclerifying’ hmmm?”

The girl smirked at the camera. “There was a certain McLaren driver that always tried to get the attention of a select Spaniard. If Lando was obsessed with Carlos. I was obsessed with the other Ferrari driver. I tried to get his attention on Twitter, er, well now X a couple of times. It was still Twitter when I was using it.”

“Of course I noticed her tweets.”

A new driver was now in the seat once again. This time, he wore the iconic Rosso Corsa team polo.

Charles smiled as he looked down at the multiple rings on his finger. His hand came up to his neck to fidget with a certain necklace. His smile grew as he thought on the memories.

“I thought it was sweet. A young driver was trying to keep up with the big leagues. I’m pretty sure I responded a couple of times. And Sebastian had put in a good word for her.”

“Sebastian?”

Charles’s eyes widened as he smirked.

“Vettel. He’s known her for longer than anyone here has.”

The scene changed again.

The girl was back as she clapped her hands.

“Charles made my day whenever he responded. To me it was probably like if Harry Styles responded to a fangirl’s tweet or Instagram. I always hoped that I’d make it to Formula 1 and could maybe drive beside him.”

“We were told that you know retired driver Sebastian Vettel.”

The blond smirked, not nervous but confident.

“Yeah, I know him. He was really good friends with my godfather.”

She leans forwards and fixes her shorts.

“It’s kind of how Max was close to the Schumacher family. Lorenzo worked with Seb multiple times in the very early 2000’s when Seb was still in karting. I want to say probably even before I was born as well. He was a little bit older than Seb, more like a mentor. I was able to catch up with Sebastian around 2020 and I got to meet a few more people.”

“People such as?” they prodded.

“Kimi, Nico, Mark. I’m pretty sure I met Lewis like once though when I was pretty young. Like probably around 2015. I got to watch a couple of Formula 1 races with them in 2020.”

The camera cuts to a man wearing the Mercedes logo on his polo. His braids are kept nicely as he smiles at the camera. They hand him a picture of you and him in 2015. His eyes are wide as he keeps looking at the photo and then to the camera.

“This was her?” Lewis questioned, letting out a small laugh. His eyes squint as he tries to get a closer look in the dark room.

The scene changes once again, the female driver back in the seat.

“Were you nervous that you might not have made it? To Formula 1 after what happened in 2020?”

The blond looked down at her hands.

“There were a few years where I was convinced that I wouldn’t.”

The screen fades to more headlines.

“Y/n L/n enters a second year of Formula 2 with PREMA”

“The Future for F2’s Only Female Driver is Uncertain”

“L/n Is Out of the Last F2 Race of the Season”

“PREMA Drops L/n for Her F2 Final Season?”

A clip of a meeting of some sorts flashed on the screen. You were looking quite down as you picked at the end of a table as someone read off a paper. You didn’t even want to pay attention as they were nailing the final nail into the coffin.

“Prema Racing has decided to let go of driver number 89, Y/n L/n. After the 2022 season, she will no longer race for or have any affiliations with Prema and will be replaced by Ollie Bearman.”

You spoke up. “But I have a contract until the end of 2023.”

The representative glared at you, before looking back at the page and kept reading. “Since driver 89 has underperformed in the past 2 years, Prema has decided to break contract. Compensation will be sent at a later time.”

Vito had silently grasped your shoulder to offer you some comfort, but the hurt had already been done. You were going into a season for the first time since F4, you didn’t have a secured future in the sport.

Ollie was sitting on the other side, watching you sadly as they basically read your death sentence. The camera zoomed in on you playing with a pen. If one were to look closely, they could see tears streaming down your cheeks.

Will was back in the seat.

“A driver without a contract or team cannot drive.”

The scene changes back to the driver.

“I mean. I had other options. On the side I was talking to Sebastian and even Nico. I was trying to keep my eyes open for something, anything. Except, it turned out that I didn’t need to.”

More headlines flashed.

“DAMS To Sign Both Leclerc and L/n for 2023”

“Y/n L/n Wins First Two Races of the 2023 Formula 2 Season”

“L/n Wins Her Third Race with Teammate Arthur Leclerc Behind Her”

“Y/n L/n Makes History Once Again: First Female To Win Formula 2 Championship”

“Y/n L/n: Youngest Driver To Win F2 Championship”

The girl is back in the chair, the spotlight on her.

“I didn’t know that I’d get the championship my final year. I was skeptical. I really thought that I wouldn’t be able to, since it was my final year, I had been dropped, and I had a new teammate. But I had a really good teammate and a better team. They really put everything into me being the best driver.”

“What did you think would happen after everything was over? You had won the championship with 1 race to spare.”

The girl swallowed before speaking. “Obviously, I thought I didn’t have many options. At the time, it seemed as though every door was closed. I kept talking to my manager about it, and every time he said he would come back empty handed. I even talked to him that morning, and he just had a sad smile on his face.” She paused. “I knew that even though I could be the champion, I had nowhere to go after that.”

The person in the chair changed.

“So, that was all a lie,” Vito spoke to the camera, a smile on his face.

The scene had changed. Vito Accardi, Y/n L/n’s manager, was seated in a chair. It looked like he was stressing over his laptop. Stella, L/n’s race engineer at the time of 2023, was seated across from him. He was silently tapping a pen on the table as he looked over the words on the screen.

“Too many junk emails?” she teased, settling into her chair.

The male shook his head.

The screen showed multiple contracts up at once, lines upon lines were highlighted. The headers at the top of each contract showed very recognizable logos.

He smirked as he looked directly at the camera. “I couldn’t tell her anything until I knew that there was something for certain.”

“How many teams wanted her?”

“All of them.”

The scene changed to a past driver’s get-together: one that no one had seen before. The group consisted of Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, Fernando Alonso, Daniel Ricciardo. An odd group, but they were just waiting around (or hiding on a Wednesday).

Charles was looking down at his phone, while Max was watching him closely. The Monegasque’s fingers were typing at a lightning speed.

Lando was the one to point it out.

“What’s got you in a tizzy?” the Briton asked, pulling Charles out of whatever fog he was in. He quickly turned his phone off.

“Ferrari is wanting to sign someone else, but wouldn’t be able to do so until 2025. Except her manager insists on a seat for 2024.”

Lewis had his interest piqued. “It is Y/n L/n?”

“Yeah. My brother has put in great words for her, along with Sebastian. Pierre also says that Alpine is thinking of options too. She’s,” he huffed, “very good. Almost a little too good.”

The other Mercedes driver took a sip of his drink. “Toto was just talking to me about that, but he said the same thing. There aren’t any seats available until 2025. But he wants her.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “So we’ve all gotten the talk about how all the team principals want to sign her. Even McLaren is speaking about how to get her a seat somewhere. Testing driver or something like that.”

The older Spaniard spoke up. “It would be foolish not to. She has generational talent. Stroll is looking at her as well.”

“So are we. Except there aren’t any seats,” an Aussie added.

Max was quietly reading almost every article he could get his hands on about her. In the back of his mind, he knew that Checo was going to retire after this year (especially after what happened at Mexico). He quickly sent one to Christian, only getting a thumbs up.

Daniel bumped Max. “You’ve been quiet over there. What are your thoughts on the potential rookie?”

The Dutchman looked up. “What rookie?”

The scene changed back to the Italian man.

“I’ve been her manager for years. I knew exactly what she needed at that moment. Sure, I could have told her, but I knew she wanted to race in 2024 and not wait. I’m not her manager for nothing.”

“How did you get in touch with Red Bull’s Christian Horner.”

The man adjusted in the chair. “Well, even though she wasn’t on their junior team, the actual brand Red Bull was one of her sponsors in karting.”

The scene changes once again, this time the Team Principal of the currently reining team was now in the seat.

“Vito had gotten in contact with me when she first started F2,” the older Briton said. “But we wanted to see what would happen. We took a chance at Max, way back then. But this was a bit different.”

The interviewer asked, “Because she was a girl?”

Christian shook his head.

“Because she was 16 at the start: younger than Max was by two years. Sure, she turned 17 at the end of the season due to a later birthday in October. But, we took a step back to see what she could do, especially now that they changed the age rules after Max. She was dropped by PREMA, and we almost took the chance then to maybe bring her in as a development driver. But, Vito was adamant about her wanting a championship. She wanted records broken, and she did.”

“How did everything go down? Before she knew.”

He smiled.

“I called him right after I got the article from Max. Youngest to win an F2 Championship and a female on top of that.”

“Was everything pretty smooth sailing?”

He shook his head. “I was advised not to sign her, but I was told ‘no’ for Max and you see where that got me. I wasn’t going to let her go to a team that wouldn’t let her shine.”

The scene changes to the RB19 being driven out at the mock track for training. The girl’s white helmet was a stark contrast against the deep navy of the car. The camera panned to the mock pit wall. Multiple people pressed buttons as they watched you take lap after lap.

A much older man just looked on with pinched eyebrows, not really interested in seeing what the girl had to offer.

After the final testing times had been clocked, he stood up and slammed his papers on a table, before he left the pits. Christian smirked as he watched him stalk off. He knew he made the right call for the second time.

“How did it feel being in the seat for the first time?”

The girl, back in the seat, responded, “It felt surreal.”

She kept talking as the screen faded into clips of the car.

The aerial view watched as the car look several laps: getting close ups and shots of the car going around the corners.

“I went from having the door slammed into my face to the door being blown to bits.”

“Did Vito ever tell you that he was talking to multiple people at once?”

She looked at the camera. “He did. But he knew what I needed. That’s why he’s been my manager since 2018.”

The scene changes to multiple flashing cameras as the girl walked into the paddock for the first time in Vegas. The cameras followed as she straight up walked to the group of older guys, introduced herself, and followed Max as he walked away. The rest of the guys watched her animatedly talk to the man who hated every second of the Las Vegas Grand Prix.

“The beginning of your season was filled with a lot of highs,”

The screen flashes to multiple clips of you raising trophies, especially highlighting your podium in Bahrain.

“And lows.”

The female’s eyebrows raised. “No kidding.”

The scene changes to your car flipping in Suzuka before panning to people’s reactions. Many people immediately stood up. Others put their hands over their mouths. Many stayed sitting, frozen in shock over what they just saw.

The screen fades to black, but radio messages can be heard.

“Kid, you have to answer me.”

“Tell me you’re ok. You need to respond.”

“I can’t lose you too.”

Charles was back in the chair. Tears could be seen in his lash line as he exhaled a shaky breath. He closed his eyes, trying to get over his emotions.

“A crash like that doesn’t happen every day. It was awful, just waiting to hear back from her. Really took me back to 2014. Reminded me of Jules. On the same track. Rain. I don’t think I would have finished the season if she hadn’t made it.”

The scene changes to multiple marshals standing around the car, trying to get to you. Except, you were trapped. They didn’t want to start cutting, just in case there was a fuel leak. They did not need for the car to catch fire.

“I remember watching Lewis just turn around,” George said, now that he was in the seat. “He kept shaking his head and muttering. I couldn’t stop crying.”

“Y/n is a driver who was shy at the beginning, but then got more comfortable with you as time passed. She became precious to everyone on the grid.” Oscar offered a smile, but it fell short as he remembered Suzuka.

“There hadn’t-” Lewis began, but cut short. He swallowed before he kept going. “There hadn’t been a crash like that since 2014. And the last time it happened, he didn’t make it. I was honestly preparing myself for the worst.”

Max shrugged his shoulders, trying to be nonchalant. Yet, anyone could see that his hands were shaking just a bit, his fingers picking at his skin.

“She just wouldn’t answer. And then they got Arthur Leclerc on the radio, thinking that he could get to her. Even then, she didn’t respond for what felt like hours. We were all waiting, on the pit lane, just hoping that she’d start talking soon.”

“What did it feel like for you in the car?”

The female was back in the seat.

“All I really remember was seeing the sky and the grass as I rolled, and then nothing. I had totally blacked out. When I was coming to, I just remember hearing so much through the radio, I didn’t know what to make of it. I think I laughed as I answered. I was just happy to be alive.”

“We know that was your first DNF. Thankfully the second wasn’t as bad.”

“No kidding,” she laughed. “My car just doesn’t have very good balance.”

“You’ve had lots of podiums. Which one was the most fulfilling?”

The girl looked up in thought. Her eyes narrowed, truly going over her options. She didn’t want to have to talk about certain matters, but she didn’t want it to be brought up later.

She answered, “Imola.”

“What was so special or daunting because of it?”

The blond harshly inhaled, before smirking a bit. “Well, lot of people knew how it ended.”

The scene changes to multiple police cars around the paddock. The camera barely caught a glimpse of two people being let away in handcuff before panning over to the group of drivers. The lens zoomed in on your face, a big bruise forming by your eye. Max was standing protectively near you as Christian was still yelling at the people in the car. The other drivers can be seen hovering around the scene.

Max gulped before he sighed.

“I knew it was bad, but not this bad. I’m just glad that I had gotten to her in time.”

The female stretched. “Except I got a trophy out of it, so, I wasn’t too sad.”

The scene changes to the next race, where most of the drivers were waiting for the parade. They could tell that someone was missing. Except, right when Lando was about to bring it up, you walked in. Sunglasses were on your eyes, trying to hide the ugly yellow and purple blotch on your face. Except, it didn’t do too much to actually hide it.

“Afternoon,” you said, sipping on a drink that you brought. Your fingers took off your glasses, multiple drivers wincing. “It’s not that bad.”

Lando rolled his eyes before muttering, “They shouldn’t have been allowed back in.”

Max handed you an icepack, which you grabbed immediately. Logan brought you into a side hug and let you rest against him.

The Dutchman let everyone know that you had finally gotten your restraining order approved. Smiles adorned the rest of the drivers’ faces at the news.

An older Aussie was now in the seat.

“I wasn’t there when she met everyone. But I watched Max let her follow him, in Vegas. It was cute, ‘cause I’ve never seen Max act like that before. But she’ s been a good teammate to him. Not trying to be rude, but I’m also putting myself down when I say this: she has been the best teammate that Max has ever had.”

The scene changes to you and Max in a car on the way to a race. The two of you are seated next to each other and phones are in your hands. A sudden gasp from you has you reaching over to Max, your hand smacking his chest.

The Dutchman winces. “What?”

“Taylor Swift broke up with Travis Kelce. Fernando has his chance.”

Viewers would have thought that Max would seem uninterested, but his eyes widened and he was suddenly leaning over, trying to get a good look at your phone.

“You’re lying.”

“No I’m not. See?” You just handed your phone over and Max was instantly enthralled with the device, fingers scrolling quickly.

“It’s definitely like they have a competitive sibling relationship.”

Max watched as you were talking to Oscar, the afternoon after you hit his car. Max smirked as he walked past and bumped you on purpose. Your head whipped around, trying to find who did that. Once you saw Max’s shoulders shake as he walked away, it was over. You quickly said goodbye to Oscar before running up to Max.

What he did not expect was for you to jump on his back, almost sending him face first into cement. He stumbled but his arms were quick to grab your legs. Your giggles were loud next to his ear, but Max guessed that he’d let you stay.

“I know for a fact that it’s been good to see Max a bit more carefree. Y/n really brings out the good in him. She really does that to everyone though.”

Rain was pouring down in Brazil, due to a hurricane in the area. The race had been canceled and Max was just chilling in the garage. His eyes caught your figure walking out into the downpour. He watched as you just stood there, getting drenched. That was until you started dancing to no music at all.

Max got up from his seat and walked over to a manager.

“May I?” he asked, the manager nodding his head.

He plugged his phone into a jack and clicked on a specific playlist that the two of you had made together. Normally, it would be playing while the two of you warmed up to get ready in the car. But now it was playing as you continued to dance.

Max quickly joined you and bumped you with his hip. The cameras caught you looking up at your older teammate, whose body was quickly getting drenched. Before long, the two of you were dancing in the rain.

And very possibly, the other drivers joined in too.

“She really cares for him. It was like they met and clicked right away.”

Clips of you and Max filled the screen. Walking together in the paddock, signing things for fans, doing stupid things for media day, congratulating each other after races.

It showed you checking on him after a DNF, wanting a legitimate answer if he was okay or not. Once Max gave the thumbs up and Mitch told you that he was, the cameras in your car showed how your body visibly relaxed after know that he was ok.

“Sure, they’ve had their troubles.”

The scene changes to Max passing you in Monaco.

Your voice was heard over the scene. “What an asshole.”

The scene changed to you not letting Max pass and him hitting the back of your RB20 in Belgium.

“That was a rookie mistake.”

The viewers knew that they had deliberately cut a certain action out of the scene, but it was something that they were actually thankful that Netflix cut.

“But they always apologize and get back to it. I think that’s how she got her first win. She needed to know that they could truly work as a team.”

The scene showed you and Max giving each other a big hug in The Netherlands after Max won the Dutch Grand Prix.

The scene changes once more.

“How was it? Winning in the city of red.”

“Words cannot express.”

The screen showed you walking in on that fateful morning, bright orange car in the background. You waved to the crowds, who seemed to get louder with your attention. Your smile brightly shone as you kept walking, only stopping momentarily for a few autographs and pictures.

“Y/n L/n On Pole in Monza – Youngest Pole Sitter in F1 History”

“There she goes! Y/n L/n has won the 2024 Italian Grand Prix. She was starving, but now she’s been satiated. The youngest pole sitter and turned that into a win.”

“Y/n L/n – First Female To Ever Win a Formula 1 Grand Prix”

"Y/n L/n Hailed as 'The Long Awaited' by Italian Fans"

The camera pans to the girl standing on the nose of her car, hands stretched up reaching for the sky. Max, who had DNF earlier, came over. She grasped him tightly, legs around his waist. Christian was behind them, joining in the celebrations. Soon, the entirety of the crew got over the barrier and flooded the area. The two Ferrari drivers, in a respectable P2 and P3, watched as the female driver was almost covered by people. If it wasn’t them, then they were glad it was her.

The blond returned back to the seat.

“Let me tell you, the after party was probably my favorite part of the weekend. Well, besides the winning part.”

“After Monza, how did the rest of the season go.”

“Well, I did go on to win 3 more races.” The girl smirked.

Clips of the number 89 car crossing the finish line cover the screen.

“Y/n L/n takes her second win of the season after Monza in Mexico!

It showed you waving to the crowds of Mexico, flag draped over your shoulders with a sombrero on your head..

“A homecoming of sorts, Y/n L/n wins a third race under the lights of Las Vegas!

Your fists were clenched as you shook them while your knees were bent. The while Elvis suit kind of glowed against the night sky.

“L/n wins her fourth race of the season in Abu Dhabi. Ending a perfect rookie year on a high!”

The crowds watch you get on your hands and knees before your car. Your hands outstretched in almost a mock bow to the machine.

The scenes show the you hoisting up three more trophies, all while pointing to the sky after each one.

The interviewer looked down at their questions, before glancing back up at the girl.

“What was your worst race? One that you didn’t DNF.”

The girl didn’t even hesitate. “Qatar.”

“Why is that?”

She shrugged. “I thought it would be cooler.”

The screen goes black, but then changes to a very busy scene. People could see medical personelle holding onto a driver by their arms. Their legs all but dragged along the concrete. Lights flashed around as they brought her to a makeshift cot. Her helmet was ripped off along with the cloth under it. You gasped as you tried to catch your breath. Your cheeks were red and your hair matted with sweat.

“I need an IV and cooling towels now!”

“Her blood pressure is dropping, she’s going to pass out again.”

“Hey, you need to stay awake. Do not close your eyes.”

“Her breath is more shallow, she needs to cool down. Get buckets of ice and water.”

It changes to a podium, but only two drivers are present. It was supposed to be a Papaya sandwich after Oscar had gotten his first actual race win. They looked worried and barely stayed for the celebrations.

The cameras followed as the orange drivers as they ran to the Red Bull garage once the podium was finished. They expected to see you still unconscious, since that was the last they heard before the podium. Yet, they were surprised to see you upright and smiley. An IV was connected to your arm, but you were awake.

Oscar ran, before wrapping his arms around you.

“Do not do that again. I can’t believe that you kept racing.”

You smiled up at him and Lando.

“What can I say? I’m indestructible.”

“She’s impressive.” A German voices his opinion now that he’s in the seats. “I don’t wish to say it, but I’m glad she’s at the different team. I don’t know if we would have been able to give her the car that she needed.”

The interviewer looks a Toto for a moment, before continuing. “You think she’ll leave Red Bull at some point in her career?”

The Mercedes Team Principal shakes his head. “No. She’s going to stay until she retires. I’m sure of it. But who am I to talk about staying with a team forever.”

The scene changes to you and Max, both casually hanging out. You sighed as you looked down at your phone. Max quirked an eyebrow, but stayed silent, giving you the go ahead to spill.

“They’re asking again if I’m going to be staying past 2026.” Your arms waved around before you huffed and they fell at your sides.

The Dutchman rolled his eyes. “Are you wanting to stay past that?”

You grinned at the older driver. “Can’t go anywhere when I have the best here.”

The scene changes to the blond female Red Bull racer, back in the chair once again.

“Do you think you’ll ever move teams?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think I will. It seems that every racer’s dream is to drive for the team in red, but not mine. I’ve always wanted to just race for the team that will get me places, and I think that Red Bull can stay on top for many years to come.”

The interviewer continued. “What do you think you’ll do after Formula 1.”

She smirked.

“After, I want to collect. I’m thinking the triple crown. Probably go to endurance racing and then 1 year of Indy. I know I’ll be able to do it.”

“If you could have your dream team for Le Mans, who would it be?”

“Either Leclerc in addition to Max. I don’t think I could be anyone else’s teammate ever.”

Clips of Charles, Arthur, Y/n, and Max showed on the screen. They might look like an odd bunch, but they worked somehow. Arthur had been promoted at the end of 2024 to actually drive for Porsche in the 2025 Qatar endurance race. Late in the editing, they were able to sneak in a clip of the four of you celebrating after he podiumed.

“So, we heard that you and Max were able to sign new contracts at the end of 2024. How long are the both of you going to stay.”

The girl thought for a moment, trying to think of how to word it correctly.

“Well, we both have kind of open ended contracts like Charles signed in early 2024. Christian said that he’ll do his best to keep us there, but we aren’t bound. I plan to stay for a while and so does Max if they keep giving us good cars that can still dominate.”

“Do you plan to break any more records? You sure had a lot in the past season as well as early years.”

“How many do I have?” she asked.

The interviewer counted. “Five.”

She smirked for the final time for the episode. “Five? That’s hardly enough. Let’s make it interesting and get 6.”

Everyone in the room laughed at her joke.

The screen cut to black and the episode ended. Yet when the female racer retired, they went back and added one more thing.

“Y/n L/n went on to be the most decorated racer of all time. She ended up breaking 22 records in the duration of her entire motorsport career, that no one has been able to touch since.”

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