ᴍᴜʟᴛɪғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ | ᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴡ ғɪᴄs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛᴇs

Suits and Suffering. (Arthur Morgan x male!reader)

Summary: A BIG PARTY AND SILLY SUITS

Warning: It's Arthur Fuking Morgan being hot, love, handsome, party, Gildad Cage mission, teasing.

based on this request, tq!

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Arthur stomped across the old wooden floor of the mansion like he was walking to the gallows.

He was wearing a suit.

A proper, high-society, black tailcoat monstrosity, with a crisp white shirt, stiff collar, and a bow tie that looked like it had been tied by someone with a personal grudge against necks.

You were sitting on the stairs, tossing a coin and howling with laughter.

"Arthur, is that you?"

He glared. "I swear to God, if you say one more word—"

"Oh no," you wheezed, wiping your eyes, "you look like someone crammed a bear into a banker's outfit."

"Dutch said we gotta blend in," Arthur growled, tugging at his collar. "Said I needed to 'play the part.'"

"You look like you're about to sell insurance, not steal from the rich."

He groaned. "It's hot. It's itchy. And this damn thing's ridin' up places it shouldn't."

You stood, still grinning. "Well, the good news is..."

He squinted at you.

"...You're not going alone."

Moments Later

Arthur blinked.

You stepped out of the room behind Dutch — dressed to the nines. Deep burgundy waistcoat, matching coat, boots shined to hell, and your hair actually combed.

You gave a little spin and posed dramatically. "How do I look?"

Arthur stared.

Then snorted.

"Like a jackass."

"Matching jackass," you shot back with a wink.

He wanted to be mad. But the way your grin stretched wide, bright and stupid, made something warm twist in his gut instead.

“Dutch!” you called out, "if we die in these suits, I want it written in my obituary that I died fashionably."

Dutch, from across the room, declared proudly, "This, my boys, is how legends are born."

Arthur whispered, "Legends with chafed thighs."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Stop adjusting your collar," you muttered.

Arthur glared at you as he tugged it again. "It's like being strangled."

"It's not the collar. It's the crushing weight of your own charm."

He gave you a flat look.

"Don't make me laugh, now," he muttered, "I'm tryin' not to panic."

You smirked. "This the same man who killed five men in one afternoon?"

"Killin' men don't require talkin' about art."

You leaned closer, dropping your voice: "Just follow my lead. I'll flirt with the duchesses. You can scowl in the corner and look mysterious."

"That is my specialty," he admitted.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Everything was gold and glass and too damn clean. You and Arthur stuck out like sore thumbs — even in your ridiculous suits — just by the way you carried yourselves. Bounty behind your eyes. Muck under your nails. No amount of bow ties could hide it.

Still, you had to admit...

Arthur looked good.

Broad shoulders, clean-shaven jaw, jaw clenched because someone was talking to him about sculpture.

You leaned against the wall beside him.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Whether I can use one of these statues as a weapon if things go south."

You grinned. "That's the man I know."

Then the mayor passed by. Arthur bowed awkwardly. You bowed theatrically.

The mayor nodded. Dutch smiled like a snake.

You whispered in Arthur's ear: "When this is over, I'm buying you a drink. And burning that coat."

Arthur smirked. "Only if I get to light the match."

Later, After the Job's Done.

The two of you stood outside the mansion, undone and rumpled. Ties loosened, coats wrinkled, boots dusty again.

Arthur sighed, stretching his arms.

"I swear," he muttered, "if Dutch pulls this kinda job again—"

"I'll personally drag him through the streets of Saint Denis by his cravat."

Arthur barked a laugh.

You nudged his arm. "Hey."

He looked at you.

"You didn't look half bad tonight."

He rolled his eyes. "You're still a bastard."

"Yeah," you grinned, "but I'm your bastard."

Arthur didn't say anything.

But he bumped his shoulder into yours on the walk home.