#Are You Prepared For Tax Season

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Are You Prepared For Tax Season?

Are You Prepared For Tax Season? Howard Dagley, CPA is here to help you weather the coming tax season in 2024. Don’t be one of those last minute filers! Take the stress out of your taxes this year by preparing well in advance. If you don’t feel like wrestling with your taxes this coming April, call Howard today. Call the best CPA in SCV & SFV today and put your tax woes behind you this fall. Call…

[xtruss]

Tax Prep Checklist 2024: What Do You Need to File Taxes?

— Aly A. Yale | Reviewed By Robert Thorpe | February 06, 2024 | Newsweek

Tax season is quickly approaching, and whether you file your returns yourself or enlist a professional for help, having the proper documents on hand will be necessary. These documents ensure a quick and accurate filing, which can lead to a faster tax refund for some. Want to make sure your tax filing goes off without a hitch? Use this tax prep checklist to guide the way.

Vault’s Viewpoint

There are five categories of documents you’ll need as you file your tax returns: personal information, income, deductions, credits and payments.

You’ll need information for you, your spouse (if filing your returns together) and your dependents.

Banks, lenders and your employer send many documents to you automatically, but there are some you may need to pull yourself.

Personal Information

The first set of documents you’ll need detail personal information for you, your spouse (if married and filing your returns together) and your children or other dependents.

Social Security Cards For You, Your Spouse and Your Dependents

The Internal Revenue Service (IRS) needs a way to identify you as a unique taxpayer, and for most people, this requires a Social Security number (SSN). You’ll also need your spouse’s SSN if filing your returns jointly, the SSNs for any dependents you have and the SSN of the paying party if you receive alimony or child support payments.

If you file your returns as a business owner, are a nonresident or resident alien or a paid tax preparer, you’ll likely use a unique tax identification number instead. You can apply for these directly through the IRS.

Bank Account Numbers

You’ll need to put in your bank account’s routing and account numbers when filing your return. This will allow the IRS to directly deposit your refund once it’s been processed. You can find these numbers in several places, such as on your bank statements, online after logging into your account at your bank or at the bottom of a check linked to your account (The first number listed is your bank’s routing number; the second is your account number.)

A Copy of Your Last Tax Return

This isn’t required, but it can be helpful to have past returns on hand as you file your new one. It can be a quick way to look up information, and it may also remind you of what deductions and credits you’re eligible for. You may also be able to use the return to auto-populate your tax return information if you’re using online tax software.

Form 8332 if You Share Custody of a Child

If you share custody of a child and are planning to claim them as a dependent on your taxes, you’ll need Form 8332, as it proves the other custodial parent has released their right to claim the child as a dependent.

Income

You’ll need to show your sources of income on your tax returns. This can include full- or part-time employment, freelance work, unemployment earnings or alimony payments. Many of these documents will be mailed to you or delivered electronically by the government, your employer or clients, or your bank by the end of January. Some documents, though, you may need to produce yourself.

W-2s

A W-2—or Wage and Tax Statement—is a form you’ll get from your employer annually. It details how much income you earned, the taxes they withheld from your paychecks, details about your benefits and more.

Form 1099-NEC or 1099-MISC

If you’re self-employed or earned income from side gigs, contracting work, freelancing or other jobs that don’t come with a W-2, you should get a 1099-NEC or 1099-MISC form that details how much you earned from each client every year. Clients don’t have to report payments under $600 to the IRS, though. So if you only earned a small amount from one, you may have to rely on bank statements to report these earnings accurately.

Form 1099-R or SSA-1099

If you received Social Security benefits or distributions from pensions or retirement accounts, you should get a 1099-R or SSA-1099, also called a benefit statement, detailing how much you earned in any given year. You can also pull your SSA-1099 at SSA.gov.

Proof of Alimony or Child Support Received

If you received alimony or child support payments from a former spouse or other party during the year, you will need to report these payments as income on your tax return. You’ll need the total amount you received, as well as the payer’s SSN or tax ID number.

Profit and Loss Statements

Business owners need a profit and loss statement, which details business expenses and revenue across the year. You can typically get this from your accountant or bookkeeper, or you can create one yourself by gathering details about your operating costs, overhead expenses, earnings and profits.

1099-G

If you received unemployment income in the tax year you’re filing for, you should get a 1099-G form detailing how much you were paid. You also may get a 1099-G if you receive any state or local income tax refunds.

1099-INT, 1099-DIV or 1099-B

Taxpayers who receive interest payments on savings, investment, checking or other types of financial accounts will receive a 1099-INT. This form reports the full amount of interest earned across the year. This is considered taxable income on your returns.

If you earned money from dividends or distributions from any investments, you will also get a 1099-DIV. And if you sold any capital assets, like stocks, bonds or other securities, you’ll receive a 1099-B. This will detail your gains and losses on those assets, which could result in additional tax liabilities.

1099-S

If you sold real estate in the last year, you may receive a 1099-S, which details the closing date and the proceeds of the sale.

1099-Q

Taxpayers who receive money from a 529 education plan or Coverdell education savings account (ESA) will need a 1099-Q. This form shows your total distributions, their base costs and the earnings you received on your initial investment.

1099-SA

If you received distributions from a Health Savings Account, Medicare Medical Savings Account or Archer Medical Savings Account at any point in the year, you’ll get a 1099-SA form. You will need to report these distributions on your return, though they’re only taxable if you fail to use the funds on qualified medical expenses or you exceed the annual HSA contribution limit.

Records of Cryptocurrency Transactions

If you bought or sold cryptocurrency at any point in the year, you’ll need records of these transactions, as you’ll need to report them on your annual returns. They may also result in capital gains taxes.

Proof of Any Other Income

There are many other forms of income you may have received throughout the year, and you’ll need to report all of it. This can include income earned from royalties, prizes, awards and gambling earnings.

Deductions

Deductions allow you to reduce your taxable income and therefore your total tax liability. To take advantage of these, though, you’ll need documentation to prove that you incurred the eligible expense, as well as how much it cost you.

Here are some of the documents you may need to maximize your tax deductions.

Health Insurance Costs

If you’re self-employed and must cover the costs of health insurance without the help of an employer, you can typically deduct the entirety of your premiums each year. If you have a marketplace plan, you’ll receive a Form 1095-A that will detail how much you spent on premiums. If you have a private plan, you’ll need to see your plan documents for the total premium cost.

Business Expenses

If you’re self-employed, own a business or work from home, you may be able to write off certain business and home office expenses. You’ll need receipts for any purchased items and a record of the mileage you’ve driven for your business.

If you have a home office, you should also have copies of any bills for utilities, electricity, rent or mortgage and other costs associated with the overall property. While you can’t deduct all of these, you may be able to write off a portion of them, depending on how much of your overall property your home office takes up.

A quick note for educators: You can also write off the costs of classroom expenses and supplies. You’ll need receipts for these purchases and are limited to up to $300 in deductions.

Form 5498

Contributions to many types of retirement accounts are tax-deductible. Your account administrator should send you a Form 5498 detailing your total contributions, as well as any rollovers from the previous year. Keep in mind there are limits to how much of your contributions you can deduct depending on the type of account.

Charitable Donations

Many charitable donations qualify as a write-off. For example, if you donate clothing or furniture to a local shelter, you can often deduct the total value of those items from your taxable income. Just make sure you donate to a qualifying tax-exempt organization and get an itemized receipt for each donation.

Medical and Dental Expenses

If you incur a significant amount of medical or dental expenses across the year and exceed 7.5 percent of your total adjusted gross income, you may qualify for a write-off. To calculate how much you’ve spent in a year, contact your doctors, dentists and any medical professionals you’ve seen and ask for an account statement. You can also check with your insurance company to see what your out-of-pocket spending was for the year.

Form 1098-E

If you, your spouse or a dependent has a student loan and you paid interest on it, you can deduct that total amount from your taxable income up to $2,500 annually. You should get a 1098-E in the mail from your student loan servicer, which will detail how much interest you paid for the year.

Form 1098

In the event you bought a house or refinanced in the last year, you likely paid mortgage loan interest and qualify for a deduction. Your mortgage lender should send you a Form 1098 that breaks down how much you paid in interest, mortgage insurance and mortgage points.

State and Local Tax Records

Taxpayers can deduct up to $10,000 in state and local taxes (SALT) on their annual returns. These include things like property taxes, sales taxes and state income taxes. Your state tax returns can help here, as can your annual property tax bill.

Credits

Tax credits are similar to deductions, but instead of reducing your taxable income, they’re a dollar-for-dollar reduction on your actual tax bill. See below for the documents you’ll need to take advantage of various tax credits.

Form 1095-A

If you have a marketplace health insurance plan, you may be eligible for a tax credit depending on your income level. You can choose to use this toward your monthly premiums or your total annual tax bill. Either way, you’ll get a 1095-A Health Insurance Marketplace Statement at the end of each year. This will detail your policy data, covered individuals and total premiums, which you can then use to file your returns.

Childcare Provider Details

If you pay for childcare for dependents, you could qualify for a tax credit of up to $3,000. You’ll need to provide your childcare provider’s name, address and SSN or tax identification number. If you don’t have this information, you can request it using a Form W-10.

Adoption Costs

Adopting a child often comes with a tax credit, equal to the amount of the total qualified adoption expenses up to a certain limit. This can include legal fees, adoption agency fees, court costs and other expenses. So you’ll want receipts for any of these services on hand as you file your returns.

Form 1098-T

If you, your spouse or your child is enrolled in a higher education program, you may be eligible for the American Opportunity Credit based on your tuition. You’ll get a 1098-T detailing the total tuition you paid each year and can write off the first $2,500 of it.

Payments

Some taxpayers make payments to the IRS at non-tax season times. If this happens, you’ll need this payment data on hand as you file your returns, as it could impact what you owe and what refund you’re due.

Previous Refunds

You have the option of having your tax refund sent directly to you or having it applied to a future tax bill. If you opted for the second, you’ll want the amount of that applied refund with you as you file your returns. This will reduce the total amount of taxes you owe for the year.

Proof of Estimated Tax Payments

Self-employed professionals, sole proprietors and other types of taxpayers are required to make estimated tax payments quarterly throughout the year. If you’re one of them, you’ll want the payment confirmations from those payments, as well as their total amount. These will help determine if you owe additional taxes or are due a refund.

— Aly J. Yale is a freelance contributor for Newsweek’s personal finance team. She has extensive experience covering real estate, investing, mortgages, and financial news and has been published in Business Insider, Money, Fortune, Buy Side from WSJ, CBS News and US News & World Report, among others. Aly is based in Houston.

[newreputations]

DoorDash has got people who have no business being their own boss out here struggling because they thought being “self-employed” meant making bank on your own time frame.

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Time for today's silly Merlin au! This time featuring himbo Arthur!

I think that the show should have leaned into the whole "Merlin's technically a creature of magic" aspect, both in terms of being magic incarnate and kin to the dragons, and I think Arthur should have also been forced to come to terms with it as well. However, this is Arthur we're talking about, so of course he wouldn't come to the right conclusions right away.

In this scenario, around season 5-ish, there's an evil sorcerer seeking revenge against Camelot for the purge who puts a spell on all of the humans in Camelot, one that would weaken them and cause such fatigue that no one would be able to even stand up after a while. But it's a powerful and taxing spell to cast, so the sorcerer can only afford to target the humans in Camelot to keep the number of targets as low as possible. Besides, what could the livestock in Camelot do to stop him anyways?

So everyone in Camelot is falling under this spell, and Arthur and the knights are rushing to prepare for battle against the sorcerer to make him lift the spell. However, with each hour that passes, everyone grows weaker and weaker.

Merlin does, of course, know that this spell has been cast and what it does, but he doesn't feel its affects and assumes that his magic is protecting him. He acts like he's growing weaker so he doesn't fall under anyone's suspicions for the wrong reasons. However, after Merlin summons and talks to Kilgarrah for advice on how to break the spell, Kilgarrah informs him that Merlin wasn't protected by his magic, but rather by the fact that he isn't truly human.

And Merlin decides to unpack the implications of that some other time, because he's got a kingdom and a prat to save.

Fast forwards to the knights getting their asses kicked by the sorcerer and the evil sorcerer preparing to kill Arthur, who's lying on the ground with his eyes closed. All the other knights were knocked out by a blast from the sorcerer, but Arthur's still barely clinging to consciousness, yet he's too weak to even open his eyes. All he can do is listen helplessly as the sorcerer prepares to kill them all.

But then the sorcerer yelps, as if he were hit by something. Arthur's hope skyrockets as the sorcerer yells "You! How are you even still awake?! Every single human in Camelot should be feeling the full effects of the spell by now!" Arthur thinks for a moment that one of his knights has found enough strength to overcome the spell and fight back, but that hope is quickly dashed when he hears Merlin's voice responding like he isn't tired in the slightest, saying, "Well it's a good thing I was never really human then."

Merlin decided to say that to throw the sorcerer off-kilter enough to distract him and give Merlin an advantage in the fight. Besides, Merlin can see that all of the knights, including Arthur, are knocked out on the ground, so there's no harm in admitting it to this sorcerer who he's definitely going to have to kill.

Arthur, meanwhile, is still conscious and completely reeling from Merlin's words. What the hell did he mean he wasn't human?! Has some vile magical creature taken Merlin's place?

After the battle (which sounded to Arthur like a bunch of grunts, pained yelps, and a final, wet gurgle), Arthur could feel the effects of the spell lifting, letting him open his eyes with a gasp. He frantically looks around to make sure Merlin's ok, but Merlin's only a few steps away from him, while the sorcerer lies dead on the ground with a sword buried in his chest.

Hearing Arthur's gasp, Merlin turns to him with a relieved smile and helps pulls Arthur to his feet. Arthur, meanwhile, is too stunned to even ask how Merlin of all people managed to kill a powerful sorcerer by himself, but Merlin's giving some unbelievable explanation that involves distracting the sorcerer and then getting a miraculous opening and stabbing the sorcerer. Arthur's nodding along, but inside, he's really searching man who might be Merlin or might be some magical imposter posing as Merlin, as awful as that is for Arthur to consider, for any signs that he's truly Merlin.

If he's an imposter, Arthur has to give him credit, he plays his part well. The man in front of him looks exactly like Merlin, talks like Merlin, walks with Merlin's lanky gait, and seems to know everything Merlin knows, even their inside jokes. Still, Arthur needs to be sure, so after they get back to the castle, Arthur goes down to the vaults and grabs a secret object that Uther used in the purge that could detect illusions and glamor magics. It was a simple clear crystal in the shape of a sphere and small enough to fit in the palm of a person's hand, but if someone or something that was using magic to alter their appearance came into contact with it, the crystal would glow with a bright light.

Arthur plants the sphere in his chambers and disguises it as a new paperweight. The next day, Arthur pretends to accidentally knock it off his desk, sending it rolling across the floor, and orders the maybe-Merlin to pick it up and bring it back to his desk. Maybe-Merlin rolls his eyes in a perfect imitation of Merlin and walks over to the crystal. To Arthur's shock and relief, the crystal doesn't glow when Merlin picks it up, so he definitely is the true Merlin.

But then that leads Arthur to a horrible conclusion: the Merlin he knew wasn't a human, and never was. And the only creatures with the ability to look convincingly human were creatures of magic.

Oh god, Merlin was a creature of magic.

Arthur decides that, in order for him to plot an appropriate course of action, he needs more information. Namely, he needs to know what exactly Merlin is.

So, Arthur sneaks into the library and secretly takes some of the bestiaries, searching for what manner of creature Merlin truly is. Arthur tries not to jump to the worst possible conclusions, but all of the creatures of magic that can take human form that Arthur knows of are horrible monsters that prey on humans. Take the sidhe and the lamia for examples!

But people don't randomly go missing or turn up dead from monster attacks very frequently in Camelot, and Merlin cries when Arthur so much as shoots a bunny, so if Merlin's some sort of monster that kills and eats humans, he's doing a piss poor job at being one. So, Merlin must be some sort of creature that doesn't hurt humans, which certainly narrows down the list.

Arthur eventually finds a list of peaceful, human-like creatures of magic, and he starts trying to narrow down what Merlin is. He couldn't be an elf, since his ears were huge and round, not pointed. He couldn't be a gnome, he was too tall and gangly. He couldn't be a nymph, he spent too much time indoors to be a nature spirit. He couldn't be a leprechaun, he didn't have a beard or an affinity towards gold. He couldn't be a fae or a sidhe, he doesn't make deals with anyone (besides when he goes gambling at the tavern). And he certainly couldn't be a dragonlord, they were all dead!

Arthur was just about to give up when he finally found what he was looking for! The book's passage on fairies described them as benevolent relatives to the fae who would often disguise themselves as humans and would bring good luck and fortune to whoever befriended them, while sometimes engaging in some fun mischief! That must be Merlin!

Come to think of it, Arthur did have some great moments of luck, some of them almost miraculous! Morgana's magic failing her the day of a battle, defeating a dragon single-handedly, surviving the questing beast's bite, and of course defeating monsters that were said to only be killed through magic. And Merlin had been there for all of those events!

The book also describes fairies as creatures that love all living beings and are closely connected with nature, which makes perfect sense considering how much Merlin hates hunting! And fairies could see into the true hearts of people, which was how Merlin always knew if a person was untrustworthy!

It all made so much sense! This even explained Merlin's random "visits to the tavern", when Arthur knew that Merlin rarely ever drank. According to the book, fairies could only maintain their human forms for so long before they needed to spend some time in their smaller winged forms.

The book even addressed how fairies could be born from a union between a particularly powerful fairy and a human, which even explained why Merlin never knew his father and how Merlin could be a creature of magic while having a human mother!

Now that he knew the truth, Arthur felt so much relief! His best friend wasn't some diabolical monster, he was just a playful and friendly fairy trying to live as a human! It made so much sense!

And now all Arthur had to do was prove it. All evidence pointed to Merlin being a fairy, but he needed concrete proof before he could take any action. According to the book, the blood of a fairy in a human disguise sparkled under the light of a full moon. So, Arthur devised a plan to take Merlin out on an overnight hunting trip the day before the next full moon and "accidentally" cut Merlin's arm with one of the crossbow bolts. Arthur would then bandage the cut for Merlin and, after a couple hours, insist on changing the bandages, and pocket the first bloodied bandage.

Sure, Arthur felt guilty about purposely cutting his friend, but this was Merlin's fault for keeping the fact that he wasn't human a secret over their ten years of friendship! So, Arthur goes through with his plan, and when he held the used bandage up to the moonlight after Merlin had fallen asleep, he has to hold back a gasp as the red blood on the cloth shimmers and turns a bright golden color. Well, the book was right, the blood certainly sparkled!

(It was a shame that Arthur never read into warlocks, and how the magic in a warlock's blood made their blood turn gold under the light of a full moon.)

Arthur then turned to look at his peacefully sleeping friend, and swore that he would do everything he could to help his friendly little fairy.

Shortly after that revelation, Arthur starts actively noticing all of the strokes of luck he has. Bandits can never land a hit on him because they're too busy getting knocked out by tree branches or tripping over roots, his baths and meals are always the perfect temperature no matter how long he waits, and his injuries all heal at near-impossible rates. Hell, Arthur couldn't even recall the last time he got sick with something as small as a cold!

So Arthur tries to do little things for Merlin to show him his appreciation, like giving Merlin flower crowns (which fairies are said to like and Merlin absolutely adores), giving him a shiny silver mirror (fairies are supposed to like shiny things, and Merlin's never had a proper mirror before), and giving Merlin parts of his own meals as a food offering (which Merlin of course isn't about to turn down).

(Arthur's also kinda frustrated at the lack of information about fairy courting rituals lol!)

But Arthur isn't the best at keeping secrets, so the knights of the round table eventually catch him trying to set up a nice little fairy ring for Merlin in the garden, and they also "figure out" that Merlin is a fairy, and it all spirals from there until the entire castle is trying to show their appreciation for their fairy friend.

Merlin's very confused by all of this (since Arthur's terrible at actually communicating, Merlin doesn't know that Arthur thinks he's a fairy), but he's not about to turn down all of these lovely gifts!

And there's lots of different directions the story could go from there! A pretty funny scenario would be some rival king catching wind of how Camelot's great victories are all because of their king befriending a kind fairy, so he kidnaps Merlin in an attempt to make Merlin grant him such great luck and victory in battle. However, all they do to imprison Merlin is pour a circle of salt around him (since they firmly believe that fairies cannot cross a barrier of salt).

Merlin's just kinda raises an eyebrow and thinks that this is the weirdest kidnapping ever, steps over the salt, and escapes back to Camelot.

Thank you for reading through my rambling! :D

[unsolvedjarin]

I was going through a Charles video that mentioned him blacking out in the car at some point. Since I’m a sucker for angst, I was wondering what it would be like for mentor!Seb if it were the reader in that situation instead. Perhaps the season before the one he retires? And maybe we could see more of the reader’s friendship with Charles? Only if you feel inspired by it, of course.

Either way, thank you for sharing your fics with us. They are my favorites and I’m really grateful for having found your blog.

gif by luchitohamilton

EVERY UNIVERSE.

pairing: (mentor! sebastian vettel x ferrari driver! reader) (charles leclerc x teammate! reader)

summary: qatar is a difficult, hot, and taxing track. that along with you having food poisoning, well…that might not end too well for you. thankfully you can always rely on sebastian and charles to be there for you.

word count: 4k

note: can you guys tell i took inspo from mark webber throwing up in his car and the qatar race this year? it was so sad to watch everyone seem so tired especially lance and logan. anyways, the plot kinda got away from me at the end, i do apologize but the seb feels were too intense 😵‍💫

content warning: car crash, mentions of throwing up, inaccurate depictions of food poisoning

part of this series but can be read without!

“Ready?”

A familiar voice makes you turn around from your pre-race preparations. “Depends on what your definition of ready is.”

Charles smiles, “I know it’s our first race in Qatar but c’mon, it isn’t that bad.”

“Isn’t that bad? I might melt in the car! Doesn’t help that I almost missed this one because of food poisoning.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget that,” he teases. He couldn’t forget it, because you’d been complaining about it endlessly for the past three days. You had food poisoning because Mark Webber invited you to lunch on Thursday, and accidentally gave you something dodgy. You’ve yet to forgive the man. “Well at least you’re starting from P4. Lets you fight for P1, no?”

“Against Lewis and Charles? Please. In my dreams, maybe. Plus, you’re starting P3, asshole.” You retort, turning back around to put your balaclava on. The second it’s on your head, though, it gets pulled off, and you look behind you for the perpetrator. “Charles give it b– SEBASTIAN!”

The Aston Martin driver gives you a grin before hugging you tightly, lifting you off the ground a bit. You didn’t expect to see him before the race, but the surprise was definitely welcome.

“Oh but if it was me I would have gotten scolded,” Charles mutters, but his complaints were left unheard.

“Just came to wish you luck before the race starts. P4! You’re going to get a podium, I’m sure of it,” Sebastian beams, letting you go from the hug.

“That’s what Charles said too. He was more delusionally optimistic, though. Said I was gonna win.”

“Because I believe in you! Is that so bad?” Charles complains from the side, his comment ignored once again.

“Well maybe Charles is right— you could win. Meanwhile I’m starting in the midfield, again.” Sebastian complains, groaning a little bit.

“Oh cheer up Seb, you survived Ferrari for 6 years, you’ll live.”

He lights up a bit at your joke, moving to say something before an Aston Martin mechanic shows up outside the Ferrari garage. He wasn’t allowed inside, but it was obvious he was looking for Sebastian– who also wasn’t allowed inside, yet mysteriously got in. Nothing to do with him being friends with your mechanics of course, yeah, totally not.

“Ah shoot, well it looks like they’re looking for me,” Sebastian sighs. He starts to walk away before he pauses and moves back towards you, “Hey, stay safe, okay? New track, it’s dangerous. I know we’ve done practice and quali but you can never be too careful. Plus, it’s sweltering hot. Hydrate.”

You roll your eyes fondly, “Yes, dad.”

His face scrunches up a little, “Don’t ever call me that again, I’m not that old.”

“You could barely work my Instagram the other day! All I asked was for you to open Lewis’ stories!”

“Psh, whatever. I have to go, see you after the race, yeah?” He asks, giving your arm a quick squeeze. You nod, murmuring a goodbye to him. He wishes Charles good luck too, before saving his engineer from the Ferrari mechanics blocking him.

“So he can pull your balaclava off– which you hate, by the way, let me remind you– but if I even try adjusting your helmet straps so it’s safer you slap me off?” Charles speaks up, making you break eye contact from the Ferrari garage doors.

You roll your eyes at him with a smile, “You have got to forget that. It was one time. And it was a soft slap to the shoulder!”

“The point still stands,” he retorts, making you give up on the conversation.

“Whatever, Charlie. Just get ready for the race. Stay safe, okay?” you say, putting your balaclava on again. He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving, a sign of good luck between the two of you. It makes you smile a little before you hop into your car.

Okay. Qatar. New track, new conditions, but still the same old you. You could do this.

The lights go off one by one, and you grip the steering wheel with anticipation like you always did. Race starts still made you nervous no matter how long you’d been racing. One light goes off…then the next…then the third…the fourth one follows…and then…

“AND IT’S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!”

The first few laps were a breeze, maintaining your position in fourth despite Fernando being on your tail the whole time. You noticed the car was slightly hotter than usual, but decided to ignore it and chalk it up to new changes in the engine.

Around lap 25 you started to feel a bit dizzy and sick during the sharp corners, cursing yourself internally for having such bad timing with the food poisoning. “Charles is 0.200 seconds ahead, feel free to overtake,” your engineer buzzes through the radio.

“Copy,” you reply, not really paying attention, still feeling sick. You overtake Charles with ease around the outside, him not putting up much of a fight because it would have taken both of you out. Now you just had to maintain this position for…dear god, 32 laps.

“Lewis 5 seconds ahead, focus on tire degradation instead.” Your engineer’s warning goes unheard, though, as you noticed the cockpit was getting way too fucking hot.

“The car’s burning up,” you say into your radio, getting only a simple “Copy, we are checking,” back.

“Okay, Y/N there are no problems with your engines, I repeat; no problem.”

What? That’s impossible. You felt like you were melting in there. “Are you sure? Can you ask Charles if his car feels like the sun too?”

“Negative, focus on the race.”

Oh you were going to kill them one day– if they don’t kill you first. A few more laps passed in those horrible conditions before turn 5 rolled around and as you swerved your car, you started to see black spots around your vision.

That can’t be good, you think, having to close your eyes for a second before shaking your head and snapping yourself back into the race. Thankfully Charles had pitted earlier and had a 3 second gap to you. “I don’t feel too well.”

“Copy. Is it the car?”

“Well it’s definitely part of the problem.”

The next few turns were torture, your head bobbing around as you faded in and out of consciousness through the fast corners. Charles was catching up now, and you knew if you didn’t do something soon, he would pass you.

You wanted this podium. You needed it. If you got P3 you would grab P4 on driver standings.

There was a slow corner coming up that was a good overtaking spot, and so you had to defend.

As the turn came around– faster than you expected– the extreme heat of the car, your headache, sweat, food poisoning, and dizziness came together and you suddenly felt light, as if you were flying, before a jolt knocked you out of your consciousness completely.

You were out for less than a minute, but that minute counted for everything. You completely turned into Charles, him having to swerve onto the gravel just so you wouldn’t crash into each other. Your car, however, still had more speed in it, and you were headed towards the wall on the very far side of the gravel.

Thankfully, the rough rocks had shook you awake enough that you were able to swerve away from the wall extremely last minute and only take the tail and back wheel of your car out.

The next few seconds were a blur.

You still felt faint, but could hear a muffled voice headed towards you. You knew the back of your car was completely ruined and you were out of the race, and you put your helmet in your hands in disappointment. You were having such a good run before this happened. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The muffled voice running towards you was closer now, and you registered it to be Charles. He was saying something but you could barely hear him with how your ears were ringing and how the seat of the car was still hot.

The man quickly realized you weren’t hearing him, and opted to come closer and lift your visor up. “Smoke. Car. Get out!”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You pushed yourself up but barely, Charles having to lift you up by your shoulders. Once out of the car you completely collapsed on the floor, only having your teammate catch you.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” you say drowsily, still fighting the urge to pass out.

“Safety car is coming, stay with me now,” he replies, tapping your helmet so you stay awake. You were grateful your friend was there with you.

On track, however, Sebastian had just been informed of what went down. “What the fuck? What happened?”

“L/N completely turned into Leclerc. Driver error, push on for P9.”

Sebastian hated how his engineer sounded like a robot reporting a technical statistic. He saw the aftermath of the accident for a split second, and it didn’t look like your car was in good shape. He worries about what shape you were in. “Are they okay?”

“Safety car is coming out for L/N and to crane the car, but other than that they seem fine.”

“Injuries?”

“Please focus on the race, Sebastian.”

“INJURIES!” he shouts into his radio, annoyed. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the race until he knew you were alright.

“Uh…L/N seems to be out of it and on the floor, but they’re okay. They’ll be fine, Seb.” His engineer adds the last statement to reassure the man. He knew you meant a lot to him. Seb nods to himself in the car, carrying on with the race. The faster this finished the faster he could get to you.

The safety car came out and they all slowed down, Sebastian finally being able to take a second long look at the accident. Your car was still there, the smoke coming out of it being extinguished by a personnel. Sebastian thinks he ought to have a word with the Ferrari mechanics after the race. He then notices you, on your knees in the gravel, only being kept up by a driver he can only assume to be Charles. Sebastian thinks that should be him there supporting you, but at the same time he’s glad he wasn’t the one who you nearly crashed into. He couldn’t have it on his consciousness that he could have hit you.

“‘m sorry for ruining your race,” you mumble, still being held up by Charles. The man shakes his head, “It was ruined before that, don’t worry. My engine was acting up.”

You knew he was lying to make you feel better, his engine was completely fine. He was headed for the podium earlier, his first in a while. And you completely botched his chance to get it. The thought makes you sob a little, along with the fact that you ruined your own race.

Crying wasn’t the greatest thing to do, though, as it only made you more lightheaded. Charles notices this and takes your helmet off for you, despite your protests pre-race. You were grateful that he did, though, as the second he took your helmet and balaclava off you felt like you had a breath of fresh air for the first time.

“Better?”

You nod, unable to speak. You still felt dizzy and sick. Charles felt annoyed that the safety personnel were taking so long to get to you, waving them over to walk quicker. Squinting your eyes a little, you find them with some health personnels, and you sink a little lower into the gravel.

“God not again,” you groan, remembering the events that unfolded back in Spa. You did not need to go to the medical tent. As you attempt to get up, however, you fall back down as your vision blurred. Looks like medical tent it is again.

The rest of the race went particularly well. Lewis won the race and Fernando got his first podium since 2014– which you reminded yourself to congratulate him for once you were out of the medical tent– and Seb ended up P9, a position higher than where he started. That would usually be a mediocre result but with his shitty car, you were pretty impressed.

“Water?” A familiar voice makes you look away from the TV screen in the room. Charles sat beside your bed, holding a plastic bottle of water. You nod and take it from him, chugging the cool liquid down.

“Sorry again for ruining your race,” you say as you finish drinking. Charles shakes his head, “Stop apologizing. You passed out, that was no fault of yours.”

“You passed out!?” A loud concerned voice makes both of you snap your head towards the door of the room. Sebastian stood there, still in his race suit like the both of you, a shocked look on his face.

“Is that what happened? You passed out mid race?” He asks again, but this time softer. He walks towards your medical bed– which you insisted you didn’t need– before putting his hand on your forehead to check if you had a fever. The action makes you giggle, but Sebastian had a serious look that shut you up quickly.

He shakes his head with a sigh, “You have a bit of a fever.”

“Any other fun observations?”

Sebastian didn’t seem to be in the mood for your wit, though. “You could have been injured. Just a few meters and you could have fully hit the wall. If you were just a few seconds late waking up you would have–”

He shuts his eyes and stops himself. He didn’t want to think about what could have happened anymore. His voice got wobbly during the end of his statement, making you realize that he was stopping himself from crying. You absentmindedly sit up and reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“I’m here, Seb. And I’m fine. Look at me.”

The older driver does, slowly opening his eyes. You squeeze his hand a second time, a soft smile on your lips. “I’m here. And look, I’m completely fine. You’re not getting rid of me that quickly old man.”

Seb lets out a chuckle at that, moving to hug you tightly.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he mumbles into your hair. “Why did you even pass out?”

“I was already a little dizzy before getting in the car because of the heat but I tried ignoring it. The car was overheating too and it made me dehydrated, I think. My drink pouch wasn’t a lot of help either when the water was steaming hot. Plus…” you trail off, not really wanting to talk ill of Webber.

“Mark gave her food poisoning when he took her to lunch,” Charles butted in, making you give him a look. You forgot he was in the room.

“Mark? As in Webber?” Sebastian asks, Charles nodding in response. “The bastard.”

“Oh c’mon Seb, he just wanted to treat me to lunch. It’s not like he poisoned my food on purpose.”

Seb sighs deeply before agreeing, “You’re right. Sorry. I’m just– I don’t know.”

“I get it. I mean, this is my second time at the medical tent in three months. Makes you think how accident prone I am,” you joke. Sebastian laughs, and you’re glad you got the worried look in his face away.

“The one in Spa was completely your fault, but we may have to pin this one on Mark,” Seb teases. You shoot him a grin, “Yeah, we can say that.”

Before you could talk more, though, a PR person from both Ferrari and Aston Martin came in to fetch Charles and Sebastian.

“What about me?” you ask, getting up from your bed. It wasn’t like you were injured or anything, you were just a little sick and had a bit of a stomach ache. You’d already thrown up earlier, so you felt pretty normal now.

“Sorry, we have orders to keep you here.”

You scoff, “Please. What can they do if I walk out?”

Before the Ferrari PR agent could reply, though, you were already out the room. She stands there helpless, making Sebastian and Charles chuckle to each other before following you. You were always stubborn when you wanted to be.

The second you’re out of the medical tent, camera flashes overwhelm your eyes. You walk past them as you always do, but the contrast of the light to the night sky makes you a bit lightheaded again, having to hold Sebastian’s arm for support. He moves your hand from his arm to his own hand, interlocking it with yours and pull you through the crowd. There were no words needed to be said, he always knew what you needed. You’re starting to think he can read minds.

Once past the annoying lot of cameras, you make it to the media pen where at least they pestered you in a more civil way. The interviewers were all over you and Charles, looking for some inside scoop on ‘Ferrari drama.’ Turns out, the media thought you tried to purposely take Charles out a la brocedes style. Because of this you had to clarify to every person you talked to that, “No, I did not try to take Charles out on purpose. I passed out. We’re good. Yes, we’re still friends.”

Once that was all over, you headed over to the Channel 4 area to give a certain someone a piece of your mind. “Mark Webber.”

The man turns around to the mention of his full name, smiling when he notices who it is. “Y/N! Glad you’ve come and joined us! We’re on in about five minutes, we can do a segment about the crash but if you wanna talk about something else on screen that’s fine too, we can–”

“You gave me food poisoning!” you butt in. “I cannot believe you.” His coworkers give him a look, as if they were holding in a laugh at him being scolded.

Mark stands there with his mouth agape, unsure what to say. “Wasn’t that three days ago? Are you sure it’s me?”

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “Yes, I’m sure it’s you. It started three days ago, and guess who I was with when I ate something unusual three days ago? Oh right, it’s you!”

He pauses for a moment before bursting into laughter, trying to cover his mouth to no avail. “Sorry, it’s not funny that you almost crashed, I’m glad you’re safe, but– ha!– I cannot believe it was because of the dodgy Indian food!”

You gave him a shove, trying to act mad, but the smile on your face betrayed you. His laughter was contagious. “You are such an asshole.”

“Awh cheer up,” he gives you a side hug, ruffling your hair a little. “Sorry for giving you food poisoning, mate. I’ll make it up to you, whaddya think about lunch on me tomorrow?”

You escape his side hug when you hear him say that, “Absolutely not! I’m never trusting you again with food recommendations.”

The statement makes him laugh again, and you chuckle along with him. Hard to be mad at someone who didn’t do it on purpose. Sebastian walked over to the two of you, having watched the interaction from afar.

“Look who’s coming over,” Mark mumbled, making you notice Seb trying to pretend to just ‘bump’ into the two of you. “Still competitive ‘till now, eh? Don’t worry, I’m not trying to out-mentor you,” Mark says out loud, grabbing the attention of the German.

Seb tilts his head with a faux oblivious look, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He grabs you by the arm and ‘discreetly’ pulls you over to his side. ‘No idea’ my ass.

The Australian scoffs with a grin, “Whatever you say mate. Listen, I gotta get back because our feed is going live in a few minutes, but you two take care, alright? Nice to see you again Seb.”

“You too, Mark.” Sebastian replies, this time genuinely. While the media knew the two drivers were now on good terms, they didn’t know just how close they had gotten. The two went bowling at least once every two months just to catch up with each other, you being there for half their competitions– yes, they still competed. Apparently that sense of wanting to beat your former teammate does not go away. So far this year, Mark’s been winning.

Before Mark completely walked away, he looked back at you for a second, “Oh, and, I am happy you got out injury free from that nasty crash. Genuinely glad you’re okay. Sorry that my dodgy food contributed to your sickness.”

You wave him off, “It’s fine, Mark. It’s not like you could’ve known I would get food poisoning. Although, next time maybe check online reviews.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled, waving you a goodbye as he ran to his coworkers who were already getting impatient.

You shake your head with a grin, “Well at least that’s over with.”

Sebastian slings his arm around your shoulder, “True. So want to get dinner?”

“Absolutely not. I think I’m done with food for a good while.”

“Well you have to eat something,” he insists, as you both walk through the paddock. “How about we get room service?”

“Eh, it’s late, I don’t really want a repeat of Monaco 2019.”

Monaco 2019 was when you and Seb got room service at 10pm because you didn’t check the time. Safe to say the staff weren’t very happy with that. You both felt so bad while eating that food.

“We can just get McDonalds then,” you suggest.

“McDonalds?” Charles asks, popping out from god knows where.

“Jesus, where the hell were you hiding? The atoms?” You ask.

“I was here the whole time.”

“You were not,” Sebastian comments. Charles simply shrugs, tagging along with the two of you, not caring that he was obviously third wheeling a moment. “So McDonalds?”

You roll your eyes, “Yes, McDonalds. But you’re paying because you’re tagging along.”

“No fair! Sebastian is richer than me!”

You both give Charles a look at the same time. Charles thinks it’s eerie how alike the two of you were.

“Charles,” Sebastian starts, patting the Monegasque’s back with one arm with his other still slung around your shoulders. Your accident made him very clingy, but you weren’t about to tell him that. “Let me phrase this as nicely as I can; you are from Monaco. You are rich.”

Charles lets out a sigh, “Fine. I’ll buy the food.”

You clap, “Fuck yeah! Food on the rich man!”

“We have the same salary in our contracts?”

“Shh, that’s not important,” you say, shushing Charles. “Food on the rich man! Although, we may have to go to the hotel right after and just get take out. I can feel Mark’s Indian food from three days ago still fighting with me.”

Charles is the one to roll his eyes this time, “I’ll get the car so we can get there faster, your highness.”

“Thank you, Lord Perceval.”

“Don’t call me that!” he shouts, already walking away to the parking lot.

That left you and Sebastian alone again, just enjoying the company of one another, walking slowly down the paddocks. There were few people now, most having gone back to their hotels to call it a night.

“You know, I’m glad I found you.”

The words make you look up at the older driver, who you find smiling at you. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean obviously we would find each other, there’s only so many drivers in Formula One. But I mean I’m glad I found you in this life.”

“Do you think we don’t find each other in other lives?”

Sebastian pauses and thinks for a second. He’s thought about the other career paths he could have taken throughout his life– other lives he could have lived. He knows there’s no logical way, but he thinks he still would have found you in those lives. The thought makes him smile to himself.

“No, I think we do.”

“Well then good. Because me too,” you reply, giving him a smile of your own. “Why did you suddenly think about it though?”

Sebastian shrugs, “I don’t know. I just felt suddenly sentimental. Feels like a chapter of my life closed but I’m not sure what or why.”

Little did he know that he would start contemplating retirement a few weeks after that.

“Oh well, it doesn’t matter. Whether we find each other in other lifetimes, I mean.”

Seb raises his eyebrow, him now being the one confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re both here now. Enjoying each other’s company. Why bother thinking about versions of ourselves in other universes when we’ve got each other in this one?”

Sebastian gives you the most genuine, softest smile at that. “I love you, I don’t tell you that enough.”

You scrunch your face, “Ew. Sounds like a love confession. Sorry but you’re too old for me.”

“You know what I mean. I love you but not in that way. That’s just gross,” Sebastian says, hitting your shoulder.

“Relax old man, I’m just teasing,” you giggle, trying to avoid his hit. “Love you too. Ew. Sorry, not great with verbal affection. Pretty sure that just made me throw up a bit, and that’s not even with the help of the food poisoning.”

Sebastian just shakes his head, “Okay c’mon now, Charles will be annoyed with how slow we’re walking.”

Later that night, the three of you watched a cheesy romcom while sharing a shit load of fries and chicken nuggets. As you carried on through the night you thought to yourself that despite the hardships of F1, the crashing, the disappointments, the injuries– it brought you a second family you never thought you’d have. And you wouldn’t trade it for any other universe.

Although, maybe a universe where you didn’t get food poisoning.

[sytoran]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑!

howdy! it's two weeks till october, and that means kinktober season. i've planned a very elaborate (and spicy) menu for you lot. it's my first ever kinktober event, so don't be too harsh on me. stay tuned for the good stuff!

𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖

🎃 minors dni! for the rest of yall please be mindful of warnings and tags before reading (a lot of these fics may contain sensitive/triggering stuff!)

🎃 all fics will be dom!reader x sub!marvel women. (mainly wanda maximoff and natasha romanoff). don't like, don't read.

🎃 posts relating to this kinktober event will be tagged as 'sytoran's kinktober 2023'

🎃 i generally like to write reader as more masc-representing, and only either fem!reader or gender-neutral!reader (no male!readers)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄 — 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

🎃 OCTOBER 001.

somnophilia | CW!wanda x beefy!avenger!reader summary: after a particularly taxing work day, there's no better stress relief than your cute little bunny sleeping half-naked in your bed. cont: mild non-con, vaginal fingering, begging, daddy kink

🎃 OCTOBER 003.

blowjob | secretary!natalie rushman x ceo!reader summary: natasha's mission to retrieve a thumbdrive file involves seducing a high-ranking executive, and the seduction goes smoothly. a little too well, in fact, that she doesn't notice you're not all you seem to be. cont: reader has a cock, power play, begging

🎃 OCTOBER 005.

thigh-riding | IW!wife!wanda x gn!reader summary: you've always loved writing stories since young, but the tale of you and your wife writes itself, and it ends with a sweet happy-ever-after. cont: soft sex, established relationship, romance + fluff

🎃 OCTOBER 007. [POSTPONED]

stockholm syndrome | AOU!wanda x hydra!reader summary: after being taken as hostage by HYDRA's runaway assasin, newbie avenger wanda is prepared for pretty much anything, except developing feelings for her captor. cont: reader has a metal prosthetic arm, humiliation, degradation

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐖𝐎 — 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐒

🎃 OCTOBER 009.

mermaphilia | mermaid!wanda x pirate!reader summary: as captain of a notorious gang of pirates, you've got a reputation of steel, but when there's a pretty little mermaid presenting herself for you, there's no chance in hell you're not saying yes. cont: sweet talk, begging, humiliation, overstimulation

🎃 OCTOBER 011.

size kink | roomate!natasha x werewolf!reader summary: despite your countless pleads for natasha to stay away during the full moon, she decides to brave the beast and be right by your side during your transformation. she gets a lot more than what she bargained for. cont: (very) rough sex, reader has a cock, breeding, creampie

🎃 OCTOBER 013.

knife play | bimbo!wanda x ghostface!reader summary: for years on end you've chased sweet revenge. from being your high school bully to the fount of your desires, wanda maximoff is your esteemed salvation and utter demise. today, you plan on taking it all back. cont: dubious consent, degradation, fingering

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 — 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒

🎃 OCTOBER 015.

tit-fucking | milf!natasha x amab!reader summary: your wife thinks you've been acting a little off lately. she tries possible solutions to lighten your mood, but eventually it comes down to the 'hard' truth that you wanna fuck her tits. cont: reader has a cock, teasing, possessiveness, praise

🎃 OCTOBER 017.

breeding press | housewife!wanda x amab!reader summary: your wife looks a little too good on a particular weekday morning. spoiler alert - you end up late for work that day. cont: reader has a cock, daddy kink, possessiveness, marking

🎃 OCTOBER 019.

public sex | milf!natasha x mechanic!reader summary: natasha's had a completely shit day, and the last straw is when her car breaks down on the way home. the unbelievably sexy mechanic who shows up to fix her car makes it an unforgettable night. cont: daddy kink, horniness, hot mechanic stuff

🎃 OCTOBER 021.

wall sex | cheerleader!natasha x footballer!reader summary: natasha gets more attached than expected after a one-night-stand with the college's infamous player, both on the field and with the ladies. however, she's always been good at getting what she wants. cont: very long fic, squirting strap-on, cunnilingus

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 — 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

🎃 OCTOBER 023.

exhibitionism | agent!peggy x lieutenant!reader summary: there's nothing quite like a classic 1940s sapphic romance, except the element of 'forbidden' doesn't apply to you; you're eating your wife out under her office desk as she speaks to - or least, attempts to speak to - her military soldiers. cont: office sex, cunnilingus, fingering, edging

🎃 OCTOBER 025. [POSTPONED]

aphrodisiac | witch!agatha x hunter!reader summary: during one of your hunting sessions in the woods, you stumble across a little wooden shack that wasn't there before. your curiosity gets the better of you, but you aren't prepared for what lies beyond. cont: non-con, sex pollen, riding, power bottom

🎃 OCTOBER 027. [POSTPONED]

caught masturbation | college!kate x professor!reader summary: kate's your best student, diligently attentive in your lectures. who knew that there were hidden intentions behind all that attention she paid to your teaching. or more specifically, you. cont: age gap, professor kink, humiliation, fingering

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 — 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒

🎃 OCTOBER 029. [POSTPONED]

brat-taming | bimbo!wanda x sugarmommy!reader summary: what was supposed to be a relaxing day off at the bar turned awry when your pretty little girlfriend stepped in. wanda has a little too much fun toying with those sleazy men, so it's up to you to teach her a lesson. cont: bathroom sex, spanking, hair-pulling, degradation

🎃 OCTOBER 030. [POSTPONED]

omegaverse | omega!natasha x alpha!reader summary: while visiting your sister, kate, at the avengers compound, you stumble into none other than the black widow. there's big reputations, miscommunications, sexual tensions, and a whole lot of hot sex. cont: flirting, seduction, heat/rut, mating bite

🎃 OCTOBER 031. [POSTPONED]

mirror sex | barbie!wanda x gynecologist!reader summary: a sequel to 'doctor's orders'. wanda's curious nature to explore her new body intimately leads you to purchase a full-length mirror in your shared apartment. you teach her everything she needs to know. cont: fingering, guided masturbation, power play

credits to @cafekitsune for the line dividers i will be using

do not copy, edit, or translate my works.

kinktober requests || main masterlist || ao3

[queenofwands89]

hi! may i request a jake seresin fic where reader is very girly, she very rarely is seen in an outfit that isn't put together, she loves makeup and skin care and all that. so anyways, she and jake haven't been together for very long and they are meant to go on a date but jake calls her and tells her that he had a really tough day and he's tired and isn't feeling the greatest overall. so she decides to go to his place and makes his comfort meal for him and they cuddle and watch a movie before she takes him in the bathroom and pampers him with some self care please?? maybe he puts a bath bomb in his tub and gives him a face mask and eye masks while ge soaks and stuff??

First thank you sm for sending this to me, mwah 💜

Comfort in Chaos

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!reader

Warnings: Tired, fatigued Jake. Jake suggests the reader to join him in the bath. fluff.

Notes: I hope you all are taking care of yourselves. Self-care is crucial. So please, unclench your jaw, relax your shoulders, and breathe, okay? Stay hydrated. Sending you love.

You’d just finished adjusting the last strand of your meticulously styled hair when your phone buzzed on the dresser. You took a moment to appreciate your reflection—your outfit perfectly coordinated, your makeup impeccably applied, each part of your ensemble a testament to your love of fashion and beauty. A smile spread across your face as Jake’s name lit up the screen. Your heartbeat quickened with excitement; your date nights were the highlight of your week.

“Hey, handsome,” you answered cheerfully.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jake's voice sounded rough, wearied by the day. “Listen, I don't think I'm up for our date tonight. I’m not feeling well, and it’s been a tough day.”

Your brow furrowed with concern. You knew how taxing his job could be, and today seemed like one of those days. While you relished every chance to dress up and indulge in your self-care rituals, you cared even more about Jake’s well-being.

“Jake, you don’t have to push yourself,” you said softly. “I know you're not feeling well. How about we reschedule?”

Jake's voice wavered with regret. “But I don’t want to disappoint you. I know you always put in so much effort, and I hate that I—”

“Shh, none of that,” you interrupted gently. “Your health is more important. We can always have another date night. Just rest up, okay?”

Jake tried to protest, but your determination was unwavering. “No arguments, mister. We'll reschedule for when you’re feeling better.”

“Okay,” Jake finally relented, his voice filled with a mix of relief and regret. “I love you, you know.”

“I love you too,” you replied softly, hanging up. You smiled to yourself, knowing that even though tonight’s plans had changed, taking care of each other was what really mattered.

Your mind couldn't stop thinking about Jake long after you ended the call. Instead of just rescheduling, you decided there was a better way to spend the evening. Gathering a few essentials—ingredients to make his favorite comfort meal and your favorite self-care items—you set out for Jake's place.

When you arrived, you used the spare key he had given you. The apartment was unusually quiet, its stillness contrasting with your typical lively date nights. You found Jake lying on the couch, a blanket half-draped over him.

"Hey, sweetheart," you said softly, kissing his forehead gently. He tried to sit up, his surprise mingling with relief and gratitude.

"You didn’t have to come all the way here," Jake murmured, his voice still carrying that tired edge.

"I wanted to," you replied, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Now, you just relax. I’m going to make your favorite."

In the kitchen, you got to work on preparing his comfort meal, seasoning, chopping, and stirring with practiced ease. The aroma soon filled the apartment, and you noticed Jake’s face softening as he breathed it in. Before long, you brought a steaming plate to him.

"Here you go, just like you like it," you said, taking a seat beside him and watching as he took the first bite.

“This is perfect,” Jake said between mouthfuls, a look of relief washing over him. “Thank you.”

After he finished eating, you suggested, “How about we cuddle and watch a movie?”

Jake’s eyes lit up a bit at the offer. “I’d love that.”

You picked a lighthearted film and pulled him close. The familiar warmth of his body against yours was comforting. While the movie played in the background, the soft moments of shared comfort held your attention.

Once the credits rolled, you decided it was time for some self-care. "Come on, I’ve got a surprise for you." You led Jake into the bathroom, where you started filling the tub with warm water, adding a soothing bath bomb for good measure.

"What are you up to?" Jake asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Just a little pampering," you replied with a wink. "Trust me."

You coaxed Jake into the tub, where the effervescent bath bomb filled the room with a calming scent. As he soaked, you applied a gentle face mask and placed cooling eye masks over his tired eyes.

Sitting back, you commented, “You know, I’ve always admired your skin. It’s so smooth, and you have barely any pores. I’m seriously jealous.”

Jake chuckled, lifting one side of the eye mask to peek at you. “What can I say? I’m just naturally flawless,” he said with a playful, cocky grin.

Rolling your eyes, you smirked. “Sure, Mr. Flawless. You’ve got it all figured out.”

Jake sighed contentedly, leaning back in the tub as the warm water soothed his tired muscles. You sat beside the tub, your hand finding his and squeezing gently. You shared quiet laughter and sweet whispers, savoring the rare, tranquil moment.

After a while, Jake looked at you with an affectionate gaze. "You always know how to make my bad days better, Y/N," he murmured. "I don't know how you do it, but just your presence alone brightens up my darkest moments. Your kindness, your patience—it’s like you have this magic touch that makes all my worries fade away. Honestly, I don't know what I did to deserve someone as wonderful as you."

Your heart swelled with affection, and you tightened your grip on his hand. “Oh, Jake, you do deserve it—just as much as I do, if not more. You bring so much joy into my life. We're both lucky to have each other, and that's what makes this work.”

Jake stared into your eyes, nodding softly. “You’re right. We really do complete each other, don’t we?”

You smiled, feeling the warmth in your chest bloom. "Absolutely," you replied, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

He leaned back, the tension in his body visibly easing. "You feel a bit better?" you asked softly, brushing a few wet strands of hair from his forehead.

"Infinitely better," Jake replied, gratitude shining in his eyes. "And I have to admit, I feel ridiculously pampered—and very loved."

“As you should,” you said, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “This is what love is about—taking care of each other.”

Jake's tired eyes sparkled with newfound mischief. "You know, there is still some room left in this bath if you want to join me."

You laughed, swatting his arm lightly. "Is that so? Well, in that case, maybe I will."

Jake leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a flirtatious murmur. "You mean it? Well, don't leave me waiting."

"Sure," you said with a cheeky grin, standing up to grab a towel. "Just don't hog all the bubbles."

As you slipped into the warm water beside him, both of you couldn't help but smile, knowing that this intimate, spontaneous moment was just as special as any planned date.

[skyahri]

Retire |Kakashi X Reader| HC

Summary: You need some convincing to leave ANBU.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and depression. Mentions of suicide. A bit angsty and self-destructive, but fluffy overall.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

Even though he'd retired a few years back, you were still an active ANBU captain.

The job was grueling, and he was well aware that the longer you stayed, the worse the missions became.

That isn't just because of the overall baggage people acquire, but because seasoned black ops were often sent on the more... unethical missions.

You'd been acting off recently. He had let it go at first, knowing how taxing the line of work could be, but something in his mind was bugging him to investigate.

He assumed everything had started to actually get to you, so he decided to check in on you between missions with team 7.

He knocked on your door. It took a minute, but you answered.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but this wasn't it.

Your appearance was appalling.

You'd lost a lot of weight, you had bags under your eyes, and you reeked of alcohol.

"Just checking in on you. It's been a while."

"Yeah, Tsunade has me on back to back missions. This is my first break in months."

He had assumed his intensive schedule with his team was the thing keeping you two apart, but apparently not.

"How about you get cleaned up while I go get us something to eat? My treat."

"I'm pretty tired, Kashi. I think I'd like to continue rotting for the time being. Thanks for the offer, though."

You gently shut the door in his face.

A sour look plastered itself on his face.

Unfortunately, your use of rotting didn't seem too far off, so he decided to talk to a third party about it.

His first stop was to see Tenzo. Maybe he knew what was up since you two worked so closely.

"I've noticed as well. I tried to ask, but they told me it wasn't appropriate for subordinates to question their captain."

Add that to the list of odd behavior.

You loved Tenzo like family, just like Kakashi did, so the sudden change was worrisome.

He went to ask Asuma as well, knowing he had been in the village more often than he had recently.

Asuma pulled him inside his home and away from prying eyes. Last thing he wanted was the wrong person hearing such a sensitive information.

"We already talked to Tsunade about it months ago when we noticed a decline in her health. Word got back to them, they said something about breach of trust, and they haven't spoken to any of us since."

Kakashi just nodded.

He remembered a time where he also reacted poorly when he'd been questioned in a similar manner.

The only difference is lord Third actually listened instead of allowing him to dig himself deeper into an early grave.

He dwelled on it for a few days.

He cared about you deeply. It was different than any of his other friendships- more personal and open.

The last thing he wanted was to go behind your back and end up with the same treatment the rest of the group was getting.

So he put on his big boy pants and showed up at your door again with vengeance.

He had been practicing what he'd say the whole way over. He needed to be prepared for anything you threw at him so he didn't falter.

But when you opened the door, his fire simmered out.

You just looked so tired.

His words got stuck in his throat.

So he did the only thing he could think of - he just walked forward, straight into you, and wrapped you up in a hug.

You resisted at first, but the second his warmth hit your bones, you relaxed.

It only lasted for a moment before the feelings started to set in, causing your body to shake with sobs.

You fell to the ground, dragging him with you, but his hold didn't loosen one bit.

"It's okay. I'm here for you."

That only made things worse. Something about his comfort was making all the feelings you've worked so hard to repress bubble up to the surface.

After you'd visibly calmed down, he'd picked you up and carried you to the couch. He positioned you so you'd be touching as much as possible without him being too forward.

"I hate ANBU."

Straight to the point. He wasn't sure if that was good or not.

"Why don't you retire? It's been almost fifteen years. That's way longer than most make it."

You hesitated. You had a reason, but the thought of saying it out loud made it sound so silly.

One look at Kakashi’s face told you he wasn't messing around.

You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder. It made it easier to answer without him looking at you.

"If it's not me going out there, its someone else. I'm already too far gone, may as well save someone else from this fate."

Oh.

Kakashi had fully been expecting some sort of 'I can handle it' response, but this one was so... awful. Just absolutely heart-wrenching.

He collected his thoughts, trying to find a way to reason with you.

"There are people in ANBU who can handle that kind of mental load. You were that person many years ago,"

You just looked at him with that sad, defeated face, and it broke his heart all over again.

"But that's not the case anymore. It's time to pass on the torch."

You shook your head, ready to get up and kick him out. He just pulled you back down and held your hands in his.

"I was so angry when I was forced to retire. I felt like I could do more, like it wasn't that bad, and everyone was underestimating me. Do you know what happens when shinobi like us aren't told to quit?"

You shook your head.

"They end up like my father."

You stayed silent after that. How could you argue when he had just pulled the dead dad card?

So you promised to think about it.

He knew that would be as good as it would get, so he dropped it and opted to switch to a lighter subject.

After an hour or so of talking, you fell asleep. He carried you to your bed and tucked you in. He thought about staying over, but decided against it.

He didn't see you the next day. He'd knocked on your door, but no one answered, and he couldn't sense you inside.

He hoped you were just busy and not on another mission.

He did see you the next day, however.

He was heading to the Hokage's tower to chat with Tsunade about team 7's next mission when he bumped into you.

You smiled at him.

It felt like he was looking at a different person. You were almost glowing. Your eyes seemed a bit brighter, face looked a little fuller, and overall vibe was less damming.

"I retired this morning."

He damn near hugged you in front of the whole village.

"That's great to hear."

[kumkaniudaku]

Picture Day

Summary: You and Yahya prepare for a special keepsake and new holiday memories. 

Pairing: Yahya Abdul Mateen II x Black!Reader

Word Count: 3,159

Warnings: None.

Previous: NEIGHBOR’S MASTERLIST

A/N: This one is for @ghostfacekill-monger. If you're new to these characters, I'll shamelessly plug the series above. Enjoy.

If the Abdul-Mateen family was nothing else, they were a collection of Black folks with big personalities and a flair for the dramatic. Everything from how Yolanda and Senior's home was lit up with carefully placed string lights to the interior decor that Yolanda poured her heart and soul into for no other reason than to see how her grandchildren's eyes lit up when they stepped into her home. And to make their neighbors across the street, the Walters, seethe in jealousy when they step outside their home to see such an extravagant display of taste and wealth. But that was a different conversation to have over aged Cabernet after photos for the annual holiday card were wrapped and the ladies were left to their own devices while the men did whatever it was they did in Senior's parlor. 

Upstairs, as bodies whizzed from room to room to meet their strict 12:30 pm call time, Yahya chased a giggling toddler version of himself down the hallway before extending his long arms to pull the little one into the air just before he could reach the stairs for the third time that half-hour. 

"Damn, boy," he panted before wincing at the ache in his back as he stood up straight. "Remind me to tell your mama you need to run track in a few years. You got your daddy's speed." 

Yahya, half-dressed and already sweating from the stuffy sweater and playing wrangler for his rambunctious mini-me, looked down at his son's feet and noticed that he'd forgotten to add the one part of his outfit that would keep him from moving so fast. He'd learned to toddle but hadn't quite grasped the concept of doing so in footwear. 

He set off to consult the one person with supreme knowledge and authority in their shared household across town. 

In a junior suite on the first floor, he listened to you hum along to Gucci Mane's Christmas album at the bedroom's threshold, out of breath and at his wit's end. He knocked twice before speaking.

"Baby, where are Nasir's shoes?" 

"Next to his sweater." 

"Got it," Yahya answered, eyes still blank as if you had never given him an answer. He started to walk out but doubled back. "And if I were looking for his sweater, where would that be?" 

Holding a breastfeeding baby in one arm and pressing brightening concealer under tired eyes was your primary task that your man promised he wouldn't interrupt. But his oldest son was an adventurous, hard-to-wrangle rascal with all his features and a knack for wearing out even the most seasoned professional. 

Peeling your eyes from your vanity mirror, you looked over at him and his worried expression to offer a bit of reassurance. "I left it on the ottoman in the sitting room so he'll be distracted during his screentime."

When it came to your boys, every detail was tediously planned from sunup to sundown. Yahya still hadn't convinced you to make schedules for any other aspect of life like grocery shopping or tax paying, but motherhood was different. Motherhood was sacred and beautiful, and everything else you didn't expect when that pregnancy test came up positive not once but twice in three years of partnership.

Yahya smiled at your thoughtfulness before answering. "Thank you, baby. I promise to leave you alone now." 

"You're okay. That's why we work together. Come here." Yahya added a little spring to his step as he closed the short distance between you two, stopping just short for a silly little two-step before bending forward to meet your lips for a few quick pecks and leaving a couple for Tariq's forehead as he suckled from your breast. Your hand lingered on his cheek while you spoke. "You're a good man, Savannah. A good man." 

"What's crazy is that nigga was not a good man," he laughed. 

"Okay, but why did you ruin the moment?"

Yahya lifted his hands in surrender. "My fault, baby. Gas me up."

Affirmations of his worthiness as a husband and father murmured between quick kisses made Nasir giggle until both of you turned your attention to showering him in praise, too. He'd learned a few new words as the year ended. All of them expletives or some form of your shared pet names, but new words nonetheless. 

While the cute family moment pulled you away from getting ready, Amir walked past the room and doubled back to stop the lollygagging at his mother's behest. He wore the mantle of enforcer with pride. 

"Aye, man, y'all ain't ever heard of a call time? Don't have my mama looking for y'all. You know her sciatica actin' up."

"Her what?" 

"Don't make me repeat it. You know I got a heavy tongue." You tried but failed to contain your laughter, pulling Yahya in to join as he stood to readjust Nas on his hip. Amir feigned his offense with a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, so y'all are ableists? This is crazy." 

"No, you're just an idiot. I knew they adopted you," Yahya answered back, the taunting tone of a younger sibling thick in his voice and a childish grin to match. 

Amir scoffed and looked in your direction. "You see what happens when a nigga gets back cool with his daddy? He start actin' entitled and whatnot. Should've never allowed y'all to reconcile. I miss emotionally charged Christmas."

Yahya's jaw hung slack while you tucked both lips into your mouth to conceal the unruly laugh deep within your soul. It didn't matter how long you were part of their family; the jokes at the other's expense would never cease to amaze you. No one could eviscerate the Abdul-Mateen clan like the members within their close-knit circle. 

Though impressed with his older brother's quick wit, Yahya couldn't allow the annoyance in his expression to falter for even a moment. He pretended to laugh as he geared up for a retort that didn't quite come close to the earlier jab but fulfilled his need to feel victorious. 

"That's why Hassan is getting the house in the will." 

"You thought you did something. I knew that already. You just now gettin' into those rooms, my boy." 

Thwarted again. Yahya looked to you for backup while you carefully helped Tariq end his feeding session and returned your breast to its rightful home. "Amir, if you keep talking to my man like that, we gon' have an issue. You know what happened last time." 

"My fault, OG," he answered, tapping the space over his heart to signal his allegiance as memories of the night a few too many postpartum cocktails had you reliving the early days of your relationship with the family. "Y'all got it. I don't want no problems. You a good man, Savannah."

"That's what I said!"

A half-decade of family dinners, vacations, and game nights creating inside jokes and sharing funnies between kindred spirits was bound to result in some personality transfer. Still, Yahya could never, in a million years, predict that you and Amir would become two hosts for nearly the same brain. 

Yahya looked between the both of you, confused and amused at the sheer absurdity of the unlikely moment of deja vu. "I never should've introduced y'all. Now I'm married to Amir: The Sequel." 

"Oh, please," you scoffed as you turned back to the mirror. "I am way too fine to claim that position. No offense, Amir."

"I'm not gon' act like there's none taken. That hurt. Thought we were better than that, Tootie. At least I still got my nephews on my side." 

"You do not," Yahya answered, playfully shielding both boys from their uncle's affection. "I'm raising my kids to dislike you. This is a family that hates before we love. If nobody else gon' keep it going, I will. You know me."

While the youngest brothers fell into their typical back-and-forth exchange of jabs covered in an unmistakable love for one another, you let the familiar chatter surround you in the kind of warmth that could only be felt in the presence of family. 

To think that there was once a time when the family was split into factions too stubborn to have a civil conversation seemed like an alternate reality. You'd traversed the hardships of severed bonds to come out on the other end triumphant, with your relationship intact and growing by the minute. 

As chatter grew louder, more guests seeking refuge from Yolanda's iron fist trickled into an already crowded room. Hassan rounded the corner with Lourdes and Sha'Tarra in tow, two of them holding separate glasses of spirits you could've sworn were off-limits until the evening.

Hassan chimed in, loud and gregarious, courtesy of the expensive whiskey in his half-empty glass. "Damn, we having a meeting, and nobody told us?" 

"I always knew you liked Tootie more than me," Lourdes playfully accused Amir.

"You know they have a standing weekly lunch, right?" Tarra laughed as she rested against the quartz bathroom counter in her red satin dress that barely contained the seven-month pregnant belly she was starting to abhor. "Every Wednesday at Kismet downtown. Oh my God, I could go for some of their wings right now. Baby, can you order some for me? It's for AJ, and your mama is starving us." 

Amir placed a chaste kiss on his wife's forehead to placate her before delivering devastating news. "I love you so much, baby. But my mama is gone be the reason AJ goes to college. We makin' money, but we ain't making Ivy League tuition money yet. Here. Chew some gum. It'll fill you up."

The room lit up with laughter except for Tarra, who screwed her face and smacked the stick of gum meant to cure her hunger out of Amir's hand. You chuckled along as you swapped children with Yahya and focused on cleaning Nasir's face for the hundredth time. 

"If you want 'em, we packed some apple and carrot slices for Nas as a snack. They're in the loft and all yours." 

The mention of a worthwhile snack made Tarra giddy enough to wiggle through her excitement while brandishing a manicured middle finger meant especially for her husband on her way out the door.

"Thank you, girl. At least somebody cares about me."

"You always coming to the rescue. Are you trynna steal my shine," Hassan asked with a laugh. 

You shook your head. "Nah. I'm trynna steal Yahya's shine. You know he's the golden boy. I need them privileges for all my hard work keeping this family together."

"She's not wrong. Senior hasn't been this happy since…well, hell, I don't think I've ever seen your father this happy." Lourdes laughed. 

"Turned him into sitcom dad in three years. You really might be a magician. You do taxes, Tootie?" 

Loud laughter bounced off the bathroom walls at Amir's joke and the noticeable shift in Senior's behavior. A once hard man never known for pleasantries or extending kindness beyond his wife and grandchildren had blossomed into the quintessential loving grandfather. 

A grand smile big enough to rival the sun had found a permanent home on his lips since the day Yahya met you at the end of a short backyard aisle and pledged his love to you forever and always. He was there when each of his youngest grandchildren were born, spent birthday parties dressed as a host of characters, played with action figures and dolls, and made time for weekly appointments with all of his children, natural and inherited. 

Despite your humble denial that you had nothing to do with such a stark transition, you'd been credited with re-introducing the family to the best version of Senior they'd ever experienced. 

Especially by Yahya, who finally got to know his father in a way he'd always desired. 

"That's my baby," Yahya gushed, a silly grin gracing his face as he affectionately gripped your chin for a quick kiss. "You don't want her handling your money, though. She has no clue what a budget is." 

"Why would I need a budget?"

"You sound like your mother-in-law, young lady."

A booming voice projecting beyond a ridiculous faux Santa beard came into the room shortly before Senior's physical presence joined the growing party. A glass of whiskey in his hand matched his oldest son's, making for a silent toast from across the way as they took identical sips. 

He continued. "In here hiding from the lady of the house," he asked as he looked around the space at faces that gave answers that their mouths wouldn't dare utter. He took another sip and nodded. "This is a good spot. I usually do the cellar, but this works. She will find you, though." 

"She always does. She is basically Detective Stabler in a pair of Dior slippers." Yahya laughed, earning a smile from his father. 

An overlapping chorus of brief personal memories of being found by Yolanda amid a one-sided game of hide and seek. She always won no matter how they attempted to outsmart and evade her watchful eye. 

Quickly finding his collection of older children uninteresting, Senior turned his attention to Nasir and Tariq, pulling the infant from his youngest son's arms to speak at him in a high-pitched voice. 

"You win, my girl. Sorry, I ever doubted you. But using the baby is a dirty tactic."

"Who told you I played fair?"

"Touché."

Senior watched you and Amir exchange a handshake too complicated for his taste and screwed his face in growing confusion. "Win what? You two gambling again?" 

"They think Tootie's your favorite now. Yahya lost his spot at the top." Hassan cut in. 

The older man scoffed. "All of you are too old to be my favorite anything." 

"But if you had to choose, it's Tootie, right?" 

"I'm not answering that," he laughed before a quick pause to eye them all individually. He stopped at you and smiled, adding a wink before speaking again. "She isn't half bad if that's what you're asking." 

Another round of laughter and collective conversation proved fatal as Yolanda marched down the hallway with Macie in tow. The soft clicking of her heels across wood floors didn't register amongst the chatter until it was too late. Your attempt to signal the others was futile. All of you were caught again. 

Yolanda cleared her throat, freezing everyone in an instant. She folded her arms over her chest. "Is this what I get in return for all my hard work and planning? Are you hiding from me?" All in the room rushed to deny her accusation to no avail. She couldn't be fooled. "And then you lie to me. Am I nothing to you people?"

Her heavy dose of guilt worked how she'd intended, producing averted gazes and murmured apologies that made her bite back a triumphant smile. 

"That's why I came down here, honey," Senior lied as he approached her for a kiss she didn't return. "They don't listen. I'm so glad you came to back me up. Bad, bad children the who-" 

"You're laying it on thick. Stop while you're ahead."

"Yes, ma'am. Stopping now."

A tense silence hung in the room while they waited for Yolanda to unleash her wrath. You looked between everyone, your brain scrambling in a frantic search for words that could turn the snafu into more of a misunderstanding than an intentional slight. 

Finally, your mind drafted an appropriate response. "We just wanted to get out of your way, Ms. Yolanda. Amir came to tell us you were almost ready for us, just like you asked, but I know you need quiet for a masterpiece. We should start outside so the folks across the street can get a reminder on who really runs Christmas around here." 

The mention of the Walters family getting a glimpse of her kin all dressed in their holiday best brought back a competitive light to Yolanda's eyes as she smiled. 

"You're right. I like the way you think," she started, her gaze far off for a moment while she envisioned the looks on their smug faces. She slowly refocused and waved her hands in the air. "Wrap this up and do it quickly. We have photos to take! C'mon, Senior. And take off that ridiculous beard. It's giving me "the ick," as Macie would say."

A collective sigh of relief was released as Yolanda left the room with her granddaughter hot on her heels, imitating her every move as a last-ditch effort to score the Christmas gift at the top of her list. Senior turned to the group and gestured toward you as soon as she was out of earshot. 

"Now, can any of you do that?" 

He didn't wait to hear an answer. As quickly as he could pass Tariq back to Yahya, he was off to comply with his wife's strict instructions. 

One by one, the others trickled out, leaving behind various iterations of praise for your quick thinking and the recognition that you, in fact, had claimed the coveted throne with no worthy competitor in sight. 

As the room returned to comfortable quiet, Yahya turned to you as you stood from the vanity to get a final look at your gown. He called your name softly before capturing your hand in his to pull you flush to his body. 

A slow and thorough kiss connected your lips and tongues until he was confident that his actions had conveyed his point. But, just in case they didn't, he praised you with his words. 

"If I was gonna give up my spot, I'm glad it's to you." 

"I only wanna be queen of your heart, baby," you giggled. "The rest of this is just extra." 

He chuckled at your smooth talking. "You can't finesse a finesser, baby. Who do you think talked you into all this? You ain't married with kids for no reason." 

"Oh, please! Santa gave me all this. I had it on my list." 

"Yeah, right." 

Stolen kisses and lingering touches were cut short at a second call of their names from the hallway. Yahya reluctantly took the boys out of the bathroom's safety and into the winter chill, leaving you alone for a final moment of peace. 

You took a look at your reflection, allowing a small smile to creep across your lip as your eyes swept over every change in your body since a fated meeting in your old apartment building. Formal gowns for family photos. A wedding ring that glittered in the light. A crazy bonus family that loved you dearly. Extra weight from two safe births only a few short years apart. All from a quick conversation with the guy next door. 

"Thank you, Santa. This is cool or whatever."

Straightening the strap on your dress, you stood up a little straighter and laughed at yourself before flipping the light switch and joining your family. Santa had outdone himself yet again.

---

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[eclipse-has-come]

- Every step you take, I'll be watching you

part 1

A/N: Hello, I’m back with another part! Once again, i have no beta reader and i’m not a native english speaker so there might be some weird mistakes 😭 This chapter is mostly John’s past and his feelings about reader! I thought it was important to see things from his perspective, i hope you enjoy! Warnings: There are desriptions of murder, guns and war in this chapter (but that kinda comes with the territory). John might come off as a bit creepy but he's just a lonely guy :(( also parasocial relationship vibes

When John Price first died, he didn’t even realise what had happened until he heard his footman’s yell. Poor Kyle, seeing his captain with a bullet between his eyes must’ve been quite the traumatic experience.

Price wasn’t expecting the general to go this far but- well, he was playing with fire wasn’t he? Three years ago, in 1857, when the rebellion started, the queen sent out her best soldiers. John was included in the bunch. Loyal to the crown as he was, he rushed to battle, defending his country.

During his service, he got acquainted with three other men who were unfortunate enough (they wouldn’t agree with that statement) to be placed under his command. Simon Riley (a man so mysterious that one could even call him a ghost), John Mactavish (a Scottish warrior with a loud disposition) and Kyle Garrick (a young man looking to prove himself). The four of them bonded, ‘brothers in arms’ - that’s what Mactavish called them anyway.

Half a year into their service, a skirmish changed the trajectory of their lives forever. General Shepherd’s poor decision led to Johnny (“Aye, with the two of us, one of you’s bound to make a mistake callin’ us nae? Call me Johnny!”) getting heavily injured. ‘Two days’ the medics said, that’s how much the poor man had to live. 

In the end, he spent two months in the nurse’s care.

By some miracle the bullet just grazed his skull. Captain John Price didn’t consider himself particularly hotheaded, better to be patient and make calculated choices than to end up with regrets or a bullet through his heart. He was raised to be obedient so even as a child John had great respect for and would never dare to deliberately disobey his superiors. This, however, was a step too far - even for him.

For the first time in his life, Price cut his strings and made his own choice.

When Johnny was cleared by the nurses, they did not join Shepherd back on the battlefield. Instead, John took his men and sailed back to Britain. All of them received a less-than-happy letter from the General but it was easy to ignore (at first) with how peaceful their life got.

Simon took on the role of the cook, his previous experience of being a butcher making him quite an extraordinary fit for the role. His dishes would make anyone salivate, they were always perfectly seasoned and prepared, Kyle would say that Simon makes meals fit for the queen.

Johnny became the Head Gardener, as the injury caused him too much trouble to do anything physically taxing. Everything man made was either too loud or too bright, so the peacefulness of nature was a great reprieve. So with the help of the Scot, the desolate and grey garden soon took on a new look, filled with lush greenery and colourful flowers.

With his need to please and earn praise, Kyle made a wonderful footman. He knew John’s schedule down to the smallest details, such as only taking his tea at 7:06 sharp or refusing to eat anything other than an English breakfast as his first meal of the day. He would accompany his lord on any outings, his handsome looks and open nature made it easy for him to strike up new connections or better deals.

Price would never admit it but he had grown quite fond of his men. He had accepted that he would never have a family back when he first joined the army (what woman would wish to live in constant uncertainty?) so when the boys came along, he felt as if he suddenly gained three sons he never would have expected to have. The once too-quiet-and-empty halls took on a life of their own and everywhere you went you’d hear Scottish yells or quiet grunts.

That happiness- it made him soft. Too soft, so much so that he failed to realise just how fucked he truly was. Turns out Shepherd wasn’t too happy with just sending them a few scolding words. No, the general was much too cruel to let them off easy.

The fog was heavy the morning It happened. When John lit his cigar by the window, he couldn’t see anything but grey for miles; Kyle knocked on his door and informed him that breakfast was served. The routine went as usual, thus it made the next thing that happened even more shocking.

When Price sat down at his desk ready to read the newspaper in peace, he was greeted by a gun at the back of his head.

“John.”

He recognised the voice immediately.

“General” Putting down the paper gently, he folded his hands on his lap. He heard the perpetrator behind him grip the gin tighter.

“You couldn’t have truly expected to get away with it- right?” Shepherd paused, as if contemplating what’s left to say. “You were better than this John.”

Price merely hummed, not willing to entertain the other man. “We both were”

“If you want to beg for your life, go ahead, I’ll gladly wait.” 

Price let out an amused huff.

“Wouldn’t do me any good.”

The general stayed quiet and raised his gun higher; John heard a loud shot and then-

Silence.

-

His funeral was beautiful, his boys made sure of it. The only ones present were them but still, that was more than enough. The coffin was surrounded by flowers, John laughed about the fact that it was probably the first time he ever received any.

His first week as a ghost consisted of him following his men, making sure the estate was in good hands. They took their duties seriously, sometimes they even spoke to him as if he were there with them. He always replied but- well, no one ever heard him.

When the boys started getting older, he would try to make their lives easier. Move the cane closer to Johnny’s bed while he sleeps, rattling the cupboard to make sure Simon remembers to take his pills or even picking up items since Kyle can barely bend down with his bad back.

He knew they couldn’t see him but they still thanked him out loud every time. It’s as if they could feel his presence, as if they knew he was there, watching over them. His heart was happy and when their time came, he waited with bated breath for them to join him but-

They never did.

Price was left alone. His men moved on but he couldn’t seem to do the same; and with them gone, his purpose was lost too. He spent years occupying the empty home, thinking of a solution. 

No one bought his home after the late soldiers departed from this world, he wondered whether that was because of who it belonged to or just because of the sorry state it was in after the boys died.

Years of lone walks and no one to talk with made John realise that being a ghost was plain lonely. He felt miserable wandering the empty halls and knowing that he might never see his close friends again made it even more difficult. 

Losing track of time proved easy in such a desolate building. His only companions were bugs crawling on the walls and his own thoughts, he had no way of keeping up with the world. Not that he really wanted to, his time had been over for a long, long time.

Finally, after an unknown number of years, a man and his family joined him in his residence. He overheard that it was now 1939 and a second World War started (there was a first one?). John’s first instinct was to pack up and fight but- he wouldn’t be much help in his state. He could already imagine bullets passing straight through him and hitting some poor sod behind him.

John watched as the head of the family left for war, wishing it was him instead as the wife and son cried after him. The scene broke his heart and he knew that if he had gotten married and started a family, this is what it would have looked like. He knew he made the right choice to not start one back then, as he could never imagine himself leaving his hypothetical wife and child behind. 

In the end, the man never came back. John was the sole man to witness the son grow up, start his own family and continue the legacy.

Time passed and before Price knew, he had witnessed generations live and die in his home. He didn’t know how much he missed the hustle and bustle in his home until it came back. The chains around his heart lightened their load when he heard the giggles of children and conversation in the kitchen.

Over the years, he tried to subtly signal his presence to the different residents of his home but all of them were met with fear or disbelief and so, he stopped. He would rather have the families be comfortable and unaware of him than be left alone again, his heart couldn’t take it. 

The years passed, the world was slowly growing too unrecognisable for John. New inventions seemed to appear every day but he could still barely comprehend the existence of phones (and they were invented back in his time!).

The latest owner of his building was the lone descendant of the poor lad who never came back from war, a grumpy old man (who rivalled even John with his impressive moustache) that was convinced the house was haunted. He wasn’t wrong of course but John didn’t purposely make his presence known so it was curious that the elderly gentleman was sure of his existence.

He rarely visited because of that fact, causing the place to slowly grow into poor condition. Mold-covered walls and broken floorboards was an everyday sight now, which saddened Price greatly. Although the residence hadn’t been truly his for a long time, he was still the one that built it; and he would much rather see it fall into capable hands than to grow into disarray.

His silent fuming seemed to have been answered when a lone woman entered through the front door one day. Still young but too old to be the old man's grandchild, so who was she? Price was both curious and cautious, as the owner hadn’t visited for a while before her arrival.

The beginning of their relationship (if you could even call it that) was rocky, to say the least. 

At first, John was convinced she was a squatter and was determined to run her out, scaring her by creaking the stairs and pushing objects off of tables and desks (he did however feel a smidge of guilt when something shattered in one of the boxes he nudged; he was taught to never disrespect women's belongings after all).

It was only after she bought the paint and tools, that he realized what was really happening. The poor girl had bought his home and was intending to renovate it back to its original state. Instantly his guilt skyrocketed to insane heights, never before had he felt this embarrassed for misjudging a person. 

John had a new mission now: to help the wonderful lady as much as he can; starting with trying to assist her with her projects. What John didn't expect is the he seemed to fumble like a school boy with a crush. The woman was beautiful, with her lively eyes and quiet remarks. He particularly enjoyed her habit of talking to herself, it made him feel as if he was a part of this, as if he was real, at least to her. 

His crush admiration caused him to become soft for her, evident in his inability to focus. When he tried to move the heavy paint can closer to the wall, he got his foot stuck in the handle and proceeded to fling the whole thing on the wall while trying to get it out- not his proudest moment, he admits. He was even more embarrassed when the lady seemed discouraged after seeing the mess.

After a few more tries which ended in disaster (lodging a stray pebble into the front window- plus a few others he'd rather not name), he decided that his attempts to help her were only making her life harder. He ceased his unhelpful ministrations and decided to observe her progress, silently encouraging her.

She made quick work of the place and before he knew it, the first floor turned into a cozy antique (well, modern to Price) store. John walked through the aisles of beautiful trinkets, they reminded him so much of his previous life and how it used to be.

He didn't realise it until now but he missed his past more than he thought; years of loneliness made him numb to just how good he had it and what he lost.

This quiet epiphany gave him food for thought, about how he didn't wish to be alone once more. Sure, the families filled the home but they didn’t truly care (or even know) about him. He wanted someone to acknowledge his presence, to treat him like a person and not a silent observer.

He wanted it to be her.

The woman who stumbled her way into the empty house and made it her own, she didn’t know it but it meant so much to him. Over the months of her getting used to the new environmet, he had grown fond of her quirky nature. He didn’t even know her name and yet, he knew exactly how she took her tea or how much time she spends on laundry since she doesn’t enjoy doing it.

He felt a bit guilty that she was unaware of his silent observation but his happiness outweighed that. Besides, he would apologise to her soon enough.

He won't- no, he can't take another hundred years of loneliness. He promised himself he wouldn't interfere with her affairs anymore but the urge is too strong. She wormed her way into his head and heart with her endearing determination and kind eyes. He knows she’d make a good friend.

He made his move a week later. The poor lady was tired after seven days of hard work ('That should be your husband's job Darlin’.’ he thought to himself) and decided to enjoy a nice hot shower. Now, John is nothing but a gentleman; sure, he might be entering a woman's bathroom but it's for a good cause! He’ll make it up to her anyway.

He had been selfless his whole life: serving his queen and putting his men's safety above his. His afterlife was the same, consisting of helping his home's tennants and being a quiet observer. He was done pretending to live in the past, living in the moment is all that matters to him now. His whole life he wanted to have a domestic life but his sense of responsibility wouldn’t let him commit to anything other than war.

John is tired; tired of being a leader, tired of being a mere trick of the eye and most importantly, tired of being alone.

He just hopes the kind woman will see it that way too, he thinks to himself as he writes on the fogged up mirror.

[pickingupmymercedes]

I'll come find you - Lewis Hamilton

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: Angst, AD 21', Niki Lauda, Lewis to Ferrari

wordcount: +1k

a/n: Was watching quali today, this season is going to be something with Mercedes as it is

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

You expected the anger, the sassiness, even the moodiness. You walked the long corridor to his driver’s room ready to let him vent, to hear him out and say nothing in return, because that was what he usually needed, someone to hear him about the frustration, how rough it’s been and how hard he was going to have to fight the next day to make the impossible look achievable.

But you were met with silence and darkness when you walked into the stuffed room, his smell the only indicator he was there.

“Hey, I brought some coffee” You tried from the little table by the corner, getting the two containers and setting them on the surface. He didn’t answer.

Lights out, shirt thrown in the chair, shoes on the floor, him sprawled in the sofa, the back of his head buried in the pillows, braids loose, his eyes stuck to the ceiling. You crawled by his side and looked at him, hands tracing the lion in his chest.

“Why did you and Niki bet on me?” He asked nonchalantly out of the blue, voice small and nothing like what you had prepared yourself for.

“Because we believed in you” You put it simply after a couple of minutes studying him, prompting your body on your elbow and looking at his face, expecting him to look back.

“Do you still?” He replied with a nasty and off-putting tone, one you hadn’t heard come from him in a very long time, his eyes now on you, daring you to answer him.

“What do you want me to tell you?” You realized then he wanted to pick a fight, maybe to get his mind off of the qualification that had gone so terribly wrong for him just a few hours ago, maybe to let out pent up frustration from the car not being where he wanted.

“You don’t get it” he huffed, looking up at the ceiling again, withdrawing back to his shell.

“I know I don’t” You said getting up from the sofa and going for the door “I’m here for you when you want, and not as someone expecting wins. I’m here as someone who loves you and wants you to do whatever it is that makes you happy.” You said into the dark room before leaving him with his thoughts.

You had no idea where to go from there, the whole team had something to do and surely you could get ahead on one of the many resumes you had to write, but you weren’t really in the mood to write yet another time how the f1 team had failed the initial concept for its car, something the Mercedes board had read a million times over in all your other debriefs from the past two year.

You end up sat at the front of Mercedes garage in the pitlane, looking out to darkness of the sky after all the lights at the circuit had been turned off. In those times you missed Niki, he would’ve known what to say, he would’ve known how to talk to Lewis, how to cheer him up. And quite honestly, those two years had been so taxing on you, playing from both ends, backing Lewis and Mercedes, trying to encourage both while still keeping it professional and private, you were slightly relieved it was the last year.

“Penny for your thoughts” The tall Austrian said looking down at you, scootching there in the corner with you like he wasn’t a giant trying to fit himself into the small crack you were trying to hide in.

“Just looking out at the sky” You mumbled back hugging your knees and giving Toto a small smile, one he didn’t even have to look at you to see wasn’t a real one. You were both there sat quietly, close but so far away from each other, the furthest ever you had been from someone you once saw as a mentor.

“Will this ever heal? Niki, 2021, Lewis?” You thought out loud, not able to contain it inside anymore.

He might had been tough about it with you in those first weeks, he even managed to not contact you for a whole month after that night in Abu Dhabi, mainly out of pride for not giving in and rushing after you when you left mere hours after the checkered flag. He held his head tall and proud walking through Brackley that winter without a clue if you’d ever come back, and even during an AMG board meeting, he kept his cool when he saw you remotely there on the screen. He broke down though when you showed up mid-march 2022, after the first 3 races with a bouncing excuse of a car.

The moment he realized you were back he couldn’t stop himself from holding you tight, and repeating to anyone around that Niki would’ve killed him if he’d lost you for good. But as much as you were taken aback by the Austrian’s response, your relationship never quite healed back to where it was before, you had gone back for Lewis and for Niki, and he knew that.

“Do you think what we’re going through has something to do with that night?” He responded with another question and looked honestly curious at what you thought.

“Not the only reason, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence either” you shrugged your answer, only to be met by a smirk.

“Niki would’ve been proud of you. How you fought for what you believed that night even when everyone thought otherwise, myself included… how you’re still fighting for Lewis, for Mercedes. I suppose it hasn’t been easy… whatever it is you two have on top of everything else, I see it in your eyes.” He offered you after a few moments of silence, taking a big breath and nudging your shoulder to get closer to you.

“I heard some of your talk to him back there, and I wanted you to know I’m always here for you, as someone who loves you. Very much so.” He said after kissing your forehead, a gesture exclusively reserved to his Wolf pack.

It was immensely odd for him to be the one opening up while his favorite chatter box kept quiet, all your emotions hidden so well. He was used to you coming to him for advices, from boys to business, but he took for granted how you had chosen him as a safe person. That was until a business decision, made in the hastiness of a crises, left you speechless and him on the receiving end of those icy and judging eyes, instead of the curious and lively one he had grown so fond of.

It had never been the same since that night, and he had no idea if it would ever be.

“I don’t hate you, you know that, right? I could never… things just haven’t really… I – I haven’t really healed from that, I guess.” You said quietly to him and to yourself, leaning your head on his shoulders, his warmth still the same home comfort you missed.

The few moments you had been allowed came to an end when a cough brought the attention to one of Toto’s assistants, awkwardly waiting by the side and clearly aware she was interrupting something.

“They need you. I’ll be fine here with my thoughts” you gave him after a few moments of him studying your face while he reluctantly left the hidden corner, accepting his fate in yet another meeting ahead.

Eventually you started to mentally prepared yourself to make your way back to hospitality, sure that whatever was going to happen in the following days and months would make them the hardest for you both professionally and privately.

“Hey, care to share the spot?” Lewis sweet voice startling you as he too found you.

“I could swear this was a good hiding place” You jokingly complained leaning in his shoulders as he sat by your side.

“I’m sorry for earlier, there’s a lot going on” His lips kissing your hair and his hand softly circling your palm.

“I’m scared, Lew… of how things have been, of how things are going to be.”

There was no circling that topic since he told you there was an offer for him at Ferrari, you both knew then that your lives would change, dramatically. Your relationship was by no means secretive, but it had developed in the comfort of a team that went out of its to help keep it private. Ferrari was a dream, and you shared his passion for the history of motorsports, but his move meant you had to learn how to be his partner without also being in his team.

“You remember the night I told you I loved you, the very first time in LA?” You raised your head to look at him, trying to understand where he was coming from with the question, nodding you head and humming a “hm mm”.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you that, but I decided I had to tell you when I woke up really early in the morning with Roscoe snoring that day, and you were so quiet and still in that bed when I looked over, I froze for a few seconds." He swallowed at the confension as you attentively watched his features show how bad that had affected him.

"I don’t care if you’re my boss or if you’re wearing my rival’s shirt, when it comes to you all I care about is your wellbeing.” The story and how worried he was to make that night perfect now all the more meaningful to you as he tried to bring you as close as possible in the small space.  

“These past two years have not been easy for us and there’s no guarantee the next ones will be any easier, but as long as you’ll allow me, I’ll come find you, anywhere.”

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TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk

If you'd like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[foreverisntenough]

‘OURS’

Summary: You were his and he was yours but what would it be like adding one more? Thrust into a whirlwind romance you never could’ve imagined that became your forever love. You continue building a new life across the pond with a very beautiful Scouser. A sequel to the ‘You’re Mine’ fic.

Index:

Chapter 1 - Size of A Plum

Chapter 2 - With a ‘U’ or an ‘O’

Chapter 3 - Auntie Laur and A Very Drunk Boy

Chapter 4 - Baby Dior

Chapter 5 - His Treble

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestion, smut (unprotected sex,) pregnancy, mention of the word ‘daddy,’ kind of angsty, alcohol consumption - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! Try not to nitpick with any real pregnant logistics it’s better if you just read along happily :)

Chapter 6 - Teddy Bear | ‘Ours’

Your due date was fast approaching. It was getting scarily real, in fact. The past couple days had been… difficult. Since the scare at the hospital Trent had been tiptoeing around treating you like a piece of glass. He was being so helpful preparing for your baby girl but you were stressed because he had two away matches back to back and he couldn’t really do anything about that. Your three year anniversary was this week too. You felt a lot of pressure to be ready for that date and for your baby. Trent told you not to worry about the anniversary but you didn’t like that idea because you knew he would most definitely do something for it. It was just so overwhelming to manage anything outside of just looking after your body lately. You actually hadn’t been to a home game of Trent’s yet this season because it was just so taxing. It was hard for you to sit up and down, you hated all the attention on you, the stress of the games was not helping you any. Maybe you were being a little over dramatic but it was a lot to go to Anfield let alone an away match. It was all too much so he told you it was better for you to watch from the comfort of home. You were roughly due in about a week or so at this point. Your parents and Winnie were coming in a few days so they’d be at your house soon as well. Trent had left yesterday to travel to Leicester for a match. So once again, you had opted to stay home for his match and watch the clash at your place with Marcel. Between your anniversary, your family coming, Trent’s game, and your baby you felt like you were going to explode both mentally and physically.

“Sorry to be a pain, Marce, can you help me get up?” You giggled and looked at him for some assistance. Your once very comfortable couch had really become a pain in the ass for you. The cushions were so deeply set it was hard to get yourself up on your own.

“Yeah, course.” He stood up and held both your hands to pull you up. Marcel was a saving grace when Trent wasn’t around. You felt a little bad that his friend, i.e. you; had become a pregnant woman he had to stay home with and help get off the couch as opposed to your previously very fun nights at Anfield drinking. You walked about halfway to the kitchen before the worst pain you ever felt ran through you. You were terrified it was another episode of what happened the other week when you were rushed to hospital. That was until you felt a pop sensation and water hit the wooden floor.

“Marce…. “ you yelped. He just hummed barely acknowledging you, keeping his attention on the match. “No, seriously… Marce.” You whined. The sudden pain had you bending over. He turned his head towards you and saw you wincing in pain.

“Fuck” he jumped up from the couch. He ran over to you. “Wait… wait what the fuck do I do?” His eyes widened in panic as he rushed over. Your water had broken.

“Marce… I can’t exactly wait can I? I need you to take me to hospital.” You were trying to slow your breathing. You were attempting to remain calm but seeing the younger boy in front of you absolutely shell shocked was not helping.

“Well, what do we do about Trent… I’ll call him right?” Marcel babbled asking you questions you didn’t have the mental capacity to answer right now, placing his hand on your back, waking you towards the door. All your preparations for this moment had gone out the window.

“Marce… I don’t know, I've never done this before!! We need to go to hospital now!” He nodded, panicking. He let go of you and ran to grab his keys. You heard him pick them up and then drop them nervously running back over to you muttering to himself. He helped you into the front seat of his car. He was in a full blown panic attack and it definitely was not settling your nerves.

“I don’t know the directions to hospital… hold on” he mumbled out tapping at the dashboard in his car into the maps app.

“Marce… I said it inside I can’t exactly ‘hold on’ right now. Can you just take a deep breath for me because your fucking stressing me out.” You quipped at him. He nodded at you, still focused on getting the GPS to work. He figured it out eventually and got on the motorway. Of course, this happened when you were with him. You had called Trent about 10 times to no avail. He hadn’t answered and he hadn’t responded to any texts either. You took a break calling him to ring Dianne, insisting Marcel try Trent while you spoke with her. You needed to tell someone other than Marcel you were having this baby.

“Di… hi, yeah. Erm…well I’m pretty sure I’m going into labor so…” she gasped you could hear her bobble her phone almost dropping it. “In the panic I forgot the baby bag we packed though. Could you go to our house before… I wasn’t thinking.” You started to get upset at how poorly you felt you managed this unfolding. Tears forming in your eyes. Your breath getting lost somewhere in the car. It didn’t help that your contractions were getting rapidly more intense. “No…no, I haven’t heard from him. He hasn’t picked up.” You explained to her that you hadn’t been able to get in contact with Trent yet. Saying it out loud only heightened the emotions.

“He’ll be there hun. I’ll grab the bag and see you soon. Try to take a breath, it’s all going to be just fine. Tell Marce to relax as well.” She gave you a sympathetic laugh knowing Marcel was probably freaking out, which he was. You appreciated her calm demeanor. You arrived at the hospital still unable to reach Trent. You were sobbing. You couldn’t calm down until the nurses literally made you calm down with a sedative. Trent was out on the pitch whilst all this was happening unknowingly thinking you were happy at home watching him. He came in from warming up and sat down in the dressing room. He began to start preparing his match ready kit when he saw all the missed calls on his phone.

“Oh shit! Fuck!” He yelled, standing up from his locker room stall. He read the 100 messages you sent him all reminding him that you were going to have his baby and you’d like him to be there.

“Where you going mate?!” Andy yelled out as Trent ran out of the dressing room abruptly. He notified someone on the coaching staff and they cleared him to go. Trent was going to leave regardless of the consequences frankly.

“I'm having a baby.” He shouted frantically to Andy while messily throwing his things together and grabbing his bag sprinting faster than he ever had on any pitch before. Thank god the game was only about 2 hours away.

“He’s not here… I can’t believe hes not here. He’s going to miss this” you said, attempting to stifle more cries, squeezing Dianne’s hand in the hospital room for support. “Can you call him again?” You whimpered looking up at her distraught. All you could think of was Trent. You really appreciated Dianne being with you but you wished it was his hand who you were holding. Your contractions were starting to become stronger and closer together when Dianne heard the slaps of slides running down the hallway. A nurse guided Trent, still dressed in his full Liverpool warm ups, into the room towards you. You felt so nauseous but seeing Trent provided momentary comfort.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m here. I got you. You're gonna do great, baby. Hmm?” He cooed, pressing a kiss into your hair, wiping some off your face as the doctor explained what was going to happen to Trent.

“T… I’m so glad you’re here.” You whined as people in the room rushed around. It all felt like a foggy haze and a painfully slow one at that.

“I would never miss this.” He smiled at you, pressing his lips to you again. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N. I love you, baby. I’ll be here the whole time. You’re gonna do so well. You’re so strong, okay? I love you so so much.” he murmured interspersed with more kisses. Well… it was fucking horrible but your were as strong as you could be for your new little family, for your baby girl, for her daddy. When she arrived the world blurred. The only thing that existed in your life was the most beautiful baby girl you’d ever seen. You were almost oblivious to the rest of the process. One hour ago your lives changed forever when Teddy Marie Alexander-Arnold entered the world.

The pain from earlier slipped away leaving you in love with the brand new tiny human laying on your chest. It felt like a dream. She was far too perfect to be real. A little while later Trent watched as the nurses laid her tiny head on him. He whispered to her and started to cry a little looking at how small she was on his chest. Watching it his emotions unfold made you start crying. He laughed with a sniffle seeing you get worked up over it all so he leaned over and pressed his perfect pout your daughter had inherited to your lips with your little girl in between you two. It felt like your very first kiss. Only now, you were parents.

“I can’t believe how perfect she is.” You mumbled quietly watching Teddy have a big yawn back in your arms. You giggled at just how remarkably pretty she was.

“I can, she’s your daughter. Makes sense.” Trent cooed rubbing his nose against your cheek. He said that and you obviously knew she was, hell, you could definitely still feel that she was but she was a carbon copy of Trent. God, just the exact spitting image and you loved every bit of it. During your whole pregnancy you’d have conversations about who’s features you’d want her to have but secretly you wanted just this. She looked identical to him. She only existed for a little over an hour but you could see Trent clearly in her big brown eyes and perfect pout. Tiredly, your little girl looked up at you two, now awake, catching her every movement. It was then when you watched in real time Teddy wrap Trent around her tiny little chubby finger.

“Hell of an anniversary present, huh?” You teased Trent as his eyes filled with love hearts looking at his precious baby girl hold onto his one finger with her whole hand.

“She is the most perfect gift. You could ever give me, one that we created. Thank you so much for carrying our baby girl. Allowing me to do this with you. You’re amazing, baby. You’d think those words would’ve lost there meaning over the last couple hours from the amount of times I said them. I swear they’ve never lost an ounce of their weight, seriously. They have never been more true. I knew you were amazing from the moment I met you on 78th Street. God, you were like super glue on my brain. The second I looked into your eyes that beautiful stare never fucking left. Your strength and resilience never cease to amaze me, Y/N. I know you’re rolling your eyes but you really do inspire me. You inspire me to be a better man, a better person. Some days I'm just amazed you even manage to put up with me. You've amazed me throughout our entire relationship.” Trent ended his monologue with a kiss to your lips. He was going to keep talking until you cut him off.

“T… I can’t cry anymore, please.” You whine with a giggle. He needed to stop talking like that or you’d start bawling. “I love you, baby. We are so lucky we have you.” You looked down at your baby girl with a feeling you’d rarely experienced before. Confidence. You were confident. So sure in the fact that Trent would always take care of you two. “Thank you, T. Really, thank you for being the best source of strength for both of us. You’ve been perfect the whole time. I’ve always said this but your dedication is so incredible and you’ve been incredibly dedicated to building an amazing life for me and her. Thank you for being you. I couldn’t have done this without you. As much as you are my boyfriend, my life partner, my baby’s daddy, it made this all the more special that you’re also my best friend, T.” Trent’s lash line filled with tears. He rested his forehead on yours.

“She’s ours, baby. All mine and yours.” He cooed as you tilted your head up for kiss.

Tyler, Marcel, and Dianne sat in the waiting room ironically impatiently. A TV in the room of the hospital was on SkySports quietly buzzing on about the latest reports happening in the Premier League.

‘Trent Alexander-Arnold has been removed from Liverpool’s line up tonight.’

The TV muffled out the news. All three of them picked their heads up to see the report deducing what possibly could have caused the unforeseen change. They just laughed knowing what Trent was doing was beyond worth missing a match. A nurse came before the segment about Trent ended advising his family they could come and see you. Shortly after, you heard a timid knock on the door. Dianne appeared with Marcel peeking in. They were quiet as you sat beaming on the bed with Trent sitting on its edge both still admiring Teddy.

“Congratulations, my baby boy” Dianne came over and gave Trent a tight hug. “So proud of you. Congratulations, sweetie.” She leaned over and kissed your forehead and you smiled up at her. “Oh my goodness isn’t she just perfection. I feel like I’m having Deja vu. You look just like your daddy, don’t you?” She cooed in a soft voice as Teddy opened and closed her mouth and leaned her tiny head onto your chest more adjusting to the world. Marcel snuck up behind his mum and looked over her shoulder down at the little baby in your arms. He hummed like he was inspecting her and was satisfied.

“Congrats bro.” He turned to dap Trent up and gave him a hug. “She looks so much like you and yet somehow she’s perfect and pretty…” he joked, eliciting a slap on the arm from Trent. Tyler waited towards the door not wanting to crowd you, ever thoughtful. When a little space cleared as everyone settled in he came a little closer with a big bouquet.

“For TAA the 2nd’s mummy.” He tipped the flowers towards you to see them and you smiled as he placed the arrangement on a table beside you. He turned back to you with a more serious, sincere look on his face. “Y/N, I know we give you a hard time usually but jokes aside we’re so happy you’re a part of our family. We all knew Trent was punching” Tyler spoke softly until he was cut off.

“You said jokes aside?” Trent looked at Tyler confused at why he was catching strays. Tyler rolled his eyes and turned back to you.

“Anyways… we’re so glad you’re here. This little girl is so lucky to have you, really. I speak for all of us, we love you so much.” He squeezed your hand. It was hard that your immediate family wasn’t there for this but when it really came down to it, the Alexander-Arnolds were your family, wholeheartedly. Teddy was so lucky she was born into such a loving family. They always looked after you and you knew they would look after her probably even a little bit more.

“Marce, do you want to hold her?” You looked up at him and at first he looked terrified but then he mustered some courage and nodded. You patted the bed with one free hand telling him to sit next to you and so he did. He turned his head and looked at you closely. Tired but glowing.

“I’m really happy for you, Y/N. You mean a lot to me. If this little girl is even a fraction like you, she’ll be an amazing person.” He cooed and your eyes began to water. “Don’t…” he tried to stop you. You carefully handed him Teddy. “You’re never dating anyone, okay?” Marcel teased stroking her cheek with the back of his finger. Tyler and Trent conquered immediately without a second thought. You almost felt bad for anyone that was going to try to date your daughter in the very far away future. As he held her, Marcel fell in love with Teddy and in someway you felt like you could tell she was with him as well. She seemed to be a quiet baby which was fitting for you and Trent but you were only a few hours into her life, that could change.

You FaceTimed your parents and they cried on the phone. They had a flight to see you in a days time. They wanted to come sooner but your birth was unexpectedly expected. They tried their best to get to you and their granddaughter as fast as they could. You told them not to worry because you certainly weren’t letting go of her any time soon. For the foreseeable future she'd be right there in your arms.

You were definitely nervous to leave hospital. To bring your baby girl home and be alone was a pretty scary thing but one thing you were particularly excited for or at least to document was the ‘hot dad walk.’ You were tempted to share it on social media because you knew the girlies would have a field day seeing Trent carry Teddy out but you decided not to because these were just moments for you to share with him and cherish. Although, you definitely were appreciative of how good he looked walking out of the hospital carrying her.

When you walked into the house and opened the front door you saw the most adorable balloons and big teddy bear reading ‘welcome home Teddy girl’ you wanted to cry but you think you may had run out of tears by this point. The amount of flowers in your home was absurd as well. Every person you can imagine sent massive bouquets. Teammates, friends, family from all over. You felt so loved and you were so happy your daughter was coming into the world that way. Trent carried her inside adorably nestled in her seat asleep. She looked so cute in a little white onesie from Dior with pink patterned detailing and a matching hat. You hugged Trent in the foyer, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Welcome home, baby bear.” Trent cooed looking down at her. You smiled watching him admire her. You got settled in the living room needing to sit down asap. Trent’s family was coming over in a little to help out and see more of her but for now it was just the three of you. It had been a long almost 48 hours at this point so they needed to get home as well. Trent gently picked up your sleepy girl and carried her over to sit next to you. The little girl in his arms looked just like her dad, she didn’t even bother to try with your genes. She had his complexion, his eyes, everything and you loved it. Teddy snuggled into Trent finding comfort and warmth in her daddy’s arms the same way you did. Her little breaths hit against him and he’d pout every time she’d make a little noise, kissing her head.

“So… What do we do now?” You giggled, tipping your head back onto the back of the couch, rolling it to look at Trent. The house was quiet except for tiny hiccups from Teddy. Your life had completely changed in a matter of hours.

“I have no fucking idea.” Trent laughed back at you. “Mum and Dad now innit?” He looked down at his mini me still chuckling.

“T! You can’t swear anymore!” You pinched at him. He gave a ‘come on’ face. Teddy was not even a day old; it wasn't exactly like she was picking up or learning the words as you said them today.

“Should we show her her room?” You giggled overly excited you were finally home with your new little family. You were eager to have Teddy see the nursery you worked so hard on. It’s not like she could say thank you or anything, break down if she liked it or not but it was still cute. You wanted to show her everything you could, introduce her to the whole world. You carried her upstairs and opened the door to the nursery you had carefully put together for her. It was so calm and serene there. Cream walls and warm soft furniture. She had a whole wardrobe, books, toys, you just wanted to sit in there all day with her. Just admire her and watch her get acquainted with her new home. The embroidered Avalon blanket Trent had given you laid over a small couch. You couldn’t believe that Baby Alexander-Arnold sewn into the blanket was now here and had her own name. What you weren’t expecting though was the surprise left on her changing table; a big bouquet of Venus et Fleur flowers, two neatly wrapped gifts with white furry teddy bear holding a card in its lap.

“T…” you pouted at him. Obviously it was from him. He always managed to get things organized when you weren't paying attention, with help of course. He shrugged and took Teddy from you. You sat down on a chair in the room and began by opening the card.

‘To my most beautiful girls, You have my whole heart. Can’t wait to see what’s in store for our family. Love you both forever - Your T’

You started to cry. You thought you’d run out of tears but clearly not. He brushed his thumb under your eye catching the tears, pressing a kiss to your hair. You sniffled back more tears and held up the bear towards Teddy. She looked but didn’t exactly have the best attention span yet. She just stayed tucked to Trent happy in his arms, her little hand sprawled on him. It caused you to let out a small giggle before you mouthed a thank you to Trent. He just rocked back and forth with Teddy and gave you a sweet smile and a wink as you grabbed for the first box. Both were small but you went for the smallest first. Your jaw slacked a little opening it. It was an unbelievable diamond signet ring with the initial ‘T’. It was way too nice, extravagant almost. You’d have it forever but what you really loved was that it was the first thing you had that you imagined you could pass down for Teddy could to have one day.

You opened the remaining box to see a necklace with a gold and pale pink pendant. You held the charm with embedded letters in your palm. You looked at the word ‘mama’ inscribed on it. You couldn’t believe that that’s who you were now. Mama to Teddy Alexander-Arnold. You blinked your eyes to pull back some tears and took a deep breath. You flicked your eyes up to Trent and Teddy, the two most important people in your life, for the rest of your life before standing up.

“So what do you think of your room, baby girl, huh?” You cooed coming to stroke her back. Trent turned her to show her all the things in her room. You smiled at them as he picked up items and explained them to her. She just looked on while he held up little items going through one by one asking what she thought. In a bittersweet way you felt as if you had been replaced. His eyes only on her. Teddy just babbled along with a squeal and a squeak.

“Didn’t mummy do a good job for you?” He said hushed in the same tone as you, kissing her cheek. Then Trent sat back down on the couch in her room. He patted the seat next to him. “My girls. Hmm?” He looked up at you with the most loving smile. Okay, maybe you hadn’t been replaced maybe he had just made room to love both of you.

“So did they win yesterday?” You cooed, coming to sit next to him. You kissed Teddy and cuddled up to them both.

“You mean we” Trent quipped and you rolled your eyes at him. “Yeah, baby, we did.” He laughed a little “but I honestly have no idea what happened. I know Dom got a goal but I will find out more when I go into AXA.” He didn’t pick his head up to look at you when he spoke, his gaze was completely fixed on Teddy. You wiped a little bubble of drool from the corner of her mouth that you thought was adorable. Everything she did was adorable.

Unfortunately, Trent had to get back to regularly scheduled programming; to work. It was torture for Trent to have to leave you and her to go into training but he managed demanding you sent him updates hourly. Teddy didn’t really do all that much though so the updates wouldn’t be that interesting to anyone else. That said, to you and Trent though every little thing was equally exciting as it was endearing. Dianne was coming over soon to be with you for support while he was out. Trent definitely hadn’t really felt great about you being home alone since the hospital despite your reassurance. Before she came, you sat in the living room of your beautiful home with your daughter and it all just felt surreal for the moment. When did all this happen? You thought to yourself. Sometimes you couldn’t believe a silly conversation you had on a street corner spiraled into all this, into a baby. A complete whirlwind. You had Teddy in a little Moses basket while you leaned around you to pluck out all the notes from the flowers and gifts you had received to write out thank you cards. The stack was thick It was going to be a long process but it had to be done. You genuinely appreciated all of them. After your hand got tired from writing and you took some time to feed Teddy you looked at her little face and decided you wanted someone else to see just how cute she was so you called Lauren. You had FaceTimed her in the hospital after she was first born but Lauren wanted to see as much of Teddy as possible until she could meet in person.

“Hellooo” you whispered fairly quietly, still burping your baby girl on your shoulder. When Lauren answered she had her phone laying on the sink counter of her bathroom facing the ceiling while she did her makeup. You smiled when her face finally came on the screen as she picked up her phone.

“Hiii mummmy. Who is that gorgeous girll!?” She managed to keep her squeal almost as quiet as your voice.

“Say Hi Ted.” You moved the phone for Lauren to see her face that was leaned on your shoulder. Teddy opened her mouth with the idea moving towards the phone with a tiny grunt. “No, no, no, baby girl.” You giggled pulling it away from her. You and Lauren caught up on her life. Even though it had only been a little over a full day of life with Teddy it was important to you not to make everything about your baby. You wanted to listen to Lauren. Things happening in her life were just as significant. So you yapped away often interspersed with Teddy adding in some gurgles.

“Oh! You know who wanted to congratulate you?” She started to laugh. It peaked your interest. Most people you really knew or cared about had already reached out directly. “I saw Chase at a bar. Well I was out and it came up. You had her and he said congratulations.” She laughed rolling her eyes, understanding how insane it was for the man to even talk to her about you.

“Ew! Lauren… Don’t ever say that name in front of my baby again. I decline that congratulations. Absolutely not.” You laughed but it definitely put a bad taste in your mouth. “Oh Di’s here I have to go…” you told Lauren and ended your call knowing you’d likely call her again tomorrow. Like changing of the guards, a few hours later Dianne was gone and Trent was coming home. When he came back from training you walked towards the front door with Teddy to greet him. She didn’t know it yet but she would be excited to see him.

“My baby bear!” Trent cooed. A massive childish grin pulled across his face. His eyes glimmered the second he saw her and her eyes lit up just the same. “You’re so beautiful, aren’t you? Did you have a good 2nd day in the world with mummy and nana?” He carefully pulled her out from your arms and into his. He kissed her all over, swaying back and forth continuously rattling away to her about his own day like she understood everything he was saying.

“Just take a nap baby” Trent cooed, pulling you further back into him. You had retreated to your bedroom exhausted. You laid back on your bed tucked in Trent’s arms with Teddy on your chest, all three of you completely spent from the last 72 hours.

“T, I don’t want to be away from her.” You turned your head back to Trent, resting your chin on your shoulder. You were serious. You really didn’t want to spend a second apart from Teddy but you were totally drained.

“Just close your eyes for a little, baby, okay? I’ll sit right here with her next to you. We’re right here.” He stroked his hand up your arm. You sat up and handed Teddy to him gently before rolling over to his side settling into the bedding that had never felt more comfortable. “I’ll keep my hand on you. You’ll know she’s here with me.” You nodded and eventually dozed off taking a much needed nap. An hour or so later your eyes began to flutter open in the warm dwindling evening light. You peeked one eye open to see trent holding Teddy in his arms with his phone camera facing them

“Whose that? Is that Teddy and daddy? What do you think, Ted? Think you look like daddy?” He cooed, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. Her eyes lit up looking at him through the phone. “I’m gonna take care of you and mummy forever. Yeah?” He squeezed her gently. She cooed making vowel sounds. You reached out and placed your hand onto Trent’s warm skin.

“Think she looks like you, hmm?” You giggled squeezing his thigh then moving over in the bed to lean your head into the nook of the inside of Trent’s elbow. You looked at your little girl gazing back at you making an identical face to his.

“Well… yeah. Don’t you?” He looked at you and gently turned Teddy’s head towards you and squished his cheek to hers for a comparison. “C’mon, baby. She’s my little twin.” Trent was very proud of his creation. You laughed at him, obviously you were kidding. Their similarities were very very evident. You grabbed Trent’s phone from him to take a photo of them.

“Can you smile for me, my little Teddy bear?” You pinched her chubby cheek and she did what would be considered the best attempt at a smile for a newborn baby.

“Yeah, like be so real right now… she’s perfect.” Trent took his phone back and inspected the photos with a big grin. “Gotta send this one to Jude. I’ve been trying to explain how much she looks like me.” Trent had been sending pictures of your little girl to all his friends who hadn’t met her in person yet. Jude in particular was having a field day getting updates. He was claiming he was the favorite uncle already despite it being a day, despite him not actually being related, despite him being in another country, he was still sure he was the favorite uncle.

You tucked into bed for an attempt at actual sleep. You had coaxed Teddy into her own sleep but you weren’t really she even understood the concept of night time yet. You were mentally preparing to be living by her schedule for the foreseeable future. Teddy was really mellow and slept a lot of the day, would wake to feed and then doze off again. It was definitely adorable but it was definitely equally as difficult. You had made a plan for her to be in the nursery. That was the plan but she got up frequently through the night; hungry. She was very hungry and you were very tired everytime it was your turn to walk over to her room. In the moment of rare down time you cuddled into bed with Trent laying on your side. He wrapped you in his arms whispering behind your ear how much he loved you. How much he cared about you. How proud he was of you. The way his warm minty breath hit the back of your ear had you feeling a way you had almost forgotten you could in the last 48 hours. You pushed your ass back into hin. His breath hitched and moved his lips down to nibble on your neck, sucking sweetly on your sensitive skin. You almost let out a pathetic moan just from being in his embrace and the feeling of his lips. It felt so good to be back alone with him under his touch. It was all so familiar and yet entirely different now that there was a third person in the house. You could feel Trent starting to get hard behind you. His semi hard cock tucked in his boxers brushing up against you.

“Thissss.” He laughed a little, the air from his breaths hitting your skin. “Yeah, this right here is going to be difficult. I didn’t plan on the time I’d have to be away from mummy.” He joked before he rolled over onto his back dramatically with a laugh. You rolled over onto yours and turned your head to look at him.

“Oh poor T…” you teased him. He was complaining about not getting to have sex meanwhile you were enduring all the joyous symptomatic effects post birth. He rubbed his hands over his face and puffed out some air. “You did this to yourself, you were the one ‘oh let me cum inside yada yada… now look.” You gestured to the less than sexy pajamas you were in.

“Hey… you’re still very very hot baby by the way so don’t gimme that. Also, I enjoyed each and every time I did that. I’m not complaining. I’ll do it again.” He gave you a pompous smile. He was proud of himself having sex with you, getting you pregnant, having a baby, becoming a dad. As he should be but right now your body could care less about his pride.

“Again!??? T! You need to stay at least a yard away from me for a bit.” You laughed at him, shimmying over in bed to distance yourselves.

“You’ll come crawling back to me… I know you, baby. You have never been very good at ignoring me.” He teased squeezing at your arm, leaning over and pressing a wet kiss onto your cheek with a ‘mwah’ sound, “You love me, can’t get enough” he laughed as you dramatically wiped your hand over your cheek pretending to be grossed out but the film of saliva it left. You always secretly like it when he did that. “Oh T! Mmm that feels so good. Let me make you a daddy.” He mocked your voice and accent. “Jokes on you, baby, innit. I took you up on the offer.” He teased you back. You rolled your eyes at his bad impersonation before you kissed his bare shoulder. You leaned away from his theatrics to check the baby monitor. You and Trent made a little game-plan for who would be ‘on duty’ during certain hours of the night. Just knowing he’d be with you was doing wonders for your nerves. You survived your first night with Teddy outside hospital at home. Barely, maybe… at least the best you could. After that your days and nights just blended together into one big chunk of feeding, snuggling, napping and changing. And even as difficult as it was every time she looked up at you, clinging to you, it made it all worth it.

It was hard to get ready with a baby. Thankfully, Trent was home that morning, he had the whole day off so he rocked Teddy, standing in your wardrobe watching on while you haphazardly pulled on Hill House Nap dress. It would have to do for now. You weren’t exactly fit to turn out a look at the minute. You came to grab Teddy to feed her before both your families arrived and sent Trent down to talk to the chef about the meal.

You hadn’t really had a moment to think so thankfully you were able to give blanket ideas of what you wanted for a lunch you were having for everyone to get together to your party planner. The plan was to have close family and friends over to meet Teddy. Frankly, you’d usually manage something like this on your own but you couldn’t be asked. To be fair, your planner went above and beyond for this. It was elaborate. You walked into your back garden with Teddy clinging to your chest to scope it all out. It was so beautiful and whimsical, lots of browns and tan colors. Pampas grass arrangements on the table paired with little bears and lots of balloons. You thanked her and she and her team got out of the way before the first person arrived. No one else but good old George. Trent answered the front door and gave him a big hug.

“Mateeeee, congratulations! Where is she?” George asked, walking through the entryway eager to meet what he said was going to be ‘an upgrade for a new best friend.’

“Thanks, bro. They’re both outside.” Trent gripped his shoulder bringing him in the house. George handed him a present. “You didn’t have to bring anything, honestly George.” Trent laughed.

“My mum told me I had to. She’s coming a little later with dad:” George shrugged. Trent grew up going to primary school with George before he moved schools for football. His whole family stayed close with George’s, their respective brother’s ages aligning closely. The relationship was probably one of the reasons he was able to stay so grounded. It was normal as if at 17 he was just in school not gunning for a spot in the first eleven. The boys walked into the kitchen where you had gone after checking out outside. “Wow… Trentski 2.0 hmm?” George lowered his voice a little walking towards you. You hummed. He gave you a hug and asked if you were doing okay before focusing on your new baby. The three of you caught up chatting while Teddy contributed very valuable ‘puh’ and ‘bah’ noises smacking her lips together trying to nom on Trent’s face as he held her before more people started to arrive. It was mostly just Trent’s family, until finally, your own. Your dad knocked on the door and judging from who was already inside you knew it had to be them. So you cheerily walked to the door holding your baby.

“Want to meet my mummy and daddy? Meet auntie Winnie? What do you think, my little teddy bear?” You cooed, smushing a kiss on her soft skin. You opened the door with one hand. Your parents' faces dropped into silent gasps.

“Oh my goodness, look at her.” Your mum sang coming to hug you. You wrapped your free arm around her and picked your head up to see your dad. His face had transitioned into a proud beaming smile seeing you hold your baby.

“We are so excited to meet you.” Your dad cooed, stroking his hand over her, kissing you on the forehead. “Teddy girl, you are already very very loved.” He was right. It was so special to have all your family and friends here that could make it to meet her.

“She’s absolutely perfect.” Winnie pouted looking at you holding her.

“Well come in! I think you know everyone here… if you don’t I’ll introduce you.” You babbled walking further into your house towards the back garden signaling your family to follow. Your parents and Winnie brought an unnecessary amount of gifts for you. So you asked your sister to just put them upstairs for now, thanking them preemptively. Trent got up from his conversation with his brothers and welcomed your family with big hugs. Everyone mingled. George talked with you and Winnie as he watched Trent hold your daughter.

“She is literally Trent… it’s mad.” He spoke looking at you for confirmation. You nodded with a smile.

“The funny thing is, I really thought I was there too.” You joked and George rolled his eyes at you. As much as you loved that they looked so similar there was a part of you that was a tinge jealous of Trent that when you looked at Teddy, you knew she was his daughter. You had to think about it a little harder to find your features in her. You sat and ate a lovely lunch. You had an avocado toastie with burrata and tomatoes. You got about half way through it before you were full. You weren’t really that hungry though so for the remainder you just held Teddy as people tried to grab her attention, taking a million photos. It was all perfect, the weather, the people, the memories you were making. When everyone had finished lunch a lot of them left and got on their way but Tyler and George decided to hang around for a bit. You stayed outside with your mum, Winnie, and Dianne. Your dad taking a nap jet lagged. Dianne and your mum ranted on and on about new born babies; things to do and not to do, how perfect they are, how difficult they can be, what your body is like after birth. Winnie shivered at the latter.

“I think I need a drink. That was a lot to hear.” She laughed, shaking her head trying to get the images that were just explained and unfortunately burned into her memory to disappear. The boys were all inside Tyler holding Teddy as they all watched a footie match in the cinema.

“So the plan’s back in motion now, yeah? You had her.” Tyler spoke, turning his body to Trent and then gesturing to Teddy. “All good to go? What do you think, Ted?” He asked Trent and the little baby in his arms. Teddy just spittled a little. “Erm… not the answer I was looking for but I’ll take it as a yes.” Tyler laughed before Trent came to pick Teddy up with an unnecessary grunt from how ‘heavy’ she was from Tyler’s arms and brought her to sit with him. Cleaning up around her pouty lips.

“You’ve had it for about a year now, mate. Maybe she should hold onto it. You know, on her finger… it serves no purpose in a safe.” George quipped at Trent with a smug face and a raised eyebrow. Trent nodded and shrugged coyly. You had given Trent a beautiful baby girl. If that wasn’t love, Trent wasn’t sure what was… but that wasn’t all he wanted, all he needed. He needed to give you everything in return and that included his last name. He wanted to be a family. One unit. Trent, Teddy and Y/N Alexander- Arnold.

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Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter … 🤍

Next part - Chapter 7 xx

[bogusavathepit]

(S4) ASoIaF "Career": Maester

this career is a very simple, nonactive one meant to assist in any ASoIaF playthroughs people have, therefore it's pretty superficial. It's more a placeholder for immersion.

DESCRIPTION

As the order of scholars, healers, messengers, and natural philosophers, maesters educate new students at the Citadel of in Oldtown, a city in the Reach. House Hightower was integral in the Citadel's foundation, and continues to patronize the order. The Citadel is also financed by the lords who pay for having a maester in their service, and from certain taxes that it collects at Oldtown.

As advisers to the Westerosi nobility, the maesters have largely supplanted the Alchemists' Guild. They are sometimes called "the knights of the mind." Some may never become an official maester or even an acolyte!

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Levels

"Novice": You are a new students and have begun your education at the Citadel. Most acolytes will treat you as if you have little mindpower, and if you violate the rules of the Citadel, a maester order you to be confined to your rooms by the maesters. You may receive a more physical punishment, such as if you steal from the kitchens, a rector might put you in stocks at the Seneschal's Court, where acolytes may throw rotten vegetables at you. Act smart! To officially become an acolyte, you must earn a link for your chain by going before an archmaester to demonstrate your knowledge. If the archmaester judges your knowledge to be proficient, they will award you with a link of a metal reflecting the subject.

“Acolyte”: You have earned your first link for your chain! You can train at letters at the Scribe's Hearth, and an Oldtowner may hire you to read their letters or write their wills. When you complete your training and are prepared to take your vows to become a maester, you will put in a black-dark room with one of the Citadel's glass candles made of razor-sharp dragonglass. You must stay in that room for the entire night in darkness, unless he is able to light the candle.

Branches

"Maesters": Scholars and healers who have completed their training at the Citadel. They can be sent by the Citadel to serve at the holding of a lord throughout the Seven Kingdoms. A lord has to pay the Citadel for a maester's service, and smallfolk believe that maesters are unwilling to help them. Maesters are only found in castles; if a lord does not have a maester in his service, he is seen as unimportant. They have vowed to hold no lands or lordships, and to be celibate. Maesters wear a collar, which is supposed to remind him of the realm they serve. When they complete their education and take their vows, a maester puts aside their House name. Although they are supposed to be loyal to the seat to which they are assigned, regardless of the changes in control of that holding, old allegiances or loyalties might continue linger.

"Archmaesters": Maesters who have demonstrated mastery of a particular subject. They receive a mask, ring, and rod in the metal corresponding to the link of the maester's chain which signifies their expertise on the topic. Archmaesters teach the students at the Citadel in their subject of expertise, and they judge whether a novice or an acolyte has shown enough knowledge on their subject to receive a link for their chain. They have the right to sit on the Conclave, a council which elects the Grand Maester and determines when the seasons change. Although the Conclave puts effort into demonstrating their consideration of ability before birth, this is generally a pretense, as family status often affects their final choice for Grand Maester. The meetings of the Conclave are conducted behind closed doors at the Citadel. Each archmaester is said to carry a heavy, black iron key that will open most of the doors in the Citadel. They keep them close on their person, or hide them well.

"The Grand Maester": The office of Grand Maester was created in 5 AC by Aegon I Targaryen, who asked for an archmaester to advise him on governing the Seven Kingdoms. Sworn to serve the whole realm, the Grand Maester sits on the monarch's small council and acts as one of the royal advisers. As the Citadel's representative at the royal court of the monarch on the Iron Throne the Grand Maester is elected by the Conclave, and only the Conclave can unmake them again, although several Grand Maesters have died violently. The Grand Maester wears many interwoven maester chains to indicate their high office, but these do not reflect their true studies. Gems are woven into the chains.

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[somedaylazysomeday]

A Grand Deception - Part One

As a seamstress, you know your way around a ballgown. A ballroom is a different story, but you are determined to experience it for yourself.

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Personal Disclaimer: I wrote this having only watched the Bridgerton tv show. About a week ago, I discovered that Benedict's book-canon love story shares some similarities with my fic. These similarities are coincidental. After posting a poll about the topic, I decided to share this work anyway. Please know I am aware of the situation!

Rating: Mature. Minors, do not interact

Word Count: 5,200

Warnings: A lot of backstory, trespassing, lying about identity, alcohol consumption, flirting, references to Regency-era values. Author played fast and loose with rules of Regency dining etiquette.

Next | Masterlist

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It was of some comfort to you that - when the situation inevitably unraveled - you could not claim to have invented the idea yourself. 

You were hardly the first seamstress who used her skills to disguise herself. Nor were you the first to use her overheard knowledge to learn who may be hosting a masquerade ball so she could attend. 

To that end, Madame Delacroix had told you of her own experience infiltrating the ton’s events. You had learned well, but you were merely another follower, not a visionary. The penalty for your transgression would not change, but your conscience would be eased slightly with the knowledge. 

The single inspiration you could claim as entirely your own was that of your shop. You purchased gowns at the end of every season, researched coming trends for the next season, and altered the gowns to fit. 

Ladies of rich and respectable families were willing to part with gowns for a relative pittance, but most of your gowns were from society matrons. When their time playing chaperone to some wide-eyed miss had ended in a successful engagement, the lucky matron retired to a comfortable life in the countryside. What use did she have for extravagant society gowns there? And, with the style of gathers and ruffles for married women, you could easily fashion multiple gowns from one matronly dress. 

Your shop was hardly the most popular one in London, but you ran a brisk enough business. There were no investors to keep fat with your profits, and you poured most of your money back into the materials and help you hired. It could tax the nerves to operate with such a small amount of money in your coffers, but such was the nature of the business. The lead-in to a season was incredibly busy and profitable, but the off season could ruin you.

But you were happy. Your work was varied and interesting. You worked with sumptuous fabrics in the richest colors. It was a necessity to keep abreast of the latest fashion trends. You truly could not have imagined a better life for yourself. 

And yet… you were unbearably curious about how it would feel to wear one of your creations. You were occasionally hired to style a hopeful debutante, but you handed her off to a chaperone before she walked out through the front door of her own home. You witnessed all of the preparations and you had been party to the aftermath, but you had never had the opportunity to attend a ball. 

It was a silly dream. You were the daughter of a tailor, and not one who served the upper echelons of London society. Your mother spent her time running the household herself - a necessity, as your family could not afford to keep servants. Your brother worked at a newspaper, operating the printing presses. Your sister had married well, wedding a butcher who lived above his shop in a respectable section of the city. 

You had already achieved one silly dream when you had opened your own shop. Rather than satisfying you, that achievement only convinced you that you were capable of incredible things. Why should a ball be the exception?

Fortunately, the ton was an uninspired thing and thus wholly predictable. At least once every season, at least one family believed themselves to be the most creative souls and hosted a masquerade. 

Your ability to foresee the trend had allowed you to plan far in advance. After the last season had ended and you made your purchases, you had bought just enough fabric to fashion yourself a dress. The material was simple, but of high quality, and you had embroidered beading and embellishment enough to allot the finished product an artistic simplicity rather than leaving it painfully plain. 

The mask you had chosen only assisted the illusion of being understatedly gilded. It was a shining silver - not a true metallic mask, but a close enough facsimile that it seemed to be a choice due to the weight rather than the price of the silver. There was a delicate tracery over your brow and along the swells where the mask arched over your cheekbones. 

The effect of the outfit was far from dramatic, especially when you very well knew the sort of dresses that the young ladies of the ton would be wearing at the ball, but you had been purposeful about it. You were trying to fade into the background, and it seemed likely that you would succeed. 

One of your more clever ideas had been to cut the dress as a matronly garment rather than a daring one meant for a debutante. Doing so would relegate you to the realm of mamas, chaperones, and spinsters. Few bothered to steal a second glance at that foreboding cloud of judgment, disapproval, and eager plotting. You were too pragmatic to think your plan foolproof, but you had taken as many precautions as you could imagine.

The Lawsons had been the ones to secure a masquerade theme for the season, and you strategically arrived at the home at eleven, a full hour after the ball had begun. It was a simple thing to slip around the corner of the great manor house, entering through a side corridor. When you passed any of the house’s servants, you ducked your head and nervously arranged your hair. 

With that attitude and countenance, they would likely believe you were returning from some secret tryst in a private place, not attempting to sneak in entirely. Servants were paid for their discretion - at least, in the eyes of the ton - so your exploits would not be disseminated until the following morning at the earliest. 

Your matron-styled dress allowed for a more flexible corset than the most fashionable styles, but you still found that your breath was short as you reached the ballroom. You were thankful for the music, as it gave you a better idea of where your ultimate goal was. 

The room was cavernous, yet filled to the brim with intricate details. A second-story balcony curved around the majority of the room, rather like the opera house you’d had the privilege to visit once. A grand staircase descended from the middle of that balcony, and it was full of still-arriving debutantes and their chaperones. 

The orchestra was sat on the balcony along either side of the staircase, and you noted the way each instrument seemed to take precedence in turn as you walked along the length of the floor. They were playing a quadrille at the moment, and the dancing couples seemed as enamored by the music as much as by each other.  

Above and all around, candles glowed and flickered, casting small pools of light across every surface. A chandelier hung overhead, eye-catching in its size and brightness. The crystals set among the candles sent tiny reflected rainbows dancing across the crowd beneath. The reflectors behind the candles on the main floor helped catch the brightness that would otherwise be wasted on the walls, throwing it out into the room until it looked near daylight. The effect was multiplied by an array of mirrors set around the room, refracting both light and the furor of activity in the ballroom. 

Conversations filled any spaces left in the music. Everywhere, men and women chatted, laughed, and told stories. They were eye-catching with their grand gestures, only made more fascinating with their ornate clothing. You longed for a scrap of paper so you could make note of the styles of this season, and how they might be adapted to meet the styles of the next. 

A table at one side of the room was manned by a servant offering refreshments. You knew from the stories you had heard that a supper would be served at one, but there were beverages for any guest or dancer who may need one. You accepted a glass of iced punch with a grateful nod to the servant. It was remarkably hot in the room, especially compared to the chill of the January evening. 

Sipping the strong punch - and abruptly understanding the wisdom of such small glasses - you ventured forth to find a vantage point for observing the crowd. 

You found one buried in the crowd of matrons and chaperones. They were watching the dance floor with great interest, speculating about matches and comparing notes on how the gentlemen and young ladies had been occupying themselves during the season thus far. It was the perfect location - a view of everything and in earshot of all the information you could possibly desire. Some of the information was likely to be nothing more than rumor, but you cared little. It was entertaining enough to compensate for a lack of veracity. 

“Benedict!” one woman called. She was a handsome woman, dark hair perfectly coiffed to match her elegant dress. You recognized her even from behind as the widowed Lady Bridgerton. 

A man separated from a group of other young men and approached, smiling expectantly. He bore a strong resemblance to Lady Bridgerton, and was wearing the simple black mask that seemed popular among the men of the ballroom. “Yes, Mother?” 

“Do dance with Miss Harper this evening,” Lady Bridgerton instructed. “She needs cheering after the loss of her uncle. And she would be quite an excellent match for you.” 

You wrinkled your nose. Arranged marriages were less common than they had been when you were a child, but the aristocracy still tended to take a heavy hand in deciding their children’s future spouses.

Unfortunately, the young Bridgerton glanced over his mother’s shoulder and took in your expression. You hurriedly glanced down at your glass, as if your face had been a reaction to the strong punch, then applied yourself to staring around the room. 

“I will take that under advisement, Mother,” Benedict said. Your wayward glance prevented you from seeing his face, but his voice was filled with laughter. “If you’ll excuse me?” 

He departed then, retreating back across the ballroom. However, you were far from unobservant, and you counted the multiple times he noted your position from among the group of laughing gentlemen. You did your utmost to ignore him, taking solace in the knowledge that your mask protected your identity from whatever scrutiny he may choose to apply. 

You could hardly pretend surprise when you found him standing beside you scarcely an hour after you had overheard the conversation between Lady Bridgerton and her son. He was facing quite the opposite direction, but you could not fail to miss the way he inched closer every time you took a step away. 

At long last, he bumped into you with his broad shoulder, sloshing your punch onto the floor and still refusing to acknowledge you. 

“And to think Bridgertons are said to be well-mannered,” you snipped waspishly. 

He glanced back at you, eyes bright. “I beg your pardon, miss. I did not see you. Allow me to fetch you a new glass of punch in recompense for my rudeness.”

“No, thank you,” you said, the coldness in your voice detracting from the politeness of your words. “I would not take the risk of another incident.” 

“Did it stain your gown?” he asked, taking your elbow and looking you up and down. However solicitous it may have seemed at first, the mischief in his expression belied the gesture. 

You glared at him until he dropped your arm. “You need not feign concern, Lord Bridgerton. You have apologized, I have accepted it, and my gown escaped the incident unscathed. There is no need to continue our acquaintance.” 

With a final frown for good measure, you turned away. Benedict seemed undaunted, keeping step with you as you found a servant to take your near-empty glass. 

“May I ask your name, then?” Benedict asked, for all the world like you had not dismissed him. 

“Lady Sharp.” 

It was a falsehood you had planned well in advance. The Sharps were one of the largest families in London, some branches so far-flung that no one seemed capable of remembering who was who. 

Despite your confidence in your assumed identity, Benedict paused for a moment and your heart stuttered. At long last, he smiled. “Is that so?” 

“Yes.” 

Perhaps if you continued to be short with him, Benedict would understand that he should leave you well enough alone. 

And yet… The young Bridgerton continued to stay close as you watched the dancers, interrupting your overheard bits of gossip with remarks of his own. His commentary was amusing, but you continued to be irked by his presence. He was drawing attention by standing with the chaperones, dowagers, and doting mothers, and some of that attention was reflected onto you by virtue of proximity. 

“You need not remain close as some form of apology, Lord Bridgerton,” you informed him at last. “You have more than adequately apologized for your earlier misstep, and I would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s scorn if you miss your dance with Miss Harper.”

Benedict shrugged. “Miss Harper is occupied well enough with other partners. It is my duty to see to it that every lady may dance if she chooses. Shall we?” 

You frowned deeply, staring from his face to his proffered arm and back. “I do not dance.” 

He paused at that. “Surely you are simply being modest…” 

“I assure you, I mean what I say,” you told him, voice appalled, “I do not dance. If you feel a particular urge toward the dance floor, I urge you heed it and find a suitable partner before they have all been otherwise engaged.”

Benedict turned slightly, his gaze traveling from one end of the crowded ballroom to the other. When he had completed the visual circuit, he faced you, grinning engagingly once more. “I appreciate your concern, but I would rather continue our conversation.” 

Your mouth fell inelegantly open. Thankfully, the room was called to attention before you could loose a scathing comment about your time together.

Lady Lawson stood at the bottom of her grand staircase, Lord Lawson standing attentively to her left. A servant you recognized as their butler announced in a booming - yet not abrasive - voice, “Lord and Lady Lawson invite you to adjourn to the dining rooms.”

To your dismay, the men and women of the ballroom paired together. The crowd moved steadily in the direction indicated by the butler. 

Benedict offered his arm once more. “May I escort you to the dining room, Lady Sharp?” 

You paused, frantically searching for a reason you might excuse yourself. If the Lawsons had arranged for their guests to sit in predetermined places, your presence would not only be marked, but commented upon and questioned. And yet, the gathered crowd meant that slipping away would be nigh impossible. 

“Lady Sharp?” Benedict asked again, pulling you from your thoughts. “You are attending dinner, are you not?”

“Yes… yes, of course,” you said, immediately belied by your trembling voice. From a sheer lack of options, you accepted Benedict’s arm. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton.”

He inclined his head as if to silently acknowledge your thanks and steered you into the dining room. 

Truly, there was far more than one room in which to dine. There seemed to be at least three hosting tables set with full arrays of silver plates and utensils. The dining areas seemed far less brightly lit than the ballroom was, the low lighting offering a soft intimacy that made the surrounding couples perk with excitement. Clearly, the flirtations of the dance floor would not be suspended due to a simple supper. 

“May I help you find your seats, sir?” 

You had been too entranced by your own thoughts - the sudden appearance of the servant made you start like a spooked horse. Benedict patted your hand. The gesture was a bit condescending, but you found it oddly soothing. Far more worrisome, however, was the sight of small name cards resting at every place setting on the tables.

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he said. “I believe I was to be seated with my family a few tables behind you. This is Lady Sharp. I will dine with her this evening.”

“But sir…” The servant looked bemused, white brows drawing together. “Lady Lawson was informed that the Sharps would not be in London for this year’s season. Lady Sharp reported that Miss Rosalie Sharp was far too ill to be moved out of her confinement in the countryside.” 

You stammered weak protests, but Benedict smoothly interrupted. “Surely Lady Lawson is aware that Lady Clara Sharp decided to winter in London this year. The physician said that a change of scenery would be good after leaving a confinement of her own.”

“A confinement of her-?” The servant shook his head. “My mistress said nothing of this when she was preparing the ball.” 

You gathered your nerve. If your ruse were to fall apart, it would not be at the hand of an overly curious servant. You drew yourself up to your full height, giving your best steely-eyed, matronly disapproval. “I had assumed that my lack of an invitation was no more than an ignorant oversight. However, I begin to suspect that it was something far more intentional. Perhaps it would be best if I departed…” 

“My apologies, Lady Sharp,” the servant hurried to say. “Please, allow me to find a place for you.” 

You inclined your head in the shallowest nod you could muster, watching imperiously as he rushed off to find a place setting for the fictitious Lady Clara Sharp. 

“These events are growing less organized by the day,” Benedict confided, shaking his head in mock despair. 

The servant returned, sparing you the effort of inventing a response. “I will guide you to your seat, Lady Sharp. Lord Bridgerton, you requested your seat moved beside Lady Sharp’s, did you not?” 

“Yes, I believe I should like to dine with Lady Sharp,” Benedict said amiably. 

“Very good, sir,” the servant said. “This way.” 

You did not particularly enjoy the tone with which Benedict said ‘Lady Sharp’. In his voice, it sounded less like a title and more like a private sort of jest. 

Fortunately, your arrival in a far dining room provided a much-needed distraction. This was clearly the last table to have been filled, and as such was seated with an interesting amalgamation of people. 

A timid-looking young lady sat nervously adjusting and readjusting the skirt of her dress. Her watchful chaperone eyed the process with fascination and concern. Seated at the chaperone’s other side was an older gentleman who seemed to have overindulged in punch, if you were to guess from his flushed face and exaggerated gestures. 

On the other side of the table was a young man who kept glancing at the young lady and pretending that it had been accidental any time he was caught at it. Beside him were two place settings. From the lack of name cards above the plates, you assumed they were meant for you and Benedict.

Abruptly, a wave of vertigo washed over you. You had accomplished so much to be here, yet how many accomplishments were too many? It was as if you had climbed something terribly tall - every time you moved upward, it only left you with further to fall. And if you were to be discovered during this dinner? You would have very far to fall indeed.

“Are you well?” Benedict asked. 

You blinked. The servant was holding your chair, waiting to help you be seated. You weren’t hungry in the least, but there was no way to excuse yourself that would not draw more attention than was wise. The only way to return to safety was to continue on as if nothing were amiss. 

“Yes, thank you,” you demurred, moving to your seat. 

When the skirt of your dress was safely tucked under the table, the servant offered a slight bow and moved away. The first course was laid out on the table, a manservant lingering nearby incase someone required a dish from a different part of the table. 

“What may I tempt you with?” Benedict asked. His smile was a touch too wide for the question to be entirely innocent. Before you could say something harsh, he half-stood, fork extended toward a dish holding chilled cuts of meat. 

You took a moment to study everything. “Roast chicken, please. And perhaps a few prawns.” 

Benedict took your plate and began transferring the items you had requested. “Soup as well?” 

“Perhaps a little.” 

You eyed the women across the table. The young lady was picking delicately at a few scraps of meat and you were concerned by the quantity of the choices you had made, but her chaperone was tucking into a plate piled high. 

Benedict placed your dishes back in front of you and gathered his own selections. When you were both seated again, you cut a piece of chicken and ate it as delicately as you could manage. It was delicious and you congratulated yourself once more on choosing to attend the ball dressed as a chaperone rather than a debutante. 

“So, a Sharp in London,” Benedict mused. “I rather believed you all traveled together. Like a herd or a pack.” 

You gave him an unamused look at the animal references. “And you pretended to know all of my family’s concerns when we were finding our seats. Do you always lie to achieve your own ends?” 

He gave a wince, but it was decidedly playful. “‘Lie’ is such a harsh word, Lady Sharp. I simply choose the path most likely to lead to my destination and follow it.” 

“By lying?” 

“And I suppose you are a paragon of virtue?” he asked, and you fell silent. It would be rather paradoxical for you to blame him for a lie when you were currently lying to an entire ballroom of people. 

“That was not an admonishment,” he clarified after a moment. “Nor was it a bid to halt our conversation. I was enjoying myself.”

“From what I have gathered of your temperament, I doubt you often suffer from the lack of enjoyment,” you snipped. “You seem to find infinite amusement in everything surrounding you.” 

Benedict’s eyes widened. “I… am flattered, truly, that you’ve taken such pains to truly detail my character. Perhaps I should return the favor.” 

“Do not.” You regretted the warning a moment after you had issued it. Rather than looking dissuaded, Benedict seemed intrigued.

“Indeed, I may be unable to help myself,” he mused. “Your motivations are fascinating, and they would be even more so if you turned out not to be Lady Sharp after all.”

“I am Lady Sharp,” you insisted stubbornly. 

“Of course you are,” he agreed easily. “But imagine if you were not. Why would you pretend to be?” 

Your mind halted abruptly when faced with the task of imagining your own motivations as if they belonged to another. What should you say? What could you say? For all of his casually friendly demeanor, Benedict was not stupid. It was possible that your false theories of your own motivations would provide him with proof that you were the very person you pretended to understand.

But still, the rules of polite conversation required that you provide some sort of an answer. Your voice was slow as you asked, “Who can begin to guess at the motivations of the poor?” 

It was more harsh than you had imagined it would sound, but Benedict did not recoil. Instead, he replied, “Motivations are mysterious, those of the poor and the nobility alike.”

The answer was vague, but you understood why - his eyes were fixed on the young lady at the end of the table and the young man seated across from her. 

“Miss Barrett, I found the most interesting flower in the park yesterday afternoon-” he started. 

He had the young lady’s attention immediately, a shy smile on her thin face, but her chaperone pointedly cleared her throat before the young lady could reply. “Elisa, it is not proper for you to answer him without being formally introduced.” 

“Finnie and I have been friends since before we could walk!” Elisa argued.

“His name is Lord Finlay Spencer,” the chaperone corrected. “And your childhood acquaintanceship does not matter. You have not been officially introduced in the time since he returned to London.” 

The young pair fumed silently, with nothing more than frustrated glances shared between them.

“Lady Barrett,” Benedict said abruptly, drawing the attention of everyone who longed to be distracted from the tension. “I understand you are a most loyal patron of the arts. Is that so?” 

“It is so, Lord Bridgerton,” Lady Barrett confirmed. “I believe in the importance of preserving artwork for years to come.” 

“As do I.” Benedict smiled at her… and at the red-faced man seated to her right. “And our sentiments are shared by our companion, Lord Hopkins. He has recently donated a number of works to your preferred museum. I believe they are to name a wing in his honor.” 

Lady Barrett turned to Lord Hopkins, an expression of mingled surprise and admiration. “I recently took in the Hopkins collection. Most impressive, Lord Hopkins.” 

Lord Hopkins blinked rapidly, clearly attempting to gather himself. He made an admirable effort as he returned her smile. “You are too kind, Lady Barrett. I mourn the loss of those works, yet they were wasted with only my family to appreciate them. And, if you will pardon my directness, I believe I may have been the only one of the Hopkins family to truly appreciate them.” 

“I am certain the Hopkins family has an interest in art ,” Lady Barrett demurred, “though I understand the sense that one has a keener appreciation for art than those around oneself.” 

With such a topic brought up, the pair slipped into conversation. Lord Finlay Spencer and Lady Elisa Barrett cast grateful glances in Benedict’s direction and began to speak in softened tones to avoid drawing the attention of the elder Lady Barrett.

“Neatly done,” you complimented lowly. “Yet it prompts me to wonder how often you concern yourself in the affairs of others.” 

Benedict shrugged. “I simply enjoy pulling strings to see what unravels. Perhaps that is why I find you so interesting.” 

You arched your brows. “And precisely what string of mine do you believe yourself to be pulling?” 

“That you are not Lady Sharp, of course.” 

He took a sip of wine as you fought to control your expression, and his utter lack of concern was infuriating. 

“Are we to continue this thought experiment, then?” you asked at last. “In truth, I am beginning to find it tiresome.”

“I do not need you to confirm my theory,” Benedict told you. “I have gathered proof enough of my own since we met.” 

“Proof?” you asked, attempting to sound skeptical rather than afraid. 

“You did not wait for an introduction, you claim not to dance, and you did not shyly simper away when I touched your arm,” he listed. “You are no more a lady than I.” 

These arguments were presented without censure, but you loosed an inelegant snort regardless. It was foolish and you knew it, but you could not prevent yourself from showing your own powers of observation: “You are wearing a fine silk shirt, a perfectly pressed cravat, and more perfume than anyone else in the room. I am a lady, so it follows that you may be one as well.” 

Benedict - unbelievably - grinned at your insults, his eyes crinkling at the edges. You fought not to return the expression, though you found it remarkably contagious. “I believe it is called ‘cologne’ when it is worn by a man. I confess, I’ve never quite understood the difference myself.”

“If you believe I am a fraud, why have you kept me company all evening?” you asked. It was not a confirmation of his suspicions, but it was close enough to make your heart race.

“You are interesting,” he countered. “Certainly the most interesting person here, and among the most interesting people I have ever met.” 

You would have found a reason to cut the conversation short if Benedict had pressed for any further information, but he did not. Instead, you continued speaking plainly together through the remaining courses. He wanted to learn your opinions on all manner of things, from politics to the latest fashions. 

When the time came to return to the dance floor, he stayed close. He was charming and amusing, but refused to be parted from your side. It could have been cloying, but you privately thought him akin to a particularly amiable sort of burr.

After a few dances had passed, Lady Bridgerton approached, nodding to you with an assessing sort of look. However, she spoke to her son rather than question you. You were grateful for the slight. “Benedict, I believe I asked you to dance with Miss Harper.”

“You did, Mother,” Benedict agreed, “but Lady Sharp and I are speaking of important matters. I could not possibly tear myself away.” 

Lady Bridgerton gave him a look filled with motherly disapproval and you cleared your throat. “Lord Bridgerton, we may speak at another time. The number of dances at this ball is limited and the hour grows late. I fear Miss Harper will be fully occupied if you delay longer.” 

Lady Bridgerton turned, triumphant, to her son. Benedict sighed and bowed shallowly in your direction. “I beg your pardon, Lady Sharp. I look forward to continuing our conversation after this dance.” 

He wove his way through the crowd, presumably in the direction of Miss Harper. Lady Bridgerton remained by your side, and you glanced at her in the silence. She met your gaze, tilting her head curiously in a manner that reminded you of her son. “I do not believe we have met, Lady Sharp. I am Lady Violet Bridgerton.” 

You returned her nod with one of your own. “Lady Clara Sharp. Lovely to meet you.” 

“I was unaware that any of the Sharp family were in London this season-” she started. Thankfully, she was interrupted by the arrival of a dark-haired young lady.

“Mama, I need to speak with you-” 

“Eloise, I am not-” 

“Mama, please!” the girl insisted, tugging at her mother’s elbow. Lady Bridgerton studied you for another moment before giving an apologetic smile and allowing her daughter to pull her away. 

As cues went, it was a fairly clear one. You steadily worked your way through the crowd until you could slip into an unguarded hall. From there, it was a simple thing to leave the Lawson house, find the cloak you had stored in a disused shed, and travel back to your shop. 

When you had removed the mask and the dress, you took careful stock of the evening. The dress and mask would need to be destroyed, and you regretted not bidding a true farewell to Benedict Bridgerton, but you considered the endeavor a success. 

One that could never be repeated.

---

Author's Note - As usual with Fanfic February fics, this is a two-parter. Tomorrow's chapter will have spice in it, so please be warned.

Thanks for reading!

[devereauxsdisease]

Reconstitution

Ch. 1: Picking Up The Pieces

          It took three weeks, but Will finally declared what he called The Fish Shack finished. Hannibal couldn’t see much of a difference besides some new shingles and a better roof. Notably, he was not invited to look into the shack and there was a shiny new padlock attached to the door.

          Hannibal had hoped the completion of the shack would draw Will into the house. Hannibal had mentioned how beneficial the sauna would be for his shoulder several times. But it seemed the point of The Fish Shack was to give Will a place to store his accoutrements for his frequent trips to Lake Kisezers. Now, every morning as Hannibal sat in the sauna, literally and figuratively steaming, Will would be rummaging in the shack before walking 100 meters to the water.

          He’d return at dusk to the shack, only to emerge 45 minutes later smelling of sweat and fish, holding a Prussian Carp or two. If Hannibal never ate another carp in his life he thought he’d be quite content. It was getting taxing to think up new marinades and preparations for the dreaded fish. He’d even put them in an aspic hoping to deter Will, but Will kept bringing them and Hannibal kept preparing them. He refused to turn down any gift from Will Graham. Hannibal mused it was a bit like owning an outdoor cat — keeping to its own schedule unless it chose to leave a carcass on your doorstep or decided it needed feeding.

          But when the first frost of the season hit, Will came back in at 3 pm, stomping his feet and rubbing his wind-chapped hands together. Hannibal had smiled, mentioning that he’d just started making mulled wine and offering Will a glass. To his delight, Will accepted and suggested making a fire in the living room.

          What followed, was the first of many conversations. It had started out a bit rough, as was to be expected.

          “So…” Will sipped his wine as he tossed a cushion by the fireplace. “Kill anyone recently?”

          “Not very recently, no.” Hannibal side-stepped Will and settled onto the cushion, which surprised the empath. With a half smile, Will grabbed another cushion and sat by Hannibal. “Did you have somebody in mind?”

          “I might.” Will stretched his legs out, feet literally to the fire. “There’s a guy that lives on the water two houses down. He’s been poisoning the herring gulls to keep them off his pier.”

          Hannibal hummed, taking a sip of wine. “How discourteous.”

          “The gulls probably think so.”

          “Well, we can eliminate him, and I can add some red meat back to our diet…” Hannibal ran his finger around the rim of the mug. “Or I could break him down into chum and you could feed him to the fish the gulls eat.”

          Will laughed, short and stilted like he was unused to the sound. “Both. I’m craving a good steak; the rest is for the gulls.”

          Hannibal nodded, eyes following Will’s to the fire. With any luck, it would be a harsh winter, and this would be the first of many afternoons beside the flames with Will.

Read the rest on AO3...

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 17: Truthful Longing [A4]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Continuation of: Prompt 1. December Moon [A1], Prompt 5. Open Doors [A2], Prompt 11. Out Of Reach [A3]

A/N: You guys 😭 This part is— Gosh, I love it and I’m just a mess of tears and happy feels after finishing today’s fic 😭👏 Gosh, I do so hope you’ll love this - and please send some good vibes and extra energy my way today if you can (it’s accounting day, AND I’m doing corrections to my accounting before it’s time to do income taxes in January… I hate accounting, I just wanna write my silly little books and marvel at torturing my characters before they get their HEA but nooooo…. Gotta do accounting and deal with taxes and this is NOT the vibe for Rickmas Season 😒) ❤

Tags/TW’s: Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Revealing Secrets, Kissing, ALL THE DAMN LOVELY LANGUAGE AND SPEECH, Proposal, Light Grovelling, Light Pleading, Threat Of Miscommunication (Instantly Resolved), ALL THE BRANDON LOVE

Word Count: 1.3k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Truthful Longing

His eyes widened, shock and worry filling them, as I let my tears roll down my cheeks. “I have to leave,” I said, rising so swiftly the delicate chair toppled. He stood just as quickly. “Leave? I cannot in good conscience—” “Sir, you are making my life unbearable.” He stiffened, the shock an worry exchanged with something more painful. “I— I am at a loss. You view me with such harshness, such darkness in your eyes, and I cannot fathom what I have done to earn your disdain…” “It is not disdain, Colonel Brandon,” I forced out, stiffening my spine and hardening my heart in preparation for the hurt soon to attack it. “You— Forgive me for being blunt—” I snivelled and tried to steady my voice “—but you are the loss breaking my heart, sir.”

He took a step back, his chest rising with a deep breath. “I cannot—” “I have enough honour not to detain your attention when it is hopeless, when a fraud is playing out and you— I cannot be dishonest with you and nor can I be honest. I am at the losing end whichever way I turn,” I admitted, feeling pain sear my core and burn my soul as his eyes sought answers in mine. “I will not sully my mother’s teachings, her legacy, with lies or tricks. I will not—” “What lies? What deceit? What tricks do you speak of? You have told me nothing, miss. I am breaking in earnest for your confidence, wishing to leave for the world yet foolishly remaining here with a shrivel of a hope that you would send word, extend an invitation, seek me as my heart has sought you long before I knew of your existence.”

He had walked up to me while speaking in fervour, I had stepped back and he’d followed with demanding eyes of endless depth. His words — poetic and romantic in speech — were laden with hurt and anguish. I must tell him. “Sir, please… I am no match for you, or your heart.” “So you cast me aside, without the courtesy of reason? Am I to be left wondering for the rest of my life what I did to cause you such disdain for me when I saw in your eyes that same longing as the one you made erupt within my heart at first glance?” “I will marry before the year is out,” I whispered, standing on shaking legs with a queasy stomach and wet cheeks. “I have no choice. Not anymore…” “So that is your dire situation?” “No…” I said, not wanting to lie to him. “That is the result of my situation, my family’s situation…” “Speak plainly, please,” he urged and the contrite look of his handsome features would forever be written on the walls of my heart.

I took a step back, grasping my dress with white-knuckled force. “We have lost everything, and I must marry before the year is out… If I do not, my father’s façade will fall as we will fall from good grace and no affluent man shall have me. I will lose my protection, my safety, and those are the last things I am holding on to. All else I have dreamed of has already been ripped from me. You… I cannot be dishonest with you, colonel. I cannot allow the fraud to harm—” “Marry me.” I blinked. “W-what?” “Marry me. Let it be me, and I shall endeavour for the remainder of my life to please you and make you happy. I will do all in my power to restore the things ripped from you even if the love will be one-sided in our marriage. Perhaps you could come to like me, at some point in time if my efforts are great enough.”

We stood in silence. Looking at each other. Had he completely missed every point I made of my love for him? I missed every point he made of his genuine want for me. Can— Despite everything, did I perhaps not lose my chance with him?

“Miss Haymnick, please, do not look at me as if I have offended your very eyes with my grovelling for your hand. I am ashamed enough as is,” he murmured, the tips of his ears reddening as he looked away and to the side. His perfect profile was a marvel to gaze upon even in the upheaval of emotions fluttering and flitting through me. “I should be the one grovelling, sir… You have not left my mind since I saw you gallop through the gates in a spray of snow so far away my call of your name did not reach you…”

Brandon whipped his head around, his gentle eyes painted with disbelief. “You called for me?” I nodded. “You went after me?” he continued and I nodded once more, my stomach still utterly tied in harsh knots. “You are the only man I have ever met who touched my heart and forced my soul to bare itself even in my features.”

Brandon stepped closer, and I stood still. “Your features are expressive.” “No, sir. You make them that way,” I confessed. “The first look of disgust was a reflection of the conversation I held with a woman regarding you, and just one look at you had my heart in a trip and hearing her strip you down to wealth pained me in a manner it usually does not. I was disgusted, by that, not your handsome face.” “I believe I accused you of lying at that point.” “I cannot lie to you, even to my own detriment and downfall.”

He stepped closer. “Then I ask again, will you allow me the honour of your hand as I ask fully aware of your dire situation and my own selfish hope of it swaying you toward me as a husband?”

My head tilted as he took another step toward me, forcing me to lean back to keep eye contact. “I…” Can I marry him and force the soon-to-be eruption of gossip and our family’s downfall upon him? Can I accept that he is aware of this and still wishes for me to be by his side? “Miss, you are forcing my breath to stall. Say yes,” he murmured as his hand reached up and cupped my chin. I shivered as a lightning bolt shot through my entire body at the contact. The warmth of his fingers, the sturdy yet soft grip, the unfailing hold his eye had on mine — I was lost to him.

“Say yes, Miss Haymnick. Say yes despite the flaws I have and the manner you seem to wish for me to remain unaffected by your situation. Say yes. I will beg for your hand if needed. I will beg for those beautiful eyes to each day look upon me. I will—” “Yes…” I whispered. “Yes, Colonel Brandon.” He softened before me, letting out a breath of relief. “Christopher,” he said while leaning in. “Calliope…” I replied as his soft eyes warmed when my breath fanned his face. “Calliope,” he repeated and I nearly fainted at hearing my name spoken with ardency and want in his deep voice. Never had my name sounded so perfect. Never had a touch felt so magical. Never had I thought a man such as he would come to my rescue and save my heart.

“I am a desperate man in your vicinity, my Calliope.” It was the only warning he offered before his lips pressed against mine. I whimpered at the warmth and all the dreams I’d ever had of my first kiss faded to dull greys in the face of reality. The warmth of him seeped into me from the connection, his free arm snaked around my waist as his lips pressed harder yet remained delicate and soft. My hands went to his shoulders and the smell of wind filled my nose as his fingers slipped from my chin to the side of my face as he angled my head and I melted in his arms — throwing propriety out the window.

To Be Continued...

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NEXT PART » Prompt 20: Wrongful Perceptions [A5]

A/N: WAAAAAAAAH 😭👏 I love them so much and they are such fumbling idiots speaking in beautiful words but not hearing each other until it’s truly spelt out. BUT NOW THEY’RE FINALLY HEARING EACH OTHER - and I’m in loooooove ❤❤❤

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