#also the moment in the room where john is so gentle with arthur | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eldritchqueerture · 6 months ago

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last chapter! @lighthouseshepard

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Arthur was quiet, when he and Noel entered the hotel room, and the door closed behind them with a gentle click. As they were traversing the building, Noel quietly informed him what he saw – or rather who he didn’t see. From the silence between them now, Arthur could guess there was no sign of John in the room as well.

He walked up to his bed and sat down with a heavy sigh.

“Look, he’ll come back. I’m sure.” Noel sat down next to him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m…” Arthur hesitated. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking…”

He trailed off. He knew that line of thinking was a self-deprecating thing that Noel would be quick to deny, no matter whether it was true or not; yet he could not stop it from drilling a hole in his brain.

Noel let out a hum, encouraging him to continue.

“It’s stupid, but without sight… Maybe he thought I’d just be a burden to him,” he said quietly. “Maybe all he wanted was to be free of… Of me.”

“Arthur.” Noel shifted in a way that made Arthur imagine he was getting a better look at his face. He tried to direct his unseeing gaze towards his voice. “And what makes you think that?”

“I—I don’t know,” he stuttered, his throat suddenly tight and his eyes stinging unpleasantly. “I’m just… I can’t,” –he bit his bottom lip, curling his right hand into a fist. The left stayed unmoving on his lap. “I can’t lose him, Noel.”

Noel gently put his hand on top of Arthur’s hand, rubbing his thumb across his fingers.

“I—I lost everything when he… He took everything from me,” Arthur whispered. “My life had ended long before that, but whatever little pieces I’d managed to put back… He took it all away.” He swallowed thickly and let out a shaky breath. “But I didn’t give up. We didn’t give up. I thought we—we had something, we worked towards something and—”

As he inhaled, he felt tears spilling from his eyes. “And we built it back or, or we tried, something approaching a life, an existence out of all these broken pieces and,” –this time the inhale was definitely a sob. “And if he’s gone then I… I don’t…” He sniffed and laughed bitterly through the tears. “I don’t know what’s left.”

This realization came as a surprise to Arthur. He had always considered himself a man who knew himself; he knew where he failed – horribly, disastrously, unforgivably – but he also knew where he succeeded. He knew he was selfish and arrogant at times, stubborn, petty, and cruel, but he was also kind, determined, strong. He knew he could withstand anything this life could throw at him. He was the captain of his soul.

Yet at this moment, with darkness in place of sight and ringing silence in his head, all that seemed so very far away. He may have been the captain, but the ship was lost at sea, with no compass, no stars to guide him – just the endless expanse of cold, dark ocean in his mind. He’d been petty to spite John, stubborn to show him he wouldn’t be fucked with; he was determined for John, and kind to show John the good side of humanity; he was strong because John needed him to be. Every word he had spoken, every action he’d taken had been seen, appraised, and understood by John. He had filtered his own identity, moulded it into something John could call his own, carved out a place for him to fit in.

And now, John was gone. There was a gaping void in Arthur’s sense of self that he could not fathom how to fill, and if John was gone for good, he could not imagine ever feeling whole again.

“This hand,” he added, turning the left hand gently under Noel’s touch. “Has been his for so long… And I know it’s mine, it’s my body, but… At the same time, it’s not–anymore.”

“Arthur,” Noel spoke again under his breath. “I…”

“You don’t—have to say anything,” Arthur sniffled again, trying to compose himself, and wiped his cheeks. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“No, but… I think I do, in a way,” he said quietly. “It makes sense that you’d need some time to adjust. Both of you.”

Arthur let out a shaky sigh and straightened his back. “Sorry for this, I just…”

“It’s okay,” Noel chuckled. “You don’t need to apologize, kid.”

Arthur nodded his head in agreement.

“Hey, but for now,” Noel said with a steeling breath. “I think you need some food in you. What do you say we wait for him down at the restaurant?”

“I guess that’s not a bad idea,” Arthur admitted. “I’m starving.”

“Atta boy. C’mon, I’ll keep an eye out.” Noel patted his shoulder and stood up. Arthur followed him, and just as they took the first steps towards the door, it opened. Noel stopped abruptly before Arthur, who heard a sharp intake of breath from the doorway.

“Oh…” John froze, his eyes travelling from Arthur to Noel. “Noel.”

Noel’s eyes roamed all over his face with open curiosity after the initial surprise passed. A bright smile appeared on his face. “John! We were just lookin’ for you, my friend.”

Arthur’s eyes were turned in John’s vague direction – slightly to the side, but John could tell he was paying him close attention. He stood next to Noel, a bit further in the room, and there were remnants of tears under his eyes.

John felt as if something had just punched him in the gut.

“John, we need to talk,” Arthur said simply. “Just… Please.”

“I agree,” John grumbled.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Noel smirked. “I’ll leave you to it. Come down to the restaurant when you’re done, I’m bettin’ neither of you has eaten today.”

He looked John in the eyes again, his smile unwavering. He winked at him as he moved towards the door, and then, he was gone.

John let out a breath, looking back at Arthur.

“Arthur, I—”

“Look, I—I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Arthur interrupted, raising his hand. “You’re—You’re finally in your own body, with your own agency and—and I should’ve given you more space.”

John blinked at him. “What?”

“I—I understand that you might… That you would want to go your separate way, or, or spend less time with… It—It’s completely natural that you wouldn’t want to—”

“Arthur, what the fuck are you talking about?” John frowned, stifling any urges that called for closeness, for touch.

“I—Is that not why you left?” Arthur looked lost, confused.

“I…” John hesitated. “You were asleep. I wanted to go outside, and I realized that I… could.”

“And the second time?”

“The second time you told me to leave,” he snapped.

A spark of frustration grew on Arthur’s face. “So, you were just being petty, then?”

“Oh, you’re one to talk.” John crossed his arms on his chest. Somehow, it helped him contain the emotions, like if he was trapping them from getting outside with his arms.

Arthur suddenly deflated, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“I’m sorry, John. You’re right. I was… I’m being unfair,” he said. The next breath he took was shaky. “I don’t… I don’t want you to leave.”

“I don’t want to leave either,” John replied simply. Arthur apparently did not expect that, blinking in surprise, his eyebrows raising slightly. With hope?

“No?”

“Of course not,” he said thickly. “Did you expect me to just leave you here alone, as if I didn’t—”

Love you, he did not say. He swallowed through the tightness in his throat. “As if I didn’t care?”

“I—I…”

“I’m not leaving,” he repeated for good measure. Arthur exhaled shakily at that.

“Good. Good.” He nodded. He was fidgeting with his right hand nervously, but John noted that the left arm was mostly motionless. “D—Did you—��

“I met Oscar,” he said, replacing the brief relief on Arthur’s face with disbelief once more. “We had a conversation.”

“W—What? Oscar?” Oh, and that was pain on Arthur’s face with the hushed name. John wanted to claw his own heart out – why was he only able to bring Arthur pain?

“I told him you were here. That you wanted to speak with him.”

Arthur’s eyes widened, searching the air as if he could pierce through the darkness to find John’s face. He took a step forward, right hand reaching out ever so slightly. He was too far to touch John, who forced himself to stay in place.

“John…” Arthur breathed out, blinking the newly gathered tears away. “What… Why?”

“Because…” John hesitated, again concentrating on the pain in his left pinkie. “Because I cost you his friendship. Because you left him for me, and I,” –his voice cracked. “I’m not human.”

Arthur frowned and blinked, trying to follow the thought process. “What…”

“I don’t think like a human, and I don’t,” –he huffed. “I know you want me to become human, but I won’t. I can’t. Even this body, created from thin air has fucking tentacles, Arthur.” He took a steadying breath. “You once told me you need other people. Oscar said the same thing. He can live up to that; I—I can’t.”

Arthur took another step forward, his eyebrows slightly raised.

“And what exactly would that be?” He asked thickly. “Humanity?”

“I—” He trailed off when Arthur let out a sigh. He moved his right hand again, searching, and then raised his left one as well, as if he’d just remembered about it.

“Where are you?” He asked softly, and without thinking John stepped forward to touch his arms. Arthur grabbed the lapels of his jacket into fists and brought their bodies closer.

“I don’t want you to be human, John,” he said quietly, turning his head upward towards John’s face. John’s arms shook with the need to embrace the man, to dig his nails into his skin; a desperate urge to claw and bite – devour. “Not—anatomically or, or whatever. I don’t want you to be like Oscar, or like me. I want you to be you.”

Arthur’s knuckles turned white with how hard he clung to John’s jacket, and the sight made John’s breath come quicker.

“And—And if me isn’t something that you would—”

“John,” Arthur cut in intently. “I want you. With or without tentacles, with or without the mask—I want you. Here. With me.”

John leaned forward to join his forehead with Arthur’s, passing his hands up Arthur’s arms, and a deep growl came out of his throat without his permission. Arthur let out a small gasp at the sound.

“Ah… Are you…?”

“I’ve been…” John started almost inaudibly, every muscle in his body trembling with a need that he didn’t know how to fulfil. The tentacles in his back writhed, immaterial enough to pass through his clothes, but growing more substantial along their length for a few to eventually wrap around Arthur’s wrists. “I want…”

“What?” Arthur prompted under his breath. John could feel the warmth of it in the space between their bodies, that damned space that was still too vast.

“Ever since the ritual I’ve been feeling like,” he swallowed, his voice strained. “Like you’re too far away.”

Arthur breathed out a laugh, his hands trying to pull him closer. “John, that was the point.”

“I know,” he growled, digging his fingers into Arthur’s shoulders again. Would it leave bruises? Signs of John still being part of this body, in some strange way? “And I don’t regret it. But I don’t like that feeling.”

“What does it feel like?” Arthur asked. His face inched closer, so John could feel his breath on his lips.

“I—”

“Tell me,” he added hotly.

“It feels like losing a part of myself,” John whispered and closed his eyes against the onslaught of feelings. “It feels like my skin tearing itself from my flesh and walking away on its own. Like my place is inside your chest and your mind, and I want to claw my way back there.”

“Fuck, John…” Arthur whispered.

“Arthur, I—”

“Can I try something?” Arthur asked almost out of breath. John nodded and whispered an affirmation.

Arthur’s hands travelled higher, feeling out his shoulders and neck. Goosebumps appeared on John’s skin as a slight shiver passed through him. Arthur’s left hand rested on his neck, while the right went up to his face, feather-light fingertips tracing out his mask.

His throat rumbled with another growl and his grip on Arthur tightened.

“Does it hurt?” Arthur asked, oblivious, almost making John laugh.

“No,” he growled. “It’s not enough.”

Arthur’s eyes widened with a sudden realization, and his fingers dove into his hair and curled, nails scraping the skin.

The noise that he let out now was more akin to a purr. John’s hat fell to the ground as Arthur’s fingers travelled further with a picture of wonder on his face.

John buried his face in Arthur’s neck, pushing his forehead into the warm skin, his nose touching the white scar there. He bared his teeth, breathing hard through clenched jaws, tentacles wrapping around Arthur’s torso pulling him impossibly closer.

And yet it wasn’t enough.

It was no trouble to pick Arthur up from the ground – he was smaller and thinner as it was, and as the aftermath of his starvation in the pits, he weighed almost nothing to him. He yelped as he was raised an inch or two from the ground and moved towards the wall. John almost slammed himself against it, shielding Arthur from the impact with his limbs, and he pressed their bodies closer, finally finding some relief for that searing need.

Arthur gasped – almost moaned at the pressure; John could feel his arousal starting to dig into his thigh. Did Arthur want this? John’s need wasn’t exactly sexual in nature – at least he didn’t think it was – but Arthur’s body seemed to interpret the signals in this way. It was a topic they’d never touched – they never really had to, and John had enough decency not to invade Arthur’s privacy in this way. But this…?

“John,” Arthur breathed out and licked his lips, his hands carding through John’s hair, thumbs trailing over his face. “Can I…?”

His right thumb found John’s lips, spread them open, and felt the teeth. John let out a keening sound, barely restraining himself from biting, as Arthur’s thumb returned to rest on his lips.

Did Arthur want to kiss him? John had seen people kissing; before this, it had seemed like a strange way to pass time, mouths smashing clumsily against each other. Now, it seemed his body wanted for nothing more, his mind making it seem like there was nothing sweeter in the world than the taste of Arthur’s lips and the closeness that could give them. Tongues intertwined, saliva mixed, breaths shared – was that not as close as they could get to finally being one again?

Arthur properly moaned as soon as their lips met, and John relished the sound. He’d heard Arthur moan and whimper in pain far too many times; but to hear him do so from pleasure – from pleasure that John gave him? It was making that needy, growling beast within him hum with contentment, settling his frayed nerves. Here, he had Arthur back, he had Arthur all for himself.

Arthur’s body shifted, chasing pressure in little involuntary movements. His breath stuttered when John moved his leg, pushing his knee against the wall between his legs.

“John,” he mumbled against his lips, his breath hot and cheeks flushed, his hands clinging to him for dear life. “John.”

John had no mind for speaking. For the first time he could act instead, so he kissed Arthur’s cheekbone, pushing his lips hard into his face. He moved up to his ear – or what was left of it – and he placed his lips behind it, sucking at the skin and laving it with his tongue. Arthur gasped again, tilting his head to the side.

“Fuck,” he sighed, passing his fingers through John’s hair. “John—”

John moved to Arthur’s shoulder, quickly before the urge to bite overtook him, trailing open-mouthed kisses on his neck. He had undone the first few buttons of his shirt and uncovered the shoulder so he could lavish the skin there with his mouth.

Then, he allowed himself to bite.

Arthur was mostly skin and bones, so he did not bite hard – he didn’t want to actually hurt him. He latched onto the skin carefully, letting out a shaky breath, tongue laving in between his teeth.

Arthur’s breath caught, and John noticed he was actively stifling the sounds in his throat. Dragging his teeth along the skin, he bit again at the base of his neck.

Arthur screwed his eyes shut and curled the hand in John’s hair into a fist. John let out a little content grunt of his own at the pressure-pain on his scalp.

“John, s—stop,” Arthur let out breathlessly. “Wait.”

John froze, muscles straining, and pulled his head back just enough to look at Arthur’s face. His cheeks were flushed, lips red and slightly swollen – had he been biting them? – and as he opened his eyes, John saw they were glistening, his pupils blown wide.

“Fuck, John…” He let out. “I don’t—”

“Was that not…?” John asked, unsure all of a sudden. Arthur laughed under his breath.

“No, Christ. It was… I mean…” He took a deep breath and swallowed, clearly trying to compose himself. “You’re…” He trailed off with one more breath in an attempt to steady himself but dissolved into another bout of laughter.

“What the fuck are you laughing for?” John asked in a small outrage, but devoid of any real offence due to the sparks of genuine joy dancing in Arthur’s eyes.

“Sorry, sorry, I just…” Arthur took a deep breath. “I haven’t had… something like this in a very long time. And—And I was so afraid, when you left, that you didn’t want—”

“I want you, Arthur,” John said, his voice low. “I’m never leaving you.”

“Good,” Arthur answered. “Good, because I need you.”

“We both need each other,” John corrected, joining their foreheads again.

“Together.” Arthur nodded with a smile. His hands rested on John’s neck, fingers caressing the collar of his shirt. They caught on the tie, and his right hand followed the length of it, feeling the fabric under his fingertips.

“I don’t recall you mentioning there was a tie in the cultist’s closet,” he murmured.

“I bought it this morning,” John said. Arthur raised his eyebrows slightly.

“Oh! What does it look like? Describe it to me.”

Something warm and fluttery happened to John’s stomach, but for once, it wasn’t unpleasant.

“It’s a dark, but warm shade of brown; there is a faint pattern on it, but it’s hard to make out. It’s adorned with feathers embroidered into it with a golden thread.”

“I can feel it,” Arthur said. “It’s really nice to the touch. And it sounds pretty!”

“Yes, I—I like it.” John surprised himself with how audible the little smile on his face was. Arthur properly grinned at that, his hand coming up to caress his face. His touch wasn’t so gentle and unsure, like it had been the first time – no longer as if he was touching a porcelain cup that could be broken if you breathed on it too hard. Instead of this overwhelming urge to follow the delicate touch with claws, and teeth, and growling, it felt…

“Good,” Arthur replied. “I’m glad you had a chance to get it.”

“Arthur, I’m… sorry I didn’t say anything,” John spoke up. “I thought I’d be back before you woke up.”

“It’s alright,” Arthur sighed. “I admit it was… scary. To wake up with you not… being there.”

“I’m sorry,” John murmured again, nuzzling his nose to Arthur’s. That made him huff out a chuckle. “I’m here.”

“I’m glad.” Arthur smiled and carded his fingers through John’s hair again. “You have really nice hair, you know?”

“Oh?” John blinked down at him.

“Yes, it’s long and thick, and very soft.”

“It gets in my eyes.” John frowned, making Arthur laugh.

“I could braid it for you, if—if you want,” Arthur said, but his smile faded a little to something more wistful. “I used to… do all sorts of hairstyles for—for Faroe, I should still remember. At least some of it.”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

“But not now,” Arthur said with a sharp inhale. “Noel is still waiting for us.”

“Right, yes!” John said. “With food.”

“With food!” Arthur exclaimed, grabbing John’s shoulders as if to shake him. “I am starving, and you must be too. You haven’t eaten anything yet!”

“It’s not a very pleasant feeling,” John grumbled stepping back and letting Arthur smooth out his clothes. “I am… hesitant to be excited about this, though.”

“It is not, my friend,” Arthur said, buttoning up his shirt. “But we are about to remedy that. I promise, you’ll love it.”

John picked up his hat and let it rest on the nightstand. He looked back at Arthur, pondering whether to take his hand. He wasn’t granted much time for that, as Arthur stepped up to him and took him by the arm.

“We’re going to have to get a cane for me at some point,” Arthur said as they left the room and moved towards the elevator. “But for now this is… good.”

He rubbed John’s forearm with his hand, giving a soft smile. They stopped in front of the elevator doors, and John pushed the button to call it.

“Maybe… Maybe there’s a way we could bring your sight back,” he said through the sudden tightness in his throat. “Some sort of… a spell or a ritual, or—”

“John,” Arthur sighed sympathetically. “I appreciate that but… I think I’ve made my peace with never getting it back. If it were possible, we would have found a way already.”

The elevator arrived, and John frowned with distaste as they entered it. He pushed the button for the lobby, and after a few seconds the doors closed with a whoosh of air.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Arthur blinked with confusion. “For what?”

“It’s unfair.” When Arthur’s confused expression didn’t change, John continued. “I took your sight and couldn’t give it back. We’ve been through so much and yet… You’re the one bearing all the scars. Even the ones that were…”

His. Arthur’s expression smoothed into a bittersweet smile.

“Yeah, I suppose it is unfair,” he said quietly. “But we’ve both been through… horrible things, John. We’ve shared so much. It doesn’t just go away because you have your own body now.”

John hummed noncommittally under his nose.

“And it doesn’t erase the scars that… you can’t easily see,” Arthur continued even quieter. “Ones that I wish I could… undo.”

John swallowed, something sinking heavily in his stomach. They were getting dangerously close to things that were too emotional to deal with even in his non-corporeal form, and he would rather not touch upon them now, when this body was so eager to react physically to his emotions.

“What I mean is,” Arthur added. “We’ve both… hurt each other, and—”

To John’s luck, the elevator stopped with a ding, and the doors opened before them. He gripped Arthur’s arm tighter.

“I know. The restaurant is just up ahead.”

As they came upon the entrance to the restaurant, John spotted Noel sitting at a table near it, with his leg crossed over his knee and a newspaper sprawled open on his lap. There was an ashtray on the table with a stub of a burnt-out cigarette. John relayed this all to Arthur, slowing down their pace as he talked. Noel looked up from the newspaper when they approached.

“Hi, there.”

“Hello, Noel,” John said, feeling a tight knot in his stomach. He doubted this was due to hunger. “Chair is here, on your right, Arthur.”

“Ah, thanks.” Arthur sat down, letting go of John’s arm. John sat opposite Noel, who watched him with a curious smile.

“So, what’s the appropriate social conduct here?” Noel quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “Should I be congratulating you two?”

“Uh, I’m not sure,” Arthur let out a laugh. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Believe me, kid, I got nowhere else I’d rather be,” Noel snorted. “There’s a stack of boring paperwork back in my office that I’m very eager to avoid.”

Arthur laughed again. “What’s your excuse to get out in the field, then?”

“Oh, had a few ideas cross my mind,” he leaned back in his chair with a smirk, which John quietly said to Arthur. That earned him a briefly surprised look from Noel, that turned into a slight nod. “You did say something about a missing persons case, though it seems we solved that one pretty quickly. Technically, you’re still wanted back in Arkham.” Noel raised his eyebrows. “Can always chalk it up to that.”

“Right,” Arthur shook his head with a sigh. “Arkham.”

“Don’t sweat it, kid, no one’s actually looking for you anymore,” Noel said with a more serious tone. “Had to… swoop in and weave a couple lies here and there. Came up with quite the story by the end of it, but I got you off the main suspect list, and they’ve labelled it a cold case. So, technically you’re still in the papers but everyone’s moved on to other things.”

Arthur blinked at that. “You… You did?”

“Thank you, Noel,” John said, equally taken aback.

“Wh—I mean, thank you, that’s…” Arthur laughed in disbelief. “I can’t believe it. But why? You—You didn’t have to.”

“You kidding? It’s the least I could do,” Noel said. “I would not be here if it wasn’t for you two.”

The waitress came up to their table at that moment with menus and asked about drinks, so the conversation shifted. John observed Noel as he talked; he hadn’t changed much since the last time they saw each other. The greying light brown hair was brushed to the back of his head, his face was wrinkled in places and scarred in others, and his grey eyes still glistened with humor and intelligence. The biggest difference was the circular scar on the side of his neck, freshly healed and no doubt causing pain. The top button of Noel’s shirt was undone, and John imagined the collar would have irritated the skin otherwise. When the man moved his head, there was a slight wince of pain on his face, yet you would not be able to tell from his voice alone that something was amiss. John did not tell Arthur that; he realized there were certain drawbacks to other people being able to hear his descriptions. It would certainly sour the mood of the conversation if John brought it up.

“Anything for you, John?” Arthur asked, bringing his attention back to being an active part of the scene instead of just quietly watching. He blinked with surprise; they were ordering drinks, right?

“Uh, just water,” he said, feeling Arthur and Noel paying keen attention to him. The waitress nodded to them and walked away.

“Well, that reminds me, John,” Noel started, planting his elbows on the table with a curious look on his face. “How are you finding the physical plane?”

John let out a soft sigh.

“It’s a lot,” he said with a measured tone. “There seems to be a lot going on in a human body that I haven’t… realized, before.”

“Hah, I bet,” Noel laughed. “Wait till you eat. Do you like it so far?”

John raised his eyebrows, thinking. “It was… overwhelming at first. But I think I’ve gotten used to it.” He glanced at Arthur, not being able to hold back a slight smile. “There are some unpleasant parts of it but… Other parts, I think I quite like.”

Noel raised a curious eyebrow with a smirk. He covered his mouth, as if to whisper something to Arthur and said, “Just so you know, Arthur, John is looking at you right now with a very nice smile.”

John felt his cheeks warm up.

Arthur raised his eyebrows at him with a little smirk of his own. “Is he?”

“Aw, I think I got him blushing,” Noel crooned.

“Yes, that would be one of the unpleasant parts,” he said, trying to stifle the embarrassment. Noel laughed warmly, and John felt Arthur’s knee touch his under the table.

“Sorry, John,” Noel said with an apologetic smile. “I simply couldn’t resist.”

The rest of the meal passed in a similar atmosphere, with John deciding to try eggs on toast with a few frankfurters and rating them as tolerable. He wasn’t fond of the texture of the eggs, but he did like the toast and sausages. The sensations of eating and swallowing themselves weren’t the most comfortable, but the feeling of his stomach filling brought new energy and some kind of… exhilaration into his body. Yes, he could understand why Arthur liked it so much.

“So, what’s next for you guys?” Noel asked after they’ve finished eating and exited onto the street. “Staying in the city for a while?”

“For a while, probably,” Arthur said, as they directed their steps towards Noel’s car. “I want to visit my father, and Marie. And—And Oscar…” He turned his head towards John. “You said—”

“Yes,” John nodded. “You should talk to him.”

“Are you sure you’re alright with it?” Arthur asked. “I told you when we left him at the hospital—”

“Arthur, we’re not in one body anymore,” John interrupted him, squeezing his arm a bit tighter. “I may not find his company the most… interesting, but it wasn’t my intention to keep you away from other people.”

“I know, I just…” Arthur took a deep breath. “Alright, you’re right. I should talk to him.”

“He’s still at the community center,” John said.

“How was—Was he… alright?” Arthur asked.

“He seemed to be,” John shrugged. “It looked like he was focusing on the people in the church.”

“You went into a church?” Noel asked with a raised eyebrow.

“What, did you think I’d catch on fire?” John replied with a deadpan voice that had Noel snort out a laugh. “Yes, I went into the church.”

Noel turned towards a black police car and opened up the door from the passenger side.

“Alright, hop in and figure out where I’m dropping you off.”

With some effort they managed to clamber into the back of the car and settle into the seats. Noel closed the doors behind them and walked around the car to get to the driver’s seat.

“I’m glad he has other people to help,” Arthur said quietly with a smile.

“I think you had that impact on him, Arthur,” John said, while Noel got into the car and started up the engine. “He didn’t mention you, but I know he was talking about you when I asked about his reason. You didn’t stay with him just as a person; you stayed with him as an ideal to follow.”

He felt his voice thicken with emotion. “And I know something about that myself.”

Arthur blinked, the amused smile from before turning into something misty-eyed and bittersweet. “John…”

“You’ve shown me what it means to be human, Arthur,” John spoke quietly, lacing their fingers together. “And while I will never be one, I… appreciate what I have learned. What I can continue to learn.”

The car moved onto the street, and Noel seemed to focus on driving, only occasionally glancing at them in the rearview mirror. Subtly, as not to alert him, one of John’s tendrils snaked out of his shirt and wrapped around Arthur’s shoulder to pull him closer. He gasped softly, quietly enough that only John heard it.

“You showed me that life could have a meaning. Could have a purpose,” he continued in a whisper. “And now, I am met with the question of what that purpose is for me. What I value. What I want.”

“John, you don’t have to know all these things so soon after—”

“But I think I do,” he said, putting his head to Arthur’s temple. Arthur shifted slightly. “You have taught me the meaning of hope. And I want that, Arthur. I want to have hope. And I want to have you.”

Arthur let out a breath and smiled slightly, rubbing his thumb on John’s hand. “The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep.”

John closed his eyes with a smile of his own. “And miles to go before we sleep.”

#malevolent #niki.writes #malevolent podcast #malevolent fanfic #arthur lester #john doe #private eyes #jarthur #detective noel #charlie dowd

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

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Arthur Does a Therapie - a Malevolent fic

The Keeper's theory is a painful one.

The Keeper's theory is correct.

The only question now is how Arthur chooses to handle this truth.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis

AO3

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CHAPTER ONE

John began pleading before Arthur finished his morning wash.

Arthur, I do not want to go see the Keeper today, he said, voice low and fear-tight. I don’t want to deal with an Outer God. They’re dangerous.

“They are,” Arthur said. “I know they are. Kayne… fuck. I know. All right? But she’s not like them. John, I wouldn’t just put you in danger. I wouldn’t do that.” He pulled on the clothing he’d been given; it felt soft, looser than his usual what-the-fuck uniforms. Hastur wanted to be sure she could unwrap and reach whatever part of him she wished without fuss, apparently.

Well, that thought came out oddly. Arthur’s lips quirked. He blamed the stupid dream. That damned moment in The Woods. John’s tentacles creeping so lightly up his legs—

He shook his head, knocking it out, leaving it behind.

But I’m not like how I was before, John whined. I’m much more… I don’t remember, Arthur. She could take advantage of my memory loss. Do you even have proof she can help?

“She kept you alive.” Arthur’s voice roughened, like he had unpleasant fabric stuffed in there somehow. “Whatever else she is, she did that, and I owe her everything.” He adjusted the comfortable boots. “Do I have to wear the damn cape?”

Hastur had wanted some flair. He claimed it was for warmth.

John huffed. You don’t have to wear any of it. I don’t like this outfit. I can’t see your body. How am I even supposed to talk to an Outer God? They don’t talk. They like to hear screams.

“She doesn’t. I’m telling you, John, she just feels like a person. She’s gentle. She saved your life, and I trust her because of that.” He didn’t mention saving his. “Well. If I don’t wear the cape, he’ll fuss. Besides, John, she’s already seen you and met you. I mean… as you are. We recovered there for days before coming home.” His hands stilled on the cape’s fastening. Home. Carcosa was home. He didn’t want it to be, but it was.

Silently, he cursed the part of his heart that still wanted to go back to Earth, and hoped none of that showed on his face.

It probably did, anyway.

He could feel John settling into a sulk, like a cat hunched in the corner of a room and hissing at anything that came near, but before he could dwell on it further, Hastur arrived.

“My own,” the King in Yellow said, not even complimenting the cape. “Are you ready?”

My own. Arthur still didn’t know how he felt about… that. The title was right. Correct. He felt it, literally in his soul.

He still wasn’t sure what it meant or should mean, so he defaulted to his favorite coping method: he refused to think about it further. “Yes. So’s John.”

Don’t you speak for me!

“Fine. He’s not ready, then.”

Go to hell!

Hastur chuckled, sounding all the more cruel for John’s resistance. “Unfortunate. You had your day to rally yourself, John; I granted it, as I was asked. Now it is time for us to go.”

Fuck you, too, John muttered, but without spice.

John needed help.

Arthur was doing this for him. That meant no holds barred, leaping in, full-bore. “Let’s go.” He knew where Hastur’s outstretched tentacle was, and that also was a sensation he wasn’t sure how to feel about.

For John.

Arthur stepped willingly into that grip. As Hastur lifted him and the crackle of magic seared the air, Arthur tried to settle in, but he couldn’t help drawing the (stupid dream) comparison.

John’s tentacles had been so much more delicate.

Ugh. He wasn’t keen on meeting the Keeper with that dream fresh in his head, but he had to for John.

For John.

The Scriptorium was active on the other side, the scratching pens and flipping pages mingling with the scents of ink and books.

Hastur exhaled, a large sound, a strangely burdens-down sound, and Arthur didn’t know how to feel about that, either.

Arthur, John breathed, clearly in awe. It’s… huge. This library. There are bookcases that look tall as some of the spires of Carcosa.

“You’ve told me it’s incredible. That it even puts Hastur’s library to shame,” said Arthur.

“It does,” said Hastur without bristling.

John faltered for a second, but Arthur could feel his eyes darting back and forth, could feel John clutching at his hand. There’s power here, Arthur. Real, serious power. But there are humans here, too. A lot of them, and some other denizens of the Dreamlands. They’re wearing robes, and look comfortable, and they’re working. It’s like they barely even notice we’re here.

“I was told she has a lot of researchers,” Arthur said quietly. “They seem… good? Booksy. Happy.”

There’s maybe two dozen human researchers, John said, low and awed. Outer Gods don’t deal with humans much, unless to eat them.

“Yeah,” said a dry voice from the ground, “Keeps isn’t exactly your bog-standard Outer God. I guess I’d know, by this point.”

“The Keeper’s chosen,” Hastur said quietly. “Greetings, Archivist Tabby.”

“Nope,” the girl said. “Still just Tabby. How you feeling, Arthur?”

“Hi, Tabby.” Arthur’s smile was tired, but real; she’d witnessed him at his worst, expelling poison in the most disgusting ways, and never made him feel badly for it. He wouldn’t forget that. “Better, thanks. How’s the baking?”

“Good. This week it’s banana bread. It turned out way better than that bread I made when you were here last time.” Her voice sounded pleased. “Partially because it’s breadlike, as opposed to a cracker. And there’s chocolate chips in it, which slaps.”

“Slaps?” said Arthur.

“Rocks? It's very good,” she over-enunciated in the way she did when some slang of hers went over his head.

John sounded baffled. Why do you look like that?

“Oh, boy,” Tabby said.

“John,” said Arthur. “Be polite.”

Hastur did not step in to help. That ass.

You’re human, John said accusingly.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur started.

What did you do to yourself?

“He’s not… really himself right now,” said Arthur.

“Eh, I’ve gotten similar questions from four-year-olds,” Tabby said. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, bud. Do you mean the hair? The lip ring? The lack of light in my eyes? Gimmie something to work with, here.”

Who are you worshiping with all of this? John demanded.

Arthur sighed. “Yeah, we, um. Really need to see the Keeper.”

What are you getting out of it? And John gasped. You’re chosen, but you’re not even marked!

“Keeps is expecting you. She wanted to let John get re-adjusted to the place without her first,” Tabby said, and there was a distinct tone in her voice that signified she was reaching the end of her patience. “Anyway. It’s good to see you too, Hastur. Keeps has been going nuts for the banana bread when it’s toasted, with some melted butter on top, and I know she’s made a pot of that tea Arthur likes. She’s in the office, if y’all are ready.”

“Thank you.” Hastur acted like nothing awkward was going on, and finally—maybe reluctantly—put Arthur down.

“Which way?” said Arthur.

Wait! What powers are you getting from these choices? Should we do… piercings and dyes? John hollered.

John hadn’t answered him, so Arthur just started walking blind—and walked directly into Tabby, who had stopped dead.

“Arthur,” she said, with a grave seriousness tinged with the most excitement Arthur had ever heard her express. “Can I dye your hair?”

“No,” Hastur rumbled from behind them.

“Oh, fuck off,” Tabby said. “Anyway. Dude, I’ll do such a good job.”

Hastur growled.

Hey! He’s mine—and we’re not going to let you deface Arthur to grow your powers! He’s magnificent as-is!

“I’m so sorry. About both of them,” Arthur said.

Tabby made a magnificent scoffing sound. “I don’t have any powers. I just live here, for fuck’s sake. Turn, like, forty degrees to your left Arthur, follow my voice. He’s cranky, huh?”

“Thanks. And he’s just confused.”

I am not confused! A pause. Except about her!

“He’s really confused,” Arthur added conspiratorially.

“You’re the one flipping your gourd about seeing hair dye for the first time, my guy,” Tabby said dryly. “I think ‘confused’ is the charitable descriptor here.”

“Let it go,” Arthur murmured.

But she’s weird! She’s being weird!

Arthur’s heart lurched. It was such a reminder of how young John was, even though he was simultaneously ancient. “You’re such a contradictory being,” he murmured.

Fuck you!

Arthur snorted. “You know what? Fuck you, too.”

John puffed like an angry bull.

Arthur ignored him and walked in the direction indicated. “Ma’am?” he called.

“Jesus fuck, definitely not ‘ma’am’, thanks,” Tabby said. “Over here. Got the door for you and everything.” And then, just as Arthur got ready to pass through the door, Tabby sighed. “John. Look, for what it’s worth, I’m… I’m glad you’re alright. Even if you’re a dick about it.”

I am not a dick!

“He doesn’t have a corporeal form, so there is no dick,” Arthur said primly (privately deeply pleased at John’s inarticulate snarl), and walked through the door.

“Tabby, I asked you to be nice,” the Keeper said, the frown evident in her voice.

“And I said ‘nuh-uh’,” Tabby replied. “I’m bringing y’all the last of the banana bread. I need more bananas, by the way. Everyone’s been eating it like crazy.”

“I’ll ask someone to obtain more for you. Thank you,” the Keeper said warmly. And then there was the soft shift of silk sliding over itself, and Arthur could feel the force of her gaze, like the sun itself turned to look at him. “Arthur, you’re looking better. And John, so are you! How are you feeling?”

John was absolutely quiet and still, as if to remain unseen.

“I’m feeling better, thank you. Able to eat regularly now,” said Arthur.

John stayed absolutely quiet and still.

“John’s doing a lot better,” Arthur said. “There’s a lot for him to overcome.”

“Indeed there is. Many would consider it insurmountable. I think, given the context, it’s quite brave of you to come see me today,” she said.

John trembled. You’re very large, he said (bravely).

“I am,” the Keeper said sweetly. “Please, take a seat. Hastur, you seem to be feeling much better than the last time we spoke as well.”

“All is well,” said Hastur, by which he could mean anything.

Arthur felt his way to a seat. “I was hoping you could help John adjust more. He… there’s a lot, is all.”

“Of course. Hastur paid for my aid in returning both you and John to your full health,” the Keeper said, clearly for John’s sake. “How are you feeling, John?”

John made a soft, frightened sound. Fine. We can go home now.

“Have you recovered any memories?” she asked, even gentler. “Any small bits of knowledge you shouldn’t otherwise know? Feelings towards people that have no basis? Deja vu?”

I… one. Just one.

Arthur knew his face fell. He couldn’t stop it.

Does she know? John whispered.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “Probably.”

A bad memory, John said.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” the Keeper said gently. “Negative memories often leave powerful marks on our psyches; I’m sad to say it won’t be the last. Is this memory one you and Arthur shared?”

Yes. Rough. Though we experienced it in different ways.

“Tell her,” Arthur said. “It’s okay. You can tell her what I did.”

John gasped. But Arthur…

“It’s all right.” It was a whisper, delivered with his face turned down. “She probably knows, anyway. Kayne’s show, remember?”

John took a deep, disembodied breath. When… he had Arthur, John said, gesturing in Hastur’s direction, we were thrown into the prison pits, in the Dreamlands wilderness, and starved.

Arthur said nothing.

Hastur said nothing.

For no reason he knew, that made John angry. Starved. Starved. And then he threw this… man into the pit with us—a cannibal, who planned to kill and eat us, too. But I… It hurt. I… when Arthur touches a dead body, I see how they died, and this cannibal had a braid he’d cut from the woman he’d last killed and eaten, so… I found out what he was planning to do from that.

He hesitated.

No one spoke.

Damn them all. Arthur killed and ate him first.

Arthur said nothing. Did not look up, as if even the thought of the response to what he’d done was too much.

John watched her for signs of violence. He had a left hand. He’d get Arthur out of here if needed, by hook or by crook.

"That… I can certainly see that is the type of memory that would stick, lingering like an old wound," the Keeper said gently. "I'm sorry that was the first memory you recalled, John. And I'm sorry you both went through that. My understanding of the situation was, in the end, it brought the two of you closer; perhaps there's bitter irony in that the memory of it seems to be doing the same." She rose, the rustle of her silk skirts somehow soothing. "Would you like some tea? You don't have to drink, if you don't want to; sometimes, when I recount difficult memories, I find it helpful to hold onto something that I can ground myself with." She paused. "I learned it from Tabby."

John hadn’t expected that.

Arthur had clearly been hoping for it. “Yes, please.”

What, she’s fine with eating people? John hissed.

“I think she knows we had no choice,” Arthur whispered back.

We had no choice. There was no… John‘s voice choke off.

“It’s a complex situation,” the Keeper said gently. “You had to kill and eat to survive, forced by a god who is an expert in the various ways at which one can break the minds of human beings.”

“I am,” said Hastur simply, and John growled.

“If you had refused to eat, more than likely that man’s body would have rotted, providing an even less hygienic environment than you already had, and you would have starved even further to your detriment—plus, if you had elected later to eat in desperation, you were much more likely to have become ill from it. You made the only choice you could, and there is nothing to shame you for. And, not for nothing, I must remind you I am not human.” She let out a small, dry laugh. “Gods have no qualms about eating each other, if the need or opportunity arises. I have no desire to eat my siblings, but if one of them were to attack me with such viciousness that I needed to kill them, I would almost certainly eat them afterward.”

Arthur took John’s hand.

But I saw him die every time we… John said, barely audible.

“Oh,” the Keeper said, very softly. “You poor thing.” She turned to Hastur. “Did you know he could do that?”

“Yes. I took advantage of it in a place called Harper’s Hill to send a monster their way,” said Hastur.

So matter of fact about it. John growled again. Motherfucker.

“He remembered that.” Arthur sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “Of all things…”

“It’s a powerful, painful memory that the both of you share. It’s not surprising.” The Keeper set down a mug of tea in front of Arthur, the ceramic rattling lightly on the marble-topped desk. “Luckily, he had you there to guide him through it, Arthur.”

“I did what I could.” His thumb stroked the back of John’s hand. “But it doesn’t feel like enough.”

Arthur…

“You’re only human, Arthur.” He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, like a thousand-watt spotlight directly on a bare stage. “Suffocating yourself under the weight of your own expectations does no one any good.”

“I’m not… I’m not doing that,” Arthur said. “He’s always been there for me, at my lowest, at my… my heaviest burden. I must do the same for him. I’ll do anything to help him.”

“Are you not already doing that now?”

And maybe Arthur would have snapped at her, bared his teeth, if not for the sweetly innocent tone of her voice, the gentle question in it. “I’m trying!” he said, but it lacked vitriol. “I’m trying,” he said again, almost a whisper. “Can you help me do more?”

Arthur, you don’t need…

Arthur clutched his hand.

The Keeper was quiet for a long moment. “I would like to try something, Arthur, if you are willing.”

“Anything.” He looked up, though he could not see. “Anything you want to try.”

She let out a sound like faraway thunder. “I would like to speak to you privately. One-on-one, so you may speak freely without the fear of input from others.”

Arthur blinked several times, or maybe John did. “I don’t understand.”

John’s hand twitched.

“I would like to speak with you, and you alone, without the fear of being overheard by others,” the Keeper repeated, and there was no malice in her repetition, no harshness in her words. “You have a lot on your shoulders, Arthur, and no privacy in which to examine that which you carry without fear, without regret. Without others. I propose this: Hastur leaves the room, and I deafen John for a short time so you and I can converse in true privacy. John keeps your eyes and your hand so he can see that you remain unharmed; Hastur will be close by, and will respond to your mark, of course. Anything you say to me remains fully and completely confidential, and you and I can discuss strategies to address the issues that are on your mind.”

No!

Arthur hadn’t answered yet.

You can’t have him! John seemed to have gone somewhere nobody had intended with this suggestion.

Arthur still hadn’t answered.

“I am not taking him, John. I cannot take him from you.” The Keeper’s voice was measured and even. “I neither have the power or desire to do that.”

John growled.

“John,” said Arthur quietly. “What would it take for you to feel safe with this?”

You want to hide things from me? John said, his voice somehow child-like in spite of his basso profundo.

“No, no. I’ll tell you everything after. I just want to figure some things out without having to say what might… hurt you because I worded them poorly. I know things you don’t right now, and it’s very messy.”

Part two.

“Yes. All I’m trying to do is figure out how to help you.”

Be mine. That’s how.

Arthur blushed.

“No pressure,” Hastur said, and laughed, low and wicked.

In response to that, Arthur’s jaw set, the visible embodiment of stubbornness. He lifted his face. “I’m willing once John says yes.”

“John,” the Keeper said, her voice warm and gentle and soothing. “I know what it is I’m asking of you. You do not know me, and yet I am asking for you to set Arthur in my hands and trust that I aim to help. I very much do, John; on our first meeting, months ago, Hastur requested I unravel the reasons that Arthur is aging, and paid quite heavily for it. My reigning hypothesis is that Arthur’s own particular brand of power enables him to resist magic, including the magic of the mark which normally would grant him a limited form of immortality.”

John was making very small sounds. He… he paid? What? What did he pay?

“A memory. More, I will not say; confidentiality is important to me, as is keeping my word.”

A memory. Arthur’s eyes moved on their own, taking in the Scriptorium. Something you would treasure.

“Something more valuable than the entire public section of my Scriptorium,” she said. “I am beholden to him, and I will ensure Arthur’s health and safety.”

Arthur’s eyes swiveled to Hastur.

Hastur was unreadable, tentacles undulating, beautiful and horrible and magnificent and nightmarish. John hated him. John envied him. John feared him. But John knew damn well Hastur wouldn’t pay something important if he didn’t mean what he’d said.

John still held off answering for an awkward, silent moment, just to make them wait, just to have some control. Fine. I see everything. And you tell me what was said after.

“That’s a promise,” said Arthur, tension leaving his face.

“Thank you, John.” The Keeper reached out, gently patting the knuckles of John’s hand. “If at any point you do not wish to continue, Arthur, you may say so, and our conversation will end. John’s hearing will be restored, and I will summon Hastur back to attend to you. Is this amenable to you?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I will be enjoying your marvelous library.” Hastur bowed (a thing John had definitely never seen before, and he both envied the grace and marveled at impossible humility) before floating away.

John suddenly felt very alone and very exposed. He clutched Arthur’s hand.

“I’m ready.” Arthur swallowed and sat up straight.

CHAPTER TWO

“First,” the Keeper said, and gestured. The door audibly locked. “Privacy is key, of course. And now, John: I will be able to hear you, still, though Arthur will not. Kindly keep that in mind. Alright?”

John audibly (impossibly) swallowed. All right. He had a death-grip on Arthur’s hand.

Arthur didn’t pull away.

There was a subtle shift in the air, and suddenly, John was silent. “John,” the Keeper said. “If you can hear me, please squeeze Arthur’s hand three times.”

John’s grip remained the same.

“Arthur,” the Keeper said gently. “Thank you for agreeing to speak to me. How are you feeling, in this moment?”

Arthur hesitated. “I’m tired.” His eyes filled. “I’m so tired. And I don’t… I can’t trust so much of what he says, and I… I miss him, but that makes no sense because I have him. I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I’m enough.” He wiped his eyes.

“Oh, Arthur,” the Keeper said, her voice tender. “I can hardly blame you. Recovering from the poisoning would be exhausting enough, even without caring for John through this. This is not a situation that can be fixed with a clever application of magic, or even love alone. No manual has been written for this; I would know, after all.” She laughed, soft and gentle like a distant bell. “Do you feel as if you’re grieving?”

“Yes,” softly. “But… he’s here. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair of me, at all.”

“Who says that the only proper reason to grieve is death?” The Keeper shifted in her chair, and Arthur was struck by the sudden idea that she moved to make sure he knew she was still there, still somewhere he could track her. “John appears to be regaining his memories, and this is something good; but you are still allowed to grieve the loss of what the both of you had, however temporary this loss may be. Perhaps it is not fair, but, what part of your situation is at all ‘fair?’”

His face tightened. “No, you’re right. You’re right. It’s fair.”

“Is it? How is it fair, then?”

“I… haven’t exactly laid the brickwork for an easy road for myself.”

“That you certainly have not. If anything, it almost seems as though you make things harder for yourself, even when others try to help clear the way for you,” the Keeper said. “Why do you think that may be?”

He bristled. “I haven’t made them harder for myself. I’m just saying I… choices have consequences, and I’ve made a lot of choices.”

“And I by no means am disagreeing with that statement; I merely am commenting on what appears to be an overarching thread. There have been several instances now in which you have been offered forgiveness, genuine apology, or affection, and it almost appears as though you rejected them, at least to me. Do you feel you don’t deserve these things?”

He couldn’t see her. He still managed a pretty good hardboiled stare. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because your determination makes things happen, Arthur.” Her voice was calm, gentle. “Your extraordinary will enables you to resist some of the most powerful magics that exist in the known universe; you kept John from succumbing to a poison that was specifically designed to kill Forgotten Ones, a poison that shreds apart mortal souls like paper. And yet, despite the potency of this attack, you survived. You resist the magic of Outer Gods, and you currently resist the magic from two different gods who are trying to keep you from aging. So, I ask again: do you not feel as if you deserve forgiveness, or apology, or affection?”

His brow knit. This was a look Hastur knew well, and she was beginning to: fucking stubborn. “I don’t see the connection. No, in answer to your question. I don't. I know I don’t. I know what I am. Happy now?”

“‘Happy’ is not the word I would use, no. But I appreciate your honesty.” She refilled his tea, judging by the sound of pouring liquid. “I do not ask with the intent to be cruel. I believe that your guilt may be part of the reason that you are resisting the dual marks on your soul, and John’s own guilt may in turn be hampering his recovery, whether he is aware of it or not. That is why I ask: to examine if, perhaps, we can find a way to comfort John, and allow these painful memories to come back without additional damage.”

Arthur went very still. He started to answer; stopped. Shifted. “You… you think I’m… resisting the marks with the power of a guilty conscience?”

She ruminated on that for a moment. “It is a bit more complex than that, but I suppose putting it into the simplest possible terms: yes.”

His mouth fell open. “You’re shitting me.”

“I truly wish I was. I wish I had an easier solution than ‘find a way for Arthur Lester to forgive himself so that he no longer ages, which conveniently models self-compassion for John, who can (probably) stop fighting the recovery of his memories and return to himself more fully.’” She took a sip of tea.

“Wait, no. No, hold on. Hold on.” He stood, sat down, and scowled like a pro. “You’re telling me I have to deceive myself in order to be what John needs?”

“Interesting choice of words,” the Keeper said. “From my perspective, John is afraid. He has been thrust into a situation in which he likely feels like he’s acting in a play without a script, and that everything will fall to pieces if he does not find a way to play his part adequately. His first regained memory was one of mutual horror and pain, tinged with the guilt that his presence was part of the reason you were in the pits to begin with. I imagine he’s in a similar position as you, now: feeling guilt over actions of the past, unable to forgive himself for his part in them, and that makes him afraid of triggering memories going forward.” She paused. “Am I making sense?”

That was an oh, fuck, face. “I… you’re saying I can’t help him work past that unless I… project that, somehow? Show him… I… it’s not the same situation! I can’t just…pretend it’s the same! I… I’m not… he wasn’t the…” He took a deep, stabilizing breath. “I have done things that can’t just be overlooked. But you’re telling me I have to or I can’t help him. You’re sure. You’re sure?”

“So has he, Arthur. So has Hastur.” She let out another low hum. “Do you still hate Hastur, for what he did to you?”

“No,” Arthur said quietly. “I don’t. I honestly never really hated him, anyway. That was more John’s thing.”

“May I ask why?” And there it was again, that innocent curiosity.

Arthur was quiet for a moment, just linking his fingers with John’s. When he spoke, his answer was quiet, face turned down. “How could I hate him for bringing my daughter back and giving her everything I never could?”

“Many would hate someone who tortured them, starved them, forced them to turn to cannibalism, and then weaponized their most painful loss with the intent of permanent harm. Your daughter's return has become a wonderful thing, but I know it wasn't always that way.”

Oh, how he scowled. “It was. It was.”

She folded her hands, demure. “And John has changed, has he not? In part because of you, and in part because of Faroe.”

“She’s worth it.” He said that almost too fast, as if anticipating pushback. “She’s worth it all.”

“Of course she's worth it,” the Keeper said, certain and precise. “What about you, Arthur? Do you feel as though you've changed?”

“I… yes, all right. He’s changed. And I’ve changed.” He swallowed. “I know I’ve changed. Some of it’s for the better.”

“It is not an insignificant thing, change; a god, changing for a mortal. The few times Hastur and I have spoken on Faroe, I can hear it in every syllable, read it on every cell of his body. But is that change enough? Have you forgiven him for what he's done to you?”

Arthur seemed confused. “Of course. I had to. John’s the one who’s getting pissed all over again.” As if John had found peace with it all, though it’s unclear where Arthur found that idea.

“If you can forgive the ancient being who tortured you,” the Keeper said, painfully innocent, "why can't you forgive yourself for not being able to magically fix John?”

Arthur went very, very still. “That’s not what I… that’s not it.”

“Well. What is it, then? It can’t be about the poisoning; that was targeted specifically at John, not at you, and you saved his life. I was there, so I know exactly how that shook out; you can’t argue you somehow made it worse. So what is it?” She let out a very soft, small sigh. “You don’t need to answer right now, of course. I understand that is a difficult question; but it’s a question I think is worth exploring.”

Oh, his expression was miserable. “Do… do you know about Faroe?”

“I do,” she said, and her voice was so gentle. “I know what happened, Arthur. I did research on you; I found her birth certificate. And I found her obituary. I understand the reason why you shattered, Arthur."

His lower lip trembled; then he hardened. “Then you know why I can’t be angry at the one who brought her back. And why I can’t forgive myself for losing her in the first place.” His voice dropped. “And how John’s situation isn’t like mine.”

“I am not asking you to forgive yourself for that, Arthur," she said. “John's situation is different, and yet you're punishing yourself in a similar way for being unable to fix him. He needs you, and though you have done admirably by every measure, you still believe it is not enough. He recounted a traumatic memory, and you kept him safe, and yet you still punish yourself with the same intensity. Why?”

“Because of what I did!” His voice was high and cracking. “Just because the stars fucking aligned and I got her back doesn’t mean I didn’t do it! It doesn’t mean I didn’t… fail her on such a level that I…” He had to stop, breath hitching, fighting wildly with his grief. “I know what I am. And I lose people. I don’t dare try to help him on my own.”

Her gaze was intense. “And what does Faroe think of that, Arthur?”

The way his jaw set was really something—a wildly stubborn look that would strike deities as cute or infuriating, no in-between. “She… forgave me.” His lips twitched, softened. “By royal decree.”

“And how would she feel, to know you're still punishing yourself for it, despite her insistence you're forgiven?”

He turned his face away. “I don’t want her to know. She might blame herself, and it isn’t her fault.” Which wasn’t quite an answer.

“You also kept the truth of her parentage close to your chest, until the end,” the Keeper said, soft. “That little girl needs you, Arthur, especially as she is becoming a young woman. John needs you; not as someone to fix him, but as his friend and companion.” She paused for a long second. “Hastur needs you. And the way things are going…” She let out a soft sigh. “Arthur, I have another question. You do not need to answer if you don’t wish to: but I feel, deeply, it is important.”

He licked his lips before answering. “Okay. Ask it. Whatever it is.”

“Do you want to die, Arthur?”

Arthur went dead white.

The trembling began with his chin, an emotional crumbling, working its way up to his lips, tightening his eyes, until he curled forward, covering his face with his hands, and sobbed just once. “I’m not trying to die,” he said, which was far from a no. “I’m not suicidal. I just… I… thought it would end naturally, and then I learn they’re going to try to keep me forever, and I… it’s like a hallway with no way out. I’m so afraid of what I’m going to do to them all. I’m so tired. And I can’t… I can’t lose anyone else. Not again. But it’s going to happen because people I love die.”

She reached out, her fingertips brushing Arthur’s knuckles—only for John’s hand to swat them away, and she let out a soft noise. “You are one of the reasons, currently, they all thrive the way they do. They need you, Arthur.”

Arthur’s hand shook as he covered his face.

John’s hand flipped her off. Flailed. Gripped Arthur’s wrist and pulled as if to lift him bodily through the air.

“John is… distressed,” she said, voice low and worried. “He’s very distressed. I’m going to bring him back in, Arthur. He needs you.”

Arthur took another sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I… let me talk to him, and we can…” and he pulled it together. “Let me talk to him. It’ll be all right.”

—reach you, we’re leaving, and no one can stop us, and I don’t care what he says!

“You’re back, John. Arthur can hear you again.” The Keeper’s voice was gentle. “Would you two like a moment alone, before I summon Hastur back?”

John’s breath—metaphysical or not—was hard and fast. Arthur!

“I’m here, John.” He couldn’t even try to make his voice cheerful.

Arthur! What’d she say? What’d she do? Damn you and your help!

“Shhh. It’s okay.” Arthur caught his hand, speaking against the back. “It’s okay. I’m okay,” he lied.

Liar!

“John, it’s going to be alright,” the Keeper said, soothing but firm. “Arthur is safe. We had a difficult conversation, but—”

Fuck you!

“I’m sorry,” said Arthur in a horrible, shattered tone. “She didn’t hurt me. It’s my own… what I’ve done that…”

You said you wouldn’t take him away! John cried, and his voice cracked. You—you broke him, too! Just like Hastur did, you fucking monster!

Arthur gasped.

“Did you regain another memory?” The Keeper’s voice was soft, almost awed.

Fuck off!

“John?”

John was puffing. He broke him. Right there, using her. I saw. I saw!

“Oh, gods. John, no—”

John gathered power, beginning to cast.

Arthur gasped again. “Don’t cast magic! I can’t do it right now!”

And John… whimpered.

It wasn’t a sound Arthur had heard from him before. “John?”

Why is all of it… why…

“Why is he only remembering the bad things?” Arthur said.

“Because those are the memories you seek to define yourself by,” the Keeper said, gentle but firm. “He learned from you, Arthur. But we can start to fix it.”

Arthur went pale again.

Don’t you dare put this on—

“She’s right.” A flat tone. “She’s right. I did that to you, John. I taught you that.”

A sputtering. You didn’t teach me anything!

Arthur laughed weakly. “Maybe we can largely agree on that, but… no. No. I taught you that.” He exhaled slowly. “And I have to undo it, somehow.” He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, John. I didn’t think… I’ll fix it. I promise, I’ll find a way to fix it.”

Fix… you… what are you talking about? This isn’t your fault! Everybody aims for you! Hastur! This Keeper! The Bu… he stopped.

“The Butcher, John?” said Arthur very quietly.

He was going to break your hands!

Arthur shuddered. “We got away, though at a price. Remember?”

A long pause. No!

“That’s all right. It’s all right. We’ll work through it together.”

“The wound has been exposed,” the Keeper said, “And now that we’re aware, treatment can begin for both of you.” She sighed. “For what it’s worth, Arthur… I wish my hypothesis had been wrong. But I hold out hope that maybe, just maybe, I can still be proven incorrect.”

He nodded. “You are.”

What hypothesis?

“A theory,” said Arthur.

The Keeper rustled her way to the door, followed by that piercing, teary golden gaze. “I’m going to give you two a few minutes to collect yourselves before I get Hastur. Will that be alright? Or would you like longer?”

“Thanks. I think that will be fine.”

Maybe keep him away forever.

“I can’t do that, but I’ll give you time to talk.” And she was gone.

A beat of silence.

You swore to me, John hissed.

“I know. I’ll keep my word. Just… give me a minute, okay?” Arthur said, wiping his eyes.

What did she do?

“You remember him breaking me.” He wasn’t a question.

John’s tiny breath was shaky. Yes, but I don’t… I don’t understand. I don’t know how we got there, to that room. I don’t know why the memory feels so… ashamed.

“Ashamed?” Arthur yipped. “Over what?”

I don’t remember! John cried.

Arthur swallowed. “I think we have to talk about part two.”

I’m afraid of part two.

“We’ll get through it.” It was a vow, and as the Keeper came back inside, she saw the entanglement between them tighten, like their hands, like their choices, more bound and binding and clinging by the second.

CHAPTER THREE

Hastur was quiet, taking them home.

John was quiet, clutching Arthur’s hand.

Arthur was quiet, chewing the Keeper’s words.

No. No, he wasn’t… he wasn’t what she said. No.

It didn’t matter, though. Not with what faced him now. He had to tell John part two.

It was… maybe going to require a part three, now that he thought about it. From his time with Yellow on, through the moment when Hastur broke him… that was part two.

Carcosa had its own part. It had to. There was so much…

Arthur.

He would never grow tired of the way John said his name. John put meaning in it. John made his name matter. “Yes?”

I’m not letting go.

“Neither am I.”

Good. Join sounded like he needed it. Good.

“After everything we’ve been through,” Arthur began.

Yes?

Oh, this was so hard. “It’s time for part two.”

Hastur inhaled quietly, but said not a word.

Good. This… needed some privacy.

The garden was warm this evening. Sweat trickled down Arthur’s sides under his shirt and cooled along his hairline. He followed the sound of the fountain, ignoring distant chatter from some strolling beasts, and sat.

So this is just where we do this, huh? said John, sounding amused. The Fountain of Confessions.

Arthur smiled wryly. “Well, it seemed appropriate to continue where we left off.”

John’s hand wandered across his waist, clinging to Arthur’s shirt, as if physically representing their entanglement. He’d been doing that since they left the Scriptorium. Might as well.

Arthur lay his hand over John’s. “Buckle in. A lot happened in a few days. After you came back to me, Larson had me—us—thrown down into his mine.”

It was too much.

Too much horror in a few days, and the parts Arthur did not know threatened like malevolent shades, stalking in the gloom.

John knew there was more. Arthur had nearly (nearly?) died, and didn’t know, and You saved me. You stitched my wound wasn’t enough.

Something more had happened. Something…

Then Arthur got to the train, and that was wild (and so smart!), and John had no room to worry about the rest.

He did it, John kept thinking, growing more amazed at this ridiculous, insane, courageous human by the moment.

Scratch. The widow. Daniel. The Butcher again. Oscar. The horror of reconstituting a god.

The betrayal in Scratch’s face and voice.

The understanding he’d pushed Arthur to finish what they’d started, sealing that betrayal.

Daniel dying, Arthur at his side. Others trying to take John and running into what John now recognized as Arthur’s absurd willpower.

The gate nearly opening. The gate…

You broke your end of the deal. And John remembered the voice, remembered the accusation, remembered…

“John! John, it’s all right! John!” Arthur held John’s hand to his lips, his breath hot, his voice sharp.

I… what did I…

He remembered reneging on a deal with… with…

“I’m here,” John, whispered Arthur, because he was, because he always would be, even though he’d almost been…

What did I do?

“You made a deal,” said Arthur slowly. “You never told me the details. What matters is you didn’t follow through.”

How could he say that? But I…

“It was like in the hotel. In Leerie. You… when the moment came to spend my life and change places…”

To open the gate, John said thickly.

“You pulled back. Because I can trust you, John, no matter what you’ve come from, no matter what you’ve done. You are what you choose to do now, and I trust you.”

But he shouldn’t.

John wept softly. Arthur joined him. It wasn’t the screaming nightmare memory of Faust, of what they’d had to do. This was quiet, a grief, a regret; for releasing her into the world had done great things.

Terrible things.

She was probably, he realized, the reason all those nations were suddenly able and willing to access the occult in their world-wide war, the reason Parker would never go back there by choice, the reason Arthur was safer here because Scratch’s memory of favoritism and betrayal had made her so insanely obsessed with Arthur, torn between keeping and destroying Arthur, but in both cases it only meant torment, nightmare, twisted memories as if to shatter his mortal soul.

And yet she hadn’t. Faroe had done that. And Hastur. All her efforts, over the three years they were on the run, had not broken this incredible man—though John now suspected it might have led to the ease of that shatter.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You… I didn’t die,” Arthur said.

But he had, hadn’t he? Touched by the Dark World, bruised by its fingers gripping and sliding off him like some abusive lover as Arthur escaped out the door.

Arthur had chosen to live. Between that and John fighting the deal he’d made, and Kayne focused on gloating like a monster, and her showing up out of nowhere to take Arthur for herself—

“We got away.”

They had.

“We ran, John. The stone was shattered. They couldn’t use it anymore.”

No… but they could use the pieces they’d likely found.

Arthur kept talking, rocking them back and forth, saying without saying that he forgave this betrayal though he should not have, and as he discussed another train and another spooky town in New England and another attempt to rebuild their life, John only had one thought.

It’s me. I’m the bad person.

He’d betrayed. He should be put to death. Justice delivered. Instead…

Instead, they’d set up as “Peter Saltzman, P.I.,” and survived.

And Arthur never brought it up (but should have). And they both really enjoyed their new life (which John did not deserve). And it hadn’t occurred to them why nobody was able to track them down, especially since Arthur still dreamed.

She should have found them. Why hadn’t she?

It seemed Arthur had ideas on that, too. “It was because of Hastur. I’m sure of it now. He’d begun leaving those… clues that shook me so badly long before he came with Faroe in his arms. Tilling the soil.”

Yes. Yes. John didn’t remember everything, but he remembered the effect.

There was a photo of a murdered little girl with curly dark hair and sweet, round cheeks.

A packet of baby clothes patterns, designed by someone whose sloppily written name looked like B—a Le—er.

A vinyl long-playing record with a piano piece eerily similar to a certain waltz Arthur had written for his daughter, close enough that it sent him into a panic attack.

Small dresses and baby shoes.

A drowned little boy in a bathtub, though that had been on purpose, and that guy who did it got shot in the face and it was good.

The fucking neighbor’s kid being named Darrow, which wasn’t fucking Faroe, but guess what that sounded like, leaking through the walls, as a frustrated parent yelled at a toddler all day?

“I’m sure there were more,” said Arthur, still rocking them both just a little, holding John’s hand between his shoulder and his cheek. “I don’t… remember a lot of them. You said it was endless, and objectively nothing—stuff you’d only connect to my past by assuming. Coincidences. But it was so many coincidences.”

John swallowed. And your dreams?

“All over the place at first. Just dreams. We’d decided if we had any hint at all that she’d found us, we’d run, but it never got like that. And it should have. I think… maybe… Hastur staked some sort of claim.”

John growled.

“It doesn’t matter, John.”

It fucking does.

“I got my daughter back.”

And there was no climbing over that one, was there? No pushing through. No tight hole to wriggle one’s way inside. That was it, the end of the conversation, and John wanted badly to bite something.

Arthur sighed. “I’m tired.”

John was, too, but he really didn’t want to drag this out. You want a… part three?

“Please, John. I… going over this again, remembering… I really thought we’d gotten away. Those three years in Maine.” Tears slid down his cheeks, wetting John’s hand. “I’d begun to believe it. I don’t want to spend too much time in that remembrance. In what we’ve forever lost. Please, John.”

Holy fuck.

Arthur…

Arthur needed help, and John didn’t know how to help him, but they knew someone who did.

This was for Arthur. For Arthur, he could be brave. We’re going back to the Keeper tomorrow.

Arthur hadn’t expected that. “What?”

John almost saw the connection. The way Arthur had resisted the Dark World’s pull, the way he resisted the marks now… Tomorrow.

“All right,” said Arthur, and wiped his face. “We can do that.”

Then part three.

“Did you… remember anything else during this?” said Arthur slowly.

You broke your end of the deal.

No.

Broke your end of the—

“That’s good,” said Arthur, who should know better than to trust John, and stood.

They didn’t say much as they got ready for bed, bathing and climbing onto the huge mattress with a weariness of mind that sapped the body. Arthur hummed, though.

John needed it. That small music. He noted how the whole place seemed to react when Arthur sang, how the shriek-birds went quiet, and sentient plants peeked over the balcony as if they wanted to listen, and—when Arthur did it in public—how passing creatures always stilled to hear.

Arthur didn’t know. He just made music, and when he did, he moved the gods.

Mine, John thought before he could stop himself, though he knew he did not deserve it.

Maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe this surpassed paltry things like morality. Arthur was his, and he’d fight to keep him—and apparently, had before, as well.

Broke your—

He wouldn’t think about it. It had been years. None of that mattered anymore.

This was for Arthur, and for Arthur, he would do whatever it took.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Again?” said Hastur.

Yes. Now.

Faroe eyed them sidelong. Larson spread jam on his flatbread, pretending disinterest.

Hastur’s tentacles curled through the air, enviably graceful (and John wished he could be as beautiful as that). “Very well. After court.”

“You’re different today,” said Faroe. “John, I mean.”

“How is he different?” said Arthur.

She considered. “Like a candle after the draft has been shut off.”

“So he’s… steady?” said Arthur with such hope that John almost groaned.

“Yes,” she said as though passing some royal judgment.

John growled just… well, he didn’t know why, but because.

Nobody took that too seriously, and the conversation moved on.

Hastur must have made one hell of a deal, because he evidently had open access to the Scriptorium any time. Absolutely wild.

The staff scuttered around, all of them wearing that focused, bright look of treasure hunters hot on the trail, and none seemed to even find it remarkable that Hastur and his whatever had come back.

John was still certain that Tabby was worshiping something, but the Keeper seemed unlikely. Not her style.

It could be endangering Arthur. He would find out if it cost his last—

Hastur exhaled again, weighty, slow.

Well, whatever that was about. Keeper!

“Welcome back,” she said, voice bright and warm. “I wasn’t expecting you again so soon; are the both of you feeling a bit better?”

No, said John.

“Yes,” said Arthur.

A beat.

Maybe, said John.

“Somewhat,” said Arthur.

Hastur sounded amused. “Do you have time for them?”

“I can make time,” she said, and opened a door in the wall. “Did you think about what we spoke about, Arthur?”

Arthur drew himself up as tall as he could go, which wasn’t very. “Yes. I have some critique.”

Hastur’s many eyes widened, not that Arthur could see it.

That wasn’t what John expected. Are… you sure?

The Keeper turned, her gaze falling on him like the heat of the summer sun at noon. “Well. I certainly look forward to hearing it, then. I will admit I did not handle our conversation as best I could.”

“No, you were fine.” It was Arthur’s bargaining voice—vaguely, John recalled that Arthur thought he was a hard bargainer. “But we need to talk. You and me.”

“Oh. That sort of talk, and so soon. Very well.”

“Thank you.”

If Hastur was surprised at this, he hid further reactions. “I will wait. Thank you for your time.”

Wait a minute! This meeting was my idea!

“I’m sure Tabby will find you shortly,” the Keeper said to Hastur, her voice fond. “Thank you.”

Hastur bowed out.

“You can talk to her first,” Arthur offered.

Now it was suddenly scary. I… of course I will!

“Alright,” she said, gesturing to the plush armchairs, the couch. “Take a seat, the both of you. May I get you anything? Tea?”

“Yes, please,” Arthur said, still in his hard-bargain voice.

John thought it was adorable. She must, too. He growled preemptively.

“Of course.” She produced the teapot from nowhere (as per usual), a mug and a teacup manifesting themselves on the short coffee table between them. “I apologize for yesterday, John. I didn’t realize that we would end up triggering another distressing memory while we spoke. How are you doing?”

Oh, the pressure. Yes. That was not the right reply. Fine. Can only you hear me now?

“I can make it so Arthur does not hear, yes,” she said. “Is that alright, Arthur? I’ll put on a bit of music for you, in the meantime.”

“I’m fine with that.” He hesitated. “Could we do that musical? The one you had on before.”

“The Sound of Music! You remembered!” she said, sounding delighted. “Yes, absolutely. I’ll start it from the top for you.”

It was strange, seeing her act without the need of performance; she raised a hand and a gramophone twisted into the air from nothing and spun to life, strings swelling, and then John could hear it… dim, just faintly. “It’s just us now, John,” she said gently. “What is it you would like to tell me?”

John missed the mirrors. He couldn’t see Arthur’s expression—but at least he seemed physically relaxed. I figured something out. I think I know what’s happening with Arthur.

“You did? Please, share. I would like to compare theories.” She settled into the chair, lifting her cup of tea and swirling it.

He eyed her. She’d better not be mocking him. I think the problem is he doesn’t want to be owned. And he huffed because really. Absurd.

The Keeper paused, tilted her head, and seemed to ruminate on that for a bit. “That is… unfortunate for him, in quite a lot of aspects,” she said thoughtfully. “How do you figure?”

Wasn’t it obvious? He is fiercely independent. He wants to do things his own way, to the point he resists even sensible suggestions. He’s resisted me. And Hastur. The coup de grâce: And he’s resisted death.

“That he has, multiple times,” she said, pensively. “I believe his uncanny powers of resistance are part of the reason the two of you are still alive and speaking to me now. The other part, of course, was you; your entanglement meant that with you there, he could not be loosed from the body fully, and in turn he would not let you go to the Dark World.”

John’s golden form swelled like a bullfrog. Me? I helped?

“You did,” she said. “You enabled him to hang on long enough for Hastur to call upon my help. Just as you, in the past, have dragged him to safety with one arm, or stitched up his wounds with no help. You can be quite astounding in your own right.”

Oh, it felt so good to be seen!

He’d been trying! He’d tried so hard! He sniffled. He’s mine, you know, he said, because maybe she’d see that, too.

“Yes, he is.” Her voice was tender. “He was yours even before you marked him, John. He loves you, just as much as you love him. Only a fool would seek to separate you two.”

John exhaled. He had no idea it was like Hastur’s, a release of weight. So. I think he’s resisting the marks out of stubbornness because it wasn’t his idea. He told me it wasn’t.

“I certainly think that could be a part of it. There are a lot of threads in the tapestry of Arthur Lester that are tangled up, and I…” She paused. “I think I may have confused my metaphors. But I trust you understand what I mean. There are many layers to this issue, and I believe lingering resentment over the nature of being marked may be part of that, no matter how it has turned out since.” She set down her teacup on the saucer. “Thank you for telling me this. I really, truly appreciate it.”

He could see why they liked her. She understood. So how do we fix him?

It was a “we” now.

“That is what I’m working on currently,” she said, gently. “Arthur… Arthur is stubborn, as you know. He also has a very strong sense of justice, which I’m sure you also know. Where we are coming into conflict is that Arthur’s sense of justice is making it difficult for him to move forward, instead of dwelling on the past.” She folded her hands, pensive. “More than that, I cannot say; that is for Arthur to tell you, not for me. But Arthur’s stubbornness, combined with his lingering feelings, creates a potent cocktail of resistance.”

John pondered this.

He chewed it, testing its taste, its texture.

He came to his own decision. So, he said. I have to help him move on from the past. And he gasped. He’s not giving himself a chance! That hypocrite!

That hypocrite had begun to lightly hum along with Julie Andrews, but anyway.

“In a sense. It’s a bit more complex than that,” the Keeper said. “Arthur has defined himself by his past; it leaks into everything he does. What I am looking to do is help him begin to envision a future; something for him to look forward to. Something to want to strive for. Does that make sense?”

John huffed. I’ll make him strive for his own standards. Yes. It makes sense. Now, I know what to do. And he startled Arthur by reaching up and touching his jaw.

Arthur caught John’s hand and held it to his cheek for a moment.

I won’t let you drown, John whispered, and did not even remember vowing it before.

“I’m glad to have you on the team, John,” the Keeper said, her voice warm. “I know I can count on you. Should I bring Arthur back, or was there anything else you wanted to tell me?”

No, it’s time. He was proud of how strong he sounded. I’m ready.

“Very well. Thank you, John.” The music grew louder in John’s ears, as did Arthur’s humming. “Oh,” the Keeper said wistfully. “You’ve got such a lovely voice, Arthur. We’re back, now, all three of us; did you enjoy the music?”

Arthur blushed. “Thank you. Yes, I really did. This is amazing music.” And pleasantries done—“John. Are you all right?”

Yes. John rested his hand on their leg. She’s wise.

Arthur’s face went long. “Is she, now?”

Yes, she is, said John as though he’d made this groundbreaking discovery.

“I can’t wait to hear how it all went.” Arthur stroked John’s fingers. “But you’re all right.”

Yes. Have your little session and we can go home.

Arthur did laugh this time, gently. “All right. I’m ready, ma’am.”

“Same rules as before: if you no longer wish to continue the conversation, say so, and it ends,” she said, gently—and then John went quiet but for the gentle twitch of his hand beneath Arthur’s. “Now. How are you, Arthur?”

Arthur checked. John squeezed his hand back. Arthur nodded. And he turned to the Outer God, whose presence he could feel like a flame. “I think you’re wrong.”

“Well, how very fascinating,” she said, pleasantly interested. “You understand, I am not often wrong about things. This is a bit of a surprise for me. How do you figure?”

“I don’t want to die. And I have proof.”

“With evidence! Even better.” She adjusted her skirts, picking up her teacup. “Please, elaborate.”

That look could get him killed. That look could get him captured. It was a weirdly defiant look, too personal, impossible not to feel. “When John asked me to get in shape so I could play with Faroe, I did. Would someone who wanted to die do this?” And so help him, he flexed his bicep.

“...Oh!” Her voice was… Bright. Sparkling. And it sounded suspiciously like she was fighting the urge to laugh. “...Well. Motivation to keep up with your daughter certainly made a potent medicine. I don’t know that I would… discount my theory, based upon it. But I think that brings us to a very interesting point: you’ve spent the past six—nearly seven—years finding ways to survive for the sake of your daughter. When you think of her growing up, what do you think of?”

The hardness melted. “That’s… I don’t know anymore. I used to imagine… like her mother. A strong woman, maybe finding… real love. Which I didn’t. But she could. I wanted her to grow up in a world that let her vote. I wanted her to live a full life. Now…” He took a deep breath. “I think she’s going to be a goddess.” So softly. “So far above me. Above anyone I ever knew, and… I want that for her. She deserves the world, and always did, and thanks to Hastur, she’ll have that.”

“Do you envision yourself there, at her side? Supporting her during her coronation?”

He was silent for too long.

He wanted to lie.

He wanted to say what he should say.

The hesitation was oddly tense; maybe it was his weird magic thing, his will, like wind affecting the waves.

John stroked his hand with his thumb.

Arthur made his choice. “I don’t see myself there. It doesn’t mean I want to die.”

“Perhaps.” She made the softest sound, like she was sipping her tea. “What do you think you would be doing instead, Arthur?”

Fuck. He’d trapped himself. “I don’t see myself at all.” And he scowled “I don’t plan to die!”

“Let’s take a step back, then,” she said, frustratingly soothing. “I can agree with you that it doesn’t seem you want to kill yourself, or harm yourself. But Arthur: current difficulties notwithstanding, you’re marked. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be around when Faroe gets older. Have you thought about the future much?”

He licked his lips. “I…” but he didn’t know where that was going. He paused.

The silence got to John, but didn’t upset him like Arthur’s tears. He stroked Arthur’s hand again.

Arthur sighed. “I don’t see anything. Anything.”

“Therein lies the problem, Arthur; you exist, yes. You survive. But not wanting to die is not the same as wanting to live.” She shifted, settling into her chair. “It’s alright for you to want to see your daughter grow up, you know. Just as it’s alright for you to want to see John safe, and cared for. John most certainly wants you to stay by his side forever; you know that, right?”

He shifted. “I…” He swallowed. “I want to stay with John.” And he had no idea the import of those words: something he wanted. “I… I can’t… I don’t… deserve this. I don’t know how to want what you’re saying.”

“What is it that you want, Arthur? Do you know?”

He hung his head.

John didn’t know—couldn’t—but held his hand tightly.

Arthur lifted it to his lips, gently, a soft and intimate movement. “I don’t know.” It’s almost a whisper. “I don’t know. How can I want anything? It’s not… nothing is mine to want. Even John is just… he’s stuck with me. I know that, even if he doesn’t.”

The Keeper let that hang in the air for a moment. “What do you know about magic, Arthur?”

“Not much, if I’m honest.” He shrugged. “John casts it. I just have to be willing.”

“Indeed,” she said. “Magic is defined by will; the will of oneself to change the world around you, to shape it further to your desires. The relative strength of magic often depends on the will of its wielder; for gods, this comes as naturally to us as breathing, and thus magic is part of our innate beings. For mortals like yourself, this can vary; but you have quite the strong will, Arthur. You have survived a great many things that ought to have killed you, even before you and John cast your first spell.”

Arthur’s brow knit. “It almost sounds like you’re saying I somehow have a willpower to match the gods. I don’t. A lot would never have happened to me—to us—if I did.”

“On the contrary, Arthur; I found your medical records.” There was a soft shuffling of papers. “You got pneumonia when you were four months old, did you know that? A death sentence for any other infant; but not for you. And in 1918, while living in Boston, going to school, twenty-eight people in your apartment block came down with influenza, including your next door neighbor; about a quarter of them died. You, evidently, had nary a sniffle.” She let out a soft hum. “And that’s not to mention everything that happened to you after John. Gunshots, stabbings; a month long coma. Is that where he got the name?”

Arthur was quiet. He knew these things. He refused—with an almost poetic insistence—to put them together. “He did. He… a nurse came in and addressed me as John Doe, since no one knew who I was. It was John’s only communication during that time. He chose to build a new identity from it.”

“I can see it touched him deeply. I never got a chance to ask if he had a surname; I had a guess it was Doe, before I got ahold of your records, but I was nearly positive afterward.” She shuffled the papers back and forth. “John helped bring you back from some of the more egregious wounds you suffered, this is true; however, most people would die after being impaled from behind by an eldritch creature, regardless of whether or not their wounds were stitched up, and certainly they would die if they didn’t receive medical attention shortly thereafter. Except for… you.”

Arthur scowled. “He saved my life!”

“He did… though not with the stitching, Arthur.” He could hear her shift, hear the clink of her teacup against the porcelain saucer. “You weren’t going to take him to the Dark World with you, not after finally getting him back. You had a desire to live, Arthur, to protect John; but when Hastur lured you and John into his trap, nearly seven years ago, you lost that desire.”

He bared his teeth, trembling. “You’re saying I saved myself because I was saving him. And when Hastur broke me—“ He had to stop for a moment. “I couldn’t… I almost… but no. No! I waited! I was going to wait until—“ He stopped.

Until Faroe was gone.

Until Faroe was safe.

Then he was going to die.

It had been clear at the time. He hadn’t considered it since, hadn’t analyzed, just drifted in the sea of heavy depression. And he remembered—

“Not in front of her,” he whispered, finally making connections. “I won’t die by choice in front of her, so I haven’t been… I…”

The Keeper was right.

His thoughts fell still. He had no argument. His chest ached in time with the soft, regular ticking of a clock. Arthur hid his face in his hand.

“I’ve set a handkerchief down at about eleven-o-clock to you,” the Keeper said, very gently. “Take all the time you need.”

It felt like ceding something, to pick that up. But if it was going to help John—which was what all of this was about—he had to, hadn’t he?

For John, he could. For John, he would. Arthur took the handkerchief and danced at his eyes.

John wasn’t freaking out yet. They must have had a hell of a discussion.

“It isn’t my place to make demands of you, Arthur,” the Keeper said gently. “And I certainly don’t think it’s possible to force you to do something you don’t want to do. But what I would like you to do, for John, for Faroe, is to find a place for yourself in the futures they have. I know John can’t envision a future without you at his side, even in his current state.” Her long, papery fingers gently patted the back of his hand. “He made that very clear to me in our short conversation. Trust me.”

His expression was almost gaunt. “But if I… how can I… if I forgive what I did, then other people…” Which wasn’t what she’d said, but he clearly understood what was unsaid. “I won’t be a hypocrite.” He quieted. “‘Not on purpose. Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”

“Alas, perfection is unattainable even for the gods,” the Keeper sighed. “You have some time to work out your how, Arthur. You can be quite brilliant if you put your mind to it; think. Talk it out, if it suits you. And, of course, I am always available if you need a private sounding board.” He got the sense that she was smiling.

He wasn’t.

If he was going to save John, to avoid hurting Faroe, he’d have to want to live.

How? How did one do that? He had no idea how to find that again. Not since Hastur had…

His sigh was heavy, like the weight John and Hastur dropped had settled on him. “I’m ready to go back. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Arthur. I wish I could be of more help.” And with a gentle tap on the back of his hands, she returned John to him.

“John?” Arthur checked.

Good talk? said John smugly.

Which made Arthur bristle. “Yes.”

I knew it.

“Knew… you didn’t know anything! You said she was horrible.”

Before I talked to her, said John loftily.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

Are we ready to go home?

And face it all?

And try to live out this new thing that still felt undeserved and immoral?

And fight his way toward helping them. “Yes,” said Arthur, drying his face, and both internally and externally, he sat up.

#malevolent #malevolent fic #surrogate series #arthur lester #john malevolent #the keeper (surrogate)

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storiesforallfandoms · 4 years ago

Text

i’m giving up this life ~ thomas shelby;peaky blinders

word count: 1996

request?: no

description: after his wife takes a bullet meant for him, tommy finds she was holding a secret from him, and that it is time for him to give up on the gangster lifestyle

pairing: thomas shelby x female!reader

warnings: swearing, violence

masterlist (one, two)

Tommy closed his eyes as the shot rang out. For once, he was prepared for whatever was coming, and he even started to silently ask for forgiveness in his next life.

However, the end didn’t come. There wasn’t even any pain that would’ve indicated he was shot. When he opened his eyes, he found his wife laying on the ground at his feet instead, a pool of blood growing around her.

The man who had attempted to kill Tommy was frozen in shock as he watched the infamous gang leader fall to his knees. He took his wife into his arms, cradling her as he frantically tied to stop the blood coming from her wound.

"Come on, love,” he begged. “Wake up, stay with me.”

Her skin was ice cold. Tommy’s hands were stained red within seconds of touching her wound. He was panicking, his mind wasn’t working properly.

Anger started to course through his veins, and in one quick motion, he pulled his gun and shot the man until he was riddled with bullet wounds. He scooped (Y/N) up in his arms and quickly carried her out of the room.

“Tommy!” Arthur called as Tommy emerged from the building. “What happened?”

“I don’t know where she came from,” Tommy said, still in a partial daze of anger and worry. “One minute it’s just me and him, the next I find (Y/N) in front of me after...she’s bleeding so much.”

Arthur opened the door of his car. “Get in, I’ll get us to the hospital.”

~~~~~~

The wait was agonizingly long. Tommy had begged to be in the room with (Y/N) as they operated on her, but the doctor was firm in having him wait in the waiting room. The Peaky Blinders may have had most officials in Birmingham under their thumb, but the doctors still held a certain level of professionalism no matter who their patients were.

Polly came to be with him while Arthur and the boys went to deal with the body Tommy had left behind. She was watching him pace back and forth in front of her. “Tommy, pleas sit down. You’re making me dizzy.”

“How much longer till we hear something?” Tommy asked, ignoring his aunt. “They’ve been in there for so long.”

“It takes time, dear. They have to make sure she doesn’t have any complications and she’ll make a full recovery.”

“Why don’t they know yet?”

Polly sighed as Tommy finally sat next to her. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and struggled to light it. His hand was shaking so much the flame wouldn’t stay over the cigarette. She placed a more steady hand over Tommy’s and guided the light to the cigarette.

“She’ll be okay Tommy.”

Tommy was blinking back tears as he took a puff from his cigarette. “Why would she put herself in danger for me?”

Polly took Tommy’s hand in hers. “Love makes you do crazy things, and she loves you so much.”

Tommy didn’t say anything. Instead, he took another long puff off his cigarette.

(Y/N) was an angel; a kind woman with a heart of gold who was strong and unafraid of anyone or anything. Tommy could never understand what it was that made her fall in love with him, and he’d never understand how she could love him so much that she’d risk her life for him.

When the doctor emerged and called (Y/N)’s name, Tommy was standing within seconds. “Is she okay?”

“She will be after some rest,” the doctor told him. “She lost a lot of blood, but you got her here just in time. We managed to extract the bullet and stitch up her wound. They’ll both be just fine.”

“They?” Tommy asked.

“The baby.” Tommy’s eyes widened, which answered any questions the doctor had. “You didn’t know.”

Tommy was shocked into silence. He didn’t even know (Y/N) had suspected she was pregnant. If she had known. Maybe she didn’t, or else she would have told him, right?”

“Can he see her now?” Polly asked, coming to Tommy’s side.

“Of course,” the doctor responded. “Go on in, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy’s feet moved before his mind caught up with him. He found (Y/N) in her hospital bed, her eyes closed and the color slowly returning to her face.

He was almost afraid to touch her as he pulled a chair up next to her bed. She looked so fragile, like even a slight touch would cause her to shatter into pieces. He gently brushed her hair from her face, allowing his hand to linger against her face for a moment longer.

“I’m not worth this, love,” he whispered. “I deserved that bullet, not you. It was meant for me. I should be the one in this hospital bed.”

His hand moved from her face to her stomach, gently touching the spot where his child was growing inside of her.

“I didn’t even know. I continued to put your life in danger because of what I am, and because of that we almost lost our baby.”

With no one around to see him, Tommy let the tears freely run down his face.

~~~~~~

(Y/N) was unconscious for a total of three days. Tommy did not leave her side for a single moment. Each of his family came to visit their sister-in-law, and to make sure Tommy was okay. Polly often brought food for him, knowing he wouldn’t eat otherwise.

The doctors continued to give (Y/N) a shot that was meant to help give the baby nutrients to grow while (Y/N) was unconscious. Every time someone came in to give her the shot, Tommy just wished she would finally open her eyes again, that she’d finally be okay to grow the child on her own.

Ada was the last to visit, bringing a small bouquet of flowers with her for (Y/N).

“How is she?” Ada asked, taking a seat in the chair next to Tommy.

“The doctors say she’s stable,” Tommy responded. “They say it’s only a matter of time until she wakes up.”

“She’ll wake up soon,” Ada assured him. “She’s a fighter, remember? A real Shelby.”

This managed to make Tommy chuckle slightly, the first time in days that he showed even the slightest positive emotion.

“I suppose Polly has told the family our surprise announcement,” he said, his eyes trailing back to (Y/N)’s stomach again.

“Only me,” Ada responded. “She figured you two would want to tell everyone when (Y/N) wakes up, but she also knew you’d need someone while she’s still out. Someone who doesn’t have a cock between their legs.”

Tommy smiled slightly again. Polly always knew what he needed, what they all needed. For the woman who never birthed them, she was truly their mother through and through.

“I’m terrified, Ada,” Tommy admitted. “Not of having the baby, but that what I do - who I am - is going to put that baby in danger. I’ve known for years I’m putting (Y/N) in danger, but she’s always insisted she doesn’t mind. It was her choice to be a part of this family and this life, but that baby didn’t get to choose. We’re forcing him into a life of danger, all because of me.”

Ada put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze, but she didn’t try to dispute him. Of course he was right, they all knew he was. Every Shelby man knew the risks of bringing a child into the world of the Peaky Blinders, even Ada knew when she gave birth to Karl. But for Tommy it was so much worse. Tommy wasn’t just a Shelby man, or just a member of the Peaky Blinders. He was their leader. He was the one with a massive target on his back constantly. He was the one their rivals would look to first to find a way to gain leverage over him - meaning they would look to (Y/N) and their baby first.

“I’m giving up this life, Ada,” Tommy said, the words coming out just as he made the decision in his head. “All of it, I’m giving it all up. The minute (Y/N) wakes up and is okay to leave the hospital, I’m taking her to the Garrison where we’ll announce she’s pregnant, and then I’m announcing my leave. Arthur can take over for me. Then, I’m taking (Y/N) as far away from Birmingham as I possibly can. Somewhere fit to raise our baby together.”

Ada was smiling at her brother. “I think that’s a perfect idea, Tommy.”

“Do you really mean it?”

The Shelby siblings looked over to see (Y/N) looking over at them, her eyes still blinking in an attempt to adjust to the bright hospital lighting.

Tommy jumped up from his seat and took (Y/N)’s face in his hands, kissing her face repeatedly. She giggled as he did so, before moving her head so he would kiss her lips. Ada stood as well, smiling down at her sister-in-law. “I’m glad you’re awake, (Y/N).”

“I’m glad you’re the first two I got to see,” (Y/N) responded. “Are those for me?”

“Yeah, I brought them,” Ada responded. “An assortment of your favorites. I figured this drab room needed something to brighten it up.”

(Y/N) smiled weakly. “Thank you, Ada. I really appreciate it.”

Ada gave (Y/N) a gentle hug before leaving her alone with Tommy. His touch was still gentle as he took her hand in his. She was still cold, but he was beginning to feel a slight warmth in her fingertips. It was almost like she was coming back to life all at once.

“I’m sorry I jumped in front of that bullet, Tommy,” she said. “Arthur tried to stop me from running into the building, but I knew what you were going to do and I just...I couldn’t let you...”

She trailed off, but Tommy knew what she meant; I couldn’t let the father of my child die.

“You have nothing to apologize for, love,” Tommy said. “I’m sorry I put you in danger, not just that time but all the times before as well. It’s not fair of me to keep doing this to you.”

“It’s your job, Tommy, and your family. I knew that when I married you.”

“But our baby didn’t know that when we created him.”

(Y/N)’s hand trailed to her stomach, the same way Tommy’s often had when he thought about the baby. “Is he okay?”

A smile tugged at the corners of Tommy’s lips. “It is a boy?”

(Y/N) smiled back at him. “Oh, I don’t know, but I have a feeling. Your mum had three Shelby men before she had one girl, and Ada and John have only had boys so far. I figure it only makes sense that we’ll have one, too.”

Tommy brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles.

“Did you mean it, Tommy?” she asked again. “About giving up the Peaky Blinders?”

“I meant every word I said,” Tommy responded. “I almost lost you, (Y/N), and I’m not risking that again. I’m not risking losing our child, either. This life was not meant for families, and it’s best to get out before we bring a little one of our own into this world.”

(Y/N) was practically glowing at this news. While she supported Tommy with whatever decision he made, she’d be lying if she said the thought of bringing a child into his world hadn’t scared her. To hear him come to the decision to get out all on his own made her heart feel warm and made her feel happy.

“I love you so much, Tommy,” she said.

“I love you, too, (Y/N). Rest again, love. When you are cleared, we have a lot to tell the family.”

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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inkyblinders · 4 years ago

Text

Thomas Michael Shelby

Gif credits to @nofckingfighting

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Author’s note: This scenario made me giggle, that is all. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it, because I think it was pretty dang cute. Feedback is welcome, as always!

Summary: Teenage Tommy tries giving you a haircut, disaster ensues (1066 words).

Warnings: None, except for mentions of a haircut gone wrong.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I fuckin’ hate my hair,” You moan as you flop onto Aunt Polly’s couch. It was summer, and while the house shielded you from the blazing sun outside, it did nothing to relieve you of the sticky heat that makes your hair cling uncomfortably to your temples.

“If Pol hears you swearing, she’ll box my ears for it.” Tommy says calmly without looking, studiously scratching at his maths homework. “Have you tried tying it up?”

“Have you tried tying it up?” You mimic him mockingly. “Of course I bloody have. Look.” You jab a finger into the messy mane of your hair. Somehow, the combined magic of heat and moisture created a perfect recipe for disaster that made it both too limp and frizzy at once.

Tommy gives a sympathetic whistle. “That does look a fright...To manage! I mean to manage—” He corrects hastily as you start chucking pillows at his head. You stop the tirade after feeling satisfied that he was properly apologetic.

“Where’s Aunt Pol anyways?”

“Out with John and Ada. Getting their hair cut at the barbers, actually.” Tommy tips back his chair to look at you, blinking owlishly. “Why didn’t you ask to go with them? You know Pol would—”

“Don’t be ridiculous Tommy, I can’t ask her for a favor like that. She’s already taken care of me so much, feeding me and all.” You redden and look down, fidgeting at your skirts.

“Aw c’mon, don’t be like that. You know you’re practically family to us anyways.”

“It’s not the same,” You insist. Tommy raises his brows in disbelief at your stubbornness.

“Never knew why girls care so much about that, by the way.” He turns back to his desk. “It’s just hair.”

You huff. “Easy for you to say, you look cool with any kind of haircut. I mean—” You stumble, “Your head would look cool—Keep cool. Cause it’s short. Cause you’re a boy.”

Being the daft boy he is, Tommy only hums distractedly as he continues scribbling on his homework. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, he pushes away his chair and stands up. Grabbing your hand, he leads you to the washroom and pulls out a stool.

“W-what are you doing?” You stammer as he wraps a barber’s apron over your clothes.

“What does it look like? Choppin' off the mop on your head so you can bloody stop complaining in my ear.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Suddenly defensive, you scramble to take off the apron when he grabs your hand.

“Don’t you trust me?” His eyes are wide and slightly hurt.

“With an unloaded gun? No. With my hair? Also no.”

Tommy sighs with exasperation again.

“I cut my own hair, did you know?” Then he leans forward, as if to tell you a secret. “Arthur's too, even though he’d never admit it to his friends.” Tommy grins mischievously, blue eyes crinkling. “But John’s a bloody dandy, so that’s why he insists on going to barber with Ada. Like a little girl.”

“So you see,” he adds proudly as you allow him to help you with the apron, “I’m really not so bad at all.” You still aren’t fully convinced, though.

“Why are you being so nice all of a sudden when you were making fun of me on the couch just now?” You ask suspiciously.

Tommy looks embarrassed. He clears his throat a little before answering.

“Well, truth be told. Seeing you fidget makes me uncomfortable too. Can I get on with it now?” Tommy’s face, usually so serious, now wears an eager puppy-dog look. You couldn’t help but give in.

“Fine. Just to the shoulder, no more. But I swear to God Tommy, if you mess it up I’ll cut your fuckin’ balls off with your blinder cap.”

Tommy shivers in mock fear. “It’s a deal. On the throne you go then, milady.”

He untangles your hair with surprising gentleness, and before long Tommy is gently snip-snipping away.

“‘S pretty.”

“What?”

“Your hair. It’s pretty. I can tell why you want to keep it.”

“Oh. Well that’s sweet of you to say.”

"It's true."

The room was quiet again except for the snip-snipping of Tommy’s scissors.

“Tommy, I think the left side is a little uneven. Can you fix it?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Snip, snip.

“Tommy, that’s enough. It’s going to be too short.”

You try not to squirm as you see the soft locks of your hair fall to the ground. He better know what he’s doing.

After a while, Tommy whips off your apron with a flourish. “There," he exclaims, giving you a mirror to show off the back of his handiwork. “What do you think?”

You gasp in shock as you see the choppy mess, some parts barely reaching to your chin. Chin! Seeing your horrified face, Tommy tries to backtrack.

“I’m sorry! Look, look— I’ll buy you some pretty ribbons later, alright? Jus’ don’t cry, you’re gonna make me—” The front door slams, the sound of three pairs of footsteps stomp into the house.

“THOMAS MICHAEL SHELBY, what do you think you’re doing?” thunders Aunt Polly’s voice from outside the washroom. Behind her skirts, little Ada looks at you with shocked eyes, a hand clamped to stifle her gaping mouth. John looks positively delighted, hooting with laughter.

“My God Tommy, she looks like—”

“Don’t tell me what I look like!” You cry tearfully.

“Oh my dear girl,” Polly sighs as she envelops you in a hug, “I’m taking you to the barber’s to get it fixed first thing tomorrow.”

“Aunt Polly, you really don’t have to...”

“Nonsense. Should have taken you today, with the heat so dreadful. And you, Thomas Michael Shelby, I’ll deal with you later. Go to your room and think twice before trying anything like this ever again. Poor thing.”

As you head upstairs with Polly’s arms around you, you overhear John’s voice.

“Do you even know how to cut girls’ hair?” John asks curiously while Tommy sweeps up the washroom. “Remember last year when you tried to cut Ada’s and--”

“Of course I don’t.” Tommy says unbotheredly. “Just wanted her to stop being a bloody stranger and let Polly take her to the barbers, like any of you.”

It took half a year to restore your hair to its former length, but just then, in that moment, you forgive Tommy Shelby on the spot.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby headcanon #tommy shelby imagine

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tommyspeakycap · 4 years ago

Note

“It’s a couple minutes after midnight and there were already a couple resolutions broken.”

with tommy maybe?

thank you for all your writing. those past two prompts made my first day of 2021 so much more enjoyable, as all your writing helped 2020 (a really shitty year for me personally as well as overall!) you’re an Angel x

that’s so kind of you to say!! i hope this year treats you a lot better x sending love ! x

Tommy nods his head in the direction of his sister after she placed a crystal glass of his favourite expensive whiskey into his hand while he continues his conversation with Arthur. “You can add manners to your fucking list of resolutions, ungrateful bastard.” Ada huffs in response to this, scoffing at her elder brother as she sits down and takes a drink of wine.

“Swear jar!”

Heads turn to the two little boys standing mischievously in the doorway in their pyjamas with huge grins. Ada rolls her eyes playfully at her son and nephew as you appear behind them. “I told them they could stay up a bit longer, behaviour permitting eh boys?” You ruffle both of their hair and feel your son wrap his arms around your leg, “Of course mummy! love you!” His words make you beam, your love for him so obvious in the way that your eyes shine. It makes Tommy smile from across the room.

You walk in carrying a small plate of some homemade shortbread to place on one of the small tables in the large family room that the entire Shelby family was occupying in yours and Tommy’s huge country estate. “Exactly Karl,” Tommy says, pointing at his nephew as he moves the conversation back to the issue of his sisters profanity. “Swear jar, Ada.”

Ada shakes her head, but honours the newly instated Shelby swear jar rule and puts a few coins into the glass begrudgingly. “We were talking about resolutions,” Arthur informs you, “Tom said he’ll cut back on the smokes, right Tom?” You turn to your husband, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as he sits on the couch, one elbow resting over the arm of the couch with that glass of whiskey in his hand and the other arm around your daughter half asleep leaning against his chest . “Really daddy?” Your daughter remarks quietly. You watch him shrug his shoulders. “Course.” He says. “I know how much your mother hates it,” he paused to lean closer to her to whisper, “and i love your mother very very much, so i’ll do it for her,” with a gentle wink. You didn’t hear those words, but watching him with the daughter he loved so much made your heart swell.

“And stop swearing!” Ada chimes, prompting a giggle from you. “Around the kids, at least.” Polly adds as she sips from her champagne glass. Tommy rolls his eyes again, feeling rather under fire from his tipsy family. With your heart fluttering every so slightly in your chest because to the rest of them, the resolutions that the head of their family was attempting were just that, silly resolutions that everyone makes every year. But to you, or rather between you and Tommy, those were changes you had voiced your wish for many times, especially since your daughter had been running around the house shouting “By order of the Peaky Fucking Blinders!” at the top of her lungs with the plastic gun John had gotten her since Christmas.

It was, of course more the smoking that bothered you. You worried constantly about his health, you knew it couldn’t be good at all that he was at the point practically a chain smoker. You wanted him to see his children grow up. You wanted to spent as long with his as you could get with the life you all lived.

“A man after my own heart,” you coo, leaning down to peck his lips, the cheeky nature of your husband kicking in as he slips his tongue between your lips and somehow manages to hook his arm around you and pull you down onto his lap without spilling his drink. You pull back, shaking your head at him playfully with a smile as you lean back against him. You hear John snigger from across the room, “He was going to quit drinking.” He taunts, nodding his head to the amber liquid in Tommy’s glass.

“Not the new year yet, John.” Tommy glares, but you know drinking isn’t going to be likely something that Tommy is going to stop, especially not within the next five minute before the year changes. The only thing that really matters to you is that he’s going to try. Esme hits John’s arm as a means of telling him to shut up and stop teasing his brother. They knew he was trying to make these changes for you.

“Mrs Shelby?” You turn your head to the maid standing cautiously at the door. “The baby is awake.” You nod your head, patting Tommy’s knee to prompt him to release him arm from around your waist. “I’ll get him, thank you Francis.” The maid nods her head and you kiss your husbands cheek. Tommy, as he always does, follows you with his eyes as you leave the room. A twinkle gleaming as he thinks about you and the newest addition to your family. The way you hold the baby boy, glowing with happiness even in the middle of the night reminds him of everything that is good in his world. His family is all that keeps him going and he knows for a fact that he would not be able to survive without you.

“Hello baby,” you coo as you enter the nursery, “Suppose you want to wish everyone a happy new year mister? oh aren’t you just the more gorgeous baby.” As you lift him into your arms to cradle him gently, you find yourself getting lost in time thinking about how much you love your family. You felt blessed to have three happy and healthy children despise everything that you had done and everything that had been done to you in your life. You had suffered a lot and caused suffering in some cases, so you felt as though there was nothing you could have done that would have amounted to you deserving three beautiful little humans who love you unconditionally. You didn’t know you could even love that much until you held your babies in your arms. And the way you got to see Tommy love them and care for them and become the man you had known all those years ago before he was traumatised by the war was the most beautiful thing to you.

Having children made him a better husband and a better man. You counted yourself lucky to get to be the woman who’s hand he holds as you walk together throw the fields behind the house, watching your son and daughter race and tackle each other in the snow or run through the long grass in the winter. For those moments where there was peace from the world, from the dangers and demands of the great Thomas Shelby, everything was made worth the battles.

You’re dragged from your admirational daze when you hear Tommy’s heavy footsteps falling behind you as he walks into the room. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing a long kiss against your cheek. “Happy New Year, Mrs Shelby.” You hum contently at his words, “Mm, Happy New Year to you, Mr Shelby.” Tommy gently rubs his finger over the small head of hair on his new son, “And you, sweet baby.” His voice rumbles lowly in your ear as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “What’re you doing up here?” You ask, turning your head to look at him. Tommy averts his eyes, taking a few steps back to sit on the rocking chair by the window. “Might’ve broke a few resolutions.” He murmurs, the awkward embarrassment feeling that he only ever gets with you rises up to flush his cheeks just like it used to when you first got together all those years ago.

You giggle slightly, placing the baby back down in his crib. The carpet is soft beneath your bare feet as you cross to Tommy, reaching out a hand to lift his chin so he’s forced to look up at you. “It’s ten past midnight Tom, what did you do?” You don’t speak with malice or anger, instead a hint of humour leaking through your words. Tommy shakes his head, “Just had a drink. Not important.” He uses his arms again to hook you down onto his lap. This time, you tuck your head under his chin to rest on his chest, closing your eyes softly for a moment. “What is important,” he continues, “Is how much i love you. And our family, so much.” He feels you smiling, “I love you too.”

Tommy rests his chin gently on top of your head. “Love you more.” He feels you laugh slightly this time as it dawns on your he may be fully serious about how much he loves you, but he’s also buttering you up.

“Thomas?” you query, voice raising in pitch every so slightly. “Mhm?” he responds, neither of you moving from your the comfort of your position. “Didnt you say you broke, resolutions? Not just a resolution?” You now sit back so you can look at him as he grimaces at you, “Well, that’s not really-“

Your head snaps between your little girl and your now apolgetically and almost painfully grimacing husband after you hear her adorable little voice practically answering your question for you before words could even leave Tommy’s lips with her sweet voice shouting;

“Daddy! Remember you need to put money in the shitty bastarding swear jar!”

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy x reader #tommy shelby prompt #tommy shelby new years prompt #tommy shelby romantic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders prompt #peaky blinders writing #peaky blinders new years prompt #New Years prompt

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writeroutoftime · 4 years ago

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birthday

pairing: john shelby x reader

summary: it’s you birthday and when the love of your life and your family forget your birthday, you aren’t sure how to react

warnings: none

words: 1745

a/n: I wrote this story for @smallheathgangsters, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEAH!! Thank you for being the wonderful person you are, I truly hope that you had an amazing birthday and that this year brings so many wonderful things your way. I’m so glad to call you a friend, and I hope you enjoy this story - even if it is kinda cheesy!! Best wishes!! 💛

oOoOo

As the morning sun rose across the streets of Birmingham, small peaks of light filtered through your bedroom curtains and dosed you in the morning sunrise. With a yawn and a full body stretch, you reached across the sheets and your eyes shot up at the lack of another body wrapped around yours. Normally, John had at least an arm thrown over your waist, but that morning you only found sheets cool to the touch.

Moments later you curled back into your blankets and tried to let sleep wash over you once more, no longer confused. Every year on your birthday, without fail, John managed to slip out of bed before you woke up and recruited your children to make you breakfast in bed. While it usually ended with John shooing your child outside while he cleaned up the egg and flour streaked kitchen to prepare something edible, the thought always warmed your heart.

Though, of course, your children would still find some way to cause mischief before the day had truly began. One year, Katie presented you with a bouquet of wildflowers they had found, and you had struggled to contain your giggles at the sight of the rest of your children’s face and clothes smeared with dirt.

However, when you heard no banging of pots or pans, early morning quarrels between Will and George, and no hushed whispers and giggles as your family attempted to sneak up the stairs to surprise you, worry began to flow through your veins. Quickly, you wrapped your robe around yourself before you padded into the kitchen to find your family. The only one you could find was John, you sat calmly at the kitchen table, a cup of juice in his hand as he concentrated on the paper spread out in front of him.

“Morning, love.” John greeted coolly when he heard you walk in, not even sparing you a quick glance.

“Morning.” you responded look around, slightly dazed by the sight before you. “Where are the kids?”

John’s voice kept the same, nonchalant, tone as he turned the page of the paper. “Oh, Polly’s watching ‘em today. “

A glimmer of hope bubbled in your chest at your husband’s words. Maybe this had been John’s plan all along – a day alone just for the two of you. It was something you hadn’t the luxury to enjoy in quite a while, and you were well overdue for some quality time with your husband. “So, any plans for today?” you asked slyly as you walked towards John, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and placing a kiss behind his ear.

“Not really. ‘Less you count Tommy dragging my ass in to work today.” he said with a slight chuckle.

Had he really forgotten? you thought to yourself as you pulled your arms back to wrap around yourself and watched John go about his morning like any other day. The thought made your heart clench, but you decided against speaking up. John had never forgotten your birthday in all the years you had known him, and while that made the fact that he had this year sting a little more, you also decided he was it must have slipped his mind because of how hard Tommy had been working him recently. Besides, it wasn’t like you wouldn’t have other birthdays, perhaps you simply overreacted.

“Well, I’m off, love.” John told you, offering you a quick peck on the lips before he adjusted his cap and was out the door without another word.

You were left, stunned, and staring wistfully at the door. With heavy feet you dragged yourself upstairs to prepare for the day, taking the time to bathe and pamper yourself in the way that your life hadn’t allowed you to over the past few weeks. You decided that even if John wasn’t going to spend the day with you, there had to be other’s that remembered, and the day would be celebrated in style.

As the morning wore on, you rung Ada up to see if she would be open to a nice afternoon out to have a birthday lunch and do a little bit of shopping. That hope was quickly crushed when Ada picked up and immediately told you she was late for a shift as the two of you spoke. Polly was just as evasive on the phone, claiming she was taking the kids out and rushed you off the line without wishing you a happy birthday. You didn’t even bother to call the office because you knew if Tommy had called John in, then Arthur and Finn wouldn’t be far behind.

Dejected, you slumped onto the couch with an exasperated sigh and pulled out a book to fill the time, but once you realized you had read the same sentence over and over, you shut the book and decided to walk through the meadow that surrounded your house. When the sun began to set, you made your way back to the still empty house and ran the last stretch of land when you heard the phone’s shrill ring.

“Hello?” you asked, desperate for contact with another person.

“y/n?” Tommy confirmed through the receiver. “You need to come down to the Garrison.” he commanded – no ‘how are you’ no ‘happy fucking birthday,’ just him barking orders, as always.

“Why?” you pressed, the anger finally beginning to boil inside of you.

There was a sigh from Tommy’s end before he responded. “Because John-Boy’s drunk off his ass and needs someone to bring him home.”

“Fine.” you spat and harshly slammed the phone back on its hook.

The entire walk to the Garrison, you rehearsed the lecture you had for John and any other Shelby member unfortunate enough to cross paths with you. While you first thought you could excuse John’s forgetfulness, knowing that he had abandoned you to get drunk, you couldn’t keep quiet any longer. Upon reaching the Garrison, however, you noticed the noise that normally flowed from the doors and windows was absent.

Slightly concerned, and with hesitant steps, you made your way to the entrance, cursing yourself for not bringing the small gun John had gifted you so many birthdays ago. Ready to attack at a moment’s notice, you headed into the pub to be meet with a pitch-black room, until -

“SURPRISE!” you heard from every corner of the pub as the lights were switched on to reveal the Garrison overly decorated with streamers, balloons, and confetti all around.

Front and center of the crowd stood John with a huge smile on his face, surrounded by all of your children who ran up to hug you. The rest of the Shelby clan stood off to the side clapping and cheering up a storm – even serious, stoic Tommy had a smile on his face as he held Charlie in his arms.

There was a chorus of “Happy Birthday, y/n” as you were led you to a table off to the side with your birthday cake, a handful of presents, and what looked to be handmade cards. You smiled at each and every one of the cards that your children made you and they gave you hugs before Linda ushered them together to take them home for the evening.

It only took a few seconds after that before a drink found its way into your hands as you went around to hug Ada, Polly Arthur, Tommy, and even Finn. They all expressed their sorrow for having to act like they had forgotten the birthday of one of the most important people in their lives, but you assured them this was well worth the suspense. As you tried to converse with some of the other guests at your party, a pair of hands suddenly covered your eyes, resulting in a yelp to pass by your lips.

“Happy birthday, angel.” John whispered into your ear, and you spun around to face him with a smile on your face.

“You remembered!” you exclaimed and wrapped your arms around John and burying your head in his chest.

The look that crossed his face was slightly guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t enjoy acting like that to you, I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, consider me surprised.” you said and kissed him to let him know that you weren’t mad in the slightest and that it was truly one of the sweetest things someone had done for you in a while.

John pulled away from the kiss after only a few seconds but dragged you off to the private room of the Garrison and told you to sit down. With your head tilted, you watched John as he pulled out a wrapped present from his pocket and handed it to you before he sat down as well.

Eagerly, you tore into the wrapping paper and threw it to the floor before you gasped at what was inside. Inside the small box sat a beautiful, diamond ring that sparkled from all angles, complete with two, smaller peridot stones set on either side of the main diamond. Tears sprung to your eyes as John knelt down in front of you and gentle took the ring out of the box.

“I know we’ve been together for so long, but I did promise you a ring you truly deserved when I was able to buy it.” he reminisced and looked up at you sheepishly.

The memory made you smile and cry a bit more out of happiness. All those years ago when you had found out you were expecting Katie and John proposed, it was with the ring that currently sat on your finger. While you cherished the ring with your whole heart, John never felt it was worth of enough for you and vowed that when he had made a name for himself, he would give you another ring.

“It’s beautiful.” you whispered and allowed him to slip it onto your ring finger, your old ring moving to your right hand until you could find a chain for it.

John lovingly rubbed his thumb across your cheekbone and lifted your hand to brush his lips against your knuckles. “Thank you for being my beautiful, perfect angel. I love you.” he confessed, more than happy to be sappy and emotional in honor of your birthday.

“I love you too.” you told him and grabbed his face in your hands and kissed him once more, looking forward to the many other perfect birthdays you would spend together.

#john shelby x reader #john shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #john shelby imagines #peaky blinders imagines

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multi-fandom-imagine · 4 years ago

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Fireplace Kisses || Arthur Morgan ||

Prompt: 11: Kissing in front of the fireplace.

A/n: this cowboy a family with a happy life he deserved.

This is also looong over do and I am so sorry.

Request: Hi! Can I request smth for ficmas already? Fluff for 11 with Arthur Morgan?

If their was one thing that Arthur Morgan hated, it was being cold. He was never a big fan of the snow and everything that came with it. But when his little girl looked up at him with her big blue eyes begging to see Uncle John, well he really couldn’t say no to her even if it meant that he would have to deal with the freezing white powder that he hated so much.

Hiding his scowl, Arthur slouched more in his seat. His little girl was staring at the scenery passing by while you sat beside her making sure she wouldn’t fall. “It’s cute.”

“What is?”

“How you’d do anything for her.”

Sighing Arthur grasped your hand giving it a gentle squeeze. “Of course I would.” Turning his head away you nearly missed the man blushing.

Smiling you placed a kiss against the mans cheek, he was growing out his beard again. While he was a handsome man you couldn’t help but think he was even more attractive when he had facial hair. “You’re a good man Arthur Morgan.”

Biting his tongue, Arthur wanted to argue against that. After everything he’s done he wasn’t so sure but he owed his life to you. “I’m just a lucky man to have found you, now it looks like the train is coming to a stop..let’s just get this over with alright...I hate the cold.” the man grumbled already used to the warm air of Florida.

“Papa! can we play in the snow?” Already slipping off her seat the little girl grabbed his hand doing her best to tug him off the train. Holding back your laughter you watched as Arthur did his best not to groan.

“Sweet Pea, you gotta hold your horses and let papa grab our luggage.”

Wrinkling her nose the little girl crossed her arms over her chest as she let out a huff. “Fine.”

Smiling you shook your head grabbing your little girls hand. “I’m sure daddy will love to play in the snow with you once we get to Uncle John’s house.

Seeming satisfied you daughter clutched your hand pulling you off the train as Arthur struggled with the bags though once the man spotted John he quickly placed the bags in the back of the carriage.

“Hey John, wheres Jack?”

John gave Arthur a smile, while he was still gruff around the edges he knew how much you and his little girl changed him. “Home with his mother, getting the rooms ready for you.”

Sighing you gave John a relived smile. “We can’t think you enough, Lilly just had to see Uncle John and the snow.”

“Well lets not keep ya’ll out in the cold. We already got a nice fire going.”

You could have sworn Arthur muttered a ‘thank god’ under his breath as he lifted his daughter up. Holding her in his arms you three sat in the carriage as John road off.

It did not take long to get to John’s home, Abigail stepping out of the home as Jack rushed over to the carriage.

“Hi ya Lilly! Wanna make a snowman?”

Beaming the little girl scrambled out of her fathers lap. “Ya!.”

“Hey! don’t stay out in the cold to long, ya here me?”

“Yes Papa!.”

Shaking your head you grasped Arthur’s hand helping him with the bags. “Let the children play Arthur. Let her wear herself out.”

Giving him a wink, you tugged him into the home sighing once the warmth hit you. Dusting off the little snow that coated on your dress, John showed you to the room. You were grateful to see a fireplace as Arthur wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Thanks John...now can you get out.”

“Sheesh..keep an eye on that one y/n.” Leaving the room, John closed the door behind him as you felt Arthur place a kiss against the nape of your neck.

“Christ Arthur.” Laughing you turned to face Arthur, shaking your head you let your arms wrap around his neck as you both sat close to the fire place.

“What?”

“Your lips are cold.” Smiling you let your finger slide down the mans cheek keeping your gaze on him.

“Well I guess we better fix that?” Leaning in close, he captured you lips in for a deep kiss. While he would do anything for his little girl the man was grateful for the small moment of being a lone with you.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #rdr 2 #drabble #drabbles

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murderousginger · 4 years ago

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Poison On My Lips

Peaky Blinders fanfic

Cops & Robbers Part 5

Warnings: Fluff. Steamy kisses. Touch of Angst. Drug use. Nudity. They’re criminals guys, they do bad things.

Note: This is almost exclusively pandering to myself. I blame the hormone flux. Hopefully you all enjoy. 😂

Word Count: 4,099

Tagging: @imagine-that-100 @bellinitini @rae-you-gotta-be-kidding-me @theshelbyclan @peakascum @sweatydragoncloudknight @hrhbella @annaninae

You sat quietly in the dimming light at the foot of Tommy's small bed, looking around at the weathered striped wallpaper and the sparse decorations. You had made sure to sit far enough down so no one could see you unless they entered the room. Your hand grazed the plaid wool blanket on the bed and you took note of the wooden chair beside the nightstand next to the head of the bed to your right.

You knew he had recently bought Polly her own house, and Ada one in London to raise her son in after Freddy's death, but he hadn't gotten around to himself just yet. Arthur and Finn still lived in the house with him, so it wasn't empty, but it was far less filled than it was before.

It was a nice enough room, but it was easy to see that Tommy barely spent time in it. This was where he went to sleep and nothing much else. He had made sure to make his bed before he left the room, likely a leftover instinct from the military. The wall across from the head of the bed was empty with remnants of the wallpaper that was stripped off, like he had hastily removed it in the night.

There were no images of women, no books laying about, no photos, nothing to suggest he ever spent time in the room. Just a little nightstand with one drawer. A bottle of whiskey, a glass, a half used candle and an ashtray cluttered the top. You eyed the drawer, noticing that it was barely open.

Curiosity got the better of you and you leaned over and opened the drawer the rest of the way. Small bags of brown rocks, odd utensils, and a large pipe littered the inside. Now you understood why the candle was there if he didn't spend time awake in his room.

At that moment, you heard the door downstairs open. You moved back to your spot at the foot of his bed, but left the drawer as it was. You jumped as a loud crash erupted downstairs then sat frozen as you listened for more noise, praying that whoever was searching for you had not ventured to wreck Tommy's house next.

Footsteps echoed on the creaky stairs and Tommy walked into his room without hesitation. He stopped beside the wooden chair as he noticed your dark form at the edge of his bed and he stilled. The silence was deafening.

"(Y/N)?" Tommy said in a soft voice.

"S'the only place I could think," you answered hoarsely.

You looked up at Tommy, the only light dim behind him. You realized that you couldn't see any of his features, but had known him by silhouette alone.

"My neighbor stopped me," you continued. "Told me men claiming to be coppers were waiting in my home."

"Campbell," Tommy growled before he leaned over and lit a match to light the candle on his nightstand. Soft light illuminated the hard angles of his face as he straightened back up.

The shadows cast dark bruises along his face that reminded you of a few weeks back when he had returned after claiming to be in London and had held business in Camden Town.

"A boy came to us yelling about coppers flipping the Peaky girl's home," Tommy said finally, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with the candle before sitting next to you in the bed. "We've had everyone looking for you on the streets for hours."

"After killing a man, I went walking," you said lightly, but the words were bricks in your gut. "Decided to do some thinking, so I borrowed your spot."

"John told me," Tommy said gravely, inhaling his cigarette. "I didn't mean that for you, (Y/N). I didn't."

"You wanted proof, King Tommy," you said, steadily growing in hysterics. "Blood on my hands is the best sort."

"They weren't there for the death," Tommy said. "They were there because you're too close to me."

"For the murder," you corrected.

"For the murder," Tommy said softly. "Your throat. Does it hurt? John said Wilks lifted you up by it. Gave us a scare."

"Pretty sure I'm bruised," you said, numbly reaching for Tommy's cigarette and wrapping your lips around it.

Tommy watched but did not react. You inhaled and the harsh smoke burned your lungs. You choked, realizing you never took up smoking because you never learned to inhale. You did it again, choking on the smoke but also feeling a bit calmer. He hesitantly reached for his cigarette and brought it back to his own lips to take a long inhale.

"John said he couldn't get a good shot, so you stabbed Wilks in the leg to drop you," Tommy said, a twinge of amusement in his voice as he blew the smoke above your heads.

"Rather that than John take my head off," you said as a small smile creeped onto your face.

"You and fucking knives," Tommy said playfully and nudged your shoulder. "Where'd you pick that up?"

"Learned a few things from Pol during the war before she sent me out running errands," you said. "Took to knives over guns. Smaller and quieter. Easy in a pinch."

Tommy hummed, finished off his cigarette and snuffed it in the ashtray. He leaned on you a moment.

"Am I ever going to know that tattoo on your shoulder?" He asked.

"John hasn't cracked yet?" You laughed.

"Smug bastard won't stop taunting," Tommy said as he joined you.

It had been so long since you heard him actually laugh instead of chuckle. It warmed your otherwise numb heart.

"Sounds like John," you said. "You'd think he'd never seen a tattoo before."

"Not on a woman," Tommy said, meeting your gaze. "Not on you."

"Shelby's aren't the only ones that can sneak," you said slyly.

"None of that answers me," Tommy said.

You looked down at your hands in your lap and bit your lip. Tommy softly touched the side of your neck, giving you chills.

"Lights too low to look at the bruises tonight," he said. "Least so in this light."

"Tommy," you whispered. "If we're asking questions tonight, why do you smoke?"

His eyes narrowed at you as his hand rescinded.

"Been smoking cigarettes most of my life at this point, (Y/N)," he said lightly, but a low currant of warning hid beneath.

"Not cigarettes," you said softly as you leaned over his lap to pick up his pipe from the drawer.

He watched you sharply but did not stop you. You ran your hand along the long pipe, looking down at it as you hovered over his lap and thought of the drugs within his nightstand.

"Have you ever taken it with someone?" You asked shyly.

"It's just to sleep," he whispered, shooing you gently from the drawer before closing it. "It helps with the memories."

You reluctantly sat up, the pipe now in your lap.

"What if I were to take it?" You asked quietly. "With you?"

"(Y/N)," Tommy said as he reached for the pipe but you held it away from him. "You don't need it. I won't let John or Arthur take it. It's not good. Why should I give it to you freely?"

"I'm asking you," you said simply. "Is that not enough?"

Tommy looked at you for a long moment, assessing you.

"I killed a man today, Tommy," your voice cracked. "Can you be soft with me, just this once? Just tonight?"

He eyed you frozen to his spot as he wetted his lips. He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a beat before looking back to you. His eyes were rounded and his shoulders dipped. He reached for the pipe with an exhale. This time, you let him take it.

"This doesn't close the door on any of it," Tommy said, although you weren't sure if it was to you or himself. "This won't fix the thoughts. Only runs the shadows off for a night."

You nodded slowly as he leaned back to the drawer and started readying the pipe. You watched his intent expression as he started his ritual. Tommy blocked you out --blocked the world out-- and the only thing important was right there in his lap.

As he started putting everything away, and the pipe was ready for fire in his lap, he finally looked up at you and hesitated.

"Just--" he started. "Let me lead. It'll make you relax. You'll have to trust me."

"I've always trusted you, Tommy," you said.

He nodded, picked up the pipe and placed it over the candle and watched intently. He took it off and settled his lips over the opening, inhaling deeply. You watched him hold the smoke for a moment before he leaned his head back and blew it out.

You watched him visibly soften in front of you. His face slacked as he watched the smoke above him disappear. His shoulders completely rounded as the invisible rod in his back released. He leaned down for another inhale.

This time, he seemed to remember you were beside him. He held the smoke in his mouth and placed his pointer finger under your chin and guided your face closer to his. Butterflies fluttered in your chest but you let him guide you so close you were nearly touching lips.

You looked from his lips to his eyes, your lips slacked as his hand circled your jaw and pressed his fingers into the sides of your face until you opened your mouth slightly wider. He exhaled the smoke directly into your mouth and you inhaled his breath instinctually, feeling the smoke enter your lungs and spread a warmth through your body faster than any whiskey ever had. He let your chin go and you closed your eyes.

You understood why people liked it immediately. You felt it go straight through your body and you let it, all of your thoughts and tensed muscles fading into the haze. You floated. You felt Tommy shuffle beside you and heard him inhale one more time before you felt his hand on your neck. You heard the pipe rest on the nightstand with a gentle clang. He pulled you toward him by your neck and you kissed him as he exhaled into your lungs again and you breathed him in.

His lips were plush against yours and he didn't stop you from kissing him like you thought he would. In fact, he pulled you closer. The smoke creeped out of the corners of your mouths as you turned your body to face him and melted into his touch. His hand stayed on the back of your neck as the other caressed your jaw with his thumb. After a long moment, he pulled back and held you away from following him.

You opened your eyes, watching the stillness of his face as he opened his eyes to watch you half-lidded.

"Right," he whispered, wetting his lips. "You should be feeling--"

"Very good, yes," you interrupted, pushing against his hold to kiss him again.

The feeling of his skin on yours was electric. The haze around you made the contact feel so much more.

"(Y/N)," Tommy said as he half-heartedly tried to hold you back but you pushed again and kissed him.

You felt Tommy growl into your kiss and you shuddered, hand rising to meet his face. He kissed you back forcefully, and you moaned into his mouth. He immediately ripped you away. Your eyes snapped open to see a very frustrated Tommy.

"(Y/N)," he warned, "A man's only got so much self control."

"You're not a man," you laughed, a smirk on your lips. "They call you the Peaky devil."

"Read somewhere that well fed devils behave better than famished saints," he said as he smirked back at you and released his hold.

You both watched each other for a long moment until your confidence started to fall.

"Are you well fed, Tommy?" You whispered, leaning back from him and running a hand through your hair.

"I'm fucking starving is what I am," he said in a breath and grabbed you around the waist to pull you to him, flipping you onto your back on the bed to press you down into the blankets as he devoured you.

Your teeth hit his when you collided, but it didn't slow either of you down. His hands immediately began roaming, groping and pulling at you. You squirmed, overwhelmed by the contact as you kissed him in hopes to be completely consumed by him.

He pulled away and watched you, drinking in what you looked like beneath him, hair disheveled, lips swelled pink, and eyes hazy in the dim candlelight.

"You could ruin me," Tommy said softly as he tumbled to your side in the small bed. He rubbed his face with a sigh.

"I'm just a foot soldier," you said.

"Be soft, you said," he whispered as he exhaled a short breath, eyes still covered, "I stopped seeing Lizzie, (Y/N), after the party--"

"Tommy, I--" you interrupted as you turned to him.

"I know you're closest with John--"

"Tommy--"

"And you ran with him before I told you about Esme--"

"Tommy--"

"And I'm older than you--"

"I'm a virgin, Tommy," you frustratedly spat out before he could stop you. "I didn't sleep with John, because I haven't slept with anyone."

"You didn't--" he started as he dropped his hands and rolled to face you.

"No," you huffed, arms instinctively hugging yourself, "When the war came, the men left. Those that stayed were old, young, or not interested in a Shelby cast off."

"But none of us--"

"There were rumors, Thomas," you said with a sniff, "That was enough."

"Don't call me that," he pleaded.

He reached for your cheek and you flinched. He hesitated but reached out for you again.

"Tommy sings from your lips," he said, running his thumb over your lips. "Thomas is a curse."

You kissed his thumb before he parted your lips and you grazed your tongue along it. You locked eyes with him and watched his eyes ignite as he looked at you beneath him.

"Not tonight, love," he whispered. "Not with the opium muddling your thoughts."

"You muddle my thoughts," you shot back with a sigh. "Fine, then better pour the whiskey."

Tommy smiled.

"That, I can do," he said.

----

Tommy had to go find another candle once the candle on the nightstand burned low. He came back with a couple of them, lighting them all to make a bit more light in the room as you both shared the glass to drink the whiskey. Tommy smoked a bit more opium once the haze faded away as the night went on. He kissed the smoke into your lungs to share his high.

The night felt absolutely invincible. The only people in the world were you two in his room. No cares, no thoughts, only there. Only then.

You both laughed and chatted on the bed, bantering back and forth along the way. You had somehow moved to a position of Tommy sitting on the bed, his back to the headboard, and you between his legs cuddled into his chest. You both were facing his bare wall and he had wrapped his arms around you to whisper something playfully in your ear when you had reached up to cup his face in your hand.

"Tommy," you giggled, looking at the wall in front of you. "What happened to the wallpaper? It looks like you ripped it down."

Tommy rested his chin on your shoulder as he hummed.

"I did rip it down," he said as he quieted, staring at the wall closely as he hugged you to him tighter. "Some nights I hear them digging. It was so loud one night I had to be sure."

"Is that why you do it?" You asked. "Why you smoke?"

Tommy hummed in agreement before he kissed your cheek.

"It doesn't always work," he said softly. "But it's been quiet with you here."

You looked ahead at the wall and tried to imagine what Tommy heard, the digging and clinking noises of metal on rock. The fear. You shuddered.

"None of that now," Tommy whispered into your ear, giving you new chills for an entirely different reason.

A comfortable silence passed between you.

"I should make a bed," Tommy said, cutting the quiet. "Downstairs. You'll take this one. I'll get you one of my shirts to sleep in."

"Don't leave me, Tommy," you said, gripping his arm as he nudged you to sit up. "Not tonight."

Tommy sighed as he leaned you back against him.

"You're bloody stubborn," he mused.

"I'd still like that shirt," you answered playfully. "Maybe you'd glimpse my tattoo in the process. As a reward."

"You'd test the devil himself," Tommy breathed.

"What do you think I'm doing now?" You teased, leaning forward and glancing over your shoulder at your zipper.

Tommy raised a brow, his arms unwrapping around you. He reached and slowly unzipped your dress, letting your skin peek through the opening. You slacked your shoulder and the dress fell down your arm, revealing a horse tattoo. Tommy's eyes were enraptured by your shoulder, his fingers shamelessly tracing over it.

"Now I get it," he breathed before pressing his lips to the horse on your shoulder and closing his eyes.

He nuzzled your bare shoulder and inhaled your scent before he kissed it again and leaned back.

"I've one more," you said, "but it's a bit harder to show."

"Worried about modesty now?" Tommy teased, pulling you back into his chest as he buried his face into your hair.

"You tell me not to test you, and then you beg for testing," you laugh. "Which is it?"

Tommy let you go with a laugh, arms wide away from you.

"I'll not touch you unless you want it," he said as he watched you sit up and turn around to face him. "How about that?"

"Show me your tattoos first," you said shyly. "I know you have them."

"I've just the one," he said as his hands dropped and he pulled his shirt off, throwing it in his lap before his hands returned outstretched to his sides.

You eyed the sun on his chest. You squirmed in your seat with the urge to touch it. You finally gave in, hesitantly reaching out and running your fingers over it. Tommy watched you and smiled.

"And yours?" He said with a raised eyebrow.

You looked up through your eyelashes at him and hesitated before you mustered up your courage and dropped the front of your dress and slip.

Tommy's eyes widened as he saw your breasts, and his eyes narrowed when he realized in between them on your breastbone was a tattoo of a bullet. You both froze for a moment, and you became more self conscious as time passed. You reached for his shirt in front of you, slipping it over your head as you stood off the bed to step out of your dress.

"I knew this was a bad idea," you muttered as you paced. "I'll go sleep downstairs. I'll --"

"(Y/N)," Tommy said and stood from the bed and grabbed your wrist. "Listen to me."

"No that was--"

"Why do you have a bullet with your own name on it on your chest?" Tommy said quietly as he pulled you into him.

"Because no one's allowed to break my heart but me," you said fiercely as you looked into his eyes.

He smiled before he kissed you softly. You immediately melted into him.

"It's stupid," you whispered as you pulled away, losing steam. "Stupid thoughts of a stupid girl."

"No," Tommy rumbled. "It's a good reminder. I'm glad I know it. It's fresh."

"Just healed," you laughed mirthlessly before looking down to the floor. Anything to get away from his blue eyes.

Silence. Tommy touched your shoulder before he cupped your cheek.

"Let's be off to bed, then, yeah?" He said softly.

"Yeah," you sounded.

----

Finn burst through the door at first light, making you both jump. Tommy held you to his chest as he reached for the nightstand.

"Tommy Tommy we still haven't found (Y/N)--" Finn started before skidding to a halt right in front of the bed. He eyed you clinging to Tommy's bare chest, Tommy's hand around your bare back. At some point in the night, you had overheated and thrown off Tommy's shirt but continued to cuddle with him, enjoying the skin contact. The high and the whiskey had made touch all the more enjoyable in the haze of your mind.

"Fuck off, Finn," Tommy said as he grabbed the ashtray on the nightstand, arm still holding you to his chest.

"Why've we been searching all night if she's here?" Finn cried.

"FUCK OFF, FINN," Tommy yelled and threw the ashtray at Finn's head, narrowly missing the teen as he ducked out of the room.

You heard Finn huff on the stairs.

"Oy, (Y/N)'s with Tommy upstairs," he yelled, presumably to the other brothers.

"'Fuck off, Finn.' No one ever fucking respects me," he huffed loudly as he stomped down the stairs.

Tommy held you in his arms, kissing the top of your head as you both chuckled. You hid your face in his chest and basked in the stillness for a moment.

"Tommy," you said, raising your head from his chest to look into his eyes, "we should go downstairs to meet them. Tell them the search is over."

His arm pressed you to him and he caressed your cheek for a moment.

"I suppose you're right," he sighed softly.

You rolled off of him to let him swing his legs out of bed. You clung the sheets to your breasts as he went to his dresser and grabbed some clothes.

"Here," Tommy said, throwing you a button up shirt and a pair of britches, "You can wear these home. Better than last night's dress."

You smiled, gathering the clothes and scooting out of bed to put them on. You swam in his clothing, but it smelled of him. You gathered your dress and folded it, holding it in front of you as Tommy touched your face and gave you one last kiss before leading you downstairs. You could feel his walls rebuilding with every step. He would be Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders, by the time he reached the bottom. Your night of being soft was done.

You both stopped at the foot of the stairs to see all three brothers about the kitchen area. Arthur and Finn were sitting at the table, and John looked like he had been pacing. You noticed the table was bare, but things were strewn across the floor. That must have been the noise before Tommy walked upstairs last night.

"(Y/N) was here when I arrived home," Tommy said, looking to each of his brothers. "She was in no condition to be left alone, so I didn't put out the call to stop the search."

"Of course you didn't, Tom," Arthur said through gritted teeth.

"Looked to be naked when I walked in," Finn mouthed.

"Finn, shut up," Arthur chastised.

"Is that how it is?" John said, pacing with his head down.

"You might've seen the horse," Tommy taunted, "but I bet you never saw the other one. Not in that dark water late at night."

John flew at you both. He was across the room in a stride.

"We were looking all night!" John bellowed as he raised his fist and cracked Tommy's jaw, making him fall to the ground.

You immediately dropped to your knees with a shriek to see to Tommy, who looked up at John in shock as his tongue licked blood from his teeth. Your head whipped between the two men. They shared a look that you couldn't decipher. John looked at you broken before he shot Tommy a venomous glare and pointed at him.

"Again, Tommy?" He said as his voice cracked and he lost steam. "A-fucking-gain?"

John stormed out of the house and slammed the door. Finn raised out of his seat to chase after him, but Arthur pulled him back down.

"It's not for you to go after him," Arthur said as he looked over to you both pointedly.

"Let him go," Tommy said, working his jaw. "Let him cool off first."

#peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #john shelby #storytime with murderousginger

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littlestarofthewest · 4 years ago

Photo

Title: Boss Ass Bitch | Word Count: 2645 | Rating: Explicit (18+!!!)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader (in this chapter)

Tags: modern AU, mechanic AU, work in progress

Chapters: [1] [2]

Your first week in your new job flies by quickly. Molly's got so much to teach you that you can't focus on anything else. Only during your breaks, you have a moment to look through the huge window that lets you watch the boys in the garage.

Most of the time, they're busy with their work, but sometimes you can hear their laughter through the wall when they're joking with each other. Once in a while, one of them comes into the office to talk something out with Molly, but you're too busy to pay attention.

By the time week two rolls around, you feel confident to be on your own. Molly leaves her number just in case and assures you that you can always ask the boys if you have more questions. You smile and nod while thinking that you'll try to avoid that option.

Come Monday, you get to the shop almost an hour early, but you're still not the first there. The door is open, and the lights are on. When you make your way to the office, Charles comes along the corridor that leads to the boys' changing room.

Surprise graces his face when he sees you, but then he smiles. "Good morning."

"Morning."

"You're early."

"I thought it might be a good idea to get a headstart," you say, suddenly feeling stupid. You're a grown woman, after all, you shouldn't be so nervous. "You're early yourself."

Charles shrugs. "I get up with the sun most of the time. Just can't sleep any longer."

"I wish that was me," you sigh. "I don't mind sleeping in."

"I hope you'll still have a good day."

"Thank you," you say, warmth spreading in your chest. Unlike most people, Charles sounds genuine, and you can do with the encouragement. You still smile after Charles when he walks over to the car he's working on, but then you put yourself together and disappear into your new office.

The first two hours go by quickly, and you have a good feeling about your work. So far, you know exactly what to do, and you're confident you can make it through the day without messing up. Thanks to the big window, you can see that Arthur and John arrived as well.

You watch the boys for a bit while all three of them bend into the same car, involved in a serious discussion. Compared to your first day, they are moderately dressed for once. Charles and John both wear blue overalls, and while John's is so dirty that his one appears black, he at least closed the buttons.

Arthur's wearing blue pants as well, with a simple gray shirt, and you're once again pissed because they can look this good without effort. With a sigh, you go back to an email you've started when the office door opens.

"Hey Molly, we need-" Arthur says while coming in but stops himself when he sees you. "Sorry, I was looking for Molly."

"She's not here today," you say, getting nervous again. "In fact, she's not coming anymore. She put me in charge."

"Oh good," Arthur says, and just like Charles, he seems pleased. "I just need the schedule, and then I'm out of your hair."

The nervous feeling wanders from your chest up into your throat. "Schedule?"

"Yeah, so we know which cars to finish first. Or the 'yeet sheet' as John likes to call it."

You remember Molly mentioning that as well, and a light turns on in your head. "Yes, of course. Molly prepared it on Friday."

You see the sheet in front of your inner eye, but then nothing. Arthur walks up to your desk, rubbing his hands. "Great, can I have it?"

"I, um, don't remember where she put it," you admit. "I can call her."

"No need, you can just print out a new one," Arthur says, rounding your desk. "I've done it a few times when Molly was busy. Let me show you."

Arthur leans over your shoulder, pointing to the folders you need while you sneak side-glances at him. You already found him attractive from afar, but up close, it's way worse. He has lovely blue eyes with sort of a golden ring in the middle, and his beard looks so soft, you have to fight the urge to rub your face against his.

Arthur's scent doesn't help either. There are strong undertones of the garage, like motor oil and metal, but also something fresh like recently washed sheets. You take a deep breath and try to focus on what Arthur is showing you, but then he leans in even closer to read the folders' names.

"That must be it," he says, pointing to one of them.

A shiver runs down your spine when his breath ghosts over the skin on your neck, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. You wish you could turn around and bury your face in his chest but instead, you print out the file he needs, your eyes hefted to the screen.

"There you go."

"Thank you, my lady," Arthur says. He walks over to the printer and waves a little goodbye with the piece of paper before leaving you alone in your office.

You use the next few minutes to stare blankly at your screen, trying to stomach what just happened, from Arthur casually calling you 'my lady' to you feeling like a cat in heat just because a guy stood a little too close to you.

Over the last few weeks, you've been so busy with the job change that you didn't even think to take care of yourself. Being confronted with three good looking guys every day clearly doesn't help your situation. You decide to battle your horniness the second you get home today and go back to work.

You manage to get through the rest of the week without any more hiccups, and aside from some annoying or unfriendly clients, this might just be the best job you've ever had. In the mornings, you often run into Charles, getting your first smile of the day. Then you exchange some small talk with Arthur while he's getting his caffeine fix in the break room, and John's usually the one to stay late, closing up with you.

They're all so nice that you consider yourself spoiled. Still, you deserve a treat, so you use the weekend for some intense self-care. At first, you feel a bit guilty when the boys enter your mind as you pleasure yourself, but you can't help it, and it does wonders for your body and soul.

You go back to work on Monday with a big smile on your face, and time flies by. You're not even tired when it's time to go home again. As your last act of the day, you do a little inventory check. It's your job to stock up the break room and buy necessities like toilet paper and cleaning supplies.

When you come back from the kitchen, the garage is dark. Arthur's been the last of the boys, but it seems that he went home by now, so you grab your clipboard and head for the guy's changing room to see if they need anything refilled.

You should have noticed that the lights are still on, but you're busy writing down what to buy the next day. After waltzing into the room, you look up and freeze on the spot.

Arthur is standing in front of the lockers with a towel over his head to dry his hair. The problem is that that's the only thing covering him. You stare at his naked body, your eyes roaming from his feet upward over his manhood to his bare chest, and you can't bring yourself to look away.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you forget to hold on to your clipboard, and it clutters to the ground with an overly loud sound. Arthur comes out from under the towel, staring at you with surprise.

"Sorry, I- I didn't- I mean, I thought-" you stammer, unable to finish a single sentence. "God, I didn't mean to-"

You're still staring at Arthur until he has the sense to put the towel around his hips. Finally, you can move and get on the floor to retrieve your clipboard and a few loose pages. "I'm so sorry, I thought I was alone."

"It's fine, don't worry about it," Arthur says, his voice calm.

While you can feel your face grow hot, Arthur doesn't sound embarrassed at all. You put the pages back into the clipboard and dare to look at him again. In hindsight, you shouldn't have done that. The towel is barely covering Arthur, so you still have an excellent view of his body. You can't help but take it in, and when your eyes meet Arthur's, there's something challenging in them.

"Do you want to come over here?"

You know you should turn and run, but Arthur's voice lures you in as if he was a well-built siren. Your feet take you the few steps over to him all on their own, and you're enveloped by Arthur's fresh scent. He takes the clipboard and places it on a bench next to you before reaching for your face.

Arthur lifts up your chin, and when you look at him, there's still the fire in his eyes, but he's smiling. "Hey," he says, and you feel calmer somehow.

You manage a shaky "hey" as well, and Arthur's fingers trail along your face before cupping your cheek.

"Mind if I kiss you?"

You can't remember anybody asking you this before, and your brain has a hard time coming up with an answer. After all, Arthur's right there, still built like a demigod and still deliciously naked.

"I- um, I wouldn't mind," you say, still wondering why he would even want to.

Before you can think of a reason, Arthur already leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He keeps teasing you, but when you're still frozen on the spot, he retreats.

"I'm not trying to pressure-" Arthur starts, but your mind finally catches up.

You throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for another kiss. Since you're way less gentle than him, Arthur matches your eagerness, his tongue rubbing hot against your own.

Despite your little fun sessions at home, you still feel charged with sexual energy, and you can't help but grind against Arthur with your whole body. He takes to kissing along your neck, and his hands wander to your breasts.

"Have to admit that I've been thinking about this," he says as his fingers rub your nipples through the fabric of your top. "Those blouses and the damn skirts."

You just tried to look professional, so it's quite a nice piece of information that your get up railed Arthur up just as much as his clothes bothered you.

"Take them off then," you say, growing bolder. This is already happening, so you might as well go the distance.

Arthur growls as he fumbles with the buttons of your shirt, and the second he gets them all open, he pushes down the fabric of your bra to expose your naked skin. Kissing down your body, Arthur sits down on the bench, pushing up your skirt next.

When he caresses your thighs, you eagerly spread your legs, and Arthur pulls down your underwear before his face takes its place. You let out a little squeal when his tongue touches you, but he keeps going, and you hold on to his shoulder to keep yourself upright.

Arousal pools between your legs and you just know you're going to paint Arthur's face with your juices if he keeps going like that. Digging your fingers into Arthur's hair, you can't help but rub yourself against him, eager to get as much friction as possible.

Arthur keeps licking you with slow, hot strokes of his tongue while his hands wander upwards until he can touch your breasts. Your nipples grow hard in the cold air, and he keeps teasing them until you can't take it anymore.

You hold Arthur in place, your thighs shaking as you come, and his moans are just as bad as yours. Usually, you'd be quite satisfied now, but you can only think about wanting more.

After releasing Arthur from your iron grip, you pull the towel away and climb on Arthur's lap. While kissing, you reach for his cock, making him groan against your lips. You've never done anything like this before, but now you can only think about riding Arthur until you forget your own name.

You take position over Arthur and carefully lower yourself onto him until he's fully sheeted inside you.

"Jesus Christ, you're tight," Arthur groans, his fingers digging into your hips.

As slowly as you can, you move up again, making Arthur curse. It feels just as good for you, the constant rub bringing even more heat, and you put your arms around Arthur's neck so you can ride him properly.

He's holding on to your hips, doing his fair share to lift you up, but he gets distracted and nibbles and licks wherever he can reach you. You wish it wouldn't turn you on that much, since you're usually not one for one night stands or sex in weird places.

Although it's late, you can't shake the idea that Charles or John could come back. Even worse, what if Dutch showed up? You roll your hips for more friction and deliberately clench your muscles around Arthur.

"Goddamn, girl," Arthur growls, "don't do that."

Arthur holds you in place when you don't stop, pushing into you with a few sharp thrusts. He moans with his head buried against your neck, his whole body going rigid when he comes.

You hold still to give him a moment, not ready for him suddenly lifting you up so he can put you down on the bench next to him.

Arthur dives between your legs, his beard scratching your thighs as he licks you again. All you can do is hold on to the bench, skitting towards bliss without a break. You arch your back when you hit your breaking point, and Arthur lets you rut against him until you're completely satisfied.

All you can do now is stare up at the ceiling and catch your breath. Arthur cleans himself up with his towel before running a warm hand along your thigh.

"I'll be right back," he says, and soon he offers you some tissues to get yourself cleaned up as well. When you sit up, Arthur watches you intently. "You alright?"

"I was supposed to do some inventory for the order tomorrow."

"That's what you're thinking about?" Arthur huffs.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so used to planning everything," you explain. "This is not how I imagined my evening."

"Me neither. It's bad enough that you're distracting me during work. I didn't think it would happen after."

You wish you could say something to that, but you get so flustered that you focus on putting your clothes in order instead.

"Don't worry about the order," Arthur says, "I know what we need; I can just tell you."

"That would be great," you say, picking up your clipboard, but before you take any notes, you look Arthur over. "Maybe you should get dressed first."

"Why?"

"It's distracting."

Arthur leans back with a smile, giving you an even better view. "Really?"

You lean in to give him a kiss, right before clutching the clipboard to his chest. "That list better be on my desk tomorrow at 9am."

"Yes, ma'am," Arthur says, but he doesn't move, so you turn tail and run.

If you stay, chances are you're going to eat your dinner off of him.

#arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 smut #rdr2 fanfic #modern au #my writing #cara's mechanic au

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tahitianmangoes · 4 years ago

Text

Beg Me -Morbell

Pairing: Micah x Arthur Summary: Arthur knew there was only one way he was getting out of this cellar... Tags/triggers:Smut Word Count: 2122

Also on Ao3

Micah had only seen Dutch lose his cool twice before. The first time was in Blackwater and even then Micah wasn’t quite sure what had happened but the McCourt girl had ended up dead. The second time was tonight when Arthur hadn’t returned to camp when he should have.

Dutch had snapped at almost everyone in camp, demanding they found Arthur and found him quick if they wanted to keep their balls.

They split up - Charles and John, Lenny and Sean, Bill and Javier and Micah alone. He didn’t mind going alone, he worked better that way.

It didn’t take him long to pick up a trail and track Arthur down to what looked like a run down farm. Micah wasted no time dealing with the residents then called out for Arthur.

“Morgan? You here?” “I’m down here!”

Arthur’s voice floated up to him from a cellar that ran beneath the house that was entered by exterior doors. Micah descended the stairs into the small room which was dimly lit by a few scattered candles to see Arthur Morgan tied to a supporting column in the centre of the room.

Arthur wore only his undergarments, form fitting long johns but his broad chest was bare. He looked like he had been beaten pretty badly, face bruised and lip bloodied.

Dutch sent them on some search party like he was a lost little lamb and oh didn’t he look so innocent tied up like this?

“Mmm,” Micah purred, “well look at you, ain't you as pretty as a picture?” “Micah? Get me outta here!” Arthur called to him. “Hello old friend,” Micah said with a sneer, “had a good time did you?” Arthur’s head jerked up, recognising the words he had spoken to Micah when he had been incarcerated in the Strawberry jail. “Micah, this ain’t funny.” Arthur said warningly. “Oh I ain’t jokin’, cowpoke… Maybe not funny, no. Maybe a little ironic, I’m sure you would agree?”

Micah leaned back against the damp wall of the cellar and struck a match off of his boot, lighting a cigarette. He drank in the image of Arthur before him, had never had the chance to appreciate how fine his body was; statuesque in beauty, tender skin pulled taut over palpable muscles.

“Untie me now, Micah or I swear you’ll regret it!” Arthur growled, pulling at his restraints with futility. “I might.” Micah replied as he exhaled smoke, a hint of a dark smirk teasing his lips, “But I want you to beg, Morgan.” Arthur spluttered, “I ain’t beggin’ you for shit!” “That’s a shame. Marston and Smith went lookin’ elsewhere for ya, pretty sure Williamson and Escuella will be back at camp by now and Summer and Maguire, well, they couldn’t find a whore in a whorehouse… It’s jus’ me here. I’ll tell ‘em I turned the place over but there weren’t no sign of ya.” “You bastard!” Arthur hissed through gritted teeth, straining again. Micah chuckled. “I know.”

Micah smoked nonchalantly, exhaling deliberately as to cast a fog between the pair of them but he could still see the anguish on Arthur’s face while he weighed up the pros and cons of Micah’s proposition.

“Fine.” He said eventually, “what do you want me to do?” Micah’s ice blue eyes flashed “Beg me.”

Arthur’s expression was mean, his sparkling blue-green eyes were narrowed and full of rage. “Please, untie me.” Arthur said bluntly. Micah’s chuckle bordered on maniacal, “that ain’t beggin’ Morgan. Beg doggy, beg!” “Screw you!” Arthur spat. Micah sighed and stubbed his cigarette out on the wall. “As you wish. I’ll tell ‘em I couldn’t find ya. I’m sure some hungry coyotes will get to you before anyone thinks to come lookin’ for you here.”

Micah turned to leave, ascending the steps of the cellar until he heard Arthur call out behind him. “Ok! Ok!” Micah didn’t turn around right away, he grinned to himself. He knew Arthur would do it. “Micah! Don’t leave me here! I’ll do whatever you want!” He turned slowly, savouring the expression of desperation etched on the younger outlaw’s pretty face. “You gonna play nice, Morgan?” “Yes.” “Good.”

Micah walked back to him smugly and stopped directly in front of him, eyes peering out beneath the brim of his cream hat, eating him up greedily as he licked his lips.

“Untie me.” “You’re forgetting the magic word, Morgan.” “Untie me, please Micah.” “Now now, Arthur. That don't sound at all sincere to me." Micah said with a hint of mirth in his tone that didn’t go unmissed by Arthur. Arthur rumbled. "Get me out of these goddamned ropes Micah or I swear I'll rip your throat out!" "Ah, ah, ah. That ain't nice now, is it? Thought you said you was gonna be a good boy for me, Arthur."

Arthur swallowed hard, swallowing his pride. His cheeks burned scarlet as he said, "please Micah. I'm begging you. Untie me and get me outta here!"

Micah put his head to one side, as if contemplating for a moment. But he wasn't. He'd thought about this before… Many times before. Arthur at his mercy. When would an opportunity like this come about again?

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't." "But I did what you wanted..!" Micah hummed thoughtfully. "You know, you ain't always been nice to me, Morgan. And I tried, I did, always tried my hardest to be nice to you." "What are you getting at?" Arthur asked suspiciously, shifting his weight as he stood uncomfortably. "Maybe it's time for you to be nice to me, Morgan." Arthur's bright eyes widened, as if he suddenly now understood what Micah wanted from him. Micah reached out and touched Arthur's cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle but the look on his face was devilish.

"On your knees, sweetheart."

Arthur made a strangled sound, somewhere between a curse and a laugh of disbelief as if hoping that this was one of Micah’s sick, twisted jokes. And maybe to a degree it was. But when Micah’s face didn’t change, Arthur knew there was only one way he was getting out of this cellar.

He had no choice but to sink down to the cold stone floor before Micah.

Micah was hard already, had felt the bulge growing in his pants when he knew he had Arthur with his back against a wall. It was confusing, for sure. When he had first joined the gang he had thought that he and Arthur were similar - both sharp shooters, both men who provided and knew how to get a job done. Yet Arthur had a chip on his shoulder, a real big chip that Micah wanted to knock off.

Arthur was a pompous ass in a way. Self righteous. Pig-headed. Maybe even dumber than he looked. They say that love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Micah didn’t know about that but he knew that for some reason, he kept being pulled back to Arthur - drawn to him so magnetically. He didn’t know what it meant but he knew it made him hard.

He wasted little time kneading his cock through his pants before unbuttoning and pulling it out. It was average, no bigger or smaller, thinner or girthier than anyone else’s but it got the job done. Right now, the skin was reddened and precum glistened at the slit.

Arthur wrinkled his nose instinctively, drawing away.

“Come on now, Morgan. You said you’d do whatever I wanted and this is what I want from you.”

Arthur wet his lips before slowly taking Micah’s length into his mouth. Micah watched, a lazy smirk on his lips, at how Arthur had to adjust before he could comfortably begin to suck. There was nothing sensual or sexy about it from Arthur, he sucked as if it was a job that needed doing.

Micah closed his eyes regardless, he was going to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. He savoured the warmth of Arthur’s mouth, the flat of his tongue on the underside of his dick and the gentle scrape of his teeth on Micah’s oh-so-sensitive skin. The sound of Arthur slurping and gagging sent shivers shooting down Micah’s spine and right the length of his cock.

“There’s a good boy,” Micah purred. He laced his fingers in Arthur’s golden hair and pushed, forcing Arthur to take him deeper and deeper until he could feel the back of Arthur’s throat. Arthur let out a muffled cry and he bucked against the ropes that bound him but Micah kept his head steady until felt Arthur’s jaw relax as he figured how to breathe from his nose instead of his mouth.

Micah thrust experimentally, keeping a firm hold of Arthur’s hair in his fist to prevent him from pulling away. He heard Arthur choke but didn’t let him come up for air. For the first time since Micah met him, he was able to silence him.

He fucked Arthur’s face, the noises were obscene: squelching, gagging and gasping. Micah groaned at how easily Arthur seemed to take him despite the fight he put up, as if he had done this before... Arthur moaned too though Micah wasn’t sure if it was through pleasure.

When Micah looked down, he cursed. Drool pooled at the sides of Arthur’s mouth, dripping down the sides of his face. His sucking had turned sloppier and wet. Arthur had tears streaming from the corners of his glassy eyes and his face was flushed.

He looked up at Micah pleadingly.

Micah pulled out and Arthur gasped and panted. His restraints stopped him from falling forward but Micah could see he was tired. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath.

Micah took his hunting knife from his belt and finally cut Arthur loose. Arthur moaned softly as his arms were freed; Micah could see where the ropes had cut into him.

Artur gazed up at Micah, seeming dazed. The smirk returned to Micah’s lips, now noticing Arthur’s straining erection leaking through the material of his undergarments.

Micah stroked his cock lazily, looking down at Arthur, “what’s wrong? You want more, doggy?”

Arthur’s cheeks flushed but he didn’t say no. Was he enjoying this too?

“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?” Micah breathed, thumb tracing Arthur’s lips that glistened with saliva and Micah’s juices.

“...Please Micah…” Arthur whimpered.

He didn’t need Arthur to beg this time. Before he could consider what he was doing, he was on his knees behind Arthur, wrenching Arthur’s long johns down to reveal his ample behind. Micah let out a low growl, pulling Arthur’s ass cheeks apart and spitting directly onto his hole. Arthur shivered at the sensation of the saliva rolling down to his thighs.

Micah traced Arthur’s entrance with the tip of his cock lightly, feeling how it resisted him before pressing in properly.

Both of them moaned this time, Micah sighed Arthur’s name at the feel of Arthur’s passage eating him up hungrily. His heat was intoxicating, he squeezed around Micah’s cock almost encouragingly.

Micah began to move. The friction sent sparks of pleasure up and down Micah’s shaft, made the heat in the pit of his stomach start to rise and he fucked faster, pounding into Arthur, the skin of his pale ass starting to redden.

Micah knew he wouldn’t last much longer but having Arthur on his hands and knees before him, gasping at each snap of his hips, biting back his moans and burying his head in his arms, ass up as if willing Micah to do what he wanted with him was the most erotic thing Micah had ever experienced.

Micah saw Arthur stroking himself, felt him trembling with impending release, he contracted around Micah so tightly it made Micah’s hips stutter.

“Fuck Morgan, fuck!” Micah spat as he released, fingers digging into Arthur’s hips as to keep him in place so he could spill himself inside.

He rested his forehead on the small of Arthur’s back, feeling him release too, the trembling coming to a crescendo and his legs shaking before he went limp beneath him. They stayed like that for a few moments. The sound of blood pumping in Micah’s ears was replaced with the evening outside.

Micah pulled out once he softened completely and got to his feet, buttoning his pants back up. Arthur stood too, albeit shakily, his skin still flushed and slicked with sweat and his own spend on his stomach. He found his clothes and satchel across the room and redressed sheepishly.

“Don’t you dare breathe a word of this to no one.” Arthur muttered before he made his way out of the cellar.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #micah bell x arthur morgan #morbell #micah bell #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x micah bell #red dead redemption 2 #fanfic #writing

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morgan-macguire · 4 years ago

Text

Outlaws For Life

Arthur Morgan x reader (rdr1)

Summary: After Johns family is taken, he comes to you and Arthur.

Warnings: rdr1 spoilers, rdr2 spoilers too tbh

A/n: I finished rdr1 for the first time in years a while ago and wanted to write this. In this fic, Arthur did not die on the mountain. Also!! it’s gender neutral :) Arthur and reader have kids but I didn’t say how they got them so that part is up to u lol :)

idk if anyone still reads for red dead, but I’m still writing (very slowly)!

masterlist

not my gif

Thick grey clouds blanketed the normally blue sky. A cold breeze swept through the land, much unlike the usual pleasant breeze that you’d grown so accustomed to. Rain was heading your way for sure, Arthur and the boys were taking advantage of the weather as much as possible. They’d invited you to come along on their fishing trip, but you declined. As much as you loved spending time with them, you didn’t want to get caught out in the rain.

So instead, you stayed home and looked after the house. Arthur assured you they wouldn’t be out too late, they’d be back by supper time. He offered to cook upon his return, but you beat him to it. A hearty venison stew, including some fresh vegetables from the garden, was already cooking on the stove before they got home.

You had just finished setting the table when you heard three heavy taps on the front door. It was unlike Arthur to knock before entering his own home, so you peered through the kitchen window to find out who was paying you a visit before heading over to the door.

“John Marston!” You gasped, stepping through the doorway to engulf him in a hug, “It’s been too long.”

John let out a small chuckle, “That it has, y/n.”

“Please, come in. Supper is just about finished,” you opened the door fully after letting him go, not bothering to wait for his reply. “Arthur should be back with the boys soon.”

John mumbled out a thank you, following you into the kitchen. He took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious smell of the stew pot. Abigail was, without a doubt, a terrible cook. The last time he smelled something so good, he nearly brought his family to live with you.

“Where are Abigail and Jack?” You questioned, setting an extra seat at the table for him and returning to the pot on the stove.

“That’s why I’m here, actually.” It didn’t take much for you to pick up on the frustration that laced his raspy voice. You ceased your movements, setting the silverware aside and taking a seat with your old friend.

“What’s wrong, John?”

Whatever he had come to tell you, it was hurting him something fierce. You could see it in his eyes. They drifted from yours as his shoulders tensed in visible irritation. Your hands moved to rest on his, hoping to provide some comfort. As he gathered the words in his mind, you couldn’t help but wonder if they had left him again. Sure, John wasn’t always the best father or husband, but he always tried his best. After all these years and after what happened with their daughter, surely they wouldn’t leave. It was silly of you to even think that.

“The government took them. They tracked me down, and want me to go after the rest of the gang. They took my family.”

“Oh my lord. John, I-“ You waited a moment to process what you had just heard. With a hand raised to cover your mouth in shock, you were speechless. After all these years, the government was still after the Van Der Linde Gang, or what was left of it. Before you could gather your words, the front door swung open. You heard Arthur’s spurs clink through the threshold, followed by two less than graceful sets of footsteps thundering in after.

Arthur‘s gentle voice laughed at something that was said prior to entering the house. You heard him gather the fishing poles and tell the boys to check on you while he put the gear away. It didn’t take long for the boys to stumble into the kitchen, faces lighting up at the sight of their Uncle sitting across from you.

“Uncle John!” Thomas and George both raced to your friend, nearly knocking him off his chair in the process, “We saw your horse out front!” Thomas noted.

“You two are gettin’ big.” John smiled, patting both of your sons. He stood up to greet Arthur when he stepped into the kitchen, slightly damp from the rain.

“The golden boy!” The two men embraced, both glad to see the other. You sent the boys away to wash up as you removed the stew pot from the stove.

“Let’s eat. We have to talk. Away from the boys.” You sent Arthur a pointed glance, silently letting him know that it was important, before looking back to John for his input.

“Of course.” John nodded.

When the boys returned, the four of you sat around the table to eat. The dinner conversation was pleasant, and consisted mostly of your boys telling John stories of their recent adventures with their father. Of course, they fabricated many of the details, but John pretended to believe everything. The cheerful mood turned sour, however, when Arthur inquired about John’s family.

“What are Abigail and Jack up to?” Arthur asked, casually taking a bite of his stew.

John instantly frowned, glancing to you before looking back at his brother. The table grew silent quickly, and both young boys looked to you.

“George, Thomas, why don’t you finish your supper in the family room, like you’re always asking to do?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to eat in there?” Thomas popped an eyebrow up at you.

“We can make an exception tonight. Now go ahead, before I change my mind.” You ruffled George’s hair as the two of them relocated to the other room without a second thought.

Arthur eyed you and John carefully. He could sense that whatever John had come to say wasn’t anything pleasant, so he patiently waited to be informed. When the boys were completely out of earshot, John began to explain his predicament.

“Agent Ross tracked me down. Him and all of his government boys took Abigail and Jack. They’re holding them somewhere, won’t say where. They say I’ve gotta go after Bill, Javier, and Dutch to get ‘em back.”

Arthur was silent. He sat in shock, eyebrows creasing in the middle as he thought over the situation.

“I hate to ask, you know I do, but I need help.”

“It’s been a long time, John.”

“I know, brother. We all got out of that life years ago, I thought it was done.”

“We’ll never be done, John. The life we lived, it don’t let you out.” Arthur sighed. His shoulders sank and he glanced towards the family room before looking to you with sorrow in his eyes.

John sank in his seat.

“We’ll do what we can to help you, John. We’ll get Abigail and Jack back.” You said what Arthur was thinking, doing your best to reassure John.

“Thank you,” he nodded, “I know Javier is somewhere in Mexico. Bill is hiding in Fort Mercer behind his own gang, I figured that much out when he shot me-“

“You were shot?!” You gasped.

“It ain’t the first time.” John pointed out halfheartedly.

John went on to explain his peculiar circumstances. He’d been rescued by a rancher woman, Bonnie McFarlane, of the McFarlane ranch out in New Austin. She had him fixed up at the doctor and let him work off the bill. He was planning to go after the rest of your former family alone, but he needed to tell you and Arthur first. It didn’t feel right leaving the two of you in the dark, especially with how things ended with the Van Der Linde gang.

“We won’t let you do this alone, John.”

John shook his head, denying Arthur.

“Arthur, I can’t ask you to come with me. I was trying to avoid you being involved in this as much as possible. I just need information-“

“You’re not asking.” Arthur cut John off, “You’re my brother. I ain’t gonna let you do this on your own. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

You agreed with Arthur as a nervous pit settled in your stomach. The two of you had a family. You knew Arthur would drop everything to make sure his family was safe, he’d do the same for John’s. You also knew he would be going with John alone. He’d beg you to stay home, safe, with the boys. After everything that had happened all those years ago in the gang, he swore to himself that he’d never let you or your family fall into harms way again. He intended to keep that promise, no matter the cost.

Arthur, sensing your anxiety, placed his hand over yours under the table, trying to comfort you. He was likely thinking the same thing.

“No.” John managed to mutter out through the turmoil in his chest. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, staring at Mr. Marston with a look of bewilderment.

“I have to do this alone,” John began, “You can’t come.” He watched Arthur carefully as he finished his statement. Arthur couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

“You’ll be killed, John. How do you know they’ll just hand Abigail and Jack over once this is done, huh?”

“Goddammit, Arthur!“ John raised his voice, “You’ve got a family here. This isn’t exactly the easiest job we’ve been on. They was once our family.”

“They stopped being family long ago, John. They made that call.” Arthur’s voice had shifted to a low growl as he recalled everything.

“I know, Arthur. That’s why I need to go alone. You got out for good, they all think you’re buried somewhere in the Grizzlies. You have to keep it like that, for your family’s sake.”

“And what about your family, John? What if you get shot again, and there’s no one to save you? You know that the two of us could get this done far quicker and easier than you on your own. They won’t even know I was there.”

“I don’t need saving! I need you to stay dead.” John nearly shouted, startling you. As much as you understood John’s point, you knew there was no changing Arthur’s mind. The two of them were a powerful duo, even though neither of them were in their prime age anymore. Two was safer than one. The Marstons were family, and family takes care of each other.

“Please, take this outside.” You interrupted the conversation with a heavy heart, not wanting the boys to hear them argue. Arthur almost started yelling back at John, but he stopped himself after hearing your voice. He took a frustrated breath, giving your hand one last squeeze before releasing it and standing up. John followed him out the front door without a word.

As soon as the door shut, you heard the two of them start arguing. Their voices were muffled due to the rain having picked up, but you had a pretty good idea about what they were saying. The porch shielded them from the water, but didn’t drown their voices out completely.

You dropped your head in your hands, trying to tune their voices out. A pit of anxiety formed inside you, eating away at your stomach. You just sat there, for who knows how long, thinking about how long Arthur would be away. Fort Mercer was far enough, they’d have to go to Tall Trees and Mexico.

After a short while, the argument outside grew quiet and John and Arthur entered the house. They returned to their seats without a word to each other. All it took was one look from Arthur for you to know what the decision was. John could barely look at you, he felt so bad.

You reached out to embrace your friend, not knowing what to say in the moment, and three of you went on to finish your meals. The conversation was awkward at first, but as time went on it strayed further from the inevitable and grew more lively. You told small anecdotes about your time at the Morgan ranch and John told stories about Beecher’s Hope. It had been months since the last visit from the Marstons. For now, you were just making up for the lost time.

Before you knew it, the sun had set and the stars shone bright behind the thick rain clouds. Your chat with John and Arthur stole the evening, and it was nearly time for the boys to hit the sack before you realized. You had only been made aware of how much time had actually passed when Thomas and George came stumbling in. Always full of energy, they bounced around the kitchen and dragged Arthur away for a short while.

“Would you stay the night, John? It’s late and the rain doesn’t look like it’s going to let up soon.”

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.” John offered a sad smile, helping you clear the table. Your heart ached for your old friend. John was truly in an unfair situation, and you could see the physical toll it was taking on him. He had worked hard day and night to create a better life for his family. He fought for years for them. It was supposed to be over. He was supposed to be living out his golden years just like you and Arthur, away from the government and the problems they created as a happy family. The only difference was that unlike John, the government believed Arthur was a dead man. He died on top of that mountain all those years ago.

“John.” you pulled yourself from you thoughts, gently grabbing his shoulder. When he turned to face you, you continued, “You’ve been dealt an awful hand, and I’m sorry for it. Arthur and I have your back. You’ll be back with Abigail and Jack in no time.”

“I really can’t thank you enough. You’ve both been too kind to me.”

“Nonsense, John,” you smiled, “We’re family, and family takes care of each other.”

—

After putting the boys to bed and getting John settled in his room for the night, you and Arthur couldn’t wait to get to sleep. The two of you had changed into your night clothes quickly, eagerly crawling under the covers together. Arthur wrapped an arm around your waist, drawing you in close to him. Reaching for his hand, you intertwined your fingers with his and pressed a gentle kiss on his knuckles. What a day it had been.

“What are we gonna do?” You asked, rubbing your thumb against the back of his palm.

Arthur exhaled into your neck, shaking his head. “We can’t let him do this alone.”

“I know, Arthur.” That much you were sure about. Everything else was up in the air. The two of you sat quietly for a while, silently thinking about what the near future had in store for your family.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #red dead redemption #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 x reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur x reader #rdr2 x reader #john marston #red dead redemption 1 #rdr1 #rdr1 x reader #red dead redemption 1 x reader #john marston x reader #john marston rdr

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fandomficsnstuff · 4 years ago

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A love left behind - Chapter 7

Summary: Your dad owns a ranch in between Thieves Landing and Armadillo, doing business with both Blackwater, Armadillo and Tumbleweed. One day three strange men show up on your land, a man with a scar across his face, an old bearded man whose horse has a literal mustache, and a tall and handsome man, both black and indian you think. What are they doing here and how will you deal with them?

(Credit goes to elenafishersps1 again, I hope it’s alright that I use it, if it’s not then please let me know)

Arthour’s Note: I haven’t felt like writing in a while now, so I’m sorry if it’s really bad.

(Warnings: angst i think, but not a lot of it)

You winced a bit as Abigail cleaned the wound on your throat, putting a bandage around it once done “there, all done” she put her hands on her hips, standing back and smiling at you “thank you, Mrs. Marston, where did you learn to do that?” you got up, gathering your things, Abigail shrugged “John used to get into a lot of.. uh… fights” she said awkwardly, almost as if she was praying and hoping that you’d buy it, you turned to her and smiled “well, I hope he doesn’t anymore” she laughed “I’d skin him if he did, and please, call me Abigail” you nodded, walking out of the front door and down the steps “alright, thank you, Abigail, it was very kind of you” she nodded, waving as you saddled up, giving her a wave back before turning your horse and riding off.

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You were currently saddling (Y/H/N) off when you heard someone enter the stable, turning to see your father “hey pa, how was those new ranch hands?” he shrugged, sighing “they were alright, some of them a bit too girly about the work but they’ll do” you chuckled “ah yes, because girls can’t handle such work” he chuckled low at your sarcasme “nonsense, your mother did the work better than any man, despite what a lot of men believe” he smiled softly at the thought of your mother, before looking back to you, seeing the bandage around your throat “what happened?” he turned you so you faced him, inspecting the bandage with worry “I-... I met with Charles and-... we had a run-in with the Skinner Brothers, I’m alright” you quickly assured him but he looked furious “with that black fella?! I don’t want you goin’ near him if he brings such trouble!”

“He saved my life, pa! And his name is Charles, and besides he didn’t bring the trouble, he saved me from it!” you pushed past your dad, carrying your saddle and putting it in it’s place, turning to leave the stable, your father hot on your heels, “but look what happened! You went to see him and got hurt!” he was almost stammering and you nearly exploded “yes I went to see him! He saved my life pa, and he’s a good man” you stopped on the steps of your house, turning to stare down your father “a very good man, the first I’ve met in a long, long time, pa. He’s kind, he’s a gentleman, he treats me with care and respect!” you snapped, your father looking almost defeated “but-”

“No! He saved my life! And I think I really like him, pa. I really think I do! And this time it’s not like with Albert, Albert was a fool and an even bigger son of a bitch but Charles is not! Charles is kind a-and sensitive and he is thoughtful and selfless and he’s a gentle person!” you felt tears sting at the corner of your eyes, your father standing shocked, first of all since you had never really cussed before, and second of all because he knew, by the look in your eyes he just knew, that you loved him, far more than you had ever loved anyone else, and it reminded him of your mother, and how madly in love with her he was. You exhaled heavily, staring down at him as he just stared at you in shock “I think I love him, pa…” you whispered, looking down to your bracelet, fiddling with it mindlessly as you thought of him “I know I said that about Albert too but… this guy… Charles… I really-... he knows about Albert too and he was so understanding and kind, pa, I really do think I love him. I just-”

“I know… you love him… I can see that, I can see you love him like I loved your mother…” your father looked down, his mind reeling over different things, one of them being that if this guy was everything you said, and how he treated you, then he loved you too, which would mean that at some point, you would leave with him, and not stay with your old pa, he knew it because that’s what happened with him and your mother, only your mother’s parents disliked him, so they had to run away together. Your father nodded “alright, sweetheart” he gave you a soft smile, taking a step up to you, gently holding your face in his hands “so long as you never forget that I love you too” you nodded and he gave you a peck on the forehead “go on, go inside” you nodded once again and went inside.

Once you were inside your father went into the house, settling down in his living room as he thought things over, his eyes drifting to a picture of your mother, standing next to the house with your father, the house behind them having just been built, “she’s growing up way too fast, (Y/M/N), way too fast. And she’s way too much like you, I mean heaven forbid she’s like me but… she’s so… stubborn, set in her ways, but she’s also so strong, like you…”

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You exhaled heavily as you finally reached Beecher’s Hope, getting off of your horse and seeing John, who instantly pointed to the barn, a smile creeping on your lips as you didn’t even hitch (Y/H/N) up, just straight up getting off and running to the barn, sneaking inside and seeing Charles fixing one of the fences inside. You bit your lip as you smiled, sneaking up and draping your arms around him, giving his scarred cheek a kiss “hello” you whispered, making him chuckle. You parted from him, stepping back as he turned and got up, smiling down at you “hello Dove” you blushed at the nickname. You had begun to see Charles more often, not long after you got home, after the Skinner Brother’s incident, where he had saved your life, it had been a few weeks now. “I have a present” you announced, making him smile “you didn’t have to-” you scoffed “yes I did” you grabbed his hand, leading him outside to your horse, digging through the saddle bag “so” you started “I had noticed that the feather you have already, it’s been sort of tattered lately, and I don’t know if you can fix it or not, but I remember you telling me eagle feathers are sacred, and so I thought...” you got out an eagle feather, showing it to him “it’s from a Golden eagle” you announced as Charles studied, it had a golden shine to it.

“Thank you, (Y/N)” he took it, studying it more closely and you felt a grin spread on your lips “well, I don’t know how to make any of the wonderful things you’ve made me so…” you shrugged, and Charles couldn’t help but adore you, you were so kind to him, even after everything he had told you, you still thought of him, still thought about the little things that would make him happy, so he stepped closer to you, pulling you against him, there was a brief moment of hesitation, as if he asked for permission, and you smiled at him in response, giving him the conformation he needed, leaning down and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, one which you happily returned.

Your grin was even bigger as you parted “so, I take it you like it?” he chuckled low “yes, I like it a lot, it means a lot to me” he pressed a sweet peck to your lips, it was so quick that you barely had time to return it. He sat down on the steps of the house, pulling out the old eagle feather and putting in the new one, he made it seem so effortless, like it was nothing, but then again he seemed much more familiar with it than you would probably ever be. Once the feather was in, he looked up at you, making you giggle “handsome, as always” he blushed at your comment, getting up “I uh… I was going into Blackwater to get something today, would you care to join me?” you nodded “always, Charles” you pecked his cheek before going to your horse, getting up in the saddle and getting comfortable as Charles fetched his own horse.

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You stopped at the saloon, hitching your horse outside as Charles did the same, turning to you and smiling as he just studied you while you made sure your horse was hitched properly, a blush appearing on his face when you turned to look at him, smiling back at him with that beautiful smile, those beautiful lips and those beautiful eyes. You walked up to him “so, what do you wanna do?” he just looked down at you as you looked at the front doors of the saloon for a brief moment, looking back to him with interest as you awaited his answer, “what do you want to do?” you shrugged at his question “enjoy my time with you, if you’ll allow me” you smirked at him, seeing him smirk back as he chuckled low “always” you looped your arm in his at his answer, walking inside the saloon, Charles holding the door for you.

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You don’t quite know what time it was, you had been spending the whole day with Charles, either at the saloon, helping him send what he needed to John at the ranch, or just talking over a few drinks, the two of you were even just walking around, holding hands. You were currently at the pier, sitting down on a bench as you both sat in silence, your hands intertwined, you were sitting so close together that your shoulders were grazing against each other, and you felt very tempted to let your head rest on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Charles, I had a wonderful day” you looked up at him, seeing him look worried, a frown on his beautiful face as he looked down to the ground, “what is it? You forgot something for John? We can still get it” he shook his head, his hand slipping out of yours, and you felt cold, like he was the only thing keeping you warm, and perhaps he was, it surely felt that way.

“(Y/N)... I told you of my past, who I was with… of the good man who got John out of that life, Arthur” you nodded, listening intently, as you always did when he spoke, but somehow this scared you a bit, he wouldn’t look at you, he had let go of your hand and he seemed like he was troubled “yes, I remember, but, I thought you left that behind?” he sighed “I have, I did, I-... the man who-... Micah Bell… he was a rat, he caused a lot of pain and hurt, (Y/N), he killed a lot of people, a lot of good people, and-... he-... Sadie, she’s heard word of him, and… I owe it to Arthur to give him justice, even if he himself might not have cared for revenge, in the end… but I still owe it to him, Sadie’s got a fresh lead and John, her and I are riding out-”

“No” he finally looked at you to see your broken face looking back at you “no, you told me yourself, he’s a bad man, and if he caused all the pain you say he did then why on earth would you seek him out? You said it yourself, Arthur didn’t care for revenge! Why? Why would you-... you don’t-... you don’t just get to come into s-someone’s life and j-just dig in and then just go away again!” you now stood up, glaring down at him, fighting back the tears you felt in the corners of your eyes “you don’t get to do that, Charles Smith! He’s evil and dangerous and he’ll hurt you or worse and I-” you exhaled heavily, trying to catch your breath, tears dangerously close to spilling over the rim of your eyes and down the curve of your cheeks, and Charles practically died at the sight, nothing Micah or anyone else could do to him could make him feel worse, than seeing you hurt because of him. “I owe it to Arthur, (Y/N)... I-”

“No! You don’t get to talk about going north and being something, together, when you plan on just-... just-... leaving!” he stood up slowly, a frown still present on his handsome face. His hand slowly rose, wanting to brush away the tear you hadn’t even felt roll down your cheek, but you swatted his hand away “you’ll die…” you whispered, and Charles looked down “I have to do this… I leave tomorrow… it’ll take a few days to get to him but-”

“Good! Don’t expect me to wait for you” you snapped, your own heart breaking at your own words, but everything came bubbling up, the wound Albert left re-opening, and now the thought of Charles, a man you had finally let in, dying, somewhere away from you because of some stupid pride he felt or obligation, that created a deeper wound than the one anyone else had ever left behind. You let him in, he let you in, why couldn’t that be enough? Why wasn’t it enough? Why weren’t you enough? Why weren't you important enough?

You scoffed at his silence, turning around, going to your horse and saddling up, kicking (Y/H/N) into gallop straight away, heading home with tears in your eyes.

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You let out a huff as you practically jumped off of your horse, not even bothering to saddle (Y/H/N) off, you didn’t even hear your father’s voice calling for you, you could only hear your own heart pumping in your head, feel the sting of the tears on your cheeks, those that are dried and those that are still spilling, running down your face, landing on your shirt, making small wet spots appear on the front of your shirt, across your chest. Once you reached your house you slammed the door shut, leaning against it as you heaved in a long, deep breath, like you hadn’t been able to breathe until just now, and once that breath was out there was a second of silence where you just stared blankly at nothing, closing your eyes as you thought everything over. Charles, the man you loved, who loved you back, decided some stupid feeling of obligation above you, a decision that would probably kill him from what you had heard about this Micah Bell.

You let out a quick scream at that thought, you finally find a man who loves you, who knows you despite the short time you’ve known each other. A part of you felt numb and another felt hollow, like a hollow pointed bullet in the barrel of a gun, the owner playing russian roulette, seeing which time would make you fire into a million small pieces, and for a quick second you let the numb feeling take over instead. You leaned your head against the door, sliding down to the wooden floor of your house, your eyes closed as you thought it over, what Charles had suggested was suicide, from what he had told you, and even if he survived, you would never see him again, not after how you reacted, how you told him that you wouldn’t be waiting for him to come back, when the truth is that you’d wait a thousand years, if only he asked.

#Charles Smith x Reader #CharlesSmith #rdr2fanfic #RedDeadRedemption2 #A love left behind #Charles Smith x Female!Reader

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