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totothewolff · 9 months ago

Text

The Big Slip

+18 | one shot | Toto x reader | romance, smut, drama, pinning.

Summary: Your life as a struggling arts graduate in Monaco, coming from a working-class family who lives on the outskirts, is about to change. Toto Wolff enters your life not only by giving you the best sex ever but also by making you love somebody for the first time. Arranged marriages, a horrible breakup, and an induced coma, plus his terrible parents, were a complete surprise. Author's note: Get ready for a ride!

More Toto Wolff fics right here > Masterlist - Toto hasn't been to his parents for a couple of years.

His relationship with them has gotten, how do you say it politely? Problematic?

The older and more independent he gets, the more he notices the enormous pressure they have inflicted on him from a young age.

Being the firstborn in a blue-blooded, deep-pocketed family, carrying the Wolff last name around places an immense weight on his shoulders.

He is required to be the perfect son, the perfect student, the perfect gentleman, the perfect businessman, the perfect big brother, and the perfect heir.

"There's a lot on stake, Torger, not only millions," his father tells him at his massive and fancy in-home office. "You can't lose focus, this," he gestures with his finger around in a circular movement. "It will be all yours one day, and that," he points to a big and beautiful architectural model designed by Foster + Partners of their new offices and latest and giant factory based in Austria laying on the large meeting table made of expensive agarwood. "Will be yours to lead".

His dad isn't a normal one. Every time Toto gets called into his office, he feels nervous and timid, something that has never changed over the years.

His dad is a businessman first and a father second.

"Every choice you make matters, son. One day, you will become head of this family, an ambassador for our last name. Make us proud," he says, pouring himself and Toto a drink into a beautiful set of glasses. "Let's toast to that, to your future legacy."

He clinks his glass with Toto's.

Being an heir of the owners of the "Silver Wolff Mercedes F1 Racing Team" and "Wolff & Co." is supposed to be fun.

Being a part of that accelerated, fast-paced world full of excess, wealth, luxury, and stunning seductive women, a land with no limits.

Yet it isn't. It's a golden cage that people would give everything to get locked into, but it's still a cage.

"I'm moving to Monaco after graduation," Toto informs his father, again in his office, but years later, with all the courage he gained over the years, he feels ready to break those bars in his cage.

His parents sent him to study university at the LSE (London School of Economics), giving him a spoonful taste of freedom.

But he barely partied and slept around. He was required to be the perfect student, the top of the class, and the ideal college kid his parents could show off in social gatherings.

"Monaco?" the expression on his father's face is priceless.

"Yes. Water motorsports are on the rise. You know how much I love water! I could develop a racing team there, create a new branch for Silver Wolff, and enter the yacht market for Wolff & Co., handling it by myself."

"Before you return to your duty, the real one, this company, to Silver Wolff Mercedes. It will serve you as a pilot. Think of it as a five-year project."

"Yes, sir."

"Good," his father hugs him and kisses him on the cheek.

Toto feels proud of himself as he heads out of that office.

"Torger?" he turns around at his father, calling his name. "Don't lose focus."

What can you expect when you give total freedom to someone who hasn't tasted it before?

Parties, excess, women, all kinds and types of sex, alcohol, weed, everything, what he wanted, he had, he satiated all his appetites.

But at the end of the day, of the rush, he is alone.

Completely alone, with no real or deep relationship with anyone.

Toto built his life based on a "this is just a one-time thing only, a just-for-the-moment" philosophy, knowing that everything in his current life was temporary and that he isn't the actual owner of his life choices.

That's why he is not interested in building new friendships or having a girlfriend.

His real friends are his childhood friends, the kids of wealthy, upper-social-rank families his parents approved of and hung out with.

They are the ones who get him, who know what he is going through. And Obasi, his only real friend from college, Toto loves Obi.

Being the heir of a build-from-scratch empire of a Nigerian-rooted family that escaped the dictatorship, made it to England, and became incredibly successful is a burden more challenging than his.

Obi's parents expected him to make no mistakes, a margin of zero, and they had for him higher than the sky expectations.

The night is fully set in Monaco, and your boss gallery's lights illuminate the sidewalk as the prestigious Galerie d'Art 3816 is holding an exhibition.

Located on the famous Boulevard de la Croisette, it's buzzing as art lovers and collectors gather for the exclusive opening of "Lumière," a small but exquisite collection featuring an array of stunning paintings.

You worked your ass off to earn a spot and get featured, showcasing tonight two pieces as part of that exhibition, earning a well-deserved place.

With luck, a sponsor may see your work or art buyers will acquire them.

As guests enter the gallery, your boss greets them warmly and offers glasses of champagne.

The large room has white walls and a luxurious, polished grey marble floor. It's well-lit, and soft music plays in the background, creating an intimate atmosphere perfect for appreciating the displayed pieces.

As the evening goes on, champagne and canapés travel around while conversations flow freely.

At the same time, you attend the people interested in your paintings while some of your work colleagues sell and promote their own in their places.

Then your world spins around as you notice the tall guy, at least 6'2", whose presence seems to fill the room.

He is looking over the artworks on display one by one, his eyes lingering on each piece with an air of discernment.

His dark hair is styled perfectly, with a hint of messy charm, and the lighting in the gallery accentuates his sharp features.

The Greeks seemed to have carved his chiseled features, perfectly sharp jawline, and strong facial structure.

His suit, tailored to perfection, fit his broad shoulders and athletic build like a glove.

You can't help but feel a flutter in your chest as he moves towards you, his long strides eating up the distance between you.

"Oh! Mr. Wo-" Your boss tries to greet him. She approaches him in a rush, distracted by the other guests, without noticing when Toto enters.

"Mr. Bednarczyk, I'm Christian. It's nice to meet you," Toto lies to you, introducing himself, much to your boss's surprise, and cutting her off.

She plays along while he offers you a handshake and adds as you two lock eyes with each other, "Mr. Bednarczyk, we are glad you joined us." she says.

"That's unique," he points out, looking at the art in your painting, admiring every detail. Your boss takes this as a signal for her to leave you discuss.

Not before whispering to Toto's ear discreetly, "Christian Bednarczyk? Toto, what!?"

"My middle name and mom's maiden name. I don't want all the attention the Torger Wolff name drags around here."

He is right.

People in Monaco may not know what the Wolffs look like, but they have heard their last name and know what type of family they are.

What should have been a five-minute conversation between Toto and you lasted almost an hour.

You told him all about the meaning behind the painting, the techniques you used, your creative process, and more, feeling an instant connection with him.

A couple of other guests gather around to listen. In the end, a French businesswoman buys it.

"Happy for how it went?" Toto asks you.

"Yes! I sold the two paintings I got allowed to exhibit!" you answer as you do a little dance for him.

He looks only a few years older than you but seems full of youth and energy.

"So, now, can I buy you a drink?" he flirts with you.

"Yes, please." you feel your knees shaking.

Accepting his invitation to get some drinks results in a night of passion.

Toto's lips and teeth clash against yours, his tongue demanding entry. You part them, letting his tongue swirl around yours.

His hands roam your body, feeling your curves, then he squeezes your ass, pulling you closer to him.

You can feel his hardness pressed against you, and you reach for it; he groans, deep and guttural, his breath hot on your neck as he picks you up and carries you to the bed in a hotel room.

He lays you down gently, his hands cupping your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples through the light fabric of your dress.

"Fuck, so sexy," he mutters, his voice full of desire. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his touch.

You are desperate for more, desperate for him. You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second, your body responding to his touches.

Toto's fingers work fast, pulling out your dress and exposing your undies before getting them out of the way. He groans as he takes in the sight of you fully naked, his eyes dark with lust.

"Beautiful," he whispers.

He leans down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You gasp as he teases it with his tongue, the sensation shooting straight to your core.

"You're fucking wet," he says, his hands now exploring your slick folds. You whimper as he circles your clit with his fingers, "I want to taste you," he states, his voice low.

You nod eagerly, unable to speak. Toto wastes no time.

He hooks your legs over his shoulders and dives between your thighs. His tongue is warm and wet, tracing a path up and down your slit.

You moan as he explors with his mouth, parting your folds, his breath warm against your clit.

You bite your lip as he flicks his tongue against it. The sensation is intense and immediate. Your hips buck as Toto sucks it.

"Oh my god," you moan, digging your nails in the sheets beneath you. You are so close already, your body coiling with need.

Toto's fingers slide inside you, and you moan even louder. He presses against your G-spot, and you feel an orgasm rising inside of you.

And then, just as you are about to explode, Toto pulls away. You let out a whimper of protest as you feel your orgasm fade away into nothingness.

But Toto isn't done with you yet. Not by a long shot.

"You taste so good," he moans as he crawls up your body, pressing his hard cock against you. "Do you want me inside of you?"

"Yes!" you answer while moaning as you feel his tip brush against your entrance. He is teasing you, and you love it.

You want him inside of you so badly it hurts. He pushes against you, inch by inch, until you are stretched around him, finally joined.

The feeling of his hard length filling you is indescribable, and you let out a gasp of pure ecstasy.

Toto thrust into you, his hips moving in rhythm. Each stroke brings a new burst of pleasure that almost brings you to your knees.

You grab onto his biceps to stay grounded.

Your moans become louder, more primal as he pounds you, sensing the pulse of his cock deep within you.

"Goddammit, Chris. Yes... yes..." you let out, your breaths becoming shallow gasps. Your muscles tremble with exertion, and sweat drips down your forehead.

You close your eyes, lost in the sensory overload, as he continues to thrust deep into you.

Your breasts are bouncing with each impact, and your heart is on the verge of exploding.

You are nearing the end but want to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. Savor every moment of this encounter.

"Tell me how it feels," Toto demands. "Good god, you're so tight, so fucking perfect." Toto murmurs, continuing to pump hard into you.

You let out tiny cries, knowing that you are close to cumming. "Goddamn, you feel so good inside me. Your body is pure perfection," you moan.

He shifts positions, his body dominating yours again, and you wrap your legs around his waist. His hands hold your hips, pulling you closer. He kisses you passionately as his pace quickens, bodies moving faster.

You can hear the wet sound of skin slapping together with each hard thrust. Your body quivers in delight, feeling his strong hands grip your hips tight.

The way Toto moves inside you is delicious. He moves deep, giving you long, slow strokes as he continues to kiss you passionately.

"I want to hear it all, every dirty little thought that goes through your mind. I want to feel you clench around my cock when you get what you want."

His words send a thrill down your spine, igniting a fire. You rock your hips harder against him as he continues to thrust, his movements becoming more urgent, more frantic.

"Oh, fuck yes. Yes, Chris. I want you to claim me, to make me yours. I want to feel every inch of your thick cock stretching me open."

"Fuck, Y/N. That's what I like to hear."

"God, yes!" you cry as he hits the right spot.

"Tell me you want it," his voice raw. "Tell me you want me to make you cum."

You look into his eyes, seeing the desire and urgency reflected there, his fingers digging into your flesh.

"Make me cum, baby," you stammer; you are so close.

Toto's expression changes at your words, and he looks more determined than ever to make you finish.

With a low growl, he increases his pace, his hips snapping against yours with animal urgency, taking your breath away.

Your hands go to Toto's ripped abs; you can feel his muscles flexing as he drives into you with fierce movements.

"God, yes," you pant, trying to hold on as best you can.

Toto's hips are a blur, his body moving with intensity you have never experienced before. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, your sweat-slick bodies slamming together.

"Fuck, I'm going to cum," you cry, your voice hoarse with pleasure. The orgasm is building.

Your whole body is trembling, and you can feel every inch of you tingling with anticipation. You sink your teeth into Toto's shoulder as he continues to pound hard into you.

"Yes, yes, YES!" you cry out, surrendering to the pleasure, giving yourself completely to him. The orgasm hits you suddenly, and you feel your body convulse, releasing.

You hear yourself yelling out his name as Toto keeps thrusting, mercifully prolonging your orgasm. His hips continue to snap into you as a guttural moan tears from deep from his throat as he comes too.

He moans so deliciously as he finishes, firm chest going up and down, you running your nails on it, as he recovers his breath.

"It was spectacular," you say the following day while sharing breakfast, looking at him with adoring eyes. Oh, the things he did to you were just wow.

"I totally agree." he gives you a cheeky smile.

"You seeing someone? Maybe we could..."

"Sorry, I can't. This was a one-time thing, sadly. I'm not looking for that, but I can give you my number if you want to be friends." Toto explains, looking at the dismay on your face.

"Sounds good, better than wiping you off from existence!" you chuckle.

And you two become "friends"!

"Friends" that text each other daily and hang out at any minute possible.

Who were you kidding?! FRIENDS?!

You are utterly into that man. And he seems also into you.

"Well, that was a complete failure." You sigh as you close the gallery.

Only eight people attended your personal art exhibition, and you did not sell a single piece.

Toto is carrying your stuff around in a box. You two cross the street to grab a seat on the pier, which overlooks the harbor and the sea, and hang out a bit more.

"You okay?" He bumps your arm with his, looking at your sad eyes.

"I want to make my parents feel proud of me. I know they haven't asked me for that. They only want me to be happy! But I know the effort they made to put me through college, and you know, I want to be successful so I can help them out so they don't have to work that hard anymore. They aren't that young," you answer.

Toto looks fondly at you and catches the single tear sliding down your cheek with his thumb finger before caressing your face tenderly.

"You are a good daughter. Even if your parents haven't asked you for anything, you feel a need to deliver. It will come! Don't get impatient! No one starts with instant success. Usually, there are a couple of years of struggle before it. Focus on what lies ahead."

"Why are you so smart?!" he smiles shyly at your question, his cheeks blushing. "Can I kiss you?" you come closer to his lips. "I know you told me we'd be friends only, but can we be of those friends who kiss each other?"

He laughs softly before claiming your lips in a passionate kiss. "I don't think those friends exist. I don't think those are called friends." Toto replies.

You laugh. "Damn, you got me!" and after a couple of minutes, you dare to ask. "What is it about me that doesn't convince you?"

"It's not, listen, ahem..."

"I'm single and have a boyfriend job opening right now. There is no need for an interview for you, in case you are interested," you invite him shyly, asking him to please date you.

To which Toto blushes and looks down at the floor.

There's a silence break in which you slowly take distance from him, returning to where you were sitting before kissing him.

"Can I change your mind?" you ask softly at his lack of reply, which sounds more like a plea.

He turns to look at you but doesn't say yes, which hurts you. He can see it in your watery eyes.

"It's getting late. So I bett-"

"Don't leave, please." He sounds earnest.

"Chris, I'm not sure I can only be your friend with these dumb feelings I have for you. I don't know how to be around you without wanting to be with you. I'm sorry."

"This amazing idea you made of me may be wrong. I'm not that ..."

"You are kind and fun. I love those dumb reaction faces you do," a small smile forms on your lips. "You are very gentlemanly, holding the doors open for me and standing up when I arrive. I have never seen that one before! Also, holding my hand on stairs and carrying my stuff around, you make me feel so special."

"Every time we talk, it feels meaningful. Gosh, I love sharing life with you. You are so full of great advice, you know?" you continue.

No one had shown Toto such earnest affection before, not so openly.

"I can be your life coach if you have that job offer available," Toto says. You can feel his eyes piercing your skin. He is looking at you with such intensity.

"I don't know. You, you feel too meaningful, this," you gesture with your finger between you, "Feels special. And let's not talk about all of this going on here," you move your hand around, gesturing to Toto's face and body. "All this tallness hotness stuff you got going and under gets even better," you quickly add, every word speaking faster. "Those things you did to me the other night, Jesus! We could, you know, repeat it sometime or many."

A huge smile forms on his lips before he relaxes again, watching you joke around.

"I really gotta leave, tho," you say.

"Can I at least drive you home?" his voice sounds slightly sad.

"Oh, hey, no worries, it's far. That's some gas you are going to spend. I can grab the transp-"

"Please"

"I live on the outskirts projects. Do you know where those are?"

His father's best friend's real estate company developed the units in those buildings. Of course, he knows where those are! "Yes, I have an idea, but you can guide us there."

"You sure?"

"Hundred percent"

It's a quiet ride at first.

"Gaga, really?"

"What?" he looks at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road as "Shallow" plays in the back.

"Are you a pop girlie?! That's... you know."

He starts laughing at your reaction, judging his music taste. "Unexpected?"

"Give me." You grab his phone from the car's cup holder on the central console.

"Password?" you ask.

"941123"

"Does it have a meaning?"

"It's a birthday."

"From who?"

"A girl"

"Oh," your mild jealousy showing.

"My sister's, not... there's no one else, so you know."

There's silence for a bit. So, you keep searching on Spotify for a song you like.

"Then, why not me? If there's no one else in your life," you ask before thinking, shit! It would be best to stop pushing him, but you can't.

He gives you no answer again, and things start to feel awkward for a few streets while Arctic Monkeys play in the back.

The streets of Monaco never look more attractive as you observe them through the car's window, not being able to look at Toto and feeling embarrassed. Rejections are uncomfortable.

"Do you have or had someone?" he asks, trying to regain your attention, feeling awful too.

"I had a boyfriend for years. He was my neighbor, and he still is, sort of, he moved a couple of buildings away. Let's say he forgot he was my boyfriend before having a new girlfriend. That's a cool photo on your locked screen! I have never skied, and those snow outfits always look so cool. So handsome, gorgeous smile. Turn left here and go all the way there. Oh, you went the other way, ahem."

"You said left; this is left," Toto informs you, side-eying you.

"Oh!" you smile at him. "It was to the right, then." You make a funny oopsie face.

You open the Apple Maps app and pin your address before passing him the phone at a red light.

"Okay, got it now." Toto gives you his phone back.

"Have I told you when I got "lost" downtown? My parents went crazy! It turns out I never left the street; I just went right thinking it was left."

"WHAT?!"

"Oh yeah, get comfy on your seat, Chris. The wackiest shit always happens to me," you tell Toto before sharing that memory with him.

When you finally arrive in your neighborhood, it takes you forever to get to your home because you keep telling him anecdotes and memories of things that happened to you in various spots.

Toto slows down the car, amused and more than engaged in the conversation.

"And on that sloping street we used to bike down! Oh, and on Charlotte's birthday - a girl that used to live in that house in that street - we went to slide down during her party held in their front garden, and I hit the sidewalk there and flew to the grass next to it. My dress got all green in the belly and chest, and I flashed the entire party with my Hello Kitty panties before my mom rushed to see if I was okay and pulled down my dress; well, at least the guests got to know me!" you two laugh heartfully. "And that's me." You point to a building.

Suddenly, your eyebrows frown, and a concerned look fills your face.

"You good?!" Toto asks you, worried.

"Why is my dad in PJs out in the street?!"

A big guy wearing no shirt, belly on full display, not a fit body at all, and pajama pants bottoms wearing sandals was in a rush walking around the street, looking for something.

Toto parks the car, and you get out of it quickly. He follows you.

On your way to your dad, you find your mom, also wearing pajamas, hair a mess, crying in your building's entry hallway.

You instantly hug her.

"I left the door open a second!, just to get the Amazon package inside! And "Chico" went off, he ran so fast down the stairs, we can't find him anywhere! It's my fault!"

You comfort her before getting all emotional, too, and scared for Chico's well-being. Your dog flew the house; he is tiny, old, and almost blind, which is not good.

After one hour of searching, your family, Toto, and some neighbors still haven't found Chico.

You turn around, all desperate, and bury yourself in Toto's chest, weeping, where he wraps you in his arms and comforts you, rubbing you.

"Let's keep looking. Chico must be near."

"What if he got run over?"

"Shh, don't think of that." Toto kisses your head and soothes you. "We will find him, okay?" He bends a bit to rub his nose against yours softly and gives you a couple of brief kisses.

Your parents witness it all.

Around two hours later, Toto goes exploring further away from the park again.

This time, he hears muffled dog cries in the distance, so he follows the sound to find Chico under some tall bushes in a neighbor's open yard.

His little leg got stuck between the big branches, so Toto rushes to get him out and leave before he gets in trouble.

He returns to your building with Chico in his arms, who looks even smaller in those muscular arms and is all dirty.

Your mom and you run to Toto and pat Chico before hugging the Austrian from both sides.

"Our girls' hero!" your dad approaches you all and tells the dog. Chico, don't scare us like that!" before addressing Toto. "Okay, let's go. I buy the beers. We still can catch some of the game." He pats Toto's arm, assuming he is your boyfriend.

"Let me see what I can make for dinner." your mom tells you.

"Go ahead," you ask them two, wanting to have a time alone with Toto.

"Please, give me a chance. I promise you won't regret me," you beg him.

He nods.

Toto can't keep ignoring his feelings for you, which is reckless, before you two kiss while leaning on Toto's black Mercedes car - the one he told you he got lucky to inherit from his late godfather - and while holding hands.

"Honey?!" your mom calls you from the window on the second floor. Your apartment faces the street and a small grass patch. "Can you go get some cheese?"

"And more beers!" you hear your parent scream from inside. You have that bad habit of doing that.

Your relationship feels like a dream. It's healthy, romantic, supporting, and spicy.

There are weeks you can't keep your hands off each other or your clothes on.

Everything is soft and tender between you, helping and supporting each other throughout the day's challenges.

You talk a lot, but he is pretty reserved. You respect that and hope that time and love will change it. You want him to feel secure and loved enough to open up.

Toto extends his visit, staying longer after his sister's baby's christening mass and gathering in Austria at their parent's state.

He loves his young sister more than anything in life.

He wanted to spend some time with her and her kids, who were also staying there, but as soon as they left their childhood home, he remembered why he had stayed away.

The following day, at the garden breakfast table, his parents bring up the always-expected topic: "Torger, my dear, your father and I are worried. It's been almost seven years since you left for Monaco, two more years that agreed."

"We need you around, son. I'm afraid you are falling behind on how to handle the business only with your brief appearances with the team and at the factory," his father adds.

"I have known how the business works perfectly since I was a child; that is all you taught me. Haven't I succeeded with the new assets I created?"

"Yes. Monaco has been a total success. But you made a promise, and a Wolff keeps them. Your duty is with Silver Wolff Mercedes and this family. Man up to it." his dad gives him the ultimatum.

"I know it, believe me. But fine, I will prepare everything for my return."

"When will this be?" his father asks, growing impatient at his current lack of control over his son.

"By the end of this year. It's time enough to handle our aquatic racing team to another team principal."

"Perfect," his dad looks pleased.

"There's also another subject we would like to discuss," his mom has the word again.

Okay, this one is unexpected.

"We can't keep avoiding the fact that you have reached an age to settle down with no proper prospects. We think we could help you with that departm-"

"Hold your horses there." Toto steps in.

"Did you interrupt your mother? Your manners also stayed in Monaco?" his father looks at him sternly.

His dad has this really angry-looking resting face, but he is actually quite easygoing and even goofy sometimes.

"Sorry, continue"

"Most of your friends got married the past few years, your cousins are all fathers now, and even your baby sister has welcomed her second child. It's time for you, too. The daughter of my friend Anya is a perfect and stunning fit. She has always liked you."

"I can get girls on my own, mom, thank you."

"Yes, of course you can! You are smart, successful, handsome, fit, and wealthy. What's not to like?!" His mom gives him a look.

"Then, the problem is?"

"That finding the fit for you is not that easy. You need a girl that matches everything listed before to be even."

God! Toto had forgotten how old school his parents are.

"We are arranging this for you," his dad informs him.

"Are you like for real?! Arranging for me a marriage? Oh! Man," Toto's expression is priceless.

"Why are you articulating like that?" his dad looks at him, not in a good mood anymore.

"Like a commoner!" his mom adds. "Didn't we give you higher education? What's on the water in Monaco? It's not doing you well."

Toto chuckles but does not answer. Spending time with you and your is showing.

"Well, it's not like your father and I precisely met on a cruise, didn't we? Our parents arranged it, yet we formed a successful marriage with wonderful children."

"Understood." Toto plays along with it, not feeling like fighting it. They were sort of right.

You go to a fancy restaurant for your one-year anniversary. Toto never lets you pay for anything, and you tell him several times it isn't necessary.

Monaco is expensive for the working class, and you know the struggle. You don't want him to feel that type of pressure on him.

You know he works as a coach on an aquatic racing team in town, which is not a high-salary job precisely.

But he insists, and any hint of you putting a fight tonight goes away the moment he picks you up wearing that fancy suit, looking unbelievably handsome.

You are left speechless, and he closes your mouth with a finger on your chin before kissing your lips and hand.

"Wow," he whispers to you while he looks you up. You are wearing a fancy, tight blue dress, all glam up. "I'm so lucky." Toto lets out.

During dinner, an "I love you" scapes your lips.

Toto gets saved by the bell in the form of a marriage proposal happening in the following table.

You two clap for the couple like the rest of the people at the tables surrounding them when she says yes.

When Toto turns around, he sees you looking at him in a way he wants to shoot himself.

What had he done!?

How could he have been so irresponsible?

He hates himself for being unable to say no to you from the beginning.

While you two make love passionately, you ask him while riding him, his dick filling you completely as you rock your hips eagerly, bouncing on him while holding hands and between moans that he stays forever.

Toto has a full-on panic attack in the bathroom of the hotel suite you went to spend your anniversary night while you peacefully sleep after fucking your brains off, not knowing what to do now.

You shouldn't be part of his life. This wasn't supposed to happen!

But the fear of losing you is equal to his fear of hurting you.

To confess is not an option. God! You will hate him when you discover the truth and that he lied to you about his life since the day you met him.

This Christian Bednarczyk is a facade that hides something worse, Toto Wolff.

"A what?!" Your parents and you all turn to look at him with a funny face, all situated at the outdoor table.

You went camping on a family trip for the weekend.

"What's with all those fancy words you say here and there?" your mom asks.

"Yeah, right? I also noticed!" you add, pointing.

"You went to one of those "big farts" schools?" your dad questions him while biting his steak.

"Baby, do you want something else?" you ask Toto as you continue placing food on the big plate in the middle of the table and still taking ribs from the grill.

"No, love, I'm so full!" Toto rubs his belly.

"We ate half a cow already." your dad colorfully adds, as usual, still a bit of food in his mouth.

Toto and your dad nod, recognizing themselves as guilty.

"I used to read a lot," Toto answers his question.

"That's from where your posh English comes from. Makes sense! Honey, pass Mr. Thesaurus here another beer?" your dad messes around and requests you.

Their relationship is as great as yours is.

Toto loves to hang out with your family. Sometimes, he is even at your parents' tiny apartment, where you still live, not yet able to afford a place of your own, when you are not.

Where they constantly and unintentionally embarrass you in front of him, creating lots of funny moments on both sides.

Your parents knew no shame, and Toto's out-of-touch secret silver spoon upbringing sometimes made him say and do things that made him look like he was from Mars. Not teasing him was impossible.

But all in good spirits!

It's Sunday morning.

Toto and your dad watch the race in the living room while you are in the kitchen sink, blending acrylic paints and listening to their funny, excited little screams.

They are both fans of the F1. As the race is in the final laps with a clear winner and they go to commercial break, Toto goes to the fridge for a can of Coca-Cola.

"Pss, pss," you grab his attention.

He turns to you to see you approaching him and softly pushing him to the broom closet; he puts no resistance.

"Yes?" he asks you suspiciously, standing beside a mop.

You steal a passionate kiss from him first, and as you pull away to catch your breaths, you explain.

"Mom and I are saving to get tickets to the race here in Monaco for dad as a birthday gift. Do you want to come? We plan to have breakfast at that seafood place he took us once."

"The one with the delicious baked coconut shrimp?"

"Yes, the one with the cook owner with a lazy eye."

"Captain Evil Eye"

You two invented a whole backstory in which that dude used to be a pirate in his prime.

"And then, off to the race! We plan on going all dress the same, you know, dad's team."

The idea of Toto showing up in Ferrari gear was hilarious. That man had poor taste in all senses, but especially in teams.

Actually, it was a great and iconic team, but their fierce rival was so it was an instant and natural despise.

"I would love to, but I'll be in Austria, remember? I plan on giving your dad his birthday gift before leaving."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot! Son of a Biscuit!"

"Yup!" Toto says it like you do.

"What are you two doing hiding there in the broom closet?!" Your dad says as he gives you THE LOOK, now standing before you, opening the door. "I would like to remind you, Chris, I'm a police officer and have my gun in that drawer," your dad messes around.

Toto raises both hands and gets out of there and away from you. "I didn't even touch her," he says while collecting his stuff and heading to the door. "Oh, but she did!" he jokes, quickly closing the door after him as your mom and you die of laughter.

"You better run!" your dad says aloud.

"See you at night! It's sushi night!" Toto screams from the street as you and Chico appear on the window.

"Have a great day, sweety!" your mom warmly screams Toto goodbye.

He was coaching today.

Toto hates to lie to you.

He did not travel to Austria. He is there at the race, but at the pitlane in his team's garage, away from the cameras, next to his dad running this thing.

The live coverage crew knows they can't shoot any of the Wolff family members, and they don't dare disobey, so there is no risk since you and your family are in a sector far far away.

By this point, Toto's family has been trying to arrange a marriage for him with his father's goddaughter for months. Her name is Emma. She is a lovely girl, but she is not you.

Toto's parents think they successfully brainwashed him into thinking he is old enough now to settle down and form a family.

Not only to keep the family's social rank and prestige but also to bear beautiful children with a gorgeous rich wife and grow the fortune of his future heirs.

Toto plays along with it, but he is no longer interested in anyone after being with you.

Be dating you is the best well-kept secret that he has held from his parents throughout his life.

Only Obi knows about you. He won't risk his other friends opening their mouths, spreading the rumor among the elites, and reaching his family.

There is no part of you Toto didn't explore, a corner of your body he didn't touch, or part of you he doesn't own.

On a Thursday after work, you meet Obi, Toto's roommate. Since they both share a tiny apartment without privacy, Toto never takes you there.

Obi is so handsome and tall, with a gorgeous smile and a sexy British accent; he looks like an African prince. He is super fun, light-spirited, and a clear best friend of your boyfriend.

Thanks to him, you get to know a bit more about Toto's life, well, about Chris's life.

They met in college.

"Two broke kids with crazy parents," Obi says among laughs.

Then you find out that Toto is not close with his parents, that's why he never mentions them.

You want to know why Toto's relationship with his parents got strangled. Maybe you can help to fix it.

When you ask the real questions, he dodges them, along with your requests to meet his family, even though he has met everyone relatively important in your life, even your dog!

A month passes, and Toto picks you up to go on a date, but you forget your paintbrush roll-up bag upstairs in the workshop, where you work above the gallery.

He offers to get it, and while you wait for him, you grab his phone to put your shared couple's playlist with songs both of you like.

Whenever you unlock his phone, it warms your heart. Toto changed his password to your birth date.

Amidst choosing a song, a text arrives from some "Emma,"

You aren't toxic, not one of those people who routinely nose in their partner's phones, but this one makes your jealousy monster come out.

Why is this girl calling him "my love"?

God, you wish you hadn't opened that conversation.

As Toto opens the door to get back inside the car, he gets welcomed by you, holding his phone and looking mad before asking him:

"Whose Emma?"

FUCK!

TORGER YOU FUCKING IDIOT!

FUCK!

"Let me explain to you, please."

Tears are filling your eyes.

"Wait, not, please don't do that, don't cry," he looks desperate.

Then, you finally discover he has been seeing another woman for potential nuptials due to his parent's idea of arranging his marriage. You are a secret he has kept from them.

"So all this time, I was the "meanwhile," an entertainment for when the real one arrived." you sound so hurt and bitter.

"Don't say that." Toto looks anguished.

"That's why you didn't say it back."

"What?" he asks.

"When I told you I love you,"

"I hate myself more than you can imagine for hurting you like this. I didn't plan for any of this! It happened, and I couldn't be more grateful to have you in my life. You have no idea how much you have healed me. I was completely lost before you, and I don't want to break your heart..."

"Too late for that! Thank you, asshole, for exploding it into pieces." you interrupt him. "I will help you and your parents with that; I'm going to stay the fuck away of your life. I'm a fucking idiot!"

"I'm the fucking idiot here, for not being honest with you, for the lies, for everything. Please forgive! Don't leave me," Toto is begging for his life.

"Does the sorry for everything part also involve me?!" tears are everywhere on your face, but rage is starting to show, too.

"For hurting you! Do you think I regret any of this?! That I regret us!?! You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me!" Toto confesses now in a loud voice, too heated.

"Yet not great enough apparently to put an end to that shit circus going on with your family. If you truly loved me, you would fight for me, for us."

"Y/N, you don't know them..." Toto barely murmurs.

"Wrong answer," you say, lips trembling, before exiting the car and slamming the door.

Every step you take away from him kills you. You are so disheveled that you can't even show up to your parents.

As the weeks go by, you still look like a depressed mess, a shell of a person living life.

Not wanting to leave the bed, shower, eat, or go out.

Your mom and dad are distraught. Your dad even suggests you go to "the looney."

God, he tries! But that is how concerned he is.

It is clear to them that Toto and you broke up, and they are sad about it, too. They considered him part of the family, but there isn't a clear explanation yet.

To touch the subject with you is impossible, so they cease.

Time plus painting helps you heal, and your art becomes more edgy and moody, which sells well. At least a positive outcome of this!

You blocked Toto out of your life. And you are still trying to erase him from your mind, heart, and body.

Five months have passed since you two broke up when a call comes from an unlisted number.

You answer your phone a bit dubious.

"Miss Y/N Y/LN?" the voice of a professional-sounding woman answers.

"Yes, who's speaking?"

"I am contacting you from the front desk of the ER at Princess Grace Hospital here in Monaco" Fuck! Something happened to your parents! You start to panic. "On behalf of Dr. Gastaud, you appear listed as Mr. Torger Wolff's emergency contact. He is curre-"

"Oh, wrong number, then. I don't know that person." You feel a brief sense of relief.

"Oh? But all your information is on our system. Are you sure you don't know patient Torger Christian Wolff Bednarczyk?"

"Christian! Yes, of course, is he okay!?" you feel your heart in your throat.

"We just moved him to intensive care. We need you here as soon as possible." She sounds so calm in comparison to you.

"I'm on my way!"

As the male nurse rushes Toto's IC bed across the doors, the doctor explains to you as you two walk alongside it at the same pace.

"Apparently, he was on the deck of his yacht where he slipped and hit his head. His staff brought him here."

His yacht? His staff?! What?!

"The blood tests showed a high ingest of alcohol in his system." The doctor continues.

But Chris doesn't drink like that! He barely likes beers. Why?!

"He hit his head against the yacht's railing and has lost a lot of blood; according to the x-rays and the MRI, his brain is a bit swollen, and his arm got broken. I need your approval, miss."

The doctor stops for a second, grabbing the clipboard at the end of Toto's bed, next to his feet.

"What for?!"

"To induce him into a coma," the doctor answers.

You feel like fainting.

"I, I, I..." you are entering a state of shock that the doctor immediately recognizes as being used to dealing with those.

"Miss Y/LN," he snaps his fingers, getting you back. "We are losing time. It's the best option to stabilize and prevent him from leaving us. Do you approve of it?" The doctor shoves the clipboard to you.

"Yes," you feel your soul leaving your body.

"Sign here and wait there. It's going to take time," the doctor informs you.

You notify your parents about the situation. They immediately come to the hospital to join you while you wait for Toto's procedure to finish.

"We brought you dinner," your mom sweetly mentions.

"Thank you, mom, but I'm not hungry. Actually, I threw up a bit ago," you confess.

"Let's pray, then." your mom grabs your shaky hands.

After it gets done, they move Toto to an intensive care room; tons of tubes, cables, and saline and meds bags get plugged into him.

This is and looks like a nightmare.

It feels so wrong for you two to reunite like this since you called it quits.

Then, as the hurtful memory of that day hits you back, an even worse crosses your mind.

His parents. They need to know! Do they know already? Did they get notified, too?

Around 3 a.m., you gather the energy to go to the front desk. Your mom stayed with you at the hospital to spend the night. She will look over Toto as you investigate.

This room and the whole private area look expensive. It would be best to ask about Toto's insurance and the bills here. You are already worrying about how he is going to pay for it. You have some savings he could use if needed.

"Hi, miss. Did Mr. Wolff's parents get notified, too?" you ask the lady who called you.

"We only notify the people on his emergency contact list; you were the only one registered there," she explains.

"Oh..."

"But you can contact his insurance agent. They usually notify the patient's family. Personally, I never rely on the insurance people; sometimes they are the worst," she whispers to you, hiding behind her palm.

You look at her with a blank expression.

"Would you like the phone number to call?" she looks at you, a bit confused.

Why would you ask her for all this essential information about your husband? He registered you as his wife on the list.

Only if she knew.

She prints a sheet of paper and underlines some numbers with her blue pen.

"Thank you so much."

After a lengthy exchange with the insurance people and many revelations you didn't see coming, you obtain the number of Toto's father's office.

They indeed live in Austria. Toto's insurance covers him up to millions, a shocking amount, and the "Wolffs" are an important family you should know about.

You check on Google if it's a suitable hour to call Austria before remembering this is an emergency.

Toto appears stable, but he is not progressing as the doctor hoped. There is still not much brain activity on the damaged part.

You gain the courage to hit the call button after going over and over about how to introduce yourself and explain what is happening.

"Miss Y/N, hold in the line for a second. Thank you," Toto's father's beautiful assistant, sitting at her desk, tells you as she pushes a button on the intercom while holding the phone between her ear and shoulder.

"Mr. Wolff! I have a girl on the line who says she is your son's girlfriend. She needs to inform you something about Toto. It sounds important."

Emma?! Did Torger propose to her? His dad thinks. "Yes, communicate her."

His dad picks up the phone.

"Emma? Good afternoon, dear. How can I help you?"

So Toto is still with her?

"Good night, Mr. Wolff," your voice takes him by surprise. "I'm Y/N Y/LN. Your son is in intensive care at Princess Grace Hospital here in Monaco. We don't know how, but he slipped on a yacht deck, hitting his head with the railing. The hospital notified me, so I came as quickly as possible."

"How is my son doing? Please send all the information to my assistant's number. We will arrive there soon." He sounds genuinely concerned.

"He is stable, sir," you feel your voice cracking. "But he is not progressing as the doctors expected."

"What doctors? I need the names and the medical records sent to me. We would go through them on the jet on our way there. We have many top-tier medical professionals on call."

"Ahem, give me a second. I'm searching for the full names," you say as you ask your mom to pass you some papers. Mr. Wolff hears other voices around you.

"Is this a scam?!" he sounds mad now.

"Sorry?"

"Whose there?"

"My mom"

"I have no idea who any of you are or why my son is in there with you. Hold," he pushes a button and asks his assistant to contact Torger.

No answer, she tries again.

"Could you tell Mr. Wolff to keep the conversation on the other line?" you answer from Toto's phone.

The nurse just handed you a bag with the belongings Toto was admitted with at the hospital just a second ago. His bloodstained clothes disturbed you deeply.

This would have been very helpful hours before.

It turns out his phone is still on, and Toto hasn't changed his password.

"Mr. Wolff, why would I be joking with something as serious as this?"

"It's unexpected news."

"For all of us, I asked the nurse for the medical records. I already sent the doctor's names to your assistant."

"Is my son heavily medicated, resting, or is he able to talk to us?" Toto's mom is also present and listening through the speaker.

"He is in a coma."

"WHO PERMITTED YOU TO INDUCE MY SON INTO A COMA! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? ARE YOU AWARE HOW DANGEROUS IT IS? THE MINIMAL MISTAKE COULD DAMAGE HIM FOR LIFE IF NOT KILL HIM."

You can hear the screams coming from inside as Mr. Wolff is at a reunion with the doctors.

Your parents and you are sitting on one side of the narrow hallway, and Toto's mom is on the other, right in front of you, without talking to you.

Toto is getting "showered" by the nurse, and you all leave the room to give him privacy.

His mom is so beautiful and well-dressed that you feel almost ashamed of how you look at the moment, but those were the clothes you were wearing when they gave you the news. You haven't left the hospital for a second.

"Mom, could you please bring me some fresh clothes and my things."

"But honey, we don't want to leave you alone."

"No worries, Mr. and Mrs. Wolff are here, too."

"Are you sure?" she asks, concerned because they don't appear particularly friendly toward any of you.

You nod.

"We'll return faster than a kid getting chased by a dog," your dad says, waving and loudly addressing Mrs. Wolff. She scrutinizes him and slightly nods.

After some minutes alone, she asks you.

"Why brought him to this cheap hospital?" she looks around, not pleased with what she sees.

"It's near the harbor where his yacht apparently is."

"Young lady, if you had any involvement in his accident, you should speak right now; our detectives will conduct an investigation."

"Detectives?"

"Well, our son is worth millions, and our family billions, and you, out of nowhere, appeared as his emergency contact, also as his caretaker and the primary beneficiary in case something happens to him." she says, her eyes piercing brown eyes looking into your soul. Toto added you some months ago without telling you anything. "And suddenly, this happens."

"WHAT?!" Okay, this is just not real. "I wasn't even there when it happened, and I had no idea about everything you mentioned."

Toto's parents want you out of the picture as soon as possible. Now it's clear to them you are the reason why Toto keeps pushing away his engagement with Emma.

They act cold to you and yours. However, the hospital and doctors allow you to stay and partake in life decision-making regarding him and the procedures he needs since you are also Toto's legal caretaker, much to their dislike.

"How much?" his father catches you off guard one afternoon.

"Pardon?"

"How much money do you want to stay away?"

"I'm not here for any of that. Please don't ask me that again; it's insulting," you warn Toto's dad, not letting you be intimidated by him and holding his stare.

This surprises them and earns you some of their respect.

Your life becomes being by Toto's side at the hospital, swallowing your social life, job, and income.

Toto's parents listen to the call in which your boss, against all her will, has no other remedy to fire you. You take it easy before returning to shaving Toto's beard tenderly and fixing his hair with a comb.

A brief, empathetic look crosses Toto's mom's eyes.

Still, your parents support you, knowing how much this and he means to you, yet unsure why you two ended things up since you both seemed so in love.

You remain silent under Toto's parents' continuous demands to know all about your relationship, current status, and details.

"Did you were sleeping around with our son?" his mom asks.

"We were in love and were in a relationship."

You refuse to speak more than that about it because it is personal, it's none of their business, and it also still hurts, and you don't want to give them the pleasure.

One day, they arrive with Emma; that girl is stunning and as classy and elegant as them.

She rushes in and places herself on the side of Toto's IC bed before tenderly caressing his cheeks and kissing his lips.

All in front of you, inside, you want to smack her away from him, but you know she is in no way responsible for this situation; she was dragged into this mess, too.

You remain quiet, watching it unfold before you. To Toto's parents' surprise, they expected a big drama.

After she leaves, they talk to you, explaining why they believe Emma is a better fit for Toto than you in all aspects and that if you love their son, you should step aside since you and your family don't belong with their kind.

A couple of days later, Toto undergoes another surgery but fails to stabilize.

Doctors are unable to make more progress with him, so his father ponders moving Toto to a better hospital in Austria or Switzerland after finding a legal grey area in the caretaker clause, which sends you into a frenzy and full panic that they take Toto away.

"Moving him is a risk, a gamble," you warn them.

"We don't see enough progress here."

"And over there would be any different? They can assure you that?" you ask.

"No, they can't."

That idea doesn't materialize anyway because, throughout that night, Toto's condition gets worse, and you all learn he could die.

That causes you to enter into the worst depressive mood you have ever had and look significantly affected in the eyes of Toto's parents.

This raises questions in their mind that you might be more than a side chick and your connection more profound than just sex and financial interest, as you claimed several times, to their disbelief.

Toto needs to undergo a risky procedure. There's a tiny chance of survival, but a speedy and total recovery awaits him if he does.

Your family and his gather to say goodbye as Toto gets moved at the doors leading to the operation room.

You don't know what to say. You're full of fear, so your dad goes first.

"Hey, big guy, once you told us you were strong enough, with those big arms of yours, to take down John Cena, I'm sure you will be strong enough to tackle this down," you and your parents chuckle at the inner joke.

The three of you remember that day you all got in the new furniture up the stairs.

You laugh until your laughter quickly turns to tears, and you break down for the first time. Your dad hugs you tightly.

"He loves you so much, enough to not run away from you and us after that day!" your mom adds, looking at you with a tiny smile. "You can do this, sweetie." she grabs Toto's hand and addresses him.

You are a total mess when you get close to him. You rest your temple in his. "Please don't leave me, please; I love you, Torger," you beg him, using this name for the first time.

Toto's family observes you say goodbye, giving you the space to it.

Before they come closer to kissing his son's forehead, "We love you, and we'll see you soon."

He survives, Toto is out of risk, and he is in excellent condition for a transfer to another hospital.

So you make a deal with his parents to not take him away from you.

They will allow Toto to remain at this hospital and you to be by his side till he finishes recovering fully.

But after that, you will be out of his life for good.

Two weeks later, Toto's health improves, bringing him out of the coma.

Toto's vision is blurry. His eyes cannot focus well, and the light hurts him a lot. He also hears a loud whistle in his ears.

He thinks he hears people say, "He's baiting his eyes." "Yes, he is opening them."

He rubs the palm of his right hand against his face, closing his eyes again before being able to focus more. Shapes become more precise as he turns his head to the side and sees you.

"Y/N?" his voice sounds so rough and crackly.

"Hi," you let out in a cry.

He reaches your face with his hand, touching around, not seeing you well.

Toto feels dizzy and confused. "I wanted to make sure you were real this time," he closes his eyes for a second and exhales. "I v o," he murmurs.

"Sorry?" you ask.

"I love you," says louder. Toto thinks he sees your big smile. "Love of my life," he adds, staring at you.

"Hi, son," he hears his father's voice on the other side of his face.

"Dad?"

He feels his hand on his.

"Welcome back," his mom squeezes his arm and holds it tight.

"What?" he is so confused.

Before the accident starts coming back to him, he tries to pull himself up, but his head hurts a lot, no strength at all.

"Easy, easy," you rush to aid him when the nurses and doctor enter.

"How are those Bambi legs doing?" you ask in a brief imitation movement as you greet Toto, to his amusement.

"Look at these tighs, stronger than ever," he jokes back.

"Strong enough to choke out John Cena?" your dad asks him, joining the fun and giving him a friendly shake.

"How are you, sweetie pie?" your mom greets him.

"Feeling better, the headaches are getting less intense."

His parents watch you interact, still not mingling, but not as judgy as once they were.

His recovery therapy has been a long journey. Most of his damage showed up in his physical motor skills, so there were lots of sessions on walking, coordination, and more.

You have been by his side every second of it.

During his remaining and final weeks at the hospital, his parents see Toto behave as they had never seen him before. He looks so happy, full of life, and in love.

They also notice how well you take care of him and his recovery.

The soft touches you two share and the looks you exchange show undeniable affection and love.

When he finally leaves the hospital, he holds a small dinner to celebrate and thank you for all your support.

It's your first time visiting his apartment. He never lived with Obi, and it turns out that guy is even richer than him.

It's a penthouse luxurious as fuck.

There is a lot of food and drinks, and everyone looks so happy, everyone but you.

You know that tonight is the night you say goodbye to him. His parents give you a hint that this is the moment for you to stay true to your word.

So, after everyone leaves, Toto approaches you on the balcony.

"It's a sick view!" you softly say, feeling the sea's breeze on your face as you admire the panorama.

"I kind of miss Ms. Telbot's awful curtains," he says, referring to the neighbor across the street from your parent's place.

"Oh! She got new ones! They are even worse!"

You two share a laugh.

"Could you give me a second chance? I promise you I won't disappoint you." Toto asks you. He looks at you in a way that makes you want to throw yourself into his arms and for him to take you straight to his bed, but you can't.

"I'm sorry. It's best this way," you barely whisper.

"I know I hurt you a lot, and I screwed things up, but please, allow me to fix it." he looks hopeless.

"It's not that. I now get the full picture and understand why you made those choices. You belong with someone who suits you and your life better. It's going to make everything easier for you. I respected your choice, and I hope you respect mine," you say with conviction while trying to hold back your tears and eat your feelings.

"Why this feels like a goodbye?" he asks, choking up.

"Because it is. You are the best thing that ever happened in my life, too, and I'm so happy we made it through that and that you are still here. You deserve an amazing life; we both do, but we are not made for each other."

As the Wolff family jet leaves Monaco the following day, Toto looks out the window while crying in silence, tears flowing down his face.

His parents exchange looks, feeling the guilt.

A week later, as Toto finishes the recovery exercises he still needs to do, his dad checks on him; Toto has looked like a complete mess since they arrived.

"Emma wants to see you. She is being insistent. It could also be good for you, some company and warmth."

"Who?" he looks confused for a second. "Oh, yeah, the Rothschilds girl, yeah, dad, I'm, my head is hurting a lot today, maybe tomorrow."

His dad nods before leaving, knowing it wasn't a time to push him.

A month passes, and Toto hears a couple of knocks on his childhood room's enormous, regal wood door, where he is staying for the moment, as he finishes fixing his tie.

They were expecting the Rothschilds over for a "special dinner."

"This ring belonged to your grandma, then to my mother, then to me, and now it belongs to you," his mom says, giving him the vintage red velvet box.

Toto looks at it, leaving a big sigh to escape his lips, and unenthusiasticly nods. He seems beyond resigned.

As they wait for their guests to arrive at the Wolff state, sitting on the elegantly set garden table, Toto looks miserable. He is there, but he indeed isn't.

"You are feeling this way because of Y/N?" his mom asks him, not being able to see his son suffering a minute more.

Toto's eyes go up at the mention of your name. "It doesn't matter anymore anyway."

"Why?" his father asks.

"She didn't have me back. She wants me out of her life."

"That's not true," his mom adds.

"Excuse me, but how could you know that?"

"We may have made a mistake," she confesses, looking sad and guilty.

"What do you mean?"

"We judge her poorly. Her family is something peculiar, the father..." she puts a face. "But the love she feels for you is undeniable. You know she never left your side at the hospital? Not even a second."

"She lived in there. She even lost her job," Toto's dad explains.

"WHAT?!" Toto looks now concerned. That was your only source of income! "Wait, what did you do?!" now he looks mad.

"We did what we thought was best for our son, but it wasn't."

"What did you do?!" he sounds so severe right now.

"We... found a grey area... in the caretaker clause, so we thought it was best for us to transfer you to a hospital here in Austria, where we could look after you."

"Away from her." Toto sounds judgy, eyes piercing them.

"Yes, so, she, we, made a deal," his mom continues explaining. "She would stay out of your life after it if we let you stay there until she saw you leave the hospital fully recovered."

"That's why those words didn't sound like hers that night. How could you do that to me, to us?!" he sounds resentful.

"Because we didn't know Y/N and had no idea how strong that bond between you truly was. Her love for you is indisputable." His dad tells him.

"She never cracked under our pressure; she fought hard and fair and did an amazing job caring for you." He continues. "It's our fault, and we are deeply sorry."

For Toto's dad to apologize and for his mom to look this ashamed it was something so significant and never seen.

"So now what?! Emma and her parents will be here any minute." Toto says.

"Only if you had a jet waiting for you to leave for Monaco," his dad expresses, winking an eye.

"Only if you had a ring to offer to Y/N," his mom tells Toto, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head.

You arrive at the gallery, finally back at your job, and glad your boss hired you again! You are so excited to paint in the workshop.

You finish pushing the door, which is already slightly open. Someone must have arrived early, too, but the place is empty, to your surprise.

You don't think much of it. You go straight to the easel with your name on it, pull out all your brushes and materials from your bag, and remove the dust white sheet on top of the empty canvas.

You look perplexed as you read the freshly brush-painted letters on it: "Will you marry me?"

"I found the truth," Toto's voice makes you jump slightly.

You turn around to watch him smile big at you with adoring sparkling eyes before you answer his question.

"Yes"

- More Toto Wolff fics right here > Masterlist

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 months ago

Text

Keeping a suspense file gives you superpowers

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Two decades ago, I was part of a group of nerds who got really interested in how each other managed to do what we did. The effort was kicked off by Danny O'Brien, who called it "Lifehacking" and I played a small role in getting that term popularized:

https://craphound.com/lifehacksetcon04.txt

While we were all devoted to sharing tips and tricks from our own lives, many of us converged on an outside expert, David Allen, and his bestselling book "Getting Things Done" (GTD, to those in the know):

https://gettingthingsdone.com/

GTD is a collection of relatively simple tactics for coping with, prioritizing, and organizing the things you want to do. Many of the methods relate to organizing your own projects, using a handful of context-based to-do lists (e.g. a list of things to do at the office, at home, while waiting in line, etc). These lists consist of simple tasks. Those tasks are, in turn, derived from another list, of "projects" – things that require more than one task, which can be anything from planning dinner to writing a novel to helping your kid apply to university.

The point of all this list-making isn't to do everything on the lists. While these lists do help you remember what to do next, what they're really good for is deciding what not to do – at all. The promise of GTD is that it will help you consciously choose not to do some of the things you set out to accomplish. This is in contrast to how most of us operate: we have a bunch of things we want to do, and we end up doing the things that are easiest, or at top of mind, even if they're not the most important things.

GTD recognizes that you can be very "productive" (in the sense of getting many things done) and still not do the things that you really wanted to do. You know what this is like: you finish a Sunday with an organized sock-drawer, all your pennies neatly rolled, the trash-can in your car emptied…and no work at all on that novel you're hoping to write.

You can't do everything, but you can control what you don't do, rather than just defaulting into completing a string of trivial, meaningless tasks and leaving the big stuff on the sidelines. Organizing your own tasks and projects is a hugely powerful habit, and one that's made a world of difference to my personal and professional life.

But while good to-do lists can take you very far in life, they have a hard limit: other people. Almost every ambitious thing you want to do involves someone else's contribution. Even the most solitary of projects can be derailed if your tax accountant misses a key email and you end up getting audited or paying a huge penalty.

That's where the other kind of GTD list comes in: the list of things you're waiting for from other people. I used to be assiduous in maintaining this list, but then the pandemic struck and no one was meeting any of their commitments, and I just gave up on it, and never went back…until about a month ago. Returning to these lists (they're sometimes called "suspense files") made me realize how many of the problems – some hugely consequential – in my life could have been avoided if I'd just gone back to this habit earlier.

My suspense file is literally just some lines partway down a text file that lives on my desktop called todo.txt that has all my to-dos as well. Here's some sample entries from my suspense file:

WAITING EMAIL Sean about ENSHITTIIFCATION manuscript deadline 10/24/24 WAITING EMAIL Russ about missing royalty statement 10/12/24 WAITING EMAIL Alice about Christmas vacation hotel 10/8/24 10/20/24 WAITING EMAIL Ted about Sacramento event 8/12/24 9/5/24 10/5/24 10/20/24

WAITING CALL LA County about mosquito abatement 10/25/24 WAITING CALL School attendance officer about London trip 10/18/24

WAITING MONEY EFF reimbusement for taxi to staff retreat $34.98 10/7/24

WAITING SHIPMENT New Neal Stephenson novel from Bookshop.org 10/23/24

This is as simple as things could possibly be! I literally just type "WAITING," then a space, then the category of thing I'm waiting for, then a few specifics, then the date. When I follow up on an item, I add the date of the followup to the end of the line. If I get some details that I might need to reference later (say, a tracking code for a shipment, or a date for an event I'm trying to organize), I'll add that, too, as it comes up. Creating a new entry on this list takes 10-25 seconds. When someone gets back to me, I just delete that line.

That is literally it.

Every day, or sometimes a couple of times a day, I will just run my eyes up and down this list and see if there's anything that's unreasonably overdue, and then I'll send a reminder or make a followup call. In the example above, you can see that I've been chasing Ted about Sacramento for months now (this is a fake entry – no plans to go to Sacto at the moment, sorry):

WAITING EMAIL Ted about Sacramento event 8/12/24 9/5/24 10/5/24 10/20/24

So now I've emailed Ted four times. Maybe my email's going to his spam, and so I could try emailing a friend of Ted and ask them to check whether he's getting my messages. But maybe Ted's trying to send me a message here – he's just not interested in doing the event after all. Or maybe Ted is available, but he's so snowed under that he's in danger of fumbling it, and I need to bring in some help if I want it to happen.

All of these are possibilities, and the fact that I'm tracking this means that I now get to make an active decision: cancel the gig or double down on making sure it happens. Without this list, the gig would just die by default, forgotten by both of us. Maybe that's OK, but I can't tell you how many times I've run into someone who said, "Dammit, I just remembered I was supposed to email you about getting that thing done and I dropped the ball. Shit! I really was looking forward to that. Is it too late now?" Often it is too late. Even if it's not, the work of picking up the pieces and starting over is much more than just following through on the original plan.

Restarting my suspense file made me realize how many of the (often expensive or painful) fumbles I've had since the pandemic were the result of me not noticing that someone else hadn't gotten back to me. In essence, a suspense file is a way for me to manage other people's to-do lists.

Let me unpack that. By "managing other people's to-do lists," I don't mean that I'm deciding for other people what they will and won't do (that would be both weird and gross). I mean that I'm making sure that if someone else fails to do something we were planning together, it's because they decided not to do it, not because they forgot. As GTD teaches us, the real point of a to-do list isn't just helping us remember what to do – it's helping us choose what we're not going to do.

This is not an imposition, it's a kindness. The point of a suspense file isn't to nag others into living up to their commitments, it's to form a network of support among collaborators where we all help one another make those conscious choices about what we're not going to do, rather than having the stuff we really value slip away because we forgot about it.

I have frequent collaborators whom I know to be incapable of juggling too many things at once, and my suspense file has helped me hone my sense of when it would be appropriate to ask them if they want to do something together and when to leave them be. The suspense file helps me dial in how much I rely on each person in my life (relying on someone isn't the same as valuing them – and indeed, one way to value someone is to only rely on them for things they're able to do, rather than putting them in a position of feeling bad for failing you).

Lifehacking gets a bad rap, and justifiably so. Many of the tips that traffick as "lifehacks" are trivial or stupid or both. What's more, too much lifehacking can paint you into a corner where you've hacked any flexibility out of your life:

https://locusmag.com/2017/11/cory-doctorow-how-to-do-everything-lifehacking-considered-harmful/

But ever since Danny coined the term "lifehack," back in 2004, I've been cultivating daily habits that have let me live the life I wanted to live, accomplishing the things I wanted to accomplish. I figured out how to turn daily writing into a habit and now I've written more than 30 books:

https://www.locusmag.com/Features/2009/01/cory-doctorow-writing-in-age-of.html

A daily habit of opening a huge, ever-tweaked collection of tabs has made me smarter about the news, helped me keep tabs on my friends, helped me find fraudsters who were trying to steal my identity, and ensured that all those Kickstarter rewards and other long-delayed, erratic shipments didn't slip through the cracks:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/25/today-in-tabs/#unfucked-rota

Daily habits are superpowers. Once something is a habit, you get it for free. GTD turns on decomposing big, daunting projects into bite-sized, trackable tasks. I have a bunch of spaces around the house – my office, my closet, the junk sheds down the side of the house, our tiki bar – that I used to clean out once or twice a year. Each one was all-day, sweaty, dirty job, and for most of the year, all of those spaces were a dusty, disorganized mess.

A month ago, I added a new daily task: spend five minutes cleaning one space. I did the bar first, and after two weeks, I'd taken down every tchotchke and bottle and polished it, reorganizing the undercounter spaces where things pile up:

https://www.flickr.com/search/?user_id=37996580417%40N01&sort=date-taken-desc&text=tiki+bar&view_all=1

Now I'm working through my office. Ever day, I'm dusting a bookshelf and combing through it for discards to stick in our Little Free Library. Takes less than five minutes most day, and I'll be done in about three weeks, when I'll move on to my closet, then the side of the house, and then back to the bar. A daily short break where I get away from my computer and make my living and working environments nicer is a wonderful habit to cultivate.

I'm 53 years old now. I was 33 when I started following Getting Things Done. In that time, I've gotten a lot done, but what's even more relevant is that I didn't get a ton of things done – things that I consciously chose not to abandon. Figuring out what you want to do, and then keeping it on track – in manageable, healthy, daily rhythms that bring along the other people you rely on – may not be the whole secret to a fulfilled life, but it's certainly a part of it.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo.txt

#pluralistic #gtd #lifehacks #getting things done #being busy #correspondence #deliberately choosing what you abandon

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cherrycilly · 4 months ago

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His ultraviolence (18+)

Arranged merriage with Tommy shelby

Synopsis - the niece of alfie solomons marries alfie's cold-hearted gangster friend, tommy shelby.

(Based on a prompt I saw on character.ai, but the writing is my own entirely!!!)

I am writing in first person because writing in second person confuses me as a non native English speaker.

(Content- car sex (in public), misogynistic 1920s stuff, tommy is being mean ,you are reading a story about a gangster,dubcon, fluff ending )

First ever smut ,nobody bully me.

My uncle alfie solomons the leader of the Jewish gangs I London was a harsh and strict boss offering deal or death sort of buisness partnerships, to me though he was a good uncle, spoiled me and doted on me as much as he could, maybe that's why I never grew out of fairytales about princes and princesses. "Come come here my beautiful dove, come sit with uncle alfie, let's chat shall we" uncle alfie calls me to his office, I nervously bite my lip, alfie never wanted me to be a part of the buisness ,I wonder why he summons me now. "Uncle?" I come in to his office confused when suddenly I notice beyond the cloud of cigarette smoke sits a man,in a dark three piece suit, I had to admit my breath almost stopped ,he was handsome, too handsome to sit in a dusty "bakery " office, his blue cold eyes stared in to my soul it seems. "Lovely Lovely yes sit next to uncle" mumbles alfie summoning me to him,I sit nervously next to him, I seemed even more small next to alfies big frame and even more ridiculous sitting between two gang bosses in a pink and white dress.

"Darling this is tommy shelby ,he is a good friend of mine yes very good friend and he recently lost a wife" he takes off his glasses and turns to me "he needs a new wife" ,I look at him confused where this is going, alfie always had a way to talk and talk around his points, perhaps it's his defence mechanism. "Alfie get to the point " the man with the blue eyes finally speaks up, his voice gruff and commanding ,how dare he command alfie like that ,but alfie doesn't seem phased at all. "Oh yes yes right ,my point is,I offered mr shelby here your hand in marriage, now I know its a big change but he is a strong ally and this union will be beneficial for us both and for the buisness " alfie says ,looking at tommy again as if looking for reassurance, tommy doesn't answer ,he barely even blinks.

"W..what" I say confused, I knew women didn't have much say in the gangster world but alfie just offering me up to his friends was a hit to the gut. "Uncle!" I say again shocked, looking between tommy and alfie, "now don't make a scene love, thomas is good buisness man and a very dear friend, I am sure you'll be fine" ,my jaw almost drops at this, if tommy is such a great guy why doesn't alfie marry him instead huh. Alfie shifts uncomfortably in his chair, even his bubbly and loud personality couldn't save everyone in the room from the tension that was slowly getting more and more tense. "Uncle ..this is so sudden I dont-" alfie touched his beard in annoyance "Now darling this union is VERY important for me ,if you refuse I'll be very upset " alfie always sugarcoated everything with me ,lucky for me tommy didn't "if you refuse ,I'll break this partnership and start a war in London " he says in his trademark detached and cold voice. My heart sank, it was straight up blackmail .

It was not a happy occasion as alfies men put my entire life in boxed to be shipped off to bermingam, it was not a happy occasion despite alfie happily kissing me on the cheek and sending me off in to Tommy's car "you two have fun alright, I'll see you in the wedding, be a good girl love" alfie kisses me again, tommy rolls his eyes as he starts the car "bye alfie" he says almost happy to be going home finally. I was shocked at how much trust alfie and tommy put in each other, does alfie seriously trusts tommy that much to give out the closest he has to a daugher just like that?

The ride to bermingam was silent,silent enough for me to memorise by heart the way the engine moves ,the sound it makes, "so..is your name tommy or thomas" I finally try to break the ice ,"thomas but we are getting marries so tommy is fine" his answer was cold and short, he barely looked at me. "I see...um do you have a big family..tommy" I ask nervously. "Yes, I have 3 brothers, Arthur, finn, john and a sister eda..there is aunt polly too ,you'll meet her soon" his voice grown a bit softer talking about his family ,it was endearing. "A..are you all gypsies then?" I ask trying to find any way to continue the conversation that seems to be holding on only thanks to my talking. "Yes, we all live in caravans and practice witchcraft" he smirks, the sarcasm in his voice wasn't lost on me. I laugh,the kind of polite laugh you give a stranger when you don't know what to say "I see" ,I look in to the green fields before me as the car keeps rolling.

After some more minutes of tortured silence ,finally he decides to speak "are you a virgin?" He asks bluntly ,no shame in his voice, I blush ,looking at him wide eyed "is that the first thing you ask me?" A hint of shock in my voice, "you are my future wife " he says again with no shame. "You don't even want to know my interests? Hobbies? Favourite book?" My voice a tone of scolding to which tommy raises an eyebrow, looking at me finally for the first time during our ride "this is a buisness arrangement sweetheart, not a date, and I sure do have the right to know if my wife is a virgin or not" he answers sternly ,causing goodbumps to run down my spine. "Well you don't.. you don't have the right" I cross my arms in protest at his rudeness which causes tommy to let out a chuckle "I think I have my answer then" he says in a matter of fact "my lovely new virgin bride, lucky me eh" he teases ,the way he could get from cold and emotionless to humorous and playful was a bit jarring to say the least. "I..I'm not a virgin " why did I say that ,of course he was right but my head was spinning and alfie threw me to the wolves so I had to not seem as innocent as I probably looked.

"Not a virgin eh" tommy says skeptically, looking me up and down he suddenly drives off the road ,parking his car at a nearby tree grove, "let's fuck then " ,my eyes widen and my hands begin to feel cold "shouldn't we...wait to our wedding night " my throat feels dry,why did I lie about it, stupid me. Tommy narrowed his eyes "one of those girls eh, good girls who wait for their wedding night" his blue eyes were staring right through and inside me, nothing was hidden from him.. "Yes.. " I squirm under his gaze, "you are lying to me. I do not appreciate it" he shook his head ,his voice returned to the trademark detached tone "you are a shelby now, and there are rules,you don't lie to me" he raised his finger and then sighed again "I.. " the words get stuck in my throat, "get out of the car" he orders, a clear command, something told me not to break,I open the passenger car door with trembling hands and climb out ,shortly after he gets out of the car too and opens the back seat car door, "bend over the seat" he takes out a cigarette and rubs it between his lips.

"What? Why?" I take a small step back ,"you are gonna lie to me about being a virgin then you are gonna get fucked like an experienced woman, bend." He says nonchalantly, making my shiver again. "Couldn't this wait for a bed?" I look at the back seat covered in black leather . Tommy takes another smoke of his cigarette, a moment of silence and then him grabbing me by my jaw pinning me to his car "I told you,you are my property now, everything belongs to me and I'll take it anywhere I damn please, don't make me repeat myself " he warns ,I let out a shaky breath and a gasp as he lets go of my jaw, I can't cry ,not now. "You can't treat me like this, my uncle won't stand for it" I said trying to regain a bit of control, "you think I am afraid of alfie?" He asked in a mocking tone "I'm your husband"

With that he spins me around and bends me to the seat, the humiliation rose to my cheeks as he started touching my behind, slow circular motion and then, SLAP, I gasp, the sound of his palm smacking my ass was echoing, I gasp and whimper ,trying to hold on to the car seat, "this was for lying" he says, and this ,he pulls down my baby blue chemise , the cool air hits my bare parts ,making me gasp ,he brings a hand to my folds "hm i might believe you aren't a virgin after all, getting so wet already eh ,like a true whore" I blush "tommy please not here please" I beg him ,which causes his to press his fingers in to my sensitive bundle of nerves "alfie is such a fool, giving something so innocent to me" he says in dark amusment, playing with my sensitive knots and entering a finger inside me, "hmm tight like a virgin, why would you lie about something so easily checked?" ,"I..I don't know it was a spar of the moment" I say through humiliating tears.

"Don't cry,you brought this on yourself " he says in a cold detached voice ,a sound of a zipper is heared ,I dig my nails in to the car seat and enters ,slowly at first, positioning himself "you know I wanted to be gentle for your first night, but I think you enjoy being bent over and fucked more" ,I blush harder as he says it,my head is spinning, "tom it hurts" I cry out as he starts breaking through the thin layer of maidnehood "isn't it romantic your husband taking your virginity, isn't that what girls like you want" he asked as he starts moving inside me,picking up the pace which each thrust . "Not like this" I sob, "like what hm? What did you imagine tell me" he picks up the pace even more as I try to form a coherent sentence, "let me guess a nice man and a nice slow fuck, sorry love you married a gangster" his pace quickens even more to my gasp and moans, I almost forgot we were at a tree orchad ,the feeling of him stretching me is the only thing i can focus on, "tommy" I moan more ,he leans his body over me ,brushing the hair from my face "you'll be such a good wife, I am going to fuck a baby in you ,you want that hm? " I whimper and moan until he finally releases inside me ,I let out a shaky moan and a gasp ,he pulls out and zips himself up.

With shaky legs I climb off the seat ,I look like a baby deer as I try to stand on my shaky legs, he stands by the tree looking at me, taking a cigarette out and puffs a cloud of smoke. I look at him slightly fearfully. "Well you are not a liar anymore " he takes another puff or his cigarette, I look like I am about to cry "do you smoke" he asks, "n..no" I say my voice still shaky. "Drink whiskey?" ,"sometimes" ,"ride horses?" "No" he looks to the side annoyed, "so all you do is day dream about fairytale?" ,"sometimes ".

"Come here" he says ,his voice more gentle now, "I am not the kind of man you dream about, not some actor with a nice smile or Prince charming, I am a bad man and I do bad things, so I'll give you a choice, run back to your uncle or stay" I look at him wide eyed, my legs still shaky from his use, the way he said "stay" tugged at my heartstrings, it almost sounded desperate, raw, almost sounded like he was begging, " if you stay, If you stay you'll be cursed" he looked away ,a hint of pain in his voice, he lookes behind me as if he is seeing ghosts. "I'll stay" I say silently, I don't know why.i don't know why,I said it. he made me cry. My heart broke when I looked in to his mesmerizing ice blue eyes, the sadness in them ,could make me forget everything and hold him for hours ,but it wasn't love, no not yet, not the love that a young girl dreams of, a fairy tale sort of love with Prince charming, instead there is a cold gangster with a red right hand ,a blood he will never wash off him and a sadness planting its roots in his core so deep his blue eyes can never hide it. "Fine..stay" he says again ,walking to his car with me,I sit back in to the passenger seat, tommy looks at me more softly now "well be home soon, you can rest, the wedding can be in a week, buy yourself a nice dress" ,I lay my head on the seat closing my eyes.

#tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby

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sickeninglyshoujo · 1 year ago

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a/n: continually obsessed w/ cod dads, here's price

part 1: simon here

part 3: soap here

part 4: gaz here

masterlist here

warnings: pregnancy

word count: 1.7k

buy me a ko-fi

Price was afraid to have babies with you because of the age difference and you rolled your eyes every time he talked about being an old man and how a pretty young thing like you shouldn’t be dating him much less trying to get knocked up by someone his age. As if he’d let you even entertain the thought of leaving him for a young buck who couldn’t spoil you like you deserved.

Throughout your pregnancy he treated you like fine China, afraid he’d say the wrong thing and make you cry. He’s heard about women’s hormones during pregnancy even as you remained rock solid, rolling your eyes when he’d ‘yes dear’ you.

You tried to kick him out of the bathroom when morning sickness hit and he refused. Instead sitting on the tub next to you, petting your back as you leaned into the toilet and tried to soothe you, telling you how strong you were and how beautiful you were carrying his baby even with sick bubbling up your throat at the slightest movement “I thought morning sickness was only supposed to be in the morning,” you moaned with your forehead pressed against the cool floor tile. “It’’s a misnomer, love,” John said, removing himself from his perch on the tub to wet a cool washcloth and wipe down your face.

He wishes this phase was over, hates seeing you in pain like this.

That changes once the baby’s born then he’s ready to do it all over again. He didn’t know how attached he’s gotten to helping you do the things you couldn’t because of your belly like putting on your shoes (looking up at your belly reverently the entire time before planting a kiss on it) for you and helping you pick things off the floor that your clumsy fingers dropped. He grew a particular affection for helping you rub shea butter and vitamin E oil over your rapidly appearing stretch marks.

Price insists on building the nursery furniture without reading the directions, “Know what I’m doin’ woman,” and to your chagrin he was right. Managed everything without a set of directions perched on his knee and instead chucked them to the side with the box.

The first thing he built was the fancy rocking chair he bought for you, insisting you don’t help him with anything “At least let me hold the screws John, I feel stupid just sitting here!”

To him, peace is this. This is what so many long nights holed up in some shithole on a mission have led to. Him sitting on the floor at your feet, building a life together while oldies play on the record player in the next room. He’s so overwhelmed in the moment he can’t help but pull your hand to his lips and kiss it and laughs at you when you ask him what’s wrong

“It’s all right, is the thing, love.”

When you get the first ultrasound, he stops at the store on the way home and purchased a picture frame (insisting you stay in the car and not overexert yourself, he’ll just be a moment, love). The next day he’s on base it now proudly sits facing him next to the photo of him and you vacationing in London with your faces squeezed together in the frame, selfie-style.

Tells anyone who enters his office about you and how far along you are, whether they ask or not, comparing the baby to different sized fruits, which parts were developing that week.

“She’s the size of a lime now, tiny little thing.”

“Can you imagine that she’s growing fingernails in my bird’s belly!”

Absolutely rubbed your swollen ankles in the evenings when he got home from work, peppering gentle kisses on them when he switched feet

Loved your pregnancy brain fog and would kiss your nose any time he got to remind you about something. He became the keeper of your calendar, scheduling your appointments and taking you to them.

When you go into labor, he’s on base in a meeting with some high-brass in a meeting on a highly classified matter. He’s not even allowed to bring his phone into the room. Instead having to turn it off and lock it in a safe prior to entering even with a baby on the way. He was aware this might happen and had instructed you on the line of succession.

“If you can’t get ahold of me, leave me a message lovie, then go down the line. Simon’s second-in–command-”

“Then Kyle, then Johnny, I know, John, you’ve drilled it into my head,” You soothe him, petting the creases he’s worn between his eyebrows, “It’ll be just fine, women have been doing it for thousands of years.”

“I’ll be there, I promise lovie,” He kisses your palm

You leave the message on John’s voicemail, a curt, “It’s time John, once I hang-up I’m dialing Simon, just like we practiced.”

Simon answers on the third ring, “Missus?” His rumbly voice cuts across the line.

“It’s time Simon and John’s still in the meeting since his phone is turned off.”

“Copy.”

The line goes dead leaving you blinking at the Call Ended screen.

You decide that Simon is aware of the drastic nature of the matter and instead busy yourself, you lug the baby bag and your purse to the floor next to the door and go through the checklist John had created in the front pocket: Stove off, windows shut and locked, televisions off…It wasn’t until Simon was letting himself into your front door that the list was likely a distraction from your husband to stop you from leaving on your own until Simon arrived.

Simon collects you with the cool confidence of a Lieutenant in the special forces.

No, don’t worry about the bags or the door, he’s got it, just get yourself into the car.

You try John’s number over and over on the way to the hospital, narrating Simon’s driving, “John, I’m going to have words with you when this is over, I cannot believe you let your pregnant wife in a car with what has to be the worst driver in all of Manchester!”

Before you know it, you’re being rushed into the hospital with Ghost snapping at the nurse at the desk for a wheelchair, NOW! He barks out orders in true military fashion leaving your head buried in your hands as you’re being escorted to the maternity ward.

“Now don’t worry, Sir, your wife is in excellent hands,” one of the nurses addresses Simon, all muscle pushing you in the wheelchair, unblinking and matching their pace.

“He’s not-” You try and interject.

“She better be,” Simon cuts you off, “And the labor will be handled with the utmost care or someone will have to answer to me personally.”

The contractions have started coming back to back and you’re pacing the hospital room, sucking on ice chips fed to you by a patient Simon.

Kyle and Johnny have also arrived and join him in his vigil, somehow maneuvering their way through the “Father and family only” policy the hospital has.

“She was adopted,” You later find out Kyle deadpanned at the security trying to stop him from entering the room, “Can’t you see the family resemblance?”

True to his word, John is there.

He’s rushed into the room, frazzled and running his hand over his beard, eyes darting until he finds you, “Hey sweet girl, I’m here, I’m here,” pointedly ignoring the nurse trying to count out the men in the room

(“Who are these men to you again miss?”)

(“I’m the father,” Gaz informs, flipping through a magazine to pass the time between bursts of activity with contractions.)

You moan out John’s name slapping at his chest weekly when he gathers you up into his arms and hugs you, “I’m mad at you John!”

“Don’t be mad, love, I made it just like I promised,” He tries to soothe you, smoothing his hands over your disheveled hair. “Not about being late, about getting me pregnant!” “It’s a bit late for that now, love,” He does his best to hide the smile twitching into place under his mustache.

The boys remain in the room for the entire labor, John holding one hand and the other men trading off when your grip became too strong (“Dinnae know the lass could break my bones with just one hand,” Johnny moans shaking out his aching appendage.)

When the baby finally arrives, the doctor again looks around at the men in the room, “Would…Dad like to hold her?”

John finally extracts himself from your bruising grip to hold your daughter, eyes twinkling with joy at seeing the bundle covered in blood and viscera. Such a difference from every other time he’d been covered in the blood, these are stains he’ll gladly wear.

#1 baby wearer captain price

“I hardly get to hug you anymore because she’s always strapped to you!”

Price’s eyebrows go up at that, “Are you jealous, love?

“Not jealous, but I miss my husband's arms around me!” When you say that with a slight pout in your voice, Price is quick to arrange Uncle Soap and Gaz so he can wine and dine you like old times.

You make sure to wag your finger enough at the boys and remind them they’re there to babysit, not throw a rager and rile up the baby, even though you know your warnings are falling onto deaf ears. You wholeheartedly expect to return home to a cranky and overtired baby and two military men.

“Can’t neglect either of my girls” he’d mutter into your hair after pulling you close after dinner, holding you to his chest tightly in the middle of the sidewalk

“You never do, John, you’re the best man I could’ve hoped for,” You muttered into his chest, “Never did I think I’d get someone so in love with me and our child.”

Will regularly fall asleep with the baby curled on his chest, boonie hat pulled down over his eyes, with your daughter also lulled to sleep by his steady breaths. You can’t help but take a photo every time it happens, so smitten with how your husband enjoys his quiet days on leave.

You can’t help but send the photo to the boys, having the group chat with them immediately blown up with emojis sent by Soap, laughing at the Captain’s prone form.

As a joke the photo ends up framed on Price’s desk, next to the ultrasound. Price actually enjoys having it to remind him of the peace he has waiting at home and the joke is ruined when the photo remains in it’s place of honor.

#john price x reader #cod fanfiction #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #price x reader #grave writes

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octaneink · 2 months ago

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Crescendo

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Next part: Accelerando Summary : Will has a new neighbour Warnings : none Notes : I have a part 2!

In the bustling heart of London, nestled between the towering beige buildings and the cobblestone streets, was a peculiar flat. It was peculiar, not in the way you might think. It was a typical London flat, rectangular, aged, with big rectangular windows. It was peculiar because of its inhabitants, a young woman whose days were filled with a rhythm that seemed to resonate through the very walls. Every morning, the thumping bass heavy of reggaetón echoed down the narrow alleyways as she revved up her engine and pulled away from the curb. Her car was a vibrant splash of colour in a sea of monochrome vehicles, the music spilling out like a siren's call to the city's early risers.

And its other inhabitant, Will. He had rarely been home the past few weeks, having to spend time in his office to work with video ideas with the lads, and the last few days he had been outside the country filming for a video. But he was used to the hectic schedule. Will was no stranger to late nights and early mornings, his own schedule dictated by the whims of content creation.

So it was a surprise, on the first night back, — it was not really night. He had landed in the UK at 4 am and had only gone through baggage collection an hour later, managing to get an Uber drop him off outside the flat around 6 am — that he saw a bright yellow Miata roared to life and peeled away, the surrounding air vibrated as it drove past him.

After that first morning, Will noticed the pattern start. Each time the music started, he felt the walls of his flat vibrate slightly, a gentle reminder that the world outside his window was waking up. Or at least his elusive neighbour was.

The pattern was this, at around 6 am, he would hear the muffled heavy base, some mornings he'd pick up words when he was closer to the windows in his front room. Though he didn't understand it one bit. At the time, he made the mental note to ask James if he would know what the words meant. Then in the evening around 5:30 pm he’d hear the beat grow in volume the closer the car got, then silence as they cut the keys, a loud car door slamming, and lastly, the beep to indicate their car locked.

The curiosity grew stronger, Will found himself one day setting his alarm earlier to catch a glimpse of the driver. He'd make a cup of tea, the kind that could be brewed quickly and enjoyed just as fast, so he didn't miss the moment.

He didn't catch them, unfortunately.

Then one day, the pattern changed.

He woke as he normally did, made his morning tea, sat on the sofa mindlessly scrolling through TikTok. Something was different today. Looking at the time on his phone, 6:30 am, then outside through the blinds. The little yellow Miata sat parked in its usual spot, instead of the empty parking space that should be at this time of day.

Will’s brows furrowed, but he had no time to wonder the reason at the moment, so he got ready and left his flat. With his hand on the door knob, he locked the door of his flat. Footsteps came from his left and slowed as it got closer to him, “Mornin’.” a female voice called out.

Turning, he saw a stranger. She was shorter than him, wearing an oversized hoodie, baggy jeans, and a pair of white Club C 85. Blinking in surprised, he took a deep breath in shock, and smelt coconut. “Good morning.” Will greeted back.

“I’m your new neighbour. I live in the next flat,” she held her hand out and introduced herself. Will smiled and said, “I’m Will.” she smiled back, replying “I’ve been excited to meet people, but I’ve not seen other neighbours in the flat yet, only heard them.”

She continued to walk towards the exit, Will followed after her, nodding. “Yea, tell me about it. There's some bloke nearby that's been playing loud music out their car every morning and evening.”

They had got to the door by that point, and she opened the door for him, motioning for him to move through first, he nodded his head in thanks and said “Oh really? I can't say I’ve heard it.”

He shrugged “They must’ve decided they’d have a lie in today.” he looked at the time on his phone and told her “Listen, it was nice to meet you,” he said her name “but I’ve got to head to work. I’ll see you around, love.”

Will heard her reply as he walked off. Just as he put on his headphones, he heard the noise he’d been hearing every day for the past month that signalled the Miata being unlocked. He whipped around, mouth agog, his eyes widening when he saw the girl he’d just met climb into the car.

Then the realisation hit him. She was the mysterious neighbour whose music had been invading his mornings and evenings, and he had no idea she'd been living right next to him.

He gulped, and watched her drive off.

What do we think of this part 1?

#will lenney #will lenney x reader #willne #willne x reader #willne x fem!reader #will lenney x fem!reader

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saintmuses · 9 months ago

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❝𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙮𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙣❞

Pairing:

Soft!dark!Thomas Shelby x Ada’s BSF!Reader

Summary:

Thomas was alone in his office with his thoughts, his regrets and desires after the night she was gone.

Warning(s): brief sexual themes. Tommy being down bad and obsessed with Reader. flashback in italics. Hints of violence. Minors, dni! Note: this is a mini series, so there will be one more part.

Word Count: 1.1k

It started out in the small kitchen after he came home from the war under the watchful eyes of his, the feeling that sent electroshock waves to his heart when she sat at the table as he came in.

It festered in the narrowed hallway after she left Ada’s room when there was no room for them to pass each other without brushing.

His obsession with her didn’t start small. It engulfed him like trees engulfed in flames, like wildfires. He watched her from afar, wanting and loving her from afar whenever he could.

Then it became all too much the more sunrises and sunsets passed, his hands used to be the sole company of his cock in the middle of the night.

The sun was dimming below the horizon when he knew that it was Isiah when he knocked on the door quietly.

That was his signature knock, and based on the time that chimed on the grandfather clock, it was time for their meeting.

“Enter,” he called out, a soft thud was heard setting aside the glass tumbler on the ordinated desk he was nursing his emotions with. “What do you have?”

When he found out she had left while the streets were silent a night ago because his men reported back to him that she had brought the luggage with her into the vehicle.

That was when he knew, even though he did not have any evidence, but his instincts were rarely wrong.

Anyone who was a beggar in the streets would find remnants of broken shards of glass he had shattered that night.

“I found her, sir.”

He raised his eyebrow, beckoning Isiah to continue with his statement.

“I was able to trace her to London. They stopped by a church,” he swallowed down the poisonous emotion at the mention of church. Isiah noticed it, but continued. “The preacher caved after I showed him a wad of money…” he trailed off, leaving the implication in the air.

They eloped.

There was a tic in his jaw, anger simmering in his veins, but he made sure to keep his expression empty. “Where is she at?”

“At Eden Club.”

Of course, she thought he would stay away from his enemies’ territories unless he had a plan. Well, he had a plan and it involved her.

“Thank you, Isiah.” He said curtly.

“I’ll leave you to it.” With that, Isiah turned on his heels and walked out of his office.

He waited until the door was closed with a soft thud before lifting the tumbler and chucked it against the wall with a curse under his breath.

Even when she was running, she could not escape from him forever.

He made an easy call, not expecting the foundation to crumble so quickly, so soon the moment she stormed into his office with ferocity in her gaze.

He had no intention of scaring her, making her realize that her best friend’s brother hadn’t seen her as Ada’s friend, instead he saw her as a woman. He hadn’t expected things to get out of hand so quickly, especially when his primal desire was to touch her in any way, the distance he permitted himself to have.

Fuck, even through the layers of clothing, her cunt felt glorious on the pad of his fingers and that noise that escaped from her throat sounded so…

Never he would’ve imagined that things would escalate.

Her husband was a threat to them, an obstacle that prevented him from being able to have her. All of her to himself.

She was supposed to be by his side, not Edward’s. She was not supposed to be searching for a man especially when he was there, she was not supposed to use her husband as a reason why she refused to even see him.

It began to unravel whatever left of sanity he had.

And when all he had was sleepless nights induced war memories instead of having her, he drank those hours away with Irish whiskey held in a fancy crystal decanter that resided in his office.

And if she was around, he never felt the need to drink more than his usual because he had her soothing his soul.

After what happened that day when she found out what he had done, he drank heavily since then because he could not get the look in her eyes out of his head.

Her glassy eyes welled up with tears that did not fall. The sight of them seared through him with pain because he never wanted to be the one to cause her pain, to be the reason why her beautiful eyes were holding a glint of devastating betrayal.

The stinginess of her tears meeting his heart, it was still throbbing, still aching, but all he could think about was he needed her to look at him. To only focus on him, ignore everything around her but him that was taking her away, that was keeping her away from him including herself.

He just wanted her to look at him.

Either way it would end up where they were at this moment.

He needed to remind her that she was his, no matter how far and how long they were apart. It still didn’t change the fact she was his until the end of time or whenever the world chose to burn. Whichever came first.

It had been a month since he had felt her lips despite he barely touched them with his and how he was bold in his approach with his touch. How he missed her.

It had been a month since he had heard her voice since she ran out on him.

The moment he laid his eyes on her again in the kitchen two years ago, he knew she was more than the sun, the moon and all the stars in the universe.

And his brothers and his sister remained oblivious to what had just transcended in his soul. The longing to have her rose from nothing and it seared him like celestial fire branding him, marked him to love someone like her until death was ready to knock on his door.

Even at the risk of losing it all, he would not let that stop him. After all, he was a gambling man. He may have been selfish, but she was the only thing that kept him together.

He closed his eyes.

“Oh.” Her eyes lit up. “Welcome home, Tommy.” He swallowed thickly as she whispered, peering at him. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her beaming smile.

“Welcome home, indeed.” He murmured, looking down at her, unable to pull his gaze away.

The memory of her stirred a primal yearning within him, aching to be with her and keep her all to himself.

Opening his eyes, his hand already reaching for his weapon to place it in his holster.

He was going to remind her with a bullet in her husband’s brain, his upper lip curled in disgust and jealousy for the last time at the reference.

After all, time and tide wait for no man.

act i | ❝𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣❞

act ii | ❝𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙮𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙣❞

act iii | ❝𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙❞

#cillian murphy x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby #peaky blinders

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duchessofostergotlands · 9 days ago

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Hey! Is this true?

"in her first year as a royal bride, Kate was behind a charity being kicked out of apartment 1A so she could take it over. Charles originally was turned down by the charity, and then the queen had to intervene to make them leave. The charity had just remodeled Princess Margaret's apartment and Kate toured the rooms on the pretense of just wanting to see what work they had done."

So there's some truth, some overdramatising, and some lies (buckle up, it's long).

Apartment 1a was lived in by Princess Margaret. After her death in 2002 it lay vacant until 2004 when the management was taken over by Historic Royal Palaces. Historic Royal Palaces is a charity and royal charter body which exists to maintain and run the unoccupied royal palaces (so occupied parts of KP sit outside their control). They used the space for a few things: offices, storage, event space, classrooms. HRP runs the palaces through a contracted arrangement with the government. We don't know the terms of that contract, or the terms of any agreement regulating HRP's use of Apartment 1a, so we have no idea what legal rights different groups had which is a massive piece of the puzzle which is unfortunately missing but we'll try our best with what we have.

In 2007 Charles took over Apartment 8 for office space. I can't find any reference to him asking HRP for Apartment 1a. He might have but there's no evidence and without any details about when he asked and why I don't see why it's relevant.

In 2010, HRP announced a renovation for KP. This was a large scale plan costing about £12 million and was predominantly focused on the public spaces (the State Apartments etc). This wasn't a specific renovation of Apartment 1a. They did do work to make it suitable for offices but I can't find any evidence it was in 2010/11 (and if it was it doesn't matter as you'll see later).

In 2011, William and Kate were preparing to marry. They shared a residence with Harry at Clarence House and it was recognised that a new London base would be needed for them as they would be growing their family and would also be likely to receive heads of state and diplomats in their home. According to the press they visited St James's - an occupied royal palace not under the control of HRP - and Apartment 8 in KP (which would have also required charities to move their offices). HRP confirmed Kate had visited KP before the wedding but didn't confirm what part, why, or what she said her reason was so that claim is unsubstantiated. In July 2011 they moved into Nottingham Cottage but it was made clear this was a temporary move until they found something more appropriate.

In November 2011 it was confirmed that William and Kate would move into 1a. There would be a renovation which would start in late 2012. Now, again, we don't know for definite what happened but the press reported that the Queen had asked HRP to move. The reports state that she and Charles agreed to reimburse HRP for any work they'd carried out on 1a over the years and they agreed to delay the move so that HRP could carry out the final exhibition they had planned, so they wouldn't have any loss of income or be out of pocket. They then relocated to a different space at KP. After the announcement HRP said they were "delighted that the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge have chosen Kensington Palace as their permanent home. There is no doubt that their presence will put the Palace more in the public eye and, we hope, encourage more people to come and explore its history." According to their accounts their income increased year on year and there is nothing to suggest there was any negative consequence of the handover, or any significant shift in their operations.

So on the surface the story has some truth. HRP had the place. They had to move out for William and Kate. But several claims are unsubstantiated like the idea Kate lied about why she was there. I also think the fact they refuse to name the charity and leave out what happened to HRP as a result of the move is also deliberate, in my view. Because of the common perception of the term "charity" it makes you believe it was either some orphanage and all these starving children were cast onto the street or that it was a vital community space offering life saving services that had to be stopped. It was a building where they had some offices and kept some of their stuff. And the move was negotiated and fair on HRP. They essentially just had to move some boxes from one room to another room in the same place so at most it was mildly irritating for a couple of weeks but that's it. And I don't know about you but if I was the head of HRP and someone said things could stay exactly as they are because William and Kate are moving into St James's which is nothing to do with us or we can move to a different building on the same complex with no financial loss involved and in exchange get the Cambridge factor to attract visitors, I'd pick the latter. So from my perspective they've massively overdramatised the story and if HRP ended up being ok with the final agreement, why shouldn't I?

However, I know my view is subjective and I can understand opposing views so let's just say it was a terrible thing to do. The first thing I'd say in response is William exists. You wouldn't know it from this quote. Every time there has ever been a drama about their family's homes it has been blamed 100% on Kate because she's a woman so domestic spaces have to be solely on her. It's wildly misogynistic to say Kate was behind it and ignore William's existence. Furthermore, Kate has no power to kick anyone out of a home she doesn't own. So unless she strapped the Queen and Charles to chairs and said she'd kill one corgi every hour until she got her way, they made the choice to ask HRP to move out. They could have said no. And this quote states they believe Charles asked and HRP said no so by their logic HRP could have also said no here. So even if people want to believe this account that Kate wanted a poor little charity to be thrown out for her own amusement, it was still the Queen and to a lesser extent Charles who threw them out so the blame is on them.

#ask #british royal family #anon #kate middleton #queen elizabeth ii #Queen Elizabeth #the Queen #Prince William #King Charles

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cloudyluun · 6 days ago

Text

Weekly Check-In 💌 | 17/02 - 23/02 25'

MASTERLIST HERE & BLOGRULES

Hello, my loves!!

Another week, another unhinged collection of fics for you all to obsess over. And honestly? This week has been a ride. We've wrapped up a beloved story, started a new series, dipped our toes into absolute filth (multiple times, oops), and launched something super exciting. So let's get into it!

What you missed this week!

Epilogue: Home (single-parent!Harry): Yes, you read that right, Serendipity & Stumbles is officially complete. 🥹 The epilogue wraps up everything with a baby announcement, family chaos, and Harry being absolutely insufferable about touching your belly. Thank you for loving this story as much as I have.

London Fever (neighbour!Harry): New series alert! Tension, mind games, and a dangerously possessive Harry. He’s the neighbor you should avoid, but of course, you don’t. (Wouldn’t be a fic if you made good choices, right?)

Indigo: A heavy, heartbreaking one-shot for those of you who like pain. You’re welcome.

Press Play (boyfriend!harry): "Let me film you tonight." …And that’s how we ended up here. Filthy. Absolutely unhinged. Might become a series because, let’s be honest, Harry would absolutely demand a sequel.

Raw & Reckless (boyfriend!harry): A shower. A reckless decision. Zero self-control. What started as a steamy hookup turned into something neither of them were ready for. This one might also need a part two because I had too much fun writing it.

Office Hours (p.4) (professor!harry): The slow unravel. A name you weren’t supposed to hear. Secrets were always part of the game—until one of them changed everything. The angst is kicking in, besties. Buckle up.

Oh, and in case you missed it, MY PATREON IS LIVE! 🎉

Patreon Exclusive Teaser: Rewrite The Stars: A one-night stand gone terribly wrong. Forced to fake date for PR. Too much unresolved tension and not enough self-control. This one is angst, smut, and two emotionally constipated idiots trying (and failing) to pretend.

What's coming next week?

Easy Money (sugardaddy!harry): Sugar baby side hustle. Harry caught feelings. You caught yourself in a mess. Based on this request!

→ posted (24/02) here!

Ruin me, Love me, Lose me (fratboy&playboy!harry): Campus playboy Harry. You swore you’d never fall for it. And yet… Based on this request! → posted (25/02) here!

No Cameras Allowed: You and Harry have been secretly hooking up for months, but at a high-profile event—surrounded by cameras, fans, and industry people—you have to pretend like nothing is going on.

→ posted (26/02) here!

Under The Table: A casual dinner with friends takes a turn when Harry’s hand finds your thigh under the table.

→ posted (28/02) here!

The last fic? That’s up to you! Vote in the poll to decide which series gets a part two next week!

and maybe more???

Housekeeping Notes:

📌 Requests? Open! 📌 Commissions? Open! 📌 My brain? Never resting!

As always, thank you for reading, screaming, and unhinging with me. Your support means everything. Love you all endlessly.

xxx

#weeklynote #next week #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #feb #posting shedule

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cillianmurphysdimples · 1 month ago

Text

Female Y/N / Cillian fanfic. (Part Ten)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes so not suitable for under 18s.

Gif credit - @remembering-angels

We Got Issues

Part Ten: Y/N returns to England to attend the London premiere of Small Things Like These with Cillian. She's missed him and he's missed her, and when they delay their intimate reunion until after the premiere, Y/N's intense love overwhelms her at a deceleration from Cillian. [Sexual scenes]

@remembering-angels @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @lavender-haze-01 @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme

------

You're not sure how it has arrived so quickly, given how empty the days have been - apart from work - without Cillian around, but the day of the London premiere seems to have landed at your feet fast. You have less than ten minutes until your booked taxi arrives to take you to Dublin Airport, and you're bustling around the house ensuring that your hand luggage contains everything you need. At the front door, your small case is ready to go and your Chelsea boots are waiting beside it. Dressed in black skinny jeans and a cream, turtleneck jumper beneath your denim jacket, you feel trussed up and stuffy inside of the house, but you know you'll be comfortably warm once you step out into the autumnal air. You feel butterflies in your stomach, and you're not sure if it is knowing you'll be able to kiss Cillian again in a couple of hours, or the prospect of a solo flight. You kick off your slippers and push your sock-clad feet into your boots. You glance around, ensuring you'd left everything neat, before you pick up your bag by the strap and hook it over your left shoulder. You push your phone into the right breast pocket of your jacket and exhale loudly. You're satisfied you're ready to go, and you pull out the handle on your case, dragging it with you, as you step out to wait at the door for the taxi that is moments away. You set the alarm as you leave and lock the door securely. You push the keys deep down into your bag to ensure they aren't accidently lost. As you turn to face the short driveway that spans out before the house, your taxi pulls in, the wheels noisy on the gravel below. It's the ‘home stretch’, now, and those butterflies double in your belly. It confirms to you that they are indeed fluttering around at the knowledge that Cillian isn't too far away.

Once you're through check in at the airport, you squirrel yourself away in the same bar that you and Cillian had hidden in. With your phone in hand, and a caramel latte, you perch yourself on a stool. You flick through your email account for work briefly and answer the three that have arrived in the time it has taken you to get to and through the airport, before you declare your annual leave by switching on the automated ‘out of office'. Closing down the app, you tap open your Facebook page and browse through the newsfeed. You smile at the photos of your old school friend, Anna, back in your hometown, sharing the announcement of her new baby daughter, as you send her a heartfelt message of congratulations. She'd been incredibly supportive when there had been circulating stories about your relationship with Cillian, and though you haven't seen her in person for some time, you want her to know you're happy for her. Continuing to scroll, you see a collection of photographs uploaded by Aran and you scroll through them. Lots of funny faces and friends you know you'll probably never meet. He looks happy, smiles like his Dad, and you smirk to yourself as you scroll away again. You place your phone down on the table for a moment and pick up your coffee. Sipping carefully at the hot drink, you glance around you. You watch people moving by and see children skipping and running up and down, excited about upcoming holidays. You smile fondly as you watch an obviously newly-walking little boy as he toddles awkwardly on chubby legs, with his mother close behind him. You place your coffee down and pick your phone back up, and as you turn it on, you look up as someone calls to you timidly.

“Excuse me?” Casting up your eyes, you see a girl before you. She can't be much older than eighteen, and she is made up and has her hair perfectly curled. “Sorry, excuse me,” She has a thick Northside accent and you raise your eyebrows as you smile at her.

“Hi?” You say with a questioning inflection.

“It's gonna sound thick, but are you Y/N?” She asks, and she turns her phone over in her hands nervously.

You frown for a second, then smile softly. “Yes,” you say, unsure. “I am.”

“I knew it was you.” she grins, “I saw your picture on Tumblr, with Cillian Murphy. Youse two were here before weren't you? I just think you're so beautiful, and, like, I don't believe half the shite that got said, you know, about you and him, and his ex.” She laughs, still clearly nervous. “I can't wait to see his new movie.”

You feel a wave of extreme stress flutter through you and hope you don't look as bothered by her presence as you feel. This has never happened before, and you can't for the life of you work out why it's happening now. What was it? A sort of ‘famous by association' kind of thing? You give her another smile. “I'll let him know.” You say, not sure what else to say.

“Can I…?” She asks, holding out her phone. “Just a selfie, like?” Before you even have a word ready to give her in response, she moves closer to you and holds her phone out with her arm stretched, and quickly snaps a picture of the two of you. “Ah, that's deadly! Thanks a million.”

Startled and flustered, you simply smile. “Uh…no problem.” You mumble and watch her with an astonished, wide-eyed look as she walks away cheerfully. “What the fucking fuck…?” You whisper to yourself as you unlock your phone. Processing the interaction, you open your messages and quickly tap out a bewildered text to Cillian.

Just been approached at the airport and apparently they can't wait to see Small Things. Said I'd tell you haha How do they even know me? My flight’s in half an hour. Counting down. See you soon x

You set your phone down again and pick up your coffee. Just as you take the cup away from your lips, you receive a text reply from Cillian. You swipe if open with your index finger.

Fly safe, don't be making friends with random people who come up to you ha ha. Give me a text when you land. X

You shake your head, smirking at his response, and you wonder what he's doing that he has the time to reply so quickly. The excitement to see him soon begins to build again and releases the butterflies in your belly. You want to kiss him, inhale him, and fuck him, and you remind yourself that you've a busy evening ahead before you'll get the opportunity to fulfill your wish with the latter.

When you land in England, it is almost impossible to keep your excitement and desire at bay. You walk at speed, and allow the music thumping through the earphones you'd stolen from Cillian's dresser to keep you from floating away entirely. Dragging your case behind you, you walk with the rabble if people through the arrivals doors and out into the sea of waiting people. Your eyes scan through the crowd hungrily, looking for a specific set of eyes and a telltale beanie hat. But it's Cillian who sees you first, as you turn round to look to your right and slowly scan back to looking ahead of you, your heart beats quickly in your chest. He stands forward from the crowd just a step with a controlled smirk tugging his lips, giving him a cheeky expression all around - and of course, the beanie is on. You grin as you walk towards him, and as you get closer he opens out his arms, welcoming you in with a hug as you drag your earphones from your ears.

“Cill,” you whisper into his ear as you rest your chin on his shoulder, fully encased by his arms. You close your eyes as he holds you tightly, and you return the warm hug with your arm wrapped around his back. You sigh as his affection washes over you. “God, I've missed you.” You continue to whisper, almost disappointed when he slowly pulls back from the hug. When he kisses you, though, that disappointment is quickly replaced. His index finger is under your chin, positioning you where he wants you, and you close your eyes as he firmly but very lovingly presses his lips down against yours.

As he draws back his head, with a sleepy-lidded smile, he reaches down and takes your case in one hand and laces his fingers into yours on the other side. “C'mon,” he says quietly, twitching his head towards the exit. “I can't tell you how much I missed you surrounded by all these people.” He says in a growling whisper, and you know he knows what he's doing to you. Evidently, you're not the only horny one.

He's handsy in the taxi to the hotel, and you rest your head against his shoulder, inhaling him, as he runs his hand up and down your thigh slowly. He doesn't push it any further, and you know he won't, but the tingles that it breeds at the thoughts of ‘if’ he did are delectable. He's the perfect gentleman as you reach the hotel; he carries your case and keeps your hand in his as he leads you to the room. He barely has the door locked behind him, before he abandons your bags to the floor and all but shoves you against the wall. He forces his knee between your legs, leaving you practically sitting against his thigh, as he claims your mouth for his own. His tongue is searching and his hands are wandering, and if it had moved his thigh at all to give you friction, you fear you'd have cum on the spot. You plant your hands around his face, feeling the angles of his jaw beneath your fingers, and you find yourself gasping for air as he pulls his face slowly away from yours. His positioning allows you to feel his obvious erection against your hip, and while you desperately want to strip you both of your clothes, you suspect he's about to engage you in the long game. He draws his body back from yours, smiling at you with an arousal-drunk haziness in his eyes. You clear your throat as you reposition yourself, “Yeah, I, um, I imagine that would have been a bit of a spectacle at the airport.” You say, and it takes a moment before he smiles brightly, shaking his head.

“I told Eileen we'd meet her for a wee while,” he says, and he's controlling himself well considering he'd just pinned you up the wall and you know that he's as horny as it gets. “She wanted to catch up before tonight. Are you fit to go and grab a drink with her now, yeah?” He asks.

You're amused and impressed at his acting skills; if you didn't know his cock was throbbing in his pants then you'd never have guessed. You decide you're going to play him at his own game and you slowly moisten your lips with your tongue as he stares at you, waiting for your answer, before you reply. “I'm easy,” you say, “You lead, I'll follow.” You catch the twitch of his eyebrow and the hard swallow that bobs in his throat.

“What, um…” he fumbles his words and clears his throat. “What did you decide on for tonight?” He asks, “You said you weren't sure what you were going to wear when you text.”

“Oh,” you smile, “The black dress, with the thigh slit, and the overcoat.” You say, and you know from a previous dinner that that particular dress is a favourite of his. Looking around, before you ask him the reciprocal question, you can see his olive green, almost grey coloured shirt and burnt orange jacket hanging in the door of the wardrobe against the far wall of the hotel room, and you smile at his choice. “You're wearing those?” You ask as you point across.

He can see he's slowly simmering down, which is a good thing really if he truly plans on you both meeting with Eileen, and he turns his head over his shoulder towards the wardrobe where you're gesturing. He inhales deeply and gives a slow nod as he turns back to face you. “Will I do?” He asks cheekily. As he smiles softly your eyes roam over his lips, and the subtle movement of his tongue as he laps the tip of it back and forth against his misaligned lower tooth.

You avert your eyes and lock yours onto his sharp blue stare, “You'll look great.” You say softly, and the feverishness of the sexual tension seems, for both of you, to have been dampened in favour of loving affection.

He moves closer to you again, and he wraps his arms around you tightly. “I'm so glad you're back.” He whispers as he rests his chin against your shoulder.

Your arms snake around him and as your right hand reaches up to the back of his neck, you once again miss the length of his hair to turn your fingers over in. “Me too.” You smile, turning your face a little, and you breath deeply against the skin at the side of his neck. He smells of comfort and familiarity, and while the sexual desire hasn't disappeared, you're almost glad it has taken a back seat to allow for the comfortable intimacy of physical touch without the need to strip one another bare getting in the way.

When you arrive for the premiere, you feel like you've entered Narrnia. You feel incredibly overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of the bustling London street, lined with fans, journalists, and photographers. Cillian is in a mood - it isn't a typically bad mood, but he is hyper focused and a little bit on edge at the immense level of social expectation ahead - and he does his best to keep you within arms reach in the throngs of people, as much for himself as for you, even as he is moved from pillar to post to speak to people. When you can, you stay close to Emily and Eileen, or with Enda, but it is difficult to attach yourself to one person when they're all being called to stand before cameras and speak into microphones. You stand aside awkwardly as he is called away from you once again, and he waves his fingers towards you subtly as he walks away. You watch him swallow his anxieties as he smiles and responds to the questions asked of him. He speaks with such passion and intelligence, and though you are on the outskirts of his interview, you feel a swell of pride at the gushing responses he receives from the people he speaks with. You're absorbed in watching him, taken by a genuine laugh and lingering smile as he talks to a journalist, and it startles you when Eileen taps her hand against your back as she comes to stand beside you.

“Hello,” you turn your head to her. “Hope you're proud of yourself, everyone's so excited for you two.” you say, and she smiles at you, her eyes crinkling at the sides underneath her thick fringe.

“He fakes it well, doesn't he?” Eileen says, nudging you gently with her elbow. “That he's not desperate to turn around and go home again.” She chuckles.

“I think being so busy at the moment is probably helpful, it's giving him less time to dread all of this.” You laugh lightly. “And then being so absorbed in the work for Peaky, I don't think there's a whole lot of Cillian left.” You say. As you look at him, you can see he's all focus, and he does seem present, but you know his mindset is completely shifted towards ‘Tommy Shelby', and you can see the character mingled with your man. You think you've said it offhandedly, but when you find that Eileen is frowning, you wonder if it didn't come out as you'd expected. But then she speaks, and you know she's understood you perfectly.

“He does give it his all, doesn't he?” She says quietly. “Ah, sorry,” she quickly apologises as she's waved over from off into the crowds. As she walks away, shifting her posture, you stand alone once again and it's to Cillian that your eyes instantly fall. Once again he's before a shining light and held-out microphone, and he's speaking earnestly with gesticulating hands and considered words. You're proud of him, deeply so. This has been a real passion project for him and being able to be here tonight as it debuts makes you so happy. And still, in that earnest love and pride, burns the same sexual tensions of earlier in the day. He looks amazing; his physical body as much as his outfit choice, and it's all you can do, really, to remind yourself that you cannot sweep him into a toilet or dark corner with the number of eyes that are on him tonight. As your stomach stirs with excitement for him, you make your own need for his body worse by running around your mind all the things you want to do, all the parts of his body you want to see and touch, when the door closes behind you at the hotel again later on. You've never been more relieved that it is decidedly easier for a woman to hide her arousal than a man, as you know if your body were his there would be very obvious indications to your train of thought!

You're so lost in your mind that you fail to notice he has walked away from the crowd and made his way towards you. When he twists his fingers into yours, you blink yourself back to awareness, and the smile that captures your face, you know, is uncontrolled and unintentionally wide. “Y'alright?” He asks, beginning to walk and bringing you with him.

“Yeah,” you smile, looking down at your feet for a moment as you pass a small collection of gathered fans who call out to Cillian. You glance across at them, smiling sweetly, as Cillian gives them a wave and soft smile. You want to ask him how he's coping but you're worried people may overhear anything personal either if you say, so instead you smile as a young girl calls out your name, and you wave nervously towards her. You feel him squeeze his hand against yours as you walk, and the feeling of overwhelming relief when you step through the double doors of the large complex ahead of you is a welcomed one. You glance back briefly, smiling as Emily steps inside a few beats behind you with a cheerful grin.

“Coping okay?” Emily asks, smiling again. “I know it can be a bit daunting.”

“It's fine,” you say, considering it could have felt so much more overwhelming than it had. It's cold inside, still, and Cillian being so close to your left side is a comfort. His hand is still in yours and you know he's probably counting down the minutes, now, until returning to the hotel is the only thing on the itinerary.

“Don't know about you two, but I want a cup of tea and a comfy pair of slippers,” Emily laughs, pulling her cardigan around her more tightly. You feel a bit unsure of what's next as you stand together in the large lobby, waiting for Eileen who, to your relief, slips through the doors just at that moment.

“Me too,” you chuckle in response to Emily. “And maybe a glass of wine.”

“Oh, wine, now you're talking.” Eileen laughs as she comes up behind you. “What was that one we had earlier in the hotel there,” She asks, and she taps her hand against Cillian's shoulder as she speaks. “That red, it was lovely. Cill?”

“I don't know,” you shrug. It had been Cillian who'd brought drinks to you and Eileen at the table of the hotel bar that afternoon.

“What?” Cillian raises his eyebrows and you know that, in his silence, he's been in his head entirely. You don't know if it's the total control that ‘Tommy’ still has, or his social clock meeting its maximum, but you know he isn't focusing on you all.

“The wine at the hotel, what was it?” Eileen asks, crossing her arms over her chest to keep off the cold.

Cillian pulls down the corners of his mouth and his eyebrows rise up his forehead, “Ah I don't know,” he smirks, “Your man just handed it over.” with his freenhand, he scratches his thumbnail against the side of his nose. He looks a little tired, now he's dropped the mask for the people outside, and you lean your head on his shoulder gently.

“Bedtime soon,” you say quietly, and you can see him smile gently and he squeezes his hand in yours again.

By the end of the engagement the majority of the people outside have cleared. There are a few waiting fans, who call out hopefully and wave with excitement as you and Cillian walk towards the waiting car at the end of the pathway, and a lone pap with a quickly clicking camera. He waves politely, calling out a friendly goodbye to the small group, quickly switching his expression to a brighter one. As you reach the car he pulls open the door into the back seats and waits as climb in and shuffle along the seats before he slips in beside you and pulls the door shut with a slam. He sighs loudly and then laughs, and you can see the relief wash over him.

“My feet are killing me, and we sat for ages,” you laugh, turning your ankles to take the pressure off your feet. For a moment, his hand rests on your leg just above your knee, then he draws it back to himself. His fingers fidget together in his lap and you know he's had enough. He hasn't got an ounce of social ability for the outside anymore, and you know that it'll take him the trip back to the hotel, and maybe even a little longer, before he has words for you, even. You take no offence, though, because you know that there's nothing personal in it. You'd experienced this reaction in him in numerous situations and, just as he didn't take your anxieties to heart, you tried your hardest not to, too.

It makes you feel better, though, when you reach the front of the hotel and he holds open the car door for you, and instantly clasps your hand when you start to walk inside. As you wait for the lift he keeps hold of your hand, with an altered angle, and stands behind you slightly with his body pressed into yours. Gone is the fatigue, you think to yourself when his free hand rests against your hip, over your ankle-length coat. You lead into the elevator when the doors slide open, and he follows without letting go of your hand. As the doors slide slowly closed again, he turns towards you and his free hand slides up against your cheek, his thumb against your cheekbone, and he kisses you hungrily. Despite holding tight to your bag, you wrap your arm round his back, pulling him closer, and sigh through your nose as he pushes his lips against your harder. It's almost a loss when he draws back his head, his hand still on your cheek. Your eyes flick side to side as you scan his eyes. Moving his thumb back and forth a couple more times, he smiles softly then draws his hand away. Lucky, really, as the doors draw open just as he steps back. You walk together, hands still entwined, towards the hotel room. Cillian unlocks the door, only then releasing your hand, and pushes it open to allow you into the room ahead of him.

With the door shut securely, he watches from the doorway as you shrug your coat off. You drape it over the back of a chair tucked in under a dressing table, and then toe your heels off with a sigh of relief. Your dress reaches the floor, now, and the side, thigh-high split reveals your leg as you stand with your hip dropped. The thin straps on your shoulders remarkably haven't slipped all night, and your carefully positioned bust has, too, stayed in place inside the deep v-shaped front of the dress. You smile as he walks through into the room properly, sliding his jacket down off his shoulders. He tosses it easily over onto the chair and it lands on top of yours. The short sleeves of his shirt are tight around his biceps, and you let your eyes wander over his entire body as he stops before you, both of you standing by the foot of the bed. He reaches out both hands and cups them around your face, and plants his lips to yours. It's soft and loving, but there's a feverishness to the way he breathes, and after a moment his hands are on your back - the kiss unbroken - as he finds the zip of your dress and pulls it down slowly. His hands come back to paw at the thin straps on your shoulders and he sends the dress tumbling down your body with a quick swipe of his hands. With you standing in your strapless bra and rarely worn super-small thong, he steps back just enough to run his eyes up and down your body. There isn't an inch of feeling exposed in you; you want him to look, you want him to want you.

Then the hunger wins. He takes you in his arms but allows you to swiftly remove his shirt. It's mere moments before his trousers are gone, too, and he frees himself from his boxer shorts as you unhook your bra and throw it to the floor. He takes the task of removing your thong for himself, and slides the barely-there material down your thighs and lets it fall at your feet with your dress. He takes you to the bed awkwardly, too focused on kissing you passionately to move with any coordination. He brings you to the edge of the bed and finally releases you. At the pause, you climb up onto the bed and sit in wait as he turns around for a moment. When he turns back, he's clutching a small silver packet, and you know that the risk of a fight after this is far from both of your minds. You hold out your hand, and when he raises his eyebrows, you nod with a smile.

“If you're paddling with your socks on, we may as well make it fun to put them on.” You say, pushing up onto your knees as he stands at the side of the bed. After a moment of looking a little unsure, he hands you the condom. You hold it for a moment, and instead of immediately placing it on you lower your body and take him in your mouth. His hands instantly cup around your head, his fingers in your hair, and by the sounds he's making you know that his mouth is wide open in ecstasy as your tongue and lips work the length of his penis. Your tongue cups around the underside of his full shape, and you slide your mouth up and down until you feel him beginning to apply a little more pressure to the back of your head. His moan of annoyance is hilarious to you as you release him and rise again, grinning at him for a moment. You make swift work of opening the condom with your teeth, and take it from the wrapper. With your free hand you reach for his penis, and line your body up against his as you stroke him slowly. His lips immediately fall open again, his tongue travelling around his mouth, and he looks deep into your eyes with pupils so wide that the blue is almost gone. You move your hand a little quicker for just a moment then stop abruptly, and the moan in his throat that it draws sends a shiver through your body. Pinching the end of the condom with the fingers of one hand, you slowly slide it down his length with the other until it sits securely at the base of his penis. As you straighten up, still on your knees, he reaches out and cups his hands around your breasts. Massaging softly, he edges his head forwards and peppers featherlight kisses over your collarbone. Your hands roam across his neck and the back of his head.

And once again the fire seems to suddenly ignite in him. He places his hands on your shoulders and gently pushes against you, encouraging you to lie back. As you recline, he climbs up onto the bed beside you. With a little repositioning, he moves your legs apart and places himself between them. With his arms pushed into the bed beside you, he blindly presses himself against your vagina and slides achingly slowly inside of you. The perfect intrusion sends signals all over your body, and you wonder how you've lived without his body for well over a week. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and back, sighing sweetly into his shoulder as he moves in and out of you at slowly increasing speed. His chest is down against yours, his skin grazing your nipples as he moves, and it only doubles the pleasure. His breaths are hot and heavy into your neck as he speeds up again, his body practically slamming into yours as he seems to lose the ability to savour this reunion. His breaths become muttered huffs of “fuck…fuck…” as he rutts into you. The angle of his body provides enough stimulation that your own clitoral orgasm could be easily coaxed, but whatever way he has himself positioned threatens to shudder your body through an intense g-spot climax. There's a passion unlike previous experiences with this tight now. He's needy for you, hungry and desperate, and it's almost animalistic how his hands claw at you constantly. As his thrusts become unexpectedly even faster and deeper, you find yourself unable to control your reactions and you gasp gleeful, breathy variations of his name as you orgasm, your legs shuddering wildly either side of Cillian's sweat-slickened body as he thrusts into you twice more before he moans softly, slightly more high pitched than his growling curse-words, and then pushes into you slowly as he cums, his damp forehead pushed against yours and his mouth open wide. He nuzzles his nose against you for a moment then kisses you softly, before awkwardly drawing his body back just a little then lying down beside, breathing raggedly.

You reach up your right hand and push your hair from your sweat-damp forehead, lying open and unashamed on top of the sheets. You stretch your hand over and pat somewhat comically against Cillian's thigh, drawing an airy laugh from him as his breathing slowly regains its normal pattern. You shift slowly, and turn to your side to face Cillian, then shift once again so you can place your head on his chest. You throw your leg over his. Almost instantly he envelops you in the arm half trapped beneath your body, pulling you even closer against him, and you realise that you've missed the feeling of the hairs on his thighs touching your skin, that you've missed the thud of his heartbeat in your ear, and you close your eyes to absorb the slowly settling beats inside of his chest.

“You looked so beautiful tonight,” he says, breaking the silence, and you're taken aback for a moment. His fingers move a little where his hand is resting against your hip and your skin prickles goosebumps beneath his touch. “Really fucking beautiful,” he continues. “You always do, like, but I looked at you earlier on with Enda and Eileen and I just…” he trails off, and you feel an overwhelming swell of emotion flood through you. You've missed him so fucking much. You shift your head and move just enough to arch up and see his face. His eyes are closed but he opens them as you move, and he meets your gaze with a gentle, sated expression on his face. “I missed ya,” he says quietly. “I'm glad you came back.”

You move forward and push your lips hard against his. You think that if you tried to speak you might cry, so instead you push your lips harder against him and then lie back against his chest, not saying a word, but feeling like you're falling into the warmest of abysses whilst simultaneously feeling like you've finally come home.

#cillian murphy #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #we got issues #reader x cillian #reader x cillian murphy #y/n x cillian #y/n x cillian murphy #female reader x cillian murphy #female reader x cillian #female y/n x cillian #female y/n x cillian murphy #female reader fic #female reader x celebrity

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thegildedbee · 5 days ago

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:: February 20 :: Selection for Week 8 of 2025 :: 🐝 "the adventure of black peter" (1904) from sherlock holmes: a year of quotes* 🖊️

Holmes was working somewhere under one of the numerous disguises and names with which he concealed his own formidable identity. He had at least five small refuges in different parts of London, in which he was able to change his personality.

O, the legendary disguises of the world's only consulting detective!!! As points of departure, they offer so much to tease out regarding cases of identity and personality! Especially because -- at least so I've heard -- no matter how hard you try, disguises are always self-portraits :-)

Although . . . I'm setting aside the disguises for now, because what I'm most curious about from the quote are the circumstances surrounding the "five small refuges": the existence of multiple pied-a-terre (feet on the ground) that Holmes has concocted throughout the city. It's not a common detective hack historically; the only one that pops into my head straight-away is the thrilling shared storage unit hideout of Benjamin Ferel's that we see in Series 2 of Lupin :-) I love the creative potential of the refuges for Holmes's sleuthing and for story-making about the crafty detective. [I think referring to these sites as "bolt-holes" is from BBC Sherlock, but I'm not well-versed enough in the original ACD lingo to know for sure.] (To digress slightly, the first quotation in the OED under "bolting-hole" is from 1851's Dialect & Folk-lore of Northamptonshire:

Bolt-hole, the hole from which the rabbit makes its escape; or, in the phraseology of the craft, ‘bolts’.

Which then makes the 19thc/21stc mash-up for the term in Sherlock a "bolting-into (?) :-)

221B may be home base for where Holmes' private life and consulting life intersect, but the criminals he pursues are spread throughout the city -- and, thus, with his refuges, so is Holmes, which I find an interesting dimension of all of this. With his contingency planning, the existence of the refuges also speaks to Holmes's being several steps ahead of his potential adversaries, an articulation of his investigative methods.

These private spots likely serve not only as dressing-rooms for disguised performances, but also as listening posts for intelligence gathering, giving a sense of Holmes as a rather dashing spy figure. They also are emblematic of Holmes's idiosyncratic Victorian presence, one that can easily cross boundaries, such as class. I think I like best picturing the refuges as places where Holmes places pieces on London's chess-board, or as extensions of the spaces in his mind palace :-) If I may be so bold, below, I've invented five secret Victorian/Edwardian hiding places for Holmes :-)

:: What better place to have a secret refuge than a grand hotel, especially one with a perpetually renewing international clientele, such as the Langham? After all, Holmes surely needed disguises that allowed him to mingle amongst the great and the good without recognition, so it could serve as an apt locale for stashing appropriate supplies. Perhaps he managed to clear up a sensitive criminal matter involving one of the guests, and subsequently the general manager (interestingly he was an American, and a former Union Army officer!), who then secured for him the use of an inconspicuous storage room in the basement for which only Holmes possessed the key. And if spending the night as a guest under an assumed name now and again was the occasional treat for closing a case, well why not? Of course, the Langham has some impressive Sherlockian bona fides. Arthur Conan Doyle often stayed there, and it's referenced in several stories (The Sign of the Four, A Scandal in Bohemia and The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax). Most importantly, it was where Doyle was invited for dinner in 1889 by J.M. Stoddart, the American publisher of Lippincott's Monthly Magazine (Oscar Wilde was also invited, and persuaded by Stoddart to write what would become The Picture of Dorian Gray). Stoddart made it worth ACD's while to write a second Holmes novel. A second outing for Holmes wasn't necessarily in the cards -- A Study in Scarlet hadn't made much of an impression, and, in any case, Doyle placed much more stock in the historical fiction he wanted to write: the second Holmes novel that appeared through the intervention of the American publisher in 1890 was The Sign of the Four; the medieval epic that Doyle rated much more highly, The White Company, in 1891. (Once ACD began publishing the Holmes adventures as stand-alone stories, rather than in the form they came in as novels for the first two times -- the sky was then the limit for Holmes and Watson, much to Doyle's ambivalence).

:: Holmes would also need a bolt-hole in a working-class area, and perhaps a public house similar to the one pictured above might have had a friendly proprietor who would have allowed him a space in the store-room amidst the barrels of ale to stash some supplies and to bunk in a corner; or perhaps he was able to secure a room in a near-by run-down location. An example given in an article on dancing in Victorian London reports: "The Morning Post describes a blind fiddler working the taproom at the Salmon and Compasses in Brooke’s Market, Holborn, a miserably poor district. Money is collected, tables dragged to one side. Then, to quote a customer, ‘when the fiddler is paid he strikes up and we jump up and dances’." Can't you just picture Holmes in disguise as a blind fiddler in this scenario, having a grand time amidst the dancing pub-goers?

:: Another possible site for a good hideaway would be the Covent Garden area, bursting as it was with activity of all kinds, and attracting people from across different walks of life -- with the market trade (manual workers, porters, and vendors) and the wealthy taking their leisure at places such as the Royal Opera House, as well as there being a variety of shops and businesses in the neighborhood.

Tucked away off of Covent Garden is Cecil Court, populated by all kinds of commercial ventures that also had flats above the shops. Bookshops were popular, which would be properly Doylean (William and Gilbert Foyles opened their first West End bookstore in Cecil Court in 1904; it joined there the oldest esoteric bookshop in London “devoted to theosophy, philosophy, spiritualism and kindred subjects” -- making Cecil Court especially Doylean! Odds on that ACD made a purchase or two there:-) Or perhaps Holmes was befriended by one of the quirky second-hand booksellers in residence, all the better for discreet hiding away.

I'd also nominate Cecil Court for its connection to science, as indicated by the picture above from 1895 of one of the inhabitants: "A Practical Demonstration of the Latest Improvements in Photography. An Evening at the Camera Club." I think Holmes would enjoy the occasional night out at a scientific society that was also a club, especially one where he could chat about chemistry and new technologies (fodder, perhaps, for one of his noteworthy monographs?) The individual seen presenting the lecture is the President, William Abney, a distinguished photographic scientist (for example, in 1880 he discovered that hydroquinone reduces exposed silver halide crystals on photographic film into visible black silver.)

[I also couldn't resist Cecil Court because it was the first London address for Wolfgang Mozart and his family, when they came in 1764 for he and his sister to play for King George III and Queen Charlotte!]

:: If I'm going to be imagining goings-on in Victorian London, then Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins' dinosaur sculptures are always going to figure in there somehow! (These were the first full-scale reproductions anywhere of the fragmentary remains of species discovered to that date.) So, hear me out: one of Holmes's hiding places is inside the belly of the largest Iguanodon! (Perhaps there are openings on the inside of one of the legs that allow one to climb up to where there's a trap door that can be pulled open :-) This is an idea inspired by the famous event in the top image, when a celebratory dinner was hosted at the completion of the models, with the guests set up to dine inside the beast on New Year's Eve in 1853. The sculptures were placed across a lake at the Crystal Palace Park, which is the site where the 1851 Great Exhibition moved to, after it closed; the dinosaurs appeared when it opened in 1854. I can even rustle up an ACD connection to partly justify my self-indulgence: the park is in south London, in Sydenham -- and when ACD moved to London in the 1890s he lived in South Norwood, which would have been about 3/4 of an hour's walk between the two locations. I like to think he went to visit!

:: My fifth candidate for a secret refuge is one that I recalled from a recent event from 2020: the discovery of a closed-up passage in the House of Commons (there was an itty-bitty keyhole in one of the wooden panels in a hallway that had gone unnoticed until just recently. When a key was fashioned and turned in the lock, a door opened and the hidden corridor appeared!) Inside are hinges for a door that would have been 11-feet high, opening into Westminster Hall -- the set-up looks to have been designed as a passage to usher in the invitees for the coronation banquet of Charles II (and dating revealed that the ceiling timbers in the passage were harvested in 1659); the passage was also used for visitors going to and fro until it was blocked up in the 19th century (and then promptly forgotten!).

So, in my mind's eye, I have an image of Holmes discovering the existence of the hidden passage in a study of old architectural documents of Parliament, and finding a snug little spot for himself in an alcove, concealed, right under the nose of Mycroft and the government without their knowledge :-)

*Levi Stahl and Stacey Shintani, eds., U of Chicago Pr, 2019

& bespoke notifications as requested :-) [thanks for reading!]: @totallysilvergirl and @winterdaphne2 and @keirgreeneyes and @calaisreno

#re-considering BBC Sherlock by dipping into ACD canon #quotations #reading between the lines #john watson #sherlock holmes #sherlock fic #weekly sherlockian epigraphs 2025 #by me :-)#thegildedbee

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agendabymooner · 2 years ago

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london boy ! lando n. x ofc (alessandro sister!writer!ofc)

"they say 'home is where the heart is' but god i love the english."

summary: nicola grazia 'cola' alessandro just moved to britain after tilly wolff's newly opened publishing company hired her as an editor and writer, so what's a better way to get to know your new home than to tour the city with lando norris? OR everyone thinks that the mclaren driver is seeing someone... and he proved to everyone that he is- he just wouldn't show her face.

content warning: based on characters from the rush series (see masterlist), fluff, ion even know if lando's english, use of explicit language, "private but not secret" kind of relationship, colabebe is a private account, daniel ricciardo being a good brother-in-law?? events have taken place post-wedding series.

note: i have a different part already made for this and i made that shit first before the actual introduction to the characters/storyline 😭 my brain is in shambles rn sorry guys. cheers xx

masterlist

liked by landonorris, mateoales, loricciardo

landonorris put them damn dogs away dawg 😩🐶 liked by colabebe

colabebe ur the only one i can hear bitching about it 🤭

landonorris do you have one more room for a person to spoil loricciardo nora_alessandro jacquelinalessandro

mateoales no gtfo no british parasites allowed

danielricciardo have a brother-in-law who feeds off your chanel addiction ✅ liked by colabebe

colabebe have a sister-in-law who keeps an eye on your pregnant wife whenever you're away ✅

danielricciardo i agree ✅

hellonsite you should donate some for charity 🙌

colabebe didn't u call me poor back in elementary for my tattered shoes?

user1 girl bffr 💀

nora_alessandro and now you're few steps away from buying your own chanel bag tesoro 🥰 liked by colabebe

[translation: extremely grateful for the opportunity that was given to me by @wolffpublishing, and for that reason, i will continue to thrive in my journey as an editor and author. thank you so much! hello united kingdom!]

tagged wolffpublishing

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris, alex_albon

danielricciardo LETS GOOOOO !!!!! liked by colabebe

tillywolff welcome to the team nicola! ❤️ liked by colabebe

colabebe thank you so so so much tils!

landonorris i cant wait to play muse for you shawty 😭 liked by colabebe

colabebe bold of u to assume i'm not writing about alex_albon

alex_albon yeah i appreciate that and all but isn't that lando's youtube silver plaque on your shelf?

colabebe 👀

landonorris SO YOU WERE JUST SEDUCING ME SO YOU CAN TAKE THAT PLAQUE??? i was so convinced you didn't have ur eyes on it yet here i am 😐

mateoales disgusting comment by lando aside, i think you can sell that plaque at a pawn shop

landonorris STOP ENCOURAGING HER TEO

landonorris you can keep that plaque ig 🤠 liked and pinned by colabebe

colabebe hehehe <3

landonorris its like i never win against any of you alessandros

loricciardo don't lie- you always get your way with me

landonorris so does she???

loricciardo she's my sister mate 🧐

georgerussell63 ur sister sent some wine in ur new flat. congrats! liked by colabebe

colabebe do you think u and her can send another one bc me and lando emptied it already 🙂

georgerussell63 i'm just a boyfriend, not jesus.

colabebe posted a story !!!

liked by carlossainzjr, georgerussell63, loricciardo

user1 your plaque and YOUR WHAT? 😟😳

landonorris did i stutter?

user2 i didnt know u have rizz like that 😱 liked by landonorris

georgerussell63 baffled. did you seriously just bring her in your office instead of actually touring london??? smh norris

landonorris absolutely not 😠 she went paddington shopping and to the places that had the sorting hat and everything 😤 i dont like these accusations george william russell

user3 oh no, no-rizz used the full name RUN PRINCE GEORGE🏃‍♀️

carlossainzjr i hate that 👌 thing lando so much liked by landonorris

landonorris sorry babe

carlossainzjr its okay babe

user4 arent we all worried the drivers know who she is?

user5 we? whos we? i like the chaos in the comments idk why u crying about it 🥰

danielricciardo i hope you can still attend the family dinner after calling her a thief 😇

landonorris she likes me so much she wouldn't dare uninvite me

user6 what if lando's dating one of daniel's in-law? 🤔

user7 YES QUEEN BE DELULU I LIKE THAT 🤤

318 notes · View notes

hey-its-roseaurum · 11 months ago

Text

Guilty until Proven Innocent-Part I

A/N: Hey everyone. Thank you for taking the time to look at this story. This is for a collaboration with @lainiespicewrites. She is an excellent writer and I figured it was my turn to stretch my writing muscles and put something out into the world. This is my first Henry Cavill fic, so please don't be too harsh. Anyways, enjoy!

Synopsis: After recent murders in town, You (Olivia) decide to train with Edith in the art of self-defense. In the middle of training, you got a mysterious knock on the door. Sherlock walks in, looking for assistance with his latest case. He offers you to partake in a partnership to help him in his latest case? Do you take it?

Warnings: mentions of death

“You’re progressing nicely Olivia.” Edith smiled from above me, her elbow pinning me to the floor mat. There wasn’t a hint of sweat along her forehead. She had taken me down in less than a minute. The worst part was I thought I was going to land a hit on her this time.

”I’m beginning to think that you’re just saying that to soothe my pride”. I rasped out. She had eased her hold on me and stood up, extending a hand.

”Nonsense. Look how far you’ve come since you first stepped in these doors. Pretty soon you’ll be able to hold your ground with me.” She exclaimed as I grabbed her hand and hoisted myself up. My back had long since started throbbing.

For the past few weeks, I have been meeting Edith at her office to train and learn self-defense. Ever since the first girl went missing and was later found dead in the street I hadn’t been able to sleep soundly. There were constant, nagging thoughts that made me question if I was going to be the next victim. It had only gotten worse when they found the next girl a week later in the middle of an alleyway that I frequently visited. Her throat had been cut.

In London, it was ill-advised for a woman, especially of noble birth, to consider something as trivial as self-defense. Women are supposed to be soft, elegant, and passive. All of the trouble and responsibility in making decisions was for the men.

Being passive and soft didn’t save those girls from their cruel end.

And I wasn’t going to let myself become like them. I refuse to be the next girl that falls victim to this. So I went to my dear friend Enola at her detective agency and inquired about a solution to my predicament. She sent me over to Edith and had me start training the next day. I’ve been training every day since then.

I’m still not really good at it.

”Did you say the same thing when you were teaching Enola?” I inquired as I dusted myself off. Edith only shook her head.

”Not exactly. Her response was more witty, thanks to her mother.” Eudoria Holmes, the mother, the fire starter as people liked to call her. I’ve seen her wanted poster splayed all across London. But I didn’t see her as a criminal. I saw her as the woman who saved my life six months ago.

That morning had been cold and bitter. I remember feeling my fingers grow numb while I huddled against a mailbox. Its red paint had chipped away at its base, leaving rust behind.

Which was ironic and poetic now that I think back on it. And let me explain why.

It all started when my father had recently passed from a sickness that left my mother and me penniless. With no man in the house and no money to our name, we were cast out of society. My mother and I were thrown out and the estate that I called my home. It was sold to another noble family in the south.

We lived off the street after that. My mother, using what knowledge she had of needlework, had acquired a job as an assisted seamstress. I was left to salvage whatever pity people gave me and half-rotten food from dumpsters.

Eventually, we were able to afford a small cottage on the outskirts of town. It was small, run-down, and often had a damp smell to it. Mother didn’t like to be there for a long period. She claimed it was because she was so busy with her duties to the seamstress that she didn’t have time to spend there. I think it was because she missed her life at the estate and living in this small broken cottage was too much for her to bear.

That morning six months ago I decided to go into town to fill my water bucket and get bread before it got too crowded. When I got there, I sat down by the mailbox to wait for the bakery to open. I was particularly annoyed when I saw a lot of people around this early in the morning.

I was watching a man get onto a carriage when something shifted from the corner of my eye. It had been a man, or what I thought was a man walking towards me with a package in their hand. When we made eye contact I didn’t think anything of it. I just watched them and noted how stiff they walked. They placed the package in the slot of the mailbox. Before I knew it, I was grabbed by the elbow, hoisted upright, and pulled away from the mailbox.

That mailbox exploded, releasing a whirlwind of fliers into the air.

The two of us had run from the police. I was forced to since they refused to let go of my hand. We ran until this stranger knew that they weren't being followed.

When things settled down, the man revealed that they were a woman in disguise. She introduced herself as Eudoria Holmes and then proceeded to lecture me about being near explosives as if she were my own mother. All I had wanted to do was bite back, to lecture her on how she shouldn’t be putting explosives where there were people.

Instead, I broke down, not from her lecturing but because of something I couldn’t quite place. All I knew was that I was waiting for a soggy piece of bread and nearly got blown up.

In the end, I told her everything. I told her my past, my current situation, and why I was even in town in the first place. One thing kind of led to another. The next thing I knew I was sitting in Eudoria’s house with a cup of tea in my hand.

I stayed in that damp cottage less and less as time passed and more at Eudoria’s warm, often chaotic home. That’s where I became friends with Enola, had briefly met her two brothers Sherlock and Mycroft, and felt somewhat happy.

I don’t know why she pulled me away from that mailbox. The one time I asked her she said she saw something in me, some sort of fire in my eye. She didn’t want it to go out along with the mailbox.

I didn’t believe her, but I couldn’t tell that to her.

“So what you’re trying to say is that I still have a long way to go,” I asked as my brain jumped back to the present. I stepped away from the mat and made my way into her office.

”What I’m saying is you’re doing better than you think you are. You just began learning. Give yourself a little credit.” Following me, she made her way to the table by the window. A stack of teacups were messily stacked up to one side. She grabbed two, placed them on saucers, and poured liquid into both.

“I know. I’m just…worried. It’s been a week since the last victim was found and the police still haven’t found the suspect.” I let out a sigh and sipped some of my tea. I needed a moment to choose my words carefully. “I just want to be…prepared.”

A heavy pause filled the air before either of us spoke.

”Olivia…there’s more to that, isn’t there?” Edith’s words were soft and gentle.

“I mean I-“. My response was sharply cut short.

A knock pulled our attention away from our conversation and to the door. A tall man entered from the training room and to Edith’s office. I couldn’t place if he looked tall because of his size, or because of the giant top hat sitting snugly on top of his head. Dark wavy strands of hair peaked through from under his hat.

”Have you any sense what time it is?” Edith interrogated, crossing her arms. The man took off his hat, revealing thick brown locks. His sculpted jawline and nose complimented the hair. Blue, mesmerizing eyes glanced around, investigating.

But the feature that I recognized right away from him was his shoulders. I knew those shoulders.

”Hello, Edith” His attention briefly shot to me “Olivia” I curtly nodded, averting my eyes.

”Good evening Mr. Holmes.” I responded softly. “With what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. One of Enola’s older brothers. One of the greatest detectives I’ve ever seen.

”There’s no need for formalities Olivia.” I felt something warm begin to grow on my cheeks at his response. He’s only being polite Olivia. We are only acquaintances because of Enola and Eudoria. He doesn’t like you like that.

Or does he?

I’m not sure.

Sherlock Holmes is a difficult man to understand.

“What are you here for Sherlock?” Edith asked again, harsher this time. Her tone quickly pulled me back to the present and away from my thoughts.

Sherlock cleared his throat, his blue eyes revealing some sort of inner turmoil within himself. It was an unusual amount of emotion that I was not used to seeing. I expected it with Mycroft, he practically wore his emotions on his face at all times. Sherlock never did. He’s always been composed, and proper. Before me now he still was, but a layer of some sort had been chipped away.

”I….need your help.” He struggled to say the words like it was almost painful to him. A moment of silence clung in the air.

”Is it about Enola? Did she get herself into trouble?” There was a hint of concern in Edith’s voice when she begged the questions. The only response he gave was a small shake of his head. I watched as realization flashed on her face.

”There’s something about this case-“.

”That deduction cannot solve?” Edith finished his thought. He slightly nodded, setting his hat down on her desk. That was my cue. I softly placed my teacup down and made my way to the table by the window. I began making some tea for Sherlock while listening to the conversation.

”I may need your…skills to get information from a place I cannot enter.”

“What kind of place?” He listed off a name that I didn’t recognize. Edith’s face slightly reddened.

”A showgirl theatre?! You cannot ask me such a thing Sherlock, no matter how close we are.” My eyebrows raised as I grabbed a cup and saucer and poured some tea into the cup.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t have another option. A woman’s life is at stake.” His tone was calm, but there was something else there.

”But going into this with the possibility of getting murdered is not something I’m comfortable with. Woman’s freedom and rights is one thing, going after a serial killer is a whole other matter entirely”

”Edith, I-“. I cut them off.

”I’ll do it. I’ll go instead of you.” In their arguing, I had made my way back to the two of them, Sherlock's tea in hand. I had left mine behind.

”Olivia, do you know what kind of place that is, what situations you can get into. You’re nowhere near ready to hold your ground”. What she said was like a punch to the gut.

I knew I wasn’t ready, we had that same conversation not thirty minutes ago. But I knew that if Edith went and something bad had happened to her Enola and Eudoria would be devastated. I was different. If I went and something happened to me, Edith would still be here training more girls like me.

”Who else is going to do it? Enola? She’s not expendable. I am. And Edith, what about the other girls you train?” I took a breath, the stubbornness in me growing. “Besides, I know these streets better than anyone. I’ve lived in them. I know where to go in case I’m being followed. And because of the way I look,”. I paused briefly looking down at myself, at my curvy, plump figure. “No one would suspect me. They would just see me as a showgirl trying to make ends meet. I can blend in, go undercover, and get the information that he needs in order to catch this murderer.”

A heavy pause hung between the three of us.

I let what I said sink into the two of them. I know that Edith is fighting with herself on whether she can let me go. She believes that I am her responsibility, and I kind of was while Eudoria was undercover. But since starting to learn to defend myself I told myself that I couldn’t sit and wait. Sitting and worrying about who the next victim is going to drive me crazy. If I can help and make a difference, then maybe the suspect will be caught before there’s more tragedy.

”I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to her.” Sherlock’s voice broke the silence and my inner thoughts. “You have my word.” His eyes met mine at his. I felt something else there besides the promise. Edith sighed, rubbing her temples with both her index fingers.

“Okay, Sherlock. Just…make sure she comes back in one piece.” Edith finally concurred. “You’re going to have to speak to your mother if you don’t.��

A smile tugged at my lips at the agreement. I finally raised the cup of tea, offering it to him.

”When do we start?”

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading. If you want to read @lainiespicewrites story about Paul Atreides from the Dune Sage, here is her link: https://www.tumblr.com/lainiespicewrites/747032352877903872/the-atreides-era?source=share

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