#arthurtv fluff

“I think Arthur’s gonna implode.” George says loudly, catching Arthur’s attention to all the eyes on him. They’re looking at him, trying to keep their laughter from ruining the moment. They can tell what’s going on. This isn’t the first time Arthur has tried to kill someone with his eyes. It’s always some guy who innocently tries to talk to you.

He tears his eyes away from you to the guys around him. George smirks, “You alright, buddy?”, hitting his arm lightly.

“I’m so okay.” Arthur looks at the drink in his hands before his eyes naturally gravitate towards you. The guy is gone. He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. You’re still at the bar, waiting for your drink.

Isaac nods, “The guy can have a peaceful sleep tonight. I reckon he just knew that… there was a fierce Arthur somewhere.”

All the guys laugh except Arthur. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you. The dress, your hair… the necklace he had bought you just because you said you liked it once. It sat perfectly. Reminded you that you were his.

You were walking back to the booth now. Your eyes, holding the ever-so-innocent gaze you gave him when you were drunk, gave him goosebumps. If he could, he would just pin you down right on the table and kiss you, sliding his hands all over you before grabbing your thighs so hard they’d bruise under his touch.

If he could.

Your perfume hits him as soon as you sit down. His hand immediately wraps around your hip, pulling you impossibly close to him. You’re telling some story that happened with the bartender, but Arthur can’t hear a thing. All he can think about is you, you, you, you, you.

As he looks at you, your hand is on his thigh, trying to get his attention, “Everything okay, baby?”

He hums and nods, finally taking a sip of his drink. Arthur Hill is imitating George at Strictly, with fake tears and some George-like jokes that make you laugh. It’s like music to his ears, making him smile as he leans closer into you.

The guys stand up to get new drinks for themselves, leaving just the two of you in the booth. If Arthur could think straight, he would’ve been able to tell they did this on purpose, to let you guys do your dirty whisperings before escaping for the night. But, Arthur feels like he can’t hold himself back any longer, and mentally thanks his mates for leaving him alone with you.

He leans, mouth near your ear, whispering softly, “You drive me crazy, love.” His hand is on your thigh, itching upwards.

Your breath hitches. You rest your hand on his chest, feeling his heart thump through the white collared shirt he chose to wear, “Wore the dress just for you, Arthur.”

You can feel his fingers trace your panties under your dress. You try to keep your composure, but Arthur knows exactly what buttons to press to make you fold. He knows every little thing that makes you twitch, moan, drool. Whatever he wants, he gets.

The eagerness to rile him up even more gives you an idea. “You were jealous again.”

His fingers still, but he doesn’t take them away.

“Anyone could’ve felt your eyes burning into them.”

He looks at you, dark from lust, “Can you blame me? I mean, look at you. You look so fucking hot in this dress.”

A blush creeps over you at his words. You knew the effect you had on him, but whenever he reminded you, it still made you giddy and shy all over again.

“I love it when you’re jealous. Even if we both know there’s no reason to be.”

He quiets down again, pulling his hand down your leg, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t want anyone else.”

He kisses your temple, squeezing your thigh.

“At least I’m a little bit subtle with my jealousy.” You continue, wanting to rile him up even more. He chuckles, resting himself more into the booth seat.

“Trust me, you’re not subtle. And I also love it.”

You’re staring into each other’s eyes. Arthur licks his lips and you bite down on your lip.

“I think we need to leave now.” You quietly say, not taking your eyes off him. He nods fervently, standing up and grabbing his coat. You follow him out, holding his hand. You’re both laughing to yourselves, horny and impatiently waiting to get back to your shared flat.

“You gonna tell the guys we left?” You ask, pulling out your phone to check the time.

He’s silent for a bit, “I think they know anyway.”

He smirks, pulling you against him, his front against your back. You can feel his erection press against you and you suppress a moan. He’s kissing your neck, teasing you further.

“Would’ve eaten you out right on the table if we’d been there for 5 minutes longer.”

You’re absolutely soaked and Arthur knows it. In the moment, maybe you would’ve even let him. All you can think about is him.

────────────𐙚ꨄ︎

⤷゛ masterlist taglist ˎˊ˗

any feedback is appreciated!!!

The thing about dating Arthur is that it’s all very… soft.

It started at the pub, completely random, you went with your work friends to just have a fun night out and he was there with a couple of his mates, accidentally making eye contact with you when he laughed too loud at something. You ended up standing next to each other at the bar waiting for drinks, and you made some stupid joke about how long it was taking, and suddenly you were both talking.

And then you kept talking.

You become friends, sending each other TikToks at ungodly hours, the occasional “are you free?” text that turned into wandering around Tesco at 10pm buying snacks you definitely don’t need. He started coming over to yours, you went to his, and one night you end up baking because you’d mentioned off-handedly that you missed doing it and he said, “I’ve never actually made brownies from scratch before.”

Which is how you end up in his kitchen at 11:30pm arguing over whether licking the spoon is good or not.

Somewhere between that and the way he always seemed to care a lot, it shited and then one day he asked, very casually and very sweetly, “Would you maybe want to go on a date sometime?”

Obviously you say yes.

Now he’s your boyfriend.

Your very sweet, very thoughtful, makes-you-tea-without-asking, texts-you-when-you-get-home-safe boyfriend.

Who — and this is important — is very fine.

You knew he was cute before. That was obvious. Pretty eyes, nice smile, all of that.

But then.

Then you saw this TikTok.

It came up out of nowhere while you were lying in bed one night, half asleep and doomscrolling, and suddenly it was him. Some edit someone’s made from a platform roulette at Brighton — sunlight, wind, the sea behind him—and he’s just standing there, laughing in his boxers like it’s nothing.

Like it’s normal.

Like it’s normal to have abs that look like that.

Your thumb freezes.

You sit up.

You replay it.

Because there’s actually no way your boyfriend, who gets excited about chess and once spent twenty minutes explaining the optimal way to stack the dishwasher, is just secretly built like that???

Sleeper build final boss.

You put your phone down and stared at the wall for a bit that night.

Now it’s always in the back of your mind.

When he hugs you.

When he leans over you to grab something from a cupboard.

When he stretches and his t-shirt rides up just a little bit and you have to pretend you didn’t notice.

Abs.

Actual abs.

Which is why when he asks, “Do you want to come to the gym with me on Thursday night? You're free, right?” you agree immediately. You’ve been saying for ages you want to get stronger anyway. This is normal. This is fine. You are normal about this.

You are not normal about this.

Because ten minutes in, you realise two things: Arthur is WAY stronger than he looks and he is wearing a compression shirt, which is cruel honestly.

You’re stood next to him while he loads plates onto the bar like it’s nothing, and you try very hard to act casual when you see the number.

“Eighty Five?” you say.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “It’s probably the most i can do without getting crushed.”

You stare at him.

He glances at the bar, then back at you, then at the bar again like he’s double checking.

“…It’s a reasonable amount.”

You, meanwhile, are over at thirty-five kilos feeling like you deserve a medal for simply not being crushed into the floor.

He watches you attempt your set with this infuriatingly fond little smile.

“Do you want me to spot you?”

“I’m fine,” you insist, immediately wobbling.

He steps in anyway, hands hovering just beneath the bar without touching, voice low near your ear.

“Keep your wrists straight—yeah, like that. You’ve got it.”

You absolutely do not got it, but the fact that he’s this close is making your brain short circuit so you power through out of sheer stubbornness.

You sit up, breathless. “That was tragic,” you say.

“You did five, thats really good!.”

“I probably looked chopped.”

“Shut up.”

You narrow your eyes at him and he laughs, reaching out to steady the bar before you can accidentally knock it over.

And it’s then, when he leans forward, you see it properly.

The way the compression shirt stretches over his stomach when he moves.

The outline of his abs.

You look away. You look back. You try not to look back again. You fail. You are, in fact, staring. For a solid three seconds. Four.

“…You alright there?” he asks mildly.

Your head snaps up.

“Yea,” you say, far too quickly. “Just zoning out, I think my legs are broken so-”

He hums like he doesn’t believe you for a second.

And he doesn’t mention it.

You take off your uncomfortable sports bra and put your top back on the the changing rooms to meet Arthur outside.

His eyes fall onto you chest, your nipples poking out of the top slightly. He looks away quickly to hide how flustered his is.

Later when he's driving you to yours you cant help but just notice him again, his hand changing the gear, on the wheel, the way the muscles in his arm flex, his man boobs, bloody hell.

You’re halfway through recounting the guy who was doing—whatever that was with the resistance bands—when you snort.

“No, because why was he swinging it like that? That cannot be part of any known exercise.”

Arthur laughs, one hand loose on the steering wheel. “I think he was traning his wank hand.”

You burst out laughing.

He glances over at you, smile soft and fond in a way that makes your stomach do that annoying flip it’s started doing around him lately.

When he pulls up outside yours, neither of you make any move to get out immediately.

You unbuckle.

“…Do you want to come up for a bit?” you ask, trying to sound casual. “We’ve got time before dinner anyway.”

“Yeah,” he says easily. “Sure.”

Shoes are kicked off by the door, you both collapsing onto the sofa in a boneless way, still giggling over gym weirdos and your tragic attempt at that last set.

“I’m serious,” you say. “If I wake up tomorrow and can’t move, it’s your fault.”

“I literally helped you.”

“You watched me suffer.”

“I spotted you!”

“You watched me suffer supportively.”

He grins.

And then, because conversations with Arthur never go in a straight line, you somehow end up talking about the ocean. Which becomes deep sea creatures. Which becomes whales.

“So sperm whales can hold their breath for like, over an hour,” he’s saying now, with his t-rex hands that he gets when he’s talking about something he actually finds interesting. He’s standing in front of you where you’re still sat on the sofa, gesturing slightly as he explains. “And they dive to, like, ridiculous depths— actually they have been known to do this to avoid orca pods...”

You light up immediately.

“I know! They're actually able to do this because of the melon organ in their heads, I mean most whales do but they have a big one to allow them to dive deep—”

You push yourself up to your feet as you say it so you’re not talking up at him anymore, stepping into his space without really thinking about it because you’re excited now, because you love this.

But that means you’re close.

Like really close.

And now you’re suddenly very aware of the fact that he hasn’t changed out of his gym clothes yet.

Of the compression shirt.

Of the way his chest is rising and falling from where he’s still a little out of breath.

Of how solid he feels when your hand comes up to lightly hook into the front of his shirt just to emphasise your point—

“And they have, like, regional accents in their clicks, which is insane because—”

Your fingers brush his stomach.

By accident.

You freeze for half a second, that’s rock hard.

Not like tense, like you caught him mid-movement.

Just.

Hard.

You swallow.

He keeps talking.

“—and apparently different pods can actually recognise each other based on those patterns, which is—”

Your hand moves again.

This time very deliberately.

Just the lightest little graze of your fingertips against his abs through the fabric like you’re absentmindedly fidgeting while you think.

You feel them tighten instantly.

His voice stutters.

Just for a second.

“—which is really interesting because—”

He clears his throat, looking down at you now with this slightly dazed, caught-off-guard expression that would be funny if your brain wasn’t actively short-circuiting from the fact that you can feel every ridge under your hand.

You nod like you’re still listening.

You are not listening.

You are thinking about Brighton beach.

You are thinking about ninety kilos.

You are thinking about the fact that your boyfriend is built like this and has just been walking around in hoodies this whole time like it’s a secret.

Your fingers press a little more this time.

He inhales.

Sharp.

You look up just in time to see his jaw tighten.

“…I’m always—” he starts, then stops, clearly having lost whatever sentence he was on.

His hands settle on your hips and it’s like an anchor. You’re so aware of him—his chest, hard under that tight gym shirt, the warmth radiating through the fabric. You try to focus on something else, anything else, but the whale facts you were mid-sentence about are completely gone from your brain, replaced by the sensation of being pressed to him.

“You’re so funny,” he mutters, voice low and amused but his thumbs drag lightly over your hip bones and it makes your knees go a little weak.

“Am I?” you manage to squeak, even though you’re definitely not thinking about ridiculousness, more about how his arms feel when he’s holding you like this.

He leans down just a little, enough for your foreheads to almost touch, and grins. “Yeah.”

You blink up at him, and somehow the conversation loops back to the gym—like he’s justifying, but really it’s a perfect excuse to lean closer.

He kisses your lips softly as you walk backwards onto the sofa, "Um, Arthur?" You ask mis kiss.

"Yea?"

"I um, I didn't know you were like, really fit."

He softly giggles against your mouth as you both end up sitting on the sofa wrapped in each others arms.

His reaction is immediate.

The second your nails trace over his chest and dip to the firm line of his stomach, the muscles under your fingertips jump. Properly tense. Like he wasn’t expecting it and his body’s betrayed him before his brain can catch up.

His breath stutters into your mouth.

It’s subtle, but it’s there and it makes something hot and fizzy bloom low in your stomach.

Arthur’s hand tightens where it’s resting on your waist, fingers flexing like he’s debating whether to move you closer or push you back, and you feel his exhale ghost across your cheek when your touch lingers there for just a second longer than it needs to.

“Careful,” he murmurs, but it comes out rougher than before.

Your nails drag lightly back up again, slow enough that you feel every shift of muscle under that stupidly tight shirt, and this time when you kiss him it’s less soft and more—curious. Testing.

His lips part.

You take advantage immediately.

The kiss deepens, tongues brushing in a way that makes his inhale catch again, and suddenly it’s not neat anymore. Not the sweet, polite kisses you’ve been sharing for weeks.

It’s messy.

Your mouths don’t quite line up at first because you’re both smiling—nervous, breathless, and then you do and it turns into something warmer, slower, his hand sliding up your back like he’s trying to ground himself.

Your fingers press into his stomach again.

He makes a noise this time.

Quiet—barely there—but definitely a noise.

And when you do it again, just a small, curious squeeze, his head tips back slightly like he’s trying to keep the kiss steady and failing.

“God,” he breathes, not even a full word—just air and sound against your lips.

You kiss him again before he can say anything else.

And again.

And again—until his hand’s come up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek like he’s forgotten what he was doing a second ago.

Your nails dip lower.

He pulls back this time—but only just enough to look at you.

Eyes dark.

A little unfocused.

Like he’s trying very hard to remember how talking works.

"You’re doing that on purpose now,” he says quietly.

You blink up at him, far too innocent.

Your hand flexes again.

He closes his eyes for a second.

Longer this time.

And when he leans back in to kiss you, his eyes dazed and addicted, it’s not soft anymore.

His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair just enough to tilt your head the way he wants. His mouth claims yours slower, deeper, like he’s finally decided to stop pretending he’s unaffected.

Your back hits the sofa cushions properly as he guides you down with him.

You’re half underneath him now, one of his knees braced between yours, his weight supported on one arm so he doesn’t crush you—but you can feel him. Solid. Warm. Strong.

Your fingers curl into the hem of his compression shirt.

He notices.

Immediately.

His lips break from yours just long enough for him to look down at you, breathing heavier now, cheeks slightly flushed.

“You’re staring again,” he murmurs.

You don’t deny it this time.

Instead, you tug.

Just lightly at first.

The fabric stretches under your grip. His abs flex instinctively when your knuckles brush them again and he actually sucks in a sharp breath this time.

“…Right,” he mutters under his breath, like he’s reached some internal decision.

And then he sits back just enough to grab the hem himself.

Your stomach flips.

He pulls the shirt up slowly over his stomach, over his chest, and for a second you get distracted by the way the muscles move as he lifts his arms.

Sleeper build was a crime.

This is a felony.

He tosses the shirt somewhere behind him without looking.

And now he’s just there.

Bare skin. Warm. Close enough that you can see the faint rise and fall of his breathing, the slight flush creeping down his neck.

You don’t even pretend to be cool about it.

Your hands land on him immediately.

Flat against his chest at first, like you’re confirming he’s real.

He exhales hard through his nose when your palms slide down, slower this time. Exploratory. Curious. Your nails lightly tracing the lines you’d only felt through fabric before.

His stomach tightens under your touch again.

He laughs softly but it’s breathless.

“You are absolutely obsessed,” he says.

“You hid this,” you accuse, dragging your fingers down again.

“I didn’t hide—”

You lean up and press your mouth just under his collarbone.

He cuts off mid-sentence.

The reaction is instant.

His whole body goes still for a split second.

Then his hand grips your waist.

Your lips trail lower, slow and deliberate. Soft kisses at first. Testing. Feeling him tense under each one.

When your mouth reaches the top of his chest, just above his sternum, you let your teeth graze lightly before sucking gently at the skin.

He makes a noise.

“Okay,” he breathes, head tipping back slightly. “Okay—”

You don’t stop.

You move to the side of his chest next, pressing your lips there, sucking a little firmer this time. Your hands are everywhere now—palming his stomach, tracing the curve of his waist, feeling how he reacts to every tiny shift.

He reacts to everything.

His abs tense under your hand when you drag your nails lightly across them.

His breathing goes uneven when you press another mark just below his pec.

When you move up toward his shoulder and bite softly before soothing it with your tongue, his head drops forward again and he looks down at you like he cannot believe this is happening.

“You’re leaving evidence,” he says faintly.

“You can cover it with a hoodie,” you mumble against his skin before kissing him there again.

He laughs but it breaks halfway through when you suck another mark into his collarbone.

His hands slide from your waist to your thighs, gripping, pulling you closer underneath him until there’s no space left between you.

You can feel how warm he is now.

How tense.

How affected.

When you finally drag your mouth back up to his, it’s messy again. Open-mouthed. Desperate. He kisses you like he’s trying to catch up, like he’s been holding back this entire time and you just snapped the last thread.

His tongue slides against yours, slower at first, then deeper when your nails rake lightly down his sides.

He groans into your mouth.

Actually groans.

One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, the other gripping your waist so tight you know there’ll be faint fingerprints later.

When he pulls back this time, his lips are slightly swollen, breathing uneven, chest rising and falling faster than before. There are already faint red marks blooming across his skin where your mouth’s been.

Still a little breathless from kissing him. Still buzzing from the way he reacted to every mark you left on his chest.

Your hands slide from his stomach to his hips and hook into the waistband of his shorts, "Arthur is this okay?"

Arthur just presses his lips against yours and guides your hand into his boxers.

As you wrap your hands around his length you can't help but notice his breath stutturing against you. Your thumbglides across his tip, spreading precum around his cock.

Arthur lets out a moan, and then grabs your wrist, "Are you okay? we can stop" You say, concern flooding your face.

"No I just, I want to make you feel good too, what do yo want?"

"Arthur it's fine, just let me baby,"

Arthur crumbles when you call him that.

He relaxes his head on you neck mouthing at your collar bone as you spit on you hand and go back to stroking his dick.

The sounds that come out of him are unreal.

You never expected him to be loud but you'll probably have very angry neighbours by the end of this night.

"Fuck," Moans and whimpers escape his lips as you pump his length harder and faster.

"Yea that feel good Arthy?" You ask watching his dazed expression.

His hips rut into your hands like a puppy, "Yes, please"

You feel his cock throb in your hand as his breath gets heavy against your neck, now covered in dark bruises from his teeth.

"I—I'm close—"

"Yea you wanna cum in my hand baby?"

He lets out a moan as he finally lets go, the sticky white substance coating his shorts and you hand.

He pulls away to look at you lips but his gaze immediately drops below, your t-shirt is pushed off one shoulder, dark marks blooming down your neck, across your collarbone to the top of you boob. The outline of you nipples poking through the top

His eyes go hazy like he's addicted to the sight.

You go a little shy, a sheer contrast to when you were calling him nicknames and jerking him off. "Eyes up here Arthur", You let out a flustered giggle, not knowing how to react.

"Sorry, It's just, I want to make you feel good." Arthur says, his eyes suddenly a mix of lust and earnesty.

You blush and slip your fingers to the hem of your t-shirt, "Okay just—let me take this off."

You lift your top off as normal as you can feeling Arthur's eyes trailing up your tummy.

When you take it off completely he looks fucking star-struck,. He is locked on your boobs. Locked

He looks back up at you as you fold your arms awkwardly in an attempt to seem as nonchalant as possible. "You are so pretty is hurts I—"

"Good because you are built like a Greek God." you retort.

He laughs and leans forward, his hand reaching for you face, "Come here". His lips meet yours as his hand glides against your boob, fingers tweaking the hard nipple.

"Arthur?" You say pulling back slightly.

"What's wrong, we can stop if you want—"

"I just, this sounds weird but can you like, suck my boobs?"

His eyes darken a little like hes hypnotised, "Of course."

He lays you down on the sofa and then trails his mouth down you neck, Your exposed skin on his. It feels intimate.

He smiles against your collar bone as he hears you breath stuttering, "You are so beautiful." He mouths your right, his hand grasping the left, You feel his muffled voice vibrate against your skin, "Do you like this?"

"Yes—" Your breath stutters as he bites your skin a little, a deep hickey forming, "I like it a lot Arth—"

Arthur lets out a noise of satisfaction as he starts to suck your nipple, You thread your hands through his messy brown locks as he trails his mouth across you chest creating bruises and marks.

Eventually he pulls back and stares you, "Are you okay with this?" His hand hovers over the waistband of your shorts.

"Yes Arthy" You reply breathlessly watching his hands pull down your shorts.

Arthur pauses for a second, not expecting you to be wearing lacey underwear for a gym date. "Oh um, God your so hot—"

You grab his hair in response "Shut up and eat me out idiot"

Arthur laughs at your little quip and kisses up your thigh shutting you up, you feel his lips smile against you as he realises how wet you are.

He carefully pulls the panties to the side and looks up at you with his soft chocolate eyes, he takes a lick, the sensation making you rut against his face slightly.

Arthur notices how desperate you are and doesn't hold back. He attacks your clit with his tongue, caressing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Fuck Arthur that feels so good—" You moan, tugging at his hair unknowingly. Arthur moans into your core, his tongue now flicking your clit as his finger circles your hole.

He eases a finger into you gently pushing it in and out as he mouths at your folds.

"F—FUCK"

You slap your free hand onto your mouth to shut you up, the neighbours are going to be livid.

Your noises only encourage Arthur, he adds another finger, curving in your throbbing cunt hitting that spot that you love.

The combination of his digits and mouth on your pussy breaks you.

"I'm—I'm so close" You pant as quiet as you can against your mouth. "Please fuck—"

Arthur doesn't stop. He keeps fucking you with his fingers and flicking your sore clit with tongue until you cum.

Your hips ride his face as you grab his hair harder.

Arthur pulls back to properly look at you, Your face now as dazed as his was, he softens immediately like he wasn't just eating your face out like an addict. "Was that good?"

You smile and sit up a bit, "No Arthur it was horrible actually."

Arthur looks a bit confused, "You didn't cum?"

You break character a little laughing at how quickly he folded, "No Arthur I was joking, that was so good, You were really good—"

Arthur bursts into laughter as well, "Oh my god I got so worried that you had to fake it—" He pauses and stares at your slightly limp body, hickeys now formed all over your torso. "Yea um I'm sorry about those."

You let out a slight giggle and stare back at his chest, his abs and pecs covered in just as many hickeys, "Me too acually"

a/n: finally written lol, likes comments and reblogs are appreciated, requests are open and lmk if you wanna be on the taglist!!

─────── THE STREET LIGHTS blurred and twinkled way too brightly for your liking. You sat, bleary eyed and intoxicated beyond coherent thoughts, in the back of a taxi with George Clarke next to you. He was slightly tipsy, but nowhere near your state. While he could still walk and function enough to pay the taxi driver, you stumbled over your own feet and let out a mumbled mess that sounded something like ‘thank you’.

You barely made it two feet away from the taxi when your big toes crossed and — if it wasn’t for George — you would’ve smacked the floor.

“Right, you need sleep.” He sighed, heaving you over his shoulder.

“Arthur.” You slurred, whining.

George muttered a curse under his breath as he felt your stomach jolt on his back, “Are you going to vomit?”

“I dunno.”

He put you down on your feet, and you sent yourself the rest of the way down onto the cold concrete beneath you.

You pulled out your phone and, in some miraculous fashion, managed to call Arthur. The ringtone sounded on for what felt like a decade, and when the beep for voicemail came up, you blubbered like a child.

“Arthur, baby, my feet hurt so bad! And everything is fuzzy and I wanna go home.”

George sat beside you, taking the phone from you, “Alright, mate? I know you’re filming right now, but I’m gonna drop her off at the studio because she needs you and … I’m gonna be completely transparent with you, she’s a mess. See you in a bit.”

Your cheeks puffed out and your throat jerked slightly. You turned onto your hands and knees, spilling the contents of your stomach onto the already dirty pavement.

“Jesus Christ.” George huffed, standing to the side of you, rubbing his hand over your back.

You took your hands off the floor to hold your hair back to your shoulders.

“I’m gonna get you water, I’ll be literally two minutes, alright?” George informed you, and you silently nodded before heaving again.

He was even less than two minutes, not that you had any grasp on the concept of time at the moment, focusing too hard on not face-planting your own vomit pile.

He handed you the uncapped bottle of water, and you took it with a shaky hand. You gargled a mouthful of it before spitting it back out, rinsing your mouth out of that disgusting vomit-smell.

“Sip it, and then I’m taking you to Arthur.”

You took a while to come back to, your brain hazy and your stares at the wall looking somewhat disassociating as you took periodic sips of water.

“All good?”

“Yeah.” You replied, trying to blink away the blurry vision.

George lifted you up again, bridal style this time so you weren’t upside down. He didn’t trust you not to stumble into the road and get smacked down by a double decker bus, and he knew that if that was to happen, Arthur would give him a great big walloping.

You never regretted a night out, not necessarily. But when you were in this state; confused, unsure and feeling every other emotion under the sun, you did greatly wish that you could go back in time and slow down with the drinking.

It was a good night. Nothing special, not celebrating an occasion or anything fancy, just a nice night out with a couple of your influencer friends, and you’d managed to drag George along with you (Arthur told him to go to keep an eye on you).

It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t want to go himself, he really did, but he also had a podcast episode to film — after all, it was literally his job.

You didn’t mind in the slightest. You knew there was a lot of girls out there that would say ‘Oh my God, I wouldn’t trust leaving my man alone while I go out’ and a lot of guys that would say to Arthur ‘How can you trust your girl on a night out without you?’, but it all boiled down to one thing.

Security.

And that’s exactly what you needed right now.

George shifted you in his arms as he pushed the door open to Bach and Arthur’s podcast studio.

“Hello, hello, hello.” He called out.

“Oh, it’s George.” Arthur hummed, playing with the microphone in his hand.

“No, I’m actually Chris tonight.”

“Oh deary me.” Arthur sang out as he noticed your borderline comatose state.

“For the audio listeners, Mr George Clarkey had just arrived with an incredibly drunk Mrs Frederick.” Bach narrated as George gently dropped you in Arthur’s lap.

“Hi Arthur.” You slurred, tucking your head into his neck.

“Hi beautiful.” One of his hands came across your lap and held your outer thigh while the other rested around the back of your shoulders.

“She is— yeah … She’s gone.” George snorted, putting your denim jacket on the seat next to Arthur.

“Alright, thanks for bringing her.” Your boyfriend thanked.

“No worries. I bought her water, which she has drank but not finished,” He placed the half full bottle on the table, “And she has thrown up, but I don’t know if it’s all out of her system, so … you might have that to deal with later.”

“Will do, okay, thanks George.”

“Buh-bye!” George waved before leaving.

“Do you want to go home? Hm?” Arthur whispered to you as he basically cradled you.

You shook your head. Despite your heavily clouded conscience and judgement, you felt incredibly guilty for crashing the podcast episode and didn’t want to cause any more disturbances by making them stop filming.

“Do you want to swap?” Bach offered, “You two sit on the couch and I’ll sit on the chair?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Arthur nodded.

A couple of shuffles later, Arthur had taken Bachs place on the sofa and had shifted your body so your head lay in his lap and the rest of your body was on the white leather. Despite you having all the room to spread out, your face faced Arthur’s stomach and your legs curled up into your chest.

“Arthur.” Bach hummed, nodding to the back of your thighs where your tiny skirt was riding up ridiculously high.

He chucked the denim jacket to him, and Arthur lay it across your lower body, covering you and protecting your decency. Your boyfriend reached down and held your ankles tightly while tugging your shoes off your feet and putting them on the floor so your skin could breathe.

“Does she not want to go home?” Bach asked.

“Nah, she’ll crash in about two minutes and then won’t wake up till …” Arthur checked his watch, “Eleven tomorrow morning?”

Bach nodded in understanding.

“Right, where were we?”

“Rose toys and the menstrual cycle.”

“No, we were not talking about that!” Arthur laughed.

Your fingers toyed with the fabric at the hem of his shirt, your eyes hooded and drooping.

Arthur put one hand in your hair and gently clawed his hand every now and then, caressing your scalp in a soothing way, helping sleep take over your body and you relaxed against him.

arthurtv posted a new story !

‘ sorry about the disruption in the podcast ep last night! i know some of you found it rather entertaining but i understand it can be annoying for other viewers too. for those wondering, reader is okay and did actually sleep until 11AM! ‘

yourusername posted a new story !

‘sorry for crashing last night @bachandarthurpodcast sincerest apologies for interrupting your menstrual cycle talk. ‘

comments on the bachandarthur instagram reel episode highlight:

user1 did anyone else see george’s biceps when he carried her in🫦🫦

user2 ‘philosophy blah blah blah philosophy— oh look it’s george and reader’

user3 is she really light or are they really strong cuz why do they just pass her between each other like a sack of spuds☠️☠️

user4 why is she like the cutest person ever when she’s drunk

↳ user1 i know right!! the little shirt scrunch🥹🥹

↳ georgeclarkeey she’s not cute when she’s projectile vomiting all over the pavement.

user5 did anyone else see arthur and readers ig stories? they’re apologising but not realising it was the highlight of the episode😭

user6 get me a boyfriend like arthurtv, who will just hold me until i fall asleep while pissed off my head

↳ yourusername usually i hold him till he falls asleep

↳ user3 SHES SO FUNNY HELP

↳ italianbach she’s not joking

↳ arthurtv ????

user7 ain’t no way you guys are letting your birds go out on their own

↳ yourusername oh here come the fucking alpha male podcasters

↳ arthurtv birds are supposed to fly on their own?? why would i keep my owl in a cage all the time??

user8 i love them together but couldn’t george have just taken her back to their apartment? kind of interrupted the flow of the episode :/

You didn’t think you were dramatic when you were sick.

Arthur very lovingly disagreed. 

Because here you were, cocooned under three blankets, hair sticking out in every direction, cheeks flushed, and eyes watery, staring at your phone like it had personally betrayed you. All because Arthur had gone to Tesco for twenty minutes. 

Just twenty minutes. 

And you missed him. 

He had left the room with a laugh – “I’ll be right back, love, promise. Don’t worry, I’m not abandoning you,” – but the moment he shut the door behind him, you wilted into your pillow like you were watching the love of your life sail off to war. 

So when Arthur pushed open the door again, bags in hand, quietly humming, and you made the weakest little noise of relief he had ever heard, he stopped mid-step. 

“Oh my God,” he breathed, shutting the door with his foot. “You actually look like you thought I’d died out there.”

You sniffed dramatically. “You left.”

“For twenty minutes,” he replies, laughing as he puts the bags on your desk. “I needed honey and tea, and things to stop you sounding like a haunted harmonica.”

You glare, but it’s so pitiful that he softens immediately. 

He comes over, sits beside you on the bed, and strokes your cheek with the back of his hand. 

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You lean into his touch so fast it startles him. 

“Mmhmm,” you mumble. But you immediately hook a hand around his wrist and tug him closer like a koala grabbing a tree. 

Arthur grins, leaning down to kiss the top of your hot forehead. 

“There she is. My clingy girl.”

You should tell him to shut up. 

Instead, you whisper, “Missed you.”

His expression melts completely. 

“Oh, love…” He slides a hand under your back, lifting you gently so you can sit upright against his chest. “I was gone for less time than it takes you to pick a Netflix show to watch.” 

You sniff, burrowing your face into his jumper. “Didn’t like it.” 

He chuckles into your hair. “Well, you’re stuck with me now.”

You hum contentedly, curling in closer. 

Arthur looks down at the human burrito in his arms, shaking his head with a fondness that makes his chest ache. 

“Right,” he murmurs, kissing your temple and shifting you so you’re leaning on him comfortably. “Tea first.”

You whine softly when he moves to let you go. 

He freezes. “Do you want to come with me to the kitchen?”

You nod, bleary-eyed.

“Oh my God,” he says, exasperated. “You really are clingy when you’re ill.” 

But he doesn’t tease you further. 

He just scoops you up in his arms – because standing apparently wasn’t on your to-do list today – and carries you to the kitchen like you weigh nothing. 

You bury your face in his neck the whole time, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the cold air from outside. 

He set you down on the kitchen counter, but you whined again from the loss of contact. 

He brews your tea, one-handed, one arm wrapped firmly around your waist as you cling to him like he’s the only stable structure in your world. 

“Baby…” he murmurs with a fond smile, “I need two hands for the rest of this.” 

You reluctantly loosen your grip, but only slightly. 

He still keeps a leg pressed between yours or a hip against you, never fully stepping away. 

Once the tea is made – steaming and overly sweet, he returns you to bed, carrying you like you’re precious cargo. 

You curl into his side instantly, and he lets you. 

He blows lightly on the tea for you, tests the temperature, and holds the mug for you as you sip. 

“You’re warm,” he notes, brushing your cheek with a gentle thumb. 

“I feel like death,” you mumble.

“You look gorgeous.” 

You blink at him, “You’re lying.”

“If I were lying,” he says, placing the mug down and adjusting you against him, “would I be letting you drool on my jumper like this?”

You try to protest. 

He kisses your nose. 

“Exactly.”

He tucks the blankets around you, makes sure the pillows support your neck perfectly, and lies down beside you, his chest pressed to yours. 

After a moment, you whisper, barely audible,

“Don’t go again.”

His heart actually stutters. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises immediately, brushing your hair away from your eyes. “Not today. Not tonight. Not until you’re better.”

You grip his shirt in your fist, tugging him closer. 

He rubs slow circles on your back, soothing, warm, everything you need. 

“Arthur?” you mumble into his collarbone.

“Yeah, love?”

“I love you.”

He slowly cups your jaw and lifts your face to look at him.

You’re flushed and sniffly and watery-eyed and wrapped around him like a child with a security blanket. 

But you mean it. 

And he knows. 

“I love you too,” he whispers, voice quiet, like he’s scared a loud noise might break the moment. “Even more right now, somehow.”

You smile weakly, nose scrunching. “Even though I’m disgusting?” 

“Especially because you’re disgusting.”

You swat his shoulder. 

He laughs softly, then lowers his forehead to yours. 

“Sleep,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

You do fall asleep – slowly, deeply – your body slack and trusting against his chest. 

And Arthur stays awake long enough to brush your hair back, to adjust the blankets, to kiss your forehead again because he can’t help it. 

“You can be clingy anytime you want,” he murmurs into your hair.

But only when you’re already asleep does he say the rest,

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.