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celestialsister0918 · 5 months

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Fireside: A Sirius Black Christmas Oneshot

Happy holidays, loves! Here is a gift for my Sirius Black friends. Tumblr exclusive for now, probably cross-posted to my AO3 and Wattpad eventually.

A few warnings— it’s EXPLICIT smut. 18+ interaction only, please.

It’s a Sirius x You (fem-reader) fic, but you have a House. It was necessary for the plot. Hopefully you are House-flexible or can be for the next 6k+ words.

Get warm and cozy and enjoy… and please let me know what you think… reblogs are much appreciated, as are likes and comments. I love chatting with readers and fellow Sirius lovers.

You stood at the doorway to Number Twelve with your heart beating wildly against your chest. Harry and the other students had left for second term just a few short hours ago, with the Weasleys close behind. They were giving Arthur the chance to continue his recovery at the Burrow, hoping to speed his efforts with the comforts of home rather than the sullen, dreary darkness of Grimmauld Place. At least that’s what you’d overheard in their whispers after last night’s dinner, which had followed the last meeting of the Order for the year.

The whispers, of course, were for the benefit of the one inhabitant of the house who wasn’t granted the choice of leaving. No matter how dark and dreary, no matter how much his spirits needed lifting. And they certainly seemed to need lifting last night. As soon as the meeting had adjourned, Sirius Black retreated upstairs with nary a goodbye. Harry had seemed disappointed at this. It was only natural he’d want to soak up every minute possible with his godfather before returning to Hogwarts. But Black had fallen prey to another “fit of the sullens,” as Molly liked to label them with a disapproving shake of her head.

You understood those types of fits all too well, having suffered your own tragedies throughout the Wizarding Wars, as well as typical adolescent heartaches and disappointments that seemed to continue into your early adult years too. Maybe you simply took things too seriously. Life just seemed to come easy to more carefree witches and the wizards that worshiped them. You’d heard stories that Sirius Black himself used to fall into that lighthearted, devil-may-care category many years ago. But he’d experienced unimaginable darkness, and you knew the last thing he needed was to hide away alone, even if he fought you tooth and nail over it.

With a sharp intake of breath, you broke through the warded door with charms meant only for official gatherings of the Order. You prayed to the gods that there wasn’t some terrible punishment for doing so. You sighed with relief when you were greeted only by the eerie silence of cold, dark air— which was a sound unto itself, strange as that seemed. The familiar dank smell filled your nostrils, but it didn’t bother you. It simply set the ambience of a home filled with magic and mystery and stories, dreaded though some of them may be. The walls were alive with history, and there was something intriguingly romantic about the place, if you were honest. You knew the man you were about to encounter would adamantly disagree and would probably throw you out on your arse for thinking so. You’d be sure to keep your strange admiration for the place to yourself for a while, at least until he warmed up to you a bit.

That could take awhile indeed, you thought grimly. Rather than start on such a task right away, you chose to descend to the kitchen and make yourself a calming cup of tea. Perhaps a drop or two of schnapps for some liquid courage were in order also. As the kettle warmed, you made your way to the flocked tree in the rear of the kitchen and smiled as you studied the ornaments there. Sirius himself had conjured and crafted most of them just days earlier, when he’d been noticeably more joyful. The anticipation of Christmas had lifted him out of his funk, and he’d been determined to replace his family’s fancy heirloom ornaments with much more colorful, animated, and exciting ones. You enjoyed examining them while you waited for the kettle to whistle. They were a glimpse into his true self— the fun, whimsical side you always heard about in tales from the older Order members.

You’d seen that side a bit in your interactions with him so far. He had a certain glint in his eye as he teased you for your lack of coordination, which coincidentally had landed you in his lap one evening when you’d hooked the toe of your boot unceremoniously under the crossbar of the wooden kitchen bench.

“I- I’m so sorry,” you had stammered, your face painfully hot. He’d caught you with an arm scooped under your back.

“I’m not,” he’d quipped back with a glimmer in his blue gray eyes. And he’d given your thigh a couple quick pats with his large palm, just fatherly enough that you weren’t quite sure if he saw you as a cute, clumsy, overgrown kid— or something a bit sexier, as that glimmer in his eye along with his comment might have suggested.

Subsequent meetings were difficult after that fateful fall. You couldn’t stop your eyes from straying in his direction. In spite of his scraggly, unkept stubble and perhaps accelerated aging from Azkaban, he was undoubtedly a beautiful man. The Black family genetics were famous for a reason. Their symmetry and grace, smooth skin, full and shiny hair, and silky, aristocratic voices were mesmerizing. It was no wonder they drifted toward the Dark Arts; with gifts like that, they could clearly coerce lesser mortals into doing anything.

Sirius was made only more handsome by the tattoos that covered the previews of skin he revealed— a sexy “fuck you” to the house, the Black family line, and anyone who may chide him for daring to be different. You admired the confidence his swaths of ink portrayed, and each passing meeting made you yearn to study them up close. For academic purposes, of course. Continuing education in Ancient Runes. Field work.

“Do you not take sugar in your tea?”

The voice was quite light and innocent, but it startled you so much you spilled said tea straight through the holes of your wool sweater.

“Fuck!” you hissed. “You scared me, Black.”

He smiled and strode behind you, reaching around your front to grasp a kitchen rag that hung from the lower cupboard handle. He spun you around with hands on your upper arms and promptly began absorbing the spill. Of course he could have taken care of it with a mere wand wave. Interesting that he chose the more manual route.

“I scared you?” Sirius mused. “And to think you’re the one breaking and entering and stealing my tea. Which, strangely, you’re sipping black at the moment. Is this because you don’t know where to find the proper accompaniments, or are you simply that odd?”

“Simply that odd, I’m afraid,” you admitted, leaning back against the wooden counter with legs outstretched. “I like it black. Enjoy the flavor.”

This was met with a slightly arched eyebrow, but he recovered quickly and reached around you again to grab his own mug.

“I prefer it quite sweet, and loaded with cream, personally,” Sirius commented, voice still maddeningly silky and light. It tickled over your eardrums like a melody. His tongue snaked out as he tilted the mug to his lips and slurped.

“Don’t you Blacks have to attend some finishing school before you’re sent to Hogwarts?” you teased him. “Don’t they teach you not to slurp there?”

Sirius didn't miss a beat. “You’ll find I’m a bit of a dog, darling. I’m rather noisy and messy with my mouth.”

That rush of heat filled your cheeks again, and you found yourself trembling a little with adrenaline at how quickly things had escalated. Or did they? The conversation was quite innocent, on a service level. Perhaps your building desire for him had you reading things that weren’t there. You decided to change the subject and try to calm your racing blood.

“You seem quite a bit… happier… than the other day,” you offered as he continued to enjoy his tea. “Did you have a nice day today?”

Sirius seemed to snort. “I had a fucking awful day. How could I have anything but in a place like this?”

“I’m sure it’s not so bad, with the right company,” you pointed out nervously, suddenly scared you might piss him off enough that he’d order you to leave.

“I’ve had nothing but company for weeks,” he replied. “It can help, I suppose. But I’m still trapped.”

You weren’t quite sure what to say to this, so you busied yourself with your own mug, roving the kitchen slowly to avoid eye contact while you plotted where to go next.

“Is that why you’re here?” Sirius continued softly. “Do you believe you’re the ‘right company?’” His expression seemed skeptical.

You shrugged shakily. “I— I dunno. I guess I just thought… you shouldn’t be alone. I… I like being alone occasionally. But you… you don’t really seem like that type.”

“Not a bit,” he agreed. “But it’s not just about the company. It’s about experiences. And I’ve experienced everything there is to do here. Millions of miserable times over.”

You bit your lip, knowing you could never be so bold as to suggest novel experiences he might try. You were pretty sure he hadn’t had many of those— if any— within these walls. Not with multitudes of pureblood portraits staring him down. Of course he very well could have fooled around with pureblood girls here growing up, right? Just because he wasn’t a supremacist like his forebears didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy a dip in the pureblood pool from time to time.

“So,” he continued, addressing you by your name as he crept closer, step by step. “What experiences are you bringing with your company? How will you keep me from being bored?” His eyebrows arched and narrowed adorably with his words as he challenged you.

He stopped just short of invading your space, so you could still view him easily from head to toe. He wore a thick velvet robe in deep burgundy overtop a black and green pinstripe shirt that was honestly a bit… Slytherin-like, when taken in isolation. Perhaps he hadn’t invested in a new wardrobe upon his return and simply relied on the house’s contents. But it suited him nonetheless— this regal contrast of the two houses adorned with his double Albert chain and shiny brown dress shoes. Of course the colors were befitting the season as well, a reminder that Christmas joy still lingered in the air, if one looked for it. You imagined that the house once saw splendid Christmas feasts— glittering, elegant affairs filled with firelight and extravagance as the Wizarding World’s upper crust filled every floor. Personally you enjoyed picturing something more intimate, more cozy, within those old walls.

“Let’s light a fire,” you suggested, setting your teacup down and leading the way to the parlor.

Sirius scoffed behind you but followed nonetheless. “Why would we do that? The entirety of the house is under a warming charm, darling.”

“Hogwarts has fires in the common rooms, does it not? They were nice.”

“Nice, but obviously unnecessary,” he continued practically.

“You need some actual warmth in this place,” you insisted, setting to work lighting the floo. “The kind of warmth that feels good on the inside too. Comfort. A glow.”

“You’re a Hufflepuff, aren’t you?” Sirius asked with a snicker, reclining in a large, faded velvet armchair. He spread his legs in a wide slouch, and you couldn’t help but gaze downward at the movement. Thick, ribbed corduroy slacks hugged thin legs and tapered down to fine silk socks, above which you saw the faintest glimpse of pale skin and dark hair.

“What does my house matter?” you returned in a non-answer. The fire roared to life in the large black marble, and instead of joining him in the companion armchair, you chose to settle on the rug right in front of the flames. Your skin was already on fire, of course, from the turn-on of his earlier proximity and banter. But the added warmth felt nice, and you hugged your knees to your chest.

“Your house doesn’t matter,” he agreed. Just simply a guess. Now, what about that experience you’re going to offer me? Still waiting for an answer on that one.” Sirius rested an elbow on the chair arm, his fingers toying with the ends of his long mustache where it met the unruly stubble on his chin.

“Come down here with me. This is an experience,” you responded, patting the empty space next to you on the rug. It was thick and smooth, richly woven, and of course very expensive. You could feel thick loops of fine threads beneath your fingers as you traced its intricate pattern.

“Sitting by a fire?” Sirius asked incredulously. But he did make a move to join you, settling down in the spot you indicated and then shifting closer. His robe brushed the sleeve of your sweater, and he made no move to back away.

“Well, what kind of experience did you have in mind?” you shot back.

Sirius shrugged innocently, eyes twinkling in the dim light. “No idea, love. You’re the one who showed up on my doorstep, remember? Don’t you have a plan for these things? Or are they spontaneous? Maybe you’re a Gryffindor then?”

You gave a small smile, refusing to answer the question. Instead you studied the details of his face you’d never noticed from afar, features augmented by the dancing shadows of light. He had a very well defined facial muscle that gave an intermittent sexy twitch. And another defined crease on the underneath of his nose that made you curious if you had one; you had always just envisioned it to be smooth. But most magnificent was the way the firelight bounced off of every soft curl — a bountiful dark mahogany crown that would be the envy of any woman alive. You longed to run your hands through it, betting it was even more luxurious than the tapestry rug beneath your increasingly aroused bottom half.

“I’m beginning to feel rather exposed,” Sirius declared, amused. “I don’t think I’ve ever been examined in such detail before. Is this for ‘science,’ as the Muggles say?”

You cleared your throat nervously. “Uh, yes. Wizarding genetics, I guess. You’re just very… impressive.” You winced at the terrible recovery.

Sirius responded with a sweep of a tattooed hand over your cheek. “I’m flattered, coming from a witch as exquisite as yourself. Not to mention young. I believe I have quite a few years on you, yes?”

Your heartbeat was painfully audible as you tried to craft an answer. His fingers still explored your face, alternating with occasional twists of an adjacent lock of your hair. Each sweep of his skin over yours seemed to make your veins tremble.

You truly didn’t know how to respond. Your Muggle friend had once informed you that the term for your specific brand of fixation was “daddy kink,” but you weren’t sure admitting that would do you any favors. You liked how his touch was so self-assured, and the richness of his scent, and how he always knew what to say without hesitation. You liked how the hard lines of his face and hands denoted strength and experience. And you liked how he made you feel small and fragile and protected just by being near you. You wished you could tell him all that without sounding ridiculous. But you were fairly certain you were already communicating it with your parted lips, panting breath, and love-drunk eyes.

“You are going to make my night interesting after all, aren’t you, little one?” Sirius husked, and the bud between your legs danced frantically up and down in response. How did he know to call you that? Your eyes closed with the dizziness of your anticipation, and the hand that had drifted so gently over your cheek now rested fully on your throat. His scent became even more pronounced, alerting you to his closeness just before his mustache tickled your upper lip in the briefest of warnings.

The kiss he gave you was chaste and just enough for you to learn the shape of his lips before he pulled away.

“If you don’t want this, you need to tell me,” Sirius said, his voice low as it drifted directly across your ear. “I’ll stop if you ask me to— at any point. But this is the only asking I’ll be doing myself. Once I begin, you’ll find I’m far too busy to stop and check in.”

His forehead rested gently on yours, his deep blue eyes smoky in the dim light.

“Busy doing what?” you whispered— half teasingly, half desperate for the fire between your legs to be stoked by all the dirty things he would promise.

Sirius chuckled lowly. “You like dirty talk, little one?”

Your affirmative answer came as a whimper, which elicited another devilish chuckle from his lips.

“Very well,” he said silkily. He punctuated the words with another firm kiss on your lips, this time allowing the very tip of his tongue to trace the outline of the bottom one before planting light kisses along your jawline to your earlobe. He paused there, allowing a breath to tickle your ear before he spoke.

“I am going to make every part of your body come alive, as if I cast a spell. But there will be no wand— only my hands, my mouth, my voice. I will make your delicious cunt so wet it will be weeping for my cock. Then I will bury it in you so deep you scream… so loud you’ll wake every portrait in this house and make them curse your sweet, beautiful name. You will ride my cock for as many mind-numbing orgasms as your body can handle, then I will take my pleasure and fill you so full of my seed that it trickles down these soft, smooth thighs all day long tomorrow. You’ll feel it and remember me, and you’ll want it all over again.”

Sirius accompanied his filthy murmurings with firm strokes to your inner thigh, hand already buried inside your skirt. You let out an almost agonized groan in response— all intelligible communication now impossible. Your body literally shook just from his promises, and you knew the look you gave him as he came to a kneel on the rug was one of complete and utter submission.

His hands came beneath your head to cradle it, hands swept in the tangle of your hair as kisses became more insistent, open-mouthed, and allowed you taste the salt and firewhisky on his breath. His tongue explored in gentle licks followed by long sweeps of your mouth, as if it was truly a mission to discover inner parts of you and not just kissing.

You became eager for his hands to move elsewhere, but they still held your head still for his mouth to continue its wicked work. His kisses made your head spin, but the rest of your body felt in heat and neglected. You came to your knees yourself, hands introducing themselves to the sturdy velvet of his jacket, your legs making a move to straddle one of his trousered thighs. He let out a low laugh.

“So eager,” he chastised. “I’m the one who hasn’t shagged in fourteen years, yet I’m the one demonstrating all the patience.”

“I want you!” you defended yourself breathlessly, not even caring if you sounded desperate now. You just needed relief, and to have this wizard covering every inch of you.

“Ah, there it is. The answer I needed to my question,” he said with a wink. “You needed to give me permission, you know.”

“You have it,” you insisted, and as a visual aid to your words, you took the initiative to shrug out of your own sweater. Your breasts swelled over the cups of your lacy, favorite-colored bra. You noticed Sirius became strangely still at the sight, his mouth parting.

“Fucking beautiful,” he managed to mutter, and he cast his own robe aside to free his movement as he reclined you both onto the rug. His fingers gently slid one strap from your shoulder, replacing it with his mouth and soft whiskers. The detailed attention he paid to a spot as random as your shoulder reminded you of his promise to awaken every part of your body. Sirius planned to make every cell literally beg.

His kisses danced across your collarbone in a similar fashion, tended to the next shoulder, then came to center on your pulse point, where he began a gentle suction. You let out a cry at this and took the chance to enjoy his gorgeous, thick curls while he worked his mouth on your upper body’s most sensitive spot.

“I’m going to have wicked marks if you keep doing that,” you teased with a whisper. Sirius’s nose brushed your earlobe as he went for the other side, sucking the sensitive skin beneath like he was starving.

“Good,” he finally broke to whisper back. “And your neck’s not the only spot I plan to mark you.” He added teeth to the mix now, grazing lightly over your throbbing pulse. Would he bite? Would you even care if he did? But he only threatened such before moving lower, working your arms out of the dangling bra straps to reveal your breasts to him. His breath caught in his chest as he appreciated them with his eyes first before cupping them hard, one in each hand. His rough thumbs drove your nipples into peaks, watching each little bump emerge with fascination.

You observed him with a smile, arms leaned back behind you to prop you up for his amusement. You realized of course that it had been over a decade since he’d played with such toys, and though your body was humming for more, you granted him his boy-like fun. Sirius alternated between circling your nipples into painfully hard peaks and kneading your breasts like dough before finally suckling the left into his mouth. The action caused your eyes to roll back in your head. This wizard knew what he was doing. It was more than just taking the soft, pliable tissue into his mouth— he created a firm, merciless suction whose movements echoed between your thighs in violent waves. Your legs parted reflexively, and you grabbed his hand, encouraging it down to feel your burning heat.

“Please touch me,” you begged. “I’m so wet for you.”

Sirius responded to this with a hungry growl, releasing your breast to reveal brand new marks as promised. He gave the other another very rough squeeze before grabbing at your skirt, ripping it downward. He sent it hurling away, narrowly missing the fire. The rip of lace echoed through the air as your knickers followed.

“Am I supposed to walk home with no knickers tomorrow?” you mused above the noisy kisses he planted to the soft skin of your stomach.

“You’re not going home tomorrow,” he replied quickly. “And you’ll be naked all day. And you certainly won’t be walking by the time I’m finished with you.”

“Oh, so you— you like it rough then?” you asked between gasps, shuddering as his fingers traced the tops of your inner thighs, which opened to the hot breaths drifting over your sex.

“Not always,” he answered, grinning up at you from between your parted legs. “But the Black family genetics extend to other endowments as well. In both size and stamina. Even sweeter lovemaking can lend itself to the need for pain potions, love. Do you still consent?”

You licked your lips and lowered your eyes, feeling them burn with sultry want. “I thought you weren’t going to ask anymore?”

“Gryffindor chivalry,” he dismissed with an adorable pursing of his lips. “It’s a curse sometimes.”

“Yes, I consent,” you answered with a grin of your own. “But before you touch me like I asked, I want you out of those clothes. I need to see this endowment of which you speak.”

Sirius sat up and gave your thighs a swift tap before closing them. Your own wetness was dripping onto them at this point, and you could smell sex on the air already.

“You don’t believe me?” he inquired with raised brows.

“Well, you know, Gryffindors are fond of bragging…”

Sirius let out a deep laugh. “So I can assume you’re not a Gryffindor, then, with a comment like that.” He stood and began disrobing, his thumbs drifting over the buttons of the dark green shirt. Each tattoo he revealed made you salivate. He wore a thick, shiny belt buckle now displayed over a prominent bulge in his trousers, and you imagined he was growing quite uncomfortable in there.

“Still not telling you my house,” you replied, shifting your closed legs from one side to the other as you watched your strip show, offering him tantalizing glimpses of your cunt and arse but never separating your thighs for a full view. Sirius never took his eyes off of you, and when his trousers swiftly lowered, you were greeted by the surprise of no underwear— followed by the thick, glorious inches of a very hard, uncut, pureblood cock on display. Your jaw dropped open.

“Already opening up for me?” Sirius commented silkily. “Good girl.”

You nodded, ready to have your mouth fucked speechless if that’s what he wanted. But Sirius seemed to have other plans, pouncing back on you in under a second. He parted your legs almost violently, his face voracious as he plunged his nose into your soaking wetness to inhale before licking furiously.

“Oh, fucking gods!” you moaned, arching into his frenzied movements. He was truly very noisy and beast-like with his mouth, as he’d warned. His tongue alternated between flat, all-encompassing licks across your entire slit, and tiny, strong, targeted flicks around your bud. He approached your sensitive, nerve-filled opening with his tongue in a stiff point, swirling it around to beckon wetness from you in droves.

“I’m fucking drowning you down there,” you moaned, arching your back against the soft rug.

“I told you I like loads of sweet cream,” Sirius responded with a murmur. “Keep it coming, love. Soak my face.”

His tongue rammed your g-spot now, his whole stubbled face buried in your cunt. Your smell filled the hot air and was so sexy you wanted some yourself. Sirius seemed in tune with your needs because his fingers found your hole as his tongue drifted upward to concentrate on your swollen bud again.

“Let me taste your fingers,” you whispered.

“So you do like sugar and cream after all?” he chuckled before obliging with a rather rough shove of his soaked digits into your mouth. His wet stubble scratched your face as his words sought your ear. “Or maybe you’re just a very dirty girl.”

You sucked the delicious sweet-salty combo from Sirius’s fingers, offering kitten licks, strong suction, and previews of all the things he could expect once that glorious cock was in your mouth. His hand found its place within your slit again and began purposeful movements, the back of his palm massaging your clit as his fingers found the g-spot again, kneading the spongy, swollen tissue.

“Please fuck me,” you begged. “I need your cock.”

“Oh yeah?” he mused delicately, leveling his heady eyes to yours. “You don’t like what my fingers are doing to you, darling?”

“I love it,” you panted. “But I’m gonna come!”

“Then come, sweetheart. You can still come on my cock. Promise.” Sirius’s hand picked up its pace so any resistance was hopeless. His mouth returned to your neck to secure you in place as the waves took over your body, your whole frame convulsing in one giant shake after another with your beautiful release against his hand. Sirius’s wet mouth closed over yours, his tongue invading as he situated his warm, taut body between your legs. Your bud was still tingling with aftershocks when he touched the head of his cock to it, angling for pressure.

His girthy shaft sought its spot between your glistening lower lips, hips driving the thick tip up against the underside of your clit, and his hard, veiny surface sliding against your still swollen vulva. Sirius wasn’t going to let the pressure ease for even a minute, making sure to build another climax even stronger than the first for his cock to work you through.

“Inside me, please!” you breathed into his mouth.

“I think you can come just like this, darling,” he argued. “Don’t you?” The ridge of his cockhead massaged your clit furiously with his back and forth, and your body gushed messily all over his shaft. Your nails made deep half moons in his tattooed shoulders.

“Y— yes, I can come for you.” You arched up to grind into his impossibly hard length, seeking the rhythm and friction you needed to push over the edge. It required wild gyration and complete abandonment of any self consciousness. Your breasts bounced against his chest, and you clung so tightly to him to ground yourself that your nose was buried in his curls, smelling his animalic musk.

You screamed as you reached peak again, the tremors tinier this time but still exquisite. Exhausted, you fell limply to the rug and took him with you, giving grateful caresses to the smooth skin of his back. Of course you were still aware of his inches throbbing against your thigh, and you knew you had to summon more energy if you were going to give Sirius the satisfaction he needed. The man hadn’t lain with a woman in nearly a decade and a half, and you wanted his cock thoroughly and ecstatically drained. You’d be lying, though, if your twice-satisfied cunt wasn’t worried about such a massive invasion. Your gratitude for the blissful, explosive orgasms aside— you kind of wish he’d honored your request and fucked you when you were swollen, open, and on fire.

Sirius raised himself on his elbows, gazing down at you with a lazy smile.

“You’re really fucking beautiful, you know that, Slytherin girl?”

You blinked and jumped. “What?”

Sirius gnawed at his lip and continued to grin, deep blue eyes sparkling. “You heard me.”

“What makes you say that?” you demanded. “You haven’t even guessed Ravenclaw yet!”

“You let me fuck you way too dumb to be a ‘Claw, and I haven’t even fucked you yet,” he pointed out. “I’ve had my fair share of Ravenclaw witches, and they never quite know when to shut up, Merlin love them.”

“Hey, Slytherins are smart too,” you said with a narrowed brow before you could stop yourself.

Sirius gave a hard smack to your arse before pulling you onto your side, his erection buried in your stomach. You laid breasts to chest, feet and legs entangled, faces flush.

“Tell me,” he said with a slight scowl. “How did they let another Slytherin into the Order? Do they not have standards anymore?”

“Oh, fuck you, Black,” you muttered.

“You’re still doing that, darling, don’t worry. No slithering your way out of that one. You know I’m just trying to rile you up and get you going again so you can handle my cock. Maybe a hate-fuck would be a nice game, now that our alliances are on the table? Would you like that?” His fingers tickled down your ribs and hips before finding the triangle he sought, just his fingertips easing lower to scissor your bud.

“Our ‘alliances’ are the same, you prick,” you laughed, accepting his fingers with an approving arch of your hips.

“Yes, but this new tidbit makes it so much more fun,” he insisted. “You’ve delivered on that new experience I wanted. A fine Christmas present indeed.”

“So this is your first time with a Slytherin?” you asked, doing nothing to hide your pride at that possibility.

“Virgin,” Sirius confirmed with a nod. “As if twelve years in Azkaban didn’t revirginize me enough, this makes it official. Now, show me what I’ve been missing.” He collapsed rather dramatically on the rug, hand behind his head, curls strewn about the intricate paisley pattern. His body was breathtaking— glowing in the firelight, each turn of muscle accentuated by shadow, each tattoo taking turns in the spotlight with the maneuver of flames. And at the center of the beauty was that cock, which hadn’t lost a bit of wind with this latest reveal of information. A generous leak of precum glistened at the tip, and you lowered your mouth to drink it in, your hair tickling his thighs. The first taste left you craving more, and your mouth slid over his huge shaft like a sleeve, locking him in your throat. You heard a grunt of shock escape his mouth.

“Fuck, that was fast,” Sirius groaned.

You eased off of him teasingly, lips forming an up and down suction which you accompanied with twists of your hand. He tasted positively feral yet clean and refined, just as you would have imagined. His tip leaked loads into your mouth, feeling like it would burst at any second if it weren’t for his exceptional control.

“Mmm… you taste good, Black,” you moaned approvingly. “Almost good enough that I’d settle for your load in my mouth if I didn’t want you to fuck my pussy so badly.”

“On your knees, fucking snake cunt,” he ordered with a wink, the fact that it was a game unmistakable. You gave one long, final suck up his shaft and gave a squeeze to his balls, drawing another deep groan from him.

In an instant Sirius’s hands were in your hips, holding you in place while his dripping head found your center. He was right— the banter had you on fire again, and your swollen walls took every inch of him as he pushed inside without hesitation.

“Ahhhh!” you cried out, unable to help yourself. His hips were a frenzy, abandoning every bit of his previous control now that he was within your tightness. Your breasts bounced in mad circles with the force of his pounding, and sure enough, you could hear the portraits stirring down the hall from the primal noises the two of you made.

“Oh, Sirius, yes,” you breathed, enjoying the repeated raking of his tip, ridge, and underside along your spongy, swollen front wall. He knew just how much to drag back and surge forward, never breaking the rhythm you needed to build to another crest in a matter of minutes. His chest was sweaty when it made contact with your back, and he occasionally dropped open-mouthed kisses to the skin of your shoulder blades with his forward surges. Every so often he broke his rigid support on the rug to squeeze your breasts, kneading them so tightly you knew you’d have bruises for weeks.

“Feel good, love?” he husked, and you knew he knew full well you were beyond good. His ego just wanted to hear it.

“Yes, Sirius. Fuck yes. Please come inside me.”

And it was truly your foremost want in that moment — to fill his hot cum paint your insides and have the satisfaction of giving him what he’d needed for so long. He renewed his lock tight grip on your hips and granted your request, resuming the pounding of your g-spot but faster now, the friction very much for his benefit— with yours as a mere pleasant side effect.

“Fuck, yes, I’m gonna fill you so full,” he promised breathily. “And you better come for me again. You better scream.”

You reached around to toy with your clit and make sure you obeyed his command, but he swatted your hand away and replaced it with his own, his fingers taking on a rhythm to match his snapping hips. All you could do was let out a long stream of moans and buck furiously in return, knowing that chasing your own pleasure would only increase his. His escalated moans confirmed he was approaching release, and you grinned as you picked up the pace even more feverishly, wanting to torture it out of him.

“Fucking GODS!!!” Sirius yelled, and he emptied into you with one hot jet after another, so much it ran right back out over his trembling cock. You kept your pace even after his cock stilled, the added lubricant from his release making easy work of your movements. The thought of being filled with him made your orgasm deliciously hot and dirty as your walls burned with pain and need. Sirius recovered enough to resume the pace of his fingers on your clit, and you spilled over the edge, lurching forward in a series of shakes that wracked your entire body.

You fell forward onto your belly, a mess dripping from your insides, your muscles and bones useless, your skin bruised. It was every way you should feel after a proper fuck. Your brain positively hummed with endorphins, and you breathed in the deliciousness of your combined sex on the air. You could hear Sirius struggling to regain his breath behind you, and you knew he looked sexy as fuck back there. But you were too exhausted to lift yourself up and look.

You weren’t even sure how much time had passed when you felt his arms encircle you, along with the cold rush of air as he lifted you from the warmth of the rug. He wasn’t a huge man, though you’d heard from other Order members that he was considerably stronger now than when he’d escaped the sea prison two years ago. He carried you easily up multiple twists of stairs until you reached a Gryffindor red room on the very top level. Then Sirius nestled you gingerly into a brightly colored duvet.

“Will you be able to sleep with this much red, or should I move you to the green room next door?” he asked dryly, shuffling his naked body next to yours and leaving you little choice in the matter.

“Well, it is Christmastime,” you reminded him sleepily. “The two play rather nicely together right now.”

Sirius responded by nuzzling into your shoulder, his whiskers scratching tiny red prickles into your skin.

#orderofthephoenix #older sirius black #post azkaban sirius #gary oldman #sirius black x you #sirius black one shot #sirius black x y/n #smut #christmas smut #sirius black smut #sirius black imagine #oneshot #grimmauld place

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coltermorning · 20 days

Text

Of Love and Loss Ch. 14 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Another day in town reveals a deep-seated lack of worth within Arthur that you do your best to distract him from.

Author’s Notes: I’ve decided on a relative timeline for this story—about three years before the events of the game, hence Arthur’s age mentioned in this chapter. More alcohol consumption in this chapter. Chapter fourteen of this one. More notes at the end.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

Of Love and Loss

Fourteen: A Good Day’s Mischief

Word count: 5057

Still ain’t told me her name. Considering her drunken state last night, I doubt she remembers any promises well enough to keep them. Still, I was hoping to get it out of her while her judgement remained so poor. Now she’s back to herself—defiant and stubborn as she ever was.

You and Arthur had done all you’d set out to do, freshly laundered clothes in hand, horse and mule checked on, and bellies full. You could get used to a life like this. Especially the way the two of you walked side by side, quiet for all that had passed between you the night prior. Simply happy to be together. He may not have wanted you in the same way you wanted him, but after being held by him all through the night, feeling so protected and cared for, you didn’t care. That closeness was unlike anything, something you craved deep in your bones. You prayed you weren’t too obvious about that need, especially as you walked beside him now where you would normally follow along. But he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he kept that mild satisfaction on his face and walked on. It was all you could do not to smile like an idiot at his happiness—at knowing you were the one who put it there.

The two of you trudged up the creaking hotel steps and inside, Arthur nodding at the hotel owner just as he had the day before. It filled you with such a sense of familiarity you could hardly stand it.

Upon reaching the room, you immediately held out your hand for Arthur to give you his shirt.

“Let me sew that up, get this thread back to the hotel worker.”

Something passed over his expression you couldn’t place, but he did as you asked. And you were soon sewing the small separation shut with the same swiftness as before, glad his shirt was also blue so that the thread matched.

You finished and looked up to find him watching your hands.

“You’re good at that,” he said.

You passed the shirt over to him, tucking the needle and thread in your pocket. “I had lots of practice.”

He smiled—a soft, genuine thing compared to his usual smirk. It made him more handsome than any haircut could.

“Let me get this back downstairs,” you told him, patting your pocket. “Be right back.” And, when you headed for the door without a word of protest from him, you turned. “What, no quip about me being careful?” His gaze was on his shirt, his thumb running over the newly threaded mend. But when he caught you staring, he tossed it aside and cleared his throat.

“I thought that was implied.” All haughtiness returned.

You just grinned and left the room, nerves rearing at that same sense of familiarity that came from spending time with him. It was a dangerous thing to be so happy about—something that wouldn’t last.

Items returned, you reentered the bedroom to find Arthur looking out the window and smoking. His coat was once again shed, those broad shoulders on display. You had to keep yourself from staring.

He turned and offered you his cigarette.

“Never again,” you said, holding up your hand in refusal.

He chuckled. “Come on. It weren’t that bad.”

“Tell that to my lungs.”

The light in his eyes as they held on yours was deceiving. Partially because their genuineness reminded you of when he had kissed you, and you were filled with a hope you knew to be false because of it.

“You…wanna go back to the saloon?” he asked, voice careful like he realized what that look did to you.

“Maybe,” you said just as soft. “What else could we do while we’re in town?”

You thought you caught a tinge of red crossing his face before he turned back to the window, looking down to the street below. “There’s plenty of mischief for an outlaw to get into around these parts.”

Surprised, you pondered what that could possibly entail. “An outlaw, huh?”

He just lifted the cigarette to his lips again, not responding.

“As eager as I may be to see a bit of this world, I believe that’s where my sense of adventure ends.”

He looked at you then, a smirk lighting his eyes. “Please, do enlighten me on what you think I’m suggesting.”

“I, uh…” Truth be told, you had no idea. You’d thought he meant mischief beyond the arms of the law. For the both of you. “I guess I don’t know.”

He was really smiling then.

“What?”

“It’s a wonder we get along,” he said on a chuckle, smoke puffing out as he did.

“Do we?”

“Good point.” He leaned back against the window frame, one hand landing on his gun belt. Something about that relaxed grace of his made you want things you didn’t know how to want. He went on. “It’s just strange. Me, an outlaw, and you, skittish as a wild horse, not even knowing what that word means.”

“I know what it means.”

“Do you?”

“Outside of the law. Getting by on…thievery at best.”

“And at worst?”

Even though a small smile remained on his face, you could tell he cared about your answer. It was a loaded gun, that question. This circling conversation the pair of you never could seem to rid yourselves of.

He held your stare, and you held it right back. “That violence you showed me when those two men tried raiding our camp. What it could have turned into.”

“And what’s that?”

He wanted you to say it. Like he wanted you to fully understand—to hate him for it.

You stared at him a long time. Then, “I’m not scared of you, Arthur.” He made to laugh that off, so you pushed. “You’ve been awfully good to me for someone who wants to think himself so evil.”

That finally made him crack. He looked to his boots and let out the last of his laugh, smoke trailing in its wake. “Evil ain’t the right word.”

“What then?” You didn’t know you wanted to know him so badly until that very moment.

He turned back to the window and stood there a long time. It was only when you thought he wouldn’t answer that you heard his voice, deep yet small.

“Undeserving.”

The word tore through you. It was said with such sadness, such honesty, that you felt your chest cave knowing he wore that burden so heavily. Thinking himself truly beyond saving.

You could have consoled him in so many ways—namely by saying a worthless person wouldn’t worry themselves over whether they deserved good things. But you found yourself unable to get it out, unable to say a word. You just watched him in front of that window, smoke billowing up like old wounds finally brought forth—veiled and, consequently, impossible to staunch. It killed you to see that in him. It had you rethinking everything, every moment spent with him. You had been taking and taking and taking, never once thinking of his needs. So you vowed, right then and there, to begin.

“Let’s go, get out of here for a while.”

“Where?” he asked without facing you.

“Anywhere.”

He finished his cigarette, the stub short and burning in the noonday light.

“On one condition,” you amended.

He turned then, face clouded with something you couldn’t decipher.

“That you enjoy yourself.” He made to answer, but you interrupted. “And don’t lie and say you’ve been doing that already because you haven’t. Not while you’ve been so busy watching my back every second.”

He didn’t deny it.

“When’s the last time you quit worrying about everyone else? Did something for yourself?”

He let out a flat laugh. “Been a while.”

“Exactly. So come on and show me a good time, and stop babying me.”

“That ain’t-”

“Save it.” You opened the door and motioned for him to go ahead of you as dramatically as you could.

He rolled his eyes and made a big show of being annoyed, but you did know that much about him—all that gruffness was only that: show. So he gave in like you knew he would and was out the door in seconds.

You let Arthur lead the way this time, vowing to go where he went, to keep out of trouble. He must have really taken your word for it, for he soon walked straight into a saloon you hadn’t noticed before that was behind the hotel. It was…far from the likes of the Red Horse. Very far. But you were glad to see that Arthur wasn’t watching you for once, catering to you. Instead, he stepped up to the small, dingy bar and ordered a drink with a certain lightness in his step. He ordered you one too, but after seeing the state of the place, you didn’t feel like drinking from the dingy glasses he was handed. You gave him yours, and he only shrugged and started drinking both, propping himself against the bar top.

You took the time to note your surroundings—the piano player who kept missing notes not because of a lack of talent but because of a lack of keys. The few seedy-looking men who were already looking at you. You were immensely glad you hadn’t changed back into your own clothes, as their eyes hardly lingered on you any longer than they did Arthur. But the pair of you were strangers here, and with the way most of them huddled together in watchful silence, you could tell they frequented the place enough to call it their own. You and Arthur couldn’t say the same. And you felt the weight of their stares as a result of that long after turning away.

Arthur didn’t seem to mind the saloon’s company. In fact, if it weren’t for your being with him, you would be willing to bet he fit in around places like this. He seemed comfortable, less watchful, less shifty. It took you all of a heartbeat to decipher why, and the reason behind it both alarmed and saddened you—he was among like-minded people here. All shabby clothes and unkempt hair, guns on most patrons’ hips. You were willing to bet Arthur wasn’t the only man in the room who frequently found himself on the opposite side of the law. But more than that, it seemed he hadn’t enjoyed the company of the Red Horse as much because he felt he would never belong with those people. The more you looked around, the more you realized how abysmal Arthur’s self-worth was. He was worth ten of every man here. You didn’t even have to know them to know it—you could see it in their beady eyes. None of them would have helped you off that cliff bottom, but Arthur had. And you let him go on enjoying himself because of it, knowing any attempt to convince him of that worth would be futile. It would just anger him, and that was the opposite of the point of coming here. You instead thought of ways to help him keep his mind off things and grinned when an idea hit you.

“So.”

He turned to you. “Aww, don’t give me that look.”

“What look?”

“That one. Pure mischief if I ever seen it.”

“Isn’t that the point?” you asked, grin never fading. “You said it yourself. Plenty of mischief to get up to around here.”

He swigged down the rest of his drink and set it on the bar top, already waving at the bartender for another. “What did you have in mind?”

“You remember that little question game we played? With the gin?”

“Sure,” he said, not quite meeting your eye. Of course he did. It was hard to forget when the end result had been that kiss.

“I’ve got questions.”

“Here we go,” he muttered.

“I wasn’t properly…prepared last time. It was unfair from the start.”

“I let you ask me just as many questions as I asked you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but the caliber of questions was, well, tipped in your favor.”

“That so?” he asked, turning to you. The smug look on his face had you trying your best not to think of where the last game had led, because it was already getting difficult to resist wanting that again.

“They were,” you said simply.

“Well, fire away then.” He lowered his voice so only you could hear. “You already know enough to get me hanged. How much worse could you throw at me?”

You didn’t know enough to get the man hanged, for Christ’s sake, but you banished the thought before your confidence could be shaken. Instead, you started simple—with exactly the same thing he had.

“What’s something you never told anyone? Your deepest, darkest secret?”

“Deepest and darkest, huh?” he said, tilting his head back in thought and amusement.

You gave him time to think it over, knowing better than to tease him when you had the upper hand. He would just quit, and where would the fun be in that?

Whether from liquid courage or from genuinely wanting to enjoy himself, he relented.

“I don’t like the cold.”

“What? That’s not an answer,” you chided.

“It’s plenty answer,” he said with a grin, knowing it was anything but.

You were a breath away from arguing when you caught the way he was looking at you, just waiting for you to do exactly that. So you clamped your mouth shut and rerouted. “I meant something more along the lines of downright humiliating like my answer was, but…I’ll allow it.”

“You didn’t say humiliating. You said something no one else knows about me. Living with that gang of misfits every second of every day, you learn everything there is to know about each other.”

“That’s…more like it,” you admitted. Then, “Well, why the cold then? I like it.”

“Oh, and I’m not allowed to have an opinion?” he teased.

You glared. He just tilted his head back and laughed, and it was better than any answer he could have given you.

“Fine,” he said on a sigh. “It’s because it’s miserable. Heat can be bearable. It’s never painful, but the cold…”

“Yeah, I can see that,” you said, feigning understanding. Then, because he deserved some hassling in return, “It’s hard on the weak-willed.”

He scoffed and bumped his shoulder into yours in retaliation, and all you could do was laugh into your hand, trying to hide the feminine sound from the surrounding crowd.

“My turn,” he said. “And you got two, so I get two, and don’t even try to wiggle out of that.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest.

“You ever daydream about kissing the postman?”

You could feel your face burn at that one, trying to answer fast enough to cover your embarrassment. “What kind of question is that? Why do you keep bringing that up?”

“I ain’t never brought it up since you did,” he countered.

Maybe not, but he always aimed these questions right where you were most guarded. Or most clueless, more like.

You groaned your frustration and were about to blurt denial before you realized that would be a lie—you’d never kissed anyone before Arthur, and you couldn’t deny that childish curiosity that had you imagining a hundred different scenarios with that stupid postman at the ripe age of fourteen. Maybe even thirteen.

Your hesitation was your biggest mistake. Arthur’s shit-eating grin had already taken hold. “Knew it.”

“There’s nothing to know,” you hissed, trying to keep from a yell. Lucky there was the sound of a piano currently filling the saloon, or this whole conversation would be on display for the patrons.

“Can’t lie,” he teased. “Those are the rules.”

“I haven’t even said-”

“Next question,” he interrupted. “Since you want to play dirty.”

“I wasn’t playing-”

“Did you imagine him your age in said daydreams, or were you kissing a forty-year-old man?”

“You’re terrible,” you said. “Absolutely awful.”

“So…that a yes?” he asked over a wicked grin.

“No.” He gave you a knowing look, and you immediately shut it down. “No. He was…like he always looked. Not forty, for Christ’s sake.”

“Thirty-nine?”

You swatted him. He laughed. “What then?”

“I don’t know,” you said, exasperated. “How old are you? He looked about like you do.”

You realized your mistake the moment the words left your mouth. Especially when Arthur’s expression turned from amusement to smugness.

“Like me, huh?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No?” His grin had turned feral.

“He looked your age.”

“Sure.” He dropped it, but you knew by the look on his face the conversation was far from over. Meanwhile, it was likely your face would soon burn away with how red you knew it to be.

“I’m thirty-three,” he said, interrupting your embarrassment.

“He was around that.”

He nodded. Then, “Well, as fine a question as asking my age is, it’s my turn again.”

“Excuse me?” You said it loud enough for Arthur to shush you.

“Pipe down with all that. Lest you want these fine folks knowing you’re a lady.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“What?”

“Lady. That’s the second time.”

“That’s what you are, ain’t it?”

“Woman,” you corrected.

“Woman. Lady. Same thing.”

You leaned over the bar, facing away from him. He was too amused with you to let it lie. “What, you got a problem with it?”

“No. It’s…not terrible. Just don’t expect me to go calling you gentleman.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, nameless.” You whipped around at the nickname, and he winked at you before lifting his glass to his lips. Goddamn him for it. This was the Arthur you couldn’t stand being around since that kiss. The one who had led to that kiss. And all you wanted was for it to happen again.

You tore your eyes away from him and tried to think of a question that would justify why you were suddenly wracked with nerves and dead silent because of it.

“How ‘bout this,” he said, his smile so wide you knew it would be an awful question. “Have you ever…” His voice trailed when his eyes met the door. Yours followed, and you immediately knew why his focus had become so sharp—in walked the man from the night prior, the one who had lost so much money playing poker. Bowler hat, greasy manner, and all.

“And, like his father, he’ll come to regret that,” he was saying to one of the men he was with the night before. Well, slurring would be more accurate. His red-tinged face and bloodshot eyes gave him away for a drunk if his speech didn’t.

“Mr. Lawrence,” the bartender called over to him. “Nice to see you in.”

“Ah, Mr. Begley,” the man—Lawrence—responded. He leaned over to his friend, either not bothering to lower his voice or unaware of its loudness as he said, “Can’t very well say it’s a pleasure in this dump, can I?”

His friend chuckled in response, but all you could do was glare. Your distaste must have been obvious enough for Arthur to lean into you and whisper, “Eyes forward, there.”

You did as he asked, not needing to draw attention to yourself now.

You were grateful when the man and his friend settled on the opposite side of Arthur, though not even a minute passed before he was drawing Arthur’s attention.

“A new face, have we? Haven’t seen you here before.”

Arthur kept his eyes forward as he said, “Never been here before.”

“A newcomer then. Staying or passing through?”

“Just passing through.”

“You and your…ah…”

Lawrence leaned past Arthur to look at you.

“My friend,” Arthur answered, though it only resulted in a raised eyebrow from the man. It was obvious enough to anyone looking closely you were a woman. But if he realized, he didn’t say anything.

“Yes. Well, the name’s George Lawrence. Brother to the notorious James Lawrence.” The description dripped with disdain for the latter, though you had no clue who he was referring to.

“Who?” Arthur asked, and you had to rein in a smile at the way he blatantly snubbed the man, offering up no name of his own.

This really got the man’s attention, and his friend’s too. “You don’t know? Oh dear, what filthy little rock have you been living under?” When Arthur still didn’t take the bait, Lawrence kept on. “The shootist? Recently appointed town marshal?”

“Here?”

The man scoffed a laugh. “Yes, here.”

“Well, if he’s as friendly as you, maybe I’ll go pay him a visit,” Arthur jeered.

Lawrence’s eyes narrowed with disgust, his oily nose crinkling up with it. He looked Arthur up and down. “And you are?”

“Arthur Callahan.” You were surprised Arthur even offered that much, though he still wouldn’t meet the man’s eye, too busy leaning over the bar top and trying to ignore him.

“And you?”

Lawrence’s eyes had fallen on you, and you blurted the first name that came to you to keep Arthur held back as he turned toward the man in offense. “Frances Smith.”

Lawrence’s eyes narrowed as Arthur whipped around, surprise lining his gaze—he didn’t realize the name was fake. You just shook your head at him.

“Well. I hope the two of you enjoy yourselves in our humble town. Though I do suggest sticking to the back streets. That’s where the other…what do you call it? Cowmen tend to reside.”

Never in your life had you heard that word said with such disdain, and it drew Arthur’s attention like a gunshot. “Excuse me?” he grimaced, voice dangerously low.

“I don’t believe I stuttered.”

That did it. Arthur stood to his full height, towering over the smaller man, and swept into his space so quickly that Lawrence stumbled back onto his friend’s foot.

“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to,” Arthur threatened, “but I ain’t like these other townies, scared of some marshal brother of yours. So I’d suggest you get lost before you find yourself with a few less teeth.”

The whole saloon had stopped to stare—even the piano player. It was dead silent as Lawrence answered with a slight slur in his voice, “I would think twice about the crowd you find yourself in before you threaten a fight.”

Arthur looked around as you did, finding many glaring patrons. But they weren’t glaring at the two of you. Rather, it seemed they had caught just enough of the conversation for Lawrence to offend the whole lot of them too. Arthur must have noticed this, as he looked back to Lawrence and, without hesitation, yanked him forward and head butted him right in the nose. A crack rent the air, Lawrence went crumpling to the floor, and his friend could only shout his shock and try to help him back to his feet, both too drunk to do much of anything else.

A few of the patrons laughed, one exclaiming, “That’ll show him, the sorry bastard.”

Lawrence finally reached his feet with a bloodied nose, straightening his jacket with whatever dignity he had left. And, seeing no one would come to his aid, he just glared at Arthur and cursed under his breath as he stepped past him.

“Come on, Higgins. I think it best my dear brother hears about this.”

With that, he left. You and Arthur watched him until the doors snapped shut behind him and his friend.

“As satisfying as that was,” the bartender said, drawing your attention. “I would be careful with that one.”

Arthur pushed his glass back toward the man for him to refill it, tossing another coin down. “Slimy bastard like that deserves worse.”

“Perhaps.” The bartender waited until the room resumed its careful conversation, most men eyeing Arthur now. The rickety piano started back up when the bartender leaned in close over the bar. “He wasn’t exaggerating about his brother. They say he’s the quickest draw anyone’s laid eyes on in years. And, newly appointed town marshal to boot. You would do well to remain in his good graces.”

“If he’s anything like his sorry excuse for a sibling, I don’t care to be,” Arthur muttered.

“He’s not. He’s likable enough. You get on his bad side, and you’ll find the whole town against you.”

Arthur noted this but didn’t answer, so you did. “How on earth did a man like that wind up with a brother like George?”

The bartender really looked at you then, likely just now realizing your gender. But you appreciated his kindness as he only tipped his hat to you and explained. “They say George has lived in his brother’s shadow too long. Not as talented, not as favorable. And his nasty gambling and drinking habits make for a sour man indeed. Too much money and too little entertainment. I would steer clear of both men.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Arthur said, cutting you off before you could respond. You looked to find him glaring at you, likely because you had drawn so much attention to yourself twice now.

The bartender took the hint and his leave, letting you and Arthur be.

“We need to get going, Frances.”

You couldn’t help your smile. “Is that what you’re upset about? You did just crack a man’s nose with your skull, you know.”

He didn’t acknowledge that. “All this time, you wouldn’t tell me your name, and you dole it out to the first bastard to walk through that door and ask it?”

“Maybe he was nicer about it than you were.”

“He wasn’t.” Arthur’s scowl tickled you—like a pouting child. You pointed to his drink.

“Finish that, and let’s go.” He raised an eyebrow at you. “Unless you want the big bad marshal to come knocking.”

He scoffed and threw his drink back, slamming it on the bar top. “Thanks,” he offered the bartender, tossing him another coin for his discretion and his advice before ushering you out. You could only smile at how disgruntled Arthur remained, letting him lead you on.

Frances. Goddamn Frances.

Arthur lead you back to the hotel, too spooked to go anywhere else despite the early afternoon hour. He hadn’t had his head on straight in that saloon—shouldn’t have taken you there in the first place. But he had to admit, you had a way of making him forget his logic. It had even been fun for a while. Until it wasn’t. Now he had the attention of one of the most powerful men in town which never lead to anything good. He was suddenly considering that putting an end to this little stay wasn’t such a bad idea. It had been nice while it lasted, even if it had only lasted two days.

After locking you both inside the hotel room, Arthur dug through his satchel for a cigarette, finding he only had one left. He would need to get to a store soon. Maybe in the next town.

“So,” you said, that playful lilt still in your voice despite what had gone down back in that saloon. “Mr. Callahan, was it?”

He shook his head as he lit a match. “Fake name.” You laughed lowly, and it drew his attention. As did the way you settled on the bed. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He let you drop it, still too jittery to pick a fight with you.

“I didn’t know any better, and I’d say you’re jealous.”

He didn’t take the bait. “Am I?”

“You must be if that’s how you react to me giving my name out.”

He eyed you, taking a long drag. “I ain’t jealous.”

“No?”

“No.” Then, because he couldn’t resist, “It just don’t make much sense. You, protecting your precious name from me all this time only to-” He caught your eye and the grin underneath them. And simultaneously realized himself a fool. “That ain’t your name, is it?”

You smiled wide, and he scoffed.

You laughed loudly, the sound so pure it made his chest tighten. “No, Mr. Callahan, it’s not.”

“Well, you don’t get to know my name, then. How’s that?”

You shrugged. “Fine. Arthur’s all I need.”

“You’re something else,” he said, ears burning for the way you kept outsmarting him.

With this, you just smiled and shed your hat, lying back on the bed. He wanted to join you on it. Knew he wasn’t strong enough not to. But if he was going to keep any gentlemanly manner about him, he couldn’t do it now. He couldn’t lay beside you while that alcohol ran through his blood so thick and that laugh of yours made him want to take your mouth to his. If he did, the night would end in a way he was torn between wanting desperately and knowing he would regret the moment it happened. There would be no happy ending for you and him. Just as there hadn’t been with Mary. Just as there hadn’t been with Eliza and the boy…

He couldn’t dwell on that now. Not while he still had you—someone kind enough to brave the world for him, as you had tonight in that shit hole of a saloon. It meant more to him than he could say. You were right that he never took time for himself. Mainly because when he did, it always ended badly, and there wasn’t anyone with him now with enough knowhow to get him out of a tight like that. In fact, the thought of you just trying put a smile on his face. Smart or no, you were no outlaw. He was willing to bet your experience with the law ran nigh on none, good or bad. But his experience wasn’t exactly something to be proud of, so he went back to looking out the window and trying to empty his head with that lone cigarette, passing the time in hopes you would fall asleep and his blood would cool. After a while, both came like a caring respite, and he crawled into that bed a second time with you, repeating to himself that it was only for comfort. And only for a little while longer.

_________

End Notes: My apologies if your name happens to be Frances Smith 😂 just pretend she said some other name that isn’t yours if so!

Chapter fifteen is here.

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#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

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clxja16 · 1 year

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Since Day One

Part 4

Arthur Leclerc X Reader

Genre: childhood friends to lover

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.6K

Author’s Note: okay I am done, there’s not gonna be a part five regardless. I seriously don’t even know what I would do with this story if I would continue it. Also I don’t know if Charlotte gets endorsements in real life from being an f1 wag, but like I would think she does. I just put that in the story because it fit in that moment. Also this is so late because I wasn’t gonna do a part four but ay wth. Nevertheless enjoy guys.

Part one, Part two, Part three

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“Auntie Pa,” you called out, as you entered the Leclerc home. “I brought the fish for dinner.” Arthur, Charles, and Lorenzo were expected to return to Monaco by tonight for the summer break.

“I’m still in the kitchen dear,” you could hear auntie Pa, shout from across the home. “May you set the table dear?”

“Of course,” you answered, as you put the fish down, and picked up the stack of plates. “Who’s coming tonight?”

“Just us,” Auntie answered nonchalantly, “the boys, you and Charlotte.”

“Auntie I didn’t know it was a family dinner, I don’t wanna intrude…”

You could hear Auntie Pa sigh, “nonsense, you are family y/n, I don’t know how many times I have to remind you that you are family.”

You blushed at her words, “once more,” you said as you went about setting up the table for everyone while Auntie finished her cooking. You peaked over at the dish she was making, the boy’s favorite. They always had one request when they came home from traveling, Auntie Pa’s cooking.

“I heard,” Auntie started off, “you attended a couple races.” Auntie gave you an eye, as she watched your reaction to her words. Even when you were a little girl auntie always knew everything.

“I did,” you confirmed, “I wish I didn’t stop. I…” you paused trying to get her your thoughts, “I didn’t realize how I hurt all of you, I’m so sorry I never…”

Auntie raised her hands stopping you from continuing on, she had her eyes shut, and it appeared as if she was biting her tongue. “You need not apologize for protecting your sanity and safety.”

“But I should’ve talked to…”

Auntie raised her hands again, stopping you once more, as she stared straight into your soul. “You did what you had to do, we understand that.”

“Thank you,” you said. Auntie Pa always knew what to say to make it better.

“It’s not your fault, that sometimes, my sons can be idiotic at times,” Auntie threw up her hands in exaggeration.

You couldn’t help but giggle at her reaction, “what happened auntie, Charlotte never gave the details.”

Auntie Pa sighed further, shaking her head, as she stirred the pot. “My baby, Arthur, is so much like his father. So protective over you,” Auntie said, as she pointed at you. “Last season, you canceled your Monza trip,” you nodded your head at Auntie’s words, recalling that time. “Then you didn’t go to Russia…”

“Right,” you said to confirm the details. At that point in the season the amount of harassment was overwhelming that you didn’t want to leave your home.

“Then you didn’t go to Abu Dhabi with the family, as soon as we got home from Abu Dhabi, Arthur hit the roof. He told Charles, It was because of Charlotte that you didn’t come to Abu Dhabi.” Auntie explained to you.

“Why would he say that though, I never told that to him,” you asked as you remembered, making it a point that it wasn’t because of Charlotte that you stayed away.

Auntie Pa sighed, “Because at Abu Dhabi, Charlotte had said some things that were only meant for Charles.” You looked at Auntie confused, not fully understanding what she meant, “Charlotte is a darling, but she’s not you y/n. She’s not gonna have those childhood moments with Charles like you, and that’s unsettling for her. She was explaining to Charles that sometimes you make her insecure, your connection with Charles and the rest of the family. Arthur overhead and he assumed that Charlotte told you this, so you stayed away to make things easier for Charles without considering Arthur’s feelings.”

“I didn’t, I wouldn’t,” you started off, trying to explain your side quickly, “that wasn’t…”

“I know dear, don’t worry.” Auntie reassured, as she went back to explaining, “Arthur refused to talk to Charles for the entire off season, even during their trips to Maranello together. It wasn’t until we were having dinner together right before the boys left for Bahrain, and Charlotte asked you to come to the race, herself and you declined it. After you left that night Arthur finally spoke to Charles, and Arthur got one hell of a scolding from Lorenzo for acting the way, he did.”

You sighed, as you recalled that night, “I did wonder why it felt awkward that night. I’m so sorry Auntie, I didn’t mean to cause that…”

“Don’t even worry about it dear, it’s not your fault that my boys are idiotic at times,” Auntie shocked her head with a chuckle. Just then you could hear the front door open, signaling their arrival.

“Are you gonna come to Spa?” Charles asked you during dinner.

“Summer break just started and already you’re talking about the races,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Come on, you’re gonna come to Spa right?” Arthur asked, as he turned in his seat to face you.

“I don’t know, I’m gonna have to think about it,” you answered, looking at Arthur. Your head swirling with thoughts of just how handsome he was, and you couldn’t believe he was yours. You realized you could get lost staring into his eyes. And Arthur thought the same about you, as he stared back. He thought of you, and he couldn’t believe he could call you his.

Lorenzo and Charles took note of how both yours and Arthur’s demeanor changed in that moment. Granted, Arthur always acted a little more carefully when you were around. Constantly trying to impress you, however both Lorenzo and Charles could tell this time was different. It wasn’t Arthur trying to impress you, it wasn’t Arthur trying to gain your favor. Arthur looked at you with pure love in his eyes, there wasn’t a yearning, a pining, a longing look. Just pure, unfiltered, raw love.

Lorenzo and Charles exchanged a look, they both knew you guys finally got it.

After the food was put away, the table cleared, the dishes washed, and the kitchen cleaned, did you guys sit in the living room together. As Arthur looked around the room to see everyone together, he thought of his childhood. Of the moments after a long day of karting when you guys would come back home, and then proceed to playing video racing games.

“Super Mario Kart?” Arthur asked the room, knowing you wouldn’t back down from a challenger.

“You’re going down Leclerc,” you answered, as you began to help Arthur set up the game.

“Excuse me, I’m winning this,” Charles responded back.

“Charlotte, are you gonna play with us?” You turned to ask Charlotte.

You watched her smile grow just a bit, “sure.”

The four of you found good seats around the living room as the game started. And when the first round ended, there was only one happy person, so obviously you guys had to play again. You don’t know how many rounds you ended up playing, but there was lots of shouting, lots of laughing, and lots of cheatin going on. Lorenzo and auntie Pa, laughed at how competitive you all got. It was truly an enjoyable time.

After a while it was just Arthur and Charles playing. You took a seat with Charlotte, watching the two boys play their game. Charlotte spoke first, in a low whisper, “how’s you and Arthur?”

You couldn’t help but blush slightly, “we’re good, it’s nice, taking things slowly.”

“I’m happy for you guys, took you both long enough to get it,” Charlotte said with a smirk.

“Yeah it did.”

It was about a week into the summer break, when Charles had invited you out to his yacht for the day. Although this wasn’t the first time, Charles invited you out to the yacht, you still were unsure how to dress. Charles said it was an all day thing, so you packed warm clothes for the evening, as well as more, because well a girl can never be too prepared.

When you arrived at the dock, Arthur and Charles were already waiting for you. “You boys didn’t need to wait for me, I would’ve called when I got here,” you said, as the three of you loaded onto the yacht.

“It’s fine, we’re still waiting for more people, so we weren’t planning on setting sail yet.” Charles said, as he carried your bag in.

“Who’s here already?”

“Just us, Lorenzo and mom, Charlotte should be here soon though,” Arthur answered your question.

After getting your things stored away, you followed Arthur out onto the deck where everyone else was. You all sat together for brunch before setting off for the day. It didn’t take long for the rest of the group to arrive, and you guys were off.

You watched Arthur play games with his brothers and a few of their friends. They all took turns shoving each other into the water. You were perfectly content sitting on the side with Charlotte and auntie Pa. That was until Arthur decided that you sitting on the side wasn’t good enough.

Arthur made quick work of pulling you up by your wrist, “no, no, no Arthur,” you protested as he dragged you to the edge. “Arthur don’ t,” you protested once more, while everyone else cheered Aruther on. Arthur bent down, wrapping his arms around your thighs, before throwing you over his shoulder, and jumping into the water.

When the two of you came up back to the surface, it was full of you splashing Arthur. While he had a huge grin on his face, “I’m sorry mon amour,” Arthur said. If you were paying closer attention you would’ve caught his mistake, but instead you got lost in his eyes and his smile. Arthur pulled you close in the water, pecking your lips as an apology. As more cheers erupted from the group.

“So you just weren’t planning on telling us?” Lorenzo asked Arthur, as you guys all sat together at dinner. Arthur held your hand, with interlaced fingers, under the table.

“I was going to tell you guys,” Arthur relented, “I was just taking it slow.” Arthur leaned back, now looking at you instead of his brothers.

“Slow? How much slower are you guys planning on taking this, it’s been 16 years,” Auntie Pa said, causing a ripple of laughter through the table.

“As slow as she wants,” Arthur said with a little drawl in his voice, as he stared at you. You felt the red creep up your cheeks and your smile widened at Arthur’s cheesiness. Arthur would really do anything for you, and you were the luckiest girl alive to be with him.

“Are you happy?” Charles’ voice cut across the table, “y/n, are you happy?” You tore your eyes away from Arthur to look at Charles. Charles sat across the table from you, Charlotte sitting next to him.

While you looked at Charles, you thought about what could’ve been. What would have happened if he said yes, years ago? Would you be in the Ferrari garage cheering his name, at every race? Would you be the F1 wag that everyone talked about? Would you have the endorsement deals that Charlotte has? Would you still be in love with Charles? Would you even still be in a relationship with Charles?

As you looked at Charles and Charles looked at you. Charlotte looked at Charles. She wondered why Charles had asked if you were happy. She wondered if Charles wanted you to be unhappy with Arthur. She wondered if Charles was secretly, quietly, jealous that you chose Arthur in the end. She wondered just how much did Charles regret saying no, those years ago.

When you were looking at Charles, Arthur was looking at you. Arthur wondered what was going through your mind. If you thought that Charles was the better choice. If you were thinking about getting stuck with the second-best Leclerc? Or maybe the third-best Leclerc. If you were thinking that you weren’t that happy with him.

“I am,” you answered, earnestly, honestly, and wholeheartedly. “I am very happy,” you said, now looking away from Charles and back at Arthur. Looking at the person you are truly in love with.

“Good,” Charles smiled at you and Arthur, then looked towards Charlotte. He picked up her hand, kissing the back of it, whispering a small ‘I love you.’

“I won’t be gone long, just a few days,” Arthur said, as he packed his bag, preparing for another trip to Maranello.

“I know, but you’ll call and text me right?” You asked, sitting on Arthur’s bed, watching him pack.

“Of course mon amour,” he said, smirking playfully at you.

“You know, I thought the point of summer break was to take a break.” You said sarcastically.

“It’s just some contract negotiations, and media duties,” Arthur smiled as he continued to pack.

“Why a few days then and not one?”

“Because I want to actually sign a contract my dear, sometimes negotiations takes days,” Arthur smirked as he pulled you up from the bed, closer to him.

“I will see you when you get back?”

“You’ll be the first,” Arthur smiled, placing a soft kiss upon your lips.

“I signed with Dams racing for next season,” Arthur spoke through the phone to you, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the smile.

“You deserve it,” you spoke into the phone for Arthur.

“Do I?” Arthur asked softly, you could hear the insecurity starting to creep in.

“Of course you do,” you answered quickly. When Arthur and Charles were still karting, Charles was set on pursuing racing as a career, while Arthur was a little more indecisive. So when money started to get tight, Arthur’s career was put on hold. And at the time, one or two years off didn’t seem so bad. It gave Arthur time to appreciate racing, especially since he couldn’t do it to the fullest. Then Arthur turned 21 and he was still in formula 3. When Charles turned 21, he already won Formula 3, and 2. Charles already made his formula 1 debut, he already scored points.

Arthur was already so far behind his brother that every time he made a step forward he wondered if it was because of his ability or because of his name. Every opportunity he got, he asked if he deserved it, or if it was a favor for his brother. Every moment in the spotlight, he wondered if they were there for him or his brother.

“Where are you right now?” You asked to change the focus of the conversation.

“I’m still at Maranello, waiting for Lorenzo right now,” Arthur sighed, you could tell he was still bothered, still insecure.

“Arthur, you worked hard, you deserve this,” you did your best to reassure him.

“Charles was already in formula 1 at my age,” Arthur sighed, you could hear him take a deep breath, “maybe I should stop while I’m ahead.”

“Arthur, Charles has…”

“Hold on,” Arthur cut you off before you could finish your thought, “Lorenzo is here.” Vaguely from the other side of the line you could hear Lorenzo's voice.

“Y/n,” Lorenzo’s voice came through the phone loud and clear, “guess who’s moving into formula 2…”

“I told her already,” you could hear Arthur’s voice, although faintly, through the phone, as he spoke to Lorenzo and not you.

“Oh,” Lorenzo said through the phone to you, “well he’s moving up making big boy steps.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the excitement in Lorenzo’s voice, “when’s the announcement?”

“Well if no rumors come out, maybe the end of the year, at the very least Abu Dhabi.”

“I’m so proud of him,” you spoke earnestly, “and of you too Lo.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Lorenzo said, you imagined him doing a little bow as he spoke, “here’s your boyfriend back.”

“I’ll call you back when we get to the hotel, I think I have some more media things to do,” Arthur informed, his voice sounding lighter than earlier.

“Alright,” you acknowledged, “I’m proud of you Arthur.”

“Thank you.”

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@annoyingsaladstrawberry

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goodmorgan · 1 year

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Perfect Strangers

Chapter 2: A Debt To Repay

(Chapter 1)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

Series Summary: When a stranger appears at your homestead to steal from you, you set out to help him instead. What follows is a reckless relationship with potentially dangerous outcomes.

Chapter Summary: When Arthur keeps his promise and returns, he's determined to repay his debt to you in more than one way.

Word Count: 5.4K

Tags: NSFW. MDNI. 18+. Smut, Porn With Plot, Oral Sex (f! receiving), Fingering, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Infidelity, Arthur gives reader a pet name

AO3 Link

A/N: The chapter has spoilers for the first one obvs. For the sake of the story, I have given reader a last name. However, Arthur decides to give her a pet name all of his own...

"To my dearest wife, Mrs. Brooks,

I hope my letter finds you in agreeable health and blithe spirit. I am fortunate to write this in the same state of body and mind.

I am writing to inform you that my return home from Annesburg has been regrettably delayed again. Mr. Jameson has instructed me to remain as bookkeeper for the upcoming months, expressing modest satisfaction with my employment. I do not know yet when I’ll be able to visit you.

I hear whispers that the head bookkeeper, Mr. Muller, my superior, might be retiring by the end of this year, which would make me a potential candidate for his position. I plan on proving my worth in the meantime so that I might be given preferential treatment when the time comes for his replacement. I would like to discuss this in greater detail with you on our next meeting.

Business is flourishing despite minor mishaps at the mine hindering our profit. The papers have callously depicted the pristine working conditions of our miners, whom I assure you are treated and provided for in the most respectable manner. Please refrain from reading such worthless gossip and know I am secure from bodily or spiritual harm.

Mr. Jameson has generously provided compensation for postponing my visit. I trust that you will able to retrieve it at the Valentine Savings Bank, like on previous occasions. Please be mindful to spend it wisely and sparingly.

I bid you farewell with the optimism that we will see each other very soon. In the meantime, I'll see you in my most tender dreams.

Be well and let bygones be just that.

Your doting husband,

Stanley Oliver Brooks"

It has always struck you as appropriate that your husband's initials are S.O.B.

You can't think of a more fitting term for him, even after the last letter he sent, his words leaving you again sick to your stomach as you reread them. While you sigh of relief for his foreseeable absence in the next few months, you're disgusted by his artificial affection and concern for you. If only the man of his letters were real.

You close shut the drawer containing his correspondence with a thud, hearing your wedding ring clang inside. You haven't worn it in months, preferring to not wear a constant reminder of him on you.

You go into the kitchen to find something useful you can do, keeping your mind and hands busy with toil usually helps forget him. You decide to bake a pie with the rest of the apples you have left.

You reach for the flour in your cupboard when you hear the distant sound of horses approaching, making you turn around sharply, grabbing the shotgun by the door. It's now a mechanical instinct for you, having done it hundreds of times since you've lived out here alone. Nothing has passed during that time to upset the peaceful life you lead, so you mostly do it out of precaution. The only major cause of concern happened a few days back when you saw a strange man wander into your front yard, picking one of your apples. Luckily, he was the best thing that happened to you in a long time.

You don't dare risk your luck again so you step out onto the porch quickly, getting ready to ward off any intruder. It's only when you have him in your line of sight that you see the approaching target.

It's Arthur Morgan. At last.

It has been five whole days since he left with your mare Amber. His promise to return hanged in the air since like the sun rays that get you up in the morning, sweet and inviting. You would have never imagined you'd miss someone this much, let alone someone you only knew for a few spellbinding hours.

The man you met intimately last week is now riding a powerful brown stallion, an adequate choice for him, both of them equally imposing to the eye. Amber gallops by their side appearing smaller but just as graceful and well-kept, her golden coat shining in the morning sun. Arthur slows down both horses to a trot as he enters your front yard, letting out an "Easy now" as he pulls on the reins. The closer he gets to you, the better you can see the quiet tender smile on his lips, one too unseemly for such a big man riding such a big horse.

Arthur looks much improved since the last and only time you saw him, now wearing clean clothes that highlight his threatening physique. A polished, perhaps new, slightly too tight, blue shirt brings out his eyes as they shimmer under the shadow of his familiar hat. The bruises on his face have almost healed and you can see the scar on his chin more clearly now that he has trimmed his beard. The satchel you gave him is still draping the same shoulder he hung it on and an impressive gun belt sits on his hips, two heavy weapons anchoring him. Your eyes can barely register all of this as you keep ogling his scene-stealing smile.

"You greet everyone with that shotgun of yours or just me?" he quips from atop his horse as he prepares to dismount. Hearing the soothing lilt of his voice again fills you with unabashed joy.

"Just men I have over for dinner. Or men who take my horse. Or both."

Arthur lets out a few chuckles as he stomps on the ground, heading towards the rails of your porch to hitch his horse. You head toward Amber, petting her forehead to say hello and she neighs back, saying she missed you too. You give her some more attention before you feel Arthur standing behind you, waiting his turn to get your sweet attention too.

"Was she a good girl?" you ask him when you finally turn around and meet his enigmatic gaze, his face barely a few inches from yours. His smile seems to be stuck in place.

"Yeah, she's a swell ride. Didn't work her too hard, I promise."

"And who's that?" You nod towards the brown stallion now grazing your lawn.

"That's Titus. He's new. Still a little jumpy."

"Well, I'm sure you'll tame him in no time."

"Yeah, I'll get him there."

When your spoken conversation halts, your unspoken one continues as you keep eyeing each other. There's a magnetic push forcing you together, an invisible pull holding you apart. Small wrinkles appear and dissolve on your faces as fleeting hints of your nervousness. Your heartbeats are a little faster than their resting rates. Your eyelashes suddenly work overtime. The breeze cools your sweaty temples as you both sway in place, waiting to see who will make the first move, who will be the one to break off the impasse. Make or break. Push and pull. A seductive stalemate.

"How’ve you been?" Like a hesitant player with a winning hand, you fold.

"Just fine. Better. Alive, thanks to you."

"I'm glad." You feel your cheeks move to form an unstoppable smile.

"I've come to repay my debt, as a matter of fact."

"Oh, really?" You pretend to have forgotten all about it, like it hasn't occupied your mind every single waking hour for the past few days. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

"I have something in mind. But first I'm gonna need your help with something.”

You watch as he moves back to his horse and you follow him, hitching Amber next to Titus. Arthur removes a brown bag from one of his saddlebags. "Here, hold this." It's heavier than you expected. He moves to the other side of the horse to retrieve a smaller bag. "Grab this one too.” You steady yourself as he hands it to you and you start to struggle with the weight of both bags. "Get those inside, would ya?"

“Mr. Morgan, what is this?"

"Just get them inside. I'll show ya."

You're already climbing the stairs to head inside when Arthur finally unropes the big package that was stowed on the back of his horse. By the way he holds it, it seems even heavier.

When you finally place the two bags down on your kitchen counter, Arthur's already right behind you, setting down the package next to the bags. He opens one of them and reaches inside, handing you a potato the size of his fist.

"Thought I'd bring back some things you might need. To replace all the food I ate the other day."

You watch as he starts to empty the bag on the counter, first reaching for potatoes, carrots and onions and then for handfuls of green beans and peas. He retrieves a few shucked corncobs, some turnips. You peek inside the other bag to see that it has a few loaves of bread.

"Now, the only thing I didn't get you was apples, but I figured you might still have a few of those."

"This is too much." You finally express your surprise.

"Well, I did eat too much."

"Not this much, no!"

"It's nothing, really. Why don't you open up the rest for me and I'll get the game I hunted?"

You watch him leave before you finally open the big boxed package. Laying on top you find a few red tins of biscuits and half a dozen chocolate bars. You lift them to find cans of coffee, beans, peaches and salmon. You spot the neck of a bottle of whiskey, an expensive kind by the look of it. A small wheel of cheese is stuck in a corner.

You're still deep in astonishment when you see him walk back in, a couple of rabbits hanging from one hand and a duck from the other. You can't help but laugh at the image. "You steal a grocer on the way over here or something? How much do you think I eat?"

"Just trying to make sure I do right by you, miss. Don't want you thinking I'm so kind of grifter."

"But I didn't give you any chocolate. Or biscuits!" You raise one of the tins in incredulity.

"Oh, that's something I thought you deserved."

Your heart flutters at his words. "Well, you better be staying for dinner because there's no way I can eat this all by myself!" It's only when the words are out of your mouth that you realize how eager you are to replicate the other night.

"I'd be happy to." He accepts your invitation without a fuss. There’s a certain easefulness in your conversation now that you're better acquainted and you both know your attraction is mutual. It doesn’t surprise you that he says yes.

You look back to the goods now cluttering your counter and wonder if you have space in your cupboards to keep it all.

"I was actually hoping you'd let me borrow some of your tools, so I can settle my debt like I promised."

You turn around surprised once again. "Isn't this the repayment you had in mind?" You gesture toward the supplies on the counter.

"No, ma'am. I was thinking I could help you fix your stable. I went to get Amber the other day and I saw that some of the walls need mending and the roof needs fixing. I'd be happy to do it if you let me."

You've been meaning to hire someone to do that for months. It's touching that Arthur noticed and wants to help you out. You don't see a reason not to let him.

"That would be fine, Mr. Morgan. I have some tools here." You reach for your toolbox under the kitchen sink. "There's more of them somewhere in the stable. I'm sure you can find them. Are you sure you don't mind? I don't want to impose."

He takes the toolbox as you hand it to him. "I'm more than happy to help, miss." He gives you a reassuring smile. "I'll get started right away if you don't mind."

“Sure. I'll fix us some lunch later. I'll come to get you when it's ready."

"Thank you." He nods politely before he excuses himself and you watch through the kitchen window as he stops to pat Titus before heading to the stable out back.

You are now stuck with the ordeal of putting away all of the food Arthur brought, rearranging the cupboards to fit it all. You smile as you store the biscuits and the bars on a shelf, wondering what kind of man brings so much chocolate to repay a lady. Something I thought you deserved, he said. But it's not just chocolate, it's a whole array of goods, including meats he took time to hunt and skin to purposely bring to you. You realize he's been thinking of you as much as you've been thinking about him, even though a week ago you were just complete strangers. Your thoughts are interrupted once you hear sudden loud rhythmic hammering outside, the continuing of Arthur's restitution.

Everything is in its place once you remember you were going to bake an apple pie before you were so delightfully interrupted. You think it's an even better idea now that Arthur is staying over for dinner. And lunch. Somehow you've captivated him enough to spend the whole day here with you. You hope he'll be spending the night too.

It gets harder to focus on the pie as you recall the night of intimacy the two of you spent the other day. Your chest rises and your breath hisses at the thought that you might be repeating it tonight. As you mix and mold the dough on your steady hands, you think of his large ones caressing you once again, first through your clothes and then on your skin, leaving his mark again on your faltering hips as he gives into you for the second time. You'll be sure to ask him to let you finish around him first this time, the idea having plagued you since then.

The oven is already hot once you absentmindedly finish assembling the pie, the apples now carefully stuffed inside the crust. As it bakes, you get working on lunch, made with some of the ingredients Arthur brought, a simple soup with plenty of potatoes and some sandwiches. You remove the pie from the oven and leave it to cool on the window sill before you go call Arthur for your meal.

When you reach the stable you find him crouched on top of the roof, nailing down some pieces of wood to cover a hole. He’s working shirtless and the late morning sun is making him sweat profusely, deepening his permanent tan. He’s so focused on his task he doesn’t see you approach. “Mr. Morgan, lunch is ready!”

Your voice is loud enough to make him turn to see you. “I’ll be right in, miss.”

When you’re nearly back at the house, you watch from afar as he climbs down the ladder, reaching for a bucket of water to refresh himself, scrubbing off the sweat with a damp rag. You leave when you see him buttoning his shirt, tucking it into his pants, priming himself for another meal with you.

By the time he gets inside, you’re already serving two bowls of steaming hot soup. “This looks mighty fine, miss.” He gives you a satisfied grin before he stops in his tracks and turns around to peek inside the kitchen, having caught the smell of your freshly baked treat. “Is that pie?”

“Yes, it’s cooling so you’re going to have to wait for dinner, I’m afraid.”

“I look forward to it.” He sits down on the same chair he did last time, just as anxious to dig in as five days ago. But this time he’s not as hungry, so he engages in lively conversation with you.

He mostly tells you what’s new in Valentine, curious happenings that have gone down in the past few weeks, things he’s heard around town and seen in the papers. He even gossips with you about a well-known cattle rancher caught having an affair with the butcher’s wife. The story seems to delight him immensely since apparently they ended up slimed in the rancher’s own pigpen in the middle of the town.

You would find the story amusing if it didn’t remind you that you too are a wife with your own infidelity now. The idea of ending up in a pigpen after being exposed for your transgression seems incredibly bleak. You busy yourself with the dishes to dispel the thought from your mind.

But when Arthur raises from his chair, letting out a long sustained breath, stretching out his enormous body inside your small cottage, you are reacquainted with the lust you have for the man. As you recall the intimate actions that make up your infidelity, your first thought is to wonder how soon you will be able repeat them. The hope that it will be tonight makes you weak with excitement. Maybe ending up in a pigpen isn’t so bad.

“Well, I best get back to it if I’m gonna finish today.” He stops before he crosses the threshold, returning his hat to his place. “The food was very tasty, miss. Thank you.” You both smile briefly at each other.

While he resumes fixing the stable, you return to your chores until you are suddenly left drowsy by the afternoon heat, deciding to rest your eyes for a moment in the comfort of your sofa, the sound of Arthur’s hammer lulling you to sleep.

It's late afternoon when you wake from your nap and you notice how quiet it is, the hammering having stopped. You figure it’s best to go see if Arthur needs any help, bringing with you a pitcher of lemonade to refresh him from a sunny day’s hard labor.

You find him still working inside the stable, his shirt, hat and gun belt hanging on the hooks where you keep some ropes. This time he hears you approach with the pitcher and two glasses in hand.

“Thought you might be thirsty, Mr. Morgan. Got you something to drink.”

“That’s very kind of you, miss. Just give me a second.”

You watch as he picks up a few bales of hay on the other side of the stable and he places them on top of the others, finishing setting them up in a neat pyramid by where you’re standing.

"I think that about does it,” he says.

You survey the small stable as you notice the impressive result of his craftsmanship, every hole now covered and every wooden board now in its place. He even went to the trouble of tidying up the space, neatly arranging everything to make it more functional. It looks like a brand new stable.

You serve him a glass of lemonade as he joins you. “The stable looks wonderful, Mr. Morgan. I’ve never seen it so tidy!”

“I’m glad you like it.” He sits down on a bale as he finally rests for the day, sipping half a glass in just a few gulps.

You serve yourself and put down the pitcher, sitting on a nearby stool, continuing to admire his handiwork. Amber will surely enjoy living here again, you think. It takes only a few seconds before your eyes circle back to where Arthur is and you notice he’s staring at you. You stare right back.

There’s a slight breeze coming in from the windows but neither of you is swaying in place now, sitting perfectly still as you observe the other. You are once again victims of a push and pull, a make or break. That goddamn seductive stalemate.

Except this time, it’s him that breaks. “Come here.” Arthur’s voice suddenly sounds deeper as he sets his glass on the floor, his other hand reaching out for you. You leave your own glass on the stool as you hold out to touch his palm.

When he finally holds you in his hand, you feel yourself being pulled closer to him, forcefully landing on his lap. Your faces remain somber as you’re now close enough to inspect each other’s irises, continuing that wordless exchange you’ve been having all day. The standoff ends when Arthur chases your lips with his, finally free to crash into each other like you’ve been so hungry to do. Nothing about it is tender as the kisses you share turn ravenous, no longer restricted by the pretense of propriety. You have slept together, after all.

It takes a while until both of you are satisfied, decreasing the intensity of each kiss as you pause to look at each other’s eyes, basking in the glow of being wanted so deeply by the other. Soon his warm lips rub against yours more softly, delicately even, and his tongue stops chasing yours. He settles down by placing short pecks on your chin and jaw, as you gently caress his back and neck. You remain in his embrace as you lean your forehead onto his and he gently removes loose strands of hair from your cheeks.

"I'm sorry I was selfish the other night,” he murmurs. You respond to his apology by lifting your head in confusion. “I was in such a hurry I didn't let you finish first." The fact that he cares about it makes you ache with renewed desire.

"That's ok. It looked like you needed it more than I did.” You pause as he reaches quickly for your lips again. “And, boy, did I need it!” He lets out a few soft chuckles in that drawl of his.

His gaze is suddenly serious. "Let me make it up to you."

“Now?”

He nods. “Now.”

He reaches for the warmth of your thighs underneath your skirt, the ones he’s been fondling this whole time. He squeezes them tightly a few times before he suddenly pulls at your drawers and slides a hand inside, reaching your core with a couple of fingers. You feel them slide between your folds and rub the spot where your slick is. “Good, you’re already wet.” You feel a jolt of ecstasy through your entire body at the brief maneuver so when he removes his hands from you it feels physically devastating and you let out a small whimper.

“I’m gonna take care of you, don’t worry. Just take off your clothes for me, would ya?” Arthur suddenly reaches for his glass of lemonade.

“Here?”

He nods. “Here.”

It’s a rather odd moment when you realize that somehow you trust this semi-stranger, barely-acquaintance drifter completely. He’s asking you to get naked for him in the middle of your stable, in broad daylight, and yet you don’t even bat an eye. You’re quick to grant his wish as you start unbuttoning your simple blouse, soon exposing your chemise to him as he takes a few sips of his drink. You drop your top on the floor as you get up from Arthur’s lap to remove your skirt and throw your drawers to the side, with only one piece of clothing left to remove.

Arthur rises from his seat and soon hovers over you to plant another kiss, this one more forceful as he parts your lips with his, slippery from the lemonade. He lingers a while before retreating, forcing himself apart from you to swoop up your chemise as it passes between your bodies. He takes a moment to look down at you and you’re very aware that you are now standing there naked and barefoot. “You’re so beautiful.” He sees you wince at his compliment. “Really, you are.” He softly caresses the side of your arms before leaning in for another demanding kiss and you feel your bare breasts touching his bare chest, his warmth enveloping you as you shiver from his touch and the light breeze entering the stable.

He lets go of your mouth to plant sensual kisses on your jaw, slithering steadily down your neck, quickly reaching your collarbone. He then trails further down as he reaches one of your breasts, lingering his tongue on your nipple, making you steady yourself on his shoulders. He slides further down to your belly, then to your navel, stopping just as he hits your mound, planting soft kisses there. His last one is right above your parting of the folds, making your whole body shudder. He gets up again to look you in the eyes. “So beautiful.” A final kiss lands on your upper lips.

He pauses before he asks his next question. “You have any neighbors, miss?”

You are completely surrounded by the woods. There isn’t another soul for miles. “No, why?"

"In case you get loud."

You watch in place as he goes to retrieve his shirt and for a moment you think he’s going to get dressed. Then he heads to the bales of hay he had been sitting on, unfurling his shirt on top. He grabs your hand and beckons you: “Sit.” You’re confused by his intentions and it shows. “Sit here, come on.” He pats the fabric of his shirt, tugging your hand with his other one. You slowly do so, still not understanding what he wants.

Once you sit down, your bare ass lying on top of Arthur’s shirt, you follow his lead and he grabs both your knees gently, making you turn to the side. You watch as he suddenly kneels himself down in front of you, moving his hands down to your calfs, lifting your legs up. Without any warning he starts pecking one of your knees, placing the other on his shoulder. “You gonna be loud for me, beautiful?” His beard lightly scratches you as he switches legs. “You gonna be loud while you come around my mouth?”

His words make you inhale sharply as you realize what he’s going to do to you.

“Is that a yes, miss?”

You nod, shaking with anticipation. “Yes.”

He pulls your body closer to him, positioning your hips at the edge of the bale, making you lean on your elbows, fully lying on the comfort of his shirt.

His light kissing on your legs starts out feeling like gentle tickling but soon becomes sensual smears as he starts working on your inner thighs. The kisses then get longer and bolder as he closes in on the meeting of your thighs, forcing you to breathe more heavily. He starts using more tongue too, which increases the feeling wildly. By the time he reaches the apex of your thigh, you’re completely dizzy with his teasing, involuntarily closing your eyes as your breath hitches.

“Christ, darling, I haven’t even sucked you yet.”

You watch as Arthur lowers his face once more, a smirk disappearing behind the shape of your mound. He kisses the bridge between your thigh and your slit, which distracts you from his other hand as it sneakily reaches the meeting of your folds. He parts them slowly with a single finger, starting at the top of the clit and only stopping at the bottom of your entrance. You let out a prolonged loud moan, which makes him raise his head, watching your face as he then slides the same finger all the way back up, smearing your slick along its path. You get louder as he pauses directly on your clit, swirling it a few times. After so much teasing, having direct contact is so intense that your head finally hits the hay.

The reaction suddenly feels premature once you finally feel him start what he’s set out to do. Arthur lowers his head again, only this time his lips land right on yours, circling your clit in the gentlest kiss of the afternoon. Your whole body shakes at his subdued but blinding touch.

The coil inside your lower abdomen starts to wind as you feel the tip of his tongue make direct contact with your bud, its surface now angled perfectly to drive you wild. He continues the motion even as you writhe under him, now clutching his hair to ground yourself, your legs pressing his body down onto you as your back begins to curve. Rather than pull away from your tight embrace, he sinks deeper into you, holding your hips steady from their bucking as he continues to lap you lewdly, the sound only muffled by your own salacious moaning. His tongue is relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure and you think you won’t last very long.

The obscenity of the moment is not lost on you, as you lift your head momentarily to see what is happening. There is a tall handsome cowboy down on his knees for you, using his whole mouth to draw from you the most perverted noises, on the verge of making you crumble to the most erotic thing anyone has ever done for you. In the middle of your stable, of all places. You thank the heavens you don’t have any neighbors. You thank the devil for keeping your husband away.

And then you feel two of his fingers enter you.

You settle your head down again as you become a complete mess under him, too far gone to care about keeping it together, especially now that he rubs the sweet spot inside you. You’re barely able to discern that his free hand has now reached his pants but you hear the sound of his buckle opening. Finally free from his constraints, he strokes himself a few times and you feel him vibrate on top of you as he finds some needed relief. Despite this, his tongue and his fingers never let up, working you mercilessly. You soon feel moans of pleasure leave his mouth, reverberating directly on your core, a feeling too lascivious for you. That’s when you finally come undone.

Your whole body convulses as you experience the greatest climax you’ve ever had, feeling the waves of pleasure reach every inch of your body, maybe your soul. As you come, your core pushes upward against Arthur’s face, telling him to stop, but he does not relent, continuing his lapping, wringing every ounce of ecstasy out of you. You’re beyond overwhelmed as you moan uncontrollably, your hips sinking and rising erratically, your hands still pulling his hair. After a few moments, he begins to slow his licking, removing his fingers from you, placing his hands on your forearms, giving you smooth caresses as he helps you come down from your high. When you’re a little more tamed, he removes his mouth completely.

“That sure was loud, miss.”

You’re so wrung out by the orgasm you barely hear him, nor do you feel when one of his hands leaves your arm. When you’re more grounded, still reeling from the aftershocks, you’re delighted to hear he has resumed touching himself. By the increasingly loud panting, he sounds to be close already. You don’t lift your spinning head until your curiosity finally defeats your exhaustion. You watch as he pumps his cock with his mouth open, eyes closed, on the verge of toppling over. His beard still glistens with some of your wetness.

When you’re strong enough to lift yourself on your elbows he hears you stir, prompting his eyes open. The gaze he gives is one riddled with lust, accompanied by a brief licking of his lips as he sets a faster pace. You continue to gawk at him, which is all it takes for him to unravel, making him grunt deeply as his spend begins to land on the ground by his knees.

You wait for him to finish his release before you tease him. “You know, you’re not so quiet yourself, mister.”

He laughs lightheartedly as he rises from his knees, tucking his cock inside his underpants, pulling his pants up before he sits down next to you by your hips, still catching his breath. He softly caresses the side of your belly with one of his thumbs. “How was that, miss?”

"I think you’ve repaid your debt in full, Mr. Morgan.”

He bends down to kiss your lips lightly as you both giggle, shining in your shared postcoital bliss. “The name’s Arthur, miss.”

"Well, the name’s Y/N, Arthur.”

“I like ‘miss’ better. It suits you.” He lowers his lips again, this time reaching for your neck.

“You ever heard a ‘miss’ scream like that for you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I might’ve heard louder than you.” He moves his thumb to teasingly play with one of your nipples.

“I very much doubt that.”

“Well, you can always prove me wrong.” Arthur hovers over your lips threateningly. “Besides, the day ain’t over yet, missy.”

You smile at his new pet name for you. It's certainly better than being called Mrs.

A/N: I already have most of the remaining chapters planned out, so hopefully the rest will be published a little faster. Chapter 3 coming soon with the rest of the day!

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x you #goodmorgan

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morri-draws · 23 days

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Gwaine x Reader - 'The Threads That Bind Us' - Chapter 10

Story Summary:

You, a humble dressmaker from Camelot’s lower town, are commissioned to make a new gown for Queen Guinevere. Impressed by your skills, she offers you the position of Royal Clothier. During your time in the castle, you catch the eye of one of the knights of King Arthur’s inner circle, Sir Gwaine. What starts as a sweet courtship is turned upside down when misfortune strikes and you must deal with the aftermath, as well as an unwelcome visit from Gwaine’s unpleasant sister.

Rating: Mature

Tags: Female Reader/Gwaine, set between seasons 4 and 5, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 2,202

Read Chapter 1 | Read Chapter 2 | Read Chapter 3

Read Chapter 4 | Read Chapter 5 | Read Chapter 6

Read Chapter 7 | Read Chapter 8 | Read Chapter 9

Read on Ao3

For the next four days, you spend the daytime sewing, and your nights in Gwen’s company. While her companionship makes your anxieties easier to bear, you remain eager for the king and his knights to return.

After your fifth dinner with Gwen, you do some tidying back at your chambers before preparing for bed. You blow out all candles but one, which you take up to your bedchamber, where you strip down to just your shift and stockings. In front of the basin mirror, you begin to unpin your haircap when you’re startled by a hard knock at your chamber door. Hastily re-pinning your cap and pulling on a robe, you take up the candle and stride across your chambers as the visitor knocks again, more forcefully. You open the door to find Gwen.

“They’re back,” She says. “Gwaine is injured,”

Your stomach drops.

“Gaius is seeing to him now,” Gwen continues. “I thought you’d want to know,”

Placing the candle down on the nearest surface, you blow out the flame and follow Gwen.

You arrive at the physician’s chambers. Gwen doesn’t bother to knock before heading inside, where she is met by the king. She embraces him before pulling back to speak.

“What happened?” She asks, peering behind her husband.

You follow her gaze to find Gwaine lying in a bed, his eyes closed and chest bare.

“He was stabbed through his side,” The king answers gravely.

You rush to the bedside, looking over your dear knight. His skin is sickly pale and a nasty, bloody wound oozes from the left side of his lower abdomen. He is unconscious, but his eyelids flutter, his face contorted in a pained frown.

“Can you save him, Gaius?” Gwen asks as she joins you at your side.

You glance up to find the old physician standing behind his workbench.

“I don’t like to make any promises until I am absolutely certain,” He says. “But I will do everything in my power to help Sir Gwaine,”

Your chest aches at the answer, which wasn’t one you wanted to hear. The physician doesn’t yet know if he can save the life of the man who has become so dear to you. You spot a nearby chair and drag it beside the bed, sitting down and taking Gwaine’s hand in yours.

“Where’s Merlin?” Gwen asks from beside you.

“The other knights also sustained some injuries, though much less serious than Gwaine’s,” The king answers. “Merlin is seeing to them in their quarters so Gaius has room to work in here,”

You clear your throat. “Is there anything I can do?”

Gaius gives you a sympathetic look, passing you a bowl of water and a cloth.

“You can clean his wound in preparation for me to apply a salve,” He says. “We need to start fighting off infection as soon as possible,”

You dip the cloth into the water and begin to dab away the blood surrounding the injury, revealing inflamed skin underneath. You clench your teeth as you dab at the wound, the exposed, meaty flesh making your stomach squirm.

“We’ll leave you two to tend to him,” The king says. “Send for me immediately if there is any change,”

“I will, sire,” Gaius replies.

Gwen gives your shoulder a comforting squeeze before she turns to leave with the king.

Gaius prepares some kind of concoction at his workbench while you continue cleaning the wound, refolding the cloth each time it becomes soiled to ready a clean section. After a time, Gaius turns your way and approaches the bed, a small metal dish in one hand. He pulls up a chair beside the opposite side of the bed.

“Gwaine may react when I apply this salve. I need you to hold him still while I apply it, otherwise he may aggravate the wound further,” He says.

You nod to show that you understand and Gaius dips his index and middle finger into the bowl, revealing a green coloured paste. He looks up at you to confirm that you are ready and you pull your chair as close as possible to the bed. You place your forearm over Gwaine’s chest, just resting it there for now, but poised to apply pressure if the need arises.

“I’m ready,”

Gaius applies the paste to the wound, his fingertips disappearing into the hole in Gwaine’s side. The knight groans and begins to writhe, so you press against his chest firmly, keeping his torso horizontal. Gaius withdraws and wipes his now bloody fingers on a cloth, before scooping up more of the salve. He applies it to the wound again, but doesn’t delve as deep this time, focusing mainly around the surface. Gwaine gives some resistance, but you don’t need to use as much force against him this time. Gaius wipes his fingers again before standing, returning the bowl to the workbench and retrieving a roll of bandage.

“We need to wrap the wound and give the salve some time to take effect,” He says as he returns to his seat. “I’ll need you to help me lift him,”

You follow Gaius’ lead, slipping a hand under Gwaine’s left shoulder as Gaius does the right, easing the unconscious knight into a sitting position.

“Now, if you can hold him up while I bandage him?” Gaius says.

You nod and, keeping your hand behind Gwaine’s shoulder, get off your chair and sit on the edge of the bed, so you can use your body, rather than just your arm, to hold Gwaine upright. Gaius begins applying the bandage, wrapping the cloth around the knight’s torso, encircling it a few times before tying the bandage ends and helping you to lower Gwaine down again.

Gaius stands and reaches for the bowl beside you, now filled with bloody water and the stained cloth. You pass it to him, and he takes it away to the worktable, before bringing you a fresh bowl of water and a clean cloth.

“Try to bring down his fever. I’m going to check how Merlin’s getting on with the other knights,”

He picks up a round, leather bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder before heading for the door. He unlatches it and turns back to you.

“You’ve done well,” He says, before leaving the room.

You dip the new cloth into the water and wring it out, folding it to a more manageable size to dab at Gwaine’s brow, which is beaded with sweat. Even though you don’t touch him directly while you apply the cool cloth, you can feel the heat radiating from him. You apply and refresh the cloth several times, working your way down his face and his neck. His breathing calms during your time sitting with him, and once you feel his brow again and are satisfied that there is an improvement, you place the bowl of water down and take Gwaine’s hand in yours once more.

“Gwaine… it’s me, (Y/N),” You say in a low tone. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but just in case you can: you can get through this. You just have to fight a bit longer. I know you can do it,” You bring his hand up to your mouth, pressing a kiss against the base of his fingers. “There’s so much I need to say to you. Please get better,” Your voice cracks and you squeeze your eyes shut, forcing tears down your cheeks.

You sit with him for some time until Gaius returns with Merlin.

“How is he?” Merlin rushes to his friend, placing the back of his hand against Gwaine’s forehead.

“His fever has improved some, and his breathing has calmed,”

“That’ll be the salve starting to take effect,” Gaius says as he walks across the room toward his patient. “It helps to dull the pain as well as fight infection,”

“Is there hope for him?” You ask, voice cracking.

Merlin comes to your side, places a hand on your shoulder as he looks into your eyes. “There is always hope,”

You reach up your own hand and place it over Merlin’s, thankful that there is someone else who cares much for Gwaine looking after him.

“You should get some rest yourself,” Gaius says. “You look exhausted,”

You glance at Gwaine, reluctant to leave him.

“He will be well taken care of here,” Gaius assures you.

“Of course,” You stand and head for the door, Merlin following behind to show you out.

“Merlin,” You stop in the doorway. “Please let me know if… when… he wakes up, won’t you? No matter the hour?”

Merlin nods. “I will,”

You awaken late the next morning to a pang of hunger. After washing your face and getting dressed, you make a quick breakfast before making your way to the physician’s chambers. When you arrive outside the door, you overhear raised voices from within.

“It isn’t right for him to still be suffering like this,” Merlin says.

“We must first exhaust all other courses of action,” Gaius replies.

“But I could end his pain now,”

“And how would I explain such a swift recovery to Arthur?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,”

There is a moment of silence before Gaius speaks again.

“I need to visit the apothecary. Don’t do anything while I’m away,”

You panic as footsteps approach, and you hastily knock on the door. It swings open no more than two seconds later, revealing Gaius.

“(Y/N), do come in,” He says, stepping aside to allow you to pass, before heading out.

You enter the chamber to see Merlin sitting beside the bed, arms crossed and brow creased in frustration.

“Are you alright?” You ask as you approach.

Merlin sighs. “Just had a disagreement with Gaius, that’s all,”

His eyes remain fixed on Gwaine’s unconscious face. You step closer, looking over the knight, before sitting in the empty chair beside the bed, feeling his forehead with the back of your hand.

“He’s very hot again,” You remark.

“He got worse overnight,” Merlin’s voice rises. “Gaius doesn’t–” He pauses, as if deciding what to say. “I know of an alternative treatment, but Gaius doesn’t even want me to try,”

“Why not? Does he not think it will work?”

“No, I suppose it’s just… different to his way of doing things,”

“Is it some kind of new treatment?” You ask.

“Something like that,”

You look back at Gwaine. His eyes flick beneath his eyelids, his brow knitting together as strained groans escape him.

“Is there a chance it could go wrong?” You ask.

Merlin looks up at you for the first time since you arrived. “No. I know it will work,”

You feel Gwaine’s forehead again; a pointless gesture since it of course feels exactly as it did a minute ago. His brow glistens with sweat, locks of damp hair sticking to his skin.

“He looks terrible,”

You eye the bandage around his abdomen. It’s stained red where his wound lies underneath, and the skin around it is pink and inflamed.

“Do it,” You say.

“What?” Merlin replies.

“Your alternative method. You should do it,” You look Merlin in the eye, to show him that you’re serious.

The young man’s expression changes from agitated to determined.

“Yes,” He stands. “I need,” He begins to pace, thumb against his chin in thought. “To prepare some ingredients. While I do that, you can… collect some fresh water from the well,”

He retrieves an empty bucket from nearby and thrusts it into your hands. You stand, holding the bucket, and give Merlin an encouraging smile.

“See you soon,”

Filling the bucket with as much water as you’ll be able to carry, you return to the castle at a slow pace, eventually making it back to the physician’s chambers, when you hear raised voices again, this time even louder than the last.

“– done it behind my back!” You hear Gaius shout.

“I couldn’t just sit by and watch my friend die!” Merlin responds. “I only got rid of the infection. Now you can focus just on healing the wound,”

There’s a pause before Gaius speaks again. “Where is (Y/N)?”

You knock on the door and pick up the bucket. Gaius answers shortly after.

“I got some water,” You smile.

“Ah, thank you, (Y/N), I didn’t realise we needed any,”

He reaches forward and takes the bucket from you, gesturing for you to come inside. You return to the seat beside Gwaine and look him over. His expression is much more peaceful and his face is free of sweat. Moving your gaze down to his abdomen, you notice the previously inflamed skin has returned to its normal colouring.

“He’s looking better,” You glance at Merlin with a smile.

“He won’t be returning to his knightly duties any time soon, but he will recover,” Gaius says, approaching the bed. “Merlin and I will redress the wound. In the meantime, (Y/N), you should return to your own duties. We will let you know when our patient awakens,”

“Alright,” You stand and smile at the physician. “Thank you for looking after him,” You turn to Merlin. “And remember, you can let me know –”

“No matter the hour,” Merlin finishes with a grin.

#gwaine x reader #reader x gwaine #merlin fic #gwaine #sir gwaine #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin fic #reader insert #my writing

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morgansunflower · 4 months

Note

Hi I read your male Talia fics and I was wondering if you could write a part three in the story with more interactions between Talin , Damian and y/n. Also I have to say that I love your writing keep up with the amazing work you do

Love To Be With You

Male! Talia al Ghul X Wayne! Reader

Warnings:suggestive content, explicit language, and angst

Words:1403

Arthur's notes! This version of male! Talia is set before Morrison wrote her. Everything is completely consensual. No drugging whatsoever. Good male! Talia. Also I LOVE writing male! Talia if anyone is interested in more! Maybe a au were male! Talia and Y/N adopt Jason lol.

Also side-note to the anonymous request I'm so glad you love my writing thank you for the encouragement!

Talin returned to his empty house with a, emptier heart. He plans to make a romantic dinner for his future wife, however things get in the way.

Talin steps in his house in Gotham. He had just returned from his covert mission to ensure Slade was no where near them, luckily he never found him. Unluckily the former assassin, was beyond the point of exhaustion.

He let's a dreadful sigh of the emptiness of the room and the empty bed that awaits him. He craves Y/N's hands to come to his cheeks and her face leaning up to his lips to kiss him. He wants to hear about her day and listen to her beautiful voice.

Talin impatiently calls Y/N.

"Talin. I was just thinking about you.. I've missed you. How are you? How was your outing? Any threats??"

"it was dull, which I suppose is good. I have missed you Beloved. How is our son? How are you?" he asked

He always asked her about his son knowing he could trust her to tell him the truth. He also knows Damian well enough to know he would say he's fine when he's truly not..

"our son misses you and.. So do I... He has been working a lot with school and with the Titans. He's actually with the Titans now. He should be here later tonight. I'm doing better now that I hear your voice. Are you in Gotham already? How are you?"

"I just arrived to my empty house" Talin said slightly bitter

"I could tell Damian you're back and he could come see you when he is done with the team?" she offered, in a playful banter denying to offer for herself to come

"I hope I'm not being too forward.." Talin said in a playfully dramatic tone

"go ahead I won't be able to stop you anyway" she laughs causing Talin to chuckle

"would you like to come? Only if you want to! I wish not ruin your evening nor be a burden"

"no! No!! I mean no you're not burdening me or ruining anything. We're going to be married soon, remember?"

"I can hardly wait" he smiles

"me too. I love you Talin"

"and I love you habibi" he kindly said

Y/N hangs up feeling her cheeks redden with her whole body feeling arousal. Talin smiled to himself. She's coming.

He then panicked realizing it was near dinner and she would definitely like to eat. He ran and instantly looked in the fridge. He prepared her favorite dinner. After which he walks to his bedroom to dress himself....

Talin looks in the bathroom and cursed at how exhausted he looks. Y/N would definitely know he wasn't at his full self and she would likely want him to sleep. Though he wanted to be with her..

He sighed dressing himself in his comfortable black sweatpants. He didn't bother putting on his shirt. He was planning to take a very short nap and hopefully look less like he hasn't slept in 2 days.

Y/N looks in the store for Talin's favorite spiced chocolate. She knew her love was probably making them dinner right now.

Talin's eyes were closed for longer than he intended. Perhaps it was for the reason, he didn't want to wake up because he was dreaming of her.

She was kissing him as he loved her with all of his heart poured out. With his heart full of passion which poured into her. It changes to dread.. As then they were no longer in bliss but fighting as she wore her H/N uniform and he wore his uniform. Both were in sync as they were fighting off Slade's soldiers. Then.. He began to cry out as he heard gunfire.

Y/N knocked on the door to his safe-house. He didn't answer. She assumed he was busy doing something with dinner he couldn't step away from. So she let herself in shutting the door behind her.

Her heart warms smelling the delicious food awaiting for her. She steps to the kitchen putting his chocolate on the counter. She gasps seeing the table set. The candles were not yet to be lit, there was a bottle of wine and two plates made with lids on top. She lifts one lid seeing her favorite meal. She was completely flattered putting the lid back on.

"Talin?" she called out.. "Talin?!" she said louder

She made her way throughout the house unable to find him. She then goes to the one place she hasn't checked. His bedroom.

She finds Talin shivering in his throat muttering.. Her name. She realized then as tears seep through his eyelids.. He's having a nightmare.

Y/N quickly moved closer to him "Talin!.. Talin! I'm right here wake up Honey.. Wake up!"

Hearing her voice quickly awakens him. He opened his shaking eyes blinking repeatedly, as he tried to return to reality. She is here, she's alive, she's safe... She's OK. He takes a deep breath. She gently touched his arm. He sighed heavily drying his tears.

"forgive me I did not mean to cause you worry.. It only happens when I am lacking in sleep" he tried to shrug off his anxiety

She gently rubbed his arm "it's OK" she ensures him and then sweetly kisses him "how long?"

"at least over 48 hours, I suppose.. I must have lost track a few hours ago" he scoffed

"Talin! You are truly no better than my brother.. Try to fall back asleep my love" she pleads kissing his face

"no! I can't" he sits up taking her hands into his, own "not after you've come all this way. I want you to enjoy your dinner. Don't worry about me I've slept all I need.. I'm fine"

"you are lying to me Talin but I would like to enjoy the food you've prepared for me and I know you are too stubborn to let me do anything out of the sort.. But after that promise me you will sleep"

"I promise" he smiled softly

"and put on a, damn shirt it's freezing in here!" she demanded flustered as she shoves him

Talin smirked watching her cheeks reddening. He slowly puts on his shirt. She rolled her eyes as he softly laughs. The two held hands as they walked to the table to enjoy dinner with each other.

As they sat together enjoying their food. They enjoyed talking until they both finished. He holds her hand looking at her with a saddening smile. His nightmare still haunting his heart.

"are you ok?" she softly said

He smiled genuinely "better with you here with me.. I would very much love for you to stay"

"I would very much love to be with you"

Talin kisses her temple with his hands on her cheeks. He stands from his seat and takes her hands. She stands with him and kisses him. It gave him much comfort to know this moment was, real.

Talin woke with his anxiety melted and his heart warm. She was sleeping so peacefully, he couldn't bring himself to wake her up. He kisses her sweet lips and moved more of the blanket onto her. She stirs softly and grabbed his arm groaning.

"hold me.."

"ok" he chuckles

He moved closer to her holding her in his arms. After enjoying each other's comfort she departs to take a shower. Talin joined her, but did not stay the entire time as he planned to start breakfast

Talin gives her a kind hug before leaving. He dresses himself in his dark green sweatpants and departs for the kitchen. He began to cook mloukhieh a favorite of hers when she was pregnant with Damian.

He hears a security notification on his phone and looks

"shit"

"Baba I'm here!" Damian said letting himself in and shuts the door behind him

"dammit" he mumbled.. "hey Dami I'm in the kitchen!" he announced hoping Y/N was out of the shower and had heard them

As his son came into the kitchen he smells his father cooking mloukhieh.

"my favorite" he softly smiled

As father and son greet Y/N enters the room unaware of her son's presence. Talin quickly covered Damian's eyes before he could see his mom. She screamed out in embarrassment as she unfortunately was only wearing her robe and her brawl that was, definitely showing. She runs back into the bedroom

"sorry son!!" she shouted from the bedroom

"it's fine Mom" Damian scoffed lowering his Baba's hand

"want some mloukhieh?" he offered his son

#Good male! Talia #Male! Talia X Wayne! Reader #Male! Talia X Reader #Talia al Ghul X Reader #Batfamily #Angst #Nightmare #Romantic dinner #Fluff #Comfort #Damian Wayne is annoyed #Damian Wayne #Male! Talia

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xyziiix · 1 year

Text

Pairings: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader , future! Joel Miller x Fem!Reader. (mention of a one sided!Negan x Fem’Reader)

TWD AU w/ slight TLOU crossover.

Summary: your family is in the middle of war with the saviours. After beating two of your beloved friends to death Negan took an attraction towards you at the line up - being even more intrigued when he saw the evident relationship you had with the rugged archer. His life being spared in return for you to join Negan’s polygamy of ‘wives’. And after two weeks of mental torture, you had ensured Daryl had escaped the sanctuary, with the help of Negan’s other wives - a group of miserable women who’d been blackmailed by him for various different reasons - before you managed to flee the cataclysmic fortress and merely escaped the gluttonous hands of Negan.

But choices have consequences - the monster would quote more than once.

You proudly stand beside your group, your family, your lover, and the other communities that had befallen Negan’s wrath. But soon the dark thoughts cloud over, the things you had to experience with your ‘husband’ tainting your mind, making you question your morals as you thought of how far you’d go to eliminate every last one of the ‘saviours’ - including Negan.

Warnings for this series: death, gore, suicidal thoughts, morally-grey reader, SMUT, angst, violence, language, mentions of !SA/dub-con!, reader is described as a woman, cheating - some of this shit is dark m’kay..

MINORS OR PEOPLE SENSITIVE TO ANY OF THESE LISTED TOPICS DNI!!

Important

A/N: hi guys new series yippeee!!! Daryl Dixon is my first love so I absa-fuckin-loutely needed to write a series about him, tho I am abit fucked up so I could not let myself write it as all sparkly and magic and happy… this may look familiar to some of you when I released about three chapters of a story called ‘Just us’ with basically the same plot. But I’d like to think my writing has evolved since then so I scrapped it and am starting again, the reason I couldn’t continue it was because I felt like I’d started the story in an awkward place and if I carried on It’d just be such a drag until we got to the good bits. So it’s basically the same story but starting from a different position and with much more grammatically correct writing lol.

As for the Joel Miller part of the story, he is my 2nd apocalypse husband and the way I’ve planned this series is going to involve him and Ellie perfectly I reckon.

And I know it’s such a cliche to have Negan be attracted to reader, I’m not trying to make her as his very desirable character who everyone wants to fuck. But it’s all for the plot OK.

This Masterlist is going to be tagged under all the characters mentioned (Joel and Ellie) but they won’t be coming in until much later on in the series so for any chapters being released will obviously be under the ‘Daryl Dixon’ tags. - until they’re involved and they will have they’re appropriate categorising - I just don’t wanna post like 20 chapters of Daryl Dixon under the ‘Joel miller x reader’ tag haha.

I WILL STILL BE WRITING MY ARTHUR MORGAN SERIES DO NOT FRET!!!

chapters:

[1] (W.I.P) 👷

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #negan smith #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us

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runnning-outof-time · 2 years

Text

A Sanctuary | Arthur Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @anotherblinder

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x reader

Summary: Arthur's stuck in his head again, but luckily, (Y/N) knows just how to help him out.

Warnings: language, PTSD

Word Count: 2672

A/N: I think this may be my new favorite Arthur story that I’ve written. The poem I used is called Peace by Sara Teasdale. Enjoy! :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in stories similar to this one!

———

(Y/N) was wiping down the tables in the eatery she worked at when the bell above the door chimed. She looked up quickly to see who it was that entered the establishment. Their lunch rush had just finished and now was normally the time she got caught up on chores. She let out a relieved sigh and a smile formed on her face when she saw that it was only Polly Gray.

"What can I do for you, Polly?" she asked as the older woman came to a stop in front of the table she was wiping.

"Would I be able to steal you for some time when you're finished working?" Polly questioned. "Arthur's stuck in the mud again."

"Oh," (Y/N) frowned, knowing that she didn't mean that he was literally stuck in the mud, "let me go ask my boss if I can get off for the day. He knows I'm good for it if I tell him that I can come in on my next off day in return," she then explained her idea to the other woman.

"I can't have you do that," Polly disagreed with what she had proposed.

"This is important, Pol," (Y/N) assured her, a serious look in her eyes. "I won't be long," she told her before she retreated to find the manager of the establishment, who was also the head cook. "Marshall, I need to leave early today," she said as she came to a stop at his side.

Marshall, who was in the process of wiping down the stove, stopped and stood straight to look at (Y/N). "The reason?" he asked, his eyebrows raised.

"I've got a family problem that needs to be sorted immediately," she answered him, telling a little lie in order to make it sound more severe. Although not officially, the Shelbys were like a family to her, and she'd drop everything in a second to make sure that they were ok. "I'll come in on my next day off in exchange for leaving now," she then proposed her plan to him.

He thought about it for a few moments before eventually nodding his head. "You can leave now, but I want you to make sure that you're here for when we open on Sunday," he made a deal with her, one that she was nodding in agreement to within seconds.

"I will. Thank you, Marshall," she smiled at him, thanking him for being so gracious.

"You're welcome. Go on now," he waved her out of the kitchen and she nodded before turning and hurrying to the doors. She made sure to hang her apron on the hooks before she exited the backroom to see Polly still waiting in the dining area.

"I'm free to go," she told the other woman, who nodded as a smile formed on her face.

"Good," Polly nodded before both women exited the café and walked back to Watery Lane.

"Has he told you what's got him like this?" (Y/N) asked as they were walking.

Polly shook her head. "No. He's been in it since the morning though. I had to get Tommy out of the house before he tried to give him one of his 'emotional talks'," she answered, making (Y/N) sigh. She knew exactly what the other woman meant when she spoke about Tommy and his talks. Every man had a different way of dealing with coming back from war...she just wished that each man didn't try to push their coping methods onto others.

"Ok. I hope that I'm able to get through to him," (Y/N) said in a soft voice as the women continued down the street.

"I'm sure you will...you always manage to," Polly sent her a knowing smile.

The rest of the walk went by in silence, and soon enough, the two women were standing outside the Shelby family home on Watery Lane. (Y/N) waited for Polly to open the door and go inside so that she could follow, but the older woman stayed in her spot. "Something wrong, Pol?" (Y/N) questioned with furrowed eyebrows, confused about the fact that they hadn't freely entered the house.

"He's pretty bad, (Y/N)," she disclosed, a frown on her face.

"I'll try my best to help him," (Y/N) assured her, a soft smile on her face. "Are you coming in too, or will it just be me?"

"I think it'd be better if it's just you," Polly said with a slight nod. (Y/N) nodded in agreement before the older woman turned the key and opened the door.

(Y/N) sent one last smile and Polly returned it before (Y/N) stepped inside the entry room. She could see Arthur sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the wall from through the archway. Taking a deep breath, she walked through into the room he was occupying. "Arthur?" she called out gently, not wanting to scare him by rushing up to him without warning.

"Who's there?" he asked, his voice monotoned as he kept his gaze straight ahead.

"It's (Y/N). I came to see how you're doing," she answered, speaking in the same, gentle voice as before.

"I ain't good," Arthur responded, his voice just barely above a mumble.

"What's the matter?" (Y/N) tried, inching closer to where he was sitting.

"Same old shit," he shook his head, his eyes still trained on the wall ahead of him.

"Would you want to talk to me about it?" she asked hopefully.

"What's the use?" he responded in a dejected manner.

(Y/N) frowned at his answer, but she didn't give up. "Sometimes talking about it helps those feelings pass," she told him, still airing on the positive side of things.

"What if I don't have the words to describe it?" Arthur asked, not looking her way yet.

"Talking through it will help you find the words," she continued to assure him as she finally took a seat on the chair next to the couch he was on. "Like the time Finn challenged you to a spelling contest and you couldn't, for the life of you, remember how to spell 'definitely'...you talked yourself through it and ended up getting it right," she tried to take his mind back to happier times, but it didn't serve to change his expression.

"That's a commonly misspelled word...what fuckin' ten year old is expected to spell that right?" he grumbled, the memory that she thought would make him laugh only serving to make his frown grow deeper.

Still, she didn't give up. "How about this young couple that came to the café today...the man was all frantic for just about the entire time because he wasn't sure where he put his keys. It turns out he hung them on the coat rack when he first came in because he has a habit of doing that at his home. They were both hysterical when they were leaving," she tried another story to get him to laugh, this time telling him of something that made her giggle earlier that morning.

"Must be a real tough life..." Arthur trailed off with a slight snort, "man's biggest fuckin' worry is where he puts his keys."

"Oh, Arthur," (Y/N) sighed as she dropped her head, her smile falling. She realized that this method of pulling him out of the fog wasn't going to work today, so she moved on to her next attempt. "How about some tea?" she asked as she stood from the chair, "have you eaten today?"

"'M not hungry," he grumbled, and any other time, (Y/N) would have giggled at the fact that he sounded like a young child that wasn't getting their way.

"But still, how about some tea?" she decided to ignore his statement and put the kettle on anyway, going about getting some water boiling so that she could make the blend that she knew was Arthur's favorite. He didn't respond as she went about making sure that the beverage was made properly. Once it was finished, she brought it over to where he was sitting. "Have some, please?" she asked, a slight pout on her face. Arthur looked away from the wall just long enough to take the cup into his hands. He tried a little sip of it before setting it down on the side table next to the couch. (Y/N) smiled softly, happy that he had listened to her.

The two sat in silence as Arthur sipped on his tea. As he got to the end of it, (Y/N) crossed her fingers in hopes that it did the trick in brightening his spirits. "How do you feel now?" she asked a few moments after he'd set the teacup to the side for good.

"Like me head's still stuck in the fuckin' mud," Arthur responded, his dreary words making (Y/N) sigh. Well, that method didn't work either, she thought to herself.

(Y/N) silently stood and grabbed the empty teacup from the side table so that she could take it to the kitchen and wash it. Once it was dried, she walked back over to where Arthur was and sat down next to him on the couch. He only gave her a side glance, but she didn't let that deter her from continuing on with what she planned to do next. "Can I have your hand, Arthur?" she asked him softly, knowing that getting consent before doing anything was key in times like this. She didn't want to set him off or startle him when his mind was somewhere else. That had the potential to end badly for the both of them.

"Yeah," he answered, allowing her to reach out and take hold of his left hand. She then brought her right leg up to rest in the couch so that she could set her hands, that were now encapsulating his, down on top of it.

"I want you to pay attention to nothing else but the words I'm going to say...ok?" she started off, speaking in a soothing voice as she gently caressed the back of his rough hand with her smooth fingers.

"Ok," Arthur gave another short response, but this time he looked over at her. He held her gaze, his mind now completely locked onto what she was saying and the feeling of her hands on his.

"This is a poem that I recently found. When I read it, I feel like a sense of calm flows over me. Can I share it with you?" she asked gently.

"Yes," Arthur nodded slightly.

(Y/N) nodded in response, pausing for a moment before she began reciting the poem from memory: "Peace flows into me, as the tide to the pool by the shore; it is mine forevermore, it ebbs not back like the sea. I am the pool of blue, that worships the vivid sky; my hopes were heaven-high, they are fulfilled in you. I am the pool of gold, when the sunset burns and dies — you are my deepening skies, give me your stars to hold."

She watched his eyes as she spoke, feeling more and more confident when they went from holding a stony gaze to softening around the edges. She also saw his walls start to fall down, noticing it in the subtle change of his posture and mannerisms. His shoulders started to slump, his breathing wasn't as rigid. Still, she continued caressing his hand, even after she was finished speaking, because she knew that that was his tether to the real world...the only thing keeping him from slipping back into the mud and darkness of his mind.

"You...you wrote that?" he asked after several moments had passed.

"No," (Y/N) shook her head with a slight smile, happy that he now wanted to engage in conversation, "a woman named Sara Teasdale wrote it. It's called 'Peace'...I find it brings me just that," she happily shared some information with him.

"Thank you for sharing it with me," he said in an appreciative voice, a smile starting to curve his lips upwards.

"You're welcome," she smiled back at him. "Do you want to talk about anything?" she asked then.

"No," he was the one shaking his head now, "just want to sit here."

"That's fine with me," she assured him that his decision was valid, not yet letting go of his hands. She still wanted to keep him connected to reality.

Things fell silent between them then. (Y/N) focused her attention on the fire in front of her as she kept tracing absent-minded shapes into the back of Arthur's hand. It wasn't until she heard a slight snore come from her right that she noticed Arthur'd fallen asleep. She smiled at the fact that he was able to find some peace and slip into slumber. With not much else to do, she gently leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder, finding the atmosphere around her calming enough to close her eyes and take a nap also.

Arthur woke up some time later. He couldn't be sure how long he'd been asleep, but all he knew was that the nap was a much needed one. Feeling some pressure on his left shoulder, he glanced down just enough to be able to see hair falling down his chest. It was (Y/N). The poem that she recited to him, and all of the things that she did in efforts to help him came back to mind as he watched her sleep. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of them.

She was there for him when no one else was, and she truly knew how to get through to him. Many people had just written these episodes he'd experience off as the 'new normal'. A lot of men were going through a similar situation...they had their own mental state to worry about; why should they care about someone else? Besides, even if they tried to help, everyone copes in different ways, and there's guarantee what works for them will work for someone else.

But (Y/N) was always there for him. Always. Regardless if it was day or night, sunny or storming...he could count on her. She was like a sanctuary for him; a lighthouse that was guiding his ship in safely from the raging ocean that he oftentimes found himself on.

Sometimes he felt like he didn’t deserve her...like she had too much patience for his mood swings and bad temperament. She kept chipping away at him though; slowly pulling back the layers and trying everything she could to get through to him and bring him back to reality.

He was thankful that she tried many different ways of bringing him around, and that she wouldn’t stop until she’d gotten him grounded again. But, most times, all he needed was this. This, how they were sitting right now: her sleeping with her head on his shoulder as their hands still stayed entwined, did more than enough to help him see the lighter side of things. Just being in her presence helped him through. She was his sanctuary.

A slight stirring brought him from his thoughts. He looked down to see (Y/N) moving to sit up straight again. “You’re awake,” she commented as she finally removed her hands from his so that she could use them to rub the sleep from her eyes.

“I am,” he couldn’t help but smile at her sleepy comment.

“How are you feeling now?” she asked him, wanting to know if he was still stuck in the fog from before.

“Much better, love,” he answered with a fond smile, “much better.”

A bright smile formed on (Y/N)’s face just from hearing his response. “I’m happy to hear that, Arthur,” she said sincerely.

“It’s all because of you, (Y/N),” he told her, his smile growing slightly, “it’s always because of you.”

———

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @the-anxious-youth @mgcllovdrms @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @easilyobessedbutflighty @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @stevie75 @dark-academia-slut @zablife @cillmequick @just-a-blackhole @anotherblinder

MASTERLIST

#arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby x y/n #arthur shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

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misty-moth · 7 months

Text

It’s Chapter 3 time! ୧(๑•̀ヮ•́)૭

Here are the links back to the first chapter and second chapter :)

divider (under the cut): saradika

Charles Henri x reader, Moulin Rouge AU, ~2.2k words

Chapter 3

Charles had finally escaped Faust’s increased supervision when he met your eyes. He hadn’t expected me to see you again so soon, and… without saying goodbye.

His heart lurched.

Watching as your face morphed into concern, he quickly forced a smile and a wave as your carriage pulled away.

You’d come back. He knew you’d come back. Surely you didn’t leave so soon because Vlad scared you off… right? What could he even do if that was the case? He couldn’t exactly ask the source on either side.

He turned the corner of the building, hugging the wall as he seeped into the shadows. As his mind reeled, his hand reached into his pocket to the tangible piece of you that he could keep. Unfolding the letter, he tilted it up to catch the light. He couldn’t help but smile regardless of how bittersweet it now felt.

His eyes roamed the words of your song— his song. The swirl of butterflies from when you read it aloud had returned, and his shoulders relaxed. He hastily took in the words to commit them to heart, when he felt a hand firmly grasp the front of his shoulder.

Charles nearly yelped, having been tossed from his reverie. It made it all the more difficult that the hand that had stopped him from crashing belonged to Vlad.

“Charles… you really ought to tune into your surroundings from time to time,” Vlad’s hand balanced Charles before dropping to his side. “What has you so distracted on the fancy stationary?”

Charles flinched backward, though Vlad hadn’t moved a muscle. “Ah, it was the lady’s,” Charles’ voice was strained. “She’s a writer, you see, and she wanted to share what she’d been working on lately.”

Vlad’s eyes shimmered at this new information, his expression softening. “What’s the story?”

“The story?”

“I’d like to know what the story’s about,” Vlad held firm, used to his flighty underling.

“The story… the story’s about, well…” Charles' eyes flicked away, desperate to find words. “It’s about love!”

“…love?”

Charles paled, having started a half-baked lie that he’d now have to sell.

“Sh-she said it was about love…” a small amount of color returned to his cheeks, the words he held bringing the promise of warmth.

He then looked down at the pale hand being held in front of him. Charles didn’t want to understand what Vlad was doing. Or what he was requesting.

Lies lead to more lies.

“Lord Vlad, I wasn’t able to give this back like she wanted me to, so I’ll—“

“I asked her to see me again this time. And she agreed.” Vlad smiled, and his outstretched palm remained steady.

Charles placed his tether to you in Vlad’s hand.

Red eyes began absorbing your song, and Charles muttered an unintelligible goodbye before walking his aimless path again. He was not stopped.

~~~~

It’s going to be a long week.

You had felt it from the moment you set foot in the carriage. There was a stirring ache when you’d witnessed that strange look on Charles’ face. While you’d like to chalk it up to poor lighting or the distance between you, the sadness in his eyes was haunting.

“I can’t tell if you’re knackered physically or emotionally,” Arthur’s playful voice hardly hid his worried words.

“Probably both,” you murmured, but offered him a smile for his unspoken care.

“Ahh, I love a good mystery,” Arthur chuckled before groaning. “Or at least I thought I did.”

You looked through the window again, seeing nothing for a moment.

“Communication over distances is a lot harder in this time period,” you sighed. “People in the future complain when someone doesn’t ‘respond fast enough’, but that’s often less than a day. Waiting a week is torture.”

Arthur stared at you, a little puzzled but attentive. “…and going a day without your performer is trying your patience a bit too much?”

A laugh escaped you. “No, no, not every day. I know that’s unreasonable… right? But… it’s difficult to believe that when my thoughts won’t leave him.”

Arthur hummed in thought. “Perhaps settling for a weekday trip could stave off some inner turmoil? I’m certain that lad is more than willing to stave off and spend time with you.”

“Actually, I don’t think the manager was too pleased with him running off with me tonight. The owner didn’t mention it, though.”

“Right, you mentioned meeting him. Did the performer drag you over so you could watch him be reprimanded?”

“Well, no,” you felt a small blush on your cheeks. “He was only in the owner’s office for a moment. Then it was just the two of us— nothing weird! Oh, don’t give me that look!”

“What’s this? Blimey, now you have 3 blokes pining for you! And that’s only the ones I know of! There’s surely more,” Arthur shook his head while your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “The performer, the gaffer, and me of course!”

“Ignoring that last part, gaffer?”

“The owner, yea?”

You laughed. “I hate to break it to you, but he’s young and beautifully handsome. He does have silver hair, though, so maybe not that young,” you pondered.

Sighing, Arthur dramatically slumped into his seat. “Can’t catch an ounce of luck, eh?”

“Charles is different,” you were able to say it confidently now. Arthur nodded just as easily. “The owner wants to meet me again. Not to say he’s done anything wrong— or weird! But it isn't the same. I’ve only spent time with Charles twice, but I know what I feel with him. I’ve got it bad.”

“You do!” Arthur chuckled. “And it’s quite adorable and enchanting, might I add.” He clapped his hands together. “So! What’s the plan?”

“The plan?”

“I’m about to be one hell of a wingman.”

~~~

The sun’s light flashed down against fluffy pink hair. A cool autumn breeze gusted by, but Charles hadn’t seemed to notice the chill. He had desperately hoped that walking past the plaza’s threshold would grant him a small reprieve, even with the limited free time he was permissed.

Walking without a destination at least felt like a start. He hadn’t walked far from his home, but it already offered new faces…

Charles’ thoughts halted as he saw a familiar, yet unexpected face on his path.

The man he found was wandering down the end of the block without much urgency, but slowly picked up pace as he headed toward the nearby shops. Charles jogged forward, not knowing why your escort was there, but needing to find out.

Arthur continued briskly walking, but grinned back at the obvious, hastened footsteps approaching him.

“Ah, fancy seeing you here! Charles, was it?” Arthur finally stopped and turned.

Lightly gasping, Charles ran his hand through his hair. “Yea… hey, quick question—“

“Not quick enough, lad, she’s waiting for me.”

Pale blue eyes widened. “She’s here?”

“Yea, she’s waiting in the diner down there. She seemed glum, so I figured she needed a pickmeup.”

“Let me go help!” Charles sputtered, “I swear I’ll do anything to cheer her up,” Charles pleaded, latching onto Arthur’s arm.

“No need for those puppy eyes! I’m willing to bow out! I’d wager she’ll be happy to see you,” Arthur patted his shoulder before walking back the way he came… the opposite direction of where he usually went to herald a carriage. Charles didn't waste time on figuring that one out.

You heard the bell chime as a frazzled Charles entered the diner. His eyes skittered over to you, and your heart skipped a beat as his smile beamed and his tension laxed.

“Mademoiselle!” His feet were less graceful than usual, but they brought him to the table you were seated at. He opted to move the closest chair to sit directly beside you.

You jumped and giggled as he swooped in to kiss each cheek, his hands gently cradling your face.

Charles studied your expression. “He didn’t do anything weird did he? Were you uncomfortable? I tried to—“

“Wait, what? Who are you talking about?” Your eyebrows tugged together, and Charles huffed a sigh of relief.

“That means he didn’t. Thank god,” he finally settled into his seat, his hands hesitantly leaving your cheeks. His eyes held yours. “You’re just as beautiful during the day.”

You hoped he found deep-red blushing beautiful.

“Th-thank you? You’re beautiful too,” you averted your gaze as he chuckled.

“Merci beaucoup,” he scooped up your hand to place a kiss on your knuckles, before holding it on the tabletop. “Do you like this place? I haven’t been here before, but I would have, had I known you might show up.” His eyes glanced over toward the kitchens.

“This is a first for me, too. I’m not entirely sure what they have here,” you tried to glean the wares from your seat.

“Does your escort like this place then?”

“…yea, sure. I’m really glad I got to see you today. I was hoping we could cross paths when you were less busy. Do you have time to spend outside of the Moulin Rouge?”

“Yes!”

He answered a little too quickly for you to gauge how truthful that was, but you’d had zero luck in the past of refusing his enthusiasm.

You waved down a waiter and ordered a few pastries, and after a few reassurances, Charles accepted that you would cover his expenses on this impromptu date.

The two of you sampled quite a few baked goods, and Charles effortlessly carried the conversations. He spoke about the places he’d frequent around his part of town. It was always so comfortable with him, and his words always painted such vivid descriptions of his thoughts.

As you placed a final tart in your mouth, Charles’ smile became dispirited.

“I may have surpassed the amount of time my manager would consider ‘free time’,” Charles glanced toward the window. You had been together for maybe an hour, but he already looked like he was sulking. “And he has a pretty good memory… I don’t know how often I can get away with checking this diner.”

“I doubt I will come back here any time soon.” His sulk deepened. “What I mean is— I just… I’m really glad I got to see you today. And I’m curious of other places our paths could cross.”

His eyes widened, and he let out a small huff. “…The plaza is fairly large, but would be in-bounds for even the most supervised employee. It would be easy enough to spot someone special from the entrance,” Charles pointed to a spot on the table, before tracking his finger to a corner spot and circling, “to right over here.”

You grinned as you brought your eyes back to his. “I’ll have to try my luck, then. It would be nice to run into you tomorrow, too.”

“It really, truly would be,” his eyes sparkled. “I’ll have to think up what we could do in such a scenario. Would you happen to have any requests?”

You shook your head. “You have time before this hypothetical meeting, and anything would make me happy as I’d be in it for the company.”

Your knuckles were pressed against his lips repeatedly, and you giggled once again.

He leaned your thoroughly-kissed hand against his cheek as he sighed. “Those thoughts will buffer the yapping I’m about to hear from Faust… but I should go start that process sooner rather than later. Walk with me?”

You stood up with him, thanking the staff as you exited. He continued peppering kisses on your hand as you walked down the mostly empty lane.

Suddenly, he tugged you into a shadow near the corner of a stone building. Your back pressed into the wall as he leaned down to place a soft kiss on your lips. He pulled back a small amount to glance at you, and your hands gripped his shirt as you tugged him back. A small groan escaped him as he held you closer, and the two of you became lost in your shared, sweet moment.

You came back to reality before he did, and you chuckled as he opened his dazed eyes.

“I don’t think Lord Faust is going to like me very much,” you smoothened out his shirt.

“I’ll like you enough for the whole of France,” he stole a final kiss before stepping back into the street.

You waved as Charles stepped into the plaza before you took a deep breath. You turned to your left and set off toward the park. You stopped at a bench where a young man was wielding a large newspaper.

Arthur peeked over the pages, “Well, it’s fancy seeing you here, too! I’m seeing all sorts of familiar characters today.”

You snorted, but your remaining smile was effortless. “Thank you, Arthur.”

He folded down his newspaper. “Of course, luv. Let’s head home, shall we? I have an inkling that I’ll soon be well acquainted with this bench.” He ruffled your hair as he linked his arm with yours.

You left this part of town with a swell of relief, having rectified the painful lack of farewell the previous night.

Tags: @candied-boys, @kittygrimm88

Writing Masterlist

#ikemen charles #ikemen arthur #ikemen vlad #ikemen vampire #ikevamp charles #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp #moth’s writing

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everlastingdreams · 1 year

Text

Weeping Monk x Reader : The Patience Of A Heart Chapter 20

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Story Summary: After fire claimed the lives of your family, the monastery of your Uncle Carden becomes your new home. As the niece of a priest you are expected to behave prim and proper, but not even the watchful eyes of the Weeping Monk can see all. An ancient magic returns to life when love and duty begin to blur.

Chapter Title: Helgenstone

Notes: I just realized I have to proofread three chapters again soon ;_;

Warnings: There’s a list of warnings for this story: Murder. Violence. Death. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. Threat of Sexual assault. PTSD. Misogyny, Self-flagellation. Gore.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Pining. Smut. Spicy content. Little Slow-burn.

Word count of this fic: +130K

Chapter: 20 / lol Gonna keep the chapter count a secret until the end.

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It was warm in the night’s embrace, the forest surrounding the city did not sleep, magic hanged in the air.

Through the mark you could feel it, it was in the wind that caused the leaves to sway gently. It was in Llamrai’s energetic step and the grass that flattened beneath her hooves.

This forest felt safe, even if it was born from a power most did not understand.

It was only when you were reaching the end of it that the weather changed, it got colder and the further you went the more drastic the changes were.

As if it sensed your intent and wished to discourage you from leaving the safety it had to offer you.

Snow fell until you were out of the forest that had tried to make you stay.

You looked back to see not a single snowflake fall beyond the trees.

The forest, Brécilien, had wished to protect a Manblood like it protected it’s magical people…

It had you thinking about the origin of Fey. What if they had once been Manbloods too? Had they become connected body and soul to the soul and earth of the world?

What could have caused such a change to take place?

Maybe the world brought forth the Fey to save itself, for the Fey protected nature and the lands from the fires of those who sought to burn it all away.

The Church feared change and nature never ceased to change and evolve.

The Fey were necessary to ensure the survival of the world.

In a way, Fey were mystical people and guardians to the earth.

If the Church ever succeeded in eradicating the Fey, nature will cease to thrive.

Harvests would fail, animal species would cease to exist, the lands would suffer the lose of their protectors.

The children of the future would be born into a world robbed from it’s beauty by those who feared it.

While riding towards Helgenstone, it dawned on you that the amount of Fey children at the fortress was rather small. Were most still out there wandering? Or was there another issue?

Had Fey children become rare due to the war?

It would not be unlikely, how many Feys who were with child had been burned during these ‘cleansings’?

The thoughts never stopped, even as you left the city behind, the Feys were still in your mind.

By the moon’s position, you estimated that two hours had passed.

You’d already reached the forest you had once fled into while running from the Trinity Guard after your escape from their imprisonment.

Here you were more careful, this forest would not protect you.

All off a sudden the satchel’s leather band snapped loose from Llamrai’s saddle and the satchel dropped to the ground.

Ugh, fantastic.

You dismounted and picked the satchel up, after tying a knot to fix the band, you proceeded to attach it back to the saddle.

The sound of a horse in gallop approaching took you completely off-guard.

There was no time to mount before the person riding came into view.

“Arthur?!?” You blurted out at the sight of him.

He looked very relieved to see you, then loudly whistled and called out “She’s here!”

Oh, no…

More horses approached the spot and soon you were faced by not one but four familiar faces.

And one of them was boring his eyes into yours to the point where you dropped them to your feet.

Gawain was visibly disappointed by your impatience on this matter. Arthur send a sympathetic look, knowing the trouble you found yourself in.

And Red Spear? She seemed a bit impressed with the fact that you had already made it this far.

But Lancelot was quiet when dismounting, boots hitting the ground with a loud dull thud.

The others dismounted as well, sensing that the Ash Man was not in a haste to get anywhere anymore.

Your confidence faded the closer he got and by the time he was only a couple of steps away, your voice lost it’s confidence too “Lancelot-”

He had taken you by the elbow and was whisking you away from the group, he made it only a few steps further before confronting you “How could you?!?”

It sounded accusing, but anyone could hear that there was genuine hurt beneath his words.

The Green Knight had called all together to explain the plan not long ago, but you failed to be present.

And then he had found the bangle hanging at his door when walking to your room to fetch you.

Needless to say, he was more than a little upset.

Your voice was unsteady “This could be the only chance to outsmart Wicklow.”

Lancelot’s words lashed at you, it was a miracle he could keep his voice down so the others did not hear “Is your hunger for vengeance stronger than your love for me?”

It hurt to hear the question, you could barely bring out the answer “Of course not-”

He was too upset by the distress he was forced through these past few hours “You knew I would have never let you do this alone. What if you had died?! How could you care so little?!”

You tried to reason with him but it was like facing a hurricane “I would have been alright!”

At that, he took the silver bangle from where he’d kept it at his side and held it right in front of your nose “Is that why you left this at my door?”

You didn’t know how to respond.

He was no fool and knew what it had meant and sickened by the thought that you were prepared to die for a chance on revenge “To have as a keepsake after the Abbot has his Trinity murder you?”

This time the others had heard, Gawain interfered “Lancelot, she-”

The Ash Man snapped at him “This is not off your concern, Green Knight!”

It shocked everyone to hear the often reserved man bite the words in his fury.

“You are acting as vengeful as-” He stopped himself from speaking the name.

But you knew who he was going to refer to and it felt like a blow to the stomach.

As vengeful as your uncle had been…

Filled with hate towards Wicklow, like Uncle Carden had been to the Fey…

It was the quiver of your mouth that caused him to quiet himself.

How could he draw the comparison?…

Fool…

The regret was instant.

It was Red Spear who marched over and shoved him back away from you, her voice thundered “Enough!”

The rustling of feathers was heard and white wings brought one familiar down to the earth, the strength of Yeva’s wings offered a silent landing.

“Lover’s quarrel?” She taunted.

Thankfully it had been a taunt, apart from the others, only Gawain was aware of how deep the bond between Lancelot and you was.

The unfamiliar scent was enough for Lancelot to believe an enemy was behind him.

The sword at his side was drawn while he spun around and if she had not been further away, it would have struck her.

You gasped at the sight of it happening.

Yeva held no fear upon facing the Ash Man “Have you come to kill me as you have killed the others?”

The Moon Wing needed no weapons to attack or hurt him.

She continued “Son of Ban.”

Red Spear stepped back at the sight of the rare elder Moon Wing.

Yeva walked past Lancelot, looking him up and down, then circled you and took a sniff “His scent is all over you.” she gave him a look “Typical Ash Man, marking their possessions so others would not dare to take it.”

It was mortifying. All were there to hear it.

Gawain wasn’t surprised, but Red Spear and Arthur were visibly confused by it.

The Elder Moon Wing looked you up and down.

You felt slightly uncomfortable to be studied like this “What is it?”

Yeva commented, seemingly curious and intrigued “Not bearing his heir yet.” as if that was not blunt enough, she proceeded with “The seed of the Ash Folk is strong, won’t be long.”

Your feet felt rooted to the ground, your face burned from the way Yeva spoke so openly of it.

Like she was waiting for it to happen…

There he had his answer to whether or not a Manblood and Ash Folk could conceive together.

If only he would have gotten the answer without the others there to hear it.

Arthur and Red Spear looked at Lancelot for an explanation and received none.

It was Gawain who decided to share the news “Lancelot is the son of Ban. And y/n…”

Arthur was quick to understand what the knight was about to say “Wha- What? He…” he gestured at Lancelot, then at you “-she… they’re…”

“Yes.” Gawain deadpanned.

“I knew it.” Red Spear lied poorly, disappointed in herself for not realizing that it had not just been friendship sooner.

You felt like all eyes were on you now and the cloak did little to shield you from them.

“Heir?” Arthur broke the awkward silence that had fallen in the group.

Yeva barely acknowledged him “Son of Ban, the Ashen Prince, now king among the Fey. An heir is preferred.”

“Prince?” Arthur repeated in disbelief.

“KING?!” Red Spear did not hide her shock.

Gawain knew part of the legend that surrounded the Ash Folk “Elder Yeva is right. Ban was the Ashen King. Some of the Ash Folk had the power to create Fey fire, the very same fire that forged the Sword Of Power. Our friend here inherited this magic. Ban became king because the power he had over Fey Fire was beyond anything the Fey had ever seen before.”

Arthur stepped closer to Lancelot “You are a king?”

Yeva took the liberty, as always, to answer “He is. The fire of the Fey runs in his veins. The legacy of Ban rests on him now.”

Lancelot would not hear of it “I am not a king!”

Arthur openly disagreed and made him face the truth “You were born to be a king. Your people need you. Isn’t salvation what you wanted? That magic you were born with was meant to keep the Fey safe. USE IT.”

The Ash Man did not yield “I have no desire for kingship!”

The elder Moon Wing spoke to him “King or not, the fire burns in you. Embrace it or let it burn all else away from you.”

He did not understand what Yeva was trying to say, until she let her eyes glide towards you…

His grip on the sword tightened while demanding for Yeva to be forward about it “What are you saying?”

And Yeva did speak her mind, letting it be known how strong her clairvoyance was “She dreams of fire, does she not?”

A cold shiver ran through you at the mention of them.

Gawain knew of the abilities of the elder Moon Wing and urged her to explain herself “Elder Yeva, did you see something?”

She turned to the knight “Flames burned in her past. And they will burn in her future.”

You did not want to hear any more of this, the thought alone that you would meet your end the same way your parents had…

By stepping away from the Moon Wing and walking over to stand with Llamrai, you distanced yourself from the conversation.

Was the elder warning him? Or was it an unavoidable fact that fire would cause you harm?

It had only angered him further.

Yeva sensed his despair and anger “We need the Fey Fire, Ash Man. Or this world will burn by the flames of those who seek our extinction. Let fire meet fire.”

Now the Moon Wing stood before him, to her this Ash Man was a youngling and he was yet to learn what sort of magic and power the Fey truly possessed.

He hated to admit “I do not understand.”

Finally Yeva seemed to appreciate his honesty “You will. Kneel to the ground Ashen Prince, I will call upon the Hidden to show you.”

There was the longest moment of hesitation from him, his eyes darted to the group and ultimately settled on you.

If there was a chance to spare you from the fire…

“What are you going to do to him? Why does he need to kneel?” You found yourself getting closer again and taking on a defensive stance.

Yeva tilted her head a bit “Would you rather he fell over?”

He was touched by the display of concern and protectiveness and reassured you “It is alright.”

He put aside his pride and knelt down, both knees on the grass for he did not know what to expect.

She placed a hand to the side of his head a bit rough “Memories will come. Maybe good, maybe bad. Concentrate.”

It was nothing new to him.

You stood aside and anxiously watched how Yeva began to chant in a language you did not understand.

Gawain came to stand beside you for support.

Lancelot closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind as the Moon Wing had asked.

The voices of the Hidden grew closer and louder, they drew him into a state between dream and reality.

Past and present became intertwined.

His life as a growing boy flashed before his eyes.

Red from the paladin robes, red from blood…

The lashing of the whip and the sensation of the blood running from the wounds.

The blood of his younger brother Hector stained his hands, the sword that had struck the infant down was lifted to his chin too.

In that moment he had wished the sword would have ended his sorrow.

The pale child had died in his arms, red robes moved around the village slaughtering his people.

The sword fell away and he met the eyes of the man who’d saved him from the blade.

Ashen markings burned beneath the man’s eyes, a green so bright they shone glorious in the dark of night.

Tears ran down over them, dimming the light upon the sight of the fallen child.

The man reached for him “Come, my boy.”

His father… his real father had picked him up from the ground and carried him away.

A woman came running to him “Where is Hector?”

Ban could not stand the sorrow his wife would experience if she knew “My love…”

The rest was a blur, he found himself in his mother’s arms as she cried out in agony.

She had lost one child and would not let go off the other.

Ban had tried to lead them to safety, he truly had…

His mother held on to him, shielding him from the sight of his fallen father and the group that had surrounded them.

She refused to let him be pulled from her arms, no matter how hard they pulled at her hair or how many times they struck her.

The thing that seperated him from his mother was a sword piercing her body.

And still, she held on to his small hand as she sank to the ground.

Ripped away from his family, a stolen child…

He was carried away, they torched his village…

The flames touched the roof of his house, it was then he that had felt the agony fully take hold and pull him from his shocked state.

All he saw as the feeling increased inside of him were the flames turning green and extinguishing themselves.

Not his home, not that too…

Not the crib he had slept in until he was too big and it was passed on to Hector.

Not the books his mother would read to him every night.

No. They would not take it from him too.

The marks beneath his eyes burned as bright as his father’s had for only an instant.

And only one had seen the green that matched the magical fire, the priest he had called ‘Father’.

A name not fit for a monster.

Lancelot returned from the world between worlds gasping for air.

You were on your knees before him instantly “Are you alright? Please, say something!”

He took hold of your shoulders to steady himself and realized he was trembling all over.

You were holding his hand just like she had done…

Out of fear of seeing him like this, you snapped at Yeva “What did you do to him?!”

The Moon Wing watched the Ash Man process the druid dream “The Hidden showed him what he was forced to forget.”

That could not have been good…

There and then you cared little if others saw the way you cared for him “Lancelot, please-”

He squeezed your shoulders, cupped your cheek and then dropped his hands from you.

His Fey markings were restless under his skin, trying to force their way to the surface while he fought them off.

Lancelot breathed in deeply, nodding to himself “I am alright.” he placed his hands on his legs to keep himself steady and catch his breath.

Physically he seemed fine, but you worried most about his mental state after this.

Red Spear asked him “What did you see?”

The answer was carried by his haunted tone of voice “My family.”

Even she knew how delicate these matters could be and did not pressure him into speaking of it further.

Yeva stepped away from him “The Hidden showed you what you saw for a reason. Remember it.”

You saw her begin to leave and called out for her “Wait, Yeva!”

Lancelot stopped you “Let her leave, she has shown me what I needed to see.”

The elder Moon Wing looked at Gawain who bowed his head in respect, than she retreated back into the trees.

Arthur came closer and held a hand out for Lancelot to take.

Lancelot never spoke of his family to Arthur, but he could tell that the Manblood knew now that their lose of family was something they had in common.

He let Arthur help him up off the ground and the Manblood patted him on the arm twice, an amicable gesture.

Arthur tilted his head, an unspoken inquiry to the Ash Man’s state.

Lancelot did answer it with a nod.

He would be alright, maybe not now, but he would be.

You saw his attention lock on you for a blink, then it drifted to the others again.

Gawain spoke to him “If you are alright, do we continue to Helgenstone? Or return home? It’s your decision.”

The Ash Man was still rattled by the druid dream and needed a moment to think.

The others, including you, waited for his answer.

Blue orbs met your eyes, then dropped to the ground at your feet.

“We are continuing to Helgenstone.” He announced.

Red Spear seemed happy with the prospect of putting some enemies on her sharp spear again.

Gawain and Arthur stood by his decision.

“We should get going then, are you good to ride again or do you need a moment?” Arthur asked Lancelot.

He considered waiting longer unwise, this should not be done in a haste “We need to arrive before noon. It will give us an advantage.”

At that, you and the others went to your horses. While the others mounted, you still had to reattach the satchel to Llamrai’s saddle.

While doing this, Lancelot came to speak to you, you didn’t expect him to show up beside you and so close all off a sudden.

And certainly not after the argument you’d had before Yeva showed up.

In silence you tied the satchel’s band to the saddle.

What he had said to you in anger before Yeva had interfered…

The accusation that you wanted vengeance more… the comparison with Father Carden…

You felt his stare and turned your head to look at him.

The uncertainty was blatantly clear in your eyes.

He took hold of Llamrai’s reins and went to stand even closer at your side “Y/n…”

You shook your head.

But he would not let this argument nest itself into your heart and risk it growing thorns “I was worried. And I was wrong.”

Your eyes risked meeting his and in return his pleaded with yours

“No, I was wrong to do this. I never should have left like that. Ever since I saw what they did with the abbey, what they did to Anne, I kept thinking of ways to make Wicklow pay for what he did. What was I thinking…” You were close to tears, the fury was dampened down by despair and regret.

It was not hard for him to relate to what you were going through “I know what it is like to crave for justice even if it comes at the cost of your own life.” his fingers caught your chin and made you fix your eyes on him “Before I met you, that cost meant nothing to me. Now I remind myself of what I could lose if I let hatred blind me.”

It was a warning at what lied ahead if you would let your hatred win.

Your hand touched his arm “I never wanted you to think that I would choose vengeance over you. I will always choose you.” your eyes dropped to the grass “I just wasn’t thinking clear.”

He knew it was the truth, especially after having seen you become so protective of him “And neither of us have slept in almost two days.”

The hand you had on his arm was claimed by him, he took the liberty of gently placing the bangle back around your wrist.

“Marking your property again?” The sarcasm dripped from your words.

His brow arched, mouth curving in a sly smirk “I have to. You keep running off.”

You pressed your lips shut like a scolded child and to prevent laughing at the fact.

And perhaps part of him enjoyed the chase…

Arthur cleared his throat “When you’re done. May I suggest we head to Helgenstone?”

Lancelot’s mood had improved “No.”

You smacked his chest playfully and called out to Arthur “Yes.”

It wasn’t until you gave him a slight push that he stepped away and went to mount his horse.

You got on Llamrai as well and as usual she danced back and forth a bit.

Gawain was the one to lead the group to Helgenstone as he was more familiar with the city.

Red Spear came to ride beside you at seeing the rather odd way your horse was walking.

“Follow.” She commanded Llamrai in that intimidating tone.

For the first time, Llamrai obeyed the order straight away and followed Red Spear’s horse.

To be honest, you’d probably follow her as well if she used that tone on you.

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It was an hour past dawn when you arrived at Helgenstone with the group.

Red Spear suggested to go to the local inn to have a drink while discussing the plan again but this time with you present.

Gawain openly objected to the idea and she accused him of thinking that she could not hold her liquor.

The stern knight and hot-tempered captain where two stones bumping into each other, neither could truly damage the other.

Lancelot stayed out of it and you followed his example.

It was Arthur who was able to calm the captain’s beginning fury.

A tankard of ale, not a bottle, at the inn for Red Spear it was. And a meal for all to enjoy before the mission would begin.

The innkeeper would not say a word of this meeting to others, The Green Knight had helped him once a few years back when the innkeeper’s Fey sister in law and her husband were forced to flee.

Gawain had drawn out some of the plan on a piece of parchment to make it easier to explain it to you too “You’re our most important ally for this. Wicklow is expected to arrive in this city’s church at noon, which gives us a small period of time to let you infiltrate the church.”

Lancelot added “You know the customs of a nun, it will allow you to go to places inside the church where we cannot go. This Church is administered to by mostly nuns and the local priest.”

Arthur pointed to a place on the map “There is the main entrance, were you will enter.” he pointed to another spot “Gawain and I will handle any Trinity guards present in these hallways. Lancelot and Red Spear will handle the hallways on the east side.”

It sounded like you were going to be on your own “Wait… why am I entering through the main doors?”

Gawain informed “You’ll do that before Wicklow arrives. You need to be inside the church beforehand, when he arrives, no one will be let inside by the Trinity out of precaution.”

Lancelot pointed to the map “By going through the main entrance, you distract them from us.”

You weren’t sure of it “I don’t think me walking in will distract them that much…”

Red Spear disagreed “It will.” she put a flask down on the table right in front of your nose “Sheep’s blood.”

Twice you blinked, then understood what was being said “You want me to dress up as a nun and pretend to be wounded?”

The Ash Man was being cheeky about it “You are the perfect choice for this.”

It earned him a look “How wounded are we talking?”

Red Spear deadpanned “As wounded as you need to be to distract them.”

With growing confidence in their plan, you asked “And then what do I do?”

“Play the part.” Arthur chimed in “I you need a reason to make them believe you’re suddenly well enough to walk around, just make them think you’re mad.”

Your eyes narrowed “So, I have to play an insane nun?”

Lancelot snorted a laugh and hid it under a cough, muttering under his breath “She’s experienced…”

You send a glare at the twit.

He talked himself out off trouble by explaining further “We have the numbers against us, but the element of surprise is ours. We work our way to Wicklow, maybe we can even get information out of him. I believe he could share secrets of the Church with the priest. And what better way to learn of these if not by an eavesdropping nun?”

You were still glaring “You’re really enjoying this aren’t you?”

The Ash Man made no effort to hide it, but continued “I know you will want to act when you see Wicklow, I ask you not to do so. Not unless he is alone and you can flee the place afterwards. Do not take risks.” he addressed the others “None of us should take risks today. If this fails, there will come another chance.”

“Ay.” Gawain agreed “Maybe we can even ambush him on the roads if we fail to do so in the church.”

Lancelot looked at you “Indeed. No risks.”

All agreed, although Red Spear was visibly in disappointed over the ‘no risks’ part.

He gestured to the sword at your side “You will not be able to take along your sword. But you have the knife.”

Walking into a church dressed as a nun while carrying a sword would certainly draw attention “Alright. So where do I change into my tunic?”

There were shared looks and you realized that that part of the plan had been looked over.

“Here?” Red Spear suggested.

It earned her a bewildered look from everyone.

Arthur reminded her that not everyone was as comfortable or brave with these things as her “Maybe we could pay for a room? She can change there.”

Gawain got up and went to handle the matter with the innkeeper “Don’t worry, y/n. I’ll handle this.”

While the knight did that, you questioned the others “So, you will make your way inside the church while I pose as a distraction?”

Lancelot and Arthur gave a nod.

You continued “And if I can overhear the conversation between Wicklow and the priest, I should try to do so?”

“Yes.” Red Spear was quick to the point.

Arthur added “It would be nice if Wicklow could find himself out off the sight of his guards.”

It would indeed be nice “I’ll try.”

Gawain returned and handed you a key “The room is settled. Up the stairs, second door to your right. Need any help?”

You couldn’t help but seize the opportunity to joke “Help with getting dressed?”

The knight cleared his throat and was a bit flustered “I meant…”

Lancelot helped him out “To find the room?”

Of course you would take the chance to mess with Gawain when it arose.

Poor Gawain was thankful “Yes.”

You were the example of innocence now and stood up from the chair “Nah, I’ll find it.”

Alright, perhaps you struggled to find the stairs but you did find them.

With each step, the wood creaked under your feet and you held on to the railing for dear life.

Once safely upstairs, you unlocked the door of the second room on the right.

It was modest, the bed had seen quite some wear and there was a layer of dust on the shoddy chair in the corner. Still, it was enough for those who sought a warm place to sleep and the innkeeper seemed nice.

You dropped the satchel on the bed and fetched the tunic and veil from it.

After removing your cloak and upper clothing, along with the sword and knife, you dressed yourself in the tunic.

It took some very precise folding for your other clothes to fit in the satchel, the cloak would have to be left behind with one of the others.

Strange to wear the tunic again, perhaps it was the only one that had survived the fire.

A knock on the door proceeded the familiar voice “May I come in?”

It didn’t surprise you that he’d show up here “Yes.”

Lancelot did not enter right away and asked “Are you decent?”

After snorting a laugh, you teased “Never.”

The door went open right away at the jest, he was smiling as well “You know what I meant.”

It had you snickering “Nothing to see that you haven’t seen before, it’s safe to come in.”

At that he shut the door behind him and you saw the long piece of cloth he carried in his hand.

Your brow arched at the sight of it “What’s the cloth for?”

He went over to fetch the knife you had put down beside your sword “To bind the knife to your ankle. It will be easiest to hide it there.”

There was a look of uncertainty and hesitation from him and it took you a couple of seconds to understand why.

“Oh. Uhm, will you help me with that?” You relieved him from asking it himself.

While walking over to you, you saw him fidget with the cloth as if he had forgotten how to tie a simple knot altogether. Oh, his shyness often made him forget the skills he had acquired in life.

He knelt down in front of you and was kind enough not to bind the knife to the ankle that had seen enough torment already.

With a hand on his shoulder, you supported yourself until it was done.

Was it necessary to brush his hand along your calf? You doubted it.

In return, your fingers brushed his cheek.

The gesture caused him to look up at you briefly before rising to his feet again.

He copied the gesture with you and cupped your face, cradling it while letting his gaze travel over it.

Could he tell that what Yeva had said was still running through your mind? That fire was not only in your past, but future as well?

“What is it?” He could see your mind wander.

Your gaze dropped from his face “Yeva knew of my nightmares. She could be right about my future too…”

His thumbs began to draw circles over your temples, soothing those frightening thoughts “I am not losing you too.”

There was only determination in his tone, as if he would protect you from all the dangers in the world. And in that moment, you believed he would.

A previous lose was causing this protectiveness “That dream she gave, you saw your family?”

He gave a nod, eyes never straying away from you “I saw what happened the night I was stolen from my family. What they did to them…how my mother held me in her arms until the steel of a sword forced her to her knees.”

You felt his hold on you intensify “I am so sorry you had to see that…”

His fingertips were pampering the back of your scalp “Yeva showed me only what I was forced to forget. I needed to know. Back then, I could not save those I loved. I will not let that happen again.”

To have someone care so deeply and know that their heart would be broken again by a fate you perhaps could not prevent…

He closed the distance upon seeing your somberness and quietly spoke “Your future is with me, not with fire.”

Rarely was he so confident to make such claims, it sounded like he wouldn’t let anything in the world take you from him. And you remembered what had happened to the previous people who had tried. Those bastards, Finch and Avo had suffered the consequences. And the Trinity guards who decided to torment you in the forest all fell to the merciless steel.

You cupped the side of his neck, thumb brushing just under his jaw.

His gaze drifted over your features and landed on your lips.

He leaned in.

You leaned back “You can’t kiss me.”

He leaned back at that “Why?…”

Your eyes looked down, signaling for his to do the same “I am wearing my tunic.”

First he looked confused, then he smirked and his brow arched at the shenanigans.

His eyes rolled over you swiftly “I can see that.”

That couldn’t have sounded more filled with sinful intend then it did.

You smacked the back of your hand against his chest and scolded “My goodness, Lancelot!”

It was beyond his own control that his thoughts wandered off on their own.

Clothes of virtue worn by one who broke rule after rule of the Church.

Of course he enjoyed this.

His hands flowed over your shoulders, then back up to cup your neck and he actually dared to plant a kiss on your lips.

You lightly pushed him back, feigning shock “I can’t believe you just did that!”

The amused chuckling filled the room, there was not an ounce of regret in him.

He even tried to draw you closer again but you swiftly moved out of reach.

You pointed at him and warned “Behave.”

If only you knew how that command only ever made him want to do the opposite.

With your sight still on him, you walked to the satchel again to grab the veil and put it on “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

Not even he knew how many times his eyes had flowed over you now “I cannot help it.”

It was the honest truth.

You gestured to yourself “Do you think Wicklow could recognize me like this?”

“Once Red Spear is done with that blood, I doubt anyone will recognize you.” He dryly said.

There was no reason to doubt that Red Spear would coat you in the blood…

You hummed “I hope she spares my face.”

He looked at you with compassion “I fear not.” he went over to the bed and closed the satchel, taking it upon himself to carry it “Are you ready?”

You nodded and headed to the door, opening it “I bet the people downstairs will find it strange to see a nun there.”

He cocked his head “Are you saying that in your time at the abbey, none of them ever went to an inn?”

It was possible… “They never spoke of it.”

He let you walk out the door first, then closed the door again once you were both outside “Neither would a paladin or monk. Do not worry, an inn sees many sorts of people.”

Once downstairs again, the group bit back a smile and perhaps even laughter at the sight of you in the attire.

“The knife?” Gawain asked Lancelot.

“On her ankle.” He replied.

The Green Knight stood up and the others did so too “We should head to the church, the earlier we are, the more time we have to set this thing to our benefit.”

Red Spear grabbed the sheep’s blood and shoved it into Arthur’s hands to hold on to.

Lancelot saw how the Manblood had no idea how to approach her behavior even though he was trying his best.

“Alright, let’s go.” You said.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @crystallizedtime @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart @5am-cigarette @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream @coloursforyourportrait @koressecretidentity @nike90 @n1ghtlux @rachlovesactors @luckyzipperscissorsbat @morena-doing-stuff @the-fangirl-diaries @gipsydanger17 @heavenly1927 @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story.

#weeping monk x you #theweepingmonk #weeping monk #weepingmonk #the weeping monk x reader #lancelot #lancelot x reader #reader x lancelot #lancelot fic #Cursed Netflix #cursed #lancelot cursed #netflix cursed #cursed fic #daniel sharman character #Daniel Sharman

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immajustvibehere · 2 years

Note

Ooo I saw the requests were open 👀 I'll just slide in real quick

❛ share a whiskey with me. ❜ and ❛ you look lonely and lost. ❜

Why do these sentences fit TB! Arthur so much? 😩 I honestly just want to have a conversation with him and offer him words of comfort 💔

Finding Purpose in the End

(Possibly part 1/3, not sure yet)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

oneshot: hurt & comfort, light fluff (Arthur's tb isn't diagnosed yet when this takes place.)

summary: You approach a discouraged Arthur for a private conversation and surprisingly find him opening up to you more than you'd have expected.

2200 words, 12 minutes reading time

Everyone was having a blast. The screams and horrors of the swamps were drowned by singing and laughing. Earlier this evening, Arthur, Dutch and John had brought back little Jack. You were just as delighted as most of the people were, you had missed the boy. Days of trying to calm Abigail, of running around in town and asking anyone about an Angelo Bronte were behind you. Once more, everything seemed alright again. You had joined in singing with Karen and Susan, listened to one of Hosea's stories from his younger days and helped Jack with looking for some of his toys. In good spirits and tipsy from a couple of beers you wandered around camp in search for a conversation partner.

You had a destination in mind, but you were too proud to admit that right away. Arthur was the objective you were looking for. Since he was nowhere to be seen outside, you entered the manor house with the expectation of finding him there. Smoothly, you picked up a half empty bottle of whiskey lying on one of the tables, it would give you some excuse as to why you were looking for him. Just sharing a drink as friends. But the truth is, Arthur didn't quite seem like himself when he returned. You could tell that something was on his mind. And though you saw him earlier, sharing a beer with Lenny, you had lost sight of him soon afterwards. His expression after he had sent John away to be with his family had been on your mind the whole evening, and you couldn't ignore the nagging feeling of checking on him.

As there was no sign of Arthur on the first floor, you climbed the staircase. And there he was. Leaning next to the window that was close to his room. Just for a moment, before he noticed you, you studied his figure. His shoulders slouched; his gaze fixed on something in the swamps. You made a firm step, so the floor would creek under your weight, which alarmed Arthur of your presence. He turned around and his hand scratched his beard as he awakened from his slumber of solitude, pushing his chest out ever so slightly, as if he had to appear tougher and stronger when someone's nearby.

A smile formed on your lips. Even if he didn't look in good spirits, like the rest of the gang; you were still happy to see him. "Hope I'm not interrupting?", you asked.

"No. ‘Course not", his hand awkwardly scratched the back of his neck before it found its familiar place on his gun belt.

"Will you share a whiskey with me?", you held up the bottle in your hand.

"Well, if you insist", Arthur teased. He tried to make up for his distraught appearance by giving you a half-hearted chuckle, but you could tell that his thoughts were elsewhere. There was no way of you denying that you had a soft spot for this man. It hurt you seeing him so discouraged. You wouldn't have run off to find Bill for example if you ever thought him in a bad mood. Arthur, on the other hand, was a whole different story.

You plopped the cork and handed the bottle to Arthur, who took a swig.

"I'm really glad you got Jack back. Abigail was on edge the last couple of days...", you said, watching Arthur wipe away a drop of whiskey that had remained in the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah. I mean - you helped too, didn't ya?", Arthur handed you back the bottle. You scoffed: "I tried. All it got me is being beaten up by some boys in Saint Denis." "What? Ya never told me. Ya let those little shits beat ya up?", Arthur looked at you in disbelief. You smiled, winking: "That's why I didn't tell you. Now I'll get mocked for it. I bet, that by tomorrow, the whole gang will know." It was your turn to take a sip. The thought that Arthur's lips had just been where yours now were was very much conscious on your mind. You tried hard not to think about it and concentrate on the conversation.

"Ah, I can keep a secret", Arthur said defiantly.

"Thank you."

"Wasn't hurt seriously, were ya?"

"No", you quickly dismissed it and shook your head. You didn’t want to complain about a couple of bruises, "and stop worrying about me! I actually wanted to talk to you because you seemed a bit...off." You looked at Arthur and instantly regretted the harsh approach you had chosen. Of course, he'd not tell you what's going on now…He looked at you for a moment, without saying something. You had always loved the color of his eyes, however, you didn't like how tired and sad they looked. And then there was something so cool in his expression, you feared he had taked serious offence.

"Off?", he asked, fumbling for a cigarette and a matchstick which he swiped across the floor to light it. You waited until he had taken the first puff. You needed to choose your words more carefully, but you felt the alcohol loosen your tongue and soften your brain.

You admitted, yet again without thinking about it much first: "You look a bit lonely and lost...sometimes."

Well that didn't come out too good either, did it?

But Arthur didn't seem to mind. He just continued to smoke his cigarette in silence, before he handed it to you. You normally weren't an enthusiastic smoker, but you couldn’t refuse Arthur right now. You took it carefully, leading it to your lips and making a small drag.

"Well," Arthur sighed, smugly watching you struggle with the taste of tobacco and nicotine, "Maybe I am a bit lonely and lost."

You were surprised about this confession. Never would you have thought that Arthur was the guy to admit that. You had feared you’d have to drag it out of him one by one - but him telling you? You could definitely work with that.

"We're all lost, Arthur", you said calmly, handing him back his cigarette, "Some people just won't admit it."

After he only whispered a "I guess", he took another pull from the whiskey.

You continued: "But you don't have to be lonely. You know that you got a whole camp full of people caring about you. I care about you", it took you a bit of overcoming to deliver the last sentence, but you were proud you did it. Arthur's and your eyes briefly met, before he directed them somewhere else, probably watching the paint peel off the wall or the holes in the brittle wood that could be called a railing.

"I've been feelin' a bit weak lately. It's harder gettin' up in the mornings, unbearable bein' thrown off my horse…", he complained. His voice was coarse and hushed. It was more like he was talking to himself, and yet you sat close next to him. Maybe it was the alcohol that had him let his guard down just enough to confide in you.

"It pains me to say, Arthur. But you're getting old", you joked carefully. To your delight, you got the desired reaction of a fading smile and a click of his tongue, telling you that he didn't take it personally. The bottle of whiskey stood between you; Arthur's hand rested on the floor only a few inches away from the bottle. You blushed severely, but you put your hand on top of his, looking at him earnestly: "It's okay to feel weak sometimes." You were painfully aware that it was different for Arthur. The gang relied on him, he was the errand boy, the man who did whatever was asked of him. He never disappointed, he never would think of doing it on purpose. "It was a stressful couple of weeks. It’ll get better”, you reassured.

You noticed how his hand tensed and remained awfully still under your touch. As if you had been hunting and confronted an animal, that was now too shocked to run away and yet unharmed and able to flee, if it chose to.

"Ya scared, y/n?", Arthur asked. The way he pronounced your name sent a shiver down your spine - it was heart-breaking. His voice rattled, it was shaken up and dry and you genuinely hoped he’d never have to pronounce your name like this again.

Were you scared?

"Yes", you admitted quickly, giving yourself no time to sugarcoat the answer. Arthur took a deep breath, and you felt his hand relax under yours just a bit, his gaze wandered around the stairwell and when he found nothing interesting to look at, he directed his attention back to you. Simply looking at you. He was searching for something; you were sure of it. Like he didn't trust you enough to not exploit his weakness when the time has come. Like he couldn’t admit he was worried – scared too, because you might laugh at him. Like you weren’t his friend. Like you didn't love him. There was an ever so slight frown, giving it away. At least it looked like that to you.

"I'm a nobody", you further explained, "no family. No relatives. I've been with the gang for barely two years. I had no life before, I have no plans for after. I got nothing to live for, Arthur. That's scary sometimes", there was a tear fighting its way out, but you wiped it away.

"Everything's gonna be okay", Arthur said gently. His hand freed itself from your loose grip and it was now his, which rested on top of yours.

You decided to go on; be open and say what was on your mind: "Even if Dutch's plans work...and we...go to Tahiti? What then? Am I supposed to harvest mangoes all day? See Micah or Bill run around shirtless and sunburnt?" You last sentence had earned a soft chuckle from Arthur, who murmured a "Guess nobody wants to see that..." Arthur lifted his hand from yours to grab the bottle. A thin layer of sweat had formed on both of your hands. You didn't mind. The weather was unbearably sticky and you thought you might have heard the rumble of distant thunder earlier. Arthur handed you the bottle and you emptied it, as there was only a gulp remaining anyways. With the heavy air of an upcoming storm surrounding you, and the alcohol now flowing through your blood, sitting on the floor next to Arthur…you were swimming in a half-conscious bliss. You loved being close to him, even though you weren't talking at the moment.

After a while though, doubts creeped up. Your sense of time wasn’t working at its finest at the moment and you weren’t sure if the two of you had sat in silence for twenty seconds or solid ten minutes. You sighed deeply: "Anyways...I'll leave you be. Sorry for intruding."

"What? Why?", Arthur asked.

"Why what?", you asked back.

"'m I too depressin' for you?", he laughed pitiable.

"No way", you smiled, “I just...don't know...don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Yer talking damn nonsense. Start sounding like Dutch", Arthur joked, a challenging smile on his face. You laughed, but then only looked at Arthur, not sure now what he wants you to do.

"Stay."

Well, this was a clear message. As you locked eyes with him, the rain started. It was pouring. You heard how people started to seek shelter in the house, and it was only a matter of minutes until Dutch and Molly would pass you to get to their room.

"Can't say no to that", you grinned, honestly relived he was okay with your presence.

"C'mon then", Arthur got up with a grunt and walked to his room. "Let's talk in there."

The door was sloppily closed behind you. Arthur dropped onto his bed and settled for a comfortable position, something in between sitting and lying, his head resting against the wall. You sat down on the floor, your back supported by what you assumed to be the chest where Arthur keeps his clothes. The man watched you and lazily played with his revolver, spinning its wheel, or balancing it on the barrel. There were no cartridges inside, and even if there were, you trusted Arthur to know his weapons. After some silence, you continued your conversation, starting with complaining about the weather and going on with topics that only started coming back to you after a couple of days. A thick fog of inebriation and fatigue hiding the details of the remaining night. You couldn’t even remember who was first to fall asleep, or if one of you just stopped answering to the other’s questions at some point so they gave in to sleep too.

You woke up the next morning, a blanket on top of you. Arthur had gotten up before you, so you were left wondering alone about the spoken or unspoken confessions of last night.

------x

Yeah, sry...this is my first shot at hurt & comfort and I feel like it lacks both lmao, but we all start somewhere I guess. I'll get there.

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

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zablife · 2 years

Text

Corruption

Jack Nelson x female reader

Summary: You never thought of gaining anything more than a bit of real world experience when you applied for an internship with local police, assisting on the case of Jack Nelson. Instead you gain an obsession with a dangerous, but seductive criminal.

Author's Note: This is a combination of a story idea I had after doing a moodboard for Jack Nelson x criminology student AND a request by a lovely anon who suggested Jack's S/O was turned on by watching him commit a crime. Events of S4 and S6 are combined/misrepresented here. Set in Birmingham but ended up w/ an American film noir vibe.

Warnings: dark!, 🔞, smut, language, mention of murder, blood, shoddy/unrealistic police work

Your internship with the police department hadn’t started as well as you had hoped. Your first day you were treated like a forgotten houseplant, left to gather dust in the corner of the office. You tried to be proactive, offering assistance to the detectives around you, but you were quickly rebuffed and asked to return to your desk to file mountains of paperwork. Worried this would be a huge disappointment, you began counting the days you had left. You couldn’t have known then that your life would soon be complicated by the arrival of a mysterious American.

After two weeks of mind numbing boredom, you walked into work to find a flurry of activity. Much to your surprise, you were asked to sit in on a meeting. However, you were warned not to discuss the details of anything you heard as this was an ongoing murder investigation. You sat at the back of the room as detectives discussed the prime suspect, Jack Nelson.

The lights dimmed and slides with grainy surveillance images flashed before you of a handsome man in his early thirties. As his details were read aloud, you began to make a few notes, feeling your curiosity grow. He had killed at least one man, making the murder look like a suicide. Luca Changretta was a rival gang member from America, killed while in the UK to do business with the Shelby family.

Jack Nelson fit the description of a sociopath. He was charming, intelligent and cocky. He knew he was untouchable and taunted police, daring them to catch him. His file said he was often seen in the company of beautiful women and that he liked expensive luxuries, traveling in style from America to the UK and Europe for his business ventures. He was also well connected to highly influential people, including American and British politicians. He had even met with the President of the United States, which you found highly impressive.

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

As the days went by, a few leads came in, but nothing serious. Having little else to occupy your time, you worked tirelessly doing your own research, but it was difficult. Mr. Nelson was obviously good at covering his tracks. His import/export business seemed mostly legal and anyone who had ever suggested otherwise was now conveniently dead. However, not all ties had been severed as you discovered when the infamous Arthur Shelby was brought in for questioning on unrelated drug charges.

High on junk, Arthur revealed he’d seen Jack Nelson at a party talking to another Shelby associate, Billy Grade, recently. That was all he would confirm with his lawyer present, however. Everyone in Birmingham knew the Shelby family dealt in all manner of illegal activities, but they were protected by the head of the family, Thomas Shelby, MP OBE. Luckily, you wouldn't need Arthur's cooperation for anything more. The police finally had a solid lead they could pursue.

Your role would soon expand as police needed your help making contact with Billy Grade. Surveillance had revealed Nelson was meeting with him again. Knowing how cautious he was, Nelson would sniff out a copper miles away, but if they sent you posing as a prostitute, you could deliver messages to and from Billy without issue. No one in the underworld of Small Heath would bat an eye.

That’s how you became more than an intern. Your life as an undercover special started the next week with a bit of training. It was a dangerous job, but one that ignited a passion in you you’d never felt before.

——————————————————————————-

As you were getting ready to leave for the agreed upon location, your hands shook as you tried to fasten your earrings. What if you weren’t able to go through with it? What if something happened to you and your parents never found out? Too many questions raced through your mind.

Then the image of Jack Nelson flashed before you. There was something alluring about him that you couldn’t quite place. You knew he was a cold blooded killer so you tried to push any thoughts of his handsome features from your mind, but the attraction remained stubbornly implanted in your subconscious. You hoped the distraction was your mind’s way of keeping you from thinking about the harm you faced if he caught you, but you weren’t so certain.

When you arrived at the hotel where you agreed to meet Billy, you walked briskly through the lobby only to hear someone call out to you, “Miss, please wait! There’s a phone call for you.” You circled back to the front desk somewhat surprised by the interruption. Taking the phone in your hand with a puzzled look, you answered hesitantly, “Hello?”

“Finally get the pleasure of speaking with the girl who’s trying to set me up. How are you, doll?” A low voice drawled over the phone. The crystal clear connection allowed his voice to slice through you, sending a tingle down your spine.

“Who is this and what do you want?” you asked cupping your hand around the phone so no one else would hear. Slowly turning in a circle, you tried without success to locate anyone watching you.

“Easy, there curious little pussycat. Just thought I should warn you not to play games that are out of your league,” he cooed. The threat was real, but you could hear the smirk in his voice. “I've been watching you for awhile now. You’re a cute kid. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

Boldness returning to you with a sudden shock of adrenaline, you answered, “You’ve got it all wrong, Mr. Nelson. I think you’re the one who ought to be careful. You've left evidence all over this city and we will find you," you bluffed, gulping at your own audacity to challenge such a powerful man.

He chuckled darkly obviously thrilled by your feistiness, “We’ll see about that, won’t we? Cause I've already found you. The things I'd do to you, doll face. Well...you've seen my work.” Then you heard the click of the receiver as he hung up the phone on his end.

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

You could barely sleep that night knowing that Jack Nelson might be watching your flat at that very moment. How long had he been tailing you, you wondered. You questioned whether or not you wanted to continue helping with the investigation. However, something told you not to give up. Perhaps it was eagerness to prove yourself professionally, but you also knew it sprung from a deeper, darker place inside you that kept replaying the sultry sound of Jack’s voice over and over again like a record.

At the insistence of the detectives, you were sent out to make contact again three days later. A new location was chosen in a different part of town. Great efforts were taken to ensure you weren’t followed and you were reassured many times that Nelson and his associates would not find you. As added protection, two detectives were assigned to watch the building from a parked car outside and you were confident nothing could possibly go wrong.

However, from the moment you stepped from the cab, the evening felt forboding. Fog was beginning to roll in, obscuring your view of the entrance to the hotel where you were meeting Billy. To reassure yourself, you bent down to adjust the seams of your stockings one last time and checked your garter for the knife you’d stashed there. As your hand brushed the cool metal, you took a deep breath knowing if things went badly you had a way to defend yourself.

Running to cross the street, your red beaded dress shook and shimmied. It was perfect for the part you were playing, dipping low in the front to reveal a bit too much cleavage. You noticed the doorman look you up and down suggestively as you passed and you ducked your head, heels clicking past him on your way to the front desk. As you took the hotel key and made your way upstairs, you felt the familiar rush of doing something dangerous and forbidden. You hated to admit to yourself how addictive it was becoming.

You opened the door to the room slowly, clicking it shut softly behind you. Just as you reached for the light, you heard an unsettling noise. There was a scuffle of shoes and tightening of leather. A man's ragged breaths were followed by a thick gurgling sound. Just as the red lights from the sign across the street poured through the window, it illuminated Jack's tall form holding Billy's lifeless body, blood spilling from an open wound across his neck.

You stood staring, mesmerized by the scene. You'd read plenty about violent crime, but never witnessed anything like this. It was indescribable the fear and awe intertwined. He was nothing short of godlike standing there over his vanquished foe and you were intoxicated by his power over another. Unable to stop yourself, you couldn't look away from the sight of a man who could do anything he wished.

You hadn't realized the gasp you let out until Jack was turning toward you. He lowered the body to the ground where he stood.

“You’re too late,” he said walking toward you slowly, removing his black leather gloves one finger at a time and discarding them on the ground. They were stained with blood and he didn’t want to taint you with it. However, as he stepped over the dead body and the widening river of blood that separated you, he noticed an unmistakable hunger emanating from you.

Your half closed eyes drank him in lustfully. It was hard to miss as you toyed with your necklace and bit your bottom lip suggestively. You swallowed harshly as Jack came to stand over you, towering above you and grasping your chin in his hand. He squinted his eyes at you in disbelief, “Are you getting turned on by this doll?” You nodded slowly before pushing up on your toes to kiss him hard, hands struggling to push off his heavy overcoat to feel his broad shoulders.

He gripped you painfully by your waist and buried his head in your neck, sucking a bruise into you before leaving a love bite right next to it. As you raked your long nails through his hair, his head traveled south into your cleavage and inhaled your perfume deeply. You palmed him through his trousers feeling him getting hard beneath your skillful touch and he let out a shaky breath at the delicious feeling.

Knowing he had to regain control, he yanked your hand away and shoved you into a nearby wall. Wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing slightly, he chuckled darkly, “You just couldn’t stay away, could you? Too damn curious, aren’t you, pussycat?”

Unfazed by his question you answered breathlessly, "I'm not afraid anymore." You placed your hand over his and began stroking along his arm. Jack leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours for a moment, "I bet you think you've got nine lives, don't you? What makes you think I won't do the same thing to you?" he said glancing back at the body on the floor.

His hands roamed your body possessively, squeezing you tightly and raking his nails over your skin before coming to rest over your soft thigh. Your breath hitched for a moment when he found the blade you had concealed beneath the lace garter. He unsheathed the weapon, bringing it to his line of sight to study it carefully before turning it on you suddenly. His voice lowered an octave as he brought the blade to your throat and asked, “You feel that, baby? The electricity in your veins? Is that the thrill you were after, huh?”

Your pulse quickened beneath his touch, heart pounding against your rib cage with a rush of emotion that was unlike anything you’d ever felt. Your eyes flicked to his and you noticed his pupils were blown wide. Jack was making you come alive and you knew you were doing the same for him. You licked your lips and hummed in satisfaction, “I know you won't kill me because you want me as much as I want you,” you said, rubbing your thighs together.

He smirked at your wanton response, moving the blade to your shoulder and you held your breath when you felt him slice the strap of your dress. Strings popped and beads scattered noisily along the wooden floor. Jack huffed out a sigh of satisfaction as he tossed the knife aside. Turning back to his work, he ripped at the delicate fabric to reveal your breasts to the cool air and more beads went skittering as Jack made no mistake about his intention of ruining you.

He massaged your breasts in his hands roughly as he captured your lips with brutal force, smearing your red lipstick in the process. In his growing need for you, he spun you around to face the wall, placing a few hard slaps to your ass as you pushed yourself out toward him. One hand continued to toy with you, feeling the wetness that had collected along the front of your silk underwear. He shoved the fabric to one side rolling and pinching your clit harshly before entering you in one punishing thrust. You lurched forward, holding yourself up by your palms. Then Jack grabbed your hair, pulling you back toward his chest. You felt the pleasurable burn at your roots, too intoxicated by the drag of his cock within you to care. Your head fell against his shoulder as he growled in your ear, “No good girl cop would let me fuck 'em like this. Think I've got myself a new partner in crime."

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

Play list for this fic:

🎧"All the Good Girls Go to Hell" Billie Eilish

🎧"Do it for Me" Rosenfeld

🎧"Devil Eyes" Hippie Sabotage

🎧"Time is Running Out" Muse

🎧"I'm a Fool to Want You" Billie Holiday

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Tag list: @retromafia, @violaobanion, @daddyjack-nelson, @evita-shelby, @tommydoesntpayforsuits, @shelbydelrey, @alanadetigy, @wandawiccan60, @easilyobessedbutflighty, @severewobblerlightdragon, @lovemissyhoneybee, @theshelbyslimited, @kittycatcait219, @peakyrogers, @jackiekae, @peaky-cillian, @kpopgirlbtssvt, @slytherisstuff, @watercolorskyy, @cillmequick, @l1-l4, @tommydoesntpayforsuits, @celticmelody, @notyour-valentine, @noforkingclue, @peakyswritings

#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Jack Nelson fanfic #Jack Nelson imagine #Jack Nelson smut #zablife600 #Jack Nelson x reader #Jack Nelson x you #Jack Nelson x y/n

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anonymooseforever007 · 2 years

Text

How can I help you?

Hi Y’all! I’m Addy!

I hope y’all are doing well! ❤️❤️ Here’s my masterlist below the cut! It’s may be a bit messy but I still haven’t worked out exactly how I wanna format it yet, but aside from the incorrect quotes everything I’ve written should be there! If there isn’t sometime just let me know and I can try to link it or find it! But yeah, that’s all I’ve got for now! Have a great day and I hope y’all enjoy! ❤️❤️❤️

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🦕MASTERLIST-

DIALOGUE IMAGINES- These are set up in the same format as the incorrect quotes but are still an imagine (if that makes sense). *** = heavily based by on quote from elsewhere

HEADCANNONS- These are where you can find the headcannons I have. They are short and usually only two or so sentences, but sometimes I might connect them to another piece I’ve written. Unless a description is given they will probably only be a few sentences long.

What child is this?

The Name of Jesus

A Tour to Remember- A longer headcannon about what John’s tradition is with his newborn children. (WC-795)

Boom

His Aunt’s Stories- A longer headcannon about a nurse Arthur during the war and where her stories were heard before. (WC-1.8k) (Updated Correctly)

IMAGINES-

My Girl (Thomas Shelby X Daughter!Reader Series) (Ongoing) - Thomas Shelby had a daughter before the war and she was his life in every sense of the word. And then the war came to France and Tommy did too, promising his Y/N he’d be back soon. But a few years past and the war left France and Tommy should have too.

….But this time he never did.

Pictures on the Wall (Finn Shelby Mini Series- not a reader/OC insert) (incomplete) - A short series about the relationship between Finn Shelby, his mother, and the pictures on the walls of Watery Lane. It’s starts out fluffy and then not…. Until maybe the end but it still probable won’t be too fluffy…. I’m still deciding. (TW: mentions of the Shelby Mother’s su***de in all parts currently written)

Whiskey Kisses (John Shelby)- John and You have been dating a few months now, and one day he finally asks what he's wanted to for a bit. See, the whole while you've dated he can't remember a single time seeing you drink, even when at the Garrison. And when he asks, he learns about your own personal concerns and concocts a way to help you overcome your fears... Maybe he'll also get the kiss he's been waiting for.... (WC-5.2k)

Wanna Buy You A Drink (Bob Floyd)- It's been five months since Bob's seen his wife, and aside from Natasha he had yet to mention her to his team. He calls it privacy, she jokes it's internalised possessiveness. But tonight, with Penny's help at the Hard Deck, more than one person is in for a surprise. After all, who doesn't love a good innuendo? (WC-3.8k)

Romantic Escape (Tommy Shelby)- After being confined to Arrow House for a week because of a small concussion, Y/N is determined to get out. But considering how overprotective Tommy's been recently she'll have to be smart if she'd to make it. To trick Thomas Shelby is a feat many enemies have tried but few have succeeded. But then again, not many of his enemies have the advantage of knowing him the way his wife does... (WC-3.0k)

Romantic Capture (Part 2) (Tommy Shelby)- Y/N's successfully managed to con her way to her husband's car keys. Now she's free to have the fun she's been missing for the past week. But with an unexpected call from Polly, will her plans actually go to plan? Part two of Romantic Escape! (WC-2.9k)

Behind On That Cute Date (Michael Gray) - Wanting to give her busy friend some time to herself, Y/N had offered to watch her friend’s son Karl for a few hours to go to movie and ice cream. But upon returning to the house, Y/N offers to keep the boy longer if Ada wants to spend some more time with her “cute date”. It is a date right? (WC-5.4k)

Chocolate Pie (Part 2) (Michael Gray)- After running out of Ada’s house, Y/N realises she forgot her bag at Ada's house after her escape. But will Ada even be there to hand it over or will someone else open the door? In which Polly’s plan come to play. (WC-2.1k)

The Proposal (Luca Changretta)- Despite the assumption of many others Thomas Shelby didn't like unnecessary bloodshed and neither did Luca Changretta. So before a full out gang war could begin, they came up with a plan to make peace between the families.....And obviously the best plan they could come up with was an arranged marriage. And even more obviously not everyone one was pleased....namely the bride. (WC-1.5k)

The Engagement (Part 2) (Luca Changretta)- You had made it very clear already. You had absolutely no intentions of marrying Luca Changretta for a business deal.... So your brothers really should have been suspicious when you eagerly requested for them to set up a meeting for you and your fiancé one neutral ground.... And they should have been scared when you choose Alfie's shipyard as that neutral ground... (WC-5.0k)

Shadow By The Bed (Finn Shelby & Tommy Platonic) - It's the middle of the night after a family party and everything seems calm. Until Lizzie's woken up by a shadowy figure standing over her and Tommy's bed..... (WC-4.2k)

Man of My Dreams (Alfie Solomons)- Y/N is one of the newest secretaries at the Shelby Company and she's always eager to make her bosses proud. But one night, when Tommy give her the order to watch one of his business partners.... maybe she took the order "by any way you can" a bit to literally.... (WC-3.2k)

Ring Around the Roses (Alfie Solomons)- Attempting to get away from the Shelby party chaos, Alfie and his wife sneak off into Tommy's garden for a little fun. It isn't until the next morning they discover the consequences of their actions and Alfie has to remind his wife what their marriage is really about. (WC-6.6k

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Updated June 6th, 2023

**This list doesn’t catagorize what I consider as the incorrect quotes because there were too many of them when I decided to make this😂😂 But you should be able find most of the through in incorrect peaks blinders tag**

*I Don’t own any of the Peaky Blinders characters here.Those belong to the writers of Peaky Blinders*

#Masterlist #from the stories that live in my head

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moralesispunk · 2 years

Text

A Knight and His Fair Maiden (Marcus Pike x F! Reader)

Summary: Marcus Pike has loved all things historical and fantastical since he was a boy but after years of teasing he has kept it hidden until he moved to DC and happened upon a Renaissance Faire

Word Count: 5.3k Warnings: mentions of bullying/ teasing, Marcus has insecurities, reader is as much of a fantastical history fan as Marcus A/n: so this started because of a fic where I wrote about Marcus feeling like he was “too much” along with a tweet I made about some Pedro characters and the one thing they would geek out about - it is a meet-cute but at the heart of this fic, I hope, it’s about being confident in your own mind

This was stupid.

He felt like an idiot.

Marcus had been sitting in his car for forty-five minutes now and his hands had been gripping his steering wheel tight save for those moments his fingers dropped to brush against his key still locked in the ignition. Sometimes as he touched them he imagined turning the engine on, reversing back out of his parking spot and driving until he was parked back in front of his apartment and could go inside to forget about the whole ordeal. The other times he thought about pulling them out, placing him in the little leather satchel attached to his belt as he stepped out his car to get lost in the crowd heading straight for the rows and rows of tents.

Every time he almost drove away something would stop him - a roaring cheer from inside the maze of tents, the chatter of a crowd walking by his car made up of well-dressed knights and maidens, the smell of turkey legs that had his stomach rumbling and reminded him of his decision to skip breakfast because of the kaleidoscope of butterflies in the pit of his stomach - but then every time he went to step out of the car his confidence would be replaced doubt and he would throw his head back against the seat.

The story of how Marcus ended up here - fighting his own mind in his car as he stared down a Renaissance Fair as if it had personally offended him - is one that began thirty years ago.

Marcus’s interest in all things knights, kings and everything fantastical that comes with them started when he picked up a book on King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table at a school book fair. He read it from front to back so many times that the pages began to fall out and the spine had to be bound together by tape and glue; it was when his Mom found him putting on tape for the third time that she decided they had to indulge this interest. His parents would buy him more books, record more documentaries, find exhibits at the local museums where he would walk around for hours and read each and every plaque - he even one time found an inaccuracy and asked his Dad to find “the manager of the museum” so he could let them know.

The point where this turned from interest to passion was when his Mom and Dad bought him the collection of the Lord of the Ring books the summer before starting High School. He had read them non-stop all summer - fighting car sickness on the eight hour journey to visit his gran, sitting by the dull lamp in his bedroom so he could find out if Boromir stole the ring off Frodo before he fell asleep, hiding in his room at family parties so he could ignore the cousins that were just too old or just too young - but then on the first day of High School, Marcus felt something he never thought he would in relation to this love - embarrassment.

“Marcus, you don't really read that shit, do you?”

His friend, Ryan, had laughed loudly enough while pulling ‘The Return of the King’ from his bag that all his friends were now looking at the book and Marcus’s whole face burned in embarrassment. He gave a shaky excuse of “it's for my cousin,” and quickly hid it back in his bag, fighting off embarrassed tears until the final bell rang and he ran home.

As soon as he was home he took every last book from his shelf and hid it under his bed, standing in every corner of his room to make sure that none of the spines could be read. They stayed hidden under his bed for the rest of high school and every time someone was coming over, whether it was a friend after swim practice or that one time he managed to sneak in Megan Martins when his parents were out, he double and triple checked that they were still hidden. The only time he read them was in the dead of night, finding his favorite pages and reading them again and again until he fell asleep with the book on his chest and a smile on his face.

Marcus had hoped that when he moved away from college he could leave this embarrassment at home with the childish teasing that had him turning away from his interests in favor of the more acceptable ones like his role in the swim and baseball teams or going to whatever party was on that weekend. As he walked the halls of his dorms he saw posters on every board for something that sparked that excitement in his chest - everything from Dungeons and Dragons, which he had never heard of until now, to a Lord of the Rings trivia club - but when he did he realized that the embarrassment had soon gave way to shame and it sat heavy on his chest. He couldn’t even read the poster for a second too long without checking to see who was watching and there was absolutely no way he could ever have stepped over the threshold into one of these clubs.

Not long into his time at college Marcus met his first wife, Lucy. She was nice and pretty, and Marcus was never unhappy when they were together, but she didn’t get him and after a while Marcus realized that the absence of unhappiness is not happiness. His image of marriage had been based on his parents own happy one where they loved each and every thing about one another; he had watched his Mom patiently listen to his dad as he rambled on about old baseball games and as his Dad nodded along to his Mom’s enthusiastic retelling of every romance book she read. While Marcus had done this with Lucy, listening as she spoke about every single one of her interests, Lucy had only cringed when Marcus did this. Her smile would tighten when he started to talk a little bit faster and she would tap his hand whenever he got too loud. Soon enough - just like back in High School - Marcus had slipped his books off of the shelves to be hidden in the back of a wardrobe and he spoke less and less about the things he loved.

The only time he could really “geek out” was in his art history class. The first ever lecture was on Renaissance art, The Birth of Venus projected brightly onto the board of a pitch black lecture theater as he found a seat, and he spent the whole hour enamored with the way his professor spoke so enthusiastically about this art that she loved. It soon became his favorite part of the week, getting to see art from a period he loved while listening to someone who was unapologetically themselves as she spoke loudly and quickly about the art.

It’s why, when Marcus then went to Quantico and trained for the FBI, that he had found his way into the Art Crimes Department. He had pushed the part of him that could talk about this interest for hours on end down to the deepest part of his being, but at some point he had made the subconscious decision that if he couldn’t be open in his love for it then he could do everything in his power to protect it.

Not long after Marcus joined the Art Department he got a divorce, burying himself in his work until he eventually decided he would go back out on the dating scene. He tried to slip in his interests on one of the first dates he went on but when it was answered with a tight-lipped “oh… cool” he swapped it for baseball or swimming.

By the time he had moved to DC, another failed engagement under his belt, he had forced himself to stop thinking about it altogether - telling himself that it was just a silly childhood hobby and he didn’t need to bring it into adulthood. He had pinned his failed relationships on this - that he was too much in every way; in how he loved people and things, how he wanted to care and protect, he was just too much.

It was a random Tuesday while unpacking his new office in DC when his love for fantastical history was dropped back on his lap when a call from an unknown number flashed across his screen. After his usual answer of Agent Pike a voice he hadn’t heard in almost a decade came through the speaker.

“Lucy? Hi- Hello, how are you?”

The last time Marcus had spoken to his ex-wife had been the day they signed and filed the divorce papers. That’s not to say it was because of any ill-feelings; it had truly been an amicable divorce after having realized - after five years of marriage - that there wasn’t enough between them to sustain a friendship let alone a marriage.

In the first five minutes he had found out she was re-married and expecting their second child and he had told her of his recent promotion to the Head of the Art Crimes Department, honest congratulations shared between them before he cleared his throat.

“Sorry, Lucy, but was there a reason for this call…?”

“Oh, sorry!” She laughed and Marcus put the phone between his ear and shoulder as he tried to plug his laptop into the screens. “I went to get some things from storage for the new baby and I found two boxes with your name; they are full of books on all that knight-elf-wizard stuff so I was just wondering if you wanted me to ship them to you?”

It wasn’t that Marcus had forgotten about these boxes, he didn’t think he could ever forget that part of himself, but much like the way he had packed the boxes to the back of the wardrobe he had pushed those interests to the back of his mind.

“Marcus?”

“Sorry- that would be great, thanks Lucy.”

After deciding that Marcus would text his address and they would split the cost of shipping - neither letting the other pay in full after a bit of back and forth - the call ended and Marcus was left to think about something he had avoided for years.

No matter how hard he tried, Marcus couldn't fight down the bubble of excitement that stayed in the pit of his stomach for the two weeks before the boxes arrived. When they were finally delivered, left in the lobby of his building to carry up the stairs - which took a good twenty minutes after he had to stop every other step until he finally managed to kick them over the doorway - Marcus collapsed in a tired heap by the door and managed to rip the boxes open in the hallway.

There was every last book on the famous knights of history his Mom and Dad had bought him along with the Lord of the Rings books that were looking good for being more than twenty years old, there was even smaller fantasy series that he had bought with his own money when he worked his first job in the local cafe. He spent hours just looking through what was there, his back soon aching but going unnoticed when the giddy feeling was filling his chest as he read the back of each book. He placed the boxes in his hallway cupboard, leaving the three Lord of the Rings books out to start his first re-read in more than a decade.

Dating had been non-existent for Marcus in the past year of living in DC. Well, maybe not non-existent but he had never gone past a third date in that time. Somewhere between his fourth and sixth failed date he decided that maybe he wasn’t made to be in a relationship. He had tried it as himself - as the Marcus who loved all things historical and fantastical - and as a more edited version of himself - who avoided these topics of conversation - but neither worked. That was when Marcus decided he was going to live unapologetically as himself and what happened, happened. He built shelves to display his books and kept the three most important ones on his bedside table; he often had movie marathons where he would smile at the behind the scenes facts he had learned after going to see each film in the cinema at least ten times; he even had a hand painted Gandlaf on his desk at work and a lockscreen of ‘the Shire’ so he could look at it every day and begin plans for a solo-trip to New Zealand.

It had been a month ago when he saw the poster for the Renaissance Faire at the park only twenty minutes from his apartment and he had immediately snapped a photo before heading home to work on a costume. He had heard of these Faires before but the idea had never crossed his mind to attend one let alone get dressed up for one.

It wasn’t much but it was his first time and so with a pair of dark trousers, a white billowy shirt that had ties at the chest and a brown belt to match his brown boots, Marcus had got in his car and headed for the Faire. His excitement had outweighed his nerves until now; it had been that kind of excitement he had felt when his Dad had brought him to a museum or his Mom had handed him the wrapped books or when he went to see The Two Towers for a second time - but it was only when he parked that this excitement turned to nerves.

That embarrassment and shame - despite now being parked among hundreds of cars of like-minded people - was fighting its way up his stomach until it reached his chest and he reached for the keys for a final time, ready to turn them. He couldn’t do this.

“Hey there!”

Three taps against the driver's window made his hand halt and he turned to see who was there. It was a man, not too much younger than Marcus and dressed quite similar, waving at him to roll down the window. As soon as it cracked an inch the man began to talk again.

“Hey, sorry, are you going in?”

“I’m-”

“Great!” The man stopped him before Marcus even had the chance to think of an excuse. “I need help carrying some things for my stall, my friend’s caught in traffic, could you help?”

“I- uh-” Marcus sighed, pulling his keys out and winding the window back up, “sure.”

“Thanks so much, man. I don't think my back could take this alone.”

Marcus smiled, no matter how strained, and followed the man over to his car.

“It's just this table but it's a bit of a hassle going between all the cars as well.”

“It’s no problem,” Marcus said honestly.

Although slightly annoyed his great escape was thwarted - though he would never actually know if he turned the key or not - Marcus was never one to ignore someone asking for help.

Between the pair of them it didn't take long to carry the table through the car park, finding the back entrance to one of the tents where it was to be set up.

“I’ve got it from here, thanks and,” the man cleared his throat, “Good 'morrow to you!”

Marcus couldn’t help the grin that took over his face at the stranger’s somewhat chaotic and shy personality being taken over by something else entirely as he took his place behind his stall. He nodded to the man, a grumble that could be taken as a returned greeting suiting the times before Marcus lifted the opening to the stall and stepped out into the Faire.

The large park was completely taken over by a sight that Marcus could not have even pictured in his wildest dreams. The Faire was bustling with life; there was music and plays; couples laughing together and children running about; stalls selling jewelry, food and everything in between.

What could a five minute look around hurt?

Five minutes soon turned to ten, turned to twenty, turned to two hours of Marcus walking around the faire with a smile never leaving his face. It was so much but not enough all at the same time and he strolled around each and every stall that was there.

He stopped to watch a play, a group of ameuter actors putting on a performance that had their audience cheering and clapping along as they threw their heart and soul into it. He bought a turkey leg, because how could he have ignored how good they smelled, and spent five minutes after it trying to scrub the sauce from the corner of his mouth. He even spent half an hour just people-watching, looking at their costumes and even offering a quiet “good ‘morrow” in return when they passed him by.

He was finally starting to lose himself in the day, no longer checking the time, when a dancing figure caught his eye. There was music playing in the middle of the park now, a collection of violin-like instruments accompanying a young man’s songs of a knight and princess, and surrounding them was a group of people dancing, then right in the middle… there was you.

There was hundreds of people here and dressed for the occasion but there was something about you - about the way the sun seemed to light you or maybe the way your smile seemed to light up the whole faire as you laughed and swung in your friend’s arms - but whatever it was had Marcus pushing off from the edge of the stalls and walking towards you.

The green skirt you wore was swinging around your calves as you danced with bouncing steps, the white shirt slipping from your shoulder and revealing the soft skin of your chest and arms that were spilling slightly over the floral corset that was pulled tight.

Even over the music, over the chatter and cheers, Marcus could hear your laugh above all else. You threw your head back, the flower crown that was atop your head shifting slightly before you caught it with your hand and began to spin faster and faster.

He took one step and then another but as a couple passed by laughing in front of him he lost sight of you for a second and then you were… gone.

Marcus spun on his heels a few times, the bustle of the crowd almost making him dizzy as he used his height to scan over the crowd, but there was no sign of you. He sighed under his breath, his shoulders sagging as he rested back on his heels and began to head back to the stall he had been standing by when a loud horn cut through the crowd and everyone’s heads - Marcus’s included - turned around.

He could only just make out the words the man that was now standing on a box was yelling from the back of the crowd - the words duel and knights all he could make out - but then as the crowd began to walk towards an archway that lead to another part of the park, Marcus found himself following.

The whole crowd had soon filled the patches of grass that surrounded a square where the duel was planned to take place. Marcus, again, took a space near the back and beneath the shade of a tree but as he leaned against the trunk and crossed his arms in front of his chest he could feel the excitement for what was to come.

Right now, in the coming minutes, Marcus was about to witness something he had only dreamt of for years - a “real” duel. He smiled to himself and as the crowd cheered he felt himself doing the same, his feet tapping against the dry grass by the roots while he waited for the first knight to appear.

“First time?”

Marcus tore his eyes from the dueling ground long enough to look down over his folded arms, the smile still on his face when he noticed… you.

“H-hi, hello,” Marcus stumbled over his words, uncrossing his arms and turning to face you.

“Hi,” you giggled back, smiling up at him as he managed to catch himself from pushing off the tree too hard.

He laughed with you, shaking his head as you both leaned against the tree with your shoulders to face one another, and he couldn’t help but take a moment to look at just how beautiful you were.

Your smile was even brighter up close, your eyes sparkling along with it, and he couldn’t help but notice just how well your costume suited you. The skirt hung playfully off your hips where there was a floral cloth - one that matched your corset - tucket inside. Your shirt was tucked into the corset and he forced his eyes from your soft skin that was spilling from it, instead looking at the cloak that was now tied across your collarbone and hanging over your shoulders now you were out of the mid-day sun.

“So, was I right?” You asked and he furrowed his brows. “First time?”

“That obvious?” Marcus teased himself.

“No,” you waved him off, lifting your hand to cover your eyes from the sun that was peeking through the leaves and catching your gaze whenever you looked up at him, “well… maybe a little.”

You both laughed and when the first knight was announced Marcus shuffled slightly closer to you, blocking the sun from your eyes which you thanked with a small smile. The first knight took a lap of the dueling ground and you cheered loudly, looking up to Marcus and raising an eyebrow. He shook his head at you playfully, taking your lead and cheering on the knight. As you waited for the next knight to appear you turned back to him.

“Are you enjoying it?”

Marcus looked across the crowd for a moment, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth before he turned to face you once more.

“I… I am, I really am.”

“I remember my first fair,” you sighed, “it's like… freeing a part of yourself you'd never thought would be free.”

Marcus’s mouth fell open a little, amazed at the way you had put exactly what he was feeling into so few words. You had turned back to the front once more, clapping your hands as the next knight was being introduced. He let himself watch you for a moment before he would turn to cheer, seeing the way the sun sparkled through the trees and danced across your face. He watched as your face grew more excited as the knight galloped around the field, a cheer leaving your mouth as you clapped louder.

You had stayed by his side and cheered on the knights as the afternoon went on, using the break between duels to talk.

“So what's your thing then?” You asked after the first duel finished and when he tilted his head to question, you went on. “Like ‘the thing' that started everything and now you're here dressed up at a Ren Faire.”

“Oh, that thing,” he teased and you rolled your eyes. “Well… I work with a lot of art and my favorite, by a mile, is Renaissance art. I just loved looking at their clothes and the scenes, I just- I connected with it I guess.”

You never broke eye contact as he spoke, nodding and silently asking him to go on, and so finally he took a deep breath.

“But I think, the thing that really started this all was… Lord of the Rings.”

He waited. He waited for the tight smile or glazed over eyes, the polite “my friend is calling” or “that’s… nice” but then you smiled and laughed.

“Same!”

“Wait,” he shook his head, standing a little taller, “really?”

“Really! I can’t count how many times I’ve watched the movies or read the books but… it's just… perfect.”

And then Marcus smiled; he smiled so wide his cheeks hurt and before he knew it you were both talking loud and fast - finishing each other's sentences - as the duels went on. You spoke about your favorite characters - Sam and Aragorn, of course; your favorite films - yours the Two Towers and his Return of the King; your favorite book - now his the Two Towers and yours Return of the King…

“Okay, okay,” you said as the next duel ended, “if you had to get one quote tattooed on you, what would it be?”

“Book or movie?”

If it was possible your smile grew even wider, a shrug as you said either but your eyes burned bright and you leaned in even closer to him.

He thought for a moment, leaning against the tree and thinking about the passages he went back to re-read or scenes he rewatched a million times, before he spoke.

“Home is behind, the world ahead, and there are many paths to tread, through shadows to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight.”

“No. Way.” You whispered slowly, reaching into the basket you had left by your feet and pulling out a tote bag.

“I know it's not very period accurate but, a girl needs somewhere to keep her keys,” you explained, unfolding it to reveal the very words he had just said printed across the front.

His hand reached out, fingers skimming along the words before he looked back up to you.

“I made it,” you explained with a shrug, shying away a little as you folded it back up.

“You made this?”

You nodded, kneeling down and putting it back in your basket before standing up and brushing your skirt, all the while avoiding his eyes when you began to speak again.

“I have an etsy shop where I sell bags, jumpers, t-shirts like this,” you shrugged again and Marcus stood straighter, seeing a little of himself in how you shied away.

“That's amazing.”

Your head shot up, a slight crease between your brows but a hopefulness in your eyes.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nodded, smiling as you dipped your head lower and bit back your own smile. “And, I don't think I’ve said it yet, but I really like your costume.”

“Oh, thank you,” you took your skirt into your fists and swung it slightly, “I really like yours too, amazing for a first time!”

“Thanks,” he blushed, “did you make yours?”

“No, my friend did! I tell her what I want, design it if you will, and she makes it all up. She's amazing, she usually sells her stuff at a stall but she had to work this weekend so couldn't.”

“Well, if I come again I’ll be sure to check it out.”

“You should,” you smiled back.

You opened your mouth to talk again but another woman came up to your side, her hand on your wrist making your mouth shut and eyebrows crease as you turned to face her.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you for hours!”

“I don't think hours-”

“Well I started looking when the duels started and now they're finished so- oh, hello.”

The woman turned to Marcus and he smiled before looking back to you, only to find you had already been looking up at him. Had it really been hours? It felt like you had only been talking for ten minutes with how easy the conversation had flowed. He smiled at you but before he could talk you spoke.

“I better go,” you apologized, “but I hope to see you again at one of these?”

“Y-yeah, that would be nice,” Marcus nodded.

You smiled once more, picking up your basket before waving over your shoulder as your friend dragged you off. He watched you disappear in the crowd, as you turned back while stumbling over your feet slightly and gave him one last wave, but then when you were gone he realized… he didn't even get your name.

All in all it had been a good day.

No, not good, amazing, but there was still that small hint of sadness that Marcus carried as he walked back to his car. He hadn't spoken that enthusiastically about… well, anything really, since he was a child and you had made him feel so safe with it. He sighed when his car came back into sight, looking at the leaflet in his hand for the upcoming dates of the next Faires and the names of some clubs, but then as he unlocked his car he heard someone call from behind him.

“Hello, uhm, Mi’lord,” they laughed and he knew it was you before he even turned around, the full-of-light laugh reaching his ears as he turned to face you.

“Sorry, I didn't get your name,” you giggled, skipping to a stop in front of him.

“I was just thinking the same,” he replied, smiling down at you.

“Really?” You asked and he nodded.

You held your hand out, the basket of treats you bought today balancing at your elbow and Marcus shook it as you said your name.

“I’m Marcus,” he replied.

“Well, it was really nice to meet you today Marcus.”

A beat passed where no one spoke and just when you looked like you were about to turn on your heels he spoke again.

“Wait! Wait, sorry, I, uh-” he rubbed the back of his neck with his hands and you smiled back up at him, eyes wide waiting for him to go on, “would you want to maybe go for a drink some time? Or a coffee or dinner or anything really-”

“Dinner sounds lovely.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, opening his car door and reaching in for his phone.

He held your basket as you typed your number in, biting back a smile at how you began to over-explain everything that was crammed into it from your circle around the stalls that morning, before you handed his phone back.

“So, call me?” You laughed and he nodded.

“I’ll call you.”

“Oh, here,” you pulled a mug from the basket - one made to look like an old beer jug - and there in the middle were four words printed on it.

My First Ren Faire.

“What-”

“You need something to remember your first Faire with so,” you waved at the mug, “I saw it and thought of you.”

“That's,” Marcus cleared his throat, “that is very kind, thank you for this and for today.”

“There's no need for thanks, really. I had- I had a really good time today talking to you.”

He could see in your eyes that you truly meant it. That you hadn’t just listened to him for hours, as it happened to be, because there was nowhere else to go or you felt sorry for him - you had listened because you had enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed yours.

“Same,” he sighed. “I can't remember the last time I’ve enjoyed a conversation that much.”

You both smiled at each other for a moment before a few sharp beeps from a car made you laugh as you waved back at your friend.

“I better go now, but I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Me too,” Marcus smiled, for the first time completely confident in his skin as you took a few steps back.

“Mi’lord,” you curtseyed and he laughed.

“Mi’lady,” he bowed his head.

You walked backwards a few steps, your basket swinging as you bit down on your bottom lip, and then you finally turned to walk away.

For the first time in twenty-five years Marcus wasn't embarrassed, or shy or ashamed, at who he was and he felt for the first time that he wasn't too much - he was perfectly enough.