#and then there's a sudden burst of color for Arthur

[wonderlanddreamer]

Possessive!Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary - It's a dangerous game making Tommy Shelby jealous, but you play it so well.

Warnings - Smut - 18+ only. MDNI.

As you push open the heavy oak door of the Garrison Pub, a thick, smoky haze immediately envelops you, curling around your senses like a familiar cloak. The air is dense with the rich aroma of tobacco and the sharp tang of spilled ale. The dim lighting casts long shadows across the room, each corner filled with hushed conversations and the occasional burst of raucous laughter. The familiar hum of voices mingles with the clinking of glasses, creating a symphony that is both chaotic and comforting.

Tonight, the atmosphere is charged, almost electric, crackling with an undercurrent of tension and anticipation. The promise of clandestine deals and lurking danger hangs palpably in the air, making every interaction feel significant. As you weave through the throng of patrons, you exchange polite nods and murmured greetings, your practiced smile never faltering. Your eyes, however, are far from idle, darting around the room with purpose, scanning each face in search of one particular figure.

Tommy Shelby.

You find him in his usual corner, deep in conversation with Arthur and John. The dim light casts shadows across his sharp features, his piercing blue eyes catching the glint of the whiskey bottle on the table. His presence is magnetic, drawing your attention like a moth to a flame.

But tonight, you decide to deviate from your usual direct approach and indulge in a bit of fun. As you make your way to the bar, the polished mahogany surface glistens under the dim lights, reflecting the amber hues of countless spirits. You lean casually against the bar, your posture relaxed but your senses heightened, aware of the charged atmosphere surrounding you.

You strike up a conversation with a group of men gathered nearby, their faces flushed with the warmth of alcohol and camaraderie. They’re charming in their own rough-edged way, each trying to outdo the other with witty remarks and stories. Their laughter is infectious, a hearty sound that echoes through the smoky haze, drawing the attention of other patrons. You can feel their eyes on you, but one gaze in particular stands out—Tommy’s. His stare is intense, a palpable force that sends shivers down your spine despite the warmth of the room.

“Another drink, love?” one of the men asks, his voice smooth and inviting as he leans in closer, his smile broadening at your proximity.

“Sure,” you reply, a playful twinkle dancing in your eyes. “Why not?”

The banter continues, light and flirtatious, as you sip your drink and engage with the men. Their joviality is contagious, and for a moment, you allow yourself to be swept up in the carefree atmosphere. But underneath it all, you are acutely aware of Tommy’s presence, his patience visibly wearing thin. His usual calm demeanor is beginning to crack, the storm brewing beneath his composed exterior becoming more apparent by the minute.

Then, without warning, Tommy stands abruptly. The sudden movement causes his chair to scrape loudly against the wooden floor, a jarring sound that cuts through the din of the pub. He strides towards you with an unmistakable purpose, his eyes never leaving your face. The crowd seems to part instinctively, sensing the tension in the air.

“Oi, Y/N,” Tommy’s voice slices through the chatter like a knife, commanding and authoritative. “A word.”

The men around you fall silent, their jovial expressions quickly shifting to ones of unease as they recognize the imposing figure of Tommy Shelby. His reputation precedes him, and the mere sight of him is enough to drain the color from their faces. The once lively atmosphere around you is now thick with tension, a stark contrast to the light-hearted banter of just moments ago.

You follow Tommy without protest, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension. The surge of adrenaline is almost intoxicating, every step you take heightening your senses. Tommy’s grip on your arm is firm but not harsh, his touch sending an electric current through your skin. He leads you through the bustling crowd, which seems to instinctively part in his wake, as if repelled by an unseen force. The noise of the pub fades into a dull hum as you move further away from the central hub of activity.

He guides you to a more secluded corner of the pub, a dimly lit alcove shrouded in shadows. Here, the air is cooler, the sounds of the pub reduced to a distant murmur. It's a place designed for private conversations, away from prying eyes and ears. You lean casually against the rough wooden wall, feigning innocence as you meet Tommy’s intense gaze, which is filled with a mixture of frustration and something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“What’s this about, Tommy?” you ask, your voice light and teasing, though your heart is racing. You tilt your head slightly, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

His eyes bore into yours, a flicker of anger and something more primal lurking in their depths. They blaze with a mix of emotions—betrayal, possessiveness, and an unmistakable hunger. "You know exactly what this is about," he growls, his voice a low rumble that resonates deep within you. He steps closer, the heat of his body palpable, until there's barely an inch of space between you.

"Do I?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow, your own voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. "Just having a bit of fun, Tommy. No harm in that."

His hand shoots out with lightning speed, fingers wrapping around your chin, firm but not painful. The suddenness of his touch sends a jolt through you, and you can feel the roughness of his skin against yours. "Fun?" he repeats, his voice a dangerous whisper that cuts through the air like a blade. "Is that what you call it? Flirting with other men right in front of me?"

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening at his possessive tone. His grip, though not harsh, is unyielding, forcing you to hold his gaze. "I didn't think you'd mind," you manage to say, though your voice is tinged with uncertainty, betraying the nerves you try so hard to mask.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. The proximity is intoxicating, his presence overwhelming. "Oh, I mind, Y/N. I mind very much," he whispers, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. The sensation is a tantalizing mix of warmth and danger, heightening your awareness of every inch of your body. "You're mine. And I don't share."

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, a heady mix of fear and desire flooding your senses, making it difficult to think clearly. "Tommy..." you begin, your voice barely a whisper, but he silences you with a searing kiss. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a claim, a declaration. His lips are demanding, moving against yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless, your knees weak. The world around you disappears, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you.

When he finally pulls away, you gasp for air, your heart racing. His eyes are blazing with a possessive fire that both thrills and terrifies you. "Understand this, Y/N," he says, his voice a low, dangerous growl that reverberates through your very core. "If you ever pull a stunt like that again, there will be consequences."

You nod, the gravity of his words sinking in, rendering you speechless. The jealousy in his eyes, the raw possessiveness—it all leaves you reeling, caught in a whirlwind of emotions. The intensity of his gaze holds you captive, making it impossible to look away.

"Good," he murmurs, his tone softening slightly as his thumb brushes tenderly over your lips, a stark contrast to the fierceness of his earlier kiss. The touch is gentle, almost reverent, and it sends another shiver through you. "Now, come with me."

The Garrison Pub fades into the background as Tommy leads you upstairs to his private quarters. His grip on your hand is firm, a silent promise of what's to come, and the anticipation is almost unbearable. Your footsteps echo softly against the wooden stairs, each step taking you further away from the lively din of the pub and deeper into Tommy's world.

Once inside, he closes the door with a definitive click, shutting out the world and leaving only the two of you in the dimly lit room. The room is bathed in the warm, flickering glow of candlelight, the shadows dancing across the walls like silent spectators to the unfolding drama. The scent of aged wood and leather mingles with the faint aroma of whiskey, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that heightens your senses.

Tommy turns to you, his eyes still burning with that possessive fire, a storm of emotions swirling within their depths. You barely have a moment to catch your breath before he's on you, his movements swift and decisive. His lips crash onto yours with a fervor that leaves you dizzy, his kiss demanding and almost punishing. It's as if he's trying to erase the memory of your earlier flirtations with other men, to reclaim you as his own.

He backs you against the wall, the firm pressure of his body pinning you in place. His hands are everywhere, roaming over your body with a desperate need that mirrors your own. The heat of his touch seeps through your clothes, igniting a fire that burns brighter with each passing second. You respond in kind, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. It becomes a battle for dominance, a fierce clash of wills and desires that neither of you wants to lose. His tongue tangles with yours, exploring and claiming every inch of your mouth with a fervor that leaves you breathless.

"Tommy," you gasp as he breaks the kiss, his lips moving to trail down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and anticipation that makes your skin tingle. "Tommy, please..."

He pulls back slightly, just enough to lock eyes with you. The intensity in his gaze makes your heart race, a storm of emotions swirling within those deep blue depths. "Please what, love?" he murmurs, his voice a husky growl that sends shivers down your spine. The sound of it is electrifying, a promise of what's to come.

"Touch me," you breathe, your hands tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. The need in your voice is unmistakable, and it spurs him into action.

A wicked smile curls at the corners of his mouth as he obliges, his hands slipping under your blouse to caress the soft skin beneath. The contrast between the roughness of his calloused hands and the smoothness of your skin is intoxicating, igniting a fire within you that demands more. You arch into his touch, craving the sensation of his hands on your body. His fingers trail over your ribs, brushing the sides of your breasts before he cups them, his thumbs teasing your nipples through the fabric of your bra.

You moan softly, the sound escaping your lips and driving him wild. The primal noise seems to unlock something within him, and with a growl, he lifts you effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he carries you to the bed, each step filled with urgency and desire. The world blurs around you, reduced to the singular focus of his touch, his presence.

He lays you down on the bed with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the raw intensity of his actions. His body presses against yours, the weight and warmth of him grounding you even as your senses spiral into overdrive. His hands move with practiced ease, making quick work of your clothes, each piece discarded with little ceremony until you're both bare, skin to skin.

For a moment, he pauses, his eyes raking over your body with an intensity that makes you feel both vulnerable and desired. The way he looks at you, with such raw, unfiltered emotion, sends a shiver down your spine. "You're beautiful," he whispers, his voice filled with a rare tenderness that takes your breath away. The softness in his tone is a stark contrast to the earlier intensity, and it makes your heart ache with love.

You reach up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs gently brushing against his cheekbones. "So are you," you reply, your voice soft but filled with sincerity. There's a moment of profound connection as you gaze into each other's eyes, a silent communication of everything you feel.

He captures your lips in another searing kiss, his body moving against yours in a rhythm that feels both familiar and new. The heat of his skin against yours is intoxicating, every touch, every kiss sending sparks of pleasure through your body. His hands roam over your curves, mapping out every inch of you as if committing it to memory. The way his fingers trace the lines of your body, the reverence in his touch, makes you feel cherished and desired in a way that words could never express.

"Mine," he whispers against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. The possessiveness in his voice is undeniable, but there's also a hint of vulnerability, as if he's afraid to lose you. "You're mine, Y/N."

"Yours," you agree, your voice breathless and filled with the same desperate need. The word hangs in the air, a promise, a declaration, a surrender. You are his, in every way that matters, and it feels right.

He slides down your body, his lips leaving a burning trail as he goes. The sensation is overwhelming, each kiss, each touch, building the anticipation, the need. He pauses at your breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking gently before moving to the other. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, your back arching off the bed, a moan escaping your lips.

"Tommy, please," you beg, your hands fisting in the sheets. The need in your voice is palpable, a raw, desperate plea for more.

He continues his descent, his lips and tongue exploring every inch of your body with a reverence that makes you feel worshipped. Every kiss, every touch, sends waves of pleasure rippling through you, heightening your senses and making you acutely aware of every inch of your skin. He lingers at your hips, his breath hot against your skin, before moving down to the inside of your thighs, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

When he finally reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, looking up at you with eyes darkened by desire. The intensity in his gaze sends a jolt of anticipation through you. "Look at me, Y/N," he commands, his voice a low growl that reverberates through your core. The authority in his tone leaves no room for disobedience.

You meet his gaze, your breath hitching as he spreads your legs wider, exposing you completely to his hungry eyes. The vulnerability of the moment is electrifying, a mix of fear and excitement that sends a shiver down your spine. He dips his head, his tongue flicking out to taste you, and the sensation is so intense, so overwhelming, that you cry out, your hips bucking instinctively against his mouth.

He holds you down with a firm grip, his hands anchoring your thighs as he devours you. His tongue and lips work in perfect harmony, each stroke, each flick sending you higher and higher. The pleasure builds rapidly, a crescendo of sensation that blots out everything else. Your hands clutch at the sheets, your knuckles white as you struggle to hold on.

The sounds of your pleasure fill the room, mingling with the wet, erotic noises of his mouth on you. The tension coils tighter and tighter within you, a spring wound to its breaking point. "Tommy, I'm going to—" you start, but the words are lost as your orgasm crashes over you, a tidal wave of ecstasy that leaves you trembling and breathless. Your body shakes with the force of it, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

He doesn't stop, drawing out every last bit of your release until you're left quivering and spent. Only then does he climb back up your body, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring his prey. His lips capture yours in a searing kiss that tastes of your release, the erotic flavor of it making your head spin.

His body presses against yours, the heat of his skin a comforting contrast to the cool air of the room. He positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock teasing your entrance. The sensation is maddening, a promise of what's to come. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with need, his breath ragged.

"Tell me you're mine," he demands, his voice rough and filled with a desperate need that mirrors your own. The command is both a plea and a declaration, a need to hear the words from your lips.

"I'm yours, Tommy," you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation. The words hang in the air, a sacred vow that binds you to him in ways words alone could never fully capture.

"Good," he growls, his eyes boring into yours with a possessive intensity that makes your heart race. The raw emotion in his gaze is both thrilling and terrifying. "Because I don't ever want to see you with another man." His words are a promise and a warning, and they send a shiver of excitement through you.

With that, he thrusts into you, filling you completely in one swift, powerful movement. The sensation is overwhelming, a heady mix of pleasure and pain that has you gasping for breath. Your body tightens around him, adjusting to the feel of him inside you, the stretch and fullness almost too much to bear. He pauses for a moment, allowing you to acclimate, his forehead resting against yours. The intimacy of the gesture is almost as intense as the physical connection, a moment of shared breath and heartbeat.

"You're mine," he repeats, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through your very core. Each syllable seems to resonate within you, reinforcing the bond that ties you together. "And I'm yours."

"Yours," you echo, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh as you pull him closer. The need to feel every inch of him, to be as close as possible, is almost overwhelming. His skin is hot under your fingertips, every muscle trembling with restrained power.

He begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one eliciting a moan from your lips. The friction, the heat, the way his body fits so perfectly with yours—it's intoxicating. Each movement is measured, as if he's savoring every moment, every sensation. The slow, deliberate pace allows you to feel every inch of him, the way he stretches and fills you, the way your bodies move together in perfect harmony.

The pleasure builds with each thrust, a slow burn that intensifies with every second. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your body arching to meet his, desperate for more. His hands roam over your body, touching, caressing, exploring.

"Tommy," you gasp, your nails digging into his back as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable level. Every fiber of your being is on fire, your senses heightened to a point where you can't bear the thought of anything but more. "I need... I need more."

"More?" he rasps, his voice rough and tinged with the same desperate need that pulses through you. His pace quickens in response to your plea, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, more insistent. "I'll give you more, love. I'll give you everything."

With a subtle shift, he changes the angle of his hips, hitting that perfect spot inside you with each thrust. The sensation is electric, a surge of pleasure so intense it feels like your body might shatter from it. Your back arches off the bed, your cries filling the room as you cling to him, your nails leaving marks on his skin. The friction, the heat, the relentless rhythm—it's all too much and not enough at the same time.

"God, Y/N," he groans, his breath coming in ragged gasps, each exhale a testament to the effort he's pouring into every movement. "You're perfect. So perfect." His words, spoken in that deep, gravelly voice, send shivers down your spine, adding another layer to the overwhelming pleasure.

His thrusts grow even more urgent, his body moving with a primal rhythm that speaks to an instinctive need to claim and possess. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and his groans, creating a symphony of raw, unfiltered desire. Your surroundings fade away, leaving only the two of you, locked in this moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

The relentless rhythm, the way his body fits so perfectly with yours, the way his every movement seems designed to drive you wild—it all pushes you closer and closer to the edge. Your muscles tighten, your breath hitches, and you feel the tension coiling inside you, ready to snap.

"Tommy, I—" you try to speak, but the words are lost in a cry of ecstasy as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. It crashes over you, sweeping you away in a torrent of pleasure that leaves you trembling and breathless. Your body convulses around him, every muscle contracting in a symphony of sensation that leaves you reeling.

He follows soon after, his own release ripping through him with a force that leaves him gasping. He buries his face in your neck, his moans mingling with yours as he pours himself into you, filling you completely. The sensation of him coming inside you, the warmth and the intimacy of it, only heightens your own pleasure, prolonging the waves of your orgasm.

For a moment, the world stands still, the only sounds the ragged breaths and pounding hearts of two souls lost in each other. The intensity of the connection, the way your bodies and spirits seem to merge and become one, is almost overwhelming.

He collapses on top of you, careful to keep most of his weight off you, his arms wrapping around you in a possessive embrace. His body is hot and heavy against yours, his skin slick with sweat, but the feeling of him so close, so intimately connected, is comforting. You wrap your arms around him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back.

As you both come down from the high, the world around you slowly comes back into focus. The harsh sounds of your shared ecstasy fade into the gentle cadence of your synchronized breathing. He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. The intensity of the moment has given way to a softer, more intimate connection.

"You're mine," he says again, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. The possessive edge is gone, replaced by something deeper, more profound.

"And you're mine," you reply, your voice equally soft, filled with the same raw emotion. Your fingers trace the lines of his face, committing every detail to memory—the curve of his jaw, the slight stubble on his cheeks, the way his eyes soften when he looks at you. Each touch is a silent promise, a reaffirmation of the bond you share.

He rolls to his side, pulling you with him so that you're nestled against his chest. You can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that grounds you in the present. His fingers continue to caress your skin, a soothing contrast to the passionate frenzy from moments before. Each gentle stroke sends a ripple of warmth through you, a silent conversation between your bodies.

You lay there in the quiet, the world outside forgotten, as you bask in the afterglow of your shared intimacy. The room is filled with a serene stillness, broken only by the soft rustle of sheets and the occasional murmur of contentment. The air is thick with the lingering scent of your lovemaking, a potent reminder of the connection you've just shared.

"Stay with me," he murmurs, his voice a gentle plea that tugs at your heart. The vulnerability in his tone is disarming, revealing a side of him that few ever get to see.

"Always," you promise, your voice filled with unwavering conviction. You press a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart, feeling the warmth of his skin against your lips.

As exhaustion begins to claim you, your eyelids grow heavy, and you nestle deeper into his embrace. The steady beat of his heart against your ear acts as a comforting lullaby, its rhythmic thump grounding you in the present and lulling you towards sleep. His fingers continue their gentle caress, tracing lazy circles on your back, each touch sending a shiver of warmth and security through you. You shift slightly, looking up at him with a sleepy smile.

"What's that grin for?" he asks, a playful glint in his eye.

"Just thinking about how lucky we are," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "And how anyone else would be jealous to have what we have."

He chuckles softly, the sound a warm rumble in his chest. "Damn right they'd be jealous," he says, his tone taking on a possessive edge. "I see the way people look at you. They'd have to get through me first."

A soft laugh escapes your lips, the sound filled with the remnants of your shared passion. "Ever the protector," you tease, your fingers tracing the contours of his cheek.

"Always," he replies, his voice steady and sincere. His eyes hold yours for a moment, the intensity of his gaze speaking volumes that words could never capture.

You let out a contented sigh, feeling the weight of the day lifting off your shoulders. The challenges, the uncertainties, the mundane worries of life all dissolve into nothingness. All that remains is the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart. As sleep finally takes you, a simple, undeniable truth settles in your mind: you have each other, and that makes all the difference.

Thank you for reading.

This was my first attempt at smut so please be kind.

🖤

[ananxiousgenz]

PSPSPSPSPS GUES WHO JUST POSTED FIC AGAIN AFTER MONTHS OF RADIO SILENCE!!!!

@lighthouseshepard and @potato-lord-but-not come hither i provide a humble meal for thee

“Are you sure you want this, doll?” Noel’s voice floated through the haze of John’s blackened vision. “You seem a little…”

John huffed in exasperation and flicked his eyes open, wincing slightly at the sudden flood of light in his vision. Noel sat beside him, handsome as ever in the warm, yellow glow of the overhead light, a needle poised in his hand and a slightly worried expression on his face. 

“A little what, Noel,” John grumbled.

Noel’s arm dropped to his side as he sighed and scanned John’s face. “A little tense. It ain’t gonna hurt that bad, kid, I promise.”

John chewed on his lip and looked away, tracing the patterns in the old wallpaper beside him with his eyes. He didn’t want to admit it, but Noel was right. He was tense. Tenser than he should have been for the situation. He’d survived the sheer agony of being quite literally ripped from Arthur’s mind and forced into a new body well enough, but he couldn’t handle a damn needle piercing his ear? It was ridiculous. It would be fine. It had to be fine.

“Look, if you’re that worked up about it, I can just take the earrings back to the store, no problem–”

“No.” John snapped back to meet Noel’s gaze with a sudden intensity. “I want this. I’m sure of it.”

“Your behavior ain’t exactly encouraging that idea.”

“It’s fine. Just get it over with already.”

“Alright.” Noel sighed as he lifted the needle back up and leaned in closer to John’s ear. “Just try to relax a little for me, hm, sweetheart?”

“You try to relax when you know you’re about to get stabbed,” John muttered as he shut his eyes and tried to think of something else, anything else.

As Noel hummed out a low chuckle in his ear, John’s mind drifted back to a few weeks earlier. They’d been out shopping, him and Arthur, on a crisp, sunny afternoon with the promise of spring kissing the breeze to a warm blush. They were not doing anything special, just going out for groceries after Noel had depleted their supply of pasta and fresh vegetables for a wonderful surprise dinner the night before, but because the weather had been so nice, they decided an extra stroll around the block was in order. Or, rather, John had decided, insisting that Arthur could stand getting a little more sun after some late nights case working with Noel, much to Arthur’s fond annoyance.

As they walked, John described their surroundings to Arthur, noting the puffy milkweed-seed clouds dotted across the sky and the soft pink buds sprouting off the trees and on the verge of bursting into bloom. On the course of their walk, they’d passed a particularly lovely display in a department store window, advertising new ladies fashions for spring. The mannequins were lovely, draped in colorful, vibrant fabrics in pastel pinks and emerald greens and tangerine oranges with shiny broaches and matching accessories against a painted backdrop of a springtime park. John had paused in their walk to describe the full picture to Arthur, and mentally tried to match the colors with his paint set at home so he could try painting this window when their errands were done. Perhaps he’d finally get to use that gorgeous phthalo green paint Oscar had gotten him for Christmas to paint that hat perched daintily on the mannequin. 

A smaller section of the window was dedicated to showcasing the new pieces of jewelry for sale. They were pretty, sparkly pieces studded with gold and silver and gemstones, things that would have looked right at home on the neck or wrist of a particularly wealthy woman. John had always enjoyed stopping to look at them. Watching the way light would refract through the gemstones and make the polished metal gleam was always a pleasant experience, and one he cherished describing to Arthur. 

“There are watches here as well,” John narrated, eyes darting over the pieces on offer in the window. “A number of sparkling bracelets and necklaces are displayed in boxes or draped over elegant cream-colored fabric. The majority of them are made of gold and diamonds, I believe, although I don’t know enough about gemstones to be certain. There are earrings here as well, small studs with multi-colored gemstones and…”

John trailed off as his eyes caught on a pair of lovely earrings, diamond drops that glittered in the sun with a vibrancy that stopped him dead in his tracks. John hadn’t known anything could sparkle like that outside of stars on a crisp winters’ night, or the surface of a summery lake at noon. They were positively dazzling, and something in John’s mind latched on to those glittery stones and refused to let go, a stubborn dog refusing to drop its favorite toy when asked to give it up.

He had barely even realized that he’d lapsed into silence until Arthur had gently bumped John’s knee with his cane to get his attention and asked what was the matter. John said it was nothing. Arthur didn’t believe the lie for a moment, but John insisted, and though Arthur tried to argue, John had gotten rather good at carrying on their game of back-and-forth bickering until Arthur was too frustrated to continue the discussion. So, the issue was dropped, and their errands continued like normal. 

But all through the grocery store, John couldn’t stop thinking about those earrings. They pervaded every corner of his brain, dogging his thoughts like a particularly malicious monster. Those earrings might be one of the most stunning things he’d ever seen, outside of Arthur and Oscar and Noel, of course. He’d gotten so distracted while they were grocery shopping that he almost collapsed the neat tower of apples in the produce section, nearly sending them spinning across the floor in every direction. Damn his clumsy human body. Why did his train of thought have to affect his physical actions too?

A sharp sting of pain in John’s right ear lobe brought him roaring back to the present, yelping at the sensation.

“There ya go, doll,” Noel crooned, reaching for the little box on the counter. “That’s one done. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“You just stabbed me!” John protested, throwing up his hands. “How is that supposed to be ‘not bad’?!”

Noel shook his head with a fond smile as he threaded the new earring into John’s ear while John whined in pain. “So dramatic. Might I remind you, sunshine, that you were the one who wanted your ears pierced. You did sign up for this.”

John huffed and looked away. Sure, he was being dramatic, but that did hurt. It was a needle going through his ear! Which was then replaced with a piece of metal! The fact that humans would willingly subject themselves to pain for the sake of appearances, however minor, was mind boggling to him, and deep down, he was beginning to develop a newfound respect for and astonishment at womens’ fashions. But, he considered, Noel did have a point. He had asked for this, even when Noel warned him that it would hurt for a bit. John sighed again and turned his head, giving Noel access to his other ear.

“Just make it quick,” John muttered.

In his peripheral vision, Noel grinned that absurdly charming smile of his. “Of course. Just hold still for me.”

After that initial encounter with the earrings, John hadn’t been able to stop thinking about them. He’d gone into the store to ask how much they cost the very next day, and had been presented with a price tag with enough digits to make him cringe from a mile away. That had settled it. He’d never be able to afford those earrings on his own, and wouldn’t dare stoop to asking the others for the money to afford them. They all worked far too hard to afford the little they had, and John couldn’t ask them to spend so much on himself. He was resigned. The earrings would remain little more than a pleasant daydream. But still, still, he couldn’t stop thinking about them.

He’d make intentional detours while on errands, walking an extra five blocks to get home just so he could get a glimpse of them, sparkling in the window like coiled Christmas lights, like stars pulled down from the heavens. He’d even started dreaming about the damn things, glittering just beyond his reach and making him feel like Tantalus, that poor fellow from the Greek myths he’d read about just last week. He was, in all honesty, about as miserable as he could possibly be, and it was beginning to show. He’d started snapping at the others for no good reason, slacking off on his chores, and spending a lot of time curled up in his little corner of the apartment, reading and rereading the poetry books he’d annotated. John had heard the others talking about him in low, hushed voices from time to time, never when they thought he could hear, and never loud enough for him to decipher what they were saying.

Finally, Noel had sat him down for a chat. 

“What’s goin’ on, John?” Noel asked softly, his voice still low and crackly with sleep. John watched as his coffee steamed silent, elegant patterns in the bright beams of early morning light. “You’ve been actin’ strange. More tetchy than usual. Is everythin’ okay?”

John swallowed hard. “It’s nothing. Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

Noel narrowed his eyes and took a sip of coffee. “Uh-huh. Don’t kid a kidder, doll. Somethin’ is up and we all know it.”

John looked away. This was stupid. This was so stupid. They were just earrings. It wasn’t anything he should be getting this worked up over. And yet here he was, sulking over the fact that he couldn’t have a shiny thing that he wanted so desperately.

“It’s…” John sighed heavily and dropped his head, staring at the hands he’d left coiled in his lap. “It’s stupid.”

“Can’t be that stupid if it’s makin’ ya so upset,” Noel mused.

He wasn’t exactly wrong. John sighed again. How did Noel know exactly what John needed to hear? “I… There’s a pair of earrings. In one of the department stores downtown. I’ve been watching them for a while, and I just… they’re gorgeous. I can’t stop thinking about them, but they’re expensive. I’ll never be able to have them.”

Noel hummed in acknowledgement. “And that’s what’s botherin’ you so much?”

“It’s fucking stupid, I know,” John bit out, more venom in his voice than he intended. “I shouldn’t be reacting like this. They’re earrings! It’s nothing important! But somehow, I’m upset that I can’t have them, and the fact that I’m upset at all is just making me more and more upset, and I can’t stand it anymore!”

“Whoa there, doll,” Noel said, putting up a hand to stop John’s frustrated rambling. “Stop for just a second. First of all, don’t beat yourself up for the way you’re feelin’. Feelings ain’t somethin’ you can completely control, alright?”

“I know, but–”

“But nothin’.” Noel took another sip of his coffee. “What’s more important than you controllin’ how you feel is controllin’ how you act as a result, yeah? I learned that lesson the hard way. I get that it’s hard sometimes, but ya know, we can all help out if you ask for it. Me and Arthur and Oscar, we all love you, John. If you’re upset about something, we can help, but you gotta talk to us about it first.”

John felt his face go red with shame. “Yeah. You’re right. I… I’m sorry, Noel.”

Noel waved a hand, as though the apology were a pesky moth he was trying to shoo out of the air. “No need. You didn’t do anything worth a ‘sorry’ in my eyes. Now, for my second point, how’s about you and I get dressed, and you show me these earrings you’re pinin’ after?”

They had done exactly that. Noel had listened with great interest while John rambled on about his beloved earrings on their walk to the store window, and watched with marked interest at the pair John pointed out, agreeing that they were a rather spectacular pair of diamonds. It hadn’t cured the knot of upsettingly large sadness in John’s stomach, but having someone to talk to about the whole thing did make him feel better. Then they walked home, Noel telling some silly story about a client he and Arthur had to deal with the other day who’d insisted they investigate his pet dog and John doing his best to not laugh out loud. John, naively, believed that was the end of it. He was very wrong.

John came home the next day to a small box on the counter, topped with a bow and a gift tag with his name in elegant script. A… a gift? Who would have bought him a gift? It wasn’t Christmas, or his birthday as far as he knew. He scrunched his nose examining the handwriting, trying to decipher who it was from.

“That’s from me, doll,” Noel’s voice rang out from where he leaned in the doorway. When John simply stared at him in response, Noel nodded towards the box with a little smile. “Go on, open it. I think you’ll like it.”

John did so, albeit a bit slowly and warily from his confusion, ripping off the paper to reveal a small, velvet jewelry box. A jewelry box? John’s brow furrowed. Why would Noel be buying him jewelry? He popped open the box, and there inside, displayed like a pair of gleaming suns compressed to the size of a fingernail, were the motherfucking earrings.

John looked up from them to stare at Noel, mouth agape and brain ground to an absolute halt. What the fuck was happening? Noel stared back, grinning like he’d just won the lottery for a million dollars. “Surprise!” he said, doing a little jazz hands to emphasize the statement.

John’s brain worked frantically to find something, anything to say in response. How? What? Come on, you fool, say something!

“I– you– but– Noel, these are expensive,” John breathed, ducking his head to stare at the earrings cradled in his hands once again. “How did you–”

“I know the owner of that store. Owed me a favor,” Noel said, that infuriatingly charming grin of his as bright and wonderful as the dawn. “Turns out saving someone’s life from a cult ritual will getcha hefty discounts on just about anything ya want. Now, how about we pierce those gorgeous ears of yours, hm?”

And that was how they had ended up here, John whining about the pinch of the needle for the second time as Noel pierced his left ear, and Noel doing his best not to laugh at John’s dramatic expressions.

“Such a crybaby, you are,” Noel muttered, popping the second earring on with deft fingers while John rolled his eyes, unable to avoid the giddy smile that was beginning to make itself known on his cheeks. “Alright. You’re all done. You wanna take a look in the mirror?”

John nodded, and Noel graciously offered an arm to help him stand. Arm in arm, they crossed the bathroom to stand before the mirror. John couldn’t help the small gasp of surprise and delight that escaped his mouth when his reflection appeared in the mirror before him. He looked… well, he looked…

“Gorgeous,” Noel supplied, face appearing over John’s shoulder in the mirror with a smile as his arms settled around John’s waist.

John nodded slowly, examining his appearance. He looked just about the same as always, with long hair falling in dark waves down his back, smooth skin colored a warm brown, eyes erring just far enough from yellow to be considered a peculiar shade of golden brown. But the earrings brought a spark to his face that made everything seem brighter. His eyes seemed to glitter like cut topaz, his hair gleamed like polished onyx, even his teeth seemed whiter as a delighted smile took over John’s face. Wow. The earrings lent their shine to his whole demeanor, and John couldn’t help but think he looked nearly as much of a star as the earrings did.

“Gorgeous,” he repeated, testing the word on his tongue as he tilted his head to the side.

They sat there like that for a moment, watching their reflections in comfortable silence, John grinning like a fool and Noel watching him with a soft expression on his face that made John’s core warm with affection for him. It was quiet and comfortable and maybe a little butterfly-inducing, and John wouldn’t have had it any other way. This might just have been the best present he’d ever received.

He turned and kissed Noel on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“For what, doll?”

“What do you think? All of this. It’s…” John tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “I wasn’t expecting any of this. You didn’t have to buy me the earrings. But you did anyway so… thank you. You’re a sweetheart.”

At that comment, Noel’s face went pink and he stepped away from John’s back, waving a hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome. Don’t expect it to happen again. I’m not made of money, y’know.”

John rolled his eyes affectionately. “You said the same thing when you bought that braille writer for Arthur. And when you bought those new books for Oscar. And when–”

Noel went even pinker. “That’s besides the point.”

“I don’t think it is–”

“Why don’t ya go show the others your earrings, hm?”

“And stop making you blush?” John grinned as Noel tried (and failed) to look annoyed. “Never.”

“Alright, alright, I get it, you can stop,” Noel said, finally letting the smile crawl onto his face. “You enjoy flirting, I get it. But I have errands to run, so unless you’re coming with me, I’m afraid I must say adieu.”

“‘Parting is such sweet sorrow,’” John murmured in response as he moved to kiss Noel goodbye.

“You’ve been reading Romeo and Juliet.” Noel said softly against John’s lips.

“I have.”

They kissed, soft and gentle, and John sighed at the touch. He could have stayed there forever, savoring the faint taste of Noel’s coffee and mint gum on his lips, the feeling of Noel’s lips on his own. But, as the best things tend to do, the kiss came to an end. Noel pulled away with a shy little smile, one reserved only for John, Arthur, and Oscar, and headed towards the door.

“See ya later, sweetheart,” Noel chirped as he grabbed his jacket and hat and headed out the door.

John smiled and waved him off, then curled up on the couch to read his poetry, feeling perfectly happy and content. A perfect end to an unexpectedly perfect day.

[bluecatwriter]

I didn't spin the wheel of kisses but fic prompt that came to me and seemed your style:

"What's that on your collar!?" / "Uh. Lipstick..." / "oh thank god..."

Came into my head as Arthur/Jack but honestly anyone in this novel would be relieved that a red mark on their partner's collar was just lipstick...

Five months later, here you go... ;D Blood of My Blood timeline, before Quincey meets them!

~~~

Uncle Jack had lipstick on his collar. 

As he and Lu ate lunch together, she observed this fact with mild curiosity. It was quite a bright shade of red, a hue that many young ladies' fathers would outright ban (if she chose to wear a color like that, her own dad would say nothing, but he would make that nervous hum he always made when he was uncomfortable with something she did). But she and Uncle Jack were talking about other things, and so she didn't ask about it.

Tensions had been high in the household this week; some of their spies had picked up evidence of vampire activity in Surrey, and although Lu wasn't privy to all the details, Uncle Jack had told her that the situation had nearly gotten out of hand, and was not yet fully contained. Her dad had been running around trying to keep control of the situation, and was fraying at the edges.

When they had nearly finished their sandwiches, her dad burst into the room, hand full of telegrams. He gave her and Uncle Jack brief smiles, but no kisses, which showed just how distracted he was. He sat down across from Uncle Jack, trying to butter a roll  in between frowning at the telegrams.

Just as Lu took the last bite of her sandwich, she saw her dad's head snap up. He was staring at Uncle Jack.

"What is that?" he snapped.

Lu and Uncle Jack both looked up in surprise; his voice was sharp as ice, and he was pointing with the butter knife at Uncle Jack's lipstick-stained collar.

For a moment, Lu felt a sudden, nagging doubt. She had never seen her dad jealous over his husband, but she didn't know how else to interpret his angry reaction. For one moment, she wondered if there were something going on between them, something personal, that had been adding to the tension of the past week.

Uncle Jack signed back in puzzlement, "What are you talking about?"

"What is that on your collar?" His voice was still sharp. Lu glanced back and forth between them, feeling as if a rug were about to be pulled out from under her.

Uncle Jack followed the line of the pointed knife, scrunching his neck so he could look down at himself, pulling his collar away from his face to look at the lipstick.

"It's lipstick," he signed.

Her dad let out a huge sigh of relief. He resumed buttering the roll. "Oh, thank God."

Uncle Jack raised an eyebrow. "What did you think it was?"

"It looks like blood."

Lu snorted, and Uncle Jack laughed softly. But after a few more moments of eating, Lu felt that uncertainty return. "Uncle Jack, why do you have lipstick on your collar?"

"I don't know," he signed, thought for a moment, then got a look of dawning realization. "I do, actually. I was questioning a witness this morning and she ended up sobbing on my shoulder. Poor thing."

"Better get it laundered," her dad said, passing a few of the telegrams to him.

For a moment Lu watched the two of them, sitting across from each other, sorting through telegrams in between bites of food, working together as a seamless team. 

Relief washed through her, and she giggled. 

Without looking up from his work, her dad asked, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Lu said. She stood to leave, leaning down to give him a kiss on the cheek on her way out. "Nothing at all."

~~~

[sticker-star4]

been re reading some of your post and was wondering about you headcannon of nonsurat being a demon beast before joining the gsa

Nonsurat monster hc

Even though I haven’t really developed this idea much, I would love to share you my ideas I have so far. (MIGHT BE SUBJECT OF CHANGE IDK)

(This is before Sirus created Meta Knight btw)

I believe that he was experimented on by N.M.E. to be the “Perfect angel” to stop the Star Warriors once and for all. When the angel woke up, he ran away from the fortress because he couldn’t handle any of the torment. Even through he flew away the curse the angel had gone through led him to transform into a monster.

Arthur, Dragato and Falspar were having a picnic at a forest talking about their battles when all of a sudden the monster stopped them. When Arthur defeated the monster, the monster turned into a globix just like the rest of the men. The Globix couldn’t remember anything that happened and apologized for any possible danger he has led on Arthur’s men. The GSA forgave him and renamed the fallen angel, Sir Nonsurat.

Because Nonsurat couldn’t remember anything before he met Arthur, he had a desire to learn about his past. He often reflects himself nearby the GSA fountain and question his existence. He has multiple scars from experimentation and blades from his head that he can’t remove.

Here’s an old drawing of each of the GSA members without armor

• Arthur has burn marks from a monster attack at his village

• Dragato has an eye scar when battling his father, Galacta Knight (I haven’t developed much of his backstory yet sadly :/)

• Of course Nonsurat has the experimentation scars from NME

• And Falspar has nothing because NO TRAUMA :D (that’s until “Mindscapers” :O)



I often associated Nonsurat with angelic symbols and reflection. When creating my moodboard a while back, I had this idea in my head that Nonsurat represented an ethereal and elegant presence to audiences who love heavenly aesthetics.

I think the fallen angel monster is probably my favorite idea I have of him so far. I also have a different hc that he was once a sea monster, but idk.

Idk he has this abstract appearance compared to the other GSA members which is one of the reasons why I love him so much. He is either my 2nd or first fave out of Arthur’s group (Can’t decide between him or Falspar). He also has such a peaceful color scheme with the light blonde, blue and white which suspects that he is either an angel or a fallen one. He has such a strange design, but that’s what makes him so unique. I also done some research over axes and they are supposed to represent strength and judgement which I find pretty cool.

I also based his personality and story off of these characters:

(IMPORTANT NOTE: I still haven’t watched NGE, but I’ve heard some interesting spoilers about Rei which is why she is here)

I might also base his character off of the original source material of Lancelot



I imagine there would be an episode that would take place after Arthur’s crew met Joe and Sirica (before the events of the movie) where they had to hunt down their own secrets from the mirror monster, Simirror. Not only Simirror reveals the truth that Joe was a monster, but Nonsurat as well (idk about the others yet). I imagine the episode would be called “Mindscapers”. Basically it’s an episode where each of the main 6 go through physiological torture (including Falspar unfortunately), but it’s also supposed to be an episode full of character growth and hope for each of them. After the crew beat Simirror, Joe bursts into tears and runs away fearing what the GSA will do to him since they all know the truth. After Nonsurat knows his own truth, he reassures Joe everything will be okay and that the GSA won’t hunt him. Even though they both were monsters, they overcame those hardships and became heroes because of it. I have a RD version of that scene if you want to check it out.

There might be things I still need to develop since I’m literally focusing on Sirus and Joe rn, but maybe after I’m done with those arcs I can develop each of the gsa member arcs too. Let’s just see what happens to Nonsurat in the future 👍

Extra:

This song always reminded me of him

[brokenmagxc]

@taleswritten / and even if the fire could stop the bleeding ( singe the skin and sew the flesh ) there was no mistaking the scarring BURN that would leave its mark upon him. / to a shield of flames.

HE FINDS THAT HIS BREATH HAS LEFT HIM in the other's presence, for when the man walks near, arthur struggles to fill his lungs with air. instead, the smell of SMOKE ( the rising flame, the ashen rock that crumbles into soot and smears grime upon his tongue ) consumes him. he coughs, drawing the faintest attention to his rattled form. still war-touched, with armor torn and blood smeared, eyes wide with concern ( a doe-like shock, for he is being violated by the sudden onslaught of abnormal sense, and in the calamity does he become SMALL ; in the grasp of something entirely too venerated, too death-defying, earth-shattering and immense, he feels he has crossed the line -- HE HAS SEEN WHAT WAS NOT MEANT TO BE VIEWED BY MORTAL EYES ), and he tries to look away without making eye contact, yet he fails when his gaze meets the others. eyes the color of clay begin to shift and mold, the golden aura glimmering behind each orb, threatening to burst under layers of carefully melded stone. a wince ; it hurts him so, staring into the flame ( and still, he finds himself now unable to look away ).

“ i -- ” he struggles, overwhelmed. he doesn't really know what to say. “ i mean no harm, to you and your -- and it. ”

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Normal people love their weekends because they have some time off; I love weekends because I can finally enjoy my sweet moots incredible works!! And this here, was the perfect sweet and delicious treat I desperately needed!!

From the first word, I was conquered.

The length of Arthur’s absences varied like the frequency of rumbles during a storm. Dark clouds hung heavy over every departure, and your tears threatened to drop like rain down a window. “I’ll be back soon,” he always promised while kissing the top of your head and squeezing you tight. Some trips were short cracks of thunder, ending just as fast as they began; others would roll on for days, the heavy rain flooding the rushing river that was your anxiety.

The metaphor is so perfect, on top of being absolutely beautiful. I'm in love already, and this is the FIRST paragraph.

I loved how you perfectly blended the right amount of angst with his long absence, the Reader refusing to forgive him right away even if we can still understand how happy she is to be with him again, to be home again. It was really well-paced and made the situation even more real, as usual with your incredible writing!

All the possibilities of his absence spun in your brain in a demonic sacrificial waltz.

I don't know why but this part made me LOL, it's so meaningful and gave me the best images in my head; like hell yes anxious thoughts clearly does that (for me at least 😂)

He wore a familiar cattleman revolver on his hip and long silky locs of hair rested over broad shoulders like always–though more tame this time. And despite their vibrant colors, the wildflowers in his hands dulled in comparison to the bright white, freshly pressed shirt he wore.

I love this. I love how his return is nuanced and how you perfectly transcribed it with those details. He brought those flowers with vibrant colors but he wore a fresh shirt, suggesting he took care of himself first, which totally cancels out the effect of the flowers and even makes them dull. He's back but he has been (or we thought he has been) selfish. This is peak subtext here!!!!

Once again the "The king has returned" line made me laughed, I could picture it so neatly in my brain, sarcastic bitter tone and all. Also adored how she rightfully reproached him that he looks like it was his birthday, very real and well written! I think the bath line also made a strong impression for everyone, and indeed it was brilliant!! Your dialogues are always on point, and I'm very admirative of that. I'm forever taking notes while reading you ✍️✍️

And then, as you make us long and wait and make his hard for him to fix things, you deliver the perfect resolution, I was so happy when I read what he had prepared in the room 😭😭 It's so good that you made this crescendo!

Warm light burst out as you crossed into the room. Lit candles lined the fireplace mantle, their flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. A brand new day dress draped across the chair, a decorative hair comb resting atop it. “Saw it in a window.” His words poured out smoothly like aged whisky, the sudden sound causing you to jump but prompting the skin on your arms to prick up all the same. And you were embracing each other without another thought—your fingers intertwining behind his neck, his hands settling on your hips.

Yes yes yes my heart healed!! I also adored how they instantly jumped on each other, a perfect burst of joy after the cold stillness of the situation! And after that, Arthur explaining everything like the adorable puppy he is, justifying himself and all was just so cute I wanted to KISS HIM ALL OVER

“I can do that thing ya’ like.” he offered, his chipped tooth smile brightening his face.

I died.

(no like really, that line with the chipped tooth smile??? God I would have fainted.)

“You know, I never stop thinking ’bout you when I’m away.” You fluttered around his fingers, and your hips arched a little higher off the bed, “always thinkin’ ’bout you like this, all pretty and spread open for me.” His thumb started fast circles on your clit, and you braced yourself for another tidal wave as his passionate speech continued. “Next time y’miss me, get on that cot, spread these pretty thighs, think about what I’m doing t’ya, and use those fingers to getcherself off, can you do that for me?” Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open, but only sounds of absolute ecstasy came out of you. “Whatd’ya say, darlin’?”

Jesus, the smut part to end this sweet little treat, just like the cream on top of a cake 🫠 The dirty taaaaalk omg, I am WEAK, I am on my KNEES, I'm feeling my body tingling everywhere just reading it again to copy/paste the paragraph 😂. But seriously though, absolutely perfect ending to continue with the crescendo thing. I don't know why exactly, but I also love that you cut directly to the SECOND orgasm? It was powerful and reinforced the intensity of their reconciliation 😏 The last paragraph was FIRE too, how you described their love making, comparing it to being home when tangled with the other, no matter the time spent away... Phew!! Loved loved loved.

Absolutely amazing from the first word to the last. I know I'm having the best time when reading you, Zae and I'm never ever disappointed.

Love ya!! Thank you for sharing this delicious sweatest treat with us, definitely needed it! 😌 (thanks to Kenny for requesting this scenario too eheh!)

Your Piney 💞

Peregrine

Summary: Arthur misses your birthday. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,124 Tags: angst, smut, high honor Arthur, oral, pnv, fingering Warnings: 18+ MDNI

an: A request fulfilment for my dear Kenny @emerald-ranch. I kinda added in the birthday thing, I hope that was alright! It became clear to me as I was writing this that I 1000% have a thing for Arthur on his knees...XD anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Peregrine: having a tendency to wander

The length of Arthur’s absences varied like the frequency of rumbles during a storm. Dark clouds hung heavy over every departure, and your tears threatened to drop like rain down a window.

“I’ll be back soon,” he always promised while kissing the top of your head and squeezing you tight. Some trips were short cracks of thunder, ending just as fast as they began; others would roll on for days, the heavy rain flooding the rushing river that was your anxiety. 

But in time, he’d arrive with blood, dirt, and sweat staining his shirt and the scar on his chin covered by his overgrown beard. Outstretched arms would warm you like the afternoon sun. You’d breathe him in, sighing contentedly despite scents of gunpowder and musk clinging to him.

This time was different.

The sun fell below the horizon for the fourth time since he’d departed. Glass bottles clinked as camp buzzed with the lively energy of celebration—a celebration for your birthday. You tried everything to enjoy yourself, forcing air through your vocal cords to mimic a laugh, stretching your lips and showing your teeth to fake a smile, all while trying not to panic.

All the possibilities of his absence spun in your brain in a demonic sacrificial waltz. Was he still alive? Did he get arrested? Was he captured by Pinkertons and tortured while the rest of you partied the night away? Or worse, was he out there, perfectly content with being away knowing you were desperately waiting? To keep yourself sane, you rationalized. He was out finding food and making money. He had mouths to feed and people to take care of. Survival was more important than a birthday.

Whether they were too drunk to notice or respectfully giving you space, nobody protested when you slipped away to Arthur’s tent for the night. Tears spilled down your face and onto his pillow as the last hours of your birthday ticked by.

The stench of dread infiltrated your dreams and ruminated even in your waking hours. Nothing you did could free you from the pain of missing him. At high noon, heavy footsteps prompted you to look up from the growing line of yarn in your lap. You’d memorized the sound of Arthur’s walk like your favorite song, yet the man standing before you felt like an imposter. He wore a familiar cattleman revolver on his hip and long silky locs of hair rested over broad shoulders like always–though more tame this time. And despite their vibrant colors, the wildflowers in his hands dulled in comparison to the bright white, freshly pressed shirt he wore.

And your heart plummeted like a stone in a lake; while you were crying yourself to sleep on your birthday, he saw to himself instead of you. Privy to your dismay, the cowboy’s features lowered into a frown. 

“Darlin,” he started, quiet and hesitant. “I–I ain’t got an excuse.”

You huffed, losing your stitch count and refusing to meet his eyes. “The king has returned.”

Leaves and twigs cracked under his uncomfortable shuffle as he faltered, “thought we could go for a ride, to–”

And you didn’t let him finish. “M’busy, Arthur.” 

Silence hung in the air while he thought of a response. “M’sorry.” He said, then continued when you didn’t acknowledge him. “I’m sorry, and that should’ve been the first thing outta my mouth.”

“Yeah, it should’ve,” you agreed grudgingly. The threads of intertwined yarn were jumbled and lopsided now, a tangled reflection of this whole week. You threw the needles and yarn down into the grass beside you and finally brought yourself to face him. He wanted to smile finally seeing you, but instead, something like a sigh of relief rolled out with his words.

“Time just…got away from me,” he admitted. “I’m a self-serving idiot bastard, and I’m just…sorry. Just lemme make it up to ya’.” 

You thought for a moment, then glanced over your shoulder at Grimshaw, trying to find an out.

” But I got chores,” you told him.   

“Don’tchu’ worry ’bout that.” He extended his free hand out to you, and dammit, yours was in it faster than you could deny yourself.  The outlaw lifted you up from your seat with one arm and locked yours and his together as he drew you away from camp. And you had to give credit where credit was due because he pulled out all the stops: a ride in a stolen stagecoach, wine, dinner, and a room. He spoiled you in the only ways he knew how, but still, you couldn’t rid yourself of the uninvited guest, unadulterated hurt, that squatted in your bones.

“How was the party?” He’d asked.

“Fine.” You replied, pushing food around on your plate.

“Charles told me the girls managed to get you a cake.”

“They did.”

And the conversation trailed off like it had so often tonight. Every time you glanced at him, the hair, and especially the shirt, hate-filled magma churned within, and you couldn’t hold it any longer, your words spewing out like lava. 

“S’a fancy shirt.” 

His chin touched his chest as he fiddled with the top button. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off for the second time tonight.

“Glad you had time to stop and pamper yourself. Nice shave, fancy hair, new shirt. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was your birthday.”

You didn’t mean to sound so crass, but now that the pot had boiled over, stopping the overflow felt damn near impossible. 

“I thought–”

“Thought?” A curt laugh halted his attempt to explain himself. “It’s hard to imagine you doing any of that.”

And he hung his head, an old dog with his tail between his legs–shameful that he’d disappointed the one he loved the most.

“And you paid for a bath too. Tell me, was it twenty-five cents or fifty?”

Your chair screeched against the floor, and you jerked back before he could answer, fleeing to anywhere but that table with him. The room key Arthur gave you in the stagecoach burned a hole in your pocket. You trotted up the stairs, searching for 2C and ignoring his calls from behind you. The least you deserved was a night behind closed doors, locked away from everything, even if it meant locking him out in the process.

Warm light burst out as you crossed into the room. Lit candles lined the fireplace mantle, their flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. A brand new day dress draped across the chair, a decorative hair comb resting atop it.

“Saw it in a window.” His words poured out smoothly like aged whisky, the sudden sound causing you to jump but prompting the skin on your arms to prick up all the same. And you were embracing each other without another thought—your fingers intertwining behind his neck, his hands settling on your hips.

“M’sorry, sweetheart. Ain’t ever gonna forgive m’self for lettin’ you down.” 

And you listened patiently while he devolved into his long-winded explanation.

“Was hoping to make a quick house call. Get in n’ out in one night, quick and easy. And I did, but some goddamn bounty hunters found my trail on the way back. Spent a day hiding out, and knew I wouldn’t make it back in time. Figured I oughta bring something nice back with me, you deserved that much.”

Your eyes drifted to the buttons of the shirt again, and he tilted your chin to look back up at him. 

“I saw the dress in a window, and let the man sell me the shirt too. Wanted to be at least a little presentable–somebody you’d wanna look at. Ain’t much I can do about my face, but...” 

Chuckling under his breath, he snaked a hand into yours and flicked your stuck-out lip. “Then I saw a sign outside the barber. Buy some pomade and get a free comb for your lady,” he touched his hair and rubbed the grease between his fingers.

“Then I got the key, laid everything out nice, stopped for some flowers, and thought I was prince charmin’ off to sweep you away to the ball–well, the room, more like.” He scratched his neck nervously and shook his head. “I thought you’d think a stagecoach fancy enough to make you forget how much I screwed up. No magic pumpkins ’round here though,” he shrugged. “Just an idiot, head-over-heels, hoping you can find it in you to forgive him.”

And frankly, you’d forgiven him the second you stepped foot into the room. Trying to fight your smile was a losing battle.

“You’re right about the idiot part.”

The gunslinger let out a breathy, almost laugh, before taking your hands in his and ushering you to the bed. Relief ran through you. After four long nights, you could finally submerge yourself in those eyes, blue and gold-like specks of sunlight reflecting on the sea.

“Please, forgive me, darlin’, I’m beggin’.”

Rough pads of his fingers traced over your knuckles as he waited patiently for your response. You crossed your legs and bounced your foot playfully. 

“I don’t know, I seen dogs beg for scraps better than that, Arthur Morgan.” 

And while your words were harsh, both of you were smiling now. He grunted, a sure sound of him swallowing his pride, then sunk to one knee, then another.

“Sweetheart,” the pet name came out thick and rich like honey, “M’sorry. Lemme fix it.”

His hands gripped both your knees, squeezing them lovingly, his touch so reassuringly familiar. He scooted in closer, guiding your legs apart and settling them on either side of his shoulders.

“I can do that thing ya’ like.” he offered, his chipped tooth smile brightening his face.

You ran one hand through his hair and brought him in by the collar with the other, pecking his lips once, then twice. On the third, you slowed down, lingering with your mouth against his, savoring the all too fleeting feeling of home. Soft giggles slipping between your lips interrupted the moment. Arthur stared up at you with nothing but devotion in his eyes, that laugh like the sweetest medicine, healing his diseased heart long riddled by self-loathing and loss. His right hand had started slow circles on your thigh, reminding you of his proposition.

“Thing I like? Don’t know what you mean, Mr. Morgan.” 

But you were shimmying yourself back onto the bed, and he was grabbing at your bloomers at the same time. He lifted his brow knowingly, and hummed a “mhm,” while you lifted your hips, helping him take the garment off and toss it to the floor.

You bunched up your skirts around your waist and looked down at your lover as he lay on his stomach between your legs. His beard grazed your inner thigh, sending thousands of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Squeezing your eyes shut, you sighed in relief, releasing four nights of pent-up anxiety as his lips found your center.

And minutes later, just after letting you come down from the first one, he got to work on another climax, fingers pistoning steadily while he whispered all the things he loved about you in your ear. He was on his side next to you now, his own arousal nudging your thigh. The gruffness in his voice sent another surge of pleasure through you.

“You know, I never stop thinking ’bout you when I’m away.” You fluttered around his fingers, and your hips arched a little higher off the bed, “always thinkin’ ’bout you like this, all pretty and spread open for me.”

His thumb started fast circles on your clit, and you braced yourself for another tidal wave as his passionate speech continued.

“Next time y’miss me, get on that cot, spread these pretty thighs, think about what I’m doing t’ya, and use those fingers to getcherself off, can you do that for me?”

Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open, but only sounds of absolute ecstasy came out of you.

“Whatd’ya say, darlin’?”

And with that last question, the dam broke, your orgasm busting out around his fingers. Your sounds were the most divine opera, rising in pitch with every “Yes, Arthur,” as you melted. 

And he wasn’t done with you yet. Despite being miles away from camp, both of you made a home with each other. Home was the trail of raised skin that followed his touch and pairs of eyes meeting in love-filled exchanges. Home was the first few flutters of your pussy as he sheathed himself deep inside you. One night or even a week’s journey wouldn’t deter him, for he’d claw his way through the fiery depths of perdition to get back home to you.

[violettduchess]

Hello, I hope you're having a great day! May I request a HC on how the Vamp suitors would react to MC crying and shaking from a nightmare? 👀 Comte, Vlad, Leonardo and Arthur please!

A/N: Here you go @lusianarendraws 💜

Word Count: 2028

No matter how fast you run, it's right behind you. Something too fast, too dark. Something with curved claws that scrape stone like nails on a chalkboard and mephitic breath scorching your neck. Your feet fly over a street wet with something too thick to be rainwater. Iron stings your nostrils as you suck in air, forcing yourself to keep going. You turn a corner, boots slipping on the slick cobblestones, palms hitting the ground hard to keep you upright. They come up wet and dark. Just another corner, you tell yourself. Just another bend. Your heartbeat pulses in your head, a wild drumbeat that spurs you onwards. There, up ahead. A narrow alley. A place to hide. You summon a burst of energy and propel yourself forward, into the narrow darkness.

And straight into the fetid, gaping maw of the beast.

Comte

 Your sobs wake him almost immediately. There is no remaining sleepiness, no smattering of dreams across his mind. He is alert, present and entirely focused on you in an instant.

He gathers you into the fortress of his arms, murmuring softly in mixed languages that everything is ok. You are safe in your bed. In his arms. You are safe. You are safe. He is here.

His words slowly unhook the nightmare's claws from your mind and you find yourself regaining control. Your breathing slows, regulates. Your heartbeat becomes less panicked. Comte runs his hand over your damp cheeks, then presses a kiss to each one. He waits until you are breathing normally, until your eyes are dry before he speaks again.

"I would like to bring you some tea, chérie. Will you be ok?" His voice is gentle. He strokes the line of your cheekbone, waiting to hear from you.

You look at him, wanting to be brave but your eyes begin watering and he knows any word that isn't "no" is a lie. He hugs you close once more, chastising himself for even considering leaving you.

"Come then, mon amour. We shall make it together." Sliding out of bed, he kneels, lighting the chamberstick he keeps on his nightstand, its small orange light a sudden warm comfort in the shadows. He lifts it and his face is suddenly something divine, the only bright spot in the darkness and you feel your heart lighten in turn, the chains of the nightmare rattling as they break. He holds out his hand and you take it, a lifeline of love and comfort, and together you make your way through the night's shadows to the kitchen.

Vlad

You are pulled from the depths of your nightmare by a voice. It is gentle yet strong, insistent as it raises you out from the darkness and into the soft candlelight of Vlad's bedroom. 

Your dream is still clinging to you like black rainwater, evident in the beating of your heart and the rapid laboring of your lungs. But your sobs are soft, muffled, because you are being cradled against Vlad's chest. Your damp hair is being stroked by his hand.

He holds you to his chest, presses you against his heart, as if its steady rhythm might somehow transfer over to you, like osmosis. In a way, it does. His touch feels like the comfort of warm water, washing over you, washing away the darkness of your nightmare. You feel your body slowly return to itself like a frightened colt soothed by the hands of a loving caretaker. 

When you tilt your head up to look at him, you see a mix of concern and empathy in those rose-colored eyes of his. He asks if you want to talk about it, the dream that disturbed his darling. You shake your head, closing your eyes and curling tighter into the stronghold of his arms.

He kisses your hair, smoothing it down, moving it away from your face with gentle fingers. It feels cold to his touch. “Do you think a warm bath would help, beloved?” Even as he says it, you can already feel the soothing steam wrapping itself around you and smell the rose oil he always adds just for you. Heaven is what it sounds like.

You lean away for a moment, nodding as you lift your hands to his shoulders, fingers curling into the soft linen of his shirt. “It sounds perfect. Especially if you join me.”

His smile chases away the last dregs of cold from your heart. He cups your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks tenderly. “Of course, my love. If that is what you wish.”

You don’t need words to confirm. You simply lean forward and press a soft kiss to his cheek before sliding out of bed. Turning, you hold out your hand and he takes it, allowing you to lead him out of the velvet darkness of the bedroom.

Arthur

“C’mon darling, wake up. Wake up, luv.” A voice reaches through the fog of your nightmare, a small light that grows bigger as the voice gets louder, more insistent. It repeats your name, gently but firmly. You need to wake up, it says. It’s ok. The light grows brighter as your eyes flutter open, leaving the darkness in the recesses of your mind.

You wake to find yourself in bed, Arthur’s concerned blue eyes searching your face. He has your hands in his, fingers roaming your skin, and he is speaking, words of reassurance that continue to scatter the dark, clingy fog. “There’s my girl. There we are. Hello darling.” He brushes back your hair, fingers pressed firmly against the inside of your wrist as he offers you a smile. It takes you a moment to realize he has been keeping track of your pulse.

“Arthur?” A shudder runs through you as you remember those last moments. Satisfied that you are physically alright, he takes both your hands in his and holds them tightly, his summer sky gaze holding yours, grounding you. 

“Right here, darling. You’re alright.” You breathe out slowly, swallowing as you nod. A shaky, fragile laugh escapes your lips as you pull one hand free, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “Wow. I’m sorry. That….that was….a pretty awful dream.” 

He twists his bare torso, reaching for the handkerchief folded on his nightstand and then offers it to you. Gratefully you wipe your eyes, blow your nose. You notice the way the light plays off his glossy hair, the muscular lines of his upper body. When did he light the candles? Before he woke you? Did he know you would appreciate the light?

“Care to tell me about it?” His voice is warm with compassion. He is a man who understands the power of nightmares. You look into those eyes again and know that you are safe. You can face it again with him beside you. You nod.

He opens his arms and you fall into them with a sigh. It feels like falling into a soft, freshly-made bed. Safe. Secure. You snuggle up against him and begin describing the dream. He listens, his fingers tracing small, abstract patterns on the arm you have slung over his abdomen. You finally reach the end, the part where you entered the alley and grimace as you explain how the beast was there waiting.

Arthur’s fingers pause as he considers everything you have described. “But what if”, he murmurs thoughtfully, “……in that moment of peril, right when you believed all to be lost….your hands began to glow, a brilliant white like the light of a harvest moon?”

You glance up at his face from the pillow of his chest. He’s got that look in his eye, the one you have seen so many times concentrated on a page when you bring him a cup of coffee or in the evenings with you curled up on his lap as he talks through a scene. He’s writing….a new ending to your dream. 

A surge of love warms you from head to toe and you smile, turning your head to place a tender kiss above his heart. “Go on. Please.” You can feel his satisfaction as he shifts you closer, dropping a kiss to your temple before he speaks. “Well then, this white light…..”

Leonardo

You sit straight up in bed, gasping as you hold a hand to your racing heart. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. You don’t like Leonardo to leave any candles lit because of the fire hazard. One swish of Lumière’s tail and one of the endless books or parchments or canvases laying around could catch the flame and grow it into something disastrous. Luckily, his room is positioned well enough to catch the moon’s silvery light and tonight it is enough to hold total darkness at bay.

Breathing is difficult. Your lungs feel like they can’t expand enough and your chest burns with the need for air. This adds to the currents of anxiety still running through your veins. You close your eyes, trying to block out the memory of that mouth, those horrible, glistening teeth, the inevitable crunch of your bones as it makes a meal of you.

“Meow!” Lumière has stirred from his spot at the far end of the bed and picked his way across the covers to where you are. He knocks his head against your stomach, demanding your touch. Automatically you begin petting him, his soft, midnight fur soothing under your palms. “Meow!”

“Shhh,” you whisper, voice still rough, throat still tight. But he does not shh. He continues meowing. Loudly. Emphatically. And then the man laying next to you stirs, pushing himself up, one hand sleepily rubbing at his golden eyes. “Cosa sta succedendo?” What’s going on?

Lumière leaps from your lap to his, batting at his arm before stepping back to you. Now fully awake, his eyes adjusted to the wan lighting, he takes one long look at you and concern overtakes his handsome face. “Tesoro, what’s wrong?”

Your lower lip starts to tremble and Lumière leaps out of the way as you tip over and into Leonardo’s arms. His work now done, the feline leaps from the bed and disappears under the desk where he can continue sleeping on his favorite pile of books, undisturbed.

Leonardo clasps you to him, murmuring for you to tell him what happened, his cheek pressed against the top of your head as you recount the nightmare. His embrace tightens as he hears the tremor of fear in your voice and apologies fall from his lips like teardrops. He should have woken up on his own. He should have been there. He is so sorry, cara mia. So sorry.

You shake your head, reaching up to cup his face in one hand. He catches it and turns, placing a kiss into your palm. “It’s ok. It’s not your fault. I would have woken you.” The “Tsk” sound he makes at this reveals how well he knows you. You would not have woken him because you would have wanted to be brave and handle it without bothering him.

He presses rapid-fire kisses to your cheeks and your forehead as he whispers that he is here for you, always. You are not a burden and you do not have to deal with these things alone, ya? Let him be there for you. Please. Please–

You cut off his urgent whispers by capturing his mouth with yours, arms curling around his neck. His words have unlocked a need inside you to push away the nightmare. More than push away. To burn it out of your memory, reduce it to nothing but ash. 

You kiss him, a kiss born of heat and need, an electrical fire sparked by his soft words, now spreading out of control. Leonardo may be a logical man, but he is also a man of passion. He knows this is what you need, what you need from him, and he faces the flames of your desire, a man armed not with water but ethanol, ready to help you blaze a new memory into the night.

Tagging 🌜: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @ariamichel @kpop-and-otome

[novaiya]

Diamonds and Rust - Arthur x Reader (NSFW)

Summary: It’s been six years since you left it all behind; the Van Der Linde gang, the outlaw life and Arthur Morgan. Since then you’ve gone straight, becoming a rancher and a wife. What will happen to all of it when Arthur comes bursting back into your life, bringing with him all the feelings and desires the two of you once shared?

Words: 3,274

Warnings: smut, female reader, pregnancy.

A/N: I’m very, very proud of this fic and I really hope you guys like it as much as I do. I wrote the entire thing in basically one sitting (blame it on excitement and inspiration). The idea came to me after listening to Joan Baez’s song Diamonds and Rust (and that is of course where the title comes from). Give it a listen, it’s a beautiful song! If you prefer, you can read it on AO3 here.

Well, I'll be damned, here comes your ghost again - Diamonds and Rust

You knew he was around as soon as you heard about a big group of people, men, women and children, passing on wagons through your town. The shopkeeper in the general store said that the group looked like bad news, the look with which they eyed everything and everyone belonging only to people who were running from something. On another day, you were at the train station, posting a letter, when you heard one of the postal workers say the name “Tacitus Kilgore” while rummaging through a bin. That sealed the deal for you, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he found you.

For the next few days you couldn't do anything but wait, expecting him to barge back into your life at any moment. Your husband noticed your absent-mindness, and tried to inquire, but you waved him away, blaming your mood on overworking.

Your husband didn’t know your past. You told him that you ran away from home when a group of outlaws attacked your house, killing your parents and stealing anything worth selling. That wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. What you omitted to mention was that later when you had nowhere to go, another group of outlaws found you, took you in and became your new family. You spent the next few years with them, moving from place to place, robbing, killing, and stealing. It was there that you fell in love for the first time.

Shortly after you joined the gang, you and Arthur became a great team, and later on, a strong couple. As the time went on though, you realized that you couldn’t live on the run forever; you wanted a family, a stable life, a house with a kitchen and a bath. You shared your feelings with Arthur, and he promised you that everything would change, that the two of you would run away, to Mexico, or maybe California, and start a new life. The new life was always at the end of “one last score,” which never seemed to come.

After yet another similar conversation, you realized that if you didn’t leave at that moment, you never would. The moonlight casted its light on Arthur’s sleeping face as you looked at him one last time, burning the image of him into your memory. Without turning back, you mounted your horse and left.

Although seeming asleep, Arthur was awake the entire time. He felt you leave the cot, stand next to it for a few minutes and then leave. He heard the hoofbeats in the quiet night, becoming softer and softer until they completely disappeared. He wanted to go after you, bring you back, but he realized it would be selfish. What you wanted, what you deserved, he couldn’t give.

.

It's been a week since you heard the name “Tacitus Kilgore” in the post office,   and Arthur still hasn't shown. You let yourself relax, thinking that maybe it wasn’t him in the first place, or maybe he has forgotten about you. It’s been six years after all.

Few days later, your husband had to go take care of his mother couple of towns over. He asked if you wanted to go with him, but you declined; someone had to stay and take care of the ranch, protect it from cattle rustlers and wild animals.

You helped him load up the wagon, making sure to pack extra clothes and food for the trip. You kissed him, the kiss being longer than what was necessary for a trip that would probably take only three days at most.

The wagon disappeared in the tall trees as you stood at the entrance of your ranch, waving your hand until there was no one to wave to. The cold, fresh morning air filled your lungs as you took a big gulp of it. You turned on your heels, heading back inside and preparing for a day of work.

Your day was mostly spent tending to the cattle and cleaning up. When the sun started to set, painting the sky a mix of purple and red, you went into the main house and prepared dinner. You pushed the food around on the plate. The suffocating emptiness of the house made you once again think about expanding your family. The time was perfect; the ranch was making money and the house was the right size with two extra rooms sitting unoccupied and being used for storage. But, it seemed that it wasn’t for you to decide; you and your husband have been trying for months now, yet nothing was happening.

Trying to muffle the thoughts in your head, you got up from the table and took your plate to the sink, leaving it there to be cleaned tomorrow.

.

The cotton nightgown felt cool on your skin as you changed into it. The oil lamp on your bedside table was just bright enough to illuminate the clock on the wall, indicating that it was far past your bedtime, and if you wanted to get anything done tomorrow, you should go to bed right away. You sighted, getting ready to go under the covers when you heard a knock on the front door, as sudden as thunder on a sunny day. You froze, your body trying to decide whether to fight or flee. You carefully left your bedroom, mentally cursing when the floorboard creaked under your feet as you inched closer to the front door. Another knock came. Your eyes flew to the shotgun by the door. Your breath came out shaky as you were preparing to grab it, open the door and shoot straight through whoever it was.

And then you heard it, his voice saying your name. You felt like you were drenched in cold water, six years worth of bottled up emotions and feelings flooding straight through you. Without thinking, you opened the door, meeting face to face with his blue eyes.

"Arthur."

.

The only thing illuminating the living room and the two of you was the fire from the fireplace. You could feel the heat from it kissing your bare arms. You went into the kitchen, bringing back one shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. You poured a glass for Arthur, placed the bottle on the table, and sat down on the couch next to him.

He downed it in one go before silence fell over, nothing but the occasional sound of wind howling outside.

"Beautiful ranch you got."

"Thank you," you said, keeping your answer short and not looking at him.

You could feel the weight of his stare on you; it’s been six years since he last saw you. You've changed so much, and at the same time, haven't changed at all. You still kept your hair the same length, still had the same longing gaze in your eyes, yearning for more in life. He saw that you still had a scar on your hand, the one you got when an O'Driscoll pierced it with his knife. Arthur said it would fade with time when he was bandaging it. Looking at it now, he realized that things don’t fade away so easily.

His eyes lingered on your hand for a moment, noticing a ring on your finger, the gold band shining brightly in the dimly lit room, taunting him.

"So, you got married?" he said, his voice laced with venom as he spoke the last word.

"I have," you replied, casting your eyes down to the golden band. "Couldn't wait for you forever." Your words pierced right through him, leaving yet another wound he would need to tend to later. For the past six years, he held a naive, wishful hope that when the time would come, you’d be there, waiting for him. The idea, as absurd and foolish as it was, kept him hopeful for the past six years.

"What's his name?"

"Don't," you said, turning around to Arthur for the first time since you sat down. "Don't do this."

The two of you fell silent once again, and you used that moment to look over Arthur. You could see the traces of the person you loved six years ago; he still had the same scars scattered across his face. His eyes, although sadder now, still had the same color to them. His arms, the ones that held you on many nights, still had the same muscular shape.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, catching your eyes. "It was my fault the things ended up the way they did."

You didn’t say anything, casting your eyes downwards, so he continued.

“I was awake, you know, the night you left.”

You gulped down, the memories of your departure from the camp filling your mind.

“I should’ve never let you go.”

"I should’ve never left." The words left your mouth before you could process them. You have promised yourself to never vocalize these thoughts, the thoughts that a part of you that never left him, that have been longing for him for the past six years, felt.

The atmosphere in the air shifted. You could feel the change in Arthur's eyes and his demeanor. He reached out and took your hands in his, running his thumb over your knuckles and your golden band. His other hand reached up to you, cradling your head and bringing the two of you closer. You could feel his breath on your lips, smelling of the whiskey you poured him a few minutes ago. Your mind was on fire. For a moment, you felt that you were six years in the past, sitting on a bed in a crummy hotel room in some beatdown town. The law was on your tail, but you didn't care. Nothing mattered when you were with Arthur.

He pressed his lips against yours and in an instant, you forgot where you were. Your hands moved on their own, reaching and waving your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss. He groaned against your mouth, his hand leaving yours and moving up the curve of your body, over your hips and your waist, stopping around your chest. You felt him palm you over your chemise, and for a second, you felt your mind clear. The guilt came in flooding. You felt his tongue lick over your bottom lip and you winced, breaking the kiss and trying to get away from him, pushing yourself deeper into the couch.

"I can't do this," you said, more to yourself than to Arthur.

You felt his hand on your knee, hot against the cool skin. You wanted to move, wanted to slap his hand away, but you didn't. His hand inched higher up your leg, reaching the end of your chemise.

Arthur looked at you, his hand still on your thigh. "You tell me to stop and I will. I will leave and never bother you again."

You hesitated for a moment, battling with yourself till you finally said, “Stay.”

.

He covered your body with his, pinning you against the couch. His lips moved against yours in a dance that the two of you knew well, having rehearsed it for years and years before. One of his hands was back on your thigh, massaging the skin as he moved dangerously close to your heat. You felt his fingers run over your clothed slit, pressing against your clit and making you push your hips towards him.

His lips left your mouth, moving to your neck, kissing down your throat and to the crook of your neck. You could feel yourself getting wet as he kept kissing you all over, his fingers drawing lazy circles over your clothed clit. He removed himself from you and pulled off his suspenders. You sat up, your fingers reaching out and working on the buttons of his shirt before throwing it on the floor. You ran your hand up his body, through his chest hair and stopping over his heart. You could feel it beat wildly against his rib cage.

You felt hazy as he kissed you once again. In a minute, your chemise was on the floor, joining his shirt in a pile and leaving your top half naked to him. He laid you back down on the couch, sitting on his hinges between your spread legs. He made sure to burn this moment in his memory, the image of you spread under him for what was probably the last time.

He pulled your drawers down, revealing you completely to himself. You felt like you should cover yourself, not let a man that wasn't your husband see you like this, but this wasn't just another man, it was Arthur. Being like this with him felt natural.

He paved his way down your stomach with kisses, finally reaching your glistering cunt. The first touch of his tongue against your slit made you moan, and you instinctively reached out with your hand, waving your fingers into Arthur's hair. He kept going, lapping at you and pushing all the buttons he knew would have you coming apart in minutes. You threw your head back, moaning his name when you feel him push a finger in you, his tongue turning its attention to your clit. You could feel your release approaching when he added a second finger, picking up the pace. The movements of his fingers were deliberate, working in tandem with his tongue. You started to move your hips in time with his fingers, your body giving in to your carnal desires.

Your toes curled and your whole body shuddered as you came. Arthur kept going, heightening your pleasures until it all became too much and he retreated. The sight of his lips, wet with your juices, made a fire ignite in your belly once again. You pulled him down, crashing your lips against his, moaning at the taste of you.

He was grinding his hips against you, the bulge in his pants hard and heavy. You broke the kiss, reaching down with shaking hands towards his pants, popping the button open and taking out his cock. He moaned your name, closing his eyes as you wrapped your fingers around him. You ran your hand up and down, relishing in the sound of his debauched voice moaning your name. After a while, he took your hand away from his length and kissed over your knuckles. Letting it go, he pulled down his pants, the last article of clothing joining the others on the floor.

He sat in his naked glory between your legs. He was just as you remembered him; big, strong and muscular. The air around him was filled with virility. Your primal urges filled your mind as you wanted nothing but to be filled by him. He sensed your longing, seeing it in your eyes, and smiled.

His lips found yours once again, kissing you so much that you couldn't think about anothing but him. You felt the tip at him at your entrance, slowly pushing in. Your hands found his biceps, holding on to him as he pushed deeper, stretching you around his shaft. He stilled when he was all the way in, trying to compose himself. For a moment, all that could be heard where the sounds of your combined breaths, haggard in the quiet living room. The light from the fireplace illuminated your naked bodies.

Finally, he moved, pulling halfway out of you before slamming back in. You clung to each other, your bodies molding into one. Your legs wrapped around his waist, letting him deeper into you as your hands clawed at his back, leaving red marks behind. The feeling of him inside you was intoxicating; he was made for you, hitting all the right spots, the sheer girth and length of him filling you perfectly. His lips were on your neck as he thrusted in and out of you, taking in your scent and the taste of your skin under his lips.

Arthur couldn't get enough of you; his eyes raked over every part of your body, taking it all in. You could feel his hands everywhere, holding on to your hips, massaging your sides, cupping your breasts. He wanted to feel every part of you. His touch was inebriating, heightening your pleasure to an unimaginable level.

You could feel yourself nearing the edge, and so did Arthur. His movements became sloppier and out of rhythm, his desire for peak overwhelming.

He moaned your name, bringing your attention to him.

"I'm gonna cum," he said breathlessly, "where-"

You didn't let him finish, cutting in and saying, "Cum in me", not thinking about the repercussions of your words, your mind high on desire.

He dropped to his elbows, crashing his lips against yours as his movements became slower but rougher. You moved your hips meeting every one of his thrusts. The feeling of your tongue against his, your hands on his back and your warmness tightening against his shaft all became too much, and he came with a moan of your name, spilling his seed inside of you. The feeling of him coating your walls drove you wild, and you came a moment later, your legs shaking.

The weight of Arthur over you felt like a warm blanket, keeping you safe and shielded from the world outside. You could feel his staggering breath on your neck as he tried to bring his breathing down. You held each other like that for a few minutes, not moving. Two sweaty bodies, entangled in each other.

At some point in the night, the two of you moved to the bedroom, soiling the bed that you and your husband shared with your combined moans and desires.

You spent the rest night in Arthur’s arms. He held you tight against him as he told you about his travels and the state of the gang. You told him about the ranch, and how fulfilled you felt by the work. Both of you tried to avoid the subject of marital status.

You fell asleep to the beat of Arthur’s heart, your head on his chest, his in your hair.

In the morning, the two of you had breakfast, and he stayed till the evening, helping you with some of the chores around the ranch, playing family that the two of you never had a chance to become.

You watched him drive away on his horse, following the speck of him with your eyes all the way over the plain till it completely disappeared. You stood by the entrance of your ranch for a few more minutes. Out in the distance the chickens chirped. You still had to milk the cows and go to the general store. Breathing out, you looked up into the sky before turning back towards your house and your life.

.

Few months later.

You stood at the top of a hill, overlooking your ranch with your husband next to you. Cold wind blew through your hair. Winter was coming. You had to start making preparation for the colder months; make sure the cattle were healthy, create a water plan, add feeders and forage among other things.

Another rush of cold air made you shiver and pull your shawl tightly over your shoulders. Your husband's hand found yours, interlocking your fingers and making you look at him. He smiled at you. his eyes full of love and excitement, before turning back towards the ranch. You held your gaze on him for a moment longer, studying his features, before too turning towards the pasture, one of your hands in his, the other on your growing belly.

[curmudggeon]

An Unexpected Encounter (Arthur Morgan x Female Reader)

After receiving an invitation to the mayor's Gala party, you encounter the one person you despise the most, Arthur. Just when you thought your rivalry would get any more infuriating, he comes along and one thing leads into another or maybe even into something more...

“Fuck it.”

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Minor spoilers of 'The Gilded Cage' Mission, Vulgarities, Alcohol, Guns, Violence, and Sexual intentions

A/N: Honestly, I didn't know where I was going with this. It's been quite a while since I've written. While playing through this mission, I was thinking of an enemies-to-lovers type of banter with the whole glitz and glamour of the situation. I hope you enjoy it or maybe not...

The grand music by the string quartet swelled into the elegant ambiance of the evening. With Saint Denis’ high society gathered together into one establishment, being invited into these types of conventions was a rare opportunity. You managed to get in the mayor’s party through close connections within the city. It was a chance to get your hands on valued pickpockets from pompous rich people; away from the hassle of collecting useless bounties.

The mansion was rather extravagant as you entered; unique architecture and expensive pieces of artwork looking out into the outskirts of the city. The scent of liquor, cigars, and the deep aquatic plants of the Bayou was intoxicating.

Defying all the odds of 1899 fashion, you wore a dress that had a slit on the slide of your right thigh that was high enough to hide the spare gun that you managed to sneak in despite having to surrender the rest of your weaponry at the entrance.

The mayor’s servants eyed you closely when you laid out your revolvers in front of them, since it was apparently absurd to witness a woman carrying such hefty guns. Winking at them as you moved away, you scowled under your breath at their suspicion and avoid being further searched. It was your only option of protection in case a fiasco had broken out in the middle of your pickpocket adventure.

Conversations started to tune out the music in the background, the heads of married men turned towards your direction as you made your way through the party, striding with utter grace and elegance to catch the eyes of your potential suitors to steal from.

Grimaced expressions were coated on the faces of the women while examining your revealing choice of clothing. You stood beside the refreshments, holding a free glass of champagne, as you glanced at the group of women engrossed in conversation regarding the lady that came into the establishment. You.

Raising your eyebrow as you sipped on the champagne, you gave them a firm nod headed their way, causing the litter of southern belles to widen their eyes at your acknowledgment and quickly disperse from their conversation. Real smooth.

It was the kind of attention you had gotten used to. After all, being the only woman bounty hunter in the city wasn’t normal in the present day’s context. Opting for a more reckless and freer lifestyle gave you a sense of adrenaline; to escape every expectation of conservative American society. You felt entitled to be who you are and wanted to be. A free woman. You started making a name for yourself in this city, bounty after bounty until one particular man decided to show up and defeated all your means of survival on the jobs you took on...

Arthur

The sound of his name left a sour taste in your mouth. He was the reason why it started to get progressively difficult collecting bounties. When you showed up for a $100 bounty for the leader of the Lemoyne Raiders, Lindsey Wofford at the abandoned fort, that is how you met Arthur. You were outnumbered. Deciding to team up with him, was the last thing you should’ve done. He was charming at first, but then came the point when he handed over Lindsey’s body to the police, betraying your efforts to help attain the bounty as he kept the prize to himself. So much for being handsome.

The moment bounty posters were displayed, it became a competition to get to them first. He would capture or kill them before you did. The feeling of immense frustration struck you as he flashed that lazy, crooked smirk of his. Arthur tipped his hat to you while collecting his reward for the day.

“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath, unable to contain the urge to lunge at him for beating you to it. The glimmer in his eye resembled the commencing of his mockery towards you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Princess.” His eyes shined with amusement along with that stupid grin of his slowly widening at your reaction. Oh, he is so not going to see the light of day any time soon.

Your anger was at its peak, ready to set off and wipe that smug expression off his face. You couldn’t let him have this, not this time. Within a blink of an eye, you reached for your pistol and aimed it at Arthur’s head with ease.

“You take that back.” His face slowly turned south as his grin disappears upon my demand. I thought so, too.

“Woah, Woah, young lady. Put the gun down,” The policeman warned as he stood with his hand out to coax you into dropping my line of fire and from blowing Arthur’s brains out in front of him.

Ignoring the warning, you focused on Arthur, waiting for his apology. After a long pause of silence, his face slowly distorts, as if he can’t control the outburst of emotions flowing within him.

He’s

He’s laughing?

Your eyebrows furrowed even further as he slowly bends his arms onto his knees as blurts of laughter simultaneously start to escape his mouth. The policeman was surprised at the sudden change of atmosphere, as he stares at Arthur like a madman. He walks away, shaking his head as he retorts lowly, “I don’t get paid enough for this job”.

Rolling your eyes, you were annoyed at the fact Arthur doesn’t take you seriously. Even as your rival, it was unbelievably childish of him to do so. He continued to wheeze as if I’m the biggest joke in the whole wide world. “Ha ha. Very funny, Arthur”

A small smile crept up your mouth as you lowered your aim of fire and place it back into the holster at the round of your hip. You had to admit, he had one of the most contagious laughs you have ever heard, but that doesn’t mean you should lose your guard against the one person you despise the most. In defeat, you left the police station before he had anything else to say to mask yourself in humiliation.

“This changes nothing, I’m still going to beat you.”

-

A few glasses of champagne and pickpockets later, you managed to get your hands on some gold rings, silver-plated watches, and money off drunkards that made their way to you. They were easily wrapped around your finger to steal behind their back. The men surrounded the area as they unwind into the evening with very little knowledge, of what’s coming to them. You secretly stashed the contents of your pickpockets into your purse while walking away from endless conversations about politics and the weather.

Getting bored by the events occurring before you, in the corner of your eye you spot the mayor; Henri Lemieux by the fountain.

Hoping to make a name for yourself in this city —and probably pickpocket him, you make your way to his location. With elongated and purposeful sashays, you stopped in your tracks when you heard footsteps following behind you.

“Hey, little troublemaker.” His voice resonated through you.

Within a split second, you knew that warm, gruff voice anywhere. Frozen in your tracks, you closed your eyes and mentally cursed to yourself as you just got caught red-handed.

In front of you was your shadow cascading on the brick flooring of the garden as Arthur’s tall and burly figure enveloped yours under the dim moonlight. He was directly behind your back, just barely touching the exposed skin of your shoulders. You could feel the warm heat radiating off of him, making you shudder.

Slowly turning around to acknowledge his presence, composing yourself with utmost annoyance to resist the intoxicating proximity in between.

"Oh, it's you." He chuckled at your sarcastic remark as you admired his ravishing appearance. He donned a well-fitted Tux that hugged his biceps perfectly, along with the slicked-back hair from the usage of pomade to style it.

The view of him was a refreshing sight. Seeing him in such a way, despite the usual boyishly rugged blue shirt of his, that shaped his figure well tingled on your skin. He smelled of musk and wildflowers. The scent caused an involuntary sigh out of you before you could realize what you had just done.

"It's nice to see you." Slightly grinning, he stared at you closely. Holding eye contact as he took in the sight of your appearance. Before you stared at each other longer than the both of you had anticipated, fireworks had burst in swirls up in the sky. It caught the attention of guests as they watch the beautiful night sky be painted with streaks of vibrant colors. Comments of amazement filled the air.

Shifting your gaze back to Arthur, you felt like your heart had stopped for a mere second. What?

Arthur had already been staring at you, and your face started to slightly warm at the realization. As if on cue, at the side of the fountain was the mayor and his servant, quietly arguing. You eavesdrop only to hear the contents of the discussion 'Cornwall' and 'horse's ass'. Bingo. You knew anything that had to do with the wealthy man was a big deal to make out of. And definitely would come with something worthy to steal.

As the servant departs away from the mayor, Arthur was already making his way towards him to find out more information. Oh no, you don't.

You follow behind discreetly with the same intention before he finds something more useful than the already invaluable pickpockets in your purse.

Making way back through to the entrance of the Mansion, Arthur makes his way upstairs to the staircase leading towards the mayor's office, as you follow shortly after.

He enters the office quietly as he jams to open the locked drawer with a letter opener on the table. Slowly, you make your way to lean against the door frame, crossing your right leg over the left one to increase the view that revealed your exposed skin with a revolver strapped to your thigh. Preparing to display your disapproval of his actions, you fold your arms as he voices out the contents of the letter. "Mr. Leviticus Cornwall... Top secret… Extremely confidential. Very interesting."

"Very interesting, huh?" His head quickly turns in my direction upon the sound of my voice. His eyes widen. Gotcha cowboy.

Smiling innocently at his reaction, you slowly tilt your head the opposite way of the door frame, awaiting his response.

He pauses for a while as his gaze reaches your face as it makes its way through the revealed skin and revolver coyly making an appearance to him. Breaking off his stupor, It takes him a few seconds to process your actions as you walk towards him.

“What’s that?” He turns his back to prevent you from have a closer scan of the confidential document. Trying to reach it from out of his hands, he turns in another direction, holding the document up in the air far from your reach.

“Nothing useful,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone as he remains amused at your multiple attempts of stealing it from him. He looks away from you, dodging any suspicious allegations you might get just by narrowing your eyes at him.

“If you’re trying to hide it from me, sure as damn means it’s useful.” You hiss at him to hand it over as you continue trying to get up to his height to retrieve the ‘useless’ document out of his hands. Giving up, you stop your actions as an idea had come to mind. A stupid one.

Removing the revolver off your thigh, you pointed the gun at his foot to threaten him into giving you a glimpse of the contents of the paper regarding Leviticus Cornwall.

“I’d love to see you try,” His deep blue eyes sparkled as he challenged you with delight. Arthur knew you wouldn’t dare to pull the trigger and risk another catastrophe to happen at the mayors’ mansion.

Fireworks outside the window started to quieten down and conversations start to resume back to normal.

The sound of a key unlocking a door from another part of the office fills the room.

You look at Arthur with a slightly panicked facial expression. He folds the document neatly and places it inside the inner breast pocket of his tux as you quickly strap back your gun to the side of your thigh.

Arthur moves swiftly past you and grabbing you by the wrist before both of you get caught.

We make our way through the hallway and down a few steps down the staircase to get as far away from the office as possible. The soft tones of speaking at the end of the stairs traveled just at the rounded corner of the wall, nearing the both of you. Heavy stomps became louder and louder at the top of the staircase. You and Arthur were dead in your tracks, standing in the middle of the staircase, as your only two options of escape were far from reach. It was a dead end. This was a day you would go to jail, the both of you.

“Fuck it.”

And he kisses you. Hungrily and ever so desperately.

Pushing you against the wall as his hand cups the back of your neck bringing you close to him while the other was lowering to grab the exposed leg through the slit of your dress and cling it to the side of his hip. Your heart was beating out of your chest, ringing into your ears. And you were pretty sure he was able to hear it too. Not being able to grasp the situation, your stunned eyes fluttered shut, forgetting the entirety of your surroundings with his lips crashing on yours. Arthur’s lips.

There was no denying your attraction towards Arthur, from his physique to that annoying smirk of his that kept you on edge, it was hard to pay attention to the rivalry the both of you shared. Sometimes neither of you noticed the longing but yet despising looks you and Arthur exchanged. You thought you were being delusional, but It always seemed to be so much more. An indescribable magnetic force, pulling and pushing away from each other.

His stubble along the sides of his jaw skimmed the surface of your chin, inviting a light hum to alight from your lips from the contact. It made him smile against your lips, enjoying your compliance with his actions. Unable to resist, you grabbed the ends of his suit into fists, bringing him closer as his hands explored the map of your skin. Just like a predator devouring its prey, you lightly moaned as the warmth of his skin against yours created an inexplicable connection. A grunt escaped his mouth at your reaction to his touch. Kissing you harder, his hand gently slid up the exposed skin of your leg and over your—

"Ahem,"

Breaking off your kiss, a look of disgust was plastered onto the face of the servant, stumbling upon a couple who can't seem to get a room.

Regaining consciousness, you realize the highly scandalous position the both of you were in. You against the wall, arching your back with your hands resting on his heaving chest. You look down, noticing the strap of your dress that had tipped of your shoulder, which revealed your cleavage a bit more than it had already displayed. And his hands, at your waist and up your thigh reaching, Oh. Your face turned bloodshot red.

In a protective stance, Arthur leans forward closer to shield the tantalizing sight of your appearance to the man who had caught both of you at the top of the stairs. Furrowed eyebrows and eyes of infuriation were headed his way.

"Oh, heavens" a group of maids that reached the staircase, quickly shuffled away to busy themselves with other things than going through the second floor of the mansion.

“Pardon me for the intrusion, but this area is strictly out of bounds.”

“Well, I don't see any signs suggesting, so”

The servant raises his eyebrow higher with arms crossed, emphasizing how ridiculous his comment was.

Arthur grumbles, “We’ll be on our way”

The man’s heavy footsteps move past us, giving you privacy to freshen up whatever articles of clothing that was out of place

Hesitant to make eye contact, you observed the bow tie that hung around Arthur’s neck like it was the most interesting thing you had ever seen. You could feel his intense gaze drilling holes into you as his eyes did all the talking. The air was thick, making it hard to breathe as each second passes by. There wasn’t an inch of space left between the both of you, except for the slight distance aching to be met at the lips. His fingers lifted your chin to divert your attention back to him.

You could see the reflection of yourself drowning in the deep seas of his cerulean blue eyes. His gaze lowers down to the swell of your lips. Momentarily, time stops moving, it was the climax of something different. Something exciting, that the hatred you had spent building up for him was collapsing. Something you couldn't quite pinpoint.

There’s a gravitational pull pulling us closer and closer…

The basis of physics was no match for the two of you.

Lips barely grazing onto yours as light music soars in the background,

“Arthur!”

He stops, painfully closing his eyes to the familiar voice that constantly put him to work.

The tension breaks like a gunshot piercing through the air, pulling you out of your daze and back into reality.

What the fuck just happened?

Arthur groans and smothers his face into the crevice of your neck. His arms tightening around your waist, holding for dear life like you were going to slip away from his fingers. Gibberish left his mouth, whining like a child being awoken from his slumber, as the voice that yelled for him gets louder.

You couldn't handle the position you were in, he was so close to you. Your heart could burst any time soon from his touch. It was nothing you had ever imagined with him, nothing you had ever experienced before. This feeling was new.

“I have to go” her murmurs barely under a whisper, only for you to hear. Arthur lightly kisses the skin of your shoulder to signal his departure. The sensation tingles as he separates away from you.

The initial distance that was so close between the both of you was now a little too far away for your liking. Leaving you at the staircase, he looks back at you.

Our eyes meet, and it’s only the two of us, and from this point onwards, everything changes, and you find yourself longing after his lips.

Maybe for once, things could change.

Maybe we can change.

Us.

part 2-?

[george-fabian-weasley]

Bill Weasley — Intoxicating

Summary: Bill Weasley had picked up a habit of smoking from his peers in Egypt. When he came back to Britain for summer, he met you in a fancy restaurant, as his barista.

Words: 3,415

Warnings ⚠ : Floofy Stuff, Cute, Sexual Tension, I Don't Write Smut so None of Them, Bill Weasley being Deviously Charming

Disclaimer: Domhnall Gleeson can run me over and I would thank him this man is sO FINE

"William, you're home!" Molly's voice echoed around the Burrow and Bill laughed as he engulfed the small woman, "Missed you, Mum."

The rumbles of stairs indicated his other family members running down to see him. Upon knowing them for years, he could predict the one who comes down first would be-

"Ah, Ickle Billiekins!" Two grown men engulfed him in a bro hug, and Bill chuckled, "Fred. George. How's the shop going?"

Fred smiled in triumph, "Splendid! We're planning to open our second franchise soon in London!

"Bill!" Ginny pushed away from the twins and hugged him, the complaints of the twins were visible. "Ginny! How are you, lil sis?"

Being the only sister he had, Ginny has a special place in his heart. Everybody knows how spoiled she is with him. The ten-year difference between them doesn't help either.

After catching up with the rest of the family, The Weasleys had a celebratory dinner to celebrate Bill being home for the summer. Ginny and Ron even invited Harry and Hermione, whom Bill knew pretty well because of the war a few years ago.

Molly being the lovable mum she is, kept adding food to his plate, Bill had to ask help from Arthur with pleading eyes. "Now, now, Molly dear, we don't want Bill to have indigestion now, do we?"

"But he's so thin now! Oh, what have they been feeding you at Egypt?"

Bill chuckled, "Mum, I've been like this since Hogwarts."

Molly gave him a motherly smile, "Oh alright. How's Egypt?" She changed the topic, and Bill had never been more grateful, his stomach almost exploded.

Hours after dinner ended, Bill stepped out of the Burrow to puff out a smoke or two. He heard someone opening the door and closing it, footsteps nearing him and Bill was pleasantly surprised to see Harry Potter, the hero a few years ago who defeated the bloody wizard Voldemort.

"You smoke?" He asked in bewilderment. Bill inhaled and kept it in, feeling the nicotine in his system for as long as he could before exhaling the white semi-dense smoke. He kept his views to the tall grass field in front of him, "Got it from my peers back in Egypt. Thought it's a good distraction, and it is."

"Distraction from what?"

"Thinking. So many thoughts and not all of them are pretty. Especially if you have 6 younger siblings and two aging parents." Bill confessed, finally looking at Harry with a small smile, "And now two troublesome future in-laws."

Harry chuckled and diverted his eyes from Bill, a heavy blush at the nickname, "Maybe later, I reckon. Ginny's focusing on her career first and I as an Auror. We have no time for a wedding."

Bill snorted, "Why are you acting like we didn't have Charlie's wedding in the middle of chaos 3 years ago?"

The two men burst into laughter. Looking back, it was amusing to have a wedding ceremony out of nowhere, especially if the night before someone just died- ehem, mad-eye, ehem- anyway. The laughter died down, and comfortable silence began. Harry was looking up to the stars, sighing, "We sure do have a lot of adventures here."

Bill shrugged, "I've been having adventures since I was born, Harry. Adding you into the family isn't that special," He teased and Harry rolled his eyes playfully.

Bill took a final puff and exhaled loudly, dropping the almost finished cigarette to the ground and stepped on it a few times, no one wants a random fire in the middle of the night.

Harry walked back in first, but then he turned back and said, "Maybe you're not the only one getting an in-law soon."

Bill snorted, Harry was referring to Bill about marriage, "Maybe," He said, didn't really want to jinx anything if he says no. Harry smiled at him and entered the Burrow, leaving him alone.

Bill sighed, looking down to the dead roll of cigarette on the ground, "Maybe," He whispered, even when he knew it's not likely.

A few days after that night, Bill got an owl from his peers from Egypt. They invited him to a fancy party in a muggle restaurant in London, something about celebrating their 10th year working in Egypt.

He sighed quietly, he really doesn't want to go, something about being in a crowd exhausts him. But alas, he figured it would be worthwhile to catch up with his friends and enjoy a drink or two.

Who knows, maybe he could find someone there, although that's nearly impossible. Not that Bill cared about blood status, it's more to the scar on his face from Greyback a few years ago.

Who would date a scar-face?

Bill smiled bitterly, this thought kinda hurt him a little bit, but he let it tear down his mood no further. He has a party tonight to attend anyway. A fancy one.

That evening, Bill had whipped out the fanciest suit he could find and had Transfigured his hair into the color of dark brown, for fun. Molly, of course, had her disagreement as ginger hair has become a trademark of a Weasley for so long, but Bill had reassured her it's only for the night.

"Looking fancy, eh? Have a date somewhere?" George teased his older brother, the eldest just chuckled and shook his head, "Got a party at a fancy restaurant in London, had to dress my best."

"Ouch Billie, already forgetting to be a Weasley?" Fred chimed in, faking a hurt expression with his hand on his left chest. Bill rolled his eyes playfully, his dark brown hair sure did look weird after years having ginger as the hue of his hair, "Sod off, Freddie."

"Well, I think you look handsome, Bill," Ginny said suddenly, walking towards her older brother to fix his tie. Bill looked at her in triumph and glared at the twins, "Finally, someone on my side,"

Ginny chuckled and patted his chest when she was done, "I'll always be on your side. Just don't wear it too long, don't want you to forget you're a Weasley."

Bill chuckled and kissed her forehead, "Yes, ma'am."

Apparating to the alley behind the bar, Bill walked in the party looking ravishingly stunning, although he sort of regretting the new color on his head.

"William!" Shouts from his peers made him smile ear to ear. The night was celebrated with a few drinks here and there, Bill had a wonderful time catching up with his friends.

But a few hours later, the said friends had separated into different corners with their partners, leaving Bill, the only one who doesn't have a partner, to be alone.

Bill clicked his tongue, the sudden feeling of wanting to smoke was strong. He hadn't associated himself with this many muggles before. Nevertheless, they're all human beings in the end, magic or not. He checked his watch, it's a quarter past 10, the night is still young.

And so Bill went to the bar section of the restaurant, wanting some alone time from many people. He fished out the cigarette box from his pocket and took one, placing it in between his lips.

Bill inwardly groaned as he remembered he couldn't use magic to light up his cigarette, there are way too many muggles to witness and honestly, he doesn't want to go to Court, especially when the government is still corrupted even after years of Voldemort gone.

He patted around his suit, hoping there is somehow a box of matches resting inside one of his many pockets. The cigarette between his lips was starting to get wet.

Suddenly he heard a flicker, and Bill was met face to face with a tiny light of fire.

Strange, the fire was resting on top of a metallic box with a lid. Bill blinked, and that's when he properly see you.

His eyes met yours, and for the first time in years, Bill Weasley was speechless. It was only when you shook the tiny fire on your hand slightly that he realized that he was staring.

He quickly leaned into the fire to light up his cigarette, nodding to you in gratitude. He took a long inhale, relaxing as the toxic substance entered his system. He exhaled and looked at you with a smile, "Thank you."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, "Did you forgot to bring your lighter or something?" You said, and Bill was slightly surprised at how easily you sparked up a conversation with him.

"I beg your pardon?" He said, and you nudged to the metallic box in your hand, flickering the light up once again, "A lighter. You forgot to bring it?"

So it's called a lighter. Fascinating. Bill thought as he chuckled, "Sort of," he said, not really wanting to say his 'lighter' is a spell.

"Anything you want to drink?" You asked, and that's when Bill realized you were over the other side of the counter, and you were wearing a white blouse and a patterned dark red vest over it. Ah, you're a barista.

Your hair was put on a low ponytail, and Bill suddenly missed his long red hair. Curse this brown short hair.

Bill hold his cigarette in between his index and middle finger, "Just water, please." You raised an eyebrow, "Water? Really?"

Bill chuckled at your teasing demeanor, and you were surprised at how he wasn't offended by your jokes. Your usual customers would usually tell you to shut the fuck up and bring them drinks quietly.

"Home was quite far from here. Don't want to drive home dead drunk now, do we?" Bill chimed, a genuine smile was on his lips. He wasn't this friendly around strangers, but there was this vibe around you that tells him to loosen up and enjoy his time.

You smiled at his remark, he was the friendliest customer of the night so far. "Oh c'mon, you're sitting on a bar! Surely you'll drink something." You said with a playful toothy grin. Once again, Bill chuckled, "Alright then. A glass of wine please."

"Atta boy," You quietly cheered and got to work. Bill watched you silently, occasionally bringing his cigarette onto his lips, somehow the nicotine wasn't as strong as before, now that you're here.

He couldn't pinpoint what was it, but you were... Charming.

"I've never seen you before," You struck up a conversation with Bill again once you delivered his glass of wine. This man before you was ravishingly stunning, would be quite a waste if you just watch this masterpiece from afar.

You could say he was the most handsome man you've ever laid eyes on. Even with that scar on his face. The long trailing scar from his temple to his cheek was intimidating at first sight, but when you look at it longer, it's only a scar, nothing more.

If anything, it makes this man before you look more mysterious than he should be.

"I'm from Devon, actually. My friends thought it would be a good idea to have a party here for our 10th-year celebration working at our workplace." You widened your eyes in, letting out a surprised laugh, "Blimey, 3-hour drive for a party?"

Bill shrugged his eyebrows, 'Huh, 3 hours.'

He sipped on his wine and gestured at the bar with his chin, "How long have you been working here... Y/N?" He asked, his eyes lingering on your name tag before coming in contact with your eyes.

You blinked, oh lord give me strength.

The way he said your name was beyond lovely, as if he's saying such poetic words. And the way he looked at you isn't really that much of a help. You felt heat rushing in your cheeks as you turned around to the alcohol collection, not letting this fine man before you see your blush.

"About 3 years already? Got to make money somehow to live," You said nonchalantly, when another customer ordered a drink. You got to it right away fast, wanting to talk more with the mysterious man whose name you didn't even know.

As if reading your thoughts, he said, "I'm William, but my friends and family call me Bill."

You chuckled and throw him a playful look, "Where did Bill come from out of William?" The remark made him laugh, the sides of his eyes crinkled. You smiled in triumph at the successful attempt of making Bill laugh.

"I honestly have no idea," Bill chuckled and inhaled more of the cigarette between his fingers, the nicotine felt less effective by now.

You stood in front of him, with the wooden bar table between you, biting your lip, "And what should I call you? William," You trailed off, feeling the energy between you shifted from light to somehow heavy.

"Or Bill?" You muttered loudly, giving him a slight smirk.

Bill felt it, the energy shift. And for the first time, he didn't mind. "Well," He started, putting the cigarette onto the ash box, killing it instantly. He took the glass wine, swirling it slightly to make the wine well mixed, and right before he sipped the dark liquid, he looked at you, "Surprise me."

You watched him drink the wine with his eyes on you the whole time, and the action made the butterflies in your stomach came alive.

"Y/L/N! No flirting with customers!" The shout from your manager made you flinch in surprise. You looked to the side, your manager looking at you sternly with his hands at his waist.

You smiled mischievously, "But boss, I don't think we're flirting!" You said with fake innocence, batting your eyelashes innocently. You turned to Bill, smiling in a way Bill was reminded of his cheeky twin brothers at home, "Were we flirting, Bill?"

Bill smiled widely with his front teeth on his lower lip, you're something else, Y/N.

"Were we? I can't remember," He chimed in, giving your boss the same innocent smile, making your own smile widen. The boss rolled his eyes and left, leaving you both by yourselves.

A moment of silence before laughter erupted from both of you. "What time does your shift end?" Bill asked as soon as he calmed down, a genuine smile on his lips.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, "At 12," You voiced out, trying so hard to contain your smile. Bill's smile got wider at the sight of your blushed cheeks, "Alright, I'll be here till 12."

"You sure we're not flirting, Bill?" You said playfully. Bill bit his lower lip and looked up at you, "I don't know, Y/N. You tell me,"

"Oh, you're good at this," You breathed out and nodded, impressed by his flirting skills. Bill chuckled and shook his head, "Sometimes. There's just something about you that makes it easier."

The entire two hours were filled with conversations and laughter, some occasionally constantly flirting here and there, but needless to say, Bill was having a great time with you.

You were charming, funny, witty, and absolutely gorgeous in his eyes. He forgot for a moment, that you can see his scar on the side of his face.

Not that you minded it. Bill was everything. He's a gentleman with a beautiful smile and an amazing sense of humor, mysteriously alluring.

By the time the clock starked 12, Bill stood up from his seat and then you realized how tall he was from you. If before he was looking up to you, now it's completely the opposite. Bill had an amused expression over your sudden realization of his height.

"I'll wait for you outside," He said and you nodded with a smile, already tearing off your vest.

The party was long forgotten, some of his friends had already gone home before he even realized it. Once he was outside, he took out another cigarette and snapped his finger, instantly lighting it up. He took a long inhale, warming his system up to fight off the cold air of London. He exhaled and sighed, the cold mist now mixed with the smoke, making it denser than it should be.

Bill then realized he was supposed to be with you later, and a guy with a bad breath is the last impression he wanted you to have of him. And so he reluctantly threw away the barely finished cigarette, crushing it with the bottom of his shoe.

Just then, you came out and walked to him, looking casual with a beanie on top of your head and hair let down from the ponytail before. "Hello, handsome." You said cheekily with a smile.

He smiled at the sight of you, and with his cold hands, he held yours softly. You halted your movement altogether, now looking eye-to-eye to this beautiful man before you. "I couldn't do this to you before because you're working, but," He said softly, and met your knuckles with his lips, kissing it gently.

"Hi."

The blush in your cheeks was prominent, and you felt like a high-school girl all over again, "Hi," You said shyly.

You suddenly felt some sort of courage running through your veins, because without thinking, you grabbed his tie and pulled it towards you, making him closer to you.

"I may have a few shots before coming out here so please don't mind me," You muttered quickly as you pulled him into a kiss. Bill was pleasantly surprised and kissed you back. The makeout turned heated quickly, Bill had to contain himself as he suddenly found a new hunger for your taste.

Whiskey, and smoke.

It was intoxicating. When you pulled away, you were both panting. You later giggled at the sudden courage before, and your laugh being contagious, he started chuckling on his own. Bill was holding your waist tightly, touching as much skin as he could while you had your arms wrapped around his neck.

Never would he thought a few minutes later that he would be running while holding your hand, laughing with each other as you dragged him to your apartment.

Bill had already loosened his tie and tossed his suit around somewhere by the time you're opening the door. He turned you around suddenly from the door and gave you another hungry kiss. You were pressed between the door and him, and you didn't mind.

Reluctantly pulling away giggling, you opened the door sloppily, your mind still hazy by Bill's kiss.

He was a bloody excellent kisser, holy fuck.

The door slammed shut behind you two, and the kissing continued. It was safe to say, Bill Weasley didn't come home that night.

By the time morning came along, you woke up being wrapped around Bill. His naked arms wrapping around your waist and his leg around yours. You smiled and looked up to him, and was surprised at his long red hair.

You chuckled, shaking your head. You trailed kissed from his freckled chest to his neck, making him humming in content. "Good morning, sweetheart," He said groggily. You giggled at his sleepy attempt of kissing your nose.

You reached your hand to caress his long hair and sighed in content, "You know, you could've told me your real hair is ginger."

He hummed sleepily, "Mmm, yeah-wait, what?" He snapped his eyes open and reached for his hair. Indeed, ginger and shoulder length.

He sat up suddenly, looking everywhere but at you, "I-I can explain." He stuttered.

I knew it was a bad idea, he groaned.

He stopped when he saw you looking up to him with amusement, your arm supporting your head, and your hair falling slightly to the side you're leaning on.

"Why aren't you freaking out?" He asked. You smiled, "I know you're a wizard, Bill. Or should I say, Bill Weasley?"

Bill scoffed in surprise, his tense shoulder relaxed, "Why didn't you tell me you knew?"

You sat up, revealing your naked upper body that you had presented to Bill the night before, and kissed him on the cheek, "I figured it wouldn't be fun if I let you know so soon, so I figured I should play along."

Bill was supposed to feel offended, you did lie to him after all. But all he could find in his heart was warmth. He smiled gently, cupping your face and kissing your lips softly.

"You're something else, you know that?" He stifled a laugh as he said it. You joined his laughter and caress his cheek, leaning your forehead together.

"I know."

[cedricslover]

Troubled pt.3

Pairing: Cedric x Fem! Reader

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 (Final)

Series summary: A very unfortunate situation happened and it resulted in very unfortunate events. You had everything, a good boyfriend that everyone dreamed of, best friends that you got in a twin pack, and a loving school. It was a calm before a storm and in your sixth year the storm came. You faced the consequences your deceased parents run from, you were only left with your only family, your little brother. What would you do in order to save him? The answer is, everything, even if it means joining a terrorist group of wizards, joining THE DEATH EATERS…

Chapter summary: as the Yule Ball came nearer you tried to avoid your problems and just enjoyed the holidays. You were not successful and what you thought would be a lovely evening turned out to be not.

Note: there is no specific house:))) i can make requests if y’all have one. Sorry for the long wait   

Warnings: angst, shouting, yeah pretty much that’s it.

Word count:  3,3k

Hello Molly, 

         I really appreciate how you thought of me having no one to buy me a dress. I really hope I’m not being a hindrance to you. I would prefer any type of dress as long as the sleeves are long up to my wrists. It’s very cold and I have quite an allergy towards the cold and I would really be grateful if it’s a long sleeved dress. Nevertheless, I’ll lead the color to your liking and also the designs. 

       I know you won’t agree but there are a few galleons here just enough for my dress, I don’t want you to waste money on me. That’s all. Take care! Oh and greet Arthur for me too.         

Yours truly, 

Y/N

You sighed as soon as you sealed the envelope. Then, you suddenly glanced at your mirror that was on your table, you’ve never seen your eyes quite this lively since- well since that incident happened. You immediately rejected the negative thoughts that were slowly creeping in your mind. 

‘Stop.’ you told yourself. For the next few days, you wish to never think of your problems first and just enjoy this time. Just this once, again. 

You stared at yourself again at the same mirror, now smiling, you saw yourself, the same self you were last year. She was there, looking back at you and doing your signature wink. 

“Heading to the owlery?” Adrian Pucey suddenly appeared in front of you as you walked the hallway. You rolled your eyes as you replied to him with full sarcasm “Obviously. Now if you please excuse me” you really tried to sound pissed, it's not that you’re not pissed but you’re not pissed enough to sound like it. You just know where this conversation would go. 

“No” He said with full confidence, now you’re seriously pissed. Adrian was a hard headed jerk and you wish to punch his face every time his mouth is opening. “Okay” you rested your face, now showing your bitch face, and without a doubt, punched his stomach and pushed him sideways. You heard him groan before you continued walking and heard the laughs of the students. 

“Way to go Pucey!”

“Told you to stop hitting on her, look at you now”

“Poor Pucey!”

You walked with a smirk plastered in your face. 

“Cedric’s a lucky guy. Too bad” you shivered at the voice of Professor Moody who was just standing beside you. “What was that Professor? I didn’t quite hear what you said after you mentioned how lucky Cedric is” you let out a little laugh as you stopped, intrigued as to what Professor Moody said. “Nothing Y/L/N. Just about that ferret boy” he gave you a little smile before walking away, limping. 

You stared at Professor Moody’s back, you wanted to talk to him, about what is happening to you, he’s an ex-auror, he might help you. But when you were about to follow him you remembered that you weren’t supposed to think about your problems but instead, enjoy yourself. 

You arrived at the owlery, it was really slippery, you heard the owl's hooting while the smooth breeze made you quiver. And as soon as you entered, your pet owl landed on your arm. “The Burrow okay?” you watched your owl as she flew her way to the sky. 

“Hmmm?” you felt warmth wrapping your waist as you stared at the sky, still looking at the direction where your owl went. “You want hot cocoa?” You felt Cedric’s breath in your neck as he rested his face on your shoulder. “Are you a hot cocoa? Because if you are, then yes” you shifted your gaze to him and smiled, looking at those grey eyes, those perfect lashes, and his fairly disheveled hair that almost appeared as golden brown. “Stop looking at me like that, it’s making me blush” he broke your eye contact and stood straight while his face was obviously red, you don’t know if it is because of the cold or he was really blushing. 

“You look cute” you said as you reached for his face and pinched both his rosy cheeks while scrunching your nose. “I know” he smirked and you just playfully rolled your eyes, of course he knows, he’s Cedric Diggory for Godric’s sake. 

“Yeah alright let’s get hot cocoa at Hogsmeade” you started walking and when you were about to reach the stairs you suddenly slipped, luckily an arm wrapped your waist before your body reached the ground. “Be careful next time love, it’s slippery” Cedric’s breath was visible, it was really cold and you’d really appreciate a nice warm kiss. 

Before Cedric can even help you stand up straight you stole a kiss from him and started running, cautiously of course. 

“Hey! Come back here you kiss stealer!” Cedric yelled as you raced down the owlery, your hair bursted in the winter air and your giggles made it even more Christmas-y, if that’s even a word. 

“OW!” you felt sudden coldness on your back, started in your clothes and down your spine, you knew what was that and who did that. “Oh you wanna play this game, git” you slowly gathered snow with your hands and as fast as the snitch you turned and threw it directly to Cedric’s face who was still busy laughing at you. “TAKE THAT!” you started running faster than ever when Cedric wiped the snow off his face, you laughed maniacally as you headed to hogsmeade. “COME BACK HERE!” Cedric shouted again, obviously freezing because you just threw snow directly to his face. 

“Oi! Oi! Y/N!” you heard Fred called you  as you ran past them at the entrance of Zonko’s Joke Shop.

“Later twins!” you waved the back of your hand and sprinted again when you felt Cedric was getting nearer, thankfully you’re not as jacked as your boyfriend, your fitness comes in handy. 

You laughed again as you turned your head and saw Cedric getting tired and panting. You felt bad but still laughed as you went back to him. 

“Sorry” you wrapped your arms to his right arm. He was obviously annoyed or pissed, his lips were pursed. “Ced…” you started slowly pinching his arms while looking at his face, “Ceddie” you said sweetly and saw he was forcing himself not to smile. “Babyyy” you started poking his waist to his tummy and felt his hard abdominal muscles. “Hubby” you wriggled your eyebrows as you saw his face look at you with wide eyes and his cheeks and ears started turning red. “You were waiting for that one aren’t you? You sly badger” you teased him as you two walked the snowy Hogsmeade, his arm over your shoulder, giving you access to his heat while you wrapped your arm to his waist, wishing this moment would never end.

“Oi! Hands off missy!” you shouted across the hallways when you saw a group of students, probably fifth years, crowding over Cedric. At first, you just let it off, Cedric was undeniably popular and this kind of scenario is considered normal, until one girl lays her hand on Cedric’s chest and is about to rest her head too. 

“Thank you love” Cedric smiled at you when you walked to him and the girls immediately avoided you. “You’re so soft despite your muscles” he reached your waist and gave you a kiss, “No I’m not, I just want you to be possessive” he whispered to your ear and slowly licked it that made you immediately look around, alarmed that someone just saw what Cedric did, thankfully no one did. 

“Ced!” you hissed while he chuckled and let go of your waist, “I got to go, see you later, I love you” he said and waved at you before turning his back and started half running, he must be running late. 

You walked again towards your common room when the twins ran in front of you and passed you a box. “Your dress arrived!” they both yelled while running and before you can even ask why they are running you saw Professor McGonagall following them, “Fred and George Weasley come back here this instant!” she shouted that made your eyes go wide and looked at the twins’ back. You shake your head and continue walking the hall while thinking about what the twins had done this time. 

Days have passed by and today was the Yule Ball, you never left your dorm, even if there are a few knocks on your door telling you to go out, it was Christmas, why do you even want to spend your day in your dorm. 

Well maybe you just wanted to have an alone time, it was hard not to think about your current situation, what might happen, you’ll never know. 

You shove all those thoughts into your head and lock it, this is not the time for that. You stood up and observed your dress, beside it was a note from Molly,

Dear Y/N, 

              This is the best one I could get you, I hope you liked it sweetie. Oh how I wish I can see you wearing this dress, this would look very very perfect on you my dear, have fun! 

Love,

Molly

You smiled as you read her note, Molly was there when you needed a mom after yours passed away. The Weasleys made you and your little brother like family, that’s why you’re so thankful to your bestfriends, they are the best. 

After putting on your dress you looked at yourself in the mirror, the long sleeves just hid the dark mark perfectly and since it is fitted you won’t have the trouble of it slipping down, the dress was your house color and was a high neck one, with small flower patterns that are connected and surrounded the neck to the shoulders and navel, the upper part of the dress was fitted and complimented your shape well, while the remaining skirt is flowy and long that it drags as you walk. You felt not a princess, but a queen, high neck dresses are more often seen on queens. You chuckled as you pictured yourself as a queen, with a crown and all.

Walking the hallways felt long enough, like an hour passed by as every time you walked people kept staring at you, it made you anxious and conscious that they see your dark mark that’s why you kept pulling the sleeves as you walk.

But of course, the ignorant, the weak, the obvious, would be caught easily, you kept your straight face as you walked the halls, your head high, covering your anxiety that they might be looking, not just the students, but the death eaters, observing you from afar. 

“I’m looking forward working with you, Y/N” 

The face of Voldemort in the form of a malnourished child sitting on the couch of your old house appeared, beside him was Peter Pettigrew and Nagini. 

“Yes My Lord, I am looking forward to serving you” the image of you appeared with them, bowing down, looking stoic. 

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you my dear” Voldemort’s arm stretched, it was all just skin and bones, then it reached your chin, as you watched yourself, you saw a glimpse of disgust in your face. Voldemort raised your face while Peter smiled widely and Nagini hisses. 

You took a deep breath to remove that memory from months ago, he can never be observing you here at Hogwarts, it’s impossible, his subjects couldn’t possibly enter this castle, this is protected, Hogwarts is one of the safest place, or so they say. 

You stumbled as you bumped into someone, “Professor Moody?” you looked at him and saw his arranged self. You picked his flask that fell and handed it to him. “Are you okay Professor?” his face was sweating and immediately grabbed the flask from your hand and drank it. You immediately smelled the foul stench from the drink as he drank it, “Professor I think your drink is expired” but before he could even answer you, you were called by Hermione. 

“Sorry, I have to go” you forced a smile at him and ran towards Hermione, grabbing your skirt and lifting it so you won't step on it. “Come on, it’s almost time!” she said and grabbed your arm as you two walked fast in the now almost empty hallways. 

“Woah calm down Cinderella” you said and looked at her, her blue dress is perfect. “You look gorgeous by the way” you said and smiled at her as you two were almost on the marble staircase. “Not as gorgeous as you, have you seen yourself?” she said and looked at you, up and down. You felt flattered. 

“Hermione it’s not good to compare. We’re both gorgeous” she smiled at you sweetly, you treated Hermione like a little sister, of course others won’t even realize she needed one, she’s just that know-it-all Gryffindor for them, but for you, she’s just a girl who wanted validation, a girl that thinks academics is the only thing she’s good at. 

“Let’s walk together shall we?” you offered your hand and she took it, you squeezed it, not sure if the assurance is for you or her. 

You two walked the marble staircase, hand in hand, your dress dragging from behind, people straight away looked at the two of you, you only saw one expression from them all, they’re all in awe. 

As you two arrived at the last step Viktor Krum arrived and kissed Hermione’s hand, you smiled at them as Viktor took Hermione away. 

“Wow” you were greeted by Cedric who was now in front of you and was looking at your face. “You always look beautiful” he said and kissed your cheek before offering his arm that you eventually took. 

“How was your day darling?” Cedric asked you while you two were waltzing at the Great Hall. “Doing good, how about you?” you answered as he lifted you up, his forehead creased like he was expecting this question. “Not quite good actually-” you two turned, “my girlfriend, you know, Y/N, she never came out her dorm today,-” you two turned again, “she never even greeted me a Merry Christmas” his face was happy but his jaw said otherwise, his jaw was clenched, “I don’t know what is happening to my girlfriend these past months” he was still doing that fake happy expression, probably not to attract attention, “I feel so left out, I’m her boyfriend yet it feels like she built a door that no one can enter, even me, me who was supposed-” he lifted you, “to be her person, her safe space” he said. You two looked at each other and stopped when almost all of the people were dancing with their partners. 

You surveyed him and knew, Cedric is mad. 

He held your hand and dragged you out of the Great Hall. Now you two are outside, you instantly felt the cold but thanks to your long sleeved dress it was fine for you. 

“What’s going on?” you looked at him, squinting your eyes. “What’s going on?! Isn’t that something I should ask?!” he popped off, the veins on his neck are visible. “I-” you tried to come near him but he backed up. Your face went pale and you tried to fight your tears from falling. “Y/N tell me what is going on?! I can’t understand you anymore, so I tried to ask your brother through a letter even if he’s three years old, because he knows you better than anyone, and do you know what happened?! The letter went back, he’s not there anymore! Y/N! Where’s your brother?!” he held both your shoulders, he was also fighting his tears back, Cedric is a softie, he never wanted to shout unless he is frustrated. 

“Y/N! Tell me!! Where is Theodore?!” the mere mention of your brother’s name acted like an activator for a bomb, tears started streaming down your face. “Where is… he” Cedric’s voice slowly calmed down as he saw you losing it. 

“He is… somewhere safe” you cannot mention it, you don’t want to. Looking down at the snow, the dark mark felt itchy.

“Y/N, where is safe?” his voice was full of suspicion, you raised your head, now composing yourself. There are no expressions left, you’ll just do it. 

“Theo baby!” you called immediately as soon as you entered your house, it seems different now, no mum that would greet you with a kiss and a cookie, no dad that will help you carry your trunk to your room, the only thing that was the same was your little brother running to you with open arms. 

“Big sisteeer” the tiny baby voice rings your ears, you smiled and kneeled expecting his hug. 

“How’s my baby?” you baby talked him and arranged his messy hair. “I was playing” he told you while he was squeezing your cheeks. “Hmm?? Really? With who?” you stood up and placed your trunk at the doorstep. 

“With big guy!” he pointed in front of the both of you and what greeted you was complete terror. “Amycus” you say his name with pure hatred and disgust, you immediately grabbed your wand and pointed it to Amycus Carrow, you know him, how? Simply, he killed your parents. 

“Why are you here?” you backed up, picking up your brother, you wanted to apparate, so bad, but your baby brother can’t possibly handle that. He might splinch. And Amycus knows that, you can’t escape.

“Relax young girl, I just came here to fetch you” he smirked and before you could even throw him an attack spell, you felt dizziness, your eyes slowly closing, you felt weak, “no-” they were taking Theodore away from you. You should've known, the Carrow siblings are like attached in the hip, you should’ve known, Alecto was there. 

“With them” your voice is hard as ever, emotionless in just a snap, you pulled the hem of your sleeve upward and showed your left forearm to Cedric. Your heart shattered in pieces as you saw horror in his face, he probably thought you left your brother at the orphanage, he never thought…

After showing it you immediately return your sleeve into place, “now I think that’s enough explanation on what is going on.” you acted like you shake off the dirt in your shoulder, you’re trying your best to act like everything is just nothing. 

“Of course you wouldn’t want any relationship with a death eater,” you started the conversation again after the long silence, terror overtook Cedric’s face as he looked at you again. He wanted to say something but it seemed like he can’t word it out. 

“Let’s break up” you fought the tears and said it like you’re just announcing something light to him. He looked at you like he can’t believe you’re saying this, but there’s still something in his eyes. 

He agrees. 

He doesn’t want any connection with a death eater. 

“Well, I think that’s settled then” you turned your back to him and took a step forward, you were about to enter the castle again when you were stopped, someone’s holding you back, someone’s holding your wrist. 

You closed your eyes, you can’t hold it much longer. You took a deep breath and turned around but before you could even talk his lips met yours. 

The kiss wasn’t innocent, it wasn’t passionate, but it was love, the kiss is something new, maybe it was both of your tears that you can taste, but it was more, it’s a kiss for a love that can’t happen, a love that will make you regret all your decisions more, a kiss that doesn’t want you to go. A kiss from your person that had no other choice. 

“I love you” He said between your kisses, salty tears filled both of your lips, “so much”. 

It was a kiss after a break up. Merry Christmas indeed.

[magnusmysteries]

Part 4: The Sixteenth Fear

The Magnus Archives was a horror podcast. It is now completed. Many of the show’s mysteries were never explained on the show. I intend to explain them. Spoilers for the show, but also spoilers if you wanna solve these mysteries yourself.

In part 3 I said every fear has an opposite. But the Flesh didn’t exist before the industrial revolution. So there would have been 13 fears then, an uneven number, and not every fear could balance against an opposite. So how could that be?

The answer is, there were only 12 fears before the Flesh. The Corruption and the Desolation used to be the same fear. 

Diego Molina of the Lightless Flame cult worships Asag. A Sumerian god of disease that could make fish boil. So Asag seems to be of both the Corruption and the Desolation.

In Infectious Doubts Arthur Nolan complains about it: “Not like I can vent to the others about what a prat Diego is. Got a lot of funny ideas. Still calls the Lightless Flame Asag, like he was when he was first researching it. I just really wanna tell him to get over it; I mean Asag was traditionally a force of destruction, sure, but as a church we very much settled on burning in terms of the – face we worship, and some fish-boiling Sumerian demon doesn’t really match up, does it? Plus there’s a lot of disease imagery with Asag that I’ll reckon is way too close to Filth for my taste, but no, he read it in some ancient tome, so that’s that –“

Ancient is the key word. The tome predates the industrial revolution and the Flesh. Asag probably isn’t a thing anymore and Diego is indeed a prat for worshipping it.

In The Architecture of Fear Smirke writes “I know you say the Flesh was perhaps always there, shriveled and nascent until its recent growth, but to grant the existence of such a lesser power would throw everything into confusion. Would you have me separate the Corruption into insects, dirt, and disease? To divide the fungal bloom from the maggot?”

It is not random that Smirke uses the Corruption as an example here. The Corruption is the opposite of the Flesh, so the Corruption is the fear that Smirke believed had no opposite for hundreds or thousands of years.

In part 3 I said vampires where Corruption/Desolation/Hunt. This is a little far-fetched, but I wonder if the vampire’s we’ve seen have been old ones that predate the Flesh. And that’s why they are part Corruption, since Corruption and Hunt used to be next to each other. Maybe there are more modern vampires without the long sucking tongue. Maybe instead of sucking blood, when they bite you begin to burn or boil. Since the Hunt is now next to the Desolation instead of the Corruption-Desolation combo.

In Vampire Killer Trevor says “I have killed five people that I know for sure as vampires, and there are two more that may or may not have been.” There is a missing middle part of Trevor’s statement. Maybe there he talks about killing two vampires that are modern and therefore different so he’s not sure if they’re actually vampires.

Speaking of fears splitting up, why is the Darkness the opposite fear of the Slaughter? In Last Words we hear of the first fear “A fear of blood and pounding feet, a fear of that sudden burst of pain and then nothing.” 

And of the second fear “The fear of their own end, of the things that lived in the darkness, became a fear of the darkness itself.”

I think the first was a general fear of violence. It includes what became the Hunt “Blood and pounding Feet...” and the Slaughter “...Sudden burst of pain and then nothing”, and the End “The fear of their own end…” And the second fear was the Darkness. They were the opposite by default, simply for being the two first fears.

When the Buried became a fear, the Hunt split up from the Violence to oppose it. When the Vast became a fear, the End split up from the Violence to oppose it. All that was left of the Violence was Slaughter, still opposing the Dark. When humans began warfare, fear of war fit nicely with the Slaughter.

The Eye might have been part of the Dark at first. Still from Last Words: “...because they knew the dark held flashing talons and shining eyes…” 

When the Lonely became a fear, the Eye split up from the Dark to oppose it.

So what about the Extinction? Does it have an opposite? Yes! There is a sixteenth fear. And what can be the opposite of the fear of the end of the world? The fear that the world isn’t real. That we’re all just living in a computer simulation. If you think the world isn’t even real, you’re not gonna be so worried about it ending. I’ll call it the Simulation.

Here is how the fears are arranged on the wheel, with the two latest fears added:

Description of image: A circle with 16 spots similar to a clock. On each spot is a number and the name of a power: 1. Corruption. 2 Extinction. 3. Desolation. 4. Hunt. 5. Slaughter. 6. End. 7. Lonely. 8. Stranger. 9. Flesh. 10. Simulation 11. Spiral. 12. Buried. 13. Dark. 14. Vast. 15. Eye. 16. Web.

The Extinction is next to the Corruption. Disease and garbage are both gross. Possessive is an Extinction episode, even if not acknowledged as such by any of the characters. It’s about garbage. And Maggie is creating people out of garbage. She is making the inheritors mentioned in Time of Revelation. There are also creatures made of garbage in Concrete Jungle. And Maggie was full of moving insect legs, showing Corruption influence.

Quote from Adelard Dekker from Rotten Core: “I’ve spoken before about how keenly I’ve watched news of possible pandemics, which is where I suspect the Extinction may pull away from the Corruption during its emergence.” Adelard knows the Extinction is next to Corruption.

The Extinction is next to Desolation. That fits, nuclear weapons cause fire. Quote from Times of Revelation, describing corpses: “They were stiff, and desiccated, mummified by some process Bernadette could not begin to guess at, but that rendered their flesh like tightly packed ash” Ash as if they were burned.

The Simulation is next to the Flesh. The Flesh makes you think humans aren’t people, they are just meat. The Simulation makes you think humans aren’t people, they are just NPCs.

The Simulation is the next to the Spiral. Both make you question what is real. The Spiral makes you doubt your mind, the Simulation makes you doubt your world.

There are four episodes about the Simulation: Binary, Zombie, Cul-de-sac and Reflection.

In Binary Sergey Ushanka uploads his mind into a computer. He becomes a simulation and it hurts. There is influence by the Spiral, the statement giver isn’t sure if she’s going crazy. And there is influence by the Flesh. Ushanka uploads himself into a computer and then he eats the computer. So that’s cannibalism.

In Zombie the statement giver thinks other people aren’t real, they’re philosophical zombies, In other words they like simulations or NPCs. The man that follows her repeats the phrase “Just fine, thank you for asking” and says nothing else. Just like some NPCs in video games will say the same phrase over and over. The man is identical the three times they meet, except for his t-shirt changes color. Sometimes in video games some NPCs will be identical, except for some colors are changed. (Because it’s less work to recollar a character than to draw one from scratch.)

John thinks Cul-De-Sac is about the Lonely. And yes, the statement giver was lonely. But the people affected by the Lonely choose to be lonely, and the statement giver didn’t. His boyfriend broke up with him because of cheating and then he lost his friends because they sided with his boyfriend. 

I think the theme of the statement is unreality, not loneliness. In the Magnus Archives, when someone gets marked by a power it is because they made some wrong choice. The choice the statement giver makes is to return to the place he found dead and soulless. He drives back to his ex-boyfriend to deliver the moose, rather than send it by mail. He specifically wants to meet his ex. Not an act of loneliness, quite the opposite. Also he is returning a moose that is angular and creepy, in other words it is unreal.

When the statement escapes from the nightmare it’s because he got a phone call from his ex. And he says “I love you.” and that fits neatly with the Lonely. But it also fits with escape from the unreal. He escapes because he communicates with a real person.

The road signs says “Road” and “Street”. Generic and unreal. All the houses look the same. Like in a computer game. The statement giver wonders if they are the same house. Like in a computer game where one might reuse the code for a house many times.

The house he enters has stock photos. Unreal.

The people on TV have something wrong with their eyes, similar to the eyes of the zombies in Zombie. And it's a fake cooking show, and a fake infomercial.

The dead woman upstairs was someone who had social media profiles, and that nobody notices had died. Meaning she lived her life online. That sounds like she was lonely. But living online also makes her a good victim for the Simulation. Everyone she talked to was on a computer, she couldn’t know for sure if they were real.

The woman had killed herself with a mirror. I think what happened was she had looked into the mirror and seen that her eyes were wrong, like the eyes of the people on TV. And she had thought she was just a simulation, like everything around her. And therefore she killed herself. Or perhaps she wasn’t reflected in the mirror at all? Like in…

Reflection. Adelard speculated that this statement was about the Extinction, but I don’t think so. The protagonist was in a world that seemed unreal. A fun fair is artificial so that fits the theme. The people were playing games, which fits the theme via computer games maybe.

Adelard says “I can’t quite get past the detail that there was no reflection at all in the mirror he used to return.” It is almost at the end of Adelard’s letter, it’s clearly meant to be significant. The no reflection might be symbolic for the statement giver starting to think he isn’t real, which might be what happened to him after he gave the statement.

Reflection has influence by the Spiral, with the maze of mirrors. There is influence by the Flesh, with the cannibalism.

[hayleysstark]

For your prompt event: Merlin accidentally hurting Arthur with his magic post-reveal and freaking out about it? (I love your writing!)

oh my god op YOUR MIND!!!!!!!!! im losign it,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, 

Arthur had all of ten seconds to get out of range and, as it turned out, ten seconds wasn't nearly enough.

To tell the truth, he knew it was all his own fault—he hadn't tried or, at least, he hadn't tried hard enough, mostly because he didn't want to get out of range, he didn't want to run away, and he certainly didn't want to leave Merlin behind to face the mad old witch entirely on his own. For all his magic, for all his power and know-how and strange, old-soul wisdom, Merlin was a right idiot most of the time and, while Arthur trusted him to take down an obviously mediocre, middle-of-the-road sorceress alone, he most definitely did not trust him to be smart about it. He didn't trust Merlin to be smart about most things, come to that, but magical battles with evil sorcerers was settled firmly at the top of the list.

But it didn't do an ounce of good, because Arthur couldn't get near enough to land a blow on the old woman, and he couldn't even get near enough to watch Merlin's back like he should, like he usually did in these sorts of situations—the spells flew far too thick and fast around the quiet green grove, blinding bursts of color and light flashing like suns and stars in the deep shadows of the wood, curses rebounding like stray cannonballs off the trees and boulders and branches—no, he could only stand there, sword in his hand, out on the edge of the battle, completely useless.

All of a sudden, the old witch stopped, her wrinkled hands still held out in front of her, and she said something—it didn't sound like magic, it didn't sound like a spell, and it didn't look much like magic, either, it looked like she was talking to Merlin, like she was talking and she wanted him to talk back, but Arthur couldn't hear the words over the whispers and rustles of all the sorcery in the grove—and it must have been magic, he realized, hardly half a second later, because a high, howling wind whipped up, right in the middle of the forest, on a cloudless, sunny day.

She must be a bit better than mediocre, then, she must be a bit more than middle-of-the-road, if she could call up storms like Merlin could—

The wind picked up, stronger and stronger until the shriek of it was all Arthur could hear, until the force of it nearly ripped his cloak from his shoulders and clawed the sword from his hand, until it pushed him back, farther and farther away from the old witch, away from Merlin, until it finally grabbed him up in its screaming grip and slammed him, with a nasty crunch, back into the nearest tree.

As near as Arthur could figure out, from the flashes of blue sky rushing past over his head and the fleeting glimpses of Merlin's bone-white face and terrified blue eyes, he had come back 'round on the way back to the castle, but he hadn't stayed awake long enough to remember much, and Merlin had, apparently, defeated the old woman mere moments after Arthur had blacked out, but he never heard the whole of it, and Merlin never told him.

All he could say for certain was, when he had finally opened his eyes to find himself in Gaius' chambers, in the rickety white cot reserved solely for the very ill, the old man had forced him to choke down a vast number of horrible potions and medicines before he had allowed Arthur to settle back in his own bedchamber.

It had seemed an awful lot of fuss for nothing but a broken arm and a few bruised ribs, and, if he had to make a guess, he would say the whole thing had upset Merlin rather more than he had thought it would, and certainly a great deal more than it had any right to—the idiot had turned into the perfect servant in the week since, nothing but yes Sire or no Sire or let me get that for you, Sire, not one gripe or grumble or complaint to be had, and never more than ten steps from Arthur's bedside.

And he didn't make a face when Arthur told him to muck the stables, and he didn't breeze in to work a half hour too late Arthur's breakfast in one hand and a sheepish smile on his face, and he didn't throw the curtains wide and shout good morning like he wanted to wake the entire castle, and he hadn't spilled wine in Arthur's lap even once, and he hadn't used his magic to heat the bathwater, or scrub the floor, or make the bed, and Arthur's armor had literally never shined brighter, a dazzling silver gleam out of the corner of his eye, glinting and flashing in the light of the sun through the open window.

It was absolutely unbearable.

And it was obviously much more than the usual mother-hen impulses Merlin fell into when Arthur got hurt, because he certainly hadn't acted like this even when Arthur had gotten a bite from the Questing Beast, when Arthur had, very literally, cheated death, and survived the unsurvivable!

No, this was bigger than all Merlin's girlish little fits and frenzies of fear, this was more than his everyday panic over nothing, and Arthur was not going to put up with it one moment longer.

"All right," he said, eight days out from that fight in the forest with the old witch, his arm still wrapped firmly in a simple white sling, and the bruising on his ribs a touch lighter now, and certainly less painful, "out with it, Merlin, what is it? What's gotten into you lately?"

"Sorry?" Merlin said, flatly, and he didn't even look up from where he had crouched down to pick up all the dirty laundry scattered 'round the chamber. "Not sure what you mean."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Don't be an idiot, Merlin, you and I both know that suits you a bit too well."

"Yeah," Merlin said blandly, stuffing Arthur's brown trousers in his basket, "just one of my many gifts, Sire."

"Merlin," Arthur sat up a little in his seat, and put down his quill with a soft swish of the long white feather on parchment, "what's going on?"

"Nothing," Merlin said at once. He tossed a pair of socks in the basket, too. "It's nothing."

Arthur waited.

Merlin straightened up and turned his back on Arthur to pluck a red tunic up off the floor and plop it down in the basket with everything else.

Arthur waited a bit more.

All of a sudden, Merlin stopped, with the basket perched on the end of the bed, his hands still clinging to the wooden rim, and finally, Arthur thought, with a rush of relief, finally, he's going to stop being such a girl and just tell me—

Merlin sniffled.

Arthur's insides turned to ice. Oh, God, no, this was a mistake, this was a terrible, awful, horrendous mistake, and now Merlin was having feelings, and what if Merlin wanted to talk about those feelings, couldn't he just give Merlin the day off and let him sort it out on his own time, wasn't that a thing he could do, or would that be "insensitive" and "rude" the way Guinevere always told him, would that make him a "bad friend" the way Guinevere always told him—? "Um," he said, a little blankly, and a lot desperately, "y-you don't need to—you shouldn't—erm—"

"I—" Merlin wiped at his face with the back of his hand, and turned to look at Arthur, his eyes red and puffy, his cheeks sticky and stained with tears, "—I-I'm sorry."

"For crying?" Arthur said, rather weakly, and also rather hopefully.

"I should have said it sooner, but I thought you were going to—to bring it up, and I thought you were going to be angry, so I-I just waited and waited, but you didn't—"

Not for crying, then, Arthur concluded dismally, before he scraped up the last remnants of his dwindling-in-the-face-of-a-crying-Merlin courage. "Why on earth did you think I'd be angry with you?"

"I did this to you," Merlin said, looking for all the world like a deeply repentant puppy left out in the pouring rain, waiting to be kicked. "I hurt you. I-I used my magic to h-hurt you."

What? Arthur blinked a bit dazedly at Merlin while he waited for the words to make some sort of sense. "Hang on," he said, slowly, mostly to make sure he had this absolutely right, "you were the one who called up that wind? You were the one who—?"

Merlin blinked back, just as dazedly. "Y-You didn't know?"

"I thought it was the witch!" Arthur said, thoroughly baffled now. "What in God's name did you do that for? You never do storms unless it's—!"

"I got angry," Merlin said miserably. He sniffled again and wiped at his nose now. "I—I got so angry, she—she said some things that made me realize she was—she was somebody that had done really awful things, she had—she had hurt someone I know, she'd hurt her really badly, and I lost my temper, and—" he flicked a mournful glance up at Arthur from under his wet lashes, "—and it just happened, and Arthur, I'm so sorry!"

Arthur almost crumpled right back down in his seat again. Merlin had conjured up that wind, not the old witch, and oh, that made sense now, didn't it, he had thought, even then, the old woman hadn't seemed strong enough for magic like that, he had thought she hadn't had the power for a thing like that, and he had been right, and—

—and if she was so mediocre and middle-of-the-road, what on earth had she done in her past, to make Merlin so furious with her? "Is she—?" Arthur raised his head to look at his friend on the other side of the room. "Is she all right? The friend that the witch hurt? Is she all right now?"

Merlin stared blankly back at him, blue eyes wide and wet. "That's—?" he scrubbed at his nose again. "That's what you're worried about? Not the fact that I almost killed you?"

Arthur almost laughed. "It's a broken arm, Merlin, and it's not even my sword arm! Honestly, I hardly think I'm going to drop dead all because—"

"It's not funny," Merlin snapped, his every word sharp as a knife when it rolled off his tongue. "It's not funny, Arthur, this isn't a joke! I almost killed you! I almost killed you because I lost my temper! Because I lost control!"

"Yes," Arthur conceded, "but everyone loses their temper at some point, I wouldn't worry about it if I were—"

"Well, you're not me!" Merlin bit out. "And count yourself lucky on that, because when you lose your temper, you don't have to worry that you'll wipe out the entire kingdom, or—or level a whole forest, or put all your friends in danger just because you can't—!"

"M-Merlin," Arthur said, too startled to stay silent any longer, "of course you're not going to—"

"You don't know that!"

"No, I don't know that!" Arthur said sharply, a bitter burn of fury in the back of his throat, because what the hell was wrong with this idiot, why the hell couldn't he see—? "You're right, Merlin, I don't know that, I don't know for absolutely certain that you are never going to do something horrible, but I trust that you won't! I don't know, I can't tell the future, I'm not a Seer, but I trust you to do what's right and to never take it too far, and isn't that enough for you?"

For a moment that felt very much like forever, Merlin only looked at Arthur, his eyes still red, a few stray tears still trailing lazily down his wet cheeks. "But look at what I did to you," he whispered. "You can't honestly tell me you're not angry with me."

Arthur let out a soft, heavy sigh, and rubbed a hand down the side of his face. Yeah, sure, he was a bit put out, but mostly he was put out that he had gotten stuck in bed for three days straight, and that Merlin had decided to hedge around the problem for so long when he could have come to Arthur and told the truth straight-out, but it was like he had said to Merlin—everybody lost their temper now and then, it was hardly some sort of bone-deep sin Merlin had to atone for every day for the rest of his life.

"You can't honestly tell me," Merlin said, and even softer than a whisper now, softer than a breath, "that you're not scared of me."

Oh. Arthur's chest squeezed with something almost like pity. Oh, that's what this is, that's what he thinks, that's what he's so worried about— "Merlin," he said, and he meant it, "I'm not scared of you. There's nothing in you to be afraid of."

"Except the magic that could have broken your neck," Merlin snapped, voice high and tight and still thick with tears. "You don't have to pretend, Arthur, you don't have to put on some kind of front for me, I understand, I get it—"

"You can't swing a sword without almost impaling yourself on the blade," Arthur pointed out. "You can't go an entire day without tripping over your own boots and falling flat on your face. There's nothing in you to be afraid of, and trust me, I'm not flattering you when I say that."

Merlin stared at Arthur like he had never seen him before, his eyes enormous in his tear-streaked face, one hand halfway up to dry the damp trails on his cheeks again. "Y-You're not—?"

"For God's sake, no!" Arthur rolled his eyes. "One time, I heard you say sorry to a butterfly!"

"I startled her," Merlin said, at once, and scrubbed at his eyes again. "I hit the branch she was resting on with my elbow, and I startled her."

Arthur had to bite back a smile. "Yes, I'm absolutely terrified. Shaking in my boots, Merlin, please don't kill me with your evil temper and big bad sorcerer powers."

Merlin turned a little pink. "I'm sorry," he said, hoarsely. "I really didn't mean to hurt you."

"Yeah, I picked up on that, believe it or not."

Merlin went a touch pinker, but he pushed on valiantly. "I-I didn't realize you were near enough to get hurt. I should have been more careful with you."

"Careful with me?" Arthur echoed incredulously, half-offended and half-amused. "Tell me, Merlin, how is it that I'm the one who got thrown into a tree, you're the one crying about it, and you still manage to make me sound like the delicate maiden in this situation?"

Merlin wiped at his nose again. "Should have known you'd be all right," he said, finally, and unless Arthur was very much mistaken, he could swear he saw a small smile tug at the edge of the idiot's lip. "Should have figured your thick skull would cushion the blow."

"Merlin—!"

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 17

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/625767180394479616/the-long-way-around-chapter-16

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 2669

Warnings: None

Jasper’s POV

The minute the plane comes to a halt, I’m standing. I need to get off of this plane, for two reasons. One, being the burn in my throat. Carlisle was kind enough to secure us first class seats, which grants us slightly more space, but in this metal cage with recycled air, the scent of human blood is strong. I know I can resist, that I will resist, but, as always, there’s that voice in the back of my head telling me it’s not worth it. Telling me that the humans would taste so much better and outweigh any shame or guilt I would feel. I clench my teeth against the temptation and think of my other, more pressing reason to get off the plane.

Y/n is only a few hundred miles away.

After the vastness of the ocean between us, this distance seems inconsequential. I consider running. I would be faster than Carlisle’s car, anyways. The sun won’t rise for another two and a half hours and if I really push it, I could be home before then.

Esme’s hand ghosts over my shoulder and I turn to see her compassionate smile. “We’ll drive fast.”

I hold back a sigh, knowing it would be incredibly rude to ditch my parents but dissatisfied with the three hours of separation still facing me.

As the door opens to allow our exit, I press forward, projecting just a tiny amount of intimidation to keep the humans out of our way. I can feel Carlisle’s disapproval, but I ignore it. It’s all I can do not to break out at full run, so speeding up our exit just a little feels tame in comparison.

We have no bags to retrieve, thank goodness, and, ten minutes from our exit of the plane, we’re sliding into Carlisle’s sleek Mercedes. Not wanting to make a liar out of Esme, Carlisle floors it, and soon we’re speeding towards our little town. I want to call Y/n, to let her know we’re on our way, but a thought stops me. Maybe catching her by surprise would be more fun. So, I tuck my phone back in my pocket, and wait.

{***}

The wheels roll against the concrete of the driveway, and I’m sure she can hear it. I nearly tremble with excitement. Should I get out and run? Or should I wait in the car? It’s really only a few miles left, running would be faster. Ugh, but the sun is up and we’re still too close to the main road. A human could see me and that would bring the Volturi here and that would be awful. Okay, so I’ll wait until we’re under the cover of the trees and then-

With Carlisle’s crazy driving, the miles fell away as I contemplated my course of action. The car skids to a stop in front of our house, and I see Y/n’s beaming face from her spot on the front porch.

I’m out of the car in an instant, meeting her halfway and pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. Her joy surrounds me, and I lean closer, intoxicated. I don’t know where her elation ends and mine begins, and perhaps that’s because it doesn’t. Our emotions mingle perfectly, entwined and inseparable.

I begin to feel a bit lightheaded.

She laughs exuberantly, burying her face in my chest. “I missed you so much.”

I lay my head on top of hers, unable and unwilling to contain my smile. “I bet I missed you more.”

Someone makes a gagging sound, but I feel only happiness and relief from those around me. Probably Rosalie, just joking around. But then Y/n grips the back of my neck and pulls me down for a kiss, and I can only focus on her. Wanting to get closer to her, a nearly impossible goal, I push her against the nearest surface, which happens to be side of Carlisle’s car. Her hands tangle in my hair and mine roam her body. There’s a low groan, and suddenly she’s shifting backwards, falling, almost. I shoot a hand out to stop our downward momentum, pressing a fraction of my weight into the top of the Mercedes. We stumble away, wondering what could have happened.

The dent in the shape of Y/n’s back, as well as the handprint on the roof of the car paint a pretty clear picture.

Suddenly, I understand exactly how Rosalie and Emmett broke entire houses. I want nothing, especially not measly little structures of metal and leather, to stand in the way of my passion for her.

Y/n laughs, biting her lip in slight embarrassment, and I can’t help but join in. As soon as they realize what happened, my family bursts into laughter too. With a sheepish expression, I turn to Carlisle. “I’ll fix that.”

“No,” Rosalie stomps over, rolling her eyes. “I’ll fix that. Y/n, go show them what we did.”

Y/n’s excitement flares, as does my curiosity, and she grabs my hand. “Come on.”

Dutifully, Carlisle, Esme and I, trailed by everyone except for Rosalie and Emmett, follow her up to the second floor.

“Behold,” she declares theatrically, throwing the door to her room open.

Her room is completely different from how I left it and undeniably her. Hints of her favorite colors can be found all around the room, as well as things she likes, like soft lights and fluffy blankets—tastes that are likely left over from her human years.

“It’s beautiful,” Esme coos, and we file in the room to get a better look.

Emmett and Rosalie join us then, our bags in hand.

“Car’s fixed but I don’t think it could take another hit like that,” Rosalie smirks, handing me my suitcase.

Emmett chortles. “Yes, do try to control yourself better, dear brother.”

I roll my eyes but thank them nonetheless.

Alice floats around the room, explaining who made and painted and designed what, and Arthur proudly presents the window seat he crafted. I toy with the twinkly lights above Y/n’s bed, enjoying how they reflect small specks of brightness across her face. Then, something catches my attention.

“Your eyes are different,” I murmur, tracing the pads of my fingers over her cheekbone. And it’s true, they do look different. The vibrance of the crimson has faded and the first hints of shining gold peek through. Had they really changed so much in just the few days of my absence? Or had I not been able to notice before since I was with her all the time? No, I correct myself, knowing the truth. I would have noticed.

My observation sends a new burst of happiness through her, and she runs to the nearest mirror, pulling me behind her.

She exclaims in happiness when she sees that, indeed, the redness that marks her as a newborn is beginning to fade. She feels a soft, faint sense of belonging, and I kiss the top of her head.

We agree to unpack and then meet in the living room to debrief, so to speak. It’s my understanding that Carlisle didn’t explain much on the phone, and the others are curious. I tug on Y/n’s hand, pulling her towards the stairs. She follows wordlessly, but I feel her anticipation, her desire. The second I shut my bedroom door, I’m kissing her. Unlike our kiss outside, this one is soft, but no less passionate. Her scent floods my nose, and I realize that it’s not just from her physical presence in front of me, but from the room itself. She’s been in here. Perhaps she missed me and came up here to feel closer to me. That thought makes me smile.

She pulls back, her exhale warm against my neck when she speaks. “You have no idea how much I missed you, how much I worried….” On the contrary, I have an exact idea of her feelings, because I had spent the past five days feeling them for myself. If I hadn’t known it was necessary for me to go to protect my family, to protect her, there’s no way I would have gotten on that plane. I tell her so, and she nuzzles back into my chest.

“Let’s just hope that next time I’ll be controlled enough to go with you.”

I disagree, but say nothing. Even if she grows to rival Carlisle with her control, I will do everything in my power to dissuade her from visiting the Volturi. Still, their invitation looms, and I look for something to distract myself from the sudden darkness filling me.

I notice the surfaces of my room are devoid of dust. My books are straightened, and my bedding smells freshly washed, carrying a hint of Y/n’s scent towards me. A slow, wondrous smile spreads across my face.

“Did you do this?”

She nods, seeming shy. “I remembered how nice it is to come home to a fresh and clean space, and I thought you might like it too.”

I beam, gripping her tighter into a hug and kissing the top of her head. “Thank you!” Truly, I’m thankful, and quite amazed. I’ve never had someone care for me like this before, just a quiet act of thoughtfulness that reminded me that she was thinking of me, that she wanted me to be happy. She hums contentedly, and I’m sure I must be projecting some of the pleasantness I feel onto her.

She plops onto the bed while I unpack. She tells me about her training and how much better she’s gotten, and I beam. A trip might actually be a real possibility.

“Do you want to go to the edge of town tomorrow, try something harder?”

She pauses, and I feel her hesitation. But also her excitement.

“Sure.” She bites her lip. “Just don’t let me kill anybody.”

I lean over my suitcase to place a lingering kiss on her lips. “I never will.”

Esme calls to us then, and she and Carlisle appear outside my door. Y/n gets off the bed to open it and is immediately pulled into a hug.

“Thank you for freshening up our room, dear.” Esme’s voice is soft, her emotions fond. And though Carlisle’s hand is on Y/n’s shoulder, his eyes are on me, feeling certain.

I can only guess as to what that means.

After I put my last few shirts away, we head downstairs, meeting the rest of the family in the living room. Carlisle quickly informs everyone of his discussion with Aro.

“He agreed to dissuade others from attacking us, so that should buy us some time. Now that Aro knows we’re aware of his plot, he’ll have to regroup. I don’t think he’ll bother us for another half century or so.”

“How comforting,” Arthur mumbles sardonically.

I crack a smile.

Edward’s head tilts to the side, considering. “Yes, I can see that, Carlisle. It might be a good idea to get it over with.”

To get what over with?

Edward grimaces, and suddenly I know very well what he means.

“No.”

“Isn’t it better to meet them on our terms than to be caught unprepared,” he suggests, appealing to my sense of strategy.

I shake my head, adamant. “When it was Bella, you did everything you could to keep her away from them. I ask now that you extend the same courtesy to me.”

“Okay,” Y/n holds up a hand, effectively stopping our arguing. “What are we talking about?”

Carlisle sighs, turning his wary gaze to Y/n. “Aro, Caius, and Marcus were very interested in your abilities. They request that I extend an invitation to you to meet them, though with the Volturi, it’s more likely to be a demand than a request.”

I feel her spike of fear and resolve immediately to do whatever I can to keep this interaction from happening. We would go on the run, we would move to a new continent, I would fight them, anything, I-

“That won’t be necessary, Jasper, we have time,” Edward interrupts, sounding unsure. “They’re allowing space for her to become more controlled to travel, so we fudge the timeline.”

“And when they lose their patience,” I counter icily.

“I agree with Carlisle and Edward,” Y/n declares, her voice filled with false confidence. My head whips to look at her. “It will be better if we get the meeting over with rather than allowing it to be an axe hanging over our heads. As soon as I can get on a plane without going on a murder spree, I should go to Volterra.”

I take steadying breaths and squeeze my eyes shut as all the horrible ways this could go wrong flash through my brain. I feel Edward’s sympathy and fight the urge to lash out at him.

Y/n places her soft hand on mine. “For all we know, it could be years, Jasper. Let’s just take this one day at a time.”

With clenched teeth, I nod, though I’m resolved to try and talk her out of this later. She’s less likely to agree here, in front of the family, but maybe when I can get her alone…can influence her emotions to make her more agreeable….

I quickly shake the plan from my head, feeling ashamed at the thoughts. No, her choices are her own and, as much as I might disagree and be terrified of the outcome, I have to respect that. Whatever she chooses though, I’ll be at her side. That much is certain.

“What matters now is that we are all safe,” Carlisle reminds us, doing his best to offer a calming presence. Somewhat reluctantly, I give him a hand. The tension leaves everyone’s shoulders.

Esme smiles, evidently ready to change the subject. “I am in desperate need of a hunt. Would anyone like to join me?”

Venom pricks at my mouth and I remember the fiery burn from the plane, from the castle, from the streets. Yes, I need to hunt as well.

Quite quickly, everyone is running out the back door and into the forest, excited to hunt together. Most vampires prefer to hunt alone, feeling threatened by the presence of another of our kind, but my family is different. I agree with Carlisle’s theory, that giving up human blood and fighting our natural instincts makes us much better at bonding with our kind.

We have to go quite far due to our large hunting party, but Y/n and I stay relatively close to the house, only thirty or so miles away. The game is smaller and less satisfying but I don’t think it would be good for either of us to come across a stray human right now, and it’s less likely that they would be found in the thick forest surrounding our property.

After draining an entire herd of elk, Y/n and I lean against a tree, her head on my chest. I smile, remembering the gift in my pocket.

“As you requested, ma’am.” With a flourish, I pull the stiff rectangle from my pocket and present it to Y/n.

She grins, realizing what it is. “You got me a postcard!”

Before we’d left Volterra, I’d covered myself extensively and ventured out into the last moments of darkness blanketing the city. It had been difficult finding somewhere that was open at five in the morning, but, eventually, I managed, and made it back just in time to slip into the tinted car as the sun peeked over the horizon.

“Thank you,” she hugs the card to her chest then folds it carefully into her own pocket. “I’m going to put it on my wall when we get back.”

I chortle, unable to hide my amusement. “Your one postcard?”

She gives me a look. “I’m going to add to the collection eventually.”

I just smile and rub her arm, pulling her back against my chest.

What I feel is certain. I’m home.

A/n Y’all, I really probably should have waited longer to post this so I could be a chapter ahead but I was just so dang excited for them to reunite! So, here we are. Let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

xx, 

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/626747740297314304/the-long-way-around-chapter-18

Tag list: @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @one-thread-can-save-a-life @salsameter @enchantedcruelsummer @meashy-moo @sana-li @femflorals @80strashbag @tomisbaeholland @heyimval13 @triscuitcracker @deviantly-gayy @sleepywinnie847 @vexingcosmos @avalongrey @artms-blnd @blackloveangel13 

[danddymaro]

A Touch of Happiness Pt.1 |Arthur Fleck x Reader

It’ll have like three little parts. something sweet and loving.

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Word count :  2013

Part 1 : Thank You

She took in a large breath, letting a sweet, relaxing glob of air fill her lungs before she decided to step closer to the lonesome clown, and truth be told, it took her more than that one attempt to gather herself entirely.

She’d fumbled with the hem of her new suit’s jacket, pacing back and forth over and over before she fought against her better senses that told her to just walk away. 

And inwardly, she cursed at her nature, despising how easily she caved at the sight of the defeated man because, in Gotham, she shouldn't be so trusting.

She shouldn’t be so eager to walk through the filthy ally just to reach some stranger she knew nothing about.

 ‘But here I am,’ She mused just as she came closer to the man, each step that crunched under her little pumps making her heart fasten furthermore with anxiousness.

‘He could be a murderer.’ her consciousness chided her, ‘Or a robber at best you idiot!’ it went on,

‘AT BEST! So, Turn back....just turn back...Go back...’ It went on, the little voice rising with more distress and alarm as she was finally only just a few steps from him.

For just a measly second she stopped, swallowing down thickly as she made her final decision,

‘TURN BACK NOW!’ Her inner self barked one final time before she shook her head to rid herself of the negative thoughts, deciding to go with the little aching muscle in her chest that told her to help him.

Upon coming nearer she noticed was far too thin to be called slender, and that perhaps sitting alone in a filthy alley wasn’t his only problem.

He was terribly underweight, greatly concerning her, and with knitted brows she knelt to him, her voice soft and sweet as she tried to appear harmless to him in order to coax him out of whatever misery that clouded him,

‘Just a smile, come on now,’ She inwardly encouraged him, cheering for him.

 ‘Sometimes, just forcing a smile will get you through the day,’ She went on, ‘And other times when that doesn’t work... it takes a fool like me to infect someone,’ She mused, wanting to spread to him a small percentage of herself just to lift him up.

‘Sometimes I have A hard day too,’ She reasoned, wishing that during those times someone would walk over to her and sit with her. 

Not talk.

Not even listen.

Just sit.

‘Just knowing that someone is there...That someone in this awful city cares...’ 

The stench of garbage made her face scrunch up, but swallowing down the squeamish side of her, she focused more on getting the poor man out of there, momentarily shutting off her nose.

She made sure to keep her legs pressed together as she hunkered, her hand hesitant to actually touch him before she spoke, “H-Hey there,” She said with uncertainty, seeing him lift his head up to the sound of her voice. 

“Huh..?” A little sound left him as he gazed up at her, and with that single motion, she could see his face properly.

It was masked by a thick coating of makeup, something she’d been expectant of, however, the heavy smudges which had bunched up and left his skin naked made her breath hitch.

Vibrant, large green eyes glowed at the sight of her, ones she would have stared at longer had it not been for another color that stole the show, 

‘He’s...he’s bleeding !’ She thought with horror.

Scarlet dribbled down both his nose and mouth, causing her heart to ache at the pathetic sight, and what was much worse, it seemed as though they weren't the only marks on him. 

Purplish hues slipped through the thin patches of white that let her know that he had endured so much more in the past.

“...Oh...Oh no,” She said worriedly, frantically touching the side of his face with her shaking head,  feeling the oily mix of makeup and sweat as well as sticky, warm blood greet her flesh.

Her eyes dashed left and right to find someone to help her, but finding not a soul there with them in the filthy spot, something she was partially grateful for because she would have been terrified to find anyone else in the same alleyway.

It was only natural to search for help, the only reason she even bothered to look around, and it took that single glance to remember just where she was,

‘I really hate Gotham!’ She thought with dismay, despising its cruelty, much more the way it’d jaded its community.

She knew that if there had been anyone else to see the dilemma they would have walked away briskly, choosing to ignore them altogether to save themselves from any one else’s troubles.

“Oh...oh no,” she muttered again, “Oh God, are you alright?” She asked with worry, her eyes finding him again, peeled wide open and attentively.

Through his blurry, miserable sight, he saw an angel, A literal angel in every sense of the word came down to help him and he was so stunned, he laughed.

And laughed …

And laughed…

He laughed like a madman, croaking out soon after as he felt his already knocked out air leave him.

He could see it in her face: the clear as day fright. 

she was obviously freaked out, but nonetheless, she stayed.

All the while, her face was full of discomfort, but she held it in, biting her tongue as she helped him up instead, choosing to save all the questions for afterward. Knowing he was in for a particularly stressful fit he fumbled with his pant pocket, taking out a laminated little card that seemed to have been folded and bunched more than once, shakenly forcing it onto her hand so she could take a hold of it. 

“What’s thi-” Stopping mid sentence she read the words, soon understanding just why he was so eager to get her to read it, 

“Forgive my laughter,” She said softly, reading the front, “I have a condition,” she went on, wondering just what type of condition it was. 

‘I’ve never heard of it... much less seen it for myself,’ She thought while she continued to watch him let out the sounds of amusement that all sounded pained and heart wrenching as though every moment of it was pure hell.

Turning over the little laminated piece (f/n) continued to read, "It's a medical condition causing sudden... frequent... uncontrollable laughter that doesn’t match how you feel, “ She continued, “ It can happen in people with a brain injury or certain neurological conditions." She added with a touch of sadness and as she uttered the final words, she felt a powerful jab to her chest that rendered her weak. 

She then felt guilt for having wanted to back away when she heard the first burst of giggles escape.

However, despite the urge to flee, something in her heart had refused to let her move, urging her to help him, to give him the much-needed hand that he’d been denied until then.

And just then, she was thankful for that small part of her that was ‘stupid.’ because it’d kept her there.

“- That’s right, come on,” she encouraged him, patting his back, not knowing what else she could do before she tried to help him up. Grimacing, she used all of her strength to help him out, inwardly wondering how the hell someone so small could be so heavy,

“Let’s get you out of here,” She said anxiously, not willing to stay any longer out of public view, not trusting the smelly, narrow path.

So, steadily she helped the man make his way out onto the decently  populated sidewalk as he struggled with his ongoing fit, soon standing before the old, beaten  building’s large ‘out of business’ sign.

“Much better,” She muttered to herself, offering him a pretty smile, clearing the (h/c) colored strands that had annoyingly  fallen into view during her struggle. 

And soon enough he too began to compose himself, slowly growing calmed.

They spent a moment in silence before she shot her arm out to him, her hand set right before him, 

“Um...I’m (f/n) by the way,” She said with uncertainty, not knowing what else to say.

She wanted to ask more about his illness but didn’t want to seem rude, or much worse make him feel bad about it when she knew he didn’t want to live with it.

She was certain no one would want to live with what seemed to be a painful, inescapable moment.

‘ (F/n) ’ he thought to himself, all the while staring at her, unable to draw his eyes away.

“(f/n)” he repeated, his green eyes gleaming. 

He felt drunk on a sweet feeling he'd never been washed by before.

It was a lovely mix of appreciation and awe, as well as admiration sprinkled with something more he just couldn’t place, but he knew made him happy.

It made him feel alive and whimsical, something that’d only been an experience when his mind would wander to all the impossibilities that could never occur in his life, but he so desperately desired,

“I- I...I’m A-”

She continued to smile before she suddenly seemed struck by alarm, not letting him finish his introduction, her hands immediately flying towards the sides of her head and slapping there with a little sound that made him wince,

“The bus!” She exclaimed, her voice high and screechy, “I’m going to miss the bus!” she said with wide (e/c) colored eyes, double-checking the time on her cheap, little watch.

“If I miss it...” She trailed off, horror written over her face as she thought of what would occur if she did happen to miss the transportation.

‘No....no...I’m going to make it!’ She thought determinedly as she swallowed up a large, exaggerated breath, kicking off her little heels before she made a mad dash down the street, the pumps in hand after she hastily reached down to them, racing against time to reach her destination.

“Arthur...” He said softly, his hoarse voice small and weak as he watched her run from him, his heavily bouncing heart giving one final leap before it stopped, constricted as he realized that not only had he been left with the words in his mouth, but also with the 'thank you' she deserved. 

The sweet woman had been just a chance encounter he knew he’d dwell over, hurt because all in all, he couldn’t tell her just how much her selfless, little act had meant to him.

And then there was another thing that left him with his head hanging, 

“My card...” He breathed, “She...She took my card,” He added, feeling utterly stupid as he’d watched her scrabble away with it in hand, her mind probably scrambled with how hastily she’d left, not really meaning to steal it.

He felt defeated, yet within the bitter feeling of disappointment was a sweet, little touch of warmth that made him force a gentle smile,

‘To think... she stopped for me...’ He thought to himself.

He’d seen one too many people pass him up, not just then, but in the past. 

It’d hurt until he became numb to it, by then expectant of the cold shoulder of the world. 

However, with that single person that presented their hand to him, he couldn’t help but smile.

He felt something he thought had died somehow spring back up with new life, 

“Thank You (f/n),” He said out to the wind, wishing that the air would magically carry out his words of appreciation to her, letting her know that his day had brightened from it’s normally grimy filter thanks to her. 

It wasn’t much, but for once in a very long time he could see hints of soft colors begin to surround him, and he had her to thank,

“Thank you...” He said again, wishing he had a chance to properly express to her how much it really meant.

[rokutouxei]

only this wonder remains

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark isaac newton/reader | gen | 2948 | [ao3]

or: the 5 times isaac tried to understand, and the one time he realized he didn’t have to. 

for my beloved friend @pathofcomets!

happiest, happiest, happiest birthday to the absolute kindest and most loving and most encouraging person i have ever met in my entire life! i may or may not have reread your isaac fics a billion times to get him quite like you like, and if i missed, at least enjoy the fact that um, i’m having apples today in (the both of) your honor? te iubesc, mama: thank you for joining me in this stupid crazy journey that is 19th century france with vampires.

--

(one)

isaac newton likes things set into order.

math, math is great—math is numbers and patterns and those things make sense and the order is there. physics too: everything in the universe has a set structure, and it’s all just figuring out what that structure is and what it entails. isaac newton likes things in neat rows in color-coded, labeled, square boxes in his mind.

and that is everything you aren’t.

which is why isaac doesn’t quite understand how he’s fallen in love with you so fast. emotionally, yes, sure, emotions, are, he supposes, a thing, but rationally? he doesn’t understand it. where he likes predictability, you are anything but. you are new dishes being served during dinners. you are excited squealing as you’re reading a book. you are catching his hedgehog (very nervously) from its hiding nook, after it was chased by the exponentially larger dogs. you are songs he’s never heard, songs from centuries in the future. you are wide eyes and open arms and isaac doesn’t understand.

but he adores it.

appreciates it.

the day after you’d decided to stay in the mansion, and the door had stayed shut throughout the rest of the fateful, crescent-moon night, vincent takes home with him a basketful of apple strudels, gifted to him by the lovely baker downtown.

you aren’t able to get one before dinner, but just right around midnight, you remember they are there. with a sudden burst of excitement, you pull at isaac’s sleeve until he accompanies you downstairs. your eyes shine like crystals in the kitchen light as you bite into the sweet bread—and isaac… isaac doesn’t know what to do with the warmth that fills him at the sight of it.

you turn to him quickly, offering him a bite. “you like apples, don’t you?”

the sound of dazai’s and arthur’s voices compound in his head, every single apple joke thrown at his direction over the past what-feels-like-a-million-years echoing in the caverns of his skull, taunting him.

but he doesn’t mind.

he doesn’t know why he doesn’t mind being unfolded like this, but he doesn’t.

he takes a bite of the strudel and sighs at the sweetness.

“it’s delicious.”

-

(two)

he tries, he absolutely tries his damnedest to sound nonchalant, but he fails. rather miserably, too. he’s still standing at the doorway of your room, hesitating to enter even when you’d already opened the door for him.

“where are you going?”

you finish twirling a lock of hair into place, before turning away from the mirror and toward him. “ah, comte’s taking me out dress shopping.”

again, he hears you nearly say; but then why are you still going? “don’t you have enough clothes?”

securing your earrings into place, you sit up from your dresser chair to approach him. “‘the most important of the labours of a high society woman in this late 19th century,’” you begin, “‘is to look beautiful.’ … that’s what le comte always tells me.”

“labours that you already fulfil,” isaac notes. the sudden admission makes you flush, so you pull him by the wrist and guide him toward the bed. now seated next to each other, you entangle your fingers with his.

“we’ll be back before dusk,” you try to appease him. “i’ll ask comte if we can do a detour at that bakery with the strudels we like.”

for a moment, isaac is silent; his hand twitches in yours as he considers. of course, he knows that comte means no harm. if anything, the worst is that comte is quite overbearing with how gracious he is at times. there’s no reason to be feeling this way, to be even doubting, he just wanted to ask if you wanted to come with him to the university library—he has to pick up a book he forgot to borrow, and maybe, just maybe, he was thinking of a picnic while you’re already out in the city, that’s all, you can always do that some time else, and so why is he—

he groans. by jove, why is this so hard. he turns and presses his face into the junction of your shoulder and neck; the fabric of your dress is in the way of the thrum of your pulse, but not quite thick enough so he still feels your warmth.

you laugh like it tickles, and he’s about to straighten up when you take his face in your small hands, holding him at eye level to you, your gaze so beautifully clear and bright. it’s as if no matter how hard he tries, with you he is see-through.

“i’ll make it up to you,” you say, pressing a little kiss at the corner of his lip, “…tonight.”

all at once, he doesn’t understand why the sour, sour feeling in his chest suddenly tastes so sweet.

-

(three)

you were radiant.

that was, to say the least. isaac wasn’t knowledgeable about fashion, not a bit. sure, he can vaguely tell what an “average” outfit is (cue the several lengthy discussions to alleviate confusion when sebastian had kindly gifted you with a few items of clothing to wear around the mansion that were, say, anachronistic) but trends and styles are beyond him. to him, if the clothes can protect him from the elements, they are enough, and doing their job.  

but seeing you out there in the ball room? made him realize that maybe… maybe that wasn’t the only point after all.

he’s wearing the most fashionable get-up for the night (because, alas, comte would not let a single one of his residents leave without the best of suits) and yet he feels so… underdressed, looking at you.

which is probably just about right, considering this is the party to celebrate your first year spent at the mansion.

(the first of many, he hopes.)

isaac returns to memorizing the details of your outfit. a beautiful silk gown in this sort of matte gold, embellished with swathes of intricate lace. the cut of the dress is made to accentuate your best features, and oh, the low scoop of the neckline, revealing your shoulders, emphasizing the milky skin beneath, maybe, a place to sink his teeth…

you’re off to a corner of the ballroom across him, engaged in discussion with mozart and theo while you’re holding a glass of alcohol. (he knows you enough to be nearly entirely sure it’s probably a non-alcoholic drink in your glass, just the right shade to seem like so.) mozart says something that makes you laugh, hand flying to your mouth.

(isaac seethes inwardly, wonders what the pianist could have said.)

theo makes eye contact with isaac across the room, and isaac quickly turns away from the man’s pointed smile. and because he does, he doesn’t get to prepare himself for when you inevitably approach him—having been goaded by theo—bumping isaac’s shoulders lightly.

he takes half a second to curse that wily little brother-obsessed man.

“won’t the great professor ayscough honor me with a dance?”

he doesn’t understand why, doesn’t understand why allows this—for him to be tossed and turned in a surge of emotions and thoughts and things he really hadn’t bothered to consider in the past, for him to be oh so irrevocably twined around your finger.

“what makes you think you can do this to my poor heart?” he whispers, and your laugh—oh, your laugh, fills him to the very core.

-

(four)

a part of him curses napoleon for saying it; another part of him thanks him.

the three of you were on your way back to the mansion after an afternoon teaching the kids in the city at the usual spot when napoleon had—rather absentmindedly, almost as if off-handedly—mentioned that the kids seemed to be more… obedient when you were around. you’d raised an eyebrow at him, explaining that you��re actually rather, say, awkward with kids. napoleon had shrugged the comment off, going on a tangent that they seemed to be more likely to follow instructions when it was you who’d call them out, as compared to him and isaac.

and then, the heaviest words in the world.

“maybe it’s because you’re like a mother to them.”

it was too early. you and isaac had never thought of kids and—you’d never really thought of anything, rather. there was only the now, and isaac found himself rather enjoying the pace. should he have discussed this with you already? was this of utmost importance? what if you didn’t want kids with him? what if you did? what does it mean—to do that? what changes? what stays? what—

“pfft,” you chuckle. “that’s only because the two of you are more like cheeky older brothers than teachers, you brats.”

after the corresponding laughter, the conversation soon swerved to other things. but isaac couldn’t leave it at that. instead, it lingered and clawed at his brain for the following days to no end, always making its presence known at the back of his mind whenever he’s thought it’s past him. he hadn’t thought of bringing it up to you because, again, it seemed like you’d taken the entire thing in stride, as you always do, with the grace and wisdom of someone literally beyond his time…

but most importantly, because he didn’t feel like he was ready to hear the answer quite yet.

alas, the universe does not wait for one to be ready for things.

the next time the three of you are downtown, you’re humming as you produce a little jar full of homemade candy as a reward for the children’s hard work of studying. (isaac huffs a little; it’s just calculus, it’s not so bad.) the enthusiastic children rush toward you, and you gently get to their level, squatting down and handing them two candies each.

isaac… is stuck into place, watching intently as you greet each child; you know them by name, know their nicknames; you match the candy appropriately to their favorite flavors, pat them on the head, ruffle their hair, pinch their cheek gently. you compliment the little flowers the girl has put in her hair, enthuse about how the three rag-tag boys look stronger than ever.

and isaac—well, he doesn’t understand why he knows but he knows: this, this is what happiness is.

your smile, the star-like shimmer in your eyes, the sound of your laughter intermingling with those of the children the both of you (!) are raising to be dreamers and thinkers of the future.

isaac is helpless; no science can explain this; unable to do anything but allow you to knock him to his knees like a beam of sunlight shot through the prism of his heart.

flooding his world in a spectrum of colors.

-

(five)

on one night you don’t feel entirely upright, you confide your deepest fears to isaac. these were fears he’d thought were to be expected—fears that made sense—but he hadn’t realized were actually hiding in your shadows. worries and frets about the uprooting from home, the time and the place of your existence. the weight of the knowledge of what comes in the future, the foresight of it. the instability—the unsureness.

isaac does not know what to do with all this. he cradles every word in his hands, holds them so carefully like they will shatter, feels each shaky intake of your breath sink underneath his skin like some sort of warning, some sort of premonition.

of the one day you might have to let her go.

of the one day you might have to do the right thing.

of the one day it will hurt.

of the one day. and you will never understand why.

but isaac is no longer afraid of them.

(he doesn’t know why yet, but he will soon.)

instead, he holds you in his arms in the silver glow of the moonlight, until your shaking stops. until you feel gravity settle you back onto the bed, just like all that isaac had written of it. until you press your face into his chest and sigh deeply. until your exhales feel lighter, like you’ve expelled all the thick fog that rested between your bones.

and isaac… isaac doesn’t know if he should ask, if he has the right to ask, if asking will make a difference, but the part of him that constantly wants to be able to understand things makes him, so he asks—

“what made you stay?”

and the answer is so simple, it’s rather silly how he doesn’t understand.

“because i have you.”

-

(+ one)

long before he had met saint-germain and had hidden away in the count’s mansion for silence, isaac newton was, ultimately, just a mere human: one that tried to make sense of the world around him, set them into categories and definitions that were easy to understand, and thus use. but a human nonetheless. and hundreds of years back, long before the turn of the century in paris, france, in the arms of the only woman he feels like he has ever truly known to really love, there was a little fairy tale he believed in: one that they’d called the philosopher’s stone.

a stone of ridiculous, preposterous qualities. it could turn simple metals into gold and silver. it could heal all and any sort of illness. it could make someone live longer. it could turn crystals into precious stones. it could revive the dead. it could make you immortal.

just by its mere existence, it could give someone the power to turn one thing into something entirely different.

and now, with the scientific development of the late 19th century—and even further, far into the future where you’ve come (he’d asked)—there is still no philosopher’s stone. the facts are in: it is not real, and centuries spent attempting to create this enchanted thing have led to not a single step toward proving its existence. it’s a powerful thing that is too great, it just isn’t allowed to exist.

that was what isaac thought, except as of late.

because maybe… maybe the power is already in human hands.

after all, what else would have given you the ability to make him like this? how else to explain all the miracles you’ve done: to fill the parts of him that used to be hollow; to heal him of the wounds he’d been putting aside; to revive the portions of his heart that he thought—and he’d kept—long dead?

to turn him into gold?

it is morning now, just past sunrise of september 1st, and you’re lying next to him on his bed, still fast asleep. just the sound of your even breathing fills him with a breathless joy it makes him feel rather stupid. the sheer fabric of your nightgown is not enough to hide the pink, red parts where he’d kissed and marked you last night. he wants to run his fingers through your hair, but doesn’t, lest he wakes you up.

he’d pledged his humanity aside for silence, and a space to think, and oh, have you given it to him.

this is what peace feels like, he thinks.

gently, he takes out of its hiding spot a rectangular box. opens it and takes out its contents: a pair of earrings (which he’ll give you later), and a lovely golden necklace studded with pearls; little flowers and suns down to the middle, where a hefty ruby glimmers deep blood red.

just like a philosopher’s stone.

he tries not to wake you, when he strings his little gift around your neck, but the movements jostle you, and just as he clasps it closed at your nape, you wake.

you turn to face your lover with “good morning” halfway out your lips when you feel the cool of the necklace on your bare skin. you look down at the intricate piece of jewelry, the smile uncontrollable on your sweet, still sleep-hazy face.

“isaac—”

“la mulţi ani,” he says—or, well, tries to say, as his tongue curves awkwardly around the words. he does sound rather close though: he must have practiced, and practiced, and practiced.

“thank you,” you say, sitting up to face him properly. “it’s beautiful. i’ll treasure this.”

isaac’s brain is on high speed—i’m glad she liked it, i was worrying, what if she didn’t like the design, then what about the earrings, should i have given her a ring instead? no a ring is too early, this necklace is just right, also fashionable for the times. i asked comte about it—it was so damned embarrassing but i asked him, and—but he silences it, quiets it down by taking her hand in his, presses a kiss on the knuckles gently with his lips.

and, as he always has been, and always is, and always will be—he stumbles for words, clumsily trying to make sense of the thunder-lightning rumbling in his chest, how he’s supposed to say thank you for all that you have given him, all that you have made him.

so instead, he presses your hand against his warm cheek that is a fresh apple red.

“my favorite merișor,” you tease, brushing the stray hair off his face before pulling him into a gentle, warm embrace. and, well, he’d wanted to ask what that meant, but he quickly realizes it doesn’t matter, as he tucks the unfamiliar syllables of your language in his heart.

it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t understand.

and maybe, just maybe, there are things that he never will really comprehend.

but it’s okay.

he can be that merișor.

as long as he is yours, he can be anything.

--------

[title came from could i love you any more by jason mraz & reneé dominique]