In Debutante, a story I wrote on Fictionmania, a family tradition requires an effeminate young man to curtsy at a formal ball in a white gown.

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In Debutante, a story I wrote on Fictionmania, a family tradition requires an effeminate young man to curtsy at a formal ball in a white gown.
> ojoumouse.png
Steamboat Willow! Straight from the public domain! Artfight Link! #kaleidoverse
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Danielle Kotch
you before the others, part two arthur morgan x debutante!f!reader
-arthur takes you up on your offer -fluff, canon-divergence, implied age-gap (reader 20s, arthur 40s), arthur is rich now -part one
Your second dress was better than the first, with flowy tendrils coming from the sleeves, the neckline modest, but showing off the angles of your clavicles, your neck glittering with expensive jewels, the sort of stuff Arthur spent stealing years ago.
He was better now though, having broke off from Dutch and his neverending plans that always seemed to stab someone in the back. Arthur bought stocks from the mayor of Saint Denis, and his life only looked up from there. He owned his own stables and a vast Victorian mansion, and all he needed now was a woman. He'd come to the ball after being given an invitation from your Father, and he wasn't expecting much from you—considering your wealthy history—but now as he saw you, he thought much more of you.
You were younger—younger than most women he went for, but you were pretty and seemed darling. So he approached you after you reappeared in the ballroom, ignoring your parents confused glares and the looks of the other suitors.
You grasped his hand as he offered it, smiling gently as he spun you onto the dance floor, cologne and cigar smoke drowning your senses. "I can't help but be surprised at your interest." He muttered, the side of your forehead pressed to his chin as the two of you danced. The guests of your ball looked curiously, but said nothing—even as your mother moved throughout the crowd, trying to advert the gossip.
"He's a family friend." You heard her call, and you rolled your eyes softly and glanced up at Arthur, "you are a fine man, Mr. Morgan. But, I admit I haven't seen you around before."
WIth a hum, Arthur spun you, fingers grazing your hip lightly before he tugged you back into his chest, albeit a little passionately, but it made your heart flutter as you blushed. "I've been in Saint Denis for a few years now, but I've just now started entering the social scene."
You nodded slowly, "where are you from, then?" He didn't answer for a second, blue eyes piercing on your own, but when you didn't glance away, not an ounce of judgement in your gaze, he replied easily, "Blackwater. I had a bit of a different lifestyle before this."
He scoffed unsurprisingly as your eyes widened with recognition. All you could remember were the constant headlines about the Van Der Linde gang, and a certain Morgan man terrorizing people all over New Hanover.
"I don't mean to offend you, Mr. Morgan."
He kept dancing with you nonetheless, eyes a bit more guarded than before, "nor do I mean to be offended. Spent so much of my time here trying to erase my past, but it's practically impossible."
When the song finally ended, you tugged Arthur towards the edge of the crowd and sat at a table, "you're reserved now. Is it because of my surprise?" You reached over to grasp his hand and Arthur let you, moving closer, his knees knocking with yours.
"Yes. I admit I expected a different reaction." You grinned slightly, "and what reaction was that?"
Before he could answer, you felt a tap on your shoulder. It was Mr. Brown, the first suitor to sign your dance card. He stared down at Arthur with such hatred it surprised you, "madam, did you forget we were to dance?"
He turned his gaze to you and you stared at him for a moment, "I'm sorry sir—"
"—clearly she's occupied, Mr...," Arthur grabbed your dance card and tugged it from your wrist, "Mr. Brown. I think she's finished looking for suitors for the rest of the evening." Arthur ripped the card in two, and you chuckled lightly, cheeks warm with a blush, but you nodded, "Mr. Morgan is correct. I've decided to dance with him the rest of the night."
Mr. Brown spluttered, face red with anger, "are you insane? He's twice your age!" When you made no move to argue against it, Mr. Brown stormed away, pulling at his hair.
"I assure you I can handle my own battles, Arthur." He nodded politely at your words, standing, "I'll keep it in mind for next time." Instead of taking you to the dance floor, he guided you back around the corner, and in the hall where you'd first met.
"Does it bother you—our age difference?" You wondered, arm locked around his. Arthur moved slowly, trying to savior the moment, and he shook his head. "You're an intelligent woman who can make her own decisions, right?"
You nodded, pausing in the hall, "I am."
"That's all I needed, then." He grasped your jaw and pressed a kiss to your lips, arm wrapped around your body to lean you back a bit, your leg raised to his thigh. You gasped as he tipped you, the sound fading into a weak moan as your tongue tangled with his. You could taste the smoke in his mouth, and you assumed he tasted the sweetness in yours.
He made a low, gutteral noise then pulled away, eyes still pressed closed as he placed you back on your feet. "then I shall make my claim to your father. If only you want it that way?" He watched you silently, eyebrows raised, and you tilted your head, lips pursed.
Arthur stared at you with confusion, "is that not—"
"After a date first."
He let out a surprised laugh and kissed you once more, "you like to joke, I see."
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