#Fantastic-nonsense please do let me know if you disapprove and I will take this down

[theriu]

———

I hope @fantastic-nonsense won’t mind, but I found this in a reblog on another Batman post, and the origin post had swearing in it so I couldn’t reblog (my blog is dedicated to only PG content). But this part was a counterargument and is so good it works as it’s own post, so I really wanted to share it. This is an excellent breakdown of various valid reasons for this foundational element of Bruce Wayne’s character! Frankly, I don’t think this even has to be a “pick one” scenario; I could easily see all of these motives being applicable at once.

[dracowars]

Hii! So i have seen that your request is currently open! Also that you are kind of new here (i guess? Idrk)! I was wondering if i could request one? The story goes like draco pulls a prank on y/n (any kind really its up to you!) then later on showers her with his love (gift too because we all know he got the ✨ money money ✨ so thats it! (Its very fluffy im sorry) i hope you can do it totally alright if you cant tho!! I hope to see more of your works! God Bless💗

fun and games | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x slytherin!reader

word count: 3,3k

summary: where draco takes pranking y/n too far

a/n: thank you so so much for requesting! <3 since this is my first ever request i'm a little bit nervous >.< i really hope that you like it and that it lives up to your expectations! i feel honored that you trusted me with your request even though i'm still pretty new on here ♡

warnings: none

universe: harry potter

You can't remember when it started, you only know that it did and that it slowly starts to annoy the hell out of you. Not because you don't understand fun, you really do, but you can't even spend a quiet minute with your boyfriend Draco anymore since he started acting like Fred and George Weasley, always pulling a prank on you with every possibility he got.

Some of those were actually funny and made you laugh, but at some point it just got too much. Every time you are with him now, you expect something to happen. Whether it is that he calls you to him to show you fantastic beasts that do not exist, making you look like a fool while he laughs, or that he hides two of your belongings somewhere around Hogwarts, telling you that it is actually three objects that you then have to search for like crazy. He even gave you Veritaserum once, just to ask you an endless number of questions which you inevitably had to answer. All of that you already went through. But today was somewhat different.

Draco did not pull a prank on you for weeks now, which you can not complain about at all, in fact you are quite happy about it. After his last prank you asked him to finally stop and it seems like he listened to you. Still, something feels very weird.

You haven't seen Draco today, which is rather unusual for you and your relationship because neither of you can last longer than a few hours without the other. You have just come out of your Defense Against the Dark Arts class and look around the hallway, expecting to spot him somewhere, while your classmates walk past you to head to their break. Usually, Draco always picks you up after class so that you can spend time together until your next course. But you don't see him anywhere today.

At the end of the hallway you spot Fred and George trying to sell one of their newest and greatest inventions to a first-year. You shake your head and roll your eyes. These two are probably responsible that your boyfriend had his prank phase, even though he absolutely despises every Weasley. Of course Draco would never admit it, but you think that he copied a lot from them.

"Leave the poor child alone, Weasley's", you tell them while passing them, not wanting to wait longer for Draco to pick you up. Regrettably you shouldn't have opened your mouth because all of a sudden they apparate in front of you out of nowhere, making you flinch and taking a step back. "What, Y/N? Did I hear you correctly?", George says, wiggling his eyebrows at Fred. "You really want to test our new creation?", Fred adds with a smile.

"No, thank you. I've had enough of pranks lately", you assure them with a forced smile. Obviously offended by your statement, the red haired twins cross their arms over their chest, giving you a disapproving look before vanishing again. Shaking your head, you make your way to your common room, hoping to meet Draco on the way there. Unfortunately, that does not happen and you slowly start to have a bad feeling. Where is he?

Once you arrive in the dungeons, you say the password and enter the common room, which is cosy warm in contrast to the cold corridors outside. After all, it's winter; what else should you expect from the temperature? Several Slytherin's buzz around, sitting at the green fire or studying at the tables. But still, no sign of Draco.

You spot Crabbe and Goyle on one of the sofas, who have their eyes focused on you. As soon as they realize that you look back at them, they burst into giggles and look away as if nothing happened. Their weird behavior lets you frown in confusion. Before you can confront them about it, Pansy suddenly appears right in front of you and thus into your field of vision.

"Y/N! We want to go down to the lake in a few minutes. It's frozen solid for the first time this year! Do you want to join us?", she offers, her outfit already perfectly adapted to the cold temperature outside. "Do you know where Draco is?", you blurt out, not answering to her question at all. "No? Why would I?", Pansy responds irritated.

You loudly breathe out. "Nevermind. Enjoy your trip to the lake", you wish her and give her a small smile, then walk past her and towards your room in the girls' dormitories. You don't miss the look that Crabbe and Goyle give you as well as their giggles when you make your way out of the big room though.

While walking your gaze falls on something laying on the ground and you immediately stop in your tracks abruptly. You bend down and pick it up in amazement, a now much bigger smile forming on your lips. In your delicate hand you're now holding a rose petal. Looking in front of you, you notice more rose petals on the floor. They seem to show you the way to your room.

It must have been Draco, he definetely wants to surprise you after a stressful day, you are sure about that. Quickly and with unbelievable enthusiasm you follow the path to your closed door. You imagine how you will open the door and come into your room, there will be a romantic atmosphere with warm candlelight and Draco will lovingly greet you, hug you and kiss you until-

SPLASH

You have just opened the door when suddenly a huge mass of cold water falls down on you, completely soaking you from head to toe. Because of the shock and the sudden coldness surrounding you, you gasp for air. In front of you, you do not see your desired romantic atmosphere or any candles, but only your laughing boyfriend.

"I got you again!", Draco rejoices and praises himself while you can only watch him in shock. You look down at yourself and lift one of your feet out of the puddle beneath you which you are now standing in. Water drips from your hair and your uniform to the floor. Your boyfriend's cheeky laugh echoes in your ears. Slowly your whole body begins to tremble, although you are not sure wheather it comes from the cold water or from the anger boiling up inside of you.

Assuming that you find the successful prank as funny as he does, he keeps laughing, not noticing your anger yet. "Fred and George did the same prank with Weaselbee the other day, so I had to try it out as well. It worked! Crabbe and Goyle helped me set it up and-"

"I hate you so much!", you scream at him angrily, no longer able to keep your anger under control. Draco's expression falls immediately, obviously not expecting this kind of a reaction. You are still stiffly standing under the door frame, stretching your arms away from your body to somehow escape the extreme cold, water still running down, even under your clothes. "Why do you never know when it's time to stop?! I thought you wanted to surprise me!"

A little taken aback, Draco slowly approaches you while you are busy with wringing out your wet hair. "Don't you dare touch me now, Draco Malfoy!", you command and he obeys your words, stopping a few inches in front of you. "Love, it was just supposed to be fun..", he mumbles dejected, insecurely rocking back and forth on his feet, slowly realizing his mistake.

"Yeah, of course. For you it's always all fun and games until someone dies!", you angrily rebuke him. "I'm completely wet, I'm damned cold, as if it wasn't already cold enough outside, and all I wanted is to spend a relaxing and nice afternoon with my boyfriend who, as always, only got nonsense in his mind and not thinks about his girlfriend's feelings!", you complain, getting rid of your wet cloak while bumping into him with your shoulder as you walk past, throwing it onto your bed. You sit down next to it on the soft mattress and take off your soaking wet shoes as well. For a few minutes there is nothing but silence between you two.

"Y/N..", Draco breaks the silence, but you just shoot him a scathing glance, your lower lip now trembling from the coldness surrounding your body. "I don't want to hear anything, Draco. Really", you scoff and roll your eyes, standing up to finally get out of your uncomfortable clothes. "Can you leave, please? I want to change", you ask him reproachfully, but he doesn't move a single bit.

"I'm responsible for this so let me help you, okay? I'm sorry", he says, sincerity in his sad voice. You can't even answer him as he already pulls out his wand and casts a spell you don't recognize. The puddles on the floor disappear and your clothes are suddenly dry again. All that is left is the unbearable cold around you. Freezing, you draw your cloak tighter around you and give Draco a very small but thankful smile.

He looks at you thoughfully before spreading his arms to invite you into a warm hug, which you gladly accept. Even though you're mad at him, he still manages to make you soften again. You wrap your arms tightly around his waist and he gently strokes your back with one hand in hopes to warm you up at least a little bit, then places a gentle kiss of the top of your head and hugs you even tighter, pulling you closer to his much warmer body. He can clearly feel your body tremble against his. "I'm really sorry, love. I hope you can forgive me for my stupid behavior..", he breathes into your ear, loosening your arms around his waist to take your ice-cold hands in his.

He closely examines your face, searching for any hint of what your answer could be like. No longer able to resist his pleading stare and shimmering gray eyes, you slowly nod to assure him that you will forgive him. Of course you will; you love him way too much to let something this silly destroy your relationship. More than happy with your answer, he cups your cheeks between his hands, his silver ring coldy pressing against your skin, and gives you a loving kiss.

"I will make up for it, I promise", he speaks against your lips after you broke the kiss, his thumb caressing your lower lip softly. "As long as you stop those stupid pranks, idiot", you roll your eyes, still feeling a tiny bit upset about the incident. A little chuckle escapes his lips and he pulls you close against him again. "Let's warm you up first, hm?", Draco whispers and before you know it he has apparated both of you back into the common room. Because everyone left to go to the lake you're now completely alone in the big room.

Without your consent, Draco pulls you onto one of the couches near the fireplace so you can warm up. With the help of a spell, he increases the flame a little more. Out of nowhere he throws you a fluffy, thick blanket and wraps you in it, your body now slowly but surely heating up.

While you're still busy making yourself comfortable, Draco extinguishes all the lights in the room except for a few candles, which dip the quiet room into a soothing light, creating a relaxing atmosphere for you two.

"Are you feeling warmer already? Do you need something else? What about a hot chocolate?", he questions you, still feeling extremly horrible for what he made you go through. "A hot chocolate sounds very nice, actually", you accept his offer, deciding to take advantage of the situation, innocently smiling at him. It does not even take him one single second and he suddenly vanishes into thin air. Shaking your head but smiling to yourself you watch the flame in the fireplace while you wait for him to return.

To your amazement, it takes him a lot longer than you expected and that just for a simple hot chocolate. After about a quarter of an hour he pops up again in front of you all of a sudden, two steaming cups in his hands. He serves you your hot drink with a cheeky smile on his face. "As requested: one perfectly hot chocolate, but not nearly as hot as you", he winks at you before making himself comfortable next to you.

"What took you so long?", you ask and take a sip, skillfully ignoring his statement. "Had to.. run a few more errands, you know. I'm a very busy man", he smirks at you, holding the, in his hands much smaller looking, cup. You look at him in disbelief and then discover a few white spots on his uniform that make you raise your eyebrows in confusion. "It's snowing outside?", you question and point to the snowflakes on his cloak that are slowly melting in the warm room. "Care to explain why you were outside?"

"Uh, well.. I just wanted to please my lovely girlfriend", he explains and takes something out of his pockets. You immediately know what it is and sit up excitedly, but before you can grab it, you pull your hand back. "That's not another one of your pranks, is it?", you pout and look in his eyes for an answer, any sign that this really is just normal candy from Honeydukes and not some experiments he bought from Fred and George.

"Come on, Y/N! They are not poisoned. Eat now or I froze myself to death out there for nothing", Draco assures you and you decide to trust him, carefully opening the candy, revealing the actually normal, delicious sweets that you love so much. Happily eating them you don't even notice at first how Draco keeps staring at you, one of his fingers nervously tapping the rim of his cup.

"Y/N?", Draco finally clears his throat, sitting up straight while you look at him with big expectant eyes. The way he pronounces your name, how the letters roll of his tongue create goosebumps all over your skin, causing you to cuddle up more into the cozy blanket, waiting for him to continue. His gaze wanders back and forth between you and his warm drink, of which he has not drunk very much yet.

He opens his mouth to say something again but notices the goosebumps on your arm, the alarm bells in his head loudly going off immediately. "Are you still cold? Wait a second!", Draco tells you, without waiting for an answer, and jumps up, running to his prefect room and coming back a few seconds later to give you one of his green Slytherin sweaters. "Here. Put it on, it will warm you up", he commands and examines you carefully as you pull it over your head, the pleasant scent of his perfume clouding your senses instantly.

Your cheeks turn a little bit red, on the one hand because of the extreme warmth that now surrounds you and on the other hand because Draco gives you such a sweet and tender look, as if you are the most beautiful and precious being in this world; which, in fact, you definetely are to him. He moves closer to you and puts his arm around your shoulders so that you can lean against his chest and snuggle up to him. Draco gently runs his fingers over your hair, over your cheeks and to your chin, which he slightly lifts up, making you look at him.

Neither of you say anything for a while, you just look each other deep in the eyes. Draco brushes one strand of hair behind your ear that fell into your face and slowly leans in. You close your eyes, waiting for him to connect your lips, but he teasingly stops shortly before, his breath fanning against your skin. "I have something for you.. as an apology", he gently whispers and you open your eyes in surprise. "You don't have to give me anything, Draco. I've already forgiven you, you know that", you smile at him, cupping one of his cheeks which makes him smile.

He takes your hand in his and squeezes it lightly, kisses your knuckles and then shakes his head with a sigh. "I know. Still, I feel bad and want to give you something. Something very meaningful and significant", he declares, reaching into his pocket once again. Eventually, his secrecy makes you kind of curious anyway and you look at his hand eagerly, waiting to see what the gift will be.

Draco pulls out a small black box covered in velvet. Your curious gaze focuses on the box, which contents are still unknown to you until he finally opens it and reveals a beautiful, gold shimmering and, above all, quite expensive looking necklace. Small moons and stars hang on it, but the real focus of the indescribably lovely piece of jewelry is in the middle. The bigger splendid pendant attached to it is none other than his name, Draco, written in an artistic curved font. Overwhelmed, your mouth drops open.

"Actually, I wanted to give it to you for our anniversary this year, as a thanks for sticking around with me for so long, no matter how stupid and silly and annoying I was. Somehow it just felt like the right moment to give it to you now", Draco explains in a calm voice, no sight of the silly boy from a few hours ago, and takes the necklace out of its box, gesturing that you should turn around so he can carefully place it around your neck. He leaves a few butterfly kisses along your neck before you turn around to him again, immediately touching the pendant with your fingertips, slightly pressing it against your soft skin.

"I thought I would give you my first name as long as I can't give you my last", Draco smiles timidly, a tear escaping from the corner of your eye as you pull him into a tight embrace. "D-Draco.. I don't know what to say.. I love you so much", you sob into his neck, placing a kiss right there. His arms wrap around you and he breathes out contentedly and somewhat relieved. "I was afraid that you would reject me..", he whispers nearly inaudible, more to himself than to you.

"I would never even think about rejecting you! But do you really promise that you will make it come true, Draco? That you will give me the honor to receive your last name?", you ask seriously, retreating a bit so you are able to look at his handsome face. A smile creeps its way onto his lips at your so serious but also hopeful facial expression. "I don't want anything more in my life than that, darling", Draco clarifies honestly and then takes the pendant with his name on it between his thumb and index finger. "This is a promise", he repeats softly and gives you a quick but loving kiss.

Despite the short kiss, you feel a pleasant warmth inside of you and the butterflies flutter around in your stomach. You put your hands around his neck and can't help but grin brightly, trying to hide it by biting down on your lower lip. Immediately, Draco's thumb comes up to your lip and stops you from doing so, looking back and forth between your shiny eyes and plump lips.

The next kiss you share is so passionate and with so much love that you forget everything around you in a matter of seconds, fading out your surroundings. Now, there is only you and Draco. And a promise that you hold close to your heart.

[vegetacide]

TaG: Bloodlines (Part 4)

Veg • notables: Just a quick one.  Though medical terms and conditions are real I am not an expert and these conditions have been purely used to enhance the events that are to unfold.  Any errors in my research and experiences for this are strictly my own 

Ty to @gumnut-logic and @scribbles97 for the brainstorming help and the encouragement. 

Previous:  Part 1 | Part 2 Bit 1  &  Bit 2 | Part 3

Rating and General warning:  Mature content head. If you are not a fan of medical issues of a female nature in relation to pregnancy please proceed with caution.   

Characters: Virgil, Kayo,  (V/K)…..

Location: TaG-verse AU  |  Auckland Gen.

E N J O Y

8-8-8

Part 4 - Peperiksaan

“Lift your hips, please”  The female technician asked kindly, her hand patting her knee in reassurance as she indicated the triangular wedge and large absorbent square pad.    “I’m just going to slip this under your pelvis.”  

Kayo shifted her gaze back to the technician briefly before complying.  The tech was gentle, her hands though gloved were warm and caring and a light of understanding shone in her intelligent eyes. 

“That’s right,  scooch down a bit, that’s it.. Perfect.  I know it’s not the most comfortable but this shouldn’t take long. Okay?” She smiled warmly at Kayo before moving down the end of the bed and pulling the metal bracing that was tucked in either side out.  

“Sorry, these are cold.  With all the technology we have we still haven't come up with a better set up for these.. Sometimes the simplest things are the best.”  She reached down and tapped one of Kayo’s feet and with little resistance Kayo did as she was asked. Settling one and then the other into the stirrups.

Kayo looked up to the ceiling,  heat high on her cheeks as the unsettling feeling of being vulnerable and exposed crept in even though she was technically still covered.  

The urge to sit up and bolt also made an appearance and she quickly checked the exits.  She didn’t like this.  She felt trapped and naked in the paper-like temporary hospital johnny they had supplied her and her flight or fight response was kicking into overdrive.  

The observant technician  leaned over her and caught her eyes. “It’s okay.  This is standard procedure and you’ll be out of here before you know it.  I won’t start though until your husband is here, would that make you feel better?”  

The woman’s lips turned up again,  laugh lines around her kindly mouth and eyes rising up with the action.  “I’ll just turn the lights down a bit to make you more comfortable, by the way, my name is Mariam and you’re in good hands. Doctor Coxley is a fantastic OB-Gyn. You couldn't ask for a better doctor.”

Just then the door just behind them opened and a nondescript orderly breezed into the room pushing an ultrasound trolley and right behind him was Virgil.  Gowned and gloved.

The orderly rolled the device up to Miriam and they had a conversation about programming upgrades that Kayo paid little attention to as Virgil came up the other side of the bed and took her hand.  

He bent down and brushed a kiss over her brow, a question in his loving eyes.  Kayo just shook her head and he gave her hand a squeeze.  

“Dad and Grandma are out in the waiting room,  Scott is off talking to our security detail.  Hubbert and his team are here.”  He told her by way of distraction.  

“Good.” Was all she could manage.  

Miriam finished setting up her equipment and plugging in the necessary information into the database.  Newly gloved and gowned she settled down onto a wheeled stool and cleared her throat.  

“Okay, we are all set.”  She plucked a wand out of its cradle and slipped a clear plastic sheath over it before adding a lubricating gel.  Reaching around with her other hand, she adjusted Kayo’s covering and lay a hand on her shin.  “I’ll make this as quick as I can but you may feel some discomfort so try to relax. Part your knees a bit for me.” 

Kayo squeezed Virgil’s hand and did as instructed.  

“Good, that’s perfect. Now take a deep breath.  In one, two, three.. Out. One, two, three… that’s it.”  

Kayo bit her lip and turned her head to Virgil at the cold, mechanical intrusion.  Even with modern day scanning equipment, internal aids were still needed to get clear, concise and detailed pictures.

Virgil skimmed her brow again,  nonsensical words of comfort slipping quietly from his lips as the technician went about her exam. 

It hurt. God it hurt and Kayo couldn’t stop a tear from escaping.  

Virgil brushed it away as if it was never there and she tried to lose herself in the scent of him.  She winced as the wand shifted and nudged deeper. 

“Sorry, dear.” Miriam’s voice drifted over, slightly distracted. “You’re doing great. I’m almost done..Here, this might help distract you.”

The briefest of keystrokes and a rapid whump-whoosh, whump-whoosh of sound started to emit for the speakers.  

Kayo sucked in a breath and Virgil’s hand tightened around hers. 

“That’s a good heart beat. Little one doesn’t seem put off in the slightest of my unscheduled visit. Oh feisty one. Just gave me a kick. You got a fighter in there.”

Virgil grinned,  eyes watery as he looked down at Kayo.  “Just like Mom.” 

Kayo smiled back but winced again as Miriam moved the wand around.  

“I just need to take a few more measurements and pictures and I will be all done, this one is most likely going to hurt so take a deep breath.” She warned and waited for Kayo to comply.

Kayo stiffened, her nails digging into Virgil’s hand as pain shot through her pelvis and another tear slid down her cheek.  

“Almost done… just a little further…”

Kayo grit her teeth and the stat monitor that she was hooked up to beeped in protest. 

“There,  got it.”  The tech said,  gently slipping the wand out and quickly disposing of the plastic covering in the biohazard bin.  

She turned back to Kayo,  towel in hand,  rolled it and settled it between her legs.  

“All done,” She informed, turning back to the monitor.  “Bleeding has increased a bit but I had to be thorough. Make yourself comfortable and rest here for a bit while.  Doctor Coxley will be in shortly to discuss the findings.   Deep breath, Dear.. its done.” 

Kayo gave a single nod and Miriam left the pair in the dim lighting of the exam room. 

The OB-Gyn looked up from his electronic chart at the pair and smiled warmly. 

 “From what I can see of the ultrasound, the baby's fine. The placenta is intact, no abruption.  You have mild placenta previa though that I want to keep an eye on.  It’s common to have it in the first few months of pregnancy  but looking back through your chart this is the first that we’ve seen of it.   

“Have you had any blurred vision or headaches?” He asked, taking Kayo’s wrist and glancing down at his watch. 

She gave a shrug and with trepidation supplied.  “A little here and there.” 

Virgil’s instantly stilled.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kayo looked away. “I didn’t think anything of it ..”

“Kayo…”

“I was going to bring it up at our next prenatal and I didn’t want to worry you. You have enough on your plate..

Before Virgil could say more the Doctor hmm’ed and let go of her hand.  “You’re BP is elevated. Have you been getting adequate rest?  Not overworking yourself?”

“Yes”

“No.”  Virgil supplied frowning at Kayo with disapproval.  There would be words later.   

The Doc hummed again.  “Well,  for the most part everything looks good, you just need to start taking things easier and get your blood pressure back to baseline.  Preeclampsia is a sure fire result if you don’t.”

“The bleeding is that from…?” 

“The placenta previa aggravated by a small vaginal tear.”  He replied with a raised eyebrow that had Virgil cursing. “The amount of bleeding can be attributed to that and the pregnancy in general.  There are a lot of things going on down there. The tear will heal up on its own but you two have to take it easy for a bit.  At least two weeks of no activity of any kind.”

I want you to put your feet up and rest, young lady.  No work,  no play. Just veg out and let this strapping husband of yours do all the work.

The chances are even with rest, the bleeding will continue so we need to be careful as you get closer to your due date.  I want to see you in a couple weeks time to check things out again and see how you’re progressing.

Also until then.. No flying.  I will make arrangements to come to you.  Keeping your feet turf side is the best course of action right now..excluding the trip home. If I see an improvement when next we meet we will see about modified activities. Both work related and other.”    

They both nodded in understanding.  

“Good. If you have any questions, concerns or if anything changes let me know.  My line is always open to you both.”  Setting the chart back in the cradle, the Doc gave another warm smile.   “Everything will be just fine.  Relax and enjoy this time because before you know if your lives are going to be flipped on their heads.”

“Thanks, Doctor Coxley.  We really appreciate you coming in on your night off.”

Doctor Coxley, held up his hand.  “It’s no bother at all.  You and your family do enough for the world at large, it's only right of me to return the favour. 

I’ll start the discharge paper but take your time.  There is no rush.”  He pointed to the room’s only other door. “ Just through that door is a small ensuite bathroom, fully supplied with whatever you might need.”  

Doctor Coxley looked to Virgil, “ Just keep an eye out for dizziness.”  

He settled his stethoscope back around his neck and he pushed up from his wheeled stool.  “One more thing,  I just need your verbal consent to discuss treatment options and follow up with Doctor Tracy.  Are you fine with that?”

Virgil helped Kayo swing her leg off the side of the bed, his hands gentle but his posture stiff and radiating barely contained disquiet.  Kayo said nothing, just nodded her head.    

“Great. Take care and call me anytime” And the Doctor slipped from the room.. 

8-8-8

TBC

NEXT

[concussed-to-pieces]

Whether It Works Out Or Not; Back In The Cage

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: Okay I promise I swear this is the last bonus chapter until I finish the game. I swear.

[Spoiler warning for the first four chapters of the game!]

Tag List: @huliabitch​ @cookiethewriter​ @pedrosbigdorkenergy​ @thirstworldproblemss​ @anonymouscosmos​ @culturalrebel​ @karmezii​ @teaofpeach​ @crookedmoonsaultpunk​ @wrestlingfae​ @zombiexbody​ @nelba​ @scribblenotes76​ @toxiicpop​ @mstgsmy​ @misty-possum​ @gallowsjoker​ @midnightbeauty35​ @lackofhonor​ @renegademustelid​

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For allusions to character death, mentions of previous abuse, historical inaccuracies and my poorly-remembered French. Stay safe!]

She felt a bit silly in her outfit.

Of course, she didn't need to display as such. "Tastefully understated," she had said to herself in the mirror with a firm nod. It was the fawn-brown dress (admittedly, it was the only dress she currently owned), but she had scraped together the funds for some light trimmings and alterations. A flounce of lace around the hem, a small length of lovely cream ribbon at the waist. The corset, while unwanted, would be expected, practically required in polite company, and even secondhand it was by far the most expensive piece of the puzzle. After that, everything else seemed to fall into place.

Irene Carson (née Craft) arrived at the ball astride Bluster, her hair crowned with a plethora of vanilla flowers and one single spider orchid. The buttermilk buckskin had been curried to within an inch of his life, and sported a matching cluster of vanilla flowers in his mane. He behaved remarkably well given all the hubbub, not putting up any fuss when he was taken from her to be stabled for the evening.

Irene had no elaborate hat to wear, no fantastical feathered monstrosity, so she had made do with what she could find. The flowers would be out of fashion, but they would suit her understated attire a bit better. Perhaps she could be fashionably unfashionable, ahead of the curve.

"I will not be on the list, but please tell Mayor Lemieux that it is the Widow Carson." She politely informed the man with the list at the gate, doing her best to seem calm and collected.

This was a bold move in the normally-subtle social maneuvering of Saint Denis. Attempting to integrate herself back into the gentry was a risky strategy, but a recent realization had convinced her of the necessity of such a move. 

Arthur had made an excellent point. That house had sat silent for long enough. It was time for her to take what spoils she could, time for her to think of the future. Hardly fair that she should escape her dismal marriage with nothing but the clothes on her back!

Tonight would be the first step, provided she could even get past the door. 

As luck would have it, the mayor himself, Henri Lemieux, came out to verify her claim. "Irene? My dear Mrs. Carson, is it really you?" He asked, all a-fluster. "Let me look at you my dear, let me just…" The man took her by the shoulders, examining her face. "It is you! Mon dieu, Irene, we all thought you had perished! Willie assured us-"

"I am certain he went to great lengths to convince you all of the legitimacy of my death." Irene interrupted him coolly. "However, it would appear that he greatly exaggerated."

"He said you...Irene, my dear, he claimed you committed suicide. He had me thoroughly convinced! But he remarried so quickly, I…" The mayor shook his head in a disapproving manner. "I know more individuals than I alone were skeptical! Oh it is so good to see you again, my dear. Please, you are more than welcome." He offered her his arm, which she took without hesitation. "How have you been, my cheré? Your hair is so short, so fashionable! I see you have been taking cues from our sister city of Paris, ne c'est pas?" 

"Naturellement, my dear sir." Irene replied, offering him a soft smile. "I know I will look somewhat out of place in your party. Please forgive my impropriety, but when the news of Willie's passing reached me...I so longed to see you all again, I could not stay away."

"Nonsense, you have nothing to apologize for!" The mayor scolded her lightly, patting her arm. "You have returned from the dead, our very own Lazarus wreathed in flowers like a Belgian-crafted nymph! You are most welcome at our little fête, dear girl. I daresay, after whatever it was that you went through, you are quite justified in a night of revelry." His heavily-accented voice dipped to a conspiratorial tone, "and you must tell us all about your trials. I am certain you have a grand story indeed!"

"Thank you for your hospitality, my dear Mayor Lemieux. I pray that the road ahead of me is far kinder than the road I have traveled thus far."

…

And here Arthur had thought that them playing lawmen was as foolish as they could get. 

He couldn't even believe some of the stunts Dutch was willing to pull for the sake of networking or contacts. The bunch of them looked like damn circus animals in their tuxedos and white ties, and Bill in particular seemed aggressively uncomfortable. Just getting him to bathe had been a struggle. 

Arthur personally had been downright henpecked by Grimshaw and Tilly, the two of them doing their damnedest to tame his thick, unruly mane with a comb and the vestiges of some pomade. All the while Abigail alternated between telling him he would cause every woman at the ball to swoon and bemoaning his stubble. He had shaved yesterday, damn it, and he wasn't going to shave again!

Lord, they were all fools.

Hosea was the only one who seemed to be even remotely at ease, the elderly man already maneuvering his way to the balcony above the courtyard before Dutch had even managed to find Bronte so they could 'pay their respects'. Bill just followed Hosea like a lost puppy.

Arthur didn't have to understand Italian to know that Senor Bronte was insulting them right out the gate. Neither did Dutch, if the tense smile he gave Angelo while they conversed was any indication. 

Arthur was slightly entertained by the panic that flitted across the waiter's face when the larger man ended up catching his arm to use the match originally lit for Dutch's cigar. Never mind that Arthur had had to cut his own cigar with his damn teeth, he was used to doing that shit. Used to falling by the wayside in the gregarious presence of Dutch Van Der Linde. But he wasn't about to let this stuffed-shirt little cocktail carrier get away with ignoring him scot-free. An uncut cigar he could excuse, but an unlit one? That was sacrilege. 

The courtyard was teeming with people, illuminated by the soft glow from crisscrossing strands of fashionable Edison bulbs. There were so many ornate gowns, elaborate hats and stiff-necked suits, Arthur scarcely knew where to look. "Mingle, Arthur." Dutch ordered in an undertone, giving him a concealed shove from behind. "Steal nothing unless it's information."

Arthur sighed, straightened his white tie with the air of a man set before the gallows, and slowly descended into what reminded him of how educated folks would describe an active volcano. The courtyard was a maelstrom of activity, the dull roar punctuated by the mosquito-esque whine of a string quartet. God, what he would give to be out with Irene in the hills instead, listening to her play the fiddle for the wolves.

He shook his head at himself. Again with this nonsense, thinking about her every time he heard violin music. 

He gritted his teeth and approached a group of women, seizing a bottle of champagne off one of the tables as he went. Arthur Morgan was not a smart man, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that folk were more inclined to think charitably towards you if you brought them alcohol. 

"Ladies, might I offer you some champagne?" Arthur asked, knowing his speech was stilted at best as he tried to choke his drawl down. The trio of women seemed to buy it though, simpering and preening while calling him a gentleman. 

That was a lie, and Lord was it a bold one. Though, looking around at the so-called polite company, Arthur felt less like the villain that he was and more like a sheep that had wandered into a wolf's den. 

Maybe a nest of vipers would be more accurate. 

Either way, the large man wasn't used to feeling like prey. As he made his rounds slowly across the courtyard, complimenting outlandish hats and offering his input on the most recent theatre performances (which he had absolutely no clue about), Arthur experienced the distinct sensation of the noose tightening around his neck yet again. Saint Denis was far too civilized for the likes of the Van Der Linde gang. It was only a matter of time before they were rooted out, sent scampering into the night like the vermin they were or slaughtered without quarter.

Lord, this place made him long for the open country.

He bumped into Hosea and Dutch shortly after he had rescued a rail-thin man from choking to death on some peanuts, the two elders of the gang looking like they were plotting something.

"Figure anythin' out yet?" Arthur asked softly.

"Maybe, Arthur. You see that group of folks over by the fountain? That fellow with the tall top hat is the mayor himself." Dutch pointed the man out, gesturing with his cigar.

"So?" Arthur muttered. 

"So, my dear boy, ingratiating ourselves with the mayor's little band will no doubt do wonders for our credibility." 

"Dutch, if the mayor is already cozy in Bronte's pocket like we are, what's even the damn point?" Arthur queried, trying not to sound as sulky as he felt.

Dutch sighed heavily and Hosea quickly interjected, "it's not necessarily the mayor that's our target, Arthur. Rather, the group of people with him. We are attempting to make as many friends as we can, if you recall."

The large man nodded. "Shoah, I guess. You want me to mosey over and...what was the word? Ingrate myself?"

"Ingratiate Arthur, dear Lord." Dutch huffed.

"Right, yeah. Usual fake name?"

"Of course, my dear boy!" Hosea replied brightly, smiling and patting him on the back. "You may have some luck with the woman he has alongside him. From what I can gather, she's stolen the show a bit. The Widow Carson, back from the dead!" He chuckled, oblivious to the way Arthur froze. "Apparently she's returned to attempt to claim her deceased husband's money. Some nasty business, for certain."

"See if you can get into her good graces, Arthur. A wealthy benefactor could do the gang wonders." Dutch instructed absently, already back to scanning the crowds. 

"Her good--Dutch what the hell are you sayin'?!" Arthur hissed, his stomach knotting as a nasty sense of comprehension slowly dawned on him.

"Oh go on Arthur, just pour on the charm! I know you can do it." Hosea encouraged, misinterpreting the source of Arthur's discomfort. The older man gave him a gentle nudge and Arthur found himself sent on his way.

A wealthy benefactor. Was it Irene? Was Irene really here? More importantly, was Arthur shameless enough to accomplish what Dutch had requested of him?

A wealthy benefactor. His skin crawled and Arthur suddenly felt disgusting as he realized that, were it not for his suspicion that the Widow Carson was indeed Irene, he would not have any sort of particular qualms about being asked to do something like this.

Is it Irene? All he could see from his current position was Mayor Lemieux's top hat. He loitered beside a garish floral arrangement for a few moments, trying his best to get himself under control. He was Arthur Morgan, the enforcer of the Van Der Linde gang for fuck's sake! He had survived countless trials before this, surely he could manage speaking to a woman at a party!

Arthur growled under his breath, clenched his fists, and slowly approached the group by the fountain.

"-cheré, you must continue with your story! Ferdinand, stop interrupting, I beg of you!" The mayor was chiding one of the other men standing there, his voice luxuriantly heavy with a French accent. 

The other man, whose complexion was bright red (whether from drink or passion, Arthur could not yet discern), scoffed at the mayor. "Her tale is rife with inaccuracies, Henri! We knew Willie, he would never-"

"Unless you too visited him in his bedchambers, Ferdinand, I suggest you keep your observations to yourself."

Irene. Oh Lord, Irene, flowers woven into her hair like she was a damn forest spirit out of those old Greek tragedies. It was like time had stopped for Arthur as he took in every detail. God, he was startled all over again by just how much he had missed her. She was in that dress, the one she had worn in Valentine. But wonder of all wonders, she appeared to be fully-laced this evening. Arthur swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away from the shapely curve of her hips. The way her corset held and molded her body into something devastating, a weapon normally concealed from him by men's clothing…

Well, he was a red-blooded American. Unfortunately right now, he had to try his damnedest to temper that particular truth about his nature.

"It ain't complex, Lemieux, and only an idiot like you, buddy, would try to make it so!" Ferdinand continued over what Irene had been saying, sloshing the liquor in his glass dangerously close to that beautiful dress. Irene's brown eyes were fairly crackling with restrained fury, color high in her cheeks as she endured being near this loathsome character. She looked magnificent. Arthur wished he could kiss her, right then and there.

"I will not deny idiocy sir, but perhaps now is not the time." The mayor tried to settle Ferdinand down by placating him, however the outspoken man didn't seem to get the hint.

"Typical pansy!"

"You are drunk, Ferdinand." Lemieux stated disapprovingly.

"I'm not drunk, you fool...but this man! This man loves damsels-"

"Ferdinand, your behavior is becoming unseemly." Irene said through clenched teeth. Arthur had a nasty feeling that he knew exactly what Ferdinand had been about to say before Irene cut him off. "Not to mention utterly irrelevant to the topic at hand. Must you constantly inflict your heinous presence upon polite company?"

"Hey hey, you are pretty drunk." Arthur chose that moment to intervene, draping his arm nonchalantly around the belligerent man's shoulders and pinning Ferdinand's arm behind his back after a momentary adjustment. "What's say you and me cool off?" He 'suggested' cheerily, strong-arming the drunkenly-protesting Ferdinand off to the gazebo at the rear of the courtyard. Giving the man a rough shove, Arthur stated (much more rationally than he felt like being at the moment), "sit down and calm down. Count to a thousand. Then, you can rejoin the party."

...

"Thank you sir!" Henri said sincerely, shaking Arthur's hand upon his triumphant return sans one loudmouth. 

"My pleasure." The tawny-haired man replied with a boyish grin. Lord, if she had thought he looked dashing before-! Irene was tempted to feign a swoon. Arthur had clearly been blessed by a trip to the tailor, of that much she was certain. The black suit coat accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist in equal measure, leaving him imposingly proportionate in a way that was incredibly tasteful. She was sorely pressed to keep her eyes from wandering, realizing vaguely that Henri was introducing himself.

"Henri Lemieux. I hope you are enjoying my party?"

"The mayor!" Arthur said with an air of surprise, as if he had not known. Irene didn't buy it for a second. Though she was grateful for his timely arrival, she had to wonder why he was here. Did Arthur Morgan have friends in high places?

"Allegedly!" Henri replied with a modest chuckle. "And you are?" 

"Tacitus Killgore, at your service." Irene blinked. That was unexpected. What an elaborate fake name, but he said it so confidently! "This is quite a place you've got here." Arthur continued the conversation, his drawl a touch off. Like he was deliberately attempting to soften it.

"It's not mine, and the city is horribly in debt, but we still can put on a good show." Henri gestured after a moment to the man on his right. "Do you know Evelyn Miller, Monsieur Killgore?"

"My Lord. The writer?" Arthur appeared legitimately awed now, shaking Mr. Miller's hand. Irene could understand that awe, Miller was a revered and respected author amongst the folk in the untamed wilderness of the new States. She herself had been simply soaking up the man's educated palaver like a sponge until Henri urged her to begin sharing her trials.

"Ah, and of course! Our unexpected but most welcome guest, Madame the Widow Irene Carson." Henri introduced her with an elaborate flourish of his hand, making her laugh. "She has been regaling us with the exciting tale of her return to life! It is fascinating to hear."

"Enchanté, Mister Killgore." Irene said, smiling and offering Arthur a quick curtsy. Again, out of fashion, and a bit difficult with the added restriction of her corset, but the quaint gesture had always been preferable to a nod as far as she was concerned. If only that bath girl hadn't been so thorough in lacing her!

Arthur bowed, took her hand and touched it to his lips chastely. "The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Carson." Her murmured, blue eyes boring into her own. Irene suddenly felt incredibly warm, despite her no-doubt constricted blood flow. "A return to life, you said? Have you been travelin' abroad then, ma'am?"

"Oh no sir, I'm afraid it's been nothing quite so delightful as that." Irene demurred. "Rather trying, in all honesty."

"Truly, it is a sordid affair. Her own husband, claiming she had perished!" Henri shook his head, looking appropriately distraught. "Ghastly. Then, Willie marrying that other woman so fast, and her turning out to be a murderer...well, it is like something from a cheap novel!"

"How awful that experience must have been for you, my lady." Arthur said softly. "Might I listen to the rest of the story, or are you weary of tellin' such a tale?"

"I'm afraid there is not overmuch left to tell, Mister Killg-"

"Please, ma'am, call me Tacitus." He insisted, his eyes bright with their secret joke. 

Irene couldn't help her smile in reply. "Of course, Tacitus. But as I was saying, there is not much to tell. I have spent most of my exile cowering in a cabin out in the mountains, shivering to death or roasting alive." She had tried so very hard to dumb down the tale, doing her best to make it seem like she was still the frail and fragile Mrs. Carson.

"It sounds like you have endured quite a bit of hardship, ma'am." Arthur's lips quirked upwards at the corner, his smile faint but still there. "It's a miracle you managed to survive! A delicate li'l thing like you, all alone out there in that dangerous wilderness." His voice dipped low enough to make her shiver. "Especially with such...reprehensible folk about these days."

Like me, his gaze seemed to say, the heat in that look reminding Irene of when he had kissed her at the stables.

"Exactly what I said, Monsieur Tacitus! Irene, you were so rash! I know that you believed you had no recourse, and I must apologize for my own complacency regarding Willie's abhorrent behavior, but surely there was another way!" The mayor scolded her.

"I am so very sorry, Henri. Next time I am kept prisoner in my own house, I'll be certain to send you a messenger pigeon." Irene retorted wryly, making Henri sputter as Arthur outright laughed. Ah, that laugh! She would have gladly borne her troubles in silence had she known such a delightful sound would someday grace her ears.

Irene was struck anew by the providence of her whole situation while she watched Arthur do his best to play at high society. She had not often been afforded the privilege to observe him, instead of the other way around. His blue eyes caught the amber light quite marvelously, his jaw shaded with stubborn stubble that gave him just the tiniest hint of wildness, of untamed danger. Enough to make him appealing to many of the women present. Irene wasn't sure if she should be flattered or concerned about the amount of time he was spending with the mayor and, by proxy, herself. 

She was growing increasingly lightheaded from the squeeze of her corset and was just about to ask Henri if she could impose upon his hospitality for a brief reprieve to adjust herself when abruptly, the butler approached to inform Mayor Lemieux that he had another phone call from the tycoon, Leviticus Cornwall. 

Henri waved the man off as fireworks began to erupt overhead. Irene, noting how Arthur watched the butler depart a touch more narrowly than one might in polite company, dared to place a hand on his arm. "Tacitus, my dear, you play your cards too openly." She whispered, her words making Arthur grimace. "May I ask you to escort me upstairs? I fear all this excitement has me feeling a bit short of breath."

…

"Tacitus-" Irene gasped his fake moniker at the top of the stairs, groping the wall for some kind of support. "I realize this is very forward of me, but I must beg for your assistance in loosening these damned--" She paused for air. "Lord, I fear I will swoon. This is so tight-"

"Okay, easy now." Arthur murmured, privately marveling at how large his hands looked on her cinched waist when he steadied her. "I gotcha', Irene. It's alright." 

She didn't appear to be exaggerating for his sake. The walk up the stairs had nearly done her in, it would seem. She was incredibly pale, and trembling slightly. He had assumed that she was just playing along for whatever reason, the two of them stalking the butler for fun or profit, but it was evident now that she had no such ulterior motives.

Arthur picked a door at random, immensely thankful that the room behind it was a parlour of sorts. Irene all but collapsed on the chaise, her fingers clumsy with the tiny buttons that ran the length of the front of her dress. Arthur rushed to assist after he made certain to lock the door, feeling a little frantic at the way Irene was wheezing for air.

"You're okay, you're okay, we'll get you loosened up." He tried to calm her (and himself), working on the next button in the line. "Front or back lacing, Irene?"

"Back." Her voice had gone pitchy. "I--she laced me very well."

"I know, shh, gimme' a minute." Arthur soothed, willing himself to relax. This wasn't any sort of terrible scenario, this was mundane compared to how his life usually was! How the hell was it that his hands were shaking more over getting a woman undressed than being shot at by the law?!

The two of them managed to peel the dress down over her shoulders far enough to let Arthur maneuver his hands in between her chemise and corset to loosen her laces. Slowly, carefully, he worked his way down, gradually slacking the binds. He didn't want to just undo the whole damn thing, that would leave her to endure the remainder of the party with her bosom unfettered and as appealing as that was to him, he knew that the gentry would tear her apart for it. 

"Any better?" He asked after a moment, relieved when she nodded. 

Then, "I didn't think you would actually help me." She admitted softly, holding her dress closed in the front. Arthur was stunned. "I assumed you were going to follow his retainer." Irene turned to look at him after a moment. "Why are you here, Arthur?"

Lord, he felt like a sinner on Judgement Day. Pinned by the weight of an angel's stare, all he could do was try to tell her the truth. "My...associates and I are...well, we need leads, Miss Irene. Senor Bronte, in exchange for our...services, cut us a deal for invitations to this ball. And uh, I suppose that's it." He said awkwardly. "I didn't expect you to be here, I figured you'd have headed for the Grizzlies by now."

Irene shrugged. "I thought long and hard about what you said during our last meeting. Me not taking everything that wasn't nailed down, that is." She squared her shoulders stiffly, trying to straighten her dress out. "I decided it was time to take back what's rightfully mine, propriety be damned."

Arthur put his hands on her shoulders, slipping the dress back down to reveal bare, freckled skin. He breathed her name, ducking his head to drop a kiss on the nape of her neck and feeling her shiver. His next words caught in his throat. How could he do something like that to her? 

A wealthy benefactor, Dutch had said, like it was an afterthought. Like she wasn't a person, but a resource. A tool.

Because that was all she would be to Dutch, Arthur realized grimly. A silly woman for them to string along, someone with deep pockets and a trusting heart. She wasn't Irene to Dutch or Hosea, she was the Widow Carson. A naive young widow, beautiful and lonely and (possibly) about to come into some significant money. The perfect target for a good old-fashioned seduction.

Lord, he had almost preferred feeling like prey earlier to this sudden cold understanding of how his companions (and even he himself, to a lesser degree) saw people like Irene. 

"You look beautiful tonight, Irene." He murmured instead. 

"Don't tease me, Arthur." Irene retorted sharply. "I am an utter mess. I look like a child playing dress up amongst all the immaculate gowns down there." She then sniffled, the noise almost too soft for him to hear. "I very nearly fainted dead away because I haven't worn one of these blasted things in almost a year! What kind of proper lady can't even endure the simplest of corsets?" 

"The kind that doesn't need one to turn every damn head in the room." Arthur said gruffly, a hand beneath her chin tilting her head back so he could see her face. Her brown eyes shone with frustrated tears. "You're beautiful, woman. Why the hell don't you believe it?"

"A majority of my marriage was punctuated by people who felt the need to inform me that I was attractive 'for my age', Arthur. I'm old, I'm nearly thirty. No man wants a wife that old. My father was hard-pressed to marry me off when I was twenty-four, can you even imagine what folk might say to a man who would court me in my thirties?" Irene shook her head despondently. "I...I don't know what I'm doing, Arthur." She confessed suddenly. "I am terrified. If I put effort into taking whatever might be left and it turns out to all be for naught, I don't know what I'll do!" Her hands twisted in her skirts. "I'll be back to where I was before." 

Arthur wasn't certain he understood what the issue was. She had seemed happy out in the wilderness. Hell, she had insisted upon her happiness. What had brought on this change, this desire for stability and financial security? He was thoroughly confused. "I don't know what to tell you, Irene." He said finally. 

"I know, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even brought it up." Irene apologized. "It's hardly your concern, Mister Tacitus." She tried to tease, daubing at her eyes with her sleeve and then starting to button her dress back up. "Just the worries of a silly woman whose age is catching up with her, I suppose."

Arthur caught her wrist to stop her, pressing a kiss to the inside of it like he had done so many times before. Her pulse tripped and hammered beneath his lips, galloping wildly. "Irene, you are beautiful." He sighed, his fingertips grazing her exposed collarbone when he palmed her shoulders from behind. "Everyone down there knows it. I know it. You could have your pick of fellers downstairs if that's what you're so worried about."

"It's such a fleeting thing, Arthur." She whispered. "When it is gone, if I cannot reclaim any of Willie's estate...I'll have nothing and no one."

Arthur wanted to die. He wanted to grab her shoulders and embrace her and say you'll have me, God damn it! But he knew he couldn't promise her that, as much as he wanted to. Hell, getting truly involved with him would no doubt cut her life short. That fear was what kept him from speaking, no matter how badly he wished to assure her. Even after the tender moments they had spent together in the wilds, now, when it would have made a difference, he was unable to offer any sort of meaningful comfort. 

Arthur closed his eyes, cursing himself roundly. "You don't mean that, Irene. The mayor seems-"

"Henri was perfectly willing to overlook my abuse when Willie was funding his campaign. All of them down there were complacent." Irene interjected, her tone one of barely-bridled fury. "Politicians and the elite are of no use to me, Arthur, for I am of no use to them."

Fair enough, Arthur mused. "So what are you gonna' do, then?"

"I'm going to try and bring my case to the attention of the courts. Willie was an only child, which is the sole reason I may still have a chance to receive something for my trouble." Irene's shoulders slumped and Arthur dug his fingers in, silently working out a few of the knots she seemed to have created in her muscles. 

"I hope it goes accordin' to plan for you, then." He said finally. 

"As do I." Irene took his hand, leading him around to the front of the chaise. "I have missed you, Arthur Morgan." She said simply. Sweet and honest. 

He was a fool.

Arthur felt like cheap gold leaf as he greedily buried his hands in her hair, sending one of the vanilla blossoms tumbling to the floor when he did. He felt like a veneer of class spread thin on his thieving bones, he felt like a liar. This vision of a woman, this divine being who trusted him so readily...

This time would be the last. It would have to be. If Dutch found him out, if his pre-established closeness to the Widow Carson was discovered, Arthur knew that Dutch would tell him to bleed her dry.

And Arthur, the kind, loyal man that he was, would do it. Because loyalty was everything.

…

Arthur was troubled. Even through her own worries, Irene could see that. She threaded her fingers through the shaggy locks at the nape of his neck, whispering his name. "What's wrong, Arthur?"

"I...I can't keep doin' this, Irene." He confessed, those blue eyes stormy with emotion. "I can't keep draggin' you down with me. You deserve so much more than a man who you don't really know, a man who's here an' gone again. It ain't right."

"I don't much care what I deserve, Arthur Morgan." Irene said tartly. "If you want me, I am here. You have yet to cause me harm in any of our endeavors, which is more than I can say for my prior partner." She tugged at the back of his neck, bringing their foreheads together. "If you want me, Arthur, I am here."

"Irene," he grated out, cupping her face, "I'm a bad man. I've done a whole heap of turrible things. I ain't the kind of man that you should be lettin' anywhere near you."

"And despite all of that, I'm beneath you on a chaise in the mayor's upstairs drawing room." Irene replied dryly. "Honestly Arthur, I thought you knew by now that my intuition is quite dreadful."

"Irene-" 

"You are remarkably poor at displaying any sort of reluctance, Mister Arthur." It felt like icy fingers were creeping their way down her spine. Had he finally decided that whatever they were, it wasn't worth his time? She could hardly blame him, of course! She was a currently-penniless widow. She had offered herself freely in the past; he owed her nothing, just as she owed him nothing.

"Because I ain't reluctant!" Arthur exclaimed. "I'm...Christ, Irene, I want this. I want you, so much that it hurts. But the life I lead ain't got a chance in it for a happy, fairytale endin' where I get to live out my days in peace. I have people I need to take care of, and you have a life of your own to finally start livin'." He stated firmly. "So for both our sakes, we can't...continue."

"At the very least," Irene begged, her thumbs stroking the familiar scar on his chin while she peppered his face with light pecks, "may we still be friends, Arthur?"

"Irene…" Arthur breathed, tilting his face to the side and kissing her until she was dizzy. "You've given me so damn much, woman. Given me hope, and beauty, and music. My friendship ain't worth spit compared to what you've done for me."

Irene shook her head, blinking back her tears. "I'm the one that ought to be saying that, Mister Arthur!" She protested. "I wish there was more I could do to repay the kindness you've shown me."

"Miss Irene, all the payment I ask for is that you go and live your life to the fullest extent. Take tenfold from that son of a bitch what he took from you." Arthur swept back some of the curls on her forehead, the gesture achingly tender. "Do that, and you'll be paid up, alright?" He murmured.

Irene took his hand and kissed his knuckles, feeling the pronounced lines of old abrasions on the skin when she did. "Don't give up, Arthur. There is someone out there who will be worth it to you." She told him, her voice trembling a bit as she struggled to get the words out. "Someone who will see you for how kind and loyal you are and instead of taking advantage of it, they'll cherish it. Guard you close to their heart like a jealous little secret." Her smile was tentative, "that's what I would do, anyway."

Arthur cursed under his breath, shoving his thigh gracelessly between her legs. "Irene." He said her name and it was an oath, a prayer. Whether for himself or for her, she couldn't say. 

"Yes, Arthur?" Irene replied softly. 

"If you hear about me in the future, if…" he hesitated, clearing his throat as he drew his index finger studiously down the side of her face. "If somethin' happens, don't pay it any mind, alright? Remember me just like this. All gussied up in this frippery, lookin' like the world's most uncomfortable trained bear." He tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow. "Can you do that for me? Please?"

"As long as you remember me like I was in the wilds." Irene was pleased when he smiled. "All filthy, with twigs in my hair."

"The Irene of my dreams has always been the one from the wilderness." Arthur confessed quietly. "This is lovely, don't get me wrong." He continued, giving her skirts a playful tweak. "But you out in the forests, playin' your violin for the wolves an' howlin' at the moon...that's the Irene I think about." The man cleared his throat again after a moment, looking away. "Now, let's get you put to rights. Buttoned up and all that. I figure it'll be best if I go back first. Hopefully folk won't be too suspicious. Shit, I don't even know how long we been gone for." He swore, grumbling a little as he struggled to help her with the tiny buttons on her dress.

Irene giggled, feeling a bit hysterical. "Oh heavens, what they will think of me! My husband hardly cold in the ground and now I'm enjoying an absolutely scandalous rendezvous with a handsome stranger. I'll be the talk of Saint Denis for weeks!"

"Woman, if you don't quit your funnin'..." Arthur huffed, a wry grin pulling at his mouth seemingly in spite of himself. 

Irene rubbed her forehead against his own, smiling a bit wistfully. "Shall I ever see you again, Mister Arthur?"

"For your sake, I sure as hell hope not." Arthur replied bluntly. "Bad luck seems to follow the folks I hang around with."

…

He hadn't entirely lied. He did leave ahead of her. However, he didn't return to the party immediately. 

Instead, Arthur ducked into the study he had seen that butler enter when he and Irene were making their way up the stairs. A few minutes of pointed rummaging and a jimmied lock on the desk drawer later, Arthur Morgan (or rather, Tacitus Killgore) was the proud owner of various interesting, incriminating documentation. Leviticus Cornwall. Arthur barely resisted the urge to spit on command when he so much as thought the man's name. 

Footsteps passed by the door and he froze, pressing himself back against the bookcases until whoever it was had descended down the stairs. 

Hopefully, this information would please Dutch to the point where he would forget about Widow Carson. Arthur just wished that he could forget about Widow Carson. Irene. 

Maybe...maybe if she was still in the drawing room, he could explain. Maybe there was still time. It would be dangerous, of course, but she deserved the truth. She deserved to know why he couldn't promise her anything aside from a life of fear and misery. Shit, at the very least she deserved to know why he was cutting her loose!

Arthur left the study and retraced his steps to the drawing room, his heart in his throat and her name on the tip of his tongue. Irene--

But she was gone. 

The chaise was vacant, lonely in the cluttered room. Through the open French doors to the balcony, the sounds of the party below filtered in like something from another world. He stalled in the doorway for a moment, uncertain of what to do. An object on the floor by the chaise caught his attention and Arthur stepped forward. 

It was one of the vanilla flowers from her hair, the blossom sitting forlorn and abandoned next to the leg of the chaise. He scooped it up with all the care someone like him could muster, tenderly examining the fragile, bruised petals. Then, Arthur slipped it into the pocket of his suit coat.

Much, much later that evening (technically the next damn morning), when he was bedding down at Shady Belle, he delicately extracted the worn flower and proceeded to tuck it between two blank pages of his journal.

Irene, he wrote at the very bottom of the page, and then, in another life, if I was a better man, we could have been so happy together. Instead, I have to push you away to keep you -safe-.

What a fool I am.

The following page bore a loose, flowing sketch of her on the chaise, staring up at him while she clutched the front of her gown closed at her chest. The fierce look on her face that he had tried valiantly to capture on paper didn't hold a candle to the real thing. Irene Craft, he wrote, then scribbled out her name and instead put, -Politicians and the elite are of no use to me, Arthur, for I am of no use to them.-

Mayor Onry Lemieux's party.

Winter’s Cold: Part One

[onthepageoftears]

Hold Them Closer ~ Ch.2 [Jaskier x assassin!reader] || Witcher

A/N: I think a lottt of you are going to enjoy this chapter ;))) this also fulfills one @thewitcherbingo​ square ;)

Your comments and feedback are always encouraged and mean a lot to me!

Bingo Square Filled: Bed Sharing

Summary: Satisfaction only happens if you take the leap.

Warnings: mentions of blood, death/killing, insecurity, fluff, angst, big finish ;)

Words: 1,881

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

You and Jaskier were back to the small village much later than you expected. The walk back wasn’t long, but the two of you had lost track of time training and, to your disapproval, sitting around. In the end, you let it happen because Jaskier needed breaks; in reality, you enjoyed sitting with Jaskier and talking about who knows what — but you wouldn’t admit that. Well, you didn’t have to, because Jaskier teased you about it any chance he could. Either way, it was relatively late when you arrived at the inn, the two of you nearly breathless from carrying all of your supplies.

Of course, that didn’t stop Jaskier from talking.

“Well, I think it should be obvious that the groin area is off-limits.”

“Of course.” You pushed through the door to the inn, only half listening. The two of you didn’t make it halfway through the main floor before a voice sounded beside you.

“Hey, you.”

You practically felt the hair on your neck stand up, fearing the worst. Did someone find out what happened at the guild? Was someone there to kill you? To finish the job that you and the guild left behind?

All these questions fumbled in your brain as you turned towards the owner of the inn, who stood tall behind the bar.

You walked over, feeling Jaskier just behind you, “Is something wrong?”

The owner was barely phased by the tone of your voice, “You could call it that.” He flung his towel over his shoulder, “Your room. I had to give it to someone else.”

Jaskier stepped out from beside you, “What? Who?”

“Someone who was willing to pay the normal price.”

You groaned, “You couldn’t have given us a warning?”

“Maybe a day before you kicked us out onto the street?”

“Hold your horses. I’m not kicking you out, I moved you to another room.” You and Jaskier deflated as the owner fumbled in his pocket, “Here’s the key. This room’s actually worth the price you’re paying.”

Jaskier took the key in his free hand, “Great. Fantastic. Thank you, really.”

As you and Jaskier made your way to your new room, your mind wandered to Geralt. You hoped he would be getting back soon. After the three of you left Novigrad, he went off to do some jobs and earn some more coin, leaving you and Jaskier to hole up in this village. You would go off to do jobs as well if it weren’t for Jaskier; knowing him, he’d just want to come along, and you couldn’t afford him getting hurt. So, you relied on him playing his music for the townsfolk and hoped it would be enough to get you by. It was, but it came with some sacrifices. Unless he got a big gig soon, the two of you might have to camp in the woods and wait for Geralt.

Jaskier hummed pleasantly as he opened the door to your new room, “This isn’t so bad.”

You peeked over his shoulder with a nod — it really wasn’t. It was almost identical to the last one, just smaller. There was a table, dresser, same window view, and it was even on the same floor as before. As you dropped all of the equipment you were holding, you noticed one problem.

“I’ll take the floor,” you said before you could stop yourself. Jaskier frowned, letting his eyes fall on the one bed in the room.

“Nonsense.”

You clicked your tongue, “Well, you aren’t sleeping on the floor.”

“Neither are you.”

Your eyes narrowed at the bard in front of you, “Jaskier.”

“What? It’s big enough for both of us.” He scoffed, a teasing tone lacing in his voice,“And you thought I was dramatic.”

You let your mouth fall open for a moment before slamming it closed. Maybe you were being dramatic. It was a full-sized bed, and there was definitely enough space. But the pounding in your chest made your annoyance stronger as you unpacked some of your weapons and placed them on the single table in the room.

—

It was late. Really late. The sky was full of stars and the moon was shining brightly through the window of your shared room, but still, you couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t just Jaskier’s body beside you, close enough to hear his breathing as he, unlike yourself, fell into a peaceful sleep. It was the way your mind just couldn’t rest, thoughts flicking through your head like someone kept slapping you across the face.

You sat up against the headboard and played with one of your knives as you tried to calm your nerves. Still, this wasn’t really new to you. Especially in the last few nights, falling asleep was getting harder and harder. During the days, Jaskier was there to distract you; he made you laugh, groan, sigh, roll your eyes harder than you ever had in your life. But at night, you were left alone. In your thoughts. With no one to help you through them.

To be blunt, it sucked. You didn’t want to think about Rauf, or Joneta, or the guild. You wanted it to be over with. You wanted to forget about it. But you couldn’t. The blood on your hands, the knife in his heart, the bodies on the ground — it wasn’t going away. And it might never go away, at this rate.

You closed your eyes, letting the knife seamlessly shift between your fingers. The rhythm helped you breathe, helped you steady your heartbeat. As you focused on the rhythm, you thought of your mother.

You should have been thankful that your memories of her were all good. Her smile. Her singing. Her baking. Her scent. It was warm, flowery. In that moment, you thought you could smell it. It felt like you were laying in bed, waking up to her hug before she gave you breakfast.

“What are you thinking about?”

You nearly jabbed yourself with your knife at his voice, ripping your eyes open as you turned your head; Jaskier was still laying beside you, only now his eyes were open, looking at you.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” you said dumbly, still slightly surprised that he was this comfortable being close to you.

“You’re pretty fidgety. It’s hard to get sleep.”

You snorted at his jab, but turned away.

Jaskier sat up beside you, his eyes lingering on the side of your face, “What’s wrong? Really.”

You sighed and bit your lip. Jaskier could make you say so much without wanting to. You were so used to holding in your thoughts, to only speaking when you really had to, but with him…once he asked you something, all you wanted to do was spill your guts for him. It was dangerous, but you loved it.

“I was…thinking about Rauf.”

Jaskier nodded, “Your uncle.”

“Yeah.” You licked your lips, “But not just him. What he said before—” I killed him. Your eyes shifted to the man beside you, not being able to say the words aloud. Jaskier only nodded again, this time encouraging you to continue. “He mentioned my mother.”

“What about her?”

“He said…he said that my father didn’t kill her. That everything he told me about my childhood was a lie.” You felt the anger bubble in your chest, but pushed it back down. Keeping your voice steady, you continued, “He killed my father because he wanted to take me and my mother away. But when my mother said no, he left her and took me instead.”

Jaskier reached forward, placing a hand on your arm, “Y/N—“

“It’s not that.” You shook your head, “I just…she must still be out there. If he left her alive…she could have died somehow after, but—“

“You won’t know if you don’t try to find her.” You nodded, turning to Jaskier with glassy eyes. Even in the darkness, you could see the understanding in his expression. It amazed you how well he knew you in the relatively short amount of time you knew him.

Insecurity engulfed you for a moment, and you let it. Tears welled at the corners of your eyes as you looked back at him, “If she is alive…what if she doesn’t want to see me? What if she…what if she forgot about me?”

“No one could forget about you.”

His sincerity made you scoff, “You’d be surprised.”

You only realized the impact of your words when Jaskier’s hand left your arm, his eyes slightly dejected in the darkness.

Turning away from Jaskier, you shifted your body and stepped out of bed, feeling his gaze on you as you did so. You walked over to the table, placing your knife on it before putting your hands on the chair beside it as you closed your eyes. You couldn’t help the pain rising in your chest at the memories — Jaskier getting stabbed, his blood everywhere, coating your skin — and then the kiss.

“I remember, you know.”

Your stomach dropped at the sound of his voice. “What?”

The bed squeaked as he got out of it; his voice was soft as he walked towards you, “When I was stabbed. When we…I remember.”

When you turned around, he was right there in front of you, his eyes swarming with something that made your stomach churn. It was a want, a need, for something you couldn’t even imagine. His eyes immediately fell on your lips, which were parted slightly in surprise. Could this be real? Could he be serious? How could he remember?

But at this point, you didn’t really care. You opened your mouth wider as if you were going to say something, but the words died on your tongue. Because Jaskier was right in front of you, and he was reaching forward, placing a hand on the side of your face, and from that point, you lost any thought that was screaming at you to stop.

You gripped the hand he held on your face and used it to pull yourself towards him, finally feeling the pressure of his lips against your own, the feeling you had been reminiscing for who knows how long. But this time, the kiss didn’t fill you with that mix of sadness and desperation — this time, it was desperation and….satisfaction. Pleasure. Contentment. Any word that explained just how long you had been waiting for this to happen, though you rarely admitted it to yourself.

Jaskier’s hand found your waist, his fingers gripping into your undershirt like he would never let go — and you didn’t want him to. Your mind whirled with incoherent thoughts as the kiss deepened, your fingers scratching into his scalp as you breathed in through your nose, bending your back slightly as Jaskier pulled your body into his.

When you both came up for air, a small laugh escaped your lips, disbelief and relief rolling off of you as you kept your fingers wrapped in his hair.

The words you spoke were the first ones that came to your mind, the first words you were able to speak after your heart finally slowed to its normal rate, “I have to find my mom.”

Jaskier smiled, delicately dragging his thumb across your cheek, “Okay.”

———————————————————————————————————

THEY FINALLY DID IT!!! Can you believe it?? Did it live up to your expectations?? Let me know!

[genderbinaryisforlosers]

They Ask You to Stay [Doctor Who]

Alternate ending of It Takes You Away based on my very self-indulgent hopes and dreams. The Solitract attempts to coax the Doctor into staying with echoes from the past.

“You can stop being Trine, now. Now, please – this universe is going critical.” The Doctor leaned on the wall for balance as the house quaked. “If it blows, it’ll take out the anti-zone and my universe with it – you’ll destroy everything you’re trying to connect with.”

The Solitract held her gaze, and bright white light streamed in through the window. She was blinded, and the tremoring stopped, giving way to a dreamy wave of calm. For a moment before her vision returned to her, she feared that she had been cast into Limbo or the Void, trapped in the space between universes.

She was in a long, soft white corridor, supported by triangular beams. Not quite Limbo, then; more like a blank canvas. The interface had disappeared – she was alone. With her itchy foot getting the best of her as always, she chose a direction and walked.

“Hello?” she called hopefully.

Ahead of her was a white mist that backed away as she walked to reveal no more than she had left behind. The Solitract had to be all around her. What was it doing? Why wouldn’t it answer her?

The Doctor had no sooner started to wonder if the silhouette she could make out was a trick of her eyesight than it spoke to her: “Hellooo? Who’s that?”

Her hearts skipped, and her footsteps stopped. No.

“Bill?”

“Doctor, is that you?” She had glee written all over her face, that beautiful confused smile that had caught their attention a lifetime ago. “Mate! Looking so good.”

She extended her arms for a hug, but the Doctor didn’t move any closer. She didn’t know what look she had on her face, but Bill, reading it, dropped her arms and her smile. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Don’t do this. Please. Stop it, I know you aren’t real.”

She frowned and scrunched her mouth up as her eyes moved to the A-frame above their heads. Her puzzle-solving face. “Welll… I feel real. I think I’m real. That means I’m real, right?” She cracked another smile as she looked at the Doctor again. “Metaphysics week.”

The Doctor couldn’t bring herself to repeat what she’d said. Here was Bill, looking at her like she’d always looked at them, being funny and smart and confident. But she wasn’t real. Here she was again, an after-image trapped in glass.

“When did you become such a sceptic?” asked a disapproving voice, and the Doctor whipped around. Missy had her feet propped up on a stool as she sat in an armchair, reading a book. She didn’t look up as she spoke. “All that ‘hope’ and ‘possibility’ nonsense, what happened to that? Honestly. What is it like when I’m not here making your life worth living?”

“When did you get here?” Bill said.

Missy looked up with a convincing display of surprise, as if she hadn’t noticed she was there. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m sure it’s all very heartfelt, carry on.” She licked her finger and turned the page of her book.

The Doctor felt a sensation like static in her hands, and when she looked at them, they were aberrating, like a glitch on a computer screen. “You’re still not in control of this reality.”

“You’re wrong,” said Missy and Bill at the same time. Just mouthpieces for the Solitract, she reminded herself. Don’t get caught up in it. “We control everything here.” They still sounded like themselves. She expected them to sound possessed or puppeteers, but instead it sounded like they had had a rare moment of simultaneous agreement.

“So you can see that this world is still unstable. Me being here is going to kill us both. This can’t work, no matter how much you want it to.” The Solitract was well-intentioned, but it was lonely. It wanted connection at the expense of everything and everyone around it. It had to see that.

She felt a hand on her arm and turned, expecting to see Bill – but a different familiar smile took her breath away instead. “Sweetie,” River said, “it’s alright. The Solitract can cope with one person, you said so yourself.”

Maybe she – it, the Solitract – was right. It could just be an adjustment period, recalibrating after losing Erik and gaining the Doctor. There had to be a difference in volume – it could just be compensating. Still cautious, but optimistic, she nodded.

River smiled wider and let her hands slide down the Doctor’s arms so that their fingers could link. “Let’s go see the stars.”

She took an apprehensive breath and kissed River’s hand, unable to look her in the eye. “I’ve already said goodbye to these people. These are only… echoes. They’re not real. Please let them go.”

Her wife smiled sadly. She returned the kiss onto her hand, and then evaporated into stardust. Behind her, Bill did the same with a small wave, and as she turned, she caught Missy blowing her a kiss before she disappeared too.

The Doctor let herself imagine the particles of light settling back into her hearts, where they belonged. Where they would always be real to her.

She carried on down the passage, surrounded again by white mist, until she made out another silhouette, and despite herself, she felt a flood of relief. The old design was more geometric, with more conventional controls, but she was unmistakable as always – home. The very first version, before they’d worked out how to change the theme, before they’d found all the rustic charms (as Susan liked to say) of an antique TARDIS.

She ran a hand over the rim of the console and remembered how she’d felt. The universe at her fingertips, and…

“What is it like out there, Grandfather?” Susan asked from across the console.

“Susan,” she said dumbly, more of a reaction than a statement.

The girl had a childlike wonder about her, eager for adventure. She remembered how they’d spun it, all that time ago. Running away to see the stars was Romantic with a capital-R, the kind of whimsical and mysterious and reckless adventure that all young people craved.

They wouldn’t think about being cast out. They wouldn’t think about fleeing with their lives, just barely. This was a road trip – the biggest and most fantastical road trip in the history and the future of road trips.

“Tell me about the universe,” she begged.

Lost for words, the Doctor found herself smiling. “You think words can do it justice? It’s really big… and incredibly beautiful.”

“So show it to me,” she said, looking at the console as if to press forward into the unknown, but seeming unsure how. “Show me all the wonders of your universe.”

She thought about the little house in the fjord in Norway, where one man and his wife lived. Such a little world to work with. She considered the vastness of time and space, the blazes of suns and winds of nebulae, and then, of course…

The people. Complex, beautiful people, who were never ever small or insignificant. Each one a masterpiece worthy of their own canvas. She remembered the way the Solitract had started to collapse when it was dealing with all of them at once. Trying to compensate around all their hopes and dreams, their pitfalls and weaknesses, had made it crash.

This wasn’t going to work.

“I can’t,” she said.

Susan’s face fell, and she felt her hearts break a little.

“My universe isn’t meant for yours. You’ll break,” she said. She wasn’t sure how well the Solitract could understand her feelings, but she hoped she was conveying regret. She wished she could alleviate their loneliness, she did.

Susan looked hurt. “You’re lying to me because you want to leave.”

“No,” the Doctor replied quickly, and skirted the console to stand closer to her. “You’re my… friend. And friends help each other face up to their problems, not avoid them. This is…” She gestured to the mist all around them, unable to articulate what she was feeling. “You are maddest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

Susan looked up and smiled, but it was a compromising smile. The Solitract was starting to understand that she had to leave – she knew that face.

“I wish I could stay,” she said sincerely, “but if either of us are going to survive, you’re going to have to let me go and keep on being brilliant by yourself.”

They looked down. “I miss you,” said the voice of her granddaughter, and she couldn’t pretend that didn’t ache. “I miss it all so much.”

She put a hand on Susan’s cheek and stroked it gently with her thumb. “I know. But if you do this, I promise… I will hold you in my hearts. Along with all of the others that I’ve lost. You and I will be friends forever.”

Susan smiled brightly and their hand went over hers, lingering. Then they released her, and as the Doctor backed away, she pressed two fingers to her lips and blew a kiss.

“Goodbye.”

[astarisms]

stress relief

pairing: rosegold word count: 6164 rating: nsfw notes: a continuation of @ubeshibe‘s comic “stress relief”. thank you for the commission! 

The sound that leaves Michael’s mouth is unlike anything Gabriel has ever heard from him. He sits back on Michael’s thighs, bringing his hands up and turning his face away to hide his smile.

“Oh my…” he murmurs, and there’s a giddiness to it that he can’t quite conceal.

Michael scrambles beneath him, and Gabriel obliges, sliding off his legs and settling onto the bed beside him to let him sit up.

His face is more flushed than Gabriel has ever seen it, but he only catches a glimpse before Michael covers it with his hands, mortified.

It’s a shame, really. Red is such a lovely color on him.

“I didn’t know you could make sounds like that, Bright Eyes,” Gabriel says, a lilt to his voice that makes Michael squeak in embarrassment beneath his fingers. It’s a struggle not to imply something more, to see just how red he’s capable of turning, to see how flustered he can get.

But Gabriel knows a thing or two about pushing buttons, and he’d rather get to see more of this than scare him off, so instead he rests his chin in his hands and coos, “how cute.”

“Gabriel, please…”

It sends a shiver down his spine, hearing Michael plead with him. He almost thinks it would be worth it, to push him a little further.

“Never mention this to anyone.”

Gabriel smiles again and it’s all teeth as he leans over his legs and takes Michael’s hands, pulling them away from his face.

“Of course not. It’ll be our little secret,” he says, lowering his voice suggestively. Michael leans away from their proximity, sputtering, and Gabriel can’t help but laugh.

“I — I’m serious, Gabriel.” He’s trying so hard to compose himself, bless his heart. There’s a ghost of his usual disapproval that doesn’t quite translate with how flustered he is, and he’s working on getting his expression back under control of that stoic mask.

“Now, now,” Gabriel scolds, ignoring him entirely, reaching out to grab his chin. “Didn’t we just go through all that trouble to help you relax? Are you really going to tense back up so quickly?”

“I—”

“If this is going to be the case with you, we’re going to need much more frequent sessions.”

“Wait—”

“Daily, I’d say,” Gabriel comments, giving him a once over.

“That’s — We don’t have time for—”

“No, you’re right. We’re quite busy. Once a week, then?”

“I don’t really think that’s nec—”

“That settles it!” Gabriel released Michael’s face to clap his hands together. “Once a week. We need to work on getting those knots out and keeping them out. Tension is terrible for your posture, you know.”

Michael flounders for a response. He’s not even sure what to say anymore, after Gabriel has steamrolled over every protest he had.

“Hesediel…” he finally says, though there’s not much else to it. He’s at a loss for articulate thoughts at the moment, but he knows he can always fall back on his bodyguard should the situation require it.

Gabriel scoffs, leaning back and waving his hand dismissively.

“If you’re that worried about it, he can come along. But I think even he would agree that you need to relax a little.”

Michael finally lets his shoulders slump a little, now that he can’t feel Gabriel’s heat radiating off of him.

“I don’t think he knows the meaning of the word,” Michael disagrees, finally feeling his cheeks cool down a little.

“Hesediel has knots in places he shouldn’t, which is probably why he’s clenched so tightly around that stick up his—”

“Gabriel!”

“But when it comes to you, Bright Eyes, I think he would agree.”

Michael purses his lips, because he can’t very well argue with that. If it involved his own wellbeing, he knew that Hesediel would be all for it. Perhaps at different hands, but in support of the idea all the same.

“So?” Gabriel prompts, tilting his head. “What do you say? Once a week?”

“I still don’t believe it’s the best use of my time…”

“Oh, come on now. Ten minutes out of your busy schedule isn’t going to kill you. In fact, it might just keep you from an early grave.”

Michael hesitates, but Gabriel can tell he doesn’t have much protest left in him. He waits patiently for him to answer, already knowing he won’t be rejected.

The biggest hurdle is Michael’s firm belief that he should put Heaven before himself, but him being here now means that they’ve already overcome that. Just that little wedge in his mindset is enough for Gabriel to convince him that Heaven can’t run efficiently if its leader isn’t.

“I...I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“Wonderful. I’m glad you’re finally seeing reason,” Gabriel smiles, and Michael wonders whether he should regret giving into him so easily.

“I’m not sure it’s ‘reason’ I’m seeing, but we’ll give it a shot,” he says, rising from his spot on the bed and rolling his shoulders back. Gabriel can tell he’s not quite as stiff now as he was when he had first crossed the threshold, and he considers that a win.

“Same time next week?”

“Well, I…” Michael catches one look at Gabriel’s finely arched brow, and sighs. “Yes, that sounds good.”

“Fantastic. See you then.”

Michael turns to walk out of the room, straightening out his robes and trying to smooth his disheveled appearance.

“Oh, and Bright Eyes?”

Michael stops, giving Gabriel his attention again.

“Feel free to work too hard. I’d like to see if we can’t pull some more of those sounds out of you.”

Michael goes red again, and all but flees from the room.

***

“Gabriel, now isn’t really the best time—”

“No time is ever going to be the best time,” Gabriel interrupts, tugging him along down the hallway. “We agreed, same time.” He looks back over his shoulder, and smiles at the alarm in Michael’s eyes.

“But—”

“Come, now, Bright Eyes. Surely you haven’t forgotten your word already?”

This, he knows, will make him complacent. And he’s right, because Michael snaps his jaw shut, his cheeks coloring with shame. Gabriel might have felt bad if his method hadn’t worked so flawlessly, and if getting Michael to do as he pleased wasn’t so satisfying.

“Of course not,” Michael finally says, even as he lets Gabriel lead him now, “but I still feel quite refreshed after last week. I don’t think this routine weekly is necessary.”

“Nonsense,” Gabriel counters dismissively, opening the door to Michael’s bedroom and urging him inside with a sweeping gesture. “Taking care of yourself is more than a one time commitment. Just because you’re minutely better than you were before last week, doesn’t mean you’re at your best.”

“...You seem to know a lot about this stuff,” Michael murmurs, turning back around to face him once they’re both inside.

“I make it a priority.” Michael’s eyebrows draw down into a stern expression, and Gabriel waves his hand at him. “I’m joking, I’m joking.”

“Your duties as Gabriel are no joke.”

“You see?” Gabriel sidles up behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders and squeezing. Michael tenses, then all but melts under the pressure of his fingers. “This is what I’m talking about. You’re too uptight.”

“Our responsibilities to Heaven are no light matter,” Michael protests, even as he lets Gabriel guide him to the end of the bed.

“Of course not,” Gabriel concedes halfheartedly, because Michael isn’t entirely of the state to argue the longer Gabriel kneads at the tension at the base of his neck. Michael lets his head fall forward, breathing deeply, and Gabriel celebrates another victory.

“This is—” He stops with a hitch of his breath when Gabriel hits a tender spot, squeezing his eyes shut. “This is different than what you did before.”

“It won’t do you any good if I only focus on one spot.” Gabriel punctuates his statement by working his fingers higher up Michael’s neck, rubbing deep circles into the muscle with his thumbs.

Michael doesn’t think he likes this quite as much, but he can’t deny how much lighter he feels as Gabriel grinds all the weight out of his shoulders. It’s like all of his responsibilities have accumulated there, and every firm press of Gabriel’s hands relieves all the little aches and pains that he’s ignored for so long.

He’s been carrying them for so long they’ve become a part of him. It’s surprising to him how much fades away with a little care, how much of the heaviness that he carries everyday isn’t supposed to be there.

It feels like Gabriel’s just begun when he pulls his hands away, and though Michael mourns the loss of them, the low whine that pulls itself from his throat is entirely involuntary.

Heat rushes to his face, but he clears his throat and straightens up. Thinking their session is through, he turns to thank Gabriel and is abruptly stopped by the barely concealed amusement on his face.

“I’m not quite done with you yet, Bright Eyes. I just thought you’d like to get a little more comfortable.” He tilts his head towards the bed, and the emphasis he places on the end of his sentence flusters Michael further.

He snaps his jaw shut and instead simply nods, spinning on his heel to sit on the edge of the bed. Gabriel clicks his tongue disapprovingly as he meets him, folding a leg up on the mattress.

He reaches for the golden collar around Michael’s neck, and Michael leans away with wide eyes. Gabriel holds his hands up in surrender.

“It’ll be easier with all of this gone,” he explains, gesturing at the fabric bunched around Michael’s shoulders and neck, a twitch to his lips. “Don’t get all stiff on me again.”

Michael visibly relaxes and Gabriel unclips the collar from around his neck, folding the material and laying it across the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Michael murmurs, clearly embarrassed for assuming the worst. Gabriel finds it endearing.

“No harm, no foul,” he assures. How cute that he should apologize for having the exact response that Gabriel’s conditioned him for for years. Riling him up is just too easy. “Now, then…”

He shifts up the bed to sit behind him and returns his hands to his shoulders. The new position allows him to provide a more thorough massage, working through the tautness with firm, deep motions.

Michael drops his head again, sighing through his nose and Gabriel feels the exact moment he relaxes under his touch, the tension draining out of him. It takes too much to get him to relax, even just for a moment, and while his devotion is admirable it’s also frustrating.

“Now doesn’t that feel nice?” Gabriel asks, and Michael doesn’t even jump at how close he suddenly is, lips at his ear. He doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or impressed with his lack of a reaction, but instead he decides that he’s quite satisfied that Michael appreciates his skill with his hands.

He doesn’t get exactly what he wants, as Michael is quiet the rest of their little session, but he considers it a win that he’s obviously becoming more comfortable.

Maybe next week he won’t have to drag him in here.

***

“Hesediel is beginning to ask questions,” Michael says as Gabriel leads him into his room.

“I’m sure he is,” Gabriel purrs, unable to keep the suggestive lilt out of his voice. Michael goes red but remains relatively unflustered, which is progress.

“I can’t keep him in the dark, but I’m not certain how to bring up what we’re… what’s going on,” he continues without missing a beat, undoing his cape and folding the material over his arm. Gabriel watches him with approval.

It’s definitely a step up.

“What’s going on?” Gabriel asks, a hand to his cheek, an eyebrow arched inquisitively.

“I — Nothi— Don’t make this into something it’s not, Gabriel.”

“It sounds like you’re the one making it into something it’s not, Bright Eyes.”

“I just don’t want him to be disappointed in me,” Michael admits, carefully laying his cape over the ottoman at the foot of the bed.

“Why in Heaven would he be disappointed in you?”

“Well… For not taking my duties as seriously as—”

Gabriel scoffs, interrupting him, and Michael looks up sharply.

“That wasn’t very polite.”

“Listen,” Gabriel says, taking up his place beside Michael, pulling him into his side with one arm around his shoulders and the other around his bicep, leading him towards the bed. “I could have sworn we’d had this exact conversation two weeks ago.”

“Yes, but—”

“As anal as that insufferable Pepto-Bismol knockoff is, we’ve already agreed he has your best interests in mind.” Michael’s brows furrow and he opens his mouth, unsure of what Gabriel was referring to, but Gabriel continues without him. “Unwinding for ten minutes once a week is in your best interests. Trust me.”

“I’m not sure that’s in my best interests,” Michael mutters, and Gabriel reels back with a dramatic gasp.

“That stings,” he says, feigning hurt and laying a hand over his heart. Michael snorts, and it’s the first time in a long time that Gabriel has heard anything like genuine amusement from him.

“What are you going to do to me today?” he asks, changing the subject abruptly. Gabriel’s lips curve, and Michael regrets his wording immediately.

“Why, whatever you’re willing to let me do, Bright Eyes,” he says coyly, and Michael colors again. It’s something Gabriel is certain he’ll never tire of, since the shade he turns compliments him so nicely.

He decides to spare him today, however, and before Michael can finish processing a suitable reply, Gabriel is sitting him on the bed.

“I thought we’d return to your back.”

Michael, in a split second, travels back to two weeks prior. He struggles not to let the mortification show on his face when he recalls his improper display, and Gabriel’s almost indecent exploitation of it.

“I — Maybe we could do the neck again?” he suggests, but Gabriel only waves it off.

“As much tension has probably accumulated on your shoulders in just one short week, I’m more concerned about how much your back has suffered in two.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, in fact, I’ve never felt better.”

“And I’m sure that you’re the worst liar I’ve ever encountered. Lay down,” Gabriel instructs, not unkindly but in a tone that Michael can’t remember ever hearing from him, one that brooks no room for argument. He’s not usually one to take orders from others, but his surprise catches him off guard and he does as told without question.

He feels Gabriel climb onto the bed with much more grace than he had, and settle over the back of his thighs.

“We’re going to try something a little different.” Michael isn’t sure what to expect, but he complies when Gabriel tells him to take a deep breath in and hold it.

Nimble fingers dance over his spine, until the heels of his hands settle low on Michael’s back.

“Release,” Gabriel says, and Michael lets the breath go, amazed by how much lighter he feels already. It can’t compare to bone deep relief when Gabriel pushes down and up the moment all the air has left his lungs and his entire lower spine cracks.

He thought he had prepared himself for this very instance, had braced against it, but he’s proven wrong the very second a moan slips unbidden past his lips. He buries his face in the comforter, feeling the heat in his face go all the way to the tips of his ears.

Gabriel shifts his hands upwards, until they settle over the middle of his back.

“Breathe in,” he says, and there’s nothing explicitly in how he says it that should set Michael off, but he has known Gabriel long enough to recognize the nuances. He’s not openly mocking him this time, and Michael thinks it’s worse this way.

He listens anyways, breathing in again, and holds it until Gabriel tells him otherwise. He curls his fingers into the comforter and exhales, and though he manages not to moan when his midback is relieved of its tension, his hum of approval is only slightly muffled in the bedsheets.

“Once more,” and Michael obeys without question as Gabriel’s hands settle between his shoulder blades. He holds the breath, the tension, the ache… and then he lets it go and it all disappears under Gabriel’s palms.

Michael moans, and finds he’s unable to even be as embarrassed about it as he should be, as limbless and light as he feels.

“Well,” Gabriel says, and Michael doesn’t quite understand why he sounds a little out of breath, “I think that went well.”

***

“You were very, very wrong,” Michael says without looking up when Gabriel approaches him.

“Oh?” he says. “About what, Bright Eyes?”

“Hesediel.”

Gabriel is silent for a moment, just to take in Michael’s behavior. He was somehow both mechanical and harried, and Gabriel doesn’t think he has ever seen him quite so wound up. He raises an eyebrow, wondering just how badly the interaction had gone that it had Michael so wound up.

He perches on the arm of the chair in front of Michael’s desk and leans forward, intrigued.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I was taking a bit of time for myself at the end of every week.”

Hesediel has always been a stickler for the rules, but Gabriel isn’t quite convinced that’s all it took to get him in such a state of disagreement that he would upset Michael. It was quite disgusting how much he fell over himself to ensure Michael was content and that he remained in his good graces.

“And?” he prompts, after it doesn’t appear like Michael is going to divulge anything else. Michael falters, and Gabriel arches an eyebrow once more expectantly.

“And that… and that you were… present.”

“That’s what I thought,” Gabriel says, leaning back again. “Then there’s your answer.”

“What’s my answer?” Michael asks, stopping and looking up at him in confusion.

“I know you’re all about honesty, but you have to have known that Hesediel wouldn’t approve of any scheme that involves me.”

Michael looks even more confused now, opening his mouth to ask, “scheme?” but Gabriel cuts him off again with a smile that sends a shiver down Michael’s spine, like his body is warning him that he’s suddenly entered a dangerous situation.

“He probably thinks I’m trying to seduce you.”

Michael’s eyes widen, and his cheeks flush with warmth.

“I — Seduce — That is highly inappro— How could he think —”

“Calm down,” Gabriel says, standing and walking around the desk to settle on the edge of it by Michael’s hands. Michael pushes away a little, the proximity making him even more anxious. “You can’t fault him for the assumption.” Michael takes a second to process this.

“Are… Are you trying to seduce me?”

Gabriel smiles indulgently, lifting a hand to cup Michael’s chin.

“Bright Eyes, I’ve been trying to seduce you since the moment I met you.”

The admission comes as a shock, and Michael sputters. His mouth opens and closes as he searches for something, anything to say in response. Gabriel watches with barely concealed amusement as the gears in Michael’s head turn, and he uses the hand on his chin to bring his mouth shut.

“Careful, dear, you’ll catch flies.”

“You shouldn��t make such jokes, Gabriel,” Michael finally says, taking Gabriel’s hand from his face, though the admonishment isn’t quite as strong as he would’ve liked. Gabriel’s eyes widen in surprise, but only for a moment, because the expression is gone almost as quickly as it appears and he’s laughing to himself instead.

He slips off the edge of the desk and circles around behind Michael, who turns to follow his movements.

“Relax,” Gabriel says, putting his hands on his shoulders. “I’ve got you all worked up again.”

“I don’t have the time today.” Michael tries to shrug away from him, but Gabriel tightens his hold with a squeeze to the base of his neck. Michael’s breath shudders and Gabriel tuts disapprovingly behind him.

“All that work I did, and for what?” he asks, as his fingers find all the tension spots that he had so diligently worked out two weeks ago. Michael slumps in his chair, his grip tightening around the pen he’s holding.

“Gabriel, this is really—” He breaks off with a hum, low in his throat, as Gabriel pushes his thumbs deep into the knots that Michael has already acquired again.

“I know, it’s magnificent,” Gabriel says, with no small amount of satisfaction as Michael more or less succumbs to him again.

“That’s… That’s not what I…” Michael has trouble finding the words, and eventually he stops trying, folding over his desk and letting Gabriel work all of his stress out of his muscles, his bones, the very fibers of his being.

He’s not sure when, in the course of a month, he had become quite so dependent on these weekly sessions. All he knows is that now, the weight on his shoulders becomes infinitely heavier when he has experienced what it’s like to unburden himself at the end of every week.

He finds he can’t quite refuse Gabriel anymore, doesn’t want to, even though he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he should. Hesediel had been right when he said that Gabriel was becoming an unnecessary distraction, but it’s even worse than that.

Not only is Gabriel a distraction, he’s one Michael doesn’t believe he can give up. Not now. Not yet.

The relief he feels when all his tension is gone is too intoxicating. Before, he doesn’t believe there has been a single moment in his life when he hasn’t been stiff and unyielding with a stress that made every day seem longer and every task seem harder but now…

He feels as if he can go about his duties every week renewed, and with more vigor. He wonders, briefly, if he should tell Hesediel this, if this might convince his bodyguard that this wasn’t such a terrible idea after all, but then Gabriel is pressing on a sensitive spot and every thought he possesses flies from his mind.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s never thanked him for this service, for helping him, no matter what Gabriel’s ulterior motive for doing so might be.

The thought makes him jerk upright again, jarring the both of them, and Gabriel stops entirely when Michael turns to meet his eyes.

“What?”

“I just... Thank you. For doing this.”

Gabriel smiles, and Michael thinks this is one of the few genuinely nice moments they’ve ever had between the two of them.

“I don’t think you’d be thanking me if you knew what my intentions really are,” Gabriel says, with a teasing lilt to his voice and his lips, and Michael deflates.

He’d spoken too soon.

“That’s enough for today, thank you,” Michael says, pulling Gabriel’s hands off of him.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t be like that, Bright Eyes~”

***

Michael finds himself looking forward to the end of the week, and when it finally arrives he’s so wrought with tension that Gabriel’s presence makes him weak with relief. He struggles not to show it, but when Gabriel meets his eyes in passing Michael knows the jig is already up.

He’s known Gabriel far too long to not recognize the knowing glint in his eyes.

“What,” he starts with a quirk to his lips that suggests Michael is treading dangerous waters, “no objections today?”

“We waste more time with protests, so it’s in everyone’s best interests to just commence with it, don’t you think?” Michael asks, suddenly the voice of reason as he turns on his heel to stalk back in the direction of his room. He knows Gabriel is right behind him, and he doesn’t dare look back at his expression.

“You’re absolutely right,” Gabriel says amenably, even though he’s more than pleased with the shift in Michael’s demeanor. He’s ecstatic by the shift he’s seen in him in little over a month, and he wonders just how far Michael is willing to let him push.

He’s giddy with the possibilities.

Michael pushes the door open to his bedroom, sweeping inside and holding it ajar for Gabriel to come in afterwards. Gabriel appraises him, from head to toe, impressed when Michael doesn’t even squirm under his gaze.

“I have to say, I’m a fan of your change of tune,” he purrs, as Michael peeks out into the hall then closes the door behind them.

“I’ve just realized it’s far easier to cease arguing with you on matters I know I won’t win.”

When he turns back around, he’s taken aback by how close Gabriel is and stumbles. Gabriel is watching him intently, and touches his index finger to the point of Michael’s chin, tilting his head up to meet his eyes.

“If only you had learned that a little sooner, we could’ve saved so much time,” he laments, and Michael finally begins to squirm a little. He holds his gaze but his cheeks warm and Gabriel finds it a truly mesmerizing shade on him.

“I apologize for taking so long,” Michael says, and Gabriel tilts his head.

“I guess you’ll just have to make it up to me, Bright Eyes.”

Michael is at a loss for words the longer Gabriel stands so close to him, his finger tucked under his chin, but he manages to get out an “of course” before he can’t find the words anymore.

Gabriel considers him for a moment, takes in the way Michael holds his gaze and his breath, despite being clearly flustered. While he loves the easily worked up version of Michael, he thinks he actually prefers this one who is willing to face him head on.

He’s always loved a challenge.

“Will you let me try something?” he asks, and Michael’s expression opens up in surprise. Gabriel has never asked for consent, for anything he’s done so far, so he wonders if he should be worried about what’s to come.

But Gabriel’s proved something to him in the past few weeks. He’s not entirely sure what he’s proved, but Michael feels more comfortable around him now than he has since he’s met him. Michael doesn’t know if he can wholeheartedly trust Gabriel, with all of his unspoken words and half truths and riddles, but he does trust himself in Gabriel’s hands.

“If you think it will help,” he says, and there’s a catch to his voice. Gabriel smiles and Michael feels like he’s signed a contract without reading the fine print.

“We can certainly try, can’t we?” Gabriel asks in nothing more than a whisper. “Close your eyes.”

Michael complies immediately, his eyes slipping closed though his back is straight and his shoulders are stiff. Gabriel wonders how much it will take to get him to melt.

He watches Michael’s face for a moment more, because he wants to remember this, whether for sentimental value or not, he’s unsure. That’s all the time he takes, because as much as he likes watching Michael squirm, he’s more intent on seeing another reaction of his.

He leans down until he’s only on a breath away. He can see Michael’s eyes fluttering beneath his eyelids, can see the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. He can see how Michael’s lips part and he exhales shakily.

“Gabr—?” he begins, wondering what he’s still waiting for, when Gabriel closes that last little bit of distance between them. Michael gasps against his mouth, though he can hardly claim to be surprised when Gabriel’s intentions had been so transparent.

Gabriel pulls away, but only enough to give Michael the break he needs to process it.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and there’s a lilt to his voice but for once his eyes aren’t dancing with mirth. He’s serious, and Michael nods breathlessly.

“Yes, I — I think so.”

Gabriel takes that as an invitation, and before Michael’s even finished the sentence he’s taking his lips again. He relaxes, and Gabriel removes his hand from beneath his chin to cup the back of his neck, tilting his head back further.

Michael sinks into his embrace, and Gabriel feels the exact moment that he just lets go. Michael clutches at the front of Gabriel’s cape, and Gabriel teases his lips apart with his tongue.

He had planned on going slow, but Michael is so responsive already and he wonders again how far he can push his luck.

Michael moans when Gabriel first tastes him, and while Gabriel’s been a fan of that sound since he first heard it, there’s something much more satisfying about it when he can feel it muffled against his mouth.

Gabriel backs him into the door while wrapping his free hand around his waist, both pinning him to the wood and pulling him closer. Michael mirrors the sentiment in the way his fists tighten in Gabriel’s cape.

Gabriel can feel the heat from Michael’s cheeks on his own and he’s never been desperate in his life but he thinks this is a special case because he wants to feel more from him. He pulls Michael’s bottom lip between his teeth and nibbles, and Michael moans again, more wantonly than before.

He breaks away with a gasp, clearly embarrassed, but Gabriel only flexes his fingers around the back of his neck.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and this time there’s more of the teasing Gabriel that Michael recognizes but there’s a certain intensity to him that is wholly foreign. Michael nods, and Gabriel tips his head back to kiss him again. It’s much more chaste than the deep, tasting kiss he’d just given him, though Michael’s not sure if chaste is the right word to describe anything Gabriel’s ever done.

When he pulls back this time, he’s got the glint in his eyes that Michael abhors, because he knows that whatever it is will likely end in him agreeing, despite any misgivings he may have about what he’s about to ask.

“Can I show you more?”

More. It’s such a loaded word. What does more imply? Michael has never agreed to something without understanding in no uncertain terms exactly what the circumstances were. He’s always read through something thoroughly and understood the finer points completely before making a decision.

Lately, though, it seems as if he’s giving into Gabriel more and more easily.

When he takes too long to answer, Gabriel quirks an eyebrow at him and Michael knows that he already knows he’s going to agree.

“Do you trust me?” Gabriel asks, just for fun, because it’s a cliche and he loves it.

“Not in the slightest,” Michael answers without missing a beat. It’s a joke that Gabriel is impressed with. Every part of Michael is open and willing to try whatever is stewing in Gabriel’s head, and it’s a new side of him that Gabriel is proud to say he brought out of him.

Gabriel grins and reaches down to take Michael’s hand, guiding him to the bed.

He pushes him down onto the edge, and braces himself on either side to kiss him again. Michael tilts his head up of his own accord, and Gabriel reaches up, unclasping the cape at the base of his throat and letting it fall open.

“Is… is this going to have the same effect as the massages?” Michael asks on a breath, in between the insistent press of Gabriel’s mouth.

He laughs in response, pulling away to look at him.

“Bright Eyes, it’s going to have a much better effect, that much I can promise you.”

“It only takes a massage to get you to guarantee me something?”

“This is much more thorough than what I usually do.”

“What is it?”

“Patience is a virtue.”

“I believe you are, in fact, the least virtuous archangel I have ever met.”

Gabriel laughs again, and Michael does, too, his eyes crinkling around the corners. It’s been a long time since he was able to have this kind of back and forth with someone.

“Allow me to show you just how much virtue I lack, then,” Gabriel says, and Michael flushes, but he remains confident in his decision to follow Gabriel’s lead.

Even with that conviction, he doesn’t expect the hand on the most intimate part of his body, however, and he jolts with a gasp when Gabriel’s fingers brush against it.

“O-Oh,” he says, his voice thin. “I — I hadn’t realized that you meant…”

“Oh, yes,” Gabriel purred. “Don’t think too hard about it. Just enjoy.”

Michael opens his mouth to speak again, but not even he’s sure what he wants to say. He doesn’t get the chance to, either way, because by the time he composes himself enough to form a coherent thought Gabriel is already reaching into his uniform.

The warm brush of Gabriel’s hand is almost too much for him, and his back arches into the touch without his consent. Gabriel spends a minute teasing him, stroking along the shaft, and Michael’s head tips back against the sheets, his brows drawn together in pleasure.

Gabriel thought to tease him, initially, but watching him squirm has proven to be too much of a temptation. He pulls his hand back with the intention of stripping him, but the whine that leaves Michael’s throat stops him.

It’s quite different than the one he’d heard when he’d massaged his neck, throatier and with a more obvious desperation. Frankly, it’s music to Gabriel’s ears.

He makes it his personal goal to pull as many of those out of him as possible.

“Easy there, Bright Eyes,” Gabriel scolds teasingly. “I wanted you to let go but not quite yet. Let’s get to the main event first.”

Michael blinks hazy eyes at him, not understanding. Gabriel takes it in stride, shimmying the bottoms off of him and pushing his thighs apart until there’s a gap he can settle comfortably between.

“What are you—“ Michael begins, trying to sit up on his elbows, but Gabriel is apparently keen to never let him complete a sentence. He breaks off with a gasp at the touch of Gabriel’s tongue, stars bursting behind his eyes.

His arms give out and he crashes back onto the mattress, and Gabriel uses his disorientation against him. His fingers curl into the flesh of his thighs, pushing them further apart and keeping him still as he takes him into his mouth. Michael moans, grappling at the sheets, and Gabriel has never appreciated a view more than Heaven’s leader writhing beneath him.

“I’m not,” Michael tries, pauses, and starts again after another moan, “I think that this — ahh~”

He loses his train of thought when Gabriel runs the flat of his tongue along him, punctuating his rise with a suck on the head. Michael’s knuckles go white with his grip on the sheets.

Truly, it doesn’t take much. Michael’s thighs are trembling before long and Gabriel goes down on him with renewed vigor when he notices how quickly he’s spiraling towards his end.

He turns his attention to the sensitive head, sucking and swirling his tongue around the tip, and Michael shatters. His back arches off the bed and Gabriel has to tighten his grip to keep his hips pinned down, to let him ride out his orgasm.

He wishes he could frame the sight of Michael now.

But there’s white bursting behind Michael’s eyes and he can’t catch his breath and there are sparks shooting through every last nerve ending he possesses. When they fade all that’s left is a boneless, deep satisfaction that he’s never known in his entire life.

Gabriel sits back, letting Michael take a moment to compose himself and swiping at the corner of his mouth to make sure there’s no evidence of their activities.

He barely gives him enough time to catch his breath before he’s smirking and leaning forward.

“So what was that? You don’t think what?” he asks, a hand to his cheek, wearing that smug expression that Michael is more than well acquainted with.

Michael blushes bright red and sits up to adjust himself.

“I just — I was going to say that it had the opposite of the desired effect, but I guess patience is a virtue,” he says, not meeting his eyes. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“Yes, you certainly did come,” Gabriel says with that cheeky tone, and Michaels eyes snap to his.

“Gabriel!”

Gabriel laughs, sliding off the bed and helping Michael to his feet. Michael hesitates, before looking up at him.

There’s a lot of things he could say to Gabriel right now, but instead he settles on a simple, “thank you.”

“Anytime, Bright Eyes,” Gabriel says. Then, with a wink, “really. Any time.”

“Gabriel, please.”

“With pleasure.”

“Gabriel!”

[rebelbyrdie]

An Almost SQ Fanfic

So this is a piece of writing.  It is unfinished and I don’t know what to do with it.  It was sort of a knee-jerk reaction to all the wedding hub-bub.  I don’t know if it’s any good, but I do love Jaime Murray, Lana Parrila and Bex Mader, so this happened.  It is long and under the cut.  SwanQueen.

Prologue

“How in Ozma’s name did  you get your socks off again, Little Bean?”  Zelena huffed and toted her daughter into Regina’s wreck of a room.  “I’m telling you her magic is manifesting in the form of her removing her clothes.”  Dresses were spread all over the bed, vanity and dresser.  Matching shoes were spread all over the room. “I hope it’s not a bad bit of foreshadowing.”  She looked around for her sister.  Regina, clad in panties, garters, and a bra, came out of the closet with yet another dress thrown over her arms.

“Auntie Regina has lost her pretty little mind.”  Zelena chuckled, “Let’s hope it isn’t genetic.”

Regina’s face was pale and in her undressed state Zelena could see exactly how much weight her dear sister had lost.  She could see the curve of her ribs and each notch of her spine.  She put up a good front, but without her clothes, makeup and the occasional bit of glamour magic, it was easy to see that she was sick.

Once upon a time, Regina would have happily chopped off her left hand (not something she personally recommended) before she’d let Zelena see her like this.  Now they were sisters, well sort of.  They were working towards being sisters, she supposed.  As the official elder sister, Zelena was officially worried, and not just about the closet explosion.

“This aversion to clothes must have skipped over Mommy.”

Regina dropped the dress, a deep purple sheath, on her bed and twisted her fingers.  Two small frilly white socks appeared on Robbie’s little feet.  Then she held out her arms and the infant flailed at her.  Zelena handed her over and Regina smiled for the first time in what seemed like weeks.  

“What do you think, Sweetie.  What should I wear?”

Robbie didn’t answer, of course, but she did grab at Regina’s dark hair.  

“Maybe you should go just like that.  It might finally bring Em-ma back to her senses.”

Regina sighed, “Zelena I really don’t feel up to this sister-sister-shtick.”

Zelena looked over the mess of dresses.  “Well I don’t really feel up to watching you have a nervous break down over what you’re going to wear to Emma and Hook’s god-awful nuptuials.”

She grabbed a black and white dress and held it out, “Give me my baby and make yourself yourself presentable.”  They exchanged armfuls, a baby for a dress.  “And don’t forget to take your pills.”

The cocktail of Excedrin, Benadryl and Anti-Nausea pills that Regina had been eating like skittles lately.  Zelena had none-too-subtly hinted that Regina should go to the doctor.  Apparently Regina still had a small grudge against Whale, though.  She had decided not to push it. Anything would trigger her sister’s migraines these days, and with all the problems they’d been having lately, everyone had to be in top shape.

Regina had ducked into her ensuite and came back out dressed and made up.  “Well look at that, Little Bean, she looks almost as good as us.”

Regina smiled weakly, “Please, I look great.”  The throbbing vein in her forehead told  Zelena that she didn’t feel half as good as she looked.  Still, they had a wedding to get to and since she had fifty dollars down on Regina being the one who would not be able to hold her peace, she wanted a good seat to watch.

Part I

It was a beautiful ceremony,but Regina always felt very out-of-place at weddings.  Even the ones she was actually invited to.  It was probably because her own had been more like a funeral.  Added to her displacement was the fact that she had a migraine, another one. It could be from stress or even from over-taxing her magic, or it could be an acute reaction to watching Emma Swan marrying a slimey misogynistic piece of pirate trash.  Not that she disapproved.  She was happy that Emma was happy.  They were friends and she was happy for her.  That was her story and she was sticking to it.  She forced a smile onto her face and focused on maintaining that facade.  It had worked well enough for her own wedding.

Henry stood beside her, stiff as a board.  He wasn’t a fan of Hook, either, but would never dream of standing in the way of his of his mother’s happiness.  Snow and David walked Emma down the aisle and Zelena, on Regina’s other side, leaned close, “This is my first wedding in this realm, is the dress supposed to be hideous?”  She planted a quick and sharp elbow into her darling sister’s ribs even if she did agree.  It just wasn’t Emma.

Of course Emma hadn’t been very Emma-like in a long time.  Regina sighed internally and brushed those thoughts aside.  She’d been over it in her head over and over again and it got her nowhere.  Obsessing over Emma Swan was not a healthy habit and she really needed to break it.  

Snow and David handed Emma over to Killian at the alter, glowing with huge smiles and tears in their eyes.  She couldn’t fathom how this could be a happy day for them.  Regina felt nothing but dread and fear, but she was projecting her own feelings, she knew that.  This was Emma’s day and she was going to be happy for her friend, even if it killed her.

The words, the same as every other wedding, her own included, started and everyone was quiet.  It was a picture perfect ceremony, which was why Regina was in no way surprised when a swirl of black smoke appeared at the door.

“Oh Dear, am I late?”

The sharp, oddly accented and cold as ice voice of the Black Fairy made every head turn.  People gasped and jump to their feet.

“Oh hell!”  Zelena hissed, “I can’t believe I got suckered into that betting pool.”

Regina summoned a fireball to each hand.  Not only had the damn Black Fairy arrived to cause trouble, she had stolen her signature wedding crash entrance.

The woman walked up the aisle in her flowing black gown, which Regina had to begrudgingly admit looked fantastic on her.

“Did I come in at the speak now part?  Because I am afraid that I can’t hold my peace.”

Hook stood, mouth agape, like a codfish.  Emma, pale and wan, just stared.  Snow’s jaw dropped open and David reached for a sword that wasn’t there.

“Because there is a reason that these two can’t be wed you know.”

Well, finally someone had said it.

The Black Fairy tilted her head to the side and her smile was predatory.  “It seems that one of them is already married.”

Everyone, almost in perfect sync, turned to look at Hook.  He was, after all, around two hundred years old and a pirate.

“That’s a bloody lie!  I’ve never married, not even Milah!”

The Black Fairy laughed, it was like shards of glass-sharp and broken.  “Not you, surprisingly enough.  No, I’m referring to your blushing bride.  She cannot marry you as she is married to another.”

Emma looked from the fairy, to Hook, and back again.  Her cheeks started to turn pink, the first color that had been there it was seemed like months.  

“Listen, Lady Cuckoo, here’s the thing.”  Emma shoved her bouquet into Killian’s arms.  “I think I would know if I was married.  There’s a ceremony, vows, partners who really like each other, and sometimes an Elvis impersonator.  Trust me, this is my first go round.”

“Is it?”

The Fairy walked forward, her movements eerily smooth and beautiful, it was like she was floating.

“A ceremony is only”  She pursed her lips, “a ritual on hallowed ground.”  She twitched her head so it was tilted to the other side, “and partner can mean many things.”  Her head twitched again, “but in this instance it is two people joining together into one force.”  She was close now, “And I’m not sure what an Elvis is, but I assume it is some sort of official, someone to bless the union.”  She was only inches away from Emma now, her long slender fingers plucked at Emma’s veil.  “All the pieces were there and I assure you, this binding is quite real and quite unbreakable. I believe the phrase is until death do you part?”

“Who?!”

Killian shoved the fairy away from Emma, frothing mad.  He whirled to look at Emma, “Who did you marry?!”  He grabbed her silk and lace clad shoulders, hand and hook.

“Oh shut up!  Both of you!”  Regina broke rank and stormed into the aisle.  “You!”  She looked at Hook, “Let go of her, she’s a woman, not a chew toy.”  She whirled around, “And you.”  She glared at the Black Fairy, fireballs blazing in her hands.  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, you Disney movie cast-off, but you’re not impressing anybody.”

The Black Fairy grinned, wide and toothy, “Wifey to the rescue.”

Regina was so shocked her fireball went out.

“What?”

The migraine that had been toying with her for hours burst to full and excruciating strength in Regina’s head.  It was like an atomic bomb in her skull.  She grit her teeth, forced her spine to stay straight and locked her knees.  She was the daughter of Cora Mills and she didn’t cower before anyone, especially not a fairy.  “You are out of your dust-sniffing mind.  First you target my sister and her child and now you’re spouting off wild lie about me.  This obsession is frankly disturbing me, and I used to be The Evil Queen.”

The crowd rumbled around them.  She glanced to the side.  Zelena stood at the ready, Henry and Robbie safely behind her.  

“Aren’t you a little bit curious, Regina-Dear?  The headaches, the upset stomach, the rashes and hives, sleepless night.  Did you really think it was just stress?”

“What?!”  Emma roared out,  “Regina?”

She didn’t turn to look at Emma.  She had to stay focused, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.  At least when I crashed a wedding, I did it with style and an actual point.  Now go.  Exactly no one is interested in your nonsense.”

Hook lunged at her, fist cocked back to punch.  The fairy held up a hand and she  froze him mid-air.

“And Emma.  You’re positively peakish, like you’re a ghost of your former self.  Haven’t you felt drained lately?  Like you’re pleasing everyone but yourself?  Dancing along to your parent’s tune.  Playing lovesies with one of the most disgusting people I’ve ever met.”

Emma stepped forward and tore off her veil.  “Go to Hell.”

“No, I heard it was positively dreadful.  Of course if you go through with this charade you’ll be going back or did you think death do us part was just poetry?”

Regina raised her chin, “More nonsense.”

The Black Fairy laughed, “Nonsense or Neverland, perhaps.”

Both she and Emma turned to look at each other.  So many things had happened on that island.  Regina was pretty damn sure that they hadn’t stopped by a wedding chapel.

“Neverland is hallowed ground, you know, concentrated magic, belief given form.  The only other witness is dead, but that does not invalidate the marriage.”

“I was there, Love.  My Swan did not marry anyone, especially not the Evil Queen.  She kissed me.”

Neverland.  When she and Emma had combined their magic to blot out the moon.  A ritual on hallowed ground and joining of selves.

“That can’t be right.”

Astrid, brave little soul that she was, stepped up, “For that sort of ceremony to work there would have to be an engagement, a stone to hold the promise.  There would have to be gifts and a witness and a fairy to bless-”

The Black Fairy flew over to Astrid, her eyes wide and black with fury.  “Am I not a fairy?  I blessed the union and there was a witness, he just happens to be dead now.”  

She chuckled, “Just as at least one of you will be if you say I do.  Possibly both. It’s really a toss up.”

Oh no.  No no no.

The trigger-their stone to hold a promise.

The gift - good memories.

Regina’s heartbeat trippled and her stomach churned up acid.  She could smell copper and taste bile.  It couldn’t be true.  It really couldn’t.  She knew she had to be strong, to fight, to banish the woman who was ruining Emma’s day.  She couldn’t though.  The pain, the fatigue, the emotional roller coaster, it was all too much.

“Gina?”  Zelena ran forward and  grabbed one of her arms as she started to slide to the ground.

“Mom?”  Henry dropped his book and darted forward to grab her other. Neither of them were able to stop her from falling, but they did ease her down.

Things were hazy, the world was wavering and wobbling before her eyes.  Voices were distorted, as if she were underwater.  Still she could hear two things.

Emma screaming her name and The Black Fairy’s laugh.

“That’s right, Emma, go take care of your wife.”