#guinness

[daily-deliciousness]

SIMPLE Irish guinness beef stew

[fullcravings]

Guinness Chocolate Cake

[djkerr]

Noah Wyle in London takes the Guinness challenge and tries splitting the G 🍺

📹 hbomaxuk IG

[paulcirigliano]

[apologize-to-no-one]

[in-my-feels-probably]

plssss literally only one other person is writing fics for House of Guinness so thank you for joining the crusade 🙏 i dont have a specific plot in mind but anything sean rafferty x f!reader. thank you in advance <3

Real House

Request: plssss literally only one other person is writing fics for House of Guinness so thank you for joining the crusade 🙏 i dont have a specific plot in mind but anything sean rafferty x f!reader. thank you in advance <3

Hi! Thank you for the request. As you can tell from the title, I was listening to Adrianne Lenker when I was brainstorming. I didn’t really spend much time coming up with an idea, so hopefully it doesn’t suck lol. This is my first time writing for Rafferty, so bear with me while I get the hang of his character. I wrote this pretty quick so please excuse any messy plots, I just really wanted to write something for this show and get it out quick. Hope you like it :)

(Warnings: swearing, very vague allusions to sex and unhappily arranged marriage, not very proofread lol, let me know if i missed anything)

—

The words of the clerk reading your Father’s will still swirled in your mind, your breath coming quick and angry, your footsteps heavy as you haphazardly hurried down the sidewalk, for once with no butlers or servants in tow. Granted, it wasn’t your brightest idea, but you were too flustered to think rationally.

To my youngest daughter, I leave her in the care of her eldest brothers.

He’d left you nothing. No estate, no land, no pension, no trust, no salary. Not even a dowry to be set aside until the right man came along to claim it.

With no marriage or heirs impending, I see no reason to allocate an estate or funds to her personally. She will remain at Iveagh House, her stay up to her brother's discretion. Should she choose to start a family one day, I leave her maintenance and upkeep to the decision of my eldest son, Arthur, whom I know will take care of her as his ward until the time comes. If he chooses, he may grant her a small sum of money and/or one of the previously listed smaller estates he will inherit upon accepting his claim to the brewery. If not, I trust that she will marry well and flourish on her own, her maintenance then transferred to and the responsibility of her chosen husband. My brightest child must carve her own way. I know she will not disappoint.

You were absolutely fuming, your feet carrying you nearly as fast as your mind was moving.

How could he do this to you?

Even your baby brother Benjamin, a notorious fuck up, was granted an annual salary. Anne wasn’t left with anything of value either, but she was already married. Her husband was salaried by the family, her security bound to his. Your Father had made sure when selecting your older sister’s husband to choose someone who would have ambition for more. The harder he worked, the more he earned. The more he earned, the better he took care of her. It was quite the cycle that your Father had thought he was a genius for creating.

And it wasn’t as if she’d be destitute without him. She and your Aunt Agnes oversaw much of the company despite not being the faces of it. Their hands dipped into the funds regularly, always under the guise of necessity. They had regular access, unlike you.

You? You were too young for such responsibility — at least, according to your Father.

You just wouldn’t do, milling over accounts and paperwork like a secretary. “You’re meant for more, my dear,” he’d always tell you. And then he died, never quite managing to tell you exactly what his intentions and expectations were for your future.

Lucky you.

Now, your future was entirely dependent on the grace of your brothers.

It was a thought that wasn’t too worrying as of yet. Both had soft spots for you, treating you gently and fondly. But how long would that last when you became nothing to them but a burden?

You had the Guinness name, but what was that without the wealth backing it? A mere title, the facade of success. With no land or property of your own, you had no incentive. Any ambitious lords looking to make their way up in the world had nothing to strive towards owning. You didn’t even have a dowry. Your Father hadn’t done you the kindness of leaving you with something, anything. What pompous lord would want you if all you were to them was a pretty face? No opportunity for more, no promise of a better station. Who would want you now? He’d left you stranded.

You highly doubted that Arthur would ever disown you, but he was an independent man. He enjoyed his space and freedom away from the strains of his position as the new head of the family. He wouldn’t want his little sister constantly breathing down his neck, a constant reminder of everything he couldn’t have. He loved you, he truly did. But your biggest fear was that he’d one day grow to resent you. So much so, that maybe he wouldn’t think twice about marrying you off to a lesser but still respectable lord that wouldn’t have any ambition for your family’s wealth, just to get you out of his house. You’d end up a pretty little wife on his arm, a porcelain doll for him to parade around Dublin society and a toy to play with at night.

The thought made you sick to your stomach.

You continued down the sidewalk, lungs burning and eyes stinging with unshed tears as you continued down the road with no destination in sight.

The irony was not lost on you when you finally found sanctuary in the brewery — the one true love of your Father’s life. You let out a very unladylike laugh, slipping around to the back gate the night crews often left unlocked. They weren’t an invitation to break in despite the lack of manpower manning the doors, however.

The guard dogs on alert at their posts were more than enough security.

You heard the familiar rumble of a growl deep in a Doberman’s chest as you rounded the corner, only for it to transition into a playful whine when it caught your scent.

You had treats.

“There’s a good boy,” you grinned, slipping him a bone from the skirt pockets of your dress. “Keep up the good work.”

You chuckled to yourself as you made your way up the stairs to Edward’s office. It was nightfall now, and you were talking to a dog. And he happened to be the only male attention you were interested in gaining tonight. He came with soft fur and a wagging tail, and he’d been known to bite off some very unfortunate parts of those brave enough to attempt getting past him. If it were up to you, you’d have chosen him as the companion you were now expected to find. He didn’t care about your lack of prospects, so long as you brought him a bone to chew on and gave him a pat on the head or two. What’s not to like?

You unceremoniously shoved open the door to Edward’s office, slumping down into his chair at the desk. You took a deep breath, one that felt like the first worthwhile inhale since you left your siblings after the reading of the will. Recalling the events of the day suddenly seemed like a monumental task. What had you been doing since leaving this morning? Wandering around the city in a clouded haze? The thought would have been more unsettling if you weren’t so frustrated. You sat for a while, fiddling with the inkwell at the edge of the desk.

Just as you thought you’d mustered up the courage to return to the inevitable life (and probably worried siblings) back home, the office door swung open with a bang. Startled, you accidentally knocked over the inkwell onto the hardwood floor, cursing when it splattered up onto your dress. You quickly dropped to your knees while pulling off your gloves, attempting to blot up the ink with your skirt fabric before it left any permanent stains on the expensive furniture.

The sight of you crumpled up on the floor, flustered and frantically wiping up the mess you’d made with your own dress, made Rafferty’s chest tighten more than it should’ve.

“Miss Guinness,” he murmured, closing the door behind him. “What are you doing here? It’s late, and you’re alone.”

You let out a long sigh, your eyes beginning to burn again no matter how much you willed them to stop. “Cleaning up my mess.”

“I can see that. You know that’s not what I meant, lass,” Rafferty cracked a grin, and he may have even laughed if he wasn’t first and foremost concerned about you being here alone and clearly upset. “I saw the light on. There’s no blood in the courtyard, so that mutt of yours didn’t catch anyone breaking in to maul. Figured it must’ve been one of you lot.”

Your silence only concerned him further. After watching your pathetic attempts at wiping up the ink, he finally dropped to his knees beside you, gently nudging you out of the way.

“Here,” he directed, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to finish blotting up the ink that hadn’t dried down yet. “You’re ruining your dress.”

“I have others,” you replied, no warmth in your tone or light in your eyes.

Although his official position employed by your family was as a foreman, Rafferty had essentially become a glorified babysitter for you and your siblings. He kept Arthur safe at public events, ran errands for Edward when he was too busy to do them himself, made sure Benjamin wasn’t face down in a ditch somewhere after one of his benders. He’d even serviced your sister, if her words were to be true, which you had no doubt of. She wasn’t one for white lies, and sleeping with the help certainly wouldn’t be worth lying about if it wasn’t true.

There were two universal truths that were undeniable in this world. Servants talk, and women talk — your sister always made sure what she had to say was worthwhile.

In your case, Rafferty had become somewhat of a friend to you. He’d never admit it to your face, but even he’d come to view you as more than an employer. He wasn’t sure when, but getting paid had become a backburner component to your relationship somewhere along the way.

You liked to venture around the city, and you needed protection. You couldn’t keep taking Mr. Potter from his post every time you wanted to go for a walk. He had a house to run, and a family to serve. But Mr. Rafferty? He had time to spare, and pockets to fill. So he spent much of his day, when he was not in use by one of your siblings, by your side. And although he enjoyed whinging and grumbling about having better uses of his time than to entertain your little dalliances, he found himself begrudgingly enjoying your company.

To find you without the usual twinkle in your eye and mischievous grin on your face? He had to fight the urge to make whoever was responsible for taking it from you end up in the river for the fishermen to find the next morning.

He sighed, voice low and quiet. “Don’t make me ask again, Miss Guinness.”

“Don’t make me talk about it, Mr. Rafferty.”

He let out a gruff breath, eventually lowering himself all the way to the floor to sit next to you. You sat in mutual silence for a while, having occupied yourself with a loose thread coming loose from the sleeve of his coat. He let you pick at it, his hardened gaze set on you while you refused to meet his eyes.

“You need a new coat,” you finally said, tucking the loose thread up into his sleeve.

He stiffened at the contact, trying not to let it show on his face how your touch affected him. Seeing you without gloves was a rare occurrence, and one he was very much not accustomed to. He let you continue to fuss over him until you were content, straightening the cuffs of his coat.

“Haven’t got the money.”

You finally met his gaze at that, raising a brow.

How was that possible? As far as you knew, he was compensated quite well for his duties in service of your family. He should’ve had plenty of money leftover after paying off the necessities each month. Was there something you were missing?

“Wasted it all on that one earring, huh?” You mused, delighting in the way the corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile despite his clear attempt to prevent them from doing so. “I’ll have to talk to Arthur, then. See if we can get you the money for that second earring too. You need the matching set.”

He tried to protest, but you were quick to cut him off. “Spring is coming, the weather is turning. I’ll be wanting to go on more walks. I’m sure my brother will want to make sure I have the best hired protection with me on my little adventures, yes?”

After a few seconds, his tense shoulders relaxed and he nodded. “I’d expect so. Clever girl. Very business minded.”

The smile fell from your face at the reminder. Your Father clearly thought you were clever, too. Why else would he leave you to practically fend for yourself? He must’ve thought you quite capable. That, or he hated you the most. You cleared your throat, pushing the thought to the side.

“We donated some of Father’s clothes to the church. Aunt Agnes wanted to make sure we remained philanthropic and generously perceived. But we kept a few of his things tucked away. You’re too tall for Arthur’s old coats, too broad for Edward’s. It’ll be snug, but I think I can find one of Father’s for you to use. If you want. Actually, no. I insist. My name is still Guinness. I get to insist upon things.”

His gray eyes shimmered in the candlelight. “Well, if you insist. Who am I to deny you your right to insist?”

A genuine smile crept up onto your face. There wasn’t much in your day to day life that made you genuinely smile. You’d carefully crafted the one you put on in front of polite company, like a mask that the performers down at the opera house used on stage. Every aristocrat in Dublin had mastered the art of the feigned smile. But it was rare for the unpracticed one to break through.

Funnily enough, Mr. Rafferty was one of the only ones who’d ever seen it, aside from your family. You didn’t let it out to play often. It was too lopsided and toothy, too childish. Too unpolished for a lady of your standing. Your Aunt would’ve had it beaten out of you the second you reached maturity if she could’ve.

But here you were, grinning like an idiot. On the floor of your brother’s office, in a brewery you had absolutely no claim to whatsoever. Ink stains on your dress and hands, some now somehow smudged across your nose from where you must’ve bumped it.

And you couldn’t have looked any more beautiful — Rafferty was sure of it.

“Go on,” he finally mused, nudging your leg with his. “I know the reading of the will was today. I know I wasn’t summoned to take you on your afternoon walk today, and I know your brother will have my head if I return his sister to him in anything but satisfactory condition. So, for the sake of my head, speak. Now.”

Normally, you would’ve put up more of a fight. Made him work for it, made him dance around it until he was sufficiently annoyed and you were satisfied with your torment. Maybe it was your exhaustion, or maybe it was the commanding tone he used. Maybe it was the fact that he was the first person all day to ask you how you were feeling and sound like he meant it, despite you having spent the entire morning with your family who hadn’t bothered to check. Maybe it was a combination of all those things. But you couldn’t help yourself, finally opening up to him.

“Father didn’t leave me anything.”

He scoffed, raising a brow. “Nothing? Be realistic, lass. Always thought you didn’t have a flair for the dramatics like the rest of your family.”

“I’m serious,” you huffed, pulling your knees up to your chest. “He didn’t leave me anything. No land, no estate, no trust, no salary, no pension, no staff. Not even a dowry.”

“…You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

Rafferty looked at you for a long while, his face scrunched up in the way it always did when he was analyzing something. You fought the urge to squirm under his gaze, almost to the point of telling him off when he finally shifted and stood up.

You frowned, dejected and a bit whiny. “Where are you going?”

“To get you a drink,” he replied, going over to the whiskey decanter to pour you both a glass. “God knows you need one.”

You huffed out a laugh, watching him as he returned to his spot on the floor, plopping himself down with a grunt. You took a sip from your glass, trying not to grimace at the way the liquor burned in your chest.

“There’s a perfectly good couch over there. We don’t have to sit on the floor.”

He smirked, taking a long sip. “When in Rome.”

You scoffed, chuckling. “Just because I’m on the floor doesn’t mean you have to be.”

“And leave a lady unaccompanied?” he feigned offense, setting his glass down next to him. “My Mother is turning over in her grave.”

You sat in a comfortable silence for another moment, trying not to let your mind wander too far. He’d always been good at rooting the truth out of you. A clear grimace was just cannon fodder.

He let out a breath, clearing his throat once more. “I assume the rest of the family was satisfied with the outcome?”

“Not exactly. Edward and Arthur are chained together now, it seems. Father made it so that they both had to inherit the brewery and accept their positions there, or any agreement that money and property would be given to them would be considered void.”

Rafferty couldn’t help but let out a real laugh at that, his grin widening. “Of course he did. The smug bastard. No offense, of course. Don’t want to speak ill of the dead, do we? It’s bad luck.”

“He’s lucky one of us doesn’t dance on his grave.”

He took another sip, motioning for you to do the same. “And the others?”

“Anne wasn’t given any real value, but she retains what she and her husband were given when they got married. She’s taken an advisory position with our Aunt, so she’ll still have access and oversight. Benjamin was given a small annual salary to live on until he proves he can handle more.”

It was silent another moment as he thought over the contents of the will and the effects it had on each of your siblings. You watched the idea churn in his head, waiting to hear his thoughts. Finally, he laughed.

“You got fucked.”

Jamming an elbow into his ribs, you finished off the last of your glass. “Glad you think it’s funny, you ass.”

Despite the assault on his side, he still let out hearty laughs, one after the other. His eyes crinkled, a hand coming up to his stomach — laughing was causing the good kind of pain. The kind that made your sides ache and your ribs tough. If it wasn’t at your own expense, you would’ve thought the sound was beautiful coming from a man like him. You doubted he got to laugh much.

“You know,” he finally managed to say, wiping under his eyes. “When I came in here and saw that look on your face, I had one thought. Who do I have to murder? But I can’t exactly do anything about your dead father, can I?”

“How gallant of you to offer.”

His chuckles eventually died down, a small grin on his face. It wasn’t often you let yourself look at him, really look at him. But there was no denying it. He was beautiful. He easily could’ve been a rake, a heartbreaker, an absolute wrecking ball in your life. He could obliterate it like a stack of dynamite if you let him.

Without thinking about it, he reached up to wipe away the ink you’d smeared across your nose. It had dried down, and a quick swipe of his thumb wiped away the excess. But you didn’t need to know that. Rafferty pretended to have more left to wipe up, relishing in the unbridled chance to touch you. He gently rubbed your cheek, his hand big enough to cradle your jaw at the same time. It was as if all the air had been sucked from your lungs, and by the look of his stiff posture, the same seemed to be happening to him.

He finally pulled away, joining his hands in his lap to keep himself from reaching for you. “No dowry?”

“No dowry,” you repeated, your eyes following the movement of his hands down into his lap. “Father left my future stability up to my brothers. I’m Arthur’s ward until he gets sick of me and marries me off to whoever’s willing.”

His face hardened, his jaw clenching. “Don’t say that.”

“Don’t speak the truth? We can hide behind whatever false pretenses and pretty words we like, it doesn’t change the facts. I’m a Guinness heir with nothing but a hollow title. No money of my own, no prospects, no wealth and security. Who will want me without an inheritance attached? A merchant comfortable enough to add a wife into the mix? An old and gray widower not interested in any more money, but a young girl to warm his bed? My brother may love me, but he won’t be responsible for me forever. I know him. Eventually, he’ll make a decision on my behalf, and I won’t have a say. He’ll deduce my value and act accordingly.”

The more you gushed, the angrier you got. But worse than that, the more scared you got. Your voice shook with fear, eyes wide with fright. A chill ran up Rafferty’s spine as you were finally honest with him, too exhausted to keep up appearances. He had made his jokes, but the severity of the situation was beginning to dawn on him.

Your Father really had fucked you over — and you were terrified.

His hands clenched into fists in his lap as you continued, grimacing at the sight of the tears in your waterline. He prayed to a god he didn’t much believe in, willing them not to fall. He didn’t know what he would do if you burst into tears in front of him. He hadn’t even seen you shed fake ones in the chapel at the funeral, thank fuck. He was sure the sight of your tears, fake or not, would’ve nauseated him.

You took in a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “Mr. Rafferty…Sean, I’m scared.”

You hadn’t let yourself admit the fact out loud yet. But now that you had, you wished you could take it back. You could feel yourself crumbling, immediately wanting to shrink away from his pitying gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that—”

“Like what?” he snapped, tilting your chin back up with a firm grip when you wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Like I care? Is that so hard to believe? I’m on the payroll, so I must not give a shit about you?”

You shook your head, voice pleading. “I didn’t say that—”

“You think I’d let anyone hurt you, pompous lord or not?”

A pathetic whimper tore itself from your throat. You couldn’t find the words, unable to do anything but listen as a cold rage steeped into his form.

“I don’t protect you because it’s my job. I don’t protect you because it’s in my best interest as an employee of the family. I don’t ensure your wellbeing just to secure my own. Haven’t you figured that out by now? You’re supposed to be the clever one.”

Unable to stop himself, he took one of your hands in his own, his grip bruising. But you clung to him all the same, hung up on every word.

“I don’t care what man it is that tries to hurt you, rich or not, lord or not. Wealth is a powerful thing, but it’s a glass shield. One chip in the armor, and you can count on me finding it and breaking through. There’s one thing that’s certain — all men bleed. And if one has the gall to hurt a hair on your pretty little head, I’ll paint the streets red. That, I can promise you. I can’t give you much, but I can give you that.”

The thought should’ve terrified you. Earning the affections of a man so violent, so callous, should have scared you out the door. But it didn’t. God help you, it didn’t. If anything, it just made you want him that much more. He was dangerous, he was crude, he was hardened by life. The callouses on his hands told you as much, you could feel them as his hands came up to cradle your face. He was so many things that should have been enough reason to walk away.

But how could you when he was holding you like you’d crumble in his hands if he applied even an ounce of pressure more? How could you pull away when he was looking at you with such gentleness and affection in his eyes that you were rendered speechless? How could you stay away?

The answer was simple. Easy, even — you couldn’t.

“You know we can’t,” you murmured, but you were already leaning into his touch. “You know that.”

He couldn’t help but smile, practically melting as you settled into his hold. “I know lots of things. So do you. Why don’t we forget about a few of those things for a little while? Yeah?”

You were sure you’d probably regret it some time in the future, but that was a problem for later. Right now, you were here, he was here, and he was breathtaking. For once in your life, you let go. Rather than do the right thing, the noble thing, the expected thing…you did what you wanted to do. And right now, you wanted him.

You hummed, letting him gently pull you closer as if you didn’t have a care in the world. “Mhm. Yeah.”

Rafferty could’ve soared.

He smiled a genuine smile, rubbing his thumb along your cheek. “There she is. You really are a clever girl.”

[runawayolives]

Hi can I please request a fluffy Arthur Guinness x fem!reader ?

One where reader and Arthur are married. Arthur is in a bad mood, stressed with the campaign etc and just being grumpy with everyone around him. People get sick of it and it falls to reader to calm him which he does because he's just a man in love blah blah blah 😍

In the good and in the bad

Pairing: Arthur Guinness x F!reader

Summary: the request

AN: this is my first Arthur Guinness request, I hope you like it! Also, requests remain open, if anyone wants to send anything, don’t be a stranger!

The sounds of Arthur’s yells were reaching all of the rooms in the Guinness household, making all members stiff and ready to flee if they were to be encountered with the furious firstborn son of Benjamin Guinness. Ever since the funeral and the reading of the will, Arthur Guinness and his wife, Y/N Guinness née McCallister were still trying to adapt to not being the only people in their home. After five years in London, the couple of Dubliners were remembering how boring this city was, as opposed to the capital they had been living in. It was an undeniable fact that Iveagh House was far larger than the home they had bought in London, but it was theirs, decorated how they wanted, and with the staff they wanted.

Y/N, after listening to the reading of the will beside her husband, had decided to show a strong front for the sake of their sanity. Arthur was counting on taking his father’s seat in parliament, going back to the home they had made on their own and starting with kids (more for the entertainment he found in outspoken children than the idea of heirs), but that had been completely shattered when Benjamin had shackled both sons together, intertwining Arthur and Edward for the foreseeable future. Y/N had decided to take the radical change with as much grace as she could muster, but it was true that some days were harder than others. Luckily for her, today she had woken up in good spirits, counterpointing her husband's outbursts on the other side of the building. 

Sitting on a chaise lounge with knitting needles in her hands, she had been working on a small blanket for Anne’s baby, whose existence had been known a few weeks prior. The white wool was a perfect color for the child, but the piece kept wrapping into itself, making her somewhat frustrated at the shape it was taking. While she was stretching the knit, Anne barged into the room, closing the door as quickly as possible. Both women looked at each other, the older one shaking her head and the younger smiling softly. 

“I swear he has become worse as time passes.” Anne moved away from the door, walking to sit on the other side of the chaise. “How have you been doing this for five years?” Y/N left the knit on her lap, shifting to face her sister by law and her closest friend in Iveagh.

“This has just started, London has been completely different.” Anne scrunched her face, confusion evident in her pale features.

“He is the same as he was before you left, but somehow worse.” Y/N shrugged, not fully knowing what to say.

“I mean- We had a low-stress lifestyle in London, his only possible chance to anger was cricket or the result of the horse races. Now he feels suffocated, none of you have gotten out of the will what you expected.” She picked up a small piece of lint from her skirt, black thread that was possibly his. “And now the campaign isn’t going as he expected, so this is how he is externalising it.” Anne looked at her with a bewildered look. “I will talk to him.” 

“Honestly, the Guinness name is only alive because of the two of us. Leave it to the three of them, with Rafferty, to destroy the family.” Y/N picked up her knitting again, starting to twist the yarn in the familiar fashion her mother had taught her.

Comfortable silence engulfed them, Anne taking out of her small pouch a book of prayers that she had gotten from the church. Not long had passed before a sound of something coming into impact with a wall made both women look up from their distractions. They looked at each other and sighed. Footsteps that were moving at a quick pace became louder by the second, the owner of such movements clearly running down the hallway. 

Edward stormed into the room, looking at both women and then focusing on her brother’s wife. “He has lost all control.” Closing the door behind him and standing in front of the woman, he crouched down to meet her gaze. “Between the election and the brewery, he has lost it, Y/N, I swear.”

Y/N looked at Edward, knowing what he was asking of her. “You want me to go?” He nodded solemnly. “Where is he?”

“In dad’s office.”

Standing decisively, Y/N left the baby blanket on the coffee table beside the chaise, walking to grab the door. Once her hand was touching the handle, she turned to both siblings. “If we don’t show up for supper, don’t expect us.” She smiled one last time and swiftly moved to where the sounds of crashes were coming from. 

On her way there, she encountered one of the maids walking away from the office, and she gently stopped her. “Mary, how is he?”

Big brown eyes met hers, doe-like with shock coating them. “He demanded I leave the room. I have never seen him this angry.” Nodding, she gently thanked Mary and left her to keep walking towards her objective. 

The tall mahogany door was closed, but in its state it couldn’t stop the sounds that were coming from the room. She wondered if she should knock, but she quickly got rid of that thought – what help would that be? Opening the door, she was met with her husband’s back, shoulders pulled back and his upper body moving to his deep ragged breaths. 

“I said to get out.” His tone had progressively gotten louder with every word he said, ending the sentence with a shout. 

Y/N rolled her eyes and sat on one of the chairs near the entrance, beside the world globe that showed perfectly New York and Dublin. “It’s only me, Arthur.” Recognising her voice, the man turned around to face her. 

“Oh.” He walked tentatively closer to her while he was visibly trying to calm down. Finally nearing her, he spoke again. “We live surrounded by idiots.” 

Usually, when Arthur would speak like this of his family, Y/N would first negate that thought, pointing out the virtues of his siblings, but this time, something told her that that wasn’t the subject of importance. Noticing the poster split in half, she stood to walk to it, passing Arthur in the process. 

“Why do you have an Abe Lincoln propaganda poster on the floor?” Even if that had been one object of his ire, the fact that his wife had thought the same exact thing made Arthur smile gently. “It's not Lincoln.” Moving her head to the side to get a better view, she snickered, “It’s you?”

She turned only her head to look at him, a soft laugh leaving her mouth. He walked forwards to stand behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist and leaning his head on her shoulder. “My thoughts exactly.” Y/N responded by putting her hands over his, which were placed on her lower stomach. “This Byron bastard is not as competent as he sold himself to be.”

“Well, I have eyes that work and I think I know the basics for a good campaign poster, we will fix that eventually.” She was about to move to reach for the discarded piece of paper, but her husband’s tightening grip stopped her movements. “I only want to get it, love.” 

“Leave it there, it doesn’t deserve your attention.” Y/N felt his lips move against her shoulder ,muting slightly the sound of his voice. “But I do.” 

“Do you?” She felt his nose and moustache tickling her neck, the result of him pressing her face deeper against her skin. 

“Don’t be like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Mean.” She shifted in his arms, moving completely to face him. Arthur moved to place his head where it was, but Y/N held him away from her by his shoulders.

“Mean is what you have been to everyone in this house.” Arthur groaned, rolling his eyes. “You have made the atmosphere stiff and unwelcoming for your siblings and our staff.” He shrugged her off him to go and sit on the loveseat near the table with the bottle of whisky. Once he was sat, he patted the space beside him, signaling that he wanted her to join him. 

She crossed her arms, unknowingly emphasising her bust more, which made Arthur smile at her attempt to be imposing. Taking a deep breath and letting a small smile reach her lips, she moved forwards to join him. Immediately after she sat down, Arthur was already moving to place his head on her lap, using her legs and her skirts as a cushion. Making himself comfortable, Y/N thought of the similarities between Arthur and a cat, but didn’t bother vocalising them. Once he had stopped moving his head to find the perfect spot, she placed her hand in his hair, playing with the brown curls that had already broken from their brushed state. 

“I miss home.” 

“You are home.” Arthur moved once again, this time to look into her eyes.

“I mean our home, the house we bought and put so much time into it for it to be ours.” He grabbed her hand to play with her fingers. “Every single time I wake up in the mornings, I can’t stop thinking about this not being what I promised you.” He kissed her knuckles. “I told you that we were going to leave Dublin, that we would live in London, that we would travel the world before we settled down to have kids.” He grabbed her other hand and shifted again to his side, so that she had her arms wrapped around him. “I feel like I have trapped you. I know I have trapped you. And I always think I should send you home, where you belong, but then I realize that that would take me away from you, and I selfishly make you stay with me.”

“In the good and in the bad, Arthur.” Now he laid perfectly still. “That’s what I promised you, darling. In the good and in the bad.” She took back one of her hands to gently stroke his face, just like her mother would do to her when she was in distress. “Even if I wanted to go back to London, which, surprisingly, I don’t, I would not leave you here. Arthur, we are a team, and we stick together.”

Her husband started absentmindedly playing with the fabric of her skirt. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Now you are just being foolish.” 

“I don’t. Look at you, gentle, patient, kind. And here I am, crashing over a harp logo and a campaign poster.” She stopped her stroking, which made him lowly whimper. 

“I am proud, stubborn and unsubmissive.”

“You are beautiful, smart and interesting.”

“You are funny, loving and fair.” This made Arthur shift to look at her, the small wrinkle between his brows making itself visible. “Why do you think my dowry was so large?” 

“I don’t remember your dowry. I was too focused on other things.” His suggestive smile made her laugh. 

“Well, to remind you, my father was desperate to marry me off. I had had four courtships before you.” The frown came back to his features.

“I don’t know how that is supposed to make me feel better.”

“What I’m trying to say, you jealous man, is that no one wanted to marry me, and father was growing desperate.” His arched brow showed that he was still having a hard time seeing what she was trying to say. “You, Arthur Guinness, showed up at my father’s home and asked for my hand. Knowing that I talk back, I stand my ground and that I was never going to yield to you.” 

“Anyone with a brain would have married you.” 

“Evidently not. And yet you did. And you have given me the happiest six years of my life.” He finally sat back, both of their faces to the same level, and coming impossibly close to the other. “So what if we’ve had a small setback? So what if we have to start all over again in Dublin? We will do it together, like we have always done.”

“I love you.”

“I love you most, Arthur Guinness.” The kiss was unlike the ones they were used to giving each other, passionate with crashing teeth and world-shattering. This one was soft, tentative, as if they were doing it for the first time again. And somewhat, they were. 

A.N: I hope you liked it Anon! I had so much fun writing this!