#and it would be less than a two bed in London

[expatesque]

My parents are looking at flats in a building built in 1912 that the Wrigley's used to live in and it's basically my dream renovation project. There are two adjacent units that could be combined. There's a massive bay window. There are 6 fireplaces and twelve foot ceilings and crown mouldings to die for.

[i-cant-sing]

Time Traveller AU part 11

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Part 9 is here. Part 10 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Part 12 is here!

Your eyes are closed as you travel through time and space, wondering where you'll end up this time. Surely, if the universe saved you one more time, it means you'll probably end up in a better place-

Your eyes snapped open at the loud sound of thunder. You're staring up at the sky, dark clouds lightening flashing across it and-

I'm still falling!

You're not able to breathe until you take a gasp just as you hit the ground below you-

Wet. No, not ground. You look around in the dark water, not able to visualise anything before adrenaline kicks in and you start to swim to the surface.

You gasp as you come up and look around you.

You're in the sea. You're in the middle of the sea!

Your heart is drumming against your chest as you look up at the sky. Its dark, filled with heavy cloud and thunder. As the waves around you begin to move, your blood runs cold.

Storm. Sea storm.

Before you're able to react, though you doubt you could've prepared yourself, the waves crash down on you, pulling you back under the waters. No matter how hard you try to come back up, the waves thrash you here and there, insistent on drowning you. Even if you're able to break the surface for a few seconds, you're only able to take in so much air before getting waterboarded by the sea.

You're thrashing about under the waters, your body starting run out of adrenaline and reaching exhaustion, when you spot something in the corner of your eye.

Its a dark, huge figure. Horizontal, streamlined-

Shark. Its a fucking shark!

You'd scream if your body would listen to you. But you froze, and for some reason, your mind went on autopilot and made you raise your fists.

What? Fight the shark? What the fuck Y/n-

The shark was less than 5 feet from you when an orca came out of nowhere and attacked the shark.

You could only watch as the two sea animals fought each other, the killer whale clearly winning as the shark's thrashing began to subdue. That was the last thing you saw before losing consciousness, praying to God someone finds your body at least.

-

You wake upto the sound of a woman screaming.

Screaming. So, I must be in hell. Huh.

Your eyes flutter open and you look around the large white room you're in.

Its a hospital ward.

Your gaze falls on the shrieking female patient, currently being strapped to her bed as nurses try to inject her with something.

"Oh, you're awake." A nurse states as she comes by your side, noticing the English accent. "Didnt think you would after they found you washed up on the shore. You were shivering all over!"

Ah, nearly drowned. Nearly had hypothermia. Maybe I should have a "near-death" board.

You cleared your throat. "Where am I? How long was I out?"

"You're in London, honey. It was the nearest hospital from where'd they found you. You've been here for a day." She watched you sit up. "Where you from, dearie?"

Pressing your temples, you answered. "Just... around."

Her face turned somber. "You're one of those, arent you?"

"One of who?" You narrowed your eyes at her. "One of who?"

"One of the damned who spread their filth-!" She snarled, stopping when she saw a doctor come up. "Hello, Dr Lowe!" The doctor merely gave her a nod, his eyes fixed on you. "And how are you, miss-?"

"Y/n." Whats the point of lying with another name? Its not like they'd find a record of you.

"Miss Y/n." He nodded. "Do you remember what happened? Why you were on the beach?"

"Um..." You tried to come up with an excuse. "I think... I was trying to swim."

Dr Lowe raised a brow. "Swim? In the winter?"

"Mmhm. Better to prepare myself for the summer." You feigned a smile, not receiving one back.

"Why?" The nurse asked, shrinking when the doctor shot her a glare.

"For... for fun?" You answered, unsure. What, is swimming a crime here?

"And you were swimming in... these clothes." You look down, noticing you were still in the Ottoman attire, wearing a flimsy gown.

"I was rehearsing for a play." The lie rolled out easier this time.

"Are you married?"

"No." I just escaped several attempts though. "Are we done here? I need to get home."

"And where would that be?" The doctor asked, crossing his arms as he looked at you.

"Outside of London. I dont feel comfortable telling you the address." You answered, not appreciating his interrogation.

"Miss, do you know what day it is today?" Shit.

"No. I have never been good at remembering dates." You pull the sheets off you to get off the bed but the doctor's words stop you.

"Its 8th of October."

And this is where you made a stupid mistake.

"What year?" The question came out before you could think of the repercussions.

"You... dont remember the year?" The doctor and the nurse shared a look before looking back at you.

"1860."

1860. 1860. London-

Victorian era.

Shit.

"Of course, I remember the year. I was just making sure. Anyways, I have to go-"

"You're not going anywhere, miss. You're not well. You need treatment." The doctor grabs your shoulders, pushing you back down.

"No, no. I am all good now! You saved my life, but I need to go-" You tried to push his hands off your shoulders, watching the nurse leave in a hurry.

The doctor shook his head. "No, miss. You may be fine physically, but not mentally." "What?" "You dressing up like this, playing some character, going to the sea to drown yourself because you're not happy with life, not remembering dates, and not having a husband- you have hysteria!"

You shook your head frantically. "No, I dont have hysteria-!"

"Not to worry miss! Its very common among women these days, sadly. But I have treated many of them successfully! And I'm sure that will be the case for you as well- Nurse! I need restraints and injections-"

Injection? Hysteria? Oh no, no. No. No! You've read about how they treated hysteria in the 1800s. Sent away to the seaside, lobotomy or forced orga-

"I AM NOT HYSTERICAL!" You thrashed around as more doctors and nurses came to hold you down. You spot the nurse holding up an injection and you only fought harder to escape as you realised Victorian medicine was basically poison itself.

"STOP- STOP! DONT INJECT ME WITH THAT!" You struggled with all your might to free yourself from their grasp, but their grip was tight and unyielding. "ITS FUCKING POISON! YOU IDIOTS! YOU'RE GONNA FUCKING KILL ME!"

You watched in horror as the nurse brought the needle closer to your arm, not even bothering to use an alcohol swab to sterilise the area so great- you'll die of an infection-

"Let her go!" They all looked towards the doorway, where a man stood looking furious. Wearing a brown coat with long sleeves and a wide collar exposing his waistcoat, he marched over to your bed and angrily took off his top hat.

"What is the meaning of this cruelty?! Unhand my wife now!" He yelled at the hospital staff.

Dr Lowe glared at him. "Wife? She said she wasnt married!"

The man scoffed. "We had a fight!" He glared at you this time. "Well, I'm sorry I spent a night away at the pub, darling! Forgive me and come back home?"

They all were staring at you now, and it only took a moment of eye contact with him for you to catch on.

"Fine. I forgive you. Lets go home-"

"Wait a second." The doctor narrowed his eyes at you. "You were found at the beach hours away from here. If he's your husband, then what were you doing there?"

He caught you off guard for a second, but you lied through your teeth.

"I obviously ran away!" You huffed. The man at the other end pulled the doctor by his collar. "And I'm from the newspaper, so if you dont let my wife go now, I will write an article besmirching you- not this run down hospital, no. I will be critisising you personally- whats your name?"

"Dr Lowe!" You pitched in. "Thank you, darling." The man nodded at you before continuing to threaten the doctor.

"I will crucify you, Dr Lowe."

The doctor huffed and nodded at the staff to let you go.

5 minutes later, you were walking with the man to the front desk to collect your belongings. You dont have your time machine on you or your jewellery from the Ottomans.

"Thank you..." You looked at him.

"Colin. Colin Felton."

As you waited for the nurse to return with your things, Colin introduced himself. True to his word, he did work in a newspaper, though you could only describe his work as "investigative journalism", but the term wasnt coined yet.

He was here at the hospital because he'd been trying to collect evidence on the inhumane attitude of healthcare workers towards patients and the alleged barbaric treatments towards the residents.

"So, why'd you help me? I mean, how'd you figured I wasnt hysterical?"

"I didnt." He grinned. "Hysterical or not, no one deserves to get lobotomised or whatever sadistic process they were going to subject you to." Colin looked at you. "How'd you know the injection was going to kill you? And what poison?"

"Look at the state of the hospital- there's arsenic on the walls. And most of the patients there were either strapped to their bed, or lying limp, drooling and groaning. The staff themselves looked like death, and there's no real concept of hygiene here, is there?" You shook your head. "The place is understaffed, overpacked, and completely unprepared for any epidemic or even anything mild!"

Colin chuckled. "Well, well, well. Who taught you so much about hospital management?"

Well, I am from the future where modern medicine has been able to provide vaccines for diseases you could die of.

You shrugged your shoulder. "My brother and I spent a summer at the mortuary." Which is true. You and Qasim had decided one summer to learn more about human anatomy (so that you could one day make your own humanoid-robots) and as kids who were unsupervised by working parents, you decided the best way to learn anatomy would be to go to the mortuary and just... take one home.

Look, in your 7 year old mind- it sounded like a good idea. There were a lot of unclaimed dead bodies at the local morgue and they wouldnt mind if you took one, right?

Qasim was hesitant but went along when you stated it was "for the advancement of science!"

Yeah, anyways, the moment you and Qasim had sneaked in and pulled the storage compartment holding someone, the doctor there caught you two. The only reason he didnt call your parents then was when you two begged you'd do anything and you were just trying to learn about human body and you swore that it wasnt for any "black magic", he instead made you and Qasim intern at the morgue.

Dr Johnson was more concerned that you two werent freaking out over dead bodies, and he probably kept you two around to see if you had any homicidal tendencies, but he found out you two were just curious kids. He was a great teacher, in all honesty, not only did he teach you about anatomy, but also a lot about the embalming, forensics, murder weapons and-

"What do you mean they're not there?" You asked the nurse. "Where's the rest of my stuff?!"

"I'm sorry ma'am, you didnt have anything on you besides the clothes on your back. And you're wearing them-"

"I'm going to give you one more chance- where's. My. Stuff?!" You snapped at her. The nurse stared at you unflinching. You pulled up your sleeve, ready to lunge. "You listen here-"

"What my wife means to say-" Colin placed a hand on your shoulder, reeling you back. "-would you please be kind and check again?"

"Like I told the missus- she didnt bring anything. Also- your missus was carried in here in the arms of another man-"

"What man?" You cut her attempt at tattling.

"He didnt give a name." She scoffed. "He just dropped you on one of the beds and left."

"What did he look like? What was he wearing?"

"I dont remember his face, but he wearing a black coat and hat, and I remember a golden band on his ring finger." She gave you a nasty look at the mention of the ring.

-

"What was so important that you lost?" Colin asked as you two walked. After questioning the nurse until she got fed up, Colin pulled you out of the hospital.

"Just some... jewels. A bracelet. Some cash- well the last bit of it that would get me home." You mumbled, every part of your being doing its best not to break down over losing the only way home. Because if you dont remain calm and lose your shit, you'll end up right back at the hospital to undergo nightmarish treatments.

"We could report it to the police. Although I doubt your case would take priority over the recent rise in murder cases-" You tuned him out as you tried to think where your time machine is.

I was dropped into the sea.... and the waves were harsh. Did I lose it in the sea?

Your stomach twisted at the thought of losing the time machine forever. At least with the thief theory, you had a small chance of getting it back. But you cant go scuba diving to find it in the sea!

"So, what are you going to do now?" He asks as you both sit down. You're holding your head in your hands. Colin's brows furrow in concern.

"Y/n?"

"I dont know, Colin!" You looked up at him. "I dont know! I lost all my belongings, everything that I needed to get home! I have no family, no place to stay and I'm a woman in a time where everyone is trying to either send me off to the looney bin or live horribly in a workhouse!"

"How do you know workhouses are horrible?" Colin raised a brow at you, an accusatory look in his eyes. "This isnt the first time you ran away from home, is it?"

You looked at his face, judging you. If you say yes, he'll think you're just a mad woman who is actually homeless and is trying to use him to get money. And you're already low as it is, you dont need more kicking down.

Scoffing, you glared at him. "What? You think I'm just a mad woman who is actually homeless and is trying to use you for money?" You shake your head, your mind making up excuses. "I... snuck into one of the workhouses."

"Why?"

"So... that I could expose the horrible working and living conditions." You continued before he could ask why. "A friend of mine lived in a workhouse. She complained about the hard labour, the isolation, the inhumane punishments. She died there." You looked down, both for dramatic effect and to avoid being caught in a lie. "I wanted to get justice for her. But the higher ups found out and tried to keep me quiet, which lead to me being on the run and hiding from them, wearing disguises-" You gestured to your Ottoman attire. "-but they caught me and put me on a boat to kill me. It was just pure luck that I washed up on the shore."

Allah, I know lying is a sin but lord- that was amazing how quick I came up with that. Please do not use this to make an example out of me.

Colin gave you a sympathetic look.

"I think I have a way to help you."

-

You were sitting in Colin's apartment.

"Here you go." He returned from the kitchen with a cup of tea.

"Thank you." You took a sip, letting the warm beverage heat your hands. "So, whats your plan?"

"I share this place with 4 people, and one of them has moved out. So, we have a vacant room for you." Colin pointed to a room on the left.

You sighed. "Thats very kind of you to offer Colin, but I cant live here for free-"

"Who said "free"?"

"I dont have a job. I cant pay rent-"

"You do have a job." Colin grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Work with me."

"At the newspaper?" You set your cup down. "I mean- I dont have any experience writing-"

He waved you off. "You dont have to write. I'll write. You- will just collect information for me."

You pondered about his statement. So basically, he wants you to be the "investigator" in "investigative journalism".

"Look, you're gutsy, you're smart, and you're strong willed. I need someone like that to collect data and infiltrate places to expose injustice." Colin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'd do it myself, but I've been around these places so many times that they know now that I'm from the paper. Plus, there are many places only a woman could sneak into instead." He clasped his hands. "Its an interesting job. You'll get to meet all kinds of people. And who knows, maybe even the man who saved your life and stole your belongings."

You nodded. "So, how much will you pay?"

-

Later that night, you met with Colin's flat mates- Liam, who was a police officer, Shepherd, who was a barkeeper and Benjamin who was a barber. Fortunately for you, they were all glad to have you as a flatmate, or well maybe they were just happy to have someone to share the expenses with.

Next morning, Colin told you about the assignment he was working on.

"My main project is about exposing the harrowing conditions of patients forced to undergo unnecessary and painful treatments and the atrocious attitude of the staff towards the patients. Especially in mental asylums." He huffed out, shaking his head as if recalling the nightmarish scenes he'd seen. "But thats a big project and is still underworks. You, will have to first interview and collect some dirt on some influential people and upperclass."

"Why?"

"To get access to Queen Victoria." "And why do I need her?" Colin smiled. "Well, the royal family has many sick people, so if she were to become aware of the grim conditions her subjects have to go through at hospitals, then maybe she will do something about it."

"And you think she would help us?"

He nods. "I believe she will. I think birthing 9 children and being surrounded by men who keep things from her, she doesnt have time for her subjects. But if we were to point her in the right direction until she's unable to ignore the problem."

Well, it is true that the English royal family had many illnesses passed down, famously haemophilia and due to inbreeding, some mental illnesses as well. You suppose Colin's plan just might work.

"Okay. So who's my first interviewee?"

"Charles Dickens."

-

What an asshole.

When Colin told you that you were going to interview or well "dig up dirt" on Charles Dickens, you already knew the literary legend was a jerk. Like most kids, you had read his books- "A Christmas Carol", "Oliver Twist", "David Copperfield", etc. Unlike most kids, you looked him up on the internet and went down the rabbit hole to find out everything about his life.

Including his unhappy marital life, where he was married to Catherine Dickens and basically cheated on his wife with an actress 27 years his junior- "Ellen Ternan", or as he liked to call- "Nelly". He had a secret affair with Nelly, who he had apparently spoken "highly" of- having “a pretty face and well-developed figure”—or “passably pretty and not much of an actress.”

But wait- it gets worse.

So after Catherine found out about his affair, she quietly lived apart from him. A painful scandal arose, and Dickens did not act at this time with tact, patience, or consideration. The affair disrupted some of his friendships and narrowed his social circle, but surprisingly it seems not to have damaged his popularity with the public.

While Catherine maintained a dignified silence, Charles took it upon himself to justify his affair by writing letters about Catherine as being an "unfit wife" because of some "peculiarities of temperament" she had, even saying that she didnt care for the kids nor they for her, which in 1800s- was all that you were good for as a woman. And if you're not good at your job and have "peculiarities of temperament" then that means you're just insane.

Yes, Charles Dickens tried to justify his cheating ass with a girl almost 3 decades younger than him, by saying "my wife's crazy!" Which is... a pretty serious allegation because you could be sent to the mental asylum for torturous treatments.

Which is how you got into his house in the first place. Your cover story is that you're a doctor at the mental asylum and have come over to check on Catherine after Charles wrote letters to the hospital expressing his "grave concern over her mental health". That was a tip Colin was able to get.

And now here you are, sitting in his parlour as he told you on and on about his works, how terrible his life was in general- not growing up, and how women in his life have been just such a bad influence.

"What do you think, doctor?" He asked, finally stopping after 20 minutes of yapping.

You cleared your throat, setting the tea cup down. "Oh I think you're absolutely right, Mr Dickens! My God, what good is a woman if she cant even satisfy her husband or take care of her kids?!" You watched his eyes lit up at your words. "I mean, all women are naturally homemakers. They're supposed to be the providers, the nurturers! If a woman fails to make her family feel warm, fails to make her house a home, then she surely has something terribly wrong with her head! Ah, she definitely needs our help!"

"So, you agree? Catherine needs to be institutionalised-"

"Well, I didnt say that." You gave him a coy smile. "I do understand your concern for your wife- you are a loving husband after all. Loving, caring, honest husband. Such a rare breed of men these days, hm?" You watched his smile falter a bit. "I think I will need to observe her a few more times before I make any decision, Mr Dickens. Now, good day!"

-

"I dont understand why I'm not being paid." You huff as you flop onto the sofa.

Colin sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Because I'm not being paid. And if I dont get paid, you dont get paid, remember?" Ah yes. Since you're not officially hired by his newspaper because you're a woman, you're basically Colin's employee.

"And why are you not being paid?"

"Because the paper didnt publish my exposé!" He handed you the paper.

You looked at the front page and threw the paper to the side. "What the hell is this? How long are they going to run the same news- FRONT PAGE, TOO! Its already been a week!"

"Its a big deal-"

"What? Some guy is returning to London is a news now?" You scoffed.

"Its not just some guy." Colin sighed tiredly, slumping in his chair. "Its a FitzGeorge."

"What the hell is a FitzGeorge?"

"You dont know FitzGeorge?" You shook your head. "Prince George, Duke of Cambridge? Queen Victoria's first cousin?"

You tried to remember anything about him. But you dont remember reading much about any cousins of Queen Victoria, when her kids were already so entertaining to read about.

"So, Prince George is returning?"

"No, he's been dead for years! How do you not know this?"

"I live under a rock. So who is returning?" You redirected him back.

Colin gave you a look. "His grandson. Silas Edmund FitzGeorge."

"Right. And why is he so important that he's been on the front page for a week now?"

"He's the most eligible bachelor now." Seeing your unamused look, Colin explained. "Prince George and Queen Victoria fell apart when the former married a ballerina, Sarah Fairbrother. They married without the Queen's consent, though with Sarah being a ballerina, I doubt her majesty wouldve approved of the union either way. Anyways, since they married without her consent, the marriage was essentially null and any heirs produced were illegitimate and not recognised by the crown, thus would not be granted any Dukedoms. Prince George had 3 sons- George, Adolphus and Augustus FitzGeorge. The youngest- Augustus, had two children: Daisy and Silas. Unfortunately, the kids were quite young when they lost their mother. Augustus was away on service on the sea, when his wife was brutally murdered in the family home and rumour has it- Silas had witnessed it first hand. It was just pure luck that he was not spotted by the murderer that the young child was hiding in his closet. While the kids were in mourning, Augustus had apparently went mad with sorrow when he received the news and drowned himself. Pitying the orphans, Queen Victoria had promised to make Silas a Duke and Daisy a Duchess when they came of age. But Daisy was sent to the mad house out of the blue and a few months later, she died there. Poor Silas was now taken in by his grandmother, Sarah, the very woman Queen Victoria hates. Long story short, Sarah worked very hard to raise Silas and eventually he ended up being the first in the royal family to attend Oxford university-" he leaned forward, smiling. "-without any help from the crown."

Oh, so Silas is self made. And not a nepo baby.

"Silas not only is highly educated, but he's also a very successful businessman. He has invested in many businesses and he's been a huge part in reforming industries."

"So... he's rich and self made? Got it." You looked at Colin. "Still doesnt explain why he's making news? Hell, he even took importance over those horrible murders!"

Colin grinned. "Well, he's not the most eligible bachelor just for the commoners. Apparently, the queen is considering him as a match for one of her daughters." He watched realisation finally dawn on you.

"I still should be paid." You grumbled before glaring at him. "Maybe you need to write a better article, good enough for it to take over the front page."

"If you're done criticising my writing skills, I was going to tell you a remedy for this problem." Colin had an evil glint in his eyes. "And we'll have to use our friend Mr Dickens for it."

-

Colin is a genius.

You're currently sitting in Sarah Fairbrother's house- or well a small mansion. Its a huge estate, lush green grounds surrounding it as far as the eye can see. You were sweating by the time you reached inside, the gardens were huge.

How did you end up here? Colin suggested to use dirt on Charles Dickens and blackmail him into getting you an interview with Sarah, since he is popular and part of the high society. And you only had to say "Nelly" for Dickens to fold. He asked Sarah that a young woman would like to interview her for her years as a ballerina.

You knew Sarah was Silas's grandma, but you still were not expecting to see a slim, 86 year old woman who looked absolutely beautiful. Honestly, she did not look a day beyond 60.

"So, how did you know you wanted to become a ballerina?" You asked her, starting off the interview.

The plan was for you to get close with Sarah and find some secrets, so that when Colin writes about them, the editor will take him seriously and then start posting his Dickens article.

The conversation went from her life as a ballerina, to her life as Mrs FitzGeorge. Sarah practically told you everything, you could see she was lonely and she hadnt had anyone to talk to properly. She was kind, sweet lady, and a prima donna ballerina, and you didnt understand why the queen wouldnt like her. But the thing is, her being a ballerina was a stigma in itself, because back in the 1800s, ballet theatres were used as parlours for men to drink and sleep around with women. Thus, by association, ballerinas were bad too.

But despite the queen's shunning, Sarah did not speak ill of her. No, she was a lovely, demure lady who was still very much passionate about ballet.

"And for all the young girls who aspire to be a ballerina one day, much like myself, what advice do you have for them?" You asked,

"Dance with your heart, and your feet will follow!" She smiled so gracefully, that you couldnt help but return it.

"Thank you for such an amazing interview. I am sure girls from all around London will look upto you one day." You said, closing your journal.

"You flatter me, darling." She giggled before looking down at your legs. "You know, I saw your skirt ride up a bit earlier and I think you have the perfect calves for ballet! Have you ever considered?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "I wish! But I think I'm a little too old to learn ballet now."

"My dear, you're never too old to enjoy life!" Sarah smiled.

"Perhaps, one day." You stand up. "I would love to know more about it. Maybe we can do this again, if you have time?"

It wasn't right to use her loneliness, but... you had to make a living. Besides, there are far worse things you can do than talking to an old lady to solict information.

-

You were not expecting Sarah to invite you back two days later, that too for dinner.

"Its not just a dinner, Y/n." Colin said, pacing back and forth. "I think Silas is going to be there. Of course, it'll be a party in his honour! Ah, the return of the beloved grandson and the most eligible bachelor in town!" He continued to mutter incoherently, his mind working overdrive as he began planning ahead.

"How often does he go mad like this?" You whisper to Benjamin, who was currently styling your hair for the dinner.

He smiled, his moustache curling up. "Quite often." He had your hair in a nice updo, and on your insistence, he also allowed some hair to frame your face.

"You cant go empty handed." Colin said, stopping his pacing. "Its high society, you cant go empty handed! You need to get a gift, something appropriate and if possible, memorable enough for them to call you back again and again."

You glared at him through the mirror you were standing in front of as Benjamin helped tighten your corset.

"I dont think anyone will be forgetting me after the objectionable alterations you made to this gown." You pointed to the outfit you were wearing- a baby blue silk gown with delicate lacework around the scandalous neckline and puffy sleeves, courtesy of Colin.

Colin rolled his eyes. "So what if you showed some skin? I'm only trying to ensure that you leave a lasting impression on them." He put on his hat. "Now come along, we have to get a present too."

You and Colin walked down the streets of London, the area bustling as people returned from their jobs and either rushed home or to the pubs.

"Where are we going to get a present now, Colin? One that is both good enough and you can afford to buy too." You commented as you pulled your coat tighter around your body, the cold biting at your bones.

He offered you his arm and pulled you close to his side to warm you up. "I was going to get a wine bottle but the shop closed early today and Shepherd said he hadn't been able to secure any good bottles at the pub, so we'll- we'll just have to go for the next best thing." You two stopped in front of a shop on Regent street.

Regent's Antiques!

"Really? And you can afford antiques?" You raised a brow at him. He shrugged before pushing you inside the shop. "I dont know, but I am good at bargaining."

The shop is huge and immediately stepping inside, you could tell that there was nothing here Colin could afford to buy. The shelves that held the items alone looked like they were made of rich wood, the smell of mahogany, musk and polish filling up your nostrils.

"Lets get out of here before we embarrass ourselves-" you whisper to Colin but he brushes you off and walks further into the store. Sighing, you start browsing the store, an amalgam of things were present there- relics, ceramics, gold and silver and other metalware.

"And how much is this for, sir?" You turned to see Colin ask the salesman for the price of the vase he was holding. You didnt have to hear how expensive it was when you saw Colin's eyes widen as he nervously chuckled before putting the vase back. You heard him do this again over the next 30 minutes, picking up stuff and placing them back.

In the corner of your eye, you spotted a small box. You picked it up and opened it, smiling as it played a melody while the ballerina figurine twirled in the center.

The perfect gift.

You went upto the counter and asked how much it was for.

"100 pounds."

100 pounds... 100 pounds in 1860, with inflation would be todays-

Your eyes widened as you looked down at the box. The salesman mistook your shock for interest and began explaining how its made of pure gold and that this box belonged to a king who gifted it to his queen for their everlasting love.

"Mmhm. Interesting-" You cleared your throat, placing the box back on the shelf. "- but its not what I'm looking for."

"Y/n? What are you doing? I already bought the gift!" Colin came by your side.

"What did you buy?" You asked him before pulling him to the side to whisper. "What could you have possibly afforded in this place?"

"I almost didnt find anything but then the owner of this place saw me and showed me something a little more in my range and I'm getting it wrapped up now!" He told you gleefully.

"The owner? Who?"

"Mr Blackwood! He came here to get a present for someone too and then showed me some old items that were either too ugly or too damaged or just been here for so long, they had to store it in the back! And I found a gem, not too shabby and in a good condition too!" Colin grinned proudly. "Come on, I'll show you the back!"

He ushered you to the storage and true to his word, the room was indeed filled with boring and damaged items. "Take a look around, I need to haul a carriage to load the present and you cant be late!" He left you there.

You browse through the stuff there before going towards the wooden cabinet in the corner. Its locked. You look through the glass panels at the precious antiques inside- mostly bejewelled items like daggers, boxes, broaches and-

Your breath hitched.

Time machine.

My time machine. Its here!

You press your hands against the glass before pulling on the handles to open it, only for the lock to not budge.

Its just glass. You raise your fist. I can just-

"I wouldnt do that if I were you." A voice called out from behind you. You turned to see a man in the doorway, broad shouldered and even from a distance, you could see he had two shades in his eyes.

Green and brown.

Well suited in a coat and shiny dress shoes, he looked like he was going somewhere. He stepped towards you, an mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Those are my belongings." He said.

Oh. So, he's the owner.

"Not all of it. Thats mine." You point to your machine inside. "It was stolen from me a few days ago."

He shrugged. "How can I believe you? I dont know you." He takes another step towards you. "Besides, everything here once belonged to someone. Now? Its mine."

You frowned. "That belongs to me. I even have an official police report." You dont but you decided to bluff.

He chuckled. "Sure you did. But it still doesnt change the fact that its in my possession now." Before you could reply, Colin returned.

"Ah Y/n! I see you've met Mr Blackwood. He's the-" "Owner. I know. And he stole my stuff." You grumbled to Colin.

Mr Blackwood narrowed his eyes at you. "I did not steal it, young lady. Someone came to us and sold it."

You glare at him. "No-" "Yes, of course, Mr Blackwood." Colin cut you off. "And we appreciate that you've kept it safe, but we would like to buy it back from you."

Mr Blackwood looked at him and then at you, before smiling.

"I wasnt planning on selling but since you already bought one of my antiques..." he nodded. "1000 pounds and its yours."

Your jaw went slack and you almost started to swing when Colin grabbed your elbow.

"Mr Blackwood, if you could just give us a better deal-"

"1000 pounds, Mr Felton. And not a penny less." He said before leaving.

-

"Why are you mad at me?" Colin asked as he sat next to you in the carriage.

"I'm mad at him, Colin! There was no way that was worth 1000 pounds! No one would pay such a ridiculous amount! For anything!" You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Of course it wasnt worth a 1000 pounds. He raised the price because you pissed him off." You glared at him. "Look, just focus on tonight and when we get our paycheques, I'll go talk to Mr Blackwood again and bargain a good deal. Because even if he did gave us a good deal right now, I couldnt afford it, not after spending money on your outift and that gift,"

You scowl but nod stiffly. "Fine."

The carriage reached the FitzGeorge estate, stopping at the entrance where a small army of servants waited to greet you and other guests.

"Good luck. See you in a few hours." Colin wished you before calling two servants to carry the gift.

"What the hell did you buy?" You ask as you watch the servants carry a rectangular box wrapped in brown paper and a big red bow inside. "Come on, tell me. What if they ask me what it is?"

Colin grinned as he tipped his hat at you. "I guess you'll have to figure out something on the spot. Bye!" The carriage left before you could pester him.

Huffing, you lifted your gown a bit as you walked up the steps and entered inside the beautiful mansion.

The lobby is filled with guests and servants who are taking their coats and leading them inside. There's a stairway on the right leading to private quarters upstairs, a drawing room beside the stairs where you had interviewed Sarah the last time you were here. On the other side, you see a table stacked with presents, your own gigantic box settled behind them.

This was not just a small dinner, was it?

You're lead inside what seems to be a ballroom, the lights seeming to bounce of the polished wooden floors. Waiters are serving guests alcohol and appetisers, and you hold the champagne filled glass too.

Hey, just because I'm not drinking doesnt mean I cant hold it. I need to blend in.

You hold the glass in your hands as you look at the attendees, trying to spot any famous personalities. You notice Charles Dickens again, of course he's here too. Your eyes drink in the pretty dresses of the women and almost roll at the sight of obnoxious men who dont make an effort to conceal their ogling.

Soon, the butlers gets everyones attention as he annoucnes the arrival of the hostess.

"Lady Sarah Louisa FitzGeorge, accompanied by her grandson, Lord Silas Edmund FitzGeorge!"

Sarah was wearing a black regency gown, puffy panelled sleeves and a golden brooch with an onyx stone in the center of her neckline, her neck adorned with pearls and matching tear drop earrings. She walked arm-in-arm with a dashing young man, and you could definitely see why he was the "most eligible bachelor".

Dark chocolate brown hair, the thick locks styled properly and you were sure that under the sunlight, they'd have different shades of brown and golden in them. Fair skinned, yet not deathly pale as most of London is, he had thick brows framing dark grey eyes adorned with enviable thick lashes, that dont seem to be focusing on anyone, just looking ahead, unamused. A sharp Roman nose, followed by perfectly sized pink lips, with a deep and defined cupid's bow and a strong jawline.

They both walked down the stairs and entered the ballroom together, Sarah practically beaming with pride as she walked in with her grandson who towered over her. Everyone talked in hushed whispers, admiring Silas's beauty and how he looked like royalty. Sarah continued to smile at the guests as they made their way towards the center.

As the guest finally quieted down, Sarah began speaking.

"Thank you all for joining me tonight to celebrate my dear Silas's return from Oxford!" People clapped at the huge academic achievement but Silas still looked like he'd much rather be anywhere else than here. Sarah continued. "I had dearly missed him so much. He's been my rock, my star, my everything after his grandfather left me. But tonight is not about sorrows, no. Tonight we celebrate Silas! I hope you enjoy this, darling." She looked up at him and Silas smiled gently at her, a dimple appearing on his left side, leaning down to let her kiss his cheek.

Sarah clapped her hands, nodding at the butler.

Moments later, ballerinas entered the ballroom and began putting on a show. Ah, so this is why you were invited back. Sarah probably thought that you'd enjoy this due to your keen interest in the performing arts.

I mean... its not bad. Actually, its quite entertaining. But you're not here to enjoy ballet. You're here to get dirt on the upper class of London.

You move through the audience, picking up on interesting bits of convo here and there, mostly about extra marital affairs and tax frauds. When you see Silas again, he's not by Sarah's side anymore. No, instead he's now surrounded by some men, much older than him. They seem to be close to him, though Silas doesnt seem to share any familiarity with them as they speak in hushed tones, a hand on his shoulder to emphasise their point. Finally, Silas gives them a nod before moving away from them, and he's once again crowded by 3 boys, much closer to his age this time and Silas actually gives them a smile as they head out of the ballroom.

Friends, maybe relatives? You dont recall Colin telling you he had any brothers, only a sister who passed away in an asylum.

Your eyes trail back to the men who were talking to Silas earlier, only to see a familiar face there.

Mr Blackwood.

Despite being much younger than the men, he seemed to hold authority over them. You could see from the way they shook his hand, eagerly, desperately and talking over each other, but Mr Blackwood just stood there with a charming smile, listening to their concerns before holding a hand up to silence them. He said a few words that seemed to quell their worries before he moved past them and for a brief second, his eyes met yours and he smirked, tipping his head at you before leaving the ballroom.

You thought he'd come to you, maybe interrogate why someone like you was here in the first place, but perhaps you blended in better than you thought.

"Y/n! Darling, you came!" Sarah greeted you happily as she embraced you in a hug. "How do you like the show?"

"Oh, its just so... exquisite. Bewitching, really!" You smile before complimenting her outfit. "And your gown, your jewellery, everything looks so beautiful! If I didnt know any better, I'd say you were Silas's elder sister!"

She laughed softly, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, its you kids who keep me so young! Come on, I want to introduce you to Silas! I'm sure he'd be delighted to meet you." She lead you towards the lobby after a servant told her about his whereabouts, and there you saw him and his friends from earlier.

Silas leaned against the wall, watching humourlessly as the boys went through his gifts, opening them up crassly and mocking the gifts, all while he sipped his champagne.

"Silas- boys! What are you doing?!" At Sarah's admonishing tone, all of them straightened up.

One of the 3 boys, a blonde pouted as he stood up from the floor, dropping the gift box in his hands and you heard glass break.

"Nana! We were just helping Silas open his presents!"

Another boy, also blonde but he was taller than the first one, sheepishly hid his hands behind his back, though the crinkling of wrapping paper gave him away.

"Yes Nana, we were just helping him! He gave us permission to do so."

"Permission to act like animals?" Sarah fumed, making them lower their heads. It was kinds of adorable seeing them standing there looking defeated while a woman much smaller in stature than them scolded them.

Finally, the third boy who was the brunet and the oldest of the three stepped closer to Sarah. "Sorry Nana, we'll be more careful next time. Right boys?" The blondes nodded. The brunet then settled his eyes on you. "And who's the lovely lady next to you, Nana?" He changed the topic and Sarah's anger seemed to evaporate as she looked at you.

"Ah, yes! This is Lady Y/n Paddington!" Yes, Paddington as in Paddington the bear. What? This was the only name that came to mind at the moment that couldnt be traced. "She's the one who interviewed me about my career as a ballerina a few days ago. And look! Today we had a show for her to see!"

The three boys greeted you nicely, making some comments about how pretty you are before getting glared at by Sarah. Silas remained leaning against the wall, looking out the window at the dark night.

"Silas! Darling, come say hi!" Sarah called him before turning her attention to the boys, scolding them for being so undignified for opening Silas's presents.

Silas walked over to you, and you took a deep breath to introduce yourself-

"Are you done?"

You blinked at him in confusion. What?

"What?"

Silas looked past you at his grandma before looking down at you.

"I said, are you done? Have you gotten what you came here for?" He asked monotonously.

Wow. So does everyone have a stick up their ass in high society?

You narrowed your eyes at him. "And what exactly would that be?"

His expression didnt change. "Jewels, cutlery, secrets, contacts, a rich man?"

"What makes you think I already dont have all of those things?"

He scoffed, giving you a look. "You stick out like a sore thumb. You're not part of the wealthy." Silas looked at the champagne glass in your hand before smirking.

"What now?" You seethed.

"Anyone with a taste for finer things in life knows not to hold the glass from the top. You hold it from the stem, so that you dont warm the drink from the heat of your palm." He leans down to whisper in your ear. "Stop pretending to be someone you're not."

You know you shouldnt have, you know that you're better than him academically by literally centuries, you know this is how all rich douchebags act, but you just couldnt let a self entitled brat insult you to your face and you've had enough of those in the past few eras.

You smiled. "I guess you would know who's pretending." Silas smirk faltered.

"Remind me if the FitzGeorges are still considered royalty or not?"

You watched his eyes set ablaze, his jaw tick but before he could respond, the sound of paper being ripped cut him off.

"Charles!" Sarah yelled at the young blonde who had just ripped the wrapping paper off your present.

"Nana! This one's from Lady Y/n! Look-!" He removed the lid from the box before Sarah could stop him and your heart dropped at the sight of the contents.

Its a painting.

Its a portrait. The portrait.

The one Baldwin had made. The one that Mehmed had gotten on his conquest. The one you forgot to destroy in the Ottoman empire.

And now its here. In 1860 London. How the hell did it survive over 700 years?

Sure its not as brand new as the last time you saw it, the paint is faded and varnish is gone, but the face- your smudged face is still there!

"This is ugly, right?" Charles remarked, only to be smacked on the head by Sarah.

"It is not! Its exquisite! Its one of a kind! Just like how Silas likes his things- unique!" Sarah looked at you smiling. "I'm sure there's a story behind this, right darling?"

Your throat went dry as you nodded slowly. "Y-yes." You cleared your throat, eyes fixated on the portrait. "The owner told me that this belonged to the Turkish empire once, and um... one of the princes of the time had gotten it as a part of his loot from the conquest."

"But who's the broad-" Charles cut off his words as Sarah glared at him. "I mean- who's pretty lady in the painting?"

"She's... unknown. I only know that this was commissioned by her lover. Also, he was insane apparently." Sorry Baldwin, but you were insane.

Sarah clasped her hands over her heart, touched. "Ah! Painting by a man madly in love of his beloved! How romantic! I will have this hung up in our hallway with the rest of the paintings!"

You shake your head. "Oh, I dont think it'll go with your style-"

"Of course it will! Its a symbol of love, of devotion. Just like me and my Georgie. Just like how I wish for Silas to experience it one day." Sarah smiled at Silas.

"Yes, the day when Silas will be bitten by a rabid dog." Charles snickered only to have his ear twisted by Sarah as she began dragging him away, saying that she will tell his father of his behaviour tonight.

Without much to say, you left shortly after, bidding Silas's cousins goodbye and not bothering with Silas who was glaring daggers at you.

-

"You said what to Silas?" Liam asked as he returned from his patrolling. "I cant believe it. He is a part of royalty, maybe not directly but still!"

"He started it first." You pouted as Benjamin chuckled behind you, undoing your updo.

"Yes, but he was right to call you out. I mean, who holds the flute from the top?" Shepherd asked, sitting down as he handed Liam a drink.

You narrowed your eyes. "Well, I'm sorry that I'm not an obnoxious, rich, raging alcoholic!"

All of them chuckled as Colin sat down with a lazy smile, nursing his drink.

"You did good work tonight, Y/n." He raised the glass to you before downing his drink. You perked up. "So this means I'm getting paid with a bonus?"

He chuckled and gave you a nod. "Of course, but first- we'll need to write articles."

"We?" He nodded. "Yes. We. You will work on the FitzGeorge article for me, and write mostly good things about them so it gets published. I, will be working on the Dickens exposé along with the other secrets you've been able to get tonight. This way, when your FitzGeorge article gets published, you will get even closer to the family and the publisher will finally let me post the dirty secrets of high society! Its a win-win, really."

You leaned forward. "You make it sound so simple but while I may have been allowed to personally interview these people- that too, under the guise of not being associated with the paper, I dont think I will be allowed to work at your newspaper without being called out as your source and then none of these rich snobs will ever let me be close." You leaned back, letting Benjamin massage the knots out of your head. "The reason why Sarah even let me interview her was because I told her I wanted to promote the arts, starting with ballet. She thinks I write for the girls fraternity houses, like some sort of school project. Not a major publishing house!"

Colin rubbed his chin before snapping his finger. "I got it!" He grinned as he leaned forward. "You can write two stories! One- about your interview with Sarah! And it'll be under your name and we'll spread it around actual girl hostels, to make it seem legitamate when someone from the FitzGeorge house gets it. Doesnt matter if it'll do well or not, because you'll only sing her praises and this will make you well liked by Sarah and make her invite you to more events. And the other story, will be about the FitzGeorge estranged family relations with the Queen! Now that will get us more readers and the editor will be happy to publish it too! As for how you will actually write it- well, how would you like to be a boy?"

Everyone stared at Colin, as if he'd grown two heads.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, how would you like to be a boy?"

-

"If I wasnt sent to an asylum before, I'd definitely be sent to one now." You stated as Colin adjusted your bowtie.

"Only if you get caught!" He gave you a cheeky grin before shaking his head. "Which wont happen! I wont let you get caught."

"Now, turn." Benjamin said making you face him. He smiled as he placed a fake moustache on you. "Colin, you really are testing my skills these days. I mean, making Y/n a man? With a moustache? And styling her hair, even though it would've made everything so much easier if someone would just let me cut their hair-" you glared at him. "Okay, okay. No chopping off your hair. Jesus, what's with the death glare?"

"You're worried about the death glare? I'm worried why Liam was so pissed about being the only one whose clothes fit Y/n. I guess he always thought that being a copper meant he way more buff than he actually is." Colin commented. "Despite his lean built, he's surprisingly strong. Did you see the way he flipped over that thief?"

Benjamin nodded, combing your moustache.

"You're a very gorgeous male! Very demure." Colin grins before giving you some brief instructions on how to keep your cover and act manly.

"Right- so what name did you pick for your story?"

The corner of your mouth quirked up slightly.

"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes." What? Arthur Conan Doyle is probably just an year old right now. Its not gonna affect anyone if you chose one of your favourite characters names.

Plus, you're going to be an investigative journalist. So, it fits well, okay?

"Lets go, Mr Holmes."

-

With Colin's reference, you're able to get a job at the paper. And with your people watching hobby, you're able to successfully pass of as a man, a pretty man- but a man, nonetheless.

You've been hit on by a few women on the streets.

After working here for a few weeks, you finally get paid when the editor publishes your work on the FitzGeorge. You wrote mostly about Sarah and the FitzGeorge family relations with Queen Victoria, and just a few tantalising words about Silas that would have the readers waiting impatiently for the next update on the bachelor, thereby garnering more attention and you- more money, which you need to buy your time machine back.

You're sitting at your desk, typing down your next article when there's a commotion in the office.

"The boss is here! The boss is here!" Everyone rushed to do their respective tasks, or at least- look busy, do nothing. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the owner of the paper walking down the hallway, talking to-

Silas.

Silas was walking beside him, looking uninterested as he listened to his friend explaining how he operated his news agency. He gave a lookover to the cubicles before moving on. For a second, you thought he's seen you. But you were hiding behind other men, there was no way he'd spotted you.

Oh no. Is he here because he'd figured out you were the one who wrote the article in the paper? No, no- he couldnt have-

Fortunately for you, he hadnt. Silas was there because his friend, the owner, had invited him to show his newspaper agency.

With the weight off your shoulders and your pay in your pocket, you were back at the antique shop.

"You got the 1000 pounds?" You cursed mentally when you heard his agitating voice.

"Mr Blackwood, I have 3 pounds-" He cut you off with booming laughter. "Ah, poor people crack me up."

Resisting the urge to strangle him, you cleared your throat. "If you could just give me a real figure, an acceptable deal, I would like to buy my own property back."

He rested his head on his palm, leaning on the cash counter. "Now what's so special about it, hm? Because I cant seem to figure out what it even is?"

"Its nothing...." You remark before sighing. "Its a toy. It holds sentimental value."

He tilted his head. "Does it now?"

You nod.

He smiled, though something else swirled in those mischevous eyes. "Alright, I'll give you a deal." You prepare yourself. "I'll give your toy back if.... you go out on a date with me."

You narrowed your eyes. "I am not sleeping with you, Mr Blackwood-"

"And why would I do that to myself?" He raised a brow. "All I'm asking for is one date, a lovely dinner that I'll be paying for and then we can return to the shop and you can have your toy back."

You pondered over his offer, trying to figure out any traps.

"Why do you want to date me? I'm poor, like you said."

He shrugged. "Maybe I find you intriguing." He leaned forward on the counter again, wiggling his brows. "Come on, its just one date. No funny business, I promise."

You stared at him for a few more minutes before nodding. "Fine. But I get to pick the place and I will have you know that I have friends all over that will be looking for me if something were to happen."

He smirks at your attempt to threaten him. "I think we both know that I could get away with it all, love. All while making your friends disappear if I wanted to."

The way he stated it like it was true- it sent a chill down your spine.

Mr Blackwood waved to you. "See you tomorrow at 6, darling! Dont be late."

-

The next night, Colin had dropped you off at the antique store, telling Mr Blackwood- or Henry, as he insisted you called him, to bring you back before 10 pm.

You sat across from him in a fancy restraunt.

"I'll have a beef wellington and for the lady-" Henry looked at you.

"Just chips." You closed the menu, handing it back to the waiter. Henry chuckled, shaking his head.

"So... whats your deal?" You ask him, resting your elbows on the table.

He leaned in as well, dual coloured eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement. "I'm resourceful. You?"

"Cut the crap. Why am I here?" You glare at him, and he chuckled, resting his head on his palm. "I like you."

"As anyone with eyes should, but also why would you do that to yourself?" You huffed as you move away, resting against the chair as you crossed your arms over your chest.

He copied your actions, resting his arms against his chest. "Maybe I want to fall in love with you."

"I'd rather poke my eyes out." You snarked. Henry looked at the cutlery on the table. "There's the fork."

Your nostrils flared. "You think you're so clever?"

"Oh I know I'm clever, love. But it is truly remarkable it took you so long to figure it out." He grinned cheekily. "Alright alright. Ask your question."

"How do you know the FitzGeorges?"

He looked rather bored at your question. "I know everyone." Seeing your dissatisfaction, he offered you another answer. "I'm rich. They're rich. We socialised."

Thats how rest of the dinner was spent- you interrogating him, him dodging you with vague answers. Though you had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on, almost like he could read you like an open book.

Finally, the night came to an end as you saw his store come up in view.

At the end of the street, just a few shops down from his, you stopped and looked at him. "Well, this was a... date." He chuckled as you continued unphased. "I held up my end of the deal, now its your turn."

Henry nodded, grabbing your hand in his warm one, thumbing your knuckles. "Of course. I'm a man of my word." He brought your hand upto his lips, pressing a soft kiss.

"I hope you get home safely, darling."

You made a disgusted face, yanking your hand from his grasps as you wiped his kiss off with your coat. "I hope I never see you again."

He chuckled, throwing his head back. "Oh I think I'll be seeing you again rather soon, love. I enjoyed our date too much." Seeing you pissed made him laugh again, and he nodded his head at the store.

"Come along. Lets get you your toy-" He was cut off by the sound of a loud blast, the shockwaves so powerful that it made the glass of all windows in a mile shatter, the ground shook. In a second, Henry lunged at you, covering your body with his as another blast went off. Moments later, he got off you and you finally saw his shop set ablaze and completely destroyed.

Your ears rung as you stared at the fire in the shop, not noticing the people rushing out of their homes, not hearing the screams of shock, not hearing Henry calling your name.

"Y/n?! Y/N?!" He shook you by the shoulders hard, finally making you look at him. He was saying something, but you couldnt understand what. You looked at him confused, before your eyes shifted back to the fire.

You dont know when Colin came, you dont remember when Henry pushed you into his arms, yelling at Colin to get you out of there. You dont know when you got home, you dont know what the boys were asking as they picked out bits of glass from your skin.

All you know is when you woke up the next morning and stared at your bandaged skin, events of last night flashed through your head again and the realisation became the painful truth-

The time machine is destroyed.

-

You're staring at the tea cup, the beverage swirling as the maid added sugar in it.

Round. Round. Whirlpool. And then... everything settles.

The motion of the tea perfectly depicted how your life has been for some time. Thrown around in a hurricane of calamities, from one era to another, your life coming close to an end just like the tea threatened to spill over the edge, before everything settles down. Like your plans of ever returning home- stopped.

You'd returned to the sight of the incident, a part of you holding on to the hope that maybe- just maybe, your time machine survived.

It hadnt. Nothing in that store had. Henry Blackwood ran around the store, his face hardened and his collected faccacde was long gone, replaced with frowns and wrinkles. His store was surrounded by coppers and what you could only assume were either detectives or insurance guys.

After the devastating realisation, you had sort of went into a depressive spiral. Lying in your bed for days, your pillow stained with tears, Colin promising to replace whatever it is that you lost as Benjamin petted your hair, inconsolable.

A few weeks later, you returned to work. Though nothing interested you anymore, you felt like you were living on borrowed time, that any moment now, you'll face the consequences of screwing around with history and either die or possibly destroy the universe.

"Y/n?" You blinked, coming back to reality.

Sarah was sitting across from you, her face concerned as she set her tea cup down. "Darling, are you okay?"

You tried to smile, but your facial muscles didnt cooperate.

"Yes. Just... a bit tired." You diverted your eyes as you brought the cup up to your lips.

Sarah's brows furrowed even more, but she could see you were hesitant to talk about the subject.

"I called you here today to congratulate you on your article!" You looked up at her, staring at her a bit dazed. "The interview was very well received with not only just people in my circle, but female students all over in London as well!"

Sarah continued to sing your praises, while you kept your head down, offering little hums here and there.

"Even my family, who I hadnt talked to in a while, told me that they adored the way you wrote-" Your heart cracked.

Family. Mom. Dad. Qasim. I'll never see them again. They wont find out what happened to me, probably hoping that I'm missing but... alive at least. Forever holding onto that painful hope, that I may return home one day.

But I wont. I cant.

You stood outside the FitzGeorge house, under the pillars as you watched the rain fall.

"I think you should stay until-" Sarah offered, eyes looking at the sky that was pouring like cats and dogs.

"I need to go home. Thank you." You tried to smile again, but your eyes betrayed you, shinning with tears. But you left before she could say another word.

Your bones could feel the cold rain biting, your dress drenched, your socks uncomfortably wet, the tip of your nose chilled, your hair sticking to your skin, but none of it mattered. Not when you needed the same rain to hide your tears.

Your neck muscles strained as they tried to contain your sobs, your grief.

I messed up. I screwed up everything. This is all my fault.

You walked faster out of the estate, the water splashing as you stormed away, trying to find some corner where you can hide away and cry your heart out.

I'm alone. I'm all alone. I have no one. No home, no family.

You struggled to breathe, feeling like your chest was caving in.

What have I done?

In your haste, you didnt see the carriage coming straight towards you, until someone yanked you out of the way by your arm.

"Are you blind?! Or deaf-" Silas stopped his scolding as he stared at your red eyes, your wobbling lips. He loosened the painful grip on your arm, his eyes still staring into your crying ones.

Silently, he pulled you back towards the estate, though he didnt take you inside. He had a feeling you didnt want his grandmother pestering you with questions right now.

An arm around your shoulders, Silas lead towards the botanical garden house.

He helped you sit on one of the benches as the dark clouds seemed to veil the garden house, giving you two privacy. He sat down next to you.

"What happened?"

Silas watched your face screwed up in pain as you bring a hand to your temples, your lips quivering as you sniffled.

"I lost... everything."

After a few moments of silence, before sighing.

"You've only lost when you give up. Have you given up?"

You turned your head to the side, looking at his serious face.

"Yes."

He took another deep breath.

"Can you do anything about it?"

"No."

He glanced at you before looking back at the clouds.

"Do you want to die?"

You stopped for a moment. Do I? Do I want to die?

"Maybe."

"Thats not an answer." He raised a brow at you. "How about this- until you find a definitive answer to that question, you keep on living?"

Seeing your dead stare, he continued. "Look, if the worse has already happened to you, you have nothing left to fear anymore. In fact-" Silas went on to say similar motivating stuff for the next 20 miuntes, and you were simultaneously listening and not listening. Well, you heard what he was saying, you just didnt bother processing it because your mind was preoccupied by your own monologue.

He's right. The worse has already happened. I have lost the machine. I have lost my only way home. I have screwed up history. And yet, I'm alive.

Yes. This is what the universe wants- to see me down on my butt, laughing at my misery.

Well, guess what? Fuck this, fuck the universe! I'm been so careful only to barely survive. Now? I'm gonna live and I dont care what chaos it'll cause!

"Y/n?" You looked at Silas, who looked at you expectantly. "I asked you a question."

"What?"

His shoulders slumped.

"I said- will you marry me? And before you say no-"

"Okay."

Watch this, universe. Its my turn now.

So???? Thoughts???? Comments and asks???

Part 12 is here!

[randombush3]

labor omnia vincit

alexia putellas x reader

words: 7538

summary: well, it’s how you meet your wife (posh + becks style)

content warnings: a little bit of drugs and alcohol

notes: HEY HEY HEYY. this is a TRILOGY and here’s the first part. enjoy the build up x

2015. London. 

You groan at the thought of singing another word. The mug set haphazardly on the ledge reserved more for instruments than crockery, half in the air after the last time you returned it to its place, is now empty. There is no hot water left to soothe your burning throat, and there is no patience remaining in your finite store. 

The girls, on the other hand, seem to soldier on. A harmony is incorrect? They sing it again. The producer, a fat old man called Dave whose taste in music might rely on his taste in women, isn’t a fan of a certain beat? They are thinking of ways to change it. 

Ever since your single was released two years ago, this has been your life. Or, at least, the less glamorous side of it. The other side, consisting of sold-out arenas, exclusive clubs, and a world tour that only increased your total domination over the music industry, has been paused while you and the girls slave away on the second album. Apparently, you’re being uncooperative. You would call it boredom. 

“It’s four in the morning, Dave,” Anya states, jabbing out her index finger towards his Rolex, paid for with the revenue from the last single you released. It topped the charts for days. Dave glances down at the clock face with a grunt. “Look, Y/n’s already left us and gone to bed.” 

“Still here,” you murmur, rather unconvincingly, from your spot on the far-too-comfortable sofa behind the mixing desk. Sprawling out even further, you wrap your legs around the third member of your group, Gio. She squeals as you pull her on top of you. “I want to go home, though.” 

“Don’t we all know it,” Gio giggles. She’s had at least six cups of coffee since you arrived at the studio for the second recording session of the day – a solid nine hours ago. That was only after a break for a late lunch or early dinner (whichever your dietician preferred to call it). 

“We need to finish.” 

“I need to sleep,” you reply. Gio scrambles off you in time to avoid the glare you are sent by your producer. “And I’m not sleeping here again. Last time it gave me a crick in my neck and I’m fairly sure the cleaner felt me up.” 

“The sexy cleaner is mine,” Anya declares, jerking you upright. Your stomach lurches with emptiness. “Otherwise, I agree. Let us fuck off home. Please, Dave.” 

He looks at the three of you, bags under your eyes, making long rubbed off (or cried away, in Gio’s earlier over-emotional state). You have changed out of the outfit the paparazzi pictured you in earlier, opting for the stained, grey joggers you folded away in your Birkin. Anya and Gio snuck in so that they weren’t caught in their pyjamas. 

Dave sighs. 

“Tomorrow, don’t go for lunch with any of your silly boyfriends. Come here for noon, and we’ll finish when we finish. We’re getting this album done, and you can’t fire me until it’s out.” 

His sense of humour is appreciated, even if his work ethic is not, and you practically bolt out of the studio, friends in tow. 

Anya grabs your hand as you rush down the corridor, making your way to the exit. “No lunch with your boyfriend,” she repeats Dave’s words, mocking his gristly voice. You roll your eyes, snatching your hand away from your friend before pushing open the back door of the studio, heading towards your new BMW i8. 

You have been friends with Anya Kazi and Giovanna Bartoli since the age of two, meeting them on the first day of nursery, specifically after cutting one of Gio’s ringlets off with safety scissors. Though Anya happily clapped along, she did not defend you, and so you went for her hair as well. Your teacher, hoping to quell the budding animosity, placed all three of you in time-out, where a united front was formed. It hasn’t been broken since that moment, though a few years ago, you were terrified it would be. You, with a well-concealed preference for women, however, have managed to keep your friends. They assured you that they 1) already knew and 2) could not care less. 

“You don’t even like cars,” Gio scoffs at the sight of your latest purchase, your last name printed proudly on the number plate. “Was this an ‘I’m famous’ buy or did your daddy get it for you?” 

“He emailed me a few recommendations,” you answer off-handedly, sliding into the driver’s seat, switching on the ignition. It growls with a mean, menacing precision, the engine’s quality known and heard. “And don’t pretend that your family doesn’t have a Roll-Royce parked in the driveway of their million-pound townhouse.” 

“You are just as much from Hampstead as I am, girl.” 

You roll your eyes, stifling a yawn. Anya pulls out in front of you, no doubt speeding off to avoid the boy-racers you and Gio become at this time of night. 

Your flat has progressed from that of the one you shared with the girls in Princess Park two years ago. It’s nicely decorated, you like to think, with most of the work being done to it while you were touring. 

The walls are hung with artwork; some your own, some not. The canvases and frames adorn every room, dictating the vibe, declaring your individuality to any visitors who choose to admire the paintings and sketches. Then, if they were to look at the shelves dotted around the space, they’d see books with matching themes to the art. Your living room has a print of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’, blown up in a gilded frame, hanging above your green leather sofa, adding colour to the white walls, and then a bookshelf filled with navy-bound novels about whatever you fancy. You’re quite chuffed with the design, though it was really the interior designer you hired who came up with the idea. 

Without a second glance to any of the intricate details of your home, you stumble your way to the bathroom, going through the motions until it is time to get into bed. It’s a big bed – one that often feels too big for just one person – but the mattress is inviting and you dive into a deep sleep head-first, knowing you will not be getting up until someone calls you tomorrow morning. 

…

Barcelona, seven hours earlier. 

The bar is busy, as most are in Barcelona at this time of night, and the girls are out for dinner and a post-training drink. The wine glasses have deceived them all, though, because they have been emptied and refilled a few more times than Xavi would be impressed with. 

A young, budding star does not drink during the season, the alcohol drought both self-inflicted and encouraged by every coach who promises to take her far. Her eyeliner must be smudged by now, but Alexia can’t leave yet because Jenni has promised that she can stay over at her place and she needs her to take her back. 

The reason for her temporary relocation is that Alexia is fed-up with her mother’s pestering, seeing as it is only one week into the season and she is already being called a workaholic. She can’t stay in that house tonight, especially when her little sister is the complete opposite: sleeping with anyone who gives her a chance and never doing anything that will help her future. Eli Segura is baffled by the lack of balance in her life – two daughters, two extremes – but she is the most concerned with her eldest, angering Alexia to no end. 

Alexia is also fed-up with this conversation. It’s all the girls seem to be talking about these days, utterly consumed with this new English girl group just like the rest of the world. 2sday has completely taken over all interesting topics of discussion, and Alexia doesn’t think she can handle being asked which one of their songs she likes the most one more time. 

She likes them, she guesses, but so does everyone. Todo el mundo is in love with all three members. 

The girls are discussing who their favourite is. 

“She’s Italian though, and that’s cool of her,” Jenni argues, putting forward her case for Bartoli as if she chose to have parents from a certain country. Alexia hums in thought, thinking of the pictures she saw from the world tour – how long her legs are, tanned and sculpted and shown off nicely by the mini-skirt she wore. “Did you know that her little sister is a model? She’s called Cristina or something. The beauty is practically in her DNA.” 

“Aren’t all three of them models?” asks Marta pointedly, finger tapping the photoshoot on the magazine cover.

“Well, all three of them are sexy,” Jenni replies, remembering just how enamoured the world is with the three break-out stars. “Ale, which one is your favourite?” The magazine that had sparked this conversation is slid towards the twenty-one-year-old, and she looks at the picture on the front page: you, Gio, and Anya, all dressed in oversized suits with nothing underneath, hair slicked back and eyes piercing, ‘girl power’ brandished over the bottom of the photograph. 

“Y/n L/n,” Alexia answers easily, fascinated by the sculpture of your face. She thinks you are beautiful, in a less crass way than her teammates. “And you lot sound like men with the way you talk about them.” 

“Ooh, Alexia is getting all high-and-mighty,” Jenni teases. “Looks like it’s time to take the baby home.” 

“She’s cranky because she’s tired and it’s past her bedtime,” adds another teammate, though Alexia is too wound up to really care who. 

They all make little pouty faces at her as she finishes the last of her glass of water, the clear liquid standing out against the deep red of most of the table. Jenni rolls up the magazine and swats her shoulder with it, before handing it over to its owner and finally allowing Alexia her rest. 

In silence, they sit in her car – an old Ford in need of replacing but not on the footballer’s list of things she will buy with the money they are now getting. FC Barcelona Femení has become, at last, a fully professional team, and Alexia looks ahead to the future with a hopeful dream and the knowledge that she will need to work hard if she ever wishes to become the best. Jenni has become a good friend ever since she joined the club last year, and she brings a global ambition to the friendship that she knows Alexia does not have. Jenni is from Madrid, and plays for Barcelona because she can, not because it is her club. Her team is the same as her grandfather’s, and she often expresses to Alexia her wish to play for them someday, as well as scoring in every league she possibly can. Young Alexia Putellas has never once considered stepping foot outside of Spain. 

Not only that, but her father died three years ago and here, in Barcelona, is where she feels closest to him. She cannot fathom a life past the plazas and the cobbled streets of her home. And she’s glad. She’s safe here, and she needs nothing more than her team, her family, and a football at her feet.  What more could she possibly want? 

As she settles on Jenni’s sofa, blanket pulled over her body, head resting on a plump cushion that smells faintly of Jenni’s dog, Alexia decides to watch whatever is on TV right now. Jenni, in an attempt to learn English, has found an English news channel that seemingly reports on ‘exclusive’ celebrity news. There you are, plastered on the screen, your picture zoomed in to the point of the pixels blurring.

The woman speaking has a high-pitched and critical voice, saying words that Alexia does not hear. She stares at your picture, considering the life you have, imagining that, one day, footballers like her have the stardom of Beckham and Messi and Ibrahimovic. Though she herself does not crave that exposure, well aware of her shyness, she thinks about the future with a wistful sigh, lost in her dream as the English woman narrates what she can see, judging how you have opened your mouth to take a bite of the food, listing the brands you are wearing. 

And, in her weird, exhausted haze, she sees your face. It’s probably only because you’re on the screen and she’s staring at it, but you are there as she pictures the growth of women’s football. You’re there in the stands as she plays in front of a sold-out Camp Nou, cheering and singing along to Catalan chants she knows you’d never actually know in real life. Slowly, she falls asleep, and, just before she closes her eyes, you are there: back to her, dressed in a familiar shirt. Alexia. 11. Somewhere in a far-off fantasy land, Alexia Putellas marries you that night. 

…

It’s Sunday. 

You drive to your parents’ house in Hampstead, only twenty minutes away from the flat you now live in, to reluctantly attend their weekly Sunday Roast. Before, it was a condition of remaining on the booking list for the annual family holiday, seeing as you had declared university was going to wait until after your gap year and then had become a popstar instead. Now that both you and your brother can afford to come anyway, the tradition is there for sentimental value. A world tour made you realise how much you love them all, even your annoying older brother. 

Your parents are lawyers who met at university and found love in a city that they never moved out of, both of them doing extremely well for themselves. They raised you and your brother to ski, horse-ride, and attend prep schools and public schools, although boarding school was not quite desirable. Your dad speaks in a booming voice, received pronunciation an act used for court, slight Mancunian accent lilting his words whenever he relaxes. 

“Darling!” your mum exclaims, surprised at your attendance just like she is every week. “Come on in, come on in. Daddy has the footie on, and your brother is on his way. Don’t you have songs to sing? How come you’re here?” 

Ushered inside your own home, you smell the brief scent of your family before adjusting to it all and fitting right back into the chaos. There’s beef in the oven, and the roar of the crowd playing faintly from the kitchen where your dad must be preparing the potatoes. He’s proud of his potatoes. 

You slip off your shoes – a new pair of Uggs – and follow your mother to the kitchen. Dad is there, doing exactly what you’d expected, hands working instinctively as his eyes focus on the TV, mouthing along with the commentary as Manchester United take on their opponent. “Sit down,” Dad says as soon as you walk in, pointing at the stools tucked into the island. “We’re not doing too badly, and today should be an easy win.” 

“I know. I do watch the football without you, Daddy.” 

He tuts. “Yeah, but you don’t get the same level of commentary on your own. Plus, United isn’t even what I wanted to talk to you about. I have thought of a publicity move that you should definitely make – it would really help you guys out.” You entertain his suggestion, knowing that’s what dads do, sitting back on the stool with a smirk on your face, already thinking of an interesting way to tell him he is being stupid. “So, what I was thinking was that you guys do a half-time show! You love football, and the girls love footballers – what isn’t to like? Plus, I bet any club would jump at the chance to make some money from extra tickets sold just to see you.” 

“And you haven’t already contacted our manager?” you check, finding your father to be quite unpredictable and rash. His ego is also far too inflated by clients who don’t see him for the kind but bumbling fool he truly is, and so he often takes it upon himself to put forward any ideas he has to your management team, much to everyone’s inconvenience (the last thing they need, amongst sorting out photos of you snogging girls and your friends in various compromising positions, is an old man telling them what he thinks will boost your image). “It’s a good idea, I must admit. I’ll bring it up.” 

“Good stuff.” There’s a clang of metal as the potatoes go in the oven too, and the fridge opens with a pop as your dad begins to fish out the carrots and parsnips to complete your meal, Your mother is responsible for everything else. “Try to get it at Barcelona or Real Madrid,” he says off-handedly. “Imagine singing in the Nou Camp. That’d be crazy.” 

“Not the appearance I dreamt of when I was little, but I’d still get to touch the grass,” you agree. 

“Y/n, we knew you’d never be a footballer. You haven’t got the coordination for that.” They tried to support you, they really did, but then music lessons took over and the sport became a form of entertainment, not exercise. “Women’s football is really something, though. In twenty years, it’ll be good. Maybe you should invest.” 

“I know zero women’s footballers, apart from – what’s her name? Kelly Smith. The English one?” 

“The Arsenal player, yeah. It’s a shame we don’t have a proper women’s team.” 

“Should I fund one?” you joke, but his face lights up and he has taken you seriously. “Okay, I know we’ve been successful thus far, but we haven’t raked in that much. Who knows! It could all go to shit and I could end up right where I started, in my childhood bedroom with no degree and no choice but to mooch off my parents.” 

“I get the sense that you’re slightly stressed about this album,” Dad says slowly, smiling wide, proud to have worked you out. He has always been good at that; knowing what you are feeling. It is a wonderful trait for him to have, seeing as your mother struggles with emotional connection of any kind. She is too much of a corporate big-shot for that, anyway. 

“It’s killing me.” You sigh, slumping on the stool. “It’ll be released and then we’ll hop on tour and I’m so tired. Anya has a crush and Gio’s dating someone and now all of our songs are about love and I just… I don’t know about that. I don’t know if I will ever know about that.” 

And, though he hesitates, Dad walks around the island and places a hand on your shoulder, telling you that you will find the right man someday. 

Deep down, he knows that the daughter who loved to watch football and never once commented on their hairstyles or pretty faces – the girl whose crushes on members of boy bands always seemed half-hearted and forced – is not a daughter who is going to bring home a man one day, with a smile on her face and a ring on her finger. He knows. It is quite possible that he has always known. Whether he is going to bring it up before you feel comfortable to talk about it is a different matter, especially since your mother has dreams of her daughter’s husband that she has whispered to him ever since they found out their second child was a girl. 

Sunday is pretty routine, which you are grateful for. Your brother, also a lawyer, discusses his latest case, resembling the stories your father used to tell at the dining table: stories you’d both yawn at when you were younger. You dish out a few industry secrets, recounting your most recent trip to Cirque Le Soir. With disdain, your mother berates you for any possible drug-usage, scolding you for something you have not admitted to but somehow knowing that you are guilty of it anyway. It feels much like the family dinners of your teenage years, but you suppose that pop stars never really have to grow up and decide that it isn’t all bad. After all, you drive home in a very stylish car.

Then, the week starts with another gruelling, waste-of-time day at the studio, where you go inside before the sun comes up and emerge long after it has set. Dave is decently pleased with the vocals so far. There are another seven tracks to go, but most of those are being written by other people. Mark Ronson, you’ve heard, is open to working with your group. It’s all very exciting, even if you feel like you have run a marathon by the end of the day. 

On Tuesday, you remember to tell your manager and publicist (she’s a woman of many talents) about your father’s idea. At first, her reluctance is extremely evident, but it later dissipates once she thinks about it, having promised you and the now-excited girls to see what she can do. 

You are on a private plane to Barcelona before you can realise what is happening. 

Bags packed with more make-up and spangled underwear than proper clothes, and sunglasses shielding your hungover eyes courtesy of last night’s consoling of a newly-single Giovanna Bartoli, you try your best not to vomit while in the air and even squeeze in a spot of light reading. The girls laugh (wincing at the sound) when they see you revisiting the Aeneid. You like Virgil, though, so you don’t mind. 

“How many days are we here again?” Anya asks, equally hungover. 

“Three,” replies your manager, not bothering to look up from her laptop. “Today, tomorrow, and the day after. Please check if the players are married before you do anything with them.” 

“I’ve sworn off men,” mumbles Gio miserably. She stretches her legs out with a sniffle, and then draws them back in to protect her broken heart. “If I’d get off with any woman, I’d like her to be Spanish.” She clears her throat, the lump of tears disappearing as she retrieves her GCSE-level Español, giving it a shot. If not to be serious than to at least piss you off. “Hola. ¿Cómo estás? ¿Quieres dormir conmigo?”

“What? And then you’re going to shove your tongue down her throat?” Gio looks at you with a smirk. “That is not how you kiss a woman.” 

“Hey, you can’t keep them all to yourself!” 

You laugh, though your manager’s attention has been caught and she is already showing her disapproval. “It would be better that I did if that’s how you think it works.” 

“None of you are kissing women.” 

“That’s not fair,” Anya protests, upset that she didn’t even get to join in the conversation before it got shut down as swiftly as a rowdy houseparty in an American teen-movie. 

“I agree. That’s not fair on Y/n, who actually needs to kiss a woman so her knickers aren’t in a twist all the time.” 

“I’ll twist your knickers in a minute,” you threaten, fist raised to Gio in good humour.

“See what I mean? She needs to let off some steam.” 

“Well, do it discreetly if you must. Do your shows, go out with the players, and bring whoever into your bed as long as they have tight lips and no vendetta against you. Gio, we’re going to have to say something about him ch–”

You gulp, not wanting your friend to cry again. “Wow, the view is really nice,” you interrupt, catching Anya’s appreciative nod in the corner of your eye as you splay your palm on the glass of the aircraft’s window, marvelling at Barcelona’s plazas and cobbled streets. Imagine this being your home, you think to yourself. 

…

Jenni is squawking when Alexia makes her way into the circle of players during their drinks break. Alexia knows her friend is excited to go to the men’s game later on today, but she hadn’t realised it is to this extent until she gets grabbed by the forward and shaken as though she is a snowglobe. 

“I got the golden ticket,” Jenni shouts in her ear, making their teammates around them laugh. “Me, you, and Mario are going to the match tonight!” 

“I already knew that?” They don’t really get free tickets, but they can be heavily discounted. Tonight isn’t a super big deal, though Alexia may stand corrected. “Was I not supposed to know that?” 

“Of course she doesn’t know,” Mariona says, squirting some of her water at the midfielder. She recoils from the droplets, but they land on her training top anyway, and Alexia is already pissed off with the entire world. “Alexia, do you seriously live under a football-shaped rock?” 

Alexia takes a moment to brush off the teasing, picturing the bursting trophy cabinet that is almost within her grasp. “Yes, and it is very homely.” 

“Madre mía, you are one of a kind,” Jenni says with a sigh, movements less aggressive as she drapes an arm around Alexia’s shoulders. “Guess who’s singing at half-time tonight. You’re going to drool so much that the people below us will think it’s raining.” 

At this, Alexia knows exactly who Jenni is talking about, and she blushes though it could easily be mistaken for redness from exercising. 

“I just think she’s pretty,” comes Alexia’s slightly defensive reply. They walk to the middle of the training pitch, rejoining the team as Xavi explains a confusing drill. Neither really listen. 

“Is this your first celebrity crush?” Mariona jibes, overhearing the conversation and finding it necessary to join in. Any excuse to poke fun at the baby of the team. 

Jenni ruffles Alexia’s hair, ruining her neat ponytail. “Alexia’s in love with a straight girl,” she sings. 

It’s then that the whole team chooses to get involved, ears perking up at the mention of Alexia’s lovelife – a more or less forbidden topic. Their captain, Marta Unzué, even chimes in with a ‘we’ve all been there’. Like a stroppy teenager, Alexia folds her arms over her chest and turns to focus entirely on football, something that she knows she loves and loves her back. They leave her alone for the rest of the training session. 

She even manages to forget about what comes after the first forty-five minutes of the match, sitting comfortably in a stadium that is her version of heaven. 

You, on the other hand, cannot distance yourself from the nerves of performing in no less than ten minutes. 

The players were nice when you accompanied Anya to speak to them, and they spent a good while fumbling their way through English to invite you all to join them tonight at Pacha. You took photos with Messi and Neymar to show your father. 

The outfit, if you can call it that, is tight and could possibly show your entire bum to eight-five thousand Culers tonight if you’re not careful. Silver eyeshadow glistens in the mirror when you peer at your reflection, inspecting the bejewelled bralette and tiny shorts you are wearing. 

Anya and Gio, who both look dazzling in their own silver combinations, tell you that it is time to get your microphones sorted. When you stand in the tunnel, ready to go out, you see that they have laid out a sheet on top of the grass so your heels don’t ruin it. Part of you wishes that you were in a football strip and boots. The music starts before you can get too reminiscent. 

You sing with the same adrenaline you always get, and the crowd becomes a blur in your mind as you lose yourself to the melody. The bass hits your heart just like the lyrics do – especially since this song was written by Anya about her last boyfriend – and you hold back tears as the choreography leads your limbs in an energetic dance that must be entertaining to watch. 

When it finishes, and your chest is rising and falling quickly as you try to catch your breath, Alexia thinks you almost catch her gaping at you. Your eyes seem to be scanning the stands. Maybe you see her. 

Maybe that is why you, in your big, black hoodie and paparazzi-proof baseball cap are sitting in the stands of Estadi Johan Cruyff the very next day. 

Alexia does not point you out to her teammates. You make it clear to all who recognise you that you are trying to be incognito, and either the fans at the stadium have no knowledge of popular culture, or they are granting you your privacy.

She is now the entertainer, shining under the spotlight of the bright sun, a ball at her feet like that is where all balls were made to be. And you watch carefully – she can feel it – but you do not stay long enough for her to even think about approaching you. 

…

2016. Somewhere in the sky between LA and New York. 

This time round, the tour has confirmed your hatred for all plane journeys, hotels, and sold-out concerts. 

You’re dead on the inside, numb to the glitter and sparkles of your life, and your eyes are always halfway to being sealed shut in the deepest slumber humanly possible. 

There are a few things that ease the disdain you have for your career, but none of those compare to the channel you have found that streams Barcelona Femení’s football matches. Your excuse, made to no one other than yourself, is that Manchester United has no women’s team. Of course you’d watch them instead, if you could. 

“This is peak lesbianism,” Gio comments, her fifth time saying the exact same thing, prodding a napping Anya to alert her to your boredom-killer on the flight. You’re glad these planes have wi-fi. “We’re in America, which has all the women’s football in the world, and you still choose to watch your crappy little stream on your cracked iPad.” 

“If you hadn’t decided to jump out at me, the screen would be just fine,” you grumble, transfixed on the way Alexia Putellas dribbles with the ball, turning and passing to Jennifer Hermoso who slots the ball right into the bottom-right corner of the net. The pitch looks damaged, and you really have researched how you can help out the sport, but it is hard to dispute anything the girls say about your crush on an unknown squad member when everyone knows you could get your football fix from the Premier League. 

You’re yet to tell anyone that you have just bought this season’s Barcelona shirt. You’re not sure if you’d be invited on the family ski trip if your father were to find out. 

“Sorry, sorry,” replies Gio, hands raised in the air, a gesture of surrender. In hindsight, your response was clipped. “Didn’t mean to distract you from such an important task. When will you tell us who it is that you fancy? We’ve been waiting for you to come to us, but, fuck me, you’ve got tight lips.” 

“And, before you say it – we’re not nosy. We just care. And we find it cute.” 

“And…” 

“What?” you practically grunt, biting your tongue as a hefty challenge sends Alexia Putellas face-first onto the patchy grass. It makes your heart jump. 

“Well, it’s not like she won’t want you, so make your move.” 

“Just like you made your move on Justin Bieber?” She winces. “We did warn you, babe.” 

“It’s alright,” Anya comforts with a small smile, though you are well aware of how funny she also found the situation. Being in LA, as a celebrity, is always an interesting experience. In Gio’s defence, she did not know about a certain model standing right behind her, and you are fairly sure she had run off to do lines with someone or other earlier. “But, yeah, seriously. Y/n, do you want us to guess?” 

“Go on. Guess.” You smirk, because they’ll never–

Anya’s hand flaps as she puts her privately-educated memory to good use. “What’s-her-face?” she squeals, hand slapping down on her thigh as the name eludes her, the flapping resuming once she remembers. “Alexia Putellas!” 

You rip your eyes from your cracked screen, widened in horror. “How did you know?” you ask, voice a whisper as you swallow your shock. 

“You talk about her all the time. ‘Ooh, she’s the future’ this, ‘watch her grow’ that. Just talk to her. She’ll fancy you back.” 

“She’s not a celebrity. Normal people don’t slide into people’s DMs like we do, and I have no clue whether or not she can speak English,” you reason, having said the same thing to yourself every time your finger hovers on that feature of Instagram. “And I don’t like her? You saw me kissing–”

“God, drop it. You know she kisses anyone with a mouth, and you also know that you’re lying your arse off. Whoever this footballer is, just talk to her. If anything, it’ll be good for you to spend time with someone who isn’t going to drag you right into their own closet.” 

“Closets in LA can be very big,” you say with a sigh, having already received a lecture about the damage-control your publicist always seems to be doing. You don’t really think it’s ‘damage’ if a photo of you enjoying yourself with someone, but your publicity team deems any picture of you with a woman one to be locked away in some encrypted file and never released in the papers. 

…

You: Hola! Congratulations on the win. :)

You cringe so hard, but you send it anyway, your friends leaning over either shoulder as they egg you on, wishing your closet gobbled you whole and spat you out somewhere further away than Narnia.

Alexia, in Barcelona, groans at the sound of her phone buzzing, wondering who on Earth is texting her this late. 

And she drops the device on her face when she sees what the notification is. 

Because it really does not make sense, and she is not used to the idea that women’s footballers could one day fraternise with celebrities like you without feeling out of place. (And she’s had a crush on you for about two years and you’re texting her at midnight to congratulate her.)

You, on the other hand, are gripping onto your phone with trembling hands, holding on for dear life. Anya, who claims her C in A-level Spanish was unjust and incorrect, is brainstorming your next message, adamant that you’ll seem cooler if you display some knowledge of her mother tongue. You don’t tell her that, of course, Alexia’s first language would have been Catalan, because you don’t want it to be obvious that you have done a little bit (a lot) of research. 

Gio tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear for you – a comforting gesture. “Hey,” she says kindly, “what’s the worst that could happen?” 

She tries. 

She fails. 

You have compiled a list within a millisecond. “I don’t know,” you start, but, oh, you do. “She could screenshot the conversation and leak it to Twitter? Or she’s not a lesbian and she is disgusted that I am? She could have a girlfriend? She could think my account’s been hacked and report me and everything’ll be deleted? Or all of the above?!” 

The chat is still open on your phone, but you can’t see past your tidal wave of anxiety. 

“I think you’re just nervous.” Understatement of the century. 

Before you can make a snide remark saying exactly that but to Anya’s face, your message is no longer the only one present. 

“She replied!” you shout, volume a concoction of fear and excitement and a thousand emotions in between. 

Alexia: Gracias por ver :)

“Thanks for watching,” Anya translates. 

You exhale. “Okay. Done. No more.” You ignore both of their facepalms with the sort of blissful ignorance you’re sure only delusional people possess, but it is better to have a healthy heart rate than to understand the lyrics to whatever ballad the two of them have in the works. 

…

“Kiss her.” 

“What?” 

“Just kidding,” Jenni giggles, winking at Alexia and stealing her glass of something-not-too-strong. 

The team has been invited to a party with the men’s team, all because their favourite girl group is back in town and are treating the club like a pit-stop on their way to Madrid for the European-leg of their tour. The album has been in the top ten worldwide ever since it was released.

Alexia looks good tonight, as said by Jenni who thought her wardrobe consisted solely of football strips and Barcelona merchandise, and she revels in her little secret. Your little secret. She hasn’t told anyone that you messaged her two months ago, even if the conversation ended with her response. 

Which is why Jenni is set on teasing Alexia about her non-existent chance with you, especially when you have spent your entire night on the other side of the reception room, deep in conversation with Neymar Jr., who is not shameful about his appreciation for the plunging neckline of your tight dress. He has a girlfriend, but Alexia has seen enough tabloid headlines to know that most famous people don’t care. 

Your glass is always full, though that is your own doing. Something about the way a pair of hazel eyes have been watching you from the minute you walked in makes the air around you feel heavier than it should, and alcohol helps to dull your fluster. 

Anya and Gio have circled back a few times, adding to their persuasion each lap. When you see Gio heading your way, a small smile playing on her lips as someone or other trails behind, you excuse yourself from your conversation with your personal hero (who, sadly, would be able to describe your boobs but not your face if he were asked) and clasp your fingers around her forearm, pulling the two of you even further from a certain women’s footballer on the other side of the room.

“She’s staring,” says Gio in a low voice, leaning in to speak into your ear. “She’s staring at you like she wants to eat you.” 

“I’d let her,” you reply, lips loosened from the champagne you’ve been drinking. “She is beautiful.” 

“She is still staring.” 

You decide to be bold. You stare back, and Alexia is trapped, frozen to the spot. “She is so beautiful.” 

“Now you’re both staring.” 

“I’m going to talk to her.” 

“You should,” she encourages, slurring. The blur might come from your distraction, your drunkenness, or her own intoxication. You don’t care. 

Absently, you nod. “Yeah.” 

She presses her fingertips between your shoulder blades, cold hands making you shiver. “Go. You got this.” 

“Yeah.” 

She pushes you away from her, in Alexia’s direction. Your feet carry you on what feels like an inevitable path. 

And you… walk right past her, out of the door, and into the warm air of the evening to have a smoke instead. 

Behind you, Gio lets out a silent scream, turning right around and giving up on your happiness because what more can she do? And Alexia, who is confused about what just happened and bored of this event anyway, is glad to be given an excuse to leave. 

Except, you are blocking her exit, cigarette pressed to your lips as you inhale the smoke like it is a lifeline. She frowns, lips a tight line of disappointment, really. “¿Tú fumas?” she asks, though she knows both the answer and of your incompetence when it comes to her language. 

You let your eyes meet hers, and Alexia shivers, though she tells herself it is only because it’s November. “Hola,” you reply. 

For some reason, Alexia is drawn in. She steps closer to you, and you don’t have anywhere to go, backed against the wall you are leaning on. You’re drunk, and the cigarette has burned down to a stub of orange and black. She’s also drunk – less so than you – and she has nothing to lose right now. She is no one, in her mind, and you are far from prudish. 

She decides, once she is barely ten centimetres away from you, that your dress is provocative, but it only adds to your existing beauty. You push your chest out, standing up straighter. 

The dance is very still, and very silent, but you can imagine what it feels like to kiss her and you know that she is thinking the same thing. 

“You can, if you want to,” you whisper, hoping she understands. 

Luckily, she does. 

Alexia fumbles her way through the first tentative second, shocked that this is what she is doing, but she finds her footing and relaxes into the taste of champagne and cigarette smoke, the heat of your body sparking a fire within her. You pull her closer, pressing her body into yours, and you are now consumed by desperation. The kiss grows messier, and Alexia’s hands begin to roam, mind lost in a haze of desire. She is explorative but she is gentle, and you gasp into her mouth as her tongue pushes past your lips and a hand settles on the curve of your bum, the other cupping your jaw. 

Briefly, she wonders how many girls you have done this with. You seem experienced. The thought, while a little disturbing, sort of spurs her on, feeding into her competitive nature. This will be unforgettable for her regardless of the outcome because it’s an interesting story to tell, but what about you? Are you even aware of what you’re doing? Are you straight? No, you can’t be. You messaged her, so you started this. She is only… finishing it? 

You sense her distraction, pulling back with a blink and a deep intake of fresh air. She tries to move back, afraid of what comes next, but you don’t let her go, clutching onto the hardened muscles of her arms to hold her in place, ready to kiss her again.

The moment is spoilt by a voice – an English voice – and the theft of your attention. Your eyes, previously hooded and dark, widen as they flit towards the door behind her, terribly upset that your friends have developed the worst timing known to man. Gio shouts again, telling you that it’s time to go. You have to get to Madrid, and the pilot would be incredibly annoyed to hear that the flight was delayed because you were too caught up in snogging a girl you may or may not fancy. 

“We really need to go!” Anya repeats, growing impatient with you as you debate giving up your entire music career. “Like, it is insane how badly you need to get your arse over here to say your goodbyes and then jump in the taxi to the airport with us.” 

“Can it just–”

“No!” they both shout in unison. 

You sigh, looking at Alexia, the proximity prodding at a feeling low in your stomach. She doesn’t squirm under the intensity of your gaze, instead sporting a lazy, blissfully ignorant grin. And you’re about to break her little heart. 

“I have to go,” you say softly, forehead resting on her shoulder as you mumble your words out. You have a duty to your job, or, as Virgil puts it: labor omnia vincit. Work conquers all.

“You have to…?” she tries. 

“Go.” 

“Tiene que irse,” Anya translates, reminding you of her presence (and her much better comprehension of Spanish). “Ahora.” 

“Ah.” Alexia’s hand cups the back of your neck as you raise your head, and she kisses you, though the kiss is short. 

You pat your body down with a sudden haste, wandering past your alcohol-clouded thoughts to remember the location of your ticket, reaching down to grab your clutch from where you’d dropped it on the floor while having a smoke. It pops open as Alexia watches your movements, and you retrieve a pen and a scrunched up ticket (you have no idea why that’s in there, but you are grateful that it is). 

“Here.” You hand her the ticket, pressing it into the palm of her hand and then sealing your goodbye with a quick peck to her lips. 

Then, you are gone, running off at an impressive speed in those heels, chasing your friends into the building. 

She pauses herself in time for a moment, drawing back her grasp on reality as her thoughts still and she breathes in your lingering perfume. And then she blinks – blinks her way back into midnight in Barcelona. 

She opens her palm to see what your gift was, unfolding the piece of paper with an overwhelming curiosity that almost rips it at the edges. 

A boarding pass from London Stansted to Barcelona-El Prat Airport, decorated in fresh, black ink.

Scrawled on top of the flight details is something much more valuable than the entrance into First Class the paper allows. 

Eleven digits. 

Twenty-two-year-old Alexia Putellas, the catalyst for change in women’s football as the world knows it, suddenly sees her future set right out in front of her. Because there you are.

[totaly-obsessed]

Unexpected Meetings

Alessia Russo x reader fic

-> The reader forgets Alessia's team bonding and bursts into the room, her teammates don't know about the reader

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Alessia had been at the Arsenal Women’s Football Club for about three weeks now. She was settling in nicely. The girls were welcoming and happy to have her, most of them already familiar with each other in one way or the other.

Every Friday there was a team bonding session, those were quite helpful for the new girls to get to know the team and form friendships. The blonde had offered a movie night at her place for this week's ‘Team Date’ as she liked to call them.

None of the girls had been around to her place after the move. It was her family and Ella who helped her move. Oh – and you of course! Being the striker’s girlfriend of just shy of two years you were living with her. So, it was not only the blonde's move, but yours as well, being offered a position as a teacher at one of London’s many schools. It could not have been more perfect.

You knew that the girls were going to be at your apartment, you really did. A co-worker of yours, a quick new friend offering you a place to stay for the night. But somehow, you forgot.

The girls were arriving at your apartment, one after the other, getting comfortable on the large couch Alessia had insisted on buying as you moved in. The floor in front of the TV had been covered with a mattress as well as a mountain of blankets and pillows.

“Less this place is incredible. Just look at your kitchen, man!” Beth was in awe of the apartment. To be fair you had put a lot into making it as comfortable and homey as possible for the both of you.

“Yeah w- I am really happy with it.” With a deep blush, she was hoping, that no one noticed the deep blush on her face. And no one did – except the ever so attentive Leah Williamson.

“It is quite big though Less. Don’t you get lonely?” The Italian sputtered out some weird response about getting a dog to fill the void.

“Where is your bathroom then Russo?” Katie had been suspecting nothing to this point, but it was in the bathroom, where she noticed it. Two toothbrushes, towel sets, and bathrobes. Upon further inspection, she noticed the many shoes in the cabinet, many of them with heels and a lot smaller than the sneakers that undoubtedly belonged to her teammate.

The brunette saw Alessia’s gaze, wary of her wandering around her apartment. Then her eyes fell to Leah who had a subtle smirk on her face. “Oy, Viccy! Change with me, would ya?”

And just like that McCabe had gotten what she wanted, leaning close to Leah. “When do ya reckon she’ll tell us?”

The blonde shrugged. Carefully she pushed aside the fringe that had fallen into her eyes, once again. “We’ll see.”

Meanwhile: You have had a shit night. The school was holding a teacher conference until late in the evening wanting to discuss changes in the school. You had not even been there for longer than three weeks and you were already starting fights with misogynistic, homophobic, old, white men.

With all of that still fresh on your mind, you could not wait to tell Lessi everything. The footballer understood that you did not need or want solutions, you needed someone to be angry with you and still hold you when you cried.

And she could do that incredibly well.

In a hurry you threw the apartment door open, it was freezing outside and you could not wait to fall into bed with your girlfriend. How you did not notice the massive number of shoes in your hallway, you still do not understand to this day.

It was quiet, aside from a movie blaring from the TV. Alessia liked her movies and shows, always having something on in the background. “Less! You won’t believe what happened, baby!”

Hastily you threw your coat onto the bench, stumbling over one of your own shoes. The woman in question shot up in her position on the couch, as did every other woman in the room, looking at her with wide eyes, but keeping quiet.

“That old twat Mister Grimm, or whatever-“ you were out of breath stumbling over your words, still loaded with anger, “said, that it is ‘okay for boys to slack off but girls need to work even harder’.”

An angry huff could be heard from the hallway, where you were fighting with your scarf, not finding the way out of it. “And he wants the girls' grading to be harsher, because ‘boys need more concentration to pay attention than the girls’”, while Alessia couldn’t see you yet, she could imagine the air quotes you were inevitably doing – her teammates were quite amused by your annoyance, but interested nonetheless.

“What does that even mean? How can someone be so-“ By that point you had wandered into the living room, at least twenty women were looking at you.

Fuck.

You had forgotten Alessia’s team night. “

Less I am so sorry.” The blonde however wasn’t even mad (or surprised).

“It’s fine baby, I wanted to introduce you to them anyways – just made it easier.” She stood up, hugging you close to her. “C’mon Russo! Don’t be shy, give ya missus a kiss!” It was Katie who found her words first, wanting to embarrass the Italian.

But Alessia was not as bashful as expected, and instead pulled you into a bruising, passionate kiss – her teammates cheering in the background, hollering at the two of you. After pulling away, because you were still out of breath due to your ranting, she mumbled a quick “I missed ya, amore.”

Now it started to sink in, the reality of standing in front of the entirety of the Arsenal girls, who didn’t even know you existed up until now. Alessia however was beaming next to you, swaying your joined hands between you. “Guys, this is my girlfriend. Baby, these are my teammates.” 

“Hi. Nice to meet you guys.”

It was silent for a second, but it was Caitlyn who started the conversation – “So what did that Mister Grimm say?”

Just hours later Alessia could not help but smile – you were cuddled on top of her, in a deep conversation with Lotte, next to her, about some book both of you had read.

This day could not have been better if she tried. She was home.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

liked by stanwaygeorgia and 44.331 others

alessiarusso99: Team-Bonding Movie Night style!

[pixiesfz]

spiked arsenal fc x r

plot: you get invited to a party from a girl at your school and things don’t turn out the best

warnings: readers drink gets spiked, weird Pervy boys, sexual asault

Being a professional athlete at a young age had its perks but it also had its very bad drawbacks, privacy being one of them.

A 17-year-old Australian girl moving to London to play for North London's red team Arsenal, will she crack under pressure?

Your every move was watched by the public, weather at training or joining Katie and Caitlin for a coffee in the morning.

Another one was schooling.

Whenever you weren't training you were finishing an essay or researching history to write an essay on.

And if you were caught not doing your homework by Leah or Steph they would threaten less minutes at Arsenal or the Matilda's.

Kim let you take an hour off sometimes, seeing the stress you were under

"you're not going to do your best work if you're exhausted" she always insisted before passing you a pillow and her keys to the physio room.

And the last one which was your least favourite one to admit was fomo.

You physically went to school sometimes to do half days or full days, and your classmates always whispered to each other when you walked in.

You had made some friends, some were definitely your 'friends' just to see if they could get a free ticket to the Emirates but you figured it was better than nothing.

"Hey" one of the girls greeted you on the way to English "Hi Lisa" you smiled, happy another girl your age was talking to you "So It may be a long shot but I am having my 17th birthday party and I was wondering if you would be able to come?" she asked and you smiled.

You had seen everyone go to parties before as you watched on Snapchat and Instagram, but you had never been.

You had been invited sure, but not from anybody you knew well enough, the others just wanted to be able to say 'y/n y/l/n went to my party!"

"I'll just have to ask my caregivers but it should be fine" you smiled "Good cause I hear Tommy G really wanted to talk to you but that boy always needs liquid encouragement"

You grimaced and the girl laughed "I know I would have the same reaction" You smiled "So I'll see you there?" she asked and you nodded making her squeal.

When going home to Caitlins that day you entered with a smile "What happened today chook?" she asked as she was sprawled on the couch, Katie next to her.

"Lisa invited me to her birthday party!"

Katie cheered from her spot but Caitlin persed her lips

"Caitlin please, there's no training the day after and it's not on a game night, please I never get to go to parties, I'm the only girl in my year level-"

"Gosh shut up!" Caitlin scoffed "I was going to ask what you were planning to wear!"

You smiled "So I can go?"

Caitlin smiled, your happiness contagious to the two of them "of course, just don't drink you're still a minor and that can be bad for your image"

You nodded, the thought already crossed your mind in fifth period "I promise"

Katie's smile dropped "We will have to tell the captains"

"I already told Kim" you smiled remembering the call with your captain as you walked home "and she's the real captain of Arsenal and we're not on international duties, also please never tell Leah I called her not the real captain"

Your excitement was built up as your words were quick, Ella who had come out from her room laughing as you talked.

"You can borrow some of my clothes"

"No!" Katie was quick to say.

You had finished training and went home with Caitlin and Katie to have an 'everything shower before allowing Ella to curl your hair. You didn't have much party clothing so the day before you and Ella went shopping and bought jeans and a nice top.

"You look so pretty" Ella smiled as she finished your mascara "Lauren would never let me do her make-up and hair" she gushed "and Katie never did it for me so this is cute" she laughed as Katie scoffed from the bed her and Caitlin were laying down on, getting ready for your reveal

"Not our faults we were never into that at the time!" , "How much longer the party started half an hour ago!" Caitlin added before you walked out, a proud Ella behind you.

"Well don't you look like a princess!"

"Katie!"

"I'm messing with ya, you look good baby Australia" she smiled and Cailin grabbed Lisa's present "I feel like a proud mum" she cheered "now let's go".

When you arrived at the party all the goers cheered at your appearance and a very drunk Lisa came to your side "' I'm so soooo happy you made it" she smiled, squeezing you tight as you awkwardly handed her the bag "Happy birthday" you told her and she gasped loudly, hugging you again.

She left to put it in her room, leaving you with some other of your classmates as they offered you a drink "No I'm okay is there water offered anyway, or sprite?" you asked and Tommy G stood up "I saw sprite in the back" he said before disappearing "thanks" you called out to him.

"He found out you didn't want to talk to him so he's probably just trying to get away from you" Holly, one of the girls said and you nodded "I didn't mean to hurt his feelings I'm just not that interested"

She nodded "I get it, do you want a hit?" she asked and held out her vape which you crossed her head at "thanks for the offer but no thankyou" you smiled apologetically and the girl smirked "more for me then"

"Uh here you go" a voice piped behind you and you saw Tommy holding out your Sprite bottle, it was already opened but you didn't think too much of it, maybe he just wanted to open it for you.

"Thankyou Tommy" you smiled and went back to your conversation, not taking a sip just yet.

About an hour had gone by and you felt really, really shitty, your grip on the table tightening as you felt the need to lay down, a headache splitting your brain.

"I'm sorry" you apologised to whoever you were speaking to "I have to lay down" you said, stumbling away to the nearest bedroom, gaining the attention of the group of boys who were sat on the couch.

"Tommy boy you actually did it" "Well how else was I going to get her"

"You are the man, taking away Arsenal star girl's virginity!"

You assumed it was Lisa's parents room from the size of the bed but your head was spinning and your energy was plummeting, you felt vulnerable and your muscles were failing on you.

When you heard the door open you just merely mumbled "who's it?"

Why were you like this?

You didn't drink a sip of alcohol.

"Hey y/n it's Tommy"

"somethings wrong" you said, hopefully thinking he would get some help but instead he just closed the door. "Tommy help" you whimpered, your body feeling like a brick as you couldn't move "shhh" he shooshed you, climbing on top of you "It's all going to be fine".

Your eyes widened as he tried to kiss you "just kiss back it will be easier" he told you but you shook your head, tears running down your face.

"stop" you mumbled as his hands pulled down your top "you wanted this remember?"

no. no you didn't.

"stop"

"stop"

"Tommy stop'

"Tommy please" you cried

His hands started to undo your belt before the door was open again and a now sobered up Lisa barged in.

"Get off of her you Freak!" she yelled, running up and practically throwing Tommy off of you and pulling up your shirt "/n" she sighed, freaking out from your state.

Another two sets of girls came in, gasping at the sight "he drugged her" Lisa told them as they stood still, Tommy in fear as he looked around "Get him out!" she yelled and the two girls ran in and grabbed him.

"hey look she wanted it-"

And he was gone.

But his presence still lingered to you as you flinched when Lisa grabbed your wrist "Y/n I'm calling the ambulance okay?" she told you and you nodded.

You felt numb, you couldn't do anything.

It wasn't long after that you blacked out.

You woke up when the ambulance came to a stop, your body being able to move now slightly as you were able to balance on your elbows.

They carried your cart inside, going past a worried Caitlin and Katie who were called five minutes ago as they ran behind the cart and a blonde girl who was running out soon after "Who are you?" Katie asked "I'm Lisa"

"What happened?" Caitlin asked, on the phone with Steph who was driving over with Kyra, Leah and Kim.

Lisa's eye started to water "I should've- he- he- he spiked her drink!" she let out and both the Arsenal players stopped in their track.

You were able to move but you stayed still, you could feel his hands on you even if Lisa had promised you in the ambulance that the girls called the police.

You still didn't move when the doctors shoved needles into you, getting rid of the drug residue that was in you.

Ella, who was behind Katie and Caitlin ran after the doctors after hearing Lisa, knowing the news from classmates will be on the news tomorrow.

You turned your head towards the blonde with tears in your eyes "why me?" you asked and the girl grabbed your hand "Why?" you said again, not expecting an answer from the girl before Caitlin and Katie walked in with a tear stained Lisa.

"Just try and go to sleep y/n/n".

Your body was exhausted when you woke up in the morning, the room was full, full of your Arsenal and international teammates who had heard, it bran tears to your eyes as you realised what had happened, turning to Caitlin who was holding your hand

"No privacy?" you asked and the girl nodded her head "I'm sorry chicky"

You nodded, tears rolling down your cheeks as you looked at all the powereful women in the room.

If there was anyone you needed to get through the next couple of weeks, it was these women here.

[wileys-russo]

I was wondering if you could write something with alessia x reader where r plays for an opponent team and they sorta get into it on the pitch because they’re so passionate playing

enemiesII a.russo

the london derby day was always an interesting one, for both fans and players alike. but it was even more challenging for you and your girlfriend, who played for rival teams, destined for that entire day to go from lovers to fierce rivals.

both you and alessia's passion was football, you'd met in the early youth camps for the lionesses and started off as best friends, though as time passed and the two of you grew up, your feelings for one another became a little less friendly.

it took a couple of years of dancing cautiously around these feelings before either one of you made a move, you'd played a singular season with man united on loan from chelsea and with so much time spent together it pushed the two of you to finally confess, laid down together listening to music in the back of your car one night when you were both too nervous to sleep.

since then, your season with manchester united had come and gone and your contract with chelsea was renewed. the season on loan taught you a lot about adapting to a different style of play and pushed you to challenge yourself, especially when playing against your friends and old team mates, making sure you played your very best despite that.

and it paid off. alessia was sad to see you go but understood that ultimately it was the best move for your career to return to your beloved blues, and so you did distance for awhile, spending weekends and free days and the off seasons flickering between london and manchester, alterntating who would do the travel each time.

but now with alessia having transferred to arsenal, you'd both made a decision to move in together, you'd been seeing one another a little over two years and felt it only right that this was the next step.

wanting a fresh start and not for alessia to feel like she was moving in with you rather than the two of you moving out together, you spent weeks prior to the announcement searching for the perfect place to call home.

fast forward and here you both were, wrapped up together in one another's embrace, both purposefully procrastinating needing to get up and start your day, fully knowing the moment your feet hit the carpet your bubble of love would be burst.

"we really need to get up soon love." you mumbled into alessia's shoulder, body vibrating with silent laughter at the audibly annoyed groan which left the blonde beneath you. "if i get up, will you let me score today?" your girlfriend cracked one baby blue eye open with a smirk.

"not a chance baby." you smiled at her attempt, peppering her lips with soft kisses as she pouted up at you in response. "okay. up we get!" you sighed, forcing yourself out of her strong hold and sitting up, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

"come on, if you're quick we can save water." you suggested, standing to your feet and extending a hand, squealing as alessia practically jumped out of bed, grabbing your hand and dragging you to the bathroom.

~

"from this moment forward my love, sworn enemies." you held out your hand as both you and alessia stood at your cars, dressed in your respective clubs colors, kit bags hanging off your shoulders and keys in hand.

"like i never knew you babe." alessia nodded in agreement, shaking your hand, pausing for a moment before yanking your body into hers, turning around and pressing you against her mercedes with a grin.

"buuut, one more for the road?" the taller girl tapped her lips expectantly as you shook your head. "sorry, don't kiss strangers." you shrugged, hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

"and i don't fraternize with the enemy, but i'm willing to make an exception if you are." the striker smiled charmingly as you paused, tapping your chin to think it over.

you sighed as if her request was an effort, leaning up and connecting your lips for a moment, your hands on her shoulders gently pushing her away as her tongue started to explore your mouth.

"french kissing a woman you don't even know, shame on you russo." you tutted, the blonde smacking your bum as you turned around, flashing you a cheeky grin and slipping into her car.

you flipped her off and blew her a kiss as you sat down in your own, both of you revving your engines before peeling out of the driveway, headed in opposite directions.

~

"they're pressing in hard, they're gonna be desperate to at least equalise!" you struggled to catch your breath as you were all paused, guro off to the side being assessed for a concussion as she'd taken a nasty headbutt a few moments ago when going up for a header.

"it's gonna get messy girls, watch out for one another and don't let communication die off!" millie warned you, jess and niamh who all nodded, taking a long drink and tossing your bottles back as guro was cleared and the ref blew the whistle for play to resume.

arsenal were down 2-1 and they needed to at least draw this game to keep in the running for top of the table, this match the very last of the weekends WSL fixtures.

and you hadn't been wrong, they were desperate, and tackles became more and more messy as the time wound down, 9 minutes of stoppage time all that remained for them to score.

"y/l/n, get her on the wing!" millie yelled as caitlin crossed it over to lia who tapped it in for alessia, who'd come hurtling down the left side as you sprinted over to intercept her before she reached goal.

you slid in for the tackle right as alessia sent it through for caitlin again, collecting her ankles and entirely taking out her legs, the blondes body thumping to the ground, forehead bouncing off the pitch.

you heard the away section start to scream for a penalty as you tried to get to your feet, but a hand tugging on the back of your jersey sent you flying back to the ground. "are you serious? get off!" you grunted, wrenching away your girlfriends hand as the two of you stood.

"am i serious? you just took out my legs studs up for no reason, are you trying to break my fucking ankle?" alessia shoved you harshly in the chest, face bright red as you heard the ref blow the whistle in warning.

"oh grow up! that was completely legal, you had the ball when i slid in." you shoved her back, not backing down as she glared down at you half a foot taller, the two of you standing chest to chest. "she went in studs up, that should be a card!" alessia yelled at the ref who joined you both and warned you each to calm down.

"are you joking me? that was soft!" you scoffed, shoving her away from you as she tried to stare down intimidatingly, feeling millies hands come to rest on your shoulders.

"oi back up away from her! that should a fucking red." katie appeared beside your girlfriend, pushing you harshly as millie held you back from retaliating.

"are you fucking serious? it was completely legal!" you threw your hands up as you watched the ref reach into her pocket, pulling out a red for the booking.

"hey we'll contest it. just walk away babe, don't make this any worse." millie murmured, moving an arm around your shoulder and starting to walk you away as your team stepped in to argue for you, several of the arsenal girls starting to contest the yellow card given to alessia for the shoving around.

"this is bullshit." you spat as you shrugged off millies arm, head hung low as you stormed off the pitch and into the tunnel, the sound of the chelsea fans booing the refs call following after you as you headed for the change rooms.

you kicked off your boots, throwing them around the room allowing yourself a tantrum before you thought better of it, hurrying to collect your things and shoving them back into your cubby, ducking off for a shower.

you were sat by your locker, showered and dressed in your tracksuit, knees tucked up to your chest as the rest of the team filed in. you'd checked the score on your phone, showing the girls manage to hold down your lead, narrowly scraping by and getting the crucial three points.

niamh and erin took their seats at their own lockers either side of you, niamh patting your back sympathetically and kissing your cheek as you sent her a small smile, a congratulations for their efforts slipping past your lips as emma joined you all.

you tuned out most of her speech, giving a weak nod as she confirmed millies words that the red would be attested in hopes you'd be able to play next week, before the older woman took you aside one on one for a gentle but firm reminder about keeping cool.

"come on stroppy, off we go." millies arm fell over your shoulders once you'd grabbed your things, though she guided you in the wrong direction as you frowned. "mills my cars that way, where are we-" your words stopped as you noticed them.

"are you joking? no way." you huffed, trying to turn around as millies grip on you tightened, as did leahs on alessia as she pushed the younger girl down the hallway.

"now girls, obviously tensions arose and some not so nice words were exchanged. but thats football, and we leave it out on the pitch." leah started, your national captain giving you both a stern look as millie hummed in agreement.

"she got me a red for nothing!" you protested, looking to millie for some sort of support as alessia scoffed. "she studded me!" alessia retaliated, crossing her arms firmly over your chest. "no no no! we leave it, on the pitch." millie warned, grabbing your arms as leah grabbed alessias.

"what are you-" "oh this is just-"

both girls forced your arms to wrap around one another, both you and your girlfriend going limp as they fell back off. "no! hug it out and say you love each other." millie ordered sternly, leah draping alessias arms over your shoulders as yours were forcibly wrapped around her torso by millie.

"im getting annoyed here!" leah warned, tapping her foot impatiently, you and alessias eyes rolling in sync as you hugged one another. "now say you love each other." millie waved and you withheld the urge to lash out at her.

"i hate you." you mumbled into the blondes shoulder, feeling her sharply pinch you for the comment as millie stepped in to hold your arms against one another, still forcing you into the hug.

"say it! or the next national camp i swear to god i will ruin the both of you. im talking hill sprints, push ups, burpees, i'll even make you do a private little beep test." leah warned seriously, pulling her captain rank as you sighed.

"love you, even if you tried to break my fucking ankle." "love you, even if you played it up to the ref."

"no! with sincerity, and a little smooch." millie ordered, leaning against the wall beside leah as you both groaned, though admittedly most of your anger had melted away the tighter your girlfriend clung onto you.

"i love you." alessia unwrapped one of her arms to grab your chin, turning your head and pecking your lips with a roll of her eyes. "i love you too." you leant up to quickly brush your lips with hers in return, both of you looking to your co-captains with raised eyebrows as they waved for you to separate.

"i'll see you at home?" alessia questioned, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, all traces of anger gone from her features. "i'll see you at home." you sighed, leaning in and properly kissing her, ignoring the immature squeals from the two older blondes to your side.

after all the moment you crossed the threshold of your shared home, you were enemies no more.

[talesof-old]

dearest gentle readers | introduction

pairing(s): marauders (undetermined) x reader

warning(s): eventually 18+, bridgerton au, mentions of marriage, slight cursing?, i’m not british so just pretend i know what i’m talking about, mentions of scandal and incest, not proofread/edited so forgive me

word count: 818

masterlist

Sponsored by Lady Minerva McGonagall and desperate to find a match before you’re truly considered a spinster, you find yourself caught up in the whirlwind that is The Season. Will you be able to find a husband by August? Or is fortune just as fickle as the ton?

Swathes of fabric lined with lace, ruffles, and beads filled the great expanse of the room.

Yellows as pale as cream and blues as deep as midnight thrown over chase and chair. London’s dreary gloom seemed brighter the longer such a vibrant array of colors decorated the space. Lady Minerva McGonagall wasted no expense on the three debutantes she’d chosen to sponsor again this season.

Beside you, Mary eyed the fabrics with rapt attention.

You fingered the expensive satin silk of the dress nearest to you. Simple in silk, but a striking royal purple, it truly was a marvel of craftsmanship.

“I can’t believe how many dresses there are.” Mary’s Scottish accent appeared to be far less pronounced than what you might’ve imagined, but you three were sure to be an odd bunch. Lady McGonagall had sponsored you lot for two years already. A favor welcomed by your not-so-noble families. Or rather, your not-so-wealthy families.

“I’ve decided on new wardrobes for you this season. You will be married by the end of it, if I have any say. Mary’s are by the window and Lily’s are by the bed.”

Minerva’s sharp gaze turned to you. You’d had either the luck or misfortune (which one it was, you weren’t quite sure) to additionally spend the last few years as Minerva’s ward. Her rough edges were thorns you’d grown accustomed to, especially in her times attempting to make you a reputable lady.

“Your’s are by the chest of drawers.”

She’d certainly paid attention to detail. Mary’s dresses consisted almost entirely of her favorites: warm pinks and oranges. Brilliantly cut to showcase her clavicle, each dress appeared as if it would cover her breasts modestly but still draw attention to her long, slender neck. The simplicity of their silhouettes showcased the utterly perfect embroidery that decorated each bodice and skirt.

Lily’s were a myriad of greens, sprinkled with the occasional peach or yellow. Her soft, drapey dresses contrasted beautifully with the sleek lines of Mary’s attire.

Your own clothes appeared to be a quite suitable mixture of the two.

In moody shades of blue and violet, with the odd periwinkle and silver, you were honestly looking forward to donning the impressive garments. Any jewelry you wore would be borrowed from Lady McGonagall’s extensive collection. A collection, you were afraid to say, you’d miss dearly once you wed.

It was Lily that surged forward to examine her pieces, a chorus of thank yous from each of your lips as you did the same. Minerva smiled knowingly. Your dresses last year and the year before were beautiful, yes, but these actually suited you in a way those hadn’t. Three years of sponsoring the same girls had gone from a favour to fondness. She leaned onto her cane as her gaze flicked between you all. Still, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t eager to find you husbands.

“This is beautiful,” Lily breathed. In her hands, an elegant ensemble of a cream colored fabric hung. You grinned. If this was any indication of how this year’s season would go, you were more than ready. Jill, Minerva’s favorite maid, entered the room holding four sheets of familiar pale paper. Your eyes narrowed in delight. Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers were a joy every season. Mary reached for the pamphlet first. She knew better than anyone how gossip could be wielded as a weapon, and her eagerness to uncover the secrets of this year’s marriage mart was palpable. You felt the same.

Dearest Gentle Readers,

How lovely it is to greet you again. Our time away from Society has proven wonderfully refreshing indeed, though I would be quite the liar if I claimed to not miss you. Our extraordinary ton has now returned from our glorious reprieve, and it seems there are a many anxious mamas hoping to prey on the unsuspecting wiles of this Season’s eligible bachelors.

Last year, scandal swept through the ton when none other than Miss Narcissa Black married Duke Lucius Malfoy in secret after a supposedly whirlwind love affair. Hopefully, Mr. Sirius Black is as unbothered as he appears.

Regardless of the nearly disastrous ending to last year’s entertaining exploits, the new batch of debutantes seem sparkling indeed.

There is fierce Lady Charity Burbage, who proves to be a bold wonder amongst a meek crowd. Or perhaps one might find interest in Lady Aurora Sinistra, who I dare say is more brilliant and sharp than ever. Even Lady Pandora Rosier seems dreamier of late.

There is one thing for certain, reader: this season will be one to remember.

Keep your wits about you. Scandal lurks in every corner, as tricky as a hungry fox and more than ready to sink its claws into an unknowing victim. Guard your hearts, gentle ton, for I fear what I will write this season will be quite damning indeed.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

[everythingne]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ one and two, chapter two (ls2)

Forced to move in together, you and Logan slowly fall into an easy routine. It's not hard to act like you love someone when you do, even if they don't believe it, but you'll show him.

logan sargeant x first daughter!reader // fc: yasmin barbieri

warnings/notes: a bit of low self esteem at the end, drinking and cursing, i tried to keep this as fluffy as possible. sorry for the long wait, i made this pretty long to make up for that <3

previous / next

Apparently, according to your father, the best thing for you and Logan would be to move in together. Which... isn't a terrible thought process if you are in an arranged marriage, but you'd met Logan less than a week ago and now half of your stuff was being shipped overseas without as much as a question.

It felt... weirdly demeaning.

Despite the tension raising with your father, living with Logan is quite easy. He's late to bed, an early riser, your seperate rooms down the hall give you both space that's your own while leaving the kitchen and living room for moments where its okay to be together.

Plus, it makes it easier for you to fix your sleep schedule. The difference between London and Washington, d.c. isn’t that big, but it still throws you off for a few weeks.

And because of that, you don’t travel with Logan until the Spanish GP.

By then you’ve settled into life in London and planned your fashion shows and such around his schedule because it was more concrete than any schedule you'd make yourself.

Life in London was wonderful to you, because you able to keep a lower profile than in the states. It was nice to be able to take yourself out for coffee, or to go to your cycling class, or yoga, or pilates—or whatever you’re feeling, without too many cameras.

And you settle into life with Logan quickly.

yn.fdotus

liked by logansargeant, alexalbon, potus, and 987k others...

ynfdotus: cannot believe i let a blonde guy convince me to move from the heart of the states to a bit outside london 🩵

potus: big adventures await!

user1: shut UPPPP THIS IS SO CUTE??

user2: nah bc who convinced her.

lilymhe: yayy!!!! ur so close now!!!!! girls day.

⤷ yn.fdotus: only if @ lilyzneimer joins this time

⤷ lilyzneimer: oh babes im down 🩷

user3: wasn't she at the williams paddock for miami.... and her hug with logan after the race?? ive connected the dots.

⤷ user4: you haven't connected shit.

⤷ user3: i connected them !!

"I'm home!" Logan shouts down the hall of the flat as the door clicks shut behind him, his hand automatically reaching to lock it. You call back a greeting as you check over his meal plan notes once more to ensure you've cooked the food correctly before turning back to look at him as you turn off the burner you're using.

"You had lunch today right?" He asks as he comes around the corner and you nod softly, standing on your toes to grab some dishes out of the top of the cabinet. When your fingers miss the edge of the bowl, Logan's hand comes to your back to keep you still while he reaches up and grabs them for you, before settling them in your hands and kissing your cheek. And eyeing the dinner you're making with a bit of curiosity over your shoulder.

The quick kisses were another thing to help settle into the way you had to act for media. But honestly, they ended up being more of a habit now. But Logan would kiss anywhere but your lips, which sucked, because kissing Logan was like being shocked with electricity. It made you blush, it made your heart stutter, all you wanted was to be with him.

Logan moves back to the counter as you set down the dishes by the stove, and you turn fully to actually take him in now. He's in a hoodie and jeans, having changed after going to the gym, and you smile at him when your eyes meet, then you gasp.

"Oh! Flowers!" You exclaim as he sets down a few bags of groceries and other items you'd asked him to go run out to grab.

"I bought them for you." He smiles, genuinely real, crinkling at the corners of his eyes as you turn around to grab a spoon to get a little bit of the dish for Logan to taste before you plated it.

"Oh, what's the occasion?" You ask as you hold the spoon out to him, and he happily bites the salmon off the spoon with a content hum.

He raises his hand to his mouth and says, "There has to be an occasion? I just noticed the other flowers you have in the house are dying and these were pretty. Also, you cook this shit way better than I ever could."

You laugh out a thank you, and agree the flowers were dying as you turn to plate the food. Logan makes himself busy swapping out the flowers and getting all your little mood lights up so he doesn't have to turn the big light on when the sun finally sets. The big bay windows of your apartment letting in the last fleeting rays of golden sun, and he stands behind you for a moment to admire the way it curls on your skin.

"Hey, after dinner..." You turn, making eye contact with him and pausing at the way the golden glow lights up his eyes. The two of you just pause, sort of staring and taking in the moment before you clear your throat and you somehow manage to pull your eyes away to go set down the food.

"After dinner?" He prompts softly and you turn over your shoulder as he brushes behind you, one hand gently sliding across your back so you know he's there.

"Do you wanna walk to get ice cream? This little gelato place opened around the corner." You say softly, blinking at him with a sort of... awestruck, love filled expression. It makes his cheeks warm as he leans down to press a kiss to your hairline.

"Sure, just don't tell anyone I'm going off my meal plan."

You chuckle softly, moving to sit down next to him at the table, facing the window so you can watch the city around you moving around. Lights flickering on as the night closes in, the silence of the apartment is very soft and welcoming. Dinner is finished pretty quickly and soon you find yourself tugging on a hoodie while Logan finishes up the dishes, and then you both head out.

Walking down the busy but slightly quieter London streets, you wander towards the roadside to look at a flyer. Logan watches as you return to his side, and after a moment of walking on his left, you feel his hand gently take your wrist and bring you to the inside of the sidewalk.

You watch his face soften a little as he takes your hand in his and at a crosswalk, pops a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

And in the moment, you forget all about the gelato, all about London, all about the world around you. In the moment, it's just the warmth of his hands against yours.

yn.fdotus

liked by logansargeant, cambridgeuniversity, potus, and 912k others...

yn.fdotus: got to teach a wonderful group of sustainable fashion designers at @ cambridgeuniversity this morning. while I'm hitching a train ride to barcelona, i'm full of love for all the creatives.

my next teaching event will land me back in the states at @ SCADFASH in savannah during september ! you can book tickets at: scad.edu/yn.fdotus.visit !s

cambridgeuniversity: it was wonderful having you! see you soon!

user1: pls tell me shes going to barcelona for the gp

logansargeant: see u soon miss america :)

⤷ yn.fdotus: you too, captain america 🩵

⤷ user2: SHUT UPPPP????

Coming into the garage, you can feel the tension across the entire building. You glance to your side, taking in Logan's half the garage, before passing over with no hesitance. Dipping through some of the larger groups of workers, you find solace in the drivers rooms. Knocking twice, you hear Logan call for you to come in, and you pop open the door before shutting it behind you.

"Hey." You breathe softly and Logan smiles as he tugs his sleeves on, coming over to press a kiss to your cheek, "good luck out there."

After a few disappointing races, you knew Logan wanted nothing more than to finally smoke out his competition. And he'd been qualifying better and better, but was having an almost George Russel level weekend luck. You figured he might be the next Mr. Saturday.

You'd missed the past two days, busy with your own work, and you note how Logan is clearly at much more ease now that you're by his side.

"Thanks, baby." He murmurs softly, pulling you into a tight hug. You reciprocate without hesitance, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as you do. But theres something stiff that makes you step back, taking his head in your hands and pressing your foreheads together.

"What's a matter?" You hum, rubbing your thumbs under his eyes and hoping and he'll tell you whats up with him. Finally, he sighs and crumbles into your hold.

"I didn't tell you on the phone," Logan murmurs, closing his eyes as he leans into your touch, "I was having steering issues yesterday, they haven't been able to figure out the source of it."

You hum softly, leaning down to peck his nose before settling your foreheads together again, "how bad was it?"

"Not the worst I've dealt with, just some understeering."

"I don't know much about these cars, only what you've babbled at me before," You start with, earning a curious look from Logan as he opens his eyes, "but could it have something to do with your like... what is it, downforce? Isn't understeer or whatever affected by that? Like DRS?"

Logan blinks, then gasps, capturing your lips quickly before whispering, "you're a genius, I didn't even think of that."

And he drags you with him into the garage as he goes to ask about a million questions about his car, you're just happy to tag along with a bounce to your step and your hands intertwined. Alex and Lily are also in the main garage area, making some sort of Tik Tok together, and you suction to Logan's side as he speaks with his engineers.

The answer ends up being something with--not the rear wing but the front wing, or at least they find another issue that might kinda fix the steering issues with some shit like downforce or something... so you count it as a success.

Logan happily pops a kiss to your cheek in thanks as his head engineer gives you a fist bump for thinking of something they'd overlooked, you say its a lot like fashion, how one wrong stitch can ruin a whole dress.

Alex goes on to call you Elle Woods, and you feel like a nickname is cementing in Williams.

Logan goes on to place P6, his highest ranking of the season, which you determine calls for getting absolutely fucked up at the club. Your plan is surprisingly well accepted by the team, and you rent out a little back private room of some club blasting songs from any and everywhere as you drag Lily with you onto the dancefloor.

You're not sure how long you're out there before Logan and Alex are pulling you both back to reality, settling you at the back corner of the bar where you can watch Lando and Oscar betting over something Max and Charles are doing a few feet away. George trying to get Alex to try some sort of liquor, and Fernando chipping in a few bucks to the bet that Alex will like it.

"How much water have you both had?" Logan asks, a beer in hand as he leans on the bar behind you.

"I had two glasses, I think?" Lily says, "I can feel I need more though."

"I'll need more water." You smile, trying to hide the fact you don't remember if you've had water at all tonight. Logan nods, and whisks off to where Yuki has flagged a bartender down.

"You two are so cute." Lily gushes once Logan's out of earshot. Alex coming to stand beside her as he now nurses whatever liquor George was trying to get him to try in an Old Fashioned glass.

"I would've never expected the First Daughter to be dating a dude from Florida." Alex deadpans, offering Lily a sip of his drink, and she's also surprised by how good the drink is.

You laugh softly, tequila on your tongue letting the truth slip, "It's a Public Relations thing."

"What?!" Alex gasps and Lily nearly spits out her second sip of Alex's drink.

"Wait, seriously?!" Lily echoes, "But how? You two are so perfect!"

"And Logan's a shit actor." Alex adds with a tiny laugh. You feel an arm slide around you, and peek to see Logan as he hands Lily a water bottle, and then hands you one as well.

"Well," Logan chimes, "It's more of a like... arranged marriage kinda deal, rather than PR."

"You got in an arranged marriage? What, are you mormon?!"

"Mormon's don't do arranged marriages actually." You hum into your bottle before taking a sip, "And it's because of my father. He thinks, because my brother was a big party guy in his mid-twenties, that I'm gonna be the same way. Which is stupid, because yeah, I'll go and get drunk, but I won't blackout and flirt with a professor."

"Did your brother do that?" Lily snorts as you nod with a loud sigh, leaning into Logan.

"So, we're arranged." You shrug, "Doesn't mean I can't still like the guy. My parents were arranged too, and they literally are sickeningly in love with each other."

"Can vouch for that." Logan laughs softly as you smile up at him and take another big gulp of your water bottle. With Alex and Lily now in on the secret, you feel a bit more at ease, not having to play anything up as much with them.

But the night drags on far longer than it should, with Logan's arm around your shoulders between the hours when the clubgets too busy to really move.

The drivers all plan their escapes around three in the morning, and it's sobering for you to have to literally lean on Logan so you don't fall and die in the halls as you make it back to your hotel room.

"Christ. I didn't know you were worse of a lightweight than me." Logan hoists you up, one arm secure around your waist so you stay cemented to his side as he fiddles with the key to unlock the door. As you both get in, he helps you settle on the bed, taking off your heels for you and letting you curl up in one of the throe blankets you'd brought. He stands, moving back from you to the dresser with a soft yawn.

"Lo, baby," You hum softly and he turns, nodding as you reach out to him.

"It's okay, darling," He says softly, moving back over to kiss your forehead as you cling to his arm, "I'm just gonna get changed and grab you something to wear that isn't... a mini dress."

"Okay." You whisper, tired from the long night, and release him as much as you don't want to. Logan works around you for a moment, getting himself ready for bed before he leans down in front of you and helps you to your feet.

"C'mon. Let's get you ready for bed before you knock out."

Logan takes your hands as he leads you to the bathroom, sitting you on the toilet while he roots through your bag. You clear up which is which product, what order, and how to use them.

Logan takes the oil cleanser, pouring a little bit out and applying it to your face. The only spot he has you do is by your eyes, before he uses a wet rag to wipe it off. While he works you keep trying to wrap your arms around him.

He laughs softly, letting you cling to his side as he tries--bless him, to apply another cleanser to your face to properly clean your face now. Eventually, and after a bit of fighting with you to let go of his torso, he manages to get all of your makeup cleaned off, and skin... semi-properly washed.

"C'mon, pretty girl," he croons softly, brushing a hand across your jaw to tilt your head to face him, "Let's get you in bed, yeah?"

And even though the hotel has two beds, you coax Logan to cuddle with you in your drunk state. And you don't mind being wrapped up by his warm arms when you wake the next morning.

yn.fdotus

liked by logansargeant, alexalbon, oscarpiastri, and 978k others...

yn.fdotus: so. about last night... i don't remember much after the twentieth tequila shot... <3

logansargeant: its ok you have great dance skills

oscarpiastri: thanks for letting me win 20 in that bet

yn.fdotus: oscar. ur on thin ice.

user1: U WENT CLUBBING W THE DRIVERS???

lilymhe: my favorite lightweight <3

After Barcelona, the next race you go to is Silverstone. You've been biting your nails for weeks about this, the upgrades Williams is planning on bringing don't seem to be very... solidified. Logan tries his hardest to seem confident, but it's clear he's more worried than you are.

You do the track walk in Barcelona with Williams, idly tagging along last moment with Lily. It's more for PR, as the cameras snap photos of the four of you (Alex, Logan, Lily, and yourself) dicking around as you walk.

But theres a damper to the mood.

Sure, the weight problems in the Williams car is 'fixed' but it seems like something was taken away... something helpful.

You and Lily settle in the little watch area in the garage, you pulling out your laptop to get some emails sent out before the race, while Lily posts something on her Instagram.

Logan appears with his helmet on, wrapping an arm around you and saying, "Any last words before I get in the car?"

You look over, and pop a kiss to the little part of his helmet covering his lips--leaving a little smudge of lipstick behind as you knock three times on the side of his helmet, "Don't worry about the upgrades. You'll be fine, Lo."

"Thanks, baby." He almost grumbles, eyes squishing from his smile under the helmet. You send him on his way, and Alex scoffs from besides you where Lily is fixing his glove.

"I still don't get how you two claim you're 'just arranged.' Like, I just watched a cute couple moment." He laments, making Lily laugh as she leans back on the couch next to you.

"I'm just a great actress," You shrug, but can't deny the heat that rushes to your cheeks. You and Logan had an undeniable spark, and you acted way too romantic to be platonic even behind closed doors. But you had always just chalked it up to being for the bit, being for the media.

But... had you even done any of this for the media?

Alex bids farewell and you, with a bit of stammer and a blushing face, retire to Logan's drivers room. It's just practice today, so you find your able to get somewhat comfy, turning on the TV to show you highlights as you work in quiet solitude.

You're not sure when you doze off, but when you come back, theres something plush under your head. Blinking, you look up to see Logan, idly scrolling on his phone... with your head on his lap. Your arms are wrapped around one of his legs like you'd snuggled in, and he's thrown his jacket over your legs.

So you close your eyes and move to wrap your arms around his waist instead, and he chuffs out a soft laugh, murmuring, "c'mon, baby."

He hoists you up as he slides down to lay on his side, shifting until he's inna comfortable position. Then he slowly shifts you back into place, your head coming to his lay on his bicep as you bink your eyes open.

"Hi, sleepy." He whispers to you, "Don't worry, I saved your email drafts before shutting your laptop."

"How was practice?" You whisper and he shrugs, kissing your temple as you wrap your arm around his waist and slot your knee between his as usual. Or, your new usual since Silverstone.

"P10. Not terrible." He hums, "you were right about the adjustments. I just wasn't used to the car yet, it made me lag behind."

"You'll do better tomorrow." You murmur through a yawn and Logan draws you into his chest a bit more, firm arm around your shoulder as he lifts his chin to tuck your head under it.

"We have a bit to nap, get some rest." He whispers and you hum back a yes, the warmth of your arranged husband and the soft whir of the world outside pulling you into another nap.

You find later that night that Logan's being overly self-ciritical once again. You do all you can to coax him to at least apathy, but lay awake with his head on your chest (the hotel room now with one bed), thinking.

The next day you sneak down to a corner store to buy a tiny notebook, tape, and glitter pens, and employ both Alex and Benny to help you with your task.

You scrawl the notebook full of reassurances, word even getting to engineers, media workers, analysts, who all take turns writing little notes for Logan (and some for Alex you give to Lily)

And then you spend the time Benny distracts Logan with training to sprinkle them around his drivers room and gear. A tiny smile on your face as the stupid little idea tickles you so much. Even writing one and taping it to his water bottle.

You manage to miss Logan before qualifying, but he drives exceptionally well and ends in Q2. And when he comes back, you have a cold water bottle in hand, something Benny had started giving you to encourage Logan to drink more water.

Cameras follow him into the garage, but cut before he gets to you. His helmet is long since discarded as he leans down to peck your cheek in thanks for the water, taking a few gulps as you ask about the race.

"The race was good, it was... I felt more confident with the car." He swallows another sip of water, "I think we have a good chance tomorrow. Must be thanks to your notes."

You beam when he says that, his hand firm on your back as he holds you close. There's an air around you both for a moment, and you wish the feeling could stay forever.

If only.

He ends up getting track limits on his qualifying run, bumping him back on the starting grid by a hefty amount. You literally cannot determine where he breaks limits, but even with Williams challenging it, the penalty stays. Logan tries to brush it off, to pretend it doesn't hurt him, but you can see the stress in his eyes.

Another night you fall asleep thinking. But other than the notes you already placed, you didn't have any more ideas.

And then he places out of points when Alex snags a podium, in a stroke of luck and a safety car. Logan doesn't take the cold water you offer him, barely greeting you as he slips by to his drivers room, and you try not to feel distraught.

Benny gives him space, as does everyone else, so you follow suit and walk to the paddocks. Which is where you and Logan are finally reunited after the race.

"Hey, baby." You murmur as he walks over, slumping into your hands as you let his face be molded by their grasp, "You drove well."

"I couldn't get around Lewis." Logan murmurs in complaint, and you can feel the pant up anger starting to burn in his cheeks, "if I hadn't been such a fucking dumbass."

"Hey." you chastise, squishing his face before he pulls himself away, "You're not a dumbass, you had a shitty penalty. Lewis is a really good driver, sometimes it's hard--"

"But I can be better." Logan interrupts you, and you go to speak again before he says, "You deserve better."

"What the hell are you talking about? Deserve better?" You ask, stepping towards Logan as he tries to retreat from you.

Logan groans, turning back sharp enough you step back to avoid his shoulder colliding with your outstretched hand. Gritting his teeth, he hisses out, "You can back out of this little arranged thing, stop being so cutesy and so kind and so loving to me, because I don't deserve it. You deserve someone who wins. Because you're so fucking amazing, and I'm just... whatever the hell this is."

You are genuinely shell shocked, but Logan just continues before you squeak out a very soft,

"But I love you. Like I... I genuinely do."

And then Logan goes to backtrack, claiming you're lying and that there no way you actually do. You watch him sputter, scraping for excuses and reasons you're lying and theres only one idea that pops in your mind. Damn the cameras, damn the people around you.

"I am hard to love and you're just gonna hurt yourself trying--" Logan says as you cup his jaw before you press up on your toes enough to lock your lips to his. There's a moment of hesitation before his arm slides around your waist as he breaks to reconnect you properly.

And when you pull back, your cheeks burn as you whisper, "I do love you. And I'd crawl with bleeding knees and palms for years if it meant one day, one day, I can make you see yourself the way I do."

Logan is just staring and you stammer again, "Sorry, was that too much?"

"No." He answers quick, "No, that was what I needed. Do it again."

And you laugh, tossing your arms around his neck to pull him into a proper kiss this time. The scattering of camera flashes like the fireworks you feel in your gut.

yn.fdotus

liked by alexalbon, flotus, williamsracing, and 998k others...

yn.fdotus: all because I really like this boy 🩵

tagged: logansargeant

oscarpiastri: finally you guys have the guts to be public

⤷ alexalbon: now everyone can see how disgustingly in love they are

⤷ yn.fdotus: oh you are one to talk, alex.

flotus: so cute !!

user1: HOW DID LOGAN PULL HER?

⤷ yn.fdotus: @ logansargeant idk how did you?

⤷ logansargeant: my american charm obviously

user2: sobbing. my parents.

taglist (thank you all so much <3!!)

@stinkyjax @kroissant-content @samantha-chicago @jpg3 @mickf1loverf2too

@nixisracing @h34rts4maisey @heartsfromtaeyong @a-beaverhausen

@purplephantomwolf @insanedeathwish @llando4norris @formulaonebuff

@vicurious28 @lady1505 @lozzamez3 @kqliie @barbsschumacher

[fayes-fics]

Refuge

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (throuple)

Summary: Fluff fic. The boys tend to you when you are sick.

Warnings: none... this is just sick/comfort and fluff.

Word Count: 1.1k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill (see HERE) requesting a fluffy comfort fic with the Bridgerton brothers. This isn't set in the Lessons-verse, but is a similar set-up, where the reader is in an established throuple with A & B and lives with them at Aubrey Hall. Nonny, I hope this fits your wishes. Enjoy! <3

A bed is only a refuge when it's by choice.

That's the thought preoccupying your melancholic mind as you sit in bed, propped against a mass of pillows, staring out the window across the sun-drenched fields of Aubrey Hall. Wishing you could be outside, enjoying the sun's rays on your skin. Instead, you are stuck inside, boredom reaching new heights as you contemplate restarting a book for the third time. 

For the past two days, a stomach complaint has left you feeling weak and without an appetite, but also frustratingly unable to sleep, seemingly worse at night. Also, you never sleep well when separated from your loves—it is all a recipe for a maudlin mood. The doctor does not think it is contagious but recommended bed rest and a foul-tasting tincture you must drink twice daily. The Bridgerton boys are coming back from business in London today, and usually, that would signify a wondrous, sensual reunion, but your traitorous body has decided otherwise.

Just as you are sullenly picking up the book you completed that morning, there is a soft knock at your door.

“Come in,” you call, defeated, expecting it to be someone bringing you more disgusting medicine.

“Darling, we are home! My valet informs me you are sick. Why did you not send word to London? We could have cut short our business,�� Anthony’s worried tone seems to inhabit his whole frame as he strides in and makes a beeline for you.

“Are you alright?” Benedict adds, appearing behind him, his face also a picture of concern, rounding the other side of the bed.

The wondrous sight of them tips you over the edge. A bloom of pleasure mixed with frustration that your reunion cannot be in the manner you would like. It breaks the dam of emotions you have been keeping at bay, all bubbling over into tears. 

“Oh my love, no, please do not cry!” Benedict implores and softly takes a seat on the edge of the bed, taking your hand.

Anthony hovers, worry etched into his face but seemingly unsure what to do. Benedict frowns at him and signals for him to sit on the bed, which he does after a pause, taking your other hand.

“I've missed you both so very much,” you snuffle between tears, your gaze pinging between them. “I am just so sorry to disappoint you - I am not in a fit state to celebrate as we usually would,” you offer quietly, feeling guilty and biting your lip.

“You could never disappoint us,” Anthony avows sincerely, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

“We have missed you too, my love,” Benedict strokes your cheek delicately with his free hand, swiping a tear that falls with his thumb. “But please, you are obviously sick; we only care about you getting better.”

“Yes,” Anthony nods brusquely, “what can we do to alleviate your suffering? Open a window? Or is the room too cold? Perhaps a fire? Do you need more pillows? Or less? Perhaps some more tea?”

A glow behind your ribs flares at their loving concern in their unique ways—Anthony trying to solve the problem, Benedict offering sympathy. It is just so them.

“I would perhaps enjoy new reading material,” you confess quietly. “I have read all the books here in this room at least twice over now,” you admit sheepishly.

“I will have the staff move my entire library up here this afternoon,” Anthony declares solemnly, a hand over his heart.

“No, no, please, just a few books will be more than fine,” you assure with a feeble giggle, more tears welling at his outsized gesture.

“I think what she most needs from us, brother, is us,” Benedict assesses, lowering himself to buss a kiss on your forehead—always the one to intuit your emotional needs more than you can yourself.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, almost ashamed of your yearning to just be held by them, your weakened state making you feel fragile and in need of strong arms holding you close.

Anthony instantly pulls at his boots and then swings himself around until he can lie next to you. “Of course, how did I not see that?” he chastises himself, his lips running a soothing line over your right temple.

Benedict also takes off his boots and does the same, and a feeling like warmed honey spreads behind your ribs as they each wrap an arm around your middle, snuggling into your neck and face. 

“Thank you so much,” you murmur, your tears drying with their comforting presence.

“No more tears now,” Anthony lectures, but with a gentle sweetness that is him willing you to feel contentment. “We are here to do everything in our power to ensure you are all better soon.”

“Indeed,” Benedict confirms.

“Could you possibly get under the covers with me?” your ask is timid.

“Oh, of course!” both exclaim and stand up just long enough to shuck their jackets and waistcoats, pull back the bedding and slide in next to you. The heat of their bodies is an instant balm, seeping through their shirts through the thin cotton of your nightgown.

“Darling, your body is cold!” Anthony exclaims anxiously as his hand slides over your belly.

“I have not been able to keep food down, so I am always cold,” you admit. “All I can handle is weak, cooled tea.”

“My poor love,” Benedict sighs into your hairline. He runs gentle kisses over your cheek. “Then we will just have to stay here and keep you warm now, won't we?” 

“That would be truly wonderful,” you sigh, closing your eyes, feeling a bone-deep relief to be back in their joint, loving embrace. Something feels missing when they must both be gone. One is bearable; both being gone makes you ache for them. “Thank you, my loves,” you murmur as you feel the pull of sleep finally taking you.

The boys share a knowing silent glance - all other things they may have to attend to can wait; paramount is you and your recovery - before settling into the pillows next to you. Their legs entwining with yours, their arms holding you, their solid bodies bracketing yours. 

You sleep peacefully for the first time in days and awaken around dawn to beautiful birdsong, surrounded by Anthony and Benedict, their breath skittering over your skin in repose. During the night, your hands have ended up laced together. You feel warm for the first time this week, and your stomach rumbles, the urge to eat raring for the first time in days. It feels like you have turned a corner, although your desire to leave the bed is close to zero, snuggling down into them both - your wonderful boys.

A bed is only a refuge when it's by choice indeed.

Both Anthony & Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @sya-skies

[trulyhblue]

Way To My Heart

Jessie Fleming x Reader

warnings: period/menstrual pains, nausea, period guilt?? (idk how u would put it), fluff, hurt/comfort, coarse language.

thank you for the inspo!!! @jessiebronze2 <3

A/N — not all periods are the same!! Also, bit of a short one today

_________________________

You couldn't remember the last time you had comfortably moved without feeling the notion of your stomach twisting in the most ridiculing pain.

You always struggled with your period. It was something you had never seemed to get used to as the years went on. No amount of medication could soothe the pain that you felt. Nothing could cure the cramps, the migraines, and everything in between.

It was days of endless, excruciating torture that nothing could eradicate.

Except for your girlfriend.

You and Jessie met at UCLA, where you were studying for your degree, while she multitasked the confronting challenge of being a student-athlete. Everyone could see the talent the Canadian possessed from a mile away, and you were lucky enough to witness her growth throughout the years that she had prospered. While you weren't a football fan growing up, the fondness you felt for the girl must've coerced you to find some enjoyment in the game — though you must admit, the most rewarding part of watching the sport was actually watching your ridiculously hot girlfriend.

Jessie had felt reluctant to leave for training that morning. The early morning chill made a perfect excuse for your girlfriend to cuddle up to your side. There were many instances when Jessie would find herself begrudgingly peeling away from your sleepy figure with a scowl on her face. Training was hard work, full of sweat and grind. She loved it, of course, but she often had trouble shaking the image of you in bed, snuggled into a mound of blankets and pillows instead of her.

The Canadian was the same this morning, except she noticed a subtle change in the furrow of your eyebrows. The crease was pained. It was deep with exhaustion, and your body was curled up into a ball, feigning your figure into the smallest confinement it could muster. Beads of sweat peaked at your hairline, your skin a few hues paler than normal.

Jessie wisped the hairs that had fallen in your sleep away from your face, opening the windows in hopes that fresh air would calm your heated cheeks. At first, she thought you had a fever, or maybe even a cold. Both of you adapted to the London whether easy enough, save for the few times when a virus would spread through the city — that was where neither of you could fight it off. As hesitated by her closest, contemplating whether to call in and say she was unable to attend.

She watched as you tossed and turned, pulling on her training gear in an endeavour to fix her conscience off of you. She knew that if you found out she cancelled training for you, it’d only make your mood worse. You were as stubborn as each other. It was when you stirred from your sleep, feeling the drop of your stomach hurl your eyes open, that Jessie climbed over the duvet to you.

“Are you okay?” She asked, combing your hair softly. You clutched your stomach upon instinct, pulling taunt on the sheets beneath you.

“I'm on it.”

It took her less than a second to comprehend what you meant. Her eyes widened, unbeknownst to you, and shielded the bright light that streamed through the curtains away from you.

“Oh, baby,” she muttered, running her hand down your arm. “What can I do?” She shuffled to your side, maneuvering your body onto her chest, sighing at the way your body complied with her movements like putty.

“Just this is okay,” you replied solemnly, closing your eyes. Jessie made sure to keep her breathing balanced, using as much concentration as possible to keep her body still. The two of you stayed like that for a while, until you moved your head up with a wince, noticing the Chelsea logo adorned on your girlfriend's shorts.

“You need to go, Jess.”

The look on Jessie’s face told you all you needed to know. She must've forgotten all about training, bound by the comfort of your body pressing into her own, and pursed her lips together to show her contention to the statement.

You huffed, lifting your body to move back to your side of the bed. “C’mon Jessie Baby, you’ll be la—”

Your balance was shaky, your arms lacking the strength to hold you up for long. Jessie pulled you back into her chest, wrapping her arms over you, her hands resting on your arse and thighs.

“You're sick,” she stated, swaying you back and forth. The movement was comforting enough for the aches in your body. “I can stay, y’know. They let us stay.”

“Don't lie, Fleming, I swear to God.” You retorted, using all your strength to push yourself back against the sheets. The woman looked at you with the utmost concern. Her eyes were beady and broad, empathy scattered across the constellation of freckles dotted across her cheeks.

“You are going to training, Jess.”

Jess took her time in replying, hoping the silence would make you rethink your decision. She would love nothing more than to shower you with praise and affection. She’d make you breakfast without you getting out of bed, then run you a bath so that your muscles would ease from the heat.

She’d bring you whatever you wanted whether that was chocolate, ice cream, cuddles, kisses — anything. In times like this, she was completely at your will. But on the other hand, she knew you had made up your mind. Jessie loved football, you thought. You weren't going to make her stay home for you, especially when you were experienced with this sort of pain prior to now.

So that's how you were left to yourself for most of the day.

Jessie left reluctantly after ten minutes getting the rest of her things. She made sure to bring you in some food and multiple heat packs before she ran out the door, already inevitably late. You stayed in bed for the most part, finding yourself huddled into a ball with your phone in front of you. After a while, a recurring, dull discomfort flared in your head, and you weren't able to scroll aimlessly on social media due to the light sending hurt across your face.

Jessie sent you hourly questions, asking if you were okay or if you were feeling any better. She was talking to Niamh about her worry for you when Emma sent the Canadian around the field for being late. Niamh told her the best thing for you was Jessie herself, which unfortunately sent a new wave of guilt through the woman as she moved through drills.

By a little after noon, you were feeling hungry, but your body was not equipped to get itself out of bed in search of anything to soothe your hunger. Instead, you drank the rest of the water next to your bed, the thought of Jessie being home soon sending you into a comforting sleep.

It didn't last long though. You sent upwards, a wave of nausea overtaking your senses. You had only just made it to the toilet in time, sitting in the bathroom, by the toilet, in silence.

You were dazed, fatigued, and hungry — not a good mix for a woman. You wanted to be productive — the apartment was in ruins, and there was so much you could be doing instead of lazing about on the floor of your bathroom feeling sorry for yourself. You hated that Jessie would come home from a rough day at training to a messy house and the burden of taking care of you.

The thought almost made you laugh — you would've if your body would've allowed it — Jessie would be appalled if she heard those words come out of your mouth. The woman was endlessly caring, sympathetic and kind. She always made sure you were okay, even if she was having issues of her own. Your relationship was a saving grace for both of you. Together, you built each other up in all different ways. You moulded as a couple but also as friends. You laughed, played and talked like you had known each other forever, even if you had only met her in college. You complimented each other in ways no one else could. If she had heard you call yourself a burden, you’d be in for it.

Jessie loved you in ways you couldn't comprehend. Turns out, you felt the same for her.

You were too stuck in your own thoughts to hear the front door open, or the way your girlfriend announced her arrival. You stirred by the toilet, only looking up when the bathroom door swung open, revealing your girlfriend in all her glory, holding a handful of flowers and chocolate.

“Oh, baby,” Immediately, she placed all the things down, kneeling by your side to scoop you up into a hug. “You’re okay. I'm so sorry you're feeling like this.”

You weren't crying, but the overwhelming sensation of Jessie with you was overstimulating. You weren't usually this sentimental, but the way Jessie picked you up, placing you gently on the bed with a wet cloth over your head. She slipped off your shirt and replaced it with a new one of her own. You listened to her with your eyes shut, hearing she hurried shuffle across the room.

When she met you with cuddles, you knew she had changed from the sweatpants and jumper she had replaced her training kit for. You engulfed her scent, letting it soothe the dryness in your throat.

The two of you were slowly breathing in each other’e ambience when Jessie finally spoke, her whisper sending shivers down you ear.

“I love you so much, Y/N.” Her breath fanned over your neck. “You're my favourite person in the whole world.”

_____________________________

[wenigstenshabeichesversucht]

You've made your bed, now lie in it

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Summary: 3 times you and Lockwood have to share a bed, and one time you want to share a bed.

Warnings: one bed trope, fake dating trope, fluff, only kissing, no smut, english is not my native language

Word Count: 3.9k

After a longer break I'm finally back. Enjoy!

The first time you and Lockwood, an insolent prick of a boss, had to share a bed, was comparable to a train wreck. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. This was how you felt, when you stared at the way too small bed in front of you. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. And even if you could, where did you want to look? At the face of your far too handsome boss, hell no! Or at the floor, which was so dirty, that you were sure, that nobody cleaned it for at least a year? No, not happening.

“I will not sleep on the floor”, you stated without removing your eyes from the bed.

“Me neither!”

Hearing his voice made you seethe.  Maybe he was your boss, but he wasn’t your friend. George and Lucy were your friends, but never him.

“You booked this flop house!”, you protested.

You had a mission two hours away from London, which required you to stay for two days. Luck wasn't on your side when Lucy and George got sick four days ago, leaving only you and Lockwood to drive up here.

“But I’m the boss, so I will not sleep on the floor.”

What would you give for the opportunity to get rid of him right now? But you were too tired to kill him, you just wanted to sleep.

“Fine, then we will share”, you bit out, ready to bite off his head.  

“Fine”, he shouted back, but if you weren't mistaken, his voice sounded a bit hoarse.

Far too late, you realize what you had agreed on. You wanted to curse, but you kept your mouth shut. It was far too late to back down. He would never let you live that down. So, you had no chance. Turning your back on him, you went to your bag and took off your sweater.

“What are you doing”, the panic in his voice brought a smile to your lips.

“Getting ready for bed, what else does it look like?”

Not wanting to give the poor boy a heart attack, you put on a shirt, before unclasping your bra. Behind you, you could hear Lockwood taking a sharp breath. But you couldn’t care less. Never would you put yourself through a painful night in a bra. Opening the button of your jeans was the last straw.

“I���m going to the bathroom”, rushing past you, Lockwood loudly slammed the door shut behind him. You couldn’t help but smile, maybe you had to share a bed, but you totally won this round.

When you left the bathroom, after brushing your teeth, your eyes almost popped out of your head when you saw your boss, who had already made himself comfortable on the bed.

“Where is your shirt?”

Was this his revenge for the bra? Would the entire night be psychological warfare? Not that you weren’t ready. You were ready since you stepped your first foot into Portland Row and realized, that your new boss was a jerk.

“I always sleep like this.”

Your eyes narrowed, not sure if that was a lie or the truth.

“Don’t come crying to me, if you’re too cold this night.” With these words, you slipped into bed next to him.

“I will not be cold”, he protested, and you doubted it. The room was fucking cold, you weren’t even sure if the heater was working. But you were too tired to argue with Lockwood about this, what didn’t mean, that you weren’t ready to tell him “I told you so”, when he would admit it.

“Touch me and I will kill you”, you threatened before turning off the light. Next to you, Lockwood let out a humorless laugh, which shacked the whole bed.

“Trust me, I have the same desire to touch you as I do to touch a ghost.”

“Great, we sorted that out“, you snapped back, unable to let him have the last word.

For a moment there was only silence, broken only by rustling as you both tried to find a comfortable sleeping position. Which was harder than it sounded like. The bed was way too small, and you would rather die than to cuddle with Anthony fucking Lockwood. His body was only inches away from yours, and you could feel the heat he was radiating.

“Stop hogging the blanket”, hissed Lockwood, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Maybe you wouldn’t need it, if you would wear a shirt like a normal person”, you spew back.

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck me yourself, you coward”, you didn’t know what was coming over you. You didn't know what made you say those words, but in the future, you would blame it on being tired.

Lockwood didn't need to be told twice. Hungrily, his lips crashed against yours and with all your anger you kissed him back, while clawing your nails in his naked shoulder. This wasn’t how you had imagined your first kiss with Lockwood. You always thought it would be sweet and slow, not raw and angry.

“I hate you so much”, you whispered against his lips, and Lockwood let out a chuckle.

“Believe me, I hate you more.”

You woke up to the sunbeams dancing on your nose. It was much warmer, than the night before, maybe the heater, had started to work overnight. This thought vanished, when you realized, that the heat was coming from your pillow, or better speaking the body you used as pillow. Suppressing a scream, you hastily tried to get away, only to back up a little too far and therefore to fall out of the small bed. You came up with a hard thud that woke up Lockwood.

“Y/N?”, sleepily Lockwood looked over the edge of the bed, and you suddenly remembered what you had done last night. A blushed creeped up your face, while you thought about the kisses you shared. At least you stopped, before it escalated. You could never forgive yourself and your morals if you had slept with Anthony Lockwood, you hated this arrogant prick.

“Are you in such a hurry to get away from me?”, running his finger through his swoon worthy hair, he gave you one of those arrogant smiles you hated so much. Seeing this, you wanted to wrap your fingers around his neck and just squeeze. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of saying that you were throwing yourself at him. So, you just glared up at him.

“Yes, I want to get as far as possible away from you, and I think we'd be doing both of us a favor if we forgot what happened last night and never talked about it again.”

For a moment, Lockwood looked at you with an expression you couldn't quite put your finger on. It wasn't pure hate, at least not just.

“Last night was a mistake.”

Even if it was your idea to forget everything about last night, it hurt to hear him calling it a mistake. However, you would never give him the satisfaction of showing him that.

“At least we agree on one thing.”

The second time you and Lockwood shared a bed was nothing more than a mistake. It was shortly before Christmas, Lucy already left Portland Row to take a train to one of her sisters and George was already by his family. You had the choice between spending Christmas with your family or with Lockwood at Portland Row. It was like choosing between Scylla and Charybdis. But before you could make up your mind, Lockwood felt ill, and you weren’t the heartless bitch, he made you out to be. You didn’t want him to die, even if you often said it. But you needed this job and without Lockwood there wasn’t an agency. Therefore, you decided to stay and care about him, so he didn’t catch a pneumonia and died a painful dead, even if he deserved it.

It was all going as well as you could expect it. Lockwood was too ill to fight with you, and you only wished for his dead once or twice a day, so far less than normal. Everything was going well, till you started to fell sick. Of course, this idiot couldn’t keep his germs to himself.

You were shacking from the cold you couldn’t escape, as you went up to his room, to bring him his dinner. Normally you tried to do this as fast as possible, in and out, before he even had the chance to say anything to you. So, you didn’t have to see him longer than needed, and he didn’t have to see you longer than needed. Nothing had changed since the night you shared a bed and kisses. You still hated each other with burning passion. But this time as you stepped foot into enemy territory, aka Lockwood’s room, you realized that this was right now the warmest room in the whole house. Setting down the tray, you carefully took a seat on the only free space in his room, the edge of his bed. You wouldn’t stay long, you told yourself. Just long enough to drive the cold from your bones.

“You’re looking worse than usual, I didn’t know it was possible”, Lockwood’s annoying voice, broke your peace.

“Says the person who looks like a walking corpse”, you bite back.

“You got sick.”

“No, I’m fine.”

You didn't know who you were trying to convince with this lie. Anyone with eyes in their head could see that you weren't feeling well. However, Lockwood was too exhausted to argue with you. He just started to eat his dinner, while you closed your eyes to find the strength to stand up and leave this warm behind you.

The next time you opened your eyes, you weren’t sitting on the edge of Lockwood’s bed, you were lying in it. You weren’t sure, how it happened, but you were sure it was just an honest mistake, which could happen to everyone. Feeling too sick to panic, all you could just concentrate on was that you were finally warm. You managed to successfully ignore Lockwood's arm over your hip and his steady breathing on your neck. This was a problem you would deal with when you felt not like dying any minute. Closing your eyes for a second time, you drifted away.                 

The first thing you realized, when you woke up the next morning was, that Lockwood’s warm was missing. He had sneaked out of his own bed, while you were still sleeping. So, this was the perfect chance for you to sneak away to not have to face Lockwood after accidentally falling asleep in his bed. But you couldn’t muster the strength to move. You could just lay there and wait for your doom, aka that Lockwood returned.

It didn’t take long for him to come back. In his hands, he held the tray you used the last days to bring him food.

“I brought you breakfast”, giving you the tray, he got in the bed beside you. If someone had told you, that you would spend Christmas eating breakfast with Lockwood in his bed, you would have laughed and called the person delusional. But here you were. Neither of you had the energy to argue, so you both just ate in silence.

“You should try to get more rest”, Lockwood told you, after both of you finished eating, and he was right, not that you would ever say this out loud.

“You too, you still look like shit”, maybe he was a little bit fitter than you, but he was worlds away from being healthy.

“Fine”, he bit back, another sign, that he was everything but healthy. Normally he would have said something mean in response, but he just laid down beside you. For a moment, nobody said something. Then you shuffled a little bit in his direction, attracted by the warmth he radiated. He acknowledged this with raised eyebrows.

“I’m just cold, don't imagine anything about it.”

“I would never!”

The rest of the holidays you spent together in his bed. It was a surprise for both of you, that at the end, when you both felt better, no one had torn off the other’s head.

When Lucy and George came back and asked how your holidays were, you both just shrugged. What really happened was probably a secret that you both would take to your grave. You quickly found back in your everyday life of hating each other, and it was almost as if none of this had ever happened. But only almost.

The third time you had to share a bed with Lockwood would have been avoidable if Lucy had been a little bit more cooperative.

Lockwood and Co. had a new, very lucrative case. You were hired to secure a very dangerous source. The catch was, that the owner was one of those weirdos who was a little too enthusiastic about the occult. He was planning a two-day seance with an overnight stay at his manor, and your client had managed to get you an invitation. The only problem was that the invitation was for one guest and a plus-one. There was no question that Lockwood would go. But your team couldn't agree on who would accompany him. George wasn’t an option, that would bring too much attention. That only left you and Lucy.

“We all know that I’m a bad liar, nobody would believe me, that I’m Lockwood’s girlfriend”, Lucy stated. Normally you loved Lucy, she was your best friend. But right now, you could have punched her.

“As if anyone would think I was dating Lockwood”, you countered and directed to the asshole himself, you said: “I would never date someone like you.”

“And I would never date someone like you”, he fired back, and you didn’t have to look at Lucy and George to see them rolling their eyes, like always when Lockwood and you decided to argue.

“With the sexual tension between you, no one will doubt that you are dating”, Lucy butted in and could be glad, that looks didn’t kill otherwise she would be six feet under.

“There is no sexual tension, only hate”, you argued hotly.

You would never admit that there was maybe sexual tension, because if you would, you would think about it, you would think about the kisses in this one fatal night and that was a way, you didn’t want to go. Because if you would go down this path, there was no return to normal. Therefore, it was way easier to tell yourself and anybody else, that you hated Anthony J. Lockwood with burning passion.

“But Lucy is right, Y/N should join Lockwood”, George the little backstabber joined Lucy’s side. Knowing when a fight was lost, you ran your hand over your face.

“This can only go wrong.”

You should be right.  You weren’t even an hour at the manor, and you hated everything. The weirdos got on your nerves with their own stupidity. Lockwood's arm had been around your waist for almost 43 minutes, and you wanted nothing more than to rip it off and hit him with it to dead. Yeah, you were everything than happy. I didn’t help, that Lockwood had decided that fake girlfriend wasn’t fancy enough and had given you an engagement ring before he introduced you to everyone as his fiancée. You were dead and in hell, otherwise you couldn’t explain, how you landed in this situation. At least the ring was pretty.

“We should sneak away and look for the source”, you whispered, only loud enough for him barely to hear you. Slowly, Lockwood nodded to let you know that he heard you. Calculating, he let his gaze wander about the other people in the room, probably to find the best way to disappear unnoticed.

“We should kiss”, he said after a moment, and somehow managed to seem totally serious.

“What?”, you almost choked from sheer surprise.

“If we make out, no one will be surprised if we disappear, everyone will just think that we were looking for a quiet corner to have a little fun.”

Hearing this, you grimaced. But he wasn’t wrong. Nobody would think much about you sneaking off when you first put on a show. Without a verbal response, you grabbed Lockwood by his tie and pulled him down to your height. Hungrily, you caught his lips with yours. Lockwood didn’t waste any time and pulled your body against his. Eagerly his hands roamed over your body, and you had the feeling, that this meant a little bit more to both of you, than just a show for a case. Not that you would ever admit it.

When your lungs were screaming for air, you reluctantly broke the kiss.

“You’re actually a really good kisser”, Lockwood smiled down at you, and it felt like your stomach was riding a rollercoaster.

“You’re actually very average”, you lied like the liar you were. But the truth was, there was nothing you would like more than to kiss him again.

“Like, you have kissed so many guys to know what average is. Feel free to admit it, I’m a good kisser.”

Seeing his arrogant smile, you just rolled your eyes.

“Let’s go, so we didn’t kiss for nothing!”

Together you walked through the manor, till you found the library, your first guess for the location of the source. You just started to look around when you heard steps coming in your direction. Before you could find a good hiding space, the door opened and nobody else than the owner of the manor, the weirdo you wanted to steal from, was standing there.

“Miss, did you get lost? The library is not open for the guest”, he told you, and you tried your best innocent smile. But Lockwood appeared beside you before you could try to lie your way out of it.

“I’m so sorry, Sir. My fiancée and I were just trying to find a quiet room”, he gave the owner his best Lockwood smile, while his arms found again his way around your hip.

“Then I would suggest trying the bedroom assigned to you.”

Under his caution eyes, you and Lockwood walked out of the library.

“I saw the source”, Lockwood whispered in your ear, at the moment the door closed behind you.

“Did you take it?”

“No, didn’t have the chance, but we can do it tomorrow, right now we should return to our bedroom, or do you want to socialize a little bit more with the other guest?” Hell no!

“Let’s go.”

Of course, your bedroom had only one bed. At least it was big. You and Lockwood could both sleep in it without touching each other. Without saying much and more important without arguing, you both got ready for bed. Of course, Lockwood decided against wearing a shirt.

“I hope one night you will freeze to death”, you mumbled while slipping under the blanket.

“I’m too hot for this and considering how you always cuddle up to me at night, you know it too.”

Rarely, you were lost for words, but this was one of these moments.

“Keep dreaming, Lockwood”, you shot back, but both of you knew that this was a lame response. As a reaction, Lockwood just gave you a cocky grin.

“We'll see that tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, we will.”

You firmly resolved to keep a lot of distance from Lockwood and his tempting warmth that night.

But waking up the next morning, you realized that you could even break the best resolutions. Like this one. Lockwood was like a mobile heater, and that was too tempting for you when you were sleeping. This night was no difference. As you had been asleep, you had cuddled yourself in Lockwood’s side, and he had draped an arm around you, to pull you even further against him.

With a bright red face, you tried to free yourself from his hug. But your movement woke him up.

“Look like I was right, I’m hot, and you know it”, sleepy, he smiled up at you.

Torn back and forth, you closed and opened your mouth. You weren’t sure if you should kiss him or choke him till he died. You did neither.

“Or maybe you are just so touch starved that you can’t help but hold me in your sleep”, you countered.

“Maybe, but who could blame me?”

Too stunned to speak, you just stared at him. Was he flirting with you? Or were you just hallucinating? It must be the second. Maybe you were still dreaming.

“It feels really nice to hold you in my arms.”

“But aren’t we hating each other?”, a bit overwhelmed, you ran your hand through your hair. You were here to steal a source, not to talk abut feeling with Lockwood, you weren’t prepared for this.

“I never hated you, and I think you also don’t hate me.”

That was a bold statement, but maybe it was the truth. You weren’t sure what you felt for Lockwood. He had been an asshole to you from day one. And you hadn’t been better. Since the beginning, he had something that you just wanted to kiss or kill him. Because you were an insecure mess, you had decided to be mean to him rather than get hurt by him.

“But why were you such an asshole?”, you asked, curious.

“Because you let me something feel, I don’t like. In your presence, I feel so giddy and nervous, not like the agency head I should be.”

“We are such idiots. You are an idiot, but maybe I’m the biggest idiot of all. Seeing your face let me feel stronger emotions than I ever felt before, and I’m not sure if I want to kill or kiss you for it.”

“Then kiss me.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You kissed him like you always wanted to be kissed, like nothing in the world mattered to you beside him. And maybe this was true, the first thing you thought about was normally him and the last thing which crossed your mind before falling asleep was his dorky smile. You loved him, and you were an idiot, that it took you so long to realize it.  

The first time you wanted to share a bed with Lockwood was after you and him returned successfully from your mission. You stole the source without getting caught, and after you told Lucy and George how you did it, you were sitting in the living room. Lucy and George already went to bed and you both were peacefully silent. The only sound was the cracking of the logs in the fireplace, while Lockwood played softly with your hand in his. You were still wearing the ring he had given you. You had wanted to give it back to him, but he insisted that you keep it.

“Do you need a personal heater this night?”, Lockwood broke the silence, and you gave him a bashful smile.

“Maybe?”

“Are my eyes deceiving me or is that a smile, my love?”

“Oh, shut up.”

You were still laughing when Lockwood pulled you up from the sofa. Hand in hand, you walked up the stairs to his bedroom and for the first time in your life, you wanted to share a bed with him. So, this was what you did. Slipping under the blanked with him, you let him pull yourself in his arms. With your head laying on his naked chest and a happy smile, you slowly drifted away.      

[kteezy997]

hello hello! don’t know if you take requests, but could you do something about Tim and the reader are already dating and working on a film together. one of the days the reader doesn’t have to show to set so she has a seat for herself and when tim finally gets off work he comes to find her on the jacuzzi of their room using the water jets to masturbate. you can choose how to finish it

i admire your work🥰❤️

A/N: I tweaked the first part a little. warnings: using water jets to masturbate, explicit thoughts, hot tub sex, breast play, Timmy calls reader ‘good girl’ at the end

Jacuzzi// t.c.

You were finally able to fly out and see Timmy for the first time in weeks. He was in the middle of the press tour for Dune: Part Two. You would be joining him in London for two days. You'd miss the premiere of the movie and the after parties, but that didn't really bother you. Timmy was very private when it came to his love life anyway, and you didn't want to take any attention away from him or the film. You were set to head straight to the hotel once your flight got in.

You were exhausted after being on a plane for 10 and a half hours. You honestly thought of just going to bed straight away, but you knew Timmy would be back soon. You didn't want to miss seeing him tonight. And you knew he would be sad if you were already asleep when he got back.

You looked out the window, seeing the city lit up against the darkness of the night sky. It was beautiful; the bustling night life of the city. You saw the large hot tub off to the side of the balcony. You then realized why Timmy told you to bring a bathing suit.

You decided to take advantage of the hot tub now, and you went back in to retrieve your bikini from your suitcase. As you got into the two piece, you looked at your phone. Messages you had gotten while in flight were finally coming through. Timmy's manager had sent you photos of him in his premiere outfit and you scrolled through press photos on social media as well.

He wore a pretty simple outfit, but looked so damn good, as usual. You thought about ripping that big T-shirt off of him, along with those shiny trousers, and running your fingers through his curly hair. You missed him. You missed his voice, his scent, the way you felt so safe and warm in his arms.

You were clad in your pink bikini as you grabbed a towel from the bathroom and went out to the balcony. You entered the hot tub, your body stung from the contrast of the coolness of the night mixing with the hot temperature of the water. But you got adjusted to the change after about a minute.

The sound of the jets and the little waterfall on one side filled the air and created a calming ambiance with the glow of the lights along the bottom of the tub. You wished that Timmy would just come through the door already to relax with you.

You kept thinking of him, and of how long it had been since you’d gotten to cuddle him, much less have sex. You craved it at this point. You closed your eyes, thinking about your handsome man, and the ways he knew how to please you. He knew your body even better than you did. He knew all of your weaknesses and kinks. He knew how much you loved his mouth on your body.

You were getting hot and bothered, literally and figuratively. The steam was making your face hot as the water soothed your muscles. One of the jets was hitting your lower back so precisely, working out any aches and pains.

You were reminded that Timmy would often massage you, sometimes before sex, sometimes after, and he really knew how to use his hands. Even more so when it came to playing with your pussy. Your core ached just thinking about it.

Then a thought popped into your head. If the jet felt good on your back…it would feel even better somewhere else. Your turned around, straddling the jet stream. The water shot your clit, making your body vibrate. You moaned and your body shook, your pussy was stimulated to the point of almost numbness. You thought of Timmy’s fingers, rubbing you softly, then faster and faster.

His tongue dancing back and forth on your clit. The way he'd flick his eyes up at you now and then as he ate you out. The shooting jet hit all the right places, your pussy became totally numb with pleasure. You found yourself humping the water, your body eager to feel more pressure.

You put your hand between your legs, and closed your eyes. You rubbed between your folds. Thinking of Timmy's fingers again. After he was done with his fingers, he would kiss your inner thighs. He’d smirk at you. Your next thought was of his tongue nudging your bundle of nerves where your own fingers were.

Then your mind wandered to his cock… thick, veiny, and his pretty red tip.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You were completely startled, and gasped as you slipped under the water. You came back up immediately, coughing up some water and pushing your hair out of your face as you looked over at your lover who had, unbeknownst to you, joined you out on the balcony.

Timmy laughed at you, shaking his head. "Just couldn't wait for me, could you?"

"Sorry Timmy, it's just- I saw photos of you from the premiere and"

He cut you off, inching closer to the jacuzzi, placing his hands on the ledge of it, "And? And what, you got greedy, so you put your pussy on the jets while you thought about my cock?"

"Basically...yes." you shrugged. Having now caught your breath, you swished over to where he was standing, the steam evaporated from your wet, hot skin, and you said, "Get your big cock in here with me."

With a little smirk, Timmy whipped his shirt off, then his sparkly trousers and his boots. Once he was down to his boxers, he stepped into the hot tub with you. "Whoa! That is hot!" he said in surprise as he got accustomed to the temperature.

You got onto his lap as he sat down, your arms enveloped one another automatically, and your lips met. You tasted a bit of alcohol on his lips, but he hadn't stumbled or slurred his words at all, so he wasn't drunk. You were glad that he was able to let loose a little bit and have fun. You knew how busy he had been the last few months as he traveled all over the world to promote two movies, one of them having already raked in hundreds of millions of dollars.

You pulled away from his kiss and he smiled brightly at you. It was so glorious, you felt light and fluffy inside, like you were on a cloud. The sky was dark, with nothing illuminating the night except for the glowing lights in the tub and the tiny squares of indoor lights coming through windows of the many buildings below and around you.

Timmy was so handsome, his strong arms above the surface of the water. Droplets webbing on his skin, the steam coming off the both of you now, the trickling sound of the waterfall, it was all so romantic. It was a moment you could have lived in with him forever.

He kissed your neck, and you held the back of his head, his curls slightly dampened and cool to the touch due to the chill of the nighttime air. He nibbled your collarbone and left some smooches on your shoulder. "So pretty." he whispered, his eyes closed as his lips grazed your wet skin. "I'm so happy you're here." he cooed.

As he looked at you, his irises sea green now, you put your arms around his neck. You let your crotch graze over his cock. “Awe, me too, honey.” You felt his erection growing even more as you kissed him. You moaned into his mouth, and he stuck his tongue in. You felt his cock poking around your clit through the material of your bikini bottoms. "Mm," you began to mutter, "you're so hard right now."

Timmy hummed lowly, his hands went under your arms, and he lifted you up slightly and eyed your wet body. "I want you so bad." he admitted, leaning in to kiss your breasts. He left little kisses along your cleavage, with hungry, sensual sounds.

As he teased your nipple through your bikini top, you begged, "Put your cock in me, Timmy."

He lowered you onto his lap and he pulled the front of his boxers down in an instant, then pushed your bottoms to the side so he could access your pussy. With a firm upward thrust, he was inside you.

"Ohh, shit." you trembled, adjusting to him.

Timmy let out a soft moan, letting his hands settle on your hips under the water.

You started to roll your hips, letting his cock rut in and out of you.

"Aw, yes, baby, yes." he panted, grabbing you by your ass, helping you pump his cock faster.

"Oh, Timmy." you cried, bouncing on his cock now, as fast as you could muster without splashing water out of the hot tub.

His hands moved to your tits after a moment, squeezing them and rubbing your nipples, only adding to effect he was having on your pussy. He pushed either piece of your bikini top aside, exposing your breasts right in his face.

It was quite the sensation having your hard nipples splashing in and out of the hot water and into the coolness of the evening as you rode Timmy's cock.

Again, he felt your breasts. He nipped and licked at them as they bounced with you. He rolled your nipples with his fingers, making you throw your head back. He was able to capture a tit in his mouth here and there to suck them.

You could feel him pumping his hips up into you as well, meeting your thrusts as they got slower.

His waist was smacking hard up into you, and you were moaning like a whore. It was becoming too much for you to keep up with. You threw your arms around his neck, keeping still to let him fuck you. Your face rested in his damp hair.

Timmy held your waist and made the hottest growling sounds as he rutted you. Water was splashing everywhere around you at this point, hitting you in the face, even, but you didn't care. You whimpered and cried as you held onto him, just taking what he was giving you.

He stopped, then stood up in the tub as he grabbed you by your arms. He placed you chest down on the side of the tub. You braced yourself with your hands, trying not to slip. You felt Timmy's hands on your butt. The head of his cock toyed with your dripping clit for a second before he slid in again.

You held onto the edge as he started to ram into you from behind. You were just imagining how hot he looked, water droplets running down his body, frizzy ringlets of his hair bobbing back and forth with his thrusts. Your pussy throbbed and you clenched around his thick cock. His balls caused the warm water to splash your clit. The cold, hard surface of the jacuzzi wall caused your nipples to pebble up. You cried like a little bitch and shuddered as your orgasm overtook you.

"You take my cum like a good girl now." Timmy muttered, squeezing your ass cheeks, pumping his cock rapidly.

You whimpered with each of his final thrusts, trying with all of your might to not slip under the water.

He slammed his cock in one last time, and you felt his warm fluid spill into you. You rested your head on the edge of the tub, feeling all tingly. Then, his cold curls were on your skin as he pressed a sweet kiss to your shoulder blade, making you giggle.

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @bitchyunknownuser @lixzey @kpopgirlbtssvt @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen

[darlingmbappe]

The Loneliest | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: Your fiancé missing your birthday is the icing on the cake to a horrible couple of months. Now, you’re left to pick up your broken pieces, ending the chapter in your life that includes Kylian Mbappé.

Warnings: Complete angst all the way through, Kylian being a bad fiancé, fighting, breaking an engagement, lots of crying, cussing, this one’s kind of long so beware. Spoiler: no happy ending. Let me know if I missed anything. — English is not my first language —

Mornings used to be your favorite.

You’d wake up way too early to the sound of Kylian’s alarm for your liking, but it didn’t even matter. The hour or so you got to spend with your fiancé before he left were sacred, it was special. They were filled with easy conversation, tired hugs and sleepy kisses on the shoulder, the occasional quickie, or at least a cheeky squeeze of your ass. It felt like very moment spent together was precious. You felt loved by Kylian so much it made your stomach turn with butterflies just thinking about him.

Now, it felt like those domestic moments were a distant memory. Sure, all couples gradually get less and less lovey-dovey the longer they’re together, but the change was drastic. It was like you barley knew him anymore.

You’ve attempted to start conversations with Kylian about this. Multiple times, in fact. Immediately, he’d get defensive, ending in arguments that kept getting worse and worse. It’s difficult to have to tip toe around your feelings in order to avoid a fight. He stopped making you feel special.

This morning, you woke up knowing it will be a hard day; all alone in your shared king sized bed.

Today is your birthday, and you don’t think Kylian knows this. After many weeks of deep reflection and thought, you know that today might be the last day of your three and a half-year long relationship with Kylian Mbappé — a man who stole your heart and still has it. Once treasured, now barely beating. The diamond sitting on your left ring finger had started feeling like a foreign object, like something your body wanted to reject. It’s lost it’s comfort, now you seemed to lug around old memories you clung onto for dear life.

Kylian didn’t come home last night, though you saw on his private Snapchat story that he was safe, sound, and plastered out of his mind at some club with friends you didn’t even know. He couldn’t find it in him to text you back after 9 o’clock, when that morning he said he would be home no later than 8:30. He found a simple ‘going out, don’t wait up for me’ to be sufficient communication for the night.

You called Kylian, instead it went straight to voicemail. Your texts to him weren’t going through, either. He didn’t have training this morning because the coaches had a conference in London, so you knew he had to be home soon.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way to the kitchen for a bowl of bland cereal and coffee for one.

“Happy birthday to me.” You mumbled, looking down at your sad birthday breakfast. Compared to the last few years where Kylian prepared you a delicious meal, hired a chef, or took you out to the fanciest café in Paris — this meal actually made you lose your appetite.

Across town, Kylian was waking up with a pounding sensation in his head and no recollection of the night before.

“What happened last night?” Kylian grumbled as he woke up to the bright sunlight streaming in from the open shutters. His neck had a kink in it from passing out on his friend Paolo’s Airbnb couch in the early hours of the morning, his voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel. “Fuck.” He covered his face from the blinding rays and felt around for his phone.

He hasn’t gotten drunk that heavily in so long, but when two of his old friends came to Paris for a few weeks, he couldn’t resist giving into their pleads when they’d asked him to tag along for a fun night on the town.

“Bro, you were so drunk last night.” He heard his other friend Bernardo chuckle, his voice almost gone as well from the festivities of the previous night. Kylian sat up, seeing both men looking half dead and clinging onto coffee mugs like a child would cling onto its mothers leg.

The guys chuckled in the kitchen. He smelled eggs cooking but they just made him nauseous. “What time is it? Where’s my phone?”

“Oh…” Paolo snickered and pointed at the bowl full of rice in the center of his kitchen island. “Yeah, man… I don’t know if the rice did much for it. It’s fucked.”

Kylian shot up toward his cell, not even remembering putting it in the rice last night. He carefully picked it up, the entire screen was shattered.

“Putain…” He attempted to hold down the power button just in case, glancing over to the microwave to see the time. 12:36pm. “Merde!”

He had an important meeting with his PR team about potential sponsorships for next years season at 2 o’clock, and if he showed up sweating whiskey with an obvious hangover, the brand reps might think twice before giving him any deals.

He bid his old friends goodbye but not before promising to go out again soon. A short taxi ride later, he was able to make it back home just a little after 1 o’clock.

Kylian bursts through the front door, booking it toward the shower in your ensuite bathroom, running right past you on the bed without a glance or even a hello.

You’d been trying to decide all day if you were pissed at him or just super sad, but seeing him ignore you that way made you realize that it didn’t matter. He stopped making you happy, making you both pissed and sad — a dangerous combination.

You get up and follow him in there as he hopped around trying to take his skinny jeans off.

“I’m gonna be late.” He panted, sliding inside the shower.

You assumed if he knew he would’ve said something… happy birthday… I love you… I’m sorry…

Curious and resentful, you stand close to the shower door so he could hear you. “Where are you going? I thought we…” You blink tears back, sighing and trying to get control of your wavering voice, “… I thought we could do something tonight.”

This wasn’t even the plan, but you were trying to find anyway for him to redeem himself.

“No, (Y/N). I can’t today, okay?” He snapped. “I’m in a rush. Can you please just pick out a nice outfit for me, quickly.”

You shake your head in disbelief, wiping a stray tear that rolled down your face, sniffling once. Kylian hears this and pokes his head out. “Hey,” his barely softer, “Look, sorry but I’m in a huge rush. It’s been a shit morning.”

“Me too.” You mumble, disappointment laced in your words but Kylian didn’t seem to catch onto it.

“Also, my phone shattered at some point last night, so can you call Thérèse and have her drop me off a new one at the training center?”

You huffed, getting control of your emotions that were simmering into anger. One more chance, you thought as you were about to walk out of the bathroom, you turn. “Do you want to do something when you get home? Maybe even just dinner here, a movie?”

“Maybe.” He said back, turning off the shower. All you could do is roll your eyes and bite your tongue. You were trying to give him every opportunity to come back from this.

You didn’t want to end it, but you promised yourself that if he fucks up today, that was it. You can’t keep hoping he’ll become the person he was before. He won’t listen when you talk anymore or even meet you in the middle. You have too much respect for yourself to settle for someone who can’t appreciate you.

You dry laughed. “Maybe.” You mocked, another angry tear rolling down your face, storming back into the bedroom and getting under the covers, arms crossed.

You wanted to sob, but choked it down when Kylian stormed out of the bathroom, wet and holding his towel up around his waist. “Why are you so moody?” He didn’t even look at you, just shook his head and threw his hand down, exasperated when he realized you weren’t putting an outfit together for him. “I just asked you to help me out.” He tusks. “Are you just going to lay around all day, then?”

You knew this tone. The one where something else was bothering him except he expressed it by nitpicking at anything in front of him. Being with him for so long, you knew how to gently pry out the real reason why he was snappy. Right now, there was no way were you even attempting to help him out in any way.

“Looks like it, huh?” You gritted through your teeth. You could practically feel the eye roll he gave you even though neither of you would look at each other.

He muttered something you couldn’t hear as he walked into the closet, hurriedly throwing on some outfit. “I didn’t feel like fighting today, (Y/N).” He growled and threw on a white hat. “Today has been miserable so far.”

“Miserable for you?” You gaped, face getting angrily red.

“Oh, don’t start.” He spat, grabbing his keys and walking out of the room.

You jumped up and stomped out of the room behind him, seeing him almost at the bottom of the stairs. “Kylian.”

He groaned, continuing to run down the steps. “I don’t have time for a fucking fight right now!”

“Kylian!” You yelled from the railing just as he grabbed the door handle. With an exasperated turn around, he locked eyes with your teary ones. “When you get home… we need to talk.” You didn’t try and hide your sadness this time, knowing how the talk was going to end. The sentence squeaked out, like your forced it.

He paused, taking his hand off the door handle. “Fine.” He said this differently upon seeing your broken demeanor, shuffling in place. Kylian checked his watch, looking back up at you. You stared back, watching him hesitantly leave your shared home.

Kylian knew he’d been fucking up with you lately. Coming home late, forgetting to call or text back, paying less and less attention to you as the season progressed. He knew he was getting too comfortable and at some point stopped putting in any effort. The worst was that he’d been taking his frustrations out on you, shutting you out. He watched as you tried to smile through his snarky and quick comments, feeling bad immediately but he just didn’t know how to deal with that kind of guilty emotion.

Your engagement has been a long one. Nine months in and you guys hadn’t even set a date yet. Time kept slipping through the glass, he wondered when the last time you’d even brought up the wedding was — wondering when the last time he even thought about it directly after.

The whole way to work he watched out the window, lost in thought about how he needs to be better. So much so that his driver had to tell him that they’d arrived. He was actually early. With a big fake smile on his face, he did his best to set it all aside, turning on work-mode.

Meanwhile, you had a really nice cry. The kind where you just let it all out because you knew no one was around to hear or pity you. Once you pulled yourself together, you gathered your suitcases from the attic.

It was obvious you couldn’t take everything that was yours. You’d bought so many things for this place, for your shared home… so you focused on the things you were for sure taking with you. All your clothes, makeup, sentimental items, and the fruit bowl you found in a market in Spain were secured inside your bags. You stopped and cried so many times… over a pair of shoes that he bought for you or a picture that brought back sweet memories… all these momentos felt wasted.

Yesterday, you were certain that he would remember what today was. So certain that you convinced yourself you didn’t need to get a hotel. You wished you did, because doing it today felt so final, so depressing. And, upon looking at your empty side of the closet, vanity, side table, bathroom shelf… you had to pull yourself together and be strong. Remind yourself why you’ve resorted to this.

Back at the training grounds, Kylian snapped his last photo-op with the CEO of some athletic wear company, absolutely drained from having to pretend for hours. He had sent his assistant off for a new phone when he saw her, knowing you didn’t text her about him needing one.

He trudged over to Hakimi now that all of that was over, sitting down with a long huff, placing his head in his hands. He hadn’t talked to him all day, being occupied with offers and whatnot.

“Man, I’ve been texting you all day.” He patted his back once, turning to face him.

Kylian looked up at his friend, shaking his head. “It broke last night. Thérèse is out getting me a new one now.”

Hakimi sensed there was something bothering Kylian, but knew not to approach him too strongly. He nodded at his answer. “So, uh… I bet (Y/N)’s pissed, right?”

Kylian blew a raspberry. “Oh, yeah… so pissed…” He nodded with the most exhausted look on his face. “Wait, how’d you know that?”

“Well, I mean, Hiba would be pissed too.” Kylian raised an eyebrow, still confused on how he knew about your fight. “You know, if I had to work on her birthday like this.” He laughed at the thought. “I’d have a lot of groveling to do. Or, did you guys plan something on a different day?”

Kylian gazed up at Hakimi, eyes widening with the vague memory of todays date. “Wait.” He gulped, hands hovering over his head. “Is today the…” he flipped the calendar in his mind, praying that Achraf was mistaken about that. “Ah… merde! Putain! Shit!” Kylian smacked the table and bounced up out of the chair, heart beating a million miles a minute.

Hakimi stood too, watching Kylian pace with his hands cradling his head. “No… Kylian, you didn’t…”

He nods, panic settling in hardcore. “I yelled at her today. I asked her why she was being moody. I didn’t come home last night— ah baise moi, mec. je suis un putain d'idiot!” He cursed himself. Ah fuck me, man. I’m a goddamn idiot!

Thérèse speed walked over to the man in crisis, holding a brand new phone. “All your data’s transferred and everything!” She cheered. Kylian probably didn’t even thank her, going directly to his messages with you to text you that he’s so sorry and coming home right now. When he clicked on your icon, he saw all of the messages you sent him last night

You: Ky will u please come home — 9:25 pm

You: I know ur friends are in town and all but I seriously need u with me tonight — 10:48 pm

You: hello?? — 11:51 pm

You: are u okay? Do u need a ride? — 1:35 am

You: I’m getting worried. please just reply. I need to know ur okay Kylian — 1:40 am

You: nice Snapchat story. Good to know ur fucking fine. — 2:46 am

He ran a hand over his face, beginning to sweat with guilt. His eyes lowered on the screen, the small grey message by the keyboard truly making his stomach knot up even more.

(Y/N) stopped sharing their location with you.

His heart fell in his chest, churning… he felt like he was going to puke. Suddenly all of the conversations you tried to start with him about his behavior over the last six months came flooding back. The same conversations he moaned and groaned though, always deflecting until it turned into a fight. God, how badly he had been treating you… like you were a menace in his life — when really, without you, he wouldn’t be able to go on the same.

He began trying to call you and gathered his things, but his calls simply rang until it went to voicemail. “I-I have to go.” He stammered, almost tripping over his feet. Hakimi watched, shocked at the state of his best friend, knowing how he could get sometimes.

Kylian jumped in the town car as fast as his world-renowned legs could get him there, giving the driver instructions to get him home, and quick. The whole way he cussed at slow drivers, construction workers, red lights. He checked his new phone for the time; 10:37 pm and still fifteen minutes away from home.

God, please let her still be home.

He won’t know what to do with himself if you just left.

‘We need to talk’ rung over and over again in his head like a jinx. The way your voice cracked, the tears he saw you hold back. She’s so strong, he thought.

I raised my voice at her. I forgot her birthday and then treated her like she was the problem.

He pinched his leg to distract himself from crying. He has to be level headed, calm, logical, loving, and very apologetic— everything he hasn’t been for the last months. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, but can’t imagine what his life, his future will look like if he lets you slip through his fingers.

No girl has ever made him feel like this. Everything he looked for in a woman you embodied tenfold and he fucked it up. He has to fix this.

Kylian didn’t even let the car come to a full stop when he arrived, tripping over his own feet, realizing he left his coat in the back seat but really not caring at all. He just has to know you’re there. He looked toward the driveway, seeing your car still parked in its usual spot.

Thank the lord.

Fumbling with the keys, his shaking hands clicked the door open, seeing only the living room lamp on.

“Bébé?” He called. He saw your figure looking at him from the couch. “Oh, (Y/N)…” he breathed, walking over to get closer. You stoop up, meeting him halfway. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He heaved, breathless from his pounding heart.

The dull yellow light illuminating the side of your face showed him how puffy and red your eyes were, how downturned your usual smile was. He saw what he’d done to you, all the months you’ve had to walk on eggshells, the conversations that he’s turned on you, how he forgot your special day.

You still didnt say anything, keeping your arms crossed, looking him in the eye — the while begging yourself internally not to cave. His sweet eyes knew how to reel you in. You weren’t going to cave. You couldn’t.

“I forgot your birthday…” He whispered sadly, guilt drenched his tone, sending a cold depressing shiver down your spine.

Your eyes brimmed with tears again, but you bit your cheek and shook them away, having to be strong for yourself. “So, you finally remembered.” You sniffled.

“I’m so sorry, bèbè. Time just…” he stopped himself from making anymore excuses, “I’m just a fucking idiot. And I’m going to make it up to you. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” He stammered, voice shaking from nerves.

“But, it’s not just about the birthday, Kylian. It’s been… it’s..–”

“–I know, bébé. I’ve been horrible to you. Truly horrible. You never deserved any of that.” He cautiously lifted his hand to yours, grabbing your fingers. All the words he was going to say suddenly didn’t feel good enough. No I’m sorry is going to feel sufficient.

You looked at your tangled hands, he played with your fingers anxiously, trying to catch your gaze, but it now stayed glued to the floor.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him with teary eyes — that of a wounded puppy. It broke him. “We need to talk.” Your words were laced in false strength, false confidence.

You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do once you leave him. Flying blind isn’t something you did very often, but you knew it’s what had to be done.

“Yes.” He nodded eagerly, trying to guide your hand toward the couch to sit. “Let’s talk. We can talk this all out, right?”

His hopeful tone made your heart break even more. The guiltiness that radiated off of him made it harder to do what you had to… his face fell when you let your hand slip back into your folded arms, turning away from him, sniffling.

“Kylian, I can’t… I can’t sit down with you and hold your hand and let you apologize to me. It’s not how this is gonna go.” Wiping your cheeks roughly, you turned to see his dropped face. “This talk… it’s going to be really hard. For both of us.”

He approached you, putting his hands on your forearms. “You’re scaring me, bèbè.”

Your lip quivered, not knowing how to tell him. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Kylian. I love you.”

“I love you too. I love you so much, (Y/N). I know we can work through this. I know it.” He pleaded, moving his face around to try and get you to look at him.

“No, Kylian. I love you, but…” You finally looked up, noticing he’d started crying as well. Ouch. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He didn’t know what he was expecting. Sure, he was scared and sorry about what he did but the possibility of breaking up seemed impossible. Not like he was immune to repercussions, but you two just made sense. He loves you impossibly too much, but he’s forgotten to show you.

Kylian stood in shock, he felt his heartbeat in his teeth, his throat dry. “Don’t say that.” He whimpered. “Please, don’t say that.”

His hands traveled up to hold your face and he bent down to your level, needing you to look at him, to see how regretful he was, how much harder he will work at this. He touched his forehead to yours, wrestling with the temptation of falling down from anguish.

You shook your head between his palms, letting the tears fall freely, a small sob escaping. He wiped away the tears with his thumbs, attempting to hold you closer, squeaking out the smallest words; “Bèbè.” “No, no.” “Please.” “I’m so sorry.”

You grabbed his wrists, using all your strength to pull them from your face. Immediately, you turned around and grabbed a duffel bag he hadn’t noticed was sitting on the armchair. Your feet took you toward the exit.

“No.” His voice broken, his own face scrunched up and soaked with tears. “No, where are you going?”

It took everything in you not to comfort him, run into his arms, tell him it will be okay.

You pushed your instincts down and turning and shrugged instead, now feet away from the man you love, closing in on the front door. “I’m…” You felt a choking sob threatening to spill out of your mouth and had to look away, silently crying out with your hand covering you mouth. With a deep breath, you continued. “I’m leaving.”

“Well, when will you be back?” In just a few strides, he was back in front of you. He couldn’t help but hold your face again, wiping more tears with a gentle but pleading touch.

You gripped his wrists again, only this time, you weren’t strong enough to pull them away, instead feeling his warm skin one more time.

With a small shake of the head, you responded. “I’m not coming back, Kylian.”

“But… but this is your home. It’s our home.”

“I’m sorry, Kylian.” You finally ripped his hands from your face once more and adjusted the heavy strap on your shoulder. Turning around, your feet drag you to the front door. You reach into your back pocket and take out the house key that’s not longer attatched to your usual tassel keychain and set it down on the table.

He stood there and watched, now feeling helpless in this heart wrenching situation. It doesn’t seem like this is real, he has to be having a nightmare, just watching you leave his life and there’s nothing he can do about it — but it doesn’t stop him from trying, begging. “Amour, no. I can fix this, please just give me a chance to make this right.” He was desperate, once again approaching you.

Kylian sniffled, watching your every reaction, hoping for a glint of anything that would allow him to make it up to you. You looked down at your hands, then your left ring finger… everything in your body was holding you back from taking it off, but you mustered up every ounce of self control.

Kylian looked away as you slid the engagement ring off, hearing the light clink of it being set next to the keys. With his hands at his sides, back slouching, he looked back at your face, nodding in defeat.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated in a squeaky whisper.

“Me too.” He nods, looking down at your empty hand. He couldn’t but reach out, trapping your fingers delicately with his fingers, stepping closer.

His arm snakes around your waist, holding you, shaking with his suppressed cries. You allowed yourself to hug him back, to close the chapter, to feel his warm embrace again before you never would again.

The hug lasted for a while, swaying back and forth and crying into each others shoulders. He smelled like he always did, and you noted how hard it would be if you came across his familiar scent again. He also was getting high on your fumes, indulging in the coconut scented shampoo he had become addicted to. The touch of your hands clasping at his back made him cry harder, squeezing you tighter and lovingly.

You pulled back once your cries calmed, sniffling. He stayed close, lifting his eyes to look into yours. Before he knew how to stop himself, he closed in the space, landing his salty lips on yours, closing his eyes. You kissed him back, hating how much you’d miss him. The way his fingers dug into your hips made you lightheaded.

It’s too hard to stop, but you had to. Pulling away, you turned around quickly and left, sobbing all the way to your packed up car.

Kylian was glued in place. His heart had been put through a blender, his head throbbed, his chest was cold without you with him. He saw the flash of your headlights backing out and leaving the property reflect inside the dark and empty home.

He’s miserable, hollow. He’s angry at himself, maybe at you, even if he knows this was his own doing… the whirling in his brain wasn’t anywhere near as loud as the silence after you left — a deafening silence that followed him up to us bedroom, one he now only shared with his thoughts.

It killed him when he saw there was no longer a charger plugged next to your side of the bed, that your slippers were gone from their usual spot by the corner. None of your favorite books were displayed on the shelves, your skincare products left just a ring of residue on the sink. Stepping into the closet, he noticed it still smelled like you, but everything was gone. Everything but the shirts of his that you had stolen through the years, now neatly folded on top of one of his dressers. He wished you had taken them to remember him. He wished he could turn back time and do everything right.

Above all the sadness and the gaping hole is his heart was determination. He fucked up but he wasn’t about to do it again. You would not be the one that got away. It may be the last thing he ever does, but he’ll make it all up to you. He was prepared to go to the furthest lengths to hold you again. But, for now, he needed to wallow in self pity, feel everything that he needs to feel.

Not even on the chilliest Parisian night had his bed felt as cold as it did that day.

A/N: Okay I feel like I kinda dragged that out but angst! I’m contemplating a part 2 but I also kinda like leaving it at this… would y’all want another part? Also, the title is inspired by the song The Loneliest by Måneskin, listen to it after reading. Their new album is so fucking amazing. — Requests for Kylian Mbappé are open! —

[liightsout]

fresh out the slammer - daniel ricciardo x reader

(part one)

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

✯ pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader ✯

✯ word count: 2.2k ✯

✯ content warnings: swearing, abusive/unhealthy relationship ✯

✯ now playing: fresh out the slammer - taylor swift ✯

✯ this is part two in my ttpd series, you might want to read this first ✯

✯ masterlist ✯

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Now pretty baby, I’m running back home to you. Fresh out the slammer I know who my first call will be to” 

You didn’t have much of a plan, or even a rough idea where you would be staying for the foreseeable future as you stood on the pavement outside your now ex boyfriend’s apartment. 

It should have terrified you, but it was the first time you’d felt free in years. 

It was Danny who had suggested that you call Rosie and ask if you could stay with her. He had offered for you to stay in his apartment while he was out of the country, but you didn’t fancy being alone. That, and the idea of staying somewhere so surrounded by Daniel seemed like the wrong choice to make right now. 

Rosie had been more than happy to welcome you with open arms into her home. She had been over the moon to hear from you, and even happier to hear that you had ended things with Evan. The second you’d arrived on her doorstep she ushered you inside and enveloped you into a bone crushing hug. 

Yes, she was happy that you had finally escaped the clutches of your shitty boyfriend, but she was human enough to know that the whole ordeal had been incredibly overwhelming for you and that you were craving comfort. 

Later that evening the pair of you were curled up on her sofa, wrapped in blankets and sharing a bottle of wine. Rosie hadn’t asked you a single question all day about the break up. She had allowed you time to breathe and get yourself set up in her spare bedroom. It was hours later and you just knew she was going to explode if you didn’t provide her with some answers. 

“So, what happened after you left?” she had asked with curiosity in her eyes. You knew what she was hinting at. 

You had seen Danny’s name flash up on her phone earlier that day while she was helping you unpack. She had tried to hide it, but you’d seen it nonetheless. You expected he was checking in with her to make sure you had actually made it to her place and hadn’t turned around and gone crawling straight back to Evan. You couldn’t blame him, you were shocked that you hadn’t as well. 

“I called Danny” you said with a small smile as you recalled the conversation you had shared with him earlier that day.

“Hey pretty girl,” his voice sounded like liquid gold pouring straight from your phone and into your ear. “Hey you,” you replied with a shaky breath. You could sense he was about to start talking, you knew he would have questions as to why you were calling. 

“I did it. I left.”

A beat of silence passed between the two of you, as if neither of you could quite believe the words coming from your mouth. 

“For real?” his voice was quieter, less confident than you’d heard him before. It was unlike him to be so hesitant. 

“For real” you whispered back. The sound of the busy London street echoed out around you, but seemed to fade away the longer you waited for Danny’s reply. 

“Are you alright?” he said, his tone filled with concern. You felt your heart swell. It was such a simple question, yet it carried such weight. Were you alright? 

Was it wrong that this was the most ‘alright’ you’d felt in months? 

“I think so, or at least I will be.” 

You didn’t need to see him to know he was smiling. 

“Yeah, you will.” 

“Another summer taking cover, rolling thunder, he don’t understand me. Splintered back in winter, silent dinners, bitter. He was with her in dreams. Gray and blue, and fights and tunnels. Handcuffed to the spell I was under, for just one hour of sunshine. Years of labour, locks and ceilings, in the shade of how he was feeling, but it’s gonna be alright, I did my time.” 

As you lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling fan, you found yourself lost in the memories of the last few years.

You hated how easy you found it to scold yourself for how long you had stayed in such a toxic relationship. The voice at the back of your head told you that it was easier said than done, leaving your partner, but you still felt angry for how much time you had wasted. 

It was only now that you were on the other side of it that you could pinpoint all the times you should have left. The fights. The arguments. The shitty comments thrown in your direction. The gaslighting. You realised that you had spent the last few years of your life dictated by Evan and the mood he decided to be in that day. 

You could recall the times you would walk on eggshells around him, scared to provoke him when you sensed he was in a foul mood. The exasperated sighs and slamming doors. He would storm out of the apartment declaring that he was going “out”. He’d come home smelling of beer, cigarettes and ladies perfume. Or not come home at all. 

You’d wake up the next day to a picture perfect boyfriend. Breakfast in bed, flowers on the counter, extravagant gifts and invitations for weekends away in foreign countries. 

Evan had a way of convincing you that whatever terrible thing had happened the day before was just a one off. That he was sorry for his behaviour and he would never do it again. 

It made you laugh now. It was a shame that he had inherited his wealth. He would have made such a good con artist. He had the ability to fool you into believing whatever he wanted, and you ate it up every single time. 

“Camera flashes, welcome bashes, get the matches, toss the ashes off the ledge” 

It had been Rosie’s idea to throw a party. She had declared that you needed a “celebration of freedom” as she curated a group chat full of the usual suspects to invite round her house that weekend. You weren’t sure it was the best idea, you still felt hesitant about being around your old group of friends after such a long time away. 

“Have I missed anyone off? Or is there anyone you want to invite that I’ve missed?” Rosie said as she handed you her phone. You could sense her eyes carefully watching you as you scrolled through the list of names. You tried to be nonchalant as you looked for his name. You didn’t care who came. You just wanted to see Danny. 

It had been radio silence for the last few weeks since you’d moved in with Rosie. It wasn’t his fault. You knew he was busy with a double header and a new Enchante launch. You also suspected he was being a gentleman and giving you the space you had needed to clear your head. He wanted you to make the first move so that he knew you were ready. 

And you sure as hell felt ready. 

You found his name at the bottom of the list and smiled while handing Rosie her phone. 

“Yeah, looks good to me, I can’t think of anyone else. I don’t really have many friends anymore” you said with a nervous laugh, which earned you a playful shove from the girl sitting next to you. 

“Oh shut it, you’ve got loads of friends, you just don’t realise it. And don’t think I didn’t see you searching for Danny’s name, you’re not sly” she said with a laugh. 

“As I said in my letters, now that I know better I will never lose my baby again” 

You tried hard to hide your disappointment, but you had really hoped he would show up. He hadn’t directly responded to Rosie’s invitation, only offered a thumbs up in response to her message about hosting a party this weekend, but you had thought he would be here. 

You had chalked it up to his busy schedule, but you couldn’t help the doubts slipping into your mind.  

Four hours into the party and still no sign of Danny. 

Rosie had sent you a few reassuring smiles each time she caught your eye as you searched round the mass of bodies in her kitchen and garden. 

You knew she was being kind, but you could feel the sympathy radiating off her from a mile away. It made you feel pathetic. A feeling that you’d hoped you’d left behind in Evan’s apartment. 

You didn’t know why you kept checking your phone. You hoped he’d send you a message, apologise for why he couldn’t make it. But he hadn’t reached out to you since the day you’d left Evan. Why would he message now? 

It was now nearing 1AM and the majority of the party had left, with only a few of Rosie’s closer friends opting to stay a bit later and help tidy up, as well as share a nightcap or two. You had decided to steer clear of the noise and opted for unwinding in the garden alone. 

The twinkling stars covering the night sky and crescent moon illuminated the garden. You’d spent the last 10 minutes staring up at them, hoping a shooting star would cross your path and grant you just one wish. 

You’d never been lucky before, why would you be now? 

Your phone felt like a dead weight in your hands. The idea of messaging Danny was flying around in your brain like a gnat you just couldn’t catch, the buzz getting louder and louder the more you ignored it. You were a little tipsy, you couldn’t stop yourself from typing, even if you knew texting Danny was not the best idea right now. 

Hi 

Hey you 

Hi Danny 

We missed you tonight, sorry you couldn’t make it! Hopefully see you next time! 

Why didn’t you come? 

Did I do something wrong? 

FUCK 

I’ve already lost so much, and wasted so much time on someone who didn’t care about me, I can’t do that again, not with you 

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind you sent your phone flying out of your hand and tumbling onto the patio floor. A hand reached for the phone at the same time yours did, the 3 etched onto the pinky finger forced your eyes upward. 

At first you thought you might have imagined him. That you had actually fallen asleep outside and this was a figment of your imagination sent to mock you. But the smell of his cologne combined with the heat pouring off of his body confirmed that you were in fact definitely awake. 

You couldn’t speak as he held your phone in his hands. You knew he’d seen the message you had typed out from the way his eyes had darted from the screen to your face as you stood in front of each other. 

Sad. He looked sad. You’d never seen him like this before and it broke your heart. 

“I’m sorry” the words passed his lips and you fought hard to stop yourself from cringing. You tried to remind yourself that Danny was different from, you hoped. This wasn’t like those times with Evan, the meaningless apologies and shitty explanations. 

“My flight got delayed, and then cancelled, so I ended up flying into Manchester instead of London and then had to get an Uber down here, got stuck in fucking traffic and only got to my apartmet like 30 minutes ago” he rambled as he handed you back your phone, which you accepted with shaky hands. You hoped he didn’t notice. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I should have text you, but I had in my head that I was going to surprise you and it was going to be all romantic and shit, which I now realise was totally dumb and I should have just told you I was running late.” 

The frustration in his words was palpable, the desperation in his voice earnest. Both were something you hadn’t heard from Evan, ever.

“If you want me to go, I will, I just wanted to tell you in person that I was sorry and that I know I’ve fucked up and probably ruined it.” 

“You haven’t” your voice trembled as you spoke. You searched within yourself for the bravery you’d had those weeks ago. You didn’t want to lose this. You needed this. You needed Danny.

“You haven’t ruined it,” you shook your head as your hand reached out for his. His eyes seemed darker under the night time sky. “You defintely fucked up,” you said with a laugh as your hand laced with his larger one, “but you haven’t ruined it”. 

Danny’s hand squeezed yours and released as you took a step closer to one another. His arms wrapping around you and pulling you close against him as yours went around his waist. Your head was against his chest, his racing heartbeat echoed in your ear and matched your own. His head went to the crook of your neck, rough facial hair tickled against your sensitive skin and sent shivers across your body like lightning. 

You would have missed the words that he mumbled against your skin between soft kisses had he not been so close to you. 

“You’re not wasting your time, I do care about you. I think that you’re it for me.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

✯ authors note: soooooooo... it's been a while

i'm super sorry about how long it's taken to get this out, and it's only half of this part, but my motivation for writing has been super low.

hope this is ok and you guys enjoy!!!!

thanks for all your support, it means the world to me ✯

[emlovessid]

@jegulus-microfic february 12, fireside, 353 words part one, part two

It’s a few days later that Regulus’ breakfast is interrupted by a knock at the door, opening it to find a mailman on his doorstep holding a package. He knows what it is before he even opens it.

He’s careful as he unwraps it, unfolding the card nestled in amongst the tissue paper.

You may not know it, but this album would be nothing without you. Thank you all the way from Edinburgh. J x

After spending an embarrassing amount of time looking at the picture of James on the cover – he’s still coming to terms with the fact that this James is his James – he pulls the vinyl out of its sleeve and sets it on his record player, curling up by the fireside with a cup of tea as he listens.

He recognises Track 2 as the one he heard on the radio, smiling to himself as James sings Regulus’ words, though he prefers James’ words over his own. He has a way with words that sucks Regulus in, makes him feel connected to them. He supposes that’s a sign of a good songwriter, having the ability to make anyone listening believe that these lyrics are written for them personally.

Like on Track 4; This was never really casual.

Track 5; I miss my nights in London, more than I ever miss my home.

Track 8; When I kiss that freckle by your ear.

Eyes flying open with recognition, Regulus reaches up to his left ear, fingers brushing over the patch of skin below that James has always paid particular attention to. 

Taking out his phone, he only hesitates for a moment before typing out a text and pressing send: I don’t want to presume but… are some of these songs about me?

It’s less than a minute later that his phone starts ringing, James’ face lighting up the screen; a photo Regulus had taken of him sleepy and smiling in Regulus’ bed.

He answers, but doesn’t say anything. Hears James exhale, feels his own heart stop, and then start right up again as James says, “Of course they’re about you.”

[arjudy224]

Tea Time with Alfred

Context: Alfred has always been a close family friend of your Grandma. After her death both of you haven't been dealing with the grief very well, so you decide to start hanging out more to ease the pain. (Y/G/N: your grandma’s name)

Knocking on the door to Wayne Manor, I fumble with the basket of muffins in my left hand. A very confused Jason opens the door.

"Look Y/N..." He begins awkwardly shifting his balance. Guilt spreads across his sculpted features.

"With love, I'm not here for you." I interrupt putting my hand up to silence him, "Whatever you have to say, save it for another time."

Brushing past him, I wander down the hallway past a dozen or so portraits of the Wayne family. With the high ceilings and shelves filled with books older than my great Grandma, I narrowly get lost in the grandeur. One of the glass shelves catches my attention. A much younger looking Alfred beams up at me while a soaked brunette angrily swats at his shoulder with a shoe. My heart contracts when I recognize the woman. Years before she got sick, Y/G/N was radiant. Although the photo is in black and white, I know for certain she is wearing her faithful orange sweater that was in rags by the time I came around. The photo reads: Alfred's revenge London 1965. My eyes well up with tears at the thought of her being so healthy. The image of how frail she looked in that hospice bed will forever be burned in my heart.

The next photo over shows Alfred, Grandma, and I at my first visit to Gotham. Freshly nine, Gotham was such an adventure. Driving into the city was... nothing short of magical. There may have been crime in every corner, but her stories brought much needed light into the city. My 9 year old self hadn't yet grown into herself. With cracked glasses I had broken moments prior and aggressively neon braces, my fashion had a long way to go. I was probably too big to go on Alfred's shoulders at that point, but he picked me up anyway for the walk around the city. The crowded boardwalk behind us sold the best deep fried oreos in Gotham city. A teenager at the time, Dick had convinced me that the secret ingredient was cocaine... As an adult looking at Gotham city, that joke may not be too far off.

The infamous smell of Alfred's baking grounds me to the present. Dickie isn't stealing my gameboy anymore. He's happily living in Bludhaven revamping their police force. Shit, I really need to call him back. How do you tell someone that if you talk about it there is no guarantee that the crying will ever stop?

It doesn't matter what he’s been saying. It's better to not burden him with this. I take a deep breath to avoid a breakdown. Cookies. Tea time. Glancing at my watch, I realize I'm five minutes late. Classic y/n.

Alfred's back is to me when I finally stumble into the kitchen. A mischievous grin emerges on my face as I creep closer making a conscious effort to silence my footsteps. Jason used to say that watching the two of us sneak up on each other was like watching a cheetah stalking its prey. Of course, Alfred always made it look so easy though. Halfway there....

Stirring a bowl of brownie batter by hand, he calls out to me.

"You've got to do a lot better than that if you want to sneak up on me."

I stifle a laugh throwing my hands up in surrender.

"Sorry Alfie.... Old habits die hard. You would not believe what happened to me today..."

Conversing with the older man fills a void, I have been missing. Telling him about life made everything less scary. If I can spin these horrifying events into a joke during tea time.. well I guess I can survive it.

Alfred isn't one to diverge intense grief, yet I will never forget how heartbroken he was when he explained how painful it was to talk to me. Although our features may be completely different, it was the mannerisms that hurt the most to see: the way I held my hands when I was nervous, the anxious laughter in stressful situations, the silly regency romance novels that sat on my bedside table, the intense hatred of the barren winter... My entire being has been shrouded by her love. For better or worse.

The first couple months, I could almost pretend she wasn't gone. Working two jobs while attending school doesn't give me much time to reflect. However, the holidays left an unspoken hollow void. The empty seat at dinner. The contact I would instinctively dial. The horrible sinking in my chest when I remembered the phone would ring forever.

At the beginning, I think we both pretended we were talking to her. Now as I cackle over his photo collection of Tim falling asleep in public places, I realize how much I love the man who was so important to her. This pain may always stay with me, but what is grief if not love persevering?