#atv

[longbeard2500]

[smzyyx]

Pregnancy with Arthur Frederick

Arthur Frederick x reader - fluff, angst

a/n - a collection of drabbles/senarios about pregnancy that have accumulated in my mind, layed out in chronilogical order ofc.

also idk if u guys can tell but I WILL be naming my potential future daughter anjali lol, such a sweet name

masterlist

more Dad!Arthur

c/w - pregnancy, established relationship, insecurity, gestational diabetes, labour description

I. two pink lines

The thing was, you'd been trying not to think about it.

Four days late wasn't unusual. Your cycle had been off before — stress, a bad week of sleep, that one month you ate nothing but pasta for a fortnight and your body just decided to protest. Four days was nothing. Four days was barely a blip.

But then it was eight days, and you told yourself it was just a longer cycle.

And then it was twelve, and you started sleeping weird.

And now it was fourteen days, and you were standing in the middle of Boots on a while Arthur was filming the podcast.

You were holding two different pregnancy tests, comparing their little diagrams on the back of the boxes with probably more focus than you'd ever given anything in your entire academic career.

You bought both.

You did them in the Boots bathroom because you genuinely could not wait until you got home. The little tiled room smelled like hand soap and there was a motivational quote on the wall about blooming where you're planted that felt deeply appropriate.

You sat on the closed lid of the toilet, tests balanced on the edge of the sink, and waited.

Three minutes had never felt so long in your life.

When you looked, both of them showed the same thing.

Pregnant.

You just stared at it.

Your hand came up to your mouth without you really deciding to move it.

Your eyes went blurry.

Pregnant.

You'd been trying for a few months. You knew it was possible. You wanted this, both of you had.

You had the conversation and bought the folic acid and everything, but somehow knowing it was possible and then actually seeing it were two completely different things.

Also you were absolutely crying in a Boots toilet on a Wednesday.

You pressed the backs of your hands to your cheeks. Took a breath.

Then you smiled so hard your face hurt.

II. reveal

You didn't tell Arthur.

Not that day, not the next. You meant to — you planned to, lying in bed that night while he scrolled on his phone beside you, his shoulder warm against yours.

The words sat right at the back of your throat.

'Arthur, I'm pregnant. Arthur, we're having a baby. Arthur, those tests I did in a Boots toilet this afternoon both said yes.'

But every time you opened your mouth, something stopped you.

Not fear, exactly.

More like — you wanted to sit with it for a second. Hold it for yourself, just briefly. This enormous, quietly extraordinary thing that was just yours for a little while.

So you kept it.

For a week, you kept it.

What you didn't know was that Arthur already knew.

Or strongly suspected, anyway — which to Arthur was basically the same thing.

It had started with the belly thing. You kept touching your stomach. Not in any obvious way, just absently, the flat of your palm pressed there when you were watching telly, or your fingers curling around your waist when you stood in the kitchen. He noticed.

Then there was the nausea. You'd gone a bit green one morning and quietly said you weren't hungry and disappeared back upstairs.

He stood in the kitchen holding the plate of noodles he made you and thought about it for a long time.

And then — and this was the one that had really done it — you hadn't mentioned needing more pads.

He wasn't trying to track that. It wasn't weird, it had just become something he was aware of, the same way he was aware of when you were running low on your shampoo or when you'd had a hard week and needed a takeaway instead of cooking.

He paid attention to you. That was all. And the absence of that particular addition to the shopping list was quite strange.

He hadn't said anything. He was waiting for you to be ready.

It was a Sunday evening when you finally said it.

You'd made dinner — pasta, because it was the only thing your stomach was reliably okay with lately — and you sat across from each other at the kitchen table.

Arthur had been talking about something Isaac said on the podcast and then trailed off because you'd gone quiet.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah." You pushed a piece of pasta around your plate. "Actually — no. I mean, yes. I'm fine. I just need to tell you something."

He put his fork down.

"Okay," he said, and his voice was very calm. The careful kind of calm that meant he was paying close attention.

You looked up at him. Your heart was going absolutely stupid fast. "So, um." You laughed a little, which wasn't what you'd planned. "I've sort of known for a week, which I know, I'm sorry, I just needed a minute—"

"You're pregnant," Arthur said.

You blinked. "I— what?"

"You're pregnant?" He said it the same way. Steady. Like he'd been sitting with it too.

"How did you—" You pointed at him, slightly outraged. "Arthur. How."

"The belly thing." He gestured vaguely at where your hand had just been, resting on your stomach without you noticing. "And you were nauseous last week. And you didn't ask me to by pads."

"You noticed that?"

"I notice everything." He shrugged, but his eyes were very bright. "I wasn't going to say anything. I was waiting for you."

You stared at him. Your vision had gone blurry again.

"So," he said softly. "Are you?"

"Yeah," you whispered. "I am."

The smile that broke across his face then was the kind you didn't see all the time — wide and unguarded and a little bit overwhelmed, the kind he couldn't have controlled if he'd tried.

He was out of his chair before you'd finished the word, and then his arms were around you and his face was in your hair and he was just holding you tight. You pressed your face into his shoulder and finally let yourself cry properly.

"I knew it," he murmured into your hair. His voice wasn't entirely steady. "I knew it, I knew it."

"You could've said something," you said, half-laughing, half-crying.

"I was being respectful."

"You were being smug."

"I was being both." He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. His eyes were glassy.

III. appointments

The first appointment was a lot of information delivered by a very nice GP who clearly gave this talk multiple times a day.

You sat side by side on the little chairs in her office while she walked you through what came next — blood tests, booking appointments with the midwife, the dating scan, what to expect, what to avoid, the list of foods that were suddenly banned which meant no pub crawls.

Arthur had brought a notepad and he was writing things down.

The GP had glanced at it with a small approving smile and said that's very thorough and you'd had to look at the ceiling to compose yourself because you loved him so much it was actually ridiculous.

"Do you have any questions?" she asked at the end.

Arthur looked at his notepad. He had many bullet points.

You did not have a notepad. You had one question, which was whether the no soft cheese rule was truly non-negotiable or more of a guideline.

(It was non-negotiable. You were devastated.)

The twelve-week scan was a different thing entirely.

You were nervous in a way you hadn't quite expected — not about anything being wrong — just about the reality of it suddenly becoming very, very real.

Arthur held your hand in the waiting room. His thumb was moving back and forth against your knuckles, steady as a metronome, and you weren't sure if he was doing it for you or for him or both.

"You're going to cry," you told him.

"I'm not going to cry."

"Arthur."

"I might cry a little."

"This is mental isn't it?" you said with a huge grin.

Arthur laughed at how strange you were being, "Yes it is."

The sonographer was warm and professional, she put the cold gel on your stomach and then started the actual process of scanning.

There it was — this small, unmistakable shape on the screen, the flutter of a heartbeat, a whole tiny person (although it was hard to make the shape out) already stubbornly in existence.

You heard Arthur exhale very slowly.

"There's the heartbeat," the sonographer said, and she angled the screen slightly so you could both see. "Looking good."

Arthur was gripping your hand hard enough that you could feel every individual finger. "That's—" He stopped. Cleared his throat. "That's the baby."

"That is indeed the baby," the sonographer confirmed, professionally.

You looked at him. His jaw was clenching very hard like he was trying to stay composed, and his eyes were absolutely glistening.

"You're crying," you said.

"I have something in my eye."

"Arthur, we're in a hospital."

"They have dust here too, you know."

You laughed, even with your own eyes watering, and turned back to the screen, and for a moment neither of you said anything — just looked at this small, extraordinary, impossible thing you'd somehow made together.

"That's really mental," Arthur said, quietly. Not embarrassed by it. Just honest.

"Yeah," you agreed.

The sonographer smiled, "I see you're both very happy."

You replied trying not to laugh hysterically at just how amazing this predicament was, "Maybe a bit."

III. baby bump

By five months, you were unmistakably, beautifully (especially in Arthur's eyes) showing.

You'd gone through a phase of not quite believing it when you looked in the mirror — the bump was there but your brain kept lagging behind the physical reality.

But now it was there. Round and present and impossible to ignore, and Arthur treated it like it was the most precious thing he'd ever seen, which, in hindsight, was adorable but also occasionally infuriating because it meant he wouldn't let you do anything.

"I'm getting a glass of water," you said.

"Sit down, I'll get it."

"Arthur, it is a glass of water."

"Don't worry, I've got it." He chirped walking to the kitchen.

"I am five months pregnant, not made of glass—"

"I don't want you to strain yourself baby."

You rolled your eyes whilst trying to prevent a smile from breaking through and sat down. He got you the water with crushed ice in it because he knew you liked to chew it. You took it with the most exasperated expression you could manage but deep down the gesture, along with all the other ones, made you melt.

The nights were quite different though.

In the mornings Arthur was attentive in an occasionally slightly overbearing way, and during the day he was always hovering at a slight distance, and that was all sweet and honestly quite funny.

But in the nights, with the lamp off and the room dark and warm, he was so incredibly soft..

He had this thing he did.

When he thought you were asleep, he'd shift down a little, and he'd press a kiss to the curve of your bump, quiet and gentle, and he'd talk to the baby in this low murmur that you could only half make out — telling them about his day, or asking them questions they obviously couldn't answer, or just saying I can't wait to meet you.

You'd never told him you were often still awake for this.

You figured it was his thing, and you didn't want to make him self-conscious about it. So you lay there with your eyes closed and listened to him tell your unborn baby about the football, or about something funny Isaac had said.

It made you feel so full of warm.

One night he was mid-sentence about a game of chess he played when you couldn't help it.

"Arthur," you said.

His head stuck up immediately to look at you, he had a very embarrassed expression on himself. "Oh um — I thought you were asleep."

"I know."

He paused trying hide his bashful smile and shock. "How long have you been awake for these?"

"A while," you admitted.

He was quiet for a second. Then he just kissed your bump again, unbothered, and said to your stomach, "your mum's been eavesdropping on us".

There was one afternoon, though, that was harder.

You had been looking at photos from before — not intentionally, you were just scrolling back through your camera roll to find something else and ended up staring at yourself from six months ago, which felt like a different lifetime. Your body was different now. Bigger, slower, rounder, covered in tiger stretch mark.

You knew it was for a reason and that it would happen. You knew that. But it didn't always stop the small mean voice that crept in sometimes.

Arthur found you in the bathroom, leaning on the sink, not crying exactly but not not-crying either.

He didn't ask what was wrong immediately. He just came up behind you, put his hands on your shoulders, and looked at you in the mirror.

"Hey pwincess," he said with a discord mod voice.

"I'm fine." you said with a slight giggle. He knew how to crack you (in more ways than one)

"Pwincess pwease —."

"I just—" You exhaled. "I don't look like me anymore."

Arthur's hands moved from your shoulders to your waist, arms wrapping around you from behind.

"You look like you," he said simply. "You look like you, and you look like someone who's growing a baby, and I think you look incredible." He said it without inflection, like it was just a fact he was reporting. "And I know that's not always enough to shut the voice up. But it's what I actually think."

You leaned back into him.

"The voice is annoying," you said.

"Tell it to get out of your bathroom," he said. "This is a nice bathroom."

You laughed despite yourself, and he kissed the top of your head, and you stayed there for a while until it passed.

V. twenty-four weeks

The gestational diabetes diagnosis came on a Tuesday afternoon, after what was supposed to be a routine appointment.

The consultant explained everything sweetly and calmly, how pregnancy hormones could make your body less responsive to insulin, how it wasn’t your fault, how common it was, how most people managed it through diet, exercise, and monitoring, and how some people needed medication later depending on their numbers. She talked about fasting glucose, post-meal readings, carbohydrate distribution, portion sizes, protein and fibre, extra scans, and the possibility of induction if the baby grew too large.

You sat there nodding which was easier than admitting your brain had stopped fully processing words around minute three.

—

On the drive home, Arthur kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding your hand.

At a red light, he squeezed your hand once.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “We’re okay.”

You nodded without looking at him. “I know, it's just — I, I don't know.”

—

The first week was the hardest.

Not because anything dramatic happened — your blood sugar wasn’t wildly uncontrolled, nobody was rushing you to hospital, the baby was fine — but because the diagnosis was always on your mind.

You found yourself standing in supermarket aisles reading nutrition labels with concentration. Bread that had never mattered before suddenly mattered. Rice mattered. Fruit mattered. Portion sizes mattered.

At home, a small glucose monitor kit took up permanent residence on the kitchen counter. Four times a day you had to wash your hands, prick your finger, squeeze out a drop of blood, feed it to the strip, and wait for a number that seemed capable of dictating your mood for the next hour.

Some readings were fine. Some were frustratingly high for reasons you couldn’t always identify. Those were the worst ones — the meals that seemed reasonable, the walk you’d taken afterwards, the number that still came back above target.

One evening after dinner, you sat at the kitchen table staring at the monitor for so long that the screen timed out twice. Arthur openedthe front door after a whole day of filming with the sidemen, carrying a bag of shopping.

“You haven’t tested yet,” he said softly.

You exhaled sharply. “I know.”

He set the bag down and pulled out the chair beside you. “Bad day?”

“I’m tired of thinking about it.” You rubbed at your eyes. “It’s like my brain never gets a break., I just want to eat some bloody pudding”

Arthur was quiet for a moment, then said, “You’re allowed to hate it.”

You looked at him. “It feels dramatic to hate finger pricks.”

“I don’t think it’s the finger pricks,” he said. “I think it’s the constantness.”

“Yes,” you said, your voice louder than you intended. “Exactly.”

Arthur reached for your hand. “You’re carrying our baby and managing a medical condition at the same time. I know how horrible things are right now, I', here whenever you need me okay?"

You laughed weakly. “You sound like AI.”

“Bloody hell.”

That earned a real smile.

Eventually he took the monitor from your hand and set it gently on the table. “Want me to sit with you while you do it?”

“You always sit with me.”

“I know.”

You pulled back enough to look at him. “You don’t have to.”

“I know that too.”

—

A week later, a package arrived. You opened it and stared at the contents in disbelief.

“Arthur.”

He looked up from the sofa. “Hmm?”

“What is this?”

“A case.”

“For what?”

“For your monitor kit.”

The depressing beige NHS pouch had been replaced with a really cute, embroidered bag. It had compartments for strips and lancets and alcohol wipes. It was very whimsical.

You laughed helplessly. “This is ridiculous.”

“You hated the old one.”

“It was functional.”

“You described it as shit coloured”

—

The walks started after the midwife mentioned that gentle movement after meals could help with blood sugar control. Arthur latched onto the suggestion immediately.

The first time he proposed an evening walk, you stared at him in disbelief.

“It’s seven-thirty.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s raining.”

“It’s only drizzling.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Wait who is the father...”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

You rolled your eyes jokingly as you stood up. “Such a bastard.”

He laughed, grabbed your coat from the hook, and held it open for you. “Come on. Twenty minutes. Then we can come home and complain about the weather together.”

Somehow, it became one of the best part of your days.

Dinner, then coats, then the two of you moving slowly through quiet streets while the sky darkened around you. Sometimes you talked about names or nursery furniture or what colour the baby’s eyes might be. Sometimes you complained about glucose readings or swollen ankles or strangers who insisted on giving pregnancy advice in supermarkets. Sometimes you walked in comfortable silence while Arthur kept one hand at your waist.

VI. eight months

The beach was Arthur's idea.

He'd been planning it for about two weeks.

He checked the forecast, found a stretch of coast that wouldn't be too busy, and packed a couple bags with meticulous thoroughness.

"It's just a beach trip," you'd said, as you sat on the bed and watched his shirtless frame move around the room like a madman looking for another bottle of sunscreen.

"It's very important," he said.

"Would have prefered a trip to skeggy butlins mate." You said deadpan.

Arthur laughed at that, but then he went back into robot mode again: "You need snacks that won't spike your levels, you need somewhere to sit that isn't on the ground because you said your hips have been bad, there's a foam mat in the bag, there are two types of sunscreen, I just need to find the other one—"

"Arthur."

"Two types," he repeated, and folded a towel.

It was a good day.

The light was low and golden and the beach wasn't empty but wasn't crowded either. You sat on the mat with your feet in the sand, bump settled and present in front of you, sunglasses on.

Arthur sat beside you occasionally handing you things from the bag.

"Stop fussing Arthur, I'm more relaxed than you are," you said, grinning at his sweetness.

"I'm not fussing. Do you want the crackers?"

"I just had crackers."

"Different crackers."

"Arthur—" But you were laughing, and he was grinning, and you took the different crackers.

After splashing about in the sea and making stupid sandcastles you returned to the spot with your belongings.

He lay down on his side, head propped on one hand, and very naturally placed his other hand against the side of your bump. Just resting there.

The baby moved.

You both felt it — the unmistakable roll of a small person adjusting position. It still made your breath hitch.

"There she is," Arthur said softly, without thinking, and then caught himself. You were keeping the gender a surprise. "Or he. There they are."

"Nice recovery," you said.

"I don't know why I said that, I genuinely don't know what we're having."

"Sure."

"I don't." He looked slightly panicked. "Do you know? Did you sneak a look at the results and not tell me—"

"I don't know!" You held your hands up. "I swear!"

"Okay. Good. We don't know. We're in agreement."

"We're in agreement."

He settled back down, hand still against your bump. "Come on then," he said, to your stomach. "Move again. Let's see it."

The baby obliged, and Arthur's whole face went soft again.

You took a photo of him like that. Lying on his side, one hand on your bump, looking at you with the sea behind him.

Later, walking back to the car at a pace that was entirely dictated by your comfort, which Arthur matched without comment, he had one arm looped through yours and was talking about something, some anecdote from filming, and midway through it he stopped and said, "You're happy, right?"

You looked at him. "What?"

"Right now. Today. You're — it's been good?"

"Arthur, it's been genuinely lovely."

He nodded, absorbing this. "Good."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He said it simply. "I just — I want it to be good for you. I know the last couple months have been a lot."

You stopped walking. He stopped with you, automatically.

You reached up and put your hand on his face, and he leaned into it slightly, and you said, "You've made it good."

He covered your hand with his for a second. Then he kissed your palm, and started walking again, you went with him.

VII. early

Just a week left till the birth.

That was the thing you kept thinking about lately, as you sat on the floor of the hallway with your back against the wall and your phone in your hand and your other hand pressed to your stomach.

Then some horrid cramps hit.

You were supposed to have another week. It was too early. This was probably nothing. This was almost certainly Braxton Hicks, which you'd had before and which were uncomfortable but manageable.

You'd been fine all morning. Arthur had left at half ten to film a football challenge for Chris — with Bach and George and Arthur Hill, a full day thing.

He kissed you goodbye and told you to call him if you needed anything so you said "I'm pregnant, not helpless"

He said "noted, call me if you need anything okay?" — you pushed him out the door.

The first contraction had come at about half twelve.

You'd timed it.

The second came twenty minutes later.

Still probably Braxton Hicks. Your body had been practising. That was a thing.

By the third, an hour in, you were on the floor of the hallway because it had hit you mid-walk and you'd just sat down.

You timed the next three.

Regular. Getting closer.

It was happening.

You got your shoes — though it took an embarrassingly long time, bending that far wasn't really an option anymore, you had to sort of approach the problem from the side.

You got your hospital bag from the bottom of the stairs where it had been sitting for three weeks, and you got the car keys and called Arthur.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Hey—"

"So," you said, and you were going for casual but your voice was giving it away. "I think this might be it."

Three seconds of silence.

"What."

"I think I'm in labour." You paused as another contraction started building, and you breathed through it, and in the background you could hear something — voices, the echo of a large space. "I'm timing the contractions, they're regular, I've got the bag—"

"Stay there." His voice had gone very focused. "I'm coming to drive you. Stay there, don't move, I'll be there in twenty—"

"Arthur, I was literally about to drive myself, it's fine, I can probably get through—"

"No. No, absolutely not. Stay there."

In the background you heard someone — Bach, you thought — say "Arthur what's happening?"

"She's in labour," Arthur said, clearly not to you.

And then there was a lot of noise from the background, all at once, a chorus of overlapping male voices that you could only partially make out — "oh my god, is she alright?", "Arthur go", "mate get out of here—"

"I'm coming," Arthur said, back to you. "Are you okay? How far apart?"

"About eight minutes—"

"Eight minutes?—"

"That's still time, it's fine—"

"You sound like you're in pain."

"I'm in labour, Arthur, that is generally the thing that—" You stopped. Another one. Coming faster than eight minutes.

You pressed your hand flat against the wall and worked through it, and you heard Arthur on the other end go very quiet, just listening.

When it passed, you exhaled slowly.

"Okay," Arthur said, and his voice was very careful. "That sounded close together."

"It's fine," you said, less convincingly than before. "I was going to drive—"

"You are not driving yourself to the hospital, please, I am begging you—"

"Arthur—"

"Please. I will be there so fast, just sit by the door—"

From the background: "Arthur for the love of god, GO, we're not filming anything!"

And then Arthur Hill's voice, very clearly: "Arthur, we love you both, get in the car!"

And George: "Good luck reader!! Arthur MOVE—"

"I have to go," Arthur said. "I will be there in twenty minutes. Sit by the door. Please."

"Okay," you said. "Okay, I'll—okay."

You ended up sitting exactly where you'd been before, back against the wall, bag beside you, slightly wet-eyed from the last contraction and also possibly from just the weight of the fact that this was actually happening.

Arthur was coming. You were going to the hospital. There was a whole human being on the way out of you.

You heard the car before you saw the lights through the glass panel of the front door.

Arthur was through the door in approximately four seconds, crouching down in front of you before you'd even fully registered he was there, both hands on your face, eyes doing a rapid check of you from top to bottom.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," you said, slightly tearfully.

"Can you walk to the car?"

"Yeah—"

"Okay, arm around me. We're going."

He got you up and out and into the passenger seat, and the hospital bag went in the back, and he got in and drove, one hand on the wheel and one hand firmly in yours, and you did not let go of it once.

VIII. Anjali

There was no way to make it not long. You knew that going in.

But there was a difference between knowing it and living it.

knowing this will be intense and lying in a hospital bed with Arthur's hand in yours, crushing it with a grip that he took completely without comment, and saying at least three times that you wanted it to be over.

"I know," he said, every time. "You're doing so well."

"Stop saying I'm doing well—"

"You are."

"It doesn't feel like—" You broke off through another contraction screaming in pain.

The pain was searing, tears rolling down your strained face again and again as your cried through it.

And then she was born.

One moment she wasn't there, and then she was crying

"It's a girl," the midwife said.

You looked at Arthur, your face red and tear stained, his face also tear stained.

He was looking at her, being placed on your chest — this small, red-faced, aggressive little person.

Tears were running without him making any move to stop them, jaw working slightly.

"Hi," he said. His voice broke on it. Just that one syllable.

She made a small sound against your chest.

You pressed your lips to the top of her head and kept them there for a long time.

"Anjali," you said softly. You'd both known the name since about week twenty but you'd never said it out loud with her actually there, and now it was real.

Arthur reached out and touched her hand — her impossibly small hand, fingers already fisted — and she wrapped them around his finger with crazy grip.

His whole face crumpled, just briefly.

"Hi, Anjali," he said. "We've been waiting for you."

You looked at him, and at her, and at the two of them together — his finger in her fist, her face against your chest.

"She's got your nose," you said.

Arthur laughed through his tears. "She does not."

"She absolutely does."

"She's been alive for four minutes, you cannot tell whose nose—"

"Arthur." You looked at him. "She has your nose."

He looked at Anjali. He looked at you.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Maybe a bit."

a/n - EEEEEK guys this shit made me giddy

like and comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3 lmk if u wanna be on the taglist

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[oldschoolfrp]

The ATV is a standard exploration vehicle carried on many starships. It has cramped quarters to house up to 8 crew, a mass of 10 tons, a range of 5000 km between refuelings, and costs CR30,000. (Tom Smith, "The Ship's Locker: ATV," The Journal of the Travellers’ Aid Society 3, 1979)

At first glance the ATV seems designed for hunting Reticulan Parasites, though this article predates the smaller 4-wheeled APC in Aliens by 7 years. It appears to be inspired by several 8-wheeled military vehicles of the 20th century, and maybe a touch of the Landmaster from Zelazny's Damnation Alley.

[softdetachment]

Soft Intimacy- Arthur Fredrick

Summary- Arthur has always been painfully gentle with you — patient, careful, impossible not to love. But after months of wanting him, one night finally pushes both of you past the point of restraint.

Content- smut, fluff, soft love

Author's notes- aaah I love him

Word count- 1932

Since you'd started seeing Arthur, you'd always had this recurring thought about how attractive it would be to see his innocent face turn red.

He was always such a gentleman, even when things became more intimate.

Whenever the two of you made out, he'd touch you so delicately, like he was scared to push his luck. His fingers would graze your waist, your thighs, but that was usually as far as it went. You'd never actually crossed the line into sex.

You adored his gentlemanly behaviour, but deep down there was an urge to wreck it. To push him over the edge. To turn him on to the point he completely lost control.

You loved that he wasn't rushing you. It was obvious he liked you for you, not for the reasons most men these days seemed to want girlfriends. But it had reached the point where you wanted more. Needed more.

That brought you back to the present moment.

You and Arthur had just come back from an evening out with friends — drinks, laughter, catching up.

Alcohol hummed warmly through your system as you lay across his bed, still wearing the dress from earlier. It was low-cut, revealing just enough to make a man's eyes linger.

When you'd walked into Arthur's apartment earlier that evening, you'd caught the way his breath hitched ever so slightly. The subtle widening of his pupils as his eyes dipped down your body hadn't gone unnoticed either. You'd practically been willing him to act on it — to cancel the plans altogether and drag you straight to the bedroom.

But of course, he hadn't.

Instead, he'd swallowed hard, quickly averted his eyes, and muttered a shy little: "You look nice."

You watched him now from across the bed as he sat undoing his shoelaces, the dim light catching the sharp curve of his side profile, his jaw lined with soft stubble.

Heat spread slowly through you as you looked at him.

You wanted him in a way you'd never wanted anyone before. Arthur wasn't just beautiful — he understood you. The conversations you shared about life, philosophy, the world. He stimulated you mentally just as much as physically. His intelligence, his softness, the way he listened to you like every word mattered — it all made the ache for him worse.

"Arthur," you whispered softly.

He glanced over immediately.

The second his eyes met yours, it felt like being struck by lightning.

"What's wrong? You okay?" he asked, concern instantly colouring his voice — such a stark contrast to the thoughts currently running through your head.

Instead of answering, you pushed yourself across the bed and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him down on top of you.

His hands instinctively landed on your waist to steady himself.

You crashed your lips against his, hoping the kiss alone would tell him exactly how badly you wanted him.

"Wow... where'd that come from?" he laughed softly against your lips, clearly caught off guard.

You ignored the question completely, pulling him flush against you before kissing him again, harder this time.

You felt the shift almost instantly.

The way his breathing deepened. The way his fingers tightened around your waist.

After a few seconds he pulled away again, cheeks slightly flushed, clearly trying to regain composure. Trying to keep things sweet. Safe. PG.

But that wasn't what you wanted anymore.

You were tired of wanting.

So you reached for the hem of your dress and pulled it over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it carelessly onto the floor.

Arthur froze.

His eyes dragged slowly over your body, your matching lace set now fully on display beneath him.

"Holy shit," he breathed.

For a second he genuinely looked like he'd forgotten how to function.

You reach for his hand and drag it slowly to your thighs. The feeling of his skin against yours is electric.

He palms the soft skin of your leg as he looks at your eyes.

“I want you, Arthur,” you breathed softly.

His expression changed instantly.

For a moment he just stared at you, like his brain was struggling to catch up with what you’d said.

“I— we don’t have to rush anything,” he said quickly, though the way his hand tightened against your thigh betrayed him completely.

A quiet laugh escaped you.

“Arthur,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his again, “stop trying so hard to be a gentleman for five minutes.”

The effect those words had on him was immediate.

The composure he'd been clinging to finally cracked.

His mouth crashed back against yours with a desperation you'd never felt from him before, one hand tangling into your hair while the other pulled you impossibly closer. The kiss turned heated quickly — messy, breathless, needy.

And somehow that made it even better.

Because beneath all the restraint, beneath all the softness and patience, he'd wanted this just as badly as you had.

A small groan escapes him, enough to send fresh heat rushing between your legs.

One hand goes to your hair, tangling itself in it and the other hand is on your lower back.

You grind down against him, your lips still locked, you can feel his growing erection.

"Fuck reader" he groans into your mouth.

He pulls his face away from you ever so slightly "Are u sure?" his eyes search your face for any hint of doubt about this.

Instead of giving him a verbal answer you drag one of his hands to cup you through your underwear, allowing him to feel the heat and the wetness.

He groans again, his palm pressing into you. His face was fully flushed now, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed his irises whole.

"I need you tell me you want this, that you're sure" he whispers almost pleadingly, needing your verbal confirmation.

"I'm sure" you whisper against his lips.

In that moment something inside him snaps.

He's done pretending like he's not thought about fucking you in every possible way.

He grinds his palm against you, dragging your face closer by the back of your neck. You let out soft moans in-between kisses which send blood rushing to his erection.

His finger slip into your underwear, you let out an audible gasp as his he runs his fingers down your folds.

"You're so wet" He whispers his face breaking into a small smirk.

Now a blush is seeping onto your cheeks too.

His fingers enter you slowly, "Shit" you moan gripping his shoulder, the material of his shirt bunched up in your hand.

"Shhh" he whispers teasingly as his fingers begin to move inside you, you trying to move your face against his neck but he holds you back by ur hair, wanting to watch your face as he fingers you; to make sure you're enjoying every second of this.

His fingers moved expertly, every motion dragging soft moans and broken little whimpers from your lips.

He curled his fingers hitting just the right spot "Fuck Arthur" You moan out gripping onto him harder.

"That's it, right there yeh?' He whispers with a soft smirk, a stark contrast to your usually gentleman of a boyfriend.

His whispering of soft words is intoxicating, only adding to your arousal.

He's got you singing in his hand now, as you get closer and closer to release you being to roll your hips into this hand, searching for more and more friction.

"Fuck look at you" Arthur whispers out, eyes locked on your movements looking truly mesmerised by the site in front of him.

"Does it feel good?' he hums, fingers never slowing you.

You whimper and nod rapidly, driving him insane, his erection fully solid now.

"Holy shit you're beautiful like this" he murmurs, feeling your walls clench around his fingers.

"Your close aren't you, let go" he swipes your hair from your face as he watches your body come undone on his hand, your breathing rapid and heavy as your whole body tightens before coming crashing down. Waves of pleasure lapping over you.

He doesn't stop, his fingers still moving relentlessly, working you through your high.

Once it's over, he pulls his fingers out of you sucking them clean, eyes locked onto yours as he does so. Your eyes darken at the site, hands reaching down undoing his trousers.

There's a soft intimacy in the air, the desire, the need to please each other, to hear the other's body hum and come undone.

You take off his trousers and boxers before positioning yourself to take him in your mouth but he stops you, dragging you up positioning you above him.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat as he guides you down onto him by your hips, you gasp as he stretches your walls before sliding fully inside.

"Jesus Christ" You whimper.

The heat, the wetness, the tightness of your walls, its taking every once of restraint in Arthurs body not to flip you onto your back and pound into you till the sun comes up. But he wants to let you take control, wants to ensure he pleases and worships your body.

You shift you weight onto your knees and begin to ride him, grinding the tip of his cock down inside you on the spot that drives you insane.

"Fuck reader" he moans his hands now on your arse, gripping you like he's trying to anchor you to him.

You move together, every time you grind down, he presses his hips up, pushing himself deeper into you hitting every spot.

The movements are desperate and frantic like you cant get enough of the feeling of each other.

The room fills with sounds of you soft moans and his groans and grunts.

"Fuck you feel incredible" He whimpers hands gliding up and down your sides.

You press your forehead against his and your movement continues, your eyes are locked, the moment so intimate that not a thing could break you away from it.

The in sync movement, the intense eyecontact, its all too much for both of you, your bodies quickly begin to collapse together.

"Fuck im not going to last long if you keep moving like that" He groans, body humming with pleasure.

"Neither" You whimper out, the words barely audible between ur cries of pleasure.

He flips you onto your back, ramming himself into you all the way.

"Arthur" You scream, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You run you nails down his back as you let him take control of you.

His thrusts are deep and relentless each one sending shivers of pleasure through you.

Sweat drips down his abs.

You scratch and dig your nails into his back harder, like you're anchoring yourself to him.

His pace gets sloppy, his breathing gets more and more ragged.

You're both right on the edge. He uses his finally bit of energy to thrust into you hard and deep. A loud cry of pleasure leaves both of you as you tip over the edge. Breathless and on cloud nine.

He collapse onto the bed next you.

"Holy shit" You murmur seeing stares.

He pulls you to his side and plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I love you so much" He whispers into your hair.

Your heart stutters, that's the first time either of you have said those words.

You flip onto your side to face him.

"Do you mean that?"

"More than you'll ever know" he replies softly

You wrap your arms around him pulling him into a hug and whisper into his neck "I love you too".

[buttlesangel]

ArthurTV nsfw alphabet ᥫ᭡

( content warnings : 18+ mdni , sexual content , cum play, praise, good girl kink, atv is a power bottom?? etc, )

( a/n ) : its has been SO long since I wrote for ATV seriously, i missed him awhhhhh

AFTERCARE what they're like after sex Arthur becomes incredibly tender and attentive after sex, his dominant demeanor softening into gentle care. He'll run his fingers through your hair, placing soft kisses on your forehead and temples. "You were absolutely gorgeous for me, sweetheart," he'll whisper, his voice low and husky. He's meticulous about making sure you're comfortable, adjusting pillows, bringing water, and wrapping you in blankets. Arthur has this habit of tracing patterns on your skin as you both come down, sometimes absentmindedly drawing hearts on your back or arms. He's not overly talkative afterward, preferring to communicate through touch and soft gazes, but he makes sure you know how cherished you are.

BODY PART their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's Arthur's favorite part of his own body is surprisingly his hands. He has long, slender fingers that he knows drive you wild, whether they're tangled in your hair, gripping your hips, or exploring every inch of your skin. On you, he's obsessed with your neck and collarbones. He loves leaving faint marks there, not to claim ownership, but as a secret reminder of your time together that only you'll know about when you're clothed. He's constantly touching your neck when you're together, even in non-sexual contexts, his fingers sometimes tracing your pulse point.

CUM anything to do with cum, basically Arthur has a thing for finishing inside you, feeling the intimacy of that connection. That said, he also loves the visual of pulling out and watching his release on your stomach or back. He finds it incredibly erotic to see you marked by him, even temporarily. He's not particularly messy but enjoys the aftercare of cleaning you up, which often leads to round two. He has a secret fondness for when you taste yourself on his fingers after he's touched you, and he'll kiss you deeply afterward, savoring the combined flavors.

DIRTY SECRET pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs Arthur has a hidden collection of audio recordings of your intimate moments together, only with your enthusiastic consent, of course. Nothing visual, just the sounds of your pleasure. He sometimes listens to them when he's traveling and missing you, finding comfort in the memory. His dirtiest secret is that he once masturbated to one of these recordings while on a video call with you, though you had no idea what he was doing just out of frame. The risk of being caught turned him on immensely.

EXPERIENCE how experienced are they? do they know what they doing? Arthur is more experienced than he lets on, though he's not promiscuous. He's had a few meaningful relationships and some casual encounters, giving him a good understanding of different bodies and preferences. What makes him exceptional is his observational nature, he pays attention to every reaction, every gasp, every shiver, learning exactly what drives you wild. He's particularly skilled at reading your non-verbal cues, often knowing what you want before you do.

FAVORITE POSITION this goes without saying Despite being a bottom, Arthur loves riding you while maintaining control. He enjoys setting the pace, leaning down to kiss you deeply, changing angles to hit his own sweet spot while watching your face. His second favorite is you taking him from behind while he's on his knees, but with his back arched and head turned to maintain eye contact. He likes the vulnerability of the position combined with the intimacy of seeing your reactions.

GOOFY are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc. Arthur's dry British humor often comes out during sex, though never at inappropriate moments. He might make a witty observation about something ridiculous happening outside or quote a line from a show you both love, timing it perfectly when you're between positions. These moments make the experience feel more intimate and less performative. He's also been known to laugh mid-kiss if you do something particularly endearing or silly.

HAIR how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc. Arthur is naturally well-groomed. He keeps his body hair trimmed but not completely removed, maintaining a natural look that he's comfortable with. He's not particularly concerned about "carpet matching drapes" as he keeps his pubic hair neatly trimmed. He's responsive to your preferences though, and will adjust his grooming routine if there's something you particularly like or dislike.

INTIMACY how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect Despite his dominant bottom persona, Arthur is deeply romantic during sex. He maintains eye contact whenever possible, his expressive eyes conveying everything he might not say aloud. He'll often pause mid-act just to kiss you deeply, his hands cupping your face. "You have no idea what you do to me," he might whisper against your lips. For Arthur, sex is never just physical, it's an extension of his emotional connection to you.

JACK OFF masturbation headcanon Arthur doesn't masturbate frequently when you're together, but when he does, it's often in the morning shower. He's efficient about it, leaning against the tiled wall as the warm water cascades over his lean body. He thinks about specific moments with you, particularly times when you've taken control or surprised him in bed. He's not particularly vocal when alone, just soft grunts and heavy breathing as he brings himself to completion.

KINK one or more of their kinks Arthur has a praise kink that goes both ways—he loves complimenting you and watching you react, but he absolutely melts when you praise him. Call him "gorgeous" or "perfect" during sex and he becomes putty in your hands. He also has a thing for semi-public risk, sex in places where you might be discovered but probably won't be. The adrenaline rush heightens everything for him. Additionally, he's into orgasm control, both giving and receiving, finding the prolonged anticipation incredibly arousing.

LOCATION favorite places to do the do While he enjoys the comfort of your shared bed, Arthur gets a thrill from less conventional locations. He's also particularly fond of the kitchen counter, enjoying the combination of domesticity and passion. Once, he initiated something while you were "helping" him film, using the expensive equipment as props... anyway

MOTIVATION what turns them on, gets them going Arthur is turned on by intelligence and wit almost as much as physical touch. A well-timed clever remark or an insightful comment can get him going just as much as a seductive touch. That said, he has a particular weakness for when you take control unexpectedly, pushing him against a wall, initiating when he thinks he's leading, or telling him exactly what you want. The contrast between his usual dominant bottom persona and moments when you completely take over drives him wild.

NO something they wouldn't do, turn offs Arthur won't engage in anything that feels genuinely disrespectful or degrading. While he enjoys power dynamics, hard humiliation is a hard limit for him. He also draws the line at anything non-consensual or involving others without enthusiastic agreement from all parties. Despite his adventurous streak, he needs emotional connection, so purely anonymous encounters hold no appeal for him.

ORAL preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc. Arthur absolutely adores both giving and receiving oral. When going down on you, he's methodical and patient, using his intelligence to learn exactly what makes you gasp. He maintains eye contact almost constantly, his expressive eyes showing his enjoyment as much as yours. Guys, he's a munch, let's be real. When receiving, he's surprisingly submissive, letting you take complete control, his hands often gripping the sheets or your hair. He's not quiet during oral, offering praise and guidance in his characteristic low, husky voice.

PACE are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc. Arthur typically prefers a slower, more deliberate pace that allows for maximum sensation and connection. He enjoys drawing out the experience, building tension gradually until it becomes almost unbearable. That said, he's adaptable and will match your energy if you need something faster or more intense. He particularly likes alternating between slow, deep thrusts and quicker, shallower movements to create varied sensations.

QUICKIE their opinions on quickies, how often, etc. Arthur isn't particularly fond of quickies, preferring to take his time and explore fully. However, he recognizes their practical necessity sometimes and has mastered the art of making them feel special despite their brevity. His approach to quickies is intense and focused, concentrating on the most sensitive areas to ensure mutual satisfaction quickly. He often compensates for the lack of duration with heightened intimacy afterward.

RISK are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc. Arthur is adventurous and willing to experiment within boundaries. He's tried various aspects of BDSM and enjoys incorporating elements of power play into your sex life. He's particularly interested in sensory deprivation and temperature play, finding that limiting one sense enhances others. He's always eager to try new things once, as long as there's open communication and enthusiastic consent from both parties.

STAMINA how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last? Arthur has impressive stamina, able to maintain his energy for multiple rounds with short recovery periods. His lean, athletic build (including those surprising abs) serves him well in endurance. He particularly enjoys extended sessions on lazy days off, sometimes spending hours in bed with you, alternating between intense sex and restful intimacy. He's learned to recognize his own limits and yours, ensuring that your encounters end satisfyingly rather than exhaustingly.

TOYS do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves? Arthur owns a carefully curated collection of high-quality toys that he's more than happy to incorporate into your activities. His favorite is a sleek, remote-controlled vibrator that he enjoys using on you, sometimes keeping the control himself and sometimes surrendering it to you. He also has a particular fondness for silk restraints—not for rough bondage, but for the sensual feeling of being lightly restrained. He's open to trying almost any toy once, viewing them as tools to enhance rather than replace intimacy.

UNFAIR how much they like to tease Arthur is an expert tease, his dry wit and observant nature making him particularly skilled at anticipation-building. He'll send you suggestive texts while you're out with friends, knowing you can't do anything about it until later. During foreplay, he'll bring you to the edge repeatedly, only to back off at the last moment. His favorite technique is using his voice, whispering exactly what he plans to do to you later while you're in a situation where you can't act on it immediately.

VOLUME how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc. Arthur is surprisingly vocal during sex, though in a controlled way. He doesn't scream or yell, but he emits these deep, throaty moans and sharp inhales that are incredibly sexy. He's particularly responsive to specific touches, letting out a soft "fuck" when you hit just the right spot. He also talks a lot during sex, not dirty talk necessarily, but these low, intimate observations like "You feel incredible" or "Right there, gorgeous." His accent becomes more pronounced when he's lost in pleasure, which you find incredibly endearing.

WILD CARD a random headcanon for the character Arthur has a secret fascination with watching you get ready. He loves sitting on your bed, watching you do your skincare routine or pick out clothes. Sometimes this leads to him approaching you from behind, kissing your neck as you're applying moisturizer, his hands sliding around your waist. These spontaneous moments often lead to some of your most passionate encounters, with him bending you over the bathroom counter or lifting you onto the vanity. There's something about the contrast between the domestic routine and sudden passion that drives him absolutely wild.

X-RAY let's see what's going on under those clothes Arthur's lean frame hides a surprisingly impressive cock. He's longer than average with a nice thickness that curves slightly upward, a detail he's somewhat self-conscious about but you find incredibly pleasurable. He's uncut and particularly sensitive there, gasping when you pay special attention to his foreskin. His balls are tight and high when aroused, and he has this habit of cupping them when he's close to orgasm. His modesty about his size is endearing since he has absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

YEARNING how high is their sex drive? Arthur's sex drive is closely tied to his emotional state. When he's feeling particularly connected to you, his desire is nearly insatiable. He's not someone who needs sex daily, but when the mood strikes, he's incredibly persistent. He gets turned on by the most mundane things, watching you concentrate on a book, the way you bite your lip when thinking, even just hearing your laugh from another room. He's learned to recognize these surges of desire and will often initiate with subtle touches that gradually become more.

Zzz how quickly they fall asleep afterwards Arthur has a habit of staying awake after you've fallen asleep, watching you sleep for a while before dozing off himself. He finds something incredibly peaceful about your sleeping form and often uses this time to process his feelings. He's a light sleeper though, easily awakened by your movements. When he sleeps, he tends to sprawl initially but often migrates toward you throughout the night, seeking physical contact even in sleep. He's been known to initiate sleepy morning sex before his brain is fully online, acting on pure instinct and desire.

[sdmnpact]

⋆౨ৎ Pitch side Confession.˚⟡˖ ࣪

Arthur tv x Reader ~ fluff

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ compact 🫧

Arthur was excited that he was finally going to play for the Sidemen charity match at Wembley. As the day came closer, he became overjoyed but also a nervous wreck.

Apart from the game, he was nervous for another reason. You.

You worked for the sidemen as a photographer. You were always at every shoot and behind the scenes working with the sidemen crew on their videos. To Arthur, you always stood out. You were so beautiful and smart, it’s cliche but he thinks he fell for you at first sight. 

Whenever the Sidemen ask him if he wants to be in a video, he always agrees just at the chance of seeing you. He can’t keep his eyes off of you while you work but quickly glances away the second you notice. 

At first you thought he was just distracted and was lost in concentration but as it continued, you realized that he was doing it on purpose. You found it quite endearing and everytime you caught him from them on forward, it would make your heart leap at his attention.

Over the last few months of working with him more, especially now that Friends From Work have asked for your skills, you’ve found yourself falling for the inept lad.

You would never act on these feelings, you needed to keep a professional work ethic but that doesn’t mean he can’t try.

But he’s been too afraid to make the first move. You try not to make your affection for him too obvious but the subtle signs are there (he just hasn’t noticed them yet). The other boys groan as they watch you flirt and Arthur awkwardly carry on conversation as normal, oblivious as ever.

“When are you gonna get your head out of your ass and ask the girl out?” George asked him once during a shoot for FFW. Arthur looked over at you, you were messing with the settings on your camera. Hearts in his brown eyes the second he laid eyes on you, it was almost unbearable to watch just how smitten he was with you.

George sighed deeply. “Never I see, just watch her from ten feet away like a creep I guess.” He said as he walked away. Arthur just watched you until you eventually looked his way. A blush crept up on his face as he pretended to look busy. You laughed to yourself at his squirrely mannerisms.

The day was finally here and excitement filled the air. Thousands of screaming fans filled the sold out arena as Sidemen FC vs Youtube Allstars was plastered on every corner.

Arthur decided that today was the day. He was finally gonna ask you out, finally let you know how he felt about you. The nerves in his stomach were piling up and he thought it was better to do it after the game. At least that way the actual game would be over and his team would hopefully be the winners. One less stress he’d have to carry that day.

This didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try and talk to you at any point he could, somehow always finding his way towards your side of the pitch.

He made you laugh, you calmed his nerves, he said he’d score a goal for you and you were obviously flattered by that comment despite Bach making a quip about how he won’t score and his team was far more superior.

“Clearly that won’t happen, my team is number one and we’re gonna beat your ass.” Bach mocked.

“Did becoming blonde make you an airhead or were you always that way? Sidemen FC will always be on top.” You responded back, making Arthur chuckle. Bach narrowed his eyes at you, wagging his finger.

“Oh it’s so on.” He said in a sassy tone. You and Arthur looked at each other and burst out laughing at how ridiculous Bach could be.

Arthur put up an amazing game. Although he didn’t score, he made plenty of assists and gave the game his all. You cheered extra loud for him, giving him the extra motivation he needed to keep going.

The game ended with Youtube Allstars winning the match once again. 

As everyone was cheering and celebrating. Arthur slipped away from the group and found you, snapping photos of whoever you could.

“Are you upset I didn’t score that goal for you?” He began.

“Of course not. Arthur, you tore it up out there! In my book, I think you're man of the match.” You replied. His cheeks turned a tinge of pink at your compliment.

He felt nervous, his stomach was in a knot and he didn’t know if he was even going to be able to get his words out properly.

“Reader, I like you.” He blurted out. If he even thought about it for a second longer, he feared he’d never actually admit it.

You were taken aback for a moment. You were not expecting this so suddenly. Your mind went hazy for a second until the realization kicked in that Arthur Frederick just confessed his interest in you.

“No way!” Your mouth spoke before your brain could stop you. You didn’t mean to say it, it just came out. “Wait, I didn’t mean that in a bad way, I just meant- I can’t believe it.” You mentally scolded yourself for rambling on like this when you’re quite literally being confessed to.

He chuckled, lightly rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry if I was too forward-”

“No-” You interrupted him. “It was fine, I just didn’t expect it.”

A silence fell upon you both until you spoke up again.

“For the record, I like you too.” You said shyly.

“No way!” He mocked you from earlier. You shoved him playfully as he just laughed. 

“Nevermind I take it back.” You said as you began walking away.

“Wait, I’m sorry, please.” He laughed catching up to you. You walked side by side down the side of the pitch together. Your fingers briefly brushing against each other filling your stomach with butterflies. 

“What are you doing after this?” He asked.

“Filthy pizza and bevs, obviously.” You stated like it was nothing. 

“Can I join you?”

“I’d be upset if you didn't,” You replied confidently. 

That night, you and Arthur enjoyed pizza and drinks together. You talked all night long getting to know the other side of each other. Regardless of how tired both of you were, you didn’t want to fall asleep as if this magical time together would never happen again.

Little did you know, this would be the monumental first step into your romantic relationship together. It felt surreal for him that he finally expressed his feelings for you and you actually felt the same.

Two people finally together after months of brief conversations and longing gazes.

Taglist ♡ @pretendyoucantseeme @wherethezoes-at, @suspicious-stain-in-spain @madsclarkey @xlovergirlx @daliah-xxo @clarkeyscherry @theoreticallythe @toomuchaintenough @writer-jamie @bambilenny @obaltineobyss @lxzzxebunny @thechurchboyniall

[bikebound]

Psychobilly Quad: A Harley Ironhead Four-Wheeler!

As Seen at The One Moto: Harley Quad by Ed Brink...   For the first time in the history of The One Moto Show, one of our very favorite build

[morecarsthatnevermadeit]

The 40th Tokyo Motor Show in 2007 saw the debut of Daihatsu’s Mud–Master C concept, a compact all-terrain vehicle for outdoor enthusiasts and specifically mountain bikers. It was designed in collaboration with professional cyclist Raita Suzuki and was built on a modified version of Daihatsu's production Hijet van platform. The modular rear cargo unit could be swapped out for different attachments, turning it from a bike hauler into a work van or a small crane.