#but man am i glad to have Learnt

[littlelostbirdy]

Can Not Believe it was only two months ago i first learnt about this silly little clone boy properly dear gods

[ybcpatrick]

he got jumped by the usos, got the shit kicked out of him, lost the match to solo, and nobody came to help him because he was a bitch and specifically told cody and sami not to 🫶💖✨ best possible outcome

[astonmartinii]

bad blood (lando's version) | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem carlos ex!reader

band aid's don't fix bullet holes but his best friend might

based on this request:so reader is a famous model who’s also carlos ex (dated YEARS) and after the breakup he jumped straight to rebeca (we just need a tiny bit of bad blood). soo she and lando always got along, ever since carlos was in mclaren. the point is they get together and come hand in hand to a gp out of nowhere so drama and more bad blood surface - you can lead this to whatever you want hehe, thanks!!! - @lorenakaspersen

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

vogue

liked by hunterschafer, landonorris and 1,209,433 others

tagged: yourusername

vogue: y/n y/ln takes the cover for this month, where she talks re-discovering herself and giving yourself time to move on. copies in stores everywhere this friday.

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user1: i am once again asking how the fuck that man fumbled a bad bitch like her

user2: do not bring that man up here, he actually boils my blood

user3: honestly thank god they wear helmets in f1 cause if i saw his smug little face i may have smashed by tv

yourusername: thank you for having me hehehehhe xx

vogue: you dropped this queen 👑

user4: not vogue supporting her more than carlos ever did 🤨

user5: at least lando still supports her

user6: i'm glad the friends she made... i.e lando, charles, max, daniel, etc did also abandon her when carlos just dropped her

hunterschafer: you're the person i see in your dreams

yourusername: are you sure i'm not just your sleep paralysis demon?

hunterschafer: you're welcome to stalk mine dreams anytime

user7: how am i meant to care about f1 without y/n?

user8: she's the reason i learnt about the sport but at leats now i have an excuse to support someone else LOL

landonorris: tinkerbell looks a little bit different here

yourusername: i thought you were too old to watch peter pan?

landonorris: i just said that so you would think i'm a big macho man :(

yourusername: that is tragic

landonorris: can i interest you in a movie night some time soon then

yourusername: you might

user9: WHAT IS GOING ON HERE ^^

user10: idk but i am excited

f1wagupdates

liked by user11, user12 and 4,032 others

f1wagsupdates: carlos sainz debuts his new girlfriend rebecca donaldson at the bahrain grand prix, just one month after breaking up with model y/n y/ln. sainz and y/ln were together for three years, and sainz was seen with donaldson for the first time just a week after the breakup.

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user13: lol the wag accounts are done with his ass

f1wagsupdates: i am a y/n y/ln stan first and foremost

user14: anyone see the absolute stink eye charles and lando gave carlos LOL

user15: that's the thing when you're together for so long, the friends get attached as well

user16: i mean if certified homie hopper charles leclerc is calling your bluff then you know you've fucked up

user17: i will never understand how he jumped into a relationship with her after three years ?? LIKE IT WAS NOTHING

user18: things like that make me glad i'm single

user19: the thing that is bothering me that no one has said yet is the fact that he's been with her what a month? and he's already brought her to a race when he made y/n wait months to go to a race?

user20: screams insecurity - like "look i have moved on, i'm an alpha male who can get whoever i want"

user21: i never understood why he didn't let her come to races for months when they first got together, like not even his home race?

user22: i've always got the vibe that he thought that he was better than her and that she was using him?

user23: the way if he ever posted her (which was not very often) he never tagged her

user24: which is ironic because she's one of the most celebrated models in recent history, she has millions more followers than him and has a bigger network than him, so really if anyone was using anyone it was carlos using her

user25: anyone else pulling for her to get with lando?

user26: i always thought they got on more in the videos of them all together but honestly i just want her to be happy

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 2,018,552 others

yourusername: not much going on recently

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user27: SHE'S SO HOT

user28: i need her to give me one chance please

charles_leclerc: are we still down for the road trip to lourdes?

yourusername: needed now more than ever

charles_leclerc: trust and believe

user29: charles and y/n friendship you mean so much to me

user30: need her to sit in charles' side of the garage

user31: mother went to the university of servington where she got a degree is cuntology with a minor in slaying the haus down

danielricciardo: miss ma'am, leave some for the rest of us

yourusername: why thank you good sir

danielricciardo: where do i procure a veil as such?

yourusername: i may source one for you if you promise not to shave that moustache

heidiberger: preach

user32: i bet carlos just thought everyone would just forget about y/n when he dropped her, but he forgot that she's probably more liked on the grid than he is LOL

landonorris: why are you staring into my soul like that

yourusername: why are you lurking in my comment section

landonorris: i thought we were friends :(

yourusername: always and forever

user33: but he wants it to be more

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo

user33: I SAW THAT LANDO X Y/N COMING SOON?

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 803,774 others

landonorris: hostess with the most-ess?

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user34: is that a ... WOMAN?

user35: he's saying he's a host ... maybe he's hosting a friend who is a girl, it's not illegal

user36: i get your sentiment, but that photo is straight out of the soft launch girlfriend pinterest boards

user37: well now i'm picturing lando scrolling through pinterest and asking ??? to recreate the pics 😭

carlossainz55: missing my golf partner, round this weekend? ⛳️

landonorris: let me check my schedule buddy 👍

user38: okay... well someone else tell me that they can feel the vibe shift

user39: it's their first online interaction after the breakup, i think we can guess who's side lando is on

oscarpiastri: someone needs to debrief me asap

landonorris: someone forgot that he owns a phone

oscarpiastri: needed the added pressure of the public call out to make you actually do it

landonorris: fine, but you get three questions and that's it

user40: if the call out was public can't we get the public answers

yourusername: are you coming for my job?

landonorris: you saying i could model 😊

yourusername: i'm definitely saying you should let me give my agent your number

landonorris: you already have my number babe

yourusername: okay pretty boy

user41: i need this type of nepotism in my life

user42: i need the nepotism and the sexual tension cause PHEW it is through the roof

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and 2,760,521 others

yourusername: enjoy the picture of me fucking up a pretzel

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user46: okay where are the detective freaks from f1twt?

user47: reporting for duty 🫡

user46: what car is that?

user47: it looks strikingly similar to a jolly, but i don't know if that's just my brain pushing me to make it lando. but there is a florist in monaco that wraps their flowers just like that as well ....

user46: thank you for your service

danielricciardo: this is very ballerina core 🩰

yourusername: has the old man been spending time on the internet?

danielricciardo: yes he has 😃

yourusername: omg proud

danielricciardo: no but seriously how did you do it? it looks sick

yourusername: very fiddly, needed an extra pair of hands

danielricciardo: an extra pair of hands [wiggles eyebrows]

yourusername: did you just comment your own stage directions?

danielricciardo: funny 😄

user48: okay i am glad we're not being deprived of the y/n and daniel friendship.

landonorris: i am enjoying this picture of you fucking up a pretzel

yourusername: i am a whore for carbs

landonorris: i am a whore for you

this comment was deleted

landonorris: i am also a whore for carbs (don't tell jon)

maxverstappen1: 📸📸📸 saw that mister !!

landonorris: you didn't see NOTHING

user49: we saw everything. i am so disappointed in lando, he's carlos' bestfriend and he's doing this?

liked by carlossainz55

user50: oh i know this man aint speaking

f1teaandgossip

liked by user51, user52 and 10,945 others

ftteaandgossip: carlos sainz was caught liking this tweet about his ex girlfriend y/n y/ln and his (former?) best friend lando norris. what do you think?

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user53: the audacity of men never fails to astound me

user54: you know what, i feel like a guilty man only acts this bold. so i'm saying it. i think there was overlap between his relationship with y/n and his relationship with rebecca

user55: you're right and you should say it

user56: carlos got with rebecca within a WEEK of the end of a three year relationship but is angry that she's finally moving on after months ?

user57: for real the first sight of lando and y/n was after at least two months

user58: i know people will say she's in the wrong because it is lando but honestly carlos has no leg to stand on with him parading rebecca around the paddock

user59: i really couldn't give a fuck if lando is his best buddy you act like a fool expect to get treated like a fool

user60: also the whole "whoring around the grid" is so dumb. you mean her FRIENDS? you know the friends she had to make when you would just leave her in the paddock or ignore her at parties ?

user61: babe really thought he was more loved in the paddock and expected everyone to go along with his messiness

user62: men don't talk about women this way challenge

user63: imagine talking about a girl you were with for THREE tears like this

user64: i wish lando and y/n all the best and i hope they're together for a long time, she deserves a good man after all of this

user65: i have faith 🤞

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 3,109,413 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: sloppy seconds you say? i never come second with him. pun intended x

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user66: SERVE

user67: user67 found dead in her home, cause of death: this post

landonorris: what can i say i'm a giver 🤷‍♂️

yourusername: i'll say 😮‍💨

oscarpiastri: ENOUGH

landonorris: i thought you were happy for us oscar :(

oscarpiastri: i am !! i even took the second picture. but i think you forget that i am staying with you in monaco :/

yourusername: whoops my bad

landonorris: i swear my hospitality is usually better

yourusername: i can attest to his hospitality

oscarpiastri: STOP PLEASE STOP

user68: poor oscar being traumatised by y/n and lando 😭

carlossainz55: real mature

yourusername: how about instead of liking shady tweets and commenting on my instagram posts, you come confront me like a real fucking person.

carlossainz55: you'd love that wouldn't you

yourusername: i really would because if i said everything you needed to hear i'd be banned from this app

carlossainz55: you really are the gold digging slut my parents warned me about

landonorris: you will absolutely not talk to her that way. if you do so again we'll have a very real problem

carlossainz55: you have no sense of loyalty lando

landonorris: the call is coming from inside the house

user69: the girls are FIGHTING

comments on this post have been limited.

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 1,866,398 others

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landonorris: nothing better than a podium at home and time with family

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user72: the sky camera shady as fuck for cutting straight to y/n in the mclaren garage when carlos crashed LOL

user73: her and lando's dad trying not to laugh had me creasing

yourusername: beyond proud of you baby

landonorris: your support means everything pretty girl

yourusername: and your family are the loveliest, tell mama i said thank you for having me (and my sandwiches for the plane)

landonorris: she say's thank you and come back soon (i also want you to come home asap)

user74: he already refers to his house at their home

user75: and y/n has been accepted by the family - the sainzs could take notes

oscarpiastri: oscar piastri erasure

yourusername: sorry osc, you're our favourite pookie on the grid

landonorris: also mama made you sandwiches too

oscarpiastri: i know they were very yummy 😋

danielricciardo: HOLD ON, oscar is your favourite pookie, where am i ???

maxverstappen1: i think you'll find i am their favourite full stop

charles_leclerc: nuh uh it's clearly me

yourusername: i'll just say lando is my favourite

landonorris: and i'll say y/n is my favourite

yourusername: and that's that

danielricciardo: boooooooo.

maxverstappen1: cop out :(

charles_leclerc: 🍅🍅🍅

user76: i am so confused right now

yourusername

liked by bellahadid, landonorris and 3,109,766 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: you are in love, true love.

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user77: omg the letters? i swear there were letters in her first post after carlos took rebecca to the first race of the season

user78: wait so do you think they were from lando the whole time?

yourusername: yes they are from lando ! after the carlos stuff had somewhat died down he had them all delivered to me and it definitely swayed me for a first date

user79: but i thought some of those letters looked pretty old

landonorris: i won't deny that i liked y/n for a long time but i obviously couldn't express that so i put them in letters. an idiot was an idiot and i'll never not take my chance

user80: okay that makes this whole thing so much cuter

user81: y/n is the definition of never letting your boyfriend stop you from finding your husband

landonorris: you're my best friend and i love you so much

yourusername: i'd go through all this mess and all this heartbreak again if it meant i still end up with you

landonorris: but i'm by your side forever now you can't get rid of me

yourusername: i wouldn't dream of it

user82: lord i have seen it all, please bless me with a relationship like this

danielricciardo: god you people are ridiculously cute

oscarpiastri: just think yourself lucky that you no longer share a garage with them

landonorris: we're not THAT bad

oscarpiastri: i have working ears

yourusername: sorry not sorry osc x

fin.

note: hope you all enjoyed. i am dying trying to do 75 soft but i also signed up for burlesque class !!

[wri0thesley]

SO glad someone else is in the "Just the tip" hole, so here I am like a little kid, cupping my hands for any spare thoughts (preferrably anyone besides Sampo), if you have any to share? 🤲🖤

loni i was going to write a post anyway but being able to reply to asks with my thoughts - proof that there is Demand (tm!) makes me feel SO much better about the brainrot!!! i have many thoughts abt sampo too so i am eagerly awaiting ur drabble, just the tip is really a concept of all time!

ft: gepard, welt, himeko, serval, jing yuan, luocha cw: reader is afab with no pronouns used. public sex (luocha), straps, sex toys (himeko and serval), a little size kink (jing yuan), a little soft dom (welt). not sfw, minors dni.

Gepard doesn't quite realise how big he is. He's not got all that much experience; he's never really thought about it, far too busy with all of the responsibilities that come hand in hand with being Captain of the Silvermane Guards. So when your eyes widen and your fingers can't quite meet when you wrap them around his length, he lets out a ragged breath and a moan and pushes his cock between your thighs. You have to breathlessly curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and whisper out his name. He's already on the edge just by being close to you. The silky softness of your thighs, the inviting shine of your lips and the way that arousal makes your eyes blow dark and wide - when you whisper softly into his ear; "I don't know if I can take it, Gepard . . . J-just the tip, alright? Go slow--", he worries that he's about to embarrass himself right there and then and come before he's even gotten inside of you.

You whine and whimper as he slowly pushes you open, your wetness smearing all over the ruddy head of his cock. Your fingers tighten in his hair even as a soft strangled noise falls from Gepard's own mouth and he struggles to not ram himself inside of you - you have no idea how good you feel. How hot and tight and wet and perfect the embrace of your walls clinging to him is, even on just the head of his cock.

But he did not get where he is by not having self-control. His muscular arms, corded with scars from practise battles and real battles alike, cage you in on the bed beneath him. He looks at you like someone who cannot believe how lucky he is.

"I'll wait here," he promises you, his voice lust-soaked and cracking with the effort. "As long as you need me to."

Welt sees how your lip trembles, how you take in a slow, steadying breath, and he cannot help his desire to take care of you a little. To coddle you and fuss over you, to make the most of the age and experience that he has and you do not. So he smiles at you, crow's feet crinkling the edges of his eyes behind his glasses, and traces the pout of your bottom lip with his thumb. His voice is patient and soft when he speaks to you.

"I'll go slowly," he tells you, as he gently slaps his cock against your wet folds where you sit on his desk before him, animation sketches and research papers pushed to one side in favour of the tempting treat that is your body. He has spent so much of his time working - nobody could blame him for taking a break and finding himself again in the silky tightness of someone younger and prettier than he himself is. "Just the tip first."

"Alright, Mr Yang," you breathe to him, your hands locking about his neck, urging him forward. You sigh as the head nudges your clit, as his precome mingles with your own slick arousal. You're a sensitive mess already - Welt is certainly not the kind of man who'd leave a partner unsatisfied, and his fingers and his tongue have already learnt every petal-soft fold of you, every spot that makes you shiver and whimper until you'd had to bite into his shoulder to stop your cries waking up every other crew member of the Express.

Slowly, slowly, carefully, he eases into you. Watches with rapt attention every movement of your body; the stretch of your cunt as it accepts him, until your hips are wriggling and squirming and you're tugging on his shoulders.

"Mr Yang," you're saying to him, your lip trembling, your shoulders racked with gasps. A whine leaks into your tone as he rests the head of his cock inside of you, enjoying the feel of it. Your sex pulses around the modicum of his length inside of you, fluttering, waiting to be fully claimed. "It's -- it's not enough!"

Welt laughs softly and presses a kiss on the top of your head that is almost paternal in its comfort - a reminder that he's old enough to be your father, your grandfather--

His voice is soft with just a hint of admonishment in it.

"You're really going to have to learn some patience."

Himeko has you wrapped around her little finger, but that doesn't mean that you don't eye the toy that she shows you with a little trepidation. She laughs at you when you do, pulling you into her, kissing you with the taste of coffee on her tongue as she talks you into her bed.

"If you're frightened of it," she's saying, even as your mouth is going dry as you watch her disrobe, "We'll go as slow as you need, darling. We'll start with just the tip."

You lose the ability to speak at the sight of her, auburn curls tumbling down her back and over the milky pale spill of her breasts and shoulders. Bathed in the starlight from her cabin window, she's unearthly, and your entire body sings out with desire for her. She smiles when she sees you looking.

"Always such a flatterer," she teases affectionately, as she wraps the toy carefully around the curve of her hips. It looks just as striking on her as everything else does. "Now, you just lie back. I've done this before. Let Himeko handle it, hmm?"

You're helpless to a command from the beautiful navigator, and you let yourself fall back on the pillows as she walks towards you with all of the elegance of somebody who knows exactly how lovely she is. She gives you a soft smile, her golden eyes gentle in the light, even as she gathers herself onto her knees and her fingers lightly dance over your bare skin. Electric pinpricks of desire radiate from every touch.

"Aren't you beautiful?" She muses to herself, as she wraps her hand around the toy and pumps it a few times - when it comes away, you see there's something thick and clear and viscous dripping from it. She laughs softly again when she sees you looking.

"You're already wet," she whispers to you, in a low, musical voice. "But if you're still nervous . . . well, there's nothing wrong with a little help, is there?"

Her fingers dance over your skin. She knows every part of you intimately by now; the spot on your stomach, the way you whimper when she pinches your nipples, the place on your hips that makes you breathe in a deep sigh and your own lashes flutter. Through her touches, she keeps murmuring soft platitudes to you - how pretty you look like this, for her. What a precious treasure you are. How she can't wait for you to come apart--

And by the time she is sliding the tip of the toy inside of you and you are fair dizzy with want, you can do nothing but whisper out her name. She leaves the tip of the toy inside of you, smiling down, as patient and beautiful and dazzling as ever.

"I told you," she murmurs, as her long fingers return to pluck and play with your nipples, and you get used to the new stretch of having something thicker than Himeko's fingers inside of you. "We'll go as slow as you need. Any new territory worth exploring is worth doing . . ." She leans down, her mouth full and soft and wet as it meets yours and you whine into it. "Thoroughly."

Serval is a tease. You'd known she was up to something the moment you'd stepped into the workshop and she'd flipped the sign to 'closed' with a feline grin on her face as she'd beckoned you over to her and told you she could really use your help with some new gadget she was tinkering with.

So now, as she has you bent over her workbench with something vibrating pressed in the valley between the folds of your sex, the tip pressed just so - buzzing and tingling - against the swollen pearl of your clit, it's all you can do to keep your fingers tight around the edge of the workbench and your knees locked so you don't collapse.

"Kitten," Serval is purring, her hips slowly rocking back and forth, the phallic toy strapped to her hips rubbing through the wet mess of your cunt. "Don't you like it? I made it thinking of you!"

Your words come out garbled, a mess of moans and sighs. Your own hips thrust back when she pulls away, trying to get her to keep the toy pressed against your clit for long enough for you to get off. Instead, she just laughs, nipping at your bare shoulder.

"You're getting desperate," she teases you, her voice deep and throaty and satisfied. "Beg me, kitten, and we'll see what I can do for you."

"Serval--" Your voice comes out a whine. "Please . . ."

Her clever fingers, calloused palms, slide down your bare skin, leaving electric zaps wherever they touch you. You shudder under her practised touch - you are an instrument, and Serval has already proved she is a master musician.

"Seeing as you asked so nicely," she says to you, and you sense the wicked cat-like grin on her mouth. "How about I give you just the tip?"

"Not enough--"

"You're getting greedy!" The buzzing toy slides a scant inch inside of you without the smallest hint of resistance; you're wet enough from the teasing already. You can feel your own arousal dripping down your thighs, and Serval sighs happily as she dips one of her fingers between your thighs to toy with your clit as the tip of the toy rests inside of you.

"You're lucky you're so cute," she whispers to you. Her finger slides back and forth over your clit, drawing delicate circles - she always knows how to use them. "Come for me on the tip, and I'll fuck you with the rest of it too."

Jing Yuan's patience has long been mistaken for occasional laziness; but you know better than most that there is nothing of the kind, when it comes to him. And there is certainly nothing of the kind when it comes to trysts like this.

Oh, you and he have gotten used to rushing moments when you can, in between him being needed for meetings and work - but now? In the evening, loose ends tied up, with nothing but one another to spend the night on?

This is a tryst that will last.

Jing Yuan is not lazy - he merely likes to take his time. For a man whose being is tied up in his past warfare, he knows how to handle delicate things like you - but that doesn't mean he's going to rush it. Not when you look so pretty laid out like this for him, clothes rumpled and discarded beneath you, looking up at him with your eyes all soft and wanting and your mouth aching to be kissed.

He hums beneath his breath as he lets his mouth learn the shape of yours; pushes you gently back when you try and kiss deeply into him, to make him hurry up. His cock nudges against your inner thigh and he sighs a slow, indolent sigh of pleasure that makes your heart beat double time in your chest.

"We have all of the time in the world, little bird," he tells you, with an insouciant smile on his face. Your face scrunches, an adorable expression of impatience taking over your features, and he smiles down at you like someone looking at the finest treasure in the world.

"Impatient," he chides you, but there's nothing but warmth in his tone when it comes to you. His hands find your thighs, digging into the soft skin as he parts them. Warm eyes like pools of molten gold find your core, and he sighs as he looks at you. You squirm under his gaze, and as he softly leans down and lets some of his own saliva drip onto your cunt, you whimper at the feel. "This is impatient, too," He says to you, and laughs. "Drooling all over the place. Mm. Is that how much it wants me?"

"I want you," you respond to him, mouth petulant. Jing Yuan shakes his head fondly at you but readjusts himself, hand around his cock to guide it to your sex. He taps the thick head softly against your clit until you squirm, pouting. "Jing Yuan--"

"Ah, I know, I know," he looks down at where the two of you are not yet joined. "I'm always reminded how . . . small you are, when I look down at you like this."

"It will fit," you insist to him, and he raises one eyebrow.

"Oh, I know it will," he tells you, still smiling at you. "But it's a tight one, isn't it?"

"Jing Yuan, you're stalling--!"

He laughs again.

"Ha. My apologies, little bird." Slowly, he guides his cock to your opening - resting it against there, just for a moment. Exactly as he said, he seems so much bigger than you - his tip thick and blunt and rounded, your entrance small even as your hole pulses and oozes slick in preparation for him. "I simply like looking at you."

"There's something you'd like more than just looking," you encourage him, and he shakes his head so that his mane of hair falls over his shoulders.

"You're incorrigible," he tells you - and then he is pushing forth into you, and your mind goes white of anything but the feel of Jing Yuan inside of you, his cock, your cunt, where they meld together and you become one--

Wait.

Why has he stopped?

"Jing Yuan--!"

He swallows your cry of his name with a kiss that is anything but lazy, tongue exploring your mouth, teeth tugging at your bottom lip until you're dizzy with it all. He tastes, just a little, like sweets.

He pulls back just enough to look at you half-lidded, the tip of his cock just stretching you out.

"I'm merely taking my time," he tells you. "Whilst I have it."

Luocha is mean, you think, even as his words remain unfailingly genteel. Even as his face remains a polite mask, he leaves his cock not-quite inside of you as you tremble against the wall he has you bodily pressed up against.

"Please," you breathe out to him, teary-eyed, lip trembling. "Y-you can't just leave it there--"

He cocks one eyebrow, his face unfairly pretty - unfairly unruffled, even with the tip of his cock buried in you. He's unfailingly still - almost as if the hot tightness of your cunt pulsing around him has no effect on him whatsoever. One long, elegant hand curves around your cheek as a small smile pulls at the corner of his lips.

He's big. You can't help but squirm against the concrete, your cunt wrapped around only the head of his cock but feeling like you've taken far, far more.

"We're in public," he says to you, voice just a little condescending. "If I were to go about this more . . . vigorously, surely you wouldn't want the attention of every person in the vicinity on you?"

Your own need feels like a thrum inside of you. It's hard to think, as Luocha moves his hips the barest fraction and you find yourself whining aloud. Firmly, he moves the hand on your cheek so that it's pressed over your mouth, muffling your noises.

"You can't take more than this," he tells you, voice calm and patient. "Not here. Not now."

You whimper into his gloved palm, tears beading in your eyes like little diamonds. Even that doesn't seem to move him, though he tips his head to one side, vaguely considering. He moves his hand just enough for you to take a breath, and whisper beseechingly;

"I-if not here . . . will you do it somewhere else?"

He laughs only one soft, musical little noise. He leans in close, his breath cool against your neck.

"Mm . . . but when you ask like that--"

You cry out as he pushes another inch of himself into you, eyes widening as the noise breaks the calm, cool air. Luocha pauses.

"Oh dear," he says. "I suppose we'll have to both come quickly then, hmm?"

[hamiltonaf]

Hello ! Can I request a Lewis x reader who's a famous singer and he attend her concert please ? Him reacting to the songs she wrote for him and how it end up a bit smutty with they finf each other backstage ?

Fantasize | Lewis Hamilton

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Warnings: Slight smut

A/N: Hello my loves ! The song inspo for this oneshot is Fantasize by Ariana Grande. Thank you anon for requesting. Hope you babes enjoy. Requests are open .xx

From long nights in the studio a few weeks ago to now going on tour felt like a breath of fresh air. The tour was starting off at home, in London. Excited, though my nerves took over me - even though I’ve been doing this for so many years now, I should be used to it, but not when I have a special guest attending…my situationship, Lewis.

Our situationship goes back about 3 months ago, when my PR manager thought it would be a good idea for me to date Lewis. I haven’t been in the dating light for quite a hot minute and apparently I needed to get back to it so people had something to talk about, especially since everyone nowadays is a fan of F1. Surprisingly his PR manager had agreed on it and apparently we would make a good looking couple.

It started when I attended the race in Miami, no one questioned it or got ‘suspicious’ because almost every A list celebrity attended. 3 weeks later I attended the Monaco GP, yet again I was a guest for Mercedes so people started to slowly talk about it. Didn’t go to any other race for a whole month since I had song writing and recording to do in studio. People really started to talk when I went to the British GP, not a coincidence to anyone that I’m from England but because my rumoured ‘boyfriend’ is British.

I grew to love the sport and let’s say my feelings also grew for Lewis. It felt a bit forced at first since we were patched by our PR team, but the more time we spent together alone, the more we learnt about each other’s true self. From sweet and shy to daring and flirty.

Lewis’ rizz is unmatched to any man that I’ve met or been with. He can start off as such a gentleman but can so smoothly move onto flirting with me and making me feel weak at my knees. Speaking of weak, we’re back to feeling that way now since Lewis was on a break in between races and decided that he wanted to attend to support me. For some reason he just makes me feel nervous, in a good way of course, I don’t even feel nervous to perform around friends or family or even my fans for crying out loud…wait, am I in love ? I’m pretty sure this is what it feels like to be in love and here I am being in denial about my feelings.

I was backstage warming up my vocals whilst getting my hair and makeup touched up, when we all heard a knock at the door. My manager walked over to the door and stepped aside as she held it wide open without a word, I looked through the mirror to see it was Lewis. “Aww Lew ! So glad you could make it” I smiled as I watched him walk towards me. “I’m so glad to be here. Very excited to see you perform tonight. Nervous ?” He asked as he rubbed my shoulders. My PR manager then escorted everyone out from the room so we were left alone.

“Very nervous but excited for the most part” I smiled as I then stood up to face him. “Don’t be, you got this. I’ll be cheering you on from the side. Just look to your left and you’ll see me” he smiled. “You’re so cute. Thanks for that, I’ll be looking out for you.” Just then my PR manager yells through the door, “(Y/N) you need to get dressed !”

I shut my eyes for a second, “Okay give me 5” I yelled. “Can I stay to watch ?” He smirked. “No, Sir. See you after the show” I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. I then turned him around by his shoulders and guided him to the door. “Just a peak” he pleaded as he bit his bottom lip. “Stop or I might just cave in. Bye” I blushed as I held on the door handle. “I’ll try my luck later. Break a leg” he said softly, he then caught me by surprise by giving me a sweet kiss and a wink before rushing out.

I finally got dressed, had another round of touch ups and put on my ear piece before heading out back stage for my entrance. I still felt flustered and I couldn’t stop thinking about Lewis. I really need to get my feelings off my chest after the show.

Out of the thousands of people screaming and looking at me I could feel a particular pair of eyes burning into me, when I took a quick glance to my left, he was right there as he said. His phone in hand, recording me looking his way. I shook my head and looked back towards the fans.

On the last verse, the energy in the stadium was ecstatic.

Mentally, physically weak

Boys blowin’ up my phone

They just ain’t you, ooh, baby

…

Tryin’ to behave, but I’m feelin’

Some type of way

That just ain’t me

The band and I took a bow before I gave a vote of thanks to the fans for coming, and for all the love they’ve shown on the album. After rushing off stage to my dressing room, my mind was running with thoughts of Lewis. Speaking of the man himself, he was already seated in my dressing room. “Hey gorgeous. You did amazing out there. I’m so so proud of you” he rushed over to me as he pulled me in for a hug. “Yet again, thanks for coming. It really means a lot” he then broke away from our hug with a serious look. “I was supposed to tell you this before you left and I can’t hold it in any longer”

“Okay well same and it’s eating me up inside to hold it back” I said as I took a deep breath. “I love you” we said simultaneously. “Oh my gosh” I lowly said. “Are you joking ?” He asked with the biggest smile on his face. “Lew this isn’t something to joke about” I said seriously. “Then please be mine, officially” he said as he then wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me against him. “I thought you’d never ask” I grinned as I leaned in and closed the gap between us.

“As sexy as this dress looks on you, it needs to come off” he said in between kisses. The kiss got heated by the second as his hands trailed from squeezing my bum to the straps of my dress, pulling them off my shoulders. Just then there was a knock at the door. Shit. “Babe your car is here !” my PR manager shouted. “Damn it” I said frustrated and heated. “Well I guess we’ll have to continue this in the car” he said as he helped me adjust the straps of my dress - he grabbed a hold of my hand and pulled me along with him, eagerly waiting to continue this in the car.

[jolalibrary]

stockings and stars

javier peña x f!reader

summary: Still need the star putting on the top of the tree. ive got other plans for you Because I’m the star? yeah you're my star and youre not going anywhere but on your back

from the late night texts world - but can still be enjoyed on its own. chapter warnings: allusion to/mentions of smut. no actual smut. javi undresses you, though. flirting. fluff. reader wears red lingerie and a dressing gown. javi flirting. sexy talk, romcom vibes ofc ✨ wordcount: 3k

an: to @goodwithcheese merry christmas from me, to you. thank you for everything, for the tuesday fun we have - i wanted nothing more than to have this out sooner, but life, you know? but, i adore you. and I'm so glad we found one another. ahuge thanks to @thetriumphantpanda who cheerleaded for me throughout.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

Will I be seeing Santa Javi today? I want to decorate my tree.

one time I come to yours in a red shirt

You also had the tree under your arm and a bag of baubles, I’d class those as gifts.

keep talking baby and you can decorate your tree alone

Think I’m gonna wear that shirt you left here while I do it. Make sure I have to get up on my tip toes. Hope it doesn't rise up...

you don’t play fair

I think I’ll be in stockings too…

youre killing me

Maybe they’re white and red, and…

baby if i wasn’t putting this thing up for Pop, i’d be driving over right now

Hope you hurry up, I need someone tall to put the star on top of the tree.

how am I gonna eat you out when youre perched on the tree baby

The last thing on his to-do list from his Pop is to hang the front porch garland.

He had learnt there had been a huge difference in the front and the back porch garlands. A fifteen-minute-long difference when he'd timed the response given to his sarcastic answer.

Javi learnt there was not only one for the back porch and the front, but one which sat across the fireplace and one on the staircase.

He learnt that after he'd made a joke about mixing them up—earning himself a very pointed glare, and the task of the front porch.

Now, it’s a battle he’s losing.

Tremendously so.

While he’d never want his Pop to do the more challenging tasks, he did rather hate he hadn’t thought to trade this one in for the back porch at the very least—because that had looked fucking easy.

Holding the garland in hand, he’s suddenly hit with a second wave of nostalgia, the first having arrived when he'd pulled down the box and peered into it.

It did the same thing as it had done then, all but rushed over him, layering itself on his shoulders, sitting, nothing short of a comfortable weight on him. Letting his gaze fall out over it, he smiles at the tuffs of fabric, all the bows tied by hand, all in an array of sizes and shades.

Over time, he can see how they've become sun-dyed, remembering the first year they'd been sewn into the faux greenery by his mamá, memories of her all hunched over, humming carols.

Smiling, he rolls his lips, letting out a heavier sigh than he intended as he drags it to the post he’d begin at.

But, all he wonders is whether in the years he wasn’t here, whether it was occasionally hung—or if this year is just that special.

The mere hint that he was going to ask if you wished to spend Christmas at the ranch had sent his Pop into overdrive. Practically yanked him out of his chair like he’d been electrified, a bunch of orders being flung from under his white, wiry moustache that they needed to get ready.

He wasn't sure he'd get the image of his Pop suddenly scrambling around like a man half his age, to drag the decorations out from the cupboard, would ever be erased from his mind. Least of all the sound you'd made aww'ing down the phone when he'd given you a condensed version of the story.

Because he hasn't asked you yet, not properly.

Even though he's spent the last two days at the back of barns and spending a ridiculous amount of time at the hardware store—because we need to make sure the lights stay up, Jav.

He just hasn't found the right time to ask you. A promise each time he goes to see you left in the air. Not that his Pop remembers that, instead he's just busy thinking up ways to make it special: one of which includes decorating the trees at the entrance to the ranch.

An idea having sprouted with the newest ranch hand—one which, if Javi overheard correctly, involves rope acting like tinsel and a cowboy hat being the star on the top of the trees.

Feeling his phone vibrate, he temporarily ignores it as he begins to weave the beginning of the garland around the wood—already knowing, before he tries to move it around the spindles, that it isn’t going to be easy.

Because nothing ever fucking is.

Least of all when you’re waiting for him.

His mind begins to concoct images of you in bows and sheer material, lips painted, sat waiting, smelling nothing short of heavenly as you call out for—

“Fuck,” he shouts, dropping the garland to the ground.

It had pricked him, stabbed him right in the skin—hand shaking the pain out, face likely all scrunched. And, if it didn't have sentimental value, he's sure he'd have kicked its protesting ass with everything he had. Instead, he just narrows his eyes more than he had done moments ago as he begins again.

He feels his nostrils flare when it begins to undo itself. The sound of faux bristles on wood grates him before it will even attempt to do what he needs it to.

And it makes him want to quit, to throw it back into the box and tell his Pop it isn’t worth it. But he knows it is. Knows that his mama didn’t spend hours bent over under flickering light for it not to be seen.

Javi also strongly suspects you’d love it. Likely run your fingers over several bows asking who made it. He can even imagine the look of joy on your face when he tells you.

It’s why, if he didn’t already suspect it anyway, he’s pretty sure his Pop loves you more than him. Because even the first Christmas he was back, there weren’t this many decorations; not nearly as much need to have them all out, either.

Not that Javi really minds—or blames him.

There’s a notable shift in energy when you stay over. Even more so in him. He can see there’s a cheer and a glow to the place—one Javi hates watching vanish when he takes you back to your place.

It's why, when—and where—he can, he fights for you to be here. Practically finds convincing ways to do so, including, crossword puzzles, dinner, and two-person showers. But, at some stage, your clothing dwindles, underwear runs low, and he has to make the painful drive into town to return you to your place.

Your fingers in his hair, practically clambered into his lap as you whisper that you’ll be back before he knows it. His fingers on your chin, thumb stroking out the words he says right back—that he’ll miss you all the same.

Javier Peña. Texan softie—what will the world think?

He only thinks one thing when he drives back—a response which had been there on his lips. Guess they’ll see just how much I love you. A thing you know, comment on, say back to him first thing in the morning and last thing at night. An array of promises there, sometimes spoken at a normal level and sometimes whispered.

You always keep them, just like the one that you are always back before he knows it.

He likes it when you are. Enjoys it when you’re nestled beside him, arm across his chest, hand close to his ribs—strumming them, tracing lines and words he tries to understand before sleep takes him.

He still always sleeps better when you’re beside him. When his breathing can mirror yours, when he can feel for you in the night when he’s awoken with nightmares and things he knows won’t ever come true.

Now, he’s fighting a different battle. One to get to you.

Halted in his path to freedom by the garland which refused to be hung, and could be labelled as giving him more grief than the horses which had banded together. A phrase he never thought he’d admit out loud, never mind think.

You still fighting with the garland?

baby its torturing me on purpose

Do you want me to come and help?

will you come in the stockings

No!! Your dad is there.

then stay there actually lie down, but do not begin without me

Still need the star putting on the top of the tree.

ive got other plans for you

Because I’m the star?

yeah you're my star and youre not going anywhere but on your back

Hurry then.

i’m hurrying

He does hurry—practically scratched up by the time he’s parking his truck outside your place.

As he takes the step up to your door, Javi realises how much he misses it here when he doesn’t visit. A place less frequent and often spent time in, even under your insistence of renting it.

It is always usually a stopping point, him parking up, letting you go in and grab what you need before you're back in his truck, heading back to his.

He does like your place though, likes how small it is, how cosy. Plus, it has all the things which make you, you. A thing his place is currently missing.

Although, as he steps through the door, and calls your name, he does have to admit it currently looks fucking ridiculous.

On a good day, he’d describe your place as crowded, but right now, it’s claustrophobic.

The tree you’d forced him to get is shoved into a corner, branches fluffed out, surrounded by the piles of unpacked boxes you’ve tried to discreetly hide. Your remaining floorspace is overtaken by a bit of rug, several piles of books (you have no room for, but continue to buy) and odd bits of furniture you find and attempt to restore.

For the most part, you’ve decorated. A thing you did inform him of.

You’ll be pleased to know when you get here your only job is the star. managed it all yourself, did you I’m a very competent woman, Javi. oh i know baby ive seen you with a crossword Does that do it for you? Me finishing a crossword. does something to me Get over here. im leaving now

There’s a warm, comforting glow spread out across the place from the fairy lights you’ve hung and the array of mismatched decorations—both bought and handmade—hanging from branches.

He breathes in the scent of orange which hangs in the air, his eyes finding the culprit on your fireplace, a garland—one not dissimilar to the one he’d been battled with—places there, mocking him due to the ease of which had been laid, with oranges and little beads all entwined within it.

Snorting, he glances back at your tree, spotting the things he's been with you when you've bought. And, as promised—and informed him through text—there’s nothing at the top of your tree.

“You finally made it!”

Spinning on his heel, he comes face to face with you, and fuck if the sight of you doesn’t make it all worth it.

Dressed in a red, silky dressing gown, all tied in the middle, you're a vision. Then, there's the fact your lips are painted a shade he’d now famously dub Christmas red, a colour he wants nothing more than to be stained with. A path of it from his mouth down to the space where his jeans meet his hips. A thought which seems to only make how tight his jeans are even more uncomfortable.

“Cariño, you’re…”

You sway a little, letting the fabric move—allowing his gaze to land on the stockings. The ones he’s been thinking about all afternoon. The ones he can’t wait to feel under his palm and know whether they’ll create friction when wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck me.”

“I’m kinda banking on it,” you say, biting your red-painted lip. “But first…”

His hand crawls around your waist, feeling the smooth, soft texture under his hand—swallowing, dragging his eyes up and down you, unsure how he could ever be so lucky—how something so good could ever be here for him to unwrap.

“I need you to hang the star,” you continue.

“Right now?”

Nodding, you ghost your lips over his. “I’ve been so good waiting for you.”

“You're never good. You, baby, are a menace.”

“I’m your menace.”

Snorting, he presses a kiss to your lips. “Damn right, you are.”

Moving from you, reluctantly, only to pick up the gold star he assumes you want to hang, getting a nod from you that he’s right.

“Need to ask you something too.”

And even though he’s only taken a mere short step from you, he’s floored all over again about what a picture you look like when he glances back. That you’re standing all for him, dressed in nothing but cheer and ribbons all for him.

“Go on.”

Turning to your tree, he flattens his hand to the wall for stability. “I wanted…”

His concentration slides in—suddenly aware he doesn’t want to knock anything from the branches. Doesn’t want to force things to be misplaced from where they were expertly hung.

He’s also sure he’s wanting to swallow the question. A part of him, all the way deep inside of him, having been bracing—and waiting—to hear you’d be apart for the holidays. A thing the two of you have rarely been since you moved here, not a day going by he hasn’t seen you for at least an hour.

“Wanted to know if you—shit—” the star almost sitting atop, before at the last minute protesting. “I wanted to know if you wanted to spend Christmas with me—with us, me and Pop. At the ranch.”

The star slides into place, sitting more comfortably with another shove, more branch supporting it.

But he doesn’t turn, not immediately. Not as the question hums around him, swirls in the silence of you not immediately saying yes. So much so, that it takes him a second to move on his heels, to face you—to read the answer before it’s delivered.

What he sees is something his heart couldn’t have ever prepared for.

You, grinning—a silly, almost goofy, smile spreading out as you bite down on your lip, forehead slightly crinkled.

“You… you want me to spend the holidays with you?”

“Of course—cariño, I want nothing more than for you to be with me.”

It all quick to leave his mouth, mirroring the movement to be back in front of you, fingers under your chin, lifting your eyes—those beautiful, fucking eyes—to his.

“Do… do you—wanna spend it with me?”

You pull a different face before you’re nodding. One more excited, one which begins to expel out over a smile and a bunch of escaping phrases such as I can’t believe you want me with you and of course.

“Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?”

Shrugging, you scrunch your nose—an act he finds just as cute as the first time he saw it. “Guess it’s a big deal. It’s… a thing people do with families.”

Pulling you close by your hips, your hand lands flat on his chest. “You are my family.”

“Javi,” you whisper, making each letter feel so individual the way you say it, that it makes his heart double.

“It’s true. You’re it for me, cariño. All I’ve wished for.”

Eyes widening, your eyes shimmer under the lights—more so than normal. Taking a deep breath, you lift your chin before pressing a kiss to his mouth. One which turns hungry, desperate—your mouth searing, a thing he’s craved since he woke up before the sun even rose.

“Baby,” you whisper.

And he hums.

It vibrates out, able to feel it from the way his fingers cup your cheek.

“Undo me.”

Releasing your lips with a pop, he opens his eyes, studying your eyes, moving from one to the other.

“Go on,” you urge in a whisper, more breathless, more tinged with something that makes his skin hot.

Sliding his fingers over the knot, he barely has to tug before it comes undone—unveiling you, like a curtain which wishes to part. If he’d thought you’d looked good before, he’s sure every bit of you is a sin now—a Christmas sin.

Red and lace. It’s all he sees. It sitting there, against you, hugging your breasts—sitting on your hips. His mouth is suddenly dry at the thought of running his tongue over the place it meets your skin before pulling it down.

Your fingers follow his eyes, sliding between the valley to land on the bow in the centre, twisting the edge of the tie around your index finger—palm skating over your stomach, allowing him more chance to take in how you’re stood before him in see-through fabric and promises.

“How’d I get so lucky?” he asks, more to no one, than to you.

His fingers teasing the fabric sat on your hip—marvelling, unsure how to think straight until you clear your throat, forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Hey,” you whisper, tightening your hold on his hands, bringing his arms more around your waist, pressing your front to him, feeling the heat from your skin through your clothes. “You’re all I wished for too.”

Smiling, he looks at your tree, before landing back on you. “You look so good.”

“I know. Could look better though?” His brow arches as you slowly begin to smile, the tip of your tongue sliding over your upper lip. “Everything is held in place by bows.”

Groaning, he closes his eyes, letting his hand slide down your lower back, over sheer material before his fingers find the ribbon on your hip.

“All for you.”

“Mine,” he answers, slotting his mouth over yours—staining the four letters to your lips.

His fingers slide around, brushing over soft skin, until he finds the first bow. Undoing it with ease, licking into your mouth, only to grunt against you when you whimper as the fabric falls to your feet.

“Yours,” you say back, your own hands beginning to undo him.

an: merry christmas, love you

[whorediaries-09]

SO SORRY TO ADD ANOTHER A OTHER REQUEST :( BUT CAN WE MAYBE HAVE LIKE A SOFT NICE DATE THAT SLOWLY TURNS INTO SMUT WITH RON? PLEASEE? Also hui :3

hi lovey, thank you for sending in the request, hope you like it!

i think he knows; pairing- ronald weasley x reader warning(s)- mentions of war, 18+ content, fluff. a/n- contrary to popular belief, i am in fact quite alive and breathing.

little train.

' he got that boyish look that i like in man, i'm an architect i'm drawing up the plans. '

going on a date after the war was...intimidating, to put it in within a play of a single word. and surely ron wasn't expecting himself to be in a sticky situation with the pretty healer who had tended to his wounds after the traumatizing events. he ran his thumb over the now healed scar.

it'd tell a tale.

he remembered you. he could recall the dullness of worry in your eyes. the shine of hope in your eyes. even if your hair was matted with blood and rubble, you were the diesel to the fire that so timidly burned. the bruise under your eye was fresh, deep blue blackening, a shard of glass hanging from your chin.

he wish he could paint the blue golden.

with the last tug at the leather strap of the watch around his wrist, he decided he'd get the flowers. it would add a nice touch, a 'gentlemanly effect', he liked to think. even if it did seem to be a bit cliche. perhaps he thought of the smile on your face when you got the flowers (he was hopeful that you liked flowers). or perhaps he was just afraid of the aspect of a hormone rushing pregnant ginny hitting him on the head because of his 'less gentlemanly thoughts'

he remembered harry patting his shoulders, throwing out advices. ron rolled his eyes. he recalled when harry was swooning over cho chang, describing his very 'wet' kiss. he kicked harry in the shin, pulling a laugh out of his friend, grumbling harry wasn't much of a 'playboy' either.

so, he found himself standing in the flower shop, having absolutely no ideas about flowers. he watched the half a dozen barely bloomed pink roses being tied together. god forbid you weren't allergic to them. or didn't laugh at him for being too cliched.

he wished hermione had actually written that book about girls.

*-

it was fruitful, his attempt to choose the flowers. he'd recognized it from the shine in your eyes and the beautiful curve adorned on your lips. he'd found you beautiful when you were on the brink of death, disguised as a savior, so heaven sent. but now, when you held his hand, touching the scar you'd mended, talking away about stuff he couldn't really catch up on, your hair smelling like something so desirable, he found you breathtaking. he was mesmerized by you.

you felt like a forbidden treasure, the diesel to the fire in his heart that raged it's flames ever so timidly.

you'd liked the flowers. ron silently thanked the gods that you weren't allergic. you liked a lot of things, he learnt. cats, photography, literature, music, and a good fuck... was amongst the few things you liked. he was sure you'd said that intentionally just to pull out a reaction. the evil trick was recognized by the pretense innocent mischievousness in your eyes.

he was glad he coughed the drink in his mouth instead of spitting it right onto your face. you'd smiled, throwing him a dirty wink, twirling the straw of lemonade with your tongue. the dim carnival light angled your features, bringing out the best of your bone structure.

'well, to put it correctly, i enjoy a good fuck...' you said, after ron had recovered from his coughing haze. he wiped the edge of his lips, a nd putting on his best front, he responded,

'well then i can promise you an enjoyable time with me sweetheart,'

it was said with an awkward stance, a constant shift of octaves. but it still made you flush as the flame of the fire of his burning heart tickled your skin. you'd be his fuel, his diesel. you'd be his muse, the tale he recite.

*-

by the time it was time to leave you by the doorstep, the sky dizzied itself across the luminated street scattered with gravel. his fingers were melted within the crevices of yours, fit snug like a puzzle. he liked the way you laughed, the way your voice did throbbed so serenely against his eardrums while narrating tales, the way your eyes lit up against the dim lighting. 'liked' would be an understatement.

for the first time in his life, he was thankful for his freckles. he hoped they hid the flush of his pale skin.

'you're...kind,' you stated, shimmying on your tiptoes.

'hmm... why do you say so, sweetheart?' he asked.

'i know you live on the other side of town, and you came by to drop me...' a stupid line pops up in his head, but he doesn't say anything. he almost bites his lip to not let his boyish thought control his action. so, he smiles.

and lingers. holding your hand. the distance between him and you isn't much, the little roof over the entrance of your house providing him the needed protection from rain.

he can feel your breathe upon his already warm skin. it excruciates his patience. it plays with his senses, the sweet fragrance of petrichor infused with a scent, that reeks of you. it's blissful.

still, like the boyish man he is, he does nothing. he lingers, letting a silence wrap the little bubble of tranquility. it's comforting, in a strange way. he can't figure out what to do, when the sound of the rain, the running vehicles and the croaking frogs blur, when he feels your fingers tighten around his.

your lips lingers a little too close to his, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. or rather the side of his mouth. his mind reels when you place forward your request, your thought.

'the rain won't stop. not now anyways.' you whisper, lips brushing his earlobe. he doesn't recognize what takes over him within the click of your doorknob and the placement of your hand on his waist, as you pull him towards you.

but he enjoys it, the sudden rush of hormones. it's quick, it's something he's not felt for a long time. so long, it almost feels foreign. perhaps, it is. it's a warmth he's never felt, no never in his teenage years has he ever felt the need of touch. he's never realized the need, he thinks.

it's maddening, your touch all over his body when he finally crashes his mouth with yours, pushing you against the unlocked door of your house. he stumbles as you grab your neck, breathlessly cradling your cheek within the crevice of his palm. the scar you'd fixed touches the one on your chin.

it's a tale to be kept silent, to be a concealed message. like a string of fate, perhaps.

his teeth nips softly at the bare skin of your neck, your back pressed against the cold wall of your house. he feels the heat radiate off your body, moans leaving your mouth. your name rolls of his tongue as your fingers pull his hair, pulling his face away from your neck.

'is this okay?' he asks, concerned. he thinks he's fucked it up, by jumping on your bones. to his relief, you smile,

'it's...more than okay. can we go to the bedroom please?'

'sure, sweetheart. whatever makes you comfortable.'

*-

you've got your hair tangled up in his ginger locks. the moans spilling from your throat echoes through against the walls of your bedroom. his lips aren't on yours, as much as he'd love to taste your moans and sounds, your noise is honey-dripping gold in his eardrums.

his cock plunges deep within you, till your room loses the smell of your sandalwood candles. it reeks of sex and skin, the physical intimate bond of unheard individuals. it reeks of something magical, a golden desire painting over deep blue bruises.

it's fueling, to feel his touch on your skin. it diesels the fire that ignites within you when he snaps his hips against yours. the sound of his gasps, your moans, and skin slapping fills the room. you roll your eyes, as he thrusts himself angled perfectly so as to hit your sweet spot. you see white, moaning his name,

'fuck please, ron right there,'

his silver chain dangles over your lips. you wrap your lips around it, bringing his face closer. he gasps, his finger slipping between your connected bodies. his calloused thumb rubs over your stimulated clit, making you arch your hips, searching for more friction.

'you're making me feel so good, sweetheart,' he moans as you clench your walls around his girth. the coil building in your stomach drives your to the edge of your sanity.

'yeah?' you whisper back, half heaving, half controlling your urge to scream. it's heavenly, the combination of his perfect thrusts, the rubbing of his finger against your clit. you wrap your legs around his body, pulling him closer, to feel him, to touch him.

his girth plunges in you, and you feel your coil unraveling through you, your thighs shaking as the orgasm bubbles over the brink. it's pure heavenly insanity, a break through from the scorching insatiable desire for him.

you feel him release within you, wrecking your guts. your orgasm paints his abs, as his lump body falls over yours, his weight dead. he hides his face into your neck, smiling. the tranquil silence settles, carving a little bubble of comfort. neither of you hear the rain pattering against the gravel.

perhaps, truly it was just an excuse. excuse for a fate, for a destiny. to rebound broken strings of souls.

'you don't break promises do you?' you ask, laughing.

****************************************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox. specify whether you want to be tagged in just the series or all my upcoming works.)

[alonetimelover]

pairing: Harry Styles x tennis player!reader

summary: "Can't hear the haters when you're slaying"

tennis player!reader

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harryupdates

liked by ynupdates, harryshoee and 14 104 others

harryupdates Harry and YN were spotted in London yesterday! via emglishmanharry

view all 1 023 comments

ynupdates glad to see yn well rested before the big paris!!

harrysmoustache he looks SOOOOOO good, man

harryshoee they are such a handsome couple, i literally can't take it anymore

tennisfan01 walkover in Italy to have a longer vacation? very professional of her

tennisfan92 here you have an example of why she's losing so much lately

tennisfan101 choosing a boy instead of your job??? classy

ynhater professional player only in billboards

ynhater16 she's becoming more of a celebrity than a tennis player, you can now see what she's really after 💸

comments to this post have been disabled

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ynupdates

liked by harryupdates, ynsmybestie and 28 101 others

ynupdates I really don't know if I should write this... This photo is from YN's practice in Paris today. She broke down crying after multiple people from the audience kept calling her names, howling and disturbing. Those people were just a percentage of the ones that are actively judging her on the internet. And it is NOT okay. And it will never be. Some people should stay at home and keep shouting at their TV, leaving this lovely young woman to live HER life the way SHE wants to. She doesn't owe you anything. Treat her the way you'd like to be treated, with respect and kindness.

comments to this post have been limited

harryupdates couldn't have said it better

ynshands i hate those people, who do they think they are???

ynsmybestie i actually broke down crying with her, it was heartbreaking to see and hear

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harrysmoustache

liked by harryupdates, ynshands and 22 101 others

harrysmoustache after years of listening to Harry, i got to see him live. yes, this show was different. Yes, he was disappointed and angry. yes, he wasn't his usual bubbly smiley self. am I going to complain? no. he had a reason to be and its okay. I still listened to my favourite song (fine line) and forgot about my problems. thank you, harrystyles

view all 2 101 comments

harrynewfan hi, im a new fan and don't know what is happening in the fandom yet. could someone explain?

⤷ ynsmybestie harry is in a relationship with YN YSN. and right now, she is receiving a lot of hate because of losing tournaments and taking a break. its all over twitter (she's been trending for a week now)

ynupdates it seems that the situation really got to him. it's so sad to see

ynsmybestie i hope they are okay. i fear them breaking up, like man.... i can't think about it, imma cry

harryshoee did any of you miss what he said on stage???

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twitter

emily saw harry ♡ | harryno1fan

here's a thread of what harry said today concerning the outrageous comments about yn

1) "Your sign says: "I was bullied into changing myself. You helped me find the way back." First of all, you did it yourself because you are the strong individual. Secondly, I hope that those bullies learnt how to use their ability to communicate, right? This show is not a safe place for bullies, any bullies. Treat people with kindness."

11k comments | 34k shares | 74k likes

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emily saw harry ♡ | harryno1fan

2) Right before singing Fine Line: If I may have your attention, please! This song has been very special for a person close to me lately, and I'd like to dedicate it to her. Uhmm, sometimes when life gets hard and everyone seems to be against you, there - there is someone still for you, believing in you. This is for you."

10k comments | 32k shares | 70k likes

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emily saw harry ♡ | harryno1fan

3) After seeing the sign *are you coming to the Roland Garros?* "am I going? of course i am. my girlfriend is defending her title there. of course, I'm gonna be there! what a ridiculous question *laughing*. are you coming? you are. i hope to see you there. she loves the support even though she doesn't want to admit to it."

9k comments | 38k shares | 90k likes

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emily saw harry ♡ | harryno1fan

4) when there were five signs about yn next to each other: "did you coordinate that? no? you don't know each other! that's great! why are you writing signs about someone else on MY concert, hmm? I'm sorry, what? oh, you want to show your support. that's great. that's lovely. I think yn would love to see it. May I take a picture of you guys?"

and he did take a picture of them!!!!

14k comments | 40k shares | 80k likes

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harry LOT | harryupdates

this concert was very different and I think everyone needed it. harry made a clear statement: there is no place for hate and cruelty that people put YN through. and i thank him for that, really. what a great man.

4k comments | 6k shares | 3k likes

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yn my queen | ilovetennis

i am glad that Harry finally spoke up against it

1k comments | 654 shares | 2,1k likes

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ynupdates

liked by harryupdates, ynsmymama and 5 201 others

ynupdates YN via IG stories! thankfully the first round went easy and she's waiting for tomorrow's opponent. can't wait to see another match!

also, yes, i am disabling the comments because haters didn't learn anything.

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harryupdates

liked by ynupdates, tennismylife and 9 201 others

harryupdates HARRY posing for pictures tonight!

edit: the sign said "pose as if yn is taking a picture of you"

view all 2 201 comments

harryshoee this show is looking very promising and we're just few minutes in!!!!

hArrysbtch babes, he looks cuuuuuute

ynsmybestie im in love

yntennisqueen im beginning to like him

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twitter

seeing harry tonight | harryontour

"she's in paris, cause she's defending her Roland Garros title. and she's in the arena to define if I'm a better performer than Taylor Swift. baby, what's the verdict?"

when i tell you i screamed. sorry, screeched at him, i bet if he heard he would think I was possessed.

16k comments | 12k shares | 32k likes

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lily loves harry | lilyamazing

and then they showed yn screaming "you know im a swiftie!" i love this woman

3k comments | 1k shares | 12k likes

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seeing harry tonight | harryontour

the fucking update I have guys...

Harry: your sign says "have you listened to midnights?" have I listened to midnights?! who do you think I am? midnights? pfff. *after a little pause* yes. yes, I did. my girlfriend loooooves it.

and then he walked off singing: karma is my boyfriend, karma is a god, karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend

I LOVE HIM

28k comments | 34k shares | 102k likes

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harry and tay | midnightsqueen

he's a karma stan, slay king!!!!

3k comments | 4k shares | 7k likes

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andrew is right | billhater

oh, so she's going to concerts the night before a match. no wonder she's losing so much.

14k comments | 8k shares | 1k likes

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ynupdates

liked by harrystyles, harryupdates and 47 291 others

ynupdates couldn't imagine having a better response to the haters. yn ysn everybody!

edit: what in the fuck is harry styles doing on my profile??? wtf is yn doing here as well???

view all 6 028 comments

harryupdates👏 this 👏 is 👏 how 👏 you do it 👏

harrystyles can't here the haters when you're slaying

⤷ yourinstagram oh god, harry xD

⤷ ynsmybestie wtf are you doing here guys????

⤷ harryupdates couldn't imagine my Friday going any better, my life is made, I can die happily

⤷ yourinstagram please don't, im going to sue harry if you do

ynsmymama this match was everything. she IS the leader

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harrystyles

liked by yourinstagram, ynupdates and 18 291 302 others

harrystyles #22 ❤️🎂

comments have been disabled

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yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles, taylorswift and 2 201 493 others

yourinstagram i don't know about you, but I'm feeling 22!

thank you for all the birthday wishes, i love you all ❤️

comments have been limited

harrystyles happy birthday, baby ❤️❤️

taylorswift and it looks good on you! Happy birthday, YN!

⤷ yourinstagram no way

⤷ yourinstagram thank you so much!!! i love you!!!

[popcornforone]

I’ll Make An Exception

A Frankie (Catfish) Morales Fic

Day 20 of Pedrotober

Masterlist

Ooooh so you all liked soft Frankie reading Fink did you (im publishing this now I’m home from my second viewing of The Wild Robot in 48hs) well today you get a bit more of the menace that we all fantasise about. God he’s talented.

Synopsis:- it’s the morning after you met a hot stranger at the bar.

Word count:-1100

Warnings over & above:- most of this is done by messages to each other, masturbation,naughty photos suggesting activities, sexual tension, swearing, alcohol, hook up friends with benefits.

Thanks for giving this a read my loves. As always please thank @alyssamariag & @norththelemon for setting this up.

Had the night before been a blur, or did it happen? You weren’t sure. You knew you were overly tired on this Sunday morning. Not actual hangover that made you dash to the bathroom to be sick but you did have a small headache. Past you knew this would be the case for Louisa birthday & you had a bottle of water & some painkillers by the bed, past you knew future you would need them. You’d also clearly had not been that tipsy as you had got home, locked the house up, taken your make up off & changed into your sleep shirt. That blue & white stripy one. Yet as you laid there thinking about if you should get brunch, you also felt happy. Like something had happened the night before.

That’s when your 11:30 emergency alarm went off. You knew you didn’t want to sleep in & not get any sleep before work on Monday on Sunday night. You’d learnt from past mistakes. As your hand reached to turn it off it stopped. This made you sit up in bed & reach for the phone.

Unknown number

1 message

You swiped & clicked & your eyes widened.

Morning beautiful, hope you got in okay last night 😘

It floods back. The handsome man at the bar. The one with the dirty cap that looked older than him. The stray locks & curls trying to escape it. Big brown eyes. Soft large hands. A grey shirt & jeans which well showed him off in all his glory.

You lie in bed & smile. Your friends know you often don’t like guys to flirt with you at bars, but you signaled to them that this one was fine. He had started out nervous, but from your memory you remember a gently kiss on the back of your hand, you kissing his beard patch, & vaguely remember grabbing his phone to put his number in, before your girls dragged you to the next bar for their happy hour. Your eyes lingering on him for as long as you could. Your blushing right now thinking about him, when the next message pings through.

If you don’t remember me that’s fine, but I just want to check your okay.

You smile & reply to him.

Morning, I’m alive not hungover how are you… frankie?

Your being honest when you ask that, something in the back of you mind just clicked that this was his name.

Ahhh I’m so glad you’re alright, & yes I am Frankie… how many guys did you give your number to last night? You know he’s starting off soft but you can tell from the messages & how you body feels as you think of him, that he could be the right kind of trouble for you.

Just the one, he was kinda cute & shy, I liked him. You can’t see frankie blush as he reads that message.

Lucky him, so I didn’t scare you off?

No 2 for 1 cocktails are clearly more important to my friends than my dating life

Which is?

Until last night none exisitant

& now?

Possible

So you think I’m a good dancing partner?

Whoever said we’d go dancing?

I mean in bed?

You almost choke on your bottle of water at his reply, he’s being forward now he’s realised you’re up for it. It’s not usually what you go for but you are enjoying this. Your arousal growing, tempted to get out your vibrator as you message this handsome stranger from the night before.

Well that all depends, I like whoever I bed to take me on a date first

Ooooh so dinner before desert

Yes

Hmmmm & what would I wake up to each morning if I decided to peruse this. You then quickly snap a selfie not caring how bad your hair is & send it to him so he can see you sleeping in the sleep shirt. Frankie has to palm his cock instantly once he receives the photos.

Any panties under that?

Yes, a small red thong

Damn it baby

& you frankie? What does a smoking hot pilot wear to bed. Your turn to receive a topless selfie, you lick your lips looking at his good body, his chest you want to bury your head in as you bounce up & down on his cock moaning his name as he grabs your arse & he tells you to be a good girl. Your own hand goes to your clit.

Hmmm nice view

I think mine would be better. You then do the ultimate power move & take your thong off & send him a photo of it on the bedroom floor.

Well I’m sure that’s a view you’d like to see.

You fucking tease

You started it

Did not

Did too 🤪

You go back & forth with this. Your pace picking up. He’s asked you if you like someone in control, if you shut your eyes when you cum. The friction unbearable & you moan in a voice note going fuck yes. You have know I dear that this send him over the edge too. Frankie cums all over his hand. A waste he says to himself. After all the self pleasure he then send you one final message.

What if you turned your location on right now to your phone? What would happen?

I dunno come round & find out. You turn on your location & then hear nothing at all for 15mins. You lie there damp & ready to be ravaged by a man who you know nothing about other than he likes to pull a girls hair as she sits as his reverse cow girl.

Then the door bell goes off & you walk downstairs to open it. There in the midday sun stand frankie, he’d clearly thrown on what was near him, long shorts with paint stains on them a grey tshirt & that cap. you stand there still in just your night shirt & look at him.

“Hello handsome”

“Hi does this count as a date?” He asks as he clicks his keys to make sure his truck is locked & you can see his other hand is over his manhood trying to not cum at the state of you in a bed shirt that just about covers your bum.

“No but for you sexy”You wink & grab his hand”I’ll make an exception”

You drag him into your house & lock the door & he pushes you up against it. Clothes fly off everywhere as what was going to be your lazy Sundays for recovery becomes one of the most passionate afternoons of love making in your life.

[stardustloki]

The Boundaries

After the Chancellor's death, Fox takes a job offered to him by Bail Organa.

For over two years, he's believed himself defective, has believed that everything that Palpatine did to him was for his own good, and even knowing that he was a Sith Lord can't erase all the lessons that Fox learnt from him.

But perhaps, in time, Fox can discover that he isn't as much of a failure as he was led to believe.

- Tags: Gen, T, No Archive Warnings, Fox & Bail Organa, Fox & Thire,

Healing, Past Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Esteem Issues, Anxiety, Burn-out, Past Abuse, Non-graphic references to past torture and medical experimentation, For Fox day (10 days late counts, right?)

-

Read it on ao3 here.

Or below the cut.

-

“I am so glad you decided to accept the job offer,” Bail Organa tells him as they walk into his office. 

The doors fall shut behind them, in a way that makes Fox wince internally, before he tells himself to get a grip. So, he’s trapped (no, not trapped, he can walk out any second, he can leave if he wants to, he can)- he’s alone in an office with his new boss.

This is fine. He took this job because he’d known the Senator of Alderaan for two years now, two years in which he has been nothing but good to Fox. He is nothing like the Chancellor was.

But, despite everything, he cannot ignore the fact that Palpatine had been kind to him too, far kinder to him than many people had been, and had given him lots of chances where he hadn’t deserved them.

Fox can leave.

He knows this. He does.

-

The war had ended three months ago, when Wolffe’s chip had malfunctioned, and Plo Koon had gone on a protective rampage that had ended with the Chancellor dead.

He’d been a Sith lord, apparently.

Initially, Fox had found this quite hard to believe; he’d had been so welcoming, had called Fox by his name (whenever he didn’t mess up too badly), and had been far more patient than he could ever justify.

“Fox,” Wolffe had said, more softly than he had ever heard him speak, sitting across from Fox’s bed in the Jedi’s Halls of Healing, a fresh bandage on his head from where his chip had been removed, “he tortured you.”

Fox had said nothing, merely pushing his skinny arms under the soft blankets so that the lightning scars and needle marks hadn’t been visible. As terrified as he’d been of the man, the Chancellor had never done anything to him he hadn’t deserved, and, even if he hadn’t liked it, Fox had known it - Palpatine had made sure he understood how forgiving he had been.

Then, Master Che had shown him the inhibitor chip that had been inside his brain, and the screen of the datapad that Mereel Skirata had connected to it, the Null Clone having sliced through the security measures easier than breathing. The datapad showed the chip had been used regularly, to make him hurt people, to make him forget large swathes of time.

Later, Fox would blame the surgery for the fact that he spent the next few minutes shaking as he threw up bile into the refresher.

When he could speak, he’d explained what Palpatine had done, explained that he’d run lots of tests on Fox with the most advanced medical droids, droids who had been helping him to get better.

“Did they actually make you feel better?” Vokara Che had asked.

Fox had thought about his creeping suspicions, about the fact that he’d tried not to wonder if the tests and the treatments were what had been making him even more dizzy and disorientated, making his fatigue dig its claws ever deeper into him.

He’d thrown up again.

So, Palpatine was a Sith Lord who had been hurting him for his own sick amusement. Okay.

This didn’t mean that he was wrong though, this didn’t mean that Fox wasn’t a failure.

—

When Organa tells him the shift pattern, Fox lets himself frown.

“So, I’m only going to be working eight hours a day,” he clarifies.

Organa nods. “Technically, it is only seven hours in total, when you include breaks, which of course you will be paid for.”

Well that- that made no sense. Why would Fox be given breaks when he was working for such a short amount of time, and paid ones no less? This had to be some kind of trick… but Senator Organa had never been known for those, so what was this?

“And when I pass my ‘probation’-” there is a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that says he won’t. He would have been decommissioned for his mistakes long ago if Palpatine hadn’t wanted to watch him suffer- “I presume I will be moving up to doubles or triples.”

“No,” Organa says, face very calm in the way it only gets when he is very angry with someone in the Senate, but he doesn’t want to show it. Fox stiffens. “There will be a few events that require longer hours, special occasions or festivals and the like, but you will not be working sixteen hour shifts. Aside from the fact that it is illegal, it would not be in my best interests for the people guarding me to be exhausted.”

“Yes, sir,” he agrees automatically, but there’s a deeply jaded part inside of him that just laughs. That’s never going to be true.

“The way Palpatine-” Organa all but spits his name- “and my esteemed colleagues treated you is wrong. You know that, don’t you?”

—

When Senator Organa had offered him the job after three months of medically-mandated downtime, Fox had leapt at the chance, despite the fact that half of him was screaming at him to stay away from Natborns, and the Senate building most of all.

But he’d always been pretty good at pushing past his fear, he’d never have made it out of training if he hadn’t.

The last few months had been strange. At first, he’d been on medical leave, forbidden from looking after his men until Master Che had fully understood the effects of the Chancellor’s experiments. And then, there had been no more Coruscant Guard.

Learning of the chips had shaken the Republic, and the Clone sections of the GAR had been quickly disbanded. It had only been at the pushing of the Jedi, concerned Senators such as Organa, Amidala and Chuchi, and - most surprisingly of all - members of the general public, that the mass ‘decommissioning’ had only been a discharge from the military. They were luckier still that them leaving the army had necessitated the Republic granting them citizenship, and - to prevent them roaming around as Separatist mercenaries or some such ridiculous idea - they had been given accommodation and a ‘small’ amount of money each month.

Looking at the amount of money he now had in his bank account (something that was quite difficult to secure with biometrics) Fox wondered what natborns considered a ‘lot’ of money - perhaps it would be the ‘starting salary’ Bail was going to pay him.

His brothers had done their best to integrate him into civilian life. One of the first things he and the other ex-Corrie Commanders had done was to go and see a holo about an imaginary war. It probably hadn’t been a good idea, as they’d all spent the entire time complaining about the unrealisticness of tactics and the injuries the characters suffered. But, at least how terrible it had been meant that none of them had gone into battle shock.

Next, Fox and Cody had tried laser tag. It was like combat sims, but for Natborns, and the training bolts weren’t meant to hurt at all (which seemed a bit stupid - how were you meant to learn to dodge them if you didn’t have a proper reason to?). They’d shown up at the same time as a party of Twi’lek cadets, none of whom had wanted to split up and join their team. That had been fine, Fox and Cody had obliterated them 2 v 15… or would have, if they hadn’t been asked to leave when Fox had started to climb on the scenery to get a better vantage point.

When they’d gone for drinks at 79s afterwards, they’d decided to claim it a victory nonetheless.

But most of the time, Fox had slept. He wasn’t quite sure why - he’d survived just fine on an average of four hours a night for a year.

Okay, okay, even he wasn’t stubborn enough to claim that he’d been fine - he’d felt awful, the fatigue like an anchor in his bones, dragging him under the seas of Kamino - but surely he’d slept enough. Surely months on he shouldn’t be wanting to spend most of his time in bed.

“Burnout,” Master Che had called it.

“Your body was pushed to the limit for over a year, Fox. It’s gonna need some time to recover,” Risk had said.

Whatever, Fox had had enough time. He hated it, the sitting around doing nothing. Okay, he didn’t hate all of it, he loved being able to spend time with his brothers, but he hated enough of it. It was making him antsy, day after day with no purpose.

Fox had been designed to protect Natborns, to feel armour on his body and a blaster on his hip, and without that purpose he was nothing. He hadn’t even been able to protect his brothers, they’d been getting along just fine without him.

So, when Bail Organa had offered him the job, despite the tightening in his chest, he’d felt like he was finally able to breathe again.

—

There isn’t much different about providing security for Bail Organa than there was running security in the senate.

Okay, that isn’t true. There is a lot that’s different, but the security aspect is the same at least, lots of thinking about exits, vantage points, coordinating with a team.

The team he works with is no longer his brothers which is- which is fine . He spends his whole day with Natborns but nothing bad happens, not exactly. 

They offer him caff, which Fox always refuses because he can never tell if they are joking or not, and in any case the shiny caff machine in the kitchenette is too nice for the likes of him. They try to ask him about his life, but the few times Fox’s answers are longer than monosyllabic leave them staring at him like he’s weird and defective, and it makes his skin crawl and his heart race. He knows well that it’s never a good thing to be deviant, so he makes himself as quiet and unobtrusive as possible, from then on only joining in on conversations about work.

When the others take breaks they chat to each other, or watch something on their holopads if they’re alone. Fox doesn’t. When he's told to take a break, he sits in a corner somewhere, reading the latest updates about security and weaponry, and all the dangers that could threaten Senator Organa, unable to risk looking idle. It’s alright for Natborns to relax, it’s never been okay for him. He only starts hesitantly munching on a single ration bar in his lunch period when the others make a fuss about it - he doesn’t need this much food, but it’s better not to get noticed.

They haven’t hurt him, yet, or done anything to show him his place in their hierarchy - unlike what’s happened to some of his Corries that have tried to get jobs on Coruscant - which he supposes he’s grateful for. One month in and he’s almost wondering if he can relax around them.

He can never truly relax though. And though he’s made sure he’s always punctual and his behaviour perfect, there’s always a voice in the back of his head telling him this won’t last, that he’ll do something wrong and everything will go back to how it’s always been.

It hasn’t. Yet. In fact, Fox has made quite a few small errors - or things he knows other Senators would have considered errors - and no one has picked him up on them. It’s strange, disorientating, it almost makes him feel more unsafe. The voice in the back of his head starts to hope that he’ll fuck something big up soon, just so this facade will end, just so he can see how things really are, they can get back to how they were supposed to be and he can stop waiting.

Honestly, he berates himself, there probably isn’t a bigger di’kut than Fox in the entire universe, wanting this calm to end, wanting to be punished for something, it just shows how wrong and broken something inside him is. He should be relishing this relative peace and instead a part of him wants things to go back to how they were before. It’s stupid. He’s stupid. 

He hates himself for it.

-

Despite his initial confusion around the short shifts, he quickly finds himself grateful for them, and dreads the time when more work will inevitably be piled on. 

Whenever he gets back home at the end of the day, he finds he can do little more than collapse on the creaky couch the Corrie Commanders took from their base to their new apartment, wrapping himself up in the soft blankets that cover it. Thorn had bought them all with his first paycheck, to replace the holed and blood-stained throw that they’d acquired and shared during the war, the one that now stays on Fox’s bed. Thire had gaped at it when he’d seen it there, instead of back in the trash where they’d found it, but he’d had to eat his words several nights later after a nightmare - it might look terrible compared to their new brightly-patterned ones, but there’s something comforting about the fact that it had been one of the first things they had been able to call theirs .

The exhaustion is beyond frustrating. Why, when he had once worked for 72 hours straight, can he not cope with eight hours with breaks ?

“You need to be patient with yourself,” Stone says.

Fox pulls the blankets over his head and ignores him.

-

He’s been there almost two months when he wakes up late. It’s fine, he’s fine. He throws on his uniform and probably breaks several traffic laws getting there (but his ident chip is still set to law-enforcement because the CSF hasn’t bothered to change it, and will cancel out any code in the cam-droids that might catch him). He gets to the start of his shift on time.

He hasn’t had his caff though.

This isn’t actually a problem. Whatever his brothers might say, his blood hasn’t actually been replaced by the stuff, and he doesn’t need it to function.

The fancy machine sits in the corner of the kitchenette, taunting him. He doesn’t need it.

His first break comes and goes and his headache grows and his exhaustion doesn’t fade. But Fox is stronger than this - he’s gone through everything Kamino and Coruscant could throw at him and come out the other side.

But, he thinks as the second part of his shift continues, why should he need to be stronger? Everyone has said he’s equal to the Natborns here, everyone has said he’s allowed to drink the caff. So, why not test it? At least then he’ll know, at least then he’ll be able to stop waiting.

So, during his lunch break, he switches on the caff machine. His hands don’t shake, his fingers don’t tap against the worktop, and his breath is steady - he has a lot to thank Kamino for to be honest, it really made him excellent at pretending he isn’t being swallowed up by his own fear.

When he shoves himself into his customary corner he finds that he cannot focus on the article he’s pulled up on his datapad. This is fine, he can just pretend to read it as he sips the delicious caff he can barely taste, as his eyes flicker up to his colleagues as they enter and leave the room.

By the time his break is over his heart is racing, and his limbs are thrumming with an adrenaline he can’t get rid of, but he’s finished his drink. No one’s even much more than glanced at him.

The end of his shift rolls round. In this time, no one’s held him down and poured the boiling water from the caff machine over him, like Senator Apval and his friends had done to Ely early on in the war when the shiny had been naive enough to believe that the offer of a drink was genuine. Fox can still remember his screams as he was treated in the medbay. But the point is, Fox hasn’t been punished for the infraction of pretending he’s as good as a Natborn yet, and a small part of him doesn’t believe he will be.

Then again, Palpatine had liked to let him think he’d gotten away with stuff too.

The next day, Fox has barely slept, but he comes in before the start of his shift with renewed vigour as he makes his way towards the caff machine. He refuses to wait around on tenterhooks anymore. If they are going to remind him of his place, well, he intends to make them get on with it. He pours himself a cup, sits down, drinks it.

No one says anything.

No one says anything the next day, or the next.

At the start of his next shift pattern, Groffith is standing next to the machine, and asks him how he’d like his caff. After a few seconds, Fox tells him.

Perhaps, for some weird reason, his colleagues and employer don’t consider good caff (the most delicious caff he’s ever tasted, to be honest) wasted on Clones.

Who would have thought it?

-

The day Fox has been waiting for comes.

He misses an assassin, whose blaster bolt sears by Senator Organa’s neck. It would have been through his head if Milla hadn’t started pushing him to the ground.

Organa was safe, no thanks to Fox.

Fox is the one to catch the assassin, to put them in binders and hand them over to the incompetence that is the Coruscant Security Force. It isn’t enough. It will never be enough.

He hadn’t checked the surroundings properly. He should have seen them, should have noticed.

If there had been a call that close with any other Senator-

If there had been a call that close with the Chancellor-

As his head starts to spin, he wonders how there could have been a part of him that wanted this to happen, have wanted him to fuck up this badly.

I’m sorry, Fox wanted to beg, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but the Chancellor had usually hated it when he’d done that.

He’s alone, with Senator Organa, who’s sitting behind his desk. Fox is standing straight backed on the opposite side, and hasn’t so much as twitched since they’d entered the office. Organa pulls out two glasses and a decanter from his bottom desk drawer and pours a small measure of alcohol into both.

“Sit down, Fox,” he orders, his tone exhausted as he wipes a hand across his forehead. To be honest, Fox isn’t quite sure how to move, it’s probably only his body’s long experience of obeying orders that allows him to.

He sits there, tense, waiting for Organa to speak because he knows he can’t.

“Please drink, you look like you need it even more than I do,” the Senator says, but all Fox can do is stare at it. He usually likes alcohol, the burn of it seeming to soak into his veins and calm him, but sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he has days like today where all he can remember is being forced to drink things that made him feel disorientated and sick, but he is being ordered, and so he has to.

Fox cannot move, cannot make himself reach out and take the glass. His arm muscles feel as if they might snap.

Organa drains his own glass and lets it clunk on the table.

“I’m sorry,” Fox manages to say. “I should have seen them waiting on the balcony. I-”

He cuts off. What he is meant to say, what he should be saying to the Natborn is what he’s been trained his whole life to say, that he accepts whatever consequences Organa sees fit, but he doesn’t seem to get the words out. They stick in his throat as he realises just how afraid he is, a fact that is utterly ridiculous, Fox had never let his fear take over him like this before. But suddenly, with no one hurting him for the past eight months, he has become weak and afraid. 

Force, he’s pathetic.

Organa sighs. “Well, I can’t say I enjoyed almost getting shot. But these things do happen, and any fault that doesn’t lie with the person who actually tried to murder me isn’t entirely yours - the other three guards on shift could have spotted them as well.”

Fox frowns - he shouldn’t be, shouldn’t be expressing any confusion towards the Natborn, but he can’t help himself - this isn’t how it goes. Whenever there are other Natborns around it is always the Clones, always Fox, who gets the blame.

“Thank you for catching them.”

Fox just nods.

Organa calls Cody to come and pick him up.

-

Fox continues to come to work and be treated with respect. He keeps drinking the caff from the fancy machine. No one says anything. One day he comes in late. No one seems to pick up on this.

-

He does end up pulling a double shift, in the end. There isn’t much for it otherwise considering that numerous bounty hunters are trying to kill them (or rather, Senator Organa, and by extension, everyone guarding him).

By some miracle, he and all of his colleagues make it out alive. The bounty hunters, Fox acknowledges with a smirk, had not all been so lucky. It hasn’t been a bad day, all in all. Adrenaline has been rushing through his veins, but in such a way that it makes him feel alive. Fox is happy, and satisfied, and when he falls into bed in the early hours he sleeps deeply.

He wakes the next morning after four hours sleep, groggy and disorientated, feeling shivery, achy and exhausted. When he struggles to pull himself out of bed, Stone calls Risk, who starts running tests. They take far too long for Fox’s liking.

“I can go to work,” he insists, wondering why they are even having this conversation. “I’ve felt worse, you know I have. I’m not that ill.”

“You’re not technically ill,” Risk frowns, looking at his test results. “Your body’s just reacting against what you did yesterday, it’s warning you not to run yourself into the ground like you did last year.”

Fox actually gapes at him. “Kriffing- Karking- Shabla nu dar’haat, Risk, let me out of this bed. I kriffing survived on a couple of hours sleep every night for two years and this is what my body does now. Ha. No. Kark that.”

Risk shrugs, but surprisingly allows Fox to push past him and stumble towards the kitchen. “It’s not bullshit if it’s true!”

When he gets there, Thire is taking a holocall. “- yeah so he won’t be in today, but I’m sure he’ll be able to let you know whether he’ll be able to make the rest of the week later today.”

Fox feels his blood turn to ice as Thire hangs up.

“That was Organa wasn’t it?”

“Yeah he-”

Fox dives for the comlink, but Thire dodges, slipping it into his pocket, so instead he finds himself throwing him backwards to crash against the oven, blood pounding in his ears. 

“Give me my kriffing comlink you kriffing shabuir!”

Fox is the better fighter, usually, but Thire has the advantage of not feeling like absolute shit. Fox is also pretty sure the room isn’t spinning slightly for him either.

He finds himself dragged backwards, away from Thire, even as he desperately tries to struggle free. Stone, who’s gripping his right arm and shoulder blade in such a way as to almost immobilise him, tells him to calm down.

“Calm down!” Fox spits, anger searing through his veins. “Do you know what he’s just done!? I can’t have a day off, I can’t. Organa won’t let me. I’ll cost him money, I won’t be worth the credits. Stone. Stone you know this. You know we can’t be ill. Stone, tell him, Stone!”

There is a part of Fox that is aware he sounds almost hysterical, that is berating himself for acting like this. He’d never have done this last year, he’d never have broken down like this. He would have thought rationally, and just taken himself over to Organa’s or something. But last year Thire would never have dreamed of acting like this either. What the kriff had gotten into him. They weren’t people who could just take ‘days off’ if they felt a bit ‘under the weather’.

“Organa said it was fine,” Thire argues, like he doesn’t know you shouldn’t ever trust Natborns, even the ones that paid you and let you drink their fancy coffee and didn’t have you beaten or your men decommissioned for almost failing to stop an assassination attempt. “And if he dares hurt you for it, I’ll tell Master Yoda, or get Mereel to override the security and let Jar Jar lose in his office. Or, I’ll go to the Senate and make sure he regrets it myself.”

Fox gapes at him, watching the blood trickle from Thire’s nose where his elbow had caught him.

“We can’t trust him,” his voice is almost pleading. “We can’t.”

“Then why did you agree to work for him, Fox?” Risk asks.

Fox grits his teeth and refuses to answer.

-

Organa greets him warmly when he returns to work, his body feeling better, but his mind swimming with a terror he barely has under control. Fox sighs internally. He used to have a much better handle on things, he used to walk into Palpatine’s office knowing he was going to be tort… knowing that his behaviour was going to be corrected, with barely a glimmer of anxiety, his head feeling as if it was somewhere else entirely. He used to be completely in control.

He grits his teeth, Organa has greeted him warmly and asked how he is. He hasn’t ordered him into his office to explain to Fox exactly why his behaviour is lacking, and he won’t. Risk is right. This is why he took the job. He trusts Organa.

He’s just not sure how to get his body to realise that.

Instead of punishing him, later that day the Senator informs him he needs to make an urgent trip back to Alderaan the next day, and asks if he would like to be one of the security guards accompanying him on the mission (Fox obviously says yes, but he would have said yes anyway, even if he hadn’t been afraid). Organa also informs him that - whether Fox is able to come or not - the ship he’s travelling on has more than enough space, so if any of his brothers would like free transport to visit Alderaan, they are more than welcome.

When Fox gets back home that day, Thire teases him for worrying for no reason as he hands him a cup of hot-choklad. Fox rolls his eyes, he knows his vod’ika doesn’t mean anything by it. Thire has his own issues. He spends most of his time with the cadets at the temple, and won’t ever go near the Senate building again, has told Fox he wishes he could burn it to the ground, hates that he can’t because he thinks too hard about the collateral damage, doesn’t understand how Fox can walk through its halls day after day.

Fox doesn’t know either. It probably has something to do with the fact he doesn’t know what else he’d do with his time, and the fact that it did offer him things such as a front row seat to Senator Apval’s arrest in the Rotunda following a joint investigation by Senators Amidala and Chuchi. He can’t help but smirk every time he remembers the expression on the man’s face as his arrest was broadcast live over the holonet.

-

The next month, life day is approaching, and Fox is told he has to take part in ‘team-building’. Fox would say he was rather good at this, when it involves having to get an injured squad member from one side of the training grounds to the other, when all the time the training droids are shooting at you. He isn’t so sure about an ‘escape room’.

Fox and five of his colleagues end up ‘locked’ in a room, and told they have 60 minutes to escape. He finds himself grimacing - this would be so much easier if he were just allowed to kick the door down. He glances at his team members. He knows so much about them - their families, their favourite holonet shows, what they like to eat - but only from listening to them talk to each other. Since the beginning Fox has kept himself separate. He knows stuff about them, but they don’t know him.

The others are very good at all the cultural references that Fox can’t get, which is a relief, because they wouldn’t be escaping otherwise and the ‘team-building’ exercise would be pointless.

What is surprising, is that when Fox is asked to help them with the logic puzzles, and he manages to do them far more quickly than any of them, they don’t seem angry. If Fox has learnt anything in the first 12 years of his life, it is that Natborns tended to hate it when a clone outsmarts them, but these guys don’t seem to. In fact, they are ecstatic when him solving one of the puzzles gets them into the final part of the room. 

He supposes it’s okay when your skills mean that real people can also be successful. But then, these guys have always surprised him. Despite the fact that they look at him weirdly when he talks sometimes, they have always tried to include him in their banter, and they’ve never hurt him.

When they escape, with 7 minutes 52 seconds to spare, they invite him out for a drink. Feeling unusually confident, Fox goes with them. He orders something non-alcoholic (unwilling to get drunk in a bar that isn’t 79s), but so do two of the others, so he guesses this is okay.

They play darts in one of the corners, and, at the start Fox makes sure he loses deliberately. That is until it becomes a competition between them and a group of strangers who drunkenly bet a round of drinks that they can do better than them. Fox wipes the floor with them, and Bess hoists him on their shoulders as they cheer and accept the drinks.

Fox is starting to think he might be having fun at a bar without his brothers, which is a bit of a novel experience.

“You know,” Groffith says, sipping his drink as he sits beside him at one of the high tables. “You’re alright. You should come out with us more often, kid.” Fox finds himself bristling at the last part but the man only laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. He deliberately doesn’t flinch at the contact. “I don’t mean anything by it. I’m 143 and your hair barely has any grey in it. I’ve seen you fight, I know you’re skilled.”

He sighs, staring into his glass. “You should come out with us more. We like you around. You just- You’re just not very easy to get to know, gotta whole lot of walls around you and when you let them down you tell us stuff like that kriffing Orn Free Taa used to-” He cuts himself off again with a shake of his head. “I guess we just don’t know what to say to stuff like that. We’ve seen a lot of shit but what they used to do to you Clones, that’s fucked up, man. So. You’re gonna stick around with us, right?”

There’s a lump in Fox’s throat. All he can do is nod.

It is then a new group of Natborns approach them, drunk, but not in the reckless and easygoing way the darts group had been earlier, these five have eyes full of hatred when they look at Fox, and their mouths are set into a snarl.

“We don’t like meat-droids here,” one of them says, shoving Fox off his stool. His push is weak and uncoordinated, and if he had had any real choice in this, Fox wouldn’t have let himself fall. But as it is, he just goes with it. Long experience has shown him that in situations like these, it's better if a Clone doesn’t defend themselves, if they just wait for it to be over and hope the Natborn’s thirst for violence is easily satisfied.

Groffith doesn’t seem to have got this memo, and when Fox looks up from the floor it’s to see him punching the guy square in the face.

-

Six months after Fox had first started his job as Bail Organa’s security guard, he finds himself seated across from him in his office. There’s a datapad in between them. If Fox didn’t know that Senator Organa appreciated eye contact, he wouldn’t have been able to take his eyes off him.

“Obviously, this appraisal is nothing to worry about,” Organa says, because clearly Fox isn’t doing a good job at hiding how tense he is. “As your employer I’m mandated by bureaucracy to do one every six months. This also serves as the end of your probation period, which clearly you’ve passed with flying colours.”

“What?” The question is out before he realises it and Fox can do nothing but wince as he looks down at the datapad. There’s a table on it, with tick boxes. All the ticks have been put in the ‘excellent’ category.

“This can’t be right,” Fox says, as he grips his legs tightly to stop his hands from shaking. He’s spent weeks and weeks thinking about this, about how Organa hasn’t brought up any ways he’s disappointed with him before, but this meeting was sure to be the perfect time.

“It is,” Organa replies, voice calm. “Fox, I contacted you to offer you this job because I saw how you worked in the Senate, your competence never ceased to impress me. Throughout these past months I have continued to be impressed by your abilities and your work ethic.” Fox was somewhat aware that he had moved his gaze back up to Bail Organa’s and he was now openly gaping at him. “Though, I will admit, perhaps I should add a box for confidence, and then say that ‘requires improvement’.”

He smiled at Fox. Despite himself, Fox found himself smiling back.

Next, Organa updated Fox’s holo-badge to show, in small-print aurebesh, that he was now a permanent member of his Guard. Fox couldn’t help but stare at it, wondering how all this had happened.

When he left the office, his badge wasn’t on his belt, but clutched in his palm. Physical, tangible proof that Fox could be good at something.

It was back in his palm when he went to bed that evening. He stared at it as the words glowed with a faint light. Fox. Security Guard for Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan.

He thought back to the review, back to all the boxes. ‘Excellent’, ‘Excellent’, ‘Excellent’, ‘Excellent’... He’d never even believed it possible, thought it only a matter of time before he turned out to be as useless at this job as he had been as leader of the Coruscant Guard.

Though, thinking about it, maybe he hadn’t been useless as leader of the Guard. Thorn had told him to look at all the kriffing shinies he’d saved from de-com. Cody had thrown back his head and laughed, asked him to explain how Fox could have done any better when he’d had to deal with a karking sith lord fucking with his head every day. Perhaps, Fox thinks, he should start making a bigger effort to believe them.

He sits, turning the badge over and over, smiling slightly as he wonders about the future, and thinks that it might not be that bad after all.

“Get more of those plush animals like your little bee,” Thire says to him from the opposite bunk. “You can’t sleep with a bloodstained blanket and your work-badge.”

Fox lobs a pillow at him.

[the-ghost-of-asselus-cancri]

"special gift"

fandom: arcana twilight

characters: summoner (mc) x sirius)

you were wide awake in the middle of the night, too anxious to go back to sleep, yet too tired and exhausted to take a walk in the park behind the mansion to clear your head of any troubling thoughts, buzzing like a cluster of unruly bees in your clouded consciousness.

the image of badly wounded sirius painfully stuck in your tired mind: his black, shimmering hair, usually gracefully styled, now a distorted mess, pieces of his clothes sizzling away from magical burns and his body covered in sharp, deep cuts, scarlet blood and many bruises. a horrible realization suddenly strikes you: spica would actually end his life right then and there, if it weren't for alpheratz's messed up mana flow making him faint in the middle of a fight, practically saving the opposing sorcerer from any repercussions or death itself.

a conflicted mess of emotions, like an overflowing river, made you shiver, as you took a ring, a small gift from sirius from the better times back then, and twiddled with it, the bright stone reminiscent of his ever changing eyes, mysteriously shining in the moon light. you wondered how sirius faired in this trying times: was he alone in this plan, healing his injuries by himself, or were there other ones in on it, scheming behind the shsdows? you put in on your finger, cold metal unpleasanttly grounding you back in reality, yet making you feel nostalgic despite everything that happened.

you opened your stella tab and decided to see if another one of his burner magical tabs was on. since sirius was wanted by the law, it was almost an every day occurrence that he changed his number constantly, his old stella tab presumably broken, as to avoid any possible meanings of easy traction. he admitted jokingly that sending you pigeon letters would be a better, safer alternative, and you almost suggested doing just that, until he laughed out loud at your determined expression in response to a half hearted sarcastic one liner.

"hey, you up?" you learnt not to question sirius about whatever this oath of his was, because somewhere deep inside you knew that he would never give you a proper answer, until the right time comes around.

"you shouldn't be up this late, summoner. is something bothering you?" you smiled, though it was bitter sweet, and wanted to type out "yes, you" but restrained yourself, not wanting this conversation to become an another pointless interrogation.

"what's with the stone in the ring you've given me?"

"it doesn't suit your taste in jewelry?"

"no, it's not that! does it have any meaning behind it?"

"oh, so the summoner wants my gift to be special, huh? never took you as a sentimental person."

"stop teasing me, sirius! just answer the question, or I'm going back to sleep"

"sorry, sorry, my fault, I shall tease you no more. in fact, I'm glad you asked, since this particular stone, opal, does, in fact, have a special meaning. it's my birthstone, would you believe it? it usually represents hope and, well, good karma, though I don't think these qualities suit me very well, you, on the other hand... you're like a guiding light to me, summoner, and i hope you will shine blidingly for me until the very end"

"is this one of your plays again?"

"so you think a man on the run has nothing better to do than to write a dramatic play? I'm just kidding, though I meant it, summoner, every word. this text conversation is making me miss you. I'm sorry it had to turn out this way, I really am. please stay away from the other towers, reject spica's insane ideas, if you must. stay safe, (_) "

"you too, sirius"

"I miss you"

"I know"

[robin-the-enby]

Hello!! Could I request some sweeney todd x reader heavy fluff please? thanks!

Marked by an angel

Pairing: Sweeney Todd x gn!reader

Smmary: A chance meeting of two strange people on Fleet street. What started just as part of your job lead you to finding a new friend and perhaps...a lover.

Warnings: hints of murder (it's Sweeney, c'mon), unfair boss/employee dynamic, description of getting robbed and bruises (1 blackeye)

A/N: After what felt like an eternity, I am back! I am so glad I finished this. I was dealing with mental issues, financial struggles, work and uni so I had no time and time or energy to do anything. But I am very happy to post this! Maybe it's not as fluffy as you wanted and for that I am sorry, but I feel like it is as true to the character as possible :) I'll gladly hear your feedback on this piece and all likes, but especially reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! Also, if you'd like to hear some bonus stuff about this oneshot, feel free to shoot me a message!

There are many men in the world. And yet you can't say you've ever met anyone the likes of Mr. Todd.

The quiet barber from Fleet street. With his pale complexion, white streaked hair and dark eyes that held the depths of the ocean that surrounds Britain. He had captured your attention the very first time you made an appointment with him for your boss. The recommendations for his shop floated around your part of town and all the gentlemen could not seem to praise his skills enough.

Your boss had ordered you to find him a new barber, since his old one was ripping him off on money. Not that you blamed the poor bloke, times were tough, prices high and it wasn't like your boss couldn't spare a few pounds, especially since he liked to have his hair and beard trimmed once a month. Luckily, you managed to talk him out of getting the authorities involved, knowing that if the man was to be jailed, it would take a massive toll on his family.

Your job as an errand person, a sort of secretary, was simple enough in theory. You followed your boss around, a businessman dealing in produce from a few farms that he owned in the countryside. All you had to do was carry a notepad and a pencil with you to scribble down tasks that had to be managed and appointments that had to be made or dealt with. But in reality your legs were probably stronger than most people's, with how many steps you walked every day. Even though it wasn't in your job description, you did everything your boss didn't want to, went everywhere he wasn't exactly needed. You swore that the lazy bastard would have you walking to the latrine instead of him, if it were possible.

That was one of the reasons you liked the visits to the barber's, because you got to just sit on a chair by the window for an hour at least, quietly listening to the conversation made between your boss and the man grooming him, only occasionally having to scribble down one thing or another. But ever since your boss started to frequent Mr. Todd's shop, the rest wasn't the only reason accompanying your boss there was enjoyable or you.

Mr. Todd was an enigma. Mostly silent during work and outside of it, you learnt to appreciate the sound of his voice and to study his body language, little quirks that gave off pieces of his personality. The way his eyes flitted around, scanning the face of his customer for any imperfections that needed to be dealt with. His hands were steady, working seemingly without relying on his eyes or even brain, with a level of discipline you haven't seen before in your life. And from time to time, his eyes would flick up to meet yours, for a fraction of a second, before falling back down to your boss, lounging on Mr. Todd's intricate chair. You wondered why it had to be so intricate, compared to other barbers you've seen in your career, but you didn't question it, just as you never questioned the way the man's eyes would inevitably get stuck on your boss' neck every once in a while for some reason that had yet to reveal itself to you.

Maybe it was morbid curiosity or some other strange pull that made you want to find out just what was the cause of the deep emotion swirling behind Sweeney's eyes. The kind of pull that made sure the mysterious barber did not leave your mind for longer than a few hours. So you started to come around to the meat pie shop right under Mr. Todd's. The shop owner, Mrs. Lovett, was a sweet and terribly lonely woman, whose meat pies were, also, quickly gaining popularity around its part of town, and it didn't take long for her to take a shine to you as soon as she recognised you as one of her regulars.

While making a new friend wasn't your primary goal when you started hanging around the pie shop, you didn't mind how Mrs. Lovett warmed up to you. She was a sweet and funny woman, in her own way, and you soon recognised she was also dealing with romantic feelings towards Mr. Todd, as she confided in you one day. These feelings were unreciprocated, as far as you knew, although Sweeney visited the shop every night, coming down to fetch his dinner, for free of course. He usually came around after closing his own shop, sometimes even later, when even Mrs. Lovett closed down for the night. He would walk past you two sharing a glass of wine and exchanged a quiet and smooth, although cold 'good evening', before taking a pie and disappearing upstairs again.

But the longer you kept visiting Mrs. Lovett, the more Sweeney started to notice you. Once in a blue moon he would share a glass of wine with you both as you would more or less listen to Minnie ramble about this and that. After some time, one night, when Sweeney was upstairs and you were spending an evening at the pie shop, Mrs. Lovett told you cheekily that Mr. Todd asked about you, how you and her met and why you were around so much. Despite her mischievous smile you felt as if he was wary of your presence here, which puzzled you, but it did not deter you from wanting to get to know the man more.

In the end, it was him who made the first move, and you didn't even realise until much later. One time, when you were accompanying your boss for his monthly trim, Sweeney suggested that he should come around more often, at least every two weeks, because it would do wonders for his hair and beard health. It was evident your boss had no idea whether that was true or not, so he looked at you for confirmation. You shared a look with the barber, through which you tried to communicate to him that if he was planning to swindle your boss, it would be on your head, but something in those dark eyes of his made you trust him, so you confirmed to your boss that yes, coming to the barber more often would not only be beneficial to his hair, but it would also be good for appearances.

From that point on you got closer with the barber much faster than you could even register. One night, as you were sitting at the table in the pie shop across Minnie, nursing your second glass of wine and venting out frustration from your job, Sweeney came down to get his dinner. Before he left though, he stopped in the door to the kitchen, where the pies were made, and stared at you for a while, gaze calculating, but not as cold as you were used to. With the alcohol flowing through your veins you called him out on it, to which he simply replied "Your hair. It would do good with a trimming." before turning around on his heel and walking out. Mrs. Lovett cursed his lack of etiquette and assured you that you looked fine, although getting a trim wouldn't be a bad idea. She knew that given what your job was, you didn't have much time left to treat yourself.

The next time you accompanied your boss to his barber appointment yet again, Sweeney brought up the subject as your boss left you to pay. "Have you thought about my offer?" You blinked up at him, not knowing for a second what he meant, before his eyes shifted to your hair and you understood what he was implying. Feeling the heat rising to your cheeks, you tried to keep your cool as you asked, just to be sure "You meant that you would trim my hair?" You didn't want your voice to come out as unsure and surprised as it did, but if Sweeney noticed it, and something told you he did, the barber didn't mention it or let it show. He only smirked the slightest bit, making you wonder later if you didn't just imagine it, and replied "Well, at this point I would be offended if the first person you tasked with such a job wasn't me. Or do you deem my skills inadequate?" he raised his brow as he jokingly asked, knowing well what your answer would be. Feeling as hot as a boiled potato, you quickly settled the date of your appointment before you were out the door, so that your boss wouldn't scold you for dilly dallying.

When the day of your appointment came, you felt strangely nervous, your legs slightly shaking as you walked up the stairs to Sweeney's dark shop. For some reason, you couldn't shake the feeling of cattle being herded to a butcher. You chalked it up to your crush making you nervous, but that feeling only intensified when Sweeney positioned the barber chair you had sat on, so that you were half laying down. And yet when he tended to your locks, his touch was soft, quick and precise, never wandering where it didn't need to and leaving as soon as he was done in one area, moving swiftly to another. What came as a surprise to you was that he made small talk with you the entire time you were in that chair. Maybe it was because he sensed your nerves, but maybe not, you really couldn't tell. He asked you where you came from, why were you in London of all places, he even asked about your job and your family. The last topic he brushed upon quickly, which made you suspect it was a tough subject for him, an information you filed away safely in your brain to mull over later.

The last thing he told you when you were done and admiring yourself in the mirror he provided was to not tell Mrs. Lovett who cut your hair. You nodded softly and made your way home, feeling like a brand new person. Although the next time you set foot in the pie shop, Minnie's first question was "Did Mr. Todd cut your hair? It looks wonderful, darling!" You didn't confirm nor deny her rhetoric question, only smiling a bit bashfully before Mrs. Lovett insisted on opening 'the good wine' for the occasion. You didn't mention the fact that he refused to take payment for the service...

And as if that wasn't enough embarrassment in the short amount of time, this night at Minnie's pie shop turned out to have gone on much longer than any other one. Mrs. Lovett insisted you stay a bit longer any time you brought up going home for the night. Her reasoning being that since you finally did something for yourself after what must've been quite a long time in her opinion, you deserved to treat yourself some more, because when would an opportunity like this arise again?

And so you stayed seated in the dimly lit pie shop that smelled of baked meat, the likes of which you have never smelled before, and a mixture of herbs that reminded you of a memory long buried in your mind.

The conversation flowed freely and as the alcohol made its rounds through your bloodstream, your tongue became looser, as well as did Minnie's. She told you how her attempts at wooing Mr. Todd were progressing, or rather, were stagnating, with the man ignoring any and every romantic gesture or hint made towards him by his friend. That brought you to joining her in her admiring words for the handsome barber, leading to many laughs and jokes. Maybe it was because of her tipsy state, but you were surprised Mrs. Lovett took your admission of your crush on her upstairs neighbour better than you expected.

Your conversation then moved elsewhere and you were both so engrossed in it that neither of you heard the quiet footsteps leading to the shop. Sweeney's brows rose a little as he opened the door to a peculiar sight. The two people he had allowed closer to himself than anyone else since his return to London were sitting huddled at a table, which wouldn't have been that unusual, if it wasn't for the nearly empty bottle of old and undoubtedly strong wine. Both of your glasses were somewhat filled, the precious liquid spilled here and there in small amounts on the table. If Sweeney wasn't such a gentleman, despite his cold and often ruthless heart, he would say you were drunk. And not just a little bit.

Announcing his presence with a gruff cough, both your and Mrs. Lovett's heads snapped around to face him and he fought the small smirk that grew on his face at the sight. "Mr. Todd! We haven't even noticed you were here!" Minnie quickly addressed him with her signature friendliness. You stayed silent, instead opting to just admire the way Mr. Todd looked in the dim lighting in the shop. You felt you were seeing him completely differently than the other nights you spent there. His eyes reflected the light, making them look even more mysterious and alluring than usual and his normally pale face seemed more livelier. You would have spoken up, offered him some wine, but suddenly, being brought out so suddenly from your conversation with Minnie, your tongue felt big in your mouth, the weight of lead and you just did not have the energy to move it. Or open your mouth for that matter. Somewhere in the back of your mind crossed a thought that maybe you have had a bit too much to drink.

"It is quite late, I am surprised to catch you awake." Mr. Todd pointed out in a neutral tone, despite the playful mirth he was feeling. "Oh but the same could be said about you, Mr. Todd." Mrs. Lovett retaliated cheekily "Besides, we have a good reason to drink into the night! It is my friend's birthday, after all." she announced with an air of pride. You blinked at her a few times, not knowing where she had gotten that information from, because you were pretty sure today was not your birthday at all. Perhaps Minnie has forgotten the reason you were celebrating altogether and her drunken mind just made up a reason on the spot. As you were pondering when actually was your birthday, Mr. Todd spoke up again "Is that so? Well in that case-" and in a few strides he was at yours and Mrs. Lovett's table. He grabbed her half full glass of wine and before you could start wondering if it wasn't half empty, he raised it, grabbing your hand. "Happy birthday." he smiled slightly while you stood up, because you were being congratulated and you didn't want to appear rude, even though there wasn't actually a reason to congratulate you. Mr. Todd downed his, previously Minnie's, glass in one gulp before setting it down again.

Turning to Mrs. Lovett, he addressed her "I need to discuss something with you." he then turned his attention towards you "But it seems there is a more pressing matter at hand." he smirked as he gave you a once over. You felt your cheeks flush, knowing he was right. Standing up was the last straw before your alcohol fueled downfall. You were barely standing, your body swaying side to side slightly to keep itself balanced. Mrs. Lovett studied you for a while as well, before standing, with only a slightly lesser difficulty than you. "Oh I'm so sorry, dear, it seems that I have gone overboard with the drinks." she apologised and you couldn't help but smile softly at her sad tone. "'S alright, Minnie. 'M not mad." you shook your head with a small smile "I best be off though..." mumbling to yourself, you bid your friend a goodnight, not really paying attention to Sweeney, assuming he was waiting for you to leave so that he could discuss whatever it was with his neighbour.

Stumbling away from the table, you were surprised when a hand gripped your upper arm, supporting your weight and grounding your otherwise spinning world. Tracing the arm the hand was attached to with your eyes, you found Sweeney's already looking at your face. You said nothing, in the case that he only supported you in your struggle to weave through the tables in the shop, but as he continued to lead you out of the old building, Mrs. Lovett having gone in the back already, you were confused by this act of chivalry. Not that you took Mr. Todd for a brute, you just didn't expect such a gesture aimed at...yourself. The fact that this was also the first time he has touched you in any way while not necessarily needing so, unlike when he gave you your haircut, did not help your inebriated mind from running wild with conspiracies.

The crisp night air helped clear your head a little bit and you gulped it greedily with deep breaths when you walked out, arm in hand, with the barber. He stood, patiently, right next to you, his secure, but not tight grip on your arm never faltering. If he noticed how you took your sweet time collecting yourself, he didn't mention it, his eyes instead trained on the silver moon hanging in the sky like a lamp, blurred slightly by the infamous London fog. When he sensed you move more into the street, however, he tugged you back towards him slightly, as if he could not let you stray far.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his tone devoid of emotion and yet his eyes shone in a particular way that you couldn't exactly put a finger on in your state. The smirk that once rested on his handsome face was gone and you were perhaps more confused than before. "Home?" you half answered, half asked, unsure of what was the problem. Mr. Todd shook his head sternly "I cannot send you home alone at this time of day and retain a sound mind." he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You couldn't help but laugh at his statement. Where were you supposed to sleep then? Inside the shop? Sliding your arm out of his grip, you grabbed your stomach, your laughter gaining in volume, making you double over. "Oh, you're funny, Mr. Todd!" you wheezed, not caring the man you were addressing was looking at your drunken self with a completely neutral expression, not understanding in the slightest what was so funny "I have to go home! Where else would you have me spend the night?" you asked when you caught your breath, your laughter simmering down into tired giggles. Drunk laughing was hard, but really fun at the same time, you thought.

Sweeney reached out to take your arm again, turning you around to face the stairs like a puppet and started leading you to his home. "You can spend the night upstairs. If I sent you home, alone, you're sure to get robbed...or worse." his voice was cold and harsh and yet you had the sense this sudden change of tone was not due to anything you said. Not taking any chances, just in case, you kept your mouth shut and let him lead you up the stairs while you could feel your face heat up. It felt awfully wrong to just...invade his space like that. If there's one thing you learned about Sweeney, and let's be honest, there weren't many to choose from, it was that he was a very private person. At the same time, he invited you here. If he didn't want you in his space, he could've just let you stay downstairs with Minnie, she would take good enough care of you without a doubt. But what did all this mean?

You said nothing else as you let the barber move you along, much like a puppet, while trying to focus on every confusing thought and feeling that ran through your head. But your energy was quickly dwindling and you couldn't help but to succumb to sleep as soon as our head hit the pillow.

Regaining consciousness again was...unpleasant, to say the least. The first thing you registered was rain. Not very unusual for London though. The next thing was a piercing headache, that threatened to split your skull in two. Groaning, you flipped over in bed. That's when you noticed the smell. This didn't smell like your sheets... Slowly, but surely, the events of the previous night came back to you, even the less than appropriate ending of it. Blinking open your eyes, you let yourself get adjusted to the lighting of the room, before taking a look around. You were, in fact, in Mr. Todd's small abode and you were very probably in his bed too. You could feel heat creeping up your neck as you registered the all too familiar objects of the barber shop, now from a brand new perspective. There was the barber chair, as ominous as ever, the normal chair to the side, where you usually sat, now occupied by the master of the house.

Polishing and sharpening his blades, Sweeney sat by the window, seemingly uninterested and unbothered by basically a stranger waking up in his bed. His unwavering focus was only on his blades, a focus so intense it would send shivers down your spine, if you weren't so engrossed in your own embarrassment. Only when you began to sit up, your arms threatening to give out underneath you, did the barber tear his gaze away from his tools. You tried to get up to your feet as quickly as you could, manners all but forgotten, your only desire was to get out and never return to Mr. Todd's barber shop or Mrs. Lovett's meat pie establishment ever again. But your knees were wobbly and you felt in your body like a newborn fawn, so your quick escape proved to be harder than you thought.

Sweeney looked at you inquisitively and it seemed like he wanted to say something, but you beat him to it, the thought of anything he could and probably would have said making bile rise in your throat. Fighting the nausea, you pushed yourself off the bed and lightly stumbled before standing in front of the barber. "I am so sorry for what transpired yesterday, Mr. Todd." you apologised first and foremost after clearing your throat "You should not have had to witness any of that." looking awkwardly to the side, you continued "However I am very grateful for everything you have done for me yesterday." And with those last words, you bee lined it for the door, only briefly noticing the 'closed' sign on the door that should have been turned around probably hours ago. It wasn't until you were in the middle of the journey home that you realised you didn't even know what time it was, nor did you at least have the decency to make up the bed after you have slept in it. Which brought forth a question...Where did Mr. Todd sleep? There didn't seem to be another sleeping area nor any kind of furniture suitable for such activity in his living/working quarters. You weren't sure what made you blush more, the possibility that you shared a bed or the possibility that he stayed awake somewhere in the same space as you were the whole night. Both seemed strangely...intimate.

For the next few weeks, you avoided Fleet street like the plague. Luckily for you, your boss wasn't in need of a trim anytime soon, even though you did convince him to visit the barber's more than he did previously. But whenever you thought about the mysterious gentleman residing above the pie shop, hot embarrassment flowed through your body like lightning. And so you didn't remind your boss to upkeep his appearance and as usual, the big oaf wouldn't think of such thing himself. He had money, so what if he looked a bit disheveled? Everybody was saving up on everything they could, the rich and poor alike.

Mrs. Lovett was especially vocal about your absence. She worried that she really did offend you or did you wrong somehow during that a bit too wild night. Whenever Sweeney would appear in the shop to fetch his meal, she would bombard him with questions, if he had any news of you, your whereabouts, your wellbeing, or whether your boss' appointment was coming up anytime soon. She regretted now never asking for your address, with how much she'd come to like you in the time you've spent together. You brought a normalcy to her life that she's dreamed of oh so much.

And while Sweeney wasn't pretty much vocal at all towards your sudden absence, when he closed down for the day and looked out of his window, overlooking the grey London sky and dark and gloomy rooftops, he wondered where you could possibly be. What were you doing? Were you alright?

You had came into the vengeful barber's life unexpectedly and while at first Minnie's obsession with you irritated him, making his goals, his work, that much more dangerous, he couldn't help but notice your good nature. Not only towards his neighbour, even though with how strange the woman could be it was surprising in itself, but towards him, even towards your boss. It wasn't that you were naive, no, he could see in your eyes that you knew exactly how cruel and unjust this world was, and yet you still chose to be kind. Despite all the hardships he knew you were dealt by destiny, no, by other people, the biggest monsters on this earth, you still remained with your heart open to others. And he admired that. Your presence on Fleet street was like a beacon of clean light in the constant grey fog, when he sometimes glanced at the street below him and you happened to be there, he always recognized you, as if you shone more brightly than others.

The lonely man spent many a night pondering on what was it that made you occupy his mind so much, what made you so special. He still loved his wife, and his daughter, wherever she may be, that much he knew. But sometimes...sometimes when he looked at you, your face, as you were laughing with Mrs. Lovett about this or that, he could see her smile. And it was so reassuring, as if Lucy herself was sending her mark upon you, signaling to him that you were someone he needed to protect. And when he came to terms with this revelation, he swore to himself that that was exactly what he was going to do.

So of course it was no problem for him to let you spend a night in his bed. He found your drunken antics and your embarrassment the next morning quite endearing. If you would've paid more attention to him and your surroundings that morning, you would've noticed the small smirk on his face as he watched you clumsily apologize, even though he saw no reason for it. And you would've noticed the two cups of coffee, along with some painkillers standing prepared on the table near the bed. But Sweeney didn't think his actions would've driven you away from him and Mrs. Lovett like that. He knew there was nothing that he could do except wait for you to come back, although he didn't like the idea of something happening to you without him knowing it, being able to prevent it. And he didn't even want to think about the scenario that you would never be back. He saw the way you looked at him, studied him, the confusion in your eyes from the way he behaved so often and now he wanted nothing more than to tell you everything and sort things out. Even if he wasn't sure how exactly to do that. Benjamin was good with words, but Sweeney? Sweeney was all about action, because unlike Benjamin, Sweeney Todd knew just how little weight words could hold in the world.

It didn't take long for you to start missing Fleet street, with your two favourite residents, Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd. You contemplated when should you pay them a visit and how you would explain your avoidance of them, until after one night, when that became irrelevant.

It happened in the evening. You were let go from work for the day and while you were on your way home, thinking mostly about whether you had any leftovers from yesterday or if you had to cook dinner from scratch and not paying much attention to your surroundings, when you were jumped. Two men, none of which you knew, cornered you against a wall of a building along which you were walking, asking for some money. You, not wanting any more trouble than necessary, pulled out your pouch, where you kept all the change you needed, but it wasn't enough for whatever they were planning. With two figures towering at least a good head above from you, demanding you do what they say, you didn't dare look them directly in their faces, so you knew little of what they looked like. But they smelled awful and faintly of fish. When they asked to show them what more you had in your bag, yo asked them to leave you be, that you've already given them everything important you had on you. That proved to be a mistake, since one of them grabbed you roughly by the arms from behind, while the other ripped your bag from your hands and turned it upside down. You struggled to get away from the bastard's bruising grip and started calling out for help, which was another mistake. The guy that was going through your things, most of which were only daily necessities, such as your keys and whatnot, suddenly sprung up and hit you in the face, gruffly telling you to shut up, if you valued your life. It was at that point you noticed his voice was slightly slurred.

Luckily, an officer must've been patrolling nearby, or someone must've taken pity on you and called him over, it wasn't that late in the evening after all, because as soon as you heard the distinct sound of a bobby whistle, the first guy let you go while the second one hastily grabbed your notebook and both of them booked it down the street, weaving through the city's intricate alleyways. The officer quickly asked what happened and told you to stay put while he chased after them. But it wasn't even five minutes before he was back, informing you that he lost them and he asked you to accompany him to the police station to give a statement on what happened and they would see what could be done.

The next day, you showed up to work with a nasty looking black eye, without your notebook or a single penny. The police officers told you that with the limited description you provided they weren't sure how much could be done. After telling your boss what happened, he surprisingly took the matter quite seriously. Not only did you write down ever single appointment he needed to attend to in your notebook, but some quite serious and important information, codes to safes, finance tracking, different information having to do with sales and so on. He asked what police station you went to yesterday and said he would get in touch with the officers, since it wasn't impossible that the attack wasn't planned ahead and the notebook was exactly what someone was after. You didn't need or want to know anything more than that. Your boss also gave you two weeks off, to let your eye heal, commenting how it would seem weird if you accompanied him looking like that and he didn't need any more rumors being spread about him, like physically abusing his personnel. He gave you your money back, saying it was going from your next paycheck until the police got your original money back, plus some more to buy a new notebook. As incompetent as he could sometimes be, he was still a businessman, and even though his motivation for these choices was questionable, you were still glad he made them.

As soon as you were outside again, your legs immediately took you in the direction of Fleet street. Still quite shaken up after the incident, the thing you needed the most at that moment was a friend and something told you Minnie would not turn you down.

And you were not mistaken. As you took a step inside the pie shop, Mrs. Lovett's arms were around you, her worried and apologetic rambling reaching your ears as soon as they got used to the buzz of the busy establishment. As soon as the woman pulled away from you, her relieved expression turned to one of shock as she carefully cradled your cheek where the bruise was, asking "What in god's name happened?" Immediately she brought you to the back of the shop and fetched the cleanest rag, which was then promptly soaked in cold water, so that you could relieve some of the ache of the black eye. And she had you remain there until closing, spending her time between serving customers and preparing pies chatting with you. She informed you that she wasn't mad about your sudden disappearance, that she was just very worried and then she promptly asked you your address "In case you want to pull something on me like that again." she reasoned with a cheeky smile.

After Minnie closed down in the evening, you both could sit uninterrupted in the main area, with the businesswoman cleaning up here and there and re-wetting your rag. Anytime you tried to offer her help as a thank you, she would just sternly order you to sit back down and not even think about work, since you've been given 'a sick leave'. Just as she was done with cleaning and was about to head out to get rid of the dirty water, a person you were still dreading to meet walked into the room. You immediately knew who it was by the way Mrs. Lovett's eyes brightened, her face blooming into one of sweet happiness as she cooed out a greeting "Oh, Mr. Todd! Look who decided to join us today! Poor thing got mugged yesterday, can you believe it?" she shook her head, carrying her bucket out the door "So nice of you to join us, there are some pies hidden in the oven in the back for you!" she called behind her as the door clicked close after her.

There was nothing for you to do but turn around, your face heating up again, only praying Mr. Todd wouldn't pay attention to it. But to your slight surprise, he only stared intently at the black eye adorning your face, like a joke of a monocle the more posh men liked to wear when out and about. With a few quick strides, the barber was next to you, his hand under your chin, tipping your head upwards, so he could assess your wound better under the light. His face was contorted into a frown, but his eyes were nothing but gentle as he murmured "Who did this to you?" His voice was ice cold, but somehow you knew you didn't need to be scared. "I don't know." you whispered "The police are after them now." You both said nothing as you only continued to study each other.

When the sound of a door being opened could be heard, Sweeney gently let go of your chin and took a step back from you, but not quite leaving your side. Mrs. Lovett trotted happily back into the room, taking the seat across from you and looking up at her neighbour, she patted the chair beside hers. Not waiting for him to comply, which was good, because Sweeney did not move an inch from where he stood, she asked you, her expression concerned "Darling, do you think it'll be okay for you to walk home alone at this hour?"

Looking out of the window, you saw the street was getting dark. It would not take much more time for night to completely settle over the city. You felt so safe and comfortable, that you completely forgot about the passage of time. Surely there will be little to no people out at this hour. And those who will be outside roaming the streets are definitely not the kind of people you want to associate yourself with. And while you had no problem walking on the bring of darkness alone before, after yesterday's events, you couldn't help the cold shiver that ran down your back at the thought of the many alleyways you'd have to pass before getting home.

Seeing your hesitance, Mrs. Lovett placed her hand softly on yours "It's alright, love. You can stay here for the night! I'm sure there's plenty of room for one more person in the house." her smile was so reassuring, you couldn't help your own taking over your face. But you shook your head "As much as I appreciate your offer, I have to go home. The officers might need me for more questionings, it's best I don't stay out of the house too long." you explained with a small smile and got up from your chair. Surprisingly, it was Sweeney who spoke next "I'll walk you home. If you wouldn't mind, that is." he offered, his eyes flickering between your face and the table during the latter part. "Oh, Mr. Todd! Such a gentleman!" Minnie squealed adoringly, standing up as well "Trust me, love, with Mr. Todd, you're in good hands." something about the way she looked at the barber when she said that made you feel strange, but you had no reason not to believe her or the quiet man standing beside you. So you nodded and looked towards the window again "Best we head off though, I wouldn't want you to have to return when it's completely dark." you muttered, more to yourself and then looked at your companion for confirmation. The dangerous glint you caught flashing through his eyes made you shiver again, but you ignored it.

After hugging Mrs. Lovett goodbye, you were on your way. The first few minutes passed in complete silence, you had no idea what to say and Mr. Todd wasn't one for many words. Sighing, you decide to be the one to break the ice "I...I'm sorry, once again, Mr. Todd. For running out on you like that. You've done so much for me and I repaid you horribly." your gaze was set on the stone path as you apologised. For a while, the barber said nothing, which did not help your nerves at all. "Sweeney." That was the only thing he said. You whipped your head around to look at him, your mouth hanging agape in confusion. "I'm sorry?" Sweeney then looked at you, a single chuckle escaping his chest through his smirking lips. In the dim night lights of the London street, he looked possibly more attractive than ever before. "My name. I feel like we don't have to keep up such formalities, since you've spent a night in my bed already."

You couldn't look him in the eyes anymore, your face heating up. "You make it sound like something much more serious." you pouted. He chuckled again. This was the most you've heard him talk or just express himself in any way since you've known him. "And it wasn't? I don't let just anyone into my bed, you know." It was clear as day he was enjoying this. But his words held an underlying meaning, one which was much more deeper than the lighthearted teasing. Sweeney slowed into a stop and you followed suit beside him. The last street lamp was now behind him, leaving his face covered mostly in shadows. And yet you could see his eyes, vulnerable in a way he probably hasn't been in a long, long time, you could feel his intense gaze on your face, studying your every small reaction. "What are you saying?" you breathed out, your heart in your throat. Sweeney took a step closer "What I'm saying is that you've grown to be quite important to me. After that night..." he stopped, searching for the right words to continue "I realised many things. And I've realised...that I want to keep you close. To protect you. To know you and to allow myself to be known by you. If you'll let me, that is." and he slowly reached for your hand, holding it in both of his oh so gently. "Do you deem me worthy of knowing your heart? Your soul?"

You could feel your breath hitch in your throat as you were overwhelmed by sudden conflicting emotions. But the one that stood out from all of them was... "As long as you'll deem me worthy of knowing yours." you replied in almost a whisper. And with those words, that one sentence, it was as if the tension in the air disappeared all at once. Sweeney stood beside you once more, this time offering you his arm to take and after you've linked your arm through his, he continued to escort you home. Not just as an acquaintance, not as a friend...but perhaps not yet as a lover. But there was time for all of that. Right now, there was the chilly London night air, you and him. And you could figure out the details, such as breaking the news to Minnie, or discovering why exactly there was a trapdoor behind the barber chair, some other time. Tonight was just for you.

[astonmartinii]

love languages | charles leclerc instagram au

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

charles and y/n show off their love languages, gift giving and words of affirmation.

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari and 661,083 others

charles_leclerc: sometimes facilitating your girlfriend's hyperfixations works out

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yourusername it's defo better than the cupboard full of yarn from when i wanted to start crochet

charles_leclerc you're a much better dj than crocheter (sp?)

landonorris you're coming for my brand

yourusername hush child i've been playing guitar hero since before you were born

landonorris you're two years older than me?

yourusername i was a cool fucking kid

danielricciardo so all i'm hearing is flat party

yourusername if you bring the alcohol i'm down

charles_leclerc it's literally my flat?

user223 they're my parents omg

yourusername

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yourusername: who said boys don't like flowers?

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charles_leclerc i love anything from you <3

user521 the way they just use their instagrams to flex their relationship

user762 like we get it you're happy LEAVE US ALONE

landonorris you posted your rizz on instagram ???

yourusername it's called a love letter loser

landonorris cringe

yourusername just say you're lonely and bounce

charles_leclerc you guys good?

charles_leclerc posted to their story

[caption: learnt how to bake because there's no good cinnamon rolls in monaco for y/n]

carlossainz55

[caption: ever want to feel lonely? sit with charles when he's on the phone to y/n}

charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc: happy birthday to the love of my life, you've changed my life more than you can know. with only a few races left this season, we can celebrate properly soon xx

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yourusername i love you so much charles, virginia woof and i shall be cheering for you all the way til the end xx

user12 god when is it my turn

user44 i beg she gets to give a radio message if charles wins in abu dhabi

user77 OMG PLEASE I NEED IT

scuderiaferrari happy birthday y/n!!! looking forward to seeing you in abu dhabi

user404 it's happening ITS HAPPENING

yourusername added to their story

[caption: nowhere i'd rather be, believe always]

charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc: what i'm feeling right now can't be put into words. we've been working for this my whole life, sacrificing so much and losing so many people. i can't say it doesn't hurt not having them here to see it, but i know they're proud. to the tifosi, i am beyond happy to bring the championship back to maranello and take ferrari back to where they belong. y/n has always said my love language is gift giving so consider this my gift back to you for all the support you've shown me over the years. and finally to y/n, you're not only my escape from racing at home but also my focus on the road. i take your letters to every race and will always think of you when i cross that line, i love you and this championship is just as much yours as it is mine. forza ferrari

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pierregasly congrats calmar!! everyone is so proud of you

yourusername this is yours charles, and yours alone. you've worked for it, you deserve it. i'm so proud and honoured to even be a part of your journey. i love you.

charles_leclerc i hope you're ready for three months of nothing but me

yourusername i can't wait

scuderiaferrari CONGRATS CHARLES FORZA FERRARI

user16 omg he actually did it !!!! congrats charles

user689 her radio message, they're really in love man

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, daniel ricciardo and 70,458 others

yourusername: thank god i got my nails done. no joke i love you so much charles, i can't wait to write you letters for the rest of my life.

view all 17,842 comments

charles_leclerc i'm glad i booked the right nail salon. no jokes i can't wait to buy you random shit for the rest of my life.

user44 OMG HE DID IT

pierregasly congrats!!! bagsy best man

carlossainz55 that'll be me actually

arthur_leclerc it's me actually

yourusername you know he already asked seb right?

user88 so do we think he planned to wait until he won the championship to propose or?

charles_leclerc i did want to wait, but i was proposing this year no matter what, needed her to be mrs. leclerc as soon as possible

user88 AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[chiefdirector]

Conversing | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Act One | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

Damian Barrett moved the coins in his hands, rattling them back and forth as he waited for the seconds as they passed. He had been instructed to call at exactly 17:47, not a second sooner or late. He was to say a few words and hang-up. The call had to be short, and from a payphone. The Instructions had been very clear, he had no margin for error. 

He looked down to his cracked watch for the third time this minute, he only had 30 more seconds. His heart was pounding in his chest, so much so he could hear every thump after thump after thump. Taking a deep breath, he counted a few more seconds before slotting the coins, one by one, into the payphone and dialling the number he had memorised weeks ago.

He listened as the phone rang once, twice, three times before the recipient answered. “Hello, Damian. I am so glad to hear from you, and at the correct time too. Good boy.”

“I was arrested earlier, one of the cops, some girl detective or whatever, recognised my snake.” He said gruffly, trying to keep his voice quiet in such a public setting.

“And…?” The voice rang out, satisfied at the report so far.

“She seemed thrown off by it. Then they let me go, no charge.”

The voice laughed softly, so much so Damian wasn’t sure he had heard it. “Excellent. You did well.”

“Is that all you wanted from me? Are we even yet?” He snapped. 

Damian had been in business with the person behind the voice for a while. He had never seen their face or even learnt their first name. He was desperate one day when his phone rang, he took the offer, forever debiting himself to the faceless voice.

“Not quite,” The voice said before pausing for a moment. Damian nearly hung up the phone when they began to speak again. “Although, if you want to pay off some more of that debt, I have another job for you, relatively easy.”

“Easy?” He snapped, “Nothing is easy with you! I’ve just been arrested, and youre saying whatever comes next is easy.”

“Calm yourself, or I won’t be so nice next time. You’ve seen what happens when I decide that I want someone gone. It’s why I enlisted you of course. Besides, a child could do this job.”

Damian leant his head back, cursing everything he could think of. “Fine. What is it.”

“I need you to mail me something…”

----------

The payphone was found destroyed in the morning, the machine was smashed to bits. Local CCTV placed a hooded man waiting there for nearly half hour before taking a short phone call. 

It didn't take long for the case to wind up on Detective Bradford’s desk. Opening the file, her eyes cast down to the images captured by the surveillance camera. It was a little blurred, but once she focussed into the details, it was unmissable. A snake tattoo with bright red eyes.

Swiftly, she grabbed the file and images, weaving throughout the bull pen to Lopez’s desk. It took some restraint not to slam it down.

“Hey, I think we were right to be concerned about Barret.” She opened the file again, letting Angela look inside, “This wasn't long after he left here.”

Lopez picked up the file, flipping through the pages as (Y/N) had done only a few moments prior. “I think we need to go to Grey, this should be added to the reports. But that phone is smashed, you do know that we will have no record of anything dialled from there? It’s another loose end.”

“Yeah, I know, but it is something, more than we had at least.”

“It’s something to watch out for.”

----------

The crinkled paper felt familiarly rough under her fingers as she ran them along the pages. Ideally she wouldn’t have had to read books in such disrepair but you do not get many luxuries in prison, so she would take what she could get. Placing the book down, the prisoner sighed, laying down in her bed. 

She didn’t need a clock to know what the time was, she had spent years observing the routines of the days and the movements of the guards. She could practically tell what they ate for lunch at this point. It was a simple way to keep her mind occupied, death row wasn’t full of mental stimulation after all. She knew that in less than four minutes a guard, most likely Donovan, would be coming round with mail that had been pre read and searched for any kind of threat. 

They couldn’t be blamed, if anything she found it adorable. Their pathetic attempts to stop her communicating with the outside world. The prison should have known about her contraband phone and stationary, she did make it far too obvious after all. But then again, if someone doesn’t want to see something, it has a slight habit of not being noticeable. 

Two minutes. 

She could tell by the sound of the cart entering the corridor. It was a creaky old thing, one of the wheels tended to spin away from the others, making an awful screech when it was turned. It was a shame the prison was too cheap for a can of WD-40. It would’ve made her predictions a tad more challenging. 

Thirty seconds. 

She sat up again, straightening out the bright orange prison uniform she wore. She had always taken pride in her appearance and the uniform made no dent in that. Power was exerted from looks, and she would be damned if she didn’t keep a firm hold of the power. 

Ten seconds. 

Slowly she stood up, stretching her arms out, waiting for the door hatch to open

Five seconds... 

…four…

…three…

…two

The hatch slammed open, a parcel of torn open letters shoved through. As she had predicted, the voice of guard Donovan rang out before the hatch slammed shut again. “Rosalind Dyer, mail call.”

Chapter 18 | Chapter 20

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Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @agentred27 @hufflepuffwhore13 @tessalynni @anaferreira-4

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[paracosmic-murdock]

Tell me what are my words worth ; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Chapter 9: "Déshonorez-moi, M. Bridgerton"

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: While the other ladies have grown with the mindset of marrying and having children, you, as the daughter of a man who wanted a son, grew up being both. You learnt how to embroider, play the pianoforte, fence and manage the estate. However, there were some things that not even the Duke of Burgundy could do, so after he passed and you thought there was nothing left for you, you decided to move to London for a while and go to the Royal Academy of Art.

Nothing was going to keep you from what you wanted, and you would do whatever it takes: you would lie to everyone, you would live to death, you would pretend to be a man. You had a plan and it would be a piece of cake for you. But again, when has something that she wants and should not do easy for a woman? Especially when a man like Benedict Bridgerton gets in the way in more ways than one.

Warnings/tags: idiots in love, eventual smut, love triangles (but not really), lgbtq+ themes, bisexual benedict bridgerton, feminist themes, historical inaccuracy (for the sake of the plot), inspired by mulan (1998), song: the lakes (taylor swift), other tags to be added

Chapter summary: In spite of the inconveniences, you joined the Sharmas, Lady Danbury and the Bridgertons at Aubrey Hall for the ball, but not without setting a date with Benedict Bridgerton at midnight.

(this chapter contains adult content: smut, virginity loss, unprotected sex, consent is hot, minors dni)

Word count: 6.2K

❁ Series masterlist

❁ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

"Mr. Bridgerton, welcome!" Lord Carrington exclaimed. "Lady Y/N is finishing getting ready."

"Of course, Lord Carrington, I will wait for her."

He nodded. "I hope everything goes very well on your ball. We, unfortunately, might not be able to attend as my wife has fallen sick."

"Oh, that's a shame," Benedict empathized. "I wish for her to recover very soon, and as for the ball, do not worry. I will tell my Mother."

"Thank you, son."

Benedict smiled at Lord Carrington's words.

"Antoinette, dépêche-toi !" your yells could be heard from the sitting room, making Benedict smile fondly. "We will be late!"

"My Lady, this dress is not very easy to put on!"

Lord Carrington laughed. "One could never fathom a lady and her maid treating each other like sisters, but Y/N certainly treats Antoinette like one."

"She proves to us every day that she is another kind of lady," Benedict noted. "That is probably why she and my sister Eloise tally as well as they do. These two were cut from the same cloth."

"It would be unbearable to have two of those under the same roof," He smiled. "Thankfully, my wife is not the defiant kind, she would be similar enough to Y/N otherwise."

"I am certain Lady Y/N is not that bad."

"Not at all," Lord Carrington rushed. "You will never have one boring day beside that woman. She is quite the artist, any would be surprised by her talents; and her particular ability to spend an entire day at the modiste. She returns with at least a dress each time she goes, and is argumentative enough to contradict the jeweler," he added. "I promise you will have the perfect wife by your side if you keep her."

"Well, I intend to."

He curved his lips. "My wife and I have known her since before she was born… She holds a very special place in our hearts, and we wish for nothing but the best for her. Louisa and I, we are glad it is you."

"Thank you, Lord Carrington."

"You know, Mr. Bridgerton?" He began, looking at Benedict right in the eye. "The environment that she grew up in made her the woman she is today. It took her father a while to… take a look at her, he wanted a son but ended up with the living image of his wife. When he realized that she was going to be the one to take care of everything when he passed, that's when he decided to be the father she needed... And he used to spend hours teaching her how to ride a horse and then he would talk about their home while she painted the sunset. They traveled the world together and were everything to one another, so… take care of her."

Benedict frowned at certain words of his but nodded nevertheless.

"I am here!" you exclaimed running downstairs. "Good morning, Mr. Bridgerton!"

"Good morning, Lady Y/N," Benedict grinned at the use of names while in front of Lord Carrington. "Shall we?"

"Yes, we shall," You accepted his arm. "I am starving and excited for this trip."

He laughed. "Goodbye, Lord Carrington."

"Bye, my Lord!" You smiled. "Take good care of Lady Carrington for me, will you?"

Lord Carrington laughed. "I will."

Once you were finally inside your carriage, you looked at Antoinette.

"Did you tell Théo and Laurent that we will have a long trip today?" you asked and Antoinette nodded. "So, are they rested and are the horses alright?"

"They are, my Lady. There is nothing for you to worry about."

You smiled and looked at Benedict in front of you.

"You look most ravishing in that teal blue dress." he commented.

"I believed my color was apricot orange."

"In all honesty, apricot was the same color you wore the day we met," he reminded you. "Therefore, it holds a very special spot in my brain."

"I didn't remember that," you confessed, feeling warmth rushed into your cheeks. "Thank you for saying that, I am glad that both teal and apricot are my colors."

Benedict grinned. "To be fair, every color is your color. You look equally dazzling in all of them."

"That is, perhaps, because you have not seen me in red just yet. That would be your favorite."

"Very well, you have me looking forward to it."

"Your wishes will be satisfied during the ball." you replied with a suggestive smile.

"I cannot wait, then."

Soon, you arrived at the Bridgerton House, being received by all the siblings and Lady Bridgerton.

"Y/N!" Eloise called you before you joined the rest of the family for breakfast. "I need to talk to you about something."

You frowned. "Of course, Eloise. Can it wait until we are in Aubrey Hall or at least until after breaking the fast?"

She sighed. "Yes. Okay."

You and Eloise went to the dining room and sat next to each other.

"Uh, I hear you are to return to France soon, are you not?" Anthony questioned.

"Yes, I must go back. There are issues at home only I can resolve," you replied. "There is also a visit from the Americas waiting for me."

Anthony looked at Benedict. "You are coming back to London, I assume."

"I am not sure," you said, catching his telepathic conversation with Benedict that was surely about you. "Unless I am given a reason to, I will not. At least, not anytime soon."

"That is unfortunate," Anthony added. "Just know you will always be welcomed by us."

"Thank you," you replied. "Likewise."

Lady Bridgerton sighed. "And this visit from the Americas… Can we know who it is?"

"Oh, my Grandfather," you answered. "He was shocked by my absence and wishes to see me."

"He should come here," Lady Bridgerton proposed. "I have never met him before, I would be delighted to."

"I know, but he just survived a weeks-long trip, so I do not think it is proper for him to travel more," You wrinkled your nose. "You could always join me and spend a few weeks in Versailles until I leave for the Americas with him."

Benedict almost choked on his food. "Are you traveling overseas?!"

You hummed. "I will unless I have a reason not to. Or a companion, too, would be very appreciated."

Eloise looked at you with her eyes wide open, while Daphne and Francesca looked at each other hiding a smirk at your suggestion. Gregory and Hyacinth pretended not to be aware of the conversation but gave each other funny glances. Lady Bridgerton hid her laugh as Benedict, Anthony, and Colin shared surprised stares.

The eldest Bridgerton was well aware that his brother was flirting with you. It seemed very innocent and even encouraged by him at the beginning, but once he heard his Mother talk so highly of you and after having met you, Anthony knew it was time for a serious conversation: Benedict had only met you a couple of weeks previous and already decided to court you? What were his intentions? Did he not think it was an awful idea to marry someone he did not know well enough? Was he aware of the responsibility that would fall on his shoulders once he married you?

The answer to his question was found in that glint of doubt that shone in Benedict's blue eyes, and Anthony knew he had to make his brother give up on marrying you.

Since, of course, Anthony believed it was his responsibility to dictate the future of each of his siblings.

What he did not know was that the reason behind Benedict's doubt was way worse than whatever his fate marrying you and destroying an entire region would be. The remedy was worse than the illness in this case because it involved his brother having some sort of relationship with another man. Particularly his future fiancée's —fictional— brother. And Benedict, clearly, did not want Anthony or anybody else to ever know about it.

"I could always go with you! An adventure would be quite enriching." Eloise intervened.

"I think that is a wond-" Lady Bridgerton began but was interrupted by her eldest son.

"Do not even mention it, Sister," Anthony threatened. "You cannot travel abroad with a stranger."

The dining room fell silent, and Lady Bridgerton was about to interfere and scold his son for treating you that way when you replied.

You raised your eyebrow. "Did I miss something, Lord Bridgerton? Or what have I done to cause the sudden change of attitude toward me?"

"Brother…" Benedict gave him a pointed look.

"Not at all, I just cannot help but realize that you are very insistent on marrying my brother."

"Anthony, stop."

"Mr. Bridgerton, I do not need you to defend me," you told Benedict, then looking at Anthony in an attempt to hide how offended you were. "I have never, not even once, approached your brother myself, Lord Bridgerton. As you should be aware, a woman is not allowed to. I am not desperate, it is just that I must return to France, I do not need anything from you. In case you haven't considered the possibility of me loving your brother, I could easily point it out for you: marriages based on a love match do exist and I was hoping to have one of those for myself. I believe I could find that with Benedict, I did not know you were the one to make decisions for him," You stood up, dedicating him the deadliest glance your eyes could make. "Bon appétit."

You did not hesitate nor looked back, and made your way out of the dining room with the purpose of returning to the Carrington Mansion.

However, Benedict stopped you in the middle of your way to the front door.

"Y/N, wait!"

You stopped with a sigh, trying to regain composure. "What can I do for you, Mr. Bridgerton?"

"Don't call me that, please," he pleaded, taking you by your arm and leading the way to the bureau. "And pay my brother no mind, I beg you, he… Marriage is a very sensitive topic of conversation lately, especially for him. He did not mean to say any of that or to offend you."

"You do not have to apologize in the name of your brother and I do not care for him or his personal issues, Benedict," you answered. "I love you, alright? I do. And I can think of at least ten respectable gentlemen in London, forty more across Europe, and a hundred all around the world who wish to marry me and about whom I couldn't care less when you are the one that I want. I do not want to settle for any of them, I do not care if it is a prince, a king, a duke, a count, a viscount, a lord, whatever, I only want you. If you love me, too, tell me at once or I will go back to France with no reason to return to London."

"I love you, too."

"Think it through, then," you demanded. "If you marry me, you must live in France with me, Benedict. You will have to leave your life here behind for me and while I love you so, I cannot ask you that."

"Y/N, I would follow you to the ends of the Earth, you hear me? I love you like I never thought possible," he whispered. "Don't leave, come to Aubrey Hall with us. Anthony will make it up to you, of that I am sure."

You looked around, noticing you were alone.

His eyes met yours so passionately that it hurt to even break the contact, so you just cupped his face, caressing his features fondly.

And you kissed him as if the world was crumbling down around you.

"I do not care about Anthony, Benedict," you muttered. "He could disown you and still you would have four palaces at your disposal if you stand by me, you would lack nothing, nor would our children or the children of our children or their great-grandchildren. I will be by your side until my very last breath and I will love you through Heaven and Hell. This is your choice."

He kissed you again, this time more urgently and lovingly.

You observed him as he pulled away, looking perfect as ever in his Prussian blue suit with a steel and burgundy waistcoat and a matching cravat of the latter color.

"You are the most enchanting man I have met in my life," you confessed. "And I have met many princes."

Benedict laughed. "You mean to tell me that I am more enchanting than a prince?"

You clicked your tongue. "I meant that you are more enchanting than all those rich, handsome princes and the nobles and the explorers and every man I have known altogether."

He kissed you again, smiling throughout the dance of your yearning lips.

"You are the most endearing, interesting, and ravishing woman I have ever encountered," he complimented you. "You are the only woman who has called him out in front of a crowd apart from Miss Sharma."

"Ah, he must hate me now," you noted. "I will get over it."

"But he will be my best man!"

You shook your head. "No ring, no wedding innuendos."

"Well, no wedding, no kissing," Benedict added. "Two can play that game."

"That is actually very sensible from you, Mr. Bridgerton. Can you imagine what would happen if someone was to catch us with our hands in the bag?!"

He chortled. "What does that even mean?"

"It means if someone sees us in this compromising situation: with rouge all over our faces, hair a mess, and… your cheeks are turning the color of the wine!"

"Then, meet me tonight in the garden, my Lady," he proposed. "When everyone is fast asleep."

"I never said I would still go to Aubrey Hall."

"My dear Mother would be devastated if you rejected her invitation. Not to mention Eloise, who was arguing with me about how I should not keep you to myself the whole time as she needed her friend."

"Meet me at midnight, then, Mr. Bridgerton."

You did not exchange a single word with Anthony for the rest of the day. Not when you arrived at Aubrey Hall, not when you declined their invitation to play Pall Mall, and the siblings —minus Anthony— and Miss Sharma, insisted on you to. Not during tea or dinner. Not ever.

It was now an hour until midnight, and you were on your way to Eloise's room.

"Finally!" she exclaimed in a whisper when you were in front of her door. "I thought you had forgotten."

You shook your head and entered her room. "No, I just had to wait for Antoinette to fall asleep so I could come."

"Alright, that does not matter," she replied, making space for you to sit on her bed. "I have a problem I do not know how to solve."

"If there is any way I can help you, do not doubt I will."

"I know," she muttered. "That is why I am asking you this, I cannot appeal to anybody else."

"Of course, Eloise, tell me."

"The Queen believes I am Lady Whistledown."

You gasped. "What?!"

"I know!"

"Are you?"

Eloise shook her head with a frown. "No!"

"Alright," you replied. "What should we do?"

"She threatened me. My family. I do not know what to do."

"We must find out who Lady Whistledown is and expose her."

"How?! That is what I have tried to do for so long, and-"

"Shh… It is alright, everything will be alright, Eloise," you tried to calm her down. "What if you tell her who Lady Whistledown is, except that it is someone who does not exist?"

"She will find out and it will be worse!"

You nodded. "Tomorrow night, at the ball, we will spread different rumors to every possible Lady Whistledown and see which got printed and tell the Queen it was her."

"The rumors will be spread, how will we even know?"

"Because she would want to spread the one no one else told her about in order to have one novelty! We will find out who it is, then, and tell the Queen."

Eloise sighed. "And what will happen to the real Lady Whistledown?"

"That is not your problem, Eloise… The Queen threatened your family, and they are the ones you must worry about."

"Y/N, could you… not tell anyone?"

Your expression softened. "It will be our secret, El."

"Thank you."

"Always," You smiled and stood up to look at the window. "You know? You should ignore Anthony and come to France with me and Benedict, I hope. It will help you clear your mind… we could tell your Mama that you will find a French husband there; instead, I could take you everywhere!"

"Benedict, you said?" she mocked you.

"Yes. All proofs lead me to believe he will propose before I leave," you answered. "He said that I should not be indifferent to Anthony's hate because he would be his best man. That should be enough."

She made an annoyed grin. "You will marry my brother?"

"A lady can only hope," you said, noticing how Benedict was already waiting for you in the garden. "I should head back to my room, Eloise… We can talk specifics tomorrow."

"Of course. Good night."

"Sleep well."

You practically ran to the garden until you met him standing there, waiting for you with that grin of his. "Ready, my Lady?"

"For what?" you asked, taking the hand he was offering.

"Ready to be mine for a night?"

"Always."

Benedict took your hand in his and drove you to the backyard. "Would you like to fence? I could teach you."

"Oh, Benedict, darling… I have been fencing since I was seven!"

"Yes, of course," he said sarcastically. "Me as well, and allow me to remind you that I am way more experienced than you since I am older."

"Moi, j'adore un rêveur !" you exclaimed.

He gasped, faking offense. "Are you calling me dreamy?!"

"I am indeed, dearest."

"Tu es la femme de mes rêves," Benedict said with a grin. "See? It is not that difficult to compliment others!"

"Ooh, la la, Monsieur Bridgerton… si romantique !" you teased him, getting closer to him. "I will destroy you."

"That sounds most tempting…" he whispered, turning around to get the pair of fencing swords he had left there earlier that day. "This one is for you."

You took it and gave him a look. "The dress might make it difficult for me to unleash my prime level."

He laughed. "I will go easy on you."

"No, do it as if I were one of your brothers."

"Are you sure about that? We are very competitive."

You clicked your tongue, taking a defensive position. "En garde, dearest."

"I will destroy you!" Benedict exclaimed and you chuckled as he hit his sword against yours.

And you started fencing.

You could admit you were having the time of your life, all laughter and you winning more than half of the rounds.

"It is because I have been going easy on you."

You scoffed. "I told you not to!"

"One more, all or nothing at all."

"Only if you wish to lose."

"Confident much?" he questioned. "Alright, how about… a bet?"

"A bet?" You frowned. "What could you possibly bet?"

"I win… you dance with the man of my choice at the ball," Benedict stated. "And I shall not be gentle."

You hummed, then. "Very well, Benedict. I win, you come to France with me despite Anthony's objections"

"Oh, you are serious."

"I always am, dearest," you replied. "En garde !"

You began the final round, and it was, probably, the most competitive you have been a part of.

Benedict started running as he saw you close to winning, and you had no choice but to raise your skirt and chase him down. "That is against the rules!"

"We never said anything about rules!"

"You said fencing, so we must follow the rules of fencing!"

"Once you catch me we can begin to talk about rules!"

You got closer to him, taking advantage of how Benedict lowered his speed to give you a much more fair chance to reach him. "You run too fastly and this dress is making it impossible for me to-"

Benedict, who had turned around to see you complain, felt you fall harshly on top of him as you stumbled.

Both laughed at the situation, the fencing swords long forgotten.

"You look precious under the moonlight," he noted, seeing how the light illuminated your face slightly, and how your short hair fell messy, covering both your faces like a curtain with how close you were to one another. "You certainly do."

You could feel the way your stomach fluttered at his compliments and how flushed your face was. "Shall we call this a tie?"

His hands put your hair behind your ear and then fell on your neck, driving you impossibly closer until your lips met.

"I believe you mentioned something about no kisses, Mr. Bridgerton," you mentioned once your lips parted. "Not that I am complaining."

Benedict kissed you again, this time more urgently. You could taste the craving in his lips and feel the need in his touch.

"You will not believe half the things I see inside my head," he confessed, standing up and helping you stand up, too. "Your lips are my addiction, Lady Y/N, and I long for you every second that we are apart."

"I wish to never be apart from you," you whispered, taking his hand in yours. "I wish to grow older with your hand holding mine and to watch you sleep every night."

He smiled and kissed you once more. "I love you."

The next kiss was better. Benedict pushed you against the nearest tree and you felt as if your soul would leave your body any second at how… unearthly the experience was.

An unfamiliar warmth took over your entire being, and the need for more would not leave you breathing in peace. More, more, more… your body chanted, but more of what?

"I feel…" you breathed out when he left your mouth and went to your neck, his hands holding your waist tightly against him. "What is this that I am feeling?"

He grinned. "Have you never been taught about this?"

"About what?" you asked with a whimper.

"My, my, Lady Y/N, anyone would think that with that know-it-all attitude of yours, you were aware of all the ways two people can make the other feel when they are alone." Benedict smirked.

"What does that mean?" You sighed, feeling his hand go to the bare part of your back and caress you there.

"Do you trust me?"

You nodded eagerly. "I do."

"Alright," He kissed you tenderly on your cheek. "This is something important, so you must be sure about it before we proceed."

"How so?"

"Because it is something that a lady like you only does once she marries."

You made a confused grin. "Like kissing?"

He chuckled. "It is… more than that. However, it is related to kissing. You kiss the other person when you do it."

"So it is like… advanced kissing?"

"Yes, you could say that," Benedict laughed. "It requires us both to be nude."

Your heart started beating faster and you felt your cheeks warm. "Nude? Like in the paintings?"

"Just like that," he replied. "And we would touch each other. I promise you that I will make it the most enjoyable experience if you allow me."

"Would you enjoy it as well?"

"You have no idea," Benedict smiled, kissing your forehead. "But this is not something you should take lightly, so you must be certain you want to do it."

"Why do people do this?"

Benedict pursed his lips. "Two reasons, actually."

"Two?" you questioned.

"Firstly, and that is why ladies like you only do it after they are married, so the woman can be with child."

Your eyes widened. "I do not want to be with child yet!"

"I know," he conceded. "That is why we will be careful..."

"Could there- could there be consequences?"

He nodded, stroking your hair. "Only if someone sees us."

"Then we must hide somewhere to make sure we are not to be seen." you answered surely.

"Are you completely sure you want to do this, then?"

"I am. I want to do it."

"Shall we go to my bedchambers?"

"Yes."

You kissed again, this time shortly. "You cannot tell a soul about this."

"You know I will never tell." you said, taking his hand.

Benedict drove you silently through the hallways of Aubrey Hall until you arrived at his bedchambers.

He opened the door and invited you in. "Are you completely sure, then, my dear?"

"I am," you answered. "Could you call me something other than dear? Everyone calls me dear: the Carringtons, your Mother…"

"Mmm… does my heart sound good?" he wondered between laughter.

"It is perfect, mon cœur." you confirmed, taking a look around his room.

[My heart]

"Shall we?"

You nodded in front of him and waited for him to do the first move.

So Benedict kissed you softly on the lips and then pulled apart. He spun you so your back was facing his front, and started kissing your neck while playing with the buttons of your dress. "May I?"

"Yes…"

He unbuttoned the dress and soon it was discarded on the cold floor. Your bare skin got goosebumps under his burning, delicate touch. Then, he undid your corset and put it away, driving his hands to your now-uncovered breasts.

You shook under his touch, resting your head on his chest as his hands did wonders on your breasts. "It is cold, why do I feel so warm… there?"

"Do you like this?"

You nodded.

"That is why, my heart… Now, do you like what we are doing?"

"I do," you answered truthfully. More, more, more… you heard again the chants of your body and decided to indulge. "Is there any way you could give me more?"

"More of what?"

"I do not know, I just… I want more." you hurried to say.

"Anything you please," Benedict left your breasts unattended to put his hands on the sides of your undergarments. "May I?"

You nodded, and he complied.

The cold air meeting your warmth was the first feeling you met with, and the way you shuddered wasn't familiar in the slightest.

"Is this normal?" you wondered while raising each leg from the floor so he could take off your undergarments while kissing your bare back.

"Is what normal, my heart?"

"It is too hot and I feel something… Can I touch it there?"

He breathed out with eagerness. "Yes, you can. Come here, spin around, my love."

You did as he told you and with the most flushed expression, you put your right hand between your thighs, meeting with an unusual, heated moisture there. A loud sigh left your lips. "Why is it wet?" you asked, feeling embarrassed without knowing why.

"It is normal, you mustn't worry," he answered, taking your hand in his and sliding your wet fingers into his mouth. He released them, kissing your knuckles before letting go, fighting the ache that hardened between his thighs. "That means that you are enjoying yourself, just like I am."

You cleared your throat. The sight, though unfamiliar, awakened many inexplicable feelings of intimacy you couldn't quite decipher. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Very much." Benedict said, kissing your cleavage.

"But I have not touched you yet and you are still clothed."

"But I am seeing you, touching you, and kissing you," he lowered his kisses to the valley between your breasts. "I enjoy that. I enjoy sharing this with you."

A shaky breath escaped from your lips as your hands went to his shoulders for support. "Really?"

Benedict hummed. "It is most pleasant, as I have been told, when you do it with someone you love."

You let out a soft chuckle at his words. Looking down, you met with his blue eyes and sweet smile, and when you saw his burgundy tie, you were more conscious of the fact that he was still fully clothed.

"I wish to see you." you demanded, untying his cravat delicately.

He shuddered at your command. "Anything."

He stood up now and started unbuttoning his waistcoat. His white linen blouse, with the sleeves already rolled up, came next; his black trousers followed, and soon, it was the two of you wearing as much as you did when you were brought to this tempting world.

Your finger went to his torso, focusing on his beauty marks and connecting them like constellations. Benedict exhaled with difficulty, long gone the ease one must have for having breathed their whole life, his hands resting restlessly on your hips.

"I have never seen a man quite like you," You left a soft kiss on his chest. His forehead met yours and his eyes remained closed. "Dishonor me, Mr. Bridgerton."

That seemed to be his cue, a trigger for his wildest desires because when you least expected it, he pushed you against the wall and kissed you as if he fed off of it.

Lust, just like time, turned the daylight heavens in his eyes into the dark midnight sky you loved under.

He carried you, making your legs wrap around his body and your skin merge with his, never not kissing you, not even for the briefest second.

"I am desperately in need, Benedict. Please, do something!" you begged, holding onto his arms, feeling his smirk against your neck like a kiss. "Something, anything."

Suddenly, the tip of his fingers met your core. You flinched at the intrusion but did nothing other than moan his name. "Something like this?"

He started drawing circular shapes on you: slow like torture, steady like a heartbeat, sweet like honey.

"Oh," you moaned. "What are you doing to me? Why do I… feel like this? Oh, God…"

Benedict grinned. "Are you enjoying it, my heart?"

"Yes." you replied, breathing quickly and closing your eyes. Instinctively, you spread your legs further to give him better access.

"Look at me," he told you. "Every second, you shall be looking at me."

You nodded, opening your eyes, squirming under his touch. He explored you, he loved you, he made you feel so good.

"Benedict, what is…" you whined, moving your hips at the same rhythm as his fingers. "I need more."

He kissed your forehead and increased the speed of his movements, putting one of his fingers inside you.

It was a sensation you could have never imagined, it was better than what you expected when Benedict promised you would enjoy this. You felt the need to scream his name, but knowing Colin's bedchambers were just next door, you decided to cover your mouth with your hands.

His forehead was pressed to yours and your eyes locked to each other's while your body exploded in a wave of delight, his hands didn't leave you unattended until he was certain you were done.

"What was that?" you asked him, tone a little tired.

Benedict kissed you. "That was a little bit of me dishonoring you."

"Clearly," You laughed. "Does it feel similar for you?"

"Well, it works a little differently for men."

"How come?" You frowned, getting closer to him and feeling something hard pressed against your thigh. "Wait, is that you?"

Benedict shuddered. "Can I show you?"

"Yes, please."

He nodded. "Alright, this might hurt a little, so I will need you to say no if you are not certain. You must be comfortable at all times and should not feel obliged to do something you do not want to, alright?"

"Will it hurt for long?"

"Only at the beginning, my heart, though I promise I will do my best to make sure it does not hurt," he promised. "Then, it will feel good."

"I would like to try."

"Remember to stop me if you wish to stop."

"I will," You kissed him gently. "I want you to feel good. Please, teach me how."

Benedict smiled. "You could touch me like I touched you."

"Okay," you agreed. You kissed him, and your body got closer to his. Your hands traveled his arms softly, then his chest, then going lower. Once your fingertips reached under his belly button, he flinched. "Did I hurt you?"

"On the contrary," you whispered. "Continue if you wish."

Your fingers went lower until you stumbled upon his cock, and Benedict's breath hitched. "Can I… touch you there?"

"Only if you are comfortable."

You looked down and focused on him. Under the dim moonlight, you could not see much, but you could distinguish its length, so you traced his silhouette. He moaned loudly at your touch, and you smiled proudly. "Guide me, please."

Benedict covered your hand with his and made your hand hug him, then guided you up and down slowly. Some moisture joined your movements, making it easier for you.

"Come here," He stopped you, then making you straddle him but not getting your bodies to meet yet. "I shall get inside you now. Are you still sure you want to do this?"

"Is this the part that hurts?"

"Yes."

You nodded. "Alright, I am ready."

He looked you right in the eyes and used his right hand to drive you closer to him until you were kissing softly. Then, Benedict put his hands on your hips and lowered you until your bodies met.

The pained sigh was muffled by the kiss you and Benedict shared, the ache was tarnished by the growing bliss, and you couldn't contain the voices imploring for more.

"More," you begged. "I need-"

"Let me know if you want me to stop." he said, switching positions.

"I will." You nodded, looking at him in the eyes.

And then, it began.

If you thought nothing could be better than what you had just experienced, you were definitely wrong.

It was all soft at the beginning, but then it grew desperate and needy for the both of you. Your hands were intertwined and your eyes locked as he fulfilled his promise of making you feel good.

The kiss was never-ending, and it got to the point in which you did not know where you were, you just knew you were together and nothing else mattered.

Suddenly, Benedict pulled away, but you were in such a state of bliss after you felt your body shattering and coming back you were not all that aware as to why. Not that you cared with the way you felt right now.

"I will be back in a second." he promised as he stood up, kissing your forehead before leaving the bed. You looked at the window from the bed, admiring the night sky.

Benedict returned and started cleaning you up delicately, not saying a word. You didn't need to as the silence was peaceful and comforting.

Before he could lie next to you again, you wrapped a blanket around yourself and went to the window sill, where you sat and Benedict soon joined you. He was supported on the wall and you on his chest, both admiring the stars and the moon.

"I love summer nights," you commented. "And the good company makes it even better."

He chuckled. "Am I a good company, my Lady?"

"There is no one I would rather be with right now."

"I sure hope so," He smiled, giving you a short kiss on your temple. "I do not think Lord Weber would have done any of this."

"He wouldn't have dishonored me, you are correct," you joked. "I am glad it was you who dishonored me."

Benedict chortled, caressing your arm with his fingertips. "I cannot just dishonor you and get away with it, can I?"

"You cannot! What would happen to us if someone opened that door and saw us in a position as compromising as this one?"

"We would be forced to marry!"

"What a tragedy, Mr. Bridgerton!" You dramatized, turning around to kiss him on the lips.

"Marry me." he asked, an enamored sigh leaving his lips.

You looked at him with a small smile. "That sounds incredibly impersonal and not worthy of a yes from a lady like me."

Benedict trapped your lips into a last kiss for the night, doing nothing to hide that huge and adoring smile of his. "You have absolutely captivated me, my heart, and I am afraid I am irredeemably in love with you. For you, I would run from London to Versailles, swim from France to the Americas and back; I would give away everything that I have and renounce all that I am. You are my inspiration, my muse, and I am here to swear to you that I will love you, cherish you, and honor you until my very last breath. I have been trapped under your spell since the first time my eyes met yours, and I shall remain bewitched until I am on my deathbed. Will you marry me, my heart, my Lady, my love?"

"I will marry you, Benedict Bridgerton," you answered with an ecstatic smile. "And you better put a ring on my finger before you dare tell a soul."

"Cross my heart."

[shmowder]

It's aro Daniil anon again :) I hope your weekend was good! I am here with a request that is not specifically aro (but could be)-- I'd love to see something with the reader trying to comfort Daniil postgame after the Polyhedron falls and he's stuck in the Town?

Thank you. Writing this was therapeutic. I wish I could've offered more, but that's all I had today. I hope you like it <3 And I'm glad to see you here again.

Mors Tua, Vita Mea

[ slight angst, comfort, hugging, can be romantic or platonic]

[Daniil Dankovsky x gn reader]

"They threw me here hoping that I'll never return, didn't they?" There's a quiver to his lips, frail sentences spoken with fragile tones. “I never had a chance to begin with, how naive I was to think…”

The same bachelor stood before you, the one who held ultimate authority over the town a week and a couple of days ago. passion-born speeches about the importance of figuring out the truth, doing everything he can since day one, going by the book and applying all that he has learnt in his long years of battling with death in this one showdown, truly exhausting the cards he has been dealt until nothing but desperate clenching fists remained.

Gazing at the river ahead, the beautiful view of cloudy skies and the thriving greenery of the steppe at the far back only dig deeper into the fresh open wound–be it yours or the earth's below–the now empty space where the polyhedron used to be is slowly fizzing out of your memory.

Not Daniil's, however, he's still tracing the invisible stairs with his eyes, counting the steps from what he could recall, every turn and twist, every blueprint etched into the wooden panels.

His face is soft. Ever since you've met him, it's the softest expression you've witnessed him wear. Or was it simply the mask that slipped down?

The raindrops hitting the top of your umbrella are reminiscent of a certian melody, nostalgic in nature, you feel like you've heard it before, as if you've stood witness here before, enough times to memorise the sound of rain's pattern on this exact same day.

He was drenched when you first found him, the bachelor of medicine, it must have been the rain which washed away the know-it-all facade he clung to like a security blanket at times.

For now, he's dried up a bit after you shielded him under your own umbrella. Standing in silence, he tried to give you an acknowledgement smile out of politeness, but the corners of his lips weighed down heavier than he could manage to lift them.

There are no winds to howl, no showering rain to taunt, no fireworks of celebration to mock. The apathy of the universe to stand indifferent to the suffering of those who were, of those who are, of those who will be.

“My life's work snuffed out from behind my back while I was none the wiser, working day and night to save this damned ungrateful town.” His gloved hand reaches to hold the handle of the umbrella just below yours, “They tore the research papers, burned the tissue samples, and destroyed the building whole. Thanatica is no more, and so is hope.”

What remained was a shell of a broken man, a hollow consolation trophy for humanity's failed attempt to outsmart death.

A reminder to mankind to remember your place. Or be dragged back into it, kicking, screaming, and beaten down.

You could tell him it's not the end; weave the most beautiful lie from the spindle of half-truths.

List every phrase and condolences messages you could remember, the same ones adults cooed your way when you were a mere child after your dog died, or the dismissing ones you received from teachers in the seventh grade fair when you came second place, or maybe the many unnervingly polite rejection letters delivered to your door by employers who happened to just find someone who fit better.

You could.

And so could he take the que and fix his mask back on, adhere to society's expectations of someone of his status.

He could.

You'll pull the trigger, and he'll follow along.

But you're, too, unbelievably tired of this prolonged song and dance the head ruling families in this town are obsessed with. The exhausting lies, the concealed truths, and the never-ending self-serving hidden motives behind every single word.

Letting go of the umbrella so he may continue to carry it instead, you move closer to him, holding his arm in your own.

“I know.” You whisper against his shoulder. You don't. How could you possibly understand? Do you even comprehend the meaning of his entire life purpose being swept aside, of being sent to his own death by his own legs, the most humiliating parade of failure for all of those who wished him harm to see.

Daniil pulls away.

Your heart sinks.

The deafening sound of rain pouring rings in your ears.

A single step, then another, and he's completely facing you with his back to the polyhedron. You get a good look at his glossy eyes, his damp hair, the crooked brooch on his cravat.

Then he pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly as if you were his last lifeline. You're pressed to his chest, hidden under his coat as if he could hide you from being stolen away by death's claws if he just kept you there.

You don't have to understand to sympathise.

“I don't know what to do… where to go.” The two of you fit snugly under the umbrella with how close you're pressed to one another, you feel his heartbeat and he listens to yours.

He has lost the fight and lost his way. Dreams unravelled, not a single star left to guide him through the ocean he's aimlessly drifting in.

You hug him back, run your fingers through the wet strands of his hair in an attempt to soothe his heavy heart. “Away from this town for a start.”

That gets an unexpected laugh out of him, bittersweet and extremely short, more like an amused huff of air, to be precise. “Yes… far away.”

Yet he lingers in your embrace, and you don't make a move to pull away first. You let him collect his thoughts, wallow in his own sadness while you anchor him in reality.

Staring up ahead at the remains of the crumbled down structure, you wonder what it must have looked like as it fell down. You weren't there to see. You merely heard the sounds of the canons from across town. Broken symphonies, more likely, the doom weapons of humanity used to destroy the miracles of its creation.

The army didn't let anyone near until all the blood was collected. You wonder if the ground really did open up and bleed or was it a metaphorical statement.

No matter how hard you try, you can't spot a single spec of red on the spotless streets upfront. The rain must have washed it away, too. A cleansing shower for the entire town.

Yet the world does not feel anew.

Sinking into the warmth of Daniil's coat, you close your eyes.

No, it feels incredibly old, tiring, same story, different perspective.

You hoped to leave this town a better place than when you first found it, both of you tried really hard.

It seems like you've overestimated your abilities. How did Daniil put it again? Oh yeah, it was like spitting on a tower of flames, expecting, somehow, to put it out.

This place reeked of death.

Welcoming, ridiculing, taunting death. Hanging a carrot onto a stick and pulling the two of you along like fools.

The only way to win a game this rigged is to refuse to play.

You wonder if things could've been different, if in another lifetime the two of you are standing triumphant atop the tower, the jewel of humanity safe and sound.

This parasite of a town set ablaze instead.

No use dreaming of what could haves and what ifs.

A soothing breeze caresses your cheek, your eyes flutter open to the world ahead brighter with the clouds having dispersed. The pause between each rain droplet falling down grows more and more further apart.

Daniil closes the umbrella, and the sunrays fall upon the two of you like a warm blanket. He pulls away, offering his arm instead for you to hold.

“I need a drink. Would you care to keep me company?”

With a nod, you accept it.

A delicate smile graces his lips.

You'll build it, all that was destroyed, you'll salvage the fallen pieces and build it back together from the ground. Thanatica might be no more, but as long as death exists, so will hope in turn.

Humanity went through many hardships, backtracked on its own steps, and regressed before. Wings of wax gave way to prototypes of flying vehicles, and one day, they will conquer flight and manage to stay upright in the sky.

Who knows, maybe one day even the moon will be within reach.

As long as there is someone to die, the fight against death will remain alive.

Two ships sailing side by side in the aftermath of the storm, aligning their destinies, strings of fates intertwining, walking each other home.

He holds you tight.

And you keep him warm.