#and love the thought of arthur soaking up every piece of information he got about her and trying to mirror it

[microcroft]

I still think it would have been so fucking narratively interesting, and would have made so much more sense if Arthur had used the horn to call Ygraine instead of Uther. Like the whole series she is the one person who he has always wanted to know more about but never got the chance to. Uther never talked about her, the one time he got the chance to see her and hear her speak her story, hear her say she didn't blame him for her death and that she loved him it seemed to have been a lie (to his knowledge). Ygraine deserved to have more of her story told, to be more than just Uther's dead wife and Arthur's dead mother. She should have had the opportunity to be angry about no one remembering who she really was and that the love she had for her people, her beliefs and ideals, all of that was erased by the man she married. He killed innocent people, their people, people who it was their duty to protect, and he had the audacity to do it in her name, as if she would ever want that. He put that blood on her hands after she had no say in it. He turned her name from that of a respected and beloved Queen of all to one that is now only associated with blood, death and terror.

I want to hear her anger over how Uther was more of a king raising an heir than a father raising his son. She died to give her son life, and the man she left him in the hands of didn't have the decency to comfort him when he cried? to show him he is loved? He dares allow Arthur to blame himself for her death and feel guilty for it, and to make arthur feel he must work to deserve his father's love and support, to shout at him and shut him down every time he voices his own opinions and desires?

Then the part of the episode where Uther was raging over what Arthur had done to his kingdom, she tells him how proud she is of him. That she is proud that now he is her legacy instead of all the death and fear. She meets merlin and asks him if he is related to Balinor because he looks like him. She tells him that she was friends with him. She is ecstatic that despite everything, their sons somehow still met and became friends. She thanks him for protecting Arthur and showing him love and care (... and for also helping him not be so much of an arrogant ass).

I really just want Arthur to be a mama's boy. to have wanted to be known as the Son of Ygraine, instead of the Son of Uther, to have the veil lifted and then struggle with the realization that he now despises the man he looked up to and revered all his life. That his father manipulated and lied to him, and was a flawed man. I wish they would have given Ygraine her own identity and opinions separate from Uther and Arthur.

#ygraine du bois #ygraine pendragon #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #I have gone on a whole rant abt this to my friend who doesnt watch merlin #i firmly believe that Ygraine and Balinor interacted just like arthur and merlin #thats why uther made an example of Balinor's dragon specifically #bc balinor was probably extremely vocal abt how ygraine wouldnt have wanted this #and uther's an asshole and probably was jealous and resentful that ygraine would confide in balinor and spent so much time with him #i have a lot of thoughts about ygraine #and love the thought of arthur soaking up every piece of information he got about her and trying to mirror it

[novaiya]

Diamonds & Rust Part II - Arthur x Reader (NSFW)

Part I

Summary: It’s been three years since that fateful night. Three years during which you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Now, the fate once again brought the two of you together. Was it for the last time, or was something else bound to happen?

Words: 8k

Warnings: Cheating, F!Reader, Smut

A/N: If you prefer to read this on AO3, click here. This took me two months to write LOL But in the end, I’m very pleased with how it turned out.

Your hand shook as you held the pen above the crisp, spotless paper. You took a deep breath, writing the date, but couldn’t proceed beyond that. You dropped the pen and planted your elbows on the table, hiding your face in your hands. 

It’s been three years since you last saw each other. Three years since you were held in his hands and caressed by his lips. The time you shared on that cold, foggy night felt both lightyears and a touch away. You thought it to be a perfect, picturesque ending to your imperfect relationship, like a final scene in a play, but it seemed it was merely an intermission.

After a few moments of rest you wrote, “Dear Arthur” and spilled out the reason for your letter. Few nights ago, your ranch was attacked by a group of local cattle rustlers. Seeing how well your ranch was doing, they wanted their cut, and when you stood your ground, they were less than happy. They left you alone for the moment, but promised to be back in numbers, and that they were. Not a couple of days later, you were woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of gunshots and a fire outside your window. Like they promised, they were back and ready to take what they felt they were entitled to. You watched them take away your cattle and set fire to your barn as your husband hastily packed up your valuables, and not shortly after, you were on your wagon, bound for your mother-in-law’s house, barely escaping the flames and the bullets. 

You signed off with your name and an address of where you were staying, and with fleeing hope, posted the letter the next day.

As you patiently awaited Arthur’s reply or an arrival, a curious elephant entered your household that neither you or your husband were ready to address. The woman that your husband knew you as was a kind, gentle woman who’s biggest crime was accidentally buying two gallons of milk and only paying for one. He never saw, or could imagine you carrying a weapon, and for all he knew, you didn’t know how to use one. The woman he saw during the attack, however, he did not know. She skillfully held the shotgun in her hands, dropped the slugs in without even looking and didn’t fall backwards when the recoil hit. She had a fire in her eyes that threatened to overpower the one outside, and for a second, even he, her husband, was afraid of her. Having been born to a simple family in which his mother was gentle and submissive, serving as a pliable partner to his father, he was shocked to see you so strong and hard. He was still deciding what he thought of this discovery of this new you, and during that time, you could feel him drift away.

You didn’t miss the change in him, how he eyed you from the corner of his eyes during dinner time, or the cold space between the two of you when you went to bed. It hurt and it stung and it made you long for Arthur’s arrival so much more. With him, there were no secrets you had to hide. You never went to bed with a fear that one day your facade would fall apart, and he would shriek at seeing the real you. From the beginning, he knew everything there was to know about you, and accepted it. What some would see as character flaws, he simply saw as character traits that made you who you were. With him, you could be you, something that you realized you couldn’t be with your husband. When the two of your married, you hoped that it would put a final nail in the coffin of your past self, but it seemed that your past self refused to die, and your husband shrieked at seeing the dead corpse. 

__________________

“There’s a letter for you, Arthur,” said Miss Grimshaw as she passed Arthur who was hitching his horse to a hitching post.

He thanked her and made his way to his tent where an envelope laid on his cot.

“Let’s see,” he said to himself as he tore the envelope open and pulled out a piece of paper. As he read your name on the bottom of the paper, he felt a familiar pang that the thought of you always brought to him. He skimmed through the rest of the letter, plucking the main points as well as your address before shoving the paper in his satchel and making his way to the back of the wagon that served as a wall to his tent. He looked over a map that was there, calculating how long it would take to get to you. Eight hours, he thought, six if he cut on any unnecessary breaks and sleep. He once again made his way around the wagon and went to a chest at the end of his cot, picking out a pair of fresh clothes and other necessary items for the trip. He was doing everything on autopilot, for his mind was too clouded with the thoughts of you to pay attention to what his hands were doing. He remembered your last meeting, and how it opened so many old wounds and created even more new ones. In that moment, when the two of you held each other, whispered love confessions into the silent night, he felt as if he was on cloud nine, but when he left, the blow was just as strong.   

When he finished packing, he looked around; Pearson and Abigail were busy chopping vegetables, with little Jack sitting at his mother’s feet. Dutch and Molly were in their tent, talking (arguing would be a better word). The girls were doing chores, with Miss Grimshaw watching over them and correcting their techniques. Most of the men were out on jobs, leaving only Javier standing at guard duty. Even though everyone had free rein to come and go whenever they pleased, Arthur especially, he didn’t want to be asked unnecessary questions, so he waited until Javier was on the other side of the perimeter to mount his horse and ride away to you.

__________________

As you sat at the dining room table of Bertha’s, your mother-in-law, house, you kept praying that Arthur got your letter and found it in himself to help you. You found yourself thinking that maybe it might’ve gotten lost, or perhaps the rain soaked the envelope and the letter to the point it had to be thrown away. With nothing to do but wait, you kept fidgeting with your dress as you sat by the table, only to promptly raise up when you heard the sound of the hoofbeats approach. You pushed the front door open with a smile as hopeful as that of a child, for it to only fall apart when you saw that it was your husband, coming back from a run to the town for provision. The change in your expression didn’t go unnoticed by him, but he didn’t say anything, and just kissed your cold cheek as he moved past you into the house. 

“You still think he’ll come?” your husband asked one morning as he sat at the dining room table and you washed the dishes. It’s been about a week since you posted the letter, and Arthur still hasn’t come. You were beginning to lose hope, but didn’t show it.

“I’m sure,” you said, not turning away from the dishes in your hands. You told your husband that you knew someone who could help, and when he inquired who it might be, you told him it was a friend from your past life, someone who helped you get back on your feet after you lost your parents. That didn’t satisfy his curiosity, so he pried on. Answering his questions was like walking through a field full of landmines. Every answer had to be calculated, giving just enough information to satisfy his curiosity and not to lead to more questions. At the end of the conversation, you were hopeful that the newfound information you shared would bring you two back together, but in fact, it did the opposite, and he felt that there was even more he didn’t know about you. 

As you washed the dishes, you looked through the window in front of you and felt thunder run through your entire being. You could never mistaken that mare for anyone else, with her unique coat and her silky locks; it was Boadicea, and with her, someone else you could never mistaken; Arthur. You watched him through the dirty kitchen window as he hitched Boadicea to a tree nearby and made his way to the house in strong, long strides. You dropped the dishes back into the sink with a splash and ran to the door, opening it as Arthur was about to knock.

“Arthur,” you said with a smile that lit up your whole face. 

He could feel his heartbeat all over his body as he was met with your face. Your smile made your entire face glow, and he could see sparkles in your eyes as you looked at him. Knowing that he was the reason for your reaction, he could feel the familiar haze of feelings cloud his entire being. 

He spoke your name in return, his voice enveloping each syllable with affection and tenderness that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else, and which your husband could hear from where he sat at a dining room table. 

The two of you stood at the threshold for a brief moment, caught up in each other’s eyes and closeness. You fought the urge to embrace him, to kiss him and to tell him how much you missed him, and he did the same. Instead, you moved away and motioned for him to get inside. As he did so, he almost instantly met eyes with your husband, who rose up from his seat to greet the man.

“Roy Dorset,” your husband said as he extended his hand.

“Arthur Morgan.”

As you watched, the two men shared an awkward, silent handshake, during which you had a chance to compare and contrast the two of them. You certainly had a type, you though, as you looked at the men before you, both of them tall and handsome. There were, however, noticeable distinctions that differentiated them, and served as a representation of the person you were with each of them. Roy, being a part time rancher and a part time bookkeeper for a general store in your town, was dressed as a man about town with carefully ironed pants, clean shirt and a vest with all the buttons attached. He was a proper god-fearing, law-abiding man who had traditional standards for people, some of which you sometimes felt you couldn’t reach yourself. 

Arthur, in contrast, was dressed haphazardly, wearing old, patched jeans, boots that have seen better days and a shirt that has clearly been washed many times over. By his look, you could tell Arthur didn’t care what others thought of him. He wore - and did - what he wanted, without a care for other people’s opinion. He didn’t hide himself behind anything, and that’s what you wished you could do now.

After a moment of pleasantries, the three of you sat at the dining room table to discuss the matter at hand. You sat at the head of the table, with Roy to your left and Arthur to your right. You and Roy explained what happened at the ranch, adding details that you forgot to write about in the letter. At some point as the three of you talked,

your daughter came up to the table. With her grandmother asleep and all of her toys left at home, she had nothing to do, so she decided to join you.

You hoisted her up to your lap and let her stay with you as you continued talking.

Despite the conversation still going, Arthur lost all attention as soon as he saw your daughter. What shocked him first was that you had a daughter in the first place, but what shocked him even more was how little the girl looked like your husband. While still trying to seem as he was listening, Arthur inconspicuously kept looking between your daughter and your husband. While Roy had dark, brown hair, the little girl in your lap had light, dirty blonde locks. Her eyes, which were traveling all over the room, looking for something to busy herself with, were a whirlpool of green and blue, while Roy’s, which at the moment were looking down on his lap, were a dull, brown shade. Suddenly, realization hit Arthur. He started to think back on your last encounter. Could it be? He tried to figure out how old the child was, and tried to remember the time of the year when the two of you were together. He could feel himself getting lightheaded as all the thoughts filled his mind, making him not hear his own name being called.

“Arthur,” you said once again when he didn’t answer you the first time. As if being pulled out from a dream, he looked around, suddenly forgetting where he was.

“I said, what do you think about the plan?” you said, looking at Arthur at the same time as the girl in your lap.

Arthur could feel all the eyes on him, and a color painted his face. He could faintly remember what you talked about a moment ago. Something about the best path to take back to the ranch, how dangerous the road might be with wolves roaming around. After a moment of pause, he returned with, “Sounds good to me,” and the conversation went on, with Arthur still barely paying attention.

_________________

You carefully slipped out of the covers, trying not to wake your husband up, before walking across the room on your tiptoes, opening the door and leaving the room. You couldn’t sleep. With Arthur’s proximity, you found yourself laying in bed with the thoughts of him. You tried to squash those pesky thoughts, turned from one side to the other in your bed as you kept telling yourself that you couldn’t, shouldn’t do it despite how much you wanted to. As you looked at your husband, his face illuminated by the light from the moon outside, you thought of doing to him what you did to Arthur all those years ago. You left Arthur for a search for a better, calmer and stable life, and now you want to leave that life to go back to Arthur.

You leaned against the kitchen counter as you poured yourself a glass of whiskey, looking out of the window into the world outside. With it being late fall, some trees have already shed their leaves, leaving once bushy woods stripped. You could see birds, once hidden from the prying eyes by the leaves now on full display on the branches. They were close enough that you could hear them sing, but not enough to understand what it is they were saying.

Suddenly, you heard the wood planks squeak behind you and smiled. 

“Can’t sleep either?” you said without turning around.

“No,” Arthur replied as he went to stand next to you.

Without another word you took a shot glass and poured him one.

“Thank you for coming,” you said as you gave him the glass. “I was worried you wouldn’t.”

“‘Course I would,” he said before swinging back the shot. 

At finally having a moment alone with him, you were fighting back the urge to spill everything that’s been on your mind, to ask every question and tell every answer that you’ve been holding for the past three years and for the past few hours that he’s been here. You decided it’s best to start off slowly.

“How have you been? How’s the gang?”

“Fine, I guess,” he said as he turned around to lean against the counter, crossing his hand on his chest. “Picked up a few people along the way. The gang’s twice its size now.”

You nodded at his answer.

“Seems you’ve had an addition too.”

The statement made heat rise to your face, and you swallowed down, nodding again. 

“What’s her name?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

“Lily.”

“Beautiful name,” he said. “How old is she?”

“Three,” you said, knowing very well where this was going. 

“Is she mine?” His voice was calm and reticent despite the fact that his mind was racing so fast he thought he was going to faint no matter what your answer was.

You closed your eyes, letting the weight of his question wash over you. The question that was lingering in the air since the moment your daughter was born, and that only became stronger when Arthur came today, was finally asked. To your own surprise, you felt yourself relax after a few seconds had passed. With the question being finally asked, you could feel the weight of it lifted from your shoulder.

“I don’t know,” you said, turning your head away

“What do you mean you don’t know?” he returned, somewhat exasperated.

“I don’t know, Arthur,” you repeated, your voice more stern, but still hushed as to not wake anyone up. “I don’t know.” You lowered your head before speaking again. “I don’t know. Roy and I were trying during that time.”  

You held yourself in your hands, your head hanging low. About three years ago, Roy and you have been trying for months to get pregnant. Nothing was happening, until suddenly, it did. Roy was overjoyed, feeling that Isis has finally shined her light on the two of you. You, however, knew it took more than an Egyptian goddess of fertility to bring you to the situation at hand. Right away, you did the math, and despite how much you tried to tell yourself that the days could be a little bit off, the numbers didn’t lie. It only became more apartment when your daughter was born; within a few days, you could see traces of him in her; her light hair, her blue eyes. Even her lips and nose looked like his. She was a visual reminder, everyday, of what you and Arthur could have had.

“She looks like me, you know,” Arthur said, walking around to stand in front of you, his proximity making your heartbeat quicken like it always did.

“I know,” you said, your voice barely audible.

“What if she’s mine?”

You didn’t say anything, keeping your head low and your eyes focused on the ground until you felt his hand, soft and warm on your cheek, making you look up. 

You felt enveloped in his love as you looked into his eyes. They were kind and inviting as he looked at you, and without saying anything, they offered shelter from all the worries of life.

His thumb traced your lower lip and you involuntarily opened your mouth, gasping. He stepped a little bit closer, pushing you against the counter with his body, making you feel all of him against you, the thin material of his union suit not leaving an inch of space between the two of you.

“I missed you,” he said. 

He pressed his lips softly against yours, giving you a chance to slip away if you so desired to. You didn’t, waving your hands in his hair and bringing him closer instead, deepening the kiss. You hated yourself for not being stronger, for not resisting your inner desires. You hated how with just a touch, he had you under his control. His hands ran down your sides, following your curves from your chest over your waist and to your hips, stopping there. One of your hands reached out to touch his cheek, feeling a light stubble there (he went to you right away after finishing a mission, not having a chance to even shave) You remembered the night the two of you shared three years ago, how the feeling of his lips lingered on your for months after. 

You wanted to get lost in the kiss, in him, but suddenly, a voice coming from the stairs pulled you out of your reverie, and the two of you broke apart as fast as you came together. You were slightly panting, both from the kiss and from the rush of anxiety at being caught. You looked up at the stairs from where the voice came, and after a few moments, two small feet came into the light, padding barefoot down the stairs.

“What are you doing here, sweetheart?” you said as you kneeled down to look at your daughter. 

One of her hands held onto the arm of her stuffed bear, a friend who kept her company at night, while the other brushed the sleep out of her eyes, trying to stay awake long enough to talk to you. “Grandma’s snoring,” she drew before yawning.

You smiled, ruffling her blonde locks a bit before saying, “Well, you can sleep with daddy and me tonight then.” 

Arthur stood a few feet away, watching the two of you without saying a word. He could feel resentment bubbling in him at your husband, and at the same time, himself. Despite how much he wanted to put all the blame on Roy (for “stealing” you), he realized that the only person he had to blame was himself. If he wasn’t so stupid all those years ago, if he just took your hand and let you lead him out of the outlaw life, this - a life with a house, a daughter and you as his wife - could’ve all been his. “Darlin’, right now ain’t a good time,” he would say when you would press him about finally making your escape. “We need more money if we wanna start on our own” would be another of his excuses. Truth be told, as much as he wanted to start a fresh, new life with you, he was afraid. Outlaw life was everything he’d ever known. He was raised and became the man he was today in it. He was terrified that out there, in the world of law and order, in which one woke up in the morning to start a day of work, and had proper suppers at the table with their family, he wouldn’t survive.

The sound of Lily’s voice, calling for him, pulled him out of his thoughts. Her clear, blue eyes, looked up at him as she asked him if he was her mother’s friend. You turned around to look at Arthur, and after a few seconds he said, “Yeah, I am. Something like that.” She smiled in return, calmed at knowing that the strange, big man was not a stranger at all but a friend. As you picked her up, ready to take her to bed, she introduced herself to Arthur, and asked him what his name was. He introduced himself, and in return, she said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Arthur.” You didn’t know why, but at seeing the scene play out, you could feel tears well up in your eyes. It could’ve all been so different, you thought. The three of you were so close at being a family, practically looked like one right now. You took a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself down before murmuring that it’s already too late, and walking over to your bedroom door with your daughter in your hands. You stopped at the door for a second, fumbling with the door knob. Arthur watched your back as you stood, your daughter’s head peeking from behind your shoulder, before you turned the knob and disappeared into the room. 

He stood in the dark, empty dining room for a few more minutes, going over the scene that just unfolded a million times. He could feel the weight of everything crushing him down, breaking his bones and turning them into dust. He leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, shaking his head.

“Idiot,” he said to himself before taking the bottle of whiskey and pouring himself another shot. 

______________

The sound of birds singing outside accompanied you as you woke up. It was still early and no one was up yet, so you got ready without any hurry before going into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Not a while later, Bertha joined you in the kitchen, and the two of you had everything ready right as the men came to take their seats at the table.

You kept quiet as you ate breakfast, with Arthur sitting across from you, Lily next to him, and Roy next to you. Bertha, being the kind host that she was, something that she got used to from the years of marriage to an army Sergeant, couldn’t sit still and continued to check up on everybody, pouring coffee even when the cups were halfway full and making sure there were no empty plates on the table. It was only when Roy said, “Enough, mother” did she take a seat at the head of the table and started her own meal.

As you ate your breakfast, Roy and Arthur talked, discussing once again the best route to take back to the ranch. Despite not planning on going himself, Roy still wanted to make sure his opinion on the matter was considered and suggested the main road, which although would take longer, was safer from wild animals and any “savage outlaws that roamed the plains.” Arthur snickered at his choice of words, and noted that if he wanted to “come back to a ranch and not heap of ash, a shortcut is a better option.” Roy didn’t reply anything and turned back to his meal.

As Bertha sipped on her coffee, she turned to face you and asked, “Are you going too?”

“No,” both Roy and Arthur said in unison, and “Yes,” said you.

An awkward silence fell over as the three of you looked between each other. You could feel the men eyeing you in bafflement, Roy especially, but you looked at Arthur and spoke to him first.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” you said, disbelief painted all over your face.

Arthur shook his head, looking away and furrowing his brows.

“You’re not coming, it’s too dangerous,” he said, turning back to face you.

You let out a small chuckle before saying, “We’ve faced far more dangerous things than some puny cattle rustlers.”

Arthur dropped his fork and knife on the table with a loud thud and said, “You have a daughter now, I ain’t gonna let you put yourself in harm's way.”

“But you’re gonna let yourself get in harm's way?” you returned, tilting your head and squinting your eyes at him.

“They know who you are, they don’t know me,” he said, the volume of his voice long past what was appropriate for a breakfast conversation. “I can get in and out and they won’t know what hit em”

“And do you expect me to just sit patiently and wait?” you said, throwing your hands around. “What if something goes wrong? What if they’re more dangerous than we thought? Am I supposed to just wait till someone brings in your body?” Your words began to tangle in each other, becoming almost incoherent as you spoke faster than your mind could process. They, however, were cut short as Arthur shouted your name and hit his palm down on the table, making a glass of water spill.

Finally, the silence fell over the dining room once again and the only thing that could be heard were drops of water hitting the floor. Both Bertha and Roy sat wearing similar expressions, their mouths hanging open, eyes wide at what they just saw and heard. They felt like spectators, watching a play unfold before their eyes.

As you tried to calm yourself down, you remembered how back when you were in the gang, the two of you almost never went on missions without each other. At first, it bothered Dutch that if he wanted to send you on a mission, Arthur was bound to come along (and vice versa), but soon, he came to accept that the two of you were a package deal. He even took a notice that the jobs went smoother when the two of you were together, evident by the fact that you would get the job done quicker, and your gains were higher than those that Arthur and you brought when you went separately.

“You know I can’t let you go alone, Arthur,” you said after some time.

As if riding down the same memory lane you just did, he sighted and shook his head. 

“I know,” he said before getting up from the table and going over to the room where he stayed.

Slightly shaken up from the intense display that took place, Bertha got up from the table, and without a word started cleaning up, taking empty plates and cups and putting them in the sink. You sat with your eyes closed, taking deep breaths, and bracing yourself for what was to come. You could already feel Roy open his mouth, could already hear his voice…

  Arthur was haphazardly throwing his stuff in his bag, crumpling his shirts and pants into balls and pushing them into his bag as if the clothes themselves were at fault for his mood. He remembered how much fun the two of you had when you went on the jobs together. How the sight of blood and the smell of gunpowder did nothing more than excite you. A smile broke through his solemn face at the memory. But now, he thought, it was different. Not only had it been years since you were in the line of fire, but you now had a child. Your life has changed, you got away, broke free from the never ending nightmare in which one has to always look behind their back and sleep with one eye open and a gun under their pillow. He didn’t want you back into that kind of life, if it could even be called that. Deep in his mind, however, he knew it wasn’t for him to decide.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaning over a dresser and closing his eyes. He could’ve probably plunged deeper into his thoughts, but a sound of hushed tones outside got his attention, and he straightened up, inching closer to the door and pressed his ear against it. 

  “I was okay with your past, but this is pushing it,” Roy said.

“Is my past pushing it?”

“Your past is in the guest bedroom, getting dressed.”

Your shoulders slumped as a heavy sigh left your lips. You and Roy have been bickering for the past five minutes. Truth be told, the bickering has been going on for the past few days, but only now has it culminated. The tension that he felt between you and Arthur just a few minutes ago drove him over the edge - the edge to which he came from seeing you hold a gun, hearing more about your past and now, seeing Arthur - and he found himself not being able to hold his thoughts and feelings in any longer. Just like it always happened with couples who started arguing about one thing, only to move on to a completely unrelated one, you both got defensive. The conversation was fruitless. Nothing of the matter was discussed, no solution was reached and everyone was left thinking the other was in the wrong, leaving the two of you sitting next to each other like strangers in a train station, waiting for the next train.

“I’m doing this for us, Roy,” you said.

“You’re doing this for yourself,” he spit out before adding, a little bit softer, “You’ve changed a lot in these couple of weeks. I feel like I don’t know who you are anymore.”

You felt yourself detach from the world upon hearing his words. You could faintly hear him continue talking, referencing the relationship between his mother and father, and how the former always consulted her husband before any major decision, but you were not listening. You smiled weakly to yourself at the irony that upon showing him the real you, with all your past and your secrets, he said he didn’t know you anymore. Didn’t know, or he didn’t want to, you thought. Your mind instantly went back to Arthur, like it often tended to these past few days, and you thought of how from the beginning, he knew who you were, and without a word, accepted and loved you.

“You ready?”

Arthur’s voice pulled you out of your mind, and stopped Roy in his speech. You looked at Arthur, and then at Roy. For the first time since you got married, you didn’t feel anything when looking into your husband's eyes. You could see him plead, silently, for you not to go.

Without saying a word, you got up from your chair and went to your room to get 

ready.

_________________

  You turned your head around to watch your husband stand on the porch as you and Arthur roared off to your destination. You wondered what he thought as his figure grew smaller and smaller till he completely disappeared behind the trees. You turned back forward, spurring your horse.

The feeling of being back on a horse, with an iron on your hip and wind in your hair was exhilarating. You could feel life flow through your veins as you held the reins. Through clear plains, mountains and forests, the two of you rode non-stop for a few hours. There was not a single person on your way, only occasional elks, deers, and raccoons accompanying you on the journey. For a moment, you felt like you were once again an outlaw. All of this felt so familiar; you and Arthur, adrenaline in your veins, dirt road ahead. For a moment, you caught yourself thinking that if it weren’t for your daughter back home, you simply would’ve kept riding on.

As you kept going, the sun slowly began to set, painting the road in front of you in orange. 

“Let’s make camp,” Arthur said when the sun completely disappeared, and the night loomed over.

As you found a secluded space in the woods, the two of you fell into a long-established routine, with you going out to get some firewood and Arthur hunting a rabbit for the two of you to eat. The night might’ve been a bit chilly, but with the campfire next to you and the rum Arthur found in his satchel, the two of you were nice and warm as you enjoyed food, drinks and conversations that piled up from years apart. 

Your combined laughs could be heard all throughout the forest as Arthur told you about the latest predicament that John got himself into, and which he of course had to save him from. Sounds like John, you thought. You couldn’t tell how many times you and Arthur were sent to rescue him from some sort of trouble. Being the youngest, John always felt that he had to prove something to someone, which in the end, only proved that he was still the baby of the gang (despite at that point being a full grown adult).

Gradually, the laughter died down, but the smile still lingered on your lips.

“What are you so happy about?” Arthur said.

You looked into the fire, watching the flames dance and reach towards the sky, as you answered. “It’s been so long since I felt so at ease, so free…” you said.“I just-I’m real happy being here.”

Arthur hummed at your answer before saying, “Ranch life ain’t cutting it for you no more?”

“A woman can only shovel shit for so long,” you said, making Arthur chuckle. You took another swig of the rum before passing it to Arthur.

“I took this all for granted when we was together,” you said, looking around, “the freedom, the nature, the road. And now when I don’t have it, I crave it.”

You looked up, catching Arthur’s gaze and holding it as you continued. 

“I find myself so often thinking about the past,” you said and added, a little lower, “about you, how much I miss it all.”

Arthur could already feel the effect of your words on him, could already feel the intensity with which his heart beat faster. Hearing you say those words, sparked a flame in him. Only a few seconds passed before you continued speaking, but it was enough for Arthur to imagine, for a brief moment, a future with the two of you together. Could it be possible? Did he still have a chance at the happy ever after? He always was a firm believer that you can’t expect good things to happen to you while doing bad things, but in that instance, he allowed himself to believe that something good could happen.

“Oh, Arthur,” you said, shaking your head, “I think I made a mistake all those years ago.” 

The camp was silent except for the crackling of fire as your words hung in the air. Unlike a few years ago, you didn’t backtrack on your words, didn’t feel embarrassed by them. You meant every syllable and every letter. As much as you adored your current life, with your cows and your ranch, you found yourself thinking more often that you weren’t meant for it. You were tired of playing the role of the doting housewife, a rancher, shoveling shit and milking cows. The real you was out there, among the horses and the gun smoke. The thought only got stronger the closer you were to Arthur, and now that you were sitting next to each other, your thighs almost touching together, it reached its pinnacle.

No more words needed to be said as you held Arthur’s gaze. Everything has been said years ago. You stood up and got into his lap, draping your hands over his shoulders while his instantly went for your hips. The two of you stayed like this for a moment, admiring each other under the moonlight. You were conscious of nothing except the feeling of each other’s bodies against one another. Finally you moved your head closer, brushing your lips against his. You could feel his breath on your lips, the rum that the two of you drank still fresh on them. He closed his eyes, already leaning forward towards you. 

His hands tightened on your hips when you pressed your lips against his, slow and gentle like you always were. The two of you quickly found a comfortable pace, your lips moving against each other in a perfect flow, your tongues brushing against one another every once in a while. Instinctively, you started to move your hips against his, searching for that delicious feeling you were craving. Arthur wasn’t holding back either, moving his hips in tandem with yours, brushing his clothed erection over your center. His hands left your hips, moving to your blouse and unbuttoning it, revealing your naked chest.

You helped him completely remove your blouse, throwing it into direction unknown. As soon as it was away, his mouth was on your skin, starting at your neck and moving down to your chest.

“Arthur,” you moaned when his tongue circled your nipple. You tangled your fingers in his hair, gently massaging his scalp and pushing your chest closer to his mouth. You could feel his beard scraping at your chest, adding a slight burn that only heightened your pleasures. One of his hands started palming your other breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers and making you throw your head back, moaning into the night. 

He started going up your neck once again, leaving light nips and kisses from your chest, up your collarbone and neck, reaching to your ear. He kissed behind your ear while one of his hands was palming your breast, sending jolts of pleasure all through your being.

“Darlin’,” he said, kissing over your jaw and cheek, “I ain’t never lettin’ you go again.”

When it came to words, Arthur’s were always simple. He didn’t use any extraordinary vocabulary or elaborate euphemism. He always said what he meant, and his words always came from his heart. Hearing him utter this promise now, which held a vision of the future so beautiful you could hardly imagine it, made you teeter on the verge of crying tears of joy. You crashed your lips against his, not knowing any other way to express the sheer mix of love, lust and longing you were feeling. 

Neither of you could wait much longer and you untangled yourself from each other, standing up and starting to remove each other's clothes. He helped you unbuckle your belt and throw it aside while you unbuttoned his shirt. His lips were back on yours as he helped you pull his shirt away and went to work on the buttons of your pants. Before long, the little camp you set up was littered with your combined clothes, leaving you in just your drawers and Arthur in his union suit.

It was a beautiful night, with a sky so clear that the amount of stars around was inestimable. You, however, didn’t pay any attention to them, keeping your eyes on Arthur as you slowly pulled down your drawers, letting them fall to the ground. His breathing became haggard as he took in your naked form, flushed in pink from the campfire next to you. He's seen you naked before countless times, yet the sight of our body never stopped to take his breath away. His breathing was caught in his throat as he watched your every movement, following your hands as they reached out to the buttons of his union suit.

You could see the reflection of the fire in his eyes as you stood in front of him, popping button after button of his union suit, revealing his tan skin. Once the last button was open, he helped you take his union suit off, leaving the two of you naked to each other.

He took your hand in his and helped you down to the bedroll, covering your body with his. With the campfire next to you, and Arthur’s body covering yours, you felt warm and safe, protected from any and every thing the world could throw at you. One of his hands reached out, cradling your face. 

You placed your hand on his chest, running it up to his head and tangling it in his hair, bringing him down and pressing your lips against his. The kiss was as fiery and as hot as the fire you were laying next to, and in that moment, you realized that you never fell as alive as when you were with Arthur. “Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for things it has forbidden to itself,” you remembered a quote from the book you were reading a few weeks ago, and realized you were tired of resisting. You didn’t know what tomorrow had in store for you, but right now, you had Arthur and that’s all that mattered.

Breaking the kiss, he looked you in the eyes and said, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You didn’t even have to think to answer. Your answer came so quick it almost sounded as if the two of you talked at the same time.

The lopsided smile that appeared on Arthur’s lips at your words was so genuine and innocent, it made you smile in return. You made sure to burn the image of it in your memory, just like all the others you got throughs the years when the two of you said, “I love you”. 

He settled comfortably between your spread legs and took a hold of his member before slowly pushing in.

“Arthur,” you moaned his name, clawing at his back when he bottomed out. You were practically dripping with how wet you were, yet his girth still gave you that delicious feeling of being stretched.

He kept still for a few moments, letting you get used to him all while whispering praises in your ear and kissing down your neck. When you felt you were ready, you moved your hips.

As if in a dream, silhouetted by the trees, the two of you made love under the starry night sky. The erotic novels would be envious of the passion the two of your shared; your bodies, sweaty, moving against each other in a perfect rhythm, your hands and legs, entangled in each other, your moans and sighs, unbounded, sounding in an empty forest. You were so lost in each other, you didn’t care if anyone heard you, the existence of other people didn’t register to you. The world was only as big as your camp, and the only people in it were the two of you.

You could feel yourself near the peak, could feel your legs twitch each time Arthur hit that delicious spot in you. He could feel it too, with how your walls were squeezing him tighter, and how your eyes were rolling to the back of your head each time he pushed in you. He wasn’t far behind either. One of his hands reached between the two of you, finding your clit and teasing it. It was as if an electric current shot through you; all your energy centered on where Arthur was touching you. You dug your nails into Arthur’s back, holding on to him as you breathed his name into his ear.

“Come on, darlin’,” he whispered in your ear, “let me feel you.”

As if hearing his voice was the last piece you needed to fall apart, you did. You saw white for a few moments as the immense pleasure took over your body, igniting every last nerve in you to life. You kept your body moving against his, your primal urges making you chase every last bit of pleasure you could get. 

The sight of you so lost in lust, your face contoured from the pleasure you were feeling pulled Arthur overboard, and he came a few moments later, spilling in you and  warming your walls with his seed. 

The two of you stayed like this for a few more minutes, entangled in each other, whispering “I love you”s as you showered each other with kisses, from neck, to cheeks, to forehead and lips. 

In the end, the two of you moved to the tent, draping a blanket over your bodies and holding onto each other. As the night went on, the tent filled with your combined dreams and hopes for the future. For the first time since the two of you got together, Arthur seriously discussed the possibility of leaving the gang so the three of you (You, Arthur and your daughter) could run away somewhere. You listened to him with your mouth open, not daring to make a single noise in fear of missing even a word he said. Could it be possible, you thought. Could you finally have the perfect ever after you’ve always dreamt of with Arthur? By the tone of his voice and how deeply in details he went as he planned the possible escape, you realized that your new life was right around the corner.

Despite the exhilarating conversation you were having, the two of you remembered you still had to wake up early tomorrow to make it to the ranch in time (the final loose end you had to tie before you were free). Reluctantly, you brought the conversation to a close - hopefully to be picked up again later - and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 headcanons #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfics #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 headcanons #red dead redemption headcanons #red dead redemption fanfics #red dead redemption imagines #red dead redemption fanfiction

[wouldpollyapprove]

Whiskey Lullaby

Request:  Could you do something where reader goes to Tommy after Arthur gets drunk and scares her?

Requested by Anonymous

Arthur Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: mention of alchol, violence, mention of abuse, language

A/N: If any of you are formiliar with Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley, this is not based off of that, I just liked the name. It’s not super sad, so don’t worry. I hope to have the second part of It’s Quiet Uptown out soon cause I don’t like waiting for the next part of fics and I know you guys don’t either. I hope you guys enjoy this and feedback is always apperciated.

Masterlist

A sigh escaped her lips as Y/n glanced up at the clock. It was nearly two in the morning, she should have gone to sleep hours ago, but that couldn’t be done when the space next to her would lie empty for hours. She wanted to believe her husband was finishing up work or helping Tommy with something but she wasn’t a fool, she knew exactly where he was. Arthur could be found at the same place every night and it most certainly wasn’t at home.

Y/n couldn’t put her finger on when it started, everything seemed fine for a long while. Arthur would go to work and come home right after. Then he started coming home a little later and it sprialled from there. Where he once came home an hour late turned into four hours or not at all. There were mornings Y/n woke up to a call from the Garrison, some poor barmaid informing her that her husband was passed out in a corner. Being the kind soul she was, she said nothing. Lips tight, Y/n didn’t complain, what would come of it? So, she’d get dressed and march over to the pub and drag the drunk man home. 

It had become their new normal. The tired wife and the drunk husband, not one Y/n liked but she didn’t verbalize her thoughts. If she prayed enough it would all be fixed, right? That’s what she’d been taught as a child. But as she prayed and prayed and prayed nothing got better. In fact, it got worse.

And that is how she ended up, wide awake, at two in the morning. 

The front door creaked open, something tumbling through it. Y/n didn’t have to take a guess at what as she stood from the bed and walked through the house. Leaning against the doorway, she watched Arthur struggle with his coat and shoes. Had they gone out drinking with his family, Y/n would have been giggling, struggling with her own coat as well. Instead, she glared at him, hurt in her eyes. Often she wondered if she had done something to drive him to drink so heavily.

“What kept you so late?” Her voice was a flat line, no emotion present.

Arthur whipped his head up, a small smile peeking out under his mustache. “There you are, love,” he slurred, nearly tripping over his feet as he approached her. Before he got the chance to wrap his arms around her, Y/n escaped his embrace and walked back into their room. “What’s wrong?” he frowned.

“What’s wrong?” she sighed, the late hour starting to get to her. “What’s wrong is my husband comes home at two in the fucking morning shitfaced and thinks nothing of it!” Y/n spat, careful eyes scanning the man in front of her. Y/n almost rolled her eyes, almost, when she caught the hint of anger in Arthur’s eyes. 

“Ya saying I can’t go out?” he raised his voice, his suspenders falling off his shoulder.

“No, I’m saying you should be home at a reasonable hour,” she huffed. It was silly she even had to have this conversation with him. There was a point in their marriage where Arthur wanted nothing more than to spend time with his wife. Oh, how those times had disappeared. 

He huffed. “At least I’m home! I could not come home at all!”

“Then don’t!” Y/n yelled to match his volume. Who cared if the neighbors were being woken from their sleep, listening to the marital problems that could no longer be hidden.

In a fit of rage, the man threw his weight against their dresser, throwing all the belongings on to the floor. Y/n was no stranger to Arthur’s temper, he’d never done anything violent in front of her. Eyes wide, with the dressers contents scattered across the floor, she knew it would only get worse. Quickly, without much thought, she scurried past him, fleeing the room. There was no telling what he would do next and a part of her feared that she would be hurt in his rage. 

It broke her heart that the thought crossed her mind. 

“Yeah, fucking leave!” he shouted at her back.

Shivering in the damp morning air, toes frozen without the protections of shoes, Y/n knocked on the big wooden doors in front of her. She never wanted Arthur’s family to be aware of the issues she dealt with. What happened in their home stayed in their home, but she couldn’t live with it any longer. So, there she stood in front of Tommy’s door, waiting for someone to let her into the warm house. There wasn’t anywhere else she could go, her family lived in a different part of the country and she didn’t know anyone who could talk sense into her husband besides his brother. 

“Mrs. Shelby, what are you doing here so early?” One of the maids asked, opening the door and escorting her in. The woman didn’t even bother to ask Tommy or Grace if they wanted a visitor, not when she saw the state Y/n was in. She must have looked miserable from the look she was given. “Come in here,” the maid guided her into the parlor. “I’ll inform Mr. Shelby of your arrival and fetch you some tea.”

Y/n nodded and sank into the soft fabric. She would have fallen asleep, something her body was screaming for, if two figures hadn’t walked into the room.

“Y/n, what are you doing here? What happened to you?” Grace asked, rambling off questions she didn’t have time to answer as her friend came to sit beside her. Wrapping her arms around Y/n’s cold frame, the woman pulled her against her chest, allowing her to soak up some of the warmth. “You’re freezing!”

Standing in front of her, Tommy eyed the redness around her eyes, worry in his own as he paced around the room. “Does Arthur know you’re here?”

With a sigh, Y/n shook her head, the memories of the events from hours before playing before her. Shutting her eyes, they disappeared. “No.” Y/n winced at her voice, sounding like a child that had disobeyed her parents. “He’s the reason I’m here.”

“What’d he do?” The blonde beside her asked. 

Y/n and Grace had been friends ever since the Irish woman had moved back to England. Though she understood why some members of the Shelby family were hesitant about allowing her back in their lives, Grace had never done anything to her and was like the sister she had never had. For the most part, they were inseparable. Spending most of their free time together since their husbands didn’t want them to be in harm's way when it came to the family business. Even with them being so close, though, Y/n had never even alluded to the fact that she had become trapped in an unhappy marriage. But Grace wasn’t a dumb blonde, the fact could be seen in her friends eyes, the way her lips turned into a frown at the thought of going home. 

“He came home late, real late, again,” she sighed, thinking about the countless times she waited up for the man to make sure he was still alive. “And then we got into a fight and he threw things a-and… I was afraid he was gonna hit me.” The last bit was barely a whisper but both Tommy and Grace caught it.

With a sigh, Tommy ran a hand down his face. Someone had mentioned that Arthur had been drinking more, but he thought nothing of it. His older brother drank, it was fact everyone knew, so the information that he was drinking more didn’t faze him. But clearly, it should have. “I’ll take care of Arthur,” he said as he turned for the door. “Grace, why don’t you get her in bed?” His wife nodded, brushing a few loose hairs out of her friend's face. Standing from the sofa, Grace gently pulled Y/n up beside her and guided her to an empty bedroom. With exhaustion starting to set in, she needed all the help she could get to find her way. With the touch of a mother, a warm hand helped her under the covers and pulled them over her cold body. Before she knew it, her eyelids grew heavy and she was drifting off to sleep when a figure slipped into the room, a cup being set on the bedside table.

A stream of light peaked between the curtains, the brightness causing the man in bed to stir. Blinking awake, Arthur stretched his arms, turning over to wrap his arms around the body that was absent. Pushing himself up on his elbows, the events of the night before… well, the hours before, flooded his memories, causing his lips to turn down. He thought, a now foolish thought, that Y/n would have come home. She wouldn’t forget their argument, but he thought that, at least, she’d come home and sleep in their bed. Fully sitting, Arthur thought that perhaps she had done that, come home that is. 

He threw his feet over the edge, knocking the bedding off, and began to search the house. It wasn’t as massive as his brother’s, only a few rooms to be checked, and he checked every one of them. There was no sign of his wife in the parlor, the sofa tightened as it had been the day before, or in the kitchen, there was no sign of a fresh pot of tea. Standing in the hall, the man caught a glimpse of the coat that hung on the hook, light pink, matching the shoes that lay abandoned below it. Alone with his thoughts, Arthur feared what had become of his wife in the dangers of the night.

Once dressed, throwing on any fabric within arms reach, the oldest Shelby brother didn’t care how presentable he looked as he rushed out of the house. The neighbors raised their brow as they watched him run down the road like a mad man. They’d all heard what had been said in the early hours of the morning, there was no pretending it hadn’t woken them, but they couldn’t help but feel pity for the man. Just like so many others, he was left to pick up the pieces of what he’d broken.

Tommy was leaning over a pile of paperwork, trying to focus on the work he had been putting off, when the office door flew open, hitting the wall with a bang. Unimpressed, he glanced up to meet his brother’s eyes, regret pouring out of them. 

“Have you seen Y/n? We fought and she left and she didn’t come. She's never not come home,” he rambled, face red as he forgot to breathe from both his run and his worries. Leaning back, Tommy rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. “You know where she’s at,” it wasn’t even a question when he could read his brother like a book. 

The man across from him shrugged, staring at the desperate man in front of him. “I do.”

Blowing out a breath, Arthur tried to calm himself. It wouldn’t get him anywhere to blow up on anyone else with the damage he’d already caused. “Where is she, Tommy?”

A sigh parted his lips as the brunette rested his elbows on the hard wood of his desk, disregarding the papers he had once been working on. “You need to quit the whisky.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, that wasn’t the information he was looking for. He could ask a stranger on the street and they would say the same damn thing. All he wanted to know was where Y/n was and whether or not she was safe. That was all he was asking for. “What does that have to do with?” As the words left his tongue, his face fell, the gears clicking into place as he pieced together why such a statement would be relevant. 

“It has everything to do with it, Arthur, since you’re wife  was found on my fucking doorstep this morning, fucking crying and freezing, all because of something you did!” his brother shouted, shooting out of his chair. 

Arthur sighed, defeated, and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the large desk. He wasn’t even going to argue, there was no argument. His drinking had become a problem, one he liked to push aside. It wasn’t a problem unless he believed it to be, right? Wrong. Clearly, wrong. “I know.”

The man across from him scuffed. “You know? Then why don’t you fucking act like it!” his voice rang through the room. God knows those on the other side of the door were listening closely to the conversation being had. “You love her. You have since you fucking met! And she loves you! Y/n doesn’t deserve to wait up all night for you to return, you should know to come home! You scared her, Arthur,” the last sentence was low, soft compared to his previous shouts. “She thought you were going to hit her.”

The room was silent as the words hit his ears, hurt evident in his eyes. Arthur had promised Y/n that no one would ever hurt her, lay a fucking finger on her. That promise was to be held until the day he died. For to believe he would break that promise, being the one to do her harm, broke his heart. Never had he wished to heart her in any manner, whether physical or mentally. It would break him, shatter everything that the war had left untouched.

“I fucked up,” defeated he rested his head in his hands. “I fucked up.”

Watching his brother wither at his words pulled at the gangster’s heart strings. Though there was no one to blame but himself for his actions, Tommy felt he was partly responsible, ignoring the problems he saw as they were being created. “Y/n at home with Grace and Charlie, you should go talk to her and fix what you’ve done.” 

Almost an hour later, Arthur stood in front of the grand doors of his brother’s house, shifting from foot to foot. The ride over was nerve racking. All he wished to do was mend the damage he’d created, but he feared his wife wouldn't want to see him. That Y/n would be informed of his presence and wish for him to be sent away. Arthur couldn’t blame her if that was to be her reaction, but he wanted a chance. All he wanted was to be able to become a better man and that couldn’t be done without her by his side. 

The door opened, exposing one of Tommy’s longest housekeepers, Mary. “Oh, Mr. Shelby, what a surprise, please come in,” she opened the door wider as he stepped in.

Fiddling with his hat, the man felt like a young boy about to go on his first date. “I’d like to see my wife if you could fetch for me,” he asked, words meek as his eyes darted around the room.

“If you’d like to sit in the parlor, I’ll go get her,” she smiled. Arthur couldn’t tell if she was aware of the fight the couple had that morning, it wouldn’t surprise him if she did. Maids were aware of everything, though, they pretended to only know how to dust and make beds. 

Nodding, he let himself into the parlor as the woman disappeared down a hallway. She must have been gone barely five minutes, but it felt like an eternity as he bounced his knee, waiting for the woman he loved. 

“Hi Arthur,” Y/n greeted, words almost a whisper, as she entered the room, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, securing the robe she wore.

“Y/n,” he breathed, lips turning up in a smile. Though, it had only been hours since he’d seen her, it felt like a lifetime. He didn’t dare step closer, letting her keep the distance. “I… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, love. For everything,” Arthur clarified. “I’m sorry that I’ve been worrying you so much and that I’ve caused you to stay up waiting for me. It’s not fair to you. And I’m sorry…” Tears pricked at his eyes. “That I made you fear I would hit you.”

By the end of his sentence, tears had escaped his eyes, racing down his cheeks. Y/n was by his side in an instant, holding him and letting him cry. As much as she wanted him to learn, to change, she didn’t want him to hold that kind of pain in his heart. No one deserved that. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she cooed, rubbing his back as he rested his head against her shoulder. “We’ll get through this, I know we will.”

Arthur pulled away, eyes red and puffy. “What if it’s not?”

“It will be, love. We love each other and I know you can beat this,” she smiled up at him, using her thumb to wipe away his tears. “You have me and your family, we’ll help you. I’ll help you. I’ll always help you.”

It would be a long road, but Arthur wanted to get better. He wanted to fight the demons he pitifully attempted to drown every night. He wanted to kick them to the curb with something other than whiskey or vodka. With the help of his wife, perhaps that could be accomplished. He wanted it to be.

*~~*~~*

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[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 102

Okay, trying to queue this again after it apparently got eaten along with chapter 101.

Y’all pray for me to whatever higher powers you believe in or can make up on the spot. Thanks.

Thanks for this chapter goes to the fabulous anon who sent me an ask about Jedis. I really, really hope you are seeing this chapter and I hope you like it. I also want to thank @baelpenrose​ as my resident Star Wars expert, who checked, double checked, and triple checked my writing to make sure everything was as entertaining/accurate as possible.

Before you all cringe at some comments Sophia makes, she is deliberately downplaying her knowledge of Star Wars in an attempt to see if she can give some of the other characters a twitchy eye.

After an extraordinarily bizarre situation regarding my former foe and who I assumed was his partner, I was profoundly relieved to find myself in a very boring, very normal situation a couple of weeks later. Even the regular family dinner was pretty normal: grilled cheese on a very good sourdough, with a tomato soup so garlicky that even I had no objections to it. I made a point to puree it, so Derek was very happy with the texture and I was happy with the flavor. Arthur shot me odd looks once in a while, but it was a happy, calm dinner.

And things were going… so well… I thought as Maverick dragged everyone into his quiet argument with Sam.

“Sam,” He stated emphatically as he dunked his sandwich and ripped a tomato-soaked piece from it. “We all want it to be real but… humans don’t exist outside of Earth and the Ark.”

“Yoda is not human,” Sam insisted loudly, grinning the entire time.

I choked on my soup. “Yoda? You two have been arguing Star Wars this whole time?”

“Maverick insists they are not real,” Sam enunciated carefully. When he got excited about a topic he loved, he had a tendency to rush everything and drop syllables, making his words nearly impossible to understand.

“They meaning Jedi?” Arthur asked, eyeballing the pile of sandwiches on the table. Finally he snagged his third half-sandwich and dunked it without ceremony. “As much as I wish they were real, I have my doubts.”

So did I. “Human beings who can use telepathy, telekinesis, and distance-empathy?” I scrunched my nose. “I think that’s a bit far-fetched.”

“But extraterrestrials exist,” Sam pointed out.

Conor nodded. “They do, obviously. Otherwise, Noah would be a bloody big figment of our imagination.” Shaking his head, he smiled. “If we didn’t make Santa real as children, I doubt we could make up someone like Noah, right?”

Sam only got more serious. “I was always taught that aliens don’t exist. My teachers told me that the only life off of Earth were bacteria. But, even if Else is bacteria, Noah isn’t. So, maybe other things we thought were pretend are real.”

The table was silent for a moment, shattered only by Derek dusting bread crumbs from his hands as ceremoniously and loudly as humanly possible. “Sam has a point,” he signed. “Fabricators exist, aliens exist.. Hell, telepathy exists - “

“Not telepathy,” Miys interjected from above.

“Neuro-pheremonal communication exists,” Derek finger-spelled, making a point of how cumbersome the term was in a way none of the rest of us really could. Seven minutes later, he took a slurp of soup and continued. “Unicorns exist, even if they are chubby. Why not Jedi?”

I opened my mouth to refute, then realized I couldn’t: we had the genetic code for both narwhals and rhinoceros in the gene bank. Good effing luck convincing anyone unicorns don’t exist, I guess. Instead, I grasped on my one last leg of logic. “But humans, like Luke Starkiller and Obi-whatsit Kenoshi don’t actually exist.”

Maverick looked absolutely revolted by something, which confused me. He liked tomato soup, and actually chose the cheese for the sandwiches himself. “Sophia. Have you even seen those movies?” He was absolutely aghast as he posed his question, and I suddenly understood what he was revolted by.

“Of course I did,” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “In college, in Intro to Adolescent Literature.”

Soup abruptly coated everything on the table as both Arthur and Conor spat violently at my clarification. Arthur scrubbed his chin the fastest, so had the honor of levelling his incredulity at me. “Sophia Reid. Do you mean to tell me that you have only seen Star Wars ONE TIME?”

I shook my head, confused. “No. I’ve seen all three.”

“ELEVEN,” Sam corrected me loudly. “There are eleven movies.”

“Please, please tell me you at least saw Rogue One,” Maverick begged. “You may not have known it was a Star Wars movie?”

“Is that the one where the robot hits the guy and says he has another fresh one?” I asked carefully.

Maverick nodded. Arthur, however, looked like he was about to start breathing fire. “I am going to force you to consume every bit of Star Wars media worth consuming if I have to get Charly and Derek to program the audio versions to play in every room you enter.”

“I can do that,” Derek signed, unhelpfully.

Arthur just nodded. “See? I can make this happen. Your quarters will feel like Hoth, all digital communications will sound like C-3PO, and many Bothans will die before your datapad functions.”

Alarmingly, Miys interjected. “Wisdom, Bothans are an endangered species. Please do not encourage Educator Farro to commit atrocities.”

I was still gasping in confusion when Arthur recovered from his choking. “Oh shit. Bothans are real? They were a very back-stabby race of dog-type people who fought against fascists in Terran media. I thought, at least. I wouldn’t actually kill a real one… I am far more high functioning of a sociopath than that, thank you.”

“Noah,” I choked out. “Are you serious? Are Bothans real?”

“Affirmative,” they responded, setting off an entirely new round of choking and sputtering. I would need to have something done about my floors if this kept up. “And while they do resemble Terran canines on a very superficial level, they are genetically more closely related to a Terran fern.”

Arthur looked like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. “That is the least back-stabbing and least threatening plant I can possibly think of.”

Conor, not to be outdone, was still curious. “Boston or Fiddlehead?”

“Asparagus fern, Human Conor,” was the reply that set off a thousand coughs.

Sam recovered first. “That does not mean Jedi don’t exist,” he insisted.

“Of course Jedi exist,” Miys answered in a tone that was as close to being confused as I had ever heard.

Almost immediately, Arthur, Maverick, and Sam started cheering and high-fiving. Conor looked confused, while I spat my soup out again.

“WHAT?” I choked out between attempts at keeping tomatoes and garlic out of my lungs.

“They are as real as any member of any other Terran religion.”

Silence ruled the room for a split second, broken first by Arthur throwing his fork in the air behind him.  Like a signal, it led to Sam and Maverick dropping their head to their forearms with a groan.

I managed to recover enough to slide my food away, lest I risk death over an absurd conversation. “Are there anything like Jedi in the known galaxy?” I asked, receiving a thumbs up from Arthur, who was still trying not to choke on his soup.

“Only in small measures.”

That seemed like the magic phrase to snap Arthur out of whatever coughing fit he was having. “Are there any species in the galaxy that have Jedi abilities?”

“You will need to be more specific.”

Conor, laughter out of his system, joined gamely. “Is there anything that can move physical objects without touching them directly?” he started.

“Several species can,” Miys conceded. “Those who only experience what you consider ‘sight’ as changes in air currents can, in fifty-four percent of cases so far, also change the air currents in a sufficient way as to move physical objects.”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “They can stare at something hard enough to move it?”

“Wisdom, if I experienced physical pain, I am certain that your oversimplification just now would have caused such a sensation.”

Without rebutting, I waved for Miys to continue and ignored the laughter caused by the comment.

“Similarly, there are species more limited than Hujylsogox, who can perceive the physical world strictly through sound,” they continued. “In such cases, it is not uncommon for these species to also alter their surroundings by vibrating physical objects at a frequency that causes them to move within physical space.” A brief pause before, “And no, Wisdom, that does not mean they scream at objects until such objects move. I would also like to point out, Educator Farro, that the same species can cause internal organs to vibrate as a sufficient frequency as to cut off air flow.”

“Force choke is real,” Arthur whisper-shouted, mildly horrified. Clearing his throat, he spoke more clearly for his next question. “What about ‘there is a disturbance in the Force, as if many voices cried out’ etc?”

Miys buzzed thoughtfully for a moment before replying more clearly. “There are number of species who are able to perceive and interpret with great accuracy any changes in interstellar radiation, no matter how small. Should, say, a star go nova or collapse into a black hole, they are very reliable in providing information to cartographers. Should such a species state with certainty that a planet ceased to exist, I would need to see the planet from orbit in order to disbelieve them.”

Maverick let loose a low whistle, but it was Sam who spoke next. “But what about living beings, on an individual level. I know you can do that, but can any other species?”

“It is, perhaps, the most common trait in the known galaxy,” Miys admitted. “Even humans can do this, to a degree, although you tend to ignore it against all logic.”

“Okay. What about force lightning, though?”

I actually started to respond to that, having an answer finally, but Miys beat me to the draw. “Species who communicate through electrical currents are more numerous in the galaxy than those who can see. In the same way, they need to be able to manipulate such currents. Their young are frequently sequestered on their home worlds in order to prevent electrocution of species whose neural organs can be disrupted by uncontrolled communication. The same species are capable of using those same currents to increase their own synaptic response and reflexes.”

I almost wanted to laugh at Maverick’s face. He looked frustrated and ashamed in a way that I could not figure out. Maybe because these abilities existed, but not in humans? Regardless, his tone was frustrated when he asked his next question. “What about force ghosts? Please tell me those are real?”

“Very much so,” Miys confirmed. “Though likely not in the way you think. What you consider ‘Force Ghosts’ are, in the galaxy as it is, the result of technological advancement combined with spiritual beliefs.” A few groans surrounded the table, but Maverick perked up slightly. “Many species believe, as a result of their evolution, that their predecessors’ life energy persists after death. In these cultures, it is so common as to be unremarkable for a person to have a synaptic recording chip installed shortly after birth, to record their entire lives. They, then, pass their chip on to their successor in  position.” Wait a minute… I thought, but Miys continued before I could put everything together. “In such circumstances, many species’s neural organs will manifest a… personality, separate from the original, in order to preserve mental stability. Such manifestations are very similar to what Terran media considers a ‘Force ghost’.”

“Hang on,” I ventured, holding my hand up emphatically to cut off any other questions from the table. “That. Stop there.” Taking a deep breath, I thought back through everything I had read in the past. “I thought the idea of deliberately having multiple, distinct identities was… a story, honestly.”

“Even in your own past, it was discovered that the human brain can host two distinct personalities with no difficulty, Wisdom,” Miys admonished. “These species, however, are uniquely adapted so that, along with the memory implant, they suffer no actual combination or confusion of experiences. What their ancestor experienced is their ancestor’s memory, and what the person experiences is the person's memory. A person cannot overwrite an ancestral core. Only speak to it.”

“Can humans do that?” Sam asked, dazed in wonder at this new revelation.

“Not yet,” Miys responded. “But I do insist on the word ‘yet’, as you were never meant to do many of the things you do now.”

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#the miys #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #found family #original writing #earth is space australia #hfy #humans are awesome #aliens #apocalypse #science fiction #sci fi #original sci fi #original science fiction #my writing

[toloveawarlord]

Ch. 2

Characters: Elaine, Arthur x Theo, Vincent

Pairing: Elaine x Isaac (eventually)

Tagging: @plumpblueberry​ @lady-moonbroch​

A/N: This chapter turned out nothing like the first draft XD Enjoy some Elaine spending time with her Uncle and she meets a boy!

Four days into her new job as Theo’s assistant, the mood in their home had drastically lifted. Elaine never complained and paid close attention to every task given to her, exceeding all expectations. She quoted things he’d said to her years ago and questioned smartly, craving the knowledge he had. Having her along had proved quite useful with prickly clients, smoothing over situations with a charming smile and sweet words, likely emulating Arthur. 

Theo enjoyed having time with her. In recent years, they’d grown strained. The teenager wanted more freedom and broke rules in place to protect her because she believed them unnecessary. Now, at nearly eighteen in only two days, she’d fought harder. Being able to keep an eye on her put the art dealer at little more at ease.

His daughter sat across from him, glancing at him out of the corner of her vision. Elaine hadn’t taken the news that she couldn’t accompany him today well. Instead of anger, she’d pouted silently all morning.

“I take it that you aren’t happy with today’s agenda,” Arthur piped up with an amused grin not quite hidden by his cup of steaming coffee. The previous night Theo had informed him of the impending unhappy teenager.

Elaine stuffed the fork full of pancakes into her mouth, enough to make her cheeks puff out to match her frown. She’d gotten up extra early and made pancakes and extra sweet coffee, but the answer remained unchanged. Now, she wanted to drown her sorrows in syrup and butter until she got sick.

“Vincent has asked for you to help him today while I’m gone.” Theo could easily see the motive behind his brother’s sudden request. He’d promised to make her do some work instead of spoiling her the entire day.

The teenager flinched at those words. She couldn’t very well turn down her uncle, as she adored him so much. Help isn’t the word she’d choose to describe what the day would entail. He’d likely ask her to do a small task or two, nothing that required much effort. “Fine. I guess I can do that.”

Working didn’t bother her. She assisted around the house with the chores without complaint. If Comte asked, she would readily agree. It irritated her that this client wouldn’t allow her entrance to his home, prompting this sour mood. No promises of being quiet or staying outside had swayed Theo. He couldn’t risk spooking the man.

“If you find yourself in need of something to do, I can have you proofread for me.” Her grimace only made the mystery writer chuckle again. Her disdain for that job well-known. Though she enjoyed his stories, playing editor didn’t appeal to her. A tedious thing.

Theo cracked a grin, rising from the table. “You better thank Vincent for saving you from that.” One check of his watch ended the conversation. He bid his family farewell before heading into town alone.

“Are you sure you don’t want to help your Papa with his work?” Arthur teased further. He had been a tad jealous that she eagerly wanted to assist Theo over the course of the week. Ah, but he was also grateful that the two were more understanding of each other.

Elaine stacked all the empty plates to carry them to the kitchen. “I love you but no.” Her curt reply still amusing. Setting the dishes in the sink, she licked the sticky syrup off her fingers.

“Off you go then. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”

The young vampire didn’t need to be told twice. Housework didn’t appeal to her either. She did her part, pitching in when needed, but if told she didn’t have to do it... the teenager bailed as quickly as she could.

Inside the mansion, the hallways were quiet and empty.  At this hour, everyone should be awake, except for Leonardo perhaps. Rapping her fist against Vincent’s door, she cast confused glances down the hallway.

“Goede morgen, Elaine,” Vincent greeted with a bright smile. He laughed softly at her confusion. Since Arthur and Theo had moved out of the mansion with her when she was only 4 years old, daily happenings didn’t reach their house as quickly as it spread through the mansion. “We’re the only ones here today.”

“I’m okay with that.” She flashed a disheartened smile, unable to shake the dark cloud hanging over her. Her normally mischievous and lively attitude disappeared. The others might have tried to make her understand. She understood perfectly fine.

That didn’t make it less saddening.

“Come here.” He’d barely open his arms and invited his niece to find comfort with him when the teenager stepped forward and accepted the warm hug. Vincent stroked his fingers through her copper hair. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but she reminded him so much of Theo when he was a child. “You know, he couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful you were on the job.”

“Really?”

It wasn’t that he hadn’t said so to her. Theo would give praise often, especially when she came up with new ideas. Telling the others about it, that was rarer.

Vincent hummed in response, a gentle smile on his lips as she peeked up at him. “I’d say he was outright bragging. I’m not surprised. You’re his daughter after all.” Placing a kiss on the top of her head, he laughed softly at her uplifted mood.

Elaine lingered a little longer before releasing him, soaking up his sunshine-like warmth. “I guess I could stop pouting about it.” Relenting her sad feelings, she sighed softly before questioning. “So, what was it you wanted my help with?”

“I finished the final painting and I thought I’d ask for your expert advice on where to put it in the gallery space. That is, if you want to.” His request was well-received with a glowing smile from his niece. Theo had mentioned that he’d given her the sole responsibility of choosing how to use the space to best showcase the art. The uncle looked forward to seeing what she’d done.

***********

The paintings on the wall were shrouded in black cloth, to hide the precious items from view until the day of the showing. Only a select few knew what was beneath, ones trusted by Theo to make this a success. Elaine had been gifted one of the only keys to venue, a testament to her importance.

“I believe I’m looking forward to this event more than any other,” Vincent commented, allowing the staff to hang the framed piece in its designated spot.

The heat in her cheeks caused the teenager to turn her gaze anywhere else. “It’s not much different from how Vader does it. I’ve been to more of these than any other event in the city.” The location changed but ever since she learned to walk, she’d been toddling around, observing, and learning how it works. Before she’d even realized, she’d begun understanding color theory and composition.

“It wasn’t too long ago that you were only a few years old and correcting patrons on the medium or style of the art. You always had this incredibly serious expression, much like Theo.”

“That was so long ago! I’m almost eighteen!”

Vincent chuckled with a loving smile. “Yes, I guess that’s right.”

The chime of the door timed perfectly with one of the staff calling to speak with Vincent. Elaine stepped away to investigate the newcomer. Violet eyes narrowed at the sight of a boy, likely no older than herself, attempting to take a peek at the portrait veiled by the black cloth. “Excuse me, but you can’t be in here.” Her tone less than polite, Elaine thrust her palms against his chest to push him away from the art piece.

“Oh, my apologies. I’ve been most curious about why there are staff entering but it’s never been open for business.” His emerald eyes filled with hidden intent that didn’t quite match the half smirk on his lips. The boy never resisted her pushing him back to the door and onto the street. “A secretive operation, I presume, miss?”

“Elaine and we don’t open for another two days.”

Her biggest fear was that he was a spy for le academia and all of her father’s hard work would go to waste if they were discovered. He didn’t fit the typical appearance of a high bred family, usually scrawny and uptight, and he wasn’t either of those things.

“I’ll have to pop in when you are open. My name is Leon Autry.” He flashed another brilliantly smug smile and winked. “Might I inquire your surname, should I have any future questions?” The reason lost on the recipient. He’d yet to ask anything relevant to the gallery.

Elaine turned on her heel to return inside. “It’s Doyle.” Even though she didn’t quite like the boy, she couldn’t risk turning away a potential buyer. Her cheeks were warm, and it wasn’t clear if it was from embarrassment or anger. The young pureblood didn’t have many friends her age, and that led to a bit of awkwardness when around humans her age.

“Ah, like the writer.”

The girl stilled, hand hovering above the door handle. Perhaps she’d heard him incorrectly.

“You might not know of him. He’s a British writer, mystery, I think.”

Or perhaps not.

“I believe it’s Arthur Conan Doyle. Any relation?” Leon asked as if he already knew the answer, like playing a game of truth or dare in order reveal a secret for confirmation.

Elaine relaxed her shoulders. Although she could hardly admit that she was indeed was the daughter of that very Arthur, albeit the vampire one, she wouldn’t allow him to glean that precious information from her. “No, but you aren’t the first to ask. But wouldn’t that be grand? Imagine being related to someone as talented as that.” Her dreamy smile fowled his for a moment.

“Imagine.” The façade of his grin had ghosted away for a split second, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Elaine, are you ready to head back?” A third party interrupted, much welcomed by the girl. Vincent approached the two, protectively a half step in front of his niece. The tension between the two children enough to worry him.

Her head bobbed once in response. “Yes, let’s go home.” The way Leon’s eyes followed her unsettled the girl. Elaine settled back on the seat in the carriage, mulling over the strange interaction. Was it so unusual for someone to draw a connection between her name and the human Arthur from this era?

Whatever the case, she now had a proper mystery on her hands.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp theo #ikevamp vincent #ikemen vampire fanfiction #arthur and theo have a child #elaine odette doyle #truth in simplicity #isaac is coming soon i promise

[nad-zeta]

Matchup (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*。

Hi, can i ask for a ikevamp matchup? I like listening to music, though it can go both ways, my mood affects my music or my music affects my mood. I’m super close with my friends since most of them are my friends for 3+ years, so I’m not that great with new people, though I’m fine with those I’ve met once or twice before. I’m surrounded by close friends and family, so I can be as mischievous and as open as I want to be. I will only be open like that with people I care about, so unless I like someone I will put up a huge wall around them until I feel like I could trust them completely. That being said, I’m pretty strong emotionally, like comforting grieving friends, calming people down without being affected in any way, etc, and people say I give advices that actually works. I’m used to get things on my own, so I can either be a leader or the advisor, which I usually do when I want to be the leader but don’t wanna take responsibility for what I do 😅 and I may know what to do in every situation, but that doesn’t mean I know how to do it 😅

I’m also a lucky charm lol I dont know how but I’m pretty lucky, so my friends often want me on their group for projects and stuff like that or when people open up a new business they will invite me and my mom because somehow people think things go well because I’m around. And an extremely bad habit of mine is that I often take everything lightly, whether it’s getting into a fight or getting failing grades or pulling a huge stunt where me and my whole class working together to skip to get home faster from school (we succeeded every time 👀) maybe it’s because most things in my life have been pretty easy and I feel like I’m always in my comfort zone, and even if I face difficulties, they usually get done on their own so I became pretty optimistic naturally, and because of this people can relax around me since I don’t panic easily, or people get annoyed with me because I don’t take things seriously enough, whether it’s good or bad. And finally, I can have a change of heart EASILY but with a reason. Like, I can think you as the most important person who I care about, but once you betray me or do something I hate, idc I will throw you out of my life. Idc of I’ve known you for years, I can easily act like we’re strangers if l don’t like you anymore, and I usually stand on my ground unless other people convince me otherwise. After years of dealing with so many good and bad things, I have a lot of experience in many types of situations, so I know if something is legit or is it a complete lie. And even if someone usually lies or hides something from me I can understand them whether they give me their reason or not, because I’m understanding and can know the difference whether they blatantly hate me or genuinely can’t tell me about something, which is absolutely fine. I can stay away from you for years and still care for you the next time we meet unless you have a change of heart ❤

I’m sorry if it’s TMI or too little information bc I don’t often send matchup requests 😅 and thank you for doing my matchup if you decide to do this 😊

Hi hi, love! Thank you so much for the request! I hope I didn’t make you wait too long for it! I hope you enjoy it love and I hope you have a wonderful day! Hehe honestly I struggled to figure out who to match you with as at least 3 different people came to mind, but at the end, I finally settled for this special boy! Hope you enjoy it! 

I match you with……….Jean

The two of you don’t meet for a few days the first time you arrive at the mansion. At the news of your arrival, Jean thought it best to lock himself away as he didn’t want to expose such a pure light as yourself, to a monster like himself. He took a liking to you, the first time he saw your radiant smile as he walked into the dining room while you were introducing yourself to everyone. Except you never got a chance to see him, he turned around and went back to his room immediately, however, this didn’t escape the notice of the mansions big brother Napoleon. 

You were rather quiet and reserved, not really engaging all that much with the boys, your walls were on high guard to protect you from potentially getting hurt, besides you were only with the strange group of men for a month and then you had to go back home, so you didn’t want to expose yourself to unnecessary heartbreak. You had however taken a liking to Napoleon who was named your protector after Arthur tried some funny business with you. You worked hard and honestly, Sabastian had been thankful for such a hard-working, diligent colleague

You had been in the Paris of the past for a few weeks now, but haven’t really left the mansion. Comte had invited you to a big lavish ball that one of his friends was throwing and you decided it might be a fun experience. You ran down the mansion stairs expecting to see Napoleon, who was instructed to take you out to town to buy in Comte’s words “a dress fit for a princess,” however instead you saw a beautiful man standing to wait for you. You had heard about Jean but you had yet to meet him and now here he was before you, offering you an arm to escort you to town. You took his arm and the two of you were off to town. Napoleon had already made commitments to teaching the street children, and something inside him told him that you and Jean would really get along, so he stomped his way up to Jean’s room and asked his old friend to escort you to town. He was not keen TBH, but he could never refuse a request from his friend. 

The two of you walked around in silence neither daring to say a word. That, of course, was until you heard some street performers playing the most upbeat music. You followed the sound of the music, Jean trailing slightly behind you, when you came to a stop in front of the performers. You felt like dancing, the music was so uplifting, you just felt like dancing, laughing and soon your mood turned bubbly. The people around you started to dance to the music, you turned to Jean with stars in your eyes, “Jean, would you like to dance.” Honestly, it was more of a rhetorical question as before he could answer, you took his hands and started dancing with him. Jean had been to enough balls and banquets with Comte and Napoleon to know the basics. 

Soon he got into the swing of things and started twirling you around, and gently leading you, cause it was clear that you didn’t really know the traditional dances, being from the future. When the last note echoed through the street, you were laughing in delight, having the time of your life. You looked up at Jean and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of his smile, it was absolutely radiant the way the corners of his mouth lifted softly to show you a gentle smile, and little did you know, no one had seen Jean smile since he arrived at the mansion. You were honestly in the best mood, so for the rest of yours and Jean’s shopping trip you talked his ears off. Jean didn’t know why, but he couldn’t help but listen to every word, all while wearing that soft fond smile. At the end of the day, the second Jean was back at the mansion his smile faded, and he reverted back as if remembering that he was a monster, he kissed your hand, “Good night mademoiselle, and thank you for a wonderful day.” You beamed up at him and thanked him for making the shopping trip so fun, you definitely didn’t miss that slight blush forming on his cheeks as he turned to move back to his room.

Since that day, strangely enough, you and Jean had run into each other quite often, although these run-ins were orchestrated by the former Emporer of France and the Lord of the mansion. Both had noticed a slight change in Jean after he went on that shopping trip with you and both agreed that you may be exactly what he needs.

For example one day you ran up to Arthur’s room as he yelled out in irritation. You burst through the door to see the most unusual scene before you, Arthur scolding a tiger cub. You looked around the room to see the manuscript of his latest chapters shredded on the floor, his curtains had been scratched to pieces, and the cub appeared to have been playing in mud before making his way into Arthurs room, as muddy paw prints covered the entire room. You placed your hand in front of your mouth to stifle a laugh, you never did take things too seriously, “Hey you, don’t you dare laugh, this is my life’s work”. You giggled a little and told Arthur to lighten up, but when Jean appeared behind you also trying to hold in his laughter at the way you never seem to take things too seriously, you burst out laughing. That’s when Jean couldn’t hold it back any longer and also started laughing, Arthur was sister shook he had never even seen Jean smile let alone laugh. You walked over to the tiger cub and scooped him up in your arms, then you walked over to the mysterious man and took his hand in yours. Before Arthur could even say anything, you bolted to the garden all while laughing. 

You and Jean then went on to bath the little tiger cub together, which ended in a bit of a water fight. When you were with Jean, all your walls were down, and your mischievous personality came out to play, especially when you saw this beautiful boy’s smile. By the end of the day, both you and Jean were soaked to the bone, both of you went to bath and retire to your rooms for the night. When all of a sudden you heard a knock at the door, it was Jean. He had brought you a cup of hot tea and thanked you for helping him clean up his tiger’s mess. You invited him into your room, he sat down awkwardly and looked around your room curiously, he legit had never been in a girls room before. It wasn’t long before the two of you started chatting, and soon dawn had broken, and you realized that you and Jean had been talking the whole night.

You never noticed it before, but you and Jean had spent every single day together since then, chatting and laughing about everything and anything. He loved that you seemed to possess all the luck of the universe and that you would always come to his aid when Arthur was beating him at one or other board game. You would legit team up with Jean and let your luck take care of the rest. Thanks to your incredible luck Arthur had lost a bet to you and Jean and now had to wear his underpants over his regular pants for a week. 

Jean was feeling so confused and overwhelmed with all these new feelings, he had never really known love before having met you and all of it felt so new. One day he decided to tell you how he was feeling, you were always so good at giving out advice, and your presence always had the ability to calm all his fears and anxieties. Once he finished telling you about how he had been feeling towards you lately, you gave him the biggest hug, “I love you to Jean.”

Jean loved your naturally optimistic personality and your ability to bring so much joy into even the saddest of moments. You were always there for him, to reassure him whenever he was having panic or anxiety attacks. He absolutely loved and adored you and had sworn his life and loyalty to you. 

He loved that you never took things seriously, as all he did was take things seriously, so it was like a breath of fresh air to have someone around to help him balance his overthinking mind. After the two of you got together, Jean told you everything, from his dark past to the fact that he saw himself as a monster, undeserving of your love. He legit thought that you were going to push him away and leave him but instead, you kissed him and told him how much you loved him. 

You loved that Jean was always open and honest with you and completely loyal to you. He was also your voice of reason when it came to cutting people out your life for wronging you. The two of you balanced each other out perfectly.

Both Comte and Napoleon were overjoyed that Jean finally found someone to open up to and who loved him unconditionally. You helped Jean heal from all his past traumas and made him a better man. 

Jean loved spending time with you, this soft sweet, sensitive boy would shower you with love and affection from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to sleep. He would often surprise you with breakfast in bed, or drop a small chaste kiss on your lips whenever the two of you run into each other in the hallways

The two of you absolutely love just being snuggled up together chatting about your day. Jean loves to hold you in his strong arms and nuzzle into your neck as you sit in his lap and read. Often the two of you can be found in a coffee shop holding hands and reading. On rare occasions, the two of you can also be found pulling pranks on some of the mansion residents as payback for the pranks that they would pull on the two of you. 

Ultimately Jean is most happy when you are resting in his lap after a long day of housework. He would pull his fingers through your soft silky hair and send up a silent prayer to God thanking him for sending him his own lovely guardian angel, to love, hold and cherish for the rest of his life

Other potential matches………… Napoleon 

I hope you enjoyed it dear! 

@miss-wish-a-lot

#jean d'arc #ikemen vampire jean #ikevamp jean #matchups #ikesen matchup #match ups #matches #jean matchup #ikevamp matchup #ikevamp match up #submission

[orionwhispers]

Beware Of The Dogs - Part II

(A/N - here is part 2!!! almost 12,000 words lol. i hate myself. so much alfie fluff and also a little smut(?) dare i say, not really but i tried. i hope you enjoy it, there will be more parts!!)

PART I

PART III

The first taste of freedom was intoxicating.

Your flat was small, with smudged paint and charcoal coloured fingerprints along every wall and a pipe that dribbled stagnant water onto the carpet, but you adored it, because it was yours. You consumed the city like it was medicinal, desperate to see everything and anything. Your insatiable thirst reminded you of bittersweet memories from your childhood, like greedily drinking from the tap with John on a summers morning after spending every moment from sunrise running around the fields. You felt younger and lighter, a sensation so unfamiliar that you mistook it for a sickness at first, before you realised that you were finally free, like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. Your whole body felt electric, the spark that had dwindled inside of you suddenly reignited, you awoke every morning with a sense of purpose, slipping into your work heels and skirt like they were a new skin.

You always were careful though. You introduced yourself as “Rosie Smith” to anyone who asked, the alibi becoming second nature and slipping off of your tongue like sweet wine whenever you needed it. You felt like you could be a whole new person, you weren’t even sure what was real and what was fantasy, the big city engulfing you and dragging you under. You had heard people say that London was too overwhelming, that they couldn’t make themselves heard, but you loved that. You loved that no one knew your real name or who your family were, you loved that people skipped over your face in the street and let you drown in the crowd. You hung around backstreets and ran through alleys, never staying in one place for too long, you were always cautious, because you knew that all it would take was one sighting from a stray Blinder and your game would be up.

You didn’t plan to stay in London. You knew eventually that the Blinders would expand their company to the capital and it would only be a matter of time before you would be sniffed out by the hounds and dragged back to Birmingham by the scruff of your neck. Edmund had an opening lined up for you down South, and you were planning on saving your pay checks for a cottage to call your own, but before you knew it you found a reason to stay.

Two months after you arrived, Edmund sent you on an errand. It was November, the sky was a vibrant blue, the ground icy and the harsh wind was licking at any exposed flesh. Weeds grew from cracks in the pavement, leaves dripping with dew and the trees were almost entirely bare, naked branches swaying above you. You pulled your coat closer to your skin, blowing hot air onto your hands as you made your way down the street. You were in Camden, a part of the city that you had left unexplored, and you repeated Edmunds hazy directions in your mind like a mantra.

You had visited a quaint bookshop, with plants lining the windowsill and novels stacked crookedly on top of one another, the smell of dust and paper filling the room. Edmund had been on the phone with the owner for weeks, bargaining a price for some first edition Jane Austen’s that had arrived, but by the time you had got there, the woman informed you that they had already been sold.

You scuffed your heel onto the solid ground, frost sticking to your shoe. It was the first task your boss had sent you and you would be returning empty handed, it might not have been your fault but you still felt defeated. You made your way back the way you came, through the park with big looming trees. You were amazed by the vast sapphire sky above you, and the flame coloured leaves that fell on the ground. You were certain you had never seen colour like it before, Birmingham seemed like an eternal grey, and you were engrossed by the spectrum around you. You were so distracted that you didn’t even notice the dog bounding towards you until it was too late, and his massive mud covered paws slammed onto your dress.

“Cyril! Cyril! Down boy! Bloody dog.”

You heard him before you saw him, his voice raspy and gruff. You were entranced by the dog, he was huge, with fur the colour of amber and big hazel eyes that followed your every move. You knelt down to his level, not that you had to go far, and rubbed the fluff on the back of his neck, watching his tongue loll happily. Your knees prickled at the sensation of the cold ground and you felt dampness soak the fabric of your dress, but you didn’t care.

“Oi! Cyril, off mate. Get up you big lump.”

The dog relented, leaning into your touch and sighing, his back leg twitching with glee. A large hand wrapped under his thick leather collar, pulling him back gently but firmly and the big dog fell onto his haunches, paws skidding across the frost tipped grass. You glanced up at the figure that now stood before you; tall and solid like the oak trees planted in the dirt all around you. Surprise made you gasp, bitterly crisp air shocking the back of your throat, so cold it almost tasted metallic in your mouth. Before you could say anything, he offered you a large hand, olive coloured and calloused, and you took it without hesitation. He hoisted you to your feet with little effort, the dog sniffing at your heels, his tail wagging with such force that you wondered if he might take off. You looked up at the man, trying to keep your gaze steady and cool, but his presence was unsettling. He was very handsome. Not in the traditional way perhaps, not like the clean cut boys from back home with sharp haircuts and shaven faces, he looked strong, powerful, as if he could command attention with just a look. He’d certainly captured yours. Your stomach was tight, blush rising to your cheeks as you glanced at him, an unwelcome fever brewing inside of you, you felt ridiculous, small and meek beside such an alluring man. You couldn’t help it, he was unlike anyone you had ever seen before, with his wiry beard and strong nose and rose coloured lips; even the tall hat on his head and the tattoos that marked his fingers, they were all intriguing to you.

You smiled up at him and shrugged softly, toying with the hem. “Its OK. If anything I think he improved the design.”

He was silent. He watched you, his eyes unwavering as he studied your face with such intensity that it made you shiver more than the cold chill of the breeze.You desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, but he remained impassive, his sea glass coloured eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn’t quite comprehend. It seemed as though he was inwardly debating something, his eyebrows furrowing.

You were about to make a hasty excuse and leave, the prickling thought that you were behaving like a child stinging your skin like nettles. You wondered if you looked impossibly young and immature compared to the rest of the women in the city that this handsome stranger probably surrounded himself with, but before you could conjure up words, he opened his mouth, seemingly overcoming the battle he was having in his mind.

“Where are you headed?”

His name was Alfie. You introduced yourself as Rosie and told him that you were heading back to work in Highgate. His accent was thick and unusual to you, but somehow it made you feel at ease, somehow familiar. You wondered if your accent was strong to him, wondered if he could detect the “brum” inside of you, and you hoped he didn’t ask about your past, for some reason you didn’t want this stranger to know anything bad about you.

The two of you walked side by side along the cobbled path that ran through the park, it was quiet, almost empty except for the odd dog walker or couple. A low fog had formed around your ankles like the tide, and you watched Cyril chase some squirrels into the bushes, a rumbling growl emitting from his throat. You were mostly silent, your hands shoved into the pockets of your coat for warmth, clenching and unclenching your fingers from nervousness. Alfie seemed to be mulling something over in his head, his lips moving ever so slightly. Only after you had walked about fifty yards did you notice the cane in his hand, his fingers wrapped around a brass lions head adorning the top and the ever so slight limp in his gait.

“So, what do you do?” You asked eventually, your frozen breath lingering in the air for a moment.

“I own a bakery.”

You stalled for a moment, looking him up and down, pupils flittering on his fine jewellery and expensive three piece suit. He mirrored your gaze, mimicking your movements, his cane thumping suddenly on the solid ground. You smiled suspiciously and raised your eyebrows, not even giving yourself a moment to think before you asked incredulously, “How much bloody bread do you sell if you can afford a Patek Philippe pocket watch?”

As soon as the words came out of your mouth you regretted them, but you didn’t miss the spark of curiosity that flickered across Alfie’s eyes and the twitch in his upper lip. Damn Tommy and his affinity for designer brands.

He toyed with the golden chain tucked into his waistcoat, stroking his thumb across the expensive hardware and pinching the dial.

“You’ve got a fine eye.”

“My dad was a collector.” You lied. The only things Arthur Shelby Sr collected were empty bottles and spots on his liver, anything he owned that was worth something was quickly pawned for cigarettes and alcohol.

Alfie looked you up and down, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and you hated how your stomach flipped. “Right, right.” He smiled. Your comment had obviously knocked him off guard, and you could almost see his mind whirring, trying to figure you out. “So, what are you then, some kind of jeweller?”

“No. I’m a secretary, I work for a publisher. I only started a few months ago.” You couldn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, since arriving in London privacy was the one thing essential to you and your camouflage, but something about this mysterious stranger had you spilling your secrets. He had an aura about him that intrigued you, attracted you like a bee to sticky, warm honey.

He swung the cane from the ground, tilting the end towards the street that curved in front of you, using it like he would a pointed finger. “That new one up by the butchers? My mate was in there last week.”

You smiled, “Yes, that would be the one.”

He whistled suddenly, and Cyril’s large caramel head lifted from where he had stuck it down a rabbit hole, the big dog lolloping back to you both immediately. You stroked his velvet ears gently, as his body rammed into your knees and Alfie watched you, his eyes trailing you up and down once more. “So what brings you out to Camden? A woman like you shouldn’t be in a place like this.”

You stopped, “A woman like me?” You didn’t try to sugar coat your tone,

He held up his hands and you noticed the rings adorning his fingers, so close that you could cut your teeth on them. “I mean no offence, right,” He leant in slightly as if he was telling a secret, the heat of his body hitting yours. “But Camden is a bad place filled with very bad men.”

“It seemed perfectly safe to me.” You quipped. “Besides, I’ve dealt with my fair share of bad men.” You faltered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, you only recovered when Cyril nudged your palm and licked the tips of your fingers, begging for crumbs. “I wasn’t there for very long,” you added quickly, wanting to change the subject from the truth you had let slip. “My boss sent me out looking for first editions, but they were all sold when I got there.”

He nodded, sucking his tongue, the ghost of a smile at the edge of his mouth. “You’re not from around here are you?” He asked finally, and you were close enough you could see the outline of his lips as he enunciated his words, and you traced them, familiarising yourself with every dip and divot.

“You can tell?” You pulled away, not allowing yourself any more time to drown in him, you felt small and young and stupid beside him, watching him like you were a child, but what you hated more was the ache in your chest when you pulled your gaze away.

“I would have remembered a face like yours.”

You felt heat rise to the tops of your ears, and could only imagine the colour of your cheeks. You kept your eyes trained anywhere but him, following a magpie dart into the bare branches of a tree, ebony coloured feathers glistening under the milky blue sky. You had reached the end of the path now, stood beside the iron gate that led back into the street. You listened to the roar of the cars and the people around you, but neither were a match for the thumping of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears.

You could feel him watching you as you stepped onto the pavement, stood at the top of the road that would separate the both of you. You spun on your heel so you were facing him. You dared to look up and meet his gaze, noticing the scarring and texture on his cheeks that you hadn’t spotted before, his features flourishing in the sun, no longer able to hide under the shadows of the trees.

“I should head back to work.” You said, first to break the silence that had formed between you like a sheet of ice. There was no awkwardness, but rather unease, neither of you knowing quite what to say to the other. You had never been in a situation like it, never felt so nervous in front of someone who wasn’t blood, and little did you know that Alfie was feeling the same, observing you under the pale light and wondering how you left him so winded.

“Let me walk you to the office.” He insisted, voice thick and raspy.

You appreciated his offer, and truly wanted nothing more than to spend as much time as possible with him, but the voice inside your head reminded you that he was a distraction you couldn’t afford to have, not right now anyway. “No, thank you, but I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

He shook his head, starting to protest but you held up your hands, silencing him with your movements and the soft look in your eyes, he rolled his own in defeat, pursing his lips. You moved closer to him, filling in the gap that separated you, the icy breeze and the recklessness of your actions making goosebumps rise along your spine.

He smelt like leather and cedar, warm but musky, and you thought if you closed your eyes you’d be stood beside the wood burner in the house you grew up in, watching the firewood crumble into ash. You had never been this close to a man who wasn’t related to you, the only time you could recall was when you were fourteen and Harry Miller from your arithmetic class asked you to the pictures. You lied to your family for the first time that night, telling them you staying at Isabella's for dinner after school. You can remember the smell of buttery popcorn and half chewed toffees as you sat sucking on a liquorice whip, your shoulders brushing ever so slightly against Harry’s cotton shirt. Your hands were slick with anticipation and nerves from your rebellion, but the film hadn’t been on for more than five minutes before the doors swung open and you heard John and Arthur hollering your name under the flickering lights.

But you were alone now.

You could sense his eyes roaming across you, so delicate and intimate it was almost as if he was running his fingertips across your skin. You felt so alive and it terrified you, how could somebody you had spent less than an hour with make your whole body feel like it was catching alight? Before you could think you stretched out your hand, Alfie hesitated, a smirk on his lips as he covered your palm with his own, the warmth and the spark that ran through your blood almost making your knees buckle but you ignored it as you looked up at him.

“Goodbye, Alfie.”

“Goodbye, Rosie.”

That night he infiltrated your dreams. You woke at midnight after hours of tossing and turning and sat on the windowsill, watching the stars. The air was icy and you pressed your back against the old radiator, the dull warmth soothing you as you tried to get the constant thoughts of him out of your mind. For the first time in a long time you were focusing on someone who wasn’t a sibling, for the first time you had a tight coil your stomach, knotted like a rope and you felt strangely hopeful. But as soon as the thoughts came you pushed them away, you weren’t in the right place to let anybody in, everything you had worked so hard for could come crumbling down around you if you weren’t careful, you couldn’t afford to risk it all. So with a heavy feeling in your chest, you pulled your blanket over your eyes, settling into the cheap mattress and willing yourself to sleep, ignoring the tall, handsome man who tried to climb inside your mind. You couldn’t be distracted.

The next morning you woke up late, your head throbbing from exhaustion and your eyes blurry and sore. You let the cold air wash over you like a wave as you ran down the street, boot laces untied and top messily tucked into your skirt. You were panting by the time you reached the office, swearing as you rattled the doorknob and it whined in protest, you finally got it open, tumbling across the doormat and smiling hastily as your colleague Elizabeth’s head snapped up.

You didn’t notice the package until after you had made a steaming mug of coffee, inhaling the nutty aroma and letting the heat hit the back of your throat. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with red string, nestled on top of the paperwork you had been meaning to sort out. You frowned in confusion, looking up at Elizabeth with a furrowed brow.

“Oh, right, I forgot to mention it, sorry. A boy dropped it off for you this morning.”

Your mind immediately filled with storm clouds, rampant thoughts running through your brain like wild horses and you briskly ran into an empty office, shutting the door behind you so you could tear open the surprise in peace. Bile rose in your throat, there was no note written on the top or return address, and all that did was enforce the sickening feeling that somebody had found you, somebody bad.

Your fingers were shaking as you manipulated the wrapping, tearing off the ribbon and smoothing down the sides, your heart pounding and your mind immediately thinking the worst. You were expecting a threat, your over active imagination wondering if you had been sent a severed body part as a warning, but as you unwrapped the present, your heart stopped for an entirely different reason.

There were books. Six of them exactly, in pristine condition, the covers vivid and exciting, begging you to open and devour them. You hesitated, not daring to run your finger along the spines despite them pulling you like a magnet. It took you a second but realisation struck you like a stream train. They were first editions. Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, authors you adored and admired. You felt your adrenaline spike, like when you ate too many sweets as a child, that nauseating kind of elation that spread throughout your entire body. Edmund was going to be thrilled, you tentatively opened the cover of “Oliver Twist” a story that had always reminded you of your own family, and watched as piece of paper fluttered onto your shoe.

“I hope you can find some use out of these - Alfie.”

The next time you saw him was on a Friday, after work. The sun had set, the streetlights burning yellow, and the night air so cold it cut like a knife. You had stayed late and twisted your key in the lock, your fingers growing numb, trying to move as quickly as you could before you froze on the spot. You were dreaming of getting home, slipping out of your shoes and crawling into a hot bath, you could practically hear the tub calling your name. You turned around, rubbing your hands together, preparing yourself for the bitter walk home, but you jumped in shock as you saw a silhouette watching you under the pale light.

“Alfie!” You muttered, recognising his features and trying to keep your voice steady despite the surprise bubbling inside of your throat. In any other circumstance you would have been scared, terrified of being alone in the dark with a man you barely knew, but looking at him, you felt nothing but a calm wash of ease flow over you. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped closer, the familiarity of his features striking you in the gut, rendering you speechless just like the first time you met. Luckily for you, he filled in the silence that surrounded you both.

“I was waiting for the shop to close.” He said, his eyes darting across your face and towards the locked office behind you, if you knew him better you would dare to say he seemed apprehensive. “I wanted to walk you home.”

You swallowed quickly, your back growing warm and your toes curling together, suddenly feeling lightheaded and dizzy. “You wanted to walk me home?” There’s a hint of bewilderment in your voice, the only men who have walked you home - beside from your brothers- had been Blinders ordered to keep you safe, stealing any independence you had from a young age. You had always loathed those escorts back home, the men eyeing you as if you were a criminal, ready to run as soon as they looked the other way. You hated losing control and being forced to put it into the hands of whoever Tommy deemed suitable, and as much as you hated to admit it, you felt a gentle twist in your stomach at Alfie’s gesture. It seemed genuine and kind, something you weren’t used to.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be walking alone at night.” The words left him as quickly as running water, and it took you a minute to digest them, fiddling with the keys in your hands like they were a puzzle waiting to be solved. There was no malice or condescension in what he says, and you could see the ghost of a smirk on his lips, and as you looked at the innocence on his face, you could feel a hammer being slammed against the walls you have built around you.

“Are you flirting with me?” You asked finally, quirking a brow and looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“You finally noticed?”

You laughed, soft like snow hitting the pavement and Alfie felt his heart stop. The sky was jet black and these cold months seem to make everything darker, ebony surrounding you like the ocean but as your eyes met, a spark ignited between your bodies. He felt himself unconsciously drawing closer to you, the unfamiliarity of what he was about to do no match for the attraction that connects the two of you.

He brought his thumb to his mouth, scratching the chestnut coloured hairs that decorated his upper lip, flitting his eyes to the ground and tightening his grip on his cane with his other hand, using it to level himself. “Look, the other day in the park, right? I don’t usually do things like that. Well actually, I never fucking do it.”

You frowned, “You mean, you’ve never asked anybody to walk with you?”

“No.” He interjected, the truth of what he’s saying evident on his face. “Look.” He continued, eyes looking everywhere but your own. “It’s just not me, and I honestly had no bloody idea why I did it.”

You sucked on your tongue, taking in everything he said, not knowing what you should respond. Wondering if you’re imagining the magnetism that flows between you, wondering if you’re about to be made a fool and leave with your head hung and your tail between your legs. But whilst your mind fills with dark clouds, Alfie continued.

“But, truth be fucking told right, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your eyes snapped up and connected with his, and the urgency makes the both of you smile, connected by your mutual unease at the situation you have found yourself in. He has never opened up to anyone, let alone a girl he’s known for less than a day, and you’ve never been as close to someone as you are now. A moment passes, and given that you haven’t run for the hills, Alfie took it as a good sign and turned back to face the street, gesturing with his arms.

“So, where are we headed?”

Your first date was at a bar in Camden. Alfie picked you up in his car at eight, swallowing thickly when you opened the door and came out in your finest dress, his pupils blown out like he had done a line of snow. You talked all night and into the morning, drinking glasses of rum and champagne in a gold and blood coloured booth at the back, away from any prying eyes. He listened to everything you said, hung on to every word, and any break in the conversation was filled with soft looks and timid smiles. He was so burly and big and unlike anyone you had ever encountered, hard around the edges but melting in the middle when he looked at you, whilst you were so beautiful and sweet and gentle and unlike any woman he had ever encountered in the smoke of London. When the sun finally rose again and the fatigue was setting in he drove you home, promising to take you out again and you climbed up the stairs like you were in a daydream, squealing with happiness after you watched his car turn a corner and vanish down the road.

You always met up at twilight, somewhere dark and secluded where you could both be alone. It was perfect for you, you needed the privacy, you couldn’t imagine what would happen if your family found out you had begun seeing someone, let alone a man like Alfie. As you got closer, the guilt in your stomach constricted your insides like a python, you despised the lies that came out of your mouth whenever he asked about your family or your past, you hated the way that you erased your family as if you were ashamed of them. You reminded yourself though, as Alfie smiled at you, with wide teeth and shining eyes, that you were doing it for his sake, his protection, but a month or so after you had first gone out, you realised just how little he needed your help.

Maybe you had been naive, maybe you had been so wrapped up in your infatuation that the warning signs had turned into butterflies but you ignored the omens from the start. You were a smart woman, and you had grown up with enough cloak and dagger that you should have seen the signs as they unravelled around you, but you were too swept up in emotion to care.

The first time you noticed something wasn’t right was at work. Edmund had thanked you profusely for the books, running his hands across them as if he was in a trance, fingertips gently tracing the spines. He asked you where you had found them, and you told him that you had been sent them as a gift.

“Well, that’s brilliant.” He said, “You must tell me who, I need to write a thank you letter.”

You nodded, smiling to yourself, “I’ve already got it covered, I don’t have an address though, would you be able to help?”

“Certainly. I’ve lived here my whole life. I might know him.”

“His names Alfie, he owns a bakery and - ”

You watched Edmund pale like he was draining a pint of bitter, his obvious discontent evident on his face, and he held the books limply in his palm as if they had transformed from something magical to evil in mere seconds.

“Edmund are you alright?”

He ignored you, walking around you and shutting the door to his office, peering into the hallway to check you were alone. You were about to question him once again but he opened his mouth first, silencing you with a look that could cut through leather.

“How do you know Mr Solomons?”

You frowned, “We met that day you sent me into Camden, he walked me back to the office.” You spoke as if it was the simplest thing in the world but the way that your boss regarded you made your body twist together, worry constricting your airways.

“I know it’s not my place.” Edmund started, his voice barely above a whisper but his words held as much conviction as a punch in the gut. “But you must be careful - ”

“He was perfectly nice, I mean...” You didn’t dare tell him that you had been seeing Alfie for weeks now, the information you had already wanted to keep private suddenly seeming forbidden.

“Rosie. Promise me you will be careful? You can’t trust men like him. He’s dangerous.”

You wanted to ask Edmund who the hell he thought he was policing you as if he was your father, but the way the older gentleman ran a hand through his greying hair and chewed on his lip you stopped yourself from protesting. “I knew I never should have sent you out that day.” He mumbled, and you tried to pry more out of him, but the conversation was over as quickly as it started and he held up his hands and left, leaving you confused and alone.

You made your way to the bakery on a Saturday, Alfie had changed the time of your date from the afternoon to the evening claiming that he was busy with work, but your insatiable need for the truth overpowered the rational part of your brain. It wasn’t hard to find. You retraced your way back to where you had first met, through the park and along the canal, arriving at a bustling market. From there you simply asked for directions from a very hesitant vendor, only promoted with a twenty you shoved into his palm. You would be lying if you said that the hairs on the back of your neck didn’t stand up as you made your way deeper into an alleyway, surrounded completely by men who watched you with greedy eyes.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you noticed the similarities between the bakery and the business back home, the same boat yard with its stagnant smell and looming crates, the workers whose hands were dirty and eyes were distant and the darkness that surrounded you like a robe. You thought about turning around and running back, the knowledge that the perfect bubble you have created would shatter like glass if you continued, wanting nothing more than to stay in your candy coated daydream you had made, but you knew that you had to do this.

You were ignored for the most part as you made your way inside what you assumed was the warehouse, the smell of baked goods and dough hitting you like a steam train. It was a good cover, the first floor completely filled with men rolling and kneading batter between their palms, cases of rolls and loaves packed and ready for shipping, but you knew that it was all false. The men here were heavy set and covered with tattoos, as unconvincing in their aprons as they were likely to break out into song in front of you.

A man spotted you, his head snapping up and voice tight and prickly. “You can’t be back here! Oi!What are you doing?”

You opened your mouth to apologise and ask after Alfie, but before you could a distinctive stentorian voice echoed through the room like a rumbling carriage and you followed it, chasing it down a hidden set of stairs. Your curiosity was piqued, you were nervous but filled with determination to find the man whose voice surrounded you like the ocean, and you smiled as you saw the tops of his curls jutting out from above rows of barrels and kegs. You almost called out his name, but a sharp strike of something metal made you stop in your tracks, the sound so carnal and sickening that you stay rooted on the spot, concealed in the shadows.

“What the fuck are you lot playing at? I’m paying you all good fucking money right, and all I ask for is a bit of fucking respect!”

You lifted your head, trying to angle your vision and get a better view. There were about a dozen men, dressed like militant workers but with their heads bowed in shame. They were lined in a crescent, all cowering from a figure in front of them, strong men shaking like lambs being brought to slaughter.

“That fucking shipment right,” He continued, “It was very valuable and all you fucking pricks had to do was make sure it got there on time, now you’ve made me look like a mug. Am I a fucking mug to you?”

“Boss... I...”

“Shut up.” The voice was so familiar but something inside of you prayed for it to be a case of mistaken identity, especially when another blood curdling thwack echoed around you, and the slump of a body hitting the floor made you gasp. The movement of your inhale made a stray bottle fall from next to you, green glass sparkling as it cracked and shattered onto the floor, the noise making every head snap towards your hiding spot.

You swore you could feel a million eyes on you but any attempt to flee would be futile, having captured the attention of almost every man in the room.

“What the fuck are you all looking at?”

He stepped out from the murk, blood splattered on his white cotton shirt like some kind of abstract painting you could never understand. His hair was loose, tousled from his hands, chains and rings adorning his fingers, catching the light ever so slightly. He looked raw, not hiding behind an expensive suit or lavish grandeur, you would have thought he would have looked softer like this, almost exposed in front of you, but if anything it made him look more powerful, almost... frightening.

It took him barely three strides before he saw you, he was still mumbling under his breath, wiping his hands on a handkerchief in his pocket, the fabric slowly turning red. He lifted his head up, spotting you instantly and faltering, stopping dead in his tracks, his face pale, his eyes glassy. He blinked, softening ever so slightly, he opened his mouth and almost choked on the air, turning away as if he couldn’t bear to look at you.

“Ollie.” He said after a minute, and you watched a boy of about Finns age stand by his side immediately, “Take her into the office, alright lad? Let me finish up here.” His words seemed controlled, but you could hear the tremor of anger in his voice and you feel your knees buckle, reminding you of waiting outside the headmasters office when you were a child, waiting for the inevitable punishment.

Ollie approached you, much kinder looking than the rest of the men you had seen working here, and he gently beckoned for you to walk down the final few steps. He guided you into the vast warehouse, his hand hovering behind your back, but never quite touching it. Everyone’s eyes were still on you, questioning and domineering, but you kept your head held high as you passed them. Alfie’s body was blocking most of your view, but you couldn’t help the bubble of surprise that rose in your throat, some kind of strangled squeal escaping when your gaze dropped to the floor, and Alfie spun around immediately.

The man was lying on the ground, probably only a handful of years older than yourself, a pool of crimson laying around his crown like some kind of fucked up halo. Alfie’s eyes never left yours, he swallowed thickly, running a hand over his face as if he could restart his vision and you would no longer be in front of him, safely tucked away at home, away what you had seen. Ollie didn’t hesitate, finally grabbing the small of your back and pushing you forward, down a long corridor and into an office, slamming the door behind the both of you.

Back in the warehouse the tension was thick like a cloak, Alfie’s breathing short and tight, rage coursing through his veins, adrenaline bubbling inside of him. The men kept their eyes trained on the floor, sensing the anger inside of their boss, all of them terrified of being the one who bore the brunt of it.

He cleared his throat, the sound low like a rumbling wave. “If I catch any one of you fuckers looking at the girl - even fucking thinking about her, I will cut your cock off and feed it to my dog. You see her you keep your head down and keep fucking working. Is that clear?”

A chorus of agreements circled around, Alfie was less than satisfied, wanting to drill his message in everyone’s fucking skull, but the thought of you waiting for him, perhaps scared of him, was enough for him to leave his subordinates and find you.

It was silent for a few minutes, you attempted to control your breathing and the unsteady pace of your heart whilst Ollie awkwardly scratched his curls, shifting his weight every couple of seconds and you watched his sock falling down his leg with his movements, a welcome distraction.

“So you’re the girl?” He asked, his voice raising an octave, plucking up the courage to try and out a face to the stories that had been clouding his mind for the past few weeks.

“The girl?” You enquired, tilting your head.

“Yeah. The girl.” He repeated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “The one that Alfie can’t stop...”

Before he could finish the sentence you were dying to hear, the door rattled and swung open, the sound of Alfie’s boots filling the room before he did.

“Fuck off, Ollie.”

You wanted to scold him for his language towards the boy, but that thought quickly dwindled as you felt his presence behind you. Ollie didn’t scurry away like you imagined he might, obviously used to his boss’s harsh tone he instead bid you farewell, smiling kindly as he left the room. Alfie was behind you, not knowing how to approach, not wanting to startle you yet afraid of the silence that surrounded you. You kept your gaze on the mess of papers and files and folders all across the desk, so different to the calm and cleanliness of Tommy’s office, the contrast overwhelming.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He tried to keep as many expletives out of his mouth around you, but his resolve was wearing thin. He walked around the desk, chewing on his upper lip, avoiding eye contact with you and trying to keep his cool, despite the millions of questions he wanted to ask.“You shouldn’t be here, right, how did you even find it? I mean...”

“It’s a distillery!” You interrupted, much more enthusiastically than you had planned, the pieces finally slotting together. His love of rum, the barrels and kegs, the shipyard and the fake bakery, suddenly everything made sense. It was a brilliant cover, and his cunning scheme gave you a newfound respect, and you looked up at him admirably whilst he stared back at you, dumbfounded.

Alfie exhaled loudly like he was deflating, his whole body slumping until he practically fell into his chair, exhausted like he had done laps around the park. He had to admit that he was impressed, and his attraction to you had grown stronger knowing that you had sought him out, and had sussed out his business significantly faster than any of the coppers had, but now this meant that you were tangled up in his web of danger, after he had tried so hard to not let you get involved.

Twisting his neck slightly, he could feel the droplets of stray blood staining his skin, their message loud and as repetitive as an alarm, warning signs telling him to let you go. He had been foolish, he had let you get close, since the very first time you laid eyes on another he knew he was in trouble, and yet the usually artful man had allowed himself to act like a commoner.

“You should go home.” He said, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together as he mulled over his words. “I can have one of my lads drive you.”

“What?”

“You should go ‘ome.” He repeated, “Forget everything you’ve seen today,” He cleared his throat. “Look, I’ll give you something, for the trouble yeah?”

He rummaged around the top drawer of his desk and you gawked at him incredulously, “You’re trying to pay me off?” You asked, your tone false and high pitched.

“How much are we talking?” He continued, ignoring you entirely and sorting through notes in his hand.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask me that.”

He rifled through the money, fingers moving at an impossibly fast pace and his eyes following the movement, knowing that if he looked at you he was at risk of crumbling. You moved around the wooden desk so you were on the same side as him, slamming your hand onto the edge of the oak, letting the noise speak for you.

He sighed, placing the bribe on the table, halfway between both of you.

“I’m not taking that.” You said, turning your nose up at his ridiculous offer.

“You should.”

You moved closer, and you noticed every time you inched towards him he shifted backwards. You looked at the splatters on his shirt, ruby red like the jewels that adorned his rings, something oddly beautiful despite the brutality. He could feel your eyes on him, knew you were looking at the grim reminder of just what kind of man he was, the kind of man that didn’t deserve something as heavenly and innocent as yourself. Unbeknownst to him you were thinking the opposite, if anything you felt like your connection was strengthened, joined by the sinful things that seemed to follow you like a menacing shadow. Perhaps you were being stupid, you had left Birmingham to get away from the melodrama of your family and here you were wanting to get tangled up with someone potentially just as chaotic, but watching him under the pale yellow lights in his office, you wanted nothing more than to be close to him.

He was trying to push you away, but he had already anchored himself to you. There was something familiar about his actions, the attempts to pay you off and wallow in self pity. You hadn’t come to London looking for anything, but you had found each other, and after years of letting others make your decisions you dug in your heels, you would no longer let your choices be moulded for you, it was your turn to get what you wanted.

“I’m not scared of you.” You said finally, the heat of your gaze and the warmth of your words making him look up, his tongue in his cheek.

“I’ve done bad things.” He argued, and you moved closer, your belly filled with butterflies. You were acting impulsively, edging towards him like the low tide, as if invisible magnets were pulling you towards him. He was following you closely, he prided himself on his ability to be one step ahead of his enemies, but with you he was at a loss, his head swimming when he looked at you for too long, drowning in your aura.

“You were in the war, you couldn’t help it.” You replied.You were almost touching him now, and he pushed back in his chair slightly, allowing you to slip in between his legs, resting on the edge of his desk. The feeling of the wood in your spine the only thing stopping your whole body from going numb from adrenaline.

“The wars ended.” He countered. He wanted to touch you. You were radiating white hot, and he wanted to let his fingertips ignite as he felt your flesh. This wasn’t like at the clubs, there was no noise, no distraction, you weren’t dressed to the nines but you looked just as beautiful, and he wanted to feel the pulse of your heart as he pressed his lips to your throat. You were intoxicating his thoughts, so small and meek and gentle and yet you had him trailing after you like a puppy.

“Not for everybody.” You said, opening your legs a little, letting your knees touch his, an action so delicate yet the effects hitting you both like you had been doused in ice cold water.You were fully clothed and hardly touching and yet you had never been this intimate with someone before, heat contracting from both of your bodies, your words soft like smoke.

“You should leave, it’ll be safer that way.”

You leaned in and you felt him open his mouth to speak, to tell you to stop, but the smell of you and the closeness of your skin made any rational thoughts dissolve inside of him. You had kissed a few boys before, all young and immature and all just a way to anger your brothers, and you were worried you were going to feel inexperienced as you pressed yourself against him, but you didn’t want to keep thinking, you wanted to feel him.Your nose brushed against his, the curls in his beard coarse against your soft skin, his breath on your neck. Your eyes met, his pupils dark and frantic, and you smiled softly and he swore his heart burst, so you pushed yourself onto him, your mouths meeting, and he felt like you were resurrecting him. You slipped on to his lap, and he ran his hands through your hair, any protests or logical arguments for why you should both stop vanishing, melting into one another, warm and soft but also desperate and greedy, like addicts desperate for another hit. You pulled away far too soon for his liking, resting your forehead against his, breath levelling, the rise and fall of your body against his electrifying.

“I’m not going anywhere, Alfie.”

—-——————————————————-

You had always been a fan of summer, loving the heat and the late nights and the wildflowers that bloomed all around you, but you would have happily traded in all those summer evenings for the first winter you shared with Alfie.

It was cold, blisteringly so, leaving you with numb fingers and frost bitten toes but your insides were gooey and warm like melted chocolate, your body ethereal and light. There was no label on your relationship and that suited both of you, but after that magical kiss you shared in the silence of his office it was obvious that the two of you were bound together. Alfie wanted to keep you safe, he was essentially putting a target on your back every time he looked at you, every time he felt himself being drawn to you, but he couldn’t be the bigger man and let you go. He had hazy memories of love, being a teenager and kissing a school friend in a back alley, but those memories were shattered on the front line. As he grew older he preferred visiting a brothel and taking out his frustrations there, he didn’t have time for a relationship, couldn’t allow himself a weakness, but something about you had expelled the lock from around his heart, one he didn’t even know was clasped shut.

You kept your relationship a secret. Alfie knew Camden like the scars that littered his palm, and you’d meet at dusk, roaming through his kingdom without any qualms. To you he was a beautiful enigma, handsome and unpredictable and quick witted, and you longed to uncover all of his secrets. He could be guarded, to his workers he was thunderous, his voice echoing around the walls long after he had finished his rants, but to you he was quiet, wanting to drink in all the words that left your mouth, rather than speak himself.

You’d meet in the morning, walking Cyril through fields when the grass was so icy it hardly moved beneath your boots, Alfie pulling him away from chasing the ducks into the freezing water. His coat would rest on your shoulders when he walked you home from work, leaving the bakery long before he was due to just so he could guide you through the streets, your hands brushing together under the light of the moon.

After hours he led you around the distillery, voice filled with pride as he showed you his magnum opus. He would offer you his rum, feeling like his mouth might tear in half as he laughed when you choked on the flame coloured drink, pulling you into him and tasting his work on your lips, your innocence mixed with his sin. You’d sit in the back room of the warehouse, knees pressed together, him looming over you, his broad shoulders touching the smallness of your own, listening as you talked, his heart racing like he had downed dozens of pints.

Maybe a month or so later, those bitter mornings grew colder, and soon the sky was filled with clouds, thick snowflakes falling onto the streets and covering the pavement with a blanket of ivory. You had been with Alfie, Cyril at your heels, watching the deer run through the park, watching them leap and canter across the heath. It had been snowing lightly, but it wasn’t long before the sky darkened and the gentle dusting turned into a flurry, the wind whipping around you, melted snow covering your clothes. You squealed lightly, Alfie wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer, his large body shielding you as Cyril mimicked the deer and attempted to eat the falling droplets. You felt like your whole body was alight, could feel the strong muscles of his stomach as he cradled you, a sense of of comfort and security that you had never experienced before.

“C’mon,Pet,” he muttered into your cheek, hot air against your skin. If he wasn’t holding you so tight you swore your knees would buckle and you’d drop to the floor. “Let’s get you home, you’ll bloody freeze to death out here.”

You both turned on your heels and started the walk back, Alfie slowly intertwining his large fingers with yours. It was a foreign feeling for both of you, Alfie not remembering the last time he had locked hands with someone, but your delicate palm against felt so right it was as if you were meant to be moulded together, like the ivory sculptures he had seen at an art gallery years back. The thought made him falter momentarily, gripping his other hand tighter around his cane, the only affection he had had for years.

You had barely reached halfway, your feet sinking into the snow and the cold attacking any bare flesh you had exposed, before the path in front of you was nothing but a blur of white. You had never seen anything like it, it was beautiful and pure but also unnerving, the streets you had familiarised now unrecognisable, Alfie’s hands in yours the only thing keeping you steady from getting lost yourself.

Alfie stood next to you, running his tongue along his cheek and across the ridges of his teeth. Inside his head was a whirlpool of thoughts, all so strange and unfamiliar he was certain that if he said them aloud they would burn his tongue, but something about the way you felt beside him made him want to fight his usual instincts.

“We can’t go any further, right, we’ll turn into snowmen. Carrot nose and all.” He tried to keep his voice steady, his finger gently touching the redness of your frost bitten nose, feeling himself tighten when you smiled shyly up at him. “Come back to mine.”

————————————————————————

Alfie’s house was nothing like you imagined.

London was so different from Birmingham, it was more advanced in so many ways, the architecture was beautiful and revolutionary, and everywhere you looked was filled with tall buildings and towering structures. You knew he made a lot of money, you could see he ran his business with a firm hand and was obviously reaping the rewards, but you weren’t attracted to his wealth. You liked his artfulness, his dedication, you liked that he never apologised for the man he was, and most of all his underlying kindness that only appeared around you.

Nevertheless you were expecting a flat, probably on the highest floor, overlooking the city below. Perhaps filled with expensive furniture and modern art that decorated the walls, a doorman that required identification before you could leave the reception, but the reality was so much better. He lived in a cottage, just outside of the city, a small walk from the bakery but just far away enough that the noise and bustle stilled for a moment.

Everything was covered in white, but you could see the faint outline of a pebbled path leading to the front door. There was a line of flowerbeds either side of you, filled with overgrown green plants, their leaves drooping from the weight of the snow. The roof was thatched, something you hadn’t seen often and the brickwork was intricate and delicate, and ivy grew along the walls, climbing towards a window.

“It’s beautiful.” You said.

Alfie turned to look at you, finding himself smiling at your childlike wonder. He was rummaging in his pocket for his keys, Cyril impatiently scratching the front door, the big dog grumbling quietly. Alfie stilled. He liked watching you, your face red from the cold, eyes wide, taking in your surroundings. He looked at his house, he had bought it years ago and only used it as a place to eat and sleep, but even then he spent most nights at work, hunched over his desk. It wasn’t a symbol of his accomplishments, he wasn’t a man who dreamt of a manor or mansion, to him he preferred his wealth in other ways, power and order, but seeing you gazing up at it, he took a moment to take it in, appreciating his home in a way he hadn’t before.

He found his key, twisting it in the lock and pushing the door open. He held it for you, letting you walk in first, Cyril at your heels, the warm air cradling your body. You stood on the doormat, wiping your winter boots and trying to dislodge the mound of snow that had settled on your heels as Alfie brushed past you quickly, pulling off his shoes and rubbing his hands together.

“Right, I’m gonna go and put the fire on, alright Dove?”

You tried to not let the effect of his pet name show on your face but your whole body felt as if it was grinning, the term of endearment warming you up quickly. You nodded, tentatively undoing the buttons of your coat, trying your hardest to stop water from dripping onto the floor.

Alfie obviously noticed your struggle, pointing to a door at the far end of the hallway. “The loo is just down there, so you can freshen up and whatnot.” He cleared his throat, “And there’s a drying closet for your wet things and such in there too, you can’t miss it.”

With that he disappeared into a door on his right, and you noticed droplets falling from his jacket to the floor, leaving splotches along the wood. You flexed your fingers unconsciously, feeling goosebumps at the base of your spine, and you rapidly followed his directions, locking yourself in the bathroom he had mentioned.

You sat on the edge of the claw foot tub unlacing your boots, sighing once you pulled them off of your feet and realised your stockings were soaked through. You shrugged off your coat, your scarf and your winter hat, bundling them in your arms as you tiptoed across the oak, making your way over to the drying closet. You hung everything up, placing your shoes upside down the way Polly had taught you when you were a child, pushing the memory away as soon as it came.

You took a moment to catch your breath, looking into the mirror hanging above the sink. You wiped away a few stray flakes of mascara from under your eyes, and patted the apples of your cheeks, hoping for a natural flush of colour to replace the ashen tone the cold had given you. You realised as you caught your reflection in the glass that this was the first time you had been alone in a mans house, but more importantly than that, you didn’t feel scared or uneasy at all. If anything, you felt comfortable and the longer you spent apart the more you craved to be in Alfie’s presence. It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling, wanting to constantly be around someone, and you wondered if Alfie felt the same.

You slipped out of the bathroom and walked back the way you came, noticing Cyril through a gap in one of the doors, curled up fast asleep on a velvet dog bed. You pushed open the door to the living room, smelling fresh wood and smoke, Alfie’s broad back blocking the view of the fire you could hear roaring behind him.

Alfie felt your presence and turned around, a crooked grin on his face.“There you are! Was worried you had fallen down the bloody plug ‘ole.”

You laughed, rubbing your hands together, the warmth of the fire suddenly noticeable, the heat hitting your body. The room fell into a comfortable silence, Alfie moving to sit on the sofa, gesturing for you to join him. You fell onto him, resting your head on his shoulder and curling your legs underneath yourself. His hand moved to your hair, eyes watching the flames dance as he combed through your locks with his fingers, feeling the softness against him. There were a million things Alfie wanted to say to you as the quiet consumed you both, but the words were stuck in his throat like cotton wool. He wasn’t sure how to articulate himself properly, how to tell you that the last few months had felt as if the soot had left his lungs and that he could feel the rhythm of his heart once again, something that he had thought he had lost a long time ago. He was used to ruling with an iron fist, he knew how to chew someone out, make them submit to him, but handling you, something so delicate, was new territory for him.

He wasn’t great with words, so he didn’t use them. He lifted your head to meet his, cradling you in his large hands, so soft and pure and angelic under the roughness of his calloused palms. His lips met yours, kissing you in a way you hadn’t experienced before, desperate for the feeling of you. He tried to be gentle, he wanted to show his affection in the kiss, wanted to silence any doubts you might have, wanted to show you a different side of him, but you were deadly, the feeling of your lips and your hands and your hair as electrifying as the rum he would drink to numb his thoughts, his very own personal nirvana.

He stopped too soon for your liking, and you felt yourself pout, dragging your swollen lips against his, pleading for more, but one look at the want in your big eyes and he pulled back, shifting so the two of you were apart. You frowned at him, curious for the lack of attention, his eyes flitting around the room and far away from your own.

You moved closer, your hand shifting to his thigh, but pulling back when he jumped, hissing slightly at the feel of your palm against him.

“Alfie?” You asked, leaning up, brushing your lips against his once more. He tried to resist, but he couldn’t, opening his mouth and devouring you, your sweetness tainting his bloodstream. Your foreheads pressed together, and before you knew what you were doing you were in his lap, pressing yourself against him, unsure and inexperienced but full of desire, your hands moving to his hair.

You shifted slightly and Alfie groaned into your mouth, and the sound rang out like a gospel to you but an alarm to him, and he pulled back again once more.

“Pet… Pet, we should stop.”

You were breathless, your voice hoarse. “Why?”

His fingers tentatively grazed the edge of your face, pushing a stray hair behind your ear. “Because right, this is all moving too fucking fast and I don’t wanna do something you’ll regret later.”

“I’m not going to regret anything.” You said honestly. “I… I want this.” The desperation in your tone was embarrassing and you inwardly cringed, but you were being truthful, you wanted him.

Alfie sighed, running his hand over his eyes. “Look, I know that you’ve never done anything like this before, OK… and I don’t think it would be right if we carried on.”

His words stung and you pulled back, feeling young and foolish and naive. You knew you were inexperienced, but the fact that Alfie could tell you were a virgin made heat prickle along your body.

“You don’t want me?” You asked quietly, so soft like silk but soon turning to flames and scorching Alfie’s skin, turning him frantic.

“No I really, really fucking want you, right, and that’s the problem.” His voice was low, thick with lust that made him feel guilty yet urging him to continue. He felt starved of you, he wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything, but the risk was too great. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You glanced up at him, shaking your head. “You won’t.”

“I’m not good, dove, not good for you. You should be with a good man, a kind man.”

“Alfie.” You sighed, ignoring the protests in your head and instead crawling closer, settling between his open legs, watching as he took a sharp breath. “You are a good man.” You pressed your lips to his neck, around his throat and at the bottom of his jaw, your face brushing against his course hair. He had never been touched so delicately, you felt angelic under him, like some kind of messenger from God designed to make him weak, make him crumble.

He was done being patient.

His hands wove around your waist, careful but longing, running his fingers over you like you were sacred. “When I look at you I can’t think straight, and that’s bad news for a dangerous man like me.” He whispered into your hair, his words made you melt onto him, making him stiffen and cradle you, the feeling so euphoric.

Your eyes met and you smiled at him and he knew he was done for.

“Alfie, take me to bed.”

—————————————————————

The sun was setting, you could see the colours through Alfie’s window. Pink and purple coloured the sky like streaks of paint, the world going dark. Alfie was next to you, your head on his chest, and you felt warm and comfortable, your body alight. He ran his finger along your spine, liking the feeling of your skin reacting to his touch, goosebumps rising as he circled and traced patterns along your flesh.

He had never felt like this before, it wasn’t a simple fuck or a drunken mistake, and as he looked down at you, watching the slow movements of your breath, he realised that he had never let a woman sleep in his bed. He was fucked. He wanted you, needed you, he didn’t know why, but something had brought you together that day, he was sure of it. He never allowed himself to have a weakness, something that his enemies could manipulate and destroy, but you were like a drug to him, and he was a hopeless addict.

He wanted to tell you everything, wanted to say that you drove him mad and made him weak, but he couldn’t muster up the words, they felt ridiculous on his tongue and he felt like a child. So instead, he used the tactic that worked best, control. He knew he would never own you, you were not his possession or his property but he wanted you to understand that now you were bound to him, that he didn’t want you to leave, that he wanted you by his side.

“דו ביסט מייַן” He said, words running over you like warm honey.

You tilted your head, “What does that mean?”

“You’re mine.”

You blinked up at him, drowsy and content and happy. “And you’re all mine?”

He scoffed, his boyish tone returning, booming and full of life. “Course I am Pet, been yours since the very first time you fuckin’ looked at me.”

You both laid in silence, mulling over the sentences separately, bare skin against one another, an owl hooting in the distance. You relaxed, closing your eyes, your body aching and sore but in such a delicious way that you wanted to savour forever. You felt the bed dip, Alfie reaching over and slapping your thigh playfully and greedily, completely enamoured by you.

“Right, shall I put a cup of tea on, Rosie?”

Rosie. The name hit you like a slap in the face, making you feel pale and sick and faint. All of the lies you had told swam in your head, great white sharks of guilt gnawing at your skull. You had given yourself to this man, felt him above you, kissed his skin, giggled into his shoulder, moaned into his mouth. He trusted you, and yet he barely knew who you were. You looked at him, completely bare in the dim light of the room, so big and burly but kind and silly. You didn’t want to lose him, you didn’t want to be without him, you didn’t want your family destroying the one thing that finally made you feel something.

“Yeah, a cup of tea sounds lovely, Alf.”

#alfie solomons imagine #Alfie Solomons #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #alfie solomons oneshot

[saultnpeppah]

Day 3: The proposal

Day 3: The proposal for the WonderBat event “Steps to the Altar”. It’s a long one, but I hope you all enjoy!

March 1. Downtown Gotham. 9:10

Diana

I love the sun. I love the brightness it casts over the gloomy city, promising a better day over each hidden corner it illuminates. I love the heat that radiates from its core, the warmth it brings, giving life to those things left dead by the harsh temperament of Gotham winters. I love the hope it brings when you wake up to see the sun peeking through the clouds, greeting you with a magnificent glimpse of all you can accomplish.

Growing up in Greece, the sun greeted me most mornings. I often found myself staring out at the ocean in awe, wondering how something so seemingly small could be so powerful. When Mother and I had moved to Gotham, my sunshine filled days were soon overshadowed by the gloomy overcast and clouds that reigned over the Gotham skies most of the year. Eventually I learned to find the beauty in the vastly different weather of Gotham to my hometown. That did not mean I still did not miss the sunshine.

Every time the sun took a chance, peeking through the low clouds that filled the sky, I was out soaking it up. When I went back to Greece for a few years after college, I spent most days outside, soaking up the warmth, storing it up for the winter nights here in Gotham when it felt like the wind chilled me to the bones. The sunshine was a rarity, and I never wanted to take it for granted. This would explain why the phone call I had received an hour ago had frustrated me to no end.

When Charlie had called me at nearly eight this morning, I had had a foot out the door, ready to run some personal errands before enjoying my one day to myself in nearly three weeks. Things at work had become hectic, and with a new exhibit expected to open at the end of the month, I had spent every waking moment focused on work. Of course, once Charlie had called, frantically explaining they were having an issue procuring one of the items for the exhibit, I knew the sunshine would have to wait. I had a job to do.

My footsteps squeak against the freshly waxed floors as I make my way to my office, trying not to overthink the vague message in Charlie's call earlier. I am unable to help the worry that settles over me and my feet begin to carry me faster, making a sharp turn at the end of the hallway. The cell phone in my coat pocket begins to ring and I quickly pull it out, a small sigh escaping my lips when I see Bruce's name flash across the screen. He's been in Star City for the last few days, meeting with Oliver Queen and his company, trying to find a way to save the company of the reformed playboy. Bruce knows all too well how a bad image can ruin a company, as he nearly lost his because of stupid mistakes on his end. Fortunately for Bruce, he had Lucius. Oliver, however, did not.

Silencing the phone, I continue down the bright hallway, shoving the device back into my coat pocket promising to return his call when I am not in the middle of a drawback that could not only hurt my career, but also the reputation of the museum. Besides, Bruce will understand. He knows it has been a busy week, and although I hate the months when we are both so busy we hardly get to see each other, it's nice to have a partner who understands the demands of a job. Bruce doesn't fret when I have to stay late at the museum. He doesn't complain when I have to drop plans last minute because an artifact goes missing. He respects my job, as I do his, and I love him all the more for it.

When I finish my journey down the hallway, I continue into my office, barging in the door, ready for whatever chaos may be on the other end. My stomach sinks when I see Charlie on the phone, sweat dripping down the side of her face as she clenches the half eaten bagel that was surely her breakfast in her hand. She frantically waves me over, trying to distract me from the two men sitting at her desk, their head in their hands- whatever has happened is not going to be an easy fix and something tells me I'm going to have to cancel dinner with Alfred for the second time this week.

Immediately my fingers begin to work their way to the buttons on my coat, pulling one loose, ready to settle in for the day and fix this mix up, before Charlie lifts a finger and shakes her head. She nudges a few of her dark curls out of her face, staring at me with dark brown eyes while she nods to whoever is on the other end of the phone. "Of course," she says after a few moments, forcing a laugh to hide the anxiety that is beginning to creep up. "We'll get it fixed right away, Sir," she says, addressing the mystery caller.

My heart begins to pound. Charlie is usually so confident, so sure of herself and her abilities. That is why she is part of my team. When I took this job, I was up against candidates with much more experience, both in museums and in life. I was younger and I was still looking for ways to change the way museums ran, and many did not like that. My first year I ran into a lot of hurdles, but I pushed through, eventually gaining the trust of the board of trustees. That didn't mean I had been able to slack off. In fact, every exhibit, every artifact, every presentation, I need to do my best, which is why I work with the best.

Charlie is my main assistant curator. She knows the ins and outs of every exhibit here in the museum, and on the occasion I am not here, she is able to run things flawlessly. But the look she has on her face is making me worry more by the second. "I will call you with an update soon," Charlie promises into the phone, letting another nervous chuckle pass through her lips before she ends the call, slamming the phone onto the base in the corner of her desk.

"Do I want to know who that was?" I ask

Charlie shakes her head. "Andrew Lemming," she answers anyway. She wipes her sweaty palms onto her pant legs, turns, and grabs something off her desk.

Something big must have happened if the President of the Board of Trustees is calling demanding it be fixed right away. "Someone mislabeled one of the accounts," Charlie explains, glaring at the two men seated behind me. Arthur and Daryl are our newest hires, and they both came highly recommended- it's hard to imagine them making a mistake this crucial. "One of the shipments got mixed up and is halfway across town but because you're the one who put in the original order, you're the one who has to go down there."

She hands me a sticky note and I read the address written in blue ink. It's going to take at least forty minutes to get to where this is and probably another hour to get everything situated. I will definitely need to call Alfred to cancel our dinner plans tonight. The thought alone makes me sad, as he was going to tell me about Bruce's second grade volcano project that went horribly wrong, resulting in a complete renovation of the kitchen; it was definitely a story that would produce a laugh big enough to cure the stress of the last few days.

I shove the sticky note containing the address into my pocket beside my phone and turn on my heel, walking out of the office with a nod to the two men who are still sulking at Arthur's desk. I walk through the maze that constructs the basement of the museum, a sense of urgency lingering in my movements. It isn't long before I am in my car, jabbing the keys into the ignition and bringing the vehicle to life, before speeding off, hoping I can fix this before everything else goes sideways.

XXXXXXX

West End. 11:17.

The drive to the west end takes longer than expected, thanks to a fender bender on the highway that blocked nearly three of the four lanes. I had offered to help, silently cursing myself for offering a helping hand when I was on a strict timeline myself, however the two drivers only shook their heads and went about their day, already halfway through with exchanging information. Not wanting to press my luck, I drove straight to the address Charlie had given me, focused on the task at hand.

I knew it was going to be a long day. When I was done here, and had the artifact safely in my possession, preferably in a vault at the museum, I was in for a ton of paperwork. I would need to figure out how the mix up happened and how I would be able to assure the Board something like this would not happen again. Thank the gods I had accepted the second cup of coffee Alfred had offered this morning. I was going to need it.

I turn the wheel of my car one last time, letting the vehicle make the last turn that my GPS orders from me, before I shift gears, placing the car in park in front of a warehouse, and pull the keys from the ignition. My phone rings from the inside of my coat again, and I reach into my pocket, unable to help the sigh that falls from my mouth, worried about what else might be happening at the office. Bruce's name flashes on the screen once more, causing my lips to curl into a smile even though I swear my hair is graying from all the stress. Just the thought of him relaxes me slightly and even though I know I need to get into the warehouse, I want to hear his voice, if only to prevent the raging migraine I can feel forming at my temples.

"Hi," I say into the phone, placing it to my ear, letting my head fall back onto the top of my seat.

"Hi," is his response. "Everything okay?"

"No," I answer truthfully. He's going to hear about it when he comes back anyway, there is no use lying to him now. "One of the pieces for the Tibet exhibit is missing and I'm trying to track it down."

"How did that happen?" he asks. I find myself shrugging, even though I know he cannot see me, and pinch the bridge of my nose. Hearing his voice wasn't as soothing as I had wanted, and I can feel the tension growing by the second.

"I don't know," is all I say, as I reach into the glove compartment, pull out a bottle of aspirin, open it, and dump two pills into my hand. "I'm fixing it."

"That's why they pay you the big bucks," he says. I know there is that stupid smirk on his face and I shake my head and scoff.

"Shush." My eyes glance up to my dashboard, taking a look at the time displayed. My hand reaches across my body and unbuckles my seat belt, before it grabs the handle to the door of my car and opens it up. "I have to go," I explain, stepping out of the vehicle and onto the sidewalk that leads to the warehouse. "I'll talk to you later."

"Of course," he says. "Don't stress out, Diana," he says, "it'll work out." With that he ends the call.

I close the door to the car, clenching my keys tightly in my hand as I try to let out a steady breath, trying to calm myself. As I follow the cemented path to the front of the warehouse, I slip my keys into my coat pocket. My phone is inches from following my keys to their fabric resting spot when it begins to ring again.

"Hello," I answer so quickly I don't even bother to look at the number flashing on the screen.

"Di," Charlie's voice rings out, "you make it to the warehouse?"

"Yes," is my answer. When I reach the front of the warehouse I let the door slide open before I step inside, letting the hot air radiating from the heater behind the front counter warm my body. The receptionist who stands beside the heater smiles my way, pushes her glasses up her thin nose, and tilts her head. "Hi," I greet, trying my hardest to conjure a friendly smile. It is not this woman's fault I am here. She deserves some common courtesy.

"Hello," she says. "How can I help you?"

I shift my phone, moving the mic away from my mouth as Charlie is not the intended other party for this conversation, and pull my work badge from where it hangs around my neck. "I'm from the museum," I say, handing her the badge. "There was a mix up that I was told I needed to fix."

She lifts my badge, reads my name, and nods. "Ms. Prince, of course!" she exclaims. "Yes, I do believe we have something for you." She lets go of my badge and I stuff it back into my jacket, watching as she disappears behind the counter, only to appear moments later carrying a small wooden box. "Here it is," she says as she places the box onto the counter. She hands me a receipt and offers me a pen, watching as I sign for it, before she offers me another smile. "Thank you. You're all set."

Confused, I only nod and walk out of the building, the wooden box tucked safely under my arm. "Well that was quicker than I expected," I say into the phone, unlocking the car and hopping inside.

Charlie lets out another nervous chuckle. "Did you get the right one?" she asks.

My hand reaches for the glove compartment, opens it, and pulls out the pocket knife that I keep inside. My shoulder raises up and pins the phone to my ear and my hands work the knife around the box, slicing the labels and stickers around the box, carefully wiggling the blade between the boards trying to pry it open without damaging what is inside.

The box opens and I flash a grin, happy with my success. I carefully fold the knife and place it back into the glove box and place the top piece of wood onto my passenger seat, glancing into the box, hoping to find my artifact safe and sound. What I don't expect, however, are the four flowers laying inside. "What the hell," I mutter, lifting the flowers from the box, and rummage through the packing materials in hopes of finding the missing item. "There's no mask."

Charlie lets out a giggle and I stop my search. "I'm sorry," she says, "but I couldn't help myself."

My eyes narrow and I toss the box containing only paper packing material onto my passenger seat. Charlie has always been one to pull practical jokes, and while I would be on the receiving end of those pranks from time to time, none were nearly this elaborate or time consuming. "You're an ass," is the only thing I can say. "You made me come in for this."

"No, Di," she says, "it wasn't me. I was only a part of this elaborate plan."

My eyes scan over the flowers in my hand, clenching the four roses. There is a note laying in the box and I am quick to reach for it, my eyebrow raising as I read the all too familiar handwriting. I will love you until the last one dies. I take another look at the flowers and notice one is brighter than the other three and my lips curl into a smile when I realize it is plastic.

Bruce.

A comment made the night of our Freshman Orientation, when Bruce and I had been watching some cheesy romance movie where the main love interest had done something similar. I can't believe he remembered this, after all those years.

"Yeah, yeah," I say, remembering Charlie is still on the other end, "You're still an ass."

Charlie laughs harder. "Everything is all good here. Enjoy your days off."

Days? I know I'm supposed to be in tomorrow, but if Charlie says they don't need me, I won't push it. Considering I've spent a good portion of my actual day off on this wild goose chase, I deserve some time off.

Charlie ends the call and my fingers are quick to dial Bruce's number. It rings twice before he answers, but when he does, I can tell there is still a smirk on his face. "Hello?" he answers, trying to feign innocence.

I blow past his innocent demeanor, knowing he is up to something. "You're an ass," I whisper. "I mean, I love you, and the flowers, but you're an ass."

Bruce laughs and I fight to keep the scowl on my face. "But also romantic," he states.

I can't agree with his tactics, but I also cannot deny his claim. Bruce is one of the most romantic people I know. I secretly wonder if he enjoys the old romance movies I've forced him to watch countless times. "Yes," I agree, "but why?"

"Did you read the card?" he asks.

"Mmhmm."

"The whole card?"

The whole card? Was that one sentence not the only thing? I quickly turn the card in my hand, noticing the business logo in the middle of the card. The address is on the bottom along with Bruce's handwriting: I have some good news.

"What's your good news?" I ask unable to help myself. I know he's not going to tell me, he's going to force me to be patient. He's going to force me to play along with his little scavenger hunt, although I can't deny it's enthralling.

"Na uh," he says. "No cheating."

"Fine," I say, adding the address into my phone, getting the directions to my next stop. "I'll talk to you later."

"I love you."

"I love you too," I say. He hangs up the phone and I place the device on the dashboard, watching as my custom route comes up, ready to guide me through the streets of Gotham. I quickly start my car and drive off, wondering where in the world Bruce is sending me and what is waiting for me once I get there.

XXXXXX

Gotham Heights - Gracie CuppaJoe. 12:02.

The smell of coffee and fresh baked pastries fill the air as I step through the front door of the small corner shop. There are a few customers scattered around the room, each enjoying the last remnants of their caffeine concoctions and sweets. It brings a smile to my face when one of the baristas looks up from the register and offers me a large smile.

"Good morning," he says, wiping the counter with a rag, trying to clean before the lunch rush comes in for their caffeine fixes. "What can I get started for you?"

I contemplate whether I should indulge in another cup of coffee, having already had two this morning. However, the stress that both Bruce and Charlie have put me through should warrant another - maybe just a small. "She's with me."

I turn to face the owner of the voice. "What are you doing here?" I ask casually, smiling at the woman who offers me one of the small cups of coffee in her hands, before she turns to nod at the barista, who goes about his day.

Lois takes a sip from the remaining cup in her hand and flashes me a smile of her own, letting her shoulders shrug. "I was in the neighborhood," she says with a smirk. It is all I need to hear to know she's in cahoots with Bruce.

The two of us make our way to an empty table near the door, each taking a seat in a chair as we make ourselves comfortable. Lois slides her purse from her shoulder and places it on the chair beside her, eyeing me as she pulls out an envelope. "What did Bruce do?" I find myself asking, watching as she places the envelope on the table and slides it in front of me.

"I honestly don't know," she confesses. "But he helped me with that story about Lexcorp earlier this month, so I owed him a favor."

I nod, knowing full well that Bruce has been helping Clark with exclusive stories for years. When Lois and Clark started dating, he extended that courtesy to her as well. "How was Kansas?" I ask, attempting to make small talk as I grab the envelope from the table and peel it open.

Lois chuckles and whispers, "Interesting," before she takes another sip of her coffee, and ponders over the trip to meet Clark's mother for the first time. Having only met a few weeks earlier, Bruce and I were both excited and nervous to meet Clark's newest girlfriend. I wasn't sure how she would react to the fact that Clark still had dinner with his ex-girlfriend, nor was I sure how I would feel about seeing him move on, no matter how much of a hypocrite that made me. But after meeting Lois, I knew she would be a good friend, and after seeing the way she and Clark looked at each other, I knew they were perfect for each other.

"I'm just kidding," she says after a moment. "Martha was wonderful, and she spilled some secrets I'm sure Clark was not too fond of."

I chuckle and nod, knowing exactly what Lois speaks of. Martha and Alfred have much too much fun spilling secrets of Clark and Bruce's childhoods, and I know both Lois and I appreciate the embarrassing memories. "The tractor?" I ask, smiling when I remember the story Martha told Bruce and I the night of Clark's graduation.

Lois nods and finds it impossible to contain the laughter as she visualizes the event that occurred nearly two decades ago. She watches as I finish opening the envelope and pull out the card seeing Bruce's handwriting on the white piece of card stock.

I knew you would need something to calm your nerves so this one's on me. A few doors down is where you'll find your next clue.

I let out a small sigh and shake my head. How elaborate did Bruce make this scavenger hunt, and why was he doing it to begin with?

"The bookstore," Lois says, when I stuff the card back into the envelope. "Ask for Ryan."

I narrow my eyes at the woman but still give her a slight nod as I push my chair back and stand. "You want me to stay?" I ask when I realize it is rude of me to leave so suddenly.

Lois shakes her head, sips on her coffee, and pulls a small laptop from her purse. "No," she answers, "I'm perfectly content here." She waves her hand around the room and I watch as she begins to sway to the soft music that has been playing inside. "Much better than a stuffy office," she says, convincing me that she is okay with me leaving to go next door.

"Okay," is all I say, as I gather the still hot coffee in my hands. "Thank you." She nods and I see her lips tug into a radiant smile. My eyebrow raises and I know she knows more than she is letting on, but I don't bother to ask. Lois is a vault that no one can crack when it comes to confidential information. It is one of the reasons she has gotten so far in her career: people are willing to help her get information knowing she won't identify anyone who doesn't wish to be made public. With a small wave of my hand, I step out of the coffee shop and onto the sidewalk, following the path until I am standing on the stoop of the small bookstore.

My hand pulls the door open and I step inside. The walls are covered in vintage posters and artwork, signed and framed, showing the years that have gone into the decor of this place. There are rows and rows of bookshelves, lined to the brim with books. Novels, comics, and magazines fill the shelves and I wonder how a place this small place can hold what looks like hundreds of books. To the right is a small counter that houses two registers, a phone, and a computer to, what I assume, account for inventory and orders. All in all, it is a quaint little place, and I mentally remind myself to come and get lost in here on another day.

From behind one of the book shelves walks a man. He carries a box full of wrapped items in his arms, humming and bobbing his head along to the soft music that plays throughout the shop's speakers. He makes it to the front of the shop, still lost in the music, and places the box on the counter, before he turns to face me. His eyes widen when he realizes he is not alone and I can tell he is not used to customers this early.

"Hello!" he exclaims. He runs a hand through his hair and stumbles as he runs up to where I stand. "How can I help you?"

"Uh," I begin, trying to focus my attention on the small name tag that is pinned to his chest. The letters are unrecognizable, having been worn out from years of use, and it does me no good in identifying whether this is the man I need to speak to. "Are you Ryan?" I ask. "I was told I needed to speak to Ryan."

His lips tug into a confused frown. "Do you have an order?"

"I think so," I say unsure as I pull the card out of the envelope and hand it to him. Under Bruce's handwritten message lies a string of numbers. I was unsure of what they were, but when the shop owner turns and begins to type on the computer, I realize it is an order number.

"Ms. Prince," he says to himself, the frown disappearing from his face. He rummages through the box and pulls out a wrapped item. "Ah ha," is all he says as he hands me the item and the card. "I hope you like this," he says with a wink.

I thank him with a nod and pluck a business card from the counter, stuffing it into my coat pocket before I walk out the door, giving him a small wave as I push the door open and step outside. The bright glare from the sun distracts me momentarily and I have to squint until my eyes adjust. Sunshine in Gotham may have been a rarity, but when it came, it brought all it's glorious light. When my eyes finally adjust I take a look at the item in my hand, smiling at the fact that Bruce went through all this trouble to give me a little adventure while he was away.

The white wrapping is accompanied by a large red ribbon, tied to a beautiful bow on top, and I momentarily hate that I'm going to ruin the beautiful wrapping. Soon, however, the curiosity to know what Bruce has planned outweighs the want to preserve the wrapping, and I rip the package open. Inside there is an older publishing of the classic Shakespearean Romeo and Juliet.

The book is old but still in fantastic shape and as I move the book in my hands, I admire the intricate filigree on the cover. I open the cover and once again I see Bruce's handwriting.

Some people are worth dying for, but you, Diana, are absolutely worth living for.

Go to where we had our first kiss.

I smile as I pull the keys from my pocket and head to where my car is parked, hoping to find the answer to all this waiting at my destination.

XXXXX

Gotham Academy. 13:32.

Walking through the halls of Bruce and my alma mater brings back memories, some good, some bad, and I am overcome with emotions. My years here were definitely filled with both happiness and heartache, but if there was one person who had kept me sane throughout my time at Gotham Academy, it was Bruce. He was, is, my best friend. He was always there to listen to me when my mother was being overbearing and forbade me to do anything remotely fun. He was there for me when Steve broke my heart the summer after our Freshman year, and even though we had been friends since grade school, it was in these halls that I fell in love with Bruce.

I continue to walk through the halls. On a Saturday afternoon the once busy halls are nearly empty. Only a few students linger throughout the halls, trying to avoid the weekend detention they've been assigned or getting a jump on college prep exams. I don't envy them as those were some of the most stressful times in my life. One of the students looks up, their face having been buried in one an ACT prep book, and notices me as I continue down the hall. Her eyebrow raises as she tries to place my face and I chuckle lowly; being with Bruce, I have been splashed on the cover of multiple magazines, newspapers, and tabloid pages, the latter I am none too comfortable with, however I soon learned to get over the hurtful comments.

The student offers me a small wave when she realizes who I am and I respond with a small nod and a wave of my own, before I continue down the hall, turning the corner. I see my destination a few doors ahead and I breathe a sigh of relief when I notice the door to the room is the only one open, confirming that I am at the right place.

When I first got the clue in the book, my first thought was to go to the beach. That night, as we enjoyed a bonfire with half of the class, Bruce had kissed me. At first I thought it nothing more than a joke, as I was sure there was no way Bruce Wayne would be interested in the girl he had seen crying and shoving fistfuls of chocolate into her mouth more times than I would like to admit. However, as the night went on, I realized just how much I cared for him, and we spent the night together. I was nearly halfway to the beach when I realized the bonfire was not the first time Bruce and I had kissed, and I soon changed course to go back to our high school.

Our sophomore year of high school, we were forced to study and interpret pieces from Shakespear. Bruce and I were forced to work on Romeo and Juliet for the better part of the semester, which included a visual representation of the first meeting between the star crossed lovers - a visual that included Romeo and Juliet's first kiss. It was then that Bruce and I had kissed for the first time, and even though it had been nothing more than a platonic kiss between two people playing roles, sparks had flown, starting the attraction that only grew as time went on.

The room is dark as I step inside and I fumble with the switch on the wall, cursing at my nerves. I don't know why I'm anxious, but if this goes on for much longer, I'm going to fly to Star City myself and give Bruce a piece of my mind. The lights flicker on, illuminating the room, and I step fully inside. The room is the same as it was a decade earlier, albeit there are new desks that are lined throughout the room, and a new computer on the desk in front of the whiteboard, but the nostalgia is still there.

I make my way to the large desk and take notice of the small box in the center of the desk. As I get closer I can see that next to the box lays a card with my name on it. I open the card and see another message from Bruce.

I couldn't wait until the reunion.

Laying the card down onto the desk, my hand reaches for the box. It begins to shake as I pull it back. All the pieces start to fall into place and I suddenly realize what is happening. I open the box, letting out the breath I hadn't realized I had been holding, and chuckle. Inside is a giant ring pop and I can't help but think back to when I jokingly proposed to Bruce back at the end of our sophomore year.

The sound of shuffling from behind makes me jump and I turn to face the person who has joined me in the room. Bruce's smile sends butterflies down my stomach and I can't help but reciprocate with a goofy smile of my own. I can't believe he's here, having flown all the way back without telling me he was going to be coming back early, but I am grateful. Seeing him standing there, a few feet across from me, suddenly makes this all real.

"Hi," he says, taking a few steps until he is able to reach out and take my hand in his. He places a kiss on the back of my hand and gives me a smirk as he glances at the box in my other hand.

My heart beats faster when I glance into his eyes; those beautiful steely blues make my knees weak. The thumping of my heart fills my ears and I say, "It was supposed to be blue," cringing when I hear the awkward statement.

Bruce laughs and plucks the box out of my hand, placing it on a nearby desk, before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a smaller box. I let out a small gasp when I see the velvet box and although I know what is happening, I still can't believe it. "This one is," he says. He pulls his hand from mine and opens the box, displaying the ring that is inside, as he lowers himself down onto his right knee.

The ring inside the box is absolutely stunning. The white gold band is studded with blue sapphires, coloring half of the ring in a beautiful blue color that shines under the fluorescent lights in the room. The diamond in the center is a marquise cut, modest yet beautiful, and the two smaller diamonds that lay on either side of the center stone only accentuate it's charm.

"Diana," Bruce begins, forcing my attention from the ring in his hands to his face. His eyes are soft and he bites his lip nervously, trying to gather the right words to convey what he is feeling at this moment. Finally, he says, "I've loved you longer than I can remember. I've nearly lost you more times than I want to admit, but we've always found our way back to each other. I was a fool for waiting so long to tell you how I really felt, and if you'll have me, I'll spend my entire life showing you just how beautiful, how special, how wonderful you truly are."

His thumb caresses the back of my hand softly as he clears his throat, and he sends me a smile to let me know this is what he truly wants. The Bruce I knew as a kid would never have allowed himself to be vulnerable like this. He would have never let anyone break into the wall he had worked tirelessly to build. "I love you, Diana," he confesses. "Will you marry me?"

My arms are wrapped around Bruce before he can register what is happening, and he laughs as I find my voice, so clouded with raw emotion it is difficult for me to get the word out. "Yes," I whisper, trying to clear my throat as I wipe the tears from my cheek.

Bruce places a hand on my cheek, carefully caressing the skin as I repeat my answer, before his lips crash into mine. He continues to cradle my face as he kisses me once, twice, three times, each time more urgent than the last. Before we make the mistake of celebrating in one of the rooms of the high school, he pulls away, placing a kiss on my forehead before he plucks the ring from its spot in the box. He closes the small box and places it on the desk beside my ring pop and card, before he gently grabs my hand and slides the ring onto my finger.

The ring continues to shimmer under the lights and I can't help but look at it, so in awe. The ring is beautiful, balanced and adventurous, just like the relationship Bruce and I have. "I love you," I say when I finally find my voice.

Bruce nods, gives my lips another small kiss, and stands. "I love you too."

Bruce helps me up and we embrace in a strong hug. There are so many questions I have for him, like how things with Oliver went, and who else beside Lois and Charlie know about this, but for the moment I only want to revel in the bliss being here with Bruce brings. I will find out everything eventually, but for now, Bruce's arms are the only place I want to be. I love this man, I always have, and I cannot wait to finally marry my best friend.

@fyeahwonderbat

#StepsToTheAltar #wonderbat #brucexdiana #fanfiction #au #proposal

[sympathyfortheblinderdevil]

Pride: Chapter 4

Polly has a plan. (Oh, fuck.)

Chapter 3 

Just as she had promised Tommy, Lila did indeed take care of her enemies. As did Polly. Before Lila left the Garrison, she and Tommy’s aunt had a tete-a-tete in the ladies room where the plans to expose Grace were revealed.

Polly closed the door to the dimly lit ladies loo and unlatched her purse to retrieve her lipstick. “I have heard from a reliable source that Grace has been seen in the gallery downtown with Inspector Campbell,” She said it almost casually, as she leaned closer to the mirror and dabbed at her lips with the blood red bullet.

Lila’s eyes grew wide with barely suppressed rage, “We have to tell Tommy!” She felt an adrenaline-fueled numbness at the thought of that lying bitch turning over information that could get Tommy jailed or worse.

Polly turned to face her, “No. She will only lie and say that the fact that they were seen there together was a coincidence. Worse yet, she’ll turn it to her advantage by saying Campbell tried to convince her to spy, but she refused. We need irrefutable evidence that she is working for Campbell. Tommy’s still half thinking with his cock, even if he doesn’t realize it.”

Her words felt like a sucker punch. Tommy swore that he wasn’t stringing Grace along anymore, and he promised that she was only around for business, but Lila had been led down the garden path before. Still, Aunt Pol knew Tommy better than he knew himself. If she thought that he harbored subconscious feelings for Grace…

“What’s wrong with you? You look like someone just walked over your grave.”

Lila tried to straighten up her face, but it was no use. “It’s just that…,” she stammered, “he…he promised.”

“For heaven’s sake. I didn’t say he’s going to do anything.” Polly grabbed her by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “She is a snitch working for the police, and he is a man. Men can be led astray. Even the good ones.”

Outside in the hallway, a man whistled a meandering tune and bumped into the wall as he staggered into the men’s room, and they paused as they listened to his piss splashing in the toilet.

“These walls are paper thin,” Lila whispered as she turned the water on and motioned for Polly to follow her to the other side of the small room.

Polly lit a long brown cigarette and smoke swirled under the light bulb “I spoke to Arthur when he went to the loo earlier. He is going to help us. Tomorrow I will go to his office and have a little conversation with him regarding the blinders schedule for race day. He will make sure that Grace is doing inventory in a place where she will be sure to overhear.” She leaned closer to Lila and continued, “I plan to draw Campbell’s attention to the BSA warehouses along the canal.”

“What is happening at the warehouses?”

“Nothing, but we will lead Grace to think that Arthur and John are staying behind to pull off a heist, and she will sing like a canary. When Campbell and his coppers show up to take our boys down for boosting the government’s guns, they will all be at the track taking control from Kimber.”

“Won’t Grace know that something is off when Arthur and John appear at the race?” She knew that when it came to plans like these the devil was in the details.

“No.” A satisfied smile played around Polly’s lips from behind a haze of smoke. “They always ride separately. She won’t see them until it is too late to alert Campbell that there’s been a mistake.”

“And since Grace is the only way that Campbell could have heard about the bogus heist …”

“We will have her dead to rights. If she doesn’t have the good sense to disappear, I will take her out.” Pol crushed her cigarette under the toe of her boot and turned off the water taps. “Either way her cover will be blown, and Tommy will know the truth about her.”

 Lila felt awful about keeping secrets from Tommy, but Pol was right. He probably was still half thinking with his cock when it came to Grace. Otherwise, he would have dismissed her out of hand instead of keeping her on at the Garrison. Lila wanted to believe that he wouldn’t act on any residual feelings he might have for Grace, still, she would feel a lot better when her scheming ways were exposed, and she was no longer in daily proximity to him. Besides, Polly was the architect of the plan and Arthur was involved as well. There would be plenty of blame to go around if Tommy ended up feeling betrayed.

When they returned to the snug, Arthur gave her a knowing look and sank his whiskey. “I’ve got an early morning ahead of me. Inventory and all.” He said his goodbyes, and Polly left with him.

When Lila and Tommy were left alone, he filled her glass and nuzzled her neck. “Have another drink, love. You deserve it.

His nose traced circles just under her ear, and Lila sighed. She wanted so badly to believe that things were different this time, but her mind kept returning to Pol’s words. She thought about the last time that they had fallen out. It didn’t take long before rumors of his whoring reached her ears. It seemed like the things that drew her to Tommy, were the very things that should make her run in the other direction. He was a bad man who did bad things, and the truth was, she always felt like she needed him more than he needed her.

But when Tommy started humming her favorite tune and slowly trailing his fingers along the tops of her stockings, her reservations vanished into thin air. “How much whiskey have you had tonight, Mr. Shelby?”

“Almost enough to forget that there are streets out there full of coppers, and Irish trouble, and Kimber, and all that shit that takes up room in my head.”

“Almost enough, you say,” she leaned into him as she topped up his glass, draining the last drop out of the bottle. “Let’s fix that.”

 ***

 Grace’s toes smarted with each step she took. She still wasn’t used to working on her feet all night, and her shifts at the Garrison were taking a toll on her tender feet. She stumbled on a loose cobblestone, half twisting her ankle, and wincing with pain as she approached her boarding house. It was just a few blocks from the Garrison but tucked away on a side street away from prying eyes and wagging tongues. She had her identity to protect and walked a thin line between embedding herself in Small Heath while not drawing undue attention to herself. Of course, she had Tommy Shelby’s attention, but that was the point.

It had been surprisingly easy to gain access to him. You would think that the most feared gangster in Birmingham would be a bit more guarded, but all it took to turn his head was a little flirting and a song. He was easier to manipulate when he was drinking (most men are), but the night that he came into the Garrison soaking wet and stinking of opium he was an open book.

She almost had him in the palm of her hand until a week ago. When Lila waltzed back into his life, she had no choice but to gracefully step aside. Just a temporary setback, she thought to herself. The volatile nature of Tommy and Lila’s relationship was well known, so all she had to do was wait. When things fell apart, she would be there to pick up the pieces. In the meantime, she was keeping her hand in at the Garrison, and she planned to make herself irresistible and indispensable on race day.

Slumping against the door jamb, she unlocked her door and felt her way through the darkness of her room. Something seemed off. There was the smell of a man about the place—tobacco and a hint of spicy cologne. Grace felt around in her handbag for the grip of her pistol and held it as she struck a match to quickly light her lamp.

“Whoa! Mrs. Burgess!” Inspector Campbell held his hands up in mock surrender as he chuckled. “It’s only me.”

“Why are you in my room?” she bristled, annoyed at the invasion of privacy. She lowered her weapon and scowled at Campbell, “What if Thomas Shelby had been with me?”

“Oh, I watched your approach to make sure that the tinker bastard wasn’t with you, Grace. I’m not entirely stupid, you know. As a matter of fact, I know quite a lot. From what I hear he has reunited with that little secretary from the BSA, Lila. I heard that she’s keeping his bed warm at night.”

Grace balked at his statement, “A minor setback.”

“It had better be just a minor setback. You are only in that godforsaken place around those godforsaken heathens because it is important that I get information to bring the Shelby organization down. The home office has taken a keen interest in squashing the likes of them, bookmaker scum who try to get above their station. Are you still accompanying Mr. Shelby to the races this Saturday?”

Grace folded her arms and stared down her nose at him, “Yes. She may be keeping his house, but I am the one with whom he chooses to spend his leisure time.”

Chester Campbell rose and brushed past Grace as he walked to the door. “Good. See that it stays that way, Miss Burgess.”

 ***

Steam rose from the tin bathtub that sat in front of the fire. Esme had really outdone herself. She had sent John ‘round to heat water in the massive iron kettle on the hearth and draw a bath just before the Garrison closed. She had even had him leave lavender and a cheeky note about keeping Tommy relaxed. From the looks of it, John had also helped himself to a bottle of Tommy’s whiskey, but it was worth it to come home to such a lovely surprise.

Lila grinned as she read the note in disbelief, and Tommy sidled up to her back to read over her shoulder. He groaned and rolled his eyes at her crude jokes, but had to agree that her heart was in the right place. “I guess she appreciated you sending John home to her, eh?”

“Like I said, I take care of my friends.”

“Then I should count myself lucky to be among that number,” he mused.

He was lucky to have her, and he knew it. It wasn’t every woman who would take him back into her heart after all the times he had broken it. He thought of the business with Grace and immediately regretted it, but it was too late to back out now. He needed her to distract Kimber. After the race this weekend he would let her go, he thought. He wouldn’t risk Lila’s heart again. He buried his face in her hair and sighed, “I need you, Lila.”

He had a way of saying exactly what she needed to hear. She turned around in his arms and ran her hands over his chest, hooking her thumbs in his braces and sliding them down his arms. Tommy rolled his head back and exhaled, the weight of all his worries evaporating as she pressed kisses to his throat and unbuttoned his shirt. He wordlessly pulled his undershirt over his head and slipped out of his trousers while she unbuttoned her dress letting it fall and pool at her feet.

She stood in her slip with the flames glowing behind her. Tommy gazed at her with longing. He brought his hands up to her hair and gently pulled out her combs, sending her dark locks cascading down in waves. It was strange, yet undeniable to him how quickly his feelings for her came rushing back. Whenever he returned to her they just picked up where they last left off. Since the week before when he held her in the street outside of the pub she had opened his heart and his emotions for her had only deepened. He loved her for the way she glowed when he touched her, for the way she took care of him, for the way his mind felt calm when he looked into her eyes; he loved her for herself.

He pulled her head to his chest and traced circles on her back with his fingertips. They stood there, swaying and breathing each other in until Lila shimmied out of her slip and gave him a boozy, crooked smile. “C’mon, Tom.” He watched her back as she padded across the floor and dipped her toe into the water then flicked some in his direction. “Get in this tub with me before it goes cold.”

Chapter 5

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