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ynbabe · 5 months

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Fake texts au- pt.8 bffs with the rookies+ The Hangover

Lando being Lando with .jpg and Max and Charles are now involuntary babysitters

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Tagged: @/alex_albon @/arthur_leclerc @/logansargeant @/oscarpiastri @/its_y/n_love

lando.jpg "we will never drink again" just look at em lie

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landonorris i dont even know how y/n is alive rn

logansargeant fr I don't even remember getting back to the horel its_y/n_love I DRAK TEQUILA FOR YOUR UNGRAEEFUL ASS SMH arthur_leclerc WHY AM I IN A SHOPING CAT??? oscarpiastri why are we sleeping on the road?

its_y/n_love damn slide 5 logsn stole my bikch 😥

oscarpiastri more importantly why am i little spoon? hello? logansargeant cause I'm built diffrnt 😤

maxverstappen Never get them near alcohol. ever again.

charlesleclerc atleast you didn't have to CLIMB UP A BUILDING TO GET ARTHUR AND LOGAN OKAY maxverstappen THATS BECAUSE Y/N AND OSCAR KEPT RUNNING ONTO THE ROAD!!

alex_albon ... why am i crying im slide 4

oscarpiastri cause you weer flirting witn lily and she told you shee had a bf alex_albon understandable

username omg not them drunk answering in the comments 😭

username ong what did they drink ?!?!?1 username tequila apparently username girl ain't no tequila doin all that

username WE FINALLY FOUND HER GUYS

username lando.jpg coming in clutch 💪 username not her endangering the driver's life by sleeping on the road and pushing arthur in a shopping cart 🙄 username fr like this isn't funny they should stop being friends with her look what Max and Charles said username can yall leave the poor girl alone! they're all adults it was their friends first point ofc they're gonna party ion see yall saying shit abt max and his redbull parties 🤨

After your wild night, it was Oscar who came through first, groaning at the awkward position he was sleeping in, his neck sore with a horribly tough and warm pillow under it. He tried shoving it off but was only met with soft groans and a 'fucking stop', well that was enough to wake up the Aussie.

He turned around to be face-to-face with his childhood best friend, he let out a small yelp and pushed himself off the small sofa they were sharing, waking up the others.

"Oh my god, please shut up," came the hoarse voice of his friend Y/n, from the other side of the bed, on which Alex was the only one sleeping, his phone still on Facetime with his girlfriend, Lily.

As Y/n began pulling herself up, a deep Monganesque voice protested, "Y/n, stop moving," making the young woman's eyes widen as she pulled her hand away from the shirtless f2 driver's chest.

"Why aren't you wearing your shirt?" She asked looking at the boy still lying down on the floor, head clutched in his hands, "actually, Albon, why don't you have your shirt either?" she asked pulling herself up and lending her hand to the struggling boy next to her.

"I can answer that," came a woman's garbled voice through Alex's phone making him jump up to grab it, "Arthur fell off the bed onto you and when you pushed him off he used his shirt as a pillow," 'oh, that's why my ribs hurt' the younger woman thought, throwing a look at her friend, "and Alex was 'literally on fire and going to kill whoever messed with the AC'" she said with air quotes, making her boyfriend turn red.

"Thanks, Lily, I'll call you later, love you." he spoke and cut the call, "Remind me to never ever drink with the four of you again."

"Oscar, you kick in your sleep," Logan complained as he sat up, exploring all the black and blue bruises on his body, "why do we look like we were in a fight club?" he asked out loud making the others look at themselves.

Oscar had a few scratches on his knees and arms, Arthur had bruises and scratches littered all across his palms and hands and a nasty hand-sized bruise on his back, Y/n had a swollen nose, with a deep-ish cut along her eyebrow, the only unscathed on was Alex.

They all got dressed not bothering to change, knowing whose room they were in and walked to the private buffet that had been set up for the driver staying in the hotel, courtesy of Paris Hilton's soft spot for Lando.

As soon as they walked in, they were greeted by Lando, smiling and laughing as he recorded with his phone.

"Merde, I'm going to die, shut the lights," the youngest Leclerc said as he threw himself on the chair, closest to him, letting his head fall back. Y/n was next to accept the defeat of being conscious, sitting and immediately letting herself slump over her head smacking the wooden table with a loud thud, the woman would have been hurt if Logan hadn't moved his hand under her face, letting it bear the brunt of the impact. The blonde wasn't in any better shape, throwing one of the table napkins on his face to block out all light and noise. Oscar was the last to sit, simply clutching his head in his hands, almost pulling out his hair, at the massive headache he had.

Soon after, the unwilling babysitters followed, scowling at the sight of the supposed adults who were in no condition to be awake.

"All four of you, delete my number from your phone," the Dutchman spoke as he sat down next to his British friend, "eighty-two calls of all of you singing Barbie girl at 2 IN THE MORNING," he yelled slightly making the four whine.

"Please for the love of god shut up," the Aussie spoke up surprising the three sober men.

"Arthur mate, what did you all drink?" his brother asked laughing.

"Last I remember were the shots," he answered in broken French and English.

"So you don't remember when you all ran out of the club and went to Costco?" Lando spoke with a smirk, "And Y/n pushed Arthur around in the parking lot in the shopping carts,"

"What?" the pair asked, the girl sitting up, letting the blonde take back his hand.

"Oh, that is not even the worst part," Charles continued, "You and Oscar stole traffic cones, put them over your head and began tackling each other, and slept on the road," he chuckled making the duo look at each other with wide eyes.

"Oh and let's not forget when Logan and Arthur climbed up a building," he said knudging the brunette next to him. The two in question looked sheepishly at the older men and back onto the table.

"I am never going to drink, ever again," Y/n groaned as she tried to keep her eyes open.

"Yeah right, let's see you in Vegas," The youngest Leclerc sniped, making the girl throw the napkin of Logan's face on Arthur.

"Hey, guys," Lando called out bringing everyone's attention to him, the six waited as Lando's eyes widened and widened, "WHY IS THERE A TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLAR CHARGE ON OSCAR'S COMPANY CARD?!"

oof this one was long af 😭 but I hope yall like how chaotic the boys get when they're with Y/n, cause we menaces frfr.

Taglist: @dark-night-sky-99 @cashtons-wife @i-wish-this-was-me @thehufflepuffavenger1

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twola · 1 year

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Two words: messy blowjob.

Teehee, let’s go.

Also, s/o to @revolversandlace, who mentioned writing a possible 1k+ scene literally describing a blowjob, so obviously, I had to give it a try myself. 😉

Convalescence

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Feelings are realized as you nurse Arthur back to health after his run-in with the O’Driscolls. Actions, however, are a bit limited during his convalescence.

Everything hurts. From the searing pain in his shoulder to the overall ache of his muscles, this definitely ranks as one of the most painful experiences of his life.

Regards sent to Colm O’Driscoll, of course.

He opens his eyes and a shadowed figure slowly comes into focus, a small, feminine frame seated on a stool next to his cot.

It’s you, but your normally tressed hair hangs limply in a ponytail, your eyes bloodshot and puffy, and it was obvious that you’ve been crying as his vision clears up.

“Wh- why are you cryin’ there, sweetheart?” He hoarsely whispers, voice rough from disuse.

You rub at your eyes, but it is mostly in vain as you can’t stem the flow of tears tracking down your cheeks. “When y-you fell off your horse when you came back, I-I thought you were d-dyin’.”

Your voice cracks on the last word.

Arthur frowns, “Sweet girl, I ain’t worth them tears. Save ‘em for a good man.”

“You - you’re such a fool,” You grit out, teeth clenching, “You - you are a good man. The best of them, Arthur Morgan.”

“C’mon now, darlin’. Stop your lyin’.”

“I’m not lying.” You move to sit on the side of the cot, hovering over him, “Why can’t you see what a good man you are? Why are you so blind to it?”

He remains silent. Silly girl. You haven’t seen what he can do - what he does - to other men. The blood on his hands. You’d be far less likely to be praising him, far less likely to be…

…leaning in closer to him.

A pang sears through Arthur’s chest, sharp as a whip, when he realizes you aren’t pulling away from him.

“You’re by far the best man I’ve ever known.”

“Reckon you haven’t known many men then, little miss.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, and in that moment, you lean completely over him and press your lips against his, a move he’s not completely surprised by.

His good arm, unburdened with the wound on his shoulder, winds around your shoulders as you press against his chest gently, still hovering so as not to put too much weight on him.

Arthur allows it all, from the first timid press of your lips on his to the far less timid pressing of your tongue, demanding entry into his mouth. He groans in response as he lets you in, and a mewl works its way up your throat.

It's only then, with you hovering inches above his chest, lips, and tongue working against his own, that he realizes that this is quickly turning into a predicament. Of course, it is, considering the view he’s gotten down the front of your blouse.

Someone, god, hopefully not you, stripped him of his bloody union suit, which probably did need to be burned, but failed to re-dress him. He was nude as the day he was born underneath the blankets, and it became increasingly clear as he felt his blood rushing toward his groin.

Of all the times to act like a damn teenage boy-

He cannot help the groan that wells up in him as you shift, the curve of your waist at the flare of your hip pressing against his own - pressing against his hardening member.

He internally curses when you slowly pull away.

But your eyes are lust-blown, a red blush settling on your cheeks.

“Darl-”

“Let me take care of you.” You say, slowly sitting up and reaching for the edge of the blanket with your small, thin fingers.

He wants to tell you to stop, that you don’t have to do this, that you don’t have to do anything, that he’s been smitten with you since you rode in half-starved and doe-eyed on the back of Davey’s horse all those months ago.

But silent he remains as you slowly draw the blanket down his body. Your nose crinkles as your lips turn downwards as inch by inch of his chest is revealed to you - bruises and lash marks and signs of the torture he received at Colm’s hand.

“Oh, Arthur.” You sigh sadly, eyes watering over again.

“ ‘m gonna be fine, sweetheart. Just a little uglier than usual.” He tries to lighten the mood with self-depreciation, but the deepening of your frown tells him that’s not working. You blink the tears collecting away and continue to pull the blanket downward, revealing his navel and the trail of dark, wiry hair leading downwards.

He sucks in a breath as the collecting fabric brushes against his ramrod-hard cock.

Finally, finally, your hand slowly pulls the blanket over his hips, first over the curls at the bottom of his pelvis, to expose his cock, leaking from the tip and laying heavily over his thigh.

You look back at him, and he’s wide-eyed, biting his lower lip, looking down at you hovering over his hips. You can see his chest expanding with his breathing, speeding up as he stares at you.

You lean down and Arthur’s good arm swings over his head to block his vision, because if he sees this, he’s sure to make embarrassing noises loud enough for the whole damn camp to hear.

He feels your small hand wrap around his cock, and he bites his lip not to make a sound as you gently pull it upright.

But he is not able to stifle the noise he makes when his cock is enveloped in something wet and warm - his arm flies upward and he cranes his head to watch you take him into your mouth. An embarrassingly needy whine escapes his mouth, but that’s better than the shout he wants to let out as you suck gently at the head, your tongue pressing against the weeping slit of his cock.

“Jesus Christ.”

You let go of the head of his cock with a pop, and he bucks up slightly, as if to follow your warmth as you look up at him.

“You alright? Need me to stop?” You ask, one hand still wrapped around his length.

“Oh, darlin’, please, please don’t ask me that.” His forearm slides across his eyes again as his other hand.

“So you want me to keep goin’?”

“Jesus fuck, of course.” He replies incredulously, flabbergasted that you could doubt this felt amazing.

You smile for a moment before turning back to his length, enveloping him once again in the velvet warmth of your mouth. His head hits the pillow as he loudly sucks in a breath.

You slowly, deliberately, work your way down his length, bobbing up and down, sucking on his skin gently as you take more and more of him into your mouth.

It feels like years you’re doing this, inch by inch of velvety skin warmed by your wet cavern.

Finally, you gag slightly as your nose touches the chestnut curls at the base of his cock, saliva dripping down from your lips and slowly running down toward his heavy, full testicles, and he has to actively clench the sides of the cot to stop himself from bucking upward.

“Oh, oh god, woman.” He mutters as you slide back up, fingers once again grasping the base of his length as you suck in a breath, looking up at him with a hint of a smile, your lips and chin shimmering with your spittle. His cock shines against the oil lamp’s yellowed light, absolutely dripping wet from your mouth.

You lean back down again, but instead of taking his length into your mouth, you run your tongue down its side, all the way down where you nuzzle against the globes at the base of his cock, gently sucking one into your mouth. He whines, whines, this gunslinger, this outlaw, this hardened mountain of muscle beneath you. All being torn apart as you suckle on him.

After several moments, you pull back, and he’s panting, chest heaving, a sheen of sweat developing over his clavicles, and the bandages wrapped tightly across his pectorals and shoulder.

Your thumb presses gently on the underside of his cock, and he closes his eyes and lets out a low, long moan. You smile, rubbing at his hip affectionately.

“Christ alive, woman, you’re killin’ me.”

“Ain’t done yet, Arthur.”

And with that, you resume, leaning down and retaking him, sucking harder than you have before, leaving him squirming beneath you.

You suck, and bob, you squeeze his balls and rub at his thighs. Lord almighty, he must have died at Colm’s hand - this had to be heaven.

The burning in his gut reaches a fever pitch, and he knows he’s not long to last.

He tries to sit up, but can’t with his shoulder bound, and finds that he just has to make enough noise to tell you to get off of him.

“Darl- darlin’, I’m gonna come- you- you need to move-”

His sentence goes unfinished as you look up at him, mouth full of his cock, and slowly, deliberately, slide all the way down, saliva dribbling out of your mouth again as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat.

Arthur’s eyes go as wide as saucers, and he audibly swallows before his head hits the pillow once again. You slide up and down, sucking, tongue working around his length, the gentle suction of your mouth causing him to whimper.

He grunts, hands clenched around the wooden sides of the cot, hips moving despite his attempts not to. He is completely at your mercy - each lick and suck of his cock sends him further down that road of unabashed pleasure.

“Sweet- oh god, oh - fuck - I’m -” Arthur cannot finish his sentence before he trails off into a groan, his hips bucking up as you press down, and he shoots his spend down your throat, you pull back, gagging slightly, and as you sit up, Arthur can barely believe his eyes as he watches a dribble of his white, milky spend drip from the corner of your mouth. Christ, it makes him want to come again.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, clearing your throat, and pull the blanket up to Arthur’s chest once again, where he just looks at you, stupefied.

You cock an eyebrow at him as you slide up the side of the cot, sitting next to his chest. “You alright? That wasn-” You frown, “God, I hope that wasn’t bad.”

Arthur’s good hand grabs the collar of your shirt and yanks you down, where he presses his mouth to yours desperately, not caring at all that he can taste the bitter tang of himself on your tongue. You draw away after a moment, and Arthur tucks a strand of your hair that escaped its braid behind your ear.

“Woman, you’re the only one takin’ care of me from now on.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #red dead fandom #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead smut #tumblr prompt #rdr #rdr2 fandom #arthur morgan rdr2 #voluptatem

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runnning-outof-time · 8 months

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For the ‘little intimate things that leave me breathless’ thing, could you do “having a piece of hair brushed off your face as you're reading or looking down.” With Tommy pretty please if you are able! 💖 Thank you!

Thanks so much for sending this in, anon! I’m sorry it took so long for me to write — I hope you enjoy this fluffy piece! Also sorry one last time for the spamming of stories that I’ve been doing … I hope it hasn’t been overwhelming, and that the reason behind me wanting to clear out my asks and drafts will make sense tomorrow. Enjoy! 🥰

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

A Good Look

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: smoking

Summary: Tommy tries to smooth-talk his way back into a good standing with (Y/N). It doesn’t quite go the way he hopes it would…or maybe it does.

(Y/N) was engrossed in the ledgers when the sound of the door opening echoed through the otherwise empty betting shop floor. She didn’t bother to look up, knowing exactly who had entered from the sound of the shoes on the hardwood alone.

She continued reading as Tommy took a seat in the chair across from her, hearing him go about fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket so that he could put one between his lips and light it with a match. It was only after he asked “what is that?” that she brought her eyes up to meet his.

“The ledger from the Eden Club,” she answered flatly, holding his gaze for a moment before dropping it back down to the paper.

“Why do you have it?” was his next question.

“Arthur gave it to me…he wanted to have someone check it over to make sure it was done properly,” she answered, her words making him scoff.

“Bloody Arthur,” he mumbled, shaking his head, “he probably didn’t look it over in the first place.” His statement made (Y/N) glance up at him again, her eyebrows raising as he continued to mumble something about how he should have never trusted his brother with such a big responsibility.

Not saying anything in response, (Y/N) shook her head at her husband’s mutterings before focusing herself on the ledger again. She read a few more lines, focused on the numbers and the meanings behind them, before she felt the strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face being tucked behind her ear. When she looked up, she found Tommy moving back to sit normally again after having leaned over the table. “What was that for?” she couldn’t help but ask, an eyebrow quirked.

“Just wanted to get a good look at you, love…haven’t seen you in a few days,” he answered, the right corner of his lips tugging upwards. (Y/N) couldn’t help but snort at his statement. Her reaction filled Tommy with confusion. “What?” he had to ask. Usually his smooth-talking would be met with an equally as smooth and flirty response, or at the very least a grin. So to get the complete opposite this time sent his mind into a whirl.

“Schmoozing me isn’t going to make this go away that easily, Thomas,” she told him, pressing her lips into a tight line.

“Make what go away?”

“That stunt you and your brothers pulled at the Eden Club before taking it from Sabini…” she didn’t hesitate in spelling it out for him, “there’s about a million better ways that you could have gone about that.”

Tommy sighed almost immediately after hearing the reason behind her sour mood. “(Y/N)…” he started, taking a deep drag from his cigarette before he continued - because he most certainly needed it, “we needed to show Sabini that we were serious. We didn’t enter that club with the intention of having things go the way we did…”

“Sure,” (Y/N) was quick to cut into this explanation, sarcasm laced into her voice.

“It’s the truth,” he defended himself.

“You don’t go anywhere without a plan, Tommy, and you know damn well that your plan’s going to work the way you want it to ninety-nine percent of the time. You entered that club with the intention of making a violent statement, and you and your brothers succeeded in pulling it off.”

Silence fell in the room after (Y/N) finished her frustrated statement. They kept their eyes on each other, watching the other’s moves intently; looking for any possible microexpression.

It wasn’t until Tommy glanced down at the ledger that the silence was broken: “you’re unhappy with how we went about our business there, but yet you’re still checking over the club’s ledger,” he pointed out, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Tommy…” (Y/N) said in a huff, annoyed that he had to be so cocky, but yet so right.

He said nothing in response and instead relaxed back into the chair, clasping his hands over his abdomen. The smirk that was threatening to break into his face was in full view now.

“Have you gotten your good look yet?” (Y/N) broke the silence, her one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“Hmm?” Tommy hummed, amusement clear in his voice.

(Y/N) huffed at his response. “Will you get outta here so that I can finish this up?” she asked a different question, trying not to completely crack her countenance.

Ever the betting man, Tommy tried to wage a deal: “Depends, will I see you later?”

“If you leave now?” she asked, seeing him nod before it was her turn to grin, “maybe.”

“Alright then,” he nodded, standing from the chair to go to the door of the shop. He turned to look at her before leaving, seeing that she had already dove back into checking the ledger. He just had to get one more good look at her before leaving.

(Y/N) shook her head as she heard the door to the shop shut. That was one way to get rid of him, she thought to herself with a grin.

———

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @youtifulsunshinelixfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 11 months

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What about I could do this all day but with Arthur curry, where he is being flirty and complimenting the reader all day, even she and others are like he can't keep going, and he does and maybe it ends with him taking reader out on a date and then she starts flirting with him all day

.⋆｡Keep Going｡⋆.

Arthur Curry x plus size reader

Sick of Arthur’s relentless flirting, you strike back.

Warnings: flirting, idiots in love, fluff, pick up lines are from google

WC: 730

Minors DNI

3000 Follower Celebration

He was desperate, charming, delusional and all around annoying but there was no way you could hate him, he was just too endearing. Arthur had been following you around the Justice League tower all day like a lost puppy, showering you with any compliment he could think of.

“I’d bet you’d look great dressed in kelp.” You came to a screeching halt and whipped around, brow raised at the huge man who was walking behind you. “Y’a know when we get married, you’ll have to wear something seafood-like and I think kelp would compliment your skin perfectly.” Your face, which already seemed permanently heated from all the attention, got even hotter.

“Oh my god.” You groaned, hiding your face behind the file you were holding.

“Actually, I think coral might look better on you, maybe a starfish or two.”

“Arthur!” You hissed, hyper aware of the fact that you were in a building full of superheroes who did not appreciate fraternisation in their League.

But Arthur just smirked as he leaned against the wall only a few inches from you. “C’mon, just let me take you out already.” He practically begged, a stark contrast from his casual stance.

As hard as you might try, you couldn’t resist those big amber eyes looking down at you like you were his whole world. Sighing, you gave him a nod. “Fine, one date! Just one!” Immediately his back straightened and he wrapped you in a tight hug, making you yelp.

“You better go put some socks on princess cause I’m about to knock them off!” And with that, he bounded away, chattering to himself about what kind of date he would take you on.

“Are you sure about picking that one? I know lots of better men and women that would do anything for a chance with you.” Diana practically materialised by your side, gazing disapprovingly at her teammate.

You chuckled. “Well, he is kind of cute.”

——————

It wasn’t just one date, it was five. Barely 10 minutes into your first date (he brought you to the fucking aquarium) you were lost forever.

The flirting never stopped either, in fact, it somehow got worse. Every second sentence that left his perfectly kissable mouth was either a compliment or some lewd joke that was so bad it even made Batman blush. So you were expecting Diana to come crawling to you, begging it to stop for the sake of everyone else.

You started that morning, as soon as Arthur stepped from the zeta tube. You wolf-whistled and gave him a slow once-over. “Damn baby, if you were a Transformer you'd be Optimus Fine.” He froze comically, his eyes wide, his jaw dropped open in shock. He pulled himself together quickly and wrapped your wide hip in a bruising grip, smashing his lips to yours.

As Arthur scoured the fridge in the League kitchen several hours later, you walked into his peripheral vision and smirked as your own gaze fell onto his pert backside. “Do you drink a lot of Sprite? Because you look so-da-licious!” His head whipped around with a sickening click.

“What did you just say?” You shrugged.

“You heard me, sexy.” He groaned as his eyelids fluttered. You winked at him and turned to leave, abandoning Arthur with his little ‘problem’.

The conference room was dead silent as you all looked over your individual assignments with the occasional shuffling of papers or the sound of someone clearing their throat. Your new boyfriend sat beside you, one large hand planted firmly on your plump thigh, his fingers gently rubbing circles into the soft skin.

Just as you finished off your reading a deafening sound came from the man beside you as he violently sneezed into his elbow. Immediately, everyone looked his way. “I would've said "God bless you" after that sneeze, but it looks like he already has.” Now all eyes were on you as you smirked evilly. They all groaned collectively at the bad line.

Arthur’s hand tightened on your leg in warning. You squeezed his hand in return. “Stop.” He muttered under his breath as the others returned to their work, Diana smiling suspiciously.

“Stop what?” You asked dumbly.

“You will run out of pick-up lines eventually and when you do, I’ll be there.” “Oh love, I could do this all day.” You retorted with a kiss to his bearded cheek.

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queer-ragnelle · 9 months

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Excalibur (1981) | Directed by John Boorman

Arthurian Film List | Arthurian Show List | Movie review below the cut ⤦

Star rating: 10/10 Content warning: multiple rape scenes, heavy gore throughout, elements of horror, nudity, animal brutality (horses in battle are treated roughly) Overview: Writer and director John Boorman understood the assignment. It's evident this film was a passion project. Both of his children are in it (his daughter as Igraine, his son as young Mordred) and he had been working with J. R. R. Tolkien back in the 70s on an adaptation of Lord of the Rings which fell through, and much of those elements were revived and put to use here. The script, acting, score, and cinematography meet the epic demands an Arthurian film requires to succeed. Synopsis: The film opens with Uther before he meets Igraine and goes on to detail the entirety of Arthur's reign and life. Arthur's beginnings with Ector and Kay are very sweet and culminate in his pulling the sword in the stone and meeting a fun, quirky Merlin. The wizard trains Arthur up and he's eventually knighted by Urien and makes an ally of him while defending Leodegrance and Guinevere's castle. Arthur falls in love with Guinevere and intends to marry her, but first meets and battles Lancelot, wins his loyalty, and sends him to pick Guinevere up for the royal wedding. Meanwhile Morgan learns magic from Merlin and uses it to conceive Mordred with Arthur. After the royal wedding, the love affair between Lancelot and Guinevere begins. While staying away from Camelot, Lancelot meets country bumpkin Perceval, who follows Lancelot back to Camelot from his secluded woodland home, then takes up the mantle of Gareth Beaumains by working for Kay in the kitchens and champions Guinevere against Gawain until Lancelot can arrive. After the affair between he and Guinevere is found out, Lancelot runs off mad into the woods, and Arthur's prosperity declines. Perceval begins a decade-long quest in search of the Holy Grail to restore Arthur/Fisher King's health so he can reclaim his lands now ravaged by disease. Mordred has grown up in this time and been taught by Morgan to hate Arthur. Once Arthur has been cured, he goes to find Guinevere in the abbey where she had been living, and retrieves Excalibur, which she had been keeping safe for him all that time. Arthur then goes with his remaining knights to battle Mordred, where he is mortally wounded, and Perceval fulfills his final act for his king by returning the sword to the Lady of the Lake as Arthur is spirited away to Avalon. Final thoughts: This movie is so damn good. Nobody's doing it like Boorman. It's my favorite version of the grail quest. Very horror, as it should be. (Monty Python is a different tone, not a worse one!) I love everyone's acting here, the casting is so rich, I love the look and vibe of everyone, the Shakespearean line delivery. All of it. The gaudy green lighting is so 80s but it works, it sets a tone, it commits to the bit, illuminates every magical scene. And the armor is obviously incredible. I won't hear criticism. Either you get it or you don't. You can watch an entire mini-series about the armorer, Terry English, produced by Mythbuster's Adam Savage on YouTube, here. And if you want to learn more about Mordred's cool helmet specifically, watch here. Anyway please watch this, you won't be disappointed.

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wildfloweroutlaw · 1 year

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Long Kept Secrets

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pairing: Arthur Morgan X Female Reader

drabble: fluff, mutual pining, something sweet and simple.

summary: Arthur invites you along on one of his adventures, and it becomes harder and harder for him to keep his feelings to himself.

a/n: this is just a little something to dip my toes back into writing. I have nitpicked tf out of this and i still don’t really like it, but here it is!

word count: 3k

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You found yourself standing on the edge of Clemens Point, staring out over the peaceful water, and sipping your morning coffee slowly. The heat and humidity were actually tolerable this early, making this your favorite time of the day. Behind you, the rest of camp was beginning to come alive, some strolling from their tents groggily, some gathered around the coffee pot. However, you noticed one individual was missing.

Arthur was always up before you were, and on days that he was in camp, he was the first person you said good morning to. You and Arthur had been friends for years and if you were truthful with yourself, you wouldn’t mind being more than that. You had always found him incredibly handsome, and once you had broke through the tough guy act, you discovered the man was incredibly kind hearted and sensitive. Arthur also possessed a dry sense of humor that was very funny, given you could tell when he was joking. He was even charming in a strange way. Despite this, you never let yourself dream too long about a relationship with Arthur, he he always seemed to be romantically unavailable at best.

Your eyes combed the camp once more, searching for Arthur’s familiar form. You spied his horse at the hitching post, so you knew he couldn’t be far. Your eyes finally fell on his tent, the flaps closed. How odd. You gulped down the rest of your coffee, and began to make your way across camp, offering polite good mornings to those who had just awoken. As you approached Arthur’s tent you began to second guess yourself. If he’s tired maybe I should let him sleep… or maybe he just wants alone time.

Still, you wanted to make sure he was feeling okay and you raised your hand to knock on the wooden post, standing just in front of the tent flaps. Before your knuckles could ever make contact with the wood, Arthur emerged from the tent, careening into you.

Startled, he muttered curses and grabbed your waist to steady you. Instinctively your hands found his chest. For an instant the two of you were pressed close. “I’m so sorry Arthur!”

Suddenly realizing it was you, and where his hands were, he released his grip on your waist quickly and backed away a bit. “Christ woman… you stalkin’ me?”

“I was just coming to check on you, you’re normally the first one up.” How quickly he had put distance between the two of you was not lost on you and was almost enough to make you roll your eyes.

“You were comin’ to disturb my peace and quiet, you mean?” His hands found his gun belt out of habit.

“More or less.” You shot him a big grin, which earned you a soft chuckle from Arthur.

That damn smile. It was enough to drive him crazy. He drove his thoughts away as quickly as they appeared. “Well I was comin’ to find ya anyways. Want to go somewhere with me today?” He shifted from one foot to the other and found himself praying you’d say yes.

You would go with him anywhere he asked, but of course you didn’t want to seem too eager. “Where to?” You placed your hands firmly on your hips.

“Up to Roanoke Ridge. Got something to do up there.” Arthur toed at the dirt to calm his anxiousness.

You crossed your arms, a smirk playing on your lips. “Hmm… well I’ll have to check my schedule.” You couldn’t help but let out a giggle at the eye roll Arthur gave you. “I guess I could make time for you Arthur”. Your words oozed with sarcastic sweetness, or was it really sarcastic?

“Well don’t I just feel special! Go get dressed woman, I’ll get the horses ready.” Arthur felt an almost childlike excitement in his chest. He always enjoyed your company and looked forward to when the two of you got to spend time together.

You nodded and began to scurry back to your tent, calling over your shoulder, “don’t forget to eat breakfast!”

Arthur was pretty sure you were the only person who cared about his well being, always chasing him down making sure he had gotten enough to eat and lecturing him on taking better care of himself. He ran a hand down his face and shook his head before stalking off to ready your horses.

You went and put on your favorite outfit, the one that fit you just right, and went to meet Arthur at the hitching post. You found him brushing down your horse, talking to her in a low and gentle voice. Your horse didn’t like many people, men especially, but she was quite smitten with Arthur. She’s not the only one, you thought to yourself.

When Arthur heard your approach he slid the brush back into your saddle bag and turned to greet you. He nearly choked when he saw you were wearing that outfit he loved so much. Steering his eyes down to the ground as quickly as he could, he cleared his throat, “You ready?”

You flicked the brim of his hat as you walked by him, “yep, if you are.” You started to get on your horse and as usual, Arthur assisted you. He was painfully modest with his hand placement and kept his eyes hidden below his hat.

Arthur mounted up and pushed his horse into a trot out of camp with you following closely behind. “I’ll lead the way… I don’t think I trust your navigational skills.”

You feigned offense and fell in beside Arthur once the two of you were clear of camp. Arthur began to tell you what exactly the two of you would be doing in Roanoke Ridge, saying there was some sort of rock carving. You didn’t much care what business he had, you were just happy to be along for the ride.

At first, the two of you fell into easy conversation accompanied by your usual banter. But the further you got away from camp, the quieter Arthur got. Some might think that was normal, but you knew him better than that. Yes, Arthur was generally a quiet man, but once it was just the two of you together he was normally chomping at the bit to catch up with you. He might just want some silence. So you settled in for the ride, taking in the views and making the occasional comment, usually met with a short response. It seemed Arthur was a million miles away.

When the two of you rode through Butcher’s Creek, you garnered some less than friendly stares from the locals. “Feelin’ at home yet?” Arthur asked you, taking in the little ragtag village.

You let out a giggle, happy to finally have some of Arthur’s normal personality back. “They must have just forgot to roll out the welcome wagon.”

Arthur let out a soft chuckle, turning to look at you for the first time in a while. He hoped you hadn’t noticed how deep in his own mind he was, but you know him too well. He hoped you were at least still having a decent time, despite his poor company. He allowed himself to study your face, spending a moment to take in all your beautiful features before breaking the silence, “We’re headed up towards Elysian Pool. Ya know it?”

You nodded, “yeah, sorta.” You could feel his eyes burning holes in you, and you attempted to shoo away the bumps that pricked your skin in response.

“Good. I heard the Murfree Brood has gotten real bad around here lately, so stay near me and don’t go wandering off or nothin’.” Arthur pointed his finger at you as a warning, knowing your habits.

“Yes sir.” You let out an exaggerated sigh at the man’s gruff protectiveness. Not that you had planned on straying far from Arthur, you wanted to soak up every minute of alone time with him, even as strange as he was acting.

“See, now that’s more like it.” Arthur flashed you a smug smirk, which only made you roll your eyes, put your heels to your horse and ride past him.

Once you arrived at Elysian Pool, you both dismounted and Arthur began to survey the cliff side. You stared out over the water, studying the lovely waterfall. When you looked back over your shoulder, Arthur was quickly writing something in his journal. You crept up behind him trying to get a peek at the contents of the pages. You would consider you and Arthur to be close friends, but you had only ever gotten to see inside his journal a handful of times. You wanted nothing more than to just flip through the pages to get a glimpse into Arthur’s mind.

Without ever turning around, Arthur finished his writing quickly and snapped the journal closed, shoving it back into his satchel. “C’mere and look darlin’.” He reached behind him and placed his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to his side.

That nickname, It was enough to set the butterflies in your ribs to fluttering. Arthur didn’t use it often but oh how you loved it when he did. You quickly shooed your thoughts away and commanded the butterflies to be still. You followed Arthur’s gaze up to the side of the cliff where an incredible carving resided. “Arthur, how’d you know this was here?”

He gave a shrug, “Asked around. Apparently they’re all over the country. This weird ginger headed fella wants me to send him the coordinates to them. I’ve found a couple already, I uh…. thought you might like to see too.” He made no move to pull away, letting his hand linger on your back as he watched your face light up. He knew he would do anything it took to see that look on your face.

You marveled at the carving, briefly wondering how long it had been there and who had done it. “Arthur, I’ve never seen anything like it!” You turned to face him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Thanks for bringing me along, it’s been a while since just the two of us to do anything together.” You suddenly noticed how close you both were, just a few more inches and you would be pressed flush together. The thought alone made your heart pick up a bit. Beside you, the sun was beginning to sink low on the ridge line, reflecting off the water to cast beautiful red-orange rays across Arthur’s face.

Arthur cleared his throat, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Course…It’s getting’ late. You want to ride up to Annesburg and get a couple of hotel rooms?”

A couple? “Or… we could just camp out here.” Truthfully you were just looking for an excuse to share a tent with the man, but you also genuinely enjoyed your camping trips together. You both always had so much fun, and it was nice to be away from everyone else.

“I-I don’t know about that y/n. You did hear what I said about the Murfree Brood right?” He studied the landscape, kicking at the dirt anxiously, hands still deep in his pockets.

He’s nervous, you suddenly realized. “It ain’t like you to be scared Arthur.” You placed your hands on your hips and studied his face intently. You couldn’t quite figure out what he was so antsy about, but you were going to.

“I wouldn’t be if I was alone…” He finally looked back to you, “I don’t want nothin’ happenin’ to ya is all.”

“And nothing is going to happen to me. Not when I have my very own big tough gunslinger to protect me!” You playfully poked at his side, earning your hands a gentle swat which only served to make you laugh. “Please, Arthur?” You gave him your best puppy dog eyes.

He scratched at his beard and sighed softly. If you asked him to sell his soul to the devil with that look on your face, he knew he’d agree happily. “Fine. But when the Murfrees come callin’ I don’t want to hear no cryin’.” He warned you with mock sternness.

After some mild arguing on where to set up, the two of you finally settled on a secluded spot just on the other side of the Kamass river. Arthur pitched the tent and got the fire going while you retrieved both your bedrolls from your horses. Arthur’s tent was really only made for one person, but the two of you could squeeze, and you’ve done it before. Once you got them situated you went and plopped down at the fire beside Arthur, who was cooking some meat on the end of his knife.

“Here.” He took his knife and held it to your mouth, watching as you gingerly took the meat between your teeth, sliding it off his blade. He felt his face heat up and cursed himself for the thoughts that entered his mind. He sheathed his knife and began to rise, turning to hide the blush creepin up on his face. “I’m gonna go lay down, alright? Get me if ya need me. Unless it’s the Murfrees, you’re on your own with them.”

You simply nodded, watched him enter the tent, and waited a little while. After mulling over the idea for a moment, you decided it was best if you just asked Arthur straight up what was going on with him. You were friends weren’t you? That’s what friends did. You dusted yourself off and made for the tent. You ducked to crawl inside the small structure, finding Arthur sitting up, reading his journal on one side. He snapped it closed and set it aside. He was just about to ask if you were turning in already when you sat yourself practically on top of him. “Is everything okay? With you I mean… you’ve just been acting like something’s been on your mind all day.” You placed your hand on his knee softly.

Arthur looked down at your hand, then back to you, then decided his lap was suddenly very interesting. “Yeah… yeah ’m fine darlin’.”

You reached up and grasped his jaw, directing his eyes to yours. “Arthur, you know you can tell me anything… right? I know something is bothering you so if you want to talk about, I’ll listen.” Even in the dim lighting of the tent, he looked so very handsome, his sea green eyes staring back at you.

Arthur quietly studied you for a moment before he took your hand from his jaw and held it in his own. He stared down at both of your hands before he intertwined his fingers with yours. “Actually… there is somethin’ I’ve been hopin’- well… meanin’ to talk to you about…”

You tried your very best to focus on his words and not his big gloved hand cradling yours while you waited patiently for him to go on.

Arthur scratched at his beard with his spare hand, eyes glued to his lap where both of your hands lay. “I was thinkin’ that uh- Well I thought that maybe… I uh- I don’t really know how to say it. Darlin’ I-“

You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his lips for a few heartbeats before pulling away again. “Is that what you were trying to say?” Arthur stared back at you, speechless. For one horrible moment you thought you had really misread the situation.

A bright red blush had crept up Arthur’s neck and painted his cheeks. Speak you damn idiot, he cursed himself and cleared his throat awkwardly before speaking, “yeah… more or less.” He let out a soft chuckle. “Y’know I practiced what to say the entire ride up here and still couldn’t get it right somehow… sweetheart I am a fool. But I care about ya more than you know… here.” He opened his journal to a filled page. It was a beautiful sketch of you, he had been working on it for a few days now, his favorite yet. Beside it was something he had written just this morning in his tent.

I know I’m sure I want to ask her to be mine… I just ain’t real sure how. How could I ever put into words what she means to me? How could I ever explain that she’s what keeps me going most days? If I do tell her how I feel- which I fear I must, it grows harder to hide each day- I do not know what she would think. She is beautiful and lovely and everything I’m not. Most of all, she has been my constant friend for years. I know if I confess my feelings to her, it will jeopardize our friendship. I pray to whatever God there might be that I don’t scare her off, whatever happens. Not sure I could bear that. I don’t dare dream that she will return my feelings, or else I am a bigger fool than I thought.

For a moment, it was your turn to be speechless and you hoped the dim lighting was hiding your blush better than it was Arthur’s. “Arthur… This is… I’ve wanted that-you… for years if I’m being honest.”

Arthur wanted to kick himself. He could have done this years ago? “Why didn’t you ever say nothin’?”

“Why didn’t you?” You deflected the question right back to him.

“Like I said… I am a fool sweetheart.” He placed his calloused hand on the back of your neck, searching your eyes for any sign of discomfort. When he found none, he leaned in and placed a deeper, more passionate kiss than the one you had given him earlier, and you returned it tenfold.

You were the first to break the kiss, “looks like we are just a pair of fools then.” You pressed your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed. “I’d like that… to be yours Arthur.”

Arthur smiled, really smiled, for the first time in a while. You always made him feel like a real person, not a weapon nor a tool, that’s why he took to you so quickly to begin with. But now he felt it more than ever, it was like he was smiling deep within as well. He guided your back down to your bedroll, laying down by your side. “I’d love to be yours too sweetheart, if you’ll have me of course.”

You cradled his jaw before placing a kiss to his nose. You snuggled deeper into Arthur’s large frame, exhaling softly.

Arthur held you close, held you like he had always dreamed of. He wrapped his strong arms around your frame, loving the feeling of keeping you safe. “Goodnight darlin’.” He kissed your temple softly.

“Arthur… you really think the Murfrees will bother us here?” You murmured sleepily against your cowboy.

He chuckled softly, “they better pray they don’t. You just worry about sleepin’ sweetheart, I gotcha.”

You smiled, feeling safer than you have in years. You let yourself drift off to a sound slumber.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rd2 #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption x reader #arthur x reader

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willsdreamgirl · 8 months

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off to the races — tommy shelby x reader ⋆｡˚

tommy x fem!reader

tommy and you are in rival gangs, and the peaky blinders interfere in your business. will you be able to let it rest? or will you give tommy the opportunity to realise his feelings for you through your conflicts with each other?

cw: mentions of guns, knives, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, smut if you squint, arthur is an ass

a/n: you guys loved the first tommy fic i wrote, so here’s another one!! couldn’t do too much hardcore enemies to lovers bc i’m a big ol softie. anywho, don’t be a ghost reader and enjoy!! 💌

word count: 3.2k

“fuckin’ peaky scum.” “what’s up, johnny?” you asked quizzically. “what’s up? what’s fucking UP? look at this shit.” you leaned over his shoulder to find your crates of whiskey disguised as hardware empty. you sighed knowingly. “can’t even enter bloody small heath without having our shit raided.” “tell me about it.” johnny laughed humourlessly.

you sat in your office, making sure the books were in order. you listened to the silent ticking of the clock. but your peace didn’t last long. “they did it again, eh?!” an angry max entered your office. you took your glasses off and put down your pen. “maximillian, if you must enter my office, do not enter it screaming maybe?” your words fell on deaf ears, max already seemed blinded by rage. “honest to god, i’ll cut every single one of those bastards!” he yelled yet again. you stood up from your chair, clearing your throat. “no need for that, max boy.” “what? what the fuck do you mea-” “i’ve arranged a meeting with the big man.” “who? tommy fuckin’ shelby?” you threw on your coat and made your way to the exit. “yes max, tommy fuckin’ shelby.”

tommy shelby was, at this point, the most powerful man in all of small heath. every government official was on his payroll and he practically had the coppers eating out of his hand. after the sabini incident, rarely anyone decided to fuck with the peaky blinders. you’d known tommy in school, you were even friends with him, but that was before your parents decided small heath was no place for a growing lady and decided to move far away from small heath, far away from tommy. but they underestimated how much spending time with tommy’s family had affected you. your parents were good people, you knew that. tommy’s family got involved in all sorts of illegal shit but made tenfold the money yours made. eventually, you realized that the shelby way was the only way you could create wealth in dirty, old birmingham. no one takes a 13 year old girl seriously when she says she wants to start a gang. so you had to start taking extreme measures. stealing, lying and gambling, to name a few. but your weakness was also your strength. you were a woman. and men underestimated women. no one ever believed you to be a threat, so they let down their guards around you. (it usually only took a glass or two of whiskey anyway) when they were vulnerable, that’s when you struck. over time, you became feared in your city, the girl who fools the men. and here you were 12 years later, your gang, the bishop ryders, being the peaky blinders’ rival gang. now, you were open to forming an alliance with them, reminiscing your time with the shelby family, but you learnt fairly quickly that the tommy you knew before the war was not the tommy that you came to know after. he was bitter, and vengeful, and after an explosion at one of your warehouses where four of your men had died, the bishop ryders and peaky blinders became sworn enemies.

you entered small heath, coppers surrounding the car. you muttered under your breath, “must’ve recognized the damn license plate.” you stepped out of the car. “mornin’ coppers, what can i do for you today?” you said, a fake smile plastered across your face. one of them stepped close enough to you that you could smell his breath. they were trying to intimidate you, of course. “who the fuck are you here to see, eh? such a pretty lady shouldn’t be in these parts of birmingham.” he spoke, a disgustingly devilish glint in his eyes. you spat on the ground next to him and knee’d him in the crotch and you yelled. “i’m here to see your king, now FUCK OFF.” the coppers seemed to back away, the guy you kicked now crouched down in the middle of the road. you got back in your car and resumed driving.

you saw a building with a big sign on it. ‘shelby company limited’, it read. tommy was becoming a pompous arse, you thought. you walked in and took a moment to look around. they had definitely upgraded since the last time you were here. the woman at the desk spoke to you. “oi, do you have an appointment?” you scoffed, a secretary, how… civilized. “who might you be?” “i’m lizzie, mr. shelby’s secretary.” she spoke, proudly. you gasped in faux amusement. “oh! so can you tell your precious mr. shelby that y/n’s here to see him?” she rolled her eyes at your sarcasm. “can’t let random fucking people in without appointments. besides, he’s not here anyway.”

after a little probing, you found out that tommy was in his new mansion, grieving over the death of his wife. when did he get married? you went over to his house, pushing aside butlers and maids to get to his office. you scoffed, for what seemed like the hundredth time today, he really was the king of small heath, eh? you walked in, the sound of your hand on the wood echoing in the big office. he motioned for you to leave without even looking up. “fuck off.” he muttered in that deep voice of his. you cleared your throat so he’d look up. his hand stopped writing for a moment, but resumed writing when he didn’t get a reply from you. you sighed, realising you’d have to vocalize yourself. you took big, exaggerated steps towards his desk. “tommy bloody shelby, sulking in his big house bought with his huge stack of cash. never thought i’d see the day.” you said mockingly. he sighed when he recognized the voice. he looked up, setting the pen down. he spoke, resting his elbows on his desk. “what the fuck do you want?” you could taste the venom in his voice. you laughed dryly. “i should be the one asking you that.” tommy’s eyebrows furrowed. “what are you fucking talking about?” you took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. the bloody nerve of this man. “don’t fucking play stupid with me, tommy. you don’t think i see how your men are raiding my whiskey crates every fucking day?” he looked ever more confused but spoke slowly, almost cautiously. “what do you mean ‘my men’?” “i mean your bloody men, tommy! fucking peaky blinders!” “my men did no such thing, i assure you. they only do what i order them to. and i have no reason to search or raid your crates.” you scoffed at him and mimicked the way his elbows were on the desk. “now, either you’re not very good at giving orders, or you don’t know what the fuck’s going on within your own organisation. whatever the fuck it is, you better fix it, and you better fix it fast tommy.” he looked at you in disbelief. “tommy shelby doesn’t take orders from anyone, especially not from a rival gang.” “i didn’t think tommy shelby sulked over a girl either, but here we are, eh? now pour me a fucking whiskey.” he got up, and poured you a glass. he looked down into your eyes as your hands brushed when he handed you the glass.

he downed the whiskey in one sip and immediately phoned the small heath shelby co. ltd. office. michael picked up the phone. “hello, tommy?” “tell polly, arthur and john bring their arses here in the next hour. family meeting.” 20 minutes later, the entire shelby family had assembled in tommy’s office. arthur was the first to speak. “what the fuck’s she doing here?” he motioned at you. “i have unnecessary business to deal with because of you fucks.” john stepped closer to you, sizing you up. “you don’t scare me, shelby. fuck off.” he looked at tommy in disbelief. “get off her, john.” tommy replied. “right, so one of you gave our men the order to raid every bishop ryder crate that comes into town. it sure as fuck wasn’t me, so who was it?” everyone looked at each other in confusion, except john and arthur. “you two. you did it, eh?” you looked at them. “we’re not tommy’s fucking guard dogs! we’re equal shareholders of the bloody company and we will do whatever the fuck we see fit!” john yelled. tommy slammed his fist on the table. “god fucking damn it! legitimate business is priority! when i say something there’s a fucking reason! when i tell you to do something, you fucking do it!” even though you’d known tommy for years, this rage was unfamiliar to you. you spoke assertively. “i have no idea how i got roped into this family drama, but it’s affecting my business. i will not have you fucking cunts pull this shit again. you try and i will cut each and every one of you.” you gave tommy a look that told him you meant every word of what you said, and with that, you left.

the next day, you were in your office, going over important paperwork. that’s when you heard commotion outside. you heard fighting, and then you heard a voice. arthur bloody shelby. he stormed in your office, going around your desk. you stood up. “what the fuck do you want, arthur?” he put his hand around your throat and slammed you against the wall. you had a tight grip around his wrist, trying to push him away. you struggled to speak. “insult the peaky blinders one more time and i’ll fucking kill ya.” when you looked in his eyes, you didn’t see arthur. you saw someone completely different. you reached into your coat pocket to pull out a gun, but arthur already had one next to your head. he pulled the trigger, the bullet grazing your ear and embedding itself into the wall. “next time, it’ll be your head, not the wall.” some of your security heard your conflict with arthur and barged into the office and pulled guns on him. arthur, in his rage, shot two of your men on sight. arthur let you go, and stormed out of your office. you’d had enough. enough disrespect. as if it wasn’t hard being a woman and running a gang in birmingham.

you went to speak to tommy. he was in his office this time, and you walked in to find lizzie typing something. “where is he?” you asked frantically. “not you again. like i said, you need to make an appointme-” “where. the FUCK IS TOMMY?” you yelled in her face. she looked at you for a moment, then spoke. “mr. shelby’s in the middle of a meeting.” “fuck his damn meeting.” you barged into his office, to find some copper sitting in front of him. you snapped your fingers to get his attention, even though you already had it. “we. need. to. talk.” is all you said. “get out.” he spoke, and you crossed your arms. the copper sitting in front of him looked at you, waiting for you to leave. “i was talking to you, dimwit. leave.” he said, pointing to the copper this time. he nodded and left quickly. “what brings you here, mis-” “your rabid dog of a brother shot at me yesterday and killed two of my men, in my office, in front of me.” you spoke, oddly calm. “what.” tommy was truly at a loss for words. “yeah. anyway, you’ll be at the epsom derby this year right? i’m gonna kill you tommy. it’ll be fun.” you said, laughing sarcastically. before he had a a chance to respond, you left his office. tommy was infuriated. not only had he lost his wife, he had gained a new enemy who now wanted to kill him, and his brothers couldn’t step up and do tommy’s job for two fucking days.

epsom rolled around, and you gathered all your men, and other men you borrowed from allies. you knew small heath men, so, you knew tommy’s men. you knew their vices: whores, whiskey and cocaine. you brought prostitutes with you, who had several bottles of alcohol and vials of ‘the snow’ on them, and had your men stationed everywhere. the plan was, distract tommy’s men, get him alone with you, and kill him.

as soon as the race started, you saw your plan unfold. all of tommy’s men were either fighting with yours, drunk and high in a corner somewhere or fucking a whore. you scoffed as you remembered aunt pol’s words. men and their cocks never cease to amaze me. truth be told, you missed that family. you missed going with the shelby brothers to steal whiskey from a pub as kids, and you missed aunt pol yelling at the boys, telling you how they were bad influences. and you missed tommy. your tommy. the tommy that would sit with you, talk to you for hours, the one you could laugh with endlessly. and here you were, plotting to kill him. how did it all get so fucked up?

while your men were distracted, you hunted tommy down. he was in the stables, alone, where they kept the racehorses. he turned around as he heard the familiar sound of a cocking gun. he raised his hands. “i’m unarmed.” you walked closer to him, gun still pointing to his forehead. “you and your stupid fucking gang have been doing so much damage to everything i’ve built all along. you got handed this tommy, you don’t know what it’s fucking like to build this from the ground up with your own hands.” you said, your hand on his shoulder. “someone has to pay, eh?” he said, take the hint and getting on his knees. you walked around him so that his back was facing you. you inhaled deeply. “ready?” you said. “give a man one last smoke?” he asked. “fine.” you turned around as he lit a cigarette. “this is the end of the line, eh? i was in this same position a year ago, maybe this is how it’s meant to be. tell arthur and john to stop fucking shit up, tell pol to take care of the boys, tell ada i love her and karl, and y/n? check in on charlie every once in a while? i don’t want him to feel like a lonely orphan, alright?” tommy spoke sombrely. you felt memories rushing back, memories of you and the boys playing with guns, getting drunk. you took a deep breath as you held back tears. tommy smiled when he felt the cold metal hit the back of his head. “don’t go soft on me now, love?” he spoke, you could hear the smile in his voice. your hand trembled as you put your finger on the trigger.

you pulled the trigger, and the bullet hit a hay bale somewhere in the corner. tommy exhaled and opened his eyes slowly. you kicked the back of his shoe, your voice wavering. “get the fuck up.” he stood up, turning around to face you. you hugged him tightly. “can’t bring myself to kill you.” you spoke, your head buried in the crook of his neck. “shh, i know sweetheart. i know.” you two always had an inextricable bond, and without either of you saying anything, both of you understood what the other felt. tommy cupped your cheek with his hand. you felt tears rolling down your cheek, tommy wiping them away. you leaned into his touch. “i fucking hate you, tommy.” he looked at you with adoration. “i love you too, y/n. it’s always been you.”

*a year later*

tommy carried you to your shared bed. you gasped as you felt him leaving kisses down your neck. “tommy-” “welcome to the family, mrs. shelby.” he said, smiling when he heard you giggle. “tonight’s gonna be a long night, eh?” he said, smirking. you smirked back. “oh, i’m counting on it.” you heard abrupt knocking, and then finn’s voice. “uh, tommy? i’m sorry- but um, it’s the russians?” you both looked at each other and instantly got out of bed. he groaned as he put his pants on and wore his gun holster under his blazer. “can’t catch a fucking break. not even on my bloody wedding night.” you rolled your eyes at him, as you wore your own holster, loading your gun and cocking it. “who told you to do business with the fucking russians?” he walked over and kissed you passionately, your tongues fighting for dominance. eventually, you pulled away for air, both panting, his forehead resting against yours. he looked you in the eye. “ready?” “always.”

“welcome to the family, mrs. shelby.”

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that-bloody-witch · 1 month

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L'amour et la Mort

Chapter 1

The years of King Arthur’s reign had been, so far, a largely peaceful time. Granted, the first half-decade or so after Uther’s death had been wrought with strife, remnants of his cruel regime which stained his son’s hands red. The battle of Camlann, and the defeat of Morgana, had marked a distinct shift in the balance of the world. Light began to pour where darkness had festered for a lifetime, seas too treacherous to sail once again gentled, poisoned fields were found to have nutrient-rich soil; nature itself had begun to heal. Some of the more faithful scholars, ones who still followed the Old ways, believe that this change had been paid for in blood, could have only ever been paid in blood.

Followers of the Old Religion have held many beliefs throughout the ages, some less sensible than others. They preach that royal blood, truly royal, holds a certain weight against the natural order of things. One ruler’s death will plunge kingdoms into centuries of depravity, while another might pave the way for an age of enlightenment. After all, the weight of royal words, of royal actions, hold much more power in them than any other person’s. Where else should that strength come from, if not their blood? Camlann had soaked its fill of Pendragon strength, between Arthur and Morgana, and the world had flourished because of it. Even in the long, terrifying months of the king’s recovery, no attacks had been waged on Camelot’s borders, the other nations of Albion instead vying for favor with the young ruler.

The first few days after Camlann were not easy for anyone in the realm. Merlin and Arthur had arrived weeks before the army returned, on a damned dragon. Only the sight of their wounded King being carried in thinly-muscled arms had kept the castle guards from striking against the creature. Several hands had tried to pry Arthur from his manservant’s grasp, none successfully, as Merlin carried his friend to Gaius’s chambers.

“What happened,” the old man had gasped at the sight of his bloodied apprentice, seeing through the dirt and grime to the naked fear on his downturned face. He immediately motioned for the guard who had followed them to clear the workbench, knowing that the next hours would be long and uncomfortable for every party.

“He was stabbed.” The words fell from Merlin’s chapped lips like a death sentence, eyes never leaving his King’s face. A single tear dropped onto Arthur’s cheek, trailing down his cheek as if produced from his own sorrow. Gaius raked his eyes over Arthur’s body, finding that the blood was covering too fully to see where the wound lay. He pointed a bony finger to the table, now cleared, a gesture which Merlin had never needed before. Usually, after so many years of working side-by-side, his apprentice moved almost before he even knew which direction to tell him.

“Merlin, you must let go.” The words seemed to float by Merlin unnoticed, his focus on the King unwavering. “Merlin, I cannot help Arthur if you do not put him down.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice breaking over the syllables like waves on a rocky shore. “I’m not sure I can keep him alive if I let go.” Gaius felt a sharp intake of breath as wide, golden eyes met his. This was much worse than he had feared.

“You must,” he pleaded, “set him down, hold onto him if contact is needed, but I cannot work if I cannot see the damage.” The words, at last, seemed to convince Merlin into action. He took short, unsteady steps to the table, and laid his King down without letting go entirely. Arthur’s gloves had been removed, at some point, and Merlin’s first clenched around limp fingers like a prayer. At once, Gaius began ordering the guard to help remove his King’s armor, cutting his shirt off entirely so as to not disturb whatever fragile stasis Merlin had upheld this long. “What happened, my dear boy?”

“Camlann was worse than I imagined.” His voice was still shaky, but seemed to steady itself as he regaled the battle. Gaius took his tale in stride, nodding along in encouragement as he cleaned Arthur’s skin enough to see the wound’s extent. He listened as graciously as he was able, barely pausing as Merlin recounted laying waste to Morgana’s army, and the lady herself, with lightning. His apprentice spoke of a sea of bodies, of barely arriving in time to be of any use at all, of being too late to help Arthur when he was most needed. “They’re dead,” the words shattered over thin air as Merlin spoke them, seeming to finally run out of whatever strength he had pulled out of himself.

“This wound should have killed Arthur,” Gaius whispered, feeling every year of his life in contrast to his young King. He had birthed this boy, now a man, had held his squalling, naked body as Uther mourned his wife. The only thought which seemed to rise above the cacophony in his head was a prayer, to anyone who should listen, that his old hands would not carry Arthur into death as they had life. “Merlin, what exactly have you done to keep him breathing?”

Merlin let out a heavy, unsteady sigh, scrubbing his free hand down his face roughly. “I’m not sure, really. I called for Kilgharrah after Morgana found us in the forest. He brought us to Avalon, and Freya told me to place Arthur in the lake’s waters. It took all three of us,” he swallowed against the words, trying to push past the lump which had lodged itself in his throat at the sight of Mordred’s sword embedding itself into Arthur’s stomach. “He was just barely alive when I got there. If anything had held us for even a moment longer.” Merlin’s words trailed off, a haunted look marring his face. The gold still had not bled from his eyes, and it seemed, to the old physician, that the impossible magic his boy was performing had become second nature, much like anything else regarding Arthur’s safety. “We did what we could, but he was still unstable. Freya told me that I already had the power to keep him from passing, and then I just started keeping him.” Gaius’ eyes flicked up from where he had been examining the wound, now as clean as possible with the slow trickle of blood leaking onto the table. Merlin’s eyes were locked onto the gash across Arthurs gut, glowing impossibly brighter against the fading light filtering into the room. Gaius motioned for the guard to light the room’s plethora of candles, so that he may continue to work as dusk fell. Instead, every single sconce in the room burst into flame simultaneously, Merlin’s concentration on the King remaining unbroken. The guard flinched towards the door, nodding curtly at Gaius’s instruction to wait outside in case anything was needed of him. His eyes once again fell to the injury, widening as the candlelight threw the wound into more clarity. The skin was slowly stitching itself together, vessels and musculature repairing itself in a shocking feat of magic.

“Merlin, my boy, how are you doing this without an enchantment?”

“I don’t know. I can’t stop.” Another gulp, another shaky exhale. “Every time I think it’s better he starts fading away.” The picture in front of Gaius suddenly sharpened into a horrific reality. The wound, as Merlin had described it, was given days ago. Even the greatest sorcerer of all time, and Gaius had seriously begun to doubt that even those words were enough to encompass all of Merlin’s abilities, could not uphold this magic for long. His mind raced, coming up with contingencies and platitudes that might convince his boy to release his hold on Arthur’s life.

“Son,” he began, “you-”

“I can’t do this for much longer, can I?” His words, more sobs than syllables, cut off Gaius’s explanation. “I can feel it, magic was never supposed to best fate.”

“No, my boy, I would imagine not.” The words lingered in the still air, riding the chill to sink into their very bones with the grim truth.

“He’s not gonna make it, not just with medicine.” It wasn’t a question, yet Gaius felt the need to answer anyway.

“There is a chance, Merlin. Arthur is strong, and much has already been done.”

“Not enough.”

“It could work.”

“No,” he shivered, a brutish exhale ruffling rust-stained blonde strands. “I’ve seen better odds rob men just as strong as Arthur of their lives, I cannot risk that with him.”

“You cannot go on as you are, it is too slow, you could kill yourself in the process.” Gaius’s statement seemed to shake something loose in his apprentice, a prayer angering the gods.

“It doesn’t matter, Gaius. I am nothing without him.” He did not shout, though Gaius had expected it. His words instead came like a wave, slowly building onto themselves until they grew strong enough to sink fleets. “Camelot cannot survive if he is gone. The Once and Future King, that’s what Kilgharrah had said. Gods dammit, Gaius, that future will come to pass in my lifetime if I have to kill Death himself. He doesn’t get to die like this, not here and not now. Arthur will die at the age of eighty, warm in this castle, surrounded by heirs, and he will not leave me.” Merlin finally seemed to break at the end, raking in a harsh gasp to keep himself from devolving into senseless wails of anguish.

A moment passed, maybe an hour, in which the only sound was Merlin’s sharp inhales and shaky exhales. Gaius knew, as much as he knew his own name, that this was something he could not sway the boy on. Merlin had always been reckless in his care for the King - Gaius had often wondered if either of them would ever pull their heads out of their arses long enough to see why - and in this, Merlin was surely unmovable. His mind raced, finally landing on a solution which seemed most likely to grant both of his boys to keep their lives.

“Okay,” he began, golden eyes once again snapping to attention. “You’re right, this wound is still too risky to try and heal with science. Magic is the only solution.” He raised a hand as Merlin opened his mouth, to protest or add his own opinion. “Listen to me. Whatever it is you’ve been doing these last few days is too slow, and it’s not sustainable. You need to fix as much as you can, as fast as you can, and let me do the rest. It will be a slow process, depending on how much magic heals, but I cannot see another way.”

Merlin looked back down to his King, his friend, his Arthur, and visibly tensed when he realized the plan’s validity. He nodded, not breaking his gaze, and readjusted his grip on Arthur’s hand. His voice tore out of his chest, ancient words that he had never consciously learned filling the air like a dragon’s roar. A wind stirred in the room, sending pages of notes and vials flying into the tornado that had formed around the workbench. The light from Merlin’s eyes grew too intense for Gaius to look at, and he shielded his vision as his apprentice pleaded with Magic itself to save the man in front of them.

As instantaneously as it had been stirred into chaos, the room fell silent once again. The candles, shockingly untouched by the vicious wind, lit the mess left in magic’s wake with vivid detail. Merlin had slumped forward, unconscious, his head falling just beside Arthurs, hand still clutching the King’s. Gaius immediately moved forward to assess the damage to Arthur’s abdomen, calling for the guard to move Merlin to his cot. It was nowhere near the first time either boy had been under his care, but having them both unconscious, splayed in front of him and injured, made his chest ache in a breath-stealing way.

He could not afford to lose his focus, working with experienced hands to fix as much of the crevice in Arthur’s flesh as humanly possible. Merlin’s magic had done a lot of good, most of the dire internal problems repaired in an instant, but the blood started to trickle in steadier streams as arteries began flowing once again. Gaius flashed a look to Merlin, not liking the deathly pallor to his ward’s skin, or the apparent stillness of his chest.

“Guard! Wash your hands! I need your help.” The young knight squared his shoulders, peeling off his gloves and following orders deftly. Gaius instructed him to press and cauterize where it was needed most, all the while thinking how Merlin wouldn’t have needed instruction to aid the physician. Gaius stitched muscle and skin back together, pouring tonic after tonic down Arthur’s throat in an effort to replenish as much blood as possible. He whispered a quick prayer to the Old gods as he worked, begging with the skies for the survival of both his sons. After several dozen minutes, seeing that the King’s wounds would hold for the moment, he moved to check on Merlin’s ashen form.

“Merlin! My boy,” Gaius wept, finding that against every science he knew, his body had grown cold in mere minutes. No breath filled his lungs, no pulse beat in his chest. Gaius allowed one solitary, earth-shattering moment to mourn the boy in front of him, pressing his wrinkled lips to a glacial brow, before moving back to the King.

As Gaius worked, and weeped, the kingdom held bated breath for news on their sovereign. Kilgharrah had flown back into the forest, knowing that his master would call when he was needed, and every soul which lived under the castle’s shadow had flooded the city. Time had seemed to trickle through the citadel as molasses, peasant and noble alike holding constant vigil outside the palace walls. Hours passed, dawn enrapturing the skies in a beautiful background to one of Camelot’s darkest days, before an announcement was made.

Gaius stood on the dais where Uther had condemned thousands, looking over the tear-stained faces that matched his own, and made his proclamation.

“The King was mortally wounded in the Battle of Camlann. It is thanks, only, to his manservant, and my apprentice, Merlin, that he shall survive. He remains unconscious, but the blow dealt to his stomach would have killed any lesser man before the battle’s end. Merlin protected his King until his last breath, using the magic which the gods had given him to heal as much as he could.” Gaius paused, raking his eyes over the crowd to find familiar faces, who would all hold fond memories of his boy in their hearts. “Merlin has faithfully served the throne of Camelot since his arrival in the citadel nearly ten years ago, and has given his life to ensure the survival of the Pendragon line. King Arthur will have a long recovery in front of him, but he shall live.” Cries rang out, both in joy at the news of their King’s health and misery at the loss of Merlin, and Gaius felt his own eyes moisten at the thought of his body growing colder in the physician’s cot. He could see many faces of shock at the admittance of Merlin’s magic, though Gaius supposed that riding in on the dragon had already clued most in on the worst-kept secret in Camelot.

The long walk back to his chambers gave Gaius time to adjust to the gaping void in his chest. He knew exactly how many years he had lived, how much loss he had endured, yet never before had the old man felt old. Now, in a world without Merlin, he could feel every second of his life weighing against his back, turning his movements sharp and painful. The council would need to meet, soon, to discuss how to proceed with the nation’s rule while their King remained unconscious, but Gaius did not dwell on these thoughts for long. He exhaled as he entered his chambers, still wrecked from the aftereffects of impossible magic, and abruptly halted where he stood.

“Will he live?” The corpse had pulled a chair over to Arthur’s side, once again grasping his hand in a white-knuckled grip. Gaius felt his heart stop and start in the space of a breath, and nearly fainted at the sight. Merlin, his Merlin, was sitting up, with enough life flowing through his veins to look worried over his King’s prone form. The physician held no reservations as he raced to envelop his boy in a bone-crushing embrace.

“Merling, oh Merlin, you’ve come back,” he cried as Merlin’s arm came to wrap around him, hesitating for a brief moment of curiosity.

“What do you mean, Gaius? I was on the cot the entire time.” Slowly, the old man released his apprentice, searching his face with a haunted look. “What? Is Arthur going to be okay?”

“My boy, the King will make a full recovery, in time, but you.” Gaius paused, not sure how Merlin would take the news that he had been dead for ten hours. “Merlin, you died. That spell, whatever you did, you were dead for an entire night and morning.”

Blue eyes widened, so large they might have popped out, and Merlin let out a noise of shock. “That’s impossible,” he whispered. “You must be mistaken.”

“Your body was cold almost immediately, Merlin. It was as if you had given your life to Arthur. You haven’t had a pulse, nor a breath, in ten hours. You were dead.” Gaius could see the cogs turning behind Merlin’s brow, processing what this meant for him. The old man’s mind suddenly threw a memory to the forefront, of treating Merlin for the deadly serket sting which should have killed him. Their eyes widened simultaneously as the truth of the gods’ will revealed itself to them. “Surely, you don’t think-”

“Oh, I do think.” A thunderous expression crossed Merlin’s face, his fist clenching even tighter around Arthur’s as he glanced at the unconscious King. “When has anything about my life ever been normal? Why should my death be any different?” Gaius winced in sympathy, reaching to offer comfort with a hand on his apprentice’s shoulder. They both fell into a contemplative silence, pondering the extent to which the gods would see their prophecies fulfilled, and watched as their King slept.

Suddenly, a chuckle burst forth from the physician’s lips, causing Merlin to shoot a wounded expression his way.

“Are you laughing? I cannot die and you’re laughing in my face?”

“I’m sorry, my dear boy,” Gaius began, stifling the unbidden humor as much as possible and forcing a calm expression onto his face. “It does appear,” a smile cracked across his face, and he cleared his throat in a bid for sobriety. “I mean to say, that is, I might have just announced to the entire citadel that you nobly gave your life to save Arthur.”

A dumbfounded expression fell over Merlin’s face, before a sudden bout of laughter erupted, surprising both master and student.

“I did!” They fell into hysterics, both men clutching each other until their sides ached. Merlin supposed, at some point, the court would need to be informed of his apparent immortality, but at the moment he could not care less. Arthur was safe, Gaius was strong despite his growing years, and Camelot faced no immediate danger. Surely, the coming weeks would reveal heartaches and wounds not yet scarred, but for now, as the laughter slowly died and the only father he’d ever known moved to brew tea, he was choosing to be optimistic.

#l'amour et la mort #super nervous to post this actually #please comment your thoughts i love feedback #my fic #fanfiction #fanfic #wip #current wip #work in progress #unfinished #merthur #bbc merlin #merlin #merlin emrys #uther pendragon #kilgharrah #arthur pendragon #morgana pendragon #ahhhhhhhh

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soleilceirinen · 3 months

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The older I get | Shelby family x sister!Reader Modern AU

Summary: after being away for years, you must return to Small Heath to face the loss of a beloved one. But, will you be able to forgive the past and leave it behind? A/N: English is not my first language, sorry in advance if something makes no sense. Warning: death of a family member, angst. Words: 3.1k

Peaky Blinders Masterlist

"Y/N? Honey, are you still there?" Lizzie's soft voice echoed through the phone.

"Yes, thanks for calling," you said, fighting back the urge to cry. "Hey, why hasn't he called me?"

Lizzie sighed tiredly. "He's busy with work. Besides, he wanted someone else to tell you in case you didn't take it well."

"How the hell am I supposed to take this?" You asked with anger filling your veins. It wasn't Lizzie's fault and it wasn't fair to take out your frustration on her but you couldn't help it.

"I know," she conceded, "but you know your brother, he's having a hard time. Everyone's having a hard time."

Despite the lump in your throat, you nodded. Of course you understood but that didn't make you feel any better. Your Aunt Polly had just died and you had to find out through your brother's ex-wife.

"Thank you for taking the time to call me, see you tomorrow, well in a few hours," you hung up the phone and threw it hard against the mattress, it bounced several times before falling to the floor. The noise that the device made when it hit the ground resonated like an explosion in the silence of the night.

The tears you had been holding back rolled freely down your cheeks. You fell down on the bed, burying your face in the pillow and letting out a choked sob.

It was too late to go to Birmingham, or too early, depending on how you looked at it. In a few hours you would take the first train so you could attend the funeral. You weren't sure what scared you more, facing the reality that Polly was gone or being in the same room with all your siblings again after seven years apart.

Since you couldn't fall asleep in the remaining hours until dawn, you packed some clothes and personal items, not many because you didn't plan to stay in Birmingham for too long, and tidied up your room. Cleaning would keep your mind busy.

The train ride was a fucking nightmare. Despite it being so early, your car was full of people, people with children who couldn't stop screaming and running between the seats. Wasn't anyone capable of teaching their children some manners? The boy right behind you had been kicking the back of your seat for more than twenty minutes, the damn thing.

Taking a deep breath, you rested your head on the window as you watched the landscape and tried not to think. The soft rattle of the train rocked you as if trying to comfort you. However, it was not that simple. Memories of your childhood in Small Heath flooded your mind, some of them good, some others the kind you would have liked to banish from your memory. The kind of ones that made you take the decision to put some distance between you and your family in the first place.

Finn and you, as twins, were the youngest with a considerable age difference compared to the rest of your siblings. Due to family problems, your parents had always been absent from your life, so your Aunt Poll practically raised you as her own. Polly was the closest thing you had ever had to a mother figure.

Your childhood and adolescence weren’t easy. Deep down you felt bad for thinking like that, you knew that your older brothers had had it worse while your father still lived with them, but still. As a teenager nothing seemed fair.

It was all screams and arguments, a house immersed in violence. Aunt Polly began to drink more and more, Arthur only thinking of his drugs or who knows what, which caused more fights. When the shouting started you used to run to your room and close the door, getting into bed, covering your head with a blanket and listening to music at full volume until your ears hurt.

And then you prayed just as Polly had taught you. You prayed that you would fall asleep and wake up with another family, a normal family where no one screamed or came back in the middle of the night beaten up and covered in blood.

You wiped away the tears falling down your cheeks with the back of your hand as you noticed a little girl staring at you.

"Why are you crying?" she asked in a squeaky childish voice.

Before you had time to make up any excuse a man who must have been her father spoke out loud, clearly making fun of you.

"She broke up with her boyfriend, right, pretty face?"

The look you gave him could rival Tommy's. No one would hesitate to say that you were a Shelby. Slowly, his smile faded from his face and he looked away embarrassed, grabbing the girl by the arm to make her return to her seat.

When you finally got off the train, your eyes were swollen and your nose was red from crying. You took a couple steps through the station and then stopped. Who were you looking for? You didn't even know if anyone was going to pick you up.

“Y/N!”

Turning around, you looked everywhere trying to find who was calling you. They could be calling someone else but the voice was too familiar to be a mistake. And then you saw him, a few metres from the entrance, greeting you with his arm and a huge smile.

"Hello, Isaiah," you said with a small voice. He wrapped his strong arms around you in a tight hug and you buried your face in his chest, a position similar to the one you two shared the last time you said goodbye.

"How are you?" He asked when you stepped away but he immediately rolled his eyes. "Sorry, that was a stupid question."

"It's okay, I'm fine. What about you?"

He shrugged. "Great, given the circumstances. I have the privilege of picking up and bringing home the princess of Small Heath," he joked, winking playfully.

You hit him on the arm, of course not hurting him. You followed him only to stop next to the car, he took your bag and put it in the trunk. Once inside, Isaiah pulled out and placed his cell phone on your thigh. "You can choose the music."

The ride was quiet, both of you listening to your favourite songs and humming or making up the lyrics from time to time, like when you were teenagers and ran away from home along with Finn.

"Why did you come to pick me up at the train station?"

Isaiah glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, not really taking his eyes off the road and remained silent for a few seconds. "Why, am I not enough for you?" he joked, in an attempt to light up the mood.

"I won’t hit you because you're driving" you murmured, he laughed softly. "My brothers, why have none of them come? I know Ada was busy with the kids, she texted but they haven’t even talked to me.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't know. You should talk to them about that. You've been away for many years, they've changed."

You nodded silently. It had started to rain. "Sure. Thanks for coming to pick me up, Isaiah."

He squeezed your leg. "You know I'll always be there for you."

The rain was now pouring fiercely as a reflection of your current mood.

Everything in the house screamed Polly, every corner reminded you of your childhood. It would always keep fascinating you how a simple scent could bring you back in time so easily. Blinking rapidly, you tried to clear your cloudy sight. Ada stepped in front of you, hugging you and murmuring comforting words in your ear and you leaned into her. You had missed her so much in the past few years.

As a little girl you felt devotion towards your only sister. You wanted to spend time with her, sometimes you stole her make up and she ended up mad at you because of it. The rest of the time she just pushed you away, not wanting to babysit you. Back then you thought it was unfair but now you understand, Ada was a teenager and she wanted to go out with her friends and her boyfriend, not staying at home with two little kids.

However, as you got older, it was more and more common for your sister to call to include you in her life.

"Will you stay with me and the children? Hey, Y/N. Are you listening to me?"

You looked at her worried face and nodded. “Yeah, thanks Ada. I don’t want to spend more time here than necessary.”

Ada rubbed your arm as she gave you a sympathetic look. “I know, dear. Have you seen the others? Or Polly?”

Your heart jumped against your ribs with fury. “No, not yet.”

“Y/N!” Arthur called out, striding towards your direction. He stopped a step away from you, undecided whether to give you a hug or not. He looked thinner than you remembered. Actually, he looked older. You were the one who stepped forward and hugged his slender body. He reciprocated right away, burying his face in your hair and sobbing.

“It’s okay, Arthur” you whispered against his chest.

Taking a step back, you stared at him once again, mentally thanking that he wasn’t the one picking you up from the train station. He was a total mess.

Somehow, seeing your older brother like that sent a pang of guilt directed to your guts. Arthur used to be energetic, fierce and chaotic, but this man in front of you was nothing like that. He seemed like he needed a warm blanket and a cup of tea, and maybe sleeping for a couple days without worries.

“Arthur, why don’t we go and talk to Lizzie?” suggested Ada, linking her arm with his and pulling him away. He smiled at you with his blue eyes filled with tears and reached to grab your hand but Ada didn’t let him do it. “Let's give Y/N some space, alright?”

You had been holding your breath without realising it. As soon as they left you alone you let out the air, feeling your lungs deflate. Throughout the house you could hear children screaming while playing, unaware of the sadness that filled the air. They were your nephews and nieces. Mostly John’s kids. You wondered if he was a good father now. When you were ten years old he used to make you watch horror movies such as The Exorcist or It, and then he laughed when you cried terrified at night.

The lump in your throat became more noticeable, you needed to get out of there.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Finn and Isaiah talking quietly to Michael and a blonde girl you didn't know. Avoiding crossing glances with them, you headed to the kitchen looking for the door that led to the backyard. If you did, you would have to stop and talk to them, exactly what you didn't want to do at that moment.

You weren’t expecting to see Polly’s coffin in one of the rooms so you turned your face away when you walked by its door, almost running until you reached the knob of the door that led to the backyard and turned it, opening the door and stepping outside. The chill wind helped to cool down your feverish cheeks.

After closing the door behind you, you leaned against the cold wall, eyes closed, trying to calm yourself down.

I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, you thought, placing a hand over your heart. I'm sorry for not saying goodbye to you, Aunt Polly, for not taking time to tell you how much I loved you. I was angry with all of you. I'm sorry, I promise to think of you and to not forget your name. Polly. Elizabeth Gray.

Letting out a choked sob, you opened your eyes. You didn't know if Polly was able to hear you, wherever she was now, but you sincerely hoped that your message would reach her somehow.

Someone clearing their throat made you jump. To your right, leaning against the wall just like you was Tommy, taking long drags on a cigarette, as if his intention was to suck the life out of it. "Damn Tommy, you scared the hell out of me! What are you doing here?" you yelled at him, brushing your hair out of your face and furiously wiping away your tears.

He shrugged and let out a puff of smoke. “Same as you.”

His voice was deep and hoarse, like if he had been crying. He used to be really close to Polly and now that you thought about it, it made sense. Just like Arthur, his appearance surprised you.

In your memories Tommy was a young man with his freckles and blue eyes, the dark hair slightly curled at the ends when he let it grow and an encouraging smile that he only reserved for you and your siblings. That was the brother who taught you how to ride a bike and how to swim in the canal, how to take care of horses during the summer breaks and the one who used to tell you stories with funny voices whenever you couldn’t sleep at night.

There was almost nothing of that brother in the man in front of you. Tommy was old. It had been around seven years since you moved away to go to university but time had hit him hard. He was in his forties now and his hair was turning grey in some parts, the wrinkles much more noticeable as well as the deep dark circles under his eyes.

He threw the remainder of the cigarette on the floor and looked at you thoroughly, as if he were analysing you from head to toe. A mix of emotions crossed his face but you weren’t sure to be interpreting them correctly, such as a slight panic, a bit of sadness and finally something similar to approval.

“You look good,” he stated, “how is school? Everything alright?”

Your eyes filled with tears once more but this time you didn't hold them back. All the rage that had been growing inside of you since Lizzie called you a few hours earlier came out freely. “I’m not in school anymore Tommy, I’m a PhD student and I’m writing my fucking thesis so don’t talk to me as if I were a stupid child.”

He seemed taken aback by your sudden anger. “It wasn’t my intention to make you feel like that” he apologised before clearing his throat, raising an eyebrow, “but if you haven’t noticed, you’ll always be a kid to me.”

Tommy didn’t let you say anything back, continuing with his speech. He wasn’t looking at you, instead, he stared at some point far away in the distance.

“When you were born I was the first to hold you in my arms. You were so tiny, I could carry your little body with both my hands. Finn started gaining weight so damn fast but you didn’t and we thought you’d never make it” he pursed his lips as you listened in silence, although you had heard him telling you this story many times when you were younger. “Every hour we had to feed you a bottle of formula and it was no bigger than my finger” he pointed his index finger in front of you as a measurement. “It seemed like a toy. But it worked, just look at you now.”

He turned to you and wiped your tears with his callous hands.

"Tommy, why didn't you tell me Polly was so sick?" you asked quietly, grabbing his wrists.

"You knew she was sick."

"Yes, but not enough to..." To die, you wanted to say, but the words got caught at your throat.

Your brother sighed and when he looked at you again, he seemed more tired than ever.

"I didn't want to worry you unnecessarily. You have your life far from here, you yourself wanted it that way. Your priority is your studies, let me finish," he said, pointing a finger at you authoritatively. "What happened to Poll was so sudden, none of us expected this to happen and it has been a hard blow for everyone."

“I didn’t say goodbye to her,” you muttered.

Tommy held you against his body, hugging you tightly. “Me neither.”

You looked up at him, scrutinising his face. The rim of his eyes was red and his bottom lip trembled a little despite his attempt to hide it. He seemed somehow fragile.

“Oh, Tommy,” you whispered, throwing your arms around his neck and letting him bury his face on your shoulder. You felt the wetness of his tears as you caressed the back of his head. “Next time something like this happens, let me know. Call me and I’ll come. I’m not a kid anymore, I’m part of this family too and I can help. You don’t have to go through stuff on your own. Alright?”

As he nodded slightly with his face still pressed against your shoulder you felt the sudden realisation that you had been mistaken most of your life. All you wanted to do was run away from your family in order to be happier, thinking that they wouldn’t need you after living through your whole childhood feeling like a burden, like someone whom they had to take care of.

For years you had hated them because it seemed that they enjoyed being miserable day and night, continuously fighting with each other… you never stopped to think about the reasons behind all those arguments or their actions. But you were older now and life had taught you that we are all humans and we all make mistakes.

Now everything was different. For once you were the strong one, able to stand by their side to support them. This bunch of sad and broken people were your family and they needed you just as much as you needed them.

Sometimes it was better to put some distance in order to see things from a different perspective, to heal, you realised as you held the shadow of the man who used to be like a hero to you during your childhood. At the end of the day you would always come back to the place where you belonged. The only thing you regretted was not figuring it out sooner.

#peaky blinders au #peaky blinders one shot #shelby family #modern!tommy shelby #angst with a happy ending #sister!reader #modern!peaky blinders #peaky blinders angst #tommy shelby angst #i don't know how to tag this #shelby family x reader #the older i get #soleilceirinen writes

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who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 18 days

Text

What Happens When You're Left Alone: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Contains: Rapeplay, consensual non!con, rough sex, creampie

You lifted the basket to rest at your hip, turning away from the rickety old porch and stepped inside of the colonial home. You had just watched Charles and Sadie ride off in search of more food, probably towards the edge of this damned swamp for deer, anything but whatever slop Pearson would come up with. Sadie was hesitant to leave at first, offering you multiple times to come along, but you stayed back. You still had a lot to do, and you surely didn’t want Ms. Grimshaw to erupt when she saw everyone had left and that nothing was clean.

Everyone had left, going off into groups to their own places. Who went into town for medicines and quick bounty work, who went off for food, who went off for a ride to clear their heads. It was just you left at camp.

You wiped your forehead at the sweat that had gathered at your hairline. You hated being in the swamp, it was horrible. It was constantly hot and humid, you were constantly bitten by bugs and kept awake at night by croaking frogs and chirping crickets. You sneered at the thoughts of what laid out in the mud and murky pools in the swap, what reptiles and fish were just waiting for you to just cross by and drag you through to kill you.

You found your refuge in the Shady Belle from the balmy heat, padding through the house and climbed the stairs to start putting your clothing away in the old wooden dressers you and your husband used, folded the freshly dried clothes before putting them away in the drawers. You were halfway through the basket before you realized you had somehow grabbed the wrong laundry from the makeshift clothesline you had set up when you and the other women in camp had washed clothing earlier this morning. You cursed to yourself softly and hoisted the half-filled basket before turning around on the creaky flooring and started your way down the stairs. You had turned the corner, aiming to leave through the large wooden doors when you stopped out of shock and fear.

You had dropped the basket of clean laundry, the wicker and wood cracked against the hardwood floors that were just swept and the laundry piles spilled out.

There was a man, a stranger in Shady Belle, in your camp’s hideout. His back was turned to you, he was crouched down and was rummaging through a chest on the floor, its contents were pooled on the floor. You could tell even with him crouched down that he was big and broad.

His head shot up and he turned to look at you as soon as he heard the basket crackle on the ground. You froze in his gaze, you wanted to just shrink down and hide. You felt like prey, especially when he started to stand up and turn to face you fully, you felt the colors drain from your face. The sweaty balm on your body made your skin feel icy and made your hair want to stand up straight.

He was tall and very broad, definitely an imposing figure that could easily snuff you out if he wanted to. His cornflower blue shirt was rumpled, the sleeves had been bunched up at the elbow to show off his strong forearms. Dark pants hid tall and strong legs that he could catch up to you should you run. He wore a black cavalry hat, the lip nearly hiding his eyes in shadows, a black bandana was wrapped around his nose and mouth, obscuring his face from you. Your eyes fell to his waist where you saw a holster strapped to his hip, a customized cattleman revolver sat heavy in the holster. Alongside the gun was a heavy knife tucked into his belt, the blade looked freshly cleaned and sharpened. A lasso wound from thick rope and leather was fashioned to his other hip.

You shivered under his direct gaze, taking a small step backward. You nearly whimpered in fear when he took a step towards you. Your heart was pounding in your ears, your breath was stuttering, you felt your eyes stinging with tears of fright.

He was going to kill you.

“Well look at you,” the intruder drawled. “I thought this place was empty, sure was a surprise to see yer still home.” He took another step closer to you, you took another step back. “And what a surprise you are, darlin’.”

The dress you were wearing suddenly felt like it weighed one hundred pounds. It was a gift from your husband, a light floral printed dress he had gotten it in Valentine as a surprise for you. You loved wearing it, but now, you felt disgusting in it.

“Please, take whatever and leave. I won’t stop you,” you pleaded. He stepped forward again, unimpressed by your little attempt to be brave. “Please, I-I won’t report you, I won’t tell anyone you were here.”

“Oh, I know what I want now,” he growled from behind the bandana.

You felt absolutely sullied being in his sight, your heart dropped right into your stomach.

You didn’t even have a chance to take off, you were able to turn around and take a run a few steps before he was upon you. You were slammed into a wall, his large meaty hands were pinning you against the wall by your shoulders, your front and face hit the wall. You sobbed, turning your head to the side as tears had started to fall down your cheeks as the man pressed himself up against your back. He reeked of cigarettes and whiskey, his hot breath hit the back of your neck. He pressed fully up against you, one of his hands leaving your neck to grab at you, a big calloused hand running down your hips to your waist and soon to your-

You strike behind you, your elbow collided with his ribs and catching the intruder off guard and causing him to stumble back from you. Taking the opportunity, you managed to squirm out of his iron grasp and fumbled through the house. It didn’t take him long to come right after you, heavy footfalls were right behind you, his booming voice threatening you. You turned on a corner and tried for the stairs, slipping over the low hemline of your dress, your knees collided with the hard wood and you cried out.

You were yanked back, his hand had snatched at your ankle and dragged you down, tearing the low hemline of your dress as you tried to dig your heels into the wood to stop him. Your nails dug into the wood, cracking when he dragged you down until you were beneath him.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, darlin,” he growled as he grabbed onto your wrists. You thrashed in his grip, trying to kick at him, wriggle your way out again, something other than just letting him win. He snatched at the lasso from his hip, quickly weaving it around your wrists, binding them together so tight that any movement burned your skin. You desperately tried to push him away, your trembling fingers managed to snatch onto his bandana and jerk it down, revealing his rugged face. He was stunned for a split second before rage washed over his face. “You fucked up, little miss.”

He snatched at the torn hemline of your dress, completely ripping it off of your dress and stuffed the torn garment into your mouth to silence your cries and pleading. He hoisted you up the rest of the way, his heavy feet threatening the old wooden stairs below you as he threw you suddenly over his shoulder. He didn’t even flinch with your weight now on his broad shoulder as he stomped up the stairs and threw open the first door he could find.

Your room.

Without a care, the intruder hoisted you off of his shoulder and tossed you carelessly. You landed on the bedframe with a sob, the gag muffling your cries. You twisted around to see him kick closed the door, the wood slamming echoed through the house. You trembled as you stared at him with wide eyes.

He blocked the entire door with his broad body, he loomed over you, a horrible scowl on his face. He was furious, hands clenched into fists and he was breathing heavily.

“You really fucked up now, darlin’,” he sneered. You cried into the gag when he stomped over.

He grabbed at your ankle with a harsh grip and yanked you to the edge of the bed. Your scream was muffled, you were trembling worse than a branch in a storm. Your eyes were wide and full of tears as you stared up at him, dreading what his next move would be.

He grabbed at the shoulders of your dress and knotted his fingers in the collar, tearing the material with his bare strength. The fabric tore down your neck and past your breasts, revealing your brassiere to him. His rough hands went right to your breasts, calloused hands cupped your breasts and groped you through the thick material. His hands were dirty, covered in gunpowder and dirt and soiling the white material of your brassiere. He slid his hands beneath the hard wires and caressed the sensitive skin of your breasts. You whimpered into the gag, trying to push it out of your mouth with your tongue as tears started to stream down your cheeks.

“You feel so soft,” he purred. His touch was strangely soft now that he was violating your personal space after nearly killing you just moments ago. He eyed the wedding band on your finger and a spark really seemed to light in his eye. “How’d yer husband feel if he walked in here to see me touchin’ his wife?” You cursed him out behind the gag, barely managing to get words like ‘fuck and ‘kill’ and ‘bastard’ out through his howls of laughter. “Yer husband’s gon’ kill me? Think he’ll be stunned when he sees me fuckin’ his pretty little wife, don’t you?”

Your blood ran cold, your heart stopped for what felt like eternity. You shook your head, eyes dripping with salty tears, pleading with the man behind the gag as he grabbed onto your brasserie again and ripped it off of your body, the fabric tearing cut through the still and thick air. He looked at your naked breasts with a ravenous hunger in his evil green eyes, hands grabbing them and started to squeeze your chest with vigor. You whined and tried to kick him off, but the man’s strong stature denied you completely. Instead, he straddled you at the knees, hunching over you slightly to toy with your naked breasts. Dirty nails scratching your skin, calloused fingers squeezing your nipples, strong hands grabbing at your chest to try to get a noise out of you.

Seeing that you weren’t giving him what he wanted, he stopped violating your breasts and grabbed onto the remaining scraps of your dress and yanked again, completely tearing apart the rest of the dress and leaving you only in your white panties. He did away with them as he had done with your dress and brasserie, tearing it off of your body and now leaving you completely nude to his eyes.

One of his hands trailed down to your womanhood, hand caressing your sensitive flesh before parting you open with one finger. You winced, his calloused finger scratched at your skin uncomfortably as he plunged it deeper into your passageway. You cried when he started to finger-fuck you, his eyes trained on your body, ramping up the speed at which he tortured you. He soon added another finger, starting to open you up, enjoying what he was dragging out of you.

“Gettin’ wet from another man? Boy, I’d bet yer husband would be pissed,” he mocked as he fingered your slick walls.

You whined and tried to wriggle loose. The man laughed, taunting you, loving every second of the torture he put onto you.

He had stopped suddenly and sat back, large hands going right to his belt where he fumbled with it. You pleaded once more, eyes wide with terror as you shook your head. He had pulled out his large cock, fully erect now in his hand. He sat back up and dragged the head of his dick over your slick entrance, barely passing it through your walls to tease you before lining himself up.

You screamed when he roughly thrusted into you, your back lifting off of the bed to try and ease the pain he was causing you only for him to push you back down flat onto the bed.

He groaned lowly as he tried to get adjusted to how tight you were, fighting you back down when you tried to move and squirm with both hands now on your shoulders. He sank into you until he was fully hilted before he started to move. He started slow, trying to ease you open more, hissing at how tight you were still even after he finger fucked you open. His hips soon started to piston like a well-oiled machine, dragging his cock nearly out of you before plunging back in. The moans and words that left his mouth were vile, surely to haunt you for the rest of you life. He was quick to ramp up the speed, the bed creaking with every thrust, the mattress moving and the floors beneath squeaking.

You cried into the gag, eyes wincing and your hands balled into fists as the rope around them burned. He smirked, moaned, and laughed at you.

You moaned when he thrusted against a bundle of sensitive nerves inside of you, earning a howling laugh front him as he relentlessly pounded into you.

“Look at you,” he sneered as he pounded into you from above, “moanin’ as another man fucks you. What would that husband of yers think?”

You had somehow loosened the rope around your wrists just enough to squeeze out of them, opting to grab at the sheets rather than grab onto him. The gag was still in your mouth covered in your spit, still muffling your whimpers and now unfortunately your moans too.

You felt pressure build up inside of you, like hot metal in a forge right inside of your core. Your arousal was coming fast, and you couldn’t do anything about it. All you could do was just lay there as this man violated you.

You came with a cry, sobbing as your body was wracked with both arousal and shame. The man laughed at you, taunting you as he continued to fuck you.

“Cummin’ ‘round another man’s cock, now that’s somethin’ else, sweetheart.” You felt his cock twitch inside of you not too long after, your mind hazy from your climax and your body wanting to go limp. His groans were getting heavier and his thrusts were more sloppy. “Wonder how yer husband’ll feel knowin’ you got fucked by another man? Knowin’ that yer leakin’ my seed?”

He kept thrusting into you, his grip on your shoulders was bruising. He was getting sloppy, slowly losing control of his hips, he faltered and hunching over you, spilling his seed right into you, cumming with a heavy groan. He stayed that way, cock still inside of you until it had grown flaccid and leaned over you, riding out his high inside of your throbbing womanhood until he had finally got off.

He stood from the bed and stalked out of your sight and you rolled to your side, starting to sob to yourself quietly, afraid of the man that still lurked in your bedroom until he came into view once more.

“You say anythin’ to anyone, and I’ll come back, ya hear?” he threatened down at you as he fumbled with his belt.

You heaved, your legs trembled as you clenched them together. Your entire naked body was drenched in a cold sweat, your inner thighs sticky your horrid arousal and his sticky cum that was still dripping onto the sheets still warm. He pushed himself off of the bed, you could barely see him through the strands of hair clinging to your tear-streaked face. You saw him for a brief moment, and the next he was gone without a sound, leaving you alone to curl up into a ball and sob to yourself quietly.

He was quick, rushing out to his horse behind the house and rummaged through her satchel bag for a small leather satchel before turning on his heel and rushing back into the house. He had made sure to grab a tin cup from a nearby table and dunked it into the bucket of fresh water nearby before disappearing into the house.

He was quiet when he entered the house, slowly taking the stairs one at a time as to not spill the water, wincing as the wood creaked eerily under his weight. He came up to the tall door that was partially open from when he slammed it at his exit, nudging his foot into the doorway and poking his head in.

His heart was pounding in his ears, his heart nearly stopped when he saw you still on the bed. You were sobbing softly, you had rolled over onto your side and faced away from the door, the gag had been spit out and had fallen to the floor. You were trembling still, trying to breathe calmly between sobs. His eyes rolled over the bruises and marks he had left on your body from thrashing you around and his eyes stayed on the ruined scraps of your dress on the floor. He would have to buy you a new dress soon.

He licked his lips and looked back at you.

“(Y/n)?” he called softly. He stepped into the room and carefully approached you. You stirred, your trembling had nearly stopped and your sobs had been cut short. “(Y/n), sweetheart, are ya alright?”

“Arthur?” you whimpered.

You wiped your face with the back of your hands before turning to look at him.

Arthur moved to set the cup and satchel down and sat next to you on the rickety bed. His large hands rubbed calming circles into your back.

“Darlin’, I didn’ hurt ya, did I?” he worried, combing his fingers through your hair.

“N-no,” you had finally caught your breath and your sniffles had quieted down some. “I-I liked it, I just need a minute.”

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and sat up.

“I love ya, sweetheart. I got ya somethin’.”

Arthur grabbed at the satchel and put it in front of you for you to open. You fumbled with the latch and slipped open the leather to find three bars of chocolate as well as some other sweets stuffed inside of the leather.

He reached across and wiped away the stray tear that had started to roll down your cheek.

“I should head on down, clean up the mess I made,” Arthur hummed.

Before he could stand up, you stopped him, wrapping your hand around his wrist. His brilliant green eyes met yours. God, he loved looking into your eyes even when they were rimmed red from crying.

“Stay with me? Please?” you pleaded softly.

“Always.”

#red dead redemption #rdr #arthur morgan #arthur x reader #arthur morgan x reader

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gimmethosedaddymilkers · 4 months

Text

The Stronger Desires

So, starting off strong, we're doing the request for @cantchoosejust1 first, who lovingly requested a femme fatale reader.

Now, I haven't written anything like this, so hopefully you enjoy my spin on things.

Now, let's see exactly what happens with these two.

*Side note, I may have a poll later regarding a pfp change, just to see everyone's thoughts.*

Warnings: Cursing, canon like violence, sexual innuendos, perhaps even fluff, Female reader

The gif is unfortunately not mine, and Tumblr didn't wanna work with me, so it's from Pinterest.

Anywho

Arthur wished, truly, that he could explain exactly how he ended up in this spot, but honestly he'd be just as lost as whoever he was telling the story too.

The night had started off pretty good in all honesty. The gang had been celebrating, enjoying their success on the last job they'd managed to pull off, drinking, laughing, and causing problems for everyone else around them in the saloon.

The place had been lively. Hell, even Arthur had ACTUALLY been having fun.

The biggest smile on his face as he took a seat in the far corner to catch his breath from all the dancing and singing he'd been doing, which he was sure had made him look like an absolute fool.

He chuckles to himself as he quietly lights a cigarette and places it between his lips.

The Saint Denis saloon was...surprisingly more lively than what he'd expected it to be. Rich folks sure knew how to party properly.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots something, a brightly colored dress, not out of the norm for this place, but, for some reason, this one seemed...different.

He turned his head to look, and he was honestly surprised he managed to keep the cigarette in his mouth with the way it nearly fell open.

The woman wearing the dress was far prettier than the actual dress itself.

A gorgeous face, and absolutely wonderful hair as well.

The only part that didn't quite make much sense to him was the fact that you were all over a fat aristocrat. Balding with an awful mustache, but you seemed to be rather excited to stand next to him.

He couldn't quite understand it, how absolutely stunning you are, yet you're following a man like that around.

It boggled him.

The night continued, as they usually do, but now that he'd seen you, Arthur couldn't quite stop staring at you.

You were absolutely beautiful. You were...stunning, and it was damn near impossible for him to focus on much else.

It was hard not to when they man you were clinging too was a big as a house, and being followed around by at least four body guards.

What he was doing in a saloon he'd never know.

It's pretty late at night when things really start to get confusing for Arthur. It's about here that he'd be a little...confused when trying to retell the tale.

Due to the confusing nature of it all as well as all the apple pie moonshine in his system.

Things seem to be going smoothly, until all the sudden the entire saloon is screaming rather than singing.

Instinct takes over and Arthur's hand grabs the butt of his pistol before he realizes exactly what's going on.

The crowd quickly disperses, and it's then that Arthur realizes exactly what happened.

You, you're what happened.

There, on the floor is the aristocrat, though he's much less lively now that there's a bullet wound through his head.

How the hell he hadn't heard the shot he still didn't grasp.

The body guards all surround...you.

Arthur almost jumped up right then and there to defend you. He could take out all four of them in a matter of seconds, and he knew that, but right as he contemplates it he watches you pull a revolver out from under your dress.

The evening suddenly got much more interesting.

"Back off! Or I'll kill you too, that fat bastard had more money than he needed anyway, and if he'd put his hand up my skirt one more time he was gonna die in a much worse way, so be fucking GRATEFUL!"

Arthur nearly laughs out loud at the venom in your voice. It was...well it wasn't funny actually, it was more...attractive to him than anything.

For a moment you make eye contact with him, and it's a strange sensation, the way the two of you seem to talk with your eyes.

Arthur gives you a soft nod, a small smirk on his face and then he nods towards the saloon doors.

You give a nod in return and Arthur takes it as his que to leave discreetly.

It's only a moment later when you exit the saloon at a sprint, and Arthur holds his hand out for you to grab as he sits atop his horse, a black Shire.

You take his hand and he hoists you up easily, as if you weigh nothing at all.

The moment you're on his horse he takes off, the remaining guards rushing out of the saloon too.

It's only seconds after that, that the sound of the lawmen's whistles can be heard. One of the patrons must have reported the gunshot.

You hold onto Arthur for dear life, an arm around his torso and the other holding out your revolver.

"Nice to meet you mister! I take it you aren't exactly a friend of the government either?"

"No ma'am!"

Arthur laughs at the absurdity of it and keeps riding hard as the lawmen start to gather behind the two of you.

"Quick on your feet back there!"

He states, taking a turn down an alleyway that appeared to be just big enough.

"Thanks, you too, saw you reach for your gun!"

You chuckle to yourself.

"Don't exactly look the rich type. In fact, don't look like the Saint Denis type. I take it you might be in the uh...'bodyguard' business."

"If ya mean shootin' fools who deserve it, then yes, I am."

"Yeah, that's what I mean."

"Arthur Morgan."

"Y/N L/N."

"Nice to meet ya. Let's get the hell outta here."

Arthur did his best to do just that, out running the law as quickly as he could get his poor horse to go.

Finally after quite some time the two of you make it into the woods, just outside Saint Denis, the sound of the lawmen steadily fading.

You're nearly out of the woods, metaphorically of course, when a stump seems to have other ideas.

Arthur and you both go flying off the horse, and directly into the mud below.

It's dark as hell and Arthur has no clue exactly where he is, and you just barely do.

Both of you are covered in mud and Arthur's horse: Mayhem, is currently writhing on the ground attempting to right itself.

You sit up in the mud, scoffing and trying to wipe mud off your face as Arthur does the same.

"Christ Alive..."

Arthur groans, flicking his arm downwards, trying to get the mud off.

You do the same, looking at him with a look of disgust on your face, only for a moment, before you start laughing.

"Well, Mr. Morgan, how very kind of you to dump me in the mud like this."

"Well I didn't mean-"

You laugh and stand up, before you tear off your skirt, now soiled with mud, to reveal your pants underneath it.

"I needed to get that thing off anyway, I was about tired of it."

You reach your hand out, and Arthur takes it, a sort of sheepish grin on his face.

"Well, glad ya ain't too mad at me."

"Nah...you ain't crossed the line just yet cowboy."

Arthur laughs this time and pulls his hand away to run it over his stubble in an attempt to try and get the rest of the mud off.

"I'll be stinkin' for weeks with this stuff, even if I take a damn bath at the hotel."

He sighs and takes his hat off, wiping mud off the brim.

He looks up at you.

"So...Miss L/N...You...sure seem more than capable of takin' care of yourself...I assume you got somewhere you can hide out for a bit until the law gets off you?"

"Course I do."

You laugh and step closer. You take the hat from his hand and gently place it back on his head, pressing your hand to his chest in the process.

"All worried about me there, Mr. Morgan?"

"Worried? No. Curious? Yes."

You offer yet another chuckle and then step around him, letting your hand travel over his shoulder, gently taking it away as you step closer to his horse, and offer it an apple from your bag that had been hidden beneath your dress.

"Well Mr. Morgan...if you're so interested, I suppose you'll have to bump into me again sometime soon, won't you? After all you did save me back there...even if you threw me into the mud afterwards."

"Hey I said-"

"So defensive."

You tease and step back towards him, you flick his hat, making it tilt upwards slightly.

"Send me a letter sometime Mr. Morgan...I could use someone like you for some of my...endeavors. If you're willing that is."

"Depends...You ain't gonna make me dress up and sing the can can are you?"

"No, I wasn't but...now I might."

You laugh and look towards Saint Denis' in the distance.

"Well...Mr. Morgan, if you could do me a favor and drop me off near Rhodes...I think I'd be forever in your debt."

Before Arthur could really register it, that's exactly where he was, stopped in front of the Rhodes train station, holding something you'd given him as he watched you climb onto the train.

A heavy locket, sat in his palm, as well as a handkerchief you'd insisted on giving him, with your initials sewed into the corner of it.

You smile at him, and wave from your seat as the train pulls away, and something within Arthur tells him that it won't be the last time that he sees you.

He couldn't quite remember exactly how he'd managed to end up here. In all complete honesty, the only thing he really knew for certain was that you were....something, that was for sure. Spitfire and kick to you.

He'd see you again. he'd make sure of it.

Okay, so, like I said, this is slightly different than what I write, not by much, but it is a little different, so I hope it was good, and I hope that you enjoyed it! As always, I'm always happy to rewrite something if it doesn't hit the spot just right!

#arthur morgan #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #answered asks #arthur morgan x reader

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hollygracesworld · 4 months

Text

Falling into your ocean eyes 🌊❤️ | Orm Marius x Fem!Reader

Part 4

Warning ⚠️ : harsh words, Orm still in prison, a Plot Twist between Orm and Y/N.

for the next part ➡️ masterlist

“Is she alright?” King Nerius said worriedly.

Mera who previously put her hand on Y/N's chest, nodded, “I don’t think she is, Father. She felt extremely cold, but I think she can still be helped.”

“She had Hypothermia,” said Arthur very confidently. Mera and King Nereus looked at him in confusion. “it’s a type of disease experienced by surface dwellers.”

“I felt there was something wrong with her heart,” Mera said, “she’s not dead, she’s in a coma.”

“So what are we going to do?” King Nerius asked.

“Let me take her,” Arthur quickly took Y/N's body and carried her, “I'll take her to the hospital on the surface.”

Mera nodded, “I should’ve been able to find her and help her quickly, I can’t believe it,” she looking at her sister painfully, “this was my biggest mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t,” King Nereus said with a blank look, “This is all my fault. She already told me that she was dying. I heard her voice. She was trying to survive. I’m sorry.”

Mera looked at her father with a look full of disappointment, “Did you really think that I didn’t know about this all along?”

“When I found out that the woman that Orm always mentioned in his sleep was my sister, I did everything I can to meet Y/N.” Mera said again while shedding tears.

Mera wiped her tears, “But I think it’s too late now,”

“I’m sorry—“

“No, you’re not, father.” Mera answered and then she left her father with full of disappointment.

***

Y/N opened her eyes, everything looked very blurry. She didn’t even know where she is now, but she knew for sure she was no longer in Atlantis.

“Hey, you’re awake, aren’t you, Strange-Girl?” Arthur's voice made Y/N realize that she’s now in the hospital. Her vision became clear when Arthur was in front of her now.

“Or should I call you Aurora from Sleeping Beauty now, because you fell asleep for a very long time. Damn.”

Y/N didn’t realize how long she had been asleep in her coma. But looking at the look on Arthur's she seemed have been asleep for a very long time, and she noticed that her own hair had grown quite long.

Seeing Y/N is silent, trying to digest everything, Arthur looked at her and said, “It’s just a coincidence that you’re awake and I’m here. I’m very busy being the King of Atlantis.”

“Where’s Orm?” the first sentence Y/N said after being in a coma for a very long time.

“Oh, um, about that,” Arthur was a little confused about answering, “that’s a long story.”

“No, I don’t need that fucking long story, I already know you won the battle.” Y/N answered quickly, “Where is he? I need to find him.”

“No you can’t find him, Y/N,” Arthur said firmly. “Besides from his prison which is very isolated and it’s really impossible to free him, he made you like this. He put you in prison when you were dying of cold. Think about it.”

“I know.” She said quietly, “During the coma, I could feel that he was tortured, starved, and he was close to death. That prison is like making him die slowly with continuous torture, I can’t, Arthur Curry, I can’t.”

Arthur looked at her with pity and guilt, “i’m so sorry.” He saw Y/N who’s crying right now, she seems like having a mixed emotions.

“Mera visits you here very often. She feels very guilty, she keeps worrying about you. You guys never even talked at all, but you have a family that loves you right now, and that’s what you need.” said Arthur trying to give her a support.

Y/N was just silent. She felt very dizzy and what she felt was difficult to express.

She still hates her father because of what happened last time, but at the same time she feels happy because she has a sister who actually cares about her, even though she has never talked or even met her own sister in person.

And the worst part is, she felt really depressed about Orm. She made plans from the start to connect with the ex-King of Atlantis through her witchcraft. For 5 times they talked under the influence of a dark magic that Y/N herself created.

Meeting Orm in Atlantis did not have a good start. In fact it was bad. Really bad. She hated Orm's sadistic, cruel, jealousy over his own brother, and heartless nature. But at the same time, she missed Orm. Very. The longing was so piercing that she vowed to go into a coma again because she couldn’t live in the shadow of Orm who was being tortured in prison.

She didn’t know how to start her life again. She shouldn’t have feelings this big for Orm. After all, she’ll try to forget all of this and start living without her magic abilities. She knows that her superpower to feel what other people feel will never fade and will continue to be like that. But she would try her best to ignore it.

Forgetting Orm, even though his shadow would often appears. She should be moving on.

***

4 years later….

“You said you were taking care of him!” Arthur cleaned his baby’s dirt while his baby was still crying loudly.

“I know,” said Y/N while turning off the call from her own phone, “I’m just a little busy with my thing, it’s not a big problem.”

“It is a big problem,” Mera said in a slightly annoyed tone while cleaning up the spilled baby milk bottle, “I've told you a hundred times, you have to break up with him, Y/N.”

“I know I'm not good at being a babysitter, but you can’t instigate my personal love life!” Y/N answered.

“As an older sister I told you so,” Mera said firmly, “We have helped you, and you must help us too. this is not what we expected when we returned from Atlantis.”

Y/N was silent, she felt very guilty. She helped clean up the baby food that had spilled on the floor. The mess she made. All this because she was too focused on her surface boyfriend.

“No need for that.” Mera told Y/N to stop, “Atlanna has something to tell you, you have to meet her right now.”

Mera gave her instructions to go to the front yard of the house. Y/N nodded, then she got up and went out to meet Atlanna.

Atlanna smiled then hugged Y/N warmly.

“What do you want to say?” Y/N asked, curious and confused.

“Do you still remember, Orm...?”

She was shocked to hear that, of course she still remembers Orm. She can never stop thinking about him, it's just that she hasn’t heard someone say his name again since 4 years ago.

“Sure… what about him?” Y/N asked with a confused expression.

“Black Manta is becoming stronger and is becoming a big threat to Atlantis. Arthur going to free Orm from his prison tomorrow. This is his choice, his only last choice.”

“I’ve had a strong feelings all this time that I always thought might not be true... Orm is going to released from prison, and if Orm survives for this time…”

Y/N could feel the deep sadness and longing felt by Queen Atlanna. As a mother, she must be much more tormented by the suffering that befell her own son.

“I want him to be in a safe place. with someone who I have always known was the right one for my son..”

Y/N’s heart was beating much faster than usual. Knowing what Queen Atlanna would say.

“I want you to marry my son.”

#aquaman 2018 #ocean master #king orm #fanfics #orm marius #orm marius x reader #aquaman and the lost kingdom #patrick wilson

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coltermorning · 4 months

Text

A New Year to Remember (A Christmas to Remember Pt. 2, RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: With another meeting planned on the first day of the year, you eagerly await the possibilities it could bring.

Author’s Notes: I just had to write this one—it was too cute for me not to :) Part one is here.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, fluff

AO3 Link

A New Year to Remember

Word count: 3238

Monday, Emerald Ranch

You clutched the concise letter in your hand, like doing so would bleed the words from the page enough to make time pass with urgency. But it wouldn’t. You would wait. This would be worth it.

It had been five days since you’d seen Arthur, five days sitting on the feeling that drawing of his had bloomed within you. He wanted your hand in marriage. You were still a little dumbfounded over it, still unbelieving you had ever earned something so good in this life, especially considering the circumstances. But he, like you, had come to know one thing—love was stronger. Consequences be damned. So you waited.

You sat under the awning at the livery, ready to rid yourself of Valentine entirely if not for the rain that fell in a torrent. It wasn’t cold enough for snow, and the downpour deterred you unlike anything the colder weather could do. All you wanted was to be in Emerald Ranch. No matter that you had two days left to wander around without cause, without purpose other than the need to see the man you loved. But the weather had other ideas. You wouldn’t find yourself ill for stubbornness either due to the drenching weather, so you would force yourself to wait, to dream, to imagine what this meeting would lead to.

The very idea of marriage had always been picturesque to you. A slow-moving march in a wedding gown. Love so full the smiles caught. Daily life made better by another, by a partner. And putting a face to the man who would stand at the other side was more fulfilling than you thought possible. Arthur’s awe as you approached him, heart in hand. His smile over getting to call you his in fondness and in name. The days yet to come, endless days made for being together and nothing more. It was too good to be true.

It wouldn’t always be easy. You knew that, though you didn’t care. It was certain the pair of you would have to leave this area of the country. Even using Arthur’s name here was dangerous, in the place where everything had gone wrong for him. Fingers pointed and blame thrown around like fire, catching, spreading, destroying everything it touched. But somehow, not him. He was pure as gold, his soul coming out more gilded for all that harrowing encounter put him through. A second chance at life. A chance to do it better this time. And oh, how much better he was when it came to you. He was a boy in a man’s clothing, his love as fragile as a bird, never knowing anything but betrayal yet wanting more still. Wanting and wanting and wanting, enough to make your heart break for him. Because you would give that to him until the end of your days, until he didn’t feel the need to want so desperately anymore. It would be natural to him one day—to love and be loved in return. You would see to it with absolute surety. Because if you knew anything about him, you knew this: a man so hardened by life, so broken by it, to still have such a strong love for the very thing that rejected him…he deserved it more than anyone. And you, of all people, had the privilege of bestowing that love on him. You would do your best to make it count. To make him believe in it once more, to never have to fear losing it. What an honor.

Sitting on an upturned crate hiding from the rain, you dragged out the journal he had given you and began to draw. You drew the feeling in your chest until it turned into Arthur on the page, your hand mimicking the love he held for you despite all odds. His hands resting on his gun belt, his broad yet relaxed shoulders, his smirking grin with a cigarette between it. All things that made him the man he was, all things that he gave to you without even knowing it. What did it mean to love someone? As you drew line after line, stroke after stroke, the image coming to you as natural as breathing, you thought you knew.

It was Monday. The first day of the new year. The rain had stopped early yesterday morning, and you had chased its end out of town and straight to Emerald Ranch. You had been not-so-patiently waiting around, wondering what time to plan on seeing him. Even your horse had grown restless beneath you, perhaps wondering why you led it in endless circles with no true destination. Alas, where you were headed couldn’t be reached by map. The thought made you smile.

You were riding through the middle of the small settlement, straight out of town only to inevitably turn back, when you heard it.

“There she is.”

The familiar voice made your heart leap, and you turned and found Arthur atop his horse, hands crossed over his saddle horn, smiling at you. For all the world, like this was the most regular meeting in it. You rolled your horse back and spurred it on, going to him, dropping to the ground before you could even pull up the reins.

“Arthur,” you said, all the happiness felt for him pouring out in the utterance. He was dismounting and pulling you into a hug in seconds, his smile contagious.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t be apart from him a moment longer, all the waiting around doing a number on you. You pulled away and leaned up, kissing him. Then kissing him some more. Enough that when you broke apart, he was laughing fondly, his face red as a beet.

“My drawing didn’t scare you off I see,” he said, though he knew the answer to that. You had written him within minutes of seeing the damned thing, telling him to get his ass back to town, berating him for leaving it in the first place.

“No,” you answered anyway. “Quite the opposite.”

“Hm,” he muttered, tilting his head in feigned thought. “Guess we’ll have to do something about that.” And the smug look he gave you, his face so close and so darn kissable, what he was proposing—literally proposing…

“Come on,” he said, turning before you could blink. So that’s how it would be—never knowing the moment he would pop the burning question until he did it. You smiled so wide your face ached with it, but you could only shake your head and return to your horse, mounting back up, seeing where this day would lead.

“Got a ride ahead of us,” Arthur said as he settled into his saddle. “You sure you’re up for it?”

Whether he meant the day or the rest of your life, you didn’t care. As long as you were with him.

“Lead the way, cowboy.”

The pair of you rode and rode, along winding paths, past a lake, up into the mountains where the air got thinner and the wind had a bite to it. He lead so aimlessly you were beginning to wonder if even he knew where he was going, until he stopped suddenly and said, “Here’s good.”

You just watched him swing down off his horse, a little confused. “Here?”

You were in the middle of the woods just off the path. The most nondescript place on earth.

He smirked. “What, this not good enough for you?”

“No! Not that, I just-”

“Relax,” he said, waving you off as he untied his bedroll from his horse. “Let’s leave the horses here. You up for a walk?”

You knew him, knew he didn’t like his horse being far. This was strange behavior coming from him. But it seemed he had planned this out, so you went with it anyway.

“Sure,” you answered, dismounting, tying your horse where it stood.

“Good.”

Then you walked over to him to let him lead the way. But he hung back, switching his bedroll to his other side and reaching for your hand. You grinned like a fool and took it.

“Such a sap.”

“Shut up.” But he held on tight and walked with you, not quite so big and tough as he looked for once.

He led you deeper into the woods for about a quarter mile, then up. The woods turned to rock, to hills verging on mountains. He held your hand firm, the ground uneven and littered with rocks enough to make both of you stumble a bit. Finally, the rock gave way to a flatter, more grassy spance of ground, and he stopped.

“How’s here?”

“Here’s…anywhere’s fine. Really, I didn’t mean-”

He stopped you again. “Don’t worry about it.” He finally released your hand and undid his bedroll, flaring it out to its full extent so that it fell wide to the ground. He set it down and turned to you with a mischievous look as he made to sit on it. “Care to join me?”

Gladly. You didn’t even have to respond before you were moving, missing the touch of his hand already. He settled and leaned back, and you sat close enough to lean into him, to take in the scent he wore like a second layer of clothes.

He sighed then, content as could be, content as you were. Though you couldn’t deny you were nervous. Unknowing about when he would ask what you so desperately wanted him to. But instead of worrying about that, you caught sight of the view. He had taken you high enough to overlook the trail you had ridden, the woods surrounding it. The lake below. It was a beautiful day, the storm from yesterday long gone, the sun beginning to sink in the sky and light up the trees, the water, the world. Even your two horses far below could be seen, and you understood then why he was okay with leaving them. They were never quite out of sight.

“Missed you.”

His low, warm voice was like honey, and you relaxed into it and into the feel of his hand coming up to your head, his fingers running through your hair.

“Didn’t have to, you know. Could have stayed.”

You watched the view as you said it. You would normally want to look at him, but the way his fingers tugged through your wind-tangled hair with the easiest pressure was relaxing you.

“Couldn’t have done that,” he said. “I owe my woman a little ceremony at least.”

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement, leaning into his touch. “But you know I would have married you right there on the street. In the mud and the horseshit.” You turned to him then, smiling.

He smiled back, a flash of teeth. “I know you would, darlin’. But you deserve more than that.”

He admired you a moment before reaching around himself, into his satchel. Your breath caught in your chest until he pulled out a cloth full of berries—raspberries. Your favorite. He offered them to you, and you happily obliged.

Soon, you were both eating them and talking about the day, about your time spent apart, about your lives. He told you about his past, most of which you already knew, but he delved into his childhood, his parents—subjects he had hardly breached. Even his son who had passed. He talked about how he was afraid he was turning into his father, how ashamed his mother would be over the man he had become. You countered that he was a good man, that any mother would be proud of who he was despite all he went through. He argued that he could never escape his past, no matter how good he tried to be. That his son was killed by the same type of man he was. You shut that down quickly, saying he would never kill a child. Then his words became slow and strained, explaining how terrified he was of starting a life with you. How scared he was of losing you too. That no matter how far the two of you went, his past would always catch up to him. You just shook your head, the guilt written across his face crushing you. Then told him simply life was too short to worry with that. That you would rather have him and lose him than not have him at all. He went quiet then. And you let him be, berries long since eaten, sun sinking lower. You let him wage war within himself, decide who he wanted to be. No one could make that decision but him.

After long enough that the sun was beginning its final descent, his hand found the back of your head, and he pulled you to him in a kiss. One hard, heart-felt, emotion-filled kiss. He started taking your breath away, leaning into you. But just as quickly as that passion had flared, he stopped, pulling back, breathing heavy. Holding your face in his hands.

“I love you.”

His eyes met yours. And what you found lying within them made you smile. He had made up his mind.

“I love you,” you answered. Nothing on this earth truer.

He rose. Frozen with sudden nerves, you just watched him as he looked down at the horses, his expression clouded like he was making up his mind. Then he looked at you and offered you his hand.

“I have an idea.”

You took it without asking for more, though your curiosity was burning with the unanswered question. When will he do it?

Once you were on your feet, he turned and whistled for his horse. You did the same, both mounts running up the rocky hillside in response. They navigated the loose shale well and were soon greeting you with ears pricked.

Arthur rolled up his bedroll, the place you had sat lacking any evidence you had been here. It seemed strange—such a perfect place for Arthur to ask you to spend the rest of your life with him. But he hadn’t and was instead tying his bedroll down on his horse’s back, smiling at some unknown thought.

“I want to show you something,” he said, turning to you. “Will you ride with me?”

What you wanted to ask was how far. Instead you answered truthfully, “Of course.” And you mounted without hesitation, your curiosity making you smile, especially when it came in the form of this man’s fondness for you.

Soon you were back on the trail, having headed back down the mountain then west. The path slowly turned north, beautiful in the late-day sun. It was going higher up and rockier still, treacherous if not for the well-minded horses below you. Then Arthur was once again straying off the path when it flattened out, taking his mount into the grass that had grown up between the rock despite itself.

Then you caught sight of the view.

You hadn’t realized you’d stopped until Arthur turned his horse, looking back at you with a smile. “You coming or what?”

“Arthur, this is…” Stunning. Absolutely stunning. The entire country seemed to lay out before you, the height of the land making you the tallest thing on earth.

“I know,” he said, dismounting. “Come on.” And when you swung off your horse too, he walked over and took your hand, still facing you as he said, “You didn’t think I’d lead you on some wild goose chase without a view, did you?”

“Where we were before was a view,” you said. “This is something else.”

You let him lead you onward with a smile, closer to the edge of the mountain, toward where the sky stretched into endless day. You could see Emerald Ranch, all of the heartlands, even a bit of Valentine. So far south you could just make out the lake that looked to be more of an ocean from here.

“Pretty, ain’t it?”

“How’d you come upon this place?” you asked, turning to him. Though he had already been looking at you, his soft smile breaking over you in its endearment.

“Did some traveling around these parts a few years back. Believe it or not, there used to be some sort of monk or some other crazy who sat at that cliff edge all day, taking it all in,” he said, gesturing to where the mountain ended and the sky began. “So I guess you have him to thank for introducing me to the view.”

“I have you to thank for this,” you said softly, stepping forward and letting Arthur’s hand drop. You walked all the way to the edge. This was worth filling page after page of your journal with. If you had known about it sooner, it would be what covered Arthur’s shotgun stock. It was so vast and powerful, you could feel your heart racing with it. Enough to make a person ponder their small existence. Unlike anything you’d ever seen. And when you turned to tell Arthur so, he was kneeling.

Your mind stopped turning. Stopped working entirely.

He was down on one knee, looking up at you like you held all the love in the world. In love with you. He held something small and shiny between his fingers.

“Y/N,” he started gently, his voice shot through with care. He held up the ring, a small, gold thing. You had thought before that a ring didn’t matter, that you would marry him without one in a heartbeat. While that still held, seeing the small band now with its tiny, sparkling gem—your favorite color…

“I have loved you for as long as I’ve known you.” You felt tears fill your eyes for the way that he said it. Raw.

“You’re the only person I want to spend every day with. The rest of my life with. In fact it…scares the hell out of me how much I like you.” He smiled as he said it, and you let out a laugh through your tears.

“So, Y/N Y/L/N…” He looked you straight in the eye. “Would you do me the honor of marryin’ me?”

There was no question in you. Not a shred of doubt. In a blink, you were falling to your knees before him and grabbing his face and kissing him and saying, “Yes,” over and over, kissing the word into his mouth. He just let you, kissing you back. And when you finally broke away to look into his eyes, he was pulling your left hand toward him, placing the ring on your finger with a look so proud that your chest tightened with it. He just admired it a moment, that ring on your hand.

Then he met your eye and smiled wide, muttering, “Looks like you’re stuck with me now,” before tackling you backward in a grinning kiss.

You were both laughing into each other’s mouths, high on the feeling of mutual love. Of belonging to each other. And when he rose up onto his palms above you, grinning down as he told you he loved you again, you took his face in your newly-ringed hand.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan.”

His eyes skipped between yours, his grin contagious. “Y/N Morgan. I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.” And he was on you again, kissing your breath away, happy like you had never seen him.

Yours.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

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huntingingoodwill · 1 year

Text

til' death do us part (t.s.)

masterlist

requested by: @runnning-outof-time (ilyily) + anons

prompts: menswear by the 1975 + "it scares me how fast i fell for you"

pairing: yan! tommy shelby x reader

The gravel lining the path of Tommy’s driveway crunched under his gleaming leather dress shoes as he made the long walk from Arrow House to the imposing wrought iron fence that guarded it.

Puffing on his cigarette, he approached the car idling at the end of the road, the headlights illuminating him in their streams of light.

“The money.” His gruff voice demanded as the lackey hopped out the driver’s seat, the young man shooting nervous glances at the men flanking Tommy.

His quivering arm jutted out, thrusting a briefcase toward Tommy.

Tommy nodded toward the case, prompting John to rifle through the bills neatly stacked within it.

John’s brow furrowed.

“Some’s missing.” He muttered.

“Where’s the rest?” Tommy asked, his voice dangerously quiet, teetering on the line between complete calm and unbridled fury.

The man recognised the menace in his tone, fumbling over his words as his cheeks heated up, heart thrumming in his chest.

“Don’t look at me! I only brought what the boss gave me, I don’t know-” He blurted out, desperately trying to push the blame away from himself.

Tommy felt a presence hovering over his shoulders, eyes burning into the back of his head. He turned, looking up toward his bedroom window, the large glass panes looking over the expanse of his stately front lawn. A silhouette stood behind the glass, looking down at him. Just as quickly as he had turned around, the figure turned away, hips swaying as it sauntered further into the bedroom.

“Fuck.” Tommy breathed.

He inhaled sharply, a sense of crushing irritation pressing down on him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the ache settling behind his eyelids.

“Deal with him.” He ordered Arthur, leaving the lackey quaking before his formidable brothers as he turned around, marching back into his manor.

The door swung open to his bedroom, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning around to greet him. You rested your chin against the palm of your hand, looking uninterestedly into your vanity mirror.

“What’re you doing up here, eh?” He asked. “They’re asking after you down there.” He swung the bedroom door shut, the chatter of the party below muffled behind the hardwood.

“I was just waiting for my dear husband.” You spat the words out like they were poison in your mouth. “But he was busy. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that a brute like you wouldn’t let up on the criminal activity, even on his wedding night.” You sighed, tone flat as if the subject bored you. You reached for your lipstick, daubing some of the colour on. “What was it, Tommy? Tobacco? Opium? Or something more exciting?”

“You don’t need to know.” He retorted, voice clipped as he adjusted his tie.

“Oh, but I would like to, Tommy.” You whipped around, finally looking at him. Your voice turned venomous with sarcasm. “After all, I love a good bit of gossip. It is so dull being held captive here in this awful house.”

“Don’t use that phrase.” He sighed.

“What, ‘held captive’? What would you prefer: forced to marry you? Coerced, maybe? What would you like to call it, Tommy, blackmailing my family, taking me away from them, trapping me in this damn house, trapping me in this damn marriage. Enlighten me on the vocabulary you want me to use.”

He huffed, eyes travelling toward the door already, as if he had no time for this, as if your anger was nothing more than the result of a silly spat. “Get up. My family’s waiting downstairs. They all want to meet my new wife.”

“I hope I end up like the first one.” You spat.

“(Y/N).”

“What, Tommy? I bet she couldn’t stand living with you too. At least she found a way out. And got a nice fucking portrait out of it too.” You snorted.

He reached forward, wrenching you up from your chair. His fingers locked around your arm, digging into the flesh. A part of you expected him to rebuke you, to scold you for all the things you said to him, and you embraced it. You relished in making him angry, a little payback for all the things he had done to you.

But, instead, knowing just how to push all your buttons, he refused to sate that desire you had to piss him off.

Tenderly, disgustingly so, he reached up his hand toward your face. He ran his knuckles gently across your cheekbone, the coldness of his wedding band an ugly reminder.

“You know why I did all this?”

“To make me suffer?” You responded.

He carried on, ignoring your words.

“I did it for us. As soon as I saw you, I knew I had to have you. I could never let you go.” He sighed, stroking the line of your jaw, your throat bobbing as you swallowed thickly, blinking away tears of rage. “It scares me, how fast I fell for you.” He whispered.

“Funny, isn’t it?” You rasped out, your voice low and quiet. His presence felt as though it was crushing you, closing in on you. “How you’re the one who’s scared. But that’s good.” You snarled, nodding resolutely. “You should be scared of me.” You growled. “You have me now, but not for much longer.”

“I’ll always have you.” He retorted, nodding resolutely, eyebrows furrowing as if he was explaining a simple concept to an idiot. He jerked you toward him, locking his arm around yours as he opened the bedroom door, leading you back down toward your wedding reception. “Til’ death do us part.”

#tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby hcs #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby blurbs #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fics #bbc peaky blinders

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fruitcoops · 6 months

Note

So I just reread the fic about Jules birthday, and I’ve always liked the part where Remus tells Jules that he’ll always be more important than hockey. Could you write a fic about that if you haven’t already? Like Remus leaving in the middle of practice or something like that? Idk it’s up to u:)

Fic O'Ween Day 3: Midnight! Read more amazing works from these prompts at @noots-fic-fests and of course, character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW illness (coughing, mentioned vomiting, fatigue)

Remus leaned against the countertop for support and stared at the floor. “But he’s okay, right?”

“He’s okay,” his mother answered. She sounded beyond exhausted.

Remus nodded and rubbed his fingers under his eye. The night suddenly seemed so much darker. “How’re you and dad? Taking time off?”

“We’re alright.” He knew that low edge to her voice—it was the same one his own took on when he was trying to hide his hurt. Silence fell over the line.

“Mom.”

“Your dad can’t get PTO this week and neither can I.”

She cleared her throat; he closed his eyes. “Can Leanne keep an eye on him?”

“Visiting her daughter in Florida.”

No parents, no neighbors, no way they’re getting a babysitter for a sick kid… “I’ll be on the next flight.”

“Remus, no.”

“There’s nobody else—”

“Honey.” He could see the way her eyebrows drew together in his mind. “Honey, you’re on the road this week.”

“I know.”

“In Montreal.”

“They can handle a couple games without me.”

“You’re practically a rookie, Remus,” his mother insisted. After a pause, she lowered her voice. “You’re not going to damage your career when we can get a babysitter, or—or I can find a couple days off. Hell, your dad’s got a pullout at the office he can rest on.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“Remus John, you have a responsibility to your team.”

“Jules comes first.” If there was one thing Remus would stand by no matter the circumstances, it was his family. The Lions would survive a roadie without him. Jules would never be alone and sick on his watch.

His mother was silent for a long time.

Remus picked at a chip in the granite. “There’s no babysitter that will watch him, is there?”

A sigh traveled down the line. “I guess we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby. Give Sirius my best. Sleep well.”

“I will,” he lied. The call went dead and he turned, bracing both hands against cool stone. Sirius’ footsteps were soft, his hand gentle. Remus sniffled. His chest was a vise. “Mom says hi.”

Slow circles pressed between his shoulder blades. “What happened?”

“Jules got the flu, and they can’t get time off work to stay home with him.” Fucking assholes in fucking corporate. Remus swallowed around the clog in his throat. “Sounds like he’s pretty sick.”

“Does he need to go to the hospital?”

Remus shook his head. The hand on his back slid down and wrapped around his side, guiding him to lean on Sirius’ chest. “Do you want me to book your flight while you call Coach?”

“Yeah.” His voice was rough. He didn’t let go. “God, I hate being so far away.”

Sirius’ other arm came around him and held him tight.

Remus and his father talked the whole ride home from the airport, and said nothing at all.

The house was just as he left it at Christmas. No snow remained, and little frost—crocuses peeked out of the lawn where the squirrels had snatched and buried them.

Apologies for the late notice, but due to a family emergency, I will be in Wisconsin until the 22nd. Thank you for your understanding.

Rapid responses. Cranky responses. Remus had tried to keep a level head, even through the tremor of his hands on the computer keyboard. The organization wasn’t happy with him, but when were they ever?

It didn’t matter either way. Fine or not, suspension or not, they weren’t going to stop him from making chicken soup and raspberry Emergen-C for his sick little brother. He was damn lucky to have Arthur on his side, easing the retribution from men in offices who had hardly bothered to meet him at the start of the season.

“Your mother’s worried.”

Remus glanced up from his hands. His father was facing forward, brow pinched while he pulled into the driveway. “Yeah.”

The engine turned off with a sputter. “Be gentle, okay?”

“It’s not your fault they wouldn’t give you time—”

“Be gentle.”

Remus bit the inside of his lip and nodded. A goldfish cracker peered out at him from the crevice by the door. This passenger seat always made him feel so small. He slung his backpack out of the seat well and stepped out, letting the crisp air nip his face and bring him back. He needed to come back more. The heartache had lessened, and distance was simply exhausting now. Running fast and far to Gryffindor had seemed so smart before.

The front door still squeaked when he turned the doorknob. Remus was glad for that, at least.

His mother smiled when she saw him. “Hi, baby, how was your flight?”

“Hey, mom.” It was good, he started to say, only to have the words fall from his mind the moment she stepped around the kitchen table and wrapped him in her arms. It’s been a lot I love you I missed you how are you where’s Jules—“Uneventful, thankfully.”

“Good, that’s just the way you want it.” She gave a little sway, one hand cradling the back of his neck. He felt a light pulse of pressure. Her back, ever tense, relaxed slightly. “It’s so good to have you home.”

Remus breathed deep. Lemon-scented cleaning spray and drugstore shampoo, laundry detergent and just-sharpened pencils. He pressed his nose tighter to her shoulder and felt her squeeze him, just a little. “Missed you.”

“Oh, Re,” she sighed. A hand rubbed along his spine for a few hard, grounding, wonderful seconds. Warmth seeped in around his edges. The floor was solid beneath him, the walls sturdy. A kiss found his temple. “Baby, we missed you, too.”

A rattling cough made him wince. “Jeez.”

“I know.” Her face crinkled into a grimace when they separated and she looked back down the hall. “That started up two days ago. Poor thing. Keeps him up at night.”

“Aw.” The cough was followed by a rough throat-clear that made Remus frown. “Fever and everything?”

“102, as of this morning.” Hope ran a palm over his shoulder, the way she tended to right after he came home. Remus tried not to think about that too hard, or else he made himself sad. “You’re sure about this? You could get sick. It’s the middle of the season.”

Remus tried for an encouraging smile. “My immune system’s great, mom. I’m in good shape, I take my multivitamins. Eat my Wheaties, and all that.”

“Hmm.” She scrutinized him for a beat. “You better be.”

“I’m basically indestructible.”

Her laugh bounced off the corners of the house like it always had. “Let’s not get hasty, hon.”

“Mom?”

Remus’ heart sank.

“Dad?” Jules croaked, a little louder. “Did the neighbors come over?”

“Hey, J,” Remus called. The floorboards gave a light groan when he set his bag down at the end of the hall. “It’s me, bud.”

Silence followed. The bathroom nightlight was on, casting the hall in gentle blue. His hand drifted toward the first door on reflex (cool metal knob, lock on the inside, jimmy it three times in the winter when the frame sticks), but he managed to step past it and knock lightly below the ‘J LUPIN. DO NOT ENTER.’ sign scotch-taped to the old wood.

“Jules? I’m opening the door.”

The first thing that hit him was the smell. Stale, sweaty, feverish—Remus did a double-take without meaning to.

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” Jules rasped from somewhere to his right. “Hey. Hi, why are you here?”

“You slept too long. It’s June. I’m here for the summer.”

“Hey.”

“You’re sick, dummy.” Remus tried to be subtle about propping the door open wider with a loose hockey glove. “I’m taking care of you.”

With the new, faint light from the hallway, he could see just how terrible Julian looked. His unconvinced squint didn’t help the sallowness of his skin or the heavy bags carved under his eyes. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh, you have a roadie in—” Another hacking cough interrupted him. It shook his tiny frame hard enough to make his knees bend under the covers. Remus’ heart gave an acid lurch.

Agitated heat radiated off him to the point that Remus could feel it when he perched on the edge of the bed. The sheets were a tangled mess; one blanket half-tucked, the other mostly on the floor. “Deep breaths,” he soothed when the coughing turned to a few aggressive sniffles. “Take it easy.”

“Montreal,” Jules finished in a mutter. He wiped his nose on the edge of his baggy t-shirt (almost certainly their father’s, with the way it dwarfed him) and laid back with a long huff. “You got a roadie in Montreal. Dad ‘n me are gonna watch the game.”

“Dad and I.”

“Shhh.”

He smiled to himself and tugged the top blanket down to shimmy the next one into position. “Well, you and I can watch it. How’s that sound?”

“No, you need to play,” Jules groaned, but even that was weak. He curled onto his side and peeked out of his huddle, dull-eyed and flushed. “How come you’re here anyway?”

“Told you. I’m taking care of you.”

“But hockey.”

“But you.”

“But…hockey.”

“But you.” His stomach gave a little pull. “You’re more important than a couple games, bud.”

Jules didn’t look like he believed him. “…okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re R—”

“Don’t you—” Remus bit back his words (and his grin) and whacked lightly at the outline of Jules’ legs under the blankets, coaxing a crunchy sort of laugh from him. “Watch it. I’m in charge of feeding you for the next few days.”

Jules’ giggling trickled out with a last sniff. “Mom and Dad gotta go to work, huh?”

“Yeah.” The wrinkle of his nose was almost certainly reflected on Remus’ face. “But hey, we’ll have fun.”

“Mmm.”

The air shifted, along with his gut. Jules’ breaths were heavier. His eyes, lidded. His forehead was far too hot against the back of Remus’ hand when he checked it. “Tired?”

“Mhmm.”

Wrapping him in a dozen blankets and cuddling him as tight as possible wouldn’t help. Logically, Remus knew that. The temptation was still there. “Too hot?”

“Warm.”

“Want me to take a blanket?”

Jules shook his head. His eyes were closed fully now. “Weight’s nice.”

Every inhale hitched when Remus rested a hand between his shoulder blades, feeling for his pulse. That, at least, was calm. Jules had sweated through the old grey fabric there. He combed a few strands of hair off his burning brow and swallowed around his dry throat. “Want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

“Gonna nap.” Jules’ twitched, as if he was trying to readjust but lacked the energy. “Here when I wake up?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be here.”

The evening passed without issue. Night rolled in with a gust of wind that hissed across the windowpanes while Remus dried the last of the dishes. Jules had managed to get up and come to the table for dinner, but he had looked even worse in the brighter light and barely ate half a bowl of soup. He could see their mother struggling not to fuss over him, not that Jules had any oomph to give real protest.

What kind of family emergency is this, Lupin?

A family emergency. I can come back the 22nd.

You’re missing two games. Do you understand that? Weasley won’t play you for the third, either.

I understand.

Is this a funeral?

No.

A wedding?

No.

It’s a request for nonvital time off, then. This could very well result in a fine.

I’m aware of that. Time off for a family emergency is covered in my contract. I’m permitted to miss four games.

Are you really going to put in a request for this? For a nonvital midweek trip instead of two NHL games?

That’s precisely what I’m requesting, yes. This is an emergency and therefore it is vital.

Remus had not missed the bureaucracy of the NHL during his time on the ice. There was still administrative irritation, of course, but it had not been nearly long enough since he played email tag with someone determined to make his life harder. ‘Nonvital emergency’. It made him want to laugh and lose it at the same time. What a fucking joke.

A sudden rustle and thud—likely Jules’ elbow hitting the wall between their rooms, ouch—startled him from half-sleep. Clumsy footsteps pattered on the floor; a door creaked and closed, quickly followed by a dry heave. Remus winced in sympathy.

This bedroom felt too small. His feet touched the end of the bed if he stretched out. There were only a few inches’ allowance for his shoulders on either side before he hit a wall or the edge of the mattress. Even his stuff felt smaller, as if the books shrank in his hands and the trophies had been made for someone Jules’ size.

He supposed they had been. Juniors was a world away, these days. He had turned the idea of keeping a potential you-know-what ring here instead of in Gryffindor, but never really committed one way or another. That, too, felt far off. He was stuck in the middle of a spectrum, where nothing felt quite right.

The toilet flushed, but he didn’t hear Jules leave. The low timbre of their father’s voice buzzed in the hall for a second; he didn’t catch Jules’ response. Remus swung his legs over the side of the bed with a huff and stood despite the creaking protests of his knees.

The blue light looked eerie in the cover of real night. He propped Jules’ door open again as he passed. A little ventilation couldn’t hurt. He paused in the doorway of the bathroom and crouched down, lowering himself to the cool linoleum with a soft groan. “Sup?”

“M not gonna throw up again.”

“Okay.” Remus flexed his ankles against the cabinets and tilted his head back. The soft towels buffered him from the wallpaper. Next to him, Jules’ forehead was stubbornly pressed into the crease of his elbow where he rested it on the toilet seat. “Still sick?”

A wordless mumble answered him.

“I’m gonna make chicken and dumplings tomorrow.”

Jules weakly raised his head. “Really?”

“Yup. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch. All that good stuff.”

Quiet fell over them for a long moment. “What are you talking about?”

“What, you don’t want a science lesson?”

“Nerd—”

He knew it was going to happen before Jules’ first jerk forward and caught his side when he wobbled, giving gentle pressure until he was upright. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay, I got you.”

“Ugh.”

“I know. You’re doing great, J.” It was over as fast as it started. Jules trembled lightly under his touch, sweaty again, all too warm again. His knuckles stood out in harsh midnight shadows where he gripped the porcelain, thin arms shivering.

Jules sniffled. “I wanna go to bed.”

“I bet.”

“I’m tired.”

“Can you stand up?” It took Jules a moment to even start moving; when he did, it was sluggish and unsteady. Remus hovered his hands close and resisted the urge to scoop him right up. Jules wouldn’t like that. He hated being babied. It was still fucking hard to watch him pull himself to his feet.

A rinse-and-spit and a cool washcloth on the back of his neck made Jules sigh. He leaned right into Remus’ hip, head at the base of his ribs, and staggered along on foal legs while Remus guided him back to bed with a lump in the base of his throat. There was no fuss about being tucked in—he simply sighed again, so content it hurt. Remus smoothed out the hem of the comforter by his neck just one more time, once more, just so he could be sure.

Their parents were out by the time Remus woke. He distantly recalled the sound of them leaving, but the plane left him groggy enough not to notice or care. Jules was still snoring loud enough for him to hear it through their shared wall.

Breakfast, then. Something light. Oatmeal or eggs, if he could keep it down. Broth, if not. Remus would have to check the fridge for Gatorade and lemons.

It was strange to be functionally alone in the house. The carpet felt too soft, the curtains too still. A bright pink sticky note was stuck to the table with his name written in big letters at the top. He’d check it later.

Message To: SB <3

Morning :)

Fever’s still going, nasty cough, the works. I’ll keep an eye on him today.

Miss you

He clicked his phone off and set it aside—hopefully, Sirius wouldn’t be awake for some time yet. They didn’t have practice for two more hours in his time zone. He liked to sleep in on days like that. Remus, on the other hand, had work to do.

Quick eggs and bacon for himself took fifteen minutes. He parked himself at his usual seat without really thinking about it, pulling a dish towel and a fork from their drawers with an absent mind. He hadn’t dared to check his email yet and seriously contemplated leaving it alone until he was back in Gryffindor. Time off was time off. Professional hockey wasn’t big on ‘work from home’.

Jules shuffled in half past ten and made a beeline for the couch.

“Good morning.”

A grunt answered.

“Sleep well?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Want oatmeal?”

Jules’ mumble seemed vaguely affirmative. Remus set the kettle on and dug a pot out of the cupboard, then turned to rummage in the pantry. This was setting up to be a silent morning.

Measuring for a sick preteen was almost as strange as picturing his childhood bedroom as a normal size. Remus had only cooked for himself for years, then himself and Sirius, with the occasional potluck dish for a team dinner or holiday party. A single cup of anything was a novelty. “Want sugar?” he checked once the oats and milk were simmering. Jules snuffled in response, dragging one of the knit blankets further over his head. “Lemme check your temperature and then you can tell me, yeah?”

“Mmkay.”

A quick search of the medicine cabinet revealed no thermometer, and the same went for the hall closet. Remus spent a good five minutes riffling through the bathroom drawers and Jules’ desk before he found it propped against the base of his dolphin lamp. It had been left uncapped; gross. He made sure to give it a thorough wash before moving back into the living room.

“Blanket down.”

“No.”

“I can’t see your mouth. C’mon, just for a second.”

“Cold. Bright.”

“Twenty seconds, J. I promise. You can count.”

The blanket lump shifted. “Twenty?”

“Fifteen. Then I’ll bring your oatmeal over and leave you alone.”

A handful of shallow breaths filled the silence before Jules’ forehead poked out, then his glazed eyes, and finally the lower half of his face. Remus grimaced. His nose was red and chapped from tissues, and a faint crack split the side of his lower lip. “Have you been drinking your water?”

“Fifteen seconds,” Jules slurred.

Remus knew he wasn’t getting a better number than yesterday. Not with this vague lucidity, and not when Jules was hardly able to hold a fragment of a conversation. All the same, it made his gut sink when the thermometer beeped.

“Whuzzat?”

“102.5.”

“ ‘S worse?”

“Yep.”

A resigned nod told him Jules expected as much. The blanket swallowed him up again. Remus pulled it down over his feet before heading back to the kitchen.

Three hours passed with all the rush of a snail on codeine. Jules rallied to choke down his oatmeal before going down for a noon nap, let Remus rouse him to gulp down about a gallon of water, and overall remained sedentary while Remus channel-surfed for anything even slightly interesting on daytime TV. They settled on NCIS from one to 2:30, NCIS: Miami from 2:30 to four (with a brief break for sandwiches, or toast, in Jules’ case), and rounded it out with NCIS: LA while Remus tossed some rotisserie chicken and chopped vegetables in a simmering pot of broth.

“Re?”

“Yeah, bud?” Bisquick puffed over the side of the mixing bowl in a soft cloud.

“My stomach hurts.” Jules’ voice wavered. “And my mouth feels weird.”

Fuck. “Bathroom, hustle.”

The glimpse he caught of Jules before he vanished down the hall confirmed it: pallid skin, dilated pupils, sweat gleaming on the back of his neck. Remus rinsed his hands in the sink and dug the box of Pepto Bismol tablets out of his bag, and sent a silent thanks to whatever small mercy it was that left him without a reactive gag reflex.

He spent twenty minutes sitting sideways with water seeping into his pants from the bathmat. “I’m gonna throw up until I die,” Jules whined, pressing his forehead to Remus’ palm.

“You’re not gonna die. Definitely not while I’m here.” He slid his hand around to press against the nape of Jules’ neck and gave a light squeeze. “You’re almost done. Work it out, buddy.”

“Gonna miss the game?”

Despite the sweat, despite the illness, despite it all—Remus smiled. Of course Jules would be thinking about that when he looked like death warmed over. He wouldn’t be a Lupin with anything else on his mind. “We’ve still got half an hour.”

Jules gave a faint push back into his hand. His lower lip wobbled. “I don’t want to miss it.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it.”

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, but it wasn’t even slightly funny. He took a shuddering inhale and sniffled again, harsher. “I don’t want to be sick anymore, I don’t, I’m so done, I don’t like it.”

“Jules…” The redness had flooded his cheeks and ears, inching down his neck with each horribly choked breath. Jules’ eyes were bright, but not like usual. He blinked and a drip tracked down his nose. His exhale wasn’t much of an exhale at all—it wracked him, made him sway. “Oh,” Remus murmured. “Oh, hey, c’mere.”

The edge of thirteen had left Jules gangly, all bones and joints. He still fit just right in the hollow of Remus’ chest and arms. A shivering, overheated mess, but a mess that fit all the same. Fuck it, Remus thought as he tightened his arms around Jules and let him fall apart in the safe dark. He didn’t care if he got sick. This was the most vital emergency he could possibly think of. If the administration had a problem with that, he’d happily turn his gear in before leaving Jules to burn through this alone.

“I’m tired,” Jules whispered through shuddering breaths. “My head hurts ‘n my stomach hurts ‘n everything else, too.”

“I know, bud, you’re being so brave.”

A damp, wounded noise made Remus wince.

“But hey, you haven’t thrown up in, like, five minutes.”

Jules felt around blindly for a tissue and blew his nose several times before answering. “I guess.”

“You ready to get up? Have some dinner and watch the game?”

“Dizzy.”

“Okay.” He pressed the wrinkles out of Jules’ shirt with his palm and felt him go limp. “I brought some super special secret hockey medicine, if that’ll help.”

“…is it Gatorade?”

“No, but we have that, too.” He rattled the box next to Jules’ ear. “Pepto Bismol. My secret weapon.”

“Nuh-uh. That’s the pink sh—stuff.”

“Nice save,” Remus said dryly. “This is the same. It’s easier to keep down, though. And it works faster.”

“Makes my stomach stop hurting?”

“It might help.”

He waited a beat, then two. A clammy palm extended from the tangle of limbs near his middle. He dropped two of the chalky tabs into it and loosened his hold by a degree, enough for Jules to pop them both in his mouth and frown immediately. “Yuck. It’s crunchy.”

“Keep chewing.”

“Why is it coming apart like that?”

“Keep chewing,” Remus repeated through a light laugh. “Doesn’t work if you talk the whole way through.”

Jules tucked his legs closer to himself, pushing him further into Remus’ lap. As horrible as the past twenty minutes had been, he seemed better for it. The fevered sheen to his face wasn’t quite as nuclear. His breathing sounded more even and controlled.

“You finished?”

“Mhmm.”

Jules might have looked better, but Remus didn’t have the energy to fight the coddling urge this time. He slid his free arm across the back of Jules’ knees and hefted him up like a cat gone boneless, and received no protest whatsoever. Instead, Jules curled into him with a long, relieved sigh. Remus’ heart may have shattered a little.

The pregame show was just wrapping up when he set Jules gingerly on the couch and pulled the blanket around him. Half of his waterbottle was gone in a few desperate swallows; Jules wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and all but collapsed onto the throw pillows, a heap of exhaustion. The belltower by the middle school tolled six. His sandy hair was damp at the root when Remus passed a hand through it. They’d fix that eventually. Fluids first (hockey first), then everything else.

New Message From: SB <3

Heading to the rink. Miss you love you : )

Remus smiled down at his phone as he set Jules’ bowl on the coffee table and folded himself into the armchair.

“Tell Sirius I say hi.”

“He’s literally right there,” Remus laughed, gesturing at the TV. “He’s not gonna see it for ages.”

“Still.” Jules poked around with his spoon for a few seconds before attempting a small sip of broth. An approving nod followed. “It’s good.”

“Glad it meets your standards. Eat. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch.”

Jules’ eye roll was weak, but very much present. “I know, I know.”

“You gotta know that stuff.”

“I’m not gonna be a doctor.”

“Yeah, but you’re still gonna be a person.” Remus cut a dumpling in half with the side of his spoon. “If you don’t know how to feed yourself by the time you move out, I’m totally making fun of you.”

“Whatever.”

They both booed when the Habs skated out, and cheered when the Lions appeared soon after. Jules couldn’t muster much more than a rough whisper, but the soup and a bottle of Gatorade seemed to help. Remus made him get up and stretch during the first period intermission (to immense complaints, but eventual acquiescence) before letting him rest while he washed up in the kitchen.

New Message From: SB <3

First period up.

How’s J?

New Message To: SB <3

Haha yeah we’re watching

Temp’s high, still pretty sick. Getting better tho

Made soup

The response was almost immediate. Remus’ heart skipped at the thought of Sirius glued to his phone even after a rough period, just to chat with him.

New Message From: SB <3

Oooo jealous

New Message To: SB <3

Yeah you should be

It’s a real rager up here

Miss you. Go get ‘em.

A simple heart and hockey stick emoji followed. The grey bubble cycled for a moment before disappearing. That would be the midgame meeting. Remus was glad to be home—wouldn’t trade this—but he had to admit the hockey ache was still there. Even easy choices had consequences.

By the time he looked back, Jules was asleep. Remus checked his forehead as delicately as he could and was pleased to find it slightly cooler than that morning, if altogether too warm. The pattern of creaky floorboards laid a map in his bones as he moved through the house: first to open Jules’ window, then to let his blankets air out, and while he was at it, he may as well wash the sheets. The nightstand and bookshelf needed to be wiped down. It wasn’t hard to get that done while the washer rumbled on the other side of the hall. In the meantime, the soup had cooled enough to pack up in Tupperware to stack in the fridge for later. Who knew if Jules would suddenly get his appetite back? The kid was a bear when he was hungry.

He lingered for the end of the second period and swapped the sheets into the dryer at the start of the third with a cookie and a cup of Emergen-C for himself. He damn well better not catch whatever germs Jules had percolated from the hellscape of middle school. Sirius had called him ‘stubbornly healthy’ on too many occasions for it to be disproven. Besides, the administration might actually fire him if he came back from an emergency and was immediately out for three more games.

“Re?”

The sound of a quiet voice took Remus’ off-guard in the last few minutes of the third period. “What’s up?”

Jules shifted around until he could prop his chin on the throw pillow and blink blearily at Remus. “Did we win?”

“Game’s still going. 4-3, Lions.”

“How much time?”

“Just under five.”

Jules attempted a whistle, though it came out as more of a shaky breath. “Almost there.”

“Dad texted. They’ll be home in a few, traffic was rough.”

“Oh, okay.” A small smile lit his face. He burrowed back under the blanket. “That’s good.”

“They’ve been asking about you all day.”

“Did’ja tell them I was fine?”

“Something like that.” Sort of. Maybe. He had been gentle about it, at least. Gory details would only make them panic.

He made sure to poke Jules awake for the last minute of the game before shepherding him down the hall to brush his teeth and shower. It was only 8:30, but Remus felt weary all the way to his core. He made Jules’ bed while the water ran and tried to tuck the sheets in along the wall a little deeper this time, just in case one tried to end up on the floor again. If he had the time, he may as well do it right, pinched fingers notwithstanding.

It was all worth it when Jules trudged back into his bedroom and threw himself into bed, only to gasp aloud. “Aw, man, this is great.”

“You’re welcome,” Remus laughed.

“Oh, wow.” The bumps of Jules’ feet kicked happily under layers of fabric and down. “It’s all warm, and cozy…”

“Get some sleep,” he reminded him, and turned out the big light. “If you need anything, I’m right next door.”

He made it halfway across Jules’ carpet.

“Wait!”

“What?”

“You—” The faint outline of Jules’ head was backlit by his lamp. Remus could see the shadows of his hands fidgeting with the top blanket. “Will you…can you tell me about the soup stuff? The proteins and all that.”

Remus hesitated. “For real?”

“Yeah,” Jules said with a surprisingly enthusiastic nod. “It sounds cool.”

“I mean—yeah, sure. Uh…” Jules’ desk chair looked wildly uncomfortable for this time of night, so edge of the bed it was, he supposed. The sheets provided a nice cushion when he sat. “Okay, have you ever heard of macromolecules?”

“That’s a made-up word.”

“It’s what you’re made up of, actually. How about DNA? You know that one?”

Lyall opened the front door with a muttered curse for the bitter wind and the worse traffic. It was brutally unfair that the one day he tried to come home early, everything went to hell and kept him an age and a half longer. What kind of karma came after a father trying to get home to his sick kid?

“It’s awfully quiet,” Hope remarked behind him. The door opened at last; warm air rushed over them. “Boys? Are you up?”

The NHL postgame show was playing at a low volume, next to a plate with crumbs on it and a mug so old the pattern had washed off it. One of Hope’s blankets from her knitting phase was haphazardly piled on the couch. The evidence of both of them there, present and accounted for and safe, plucked at his heartstrings. “Why do I feel like this is exactly where they sat for the entire day?”

She shook her head. “Good for them. I’m jealous. Remus? Julian? Are you home?”

Remus’ bedroom door was closed. The bathroom fan was still on, and steam clung to the corners of the mirror next to a still-damp towel. It couldn’t have been long since they went to bed, then. Lyall pushed Julian’s bedroom door open wider and covered his mouth with his palm.

They had nearly rendered each other invisible, save for Remus’ legs stretched over the side of the bed and Julian’s arm resting atop his pile of blankets. Julian’s congested snoring drowned out the heavy, even rhythm of Remus’ breathing. As far as he could tell, only one of them had actually been prepared for bed.

“Oh my goodness,” Hope whispered at his shoulder. Her grin was radiant, even half-covered by her palm. “I don’t want to move them.”

“Re’s going to wake up with one hell of a side cramp if we let him sleep like that.”

“You do it, then.”

“…no.”

Hope scoffed fondly and tossed her hands in the air, then kissed him on the jaw as she stepped deeper into the bedroom. The whole place felt lighter, Lyall noticed. Julian had been holed up in here for two days, refusing to come out for anything but necessities. Whatever Remus had done, it worked wonders.

“Remus,” Hope singsonged in her quietest voice. She shook his shoulder, soft enough that for a moment, Lyall forgot Remus wasn’t a toddler anymore. “Baby, you need to wake up. It’s bedtime.”

“ ‘M asleep,” Remus mumbled without opening his eyes. “In my bed.”

“This isn’t your bed, lovey,” she laughed. “Come on, up you go.”

“Goin’ to sleep, promise.” His eyelashes fluttered, nose crinkling. “Talking ‘bout—‘bout proteins. Jules wanted to know.”

At the head of the bed, Julian didn’t show so much as a hint of waking. Lyall stepped forward and braced his hands under Remus’ arms, then hoisted him into a sitting position as gently as he could manage with the unexpected weight of an athlete to counterbalance him.

Remus jolted, startling into consciousness. “Woah—”

“Shh, shh.” Lyall helped him stand on clumsy legs and guided him to the door with a last playful glance at Hope. “I’ve got you, buddy.”

“Fell asleep.” Remus blinked hard. “Jules’ bed. Wanted me to stay. Time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

“Oh, god, ‘s early.” A yawn overtook him, spilling more of his weight into Lyall. He didn’t seem to know where his own feet were, but he went easily into the room next door.

“Alright,” Lyall huffed as he helped Remus stumble toward the bed and splay over the mattress. That old thing was definitely too small for him these days. Funny, how times changed so rapidly. That same bed used to make Remus look like nothing more than a pile of sheets. “Brush your teeth?”

A drawn-out snore answered him.

Lyall smiled to himself in the darkness and ruffled the back of Remus’ hair. “Night, Re.”

A single socked foot twitched in response. That was good enough for him.

(Jules’ fever broke the next morning. By the end of the day, he was well enough to go with them to the airport and give Remus the fiercest goodbye hug either of them had experienced, with a pinky-promise that the Lions would win the next game he played.)

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