little beating heart
A/N: I got an ask a few days ago regarding Arthur being concerned to touch Reader because of their pregnancy. I thought it was a cute little idea and got inspired, so here's a small lil thing. Probably a lot of typos bc im trash. My baby fever is off the charts.
Length: 2,290
Originally posted by fleckmearthur
You had been pregnant for several months, and the sheer desire to protect you and the baby mixed in with the heated, touch starved need for him to make love to you the perfectly messy and passionate way he used to was, quite, frankly, driving Arthur absolutely mad.
Arthur didn't quite understand how pregnancy and intimacy worked together, if it worked at all, and he was far too afraid to ask. He wanted you so desperately, more than he had ever wanted you before after having not touched you for several months. He knew that you wanted him just as much-after years of being with you, he had finally learned that you truly did love him as much as he did you. He often gazed at you late at night with you sleeping in his arms, caressing the roundness of your belly that was pressed against him as he took in every essence of you; your soft breathing, your gently pressed nose against the curve of his neck. Everything about you drew him in, yet he knew he couldn't touch you the way he used to, couldn't be inside of you the way he so desperately craved. His entire body screamed for your touch at all hours, and having in you in front of him and only being able to touch you ever so gently was a bittersweet torture. Though this was an act of intimacy that was an irreplaceable gift in and of itself that drove Arthur wild in the best way, he wanted more. Arthur was needy, and having you carrying a child hardly changed that. His worn hands would travel over your body, grazing your skin as his own hand radiated the deeply wrought love that poured from every particle in his skin. But there was a deeper fire in Arthur. A deeper need for you to be pressed against him in far more messy and fire driven way such as you two had done before you had begun to bore his baby.
Arthur wanted to ask so badly what was alright it was driving him mad-but one thing stopped him; you hadn't initiated anything beyond simple touches since being pregnant,which made him assume it wasn't alright to even acknowledge the idea. He was worried that by asking, he would offend you, his anxiety convincing him that you would see some bad intention in the question, or that there was something so obvious about the question that all men knew that somehow Arthur didn't, and that by asking you, it would have you see him in a different light.
The dam of resistance had broke the night that he had come home after a particularly long day. Arthur's wrinkles were deepened onto his face more than usual from the stress of the day, increasing the look of his already tormented and haunted appearance. He felt ashamed of who he was that night more than usual, feeling particularly outlandish and freakish, his insecurities screaming.
The only remedy?
His two favorite people. More specifically; your touches, and the baby that was growing inside of you, the two souls that Arthur loved more than life itself, that reminded him why each and every day was worth it.
You looked up at him, disturbed out of your thoughts, surrounded by sheets and covered in blankets, having been in the middle of stroking your stomach softly. You smiled tenderly at him. The affectionate action, however, was soon shot down when you saw how worn he was, how his hair was falling in front of his face, how he had that heavy look in his demeanor that was all too familiar to you. You rushed over, cupping his face into your hands gently. Arthur looked into your eyes with his sea green gaze, his eyes already a little brighter as he took in your touch and essence for the first time since the morning. Like medicine you were to him, truly.
