#and worst of all? arthur tried to warn them

[arthursfuckinghat]

I will never be normal about the red dead redemption protagonists getting caught in the cycle of revenge for their loved ones

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Currently thinking this will have like 5-7 parts?

The sheets didn't smell like Max anymore. Colette had changed them over a week ago.

She ran her hand over the empty space next to her, the sheets cool to the touch. Empty. Alone. 

Colette wished Max was there. That she could simply turn around and he would be there. But he wasn't. 

Bébé took that moment to kick her bladder and she sighed as she pushed herself to sit up. 

The sun was lower on the sky an she knew that she must have napped at least a few hours. "Bathroom and then we can see what we'll have for dinner," she suggested to the baby.

She got an answering kick in response that made her snort. 

After taking care of her business, she made her way to the kitchen, feeling a rumbling in her stomach.

To her surprise, Colette wasn’t alone in their apartment. "You do know that I am adult, right?" she asked her mother and her oldest brother drily as waddled into the kitchen. Arthur was nowhere to be seen, probably busy with his actual job. "I can be left alone. Chances are I'll just go back to watching reruns of Real Housewives this evening," she said drily.

Neither of them laughed at this. She looked up from opening the fridge to see their...very serious expression. Colette paused, a cold feeling of dread worming its way into her stomach. Something was wrong, she could tell by their expressions. "What?" she asked, closing the refrigerator door.

Was something wrong with Max? With Cha?

She had never outright believed in the whole idea of twin telepathy or anything like that...but Charles and her had this...thing. If something was really wrong with each other...they could feel it.

And she couldn’t feel anything…not like that, not right now.  

"Did...did something happen to Max?" Colette asked shakily, almost afraid of the answer. Her mind instantly went to the worst-case scenario. "Is he...okay?"

Her mother and brother traded a glance, which did nothing to calm her nerves. "Max is fine," her mother promised her. "Why don't you sit down, Choupinette?" This also wasn't calming her.

"Enzo?" Colette asked, her voice shaky.

"Nobody is hurt or dying," Lorenzo promised her quickly. "It's...complicated."

Colette nodded, lowering herself into a seat at the kitchen island. Her heart was still racing, palms a bit sweaty.

"Complicated how?" she asked, her voice a bit hoarse.

"I would like to preface this by saying that Arthur didn't...think this through," Lorenzo said with a grimace.

Colette's eyes widened in disbelief. "Arthur...what did he do?" she asked immediately. 

"He may have posted that post you made on your stories in his," Lorenzo said carefully.

Colette's jaw dropped open in shock. "He...he WHAT?!" she nearly shrieked, hands gripping the edge of the table.

What? How could her brother do this? How could he...

That ill-thought out post she had made...with a Taylor Swift lyric that she had thought was cute...to her less than 200 followers that all knew about her and Max anyway…

What? How could her brother do this? How could he...

Colette's hands were shaking now as she tried to process what her brother had done. "Are you serious?" she finally managed to whisper.

And now it was  out there. For EVERYBODY TO SEE. Everybody. Everybody could see her post about Max. Everybody could see her saying that Max came straight home to her.

They had spent 15 years keeping their relationship a secret. And now...now there they were.

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to calm the panic that was welling up inside of her. "Oh god...oh god," she muttered, her mind racing.

"People are going to see that. Max's fans are going to see that," she whispered, her stomach clenching. "Oh god, they're going to see it and figure things out."

Her mother reached out, placing a calming hand on her arm. "It's okay, Choupinette," she said gently. "It's going to be okay."

Colette shook her head. "No, it's not," she said, her voice shaky. "How could Arthur do this? He knows...he knows that I didn't want anybody to know," she whispered, tears biting in her eyes. She wasn't even sure what to do. She wasn't even sure what to think.

Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, worry, frustration...and anger. So much anger at her brother, for not thinking, for not asking first, for not considering the consequences.

"How could he just... do this?" she said again, her voice cracking.

Lorenzo tried to come closer, but she held up a hand to stop him. She didn't want his touch, not right now. "Arthur should have asked me before doing something like this," she said, her voice shaking. "He knows...he knows that Max and I...we keep our relationship private."

"I...I need some space right now," she choked out, pushing her chair back and standing up. She had to get out of here, get some air.

She left the kitchen, leaving her family behind.

She found herself in the living room, collapsing onto the couch, her hands covering her face as tears streamed down her cheeks.

She couldn't believe what her brother had done. 

And now...now it was out there. Their secret, Max's secret, their life...everything.

She tried to take a deep breath, tried to calm down, but she couldn't. She was angry, hurt, scared…

Their relationship...it had always been a safe space to Colette. 

Somewhere where she could just be herself. With Max, she felt loved and safe and quite frankly, spoiled rotten by his attention. She didn't need to think about what she said, she could just be comfortable. And nobody had an inside look into that relationship that she didn't want to. They had admitted it to people over the years, to friends and colleagues and family members. But to the public they had never been connected beyond Colette being the twin sister of one of Max's biggest rivals. 

She had liked her anonymity. Had liked that nobody paid her a second look on the street. That nobody even thought twice about her.

Her role could just be Charles and Arthur's supportive sister. Nothing more, nothing less. Max knew that she loved him, that she supported him in the privacy of their relationship. It wasn't something she needed anybody else to know.

But now it was out there.

Colette buried her head in her hands, letting out a soft sob. It was out there, and it couldn't be taken back. No amount of damage control, no amount of apology was going to take those words back.

She could already see the headlines in her head: “Max Verstappen’s secret girlfriend”

It was so much worse than she had expected. The idea of being exposed like this...it made her want to crawl under a rock and hide for the rest of her life.

Colette didn't want to deal with the media circus, the gossip, the speculation. She didn't want to deal with any of it.

She didn't want her life to be dissected. She didn't want everything to be picked apart.

But that's what was going to happen. The vultures were going to descend, the media was going to hound her, her inbox would be filled with requests for comment and statements.

She was going to be the topic of everyone's conversation, speculation, and judgment.

She wanted to cry, scream, and throw something simultaneously.

She didn't ask for this, she wasn't built for this.

She wanted her anonymity, her simple life, her relationship to be private. That's all she had ever wanted...was that too much to ask for?

But now it was all in jeopardy, because her brother wasn't able to keep his mouth shut. She knew that he hadn't done it to hurt her...he had just been a idiot without a brain. But that didn't make the situation any easier for her.

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to gather her thoughts.

But now it was gone. The secret was out, and there was no turning back. She was going to be under the microscope, every move she made, every word she spoke, every expression on her face would be analyzed and scrutinized.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

Colette leaned back against the couch, feeling the weight of the situation crashing down on her. 

She had always known that Max's life would come with a certain amount of spotlight and media attention, but she had never expected to be dragged into it.

She had always been in the shadows, quietly supporting him from behind the scenes, but now she was being thrust into the bright light of the media spotlight. And she couldn't help but cry her eyes out about it.

She let the tears flow, feeling the sobs rack her body. It was too much, all too much. She was exposed, vulnerable, and raw. And she had no idea how to handle it.

"Choupinette," her mother said softly, sitting down besides her.

Colette barely registered her mother's presence, too consumed by her own despair. But she felt her mother's hand on her shoulder, gentle and comforting.

She buried her face in her mother's shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

Her mother just held her, stroking her hair and whispering soothing words of comfort. "It's going to be okay," she promised. "I promise, it's going to be okay."

"Maybe it won't even be so bad," her mother tried to comfort her. "It will blow over. You do love Max and he loves you."

"It was going to get out sometime," Lorenzo said quietly. "It was question of when not if, Colette. It was a miracle that you were able to keep it quiet for so long."

This only made Colette cry harder.

She hadn't wanted anybody to know. She had wanted privacy. She had wanted…

She had wanted it to just be her and Max, living their life together, without any outside interference.

She knew it was foolish to think that it could last forever, but a small part of her had hoped.

Now it was going to be ruined. And it was all because of her stupid brother and his impulsive behavior.

She didn't want the attention. She didn't want the speculation, the questions, the accusations.

All she wanted was Max.

She wanted him, his warmth, his soft reassurances, his quiet love. She wanted him with her and just to curl up in his arms. Where she could forget everything else and just be.

But she couldn't do that. The truth was out there now, and there was no way to erase it.

She was Max Verstappen’s girlfriend, the public knew, and there was nowhere she could hide from it.

And that thought terrified her more than anything else. She didn't know how to handle the public eye, the media interest, the gossip. It was like a massive wave that was about to crush her, and she had no life raft to hold onto.

She leaned closer into her mother, feeling like a child again. The sobs continued to rack her body, and all she could do was hold onto her mother's comforting embrace.

She didn't know what to do, she didn't know how to handle this.

***

This was the last fucking news Max wanted to hear before qualifying. The absolute last.

He loved the Leclercs. He did. He loved Colette’s family like his own. And he loved her brothers like his own. 

But this was making him absolutely furious with Arthur. 

And he would have liked to destroy his driver’s room in a fit of rage, but he wasn’t going to do that. He was not going to let his emotions get the best of him. 

Not when he understood where Arthur was coming from. Even when he hated the way he had gone about it. 

Max had half a mind to simply throw the towel. To give up. What did it matter anymore? He had won his 4th World Championship title…Red Bull wasn’t in the running for the constructor’s championship anymore…that was between Ferrari and McLaren… so did it matter? 

Wouldn’t he be more useful at Colette’s side? 

But he knew that if he asked her…he knew what her answer would be. 

She wouldn’t stand for it. 

She knew that he wouldn’t forgive himself for this. He wanted to win. It was in his DNA. It wasn’t in him to leave things unfinished. 

She would tell him to do it. To finish that race. And then to come straight home to her. 

But it was hard, especially when he knew that the media was going to be all over this. The vultures were going to be circling, waiting for any slip up, any moment of weakness. 

It wasn't like he cared if his and Colette's relationship became public. He was content with screaming it from every rooftop. He would happily post his beautiful girlfriend on his Instagram daily. He was more than willing to take her to some charity gala and kiss her in the view of every camera that was there...but he knew how important it had always been for Colette.

And now she was exposed, without warning and without even knowing. 

Max wanted to find her brother and wring his neck for this. How could he be so careless, so thoughtless?

He knew how important Colette's privacy was to her, how much she valued it. And now it was gone. Just like that.

Colette wanted to keep a low profile. She was more than happy to be the always supportive sister to her brothers, to cheer them on from the sidelines...and she herself was happy to work in her mother's hair salon, and dabble at playing the piano and violin…and content to simply be.

He had always loved that about her…how happy she could be with the most simple of things. 

Colette didn’t enjoy the spotlight, she preferred the shadows. And now she had been thrown into the whirlwind of media attention.

He knew that she wasn’t going to handle this well. 

And he was seriously considering throwing the towel. 

To say fuck it all and go back to Monaco. 

His father didn’t want to hear a single thing about it.

Jos had never really approved of Max's relationship with Colette. He thought it made him weak, he thought Max needed to focus on racing, not on some girl… but Max had been stubborn.

Colette was everything to him. Colette’s place in his life was not something they were going to argue about it. It was set in stone. 

 And so, through the years his father had realised that Colette was there to stay. 

And he may even had started to respect her place in Max’s life, realised that her presence calmed him and focused him in a way nothing else did…Realised that Colette was good for Max. 

And even for his relationship with his father. 

Nowadays…they got along better than they ever had and quite frankly they had Colette to thank for that. She had softened his father with her calm, gentle and yet incredibly stubborn nature, unwilling to take any of his bullshit and willing to call him out on it, constantly.

Still, Max wanted to get to Colette. He wanted to hold her, to reassure her that everything was going to be okay eventually. He wanted to place a hand on her swollen belly and feel bébé rumble underneath her skin…wanted to see that everything was alright with her and their baby. 

“You have a job to do,” his father said drily. “Colette isn’t alone. She has her family with her.”

Max didn't answer, just clenched his jaw.

He knew his father was right, he had a job to do, a race to focus on. But the thought of leaving Colette to deal with that by herself…it didn't sit well with him.

“She’s pregnant,” he hissed. “You want me to care about a race while my pregnant girlfriend is an ocean away, distraught, because our relationship just became public knowledge?!” Max asked sharply.

His father scowled.

“She has her brothers and her mother with her,” he repeated sternly. “I’m sure they can calm her down and make sure she’s taken care of in your absence. But the team needs you to focus on the race. Besides…It ha​​s been a long time coming…”

He knew he had a job to do. He had a race to focus on, a team that was depending on him to be at the top of his game. It was his job to win, no matter what was going on at home.

“Fine,” he gritted out, turning around to leave the room. “I’ll focus on the damn race.”

He took a deep breath, trying to push all thoughts of Colette out of his mind. He needed to focus. He needed to push aside his emotions and put his game face on.

He was a professional and he had a job to do.

He could deal with driving.  He could deal with managing a respectable 5th place on the grid in Qualifying…he couldn’t deal with the press afterwards.

He was surrounded by reporters, camera flashes and microphones. They were all firing question after question at him, shoving the microphones closer and closer to his face.

"Max, is it true that you and Colette Leclerc are in a relationship?"

Max clenched his jaw, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face. He didn’t want to give them any ammunition, anything they could use to try and dig deeper into his personal life. But he knew he couldn’t ignore the question either.

“I don’t see how my relationship status is relevant to the race,” he snapped back. “I’m here to talk about the race, not my personal life.”

They happily ignored that: “What’s Charles’ reaction to your relationship?”

Max clenched his jaw again, the anger starting to boil over. He hated this, the way they felt like they had the right to just poke and prod at his life like it was some kind of spectacle for them to enjoy.

“I’m not discussing my personal life,” he repeated through gritted teeth. “I’m here to talk about the race.”

But the reporters weren’t interested in the race. They were only interested in the juicy gossip of Max Verstappen dating Colette Leclerc.

More microphones were shoved in his face, more questions were asked, each one more invasive than the last.

“How serious is your relationship with Colette?”

“Are you engaged?”

“What did you think about what she posted on Instagram?“

“I think that Colette’s Instagram account is private for a reason,” he said tightly.

The reporters fell silent for a moment, surprised by the harsh tone. Max knew he was skating on thin ice, but he didn’t care. He was angry, frustrated and upset. He wanted nothing more than to find a quiet corner to just brood and worry about Colette in peace.

“I think that George overreacted about something that was posted on a private Instagram profile that has less than 200 followers. ” Max bit out. “There is a difference between posting something for your friends and family to see and complaining about this to the press when George knew it would be put all over the media.”

The reporters were stunned into silence at his outburst.

Max knew he had crossed a line. He knew he shouldn’t be snapping at them like that, but he couldn’t help it. He was so frustrated and upset, and he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He knew he had to reel it in before he said something he would regret even more. “I have already lost all respect for George Russell before, but he has crossed a line when he dragged this into the public sphere,” he said flatly.

The reporters' eyes widened, surprised by the ferocity of his words.

Max knew he was being harsh, but he didn’t care. He was furious, enraged. How dare Russell expose their private life like that? 

Max took another deep breath, trying to calm himself. But it was hard. The anger was like a living thing inside him, seething and burning. He wanted to storm over to the Mercedes garage and punch Russell in the face, to wipe that smirk off his face for good. But he knew he couldn’t. 

So he stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to keep the anger at bay. Trying to ignore the way the reporters were looking at him with greedy, excited eyes.

He knew they wanted him to explode, to lash out. They wanted him to go off the rails and say something even more incriminating. Something they could use to make more headlines. But Max couldn’t give them that. He couldn’t let them get a rise out of him. So he stood there, trying his best to remain calm and collected.

But it was hard. So goddamn hard.

He could feel the tension in his body, feel the anger and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. He wanted to do something, to take action and make the situation right. But he didn’t know what he could do, how he could make it right.

He didn’t know how he could fix the mess that had been made, how he could turn back time and undo the damage that had been done.

"Do you have any questions about the race tomorrow? Because otherwise I am done," he asked.

The reporters stood there for a moment, frozen in shock. Then, a few of them started to ask questions about the upcoming race, but Max could tell that their hearts weren’t in it. They were too distracted by his outburst, too eager to keep prodding at the sensitive issue of his relationship with Colette.

The reporters looked at each other for a moment, unsure whether to press him further or not. Max could see the wheels turning in their heads, could see them trying to decide whether they would press the issue or let it go.

Eventually, the more sensible reporters began to ask questions about the race, steering the conversation away from the minefield of his personal life.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (36/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Lets get drunk part two - with new opportunities.

Warnings: fluff, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: hah. you thought you'd seen the last of me. feedback is appreciated!

"Okay," says Charles and sits back down next to you on the sun bed. He sets the basket down between you, with the necks of various bottles sticking out of it. "Are you more of a vodka girl or a tequila girl?" He pulls out two bottles and holds them out to you. 

You examine the bottles before raising your hands. "Neither, to be honest." You carefully pull the basket towards you and take a look inside. Your hands turn the containers slowly so you can read the labels better, and when a bottle catches your eye, you grin at your roommate. "Here."

Charles takes the bottle you hold out to him. "Peach?" He looks at you and raises an eyebrow. "Quite summery."

You shrug your shoulders. "You promised to take me with you next summer so I could go swimming in the sea. I just want to prepare myself properly."

A smile spreads across his face. "Touché. All right." He reaches into the basket and fishes out two small shot glasses. He places them at the head of the sun bed to fill them with the peach liqueur. "You'll love it here during the summer. The sun is blazing, the sea is cold and the days are long." He carefully slides a glass over to you so that the contents don't spill over the rim. "It's like paradise."

You nod gratefully at him. "So now you definitely don't have a choice."

He looks at you, confused. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well," you sit up straight and pick up the shot glass. "You talked me up about the boat and summer at sea so much that you definitely have to bring me here next year." You grin at him. "So you have no choice but to take me with you."

"Oh no." He rolls his eyes in mock annoyance and reaches for his glass as well. "So I guess I can't get rid of you at all, huh?"

You shake your head excessively. "No fucking way. You definitely won't get me off this boat in the summer. And the deal about us sharing the apartment is on anyway." You tilt your head. "Even if you really tried, you wouldn't get rid of me that easily." You hold out your arm so he can clink glasses with you. 

He looks you in the eye. There's a sparkle in his green ones as he knocks his glass against yours. "Thank God."

The peach liqueur tastes indescribably good and the longer you lie on the sun bed looking at the glowing Monaco in front of you, the more you drink of it. The stars above you twinkle and although it's getting colder, you're nice and warm. Whether it's the alcohol or Charles' laughter, you don't know. 

"You've met Arthur yourself," he says as you have to press your face into the pillow to stop your laughter echoing across the ocean. "I swear, his April Fool's jokes are the worst! And you never see them coming!"

You giggle into your pillow. "Tell me you didn't fall for it." Hesitantly, you peek over the hem of the pillow to see Charles' blushing face. You quickly push it back into your face and laugh. "Oh, Charles!"

Your roommate grabs his own pillow and hits yours with it. "Don't laugh at me! You'll be affected soon enough! And then I'm not going to be the one to rescue you."

As you slowly calm down and wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes, you put the pillow back behind your head and look at him. "Trust me - by then Arthur will like me enough that we'll form an alliance. Then he certainly won't play any tricks on me."

Charles looks at you, dumbfounded. "Excuse me? I thought you and I were friends! You're supposed to stand on my side!" With a shake of his head, he reaches for the peach liqueur and refills your glasses.

You grin at him. "I don't form alliances with people who fall for stupid pranks like that."

He pushes your glass over to you. "All traitors." He shakes his head again. "I thought at least I had you on my side."

You raise your glass to your lips. "I'm always on your side, Charles. You're my best friend," you assure him, although the sentence leaves a nasty taste in your mouth. You wash it down with the liqueur. "But I'm not going to let Arthur take the piss just to make you feel better."

"You're a great best friend," he says and pours the liqueur into his mouth. "Just you wait and see. I won't save you if my brother does decide to play an April Fool's joke on you."

"You wouldn't dare," you reply with a grin. "Your mom would give you hell if she knew you were abandoning me." You grab the liqueur and fill your glasses again. "After all, she likes me better than you."

Charles watches you fill his glass to the brim. He presses his tongue into your cheek before licking his teeth. "I wish you were wrong." He holds out his arm for you to clink glasses with him. "Here's to my family liking you better than me."

You try to suppress your grin. "Don't worry, Charlie. I like you all the more for it," the alcohol speaks out of you and when you hear what you're saying, the blood rushes to your face. You quickly clink your glass against his and drink the liqueur so you don't have to look at the Monegasque in front of you. 

As he puts his empty glass down, he grins at you. "'Charlie'? You're really going to give me a nickname?"

You roll your eyes and run your fingers through your hair so he doesn't notice your nervousness. "Don't worry," you try to play it down. Thank goodness he can't hear your rapid heartbeat. "I only use it when it's just us."

When you look at Charles again, he smiles at you softly. "I like the name," he assures you. "And if it stays your little secret and mine, I like it even more. It belongs only to you. Only you can call me that."

You smile at him before leaning back into your pillow and looking up at the stars. The night is clear, there isn't a single cloud in the night sky and the sea breeze on your face cools your alcohol-warmed skin pleasantly. You feel Charles lie down as well. 

"Do you want to spend the night at my mother's tomorrow?" he asks quietly. When you turn your head in his direction, he's already looking at you. "I usually spend the night there. Maman always gets delicious wine and when we all get together, the evening gets pretty long." When you raise an eyebrow with a smile, he continues. "And there are plenty of rooms in the house. You're welcome to choose one of them. I'd hate to go back home for Christmas," he adds. "Especially because my mom would be alone and -"

"Charlie," you interrupt him. "We can spend the night at your mom's. There's nothing wrong with that." You wink at him. "Besides, I want to have a drink with Arthur and then I definitely can't go home."

He exhales with relief. "Very good." He turns his head forward and looks up at the stars too. "It's going to be a nice evening. My maman cooks delicious food and then we always play something. It's usually Uno or charades. You've heard how Monopoly turns out for us."

You have to giggle. "I would really like to play Monopoly with you," you admit quietly. "And I would never steal money from the bank either."

Charles exhales. "I'll take your word for that. But Arthur is more cunning than you think. He would steal money from the bank and make it look like it was you. You definitely don't want to play Monopoly with him."

You shrug your shoulders. "Then again, maybe I'm smarter than you give me credit for." You look up at the night sky again. "Maybe I can outsmart Arthur and win."

Your roommate laughs out loud. "Then you'd have to get past me first. And I'm certainly not going to let you win just like that. Not after you said you'd team up with my brother and not stand by me when he pulls his April Fool's pranks."

Offended, you reach behind your head for your pillow to smash it into his face, but Charles is quicker and snatches the pillow out of your hand before you can hit him with it. "You suck, Charlie."

"You love me. Just admit it," he grins and hesitantly gives you your pillow back, risking being exposed to your attack again. 

But you merely wrap your arms around the pillow and hug it to your chest. Even through the feathers inside, you can feel how fast your heart is beating. 

"Of course," you try to play down the swirling feelings inside you and hope that he doesn't notice the trembling in your voice. Or the truth in your words. "I'll still try to beat you at Monopoly. Or Uno. Or charades." Offended, you lie back on your pillow and cross your arms in front of your chest. 

Charles sits up again and refills your shot glasses. He pushes it towards you like a peace offering. "Maybe I'll let you win," he smiles as you look at him. "After all, Christmas is the festival of love and I -" he continues, but is interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. 

You look at him in confusion. You'd love to know how he would have finished the sentence. "You have reception out here?" you ask him as he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. 

The Monegasque shakes his head and shows you his phone screen. "I had set an alarm clock."

You raise an eyebrow. "For what?" 

He points to the time with his finger. It's midnight and therefore officially Christmas. He looks at you with a grin. "I have a Christmas present for you." 

As he gets up from the sun bed and staggers onto the wood of the deck, you look at him indignantly. "No way," you reply, annoyed. "If I can't give you a present, then you can't give me one either." 

"Calm down, mon ami," he says, swaying slightly from left to right as he circles you. The alcohol seems to have hit him hard too. "I'll be right back." Without another word, he disappears into the interior of the yacht, leaving you on the sun bed. 

Annoyed, you sit up. 

The fact that you're not allowed to give him a present has almost ruined your friendship. Just the memory of his words that he wants nothing from you but your friendship sends a cold shiver down your spine. You would love to tell him that you want more from him than friendship, that you desire him, that you want him for yourself - that you love him - but no amount of money in the world would make you reveal your feelings to him. If he actually knew how you felt about him, you would certainly lose the only good thing in your life. And you wouldn't risk that under any circumstances. 

You run your fingers nervously through your hair. What could he possibly give you? You've never mentioned anything to him that he could possibly buy. And there's no way he'd change his mind in a day and confess his love for you. You'd have to be incredibly naive to believe that. 

It's not his fault that he doesn't feel the same way about you as you do about him. It's not his fault that his words have torn your heart apart. And it's not his fault that he can't take your feelings into consideration if you don't tell him about them. 

You take a deep breath and smile at him as he rejoins you. In his hand, he holds a brown envelope, which he hands to you as he drops back onto the sun bed next to you. When you look at him uncertainly, he nods at you. "Merry Christmas, mon ami."

Hesitantly, you open the envelope and pull out several pages of paper, held together at the top left corner by a paper clip. You immediately recognize your name on the first page, with Charles written underneath. The rest is written in French, which is why you look at your roommate even more confused than before. "What's this?"

Irritated, he takes the pages from your hand and lets his eyes wander over the letters for a moment before he hits his forehead a little too hard with the palm of his hand. "Shit. I thought they'd printed it out in English," he says, handing the papers back to you. I'm really sorry."

You raise an eyebrow. "And what's this?" Your eyes wander over the paper, trying to identify any of the words, until you unsuccessfully put the papers down in front of you. 

"This, mon ami, is an employment contract," he explains with a smile and leans back a little. 

"An employment contract?"

" Mh-hmm." He licks his lips once. "Remember when Joris mentioned that he had a new job?"

You nod. Of course you remember. 

After you'd been to the place where Charles had been with his father in the past, you both went to Joris' and had lunch there. Joris had told you that he was starting a new job and when you had been there to burn Annika's things, he had talked about it too. 

"Well," Charles says hesitantly. "Joris was my personal photographer. And now that he can no longer work for me and accompany me around the world because of his new job, I thought - well - maybe you'd like to be my new photographer. You - um - you don't have a job at the moment and - well - I thought it would be cool if you and I worked together," he babbles in one breath, blood rushing to his cheeks. "You'd travel with me to the Formula 1 races and take photos there, but of course you'd also spend a lot of time with me in private. Which would be a good fit, as you and I live together anyway and the fans loved the photo you took of me at the lookout point. And the one you just took of me turned out great too."

Your breath is stuck in your lungs. 

Charles wants you to work for him? That you photograph him so he can post the pictures on Instagram? That you fly around the world with him? 

You'd love to throw your arms around his neck with joy, but you just grin at him. "Are you serious?" When he nods, you squeal with excitement. "You're really serious, Charlie? You really want me to work for you?"

"Of course," he admits openly and smiles at you. "You and I are best friends. Why would I want to work with someone else when I have the perfect and best photographer literally sitting right in front of me? I'd be pretty stupid to ask anyone else."

Carefully and with shaky hands, you put the documents back in the envelope. "I - thank you. I don't even know what to say."

"Just say yes." He leans a little to the side so that he can push your full shot glass over to you. "You'll travel around the world with me, get paid incredibly well and spend a lot of time with me. I'll cover the travel expenses, of course. All you have to do is take good photos of me."

You look at him in amazement. "I'm getting paid and you're still covering the travel costs?"

Your flatmate laughs out loud. "Of course! What do you think? Whether I give you more salary so you can pay for your flights and everything yourself, or whether I pay you everything, it's the same in the end."

Heat shoots into your face. "Then at least let me give you money for the rent. Now that I have a job again."

He shakes his head vehemently. "Absolutely not. The money is yours, you can do anything you want with it."

"Except pay the rent," you reply and get his pillow thrown in your face. 

"Exactly. Everything except pay the rent," he assures you. "So, what do you say, mon ami? Do you fancy exploring the world with me?"

You nod with a grin. "Definitely." You raise your shot glass. "Thank you, Charlie. That's the best Christmas present I've ever been given."

A blush creeps into his cheeks as he scratches the back of his neck nervously. "Really?"

You nod with a smile. "Definitely. I can't thank you enough for that." 

The thought of being permanently close to Charles scares you as much as it makes you happy. As his best friend, you're looking forward to spending every minute with him, traveling the world and discovering the most beautiful places. And getting paid for it too. 

As the woman who loves him, you're a little worried about what will happen if he meets someone he falls in love with while you're traveling. You don't want to imagine the pain if he gets into a committed relationship with someone and all you can do is stand on the sidelines and watch him be happy. There's no question that he deserves to be happy - but the thought that the person he's falling in love with isn't you makes you feel sick. 

You try to suppress the thought and smile bravely at him. "It's absolutely the best present. Thank you so much, Charlie. No one's ever done anything like this for me before."

There is a loving sparkle in his eyes. "I'd do anything for you." Before he picks up his glass as well, he pulls out his cell phone again and taps on it. "Can I post it like this?" he asks you and holds his phone out to you. His screen shows the picture you just took, with a simple caption. 

You shrug your shoulders. "I think so. But do you think it's a good idea to post something when you've had so much alcohol?" you ask him with a grin. 

"Oh nonsense," he grins at you and taps his phone one last time before activating the keypad lock and putting it back in his pocket. "I only have good ideas when I'm drunk." He reaches for his shot glass and holds it out to you so you can clink glasses. "I'm glad you said yes. I can hardly wait." 

"Me neither," you reply with a smile. 

He takes a deep breath before his eyes search yours. He would love to put the glasses aside, pull you onto his lap and kiss you until you can't breathe, until the sun rises, until the world ends. But that's just the alcohol whispering to him, he thinks. 

He knocks his glass against yours. "Here's to us."

-

liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55 and others tagged: yourusername charles_leclerc: ma mère approuve

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Time for another Merlin au!

In this au, in season 5, Camelot is cursed by Morgana to have all of their food and crops wither and die. The kingdom cannot survive under the curse for long and Arthur knows it, so he desperately visits the druids, whom he's made peace with, for magical assistance in lifting the curse. Merlin, of course, is working in secret to lift the curse, but he's lacking the exact spell needed to reverse the curse. He's tried spells that should work similarly to the reversal spell, but he's had no luck. So, he tries reaching out to the druids mentally for assistance while Arthur is meeting with them.

To Arthur, the druids inform him that the only way to lift such a dark and powerful curse is to perform a powerful ritual to call upon the powers of Emrys, the god of magic. However, the druids warn him, while they are certain that Emrys will come to his aid, the ritual comes with a cost. Arthur tells them that he would gladly give up his life for Camelot in order to complete the ritual, but the druids quickly tell him that a blood sacrifice isn't necessary. Instead, whoever successfully performs the ritual will then be tied to Emrys as his familiar in the mortal world.

When Arthur looks confused about what exactly a familiar is, the druids tell him that Emrys's familiar is someone who is bound by Emrys's will and has a mental connection to Emrys. The druids compare it to being Emrys's servant, carrying out his orders in the mortal world while Emrys is off doing his very powerful godly duties.

Arthur clenches his jaw, looking tense as he processed what he had just been told. All of the knights that they had taken with them are quick to volunteer themselves for the ritual, ready to hand themselves over to the no-doubt evil and nefarious god of magic. (To someone in Camelot who grew up under the purge, the old religion's god of magic must be the devil, their absolute worst nightmare.)

Merlin, meanwhile, is sitting next to Arthur and is simultaneously sweating bullets and is more confused than he's ever been in his entire life. Because what "godly duties" was he supposed to be fulfilling?? And how come he's never heard about a ritual to give him a familiar??

And more importantly, he's been TRYING to lift the curse for the past week, and nothing's worked! How the hell is some ritual to "call upon his power" work to break the curse when his own power has already proven to be useless here?!

However, the druids mentally tell Merlin that the binding ritual would grant Merlin the power necessary to fulfill the wishes of whoever was performing it. In this case, the ritual would grant Merlin the power to lift the curse.

For Merlin, this sounds like a perfect plan. Merlin himself would perform the ritual, lift the curse, and not have to deal with getting a new familiar! Because really, having a familiar sounded like more trouble than it was worth, and whoever became his familiar would surely discover that Merlin is Emrys, having a mental connection and all.

However, before Merlin could request the instructions for the ritual and come up with some way to distract Arthur, Arthur made up his mind. Arthur nobly tells his knights that he alone will take up this burden. Camelot is his to protect, and if he must turn himself over in servitude to the god of magic, then so be it. If he's called by Emrys to leave Camelot, then the crown goes to Gwen, who he knows will rule honorably in his stead. Arthur then turns to the druids and demands to be taken through the ritual.

Merlin, still next to Arthur, is just trying not to pull his hair out at this point because his perfect plan just got shot to hell. Merlin tries to mentally tell the druids to refuse Arthur's demands, but Arthur isn't taking no for an answer. Merlin then tries to convince Arthur to stop this, his kingdom needs him, and that Merlin should be the one to do it since he's the one who's already a servant anyway.

Arthur just looks sadly at Merlin and thanks him before ordering the knights to leave and take Merlin with them. Arthur wants to spare his friends the pain of seeing him hand himself over to Emrys. So, the knights leave the druid camp, dragging a kicking and screaming Merlin with them.

Poor Merlin, the knights all think, so loyal to Arthur. It must hurt the manservant so deeply to see Arthur sacrifice himself like this. Meanwhile, Merlin is freaking out because if Arthur becomes his familiar, which is already messed up in so many ways, there's absolutely no way that Merlin's going to be able to keep his magic a secret!

Meanwhile, the druids prepare Arthur and guide him through the ritual. They put a scented oil in his hair that's supposed to make him more pleasing to Emrys, but Arthur swears that it smells exactly like the calming oil that Merlin gives him after a restless day. They draw symbols on his armor with a mixture of berry paste and ash, and then finish their preparations by putting a woven crown of flowers on his head. Then, they have him perform the ritual itself, which has him kneel before an alter dedicated to Emrys (which rankles Arthur's pride just a bit) and reciting a prayer calling for help before he kisses the edge of the alter and recites his request for Emrys: to lift the curse placed upon Camelot's land and return its previous prosperity to it.

Immediately after Arthur finishes stating his request, a bright golden light emerges from the space right above the alter. At the very same moment, unbeknownst to any of the knights, Merlin's eyes flash a blinding gold. The light above the alter gently floats to the ground and sinks into the earth at Arthur's feet, and with a bright flash, the light races off in every direction, and every plant the light comes into contact with flourishes. Within only a few minutes, all of Camelot's crops are thriving once more, and the kingdom is saved.

After a few minutes had passed, the small pass of golden light rose out from the earth and moved closer to where Arthur stood, unmoving. Slowly, the ball moved closer to Arthur's body, and Arthur found that he couldn't move. Arthur flinched when the ball came into contact with his chest, but to his shock, it didn't hurt. No, the ball of light only felt warm, like the cozy warmth of his chambers with a fire roaring in his fireplace on a cold night. However, the little ball's movement didn't stop at Arthur's chest. Instead, the light diffused itself all over Arthur's body, until all of his body was covered in the golden light. Arthur waited for the pain to start at any moment, for his free will to be stripped away and for the god of magic to finally enact his revenge against the son of Uther Pendragon, but there was no pain.

After only a few moments, the light on Arthur's skin dimmed, leaving Arthur looking as he always did. Arthur didn't feel any different either. There was no godly voice booming in his head, and he could still move his body of his own volition, so Emrys wasn't controlling him like a puppet. If there's anything different, it's that there's a slight...buzzing in the back of his head.

The druids come to collect Arthur and take him back to his knights, telling him how grateful they are that Arthur has healed the land. Arthur accepts their thanks and makes his way back to Merlin and the knights, who are very relieved to see Arthur unharmed and acting like himself.

Arthur's slightly on edge for the whole ride back to Camelot, but to his great relief, nothing happens. That is, until a group of bandits decide to attack.

Because Arthur can physically SEE magic rising up to subtly fight the bandits. It rises from the earth and dances through the air as golden dust and golden light, and everywhere it goes, bandits fall or trip or drop their weapons, giving Camelot's knights the advantage. Arthur's so mesmerized by what he sees that he loses focus on the fight. That is, until the buzzing in his head roars and forms itself into words: BEHIND YOU!

Before he's even aware of what his body is doing, Arthur turns around and stabs the bandit that had crept up behind him. And it's then that Arthur realizes how much trouble he's in.

He's got the god of magic constantly buzzing in his head now, and Emrys is actively influencing the world around Arthur, and Arthur can't get away from it.

Thankfully, Emrys doesn't speak to him much, but what the god lacks in words, he makes up for in actions. Arthur can see how Emrys puts spells on his armor, his weapons, his chambers, and even his baths! Arthur has almost has a heart attack every time he sees the now-familiar golden dust float past people he cares about, getting close enough to touch them. The worst of it, by far, is around Merlin. The golden dust twirls and dances around Merlin, never letting Arthur see his friend without magic curled around him.

Arthur knows that it's a threat from Emrys to keep him in line, knows that the gold that swirls around Merlin could easily turn into weapons that could kill Merlin at a moment's notice, so Arthur grits his teeth and performs whatever tasks Emrys requires of him (which is normally small things like "don't eat that, it's poisoned" or "don't trust this visiting noble"). Arthur will play his part for now, but he will find a way to ensure his friends' protection from this nefarious god!

I'm going to end here, since I feel like this has already gone on for too long! I have lots of ideas revolving around rituals and Merlin's place as the god of magic, so expect at least two more au's that start similarly, but go in completely different directions!

Thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

EDIT: You can find part two of this au here!

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

I was wondering if you could do a little drabble where the reader breaks her leg in an accident and Arthur goes to help her by picking her up and taking her home. Please I want Arthur to hold the reader like a princess! 🥺💞

Here you go sweet anon! 🍑

Yes this was supposed to be a drabble but I got a little carried away as always and this ended up being a bit longer than expected. I hope you won't mind!! 🙏

˖✧To pick up a Peach

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Warnings/Tags: Description of a broken leg and physical pain, otherwise this is pure fluff. Arthur being the sweetest gentleman he is in high honor. ✦ Words: 2,4k ✦ a/n: I don't know why but I got carried away with this one and I ended up really loving it. I changed it just a little bit and made Arthur carry you to the doc, cause you know, he wouldn't let you go home without minimum care. He's like that. I made the reader some sort of farmer's daughter AU? Anyway, hope you'll still like it, Anon! Credits. Arthur's pic is mine. Other pics are from Pinterest. Little doodles made by me.

You were screwed.

That’s the thought that was stuck in your mind. Your horse, which the stableman had sworn to you was a gentle and peaceful creature, turned out to be a wild furious animal who was extremely nervous and appeared to have only one idea in mind: go back to where it belonged, the plains of the Heartlands.

You were simply on a ride to Valentine. You would often go there with your sisters on Mondays and Sundays to sell what your family had harvested in your native town, Emerald Ranch, setting up your little stand next to the butcher’s. Usually, these trips were pleasant and you had grown to like them, relieved to see something else than the gloomy and weird atmosphere that had settled in your village.

But your treacherous companion had decided, after an encounter with a snake somewhere near the Twin Stack Pass, that enough was enough. After rearing up as if his life depended on it, he took off at full speed, ejecting you with a crash to the ground, making the wicker basket containing all your precious products fly up in the air like a colorful firework of fruits and vegetables.

An ominous, muffled creak as your body lands.

Stunned, breathless, it took you a few seconds to regain your composure, long gone and galloping off with your horse.

Of course, that had to happen the only time you had decided to ride alone for once.

Your left leg, broken. The fruit of your labors and harvests, your perfect peaches, flawlessly ripe tomatoes and carrots, promising seeds, and beautiful flowers, scattered and smashed on the floor. Your dignity, gone. 

Lying back on the dirt, hair spread like a star around your head, surrounded by an indescribable substance made of crushed fruits and flower petals reduced to a mush, you looked like the religious figure of Bad Luck.

On top of that, being a lonely young woman, unarmed, and hurt in the open clearly wasn’t an ideal situation. Any man with bad intentions could easily do the worst thing to you in your state.

You tried to get back in a sitting position. Every movement was igniting the pain in your broken bone, deep inside your calf, spreading it through your entire body like a burning trail of powder. You let out a short pained grunt, followed by a curse. Slowly tugging your skirt up your knee, you took a worried look at your leg. 

It looked bad.

Painted with deep colored bruises kind of bad. 

The sight of it along with the incessant stabbing pain coming from it made your heart beat faster, and you did your best not to pass out from the nausea that was flying over your head. The panic of not feeling your toes anymore didn't helped at calming your heart rate.

There was no way you could walk back to any town in that state, or contact the rest of your family already waiting for you.

Yes, you were screwed. 

Tilting your head backward, you looked at the sky, in an attempt to prevent your threatening tears from falling, or to throw a desperate call to the Heavens, you didn’t really know it yourself. 

A muffled sound suddenly made its way to your ears. It looked like your involuntary prayer had been answered sooner than you would have expected.

It was the sound of hooves.

You snapped your head in the noise’s direction and noticed an approaching form on the road, raising a cloud of dust in its wake, coming towards you. Your only hope. You were praying, for real this time, that this upcoming stranger was a gentleman and not a bad man.

Praying, praying, praying.

Praying again as the man was at voice’s reach, and as you screamed and begged for help.

“M-Mister!” Your voice sounded even more pitiful than what you had planned, and a bit hoarse from the pain. Your ego protested, but screw it, he probably was your last chance. “Mister, please! I broke my leg! I can’t… I can’t…”

Apparently, shouting didn't seem to help the nausea. The more you were getting air out of your lungs by screaming the more your head was feeling dizzy.

Luckily for you, the lonely rider had heard your desperate breathless words and was heading towards you, stopping his horse in a skillful maneuver before dismounting, his two boots hitting the ground.

“What happen Ma’am, d’ya need some help?” He asked you, voice powerful and worried frown on his face.

“My horse got spooked by a damn snake and he ran away… Making me fall and I… I think my leg broke…” Your tone was pained and way weaker than his as you did your best to explain the situation, a single tear now streaming down your cheek.

The pain, the panic, the frustration from having a month’s worth of work destroyed in just mere seconds… You couldn’t hold it anymore.

Slowly approaching you, the man lowered himself in a crouching position to take a better look at you, and talk to you at the same eye level. His deep blue eyes studied your broken leg, surely not missing the disturbing, alarming color the bruises were taking, your skin an odd mix of purple and green now. It didn’t seem to disgust him though, his face stoic as he scanned your wound.

“Alright Miss jus’... Don’t move too much.” He advised you in a softer tone. You could see he was truly concerned about your state. “What’s with all this mess? You trynna make some soup or what?” He asked in a deep sarcastic tone, as if amused by his own words.

You drily chuckle, which revived the pain you were still feeling in your bone, making you cut your laugh and groan a bit, your own features contracting in a pained expression.

“It is… It was my crop… I was going to sell it in Valentine…” You explained once again, feeling shame and exasperation hitting you. You were feeling so angry from this waste, so angry at yourself to be the only one responsible for it, you couldn’t prevent more tears from falling, trying hard not to let yourself go into sobs.

“Ah, shit… I’m sorry for ya.” He exhaled, contemplating the scattered and mashed jelly-like matter composed of what was once your yield, pieces of peaches and broken carrots lying there, like on a battlefield. His gaze came back to yours, full of compassion and probably pity for your state, before continuing. “Don’t worry Miss. I’mma take you up to the Doc, in Valentine. ‘Was goin’ there anyway.”

You nodded in order to thank him, feeling so relieved life had put him on your way. 

“Okay, I’m gonna help ya get on ma horse. It’s gonna hurt a little but we have to.” He warned you, getting completely down on his knees by your side.

You didn’t dare to move from one inch. He slowly wrapped an arm under your shoulders, his hand grabbing your side. Even more carefully, his other one slipped under your legs, and he gently lifted you up bridal-style, as if you weighed nothing, a fallen leaf in a gentle breeze.

 As if he was carrying injured people all day every day.

Your broken member didn’t like it as much as you did though, and you hissed in pain from feeling your own weight pull on the wound as your leg was hanging in the air. He noticed, and spoke again while getting up, just as easily as if he wasn’t carrying an entire person in his arms right now.

“Gonna be okay Miss, hold on a lil’ longer.”

As if taking his words in a literal way, you encircled his waist with your arms and rested your head on his chest. His work shirt was used and dirty, rough against the skin of your cheek, but right now it just felt heavenly to you compared to the dusty rock of the floor. You sighed, feeling calmer and way better now.

If you had brought up your gaze, you could have seen how a slight blush was spreading on the tan skin of his cheeks the moment he felt you getting comfortable in his arms.

You heard him call for his horse with a short whistle and a sharp noise from his teeth. His mount obeyed right away, getting closer to both of you in a happy trot. You wish your horse could have been as gentle as this one. He looked like a really strong and powerful, but very sweet on the inside animal. A bit like its owner, now that you were thinking about it.

As carefully as if you were made of porcelain, the man in question let go of your legs, and you took support on your valid one. He then picked you up again, by your waist, and lifted you on the saddle, helping you to get settled and as comfortable as possible. His large hands were very soft on you, cautious, caring. You could feel how his touch was light and measured, calculated to make you feel the least pain possible.

“You take the saddle, else your leg would get too bumped during the ride.” He explained before hopping behind you, grabbing the reins by bringing his arms from both sides of you.

He was basically enveloping you, his large frame keeping you warm and steady. Against your shoulders, you could feel his biceps, and thanked the Lord once again this man had good intentions with you because there was no way you could have resisted this mountain of muscles.

The silence fell as your gentle savior spurred his horse into a slow pace, keeping him calm and cold-blooded. You mentally thank him for it, every movement from your leg, even the tiniest one, would ignite the flames of your pain again.

The ride to Valentine was a quiet, peaceful one, just like it was supposed to be from the start. Your eyes kept closing and opening as if you were on the verge of falling asleep, but still needed to be alert until you'd be safe and sound in town. 

You only had exchanged a few words with the man, your names, and where you lived. 

Arthur Morgan didn't look like the kind of man to have the longest conversations but his presence was reassuring nevertheless. His heavy breathing, his body around yours, the calmness of the plains… It was all making your pain less vivid and way more bearable.

Once in Valentine, Arthur rode straight to the Doctor, and got off first, tying his horse's reins around the fence.

“Here we are, Miss. Let's get ya checked up for good, shall we?” He said while standing right next to the saddle, opening his arms to pick you up again, a gentle smile on his face, as if telling you all your worries were behind you now.

If you thought this man was going to let you walk alone to the doc’s office and head off to his own business, you were damn wrong.

Even through your terrible state, a grin curled up your lips and mirrored his own expression. You let your tired and injured body sink into his solid one, and he carried you in his arms once again.

His scent ran through your nose as you breathed, traveling all the way down your veins to your lungs and everywhere in your body, enfolding you and your soul. It was a strong smell, not a delicate one like those gentlemen would carry with their cologne, but you liked it regardless. A mix of leather, sweat, tobacco, and this early dew scent, the one you can smell just before dawn, earthy and herbal, as if he had been sleeping under the stars for months. 

The smell of the outdoors. 

Arthur opened the door with one foot, and entered the Dr Calloway’s office with you in his arms, careful not to let your leg get knocked while walking through the door. The doctor took care of you right away, ordering Arthur to put you on the chair in the little room where patients were treated.

His muscled arms dropped you, his hands gentle and attentive, as slowly as if you were a newborn filly he could hurt or scare away by using too much force. There was such kindness, such gentleness and care in his gesture that it left you feeling all bubbly on the inside.

You kept on looking at him during all the time it took for Dr Calloway to treat you, waiting for him to just go, but he didn’t. He stayed, casually leaning his back against the wall to leave some space for the doctor, his eyes voyaging from your injury to your face, then away from you, as if he was feeling guilty about staring at you like this. It made you giggle.

You paid the doctor, thanked him goodbye, and before you could process it, here you were, freshly gifted with two crutches and a wooden splint around your injury in front of his door. Perfect. For a farmer family, a hurt worker was a curse.

“You gonna be okay now, Miss? D’ya need another ride home?”

Arthur’s deep voice dragged you out of your thoughts. This man was so special. He looked used, strong, and intimidating, but had been nothing but kind and delicate with you. Right now, his deep azure gaze was staring right at yours, making you feel even weaker in the knees than you already were.

“Oh, don’t worry, my family is already here. We have a wagon and all. Besides, you have done plenty for me, Mister Morgan.”

“Ah, don’t ya worry. 'Did what any man would have done seein’ a pretty lil’ lady like ya hurt on the ground.” He answered with a subtle grin.

Before you could realize it, his hand was reaching out for a strand of your hair, and his fingers brushed against it.

You froze, feeling a dark red settling on your cheeks, your eyes looking back at his in surprise and disbelief, searching for an explanation, even if your heart didn't want it. It wanted more of it, no questions asked.

“You hum… You still got some… pieces of peaches or somethin’ in your hair, Miss…” He explained himself, his voice a little less self-assured than before.

You blushed even more. You indeed must looked like a total mess after your accident, and mentally noted to go fix yourself as soon as possible.

“Oh, God I…” You started, feeling embarrassed and flustered, words mixing and blurring in your mind instead of lining up properly. You just sighed, closing your eyes, giggling a little. You then spoke again, keeping your tone as calm as you could. “Thanks again, Mister Morgan.”

“Please, jus’ call me Arthur.”

“Alright, Arthur. Thank you, for everything. I don’t know how I could thank you enough.”

“You know, maybe I could come someday, at your farm I mean, and buy some of your stuff. You could give me a rebate on those, unless everythin’ you sell actually looks like jam…” He added with a mischievous, low chuckle, gaze sparkling.

“Hey! My crops are perfect, Mister. I promise you won’t be disappointed.” You said back in an equally amused tone, a toothy smile completing the picture of your precious blushing face.

“I'm sure I won’t be, lil’ peach.” 

His voice had turned just as soft as his touch had been when carrying you; for Arthur, you really were starting to become his sugary, soft, and delicious favorite fruit.

[overlyspecific]

Part 4 of Merlin as Robin Hood

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

The results are in, it was pretty neck and neck so i’ll try to get the other option posted pretty quick here too. This part gets a little dark towards the end so warning for injuries and angst for the future (whats merthur without a little trauma, you cant do hurt/comfort without the hurt).

Gwaine: *carrying a crate of fresh apples into the small clearing they’ve made into a hideout* I just don’t get it. Why would he risk getting captured just to see someone who would run him through first chance he got?

Lancelot: *smiling a little to himself* Oh, you don’t know the first thing about it, friend. You should have seen them when Merlin worked as his manservant. He would spend all night saving the castle with magic just to yelled at all morning by Arthur because he forgot to polish one piece of armor.

Gwaine: *he takes a seat on his makeshift hammock and takes a swig from his suspiciously ale-smelling water skin* I just don’t get why he cares so much about him. We do good work here stealing from rich douchebags and giving to people in need. I dont see what is so different about Arthur, isnt he the worst of the worst for rich douchebags? Merlin himself calls him a prat.

Lancelot: oh I see whats going on…

Gwaine: what?

Lancelot: You’re jealous.

Gwaine: No, I’m not. Look, Merlin’s great. I just don’t like him risking everything for someone who has proven they wont do the same.

Lancelot: and what? you would be better for him?

Gwaine: I could be, at least I wouldnt toss him out to fend for himself in the woods all alone.

Merlin: *returning from his forest meeting with Arthur catching the tail end of the conversation* Gwaine, I appreciate the sentiment, but no offense you werent there and *turning to lancelot* neither were you Lance. You don’t know what went down or the hard choices we ALL had to make. so respectfully butt out of it.

Gwaine and Lancelot: *feeling guilty for getting caught* sorry merls

Merlin: its alright. Let’s just take stock of everything we got so we can distribute it-

Merlin is cut off by a yell in the woods and they all go quiet.

Lancelot: Merlin, your magic is still in place, right? No one should be able to find us.

Merlin: Yes, no one can find us unless we allow them to. Stay here, it’s probably just a lost traveller.

Gwaine: No, you shouldnt go alone. We’ll go with you.

Merlin: If its a traveller by themself then it will be better to go alone to not spook them. I have my magic to back me up and i’ll shout if they are injured or need help. Stay here.

Merlin walks into the woods alone out of the magical safety of the hideout.

Gwaine: I dont have a good feeling about this…

Meanwhile in the woods, Gwen is searching desperately around the area largely covered by trees that look the exact same.

Gwen: *to herself* c’mon gwen focus! Did he say the trees with the fruit above or below the leaves?

Merlin: *appearing from the woods like the forest druid he is at heart* I actually said the trees with the blue berries and white blossoms. I think below the leaves means they are safe to eat.

Gwen: *running to Merlin and throwing her arms around him desperately* Merlin!

Merlin: *from inside gwen’s tight bear hug* As much as I appreciate the hug, do you want to tell me why you are in the woods alone trying to find me?

Gwen: *releasing Merlin from her death grip* Merlin, you are in danger! I came from the castle as quick as I could to warn you-

Merlin: Gwen! Gwen! It’s okay! I just got away from the knights, I’m fine. Better than fine actually. Arthur saved my life…

Gwen: *trying to get a word in but Merlin has started excitedly rambling about Arthur* No, Merlin. Listen to me.

Merlin:…and the way he looked at the knight that tried to kill me, Gwen, it was like he wanted to murder HIM. Can you believe it?

Gwen: Merlin!

Merlin: *Finally realizing something isn’t right and looking around the forest* Wait, we aren’t alone.

Gwen: That’s what i’ve been trying to tell you, Merlin! The king sent Arthur as a distraction. Arthur doesn’t even know. Uther hired a witchfinder with a really powerful magical tracking amulet. You’re the biggest magical target in the vicinity. Its going to lead them right to you! You have to run, get as far as you can!

Merlin: Gwen, I cant leave Arthur. He’ll die without me.

Gwen: He’ll die if you die. You have to go!

Merlin: Fine, but I’m scrying everyday to make sure he’s-

Merlin is cut off by an arrow plunging its way into his side. He falls onto Gwen who tries to keep him standing.

Merlin: Gwen, get out of here! Find Lance and Gwaine, they’re just beyond those trees. They wont find you there. You cant be caught with me.

Gwen: Merlin!

Merlin: Gwen, go!

Gwen takes off into the woods in the direction of the hideout. Merlin falls to his knees and calls his magic up but his eyes only flicker gold for a second before dimming. Collapsing all the way to the ground, Merlin sees black boots approach him from in front of him. Merlin doesnt have the strength to raise his head but he knows if he did, he would be met with the satisfied face of the witchfinder.

Witchfinder: So you’re the great and powerful Emrys, huh? I thought you’d be harder to find.

Merlin feels one of the black boots make contact with his injured side and everything goes black.

Sorry to leave you all on a cliffhanger but I had to do it. Next part will be a flashback to the magic reveal and then we’ll see how Merlin Hood gets out of this sticky situation.

[sterredem]

Hey, I can't find if your requests are open (if they aren't please ignore this). Can you do an arthur leclerc x fem!driver!reader where she gets into f1 and he doesn't (angst!!) and she comforts him?

Unfair

First ending

Face claim: Pinterest girls/Barbara Palvin/Bianca Bustamante + other women in motorsport.

(That I use these people doesn’t mean that I know or support them, I just use them because Barbara has a lot of good pictures in the spoor and Bianca has good pictures in the car and on the podium)

Summary: The request

Word count: 2549

Warning: Angst, lying(?), happy ending, fluff at the end

A/N: this took a bit to write but u really like it. It is a bit different then the request (a bit more Angsty) but I think it is my best yet (which isn’t hard with this being my 3rd fic). I hope you enjoy and don’t forget to like/comment/repost and please give me feedback🫶🫶 Btw sorry for the long wait.

The other ending will be posted soon!

Also I hope you like the graphics, it took literally hours to make😭😭

They both knew that this could happen. That was the risk with dating your coworker in a motorsport. And especially formula 2.

So when y/n heard that next season she would drive in formula 1 with Porsche, she was really excited. Of course she was. She was going to be the first Women in a few decades to drive in Formula 1. And for a relatively new but very good team. With Porsche being in F1 since the 2019 seasons it was the newest, but unlike HAAS they were actually good.

And she was happy that she got a contract. She would drive a few of the best names of motorstoprt. And her team printable, Sebastian Vettel had promised her big things.

But when she actually thought about what this all meant she begun to get scared. She would need to tell Arthur. Arthur who always wanted to be in Formula 1. Arthur who is her best friend and her boyfriend.

How could she tell him? How could she tell him that she would get to live their dream? How could she tell him that he would drive alongside his brother before him?

This was all a mess. And the worst part was that she sined a NDA so she couldn’t tell him until the announcement was up. The only people that currently knew where; her family, her trainer and her manager.

She tried to do everything she could so she can tell him. But she just couldn’t, so she needs to live with a big secret for a few months. And when it is announced that she would go to Formula 1 she doesn’t know is he will ever forgive her.

And not only because she didn’t tell him and they promised they would tell each other everything. No but because they promised to get there together, to both get into F1. And now, Y/n would get to drive there and Arthur would be left behind in F2.

So she would need to live a secret until it was revealed to the world. The only thing she could get out of the contact is that she could tell Arthur a day before the announcement. Which she still wasn’t happy about but it was something. So when the time came to finally tell him she was a nervous wreck. Understandable.

The day before the announcement finally came. And Y/n was really nervous. So when Arthur finally came home she made some of his favourite food and got mentally ready to tell him.

And to say Arthur was confused was an understatement. He came home to his girlfriend cooking his favourite food and looking very nervous. So of course he was worried. Would she brake up with him? Dis something happen? But he wanted to wait for her to say something. And that happens after they were done doing the dishes and were laying in the couch.

“Hey Arthur can we talk?” Y/n nervously while playing with her fingers and not really looking at Arthur.

“Yes mon ange what is wrong?” Arthur asked relieved that she will finally talk about what is wrong. He tried to look at her but couldn’t lock eyes.

“Promise me you will hear me out before you react of get mad.” She said while finally looking in his eyes. But they aren’t filled with the usual adoration or love, no the where filled with nerves and a bit of fear.

“Of course mon ange. What is going on?” He asked growing more and more worried. While trying to grapple with his hand. And failing.

“So you know that PREMA is dropping me right? Well when it was announced some people reached out to me and offers me something…” she slowly said while looking at him for his reaction.

“Well one of those people was Sebastian Vettel and he offered me a place on Porche in Formula 1. And as you can understand I couldn’t refuse, so we got talking and they gave me an amazing offer.” She said while looking at his reaction. Which wasn’t the best, it got from worry to confusion to some sort of mild anger.

“So last August he gave me a contract and I signed it…” she said falling a bit silent at the end. And before Arthur could talk she began again.

“And I really wanted to tell you before, really. But they made me sign a NDA and I could only tell my manager and close family and some of the other team for legal reasons. And I tried everything, and initially I could not tell you until the announcement but I made a deal and I could tell you the day before. And now that is, so today is the day before. And again I am so sorry. Please don’t be mad.” She ranted while tears formed in his eyes while seeing him become more and more mad.

“Y/n… what? Is this some sick joke?” He asked while slowly fake laughing and looking at her with betrayal in his eyes.

“Baby please understand that I could not tell you.” She said slowly looking away.

“Don’t baby me! I know you couldn’t tell me after the contract, but you could tell me that you had an offer! And how could you take it? You know how much I want to get into F1?” He asked with betrayal in his voice.

“What was I supposed to do? Not take the offer and never get in Formula 1 just so you could have it or that we could go at the same time? And I could not tell you about the offer because I didn’t even know until I talked with Sebastian, my manager hid it from me because he didn’t want to get my hopes up!” She said now with tears going down her cheeks.

“I understand that but please! Did you even think about me?” He asked a bit louder.

“Of course I did! I just told you! I wanted to tell you the minute I got the offer! But I couldn’t because of that stupid team! I wanted to you to have a seat for F1! For whatever team, but I can’t! If I can I would give you my seat! But Arthur you need to understand that I need to think of myself sometimes! This a big deal for me! I will be the first women in Formula 1 in a few decades, and I will be the first women to be in the middle or upper field! I could be the first to be in a podium of even win!” She said now almost fully crying.

Arthur was silent for a bit while thinking about what she said. “Y/n i know all that. But you also need to understand that it is hard for me. Charles is in F1, Ferrarie dropped me, Jules and my dad died and wanted me and Charlie to drive, and now my girlfriend, who is also my childhood best friend, lied to me for months and you expect me to be okay with it? Merde Y/n you can’t expect this from me. I think I need some time alone.” He said trying to stay calm with tears in his eyes.

Y/n looked at his shocked about what he said. Did he want to break up? Did he want a part time break? Was he going to leave? She knows that she can’t hold him accountable for it, she did lie to him after all.

“Arthur please. I understand what you say. And I don’t hold you accountable for that, but please don’t leave.” She said now with them both full on crying.

“Mon amour, I won’t leave you, I am just going to go to my mom for a bit. Think about everything and then we can talk about this in a few days.” He said while wiping her tears away.

He slowly stood up and walked to there room to grab a few of his things. She still sat on the couch thinking if she should stop him or just let him go.

She decided on the later one, because it was better to give him time to think about it before things were said that they don’t mean.

A few minutes later Arthur came downstairs with a bag of his stuff. He grabbed his coat and keys and looked at Y/n again. “I will message you when I am there. Please understand that I still love you and I am not breaking up, but I just need some time.” He says with a half smile.

“I understand, please take all the time you need. And when you are ready to talk I am here.” She said while also half smiling with more tears forming in her eyes. “I love you, please be safe”

“I will” he says while walking out of the door and closing it. Y/n slowly slid down the wall with her head in her hands thinking everything over again.

Was this the right thing? Was she selfish for accepting the offer? Would she lose Arthur? Were they ever going to recover?

With all this on het mind she slowly stood up and walked upstairs. She got into the bathroom and did her night routine. After that she looked at the time and saw how early it still was so she decided to just watch some Gilmore Girls (you can chose whatever this is just my comfort series) while laying in bed trying to distract her from the argument they had earlier.

After watching it for a few hours she decided that it was getting late and decided to sleep and see what the day would bring tomorrow. The day that it would be announced.

Instagram

Liked by Susie_Wolff and 3.115.785 others

F1 BREAKING: Y/n y/l/n will be driving for Porsche the 2025 season!

We all welcome her to the grid and are excited to see her!

#y/n_y/l/n #Porsche #F1 @Y/n_y/l/n @Porsche

Comments

User1 OMG I AM SO EXITED

User2 so happy to see she got a seat after PREMA dropped her

Susie_Wolff So happy for you! I am happy to see more girls in Formula 1

Yourusername Thank you Susie! Exited to see you again!

Yourusername I am so happy and thankful for this opportunity!

User3 we got a women in f1 before gta 6

User4 So exited for more women in motorsports!

User5 women shouldn’t be in motorsports! It is a man dominated sport for a reason!

User6 why is Arthur not simping over his girlfriend like usual?!

User7 he could just be congratulating het irl don’t make a big deal out of this

User8 I agree with user7, just because he isn’t in the comments on a insta post doesn’t mean something happened. We shouldn’t speculate on there lives with absolutely no information about them at the moment.

After the announcement was finally up Y/n felt worst then the slash before. Her and Arthur still hadn’t talked. And it welt like weeks (it was only 10 hours). She missed him, missed his laugh, his boyish smile, their useless conversation for hours, his kisses and hugs. Everything.

So when she finally got a massage from him she was happy to say the least.

|———————————<3—————————————|

See you then*

|———————————<3—————————————|

For the next part there is a bit of explaining necessary. You can: keep reading this and then you have how the request is (with a fluffy ending and comforting) OR you can klick in the link and that will take you to the alternative ending (you will need to scroll down again until this part and then you have the Angsty ending)

Angsty ending

|———————————<3—————————————|

After a few more massages back and forth they decided to meet up at their house instead of the cafe. So when the next day came she waited for Arthur to come back.

After a few hours of watching Gilmore Girls she heard the front door open. She paused the show and stood up from her bed, she walked downstairs and came face to face with Arthur.

“Hey” she said a bit awkwardly. She looked in his eyes and saw that he looked very tired and had red eyes. He had probably cried, the same with her.

“Hey, how are you?” He asked with a tired and raspy voice and the French accent.

“I’m doing okay. Want something to drink?” She asked trying to fill the awkward silence.

“No I’m fine. Could we just talk? I think it is the best if we just get it over.” He said trying to get to the point as fast as he can so they could make up again. He had missed her a lot, while he was at his maman she had given his a long and good scolding for leaving her and not listening her out. He realised that it was indeed a bad choice to leave her, he was just angry and upset so he did the only rational thing in his mind.

“Yeah of course.” She said while slowly walking to the living room. She looked back at him to see if he followed her and he did. She walked to the couch and sat on one end of it, wanting him to decide if he wants to sit next to her or far away from her.

He sat next to her.

“Okay so first of I want to say I am so sorry that I left, I know it was the wrong thing to do. But I was just angry, confused and upset with everything and then I said stuff and you said stuff and I just couldn’t anymore. But now I am ready to hear you out.” He said tampering a bit while fiddling with his hands.

“I understand that and it is completely okay, again I am really sorry I didn’t tell you but I can explain it to you.” She said while looking in his eyes.

“Okay so as I said; Kate, my manager, got a lot of offers from teams after my contract with PREMA expired, but she didn’t want to get my hopes up so she told me nothing. I only knew about it when she set up a meeting with Sebastian, we talked and he had a really good offer. A long contract, good money, good car and a good team. So I couldn’t say no. But then it came to PR and telling people, I asked who u could tell and I could only tell my team and my parents, I couldn’t even tell my siblings or friends. I asked if I could tell you but I couldn’t, they wanted to keep it low-key so that it would be a big surprise. The only thing I fixed is that I could tell you the day before. So I did and you know how that turned out. I really wanted to tell you but I also needed to sign a NDA so I couldn’t tell you about the contract or the car. And this may sound really bad and it may sound like I chose a bad team but no; they only did it to protect us. Me because if it came out before there could be serious danger for me. And for you so you could many still enjoy F2 and get into you’re dream team. But now I realise that how I handled it was really wrong and I am so sorry. I hope you can forgive me because I really missed you.” She said the last part a bit out of breath.

Arthur looked to be deep in thought. He thought about everything she said. And he understood it. But now he was really upset with how he reacted.

“Mon amour I am so sorry. I should have heard you out earlier” he said while grabbing her face. “I and so sorry for how I reacted. I hope you can understand why. I as just confused, jealous and upset. I was confused because for me it came all of a sudden and upset because again why would you tell me? And I was really jealous because you wou get to be in F1 and drive with my brother before me.”

“I completely understand my love, and I understand it about the jealous part, I would too.” She said while grabbing his face.

After talking for a few more minutes they decided to go to the bedroom and watch something.

“Hey love do you want to watch that French series that you talked about?” Y/n asked while playing with his hair and cuddling.

“Yeah for sure mon amour” he said with a smile on his face. He looked up at her and admired her beauty. “You looked beautiful ma belle” he said with a slight blush.

“She looked down at his and smiles “wel thank you handsome. You don’t look that bad yourself.” She said blushing.

After watching a few episodes of the show and talking they decided to go to sleep.

But before she fell asleep she heard Arthur whisper something.

“Je t'aime mon amour, merci pour tout.” (I love you my love, thank you for everything.)

[odiesdayoff]

Kinktober: Tommy Shelby

Pair: Thomas Shelby x fem!reader

Summary: Your parents can no longer afford the protection of the Peaky Blinders. Tommy can't just let that slide.

Warnings: Boot worship?

this may be unfinished, but the whole point of my kinktober is to finish the wips I've had for so long. Enjoy and lmk if you want more.

Shelves of assorted pill bottles and prescriptions sat behind you. Across the counter, an older woman counted her coins for an extra canister of film and finally slid the sum over to you. Only a few other patrons wandered around the pharmacy. While it was your parent’s business, you found yourself running it more often than they did.

“Enjoy your day, ma’am.” You watched the old woman walk out of the store. A tall man held open the door for her to leave. He wore the all-too familiar cap of the Peaky Blinders, along with the winter coat style that many of them shared.

You tried to hide your indifference, and slight fear. You stayed out of the way of those men as much as you could, but anyone in Birmingham had at least one encounter a week with them. The man casually walked up to the counter and his eyes met yours. Arthur Shelby, not the worst person to see, but certainly not the best. 

“Mornin’ Darling. Are your parents here?” He wanted to be somewhat charming and intimidating, which definitely worked in his favor. Maybe if you weren’t aware of who he was and his reputation, you wouldn’t feel a familiar chill down your spine. 

You shook your head. “M’sorry, Sir. They went out to the next town over. Is everything okay?” A part of you knew that something was wrong. The Peaky Blinders only came around when it was time to collect their monthly protection fees from every local business. For all that you knew, your parents had never missed a payment. 

He leaned over the counter to get closer to you. “We haven’t received your payment. You do realize if you don’t pay, we can’t promise what’ll happen to this quaint little pharmacy.”

“My dad handles the payments. I didn’t know we were behind.” Business had been extremely slow lately. You could only assume that your parents were out of town to try and get the money they owed to the gang. “Could you give us until the end of the week? At least until they get back? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding, you know we’re good on our word.”

Arthur thought for a moment, hopefully considering your words. “Two days. That’s all I can give you.”

You smiled. “Thank you. You’ll get the money and with interest.”

He nodded towards you and put his hat back on his head. “I know you will. You’re a good girl, yeah?” He walked out of the store, leaving an invisible cloud of something menacing in his wake. 

You watched him leave. You’d never really had a direct encounter with one of them before. There was a sense of fear mixed with something you couldn’t really put your finger on. 

~~

You shouldn’t have made promises that you weren’t confident that you could keep. Your parents returned and you thoroughly explained the situation and deal you made with Arthur. They told you that they would take care of it. That you shouldn’t be speaking with any of those men. They made whores out of innocent girls like you. 

By the next Wednesday, you assumed that this whole issue was dealt with and over. You were unboxing new shipments behind the counter and organizing the shelves when your theory was proven extremely wrong. Your parents were fixing the display at the front of the door. They noticed the group of Peaky Blinders before you did.

The front door opened, the bell signaling a new customer. If their angry stances didn’t give who they were away, their hats did. Two of them grabbed your parents and made them face the one with the undercut and a cigarette hanging from his lips. You knew that this was Tommy Shelby, leader of the gang. 

“Y’know we can’t let one person off the hook for a missed payment. Then we won’t be taken seriously, will we?” It was a rhetorical question, everyone knew the answer to that. Your parents keep struggling under the grasp of the men who held them with no success or escape. 

 The customers in the shop quickly fled through the front doors, making sure that they were out of harm's way from the gang and whatever they had planned for your parents. You stayed low to the ground, clutching the box of behind-the-counter medications in front of you.

“Your rates went up. Business isn’t like it used to be. We can’t afford it anymore.” Your father pleaded.

“We’re decent men. We understand the financial burden. We can always take some collateral until business starts booming again.” A new voice, one you remembered to be Arthur's, spoke up. “What about that daughter of yours?”

You perked up at the mention of your existence. “No. She’s out of the question.”

None of the men replied. Suddenly, your father’s grunts of pain followed the sounds of someone hitting him. It kept going. You shut your eyes. Your mother screamed for them to stop.

Ignoring the protests from your own body and brain, you stood up. “Leave him alone!”

Their heads turned to you. It was then that you realized it might’ve been a mistake. “And who might you be, girl? Some kind of hero?” Tommy’s blue eyes pierced into you.

Arthur grinned at the sight of you. “That’s sweet, little Y/n. Their daughter.”

“Y/n, run!” Your father struggled against the men, screaming as loud as he possibly could.

Like a deer in headlights, you stood still. Your brain screamed for you to run, but your body locked into the position you were in. “Y/n, stay.” Tommy commanded you in a mocking way. He almost sauntered over to the counter and let himself through the small gate so that he was right next to you. “Look at that, she knows who she belongs to already.”

“Mr. Shelby, I have money saved up. I can cover the cost. Just please, don’t hurt my parents.” Your voice was slightly over the volume of a whisper. Begging and pleading in front of a man like him was something people near death only got to experience. You hoped it wasn’t at that point.

He clicked his tongue. “I don’t want your money anymore, darling. I need your parents to remember what happens when they cross the Peaky Blinders.” He leaned close to you, enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. It gave you goosebumps. “If you’re good, you might enjoy this a little too much for a punishment.”

His hand trailed to your lower back as he guided you into the storage room. Once he closed the door behind the both of you, the courage to talk returned. “What are you going to do with me?”

He laughed and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke in your direction. “Nothing at all.”

You raised a brow. “Nothing?”

“Don’t sound disappointed, love. I may be a criminal, but I’m no monster.” Another puff of smoke. The stinging scent of tobacco invades your senses. He quirks a brow. “Unless that’s what you want.”

You shook your head, a little hesitant. “Of course not. But…why?”

He stifles a laugh at your apparent eagerness. "Fucking me is a privilege, not a punishment." He blows the smoke away yet again.

Taking a step closer to him, you cock your head to the side in curiosity. "And...I haven't earned that privilege?" You couldn't sound more desperate to jump his bones if you tried. If only your parents heard you. How ashamed they must be.

Maybe it was true about the Shelby men. They didn't even try and had women fawning at their feet for a chance to touch them. Or vice versa. You were no exception to this phenomenon. "No, not yet. If you want me so badly, you must prove yourself."

He dropped the cigarette, put it out with his boot, and it singed the floor. It was as if the idea popped in his head right then. "Grind on my boot. Make yourself come."

You looked down to see his boot, the reflection from a somewhat recent shining making you see your pathetic expression looking back at you.

This was necessary if there was any chance of him touching you at all. You fell to your knees and crawled to sit on his boot. "Eyes up here." He called, making you keep eye contact as you started to slowly grind against his shoe, the friction barely stimulating your clit at this point. You weren't sure if coming was even possible this way.

"That's it, wet by boot. Filthy slut." He carefully lifted the tip of his boot against you, pulling a quiet moan from your lips.

You must've looked silly, grinding your core over his boot while your parents were probably getting beaten just in another room. How could he have such an influence on you?

Still, you ground against him, chasing your high on his boot.

[muiitoloko]

Hii! I just saw that your asks are open, and that you write for Kingsman. Yesterday I discovered the two Kingsman movies and I watched them both, and now I'm obsessed with both Harry and Merlin.

I wanted to ask you for a Merlin or Harry fic (whichever you want) of angst and the grovelling trope. Like, maybe he has a terrible day and the reader tries to confort him, but he ends up snapping at her and telling her some real hurtful things and so he has to grovel *a lot* to earn her forgiveness or something like that :)

If you don't want to write it or you're too busy I completely understand :)

Also, if you do write it, please tag me, I don't want to miss it for the world <3

Title: The Price of Pride

Summary: Harry's pride and stubbornness drive a wedge between him and Gawain, leading to a heated sparring match that becomes a battleground for their unresolved feelings.

Pairing: Harry Hart × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Jealousy.

Author's Notes: Hii! @leylovestaytay and @shamelesstrekkie13 😊 First of all, welcome to the Kingsman obsession club—Harry and Merlin are just too irresistible, aren’t they? Your request has me grinning because, oh boy, who doesn’t love a good groveling trope? I can totally imagine Harry or Merlin having to do some serious damage control after snapping at the reader. I’m definitely up for writing this. Thanks for the awesome idea, and stay tuned! 💖

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Harry’s hands trembled with barely contained rage as he stormed into the dimly lit safehouse, his usually impeccable composure shattered by the events of the day. The mission had been a disaster from start to finish, and the humiliation of failing a mission—a task that had always come so naturally to him—was like a knife to the heart. But the worst part, the part that made his blood boil, was Chester, the current Arthur, who had the audacity to make fun of him, to belittle him in front of the others.

And to add insult to injury, the one person who had saved his ass on that mission, who had pulled him back from the brink of failure, was the same person now standing in front of him, trying to offer him comfort—Agent Gawain. You.

You watched Harry from across the room, your heart aching as you saw the torment etched across his usually stoic face. You knew how much pride he took in his work, how much it meant to him to be the best, to maintain the perfect image of a Kingsman. And today, that image had been shattered. You wanted to help him, to console him, but you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes, the way his jaw clenched and his fists curled at his sides.

"Harry," you said softly, taking a tentative step toward him, your voice filled with concern. "It wasn’t your fault. The mission… it was unpredictable. You did everything you could—"

"Don’t," Harry snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His brown eyes were dark, filled with a fury you had never seen before, and it made you stop in your tracks, your heart skipping a beat. "Don’t try to console me, Gawain. You have no idea what it’s like to fail like this. To be humiliated in front of the entire organization, to be mocked by Chester of all people."

You flinched at the venom in his words, the way he spat out Chester’s name like it was poison. "Harry, I’m just trying to help—"

"Help?" Harry let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and grating. He took a step toward you, his presence overwhelming as he loomed over you, his height and intensity making you feel small, insignificant. "You want to help me, do you? Is that why you saved my sorry ass on the mission? To play the hero, to swoop in and save Galahad like some knight in shining armor?"

You shook your head, your chest tightening with the weight of his anger, his words cutting deeper than you could have ever anticipated. "No, Harry, that’s not it at all. I just… I didn’t want you to get hurt."

"Didn’t want me to get hurt?" Harry repeated, his voice dripping with mockery. "Is that really what this is about, Gawain? Or is it because of that little crush you’ve been nursing for me? Did you think saving me would make me finally notice you, that it would make me see you as something more than just another agent?"

You felt your heart drop at his words, the sting of his mockery hitting you like a physical blow. You had never been able to hide your feelings for Harry, your admiration for him that had grown into something much deeper, much more complicated. But hearing him throw it back in your face, using it as a weapon against you, was something you hadn’t been prepared for.

"Harry, please," you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to keep your composure, even as your vision blurred with unshed tears. "That’s not what this is about. I care about you, yes, but I would have done the same for any of my fellow agents. You know that."

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer as he took another step closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "Care about me? Is that what you call it? Do you know what I think, Gawain? I think you’re just a pathetic little schoolgirl, clinging to some fantasy of what we could be, when the reality is that you’re nothing more than a distraction."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. You had always known that your feelings for Harry were one-sided, that he would never see you in the same way, but hearing him say it out loud, in such a cruel, dismissive way, was almost too much to bear.

"You think that by saving me, by trying to console me now, you can somehow make yourself more than what you are?" Harry continued, his voice cold and cutting as he advanced on you, his presence overwhelming. "You’re delusional, Gawain. I don’t need your pity, your concern, or your so-called care. What I need is for you to stay the hell out of my way."

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. "I’m not trying to get in your way, Harry," you whispered, your voice trembling with the effort it took to keep it steady. "I just want to help you. I want to be there for you."

"Be there for me?" Harry’s laugh was harsh, almost cruel, as he looked down at you, his brown eyes filled with disdain. "You’re not there for me, Gawain. You’re nothing more than a distraction, a hindrance. Your feelings for me, your pathetic little crush, are nothing but a burden that I’ve had to carry. And you know what? I’m tired of it. I’m tired of you."

The finality of his words hit you like a slap to the face, the coldness in his voice making it clear that he meant every word. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces, the weight of his rejection, his anger, almost too much to bear.

Harry’s gaze bore into you, his eyes dark and unforgiving as he took one last step toward you, his voice dropping to a low, menacing whisper. "You think I don’t know what you want, Gawain? You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me, the way your eyes linger on me, the way you practically beg for my attention? You’re nothing but a desperate little girl, clinging to a fantasy that will never, ever come true."

You could feel the tears streaming down your face now, hot and unchecked, as you looked up at him, your heart breaking with every word he spoke. You had never felt so small, so insignificant, so utterly worthless.

"And you know what the worst part is?" Harry continued, his voice low and filled with contempt as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You actually thought you had a chance. You thought that saving me, that being there for me, would make me see you differently. But let me make one thing perfectly clear, Gawain—I will never, ever feel the same way about you. You’re just another agent, nothing more."

You felt your knees buckle under the weight of his words, your body trembling as you tried to hold yourself together, to keep from falling apart completely. But it was no use. The pain was too much, the anguish too overwhelming.

Harry stepped back, his expression cold and impassive as he looked down at you, his voice devoid of any warmth, any compassion. "Now get out of my sight, Gawain. And don’t ever try to console me again."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, shattered and broken, the pieces of your heart scattered at your feet. You watched him go, your vision blurred with tears, your body trembling with the effort it took to keep from collapsing.

You had always known that Harry was a man of control, a man who prided himself on his stoicism, his ability to remain calm and composed in any situation. But today, that control had slipped, and you had seen a side of him that you had never seen before—a side that was cruel, cutting, and utterly devastating.

And as you stood there, alone and broken, you couldn’t help but wonder if you would ever be able to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, or if you would be forever haunted by the memory of Harry’s words, the coldness in his eyes, the finality of his rejection.

The days following Harry’s cruel words were some of the hardest you had ever endured. You did as he asked, staying out of his way, not even greeting him when the two of you passed side by side in the corridors. You didn’t look at him during the weekly meetings, where all the agents gathered to deal with Arthur. You interacted with everyone except Harry, and when you had to address him, you treated him as Galahad, with a cold, distant professionalism that cut deeper than any insult.

Harry noticed the change immediately. It was as if a light had been extinguished. Your jokes, your infectious laughter, your kind words—you still shared them with everyone else, but never with him. To you, he was no longer Harry, your mentor, your friend, the man you had admired and cared for. He was just Galahad, a title and nothing more.

At first, Harry tried to tell himself that this was what he wanted. That it was better this way, that you were just a distraction he could do without. But as the days passed, he found himself missing the sound of your voice, the way you used to tease him, the way you would light up any room you entered. The absence of your warmth, your light, left a void that he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he tried.

It didn’t help that Merlin had begun to notice the tension between you and Harry. Merlin was nothing if not observant, and it didn’t take long for him to piece together that something was wrong. He saw the way you avoided Harry’s gaze, the way you stiffened whenever he entered a room, the way you now treated him with a cold formality that was so unlike you.

One afternoon, after a particularly tense meeting where you had barely acknowledged Harry’s presence, Merlin decided it was time to confront him. He found Harry in the training room, where he was taking out his frustrations on a punching bag, his movements sharp and aggressive, each punch landing with a force that betrayed the turmoil inside him.

“Harry,” Merlin called out, his voice steady but laced with concern as he approached. Harry didn’t stop, didn’t even look up, his focus entirely on the bag in front of him. But Merlin wasn’t one to be ignored.

“Harry!” Merlin’s voice was firmer this time, and finally, Harry stopped, his chest heaving with exertion as he turned to face his old friend.

“What is it, Merlin?” Harry’s tone was clipped, his expression hard as he grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze unwavering as he studied Harry. “Something’s going on between you and Gawain. What the hell happened?”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing at the mention of your name. “Nothing that concerns you, Merlin.”

“Bollocks,” Merlin shot back, not missing a beat. “It concerns all of us when two of our best agents can’t even look at each other, let alone work together. I’ve known you for too long, Harry. You don’t just snap at people like that for no reason. What did you do?"

Harry turned away, his shoulders tense as he tried to brush off the conversation. “It’s nothing. Just leave it alone.”

But Merlin wasn’t having it. He stepped closer, his voice lowering as he pressed on. “Did you hurt her, Harry? Did you push her away?”

Harry’s frustration flared as Merlin’s words struck a nerve. The accusation, the implication that he had done something wrong, only added to the boiling anger that had been simmering within him since that disastrous mission. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he stared at Merlin, his mind racing with the injustice of it all.

“Why do you assume it’s my fault?” Harry snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. “Why not Gawain? Why am I the one to blame here?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow, his expression unyielding as he met Harry’s gaze. “Because we both know that Gawain would never willingly hurt you, Harry. The girl worships the ground you walk on. She hangs on your every word, looks at you like you hung the stars. Hell, some of the other agents have even gotten a bit jealous of the way she treats you, the attention you receive. And you—”

“I didn’t ask for any of that,” Harry interrupted, his tone defensive as he turned away, trying to escape the weight of Merlin’s words. But the truth of them clung to him, gnawing at the edges of his conscience. He knew how you looked at him, the admiration in your eyes, the way you would brighten whenever he entered a room. It had been both flattering and overwhelming, but he had always tried to maintain a professional distance, to keep things strictly business between the two of you.

But now, as Merlin’s words sank in, he realized just how much he had come to rely on that admiration, on the warmth and light you brought into his life. And now that it was gone, the absence of it left him feeling hollow, like something vital had been stripped away.

Merlin stepped closer, his voice dropping to a gentler tone as he pressed on. “Harry, what did you say to her? Whatever it was, it broke her. She’s not the same. She barely looks at you, barely acknowledges you. You’ve hurt her deeply, and I can see it’s eating away at you too. So, what did you do?”

Harry’s jaw clenched, the memories of that night in the safehouse flooding back—the anger, the frustration, the venom he had unleashed on you in a moment of weakness. He had said things he didn’t mean, used your feelings against you in the cruelest way possible, all because he couldn’t handle his own emotions, his own failure.

But now, you were paying the price for his mistakes, and it tore him apart.

“I… I was angry,” Harry admitted, his voice thick with regret as he finally turned to face Merlin again, the anguish evident in his eyes. “I said things I shouldn’t have, things I didn’t mean. I pushed her away, Merlin. I broke her.”

Merlin’s expression softened, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features as he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Then you need to fix it, Harry. You need to make this right.”

“How?” Harry’s voice cracked with the weight of his guilt, his brown eyes filled with a desperation that Merlin hadn’t seen in him before. “She won’t even look at me now, won’t acknowledge that I exist. She’s gone cold, Merlin. And I deserve it. But I don’t know how to reach her, how to make her see that I—”

“That you what?” Merlin prompted gently, his gaze steady as he watched his old friend struggle with the words.

Harry swallowed hard, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. “That I care about her. That I miss her. Damn it, Merlin, I miss her so much it hurts.”

Merlin nodded slowly, his eyes filled with understanding. “Then you need to tell her that, Harry. You need to show her that you’re willing to crawl back, to earn her forgiveness. Because right now, she doesn’t think you care. And if you don’t do something soon, she might not give you the chance to prove otherwise.”

Harry’s heart sank at the truth of Merlin’s words. He had pushed you away, shattered the trust and admiration you had held for him, and now he was faced with the impossible task of mending what he had broken. The thought of you, the way you used to joke and laugh, your infectious smile that had always brightened his day, now replaced with cold indifference—it was unbearable.

And yet, you had every right to treat him that way. After all, he had been the one to throw your feelings back in your face, to reduce you to nothing more than a distraction. The weight of his actions pressed down on him, suffocating him with guilt and regret.

For days, he tried to find the courage to approach you, to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness. But every time he saw you—sitting quietly in the briefing room, your eyes avoiding his, your smile reserved for everyone but him—the words would die in his throat. He had hurt you too deeply, and now, it seemed, you had built a wall between you, one that he didn’t know how to break through.

And so, he began to retreat, letting the shame and guilt consume him, until one day, when he found himself standing outside your door, his heart pounding in his chest. He had rehearsed what he wanted to say a thousand times, but as he stood there, the words seemed inadequate, insufficient to convey the depth of his regret, his longing to make things right.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly, his heart in his throat as he waited for you to answer. When the door finally opened, and you stood there, looking up at him with that same cold, distant expression that had haunted him for weeks, his resolve nearly crumbled.

But he couldn’t back down now. He had to try.

“Gawain,” Harry began, his voice rough with emotion as he looked into your eyes, hoping—praying—that he could find a way to reach you. “I need to talk to you. Please… can we talk?”

You looked at Harry for a moment, your expression unreadable as you stood in the doorway, your hand resting on the handle of your suitcase. The sight of him standing there, his posture slightly slumped, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and desperation, stirred something deep within you, but you quickly squashed it down, refusing to let him see how much his presence affected you.

"Make it quick, Galahad," you said, your voice cool, almost detached, as you turned back into the room, leaving the door open behind you. You didn’t wait for him to follow you, moving to the small desk in the corner of the office and beginning to gather the last of your things. The room was a fraction of the size of Harry’s own office in the Kingsman mansion, but it had been yours—a space where you could work, think, and be alone when you needed to.

Harry entered the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He stood awkwardly near the doorway, his eyes scanning the space as if seeing it for the first time. It wasn’t the first time he had been in your office, but it was the first time he had really paid attention to the place—the small, tidy desk, the bookshelf lined with mission files and personal mementos, the single chair tucked neatly into the corner. It was all so much like you—efficient, organized, but with a touch of warmth that had always drawn him in, even if he hadn’t realized it before.

You continued to sort through the papers on your desk, your movements precise and deliberate, as if you were trying to keep yourself busy, to avoid looking at him. "What do you want, Galahad?" you asked, your tone flat, as if you were asking about the weather.

Harry hesitated, the words he had rehearsed in his mind suddenly feeling inadequate, but he knew he couldn’t back down now. He had to make this right, even if you wouldn’t let him.

"I wanted to apologize," Harry said finally, his voice soft, almost tentative, as he took a step closer. He tried to keep his tone measured, his words carefully chosen, but the anguish in his heart made it hard to maintain the stoic façade he usually wore so effortlessly. "For what I said… that day. I was angry—furious, really—and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t deserve it, Gawain. None of it."

You didn’t look up, your hands continuing to move through the papers, straightening them, placing them in neat piles, as if you hadn’t heard him at all. Your silence, your indifference, was like a knife twisting in his chest, but he pressed on, desperate to make you understand.

"I know I hurt you," Harry continued, his voice trembling slightly as he forced himself to keep going. "And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Gawain. I never should have said those things, and I—"

"It’s fine, Galahad," you interrupted, your tone clipped, as you set down the papers and finally turned to face him. There was no warmth in your eyes, no trace of the affection that had once been there, and it made Harry’s heart ache. "It’s in the past. Let’s just… leave it there."

Harry felt his chest tighten at your words, at the cold, distant way you dismissed him, as if everything he had just said meant nothing. He had expected anger, or maybe even tears, but not this—this cold indifference that made him feel like he was talking to a stranger.

"But it’s not fine," Harry said, his voice growing more urgent, more desperate, as he took another step toward you. "It’s not in the past, Gawain. I see the way you look at me now—the way you don’t look at me. You’ve shut me out, and I can’t… I can’t bear it. I miss you. I miss your jokes, your smile, the way you light up every room you enter. I miss the way you used to look at me, with that admiration in your eyes. I miss you, Gawain. And I’m sorry—"

"Enough," you cut him off again, your voice firm as you held up a hand to stop him. You didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to let him back in, didn’t want to let yourself feel the pain that his words were stirring up inside you. You had spent weeks building up these walls, weeks trying to protect yourself from the hurt he had caused, and you weren’t going to let him tear them down now.

"It’s done, Harry," you said, your voice steady but devoid of emotion as you looked him in the eye. "You said what you needed to say, and I’ve heard it. But I’m not going to pretend that things can just go back to the way they were. You made it very clear that I’m nothing more than a distraction to you, and I’ve accepted that. So let’s just move on."

Harry looked at the ground, his mind swirling with emotions he couldn't quite name. He had come here to make amends, to try and salvage what he could of your relationship, but now, faced with your cold indifference, he found himself at a loss. The warmth, the light that had once radiated from you, was gone, replaced by a wall of icy detachment that he didn't know how to penetrate. It was as if the person who had always been by his side, supporting him with your jokes and infectious laughter, had disappeared, leaving only a hollow shell in their place.

For a moment, Harry considered pressing further, considered trying one last time to break through the barrier you had put up between you. But the words caught in his throat, the weight of your rejection pressing down on him like a physical force. He couldn't bear the thought of humiliating himself further, of begging for forgiveness that you seemed unwilling to give.

So, he did what he always did when faced with emotions too complex to handle—he suppressed them. With a deep breath, Harry forced his features into a mask of indifference, schooling his expression into the stoic, unflappable demeanor that had become his trademark. He had tried to make things right, and if you couldn't accept his apology, then that was your problem, not his.

"Very well," Harry said, his voice cool, detached, as he looked up at you with an expression that betrayed none of the turmoil he felt inside. "I hope this... unfortunate conflict won't affect our ability to work together in the future."

You snorted at his words, a sound that was equal parts derision and disbelief. The sound grated on Harry's nerves, but he kept his composure, refusing to let you see how much it affected him. If this was how you wanted to play it, then so be it.

Without another word, Harry turned on his heel and walked toward the door, his steps measured and controlled. But as he reached the doorway, something inside him snapped, a flicker of the anger and frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface. He pushed the door closed behind him with more force than he intended, the sharp click of the latch echoing through the room.

Fine, he thought bitterly as he stalked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the silence. If you wanted to shut him out, then he would let you. He wouldn't humiliate himself further by groveling at your feet, by begging for something that clearly wasn't there anymore. He had his pride, after all, and he wasn't about to let it be trampled on by someone who had decided he was nothing more than a distraction.

He had tried to apologize, had swallowed his pride and admitted his faults. If you couldn't see past your own hurt to forgive him, then perhaps you weren't as mature as he had once thought. Perhaps you were still nothing more than a child, clinging to a fantasy that would never come true.

Harry's thoughts grew darker as he made his way through the corridors of the mansion, his mind racing with a mix of frustration and regret. He couldn't shake the image of your cold, distant eyes, the way you had dismissed him as if he meant nothing. It stung, more than he cared to admit, but he refused to let it show. He was Harry Hart, after all—Agent Galahad. He had faced down enemies far more dangerous than this, had endured pain far worse than the sting of a broken heart. He would survive this, just as he had survived everything else.

The next morning, Harry arrived at the training facility, his usual impeccable composure firmly in place. The early hours were always reserved for physical training, and today was no different. The large, open space was already buzzing with activity as agents honed their skills under Merlin’s watchful eye.

Harry forced himself to focus on the task at hand, determined to push the previous day’s events out of his mind. He needed to regain control, to reassert his dominance as one of the top agents in Kingsman. But as soon as he walked into the training area, his eyes found you, and all his resolve crumbled.

You were sparring with James, the current Lancelot, and to Harry’s irritation, the two of you seemed to be enjoying yourselves far too much. James was a notorious flirt, a man who had always tried his luck with the female agents, but until now, you had never reciprocated. Yet here you were, laughing at something he said, your eyes bright with amusement as you effortlessly blocked one of his punches.

Harry’s jaw tightened as he watched the scene unfold, his chest tightening with an emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge. He had no right to feel this way—not after what he had said to you, not after pushing you away so cruelly. But the sight of James flirting with you, and worse, the way you seemed to be responding to it, sent a wave of jealousy crashing through him.

He tried to focus on his own training, to throw himself into the exercises with the same intensity he usually did, but his eyes kept drifting back to you and James. Every time he saw you smile at him, every time he heard you laugh at one of his stupid jokes, Harry felt his blood pressure rise.

James was relentless, his flirting becoming more blatant with each passing minute. At one point, he leaned in close, his hand brushing against your arm as he whispered something in your ear that made you laugh. The sound, once so sweet to Harry’s ears, now grated on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

Harry’s fists clenched as he watched James step back, a cocky grin on his face as he squared off against you again. The two of you moved in a graceful, almost choreographed dance, your bodies in perfect sync as you sparred. But it wasn’t the skillful movements or the precision of your strikes that caught Harry’s attention—it was the way you were looking at James, the way your eyes sparkled with something more than just amusement.

The irritation that had been simmering beneath the surface all morning finally bubbled over. Harry’s punches became more aggressive, his movements sharp and jerky as he tried to burn off the anger coursing through him. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to acknowledge the jealousy that was eating away at him, but he couldn’t deny the truth.

He was angry. Angry at James for flirting with you, angry at you for reciprocating, but most of all, angry at himself for pushing you away in the first place. This was his fault—he had driven you to this, driven you into the arms of another man. And now, he was paying the price.

Harry knew he had no right to feel this way, knew that he had forfeited any claim to you the moment he had spoken those cruel words. But that didn’t stop the jealousy from gnawing at him, from making his blood boil every time he saw you smile at James.

"Nice form, Galahad," Merlin’s voice cut through Harry’s thoughts, jolting him back to reality. The older man was standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed the training session. His sharp eyes took in every detail, missing nothing.

Harry nodded curtly, forcing himself to focus. "Thank you, Merlin," he replied, his voice clipped as he delivered another precise punch to the training dummy. But his mind wasn’t on his training—it was on you, and the way you were still laughing with James.

Merlin’s gaze followed Harry’s line of sight, and he raised an eyebrow as he noticed the interaction between you and Lancelot. A knowing look passed over his face, and he let out a quiet sigh. "You’ve got work to do, Harry," he said quietly, his voice laced with sympathy. "She’s not going to forgive you easily. You’ll have to crawl a lot to earn her trust back."

Harry attacked the training dummy with renewed aggression, his fists slamming into the padded target with a force that was almost reckless. He barely heard Merlin’s sigh of exasperation as he muttered to himself, his words laced with bitterness. “I’m done, Merlin. I apologized last night. I did what I could. If she wants to ignore me, so be it. I’m not chasing after her anymore.”

Merlin shook his head, clearly irritated by Harry’s stubbornness. “You’re acting like a damn teenager, Harry,” he muttered, crossing his arms as he watched his old friend take out his frustration on the inanimate target. “You care about her, and she cares about you. But you’ve got to stop being so bloody proud and actually talk to her, not just throw apologies at her feet and expect her to come running.”

Harry didn’t respond, his focus on the training dummy, his knuckles turning white as he continued to land blow after blow. The truth in Merlin’s words stung, but he was too angry, too frustrated to admit it. He had tried—he had swallowed his pride, bared his soul, and all he got in return was cold indifference. What more was he supposed to do?

Suddenly, a sound drew their attention, and both men turned to see you and James in the midst of what appeared to be a playful tussle. James was lying flat on the mat, a wide grin on his face, while you straddled him, your hands pinning his wrists to the ground. The sight made Harry’s stomach twist with an emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge—jealousy, burning and raw.

James, never one to miss an opportunity, chuckled up at you, his voice low and teasing. “I’ve always loved a woman who knows how to take control,” he said, a playful gleam in his eye. His words earned a laugh from you, the sound light and genuine, and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you released his wrists and helped him to his feet.

“Is that so, Lancelot?” you quipped, a teasing smile on your lips. “You might want to be careful with that kind of talk. You never know when someone might take you seriously.”

James flashed you a grin, clearly enjoying the banter. “With you, Gawain, I’d gladly take my chances.”

Harry scoffed under his breath, turning his back on the scene, his eyes narrowing as he resumed his assault on the training dummy. “Isn’t James a little too old for you?” he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He landed a particularly vicious punch, the force of it making the dummy sway. “For the love of God…”

Merlin, still standing nearby, couldn’t hide the frustration in his voice as he observed Harry’s childish behavior. “You’re really going to stand there and sulk while she’s right there, laughing and having a good time? Maybe if you stopped being so bloody stubborn, you’d realize that she’s still the same woman you’ve always admired—she’s just hurting.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond, focusing instead on the rhythmic pounding of his fists against the dummy. He couldn’t let go of the anger, the bitterness that clung to him like a second skin. He had tried to make amends, and you had brushed him off. What was he supposed to do—grovel?

Across the room, James glanced over at Harry, his expression thoughtful as he caught the tension in his old friend’s posture. He knew Harry well enough to recognize when he was struggling with something, and he also knew that this tension between Harry and you wasn’t doing anyone any favors.

James leaned in closer to you, his voice low and conspiratorial. “You know, if you really want to get under Harry’s skin, you should keep doing exactly what you’re doing.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what exactly am I doing, Lancelot?”

James smirked, glancing over at Harry’s back, which was still turned to the both of you. “You’re driving him absolutely mad. I think he’s seconds away from ripping that dummy to shreds.”

You chuckled, though there was a hint of sadness in your eyes. “I’m not trying to drive him mad, James. I’m just… I’m tired of feeling like I’m chasing after something that’s never going to happen.”

James softened at your words, his teasing demeanor shifting to something more serious. “Gawain, Harry’s a stubborn bastard, we both know that. But he cares about you. He just doesn’t know how to show it, especially when he’s hurt you the way he has.”

You sighed, glancing over at Harry’s back, your expression conflicted. “I don’t know, James. It’s just… it’s been hard, you know? I thought we had something, and then he just—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head as you tried to push the painful memories aside.

James placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Give him time. He’s not the best at dealing with his emotions, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. He cares, Gawain. He just needs to pull his head out of his arse long enough to admit it.”

You gave him a small, grateful smile, but the sadness in your eyes remained. “Thanks, James. But I’m not holding my breath.”

As you turned back to your training, Merlin approached Harry, who was still pounding away at the dummy with unrelenting force. “You know,” Merlin said, his tone mild but pointed, “if you keep pretending you don’t care, you’re going to lose her. And judging by the way you’re acting, I’d say that’s the last thing you want.”

Harry paused, his fists hovering in mid-air as Merlin’s words sank in. He glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of you and James, still chatting and laughing together, and a wave of frustration and helplessness washed over him. Merlin was right, of course. He was acting like a fool, letting his pride and anger cloud his judgment. But admitting that—admitting that he had been wrong, that he needed you—wasn’t something Harry was used to. He had built his life on control, on maintaining a calm, collected façade, and now that it was slipping, he didn’t know how to handle it.

“Maybe she’s better off without me,” Harry muttered, more to himself than to Merlin. “I’ve already caused her enough pain.”

Merlin let out a long, exasperated sigh. “You’ve both caused each other pain, Harry. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. You just need to stop being so damn stubborn and talk to her. Really talk to her.”

Harry didn’t respond, his gaze drifting back to the training dummy, but his mind was elsewhere—on you, on the way you had smiled at James, on the way his words had made you laugh. The thought of you moving on, of finding happiness with someone else, sent a fresh stab of jealousy through him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you deserved better. Better than a man who had pushed you away, better than someone who had let his pride get in the way of something real.

But as he watched you from across the room, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late—if he had already lost you to the easy charm of someone like James, someone who could make you laugh without the baggage that Harry carried.

And as he turned back to the training dummy, his fists clenched at his sides, Harry couldn’t help but curse himself for being so blind.

After James finished his workout, he gave you a warm smile, wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel. "Good work today, Gawain," he said, his tone light but sincere. "If you ever get tired of Galahad’s grumpiness, you know where to find me." He winked, his flirtatious nature coming through even in his goodbyes.

You chuckled, giving him a playful nudge. "I’ll keep that in mind, Lancelot. See you around." With that, James headed toward the showers, leaving you alone in the training room, your mind still spinning from the morning’s events.

You turned back to your equipment, trying to focus on packing up, but you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t need to look to know who it was; the air seemed to shift when Harry was near, and the tension between you was almost palpable. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever was coming.

Harry wasted no time in approaching you, trying to appear casual and nonchalant, but the set of his shoulders and the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. He was nervous, though he would never admit it. "Gawain," he began, his voice smooth but with an undercurrent of something deeper. "Mind if we train together for a bit? I could use the workout, and it’s been a while since we’ve sparred."

You hesitated, your first instinct was to refuse. After everything that had happened, you weren’t sure you were ready to spend time alone with him, not when the wounds were still so fresh. But another part of you, the part that knew you couldn’t ignore Harry forever, reminded you that this was bound to happen eventually. The two of you were partners, after all, and sooner or later, you’d have to learn how to work together again.

With a slight nod, you agreed. "Sure, Galahad. Let’s do it." Your voice was calm, but you couldn’t hide the slight tremor in it, nor the way your heart raced at the prospect of being so close to him again.

Harry’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—relief, perhaps, or maybe just a hint of the old warmth that used to be there before everything had gone so wrong. "Great," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "Let’s start with some hand-to-hand."

You both moved to the center of the mat, assuming your stances. There was a moment of hesitation, a brief pause where neither of you moved, as if you were both waiting for the other to make the first move, not just in the sparring match but in the fragile reconciliation that lay just beneath the surface.

Then, as if by mutual agreement, you both lunged at the same time. The first few exchanges were cautious, testing the waters, feeling out each other’s rhythm. But as the sparring session continued, the tension began to melt away, replaced by the familiar push and pull of two well-matched partners.

It was almost easy to fall back into the rhythm, to let muscle memory take over, and for a while, it felt like old times. Harry’s movements were precise, controlled, but there was a fire in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in weeks. He was pushing you, challenging you, and you met him move for move, refusing to back down.

But there was something different, too—a simmering undercurrent of tension that hadn’t been there before. Every brush of his hand against yours, every time he managed to pin you, every time you escaped his grasp, it all felt charged, electric, like there was something more beneath the surface that neither of you was quite ready to acknowledge.

At one point, Harry managed to get you into a hold, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close against his chest. You could feel the heat of his breath on your neck, the hard lines of his body pressing into yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. His grip on you was firm, but not painful, and the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, made your breath catch in your throat.

"Not bad," Harry murmured in your ear, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. "But you’ll have to do better than that if you want to take me down."

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips, the sound breathless and a little shaky. "I’m just getting started," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, but the way your heart was pounding made it difficult.

With a sudden burst of energy, you twisted in his grip, using his own momentum against him to break free. Harry grunted in surprise, but he recovered quickly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he adjusted his stance. "Impressive," he said, his tone both teasing and admiring. "You’ve definitely gotten stronger."

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but the compliment sent a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. "I’ve had a good teacher," you replied, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The moment they left your mouth, you felt a pang of regret, worried that you had said too much, revealed too much.

Harry’s eyes darkened, the playful glint replaced by something more serious, more intense. "I’m glad to hear that," he said quietly, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that small space, connected by something neither of you fully understood.

The sparring match continued, but the mood had shifted. The movements were more fluid now, more synchronized, as if the two of you had fallen into a rhythm that was all your own. There was still the push and pull, the challenge of trying to outmaneuver each other, but there was also something else—a closeness, an intimacy that neither of you had been willing to acknowledge before.

At one point, you managed to get the upper hand, pinning Harry to the mat, your knees on either side of his hips as you held him down. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, and for a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the tension that hung heavy in the air.

"You’ve got me," Harry murmured, his voice low and rough, the words sending a shiver down your spine. "But the question is, what are you going to do with me?"

The double meaning in his words wasn’t lost on you, and you felt a flush rise to your cheeks, your heart racing as you tried to figure out how to respond. But before you could say anything, Harry shifted beneath you, using his strength to flip you onto your back, reversing the position so that he was the one pinning you.

His body was pressed against yours, his hands on either side of your head, his face inches from yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the way his chest heaved with each breath, and the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, was almost overwhelming.

"I’ve got you now," Harry said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, his brown eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "What are you going to do about it, Gawain?"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him, your mind racing with a thousand different thoughts, none of which made any sense. There was a part of you that wanted to push him away, to put distance between you, to protect yourself from the confusion, the hurt that still lingered from everything that had happened.

But there was another part of you, a part that you had been trying to ignore for weeks, that wanted nothing more than to close the gap between you, to give in to the tension that had been building between you for so long. You could see it in his eyes, the way he was looking at you, like he was waiting for something, like he wanted to see what you would do next.

Your breathing quickened, your pulse racing as you considered your options. You could push him away, keep things professional, pretend that nothing had changed. Or you could do something reckless, something that could change everything between you.

As you lay there, pinned beneath Harry, the heat of his body pressing into yours, the weight of his gaze holding you in place, a surge of emotions flooded through you—desire, confusion, and something else, something darker. The closeness between you was almost suffocating, the intensity of the moment making it hard to think clearly. For a brief second, you considered giving in, letting yourself get lost in the moment, in the way Harry was looking at you, like you were the only person in the world.

But then, as if a switch had been flipped, the memory of his cruel words, the way he had mocked your feelings, throwing them back in your face like they meant nothing, came rushing back. The pain, the humiliation, the anger—it all hit you like a tidal wave, dousing the spark of desire that had ignited within you.

Suddenly, the weight of Harry’s body wasn’t comforting—it was suffocating. The intensity of his gaze wasn’t exciting—it was oppressive. The closeness between you wasn’t something to savor—it was something to escape.

With a sharp push, you shoved Harry back, forcing him off of you. The movement was so sudden, so unexpected, that Harry nearly lost his balance, his eyes widening in surprise as he scrambled to regain his footing. The look in his eyes was one of shock, confusion, and maybe even a touch of hurt, but you didn’t care. The anger, the resentment that had been simmering beneath the surface since that day in the safehouse had finally boiled over, and you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

"You win, Galahad," you said, your voice cold, distant, as you pushed yourself up off the mat. The words were sharp, cutting, meant to put distance between you, to remind him that this was just a training exercise, that whatever had happened between you before meant nothing now. "Thank you for the training."

The formal tone in your voice, the way you addressed him by his title rather than his name, made it clear that you were done—done with whatever this was, done with him. You weren’t going to let him hurt you again, weren’t going to let him use your feelings against you.

Harry watched you in silence, his expression unreadable, but you could see the tension in his posture, the way his fists clenched at his sides, as if he was holding back something—words, emotions, you weren’t sure. But you didn’t care. You couldn’t let yourself care.

Without another word, you turned and walked over to where your bottle of water sat on a nearby bench. You grabbed it, taking a long drink, letting the cool liquid soothe the fire in your chest, the anger that still burned hotly within you. You didn’t look back at Harry, didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the hurt, the frustration that still lingered in your eyes.

When you finally turned around, bottle in hand, Harry was still standing there, his brown eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. But you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, detached, as if he were just another agent, just another colleague.

"Goodbye, Galahad," you said, your voice cool and professional as you nodded at him, the formal tone making it clear that this was the end of the conversation. Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked out of the training room, your steps measured and controlled, your heart pounding in your chest.

Harry stood there, watching you go, the tension in his body palpable, the regret and frustration clear in his eyes. He knew he had messed up—knew that he had hurt you, driven you away, and now, he was paying the price. He had tried to make things right, tried to bridge the gap between you, but it was clear that he had a long way to go before you would even consider forgiving him.

As the door closed behind you, Harry let out a low, frustrated growl, his fists clenching at his sides. He had underestimated just how deeply he had hurt you, how much damage his words had done. And now, he was left standing there, alone, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a physical burden.

He knew he had a long road ahead of him if he ever wanted to earn your forgiveness, if he ever wanted to see that light, that warmth, in your eyes again. And as he stood there, his heart heavy with regret, he realized that he would have to work harder than he ever had before.

Because losing you—truly losing you—was something he couldn’t bear.

[runnning-outof-time]

Another little request, please don't mind the spam if you don't feel inspired c: <3 "I didn't get your name" + Arthur please!

Thanks so much for sending some extra Arthur in, Shark @call-sign-shark ! I greatly appreciate it! I know I said it before, but it was fun to end this celebration off by showing some love to him…and I wouldn’t be writing for Arthur Shelby if I didn’t add some of his violent self into one of these stories. That’s where I went with this one…trust me, it makes sense…….I think. I hope you like it! Enjoy! :)

Oh and this is the last blurb of this celebration! Thank you to all who read these!! I can’t believe I’ve finally finished writing them!

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration — find more stories here!

What A Way to Meet Your Boss

Arthur Shelby x Reader

Warnings: language, series typical violence, use of derogatory name

Word Count: around 1k (I’m too lazy to find the count)

Summary: (Y/N) meets one of her bosses in a rather…unconventional way. Or maybe it’s very conventional considering the company she works for.

(Y/N) had just finished her tasks for the evening. She made sure that all of her materials were put in places where she could quickly find them tomorrow before grabbing her coat and purse. She exited the Shelby Company Limited building then, ready to get home and relax.

But of course, Birmingham had different plans for her.

“Women as pretty as you shouldn’t be walking alone at night,” a man’s voice came from the darkness of the alleyway she’d just passed. (Y/N) willed her feet to keep walking, knowing that things would turn bad if she stopped and entertained this man. Maybe he’d give up.

But it didn’t pan out that way.

Shoes then scuffed on the concrete as his quick steps were heard behind her. “I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you, bitch,” he sneered. (Y/N) quickened her pace. “Fuckin’ get back here!” His angered words were accompanied by a rough hand, and (Y/N) was left defenceless as the man effortlessly pulled her back and into his grips. Her eyes widened as the man’s forearm came into contact with her throat. “Gonna make you pay for ignoring me,” he seethed, his mouth right against her ear. “How about you make it easy for yourself?”

The man couldn’t follow through on what he was going to do because the next thing he knew, he was getting the wind knocked out of him; his arms falling slack from (Y/N)’s frame. She didn’t even stop to look and see what had happened, instead moving as fast as she could to get away from the altercation just as it sounded like someone started to deliver a barrage of punches onto her assailant.

It didn’t take (Y/N) long to notice that there wasn’t even much of a fight when she did finally turn around. The man who had his arm wrapped around her neck seconds ago was now curled into a ball on the ground as he tried to stop the madman that had come to her rescue. Even she flinched as the second man landed one more vicious punch before standing tall over the beaten man.

“Please, please…please be done,” the man pleaded, his voice and body shaking.

“You should know better than to fuck with the Peaky Blinders,” the man standing above him bellowed, his voice one that (Y/N) was familiar with, but couldn’t quite put the name to.

“I…I didn’t know that she was a Peaky woman, Mr. Shelby,” the man made an excuse, still pleading for his life. He couldn’t tell if the animal of a man standing above him was finished or not. Hell, he should have known better than to choose to hang around this part of town. Who would have known there would have been a Shelby in the area though, let alone the worst out there all?

“Peaky woman or not, you lay another fucking finger on any woman and I’ll fucking cut them off. You understand me?” the Shelby man threatened.

��Yes, yes,” the man on the ground was nodding his head profusely within seconds of hearing the other’s threats…which should really be considered promises.

“Now get the fuck outta here before I decide to do it now.” That was all the man needed to hear to scramble to his feet and hurry away from the area. It was evident in his limp that he’d been beaten pretty badly, but that didn’t stop him from running as fast as he could. The man left behind couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched him leave. When he’d finally turned a corner and was out of sight, the man turned to (Y/N). “You alright?” he asked, making his way over to her then.

“Yeah,” she answered with an exhaled breath. “You came before he could do anything. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he brushed her gratitude off, shaking his head slightly. His peaked cap had been returned to his head and was now pulled down, shielding his eyes from her, but she couldn’t miss his prominent mustache. “I could walk you home if you want,” he offered.

“I live a block away,” she answered, a polite smile present on her face.

“Safe travels,” he nodded to her, starting to turn back towards the company building the she’d just left.

“I didn’t get your name,” she quickly called after him, the words leaving her mouth before she could think better of them. She knew he was a Shelby man, but she didn’t know which Shelby man he was.

Her voice made the man stop and turn back to face her. “Arthur Shelby,” he answered simply, lifting his head enough for her to catch a glimpse his full features as they were illuminated by the streetlight.

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby,” she thanked him again, sending a grateful smile his way.

“Happy to have ya workin’ for us, love,” he said, sending a closed mouth smile her way before turning again so that he could walk back to the building she’d left a short while ago.

(Y/N) watched him enter the building before she turned and hurried the rest of her way home. She let out a sigh of relief once she was behind her locked door. What a way to meet your boss, she thought to herself, shaking her head as she headed to her bedroom. What a way indeed.

*tags in reblog so that hopefully they get sent out

MASTERLIST

[bashfullove]

❦Reactions To You Wanting To Draw Them❦

❦Summary: Their beautiful/handsome S/O wants to capture their beauty in pencil

❦Includes: Arthur, Sadie, Javier, Kieran

❦Warnings: none ❦Notes:I know it's very few characters but I tried to write as much as I could. If you want other characters feel free to request it

❦Arthur Morgan❦

"Wait seriously?" It's almost like he doesn't believe you when you ask for the consent to capture his pure bliss and beauty while he fishes. The boat you both sat in rocking very lightly like a mother rocking her newborn's cradle, the fishing rod is in his steady calloused hands while you pinch the pencil between your fingers, etching the features of his jawline on the paper. If Arthur had been so kind before to draw you, why couldn't you return the favour? Plus you never really cared for fishing all that much, you just liked being in the same space as Arthur, breathing the same air, and sharing the perfect silence with a unstressed breeze between you two. And maybe you treated this as an excuse to look at Arthur a little closer than you usually would, admire the finer details of his roughened face. The small scar on his cheek that you never truly figured out the origins of, the small strand of hair that without fault would always end up against his forehead, the bags on his eyes that if they were on anyone else that you wouldn't find too appealing but just because it's on Arthur, your Arthur, its one of those imperfections that turns perfect. His jaw is practically on the floor once you reveal the drawing to him, the details that you've captured in his face that he had only seen as flaws. He wasn't used to this, he was used to capturing the beauty around him, hiding the ugliness away from his drawings, the ugliness which he labelled as himself. Even with a beauty like you beside him he could never find himself all that appealing to look at, let alone put in the work in drawing. He felt flattered thought hat you would take the time to draw him, he knows he's returned the favour more than enough times. Enjoying to draw you when you're grooming your horse, singing at the campfire with Javier, looking so peaceful sleeping beside him, any chance he would take to capture your beauty. And Arthur wouldn't ever admit it, maybe he was too proud or didn't want to look too soft to the others but he would take the drawing you made of him everywhere. That little reminder that even when he thought he was the worst man alive that there was someone back at camp who saw him as perfect

❦Sadie Adler❦

"Draw me? Well if it makes you happy I guess?" She'll pretend that she doesn't care, that it means nothing when you approach her all shy, your leather back journal and pencil in your hands while she's dragging her gun oil soaked rag over her pistol's barrel. Her eyes glancing at you as if its some kind of joke but when she sees your serious, she just shrugs it off and keeps working. She comments that she isn't gonna just sit still for an hour while you draw, she's a busy woman who has work to get done and you understand that. Hoping to get her drawing done quick but with the details you keep getting glimpses of when you pull your vision from the paper to her face make you realise how much more work you'll have to do to get it perfect. But inside, what you don't see, is that Sadie really does care at the idea of her drawing, especially from you. She's always been a secret fan of your little hobby, it was nice to have something that brought you such comfort and calm, she really wished she had something like that before she met you but now she had you, even if she tried to look all tough, she was truly as lovesick as she used to be with her now deceased husband that she is with you. When your eyes aren't on her, she's fixing her hair or clothes, just making sure that you get the best details of her. She doesn't want to look like an outlaw, she wants to look like a normal woman even if she is far from that now. She wants to look normal for you, the contrast between you two was so obvious to her. She could shoot twelve men and not even miss a wink of sleep while you couldn't even shoot a squirrel when you went out hunting with her. She enjoyed your kind heart though, it made her not feel so monsterous for what she's done and all the people she's hurt. She's very patient truly when you need more time to finish, even if before she told you that she wasn't gonna sit still. She knows how much you took pride and patience in your work, she wanted to make sure that your needs were met. And it paid off because when she finally does see the drawing, her heart has swelled holding the leather back journal as she admires your work. She had truly forgotten what she had looked like when she wasn't covered in dirt and blood, the inner beauty of her that you captured physically on the drawing, she just loved you a little more.

❦Javier Escuella❦

"Are you interested in a more intimate portrait?" Don't get me wrong, he is very flattered that you want to sketch him but he has to tease, giving you that sly smirk on his lips while he leans against the tree, his guitar in his lap and you sitting across from him. He sits confidently, trying to get a peak at your work every now and again, making comments at you that almost distract you from your drawing with how much they make your heart flutter. He gives you ideas for the drawing, like how he could look good on his horse, or fighting Micah, anything that makes him look like your personal hero that you already know he is. When you sometimes look up at him, he sends you a quick wink, chuckled at your flustered cheeks and quick change of focus back onto your paper. As much as Javier is teasing and trying to distract you from the work, he has full intentions of sitting right under the tree in the scorching heat until your work would be done to perfection. If you were more than happy to sit with him while he lazily strummed on his guitar, he could be considerate enough to enjoy his time with you while you work on your own hobby. He isn't exactly patient so eventually he leaves his spot, scooting over to you as he rests his chin on your shoulder, looking at your work. His eyes are glued to your fingers which pinch your pencil and move in little scritch scratches on the finer details of his mustache. Careful to keep the strings of his guitar as straight as possible even if there's a little wonky bit every here and now. He thinks it's adorable how focused you are, your eyes glued to the sheet and your tongue sticking out of your mouth every now and again as you concentrate on the proper shading, rubbing your thumb against the paper to smudge the ink

❦Kieran Duffy❦

"I'm nothing special" It makes you frown to hear him say such a thing, turning his back to you when he continues on his chores, not wanting to be a burden to you. Not that he ever was, Kieran was the perfect medium between fantasy and realism. He was perfect to you, since the day you met him in Colter. Sneaking him food when everyone was asleep, on the coldest days when the wind blew harder with every second that burned your exposed skin but it had been worth it to see the small smile on his face when he knew at least there was someone who cared for him. Not many people had ever cared for him, his ma died young and his pa not long after her. He had been alone, every time he met one they would disappear or die around him. Possibly that's why it took so long for him to warm up to you, his fear that the next good thing in his life was gonna disappear. But you refused to take his no or fear for an answer, proving him time and time again that you didn't plan to go anywhere. Even if he would push and push you away, you held on like a tick on a dog, of course a bit more benefitial than a tick for a dog. And maybe it takes a little bit of forcing to get him to just sit down, relax and let you show him that he is a lot more perfect than he thinks so. He's stiff, constantly trying to find an excuse to escape your eyes on him as you concentrate on capturing his finer details. He's fixing his hat to hide his face until you rip the hat away from him, practically begging him to just let you do this and show him in your own eyes, your vision of how perfect the squirmy shy and anxious boy sitting under the tree with you truly is. Once you're finished he's so happy that he has something made by someone only for him, something that he is able to cherish. Even if he will still have his self esteem issues, he will always have his physical representation of the love from his little artist.

❦Thank You For Reading❦

❦Taglist:

❦Bashfullove❦

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Ask and you shall receive :)

2,5,6 + "you like my name? Ok, then moan it." With Polly Gray

Thank you ❤️

Snowed In, Let Me Show you How it’s Done ~Polly Gray xFem Younger(20s)!Reader ~Holiday Bingo

Summary— Polly, the Shelby’s, and Reader, Esme’s cousin, are all stuck in the Shelby Birmingham home due to a show storm. Sparks fly between you and Polly. Anon Response— Hi hi anon!! Thanks for the request. I can absolutely write this! Hope you Enjoy ♥️

Previous Day <—found here!

Holiday Bingo <—Here!!

Mommy�� Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Prompt— Snowed In/Blizzard & “You like my name? Ok, then moan it.”

#2. “Be a good girl and tie yourself to the bed posts”

#5. “Shut up and kiss me already”

#6. “My eyes are up here”

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, smut, age gap (all legal), grinding, eating out, fingering, restraint use, gagging, ball gagging use, teasing, kissing, semi-public teasing, flustering, praise, implied praise kink, implied gagging kink, etc.

Enjoy (;

All the Shelby’s and associates pent up in the Birmingham house was bound for chaos. It was a blizzard. The worst of its kind to ever cross over all of England. And it was hitting Birmingham hard.

The kids were running all around the house, until eventually Arthur shut them up inside the living room, so that the adults could discuss in peace in the betting room.

Aunt Pol sat in her chair in the middle of the big centerpiece table, smoking and chuckling to herself as she watched the hectic dysfunction. Being snowed in was certainly free entertainment for the older woman.

You stood uncomfortably in the corner of the room, unsure of what to do. You were Esme’s cousin, and Esme had invited you over, as she often did. Now you were stuck in the house, with the Shelby’s.

Polly scanned the room and each person her gaze met, before landing on you. She smoked some more and puffed the smoke up in the air, her gaze still on you. Her free hand on the table indicated for you to join her at the table, along with a slight nod of her head.

You timidly came forward, sitting and angling yourself next to the woman with crossed legs. You blushed lightly under the woman’s eyes. The room was anything but silent, but Polly’s silence made all the over sound drown out.

“Your Esme’s cousin, Y/N… right?” She spoke, in a low and inquisitive tone and taking another puff.

“Yes” you said quietly, your head low as you nodded.

“We’ve never officially met…” Aunt Pol hummed, “I’m Polly. Family calls me Aunt Pol.”

Her free hand was now out underneath her table, offering to shake yours. You took a breath, extending your hand and taking hers to shake it. Her grasp was direct and firm, but not overbearing like most of the hands you’d shook. And her hands were silky to the touch, yet still thoroughly worked and rough. The contrast made your head spin.

Hell, her entire demeanor alone just made you dizzy in the head…

Once you let her hand, you immediately missed her touch. But you didn’t have to wait long for more, as Polly’s hand then landed on the knee of your crossed leg. Your breath hitched lightly and you blushed even harder. Polly leaned in closer, and her tone went lower and quieter.

“Tell me about yourself, Darling.”

You gulped and your eyes widened slightly.

How could you refuse this woman..?

“Um…. Well I…” you stammered, your attention and eyes diverted to the woman’s hand slowly creeping up your leg, closer and closer to your inner thigh.

“My eyes are up here…” Polly hums teasingly.

Your eyes shot back up to Polly’s gaze, as they widened even more.

“Sorry Polly…” you whimper, “I… I was married, b-but he died… in the war.”

Polly’s eyes softened, and her hand on your thigh started to rub and caress you caringly.

“Oh Love, I’m sorry… I understand some, my husband died as well.” She cooed softly.

You took a deep breath.

“It’s alright, actually a pretty good thing… he wasn’t… the best…” you quietly admitted.

You tried to convey your certain sense of dislike for your husband, which Polly immediately picked up on.

“Never did the trick, huh…?” She bluntly said, with a teasing edge to her tone.

Your blush tenfolded at her words, and her hand had continued its teasing once more. You shook your head lightly in embarrassment.

“No need to be embarrassed, Love…” Polly immediately cooed, “When’s the last time?”

Her fingers tipped against your closed thighs. You immediately uncrossed your legs, opening them up to the other woman’s access. Polly hummed in satisfaction of your immediate obedience.

“With him. Years ago…” you whispered.

Polly’s eyes widened and her mouth threatened to drop in light shock, instead she took another puff of smoke before smushing the cigarette against the table, effectively putting it out.

Her fingers had crept in your dress and were running light circles over your clothed clit. You sucked in a breath and resisted the urge to roll her eyes back and let out a breathy moan.

“We’ll probably be in this mess for a while… Want help…?” Polly suggestively cooed.

“Ah—I…” you breathily stammered in a groan., “Y-yes please…”

Suddenly her touch was gone, her hand back in her own lap. Polly’s hand on the table reached over and clasped your wrist, tight but not one but painful.

“Upstairs, last room to the right. Left side drawer…” Polly purred in your ear, “Be a good girl and tie yourself to the bed posts.”

Your breath hitched and you nodded slowly.

“Yes Polly…” you whimpered.

You left the betting room first to go up the stairs, and entering into Polly’s room. You look around, finding the bed and immediately stripping down to your undergarments. You got on the bed, reaching into the left side drawer and pulling out some ribbon ties.

Polly left to join you a couple minutes later. She walked into her room, closing and locking the door behind her. Her eyes landed on the sight of you, with one hand tied to the metal head of the bed while struggling to tie your other hand to the opposite end of the metal. Polly smirked.

She had you all to herself. And none in the house, adult or child, was the wiser…

Polly came up to the side of the bed that you couldn’t quite tie your hand to, taking the tie from you.

“Let me.” She said, helping you tie it. She took that moment to allow her gaze to sweep up and down your undressed body. She bit her lip in satisfaction.

Polly then backed away to the edge of the bed to fully examine you. You wiggled against your ties, squirming underneath the woman’s gaze.

“Please Polly…” you whimpered. Polly chuckled. Her gaze made it feel like she was about to pounce on you. And oh how you wanted that so badly…

But instead, the older woman stayed standing before the edge of the bed, as she began stripping. She took off every last piece of clothing, slowly and tantalizingly. You bit your lip, yet still unsuccessful as the whimpers and groans still left your lips.

Polly loved all the sounds she was drawing from you. Finally, she was completely out of clothes to disrobe out of. And the woman finally got on the bed, and crawled up to you.

You immediately opened your legs wide for the woman to crawl in between. Polly did so happily. She hovered over you, her gaze going once more up and down your figure, looking like she was ready to eat you up.

“Do you care about your undergarments…?” Polly inquisitively and lustfully cooed, her eyes darkening as she gazed down at the little clothing you still had on.

“Mmmm not really, cost a bit…” you groaned, arching up into the woman, desperate for any touch. You already knew that her touch made you dizzy. The she made your mind go fuzzy. You wanted more. You wanted her to make you silly, to go dumb from her touch.

“Hmmmm, you’ll have to be quiet…” Polly purred, “Can’t have the family catching on…”

“Mhmmmm just shut up and kiss me already Polly please—!” You groaned, tugging against your restraints again.

Polly only chuckled and pulled away, making you lose hope of any and all touch in the near future. She sat herself at the back of the bed, barely in between your feet.

“Tsk tsk tsk, that’s no way to ask for something, Darling… Use your manners.” Polly cooed wickedly.

“I—no I’m sorry…! Sorry please come back Polly— Need you close please” you stuttered out, your face going deep red as the older woman watched you intently.

She quirked an eyebrow at you. Polly then got on all fours and stalked back up to you, hovering above you once more. She had undone her pinned curls when she had stripped, so as she lowered herself to you, her haired angel’s angelically around her face.

Then Polly’s lips were on yours. It was no question that she was in charge, and that she was dominating the kiss. Your heart was racing at the feeling of her again. You moaned lightly into the kiss, happily letting the older woman take the lead. But she pulled away too fast, making you only want more or her even more so.

“You like my name, Darling…? Alright, then moan it.” Polly purred wickedly.

Your eyes widened and you gulped.

Polly then began kissing and sucking marks on your skin, along your neck and shoulders. She hit the sensitive spot on your collar bone, making you squirm against her and the ties.

“Ahhhhh P-polly…!!” You moaned out.

“Hmmmmm, good girl…” the older woman hummed, continuing her markings along your skin.

Without warning, the woman tore your bra right off you with a quick tug and snap. It was thrown aside with ease. You gasped and were pretty sure that the clasp had broken from it. But before you could voice your complaint, Polly’s hot mouth was latched around your left nipple.

“Ahhh..Mmmm—! Pol…!!” You squeaked out in light shock but even greater pleasure.

“I’ll buy you a new one…” Polly cooed, as she switched to your other perked bud.

As she focused her attention and her tongue on your right nipple, one of her hands slipped down your frame and to your knickers. She bit down on your bud, while ripping your knickers with ease. You yelped and arched your back up into Polly in response.

Arching your hips, Polly was able to remove your knickers and throw those to the aside as well.

“I’ll buy you a new set…” Polly purred, moving off your tits with her tongue, and starting her journey further down south, where you so desperately needed the woman.

Finally, her tongue reached your lower patch of curls. Polly hummed in delight as she dipped her tongue into your folds. You arched your back and bucked your hips up to the woman’s face, pulling again against your restraints.

“Yes yes yes Polly please don’t sttopp—!!” You cried out, so happy to have the feeling of a woman’s touch once again.

“Shhhhh, don’t make me gag you, Love…” Polly hummed through your folds.

You bit your lip and whimpered, “Sorry Polly…”

“Hmmmm, it’s alright…” Polly cooed, now latching her lips on your clit and sucking.

Your eyes rolled back and your hips jerked up.

“Ohhhhhh GOD Pol—!!!” You practically screamed.

Polly pulled away slightly with a chuckle, reaching for her drawer. You gasped and gulped, realizing how loud you had just been.

“I—I’m sorry fuck sorry sorry Polly—” you rambled.

Polly chuckled darkly, pulling out a ball gag from the drawer.

“Know what this is…?”

Your eyes widened and you nodded.

“I’m not afraid to put it on you if you can’t be quiet, understand Darling…?” Polly purred in your ear.

You gulped and nodded vigorously.

“I understand Polly…” you whimpered.

“Good girl.” Polly hummed, placing the ball gag right next to your head as a reminder.

She lowered herself back down to your core, immediately dipping her tongue into your sex, making you arch your back once more and whimper out in pleasure.

Polly now began eating you out a ruthless pace. Her tongue sloshed in and out of your cunt, and while one hand held your thighs firmly from crushing her head, her other hand was in between your legs, her thumb working your clit.

Your legs shook and you bit your lip to muffle the cry that tore through you as you came for the first time that snowed in day. Your eyes rolled back and you lost your composure, groaning too loudly for how thin the walls were.

But Polly was swift. While her tongue fucked you through your first orgasm, the finger on your clit quickly got stuffed into your mouth, effectively muffling your cries as you came down from your high. Once Polly was sure your high had teetered out, she removed her fingers from your mouth and brought herself back up to your upper body.

She chuckled and grabbed the ball gag. You whimpered and begged the woman with your eyes. But the way your legs were rubbing together in need of friction and the way your body arched upward to the woman told Polly that you didn’t mind the gag one bit. She positioned the ball gag around your head so that the ball was placed perfectly in your mouth.

Your eyes pled Polly for more.

“Now we can actually begin…” Polly teased you, “And I can make you drool much easier…” she added with a wink.

You groaned, which easily got muffled by the ball gag, so instead you ground your hips up against Polly’s legs.

“Alright alright…” Polly chuckled, positioning her legs entangled with yours so that her cunt could easily grind against yours.

Polly rolled her hips, creating a delicious friction in between your cunts, making your pull harshly against your ties as your eyes rolled back. You immediately and wildly bucked your own hips back.

Polly smirked and kept a strong yet slow tempo of grinding her sex against yours. It was slowly corroding your sense of competency and self. Meanwhile, her hand wandered up your figure and pinched your nipples without warning, sending jolts of hot pleasure coursing through your veins, along with the slowly building pleasure of the grinding.

You yelped, whimpered, and moaned out loudly, but it was all muffled by the gag. And this only seemed to spur Polly on even more. Polly’s grindings began to speed up and to become more sloppy. Before you knew it, you were crashing over the edge once more. And Polly was right behind you.

She collapsed on top of you, your legs still entangled. You loved the feeling of the woman skin on skin with you. It made you terribly needy and your body sparked with pleasure.

Polly was quick to sit back up, this time straddling your stomache. Her breathing was labored and she looked angelic in her post-orgasmic sheen of sweat. Her pupils were big and dark, starring down at you.

She continued to met your gaze, as her hand slithered behind her and in between your legs. Her fingers met your slick and sensitive sex, and you immediately bucked and jerked your hips in response, still sensitive from the last two orgasms.

“Want more, Love…?” Polly breathlessly and lustfully cooed.

You nodded vigorously, your whole body still on edge from your last high. Polly wasted no time in plunging two fingers into your core. Your eyes rolled back as you adjusted to her manicured digits. She began to pump and curl her fingers inside you. Your hips eagerly met her hand with similar rhythmic thrusts.

You closed your eyes from how overstimulating it was all starting to be. Polly slid a third finger inside you.

“Nuh uh… Eyes open. Look at me.” Polly tutted, punctuating her sentences with a pointed curl each time.

Your toes curled in delight with each thrust, and your legs started to shake again. You pulled against your ties, and you moaned desperately as you got dangerously close to your next orgasm. Polly could tell.

“Cum for me, Love.” She cooed.

That was all you needed to topple over the edge and scream your way through your high. All of which was gagged of course. But it didn’t make it any less of entertainment for Polly.

She grinned wickedly, as she swiped touting your folds afterwards, making you nearly start to cry at how raw and sensitive you were. If you could have begged for her to stop, you would have, but at the same time, you wanted to bed for more.

Polly decided for you, getting off of you, and going to undo your ties. She kissed your wrists as she undid them from their ribbon restraints. She took off the gag, then Polly went to grab a washcloth, so that she could clean you up. After she had payed the power attention to you, she lit a cigarette and sat next to you in the bed.

She smoked the cigarette with a long puff, sighing in satisfaction. Your heart was still racing and you were still electrified with pleasure. Polly pulled you into her lap.

“You did really good.” She hummed, then offering you a smoke, which you politely declined.

“Thanks…” you bashfully murmured, your red face returning to you.

“Such a good girl…” Polly cooed, making you go beet red in the face, making the older woman giggle.

~~~

Next Holiday Bingo <—Here!!

Polly Gray Masterlist

Holiday Bingo 2023 Masterlist

Tag List: @storiesofsvu @willowshadenox @vexed-jade @lunala-rose23 @aemilia19 @sapphixwriter

[generational-atrophy]

I'd love to see the main 8 in Hetalia coming home to their so passed out while reading a book. Extra points if the so is plus sized please! And btw your cat is ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE!!!(I have 2 tuxedo kitties myself named Italy and Romano). Please and thank you!!!

(Main 7? x Reader) Coming home to their sleeping S/O!

(Gender Neutral) Scenarios ~ A/N omg!!! kitties!!! send pics sometime!!! Btw thank u for ur continued support i know youve been here for a while and i appreciate it :3 (ALSO I DIDNT DO CHINA IM SORRY ITS 1AM AUUUGH)

Trigger Warning: None, just Fluff!

As soon as you got home, Alfred could tell something was off. Although it wasn't every day that you would run to greet him, he could count on at least a loud “Hey!” from across his home. But when he set his bags down from work, he heard no such thing.

Immediately, he tried to recall the morning you had spent together. Unluckily for him, it was nothing but a blur. You had... been there. He remembered that for sure, but if you had said something about being busy, he couldn't recall.

But that must be what had happened. Maybe he should set his alarms earlier, he concluded. But as for now, surely you would return home soon. There was nothing he could do about it, so he might as well enjoy his time alone.

So, like a child, his immediate instinct was to tear off his stiff work clothes, now wearing nothing but his boxers and a t-shirt (If anyone saw him through the window, well, that's nothing but a gift to them,) And like that, he pranced around the home doing his daily routine. Putting away his newly acquired paperwork, washing the dishes before dinner, and putting his suit away in the closet. Or well, that is what he was going to do, before he opened the bedroom door to you, fast asleep.

You were splayed out across the bed, your book still clasped tightly even as your chubby chest rose and fell. He sighed to himself, smiling softly and looking at you like one would look at a long-lost lover.

Well, clearly you had had a tiring day. It would be rude of him to wake you up now, he thought. He would rather do so later, after he's made a dinner both of you would adore.

Arthur didn't like quiet houses. It always made him nervous. Probably paranoia left over from back in the days when you would have to constantly fear for your life. But that justification didn't help. His fear remained, which is why he was so excited to have you move in with him. With you, there would always be a faint, friendly presence. But today, when he returned home from work, he couldn't help feeling unnerved.

Although you weren't spontaneous by any means, it wasn't out of the ordinary for you to suddenly disappear, off to do god knows what. It wasn't a habit Arthur particularly enjoyed, but he loved you despite it. And because you loved him too, you would at least usually leave a text message. But he had received none.

Just to be sure, he pulled out his phone and checked again. Nothing.

Well, he was dismayed, to say the least. But you wouldn't be gone long, he knew that for sure. Now all he had to do... was wait.

So he wandered into the living room, setting his briefcase down by the door before he jumped back. His breath hitched in his throat as he suddenly saw you, laying on the couch.

Clutching a hand to his chest to catch his breath, he approached quickly. But then he noticed the soft, almost unnoticeable smile on your face... the one you always wore while resting in his home. Slowly, he crouched down beside you, caressing your cheek while you slept. How adorable.

He was a lucky man, he thought to himself. He was very fortunate to be able to come home to this sight.

It was an exhausting day, to say the least. First, he was late to work, then he had to actually do his work, and then on the way home, traffic was the worst he's seen in months. So when he stumbled into his apartment, all he wanted was to see your wonderful face... and also maybe a cup of tea.

Which, when he looked around the flat, he was almost greeted by. Through the windowed doors to his balcony, he merely saw the end of your legs, propped up on an old metal chair.

“Mon ange?” He calls out to you, walking towards the balcony with a smirk.

When you didn't respond, he asked again louder, “Y/N?”

For a moment, he felt dread creeping up his spine, before he rounded the corner to see you. Fast asleep, with your book laid against your chest as you snored.

He couldn't help but chuckle to himself. It seems you had the same idea he had. As slowly as possible, as to not wake you from your peaceful slumber, he pulled up a chair from inside right next to you. As he sat down, he kept looking over to you, a loving smile upon his face even as his eyes began to weigh more and more.

“Y/N, my love!” Ivan calls out as soon as he enters your shared home.

“Крошка? Where are you?�� He continues, as he begins wandering through the house in search of you. But as he entered more rooms, only to hear no response, his blood began to grow colder.

You had said you would be home when he got home, yet you were nowhere to be found yet. You rarely didn't respond to his calls either, so needless to say, your out-of-character behaviour was beginning to frighten him.

Had you lied? He searched the living room. Had there been an emergency? He searched the kitchen. Had you been taken? He searched the office. Had something horrible happened? He searched the bedroom- Oh.

As he burst into the bedroom, the door being moments from slamming into the wall, all his worries were eased. He grabbed the door to silence it before stepping forward and sitting on the edge of the bed. Before him, you were curled up tightly around your book, your breathing soft and rhythmic.

“Как драгоценный…” he whispered to himself before crawling next to you. As he looked upon your sleeping face, he felt his heart doing somersaults. Well, if you weren't conscious to protest, there was no reason he couldn't watch your lovely face until you awoke.

Feliciano was not a working man. He had realized that within his first 30 years of life, and the last 3,000 had only cemented it. All he wanted to do when he dragged himself home to you was curl up in your lap and cry his stresses away. So when you told him you would meet him at home after work, he was quick to rush home (breaking countless traffic laws in his wake,) to meet you.

But when he reached home, only to not immediately see or hear you, he couldn't help flopping flat onto the floor. Dust and dirt be damned. He was goddamn tired, and there he would lay until you came home to see him. Or well, that's what he thought, until before he heard your soft snores coming from the living room. Lucky, considering he was about to start snoring himself and drown you out.

Reluctantly, he peeled himself off the floor and stumbled over to the living room. There, you were out cold on his old couch, still holding the book you had been telling him all about just the day before.

Adorable, was his first thought. Seeing you all peaceful, your chubby body relaxed on his couch. You really trusted him and his home that much? Amazing.

But then he started feeling jealous. He wanted to take a nap too! How long had you been here, relaxing while he had been working? Well, working was a pretty big stretch, but still! You were so lucky. But it's his couch, and you're his partner, so he was going to cuddle up against you and nap too, regardless of whether he woke you up in the process or not.

When he had given you a key to his residence, Ludwig had really not expected you to use it as much as you had. But it seemed that every other day, he would return from whatever he had been doing to find you in his home, doing whatever. You had said something about even mundane things being more fun when you were with him. A sentiment he could understand at least a little, considering he wasn't one to complain about your presence. It comforted him just as much as it did you, even if he was afraid to admit it.

So when he returned home from the grocery store to find your shoes laid next to his, he wasn't surprised in the slightest. He just simply sighed and continued his day, quickly putting away his groceries.

“Y/N, how long have you been here?” He asks casually from the kitchen after he sees your figure laying on his couch. No response, but maybe you had your earbuds in. It's no matter.

But when he finishes his task and walks over, he instantly realizes you were asleep. It was the first time this had happened... and he really didn't know what to do.

He sat on the coffee table across from you, staring at you intensely as he was deep in thought. Would it be rude to wake you? Would it be weird to let you keep sleeping in his apartment? God, he really wishes he could call Feliciano right now... but no! He knows you better, and he'll figure this out by himself. Even... even if it takes him a few minutes of pacing to decide.

But after he's finished sweating, he lets you keep sleeping. You must've needed it, and he'd be remiss to take that away from you. Plus, you look cute when you sleep, but he'd never even admit that to himself.

Although Kiku was one of the most anxious people on planet Earth, he never worried when it came to you. That's part of why he liked you so much. It was never stressful, around you, everything came easily to him. So when you hadn't responded to his text telling you he was on his way home, he assumed the best. You were busy, and it meant nothing more than that.

When he arrived at your shared home, he didn't panic when he didn't hear you. He simply decided to go about his normal routine, not searching for you. You would let him know where you were soon, he knew it. But even if it didn't, it was alright.

But when he was bringing his laundry into his bedroom, he was a little shocked to find you laying on your shared bed, still holding your book tightly. Although his heart stopped for a moment, he quickly calmed down. He silently set the basket he was holding down, walking over to you and leaning over the bed. With a gentle touch on the shoulder, he woke you up.

“Silly, you fell asleep...” He teases softly as you start to open your eyes, “Wake up, let's go make dinner together.”

[dollopole]

Kilgharrah is a dragon that lost his entire species, watched his fellow companions get killed by Uther and by his genocidal reign, and got imprisoned and chained in a cave with no food or water for more than 20 years. He had nothing and no one, but lived through it all by sheer force and the will of revenge. He is a sentient being, with emotions, thoughts, a voice and the most powerful magic the world has ever known (even more powerful than Merlin’s, and we saw it).

Yet, I don’t understand why most people in the Merlin fandom find him the culprit of many of the choices on the show and even of the end.

His kind has been wiped off; he had revenge to think about while being imprisoned. He did not point at Arthur specifically or at Uther, just at the injustice of it all.

But still, he listened to Merlin and respected what he had ordered him to do, even after all he had endured.

People often tend to forget that Merlin is, as much as Gaius, a class traitor, and if we can explain why he is, then why can’t we explain Kilgharrah’s behaviour?

Most choices he told Merlin to make were part of his rational mind, one that had seen various parts of the future. He thought of the ones that made most sense to him and even then, Merlin defied him, so how can he be Kilgharrah’s fault that everything went to shit in the end? The dragon was tired, old, lost and maybe hopeless, but he persisted, he tried giving Merlin what he never had, what even Gaius couldn’t give him:

a space to be actually free; the joy of flying; a good friend who understood what being magic was like, because Kilgarrah is as ancient as the earth itself and magic flows through him too.

He helped Merlin so many times, told him about killing Morgana, because he knew that Merlin had already made a mistake. From then on, the future had changed shape and Kilgharrah saw it. He tried to prevent the worst, but it was Merlin who didn’t listen to him, it was him who said he didn’t want to kill a friend, it was Merlin who said that he couldn’t stand his friends’ grief, it was Merlin who commanded rather than asked Kilgharrah to gift him the power to heal Morgana, and it was actually Gaius who had told Merlin he had done the right thing by trying to kill Morgana (and this is only an example. Merlin did not kill other people when Kilgharrah told him to, so Merlin had something called free will. Every choice was made by him, and the Great Dragon has nothing to do with it).

All Merlin’s points were right, yet, for a dragon who didn’t have the tools to prevent Merlin’s mistakes and choices, he tried to warn him the best way he knew how. Most of the times it was with simple actions that went straight to the point.

If someone has to be at fault, then Merlin has to be at fault too.

I like Kilgharrah.

He is a great character, an example of what genocide can do to you, and he is so funny, so complicated and the fact that they were able to give such a good personality to a dragon warms my heart. He is a listener, he tried helping Merlin even when he couldn’t and was so happy when Aithusa was born.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

Merlin was his friend, because they were the same:

Lonely, and just that tad bit hopeful that a greater future was ahead of them.

Merlin did not fail because of Kilgharrah and to the dragon’s opinion, Merlin actually didn’t fail at all.

What I find unjust in the show isn’t really Arthur’s death. It’s the way we come to it and all the wrong things that happen in between, the non logical way Merlin’s magic worked, but what if Arthur had to die in order for Albion to have its Golden Age?

And perhaps, Kilgharrah knew, but didn’t know how to tell Merlin, much like Merlin couldn’t tell Gaius what he had seen in the Crystal Cave, because the future can take so many different shapes, and it was Merlin who ended up creating it, while he had tired to avoid it and change it, at the same time.

Kilgharrah is an amazing character and I love the shit out of him.

[acewritesfics]

Nothing Else Matters | Tommy Shelby

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: No.  

Warnings: Mentions of war. Not my favorite imagine that I've ever written. 

Word count: 800

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. YOU CAN FIND THE ORIGINAL POST STILL FLOATING AROUND ON TUMBLR SOMEWHERE. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.

"Nothing else matters as long as we are together," Tommy speaks softly to Y/N as they slow dance to the classical tune that is playing through the gramophone in the corner of their living room. "You make me forget about everything and everyone but you." 

She shuts her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder. His arm around her waist pulls her closer to him as he sways to the rhythm of the music. His words make her heart skip a beat. Tommy hardly ever talked about his feelings. When he did, he was alone with her. 

Y/N was his longest and dearest friend before she became his wife. Tommy and Y/N have known each other since they were babies since their mothers were more like sisters than best friends. 

The two women became pregnant around the same time, with Tommy being born two months before Y/N. 

Even though Y/N's affections for the Birmingham mobster deepened throughout the years before Tommy was sent to war, their friendship never blossomed romantically until Tommy returned home when the war was over. She didn't confess her love to Tommy until he was ready to board the train that was taking him away from her and his family. She pleaded with him to return home because she couldn't bear to live without him. 

Throughout the war, the two exchanged letters between his visits home. Once his letters stopped closer to the end, she feared the worst. During his visits home she could see how much the war was changing him and the others. He wasn't the Tommy she'd grown up with but her love for him never wavered. 

She hugged Arthur and John after they hugged their aunt and sister, kissing their cheeks, delighted to have them home alive. Her heart ached for John, whose wife had died not long before his return. She had helped Polly and Ada take care of the kids and Finn, the youngest of the Shelby siblings. 

It wasn't until the most of the families had left the station that she spotted the Shelby brother, whom she had feared was lost. She was filled with emotion when she saw him standing there, bruised and broken but still alive. Her eyes welled up with tears as she ran towards the man she loves, his arms stretched out to greet her as she landed in his arms. Tommy kissed her before she could say anything, afraid that this was all a dream. 

The couple's relationship was not easy. Tommy was overcoming the trauma he had experienced while in France and readjusting back into society. Tommy frequently awoke believing he was still in the French trenches and that he was still being tortured all over again. He tried numerous times to convince Y/N to leave him, but the more he tried, the more she proved she would not leave him. The nights he spent with her, the nightmares, the memories, and the mental scars faded to the back of his mind. 

He realises in those moments just how much he loves her, how much he appreciates her, and how much he had been taking her for granted. It's always been her for Thomas Shelby. And for her, it's always been him. It took a war and years apart for him to realise it. 

"Tommy?" she asks, lifting her head from his shoulder to look into his magnificent icy blue eyes. 

He responds, looking intently into her eyes, "Yes, love?" 

"I need you to be safe tomorrow," she says, recalling his meeting at the horse races. She is aware that things with the Shelby Brothers hardly ever go as anticipated. "At the first sign of trouble, you get out of there." 

Her greatest fear throughout the war was Tommy not returning home. She still feels the same fear even though there is no longer a war. 

"I may come home a little banged up from time to time, but I always return home to you," He makes an attempt to soothe her worries. 

She moves away from him and says, "It's not only me you have to return home to, Thomas; I'm not raising our child without you." His gaze travels to her belly, to the small bump where his baby is growing. "And you still have to marry me. We can't be married if you're not here." 

"Everything will be alright," Tommy promises her as he brings her back into his arms. He places his hand on her tiny bump, "Now, instead of worrying about me, you worry about Tommy Jr. in there." 

He sways to the music once more as she puts her head back on his shoulder. "I'll always worry about you, Tommy, the both of you because I have no doubt this child will be his father's son." 

[xxsycamore]

👻🕸️🦇 IKEVAMP SUITORS IN A HORROR-MOVIE SETTING ! 🦇🕸️👻 (headcanons)

Happy Halloween! Yes, this includes all 17 suitors. I'm no expert on the genre but I thought this might be fun! Some of them die. I'm sorry. Warnings: everything that can appear in a horror movie really, including mentions of death, mass murder, blood, gore, torture, cults.

If you feel like reading something more goofy where everyone lives, try Pumpkin Carving Competition At Saint Germain’s Mansion or maybe even “Welcome to Saint Germain’s mansion, please have a fang-tastic night.” 

𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍

The "okay guys, we need a plan" guy and welp, he has a sword, he is willing to walk in front, why not trust him? 👍🏻✨He's totally the one to hide being infected because come on, how are they gonna get out of there alive if the leader is down? Has a dramatic scene where he's fighting off the transformation in secret. Ends up being saved by someone and survives.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎

Leonardo is the one you find along the journey, mistaking for an enemy at first as you get into his trap... when it actually turns out he's been there long before you, surviving all alone in this post-apocalyptic setting, adapted to it, prepared for every danger out there with gadgets he made himself! He might not stay alive until the end but plays a key role in the plot.

𝐌𝐎𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐓

He tried to warn them not to do anything stupid... He's now stuck suffering from the group's bad decision-making. He doesn't even know how he ended up there. Mozart is that one character that you're supposed to hate for being an asshole. At one point he falls in danger that specifically relates to a fear of his, and when everyone expects him to sacrifice another person to save himself, he does the opposite. He seemingly dies right there, breaking everyone's hearts, only to be revealed at the very end that he managed to survive!

𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐀𝐂 (credits for the idea goes to @scummy-writes guys she can write a whole fic of those I swear,, it's been such a pleasure listening to her)

Isaac needs to be saved five minutes into the movie... which writes him off as the weaker one from the get-go. This is going to be bad if the situation comes to "we gotta leave someone behind or we all die here!" - but hey, DON'T LEAVE ISAAC BEHIND IF YOU WANT TO SURVIVE! Because the next thing you know everyone falls into this deadly trap that only HE can figure the way out of, using his big brain skills. His worth has been proved! Everyone loves him now! And all he wants is to go back home and never go on a trip with these guys ever again!

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑

I'm sorry, Arthur dies first. The others are trying to warn him about the cases of victims who've been sucked to a dry husk and he's like "later virgins, i have a date tonight". Yeah his date totally killed him. Bonus points if we're dealing with vampires here, because irony. It's fine though, he's still important to the plot after he dies, because we find his writing diary and he left important cues there while trying to escape from his killer. Maybe he even came close to the truth! He knows his mystery genre stuff after all...

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐒

Theo just does NOT believe paranormal exists, not even after witnessing it with his own two eyes. Worst part, he tries to convince the others too. "My broer IS NOT POSSESSED!" Uhuh! Okay Theo! You just saw cryptic images appear on his canvas without him even moving the brush but I guess he was just trying a new painting technique!! And he levitates too and his eyes are tar black but what do we know... Once Theo realizes the situation, he's out there swinging a bat (sexy), ready to beat the shit out of whatever caused this, and he's good at it. Don't worry about him dying.

𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓

Poor baby Vincent is every sinister ghost/demon's number-one target. Vincent listens to the voices. He sympathizes with them! He makes friends with them! Maybe he doesn't even need to be possessed at this rate... Same story with joining a cult, honestly. When their bad intentions begin to come to light, Vincent puts up a fight and is suddenly not as easy to control as they thought.

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍

Jean might take some bullets from our main cast while someone shouts "IT WON'T DIE!" but it's fine he's used to it... he's been dead for quite some time and not just inside. Jean is probably the result of some sick experiment about making an immortal army of warriors and. It's sad. But it's fine because he joins the protagonists now! He's friend! I hope they apologize for calling him a monster. No, he doesn't die by the end of the movie, but at what cost?

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈

"Oh, it was just Dazai." Of course it was, someone has to be that one idiot that scares the shit out of everyone until he becomes the boy who cried wolf. Which usually ends with death! I'm sorry Dazai. At least they can take him seriously now and pay some more attention to the strange things he kept on saying.

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄

A very old-school villain! Bonus points if the setting is modern yet he still has a villain's lair and all that. There's something beautiful and tragic about him and he probably dramatically lets himself be defeated even if he had a chance to escape. Everyone will remember him. Mostly for the mental and physical torture, but still.

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐓𝐄

"But we have one hour left until the curse kills us all, how are we gonna get there on time?!" *sounds of safari jeep pulling over* "Someone ordered a ride?" - yeah. Comte is here to save the day with the power of money friendship. And not just that! Who is the one who suddenly remembers a family heirloom that is as old as time and suspiciously shaped exactly like the key they're searching for? I also want him to lose an eye or a limb for some reason... just for a little touch of gore maybe?

𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍

Gods, Sebastian is the only prepared one, bless him for that. He's read all about that urban legend while everyone's been busy denying its existence. He is not scared at all, too... you might wonder if he's just geeking out during all of this bloody mess or something. He's so important, please don't let him die please don't let him die... he died.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒

The villain's aide that infiltrates the protagonists' group. By the time his betrayal scene happens and he nearly kills three members of the group with a chainsaw, we get a glimpse of his trauma and that's the key to sucessfully talking him out of doing it, eventually disarming him and catching him. He manages to escape and maybe later returns as an ally! Yay!

𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓

Gods he's scary. I'm not watching this. Of course he's the killer, what did you expect? Has a tragic backstory of being used by an even more fucked-up killer in the past to do the dirty work for - and kept doing it even after getting rid of them himself, because that's the only thing he knows how to do. You can't fix him.

𝐕𝐋𝐀𝐃

IT'S HIMMM he's the scary little boy from the photos and the same scary little boy that always shows up in the rose garden and his soul just won't rest in peace!! Shows up in his adult form plenty too, just expect his expression to twist into something horrible every second. He needs to be sealed forever somewhere and it would take three sequels to get to know what would actually defeat him once and for all.

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄

... I'm sorry but there definitely is a lighthouse in this movie. And you can totally trust Drake! The poor guy's body just washed up for you to discover, tragically drowned-oh, wait no, he's breathing. He's totally not the same sailor who died around here many, many years ago. He's gonna keep you good company in the lighthouse alone for miles.

𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐎

Galileo is the one who saw the Thing™ with his own eyes, while he was watching the stars one night ages ago. He dedicated not only his massive research but also his life to this, yet noone believes him. If he somehow manages to find that one missing piece that connects everything together, he will die a horrifying death before he can even share it with the main cast. Rip...

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