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)
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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.”
