#brighton place to go

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

i am sorry cant be silent but ru*ssians in karlovy vary is such a mind blowing thing to me. thinkin bout this all evening

@demonzriti u just shouldnt have told me that. now i wont sleep bc of this

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

How do you think Ben and Jamie celebrate Pride? Is there a parade in Causton, do they go to Brighton, or are they so busy they forget it is June?

I feel like they would go to Brighton since it's an excuse for a vacation and Ben would have friends from his time there, especially Kate. And it's the biggest Pride in the country so, hey, go big or go home, amiright?

Ben's such an extrovert who likes to go out and do things especially with friends so I feel like he went every year with Kate and others when he lived in Brighton and would try to make it back with Jamie. Jamie on the other hand did Pride like. once when he was in uni in London before dropping out, because he had friends who could drag him along. After that he never really had anybody to go with and was feeling awkward about it, so it would be nice for him now that he has someone to go with and people to meet.

[ki-ssmyshades]

my. mum made me a Veggie burger patty… Ok the world might be healing. okkkkk………………… Thanks queen 👑. omg. Progress for the pescatarian i fear!

[thatsgonnaleaveamark]

whyy are concerts so expensive and not close to me ಠ╭╮ಠ

[tracle0]

This man is ALSO a freak!!!

[katyobsesses]

My aunt called my mum this afternoon and was just like "so I'm in the country, so I'm going to drive out of my way to see you tomorrow for lunch or something, so I'll see you then"

So I've suddenly got plans to be out of the house tomorrow meeting a "friend" in town or something 🤷‍♀️

Like I love my aunt I do, but without warning? No time to plan or mentally prepare? I'd rather walk around town for a few hours until she leaves.

On the plus side my mum and I have speed cleaned the house!

[the-internets-girlfriend]

Secrets in Doncaster: Part 1 - George Clarke

George Clarke x Y/N (1800 words)

A soccer Saturday in Doncaster is spent laughing and drinking with friends... and the occasionally minion. However, can a secret go viral?

warnings: alcohol consumption, creating bets, swearing, a grumpy minion.

series | masterlist | previous part | next part

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"And hi, I'm y/n and I also want to go to Brighton because I'm the pirate captain of the Arthur and Chris ship."

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The pub smelt of old beer and cheap crisps, as I sat sandwiched between Becky and George; a pear cider sat in my hand as I nursed the drink whilst listening to Chris explain the rules for todays soccer Saturday.

"And every time that your team scores you get to hand out a drink for someone else to do and every time that team concedes you have to down your drink." Chris explains to the group as I felt eyes to my left giving me a side-eye glance with a smirk.

"Oh shush George. You better not give me any drinks this video." I threaten, turning to face my boyfriend.

A chorus of laughter was heard from the group, as George shoots me a wink in my direction. "Darling, you got so plastered last time off of only three pints and it was hilarious." George tries to defend himself but luckily my best friend Becky has my back.

"Don't worry we'll gang up on the boys today. Girls for the win!"

"I'm taking offence to that. I thought we were going to stick together." Arthur Hill chimes up. He's referring to the last time the group had hung out at our George's' place. Becky and I may have had four too many cocktails made by Flo, and ended up having a drunk deep and meaningful conversation with Arthur.. Well it wasn't much a conversation, rather a large amount of gossip said by us girls as Arthur nodded along; and declaring himself to now be one of the girls.

"You take offence to everything, mate," the other Arthur hollered out as he down the remainder of his drink; raising the empty glass to the group, and silently offering if anyone else needed a drink.

"Ten quid he's gone before we even get to the surprise location." I whisper to George, as he signals his empty glass in return to get a refill.

"Ten quid says he's gone before we get off the train and it's a deal." George replies, stretching his hand out for a handshake. We shake to our deal and he moves his right arm to now stretch behind me, pulling me closer to this side. I raise an eyebrow to the motion and he replies to a shrug.

George and I have been together for a while now; but the only thing we haven't publicly announced it to the fans. We did the classic friends to dating scenario; where we've known each other since he first posted his jokes of TikTok, and I posting my first viral book video about authors I love and would die for on TikTok. Our fans and friends had always spotted something between George and I, but both of us were too scared to admit anything to each other until one movie night at my flat where he kissed me.

We simply hadn't told the fans as we were happy living in our little bubble with only the select group of people; including our family and friends knowing. Although, we both know how smart our fans are and they have began to notice the closeness between us, and are beginning to make twice as many fan edits of us, which is quite sweet and I often show to George when we're lying in his bed together.

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The remainder of our time spent at the so-called-quiet pub, of which didn't remain quiet with our cheers and reaction, was filled with eyes glued to the Tv and watching intense football games; and praying for a nice place to go and not some obscure ghost town.

"Doncaster? Where in the bloody world is that?" I exclaim out to the group, eyebrows raising as Chris and Becky pull out their phones to investigate.

I shifted away from George, leaning over Becky's shoulder to investigate alongside her. The small amount of distance between George and I did not exist for that long as he too moved himself; leaning into my, our bodies pushed flush together as he glanced over my shoulder to view the screen.

I glance over my shoulder, now pressed and stuck between my best friend and my boyfriend, catching George's eye as he looks at me smugly.

The remainder of the group consisted of the two Arthur's still researching about Doncaster, and Isaac leaning his head against the arm of the couch letting out a deep sigh before making a quick one-liner to Chris resulting in the bubbly laughter to explode from the group.

Finally George had leant back into the couch, with me following suit and nestling myself back into his side. Chris reached over for his bag from behind his couch.

And that's when I felt it - a soft pair of lips pressing into the side of my forehead.

In return, my hand quickly shot out, giving a smack to George's thigh. "George! the fans are going to go bonkers over that."

He let out a toothy grin, zero shame and a shrug, "good. Let 'em."

Before I could open my mouth to question my boyfriend, Chris' voice breaks the small silence. However, a thought lingered on my mind; does George want to tell our fans?

Chris is holding a card in on hand, of which displays six tasks, and Chris voice is heard explaining them all; and as the group thinks, Isaacs' voice cuts through.

"We should add a seventh task for George and Y/N... keep their hands off of each other."

George and I both give a shake of our heads, knowing this was not going to happen at all, as we're always drawn to each other.

Arthur Hill begins to agree with Isaac, "yeah maybe your secret from your fans will actually be well kept for once."

"Oh shut up Hill." I reply.

Becky begins to chime into the conversation too, "I think it should be if I can keep my hands off of Y/N." Becky then follows up her joke with pressing a kiss to my cheek.

George only gives a chuckle and a shake of his head before downing the remainder of his pint.

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We all sat on the train heading to Doncaster, as my eyes still regulated to the harsh bright lights in the train cabin. I was sat across from Becky with Chris next to me and the other four boys across the aisle from us.

"We're off on a big adventure with the boys." Becky declared cheerfully, the joke never wearing off as I chuckle at the inside joke. Chris gives the two of us a side eye before turning to the vlog camera with a theatrical eye roll.

Across the aisle, the boys chat about football - getting heated as the cheers for goals continue - but I was only half-listening. Becky, Chris and I, are playing an intense game of Uno from a deck I forced George to bring with the reward of a kiss.

I glance up from the deck for a moment, and see my boyfriend sitting across from me with his eyes closed and an index finger pointed at me. Then slowly, he opens his eyes with a grin, and the remainder of the boys let out an explosion of laughs.

"What?" I asked, suspicious.

"Sorry darling, but, you've got to have a drink." George snickers with mock sympathy.

"I hate you."

"No darling, you do in fact love me."

I roll my eyes, as Chris places a passionfruit martini can in front of me. I let out a groan and the automatic frown on my face shows exactly what I am thinking - I hate passionfruit.

Becky knows about my hatred after one time I yelled at a bartender for giving me the wrong drink once; she leaned in and whispered, "I have a plan."

The plan? For my new brand new Adidas sambas to be used for us to both do a shoey as we switch drinks; I hand her the passionfruit and take her whiteclaw.

"The boys can't one up us yet!" She exclaimed before we do the shoey. The group lets out a chorus of cheers as bystanders turn to look at us.

"And you've got to kiss those lips tonight George." Arthur TV blurts out, forgetting that it will need to be edited out.

"And there's more editing for me." Chris says.

""Oh I'm sorry guys." Arthur quickly says, bring him hand to cover his mouth."

"Don't worry about it mate." George says, not really minding what our fans see anymore.

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We keep drinking, as I loose tally of how much I've already had; it's somewhere between "I could have the confidence to run a half-marathon" and "I really want to make out with my boyfriend." The alcohol was beginning to take affect on the most of us; however, George sat there being effected.

We had shuffled seats a while ago, once we were first told the train was going to be held up and we all had to stand up to move our legs. I was now seated next to George, curled into side with my head resting against his bicep. I was engaged with an intense staring contest with Arthur TV across from me.

Simple rule we made; loser had to finish their drink. Which was a big stake for us both since we're both lightweights.

"Arthur I know you like to win, but not this time!" I mutter, narrowing my eyes.

"Yeah right," Arthur spat back at me.

I was winning the game; I knew it, Arthur eyes with starting to shut.

And then George's hand slid onto my thigh.

A tight squeeze.

Completely unexpected.

"HA! YOU BLINKED!" Arthur yelled out, throwing his hand up into the air as if he was thanking the imaginary crowd.

I groaned and let my face fall against George's chest in defeat, smacking a lazy hand against his stomach. "That was cheating."

"I didn't do anything," George said with fake innocence. I give him a pout and reach over to my full can and downed it in one go, pulling a face of disgust as I felt the bubble go down my throat.

"Oh no," Becky whispered across the aisle, watching me with wide eyes.

I buried my eyes into George's side, as I slurred the words, "this is your fault."

"And yet," he said smugly, nudging my head with his own, "no regrets." George kissed my forehead looking down at me.

"Now if they fans saw that, they would combust." Isaac joked to us both.

We let out a shared chuckle, as I latched my hand to his, intertwining our fingers. I felt three tight squeezes to my hands, as I responded to George with four tight squeezes.

Before anything else can be said, the train began moving again, dragging us closer to Doncaster; and to the events of which may happen there.

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and there's my first post!! I hope you all love it, as much as how much I loved creating it!

I realised I had so many ideas for this story; so have decided to make it a multiparter. However, if you have any requests, please send them through :)

See you next time,

mwah x

[princesssarisa]

I've been having more Pride and Prejudice thoughts, namely about Elizabeth's relationship with Lydia.

I've repeatedly come across the idea that Elizabeth is a bad sister to Lydia: that she judges her unfairly, disdains her instead of trying to advise her, victim-blames her for falling into Wickham's clutches, and ultimately abandons her.

Did these people read a different version of the book than I did? Or is this based on the adaptations? Or since everything they accuse Elizabeth of doing is really what Mr. Bennet does, are they somehow confusing her with her father?

Since when does Elizabeth never try to advise Lydia? We're told that both Elizabeth and Jane have often tried to advise Lydia and Kitty, without any success. Older siblings don't have the authority of parents, so as long as their mother encourages Lydia and Kitty's frivolous behavior and their father doesn't care, it's a lost cause. But it's not for lack of trying on Elizabeth and Jane's part.

As for unfairly judging and victim-blaming Lydia, I've been searching the text to find a place where Elizabeth does any such thing, but I haven't found it. The closest I can find is her speech as she tries to dissuade Mr. Bennet from letting Lydia go to Brighton, where she gives him a harsh assessment of all of Lydia's faults – her wildness, ignorance, vanity, flirting, and lack of any self-control – and warns him that if he doesn't check her, she'll disgrace the whole family. I do understand how some readers might call that monologue "mean." But Elizabeth isn't saying that Lydia was born that way and will always be that way. On the contrary, she's warning her father to start parenting Lydia as he should before her ways become fixed.

Elizabeth knows that Lydia is a product of her young age, her mother's spoiling, and her father's neglect. After the elopement, when Mrs. Gardiner is incredulous that Lydia would willingly live with Wickham out of wedlock, Elizabeth's explanation is that Lydia "is very young" and "has never been taught to think on serious subjects."

It's also made clear that Elizabeth pities Lydia and doesn't want her to have to marry Wickham. But she reluctantly realizes that there's no other way to save Lydia's honor or the rest of the family's. If any reader blames Elizabeth for hoping the marriage will take place and for her very bittersweet relief when it does, they're probably the same readers who hate Darcy for making the marriage happen. Never mind that Darcy tries at first to convince Lydia to leave Wickham instead, but Lydia won't listen.

The harshest thought ever expressed from Elizabeth's viewpoint toward Lydia post-elopement is when the newlyweds come back to Longbourn and Elizabeth is "disgusted" to see that Lydia has no remorse for what she put her family through. But isn't that fair?

I suppose some people will argue that Lydia has no reason to feel remorse because she "did nothing wrong." She's a "literal child," she's the victim of Wickham's predation, she believed he loved her and was always going to marry her, etc. But to be honest, I think Lydia's defenders sometimes tend to infantilize her. Is she really completely unaccountable for what happens? She's sixteen, not six, and without absolving Wickham of blame, he doesn't seem to have cold-bloodedly manipulated and seduced her the way he did Georgiana; it's implied that she threw herself at Wickham, that she was the one who wanted to elope, and since Wickham needed to flee from his gambling debts anyway, he essentially decided ""Sure, why not?" Just from living in society, Lydia should have known that running off with a man, giving him her virginity, and living with him before marriage would have threatened to disgrace her entire family. I don't think it's victim-blaming to admit that she does behave thoughtlessly and selfishly, even if we do understand that she's a product of her bad upbringing and that Wickham, Mr. Bennet, and Mrs. Bennet are more to blame than she is.

Last, but not least, since when does Elizabeth "abandon" Lydia? Do people who have only seen the adaptations assume that after Lydia and Wickham leave Longbourn, Elizabeth will have nothing more to do with her? The book makes it clear that once Elizabeth is married, she frequently sends Lydia money, that Lydia occasionally visits Pemberley too, and that while Darcy refuses to let Wickham visit, he does assist him in his profession to ensure that Lydia is provided for. How can anyone call that "abandonment"?

I understand why there's debate about whether Austen's narrative victim-blames Lydia or not. But I don't see where these "bad sister" accusations about Elizabeth are coming from.

[livvymd]

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖࣪ ִֶָ☾.WEIGHTLESS. ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ

⋆ ۫ ┊ ┊ . ★.˚ ┊ . ˚☆IT STARTED out innocent enough.

the first time george clarke carried you, it was at arthur’s birthday party ⸺ the one where everyone ended up far too drunk for a wednesday and you’d somehow twisted your ankle coming down the stairs in your platform heels.

“alright, that’s it,” george had said, rolling his eyes as you tried to wobble upright again. “uou’re going to break your neck.”

you’d pouted, half-laughing, fully tipsy. “i’m fine! just ⸺ maybe i need to sit.”

“you need to be carried,” he muttered, and before you could protest, you were off the ground. arms scooped under your legs and behind your back, bridal-style, with his hoodie brushing your face and the solid warmth of his chest against your shoulder.

“GEORGE!”

“don’t shout in my ear,” he said mildly.

you were breathless, laughing, flustered. everyone else barely glanced up ⸺ too used to his antics ⸺ but your heart was pounding like a drum in your ears. you expected him to tease you. instead, he just looked down and said, “you alright?”

and you were. warm. held. caught in a moment you didn’t quite know how to name.

it became a thing after that.

not all at once, but often enough.

there was the time you fell asleep during movie night and woke up tucked into bed with a hoodie draped over you, and george claimed the next day he had to “practically carry your corpse upstairs.”

the time you were walking home from the pub with the group and jokingly whined that your feet hurt, and he swept you off the ground with a grin and a, ���guess you should’ve worn proper shoes, shouldn’t you?”

and the time you half-dozed on the train back from brighton, head nodding forward ⸺ and when you blinked awake, it was to find yourself curled into his side with your legs over his lap and his arm holding you like something precious.

you never talked about it. Not really.

he never made it a big deal, and you didn’t want to ruin it by overthinking. But each time it happened, your skin buzzed for hours after. yu started looking forward to the moments he’d pick you up like it was second nature, as if your body had a place against his and it had always belonged there.

he called it convenience. you pretended it wasn’t intimacy.

but it was.

there was also that night ⸺ the one you almost forgot in a haze of wine and laughter ⸺ at a bar just a couple streets from your flat.

the two of you had gone out on your own this time. no group. just you, george, and a quiet, dimly lit table in the back, where you nursed cocktails and swapped stories until your cheeks ached from smiling. by the end of the night, your head was heavy and your steps unsteady, and george didn’t even ask ⸺ just bent down and swung you up into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“don’t drop me,” you slurred into his neck.

“never.”

he carried you all the way to your flat, slow and steady, your arms loosely around his neck. you buried your face into the warm curve of his collarbone and just breathed him in.

once inside, he toed the door shut behind him and gently set you down on the edge of your bed. you blinked up at him, dazed, swaying slightly.

“shoes off,” he murmured, kneeling in front of you. he unbuckled the straps carefully, fingers brushing your ankles in a way that made you shiver.

then he disappeared into your bathroom, came back with a clean flannel, your micellar water, and a soft towel.

“george, what ⸺ ”

“shh,” he said again, the same way he had that night at arthur’s. he crouched in front of you and gently took your face in his hands. “close your eyes.”

you obeyed, heart hammering.

he wiped your makeup off in soft strokes ⸺ careful around your lashes, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth as he wiped away smudged lipstick. then he cleaned your face with warm water, pressing the towel against your cheeks like he’d done it a hundred times before.

by the time he finished, your eyes were fluttering shut.

“arms up,” he whispered, tugging your jumper off with the gentlest touch. he helped you into your sleep shirt, pulled your hair free, smoothed it down your back.

you flopped back onto the bed, utterly boneless, blinking up at him with a loopy smile.

“you’re my favourite person,” you mumbled.

he chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “you’re drunk.”

“i love you.”

the words slipped out before you could stop them ⸺ soft and slurred but unmistakable.

george went very still.

your eyes had already closed.

a long pause. then a quiet exhale. his hand lingered against your cheek.

“i love you too,” he whispered into the dark.

you didn’t hear it.

⋆ ۫ ┊ ┊ . ★.˚ ┊ . ˚☆THEN CAME the night that changed everything.

it was arthur again ⸺ a housewarming this time. you’d all been out for drinks first, loud and chaotic in that way the group always was when a few pints were involved. by the time you got back to the flat, the alcohol had sunk in deep ⸺ your head fuzzy, limbs loose, laughter bubbling in your chest as george helped you out of your boots at the door.

“you’re a disaster,” he said fondly, catching you as you swayed.

“you love it.”

he raised an eyebrow. “do i?”

“admit it,” you teased. “you like carrying me around like some sort of victorian gentleman.”

“i carry you because you ask me to,” he retorted. “and because you’re clumsy when drunk.”

you grinned. “still counts.”

you curled up on the couch with a blanket and a glass of water while the others filtered through the kitchen. george stayed nearby, making sure you drank, stealing your crisps, teasing you until your smile hurt.

at some point ⸺ hours later, maybe ⸺ you must have dozed off.

uou woke to low music, dim lighting, and the soft press of strong arms under your legs.

“george?” you mumbled.

“shhh,” he whispered, lifting you like you were nothing. “let’s get you to bed.”

you didn’t argue. just tucked your face into his chest and let yourself be carried.

but this time, the silence between you was different.

thicker.

charged.

you felt his heartbeat against your cheek. his fingers flexed slightly on your thigh, like he was holding back something more.

and as he stepped into the spare room and gently laid you down on the bed, you caught his eyes ⸺ dark, unreadable, lingering too long.

“george?”

he hesitated.

then shook his head, like brushing off a thought, and tugged the blanket up over you. “get some sleep.”

and left.

things shifted after that.

subtle, but present. like you were both dancing around something neither of you wanted to name. the touches lingered longer. the banter got softer. he started carrying you even when you weren’t drunk or injured or tired ⸺ lifting you off countertops just to make you laugh, scooping you up when you reached for something too high and he happened to be behind you.

“you’re ridiculous,” you’d murmur, arms around his neck.

he’d smirk. “you love it.”

and god help you, you did.

but it all came to a head one lazy sunday afternoon.

you were both at his flat. you’d gone over to help him film something for the channel, but it turned into lounging around, half-watching old episodes of some property show while eating takeaway on the sofa.

at one point, you stretched, groaning, “ugh. i don’t wanna move ever again.”

george glanced over, expression unreadable. “don’t, then.”

you smirked. “uou gonna carry me home?”

he set down his drink. “i could.”

you blinked. “seriously?”

“i’d carry you anywhere,” he said, low.

your heart skipped, but you still snorted.

he was looking at you like he meant it, though he couldn't stop the smirk that was plastered on his face. like he wasn’t talking about walking you across a flat or giving you a piggyback down the street. like he was talking about more. everything.

you sat up slowly.

“george…”

he swallowed. “i know we’re just friends. but i’ve been ⸺ carrying you like this, i think i’ve been trying to show you how i feel. is that weird? i just, i didn’t want to say it and mess things up.”

your breath caught. “and what if i feel the same?”

he stared at you.

and then, almost cautiously, stood ⸺ came over to you ⸺ and held out his arms.

“come here.”

you stepped into him. let him lift you again ⸺ arms around your waist, legs curling around his hips, faces inches apart.

“put me down,” you whispered.

he froze. “sorry?”

“put me down,” you said again, smiling.

and when your feet touched the floor, you leaned up, heart pounding.

“so i can kiss you properly, idiot.”

and you did.

his lips met yours with a gentleness that made your knees weak ⸺ a slow, searching press that spoke of all the moments he’d held back, every glance that had lingered too long, every time he’d carried you like it meant more. his hands rose to cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head slightly to taste more of you. uou curled your fingers in his shirt, clinging to him as warmth bloomed through your chest.

it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t desperate.

but it was reverent.

he kissed you like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth, the way you breathed against him, the way your body fit into his hands even now. when he finally pulled back, breath short, his forehead rested gently against yours.

"worth the wait," he whispered.

and you smiled, cheeks flushed, heart soaring.

because it was. and you both KNEW IT.⋆ ۫ ┊ ┊ . ★.˚ ┊ . ˚☆

[isa-ghost]

Every time I see someone call Lullah "Tallulah" I lose 5 years off my life. Just say you still support W***** S*** and go, honestly.

Her name is Lullah.

Ama (her admin) specifically asked to not be called Tallulah anymore after The Brighton Biter was proven to be an abusive, sexist, disgusting piece of shit by multiple women who have known him. One of his other victims literally spoke out a few days ago on TikTok and it eventually found its way to Twitter. She changed her name to Lullah, the nickname Phil would often call her, to further dissociate herself from WS. This is also why her egg model was changed to have black hair and a purple hat instead of the brown and red that came from The Biter's common fanart depictions.

(Thanks @deniz20234!)

Here's a clip of the discussion:

(Thanks @masked-ragdoll!)

Her nametag was even changed in-game.

Players who called her Tallulah were CORRECTED and told to call her Lullah. Lullah is NOT a nickname, it's her ACTUAL name from the time she said she wanted to be called Lullah onward. People wouldn't be corrected if it was just a nickname.

Calling her one or the other IS NOT OPTIONAL. And the ONLY people still calling her Tallulah deliberately are people who don't believe WS's victims and proudly loathe the rest of the QSMP community for rightfully erasing WS from QSMP as much as possible.

They even went as far as making a whole big deal and new tag(s) drawing Lullah's old WS copycat design calling her "The REAL Tallulah." These are things I've seen with my own eyes. These people openly harassed people who called her Lullah and spoke out against WS.

This post is to spread awareness for anyone who didn't know all of this somehow. This all took place on one of Phil's streams and I understand that not everyone watched his POV. And I am choosing to believe in good faith that SOMEHOW some people just haven't seen any clips or one of hundreds of posts from people in the community that were notifying the rest of the QSMP community to stop calling her Tallulah because her admin explicitly asked to be called ONLY Lullah for now on.

It's also intended to remind WS's supporters that they have no place in this community and their disrespect towards not only Ama's wishes but far more importantly: WS's victims will not be tolerated.

Stop calling her Tallulah. Her name is Lullah.

Please reblog this to help spread the awareness.

[klausysworld]

can u write something about damon just being soft and whipped for his girl. just need a damon fluffy fic rn 😩😩

Everything to him

Damon stood with his arms around his girl’s waist as she finished her makeup in the mirror. His chin on top her head as he watched as she layered the romantic red lipstick onto her soft plump lips. He could only hope to have their prints all over him by later that night as she looked herself over.

“You look perfect” he mumbled when she frowned a little and tilted her head. “There’s absolutely nothing I would change, in fact although the makeup has you looking all this much sexier, even without you wear the face of an angel” he purred seeing her lips lift into a smile and her head turn to look at him.

“I’d say flattery gets you no where but it seems to have gotten you rather far as of now” she lifted her arms over his head and round his neck while batting her lashes as him. He pulled her closer so his lips ghosted hers and his eyes dropped at the feeling of her fingers in his hair.

“I only tell the truth to you” he whispered gravelly and she hummed in reply, scratching at his head slowly knowing how it affected him. His eyes shut and pressed his forehead to hers “god I love you” he muttered and her smile grew

“I love you Damon Salvatore” she grinned and he tilted his head slightly to have his lips against hers. He allowed her to take the lead, moving her mouth against his and Brighton’s her other hand up to cup his face as both his hands slid up her back to hold the tops of her arms.

“You’re going to ruin my hair” he muttered and she laughed lightly against his lips before pulling back to look at him, her fingers running through each lock

“I like it messy” she decided before brushing it through with her hands and positioning it in a way that she found suited him best. His eyes glossed over as he watched her loving smile and felt her gentle touches. Her fingertips dances down the back of his neck and round to the front before she adjusted his leather, pulling it tighter on him and wetting her painted lips. Her palms smoothed down his chest, her deep red nails dragging down his black t-shirt before pulling up the hem only to groan at his display of abs. Her thumb tracing his happy trail and stopping at the top of his low-hanging jeans. Her fingers skimming over his belt in a teasing manner.

“Y/n…” he muttered feeling his body getting aroused by her actions “we have a reservation”he reminded, a breath of air leaving him as her hand cupped his crotch through his trousers “baby…” he whispered “you can almost never get a table there”

She sighed and gave him a light squeeze, listened to him grunt and then fixed his shirt and stepped back admiring him “okay…but after…” she pouted and he nodded eagerly

“After you can do anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

She bit her bottom lip gently and held her hand out which he quickly took with a lustful smirk in place.

He kept a hand in hers the whole drive there, only breaking the hold for a second as they got out the car before an arm was back round her hips. She smoothed her cherry coloured dress down, adjusting it to rest a little lower on her thighs as it had ridden up in the car. His gaze dropped to her heels which make a distinct ‘click’ with each step she took. His eyes followed back up her gorgeous legs, along her beautiful figure and back to her face. Watching as she spoke to the waiter at the front who was finding their reservation in the system with a bashful blush on his cheeks as she flashed her pearly white teeth. Damon knew how easy it was to get lost in her charm.

He was barely aware of the world around them as he followed her to their table by the window, overlooking the sunset which was already meeting the stary night sky. Menus were slipped into both their hands and wine glasses filled as though the staff just knew what they would order.

She looked to him with admiration in her eyes and his lips curled up “I can’t believe you managed to book us in here” she whispered and he smiled back

“I can’t believe you almost had us miss our time slot, we only just made it”

“I’m sure I would’ve made up for it”

his mouth formed a lip lifted grin in response and he glanced down to his wine glass “I don’t doubt that, not for even a second” he muttered under his breath and she offered him another award winning smile which consequently brought his own upon his lips.

Her foot slipped out of her heel to leisurely brush along his leg as their food came and they engaged in pointless yet meaningful conversation and ate their meals. And for one of those rare moments, he felt like he was human again. He felt no urges, no lust for blood or chaos, he was calm. Happy.

He loved Y/n in ways he had never explored. Ways he wasn’t sure how to but he did them regardless and if he was doing it wrong, she didn’t tell him. She just helped him feel it, she chose him first and loved him and solely him and it was all he had ever wanted. All he had ever needed.

His mind often wondered at times like this, just listening to her voice and watching her lips move, and then the way her eyes would shine under the light and her hair would bounce over her shoulders as she waved her hands around in unnecessary gestures.

He knew he was smiling like a teenage boy with a crush but he couldn’t help it, even when she stopped talking and just grinned back at him knowingly. Her hand finding his and squeezing gently as their desserts were placed before them.

“If you’d like…we could skip dessert” Damon whispered suggestively making her smile

“Oh but then we’d have wasted our reservation” she sighed and leaned back in her seat, digging into her sweet dish and watching his eyes darken over slightly before he looked down to his food and begrudgingly ate the heavenly portion.

By the time they had both finished, paid and gotten to the door, a horrific amount of rain was bouncing off the ground.

Y/n turned her head to him before swiping the car keys from his hand and dashing for car making him let out a laugh and chase after her, completely forgetting his vampire abilities and just managing to get into the car before she locked it. Both of them looked at each other with large smiles on their faces before each bursting into fits of laughed and flicking their hands at one another to throw rain-water on their faces.

Eventually they got home and Damon had he run his arms, spinning in circles and running for the ridiculously big bathtub so they could soak together in the warmth of both the water and each others arms.

[russo-woso]

Jealous girl || Alessia Russo

Warning smut 18+, strap on, fingering, squirting, cunnilingus, breeding kink, face sitting, orgasm denial, dom!alessia, sub!reader

Summary Alessia allows her jealous side to show

If you were being honest, you wanted the night to end how it did.

From the moment you woke up, Alessia had been teasing you.

In fact, before you even woke up.

Alessia decided she was going to make it fun for herself today.

Waking you up, she pressed gently kisses along your neck, before beginning to suck on a part of your neck where she knew you loved.

You let out a muffled moan into the pillow as your senses awoke.

“Less…” You attempted to tell her something but when she whispered a shh to you, you knew that Alessia was in one of her, as you’d always put it, one of her teenage boy moods.

“Relax, baby.” Alessia whispered, her tongue soothing the fast forming red mark on your upper neck.

Moving to tower over you, Alessia connected her lips to your revealed collarbone, nipping and sucking at your delicate skin.

You placed a hand in her hair, pushing her head more into your skin, desperately not wanting her to stop.

Whilst focusing on your lower neck and collarbone, Alessia’s hand travelled down your body, lifting the oversized T-shirt up your torso.

You whined as her fingers connected with your clit, feeling the pleasure you’d wanted.

“Lessi, please don’t tease.” You whispered, a pleading look in your eyes, as Alessia circled her fingers at an agonising pace.

“I’m not teasing, pretty girl.” Alessia told you, clearly lying.

“Please go faster.” You begged

You were close to doing the job yourself but you knew the punishment that would go with it.

“On my face.” Alessia said, gesturing for you to sit on her face.

As you switched to the new position, she took your top off completely, admiring your clothes less body before guiding you onto her face.

“Less, fuck.” You cried as Alessia’s tongue ran through your folds.

“You taste so good, baby.” Alessia mumbled, causing a moan to escape your mouth.

You gripped onto the headboard as Alessia’s mouth roped round your clit, pleasure coursing through you.

You started rolling your hips against her tongue to match her pace.

“Less - fuck - you’re gonna make me cum.” You managed to say between ragged moans and cries.

Alessia’s tongue continued to move against your clit, giving you the perfect amount of pleasure.

Your movements died down as you felt yourself get closer and closer to your longing orgasm so when Alessia grabbed your ass, helping you to move against her, you knew you weren’t going to last long.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum. Less, oh god-” You started saying but was cut off by Alessia promptly lifting you off her face.

You have her the most angry look you’d ever given her.

“What a shame, baby, look at the time. Jonas wanted us at the stadium for ten. We best start getting ready.” Alessia pointed out, a smirk clearly evident on her face.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, pretty girl.”

———————

After a well deserved win against Brighton, the season was over and although you’d finished third in the league, everyone was happy.

You had been eager all day to get back home to finish what you’d started this morning.

The moments shared with Alessia was on your mind constantly throughout the match.

What didn’t help was Alessia made it so difficult to make you forget.

Every chance she got to tease you, she took.

When she scored, she picked you up curing her celebration, squeezing your ass, before whispering, ‘I can’t wait to fuck you tonight.’

Her confidence and randomness shocked you but you pushed, attempted to push, it to the side.

During the regular lap around the field, thanking the fans, you felt Alessia’s hand wrap around your waist, guiding you to the tunnel.

“Less, what—” you begin to ask but was quickly cut off by Alessia shushing you.

“—You’ll see, baby.”

Alessia dragged you to the changing rooms, pushing you against the wall.

“You looked so fucking hot with the new kit.” Alessia told you, before placing her lips on your jaw.

Her hands had a hard grip on your hips, allowing barely any movement.

A whine left your mouth as she sucked at your pulse point, Alessia growing more harsher the more noise that left it.

“Less… please.” You mumbled, trying to focus on speaking but it was hard to when the feeling off Alessia’s mouth was on your neck.

You didn’t know what you pleading for. You didn’t know if you wanted her to continue. You didn’t know if you wanted her to stop.

“Hmm, I think we best stop, don’t you? Don’t want any of the girls walking in do we?” Less pulled away, wiping her thumb over her mouth to break away a string of saliva.

“I really hate you. I really do.” You stated, barging past her and to your cubby.

That’s what lead you to getting revenge.

Going out that night with the team meant that you got to dress up and look your best.

Perfecting your hair and makeup for hours, and picking out the perfect outfit, meant that you could get the bestest revenge on Alessia.

The night started well, you were sat next to Alessia, cuddled up in the corner, making conversation with some of the other girls.

As the drinks started to kick in, some of them decided to head to the dance floor.

You decided to join them too, wanting to make the night memorable and fun.

To begin with, the dancing was harmless, you were dancing with some of your best friends with a massive smile on your face, and Alessia was loving it too. She loved seeing you happy so she was more than enjoying seeing you dancing.

But her smile dropped once she saw a man approaching you.

Your smile turned to a grin once he started speaking to you.

Unknowingly to Alessia, you had a grin on your face because you wanted this to happen, this was your revenge.

Alessia watched on, you and the mystery man dancing as one of his hands rested on your hips, where hers should be.

“Someone’s got your girl, Russo.” A thick Irish accent was heard across the table and for once, Katie was scared by Alessia, the face full of anger would have managed to scare anyone away.

Just as the song finished, you turned to face your teammates but before your eyes could get to them, they were stuck on a very angry looking Alessia.

“Hi, baby.” You smiled, pulling her in for a hug.

You noticed the confusion on the guys face and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Let’s go.” Alessia commanded, taking your hand in hers and practically pulling you out the bar.

“Less…” you began, not knowing her emotions.

"You're mine, pretty girl. No one else." Alessia began, leading you to the car.

"I know, but-"

"-No buts. You know better." Alessia cut you off, flagging down a taxi, opening the car door, allowing you to get in.

The rest of the way home was silent, the tension slowly building up.

Once Alessia had paid the driver, you entered your house, Alessia immediately pressing you against the hallway wall.

"Be a good girl for me and strip and wait on the bed for me. I'm gonna show you that you're mine."

And with that, you walked ran up the stairs, stripping as soon as you got to the room, leaving you in the red set of lingerie, Alessia's favourite.

You'd put it on when getting ready, hopeful that Alessia would actually get to see it.

“You look gorgeous.” Alessia told you as she walked into the room.

“All for you, lessi.”

“All for me, huh?” Alessia questioned and you nodded.

She approached closer and closer until you could feel her breath on your neck.

“You let somebody else touch you, and nobody touches you. Only I get to touch you.” Alessia repeated similar words from earlier.

“Only you touch me.” You confirmed, looking wide eyed at her, your eyes secretly begging her to do something.

“Good.”

With that, Alessia connected her lips to your neck, sucking the life out of it.

Your hands found her back, trying their hardest to take her shirt off.

Eventually, she pulled away from your neck, allowing you to pull her shirt over her head.

At the same time, her hands wrapped around your back, I clipping your bra, before placing her lips on your hardened nipple.

“That feels good.” You hummed as her tongue swirled around it.

You felt Alessia’s hands work their way down your body, her finger looping round the side of your underwear, pulling them off.

“Less, please no teasing.” You begged and Alessia nodded.

“No teasing, pretty girl. I promise.” Alessia said against your stomach, placing a kiss there and lowering herself.

“Please hurry up.” You whined and Alessia tutted in response.

“Desperate are we?”

“I’ve been waiting all day, baby. Please do—” You began but was cut off by a cry leaving your mouth due to Alessia’s tongue flattening itself across your folds.

“That feel good?” Alessia asked into your pussy, vibrations coursing through you.

“Yes, lessi, so good.” You breathed out, your breath already erratic.

Alessia continued to flick at your clit endlessly, pushing you closer and closer.

“Please don’t stop, baby.”

Your hand was in Alessia’s hair, pushing it more into your pussy.

“Never.”

You knew Alessia was going to let you cum, she was also just as desperate. She wanted to watch you fall apart and know that it was because of her.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum. Please don’t stop. Please.” You rambled, not really caring what you were saying. “I’m coming. Fuck, less.”

Alessia gently sucked at your clit, allowing you to ride out your high.

“You taste so good.” Alessia shamelessly moaned into your pussy as she licked your juices. “Stay here, baby.” Alessia commanded, leaving you to catch your breath as she walked to your closet and reached for the box at the top, pulling out the biggest strap you owned.

You felt yourself drip even more at the thought of it in you.

“On your knees.” Alessia stated, helping you onto your hands and knees. “Good girl.”

You let out a muffled moan at the praise, as you buried your face in the bed, awaiting for what was about to happen.

Alessia rested a hand on your back, her thumb rubbing over it, whilst she guided the tip in.

With ease, the strap entered you and Alessia continued to thrust in until her hips met you.

“That’s it, good girl.” Alessia said, grabbing your hips.

You let out a cry as Alessia pulled out and thrusted back in.

After a few slow thrusts, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please go faster, baby.”

To your surprise, Alessia actually listened and sped her movements, causing pleasure to run through your body.

“Fuck, baby, you look so perfect.” Alessia told you, as you moaned uncontrollably into the duvet.

A loud smack was heard as a bright red mark appeared on your ass.

Alessia grabbed it and massaged it whilst thrusting in and out of you.

“Fuck, you feel so good, less. I’m gonna cum.”

“I’m gonna cum too, pretty girl. Gonna fill you with my cum and make you a mummy. God, you’d be such a pretty mummy. Gonna be pregnant with my baby. Mine. Not his. Not anyone else’s. Mine.” Alessia rambled, her eyes closed at the thought.

“Let me have your baby, less. Cum in me, please.”

“I will, baby.”

Lifting a leg on to the bed, Alessia pounded into you harder and faster, hitting your g-spot perfectly.

Without warning, clear liquid shot out your pussy, soaking Alessia’s abdomen and the duvet.

Your moans were muffled as your arms gave way and your face buried in the duvet.

“Fuck, pretty girl, I love it when you squirt.” Alessia said, rubbing your back as she slowed her movements to not overstimulate you.

“Fuck.” You mumbled, tired, as Alessia helped you into a comfortable position.

“You were amazing, baby.” Alessia gently kissed your head after you rested it on her chest.

“I mean, I’ve been waiting all day.” You told her. “I even purposefully let a man touch me so I could cum.”

“Naughty girl.” Alessia tutted, a small smirk on her face as she realised your plan. “You’re mine though, no one else’s.”

“I’m yours, lessi. No one else’s.” You told her, melting into her.

“Good.”

“My jealous girl.”

[wandasaura]

WASHINGTON SQUARE PARK

summary — alexandra cabot grew up the definition of a costal cowboy in a lightly populated texas town, but the concrete jungle has made a farmers market loving city-chic prosecutor out of her over time

warning(s) — established relationship, ada alex cabot, law system, legal jargon, prosecutors, domestic bliss, fluff galore, breakfast dates, height differences, glasses, slight alex crashout happening, bubbles, duck pond, ice cream trucks, canon typical content, slight sexual tension, teasing, ass grabbing, neck kissing, public affection, certified horndog alex cabot, not smut but men/minors dni

authors note — received a request for general summertime activities. washington square park is elite summer vibes so here’s some soft girlfriend alex !!

It's astounding to remember that Alex grew up visiting the coast of Texas in the summertime. In your distinction of the continental United States seasonal activities, born and raised Texans making frequent trips out to the shore hadn’t even crossed your mind as a possibility. You’d expected her to have grown up going to rodeos, or even baseball games if bull riding and boiled peanuts was too on the nose for your city chic prosecutor girlfriend, but no. Alex did still love to indulge in gas station boiled peanuts whenever you made any trips down south to visit her mother, that was unconditionally true, but rodeos and roundups weren’t where her heart lied when she told you stories of her childhood in the middle of the night.

Alex was what you called a water baby growing up; somehow who was probably supposed to be a mermaid at birth but was instead born an air-breathing human. She told you about how when she was really little, maybe five or six, her mother had left her there all by herself one day in the dead of summer, and she’d built sandcastles with her lifeguard friend Tommy until it was time to go, incessant honking from the parking lot the learned signal of Tammy Cabot’s arrival. Truthfully, you didn’t know how to feel about the mental image of a six-year-old Alexandra Cabot being abandoned on a beach, but she’d never looked anything but wistful when she recalled those salt-air infused days for you to think they haunted her too harshly.

When she was a teenager, she’d walk to the beach before she got her provisional. It never occurred to you that not all of Texas was landlocked even if geography was your favorite high school subject. The narrative of cowboys and tumble weeds had been so drilled into your head that picturing southern girls in bikinis and cowrie shell necklaces felt reminiscently dystopian, but allegedly that was Alex Cabot to a t — back when the locals allegedly called her Lexi. You couldn’t believe that. Even if Texan’s going to the beach in cowboy hats and bud light trunks was the farthest fetched memory you’d ever heard someone share so seriously, somehow finding out she’d once been called anything other than Alex was more detrimental to your existing view on life.

Lexi. Alexandra Cabot was in no way, shape, or form a Lexi or any other variant of the name other than Alex, and very rarely Al — even though she detests how it makes her sound like some lowlife plumber with a constantly exposed crack and looming public indecency charges.

Even though Staten Island was very much an established and officially recognized borough of New York, and the name blatantly implied a connection to water, the City was just another one of those places that felt like an eternally landlocked prison unless you made the sometimes hours long commute out to Jersey. Realistically, it could take no more than an hour to get to the shorelines from your quaint little apartment in concrete jungle Manhattan, but it just never felt feasible with your busy schedules and little time for sleep as things are.

You know that Alex would love to escape down to Brooklyn to Brighton Beach with you one day, or even South Beach in Staten Island and use it as an excuse to finally make a day out of the tide and Franklin D. Roosevelt boardwalk, but it always seemed to evade your mind as something to do until a day off rolled around and you were scrounging for last minute ideas that fit within your time constraint and budget; even if it wasn’t needed on two ADA salaries.

Even with water on the forefront of your mind as another Saturday off rolled around, the idea of taking a trip down to the shore had entirely evaded you. Instead, Alex woke you up with soft kisses on your shoulder and a cheery smile on her lips; already dressed and ready for a spontaneous day out, complete with the new frames she’d gotten in the mail after work yesterday.

They sat higher on the bridge of her nose than the last pair did, not so loose in the hinges yet from constant wear and reckless removal. You had half a mind to chastise her when she ripped them off of her face in frustration late at night, rubbing her hands down her features until her skin was raw enough to distract from the circles she was running in mentally, but you’d be a hypocrite then. You might not wear glasses like Alex does, but when you do, they bother you enough to huff and moan and have just a little bit more sympathy for her every day.

She’d told you to forgo a shower, having already checked the temperature and established it was going to climb into the mid-eighties by two pm and the humidity was bound to increase the sweltering heat. You’d only need one again later if you took one now. It wasn’t yet the full fall of summertime over Manhattan, but June was on the cusp of painting rainbows at every street corner, and the kids had started wearing dresses to school again even on the rainy days. That was a promising enough sign.

Alex was another embodiment of summer as she leaned over your bedside, coaxing you to turn toward her when you remained facing the far side of the room. She had an orange toned tank top on her pasty skin, the boxy neckline doing something for you as it gave an almost masculine edge to her dainty top — something entirely different from the pantsuits you have to pry her out of at the end of your work days. The denim shorts she has on aren’t anything extravagant, not like the ones she keeps in the dresser that she claims were purchased in high school, but just by the style alone you know she bought them in college at the earliest, and the cheeky coverage was more than intentional upon purchase. You think it’s cute how she's mellowed with age, how she blushes and tries to act like an all mighty public defender when you know that she’s just a passionate goof with a striking ability to find mischief in any situation. You think it’s sweet how she loves her job so much, but even a devoted heart can’t completely unmake who she is at just her core alone.

She pulled you out of bed with the promise that if you got dressed quickly, there’d still be enough time to grab breakfast at your favorite cafe in Greenwich Village before they closed in preparation for the dinner rush. It was an annoying schedule, but one that Alex memorized specifically for days like today. It was never feasible to get there during the week, not when you both left for your respective courthouses at half six and didn’t stumble back home until the peak of restaurant dinner rush. Sometimes you stole a bite at the fancier places along the strip, other times you settled for a cheap beer at the cop bar while weighing over potential verdicts. It’s not always fancy, it hardly ever is, but it’s enough to quench your desperate thirst for her during the winter months.

You’ve seen Alex prosecute. You’ve had the displeasure of standing beside her in open court when your boroughs clashed on a city case. She was a bulldozer to anyone on the stand, or in chambers — even you. It doesn't matter that she comes home to you at the end of the night, and workplace disagreements aren’t so easily overcome when you’re sleeping with the enemy in every sense of the term, but she won’t sacrifice the strength of your relationship or the security of your jobs by playing favorites. Alex’s favorite thing about you is that you never shy away from that lawyer side of her; from that fundamental need to bicker and drag out conversations for the hell of it. So many people shut her down, look her in the eyes and tell her she’s doing ‘it’ again, and though she’s never been a people pleasure it’s humbling to have someone associate an entire fraction of your personality to only a career, and often she stops short in whatever long winded explanation she was giving.

Alex has the same conviction in her tone when she speaks to you privately as she does in open court. Her passion for life, and liberty, and freedom, and frozen yogurt doesn’t just go away when she has no witness to channel her energy into. You’ve never been as quick to passionate outbursts as her, never felt it necessary to drag out conversations or explanations, it’s a wonder how you even found your way into the law field at all, but Alex was born to walk this path in life. She’s too headstrong and self-righteous to survive in any standard nine to five with a worshiped pecking order.

Even now, at eight o’clock on a May morning that feels more like July with how warm the sun already feels falling through the window, there’s conviction and a spark of impatience in her tone as she tells you to stick with bright colors today. Her own tank top would stick out amongst the colors of New York, but she’d fit in just right with the bouquets of tulips that overcrowded the farmers markets on your way to brunch.

You settle on a yellow t-shirt and denim shorts almost the same style as Alex, although yours lean more feminine as the distressed hemlines around your thighs tickle your skin with every little inch toward the bathroom. Alex continues to talk from the bedroom, watching you waddle around with your shorts unbuttoned because like a still half asleep idiot you’d gotten dressed before you’d peed.

“Donnellys just being… well herself. You know that.” You mused, standing up from the toilet that Alex had the displeasure of cleaning yesterday after work, finally buttoning your shorts the right way. “Hold on!” You warn her, reaching for the handle and wincing at the echoing flush. There was no reason for an apartment so small to have toilets so inconsiderately loud. “Okay, continue.”

“She’s making it seem like I’m completely out of line for not wanting to prosecute a twelve-year-old on felony murder charges. Baby, what were we doing at twelve? Think of all the things that could’ve ruined our lives if some old geezer hadn’t pulled the stick out of their ass before they dealt with us.

“It’s horrifying to know I’m going to be the strict parent.” You muse around your pink toothbrush, entirely bypassing her point of the conversation. Alex was talking to hear herself at this point. You’d already gone over the Elizabeth Donnelly discourse at length over dinner last night. She knows your thoughts and feelings, she’s just looking to distract herself with something while she waits for you to get ready.

“Your Dad was strict, wasn’t he?” Alex hummed, her voice softening. You crane your head to the side, peering out of the door curiously. She’s sprawled out on her back now, her arms spread at her sides like a cross. Your head shakes, a warm laugh bubbling in your chest as you turn back to the mirror.

Your hair is a fairly easy beast to tackle considering you’d slept with it confined to a scrunchie tied bun. With damp hands you smoothed down the flyaways at your scalp, reaching for the fine tooth comb that Alex always puts in her basket on the counter. “Oh yeah. It was basically the Fortress of Solitude all throughout high school.”

“What?” Alex deadpanned, sitting up on the bed until the soles of her sock covered feet were flush with the rug beneath your bed. She padded close, footsteps soft, until she could loop her arms around your waist and watch your reflection as you took the time to sweep cheer red blush across your cheeks tastefully.

Alex had never been good at makeup. If she wore any at all, it was only mascara, and the results were hidden beneath the frames of her glasses more often than not, but the effort was one that you shamelessly romanticized in your head when the going got tough. If you could still hold onto the little things, there was never any fear that you’d drown before you made it out of whatever spat you were having alive and in harmony.

“The Fortress of Solitude. It’s basically Superman’s batcave.” You hum, reaching for your tube of mascara, humming thoughtfully as you unscrew the cap. “Close your eyes.” You command, lawyer voice on. Alex grins at the change in tone, squeezing your hips as you rotate in her grasp until you’re facing her blue eyes.

She complies with your demand, her eyes fluttering closed, a bashful smile on her lips as she feels you lean forward until your breath tickles her chin — even on your tiptoes, not tall enough to be eye-to-eye — and she can feel the wand sweeping across her blonde lashes after you pull her glasses up to her hairline.

She doesn’t open them even after you pull away, knowing that you’re not done with her when she’s being so pliant beneath your working fingertips. Sometimes she puts up a fight, pouts and whines about the eyeshadow you drag across her lids or the gloss you smother her lips in until there’s an unspoken promise of watermelon kisses until sunset. Today she doesn’t, and it’s a feeling sweeter than her Mom’s homemade tea.

It’s not even twenty minutes later that you’re both ready to leave and standing in front of the door, shoes on, laces tied, a ball cap on Alex’s head because sunglasses aren’t even an option. You pull the thick tinted shades on your head down, practically bouncing on your toes when Alex opened the door and guided you out ahead of her.

It was a familiar walk, twenty minutes from midtown where all of your roots were established, but peaceful enough for bustling Manhattan. As predicted, the colors of your outfits blended with the bouquets you passed on your journey, but Alex wasn’t tempted into buying any of them despite the resemblance to your outfit. She was easily swayed, but wilted flowers before noon sounded pathetic even for her standards.

Along the way, a group of girl scouts had handed you a tube of lime green bubbles if you answered their question. Alex had done more than that. She’d pulled you over to the booth, eyes sparkling with enough familiarity to say she’d been a girl scout at least once before, and asked the girls some question about some kind of badge. Their vests were brown, and from what limited information you had, that meant they were about prime elementary school age, and their excitement was so radiantly youthful and genuine as they bounced on their toes excitedly and looked back and their mothers with gleaming smiles. You did answer their question, about global warming, and they did give you a bubble wand even though Alex had laughed and promised it was okay. One girl had teasingly muttered “treat every girl scout like a sister”, and Alex had cracked with a grumble, taking the lime green bubble wand with a smile and telling the girls to stay in the program even when it feels silly.

You’d grilled her for the remaining ten minutes of your walk, wanting to know where that sudden passion had come from because she certainly didn’t express such elation for the seasonal cookies sales that always pulled you in.

“I was in the program up until this one promotion ceremony. My mother had this entire meltdown and I never went back.” Alex scoffs, because sometimes the memory of her mother is too much to handle, and sometimes it’s just a spec of sand on the beach.

“Do you wish you’d stuck with it?” You hummed thoughtfully, unscrewing the tube of bubbles as you wandered down the streets. The stone of the buildings always seemed brighter here, and the vibrant sunbeams only heightened the bright skies above.

“No.” Alex laughed with conviction, dismantling any possibility that you might infer she missed the years she’d lost out on in girl scouts. “I hated girl scouts, but my best friend Penny loved it. Up until middle school when it wasn’t cool to go around holding up three fingers and saying; ‘On my honor I will try: to serve God and my country, to help people at all times, and to live by the Girl Scout Law’.” She snorted, three fingers held up for emphasis on the nerdy nature of the program. She reached out to pop one of the bubbles you blew, an intoxicating grin on her lips.

“What happened to Penny?” You mused, a twinge of amusement in your tone as you gathered Alex had rather strong feelings on this Penny girl you’d never heard of until now. It amazes you how there’s always something else to learn about her.

“Last I heard, she ended up going on an oxy bender and her husband checked her into a facility in San Antonio.” Alex snorted, the irony of girl scout turned wild mess not lost on her. The possibility of what Penny could’ve been saddened her, but she’d lived a good life, Alex had seen people make better out of far worse with every odd imaginable against them. Some people just walked themselves into the trap and that was the full story.

“Maybe Penny could’ve used someone like Elizabeth Donnelly going a little harder on her when it mattered.” You hummed thoughtfully, and Alex grimaced at your ability to bring this all back full circle on her.

“They’re going to convict him.” Her voice wavers, and it’s the first time she’s let herself be outright emotional over this case. It’s the first time your heart clenches in sympathy for her, not for the cities youngest felony offender to date. “I’ll have had a hand in ending a pre-pubescent child’s life. No prom, no license, no down payment on a car that he worked his ass off for. We go after the bad guys. The rapists and the pedophiles and the piano teachers who just can’t help but cop a feel when they think a kids invisible, but we’re talking about a child who has shown remorse from the very second the crime was committed. I just don’t know how Donnelly and the DA don't see the grey area here.”

“They do, Alex.” You sigh softly, closing your bubble wand, passing it off to her to hold and she does so without even registering the change of hand. “Everyone does. The Brooklyn DA’s office has been buzzing with this trial for weeks. Nobody wants to see him be convicted — nobody with a heart, at least — but a woman is dead, she was sick, vulnerable, and raped in her own home. With or without his remorse, with or without his age, that’s the very definition of a heinous crime you’d be burning bridges for a conviction on. I don’t like it. I hate everything about this, but… some things are just out of our control even when we control everything.”

“Can you believe this is what we talk about for fun?” Alex rolls her eyes, and you snort, because for a minute it hadn't just felt like another work conversation to her, but apparently she’d already moved on from the melancholy of her professional life, a spritely smile on her face as she reached for the doors to the cafe and guided you inside.

“Yes. I can actually. You married your job before you married me.” You mocked, slotting your fingers into hers again as you approached the hostess. “Two, please.” You smile kindly, inhaling the scent of powdered sugar as kids and grandparents cut into belgian waffles, some speckled with chocolate chips, others topped with strawberries and syrup.

You knew right then and there that you’d be getting one of those waffles, though you’d opted for only powdered sugar and butter on top. Alex had gotten an eggs benedict and whole grain toast, smearing grape jelly over her melted butter with a satisfied hum before she washed it down with dark roast black coffee that made your nose scrunch. She truly was the typical lawyer, even down to her niche little unconscious quirks.

You hadn’t wanted to head home after you finished up with your breakfast, so you’d taken your bubble wand and Alex’s hand and headed toward Washington Square Park. Sometimes you stumbled onto Olivia out here, wandering around with a single headphone in her ear, the volume quiet, the entire image of a distracted woman a carefully crafted coup. The park was clear of her today, and you figure she’s probably holed up at the station with Stabler, running over any details they can present to Alex that help her individual case.

The duck pond is your favorite spot, and you're thankful to stumble into an older gentleman on his way out, holding onto a soda bottle filled with duck feed. He’d handed it off to Alex with a warm smile, offering no explanation for the gesture, but giving you both something to spend the next hour doing.

You walked two laps around around the pond before the soda bottle was emptied and placed in the recycling bin, before you wandered to the fountain, digging through your purse until you found two coins. Alex insisted you cheers them for good luck before you threw them, linking her arm with hers as you decided to head home and take advantage of the market on your journey back.

As you were exiting the stone arches of the park, a familiar medley struck your ears, and Alex grinned as the ice cream truck came to a screeching halt in front of you, children flocking into a line behind your bodies before you could even step out of the way.

The window opened with an enthusiastic force, and that sealed your fate even if you wouldn’t have objected to ice cream without the subtle prompting by the universe. The Mister Softee truck sang a repetitive song as you wanted for your chocolate vanilla twist cone with chocolate sprinkles and Alex waited for hers with rainbow. The first bite was like heaven as you passed by the Star Wars store, glancing in at the elaborate butterbeer cafe display visible through the window.

“Let me have a bite.” Alex grinned, already inching toward your ice cream with her tongue out. You grinned, nudging it toward her face, watching chocolate sprinkles stick to her upper lip. She hummed regardless, her eyes rolling as she dragged a finger over her top lip before she ducked the sprinkles off of her digit.

“Here.” She holds her come out for you to try, because it’s only fair that you can steal a lick too, but you know better than to trust her blindly when you’ve just betrayed her, so your hand holds onto your wrist as you lean forward to capture rainbow sprinkles on your tongue. “I wasn’t going to get you back.” She laughs, but you don’t believe her, and she doesn’t believe herself either.

“One day this summer, we do have to make it out to the shore.” You hummed thoughtfully, your thoughts circling back to her childhood and your lack of memories made to encapsulate those core features of who she still is today beneath pantsuits and legal jargon. “I’ve gotta see that yellow bikini in real action.”

“We can rent a little place for a week. Take those sick hours we’ve been pushing off.” Alex suggests whimsically, an arm looping around your waist, a warm hand sinking into the back pocket of worn denim. “I can show you how good a shower can feel after all those hours in the sun.” She steps closer, her chest radiating warmth against your back. The red hand flashes at you from across the street, keeping you trapped beneath her tantalizing hypotheticals as she trails her blunt nails beneath the hem of your t-shirt. “How about that?” She asks against the shell of your ear.

To anyone else it looks like she’s simply whispering something silly, her lips curved up into a teasing smile, but goosebumps raise on your skin proving the stark opposite. “Get your hand off of ass, Cabot.” You seethe and Alex bubbles with spritely laughter, squeezing the globe of your ass without care for your dangerous instruction, instead settling to guide you across the street like nothing had transpired when the red hand became a white silhouette.

“We’ll make it happen. It’s been years since we’ve done anything more at Brighton than do Benson’s job for her.”

[aziraphales-library]

hi! first, thanks for your work here!

i’d like to ask for hurt/comfort and emotional hurt/comfort fics. i’ve read many of them and fallen in love with darcylindbergh’s work, specially “this message is a warning about danger (about love)”. so if anything like that comes to mind, I’d love some recommendations! tysm!!!

Hey! We have #hurt/comfort and #emotional hurt/comfort tags, so check those out. These fics are likely on those tags somewhere, but for me they feel emotionally similar to the fic you mention...

You Said Go Slow (I Fall Behind) by BlackUnicorn (G)

Further up, still, half-hidden by the branches of the trees and the leaves of the hedges, stood a cottage. It looked like any other cottage, really, with a thatched roof and a fainted paintjob and a garden out back. However, anyone who took a closer look would agree that this particular cottage was, in fact, quite extraordinary – the roses ranking up the stone arch in the front bloomed more lustrous than any roses ever seen on earth, the car in the driveway was almost antique and yet looked like it had rolled out of the factory no longer than a few weeks ago, the shelves inside held more books than should be physically possible, and the Mona Lisa sketch in the hallway was said to have been signed by dear old Leo himself. And there, in the first-floor bedroom, covered by piles of duvets and blankets, lay the Demon Crowley, alone, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling from behind his sunglasses, waiting for dawn. *** Sometimes healing and moving on is the hardest part.

Papercut by Mirach (T)

When Aziraphale calls Crowley to tell him that he is hurt, the demon rushes to the bookshop to find a perfectly healthy angel - with the exception of a tiny papercut. But Crowley knows - it’s not about the papercut at all. The papercut is just an excuse.

Like a Juke Box Playing the Same Dead Record by raiining (G)

“We’re not friends,” Crowley growls. He hears the angel suck in a breath and thinks, with some mean part of himself, good. “You said that we’re not. You don’t have to do this. I’ll be fine.”

Feathers by lyricwritesprose (T)

Angels don’t lose their feathers. They’re not birds. An angel’s wings are not just wings, they’re a physical manifestation of their nature, and that doesn’t change. Does it? Demons have lost their feathers once. After the Fall, when they were remade for their new role in the universe. But that’s over and done with. Demons can’t Fall again, and they certainly can’t Rise. They can’t even fly. Despite this, Aziraphale and Crowley are losing feathers. Maybe they’re dying. Maybe something altogether more ineffable is going on.

a view to the sea by shoebox_addict (T)

“Have you ever been to Brighton?” “Can’t say that I have." “Lovely place. I was there once in the eighteenth century, back when everyone was taking sea air as a curative. Someone upstairs got the bright idea to dole out some blessings and try to encourage a spiritual awakening. Complete nonsense, didn’t work at all. But it was a lovely weekend.”

Still Waking Up by sleepymccoy (T)

Aziraphale has noticed Crowley's odd behavior. Since the Apocalypse he has spotted Crowley outside the shop, just watching, like a watchdog that watches and doesn't come in and explain himself. This fic follows a roughly two year period after the apocalypse in which Crowley admits to nightmares about the bookshop and Aziraphale burning and struggles to come terms with it and ask for help. Aziraphale grows increasingly lonely and purposeless and some of his damage from Heaven rears up. They slowly navigate supporting each other as best they can. Main points of interest are probs bed sharing, much mutual pining, kissing, and softly handled trauma recovery.

And the one you mentioned...

this message is a warning about danger (about love) by darcylindbergh (E)

He knows Aziraphale wonders about it, sometimes. The snake. Crowley’s always careful with it. He’s always careful to make it seem like it should be impressive, to posture and pose and tease; or else he’s careful to make it seem like a joke, to fill it to the brim with bravado and confidence until it’s practically sour on his own tongue, laughing and showing off. He doesn’t ever say that he’s afraid, afterwards, and there’s not really much else to be said.

- Mod D

[mysunshinetemptress]

Heart Eyes

Leah Williamson x Reader

Warnings: none

You had been dying to meet Leah’s family from the minute she first started talking about them “there is loads of us and when we get together we are just big and loud and the atmosphere is always amazing and I just love spending that time with them.” You loved it anytime she talked about them it’s what you had always wanted yourself coming from a big loud family yourself, but the want of staying just the pair of you in your nice little bubble had stopped you from meeting her family on numerous occasions until today.

You had been watching the Euros since they kicked off in Manchester at the start of the month but now you where finally here about to enter Wembley and hopefully watch your girlfriend lead her country to a victory they so desperately deserved. You had talked every night about how they had played what they could improve on who you where taking to the next match, mostly going with your friends before she asked you one night in Brighton “if we make, no change that when we make it and we get to play the final in Wembley, my entire family is going to be there aunts uncles cousins grandparents Mum,Dad and Jacob.” You nodded along listening to her intently “I want you with them for it not sat separate like you have been, I want you with my family if we win this thing Y/n because one it’s about time you guys met finally bringing my world together and two because I want all the people I love in the one place.” You smiled at the phone letting it slip that she had just hinted at loving you before speaking up “when you win it darling.” Leah nodded smiling like the Cheshire Cat down the phone at you.

That led you to this moment of walking around the food stalls as the back of the seats looking for your stand before feeling your breath catch in your throat at the sight before you, Wembley Stadium was almost full with still an hour before kick off, it was a sight every person who worked in women’s sport would kill to see, it showed that they had made it through the countless hard times of trying to get people to take them seriously to believe they where just as good as the boys and it was Leah who had helped get them there leading England to it’s dream win “teared up the first time I saw it as well.” You turned looking at the captain of the Swiss team “even if it wasn’t for my team this shows that we are a lot closer to what we wanted then we thought no.” You nodded pulling Lia into a hug “I’m so proud of you Wally you where amazing really.” Lia smiled giving you a squeeze “would haven been better if I had you talking numbers in my ear but I get it girlfriends before everyone else.” You laughed pulling away “it’s easier to read when it doesn’t come to you in three different forms to be translated.” You both laughed Lia understanding that her sending you stats to read in Swiss German, Italian and French was not easy to break down however many times you tried for her. “Who are you waiting on.” You shook your head you had introduced all of the Arsenal girls who had attend the matches to all of your friends you had dragged along to watch and couldn’t help watch their reactions with a smile at the introductions “no one I’m eh.” Lia looked at you confused “well then where are you sotting I can’t believe you came by yourself to the final of all matches.” You shook your head laughing “I’m not going to be alone Wally don’t worry I’m meeting Leah’s family.” Lia looked at you shocked before a smile took over “oh my god today of all days she wants you to meet them I swear she doesn’t think sometimes how do you feel about it.” You smiled “nervous but I can’t wait I’ve wanted to meet them since she first told me about them.” You both stoped talking as a voice interrupted “we have wanted to meet you too since the minute she mentioned your name.” You turned taking in the three people in front of you and the gang that stood behind them realising it was in fact Leah’s family. “Oh your just as gorgeous in person.” You couldn’t help but feel your cheeks begin to redden as you looked at Lia who smiled at the family in front of you both “hi.” You held your hand out to shake “it’s lovely to meet you Mrs Williamson.” Leah’s mum shook her head pulling you into a hug “please call me Amanda darling.” You gave her a squeeze before letting her go and nodding before she turned “this is Jacob Leah’s younger brother.” You went to shake his hand before he pulled you into a hug as well “we finally get to meet instead of over the phone.” You laughed letting him go remembering all of the times he annoyed Leah robbing her phone and talking to you for a few minutes before handing it back. “Yeah finally get to meet my favourite Williamson it’s taken to long.” He laughed before stepping to the side as you looked at Leah’s dad “Y/n.” You let out a shaky breath before reaching out to shake his hand “Mr Williamson, it’s really great to meet you.” You looked at Lia nervously as the older man looked at your hand before breaking out into a smile and pulling you into another hug “it’s nice to finally meet you.” You smiled before stepping back and turning back to the family in front “how are you feeling about today.” You nodded “nervous but excited I’m so proud of her.” Amanda shook her head “no not about the match love about meeting the crazy lot behind us.” You smiled at the group behind Jacobs head “no better time like the present.” You smiled as Amanda grabbed your hand leading you over to crowd of people you spent the 20 minutes getting to know.

Leah sighed entering the pitch getting ready to warm up for the most imp match of her international career, looking around in aww she could have sworn her heart stopped as she watched you laugh with her family her mums arms wrapped around you pulling you into her as everyone looked so relaxed. Her smile seemed to widen as she took in her England jersey Williamson plastered on the back you were right where you belong where she wanted you to be most “oh skipper get your heart eyes out of the stands and on to the pitch.” Leah shoved Mary laughing as they ran a few drills her heart happy at what she saw.

Leah’s cousin Jordan had recently had a baby and wanting to experience this family moment altogether brought her daughter clad in an English jersey and shorts with bright pink ear mufflers to block out the noise. Ellie had been quite content sitting beside you on her Mims lap laughing as you talked to her babble nonsense as well as allowing her to play with your ring and bracelets as you talked to the adults around her. What she didn’t like was the noise or how her sleep was being snatched away by the fierce battle happening on the pitch. You had been on your feet screaming with everyone else when Ella had chipped in a gorgeous goal as well as cheering on Jill as she went after a German player for knocking her down. You had taken Ellie into your arms at the the time the penalty was being checked for a potential handball by none other then your girlfriend, Ellie had been trying to grab your attention placing her hands on your cheeks and babbling “hold on darling I’m watching Le I’ll give you all my attention in a second.” Amanda beamed beside you feeling herself get slightly emotional at the way you had fitted in so well with them all and how you spoke so kindly to Ellie. The match had been tied and was plunged into extra time as you hoped they wouldn’t have to do penalties as the anxiety they cause you just from watching on the couch most definitely would crash into you ten fold but you had been sat quietly praying that the girls scored once more to bring it home cursing yourself quietly as you looked down at the sleeping baby in your arms realising you wouldn’t be able to jump up when it happened, Jordan had offered to take her multiple times but the young girl had cried every time she was taken out of your arms. You regretted the decision when Chloe Kelly had put the ball in the back of the net in over time and had taken off down the pitch jersey seining behind her that didn’t matter when you looked down at Ellie and how content she was just lying there asleep. You slowly raised from the seat hugging Amanda’s side as you all slowly realised this could be it England could win euros with only five minutes left on the clock.

You didn’t jump when the final whistle blew you just bowed your head closing your eyes in relief they had done it the lionesses who had been banned from playing football 50 years ago had done what the boys had been trying to do since Bobby Charlton in 66 only they had never been told they weren’t allowed they had brought it home a major trophy with Englands name on it forever immortalised in history. You sniffed trying not to cry but when you turned looking at Amanda, Jacob and David hugging celebrating Leah the way she deserved you couldn’t help it trying to do it quietly as possible to not wake Ellie “oh Y/n they’ve done it.” You nodded resting your head on Amanda’s shoulder as she pulled you into her side “thank you for coming.” You shook your head “I would have missed this for the world but I’m so happy we got to meet today because I couldn’t imagine celebrating her with anyone else.” Jordan squeezed your shoulder grabbing your attention before you turned looking to the pitch to see Leah approaching you shifted Ellie slightly in order to wave at your girlfriend as she turned to look at you blowing a kiss before you noticed her eyes softening. “I’m going to marry her.” Georgia turned looking at Leah smiling immediately “yeah Le your heart eyes sort of give that away.” Leah shook her head ignoring Georgia “I told her I loved her by mistake I wanted to do it romantically but it sort of just spilled out when we where talking about stats on the phone the other night.” Georgia looked at Leah surprised “but now ready i mean look at her G.” Georgia smiled looking at you before waving beaming happily when you waved back “can I officiate the wedding.” Leah laughed nodding her head before blowing one last kiss to you and walking off to collect her medal.

You had all waited patiently in one of the boxes with the rest of the lionesses families for the girls to come in before you would all head off to celebrate. Jordan had taken Ellie back who was still napping quietly. You had mingled with Leah’s family before spotting Viv and going over and chatting about the season ahead and the short holidays planned before getting back to training. Standing with your back to the door you explained your job and ultimately how you and Leah met to her family “I’m a Statistics analyst for Arsenal.” They all looked at you so confused with what maths had to do with a sport like football “anyone know the movie moneyball.” David piped up clapping his hands together “yeah the one with Brad pit and Chris Pratt.” You nodded your head “basically that movie is a true story on how the Athletics created a baseball team using statistics so they looked at statistics like how fast they through the ball how hard they hit it to see who they wanted to sign from current teams as well as future prospects, my role is kind of the same I look at our current players our academy players and players who are benched that can do more for our team then they are doing sitting on a bench for 90 mins.” They all smiled impressed in your role “so how did that lead to you meeting Leah.” You smiled at the memory “she went wandering around London colony one of the days with Lia Walti who’s stats I was reviewing and discussing with her after her injury they ended up outside my office. Every morning after that she was stood outside every morning with a hot chocolate and that slowly changed to her waiting for me after training and then on the last day of Summer break last season she finally asked me out.” You jumped before relaxing feeling arms wrapping around your waist “and the rest is history darling.” You smiled at her nodding her head before moving forward as you knew her family would want to congratulate her on such a win.

Leah had been making her way around her family talking mostly about the win or you before she stopped watching you sat with her Nan playing with Ellie “oh Le.” Leah turned looking at her mum “hmm.” “She’s absolutely perfect in every way she adores you.” Leah smiled “not as much as I do her.” Amanda smiled squeezing Leah’s shoulder “I think you might have to fight her on being Ellie’s favourite.” Leah laughed “as long as it’s not the other way round and I have to fight Ellie.” Leah turned to her mum gully now “it’s her.” Amanda looked at her eyes softening “I’m going to marry her.” Amanda nodded “I know Bubba.” Leah looked at her mum confused “how.” Amanda laughed turning to look at you interact with the family “your heart eyes love.”

[i-am-countess-olivia]

James Fitzjames' Brighton home

It’s a mild winter day here in Brighton, I grabbed a city bike and pedalled like the wind into deepest Kemptown to see the house where James Fitzjames lived with his beloved brother William shortly before setting out for the final time.

Mathematical tile covers the handsome house, black glazed and even now, two centuries later, beautifully catching the light. From its windows, past the small crescent gardens, James and William's family had a wide view of the sea. Today, someone put a small orange tree in the front bay.

In February 1845, a letter to Barrow Jr from this very place in Brighton:

“In case it should turn out after all that Crozier does not go - I hope no one else will step in between me and the command of the second ship.”

…And then he goes on to fret he might have sounded ungrateful for not being given Terror in the first place. You got your own ship in the end, didn’t you James…