#see this is why no one else will ever be arthur

[nextstopparis]

just remembered arthur’s sword wrist roll thing. guys he was so bisexual im distraught

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Leonardo: Now, the recipe calls for 2 shots of vodka.

Dazai: *upends the bottle*

[pucksandpower]

Used to be Mine

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Arthur Leclerc x ex!Reader

Summary: Oscar stole everything from Arthur … his hopes, his dreams, his family name, and you

Arthur slumps in the hard chair across from Jock Clear’s desk, the Ferrari Driver Academy director’s words echoing in his mind. “I’m very sorry Arthur, but we’ve decided not to renew your contract for next season. You’ll be released from the program at the end of this year.”

Arthur feels like he’s been punched in the gut. This can’t be happening. He’s poured his heart and soul into racing for Ferrari’s junior program for years. His dream has always been to follow in his older brother Charles’ footsteps and race for the Scuderia in Formula 1.

“But … why?” Arthur manages to choke out. “I know my results this season haven’t been that great but fifteenth in the F2 standings-”

Clear shakes his head solemnly. “Your pace and racecraft simply haven’t developed at the rate we need to see to justify keeping you in the program, Arthur. I know how hard you’ve worked, but there are other young talents coming up behind you showing greater potential.”

The word “potential” hits Arthur like a dagger. Ever since he was a kid, that’s what he’s heard over and over — unfavorable comparisons to Charles’ unlimited potential. He always knew his big brother was special behind the wheel, but he’d clung to the hope that he could make it to F1 through sheer hard work and determination if not raw talent.

Clearly that hope was misguided. Arthur feels the sting of failure wash over him.

“I … I understand,” he forces out, struggling not to break down in tears right there. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

He stands up shakily, the room spinning. He needs to get out of here.

The drive back to his family’s home in Monaco is a blur. Arthur’s mind races, years of sacrifice and struggle swirling in his head. Endless days and nights on the simulator. Grueling hours in the gym, pushing his body to its limits. Tormenting himself over endless data traces, looking for even a tenth of a second to gain an edge.

All for nothing. The harsh truth is he’ll never be good enough. No matter how hard he tries, the Leclerc name will always belong to Charles. Arthur will be forever known as his little brother, the one who couldn’t quite cut it.

He slams his fist against the steering wheel, angry tears now streaming down his face. Why did he ever think he could do this? Why didn’t he just pursue something, anything else with his life? He’s wasted years chasing an impossible dream, and now he has nothing to show for it.

His phone rings, almost slipping out of his trembling hands before he can answer. It’s you.

“Y/N ...” Arthur chokes out, trying and failing to hold back his sobs.

“Arthur? Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You ask, panic in your voice even through the tinny speaker. Of course you can sense something is desperately wrong. You’ve always been there for him, the one person who truly understands what he’s been going through.

Arthur can barely get the words out between ragged breaths. “The … the FDA ... they’re releasing me ... it’s over ...”

There’s stunned silence on the other end of the line.

“Arthur, I ...” You trail off, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. You know how much this has meant to him. How much of himself he’s given to this endeavor. “I’m coming over right now, okay? Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

You hang up before Arthur can respond. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Part of him wants to wallow in despair alone. But mostly he’s grateful you’re coming. He’s not sure he can handle this by himself right now.

Sure enough, you burst through the front door only a few minutes later. Arthur has collapsed on the couch, head in his hands as the tears continue to flow.

“Oh Arthur ...” You sit down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into an embrace. He turns and buries his face in your shoulder, no longer trying to hold anything back as ragged sobs wrack his body.

You just hold him, making soft hushing sounds and stroking his hair. You’ve seen him distraught before — after tough losses or crashes. But never quite like this. This is the cry of someone whose dreams have been shattered.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Arthur’s sobs begin to subside into hitching breaths. You grab a tissue box from the end table and hand it to him.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, blowing his nose loudly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just … I don’t know what to do. What am I going to do now?”

You take his hand and give it a squeeze. “First, you’re going to breathe. This isn’t the end of the world, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

Arthur lets out a shaky exhale, trying to calm himself. You always have been the level-headed one. He leans back against the couch cushions, keeping your hand grasped tightly in his.

“I really thought I could make it, you know?” He says quietly. “I’ve given everything to this stupid dream ever since I was a kid. But I’ll never be good enough, will I? Not like Charles.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Arthur barrels on, unable to contain years of self-doubt and insecurity any longer.

“Don’t try to argue. We both know it’s true. Charles was always the special one. The one with the generational talent. I was just … there. Doing my best to keep up, but always a step behind no matter how hard I worked.”

You shake your head vehemently. “Arthur, that’s not true at all. You’re an incredible driver. Your work ethic and determination are-”

“Meaningless without the talent,” Arthur interrupts bitterly. “That’s all that matters in the end. And I don’t have it, not like Charles does. I’m just … normal. Ordinary. That’s why Ferrari has moved on.”

You move closer, taking Arthur’s face in your hands so he has to look you in the eye. “You listen to me, Arthur Leclerc. You are anything but ordinary, understand? You’ve accomplished more by the age of 23 than most people could dream of in their entire lives. Making it all the way to F2 and the Ferrari Driver Academy is incredible, no matter what happens next.”

Arthur tries to turn away, but you keep his gaze locked, your voice rising in intensity. “If you were ordinary, you wouldn’t have been able to push yourself so hard for so long. Ordinary people would have given up a long time ago. It’s your extraordinary drive and passion that have taken you this far.”

Tears are welling up in your eyes now. You can’t stand to see him diminishing himself like this.

“Besides,” you add, managing a small smile. “I may be biased, but I’ve always thought you were the most extraordinarily kind, caring, and hilarious person I know. That’s a kind of specialness in itself, you know.”

Arthur lets out a choked laugh, wiping at his eyes again. Leave it to you to know just what to say to raise his spirits, even a little. “You always have been weirdly good at these pep talks.”

“Well, someone has to keep your head from getting too big,” you quip back with a grin.

Arthur mock-gasps in feigned offense. “Why, you little ...”

He lunges at you, starting to mercilessly tickle your sides. You squeal with laughter, trying in vain to fight back as you quickly devolve into a giggling, flailing mess of limbs.

You’ve been reduced to teary hiccups when Arthur finally relents, allowing you both to catch your breath. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“You’re the best,” he murmurs softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You rest your head against his shoulder contentedly. “Let’s just take things one day at a time for now, okay? We’ll figure out what’s next together, like we always have.”

Arthur nods, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and love for his girlfriend. No matter what curveballs life has thrown your way, you’ve always supported and uplifted each other. He knows that won’t change, even if his racing dreams don’t pan out.

“Together,” he echoes, giving your hand one more tight squeeze. Whatever the future holds, he can get through it with you by his side.

Maybe his path won’t lead to Formula 1 after all. Arthur feels a pang of sadness and disappointment at that realization. But as long as he has his family — has you — to lean on, he knows he’ll be okay. That love and support is what has always truly mattered most, not chasing some impossible dream.

“You know, we should see if Charles wants to come over later,” Arthur says, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I haven’t roasted his abysmal fashion sense in way too long.”

You burst out laughing at that. Only Arthur could find his way back to laughing and joking so soon after having his world turned upside down. It’s just one of the many things you admire about him.

“Oh my god, yes please,” you reply once you’ve caught your breath. “His outfit at the last race was literally a crime against humanity. Someone needs to intervene before he traumatizes us all again.”

The two of you spend the next little while cheerfully trading escalating insults about his big brother’s admittedly questionable clothing choices. The mood has lightened considerably, at least for now.

Arthur knows the sting of his failure will return, the questions about what he should do next weighing heavily. But you’ll be there for those hard moments too, just like always. As long as he has you — his best friend, his other half — he can face any challenge life throws his way.

The uncertain road ahead is daunting. But Arthur meets it with determination burning in his eyes. If he couldn’t make it as a Formula 1 driver, he’ll simply have to find a new dream to chase. A new mountain to climb. Whatever it is, he knows you’ll be alongside him every step of the way.

***

Six Months Later

The roar of the engines fades as the cars return to the pits after qualifying. Arthur can’t tear his eyes away from the timing screens:

1. C. LECLERC

2. O. PIASTRI

A Leclerc front row lockout at their home race. Except one of them isn’t really a Leclerc at all.

“Nice one, Piastri-Leclerc!” One of the McLaren mechanics calls out as Oscar climbs from his car.

Arthur’s gut twists.

Oscar just grins and plays along. “Thanks, it’s all in the family name!”

A few of the Ferrari mechanics chuckle at that as Charles emerges from his own car, beaming. He pulls Oscar into a hug. “A Leclerc one-two in Monaco, who would have thought?”

“There’s just something about being a local,” Oscar laughs. “Thank you for giving me yet another home race.”

You appear then, throwing your arms around Oscar with a squeal. “My two favorite Leclercssss!”

Arthur has to look away, his face burning. He knows he has no right to be jealous. Oscar is one of his best friends. And you … you made your choice a long time ago.

“Arthur?” Fred Vasseur appears at his side. “You okay?”

Arthur forces a smile. “Yeah, all good. Just … focused.”

“No need to be so tense,” Fred squeezes his shoulder. “You did a great job in the sim this week. That data helped Charles and Carlos a ton.”

“Glad I could help,” Arthur says automatically.

But his gaze is drawn back to where you’re still hugging Oscar tightly. You look so happy, so carefree. It wasn’t that long ago that your smiles were for him.

“You know,” Fred says conversationally. “I’m getting a lot of questions about what you’ll decide to do next. Every time you’re in that sim or out on track-”

“I’m fine being test driver,” Arthur interrupts, maybe a little too brusque. “Really, I am.”

Fred studies him for a beat. “If you’re sure. Just saying, the doors are opening ...”

The team principal moves off then, leaving Arthur alone with his swirling emotions. He can’t get swept up in maybes about his future. Not when his past is standing right there, laughing at some joke Oscar made.

You’d think after all this time, the sight of you wouldn’t affect him so much. You broke his heart so thoroughly when you ended things, he didn’t think there were any pieces left to shatter. But here he is, a mess of jealousy and longing, just because you gave Oscar a hug.

“Arthur! There you are!”

He turns at the sound of your voice. You’re hurrying towards him, Oscar and Charles trailing behind with indulgent smiles.

“We’re going to get some dinner if you want to join?” You ask brightly.

He has to swallow hard before he can speak past the lump in his throat. “I … don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Of course it is!” You grab his arm, utterly oblivious to his discomfort. “We’re all friends here, right?”

“Some of you were a bit more than friends once upon a time,” Charles points out with a wicked grin.

You shove him playfully. “Oh shut up!”

Arthur feels like he’s being stabbed in the heart. Your break up turned his life upside down. Hearing you joke about it so casually now is excruciating.

“Seriously, Arthur,” Oscar cuts in. “Come celebrate with us. We promise not to get too crazy.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Arthur tries again, harsher this time.

You frown, tilting your head in confusion. “Why not? I thought we were all past the whole ex thing?”

“I am,” he lies through gritted teeth. “I just … have some stuff to work on for the race tomorrow.”

“Oh come on,” you wheedle, giving him that smile that used to make him melt. “Take a break! Live a little!”

Arthur can’t take much more of this. He needs to get out of here before he says something he’ll regret. Or worse, does something stupid like pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless.

“Seriously you guys, I’ve got work,” he says, forcing himself to take a step back from you. “I’ll … catch up with you later, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just turns on his heel and stalks away. He can’t bear to see the hurt, confused look on your face.

Why did he think this would be okay? That he could spend day after day around you and it wouldn’t still hurt? Every smile, every laugh, every touch you bestow on Charles and Oscar is like a white hot poker in his chest.

He thought he was over you. He really did. It’s been months since you ended things, months since you shattered what was left of his heart into a million pieces.

He’d been so shocked, so heartbroken, that all he could do was sit there numbly as you walked out of his apartment. When he finally found his voice, hours had passed, and you were long gone.

“But I love you,” he’d whispered into the empty room.

He’d been so sure you felt the same. That what you had was forever. But you made your choice, as simple as that. Arthur never came first.

And now, half a year later, here he is. Living out some twisted version of his dream … but only just. A test driver for Ferrari instead of a race driver like he always imagined. Like Charles, who had achieved everything they both wanted.

Arthur leans back against the wall of the cool, dark room he’s found himself in. It feels like the pain of your rejection is never going to stop haunting him. Like no matter how much time passes, it will never be enough to make up for losing you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the memory of your face, your smile, your laugh. All the moments of pure joy you two had shared. The dreams you’d whispered to each other late at night, tangled in the sheets.

Is this his lot in life from now on? To watch you move on, all smiles and teasing jokes with Oscar and Charles? To see everyone welcoming Oscar into the family while Arthur is shut out in the cold?

He’s startled from his spiraling thoughts by a knock at the door. “Arthur? You in there?”

It’s Charles. Arthur flinches, swiping a hand over his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he calls back, grateful that his voice doesn’t shake.

There’s a pause. “Can I come in?”

Arthur considers sending his brother away. He’s in no state for a heart-to-heart right now.

But he can’t bring himself to refuse Charles. Not when they’ve been through so much together, from the karting tracks of their childhood to the highest levels of motorsport.

“Yeah, okay.”

The door opens and Charles slips inside. He stops short when he sees Arthur, brow furrowing in concern.

“Hey … you okay?”

Arthur can’t even find it in himself to fake it. He just shakes his head mutely.

“Is this about Y/N?” Charles asks gently.

And just like that, the dam breaks. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut again, but he can’t stop the tears from spilling over.

“I thought I was over her. I really did,” he chokes out. “But seeing her with Oscar … celebrating like that ...”

Strong arms wrap around him then, pulling him into a hug. Arthur goes boneless, sagging against his older brother as the sobs take over.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Charles murmurs. “Let it out.”

Arthur does. He cries and cries, shoulders shaking, as months of pent-up heartache pour out of him. Charles just holds him through it, rubbing soothing circles across his back.

“I’m s-sorry,” Arthur finally gasps out. “I’m being so stupid ...”

“You’re not stupid,” Charles says firmly. “Love isn’t stupid, Arthur. Especially your first real heartbreak. That shit hurts like hell.”

Arthur lets out a watery chuckle, finally pulling back and swiping at his eyes. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

“Well, I am the wise older brother,” Charles grins. Then he sobers, studying Arthur carefully. “Seriously though … you know Y/N loved you, right? What you two had was real.”

“I know.” Arthur shakes his head. “Doesn’t make it any easier seeing her move on so quickly.”

“She’s not over you either,” Charles says gently. “That’s why she keeps trying so hard to act like everything is normal between you two.”

Arthur scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me with all the cuddling up to Oscar out there.”

“Oh come on, you know that’s just a joke,” Charles says with a roll of his eyes. “Oscar is like family to us, same as you. That’s all it is.”

“Yeah? Well it didn’t look that way to me.”

“Arthur ...” Charles puts a hand on his shoulder. “I think you need to have an actual conversation with Y/N. Clear the air once and for all. This lingering stuff is only going to keep eating you up inside.”

“What if she really has moved on?” The thought is like a vise around Arthur’s heart. “What if she tells me she’s dating Oscar for real or something?”

“Then at least you’ll know,” Charles says simply. “It will hurt, yeah. But not knowing, constantly wondering … that’s so much worse. Trust me.”

Arthur is quiet for a long moment, turning Charles’ words over in his mind. Maybe his brother is right. Maybe it’s time to rip off the bandaid once and for all.

He nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll ... I’ll talk to her.”

“Good.” Charles pulls him in for another hug. “No matter what happens, you’ve got me, okay? We Leclercs need to stick together.”

Arthur manages a small smile at that, feeling just a bit lighter. “Yeah. We do.”

As he follows Charles out of the room, he catches sight of you across the paddock, laughing at something Oscar said. A familiar ache blooms in his chest.

But this time, he doesn’t run from it. This time, he’s going to face it head on. His heart may end up in even more pieces … or maybe, just maybe, it will finally start to mend.

Either way, at least he’ll know. No more lingering what ifs. Just the truth, whatever it may be.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, then starts making his way towards you.

***

Arthur’s steps falter as he rounds the corner of the McLaren garage. There you are with Oscar, bodies intertwined, lips locked in a heated kiss.

It feels like all the air has been sucked from Arthur’s lungs. He can’t breathe, can’t think. He just … freezes, rooted to the spot, watching in numb horror as the two of you make out shamelessly right there in the open.

This can’t be happening. It has to be some kind of twisted nightmare. But no matter how hard he blinks, the scene before him doesn’t change.

You and Oscar are really kissing. Properly sucking face like loved-up teenagers, hands roaming over each other greedily. Oscar has you backed up against the garage wall, bodies pressed flush together from chest to thigh.

Arthur feels like he’s going to be sick.

Finally, mercifully, you two break apart, foreheads pressed together as you both gasp for air. Arthur should look away, he knows he should, but he can’t seem to make himself move.

“So much for keeping it professional in the paddock, huh?” You murmur, voice husky.

Oscar lets out a breathless chuckle. “Who cares about professional? Not when I’ve got you all to myself for once.”

He leans in to kiss you again, but you put a hand on his chest, stopping him. “We should find somewhere more private if we’re gonna keep this up.”

“My driver’s room?” Oscar suggests, already palming at the small of your back.

You shiver, pushing up onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw. “Lead the way, Piastri-Leclerc.”

And just like that, you’re gone, disappearing into the depths of the McLaren garage, hands roaming and giggling like lovesick fools. Arthur watches until the door swings shut behind you, cutting off that haunting sound of your laughter.

Then he’s moving without conscious thought, staggering back around the corner and out of sight. His back hits the cool concrete wall with a thud, but he barely notices. Barely notices anything except the ragged, gasping breaths being torn from his lungs.

He doubles over, hands braced on his knees as he struggles not to vomit right there in the paddock. It feels like someone has driven a white hot poker straight through his chest. Like his heart is being crushed into a million pieces all over again.

Oscar and you … together? Actually dating? How … how could you do this to him? To yourself? Everything you two had built together, every future dream you had shared … tossed aside so easily?

Tears burn at the corners of Arthur’s eyes. He wants to scream, to punch a wall, to unleash the searing agony and fury ripping through him. But he can’t make a sound, throat locked up tight with unshed emotion.

He should have known, really. Should have seen this coming. It’s not like you and Oscar were hiding your connection. The loving looks, the inside jokes, that easy intimacy and affection … Arthur had just been too blinded by jealousy and heartbreak to see it.

But to find out like this? To literally walk in on you two wrapped around each other? It’s a whole new level of pain, lancing through him over and over. He’s always imagined that you would have the decency to at least tell him first if you moved on with someone new.

Unless this has been going on for a while already, hidden from him in plain sight. Every laugh, every hug, every teasing comment … was that all a lie to cover up your dirty secret with Oscar?

Arthur’s stomach churns violently again at the thought. He swallows hard, fighting back the nausea. He can’t lose it here, can’t draw any attention to himself. He needs to get it together, block out the image of you and Oscar swapping spit.

Easier said than done when his brain keeps unhelpfully replaying the way Oscar’s hands were roaming over you, groping at you like you belonged to him. And that laugh … god, that beautiful, carefree laughter that Arthur would know anywhere. A sound that used to make his heart soar whenever it was aimed at him.

Now it’s like a knife in his gut to hear you giggling that way with Oscar, no doubt blissed out after a hot and heavy make out session. Arthur’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking furiously. He would give anything not to have walked in on that, not to have that sound burnt into his brain forever.

At least now he knows the truth. The humiliating, gut-wrenching truth that you’ve well and truly moved on from him. And with Oscar of all people, like the ultimate slap in the face.

What kind of cruel joke is this? Arthur wonders, still fighting to steady his ragged breaths. He loses the girl he wanted to spend forever with … only to have one of his mates swoop in and take her from him?

It’s not just you that Oscar has stolen either, Arthur realizes with a sickening jolt. It’s everything. With you on his arm, Oscar is welcomed into the family, called a Leclerc at their home race. Arthur’s own last name, treated like some kind of lighthearted joke while the real thing is ripped away from him.

Oscar even gets Monaco as a home race, just like the actual Leclercs who grew up here. All because of some dumb joke about Charles adopting him. Arthur had laughed along with it at the time, never imagining the underhanded truth.

Oscar Piastri has wormed his way into having everything Arthur wanted more than anything. The career, the family, the girl … all of it, just handed to him on a silver platter.

White hot fury flares in Arthur’s chest, momentarily burning through the heartbreak. How dare Oscar do this to him? How dare he make a mockery out of Arthur’s dreams, out of everything the name Leclerc stands for?

Arthur barely registers that he’s moving until his fist connects with the concrete wall with a sickening crunch. He lashes out again and again, pummeling the unforgiving surface over and over until-

“Arthur! Hey, whoa!”

Suddenly there are hands on him, strong and insistent. Arthur starts, accidentally slamming his abused knuckles into a firm chest as Charles appears, grabbing hold of his shoulders.

“Easy, easy! What the hell are you doing?” Charles meets his gaze, eyes wide with concern.

Arthur blinks dazedly, pain finally registering from his torn up, bleeding knuckles. “I … I didn’t ...”

“What happened?” Charles presses, lowering his voice when Arthur winces. “Did you get into it with someone? Talk to me, please.”

Arthur opens his mouth, fully intending to tell Charles everything. About walking in on your incriminating embrace with Oscar. About the way it felt like his entire world shattered all over again. How Oscar has stolen every single thing that should have been Arthur’s by birthright.

But when he tries to vocalize the words, to unleash the storm of emotions battering him from the inside out … nothing comes out. His throat remains locked up tight, breath wheezing harshly.

Charles is watching him, eyebrows knitted with worry. “You’re really freaking me out here. What’s going on?”

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head helplessly. He feels like he’s drowning, lost in a whirlpool of jealousy and despair that’s slowly suffocating him.

When he opens his eyes again, Charles is still waiting, patient and steady as always. Something in his brother’s calm, anchoring presence helps Arthur regain just a little bit of control. Enough to grit out a few words.

“Oscar. And Y/N.”

That’s all he can manage. But judging by the dawning comprehension on Charles’ face, it’s enough. The older Leclerc lets out a slow breath, gaze turning sympathetic.

“You saw them together,” he says, not a question.

Arthur nods jerkily, jaw locked.

For a long moment, Charles is silent. Taking it all in, no doubt. Then … “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur’s breath hitches harshly before he can stop it.

“Hey, hey.” Charles pulls him into a tight hug, tucking Arthur’s head under his chin. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you, little brother.”

Arthur stiffens for just a second before melting into the embrace, squeezing his eyes shut once more. He takes a shuddery breath against Charles’ shirt, then another, just trying to hold himself together.

“I’m here,” Charles murmurs, rubbing his back soothingly. “We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

Arthur doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods against Charles’ shoulder. He clings to his brother like a lifeline, grateful beyond words that Charles is here to anchor him when it feels like his world is crumbling all over again.

He has no idea how long they stay like that, locked in that tight embrace. Long enough for the sharp edges of Arthur’s anguish to dull, at least a little. Long enough for his ragged breaths to even out into something closer to normal.

Finally, Charles gives him one last squeeze before gently pulling back, keeping a firm grip on Arthur’s shoulders.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, eyeing Arthur’s bloodied knuckles with a wince.

Arthur follows his gaze, grimacing at the sight. “Shit, I ...”

“It’s okay,” Charles says quickly, sliding an arm around Arthur’s back. “I’ve got you.”

He guides Arthur through the paddock, shielding him from view with his body. Arthur is grateful for the discretion — the last thing he needs right now is prying eyes and questions about his meltdown.

They make it back to the cool shadows of the Ferrari motorhome without incident. Charles sweeps them into one of the private rooms, locking the door securely behind them.

“There, just us,” he says, squeezing Arthur’s arm reassuringly. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened?”

Arthur sinks down onto the worn sofa, feeling numb and drained. He stares at his mangled hands as Charles darts away, returning a moment later with a first aid kit and a damp cloth.

“This might sting,” Charles warns, taking Arthur’s hands with surprising gentleness.

Arthur barely flinches as his brother starts cleaning away the blood and grit from his torn skin. He’s retreated deep inside his own head, memories from that hellish scene on an endless loop.

You and Oscar, tangled together so intimately. The way you looked at each other, breathless with desire. The easy intimacy and obvious hunger in every heated caress.

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, but it does nothing to block it out. He’s never going to be able to unsee that, he realizes with a sick lurch. It’s seared into his brain forever, a brand new source of unrelenting torment.

“Arthur?” Charles’ soft voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. “What happened? Talk to me.”

Arthur blows out a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet his brother’s concerned gaze.

“I went to find Y/N,” he starts in a dull rasp. “To … to get some closure, I guess. Finally rip off the bandaid like you said.”

Charles nods in understanding, staying quiet to let Arthur continue at his own pace.

“But when I turned the corner of the McLaren garage ...” Arthur’s throat works convulsively, the memory surging back in vivid technicolor. “They were there. Making out like a couple of horny teenagers.”

He falls silent again, the words cutting off as a wave of fresh agony washes over him. God, the visual is never going to stop haunting him, is it?

“Oh, Arthur ...” Charles murmurs, squeezing his hands gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur lets out a bitter huff. “Sorry? Don’t be sorry for me, Charles. Be sorry for yourself.”

Charles frowns in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Oscar,” Arthur grits out, white-hot anger flaring once more. “He stole her from me, sure. But he also stole our name. He gets to be a Leclerc now, a mockery of our home streets. Just because you stupidly joked about adopting him.”

He surges to his feet, unable to stay still with all this wrath and hurt burning through him.

“Everything that was supposed to be mine, Charles!” He shouts, prowling the room like a caged animal. “The career, the family, the girl … Oscar has taken it all! With a few laughs and some dumb jokes!”

“Arthur, that’s not fair ...” Charles tries, but Arthur barrels right over him.

“No? Well how about this — let’s see how funny those jokes are when Oscar decides he actually wants to be Charles Leclerc!” Arthur snarls. “He’ll take your career next, you watch! Take away everything that makes you special, everything that’s yours by right!”

“Arthur.” Charles is on his feet now, reaching out to grip Arthur’s shoulders firmly. “Listen to me. You need to calm down, okay? Oscar isn’t trying to take anything from us. He’s our friend!”

“How can you say that?” Arthur demands, anguish cracking through the rage. “Don’t you see what he’s done? What he’s taking from me?”

He’s breathing hard now, vision swimming as tears of mingled fury and heartbreak prick at his eyes.

“That was supposed to be my future, Charles,” he rasps. “Y/N and I … we had plans. Dreams of a life together.”

Arthur swipes angrily at the tear that escapes, blurring his vision. “Oscar doesn’t get to take that from me. He doesn’t get to make it all a mocking joke.”

“Arthur ...” Charles looks stricken now, shaking his head slowly. He pulls Arthur into another fierce hug, tucking the younger man’s head under his chin.

“I’m so sorry,” Charles murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry he hurt you like this. You don’t deserve that … any of it.”

Arthur lets out a choked sob against his brother’s shirt, all of the fight abruptly draining from him. He’s just … tired. Wrung out and hollow, aching down to his very core.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Charles,” he whispers brokenly. “Oscar was my friend … how could he do this to me?”

Charles doesn’t seem to have any answers. He just holds Arthur tighter, rocking them gently from side to side as Arthur finally gives in to his emotions. He buries his face in Charles’ shoulder and weeps — for his shattered dreams, his shredded heart, and a future that now feels impossibly out of reach.

As the sobs gradually subside, a final bitter thought takes root in Arthur’s mind. If Oscar is going to steal away the girl Arthur loves, the family he was born into, and the future he had mapped out for himself ... then Arthur hopes to god the Monaco curse falls on Oscar just as harshly as it ever has for a Leclerc.

Maybe then Oscar will finally understand just how much he’s taken from Arthur. How many dreams and pieces of Arthur's very identity he’s carelessly crushed in his quest to make himself a Leclerc on everything but paper.

Arthur’s tears have dried, leaving his cheeks chafed and eyes swollen. But the hollow ache in his chest remains, throbbing in time with his ragged breaths. He stays huddled against Charles, taking what little solace he can from his brother’s presence.

It’s all he has left now. Oscar has snatched away everything else that ever mattered to Arthur. His future, his past, his home ... all of it, gone in a spiral of heated kisses and breathless laughter.

If the cost of having it all is the Monaco curse bearing down on him, then so be it. Arthur finds himself almost hoping Oscar gets everything he so greedily took, the consequences be damned. Maybe then, just maybe, he’ll finally understand an ounce of the anguish and heartbreak he’s inflicted on Arthur.

It’s a dark, vindictive thought, one that makes Arthur's gut twist with shame. But he’d too drained, too devastated to truly care. He just presses closer to Charles, craving the simple comfort of family as reality crushes him from all sides.

His dreams, his heart, his identity ... all stolen by a former friend turned ultimate betrayer. If the Monaco curse is all Arthur has left to cling to, then so be it.

[tempting-andromeda]

More nsfw headcanons because I can

Warning: NSFW, choking?, bondage, pinning, power play, crying, marks?, knife play, temperature play, drunk sex, humiliation, hair pulling, idk what else

Characters

Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Charles Smith, Javier Escuella, Sean MacGuire, Lenny Summers, Kieran Duffy, Micah Bell, Eagle flies

Send in requests if you want to see specific characters or if you want me to add characters to the list !

Arthur Morgan

He has a thing for shoving his fingers on your mouth. It’s like a good way to rile him up. If you kiss his fingers and slowly put one in your mouth he watches you in awe.

Insists he doesn’t want you to go down on him but when you do he lets out the most animalistic moans and says the dirtiest shit ever

Whenever you moan sometimes he’ll respond with “yeah?” In the most seductive voice

He likes when you wear his clothing while you ride. Like wearing his signature blue shirt or his cowboy hat??? Drives him absolutely wild

Sometimes he tries to humor you by being submissive but after a while he takes control and uses your own words against you. He’s a huge tease about it

John Marston

Cannot stay still for the life of him. If you tie his hands down he’s using his hips. He refuses to stay still and it becomes a yoi problem once he’s free

He grabs everything. Thighs, ass, chest, sheets. He always has a handful of something whenever y’all are fucking.

Whenever he’s in control he likes to copy your moans and cries. He’ll be like “yeah? Yeah? What ya screaming my name for?” While he pounds into you

He’s the worst at serious sex. He always says something weird or awkward during it like “you want the marston special?” And if you bring it up he’ll be so bratty about it

Likes to pin you down. Even if he’s not being rough. He’ll hold your hips down or hands down while he kisses your neck.

Dutch Van Der Linde

He draws out everything. Like he’ll sit between your legs running a finger up and down your thighs while you beg and he’ll just whisper dirty things in your ear

kinda likes when you disobey him and he gets to spank you to make you “good” it riles him up so much

Sometimes he doesn’t do any work and he’ll just make you sit on his lap and ride him. Like he touches you but he won’t move his hips because he likes how desperate you get for him to take over.

Eye contact is a must. He’ll place soft bites on your wrist and ankles while making eye contact the whole time.

He likes to make you cry. Not the type of crying from when he’s mean but he likes when you get so overstimulated you cry.

Charles Smith

Loves to be the one to undress you. If you’re taking of your shirt he’s hands are quick to replace it and he insist he does it instead.

He cannot do quickies. He has to have you for over an hour and he makes sure it’s worth it.

Absolutely worships you. He can spend an hour just kissing you. It’s the worst and the best at the same time.

He likes when you leave marks on him. Like scratch marks, indents from your nails, bite marks, hickeys. It makes him feel so proud and he can’t take his mind off you when he sees them.

Likes to indulge in your kinks. he’s probably not the kinkiest but if you ask him to try out something he’s willing to and he usually does his best.

Javier Escuella

He likes to tell you what to do. He’ll tell you to flip over or to spread your legs and every time you obey him he gets even more turned on.

Loves to tease. He’ll tease you for hours, gently rubbing your thighs while you sit by the campfire, letting you sit in his lap while he lets you feel him harden under you, roughly grabs your hips while he slides behind you

Even though he likes to tell you what to do he loves when you tell him where to cum. He gets so eager.

He loves to stay in you after he finishes. Even if you asked him to finish somewhere else he’ll push himself back into you just to feel you.

Idk why I feel like he’s into temperature play. Like letting his knife get warm over a candle and then dragging the flat side over your skin.

Sean MacGuire

If you initiate intimacy he’s crumbling. He has the most active sex drive ever. Seeing you exist is a turn on for him so if you initiate it hes drooling over you.

Once he spilt his drink on you while y’all snuck off to have a quickie at a bar and now he’s addicted to drinking whiskey off of your skin.

He’s either real slow with foreplay, spreading your legs and putting you on full display for him or he’s super eager, bitting and pulling your clothes off.

He whines when y’all fuck but he refuses to admit that. He always says he groans like a man but in the moment he whimpers and whines in your ear.

Sometimes when he’s too excited he cums too fast and continues like it never happened. Like he’ll take a moment to catch his breath and then he’s back at it.

Lenny Summers

It’s rare he’s rough but sometimes he’s asks if he can “let loose” with you and it’s rough. His hands are gripping onto you and he’s just growling and grunting

Constantly pushes your hair out of your face to see you because he likes seeing your reactions. It gives him a huge confidence boost.

He likes for sex to be slow and sensual to make it more intimate but sometimes he gets too into it and he’ll press gentle kisses to the shell of your ear while he says stuff like “I promise next time I’ll be gentle”

His favorite position is missionary. It’s nearly impossible for him to stay in any other for long. Y’all can start with like cowgirl or doggy but as soon as he gets into it he flips you into missionary.

Sometimes he’ll beg but he always begs for something you’re already doing or he’ll just beg for you not to stop.

Kieran Duffy

His chest is so sensitive. If you even place your hands on his chest to brace yourself or just to pat his chest casually he’s holding back a whimper.

Gets so embarrassed when he’s turned on he doesn’t try to initiate it like others do he just slowly grinds himself against you.

He loves to bite the back of your neck when he’s behind you. He’ll slide his arms over your chest or waist and kinda nuzzle himself against your neck and just slowly bite your neck

Sometimes he doesn’t even take his pants off completely he’s so eager to have you. Like he’s able to pull himself out of his pants but they’re barely half way down his thighs (you usually have to take them all the way off)

He can barely make out anything when y’all are intimate. He’s just a whining mess. If he even gets anything out it’s probably him begging for something

Micah Bell

He LOVES embarrassing you. Like he’ll cover you in hickeys or not properly clean you up and make you walk around camp.

He makes you give him head while he’s busy. He likes the idea of you being a personal toy for him.

Doesn’t like when you’re automatically submissive. He thinks it takes all the fun out of it. He likes when you try to act all bratty.

He’s probably the most rough out of everyone but he doesn’t have an occasional gentle streak that he uses as a “treat” for you.

He gets too jealous sometimes so he asks you questions and makes you yell out his name like “so who’s fucking you like this tonight, whore? Me or him?”

Eagle Flies

Loves when his hair is pulled. It drives him crazy. the smallest tug makes him moan so loud.

No matter what position he needs to be close to you. His hands need to be on you and he needs to be able to kiss you, anywhere

He will say the most forward shit out of nowhere. Like he’ll have you in the most obscene position and he’ll say something like “wanna marry you one day.” Out of the blue

He whimpers when he’s about to finish. He’s not ashamed about it either.

Sex is one of his favorite ways to relieve stress but he makes sure you also feel good so he gives the best aftercare afterwards so you know he’s truly grateful

[cutielando]

dating headcannon ~ charles leclerc

Synopsis: what i imagine dating Charles would be like

Other works: my masterlist

♡♡♡♡♡

you both lived in Monaco, practically in the same neighborhood 

best friends since birth, hands down

you supported him from his very first races, always cheering him on and attending his races whenever you could

you’d always loved each other, but were far too stubborn and blind to admit it

which is partly the reason why you only got together after his father passed away

you had been there for him, helping him move on and get better at dealing with his loss while also having to continue racing

he realized that he would never want to be with anyone else because he was convinced that nobody could take care of him better than you could

kissed you in front of everyone when he got a win 

pulled you to him as soon as he was out of the car, not caring about anyone seeing you guys

you would live like royalty, let’s be honest

you moved in with him pretty early on in the relationship, already being familiar with his home from the times you had spent there with him

he would bring you flowers every single day, always your favorite ones

would spoil you rotten, buying you everything you could ever dream of having

whenever you two wanted to get out of the house, you would go on bike rides around Monaco, late at night under the stars

he would come up with the most beautiful dates, almost all of them including being under the starry sky 

attending every single race of his, Charles having insisted that you quit your job so he could take care of you

his fans adored you, having shipped you guys from when you were children

you would always give them a glimpse of what Charles was like behind closed doors, feeding them content which made them appreciated you even more

training with him and Andrea, albeit much less intensely than he did

being besties with Joris, spending so much time with him during the week

you would be a regular person on his Instagram feed and in his vlogs

the fans almost always insist that you stream with him, loving the playful banter and competitiveness that you both showed when playing games together

Arthur would always tease him for being a simp

Charles would literally never stop talking about you

he was in the car? he was talking about you to his engineers. he was working out? he was bragging about you to Andrea

Pascale absolutely adores the shit out of you

she never had any girls, so she was delighted when she found out you and Charles had got together because she finally got the daughter she had always wanted

you went out to lunch with her every week when you wouldn’t travel with Charles, always making sure to keep in touch and keep her updated on how her son was doing

most famous and loved couple on the grid

you loved being in the Ferrari garage, the team having accepted you as one of their own 

would make you tag along on his skiing training trips but wouldn’t actually make you train with him, preferring to keep you safe and warm inside

always makes time for you, no matter how busy his schedule would be

if he was late, he’d never forget to call and let you know. communication was key for him

fairytale love story

let’s be honest, you would never break up

you were it until the end

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[hoodiedmenace]

Reasons Why Charles Smith and Arthur Morgan are Gay (an almost essay)

Reason 1: from a game play standpoint, you only get a few optional missions. Those missions are helping Mary when she asks (who is Arthur's like, old girlfriend/ex/situationship/it's complicated) and CHARLES when he asks Arthur to help with the local Native American tribe

Reason 2: Charles is super introverted, and doesn't talk to other gang members much at all. However, when Charles goes bison hunting, despite it being a sacred thing that he holds really close, he invites Arthur along

Reason 3: John, Arthur's sort of brother, gets SHOT and MAULED BY WOLVES and Arthur makes fun of him and doesn't treat it seriously. But when Charles burns his hand, Arthur is super doting on him

Reason 4: Arthur doesn't hug people very often, and when he does its always because another person initiates it. He doesn't go in for the hug himself. EXCEPT. With CHARLES. And they hug not once but twice. Once when Arthur finds out that Charles isn't dead, and again when Charles leaves the gang

Reason 4.5: when they hug the last time, you can see them hold hands for about two seconds once the hug has finished, as if they don't want to let go yet. (Which they probably don't because Charles knows that this is probably the last time that he'll see Arthur)

Reason 5: when Mary (again, Arthur's weird ex girlfriend/it's complicated) asks Arthur to run away from the gang and live with her, he says he can't because the gang is his family and he has to stay loyal to Dutch (who is Arthur's father figure/leader of the gang) but when Charles says he's staying to help the Native Americans, Arthur is immediately like "Okay I'll stay too" ............ yeah okay buddy those are totally straight tendencies

Reason 6: Charles is one of the few people that actually shows compassion, care, and offers Arthur a sort of solution when he tells Charles that he's dying. He also says "Oh Arthur" and it's the most devastating thing ever

Reason 7: Charles doesn't make fun of Arthur like. Ever. everyone else calls him stupid and not worth much else than basically a work horse. There are two times when Charles does say it but the first time is when Arthur makes a joke and he goes "you simple minded fool" but like. In a silly way. And the other time Arthur is being Problematic and Charles goes "I know you're not as tough and dense as all that"

Reason 8: Charles goes back for Arthur, finds his body, and buries him. And his grave isn't just the regular tombstone that anyone else's is. It's hand carved wood, on a mountain overlooking the morning sun because "That's what he would have wanted". And there's also flowers purposefully grown there as well

Reason 9: Arthur isn't often given a choice in who he gets to take on missions but when he does, it's always Charles.

Reason 10: Arthur is weirdly submissive towards Charles? Not in a sexual way, but he won't take orders from anyone else besides Dutch and Hosea, and then also Charles.

Reason 11: At the beginning Arthur doesn't just ride anyone's horse, he rides CHARLES'S horse. And also when he dies, Taima takes him to his final resting place

[blurredcolour]

I. "Do You Trust Me?"

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

A slight against one of your dearest friends causes you to act wildly out of character, and Bucky finds himself stepping up to save you as he realizes just what you mean to him after months of seemingly innocuous encounters.

Warnings: Language, Period Typical Sexism, References to Cheating, Reader Knees a Man in the Groin, Perceived Threats of Violence, Plenty of Kissing, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - T.

Author’s Note: Well here we are, watching me write for this show before it's fully aired. Blame/credit to @precious-little-scoundrel and her anon for infecting my brain. Reader has an unnamed brother for sake of plot, no descriptions or y/n used. Events of this fic take place a few days before the horrific Regensburg mission. Also I recognize that WACs did not arrive in the ETO until July of 1943, this fact does not seem to have influenced Hanks/Spielberg so I shan't let it influence me either. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 4217

-------------------------

The pub was crowded, as usual, and Bucky leaned back in his chair as Curt regaled their table with another one of his stories from Walla Walla. The press of uniform clad bodies, damp from the summer rain outside, created a humid atmosphere. But as he tipped the last few drops of Scotch whisky from his glass into his mouth, he was certain there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Buck had decided to sit this one out, wanting to catch up on his latest letter to Marge. His mouth ticked up at the corners as he reflected once again on how different he and his friend were from one another. Glancing at the bar while he contemplated fetching the next round, Bucky’s eyes widened as they fell on the last person he would ever expect to see in a pub. It took him a moment to recognize you in such an unusual environment, hair perfectly styled. He noted that you were even wearing makeup as your teeth sank into your brightly painted lower lip, wending your way through the crowd, clearly on a mission.

“Bucky are you even listening?” Curt chided with a sharp jab of his elbow into his upper arm.

“Yeah absolutely,” He nodded firmly, unable to take his eyes off you, “every word.” He tacked on as his gaze followed you across the room on your approach to the notorious flirt from 349th squadron, Arthur “Red” Jameson.

He was vaguely aware of the doubtful scoff his reply had earned as his eyes narrowed. Wasn’t your friend Mary rather serious about Red? Not that Red bothered limiting himself to any one woman, local or American – there were few limits that smug redhead put on his relations with the fairer sex. Perhaps that was why Bucky was feeling particularly annoyed with how close you had come to stand next to him at the bar. With the way you were smiling at him. You hardly ever smiled, had to be one of the most serious, reserved women he had ever encountered here in England or back home.

It was when you ducked your head to peer up at Red through your lashes that the realization hit him – you were fucking flirting with him. His fingers clenched tightly on his empty glass, fingertips blanched white as the strength of his grip drove the blood from the flesh there. A slow, knowing smile unfurled across Red’s face as he leaned in, his hand landing on your shoulder making Bucky’s teeth grind together almost painfully as he was flooded with proprietary rage.

The intensity of it startled him, made him take a sharp breath and relax his grip on the glass. Where in the hell had that come from?! The pair of you had spoken no more than a handful of times, simple interactions in the Operations Room of the Control Tower back when he was Air Exec, around the base, or most recently, that afternoon when you had lent him a copy of one of his favorite books, but it wasn’t like you were close. You were quiet, overshadowed by your boisterous friends Mary, Ruth, and that brunette whose name escaped him just then. They were always outgoing at dances while you did an excellent job of decorating the wall. It certainly was not like you were anything more than colleagues. Objectively that was the truth, however, as Bucky sat there watching you grin at that man…

The final straw came as your lips nearly brushed against Red’s ear, making that bastard’s eyes shoot wide, sending Bucky surging to his feet. He narrowly missed one of the low beams overhead as he glared across the crowded room at the cozy pair you and Red presented at the bar.

“Jesus Christ Bucky, did something jump up and bite your ass?!” Curt barked in surprise, the rest of the table laughing loudly in response.

Bucky barely heard them as his new vantage point allowed him a clear view of your knee colliding painfully with the apex of Red’s thighs, causing him to crumple against the bar as you bolted out the back door. Bucky stared after you, just as bewildered as Red’s friends, before they charged out the door in your wake.

“God dammit.” He muttered under his breath before climbing over his friends to make a dash for the front entrance of the pub, his cap clutched in his hand.

------------

Your Women’s Auxiliary Army Corp unit had arrived at Thorpe Abbots in late May, part of the first battalion of WAACs sent overseas. Assigned to the Eight Air Force, you had spent roughly a week with your British counterparts of the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force observing missions on other bases before it had come time to establish the base for the 100th.

Fast, accurate typing skills and a calm, quiet temperament had seen you promptly assigned as a clerk in the Operations Room, one of the tensest and most chaotic places on the entire base. Upon your arrival at training camp in Fort Des Moines, you had been adopted by a trio of far more outgoing women – Mary from Miami, a sun-kissed blonde who managed to look that way no matter what the weather; Ruth from Pittsburgh, a black-haired beauty who was manufactured from the steel her hometown was known for; and Violet from Savannah, a brunette who elongated every vowel like the southern belle she was.

Why they chose to waste any of their precious time on you was as much as mystery to you in England as it had been in Iowa, and yet any time you tried to convince them you would be perfectly happy sitting out a dance in your barracks with a book instead, they were adamant you attend. Bodily removed you from your cot to join them – not that you were one for dancing, even with the most handsome of airmen. And that title would most certainly have to be bestowed upon Major John Egan. Perhaps a bit of a rogue and more-often-than-not a little too deep into his cups, there was something undeniably charming about him. A magnetism that drew every woman on the base, and from across all of East Anglia, to him. The handsome devil knew it, too. Of course he did, that was, alas, also part of his charm.

Your trio of outgoing friends had gravitated toward him immediately, traded their fair share of coy looks and dances with him while you looked on quietly from the sidelines. He never really seemed to form that deep a connection with any of them, with any woman for that matter, but that did not deter the female population from trying to be the one to catch his eye for a bit of fun. It was during the long hours of the 100th’s first mission, while he was still serving as Air Exec, that you’d had your first occasion to speak to the man directly.

In the middle of one of the tense periods of waiting for news, he had poked his head into the office to see if anything had come across the teletype or wireless and you had looked up, meeting his eye. He was wearing his sheepskin coat, a striking combination of ivory and cognac colored leather that would have honestly looked absurd on anyone else, yet on him just seemed to belong over his dress uniform.

“Can I help you, Major Egan?” You had asked, fingers poised above your typewriter as you paused your progress in typing up a report for Colonel Huglin.

He had looked at you, startled a moment. “I was convinced you might actually be unable to speak. Glad to know I was wrong. It’s Bucky by the way. Just checking if there were any updates?”

“We’ll be sure to get them to you as soon as we have them, sir.” You had replied professionally, trying to ignore the warmth unfurling beneath your breastbone at having his attention directly solely upon you.

“That’s all I can ask then, thank you.” He had winked before slipping out of the room and heading back towards the plotting map.

It had not taken long for a series of updates to arrive, both by radio and over the teletype and being the highest-ranking clerk in the office, third officer, it was your duty to run them out to him. Grabbing both sheets of paper, you had quickly made your way across the room, startled to find him striding towards you, meeting you halfway. “Here you are Major Egan.”

“Touchdown.” He had grinned and taken them over to review with the others as you had hurried back to your office, gnawing on the inside of your cheek to hide your smile.

You had been admittedly saddened when he had been demoted to squadron commander of the 418th after Colonel Harding assumed command of 100th. For selfish reasons, certainly – your interactions had become increasingly limited after this point – but also because it meant he was more frequently put into harm’s way. Every time he went up in a fort, you found focusing on the job at hand more and more difficult. Unlike the ground crews or the brass, it was not looked upon kindly for the WACs to go running outside to see which forts had come back. Which airmen were injured. Sometimes it would take hours for you to confirm that he was all right, and only then by way of hearsay.

You had still run into Major Egan from time to time, while walking with your group of friends to the WAC mess for dinner – by mid-July you were now serving in the Women’s Army Corp as a 2nd Lieutenant, or after meetings in the Operations Room when he was not flying missions. But the longest conversation you ever had was during one of your breaks earlier that very afternoon. It was an uncharacteristically sunny day, and with no mission in progress you had decided to take your coffee break outside, behind the control tower, sitting on one of the benches the ground crew had built out of scrap wood.

Before you had enlisted, your brother had bought you a copy of his favorite book, one he had never let you read before because you were ‘just a kid’ but now that you were old enough to sign up for the service yourself, he had decided you could have your own copy. With just two pages left, it seemed the perfect way to break up the morbid tallies you had been typing up in the grim office upstairs, and you had just finished the final sentence when a shadow fell over you.

“Now how did you get a copy of my favorite book?”

You had lifted your eyes quickly, squinting slightly into the bright sun that shone from behind him, to see Major Egan standing there.

“Major Egan. You like Guys and Dolls, sir?” You had asked, startled.

“How many times do I gotta tell you it’s Bucky.” He had stepped out of the sunlight to sit beside you carefully. “I love everything by Damon Runyon. Which story did you like the best?” He had leaned in curiously.

Pursing your lips to think over the collection of stories you had just finished, you smiled briefly as the answer came to you. “’Madame La Gimp.’ Where they pass off the bag lady –”

“As a society matron! Yes!” Major Egan chimed in, laughing as he nodded in agreement.

“What…about yours?” You had swallowed, unable to stop yourself.

“God, I haven’t read this book in forever…” he had reached out for it, and you had set it in his hands easily.

He had sucked his teeth in thought as he turned it over in his broad hands. “It’s gotta be a tie between ‘Blood Pressure’ and ‘Hold ‘Em Yale’…ah but ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ is excellent, too.” As he had spoken, he had begun to gesture with the book to emphasize his words, making you press your lips together fondly.

“You can borrow it if you’d like.” You had blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Give me a definitive answer once you’ve read it again.”

Major Egan had looked to you quickly. “Really? But what if…how will I know to get it back to you?” He had raised an eyebrow.

“My name’s on the front page.” You had nodded reassuringly but swallowed tightly as he opened the cover as if to confirm it for himself.

“‘Hey Sis,’” He had begun to read the inscription he found there, bringing your brother’s words to life, “‘lighten up, would you? You don’t have to be so damned serious all the time. See you on the other side.’” He had paused a moment before his eyes had met yours, caught you watching him, before you quickly looked down at the grass at your feet. “Where is he?” he had asked quietly.

“On a ship in the Pacific, somewhere.” You had replied softly, finding each blade of grass infinitely fascinating.

“Are you sure–” He had begun to ask before the sound of your name being called by your very impatient Captain, a woman even Major Egan knew not to waylay, interrupted the peaceful afternoon.

You had leapt to your feet. “You’ll get it back to me.” You had nodded and rushed back inside, believing every word of it.

You had seriously contemplated sharing your encounter with at least Ruth, the more level-headed of your friends, knowing she was the least likely to conflate the exchange with a marriage proposal. But as you returned to your barracks that night, you frowned deeply to find Mary in tears on her cot. After much soothing and rocking in your arms, she finally managed to open up, sharing what had gotten her so upset.

“It’s Red…I caught him out back necking with one of those doughnut truck girls…” She hiccupped and dabbed at her nose with her hanky.

“Oh Mary, I’m so sorry.” You frowned, smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

“Oh god, I can’t believe I let that creep talk me into sleeping with him!” She wailed, fresh tears boiling over onto her cheeks as she sagged onto your shoulder, sobbing anew.

Every muscle in your body tensed as her outburst sunk in, the depth of his betrayal fully registering as Vi and Ruth returned from the end of their shifts in the weather office and Mary launched herself into their arms to fill them in as well. The level of pure fury that seized your body was utterly foreign to you and, unlike the descriptions you had encountered in literature to date, felt utterly icy in your veins. As your friends gently coaxed Mary to the latrines to get herself cleaned up, you hung back, a plan formulating quickly in your mind. Your life without these women would have been lonely, all but intolerable, and this transgression against one of them could not go unanswered. You could not look at yourself in the mirror if you did nothing.

Digging quickly through Mary’s belongings, you found her most alluring shade of lipstick, carefully but efficiently applying it to your lips before unpinning and redoing your hair into a more fashionable shape rather than the more utilitarian style you normally wore. Lastly you added a flick of mascara to your eyelashes and rouge to your cheeks. All this was accomplished using the tiny mirror Vi had set up on the shelf beside her bed. Nodding once in satisfaction, for it was truly the best you could do in a solo effort, you darted out the door, lipstick tube in your pocket for reapplications, if necessary. The cad would never see it coming from you, you just needed to figure out a way to get close enough.

Fortunately, the years you had spent on the sidelines watching the three masters of feminine wiles at work had afforded you quite the education. It was only a matter of finding the perpetrator to enact your revenge. You located him in the second pub you visited, taking a slow breath as your eyes sought him out in the crowded, humid space. The rain had thankfully stopped before your foray out into the night, though the streets remained wet, and you had taken the time to refresh your lipstick and tidy your hair before stepping inside. Your heart began to race as your veins flooded with adrenaline.

‘Easy now. Slow and smooth like Mary, give him that flirty smile she’s famous for.’ You thought to yourself.

As his eyes met yours it was all you could do not to wince back in disgust – you were going to need to hide your dislike better.

‘Pretend he’s someone else. Who would you like him to be?’

You gulped shyly, teeth sinking into your lip at the thought of applying these skills to Major Egan, noting that Red seemed immediately more receptive as you slid up beside him where he stood at the bar.

“Evening, Red.” You smiled at him broadly, swallowing nervously as he echoed the expression warmly.

“Well good evening to you too. You escaped the base.” Red teased you.

You faked a giggle and tilted your head down before flicking your eyes to look up at him through your lashes, something Vi had weaponised to great effect on many an occasion. You tried not to shout in triumph as Red’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, leaning in closer.

“Can I buy you a drink, sugar?”

“Actually…” You smiled coyly before leaning in close to his ear, taking a slow breath before dropping all pretense from your tone. “Mess around with one of my friends again and I’ll cut it off.” You snarled into his ear before driving your knee into his groin as sharply as the straight lines of your uniform skirt would allow, slipping out of his grip as he slouched over the bar with a cry of pain.

You longed to bask in his suffering, in your triumph, but you also recognized you had to get out of there before the consequences of your actions found you. Spying a door propped open to a back alley over Red’s crumpled torso, you made a dash through the stunned corner of the pub and out into the night, pausing a moment before turning to the left, hoping it was the correct direction. You certainly wished you knew your way around town a little better.

Your heart was pounding so hard you were worried it might burst through the front of your WAC jacket as you neared the main street but there was an increasing ruckus behind you – surely Red’s friends in hot pursuit. Suddenly Major Egan appeared in front of you, seemingly out of nowhere, and grabbed your arm, pulling you around a corner and down a smaller alleyway.

“Do you trust me?” He asked quickly, glancing back towards the approaching sound of voices as he shuffled you backward, closer to the brick wall of the building behind you.

You nodded at him, speechless, breathing heavily from your flight. Your uniform cap felt precarious where it was perched on your rapidly falling hairstyle. Major Egan’s aftershave was flooding your senses due to his sheer proximity.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He whispered as his eyes met yours, his own cap at a dangerous angle atop his dark curls, defying gravity.

He shifted forward to crowd your space, your eyes shooting wide as his forearms lifted to press against the wall on either side of your face, body shielding you from view. He bowed his head to press his lips against yours softly, making your eyelids flutter closed, doing nothing to slow the erratic beating of your heart. He tasted a little bit like whiskey, which had reminded you of gasoline the few times you’d had the misfortune of sipping it, but on his plush lips, it was not so bad.

Your hands balled into fists in the olive drab fabric of your skirt, heat painting its way across your cheeks and down your neck as the coarse hair that decorated his upper lip brushed against your skin. It was all too tempting to lose yourself in the feeling of him surrounding you, protecting you, kissing you. Reality reared its ugly head, making you inhale sharply through your nose as you heard the crowd of men stampede right past you muttering angrily.

“That damn cold fish from operations…”

“Who the fuck does she think she is?!”

“No wonder she ain’t got nobody.”

Pulling back from his lips, you frowned down at your brown uniform shoes, still hidden within the cage of his arms.

“Hey…” He murmured, bowing his head to nudge your nose with his, drawing your gaze back up as you swallowed shyly at the tender gesture. “Don’t listen to ‘em.” He urged you, his blue eyes so very dazzling and disarming at this range, even in the dim light of black-out conditions.

“I…It’s ok,” you breathed as you shook your head. “I know I’ll never be…” you furrowed your brow, not even sure what word you were searching for.

“Anything other than perfect, doll?” His lopsided grin was devastating, made it hard to breathe, though that may have also been his continued proximity. He leaned in for another kiss, but you lifted a shaky hand to press against his shoulder.

“Th…they’re gone you don’t have to pretend…” You murmured sadly, shifting to stand, but he did not move an inch, his breath brushing against your cheeks.

“I’m going to kiss you now because I want to, doll.” He murmured, eyes tracing over your face while giving you a moment to respond.

You were, however, frozen, staring at him again and so he pressed his lips firmly to yours, making your fingers curl slightly around the lapel of his uniform jacket. He hummed softly in response, pressing you back against the wall as he slanted his mouth tighter to yours, his hands moving to cup your cheeks. Shivering at the heat of his palms against your skin, you slowly lifted your other hand from your skirt, stretching it towards him, letting it hover between you tentatively.

He dropped his right hand from your cheek to guide your arm around his waist before sliding his own hand to splay against your lower back, drawing a whimper from your throat as you arched slightly.

He pulled back from your lips, chest heaving. “Christ, doll, you have no idea what you do to me.”

“Bucky?” You whispered, confused by his statement, finding it difficult to think clearly.

Bucky groaned and kissed you fiercely, licking at the seam of your lips, sliding his tongue to yours the instant you parted your lips for him. Toes curling in your shoes, you found yourself mewling into his mouth wantonly until he wrenched back suddenly, hand cupping the back of your head as he hugged you tightly into his chest. The sound of voices eventually registered in your addled brain – Red’s friends returning from their failed attempt to find you.

“If I had known all I had to do was kiss you senseless to get you to use my name…” Bucky teased once the coast was clear, panting into your hair.

You giggled against his throat, your own chest heaving as he loosened his hold on you. Your cap tumbled to the ground, fully dislodged by his attentions.

“It’s a burden I’m willing to bear.” He smirked, pressing his lips to your exposed forehead. “Let’s get you back to your barracks. What are you doing out here all dolled up kneeing idiots like Red in the goods anyway?” He asked as he bent to retrieve your cap, dusting it off and placing it in your outstretched hand before turning to slide his arm around your shoulders, leading you toward the main road.

You huffed with a frown as you walked with him, putting your cover back into place snuggly, crushing your once-stylish hair. “I didn’t appreciate the way he treated Mary.”

Bucky smirked at you “Your brother is right you know, you really do need to lighten up…you can just call him a good-for-nothing and be done with it. No need to write a formal treatise on his behavior.”

His lips stretched into a grin as that pulled another laugh from you. You turned to look at him properly and gasped.

“Bucky you have lipstick all over –”

“Perfect” He nodded proudly, cocky grin on his lips, and made no move to clean up his face, while you quickly wiped at yours, knowing you would have to face your barrack-mates. “Next time you go on an attack mission you let me know, alright, doll? I’ll fly on your wing anytime.” He winked at you, and you bit your lip shyly.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You swallowed and stopped walking, leaning in to press your lips to his cheek softly.

As you pulled back, Bucky flexed the arm he still had slung about your shoulders, hauling you in for another heart-stopping kiss, your hands coming to rest against his chest. You had a feeling that the rather lengthy walk back to base was only going to become exponentially longer and found you really did not mind at all.

-------------------------

Read Part Two - "Just Had To Trust You."

"Trust" Series Masterlist

[hopelessromantic5]

Merlin had been working for Arthur Pendragon for a year when something unusually strange happened.

This wasn’t “life-or-death-vengeful-magical-creature” strange. That happens every day.

No this oddity didn’t even involve Arthur.

The pompous prick had just left in storm of rage because Merlin was once again gone for days at a time and couldn’t give him a good enough answer as to where. Arthur knew Merlin was lying to him, and it was only a matter of time before the truth came to light, and Merlin’s life would be over.

He was still in Arthur’s chambers, in complete darkness. Body folded into a corner, with his arms wrapped around his knees that were being cradled by his chest.

He was sobbing.

Because life was so fucking unfair and he’s allowed to have a pity-party every once in a while. Merlin would say he’s entitled.

His sobs broke off into silence when a single candle lit itself, barely illuminating the room.

Merlin’s head popped up, wide eyed.

There was no one else. Just him.

And that had not been his magic.

Merlin was on his feet and ready for whatever was being hurled their way, this time.

They appeared, out of thin air.

Or she did.

A woman. With blonde hair cascading over over her thin shoulders. A deep green gown, that was beautiful but not embellished or bejeweled. And her eyes were like lakes, blue and too deep to see to the bottom.

Merlin’s breath was snatched from his throat as they stared at each other.

“Do not be afraid. I am not here to harm you.” She said, her voice was soft and melodic, the way Merlin imagined goddesses would speak.

“Who are you?” He whispered, before correcting. “What are you?”

“You can sense that I am not human?”

Merlin nodded, then narrowed his eyes, trying to put it together, but not quite having all the pieces.

“Every living thing gives off a vibration of sorts…a frequency… you give off nothing. As if you’re-“

“A ghost.” She smiled small but it held a secret joke that Merlin didn’t understand.

“You’re a ghost?” He questioned, further confused. “How are you here? It’s not anywhere near Samhain.”

Then the blonde woman’s eyes turned sad. And she turned to the window looking out at the lightless sky.

“There are some special cases.” She murmured. Then snapped her eyes back to him.

“But that is not why I’m here.”

Merlin’s eyebrows went up in expectation.

The woman’s expression turned to something that Merlin had only ever seen from his mother and Gaius. A sort of pity that’s shrouded in love.

She advanced on him and then settled her hands on his shoulders. Upon closer inspection, he could see the way she wasn’t completely opaque, but he felt her hands as if they were solid, flesh and bone.

“I know who you are, Emrys.”

Merlin practically hissed at the name and began to back away towards the door of the chambers.

“What are you planning to do about it? Tell the king?” Merlin was panicked now. If Uther knew then there would be no chance of saving himself. Or of saving Arthur.

“Calm yourself, dear. That is the last place I would be headed even if I did plan to tell someone.”

Merlin stopped, whispering, consciously aware of the guards that will patrol this corridor at some point soon.

“So why are you here?”

“Because, Merlin, I want to thank you. I want you to know that all that you’ve suffered, all that you’ve sacrificed, has not been in vain.”

What? How could she possibly know…

“I have been here some time, Merlin. Unseen but always watching.” She smiled again. “This was the deal I made. I gladly gave my life if they agreed to let me watch him grow.”

Time froze.

And suddenly everything clicked into place for Merlin.

He audibly gasped.

“You…” he started shaking his head as if it were a hallucination brought by bad wine or mysterious herbs. “You’re her.”

He stared back into those eyes.

Those eyes he’d come to know on a different human. Eyes he’d come to love.

“Yes. I am. And I have been here with him, watching him struggle and learn. Make mistakes.”

She clutched him again by the shoulders.

“Merlin, I want to thank you for taking care of my son.”

He was shaking his head and stuttering incoherently, almost silently, trying to find words to express everything he feels every day.

“You-I-your son is…a great man. And he’s going to be a good King. A kind, just, King.”

She smirked again at him, probably knowing more than he did about everything.

And then her smile turned soft as she replied.

“The Once and Future King.”

Merlin nodded, feeling a little giddy himself at the idea. Arthur sitting atop the throne of Albion and ruling his people in an age of peace, until he turns old and grey. Trusting the next generation to take the reins.

Merlin chuckled a little.

“The gods couldn’t have picked anyone better suited.”

“He will need you, Merlin. Especially in what’s to come. But this is nothing you are not already aware of.” She had a very soft smile, genuine, not one harsh line on her whole face. “I’ve also appeared to you now to say, I think you should be truthful with him.” Merlin’s instincts almost caused him to recoil from her again, but he stilled his body, as she continued. “I see him when you are not here, when he is alone, when he’s with his father. The way that he communicates his feelings are hurtful and he has no clue how to work through them. I am sorry that Uther raised him that way.” Merlin watched transparent tears slide down her pale face. “But you help him. He’s getting better with himself, with others. You are the light in his life, he wants to do better because of you, the way you see him.”

Merlin was crying too. He couldn’t help it.

He didn’t think anyone ever knew what really went on inside this blasted castle, but someone was here, watching him fail and try and try again and succeed sometimes, and keep Arthur and Camelot safe and happy. Someone has been rooting for him the entire time, he was never really alone.

“Hold on. Would he be able to see you?” Merlin whispered cautiously. “Do you want him to?”

“I’m afraid that it’s a little more complicated for people without magic. I was able to appear before you now, because your guard was down while you were crying. Your mental and emotional barriers were lowered and I was allowed to reveal myself. For Arthur and I to talk, I would need a lot of magic and a lot of trust.” She reminded him so much of Arthur in the way she hid her melancholy behind a dazzling smile.

“But that is not the reason I think you should tell him. He might be frustrated at first, but he will be far less angry than he was moments ago. He trusts you and he knows there is something you are not telling him. I think you would both benefit from a little honesty, him just as much as you.” She smirked at the last comment.

Merlin cannot believe that he just got talked into revealing his magic by the Queen of Camelot.

This day is so strange.

Wait-

“What does that mean? What is it that Arthur is keeping from me?” He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and thought. He knew almost everything about the man. He could probably paint him blindfolded at this point, with every buckle and button in perfect place. He knew his sense of humor, his daily schedule by heart, he knew everything Arthur thought about everyone, and Arthur knew the same of him…almost.

Except for that one-okay, maybe two things.

Maybe Arthur had an exception also.

“You will have to be vulnerable in order to find the answer to your question.” It almost sounds like a riddle of Kilgarah’s but the Queen’s made a lot more sense to him than the Great Dragon’s usually did.

“When he returns, avoid cornering him in the room. He does not do well with-“ the lady cut herself off for the first time, somehow even ghosts were conflicted in their thoughts. Her face hardened, “Uther used tactics like this to intimidate Arthur when he was a boy being scolded. For absolutely nothing at all. For doing things that boys should be doing!” Her voice reached its loudest volume and she stumbled farther away from him, wide-eyed.

“I am so sorry, Merlin. I have not spoken to anyone in so long. I didn’t not mean to get angry.” Tears welled in her blue, blue eyes.

Merlin could not stand it.

“There is nothing to apologize for. You have every right to be angry. I am angry. Sometimes with destiny, or dragons, or evil unknown forces lurking in the dark. But always at Uther. For treating Arthur that way, like an animal raised for slaughter. And for never realizing how much it scarred him. And for never changing, or apologizing. Never once. He is not even human anymore.”

They stood there, locked into each other, sharing in their grief, in their pain for this boy that they love more than life.

And then they heard footsteps, both parties equally startled for different reasons.

“Good luck, Merlin.” Igraine was smiling softly again, as if it had never left, maybe that is what Arthur does for her. What he does for them both. Bring the color and joy back into the world like a breath of clean air. “You will do well.” She nodded, before starting to disappear, back into the invisible ether of the castle.

Then the door swung open to reveal Arthur, looking almost apologetic, but also scanning the room before landing his eyes back on Merlin.

“Who are you talking to?”

“No one. Myself.” Another lie. Shit.

This isn’t going well and he’s three words into it.

The prince opened his mouth as if to retort but Merlin stopped him confidently proclaiming,

“Arthur, I need to tell you something.” It was as though Merlin could feel a weight physically lifting off his shoulders as soon as the words left his mouth. “Quite a few things actually. I have not been honest with you. But I don’t want to keep secrets anymore.”

Arthur stood momentarily speechless, surprised at Merlin’s change of heart.

TBC…

[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

Based on this post

Arthur when Merlin gets home from work: *runs up and hugs him without saying anything about it*

Merlin: *immediately drops everything in his hands and hugs back, not letting go and giving one of the best hugs of his life because it’s Arthur and he’s spent 1500 years loving him*

Arthur, after five or more minutes of bear hugging the man he’s in love with: (mutters) no homo.

Merlin, the immortal: *dies*

Merlin: *pulls away and pats Arthur’s shoulder in the most awkward “buddy” kind of way before walking into their flat and locking himself in his room to have an existential crisis/gay panic*

Things are awkward as hell, until Arthur asks Merlin if he can finally show him movies. Merlin goes to get his laptop and opens Google to find Netflix, seeing recent searches.

Merlin: Arthur?

Arthur: huh?

Merlin, dealing with what he can: why did you want to buy an archive?

Arthur: …is this magic? How-

Merlin: no, just technology again. You had search history on. I can um… see everything you’ve researched.

Arthur: everything..?

Merlin: everything…

Arthur: what did you say about um… oh right. Fuck.

Merlin: *smiles and pulls Arthur into a hug*

Arthur: Merlin? I- I thought…

Merlin: you are the most important thing in every universe, world, and realm to me, Arthur. 1500 years didn’t change that, and whatever comes next for us certainly won’t change it either. If there’s ever anything that you want to tell me, then I’ll be right here.

Arthur: *hugs back and hides his face, teary eyed, in Merlin’s neck*

Arthur, murmuring against Merlin’s neck: I’m bisexual.

Merlin: Thank you for telling me,

Arthur: And I’m in love with you.

Merlin, teary eyed and beaming: I love you too, Arthur. More than anything.

Arthur: Not in a no homo kind of way. In a, I’d marry you if I could kind of way…

Merlin: *laughs a little* I think you’ve got something else to research,

Arthur: what?

Merlin: *pulls the laptop to himself and types something before turning it around to Arthur*

Can I marry my best friend? (After I take him out on a date)

(He did that thing where you search one thing then type something else into the search bar without pressing go)

Arthur reads how its legal for men to get married then looks up at Merlin, he jumps on him and tackles him into a hug, laughing and crying happily. They watch heart stopper and Arthur starts playing rugby, they get a dog, date for three months before Arthur asks Merlin to marry him randomly one evening.

Merlin says yes, of course, so two days later when he gets in from work, Arthur hugs him, covers his eyes and leads him into their living room where he set up a full romance novel style proposal. He gets down on one knee with a really nice ring and gives a whole speech. (my aro ass can’t imagine what, but you know what I mean. It’s super cute and romantic)

Merlin says yes again and they get married soon after and live on a farm before both dying of old age after a long and happy life together.

Merlin spends the rest of their lives teasing Arthur about the “no homo” after their first hug thing.

Merlin also teaches Arthur about clearing search history and incognito, Arthur uses it exclusively for surprising Merlin because they’ve got no need for any secrets between them in this lifetime.

[arkhammaid]

— ˚₊‧⁺˖THE LIGHTNING ON TRACK | THE GRID'S REACTION

fandom. formula one & mcu

about. the grid reacts to the news!

content warnings. some drivers are acting like assholes, some cursewords, 23!grid

notes. have another reaction chapter hehe

daniel ricciardo Guys

Guys wake up

IT'S IMPORTANT

lando norris ???

daniel it's 5am, why are you spamming rn

carlos sainz It's summer break, why can't you all shut up for once

daniel ricciardo Did no one see the news? Stark is coming to F1

carlos sainz To a race?

daniel ricciardo No you shithead, he's making a team

charles leclerc !!!!

lando norris at this point you'll never win monaco (because once stark joins, there no longer will BE monaco) charles leclerc Fuck you, nowins

daniel ricciardo This is serious... Tony fucking Stark wants to create an F1 team for the next season. @/max verstappen your winning streak will be over

charles leclerc Next season??? I thought for 26?

lewis hamilton Of course he would do that

charles leclerc Lewis, explain?? daniel ricciardo Yeah Lewis, please explain?

lewis hamilton Did any of you ever meet Tony? He will probably see the next season as test for the 2026 season. To train his mechanics and engineers and go all out. I bet many are saying it's a waste of money

carlos sainz It is a waste of money.

daniel ricciardo Yeah, they do. Reactions vary but 'experts' are saying that Tony is just wasting his time and should properly prepare for 26

lewis hamilton Knowing him, he already has a fully built car for 2026 and it's a beast.

fernando alonso Only the best for his daughter!

charles leclerc What. lando norris wdym his daughter??

george russell Why are you all awake at this bloody hour?

kevin magnussen Read the room. Everyone is in schock.

sergio perez Stupid. She will fail like every woman in motorsport with a rich father. Too dramatic.

lando norris i'm still confused???

oscar piastri Tony Stark has three children. Harley Keener-Stark, Y/n L/n-Stark, Peter Parker-Stark. Y/n is his only biological child and currently racing in Formula 3. She won Formula 4 last year.

charles leclerc I thought he only had sons?? When did Y/n appear? oscar piastri She 'appeared' the first time in January this year as Tony's daughter, no one knew before. lando norris how did you know? oscar piastri Google exists.

carlos sainz So daddy's money... great.

max verstappen I swear to god I will leave this chat the next time you all decide to fucking gossip at 6am like old women

daniel ricciardo It's important news!

max verstappen No it's not. Stark will be in F1 for a few years maximum and then leave again. It will pass

daniel ricciardo @/lewis hamilton you here? Don't you have anything else to add??

Fine, I'll guess I just ask the rest of the grid, you fucking bore.

daniel ricciardo @/everyone wakey wakey, it's time to wake up and talk!

mick schumacher Daniel? What's up?

george russell Ignore him. He has been annoying us because Tony Stark is coming to F1 and no one really cares. charles leclerc Lies and slander! I care!! lando norris yeah! me as well, idk what you're yapping abt

carlos sainz It's bullshit.

arthur leclerc Why do I have a bad feeling about Monaco...

ollie bearman THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN THINKING bianca bustamante It will be something for sure

lance stroll Well, I'm just happy to see another friendly face at the paddock :)

carlos sainz Of course you know Stark.

lance stroll You're just jealous esteban ocon As am I??? I'm your best friend AND MY BEST FRIEND HAS THE POTENTIAL OF KNOWING SPIDER-MAN???? AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME???????

daniel ricciardo I want everyone who knows anything related to Stark to immediately share with us because Lewis is ignoring me and I need to know. The only info we have right now, is that Stark will make a F1 team and that's it. I refuse to believe that's it. So, @/mick schumacher @/lance stroll spill the beans.

mick schumacher He didn't say anything last time I saw him, so I can't help you much.

lance stroll I know nothing, ask my dad.

daniel ricciardo I don't believe you.

pato o'ward If they say they don't know anything, then they don't? I don't know what's the problem, just wait for the next press release

max verstappen Do you even know Daniel. He's unable to wait for gossip. And he classifies this as gossip

daniel ricciardo Gee, thanks, feeling the love here

nico hülkenberg I wake up to 100+ notifications, why are you all like this?

kevin magnussen They're all idiots.

kevin magnussen @/tony stark could you please speed up with the press release? Daniel is setting all grid chats on fire and it's not funny anymore.

y/n stark ha, weak ass bitch kevin magnussen Watch your mouth missy

tony stark Should I tag Seb in a Tweet to announce it?

peter stark do it y/n stark do it harley stark do it

pepper potts-stark Don't do it. We will proceed with the plan. No matter how annoying the people in your private life are.

kevin magnussen Yes, ma'am, sorry for asking.

sebastian vettel I deserve more than a Tweet at 10am.

y/n stark speak your truth king peter stark sorry for suggesting otherwise (@/yn stark stop being such an attention seeker, we all know seb loves charles the most) y/n stark but charles is not here rn is he?

daniel ricciardo @/kevin magnussen EXPLAIN YOURSELF?!

carlos sainz What is going on now...

charles leclerc KMAG FOR STARK???? I didn't put this on my bingo card, now I lost 100 bucks. Fuck you Kevin

arthur leclerc Pay up bitch

oscar piastri Well done, man

nico hülkenberg And so he leaves he burning, ever sinking ship... the true hero- sorry, I meant coward

daniel ricciardo @/kevin magnussen I KNOW YOU'RE ONLINE YOU COWARD, COME HERE

I just want to talk to you

kevin magnussen No.

*kevin magnussen has left the chat*

fernando alonso There is your answer

several people are typing...

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crossed off tags mean i can't tag you!

DO YOU WANT TO JOIN THE SERIES TAGLIST? please leave a comment on this post or send a non anonymous ask!

ARKHAM MAID 2024

[writers-hes]

Toy Horses Outside the Brothel

You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn't realize that war could change you both. (angst, depictions of abuse, poverty, prostitution, canon-typical themes, death, war, time jumps)

A/N: This is dedicated to @runnning-outof-time ! Thank you for giving me guidelines and for reading my work before anybody else did. You’re amazing and I wish I could write Tommy as good as you do. 

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BIRMINGHAM, 1900:

Tommy first met her when his father took him to the docks. Arthur Shelby Sr. told impressionable young Tommy that there were kids he could play with by the docks. Tommy agreed, wanting to impress his father. On the way there, right outside of what looked like a house with many rooms, was her.

You were lonely and something in Tommy told him to play with you instead. Besides, the boys were too big around the docks. Arthur Shelby left him right outside the establishment and threw a shilling to you. You picked it up, stuffed it in your pocket, and looked at him.

He smiled at you widely, a tooth missing from his mouth and extended his hand towards you.

“I’m Tommy,” he said. You reciprocate the gesture, telling him your name and shaking his hand. You were more reserved, Tommy noticed. He was so used to the ruckus in their house that he expected every child to be as energetic as them. “Why did my father give you money?”

“He wants me to play with you while he’s inside,” you said. “I don’t have many toys but…I do have this,” you said, showing him your wooden horse toy. They were your prized possession, one of the few gifts that your father sent when he promised the world to your mother.

“Oh! I love horses,” he said. “Do you? I like watching horses,”

“Yes,” you replied. “My mother said that my father owned many. I’ve never met him though. Where do you watch horses?”

“That’s alright. Fathers hit kids. See?” he said, showing you a bruise on his side quickly. “My mother puts ice on it and it tickles. We watch it in the races. My mum takes me for my birthdays. She usednto ride a white horse before. She told me. Do you go to school?”

“No,” you shook your head. “But my mum taught me how to read and how to write. Sometimes, Big Johnny teaches me arithmetic. One plus one equals two,”

“You’re smart. Who’s Big Johnny?”

You hummed, making the wooden horse gallop on the murky ground. People in the house all told you that you were. If only poor Mary Magdalene had the means to send you to school. If only. You stop your movements and move your toy towards Tommy.

“Here,” you said. “Big Johnny is the man who runs this place. He’s kind,”

“You won’t have a toy,” he replied.

“It’s okay. I have more but they’re in my mama’s room. My father sent them. Sorry if it’s dirty,”

“Thanks,” he said. It’s the first time anyone has ever given him something without asking for it. He keeps it with him; keeps the memory of a girl who watched him intently while he played with a toy horse. That’s why when his father exited the house, with less money in his pocket, Tommy asked if he could come again next time.

-

When the house closed, you ran to your mother’s room. You usually had to stay out until five in the morning, sleeping on the sacks right in front of the brothel until your mother woke you up. She’s been seeing less men these days…always cooped up in her room, asking for you. She didn’t mind if you stained her bed with sweat and grease. She’d ask how your day was and you told him about Tommy, the boy you met earlier.

“I’m glad you have a friend,” she coughed into her white handkerchief. The blood stain was normal now. You were worried at first, but your mother told you to never tell anyone. You just never knew how serious it all was when you slipped once. You were talking to Big Johnny; he was teaching you how to subtract.

“If I help you, are you going to pay me?” you asked, perched on his lap. He had been the only father figure in your life. He’d help your mum surprise you for your birthdays and give you some money every now and then.

“Pay you? You’re robbing me,” he kids. “What do you need the money for?”

“I’m planning to buy mum a present. A nice handkerchief,” you said. “The one she has has blood—“

“What is it, bug?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, smiling sickly sweet.

“You have to tell me,” he replied. “It’s your—your safety,”

It was your turn to look confused.

“But mum told me to never tell anyone,” you whispered, heart racing. What did he mean by it? “Why would I not be safe? I’m safe. I have mum with me,”

Big Johnny ran his hand through his hair, then his chin. You knew that it was a sign of his agitation, so you relented.

“You can’t tell anyone,” you whispered. “But mum has been coughing up blood for a while. She said it’s fine. You won’t take her from me right, Johnny?”

“Fuck, kid,” he sighed, stressed at the sudden turn out of events. “No more arithmetic today, okay? I’ll go talk to your mum. Just go outside or play or whatever,”

“Is everything okay?” you asked, panic rising in your throat. It constricts while you keep yourself from crying.  “Mum will be so mad at me! Please don’t tell on me,”

“Do you know why she’s coughing up blood?” he asked, his voice serious. He knew that you had to be talked to in his “adult voice” for you to listen. You knew that he needed to be stern for you to listen.

“N-no…” your hair falls messily as you shake your head, picking on your nail beds.

“She’s sick, bug,” he said. “If we don’t do anything about it, you could get sick too. The two of you might die,” he explained. “Look, kid…you have a bright future ahead of you, alright?”

“What will you do?” you asked. “You can’t take her from me! Please, Johnny. My mum is all I have,” you cried, tears started flowing once the first one dropped.

Johnny couldn’t do anything else. He relented but locked your mother in her room. Whenever you went in, he made sure you had some face mask on to protect yourself. You only saw her for a few minutes every day. Parting her was painful and Johnny had to console you while you cried. He gave up his bunk and slept in his workspace so you won’t have to sleep with your mum.

A week later, your mum died of lung cancer.

It was too late, the doctor explained. Johnny let you stay in his bunk, never mind the fact that he had no space for himself now. He didn’t mind. You were his top priority. How is he going to raise a child in a brothel?

-

Your mother always told you that as long as you were with her, you would never be lonely. There was no burial, just her body being thrown and burned with the rest of Birmingham’s garbage. It made you wonder what your body would be like dead. You decided to never end up like her, one way or another you were getting out.

Tommy continued to visit you, but he knew that you were different now. It has only been a week and you’ve grown up so fast. When he arrived, a box of your toy horses was prepared for him.

“What’s this for?” he asked, eyes brightening up at the sight of the box. His father threw a shilling your way again.

“It’s for you. I don’t want to play anymore,” you said. “I kept one white horse for me but you can have them.”

“Why not?” he asked, galloping the toy you gave him last week. “Thank you. I don’t have my own. I always have to share with Arthur, John and Ada.”

“My mom died…you were my first friend and you never met her,” you said, tears falling on the ground. “I’ve been living in Big Johnny’s room,”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “My Aunt Pol says that friends are there for each other. I’m…I’m your friend,”

You smiled a teary smile, appreciating the underlying message behind his words. He’ll be there for you. But until when?

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1905

Fifteen, you were fifteen. You haven’t even turned fifteen for a week and you were working. The owner of the house told Big Johnny that if you wanted to keep living there, you would have to work too. Johnny had no place for himself, no house—his money all went to you. Your clothes, the books you’ve read, the food you ate. He'll get you a cake with a candle along with a pound for special occasions. If you were lucky, some of the girls would give you something. Tommy’s dad stopped coming and so was the shilling you got.

He stayed, though. He’d talk to you about school and how he wanted to leave.

“You’re lucky you’re in school,” you said, watching Tommy smoke a cigarette. You were never a fan if them, seeing as your mother died of fucking lung cancer. “You have to stay,”

“I’m not built for it though. They’re all so boring,” he said, blowing the smoke away. “If only I could work like you. Why are you dressed so nicely anyway?”

“The owner told me to work,” you shrugged, pulling the strap of your dress back on your shoulder. “Johnny asked the boss if I could help him with the girls and management, but he said no. Wanted me to work because it will bring more money in,” you bitterly replied. “I want to go to school but the fucking boss wanted me to present myself as a Cherry Girl. You wanna know what that is?”

“What?”

“A fucking virgin.” you shrugged. “Said many men will pay for someone like me. Today’s my first night and Johnny cried a little bit when he saw me. I’d kill and die to go to school, Tom.”

“Shit, love, I’m sorry. I was being insensitive,” he offered. “Hm, maybe you’ll bag one rich man you know? Some rich bloke from London and he’ll take you. Besides, at least you smell nice,”

“This shit is awful,” you countered, sighing. You blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. “Fuck, I said I wasn’t going to cry tonight.”

“Hey,” he said, sitting closer to you. He wraps your arm around you and lets you stay there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll stay in school and do well, okay? I’ll study so hard; I’ll take you out of here. Let you live in a mansion with lots of space to run in. Fuck, I’m sorry, love,”

“It’s not your fault, Tommy,” was your weak reply. “I’m just…I told myself that I would never be like my mother and now, I am,”

“You’re not her,” he whispered, tightening his arms around you.m, never mind if the grease and sweat of his clothes mixed with your perfume. “You’re not her.”

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1906

“Fuck, Tom. You can’t stay here while I’m working,” you scolded. You were lying, you appreciated the fact that Tommy was here. He’ll wait until you finish your shift, until you meet your quota. It was always quick, though. You had a rich patron that covered your every living expense.

“My patron’s coming,” you told him, and he tenses. He remembered the way you cried to him after your first ever shift last year. How some old fuck didn’t even bother. He finished and threw you some coins. He remembered his rage when you told him about this new guy. He’s quite scary but he pays the most, you said. “He doesn’t like seeing me with other men,”

“I’m a man now?” he quips, a smirk on his lips. “It’s not like I can afford it. I’m broke. Besides, I’ll act like a bodyguard, yeah? All I ask for payment is a day out with you. Aunt Poll is cooking something on Sunday. Want you to eat something that’s not whatever is being cooked here. We can go on a picnic. I met a girl who worked at this mansion, and they have lots of flowers in the garden. Shit you’ll like,”

You offered him a slight smile, nodding.

“Will your aunt be okay with…me eating your food?” you asked. Tommy took notice of how insecurity laced your voice. His suggestions of meeting his family have always been met with resistance. He understood. Although Polly has been insisting on meeting the girl he’s been spending his time with, he couldn’t risk his father recognising you and then, treating you like trash.

“Of course. She’s been more annoying. Told my mum about the girl I’m seeing,” he said. “I’ll be the first boy to take you out, hm?”

“Shut up,” was your only reply.

Sunday comes and you asked your boss for a day off.

That day, Tommy took you to the garden with Polly’s chicken stew and his mum’s fig cake. Tommy didn’t let you work, he set down the food and opened the containers.

“The best meal you’ll ever have,” he said while you sat. “I should’ve done this earlier. What have you been eating?”

“I’m lucky enough to be fed. Johnny gets me some food out of the brothel sometimes.” you said. “Thanks for taking me here. I love it.”

“I knew it,” he said, spooning out your portion and giving it to you.

“I want to have a house with lots of flowers. Different coloured blooms all year round.” you said.

“The caretaker of the garden says that we can pick some flowers. Do you want to take some home?” he asked. You nodded, a flush on your face. How could someone not love him?

BIRMINGHAM, 1908

“How have you been my angel?” he asked, twirling your hair in between your fingers. “Can’t believe I missed you last week,” he mumbles, kissing your shoulder. You giggled. “I was in London and all I could think of was you,”

“I’ve never been to London,” you told him. “Are you going to take me there?” you asked, wide-eyed. He’s been your patron since you reached 18. He was quite younger than your usual customers. He always came to visit when you were seventeen but never looked at you. As if that made it better.

“You haven’t?” he asked. “I’ll take you there, Angel. I’ll show you the whole world. Hm?”

“You will?” you asked, faux excitement in your voice. He loved this; you knew. He loved that you were a fragile little bird in need of saving. He loved that you’d listen to him talk about his father. He’s the sappy kind. He liked to hold hands, talk, and make love. He’s paid you more than anyone else and gave you a hefty allowance. Big Johnny didn’t have to think about your safety anymore. “I want to go to the city! Buy everything that I see and just…breathe a different air,” you said.

“Fuck, baby, I’ll take you there and buy you everything you ever lay your eyes on. I’m not fucking around. I’ll take you there,”

“You will?” you asked. “I don’t like the idea of you leaving me. Did you know that? Sometimes, when you leave, I have to lock myself in my room and refuse everyone,” you lied. You locked yourself in because your quota was already met. You were just saying these things to keep him coming back. A little bit of pretending never hurt you. It meant a bigger tip, more money.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Of course,” you said. “You’re my hero…”

Somehow, you didn’t find yourself lying when you told him. You felt dirty, you felt like your mother when she thought your father would give her the world. But Simon paid big money to have you alone for multiple nights a week.  No other customers were to ask for services.

“I’m your hero, alright…you’re my little bird. I’m dead set on taking you with me to London. Once I get my inheritance, I’ll show you the world and get you out of these slums.”

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1909

“You don’t have to do this anymore,” Tommy said. You were well enough to have your own place somewhere near the docks now. Johnny had given you some furniture that the house wasn’t using anymore, helping you fix the tables and the chairs that you would be using.  You didn’t have to live at the brothel anymore and it was all thanks to Simon.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tommy,” you chuckled. “Do you like my place?” Tommy looked around, flowerpots littered your house.

“I’m serious.” he asked. “I’ll have you safe in Small Heath,”

“And my job? What will pay for this place? I finally have enough space for my flowers.” you asked. “I can’t just leave. Come on, you have to see the view on my balcony.”

You dragged Tommy’s hand to the balcony to show him the view. You were a little far from the docks now but from your balcony you can see it. The blue water, the usual chaos…you were smiling so freely, so beautifully. Tommy stills, unspoken words lingering in the air. You could realise it too…you’ve been realising it slowly. The world was in your hands. You could seize it if you wanted it. It fills Tommy with determination. It pumps through his veins, and it rings in his ears. Determination, consistency, and power. Three things to play with the world…three things that he’ll have. He could get you a bigger house. If he played right, he could have it all.

“This is why I got this place,” you said. “I mean, there were others but the view of the docks…I used to think everything about it was so ugly, you know? So grey, so evil…so grotesque but from the vantage point, everything is different,” a soft smile played on your lips when you let go of Tommy’s hand. He already missed your touch. “I can’t leave my job now because I wouldn’t have this,”

“I’ll work for it,” he says proudly.

“Tom, I know you’re not happy with how I earn money. Fuck, I’m not happy too. I hate that job. I know you hate it when I turn down your offer. But I have nothing else. You have to support your siblings. Don’t you get it? We’re all whores, Tom. We just sell different parts of ourselves. Mine just so happens to be my body.”

It enrages him and you could see it. See his face fall apart, how his jaw ticked.

“I’ll do it.” he said. “I’ll fucking do it. You think I’m fucking around when I tell you that I’ll protect you? I will. I’ll make a name for myself and protect you. I’ll fucking protect you; I swear on my life.”

“I know you will, Tom,” you said, inching closer. “But can’t you just be happy for me? This once?”

“We could add a little chair right here,” he relented. How could he ever tell you how much he hated himself for not being enough right now?  “I’ll bring some of Polly’s flowers. You’d let me stay here?”

“Only if you’re being nice,”

“What if I’m too tired to make the trip back to Small Heath? Can I stay here?” he asked.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “But only if you have food for me or something,”

“Or something? You’re not letting me stay for free? I’m your best mate,” he chuckled. “I mooch off you all the time,”

“You have more than I do. It’s time for me to mooch off on you,”

“Yeah? Well, I want yours,” he said. “I’m glad though…that you don’t have to live there anymore. You’re safer here,”

“Thank you, Tom,” you smiled, sitting by the railing of your balcony. “I’m glad too.”

“I’ll make sure you’re protected,” he promises.

“How?”

“I’ll protect you.”

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1910

Tommy gave you the number of his telephone years ago. You were shaking, something bad had happened and you didn’t know who else to turn to. Big Johnny was too busy breaking up fights in the bar beside the brothel. You walked home shakily. Tommy called the brothel earlier to tell you that he couldn’t make it tonight because of some gang business. It was fine, of course. So, you went to the market to buy some supplies. You just didn’t know that he would be there.  

You were waiting for someone to pick up the phone, biting your perfectly manicured nails.

“Who’s calling?” a woman asked from the other line. Her tone was snippy, and you knew she meant business.

“Hi,” you cleared your throat. “I’m looking for Tommy Shelby?”

“Who is this?” she asked, confused as to why a woman would suddenly call Tommy in such a manner. She was used to Tommy’s girls calling, an embarrassment usually hinted when they spoke. But this new girl had no shame.

“I’m a friend of Tommy’s,”

“Tommy has many girlfriends. You’re going to have to be specific,” she said, intrigued.

“Oh, of course,” you said. You told her your name. “Is he there?”

“Tommy!” you could hear her voice call. “Some girl is on the phone for you!”

“What, Poll?” he asked, scowling.

“Pick up the phone, Tom. Your friend is asking for you,” she said, passing the phone to him. She didn’t leave the room immediately, sitting on the nearby chair instead to listen in.

“Tommy Shelby,” he says, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Tommy,” you whispered. “He was there…he was there.”

“Who, love?” Tommy asked. Polly noticed how his voice softened, how his stance relaxed. “Do you need me there?”

“He was one of my customers before,” you forced out. “He was always…rude and rough,” you choked. “I hate this fucking job, Tommy. I fucking hate it and he treated me like an object today just because he paid for my services years ago,” you sobbed. “I’m sorry. I know you were busy but I fucking hate it,”

“Shh…it’s okay, love. It’s okay. I’m going over there, and you could tell me,” he said. “Will that be alright?”

“I—yes,” you nodded, wiping your tears hastily. “I got some of your favourite fruit from the market today. Didn’t know you have an expensive taste,”

He chuckled softly.

“I’ll see you, alright?” he asked. “Keep the doors locked. I have my copy,”

“Okay, Tommy. Stay safe for me?” you asked.

“Of course.” Tommy put down the phone until he heard you end the line. He sighed and went to go get his coat until he saw Polly with an eyebrow raised. “Fuck, I didn’t see you there,”

“Who would? You were too lovestruck to notice anything,” she teased. “That’s the girl you’ve been seeing?”

“We’re friends, Pol,” he clarified.

“She’s the girl from the docks, then?” she asked. Tommy nodded. “Fuck, that’s rough. She’s a whore,”

“Don’t,” he said, an edge to his voice. “Don’t call her that. I’m trying to build something for all of us, Pol. For her. She hates her job…she fucking hates it and I can’t do anything about it,”

“You don’t have to save her, Tom. You can’t save everyone,” she said but she knew that Tommy was stubborn. Everything that she’ll say will fall on deaf ears.

“It’s all her,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll get her out of there if it’s the last thing I do.”

The walk to your place was unnerving. Thoughts swarmed in his head. If he only had it in him to murder the man who dared to look at you. He’s never made peace with how you earned your money, but he still happily showed up after every shift. You never talk about your customers, and he didn’t like to ask.

“Tommy, you’re here,” you greeted. He could see how swollen your eyes were; how red they were.

“Of course, I am,” he replied. “Are you okay?” He hangs his coat on the coat rack and walks towards the couch where you were seated.

“I am now,” you sniffed. “I’m sorry for making you worry but this job…people reduce me to such an object. I didn’t even know his name, you know?”

“I know, love.” he said, his heart beating inside his chest. What was it? What was the beating?

“Tommy, I’m going to make a request. It’s absurd and we haven’t done it yet…”

“What?” he whispered, unsure.

“Can-can you hold me?” you asked. “You don’t have to but…I have no semblance of what it’s like to be loved anymore. I want to pretend. At least for tonight, somebody out there loves me.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said. “You’re my friend. Of course, I love you.”

You only smiled, snuggling closer to Tommy. You were his friend…only a friend. How else would he look at you differently? You still had to pretend because the love that he was willing to give was not the love that you were looking for.

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1911

Multiple knocks on your door woke you up. Someone was screaming your name outside and you felt yourself panic. You took the gun that Tommy gifted you last year and crept down the stairs. You opened the door slowly to reveal two men—one older and one younger. The younger one had a smirk playing on his lips while the other looked panicked.

“Who are you?” you asked, tightening the gun behind your back.

“Arthur Shelby,” the one with the beard replied. You nodded. “I’m Tommy’s older brother. This is John,”

“Where…where’s Tommy?”

“He asked us to come get you,” John replied. “We mean no harm.”

“What happened to him?” you asked. “Come in,”

The brothers entered your house and watched you lay your gun on the table. An unspoken threat.

“Tommy’s not in a good place,” Arthur replied. “Well, he’s asking for you. He’s having these…episodes. I don’t fucking know what thr fuck they’re called but sometimes, he calls for you when he shuts down,”

“It's even worse today,” John added. “Our mother died,”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” you said, offering a small smile. “Will you let me dress better? I’ll come with you,”

You met the brothers outside of your house, your gun secured on your skirt.

“Are you Tommy’s whore?” John asked as you walked.

“John!”

“I’m not his fucking whore,”

“So, why is he always at the brothel by the docks?” he pressed.

“We met when we were kids. Your dad used to visit the brothel with him,” you shrugged. “I never understood why your father took him there all the time. It’s a dangerous place,”

“Why were you there?”

“My mother worked there. I was born there. I grew up there,” you shrugged. “Tommy was my only friend growing up. Your father stopped coming but Tommy still managed to show up,”

“I see,” Arthur replied. “You’re the girl who gave him toy horses when we were kids, then. He never let us touch them. Even now, he has them lined up on his wall,”

“Yeah, I was. I gave it to him a week after my mother died,” you recalled.

“I’m sorry for calling you his whore,” John said. He realised now that your relationship with Tommy was deeper. It was more meaningful than he realised.

“It’s okay,” you let out a small smile. “It’s a fair assumption,”

Minutes of silence passed by, and your group stopped in Watery Lane. You’ve never been in his house before; you never had the time to do so. You were also quite ashamed to show yourself. How could you prove that you weren’t after Tommy’s money if that's exactly what you are after men?

The door of the house opens, and you assume it was Polly. The same woman who you talked to on the telephone before.

“He’s in his room upstairs. Last door to the left,” she said.

“Thank you,” you rushed to where Tommy was. You didn’t bother to stay and eavesdrop. You were there for Tommy. You knocked on his door slightly.

“Stay the fuck away from my door or I will kill you,” he shouted. You cracked the door open slightly.

“It’s me, Tom,” you said. He rose from his bed and rushed towards you, flinging his arms around you. He pulled you closer. “Hi,”

“She’s dead,” he murmurs against your hair. “My mum’s dead. My dad left. I didn’t even like him, you know? He always hit the three of us. I thought it would be better if he just fucking left but my mum died because he left. Now, I don’t have her.”

“I’m so sorry, Tommy,” you said. You knew he was still struggling after his father left many months ago. He was shaking in your arms, trying to grasp you tightly. Trying to be closer.  “I’m so sorry,”

“I…I don’t know what to do,” he said. “You never got to meet her. She’d love you; you know?”

“That makes us even,” you saw a small smile on his lips. “I’m here now, Tom. You could rest,”

“You’ll still be here when I wake up?” he asked meekly, like a child.

“I’ll be here,” you nod, caressing his cheek softly. He nods, yawning after he evened out his breathing.

“Shit, love. I’m so tired,” he yawned again. “Let’s both go to sleep. We deserve it. I’ll see you when I’m awake?” he asked, adjusting your position on his small bed.

“I’ll see you,” you confirmed, snuggling closer to him.

-

“Tommy’s playing a dangerous game,” Polly commented from downstairs. It has been met with no resistance.

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1914

“Good afternoon, Pol,” you smiled. You were invited for Sunday dinner, and you decided to bring cake from the bakery that Tommy liked. You’ve only met them last year, but you’ve become such an integral part of their family that people knew you were closely associated with them. Even Simon.

“Oh, you didn’t have to bring cake,” she said. “We’d rather you spend it somewhere,”

“It’s alright,” you said. “I wanted to do something nice,”

“Keeping Tommy levelheaded is nice enough. Seriously, what did you do?” Ada asked, chopping the vegetables. She was reluctant at first but now, she couldn’t go a week without ranting to you. Girls’ night is what she called them.

“I don’t know,” you chuckled. “May I help?”

“If you could kindly chop the carrots, please,” Polly said. You set yourself and rolled your sleeves, peeling the carrots first. “Tommy and the boys went out for a while. They said it was some business with the Blinders. While they’re out, how are you?”

“Oh,” you nodded. “Me?”

“Of course. Ada has been talking my ear off about some guy she’s so secretive about,” she scoffed.

“I’ve been working less,” you confessed. “I’m helping out on the counter. Helping Big Johnny with the money and the accounts. I work a few times a week now. Simon’s been frequenting the brothel and well, you know what Simon does. It helps that he doesn’t stay long. The brothel pays me for my assistance. I can buy you cake every week now,”

“Don’t do that. Finn will be spoiled rotten,” Ada says. “Besides, you deserve nice things for yourself, you know,”

“I know but I can’t help it,” you said with a soft smile. “I like doing nice things for you,”

The boys soon come through the door, spilling with laughter. Tommy makes a beeline towards you as soon as he spots you.

“How was the afternoon?” you asked, bumping your hips with him.

“It was good,” he said. “Finn got into a fight with some kids, and we had to deal with it.”

“Is Finn okay? I brought cake.”

“Just a bruised ego,” he chuckled. My favourite?”

“Of course,” you said. “But let’s pretend that it’s for Finn, alright?”

“It’s always for Finn,” he groans. “He has you wrapped around his finger,”

“He does. He’s such a charming kid,” you praised. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Taking a bath before dinner. You have me for now,” Tommy said. “Can I sleep at your house later?” he asks in a softer tone. He’s been sleeping at your place ever since last year. He said you make him sleep better.

“You know it’s never a problem,” you said. His presence made you feel safe. He made you feel secure. “Will we leave together?”

“Yes. I’d like to sleep as soon as possible,” he says, dropping his forhead on your shoulder. You only chuckled. “I’m so tired. So, so tired,”

“Who are they fooling?” Ada asked in whispers. “Are we sure they’re best mates?”

“They’ve insisted on it for years,” Arthur shrugged. “I don’t think they’re aware,”

“I don’t think so either,” John says. “But Tommy throws a fit whenever she has to meet that Simon prick. Calls him a rich bastard.”

“He is a rich bastard,” Ada nodded. “She says he just came into his inheritance. Ammunitions,”

“Shit. She hit the jackpot, then,” John commented. “Wonder how that’s gonna go?”

“There’s nothing to wonder, John,” Arthur says. John could only nod his head.

-

You stumbled inside your house around half past midnight. You were both quite tipsy, having drank Pol’s stocks of wine. The Shelby Company Ltd. has been gaining more popularity now, along with the Blinders. Hell, Tommy even posted two Blinders to guard you. “For when I’m not around,” he said.

“Pol’s going to kill me for giving Finn too much cake,” you giggled, leaning on him.

“I reckon you’re banned from Sunday dinners,” Tommy jokes, taking his shoes off. He takes note of how you’re dressed today. “You know you can remove all the fucking things on your body right? Rouge…the jewels. Where’d you get them? Is the rich bastard buttering you up?”

“I like it. Dressing up makes me happy,” you frowned. “I’m allowed to like nice things, right?”

“Right,” his jaw ticked. It should be him who's giving you these gifts…showing you a lavish life. He hated it. “Later?”

“Later,” you nodded. “When I’m banned from Sunday dinners, you wouldn’t let me be left out, right?”

“‘Course not,” he shrugged, pulling you to your bedroom like he owned the place. You didn’t mind. You were happy to see that he was comfortable in your home. “You’re my best girl.”

“That’s what you say to your horses,”

“You’ve got really good horse sense and you’re always on your high horse,” he says, peeling his coat away. He was rummaging in your chest now, looking for clothes he might have left until he settled on a simple white shirt and pyjama pants.

“Yeah, yeah. You and your horse wordplay.” You entered the bathroom to dress down. Just like Tommy, you settled in his shirt and pants. They were more comfortable than singlets and you certainly didn’t want to make Tommy uncomfortable.

He was already waiting for you on the bed when you came back. He pats the space beside him. You obliged. You were looking into each other’s eyes with small smiles, Tommy’s finger trailing down your arm absentmindedly.

“I…” words died in his throat before he could get them out. “I…”

“What is it, Tom? Are you okay?”

“I’ll get you out of here,” he rasps. “I’ll get you out of there and I won’t let you work a day in your life anymore.”

“Tommy,” you sighed. “I can’t—can’t leave this job. It’s all I have,” He tightens his arms around you, afraid that you’ll ask him to let go.

“I know but once I come back from the war—“

“The war?” you asked, removing his arms around you. “War?”

“We enlisted,” he clarifies, trying to gauge your reaction. “Once I come back, I’ll be so fucking rich. I’ll have you. I’ll keep you and you won’t have to lift a finger. We’ll live in a mansion and have servants. Just like what we used to talk about,”

“Tommy, you’re going to war?” you asked, standing from the bed. His eyes watched you settle down shakily on the single chair by the bed. “Fuck. You’re going to war. You’re going to leave me,”

“No, love. Come on, I—“ he grunts, sitting up from his relaxed position.

“It’s war, Tommy! They change people…I don’t want to lose you; do you not get that? Are you not happy here? Is that why you're throwing your life away?”

“I’m not throwing my life away,” he says, a frown. “We’ll be drafted one way or another because we’re poor. Might as well do it now than be forced. Some of my men will still watch over you every now and then. They’ll still make sure that you’re safe. We’ll send letters. Alright?”

“Letters,” you scoffed. “And what if the letters stopped coming?”

“Don’t say that, please,” he begs. “I’m doing this for all of us. The business will be handled by Polly and when I’m back, I’ll make it even bigger. Alright? You have to trust me,” You didn’t even want to ask about the business. You didn’t want to ask why more men wore peaky caps. You didn’t want to ask what the Shelby Company Ltd. really was. Not now.

“I know you will, Tom,” you said. “But I’m scared. For the first time since I’ve known you, you won’t be here. I’m scared,”

Tommy lays his hand on your shoulder. Words he couldn’t say lingered in the air. I’ll marry you once I step foot in England. He didn’t know what else to say; didn’t know if there was still something to say. So, he kneels before you and makes you look at him. You were crying. So afraid, so alone.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“When will you be leaving?”

“I have two more days,” he says. “Will I still see you?”

“Yes, of course,” you said. “You’ll come back for me?”

“Of course. I have a picture of you already in my pocket. I have to make sure to come back to you,” he said. “and everyone else, of course.”

He fishes a necklace from his pocket, his mother’s locket.

“Here,” he said, showing it to you. It was one of the last pieces of jewellery she owned. “Mum gave it to me. You know I’ve always worn it. I want you to wear it now. Think of it as a loan, yeah? You’ll give it back once we see each other again,”

“Tommy, I—“

“I want you to accept it. I want you to see you wear it now. I want to see you wear it before I leave. But most of all I want for us to stay the same,” he says, holding you and kissing your hair softly. You couldn’t push him away. You’ve longed for this your whole life. To be held, to feel loved. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“I’m sorry. So, so, so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think you’re wasting your life away,” you cleared your throat. “I’m so—I’m so proud of you and your bravery. I’m so proud of you but I can’t be fucking happy for you. I don’t want to wake up every day knowing that you’re not here. I don’t want to have to guess if you were alive or not.”

“I am,” he promises. “I’ll be alive. I’ll come back as your Tommy. Just…wait for me, alright?”

You clung onto Tommy two days later by the train. He whispered that he would come back. He said that he will make sure of it. He breathes in the smell of your hair—roses. He envelopes you in his arms once more and turns to leave, never looking back. You knew, in your hysterics, that if he comes back from the war, the same old Tommy you used to know would never be.

PART 2 PART 3

TAGLIST:  @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius​ @trixie23​ @everythingelseisextra​

[rdr2gifs]

''the morning light, when it comes to me, it was there but I could not see''

Arthur’s life was profoundly shaped by his self-hatred, lack of self-worth and disbelief in the existence of kindness in a seemingly dark and cruel world.

I strongly disagree with the statement that Arthur only became a ‘’better’’ man after being diagnosed with tb. His struggle with his true/inner self is apparent as early as chapter one. ‘’You are not who you think you are, sir… which is lucky’’

He has lived a rough life, raised by criminals and surrounded by violence ever since he was born. It was installed in him early that his value lied within being a violent enforcer and he has lived this life since, knowing nothing else. As a highly aware person, Arthur's actions weight heavy on his soul. He accepts that his actions have consequences. He knows that a person who has caused so much suffering is not meant to have happiness in life. His way of life has caused him to believe that he is not worthy of love or redemption. He doesn’t want to believe that a person like him could be capable of any good. (a thing to note here is that imo, Arthur’s actions near his death weren’t attempts at redemption but rather a strong desire to do right and possibly be his true self.) This is why he keeps living as he does as it’s the only thing he’s ever known, it’s the thing that brings him profit, praise from the person he looks up to and he is already damned so he might as well continue living this life anyway.

The internal problem Arthur faces is that this violent, cruel way of life doesn’t align with what I’d call his true self/ideals. He is torn between the harsh reality he has known and an unconscious yearning for righteousness/love. To be able to carry on with his actions he must enforce certain ideals within himself, such as: I am bad, ugly, nasty, ignorant, mean etc. He also decides to see the dark side of reality, telling himself that the world is a grim dark place and this is just as things were meant to be. This is why he feels so uncomfortable being complimented for his good deeds, because a bad rotten person like him should not be able to do good. It breaks the image he has built for himself and he doesn’t want that happening. This can be seen a lot during the ‘’Money Lending and Other Sins’’ missions where he is unusually mean (even for his standards) to each of the debtors. Imo, he acts this way because he must truly convince himself of being a terrible man to be able to carry out a job which revolts him so badly. In the last debt collecting mission with J. John Weathers, it can be seen in his face/expressions how much he is struggling to put on a tough, uncaring, heartless act. He needs to maintain a ruthless persona to survive in the world he knows. He must convince himself of his own cruelty.

''Forgive me, but that's the problem. You don't know you.''

Contrary to Arthur’s beliefs, he is a naturally kind-hearted person who is unconsciously drawn towards kindness. And yes, even before he was diagnosed with tb. This can be seen in the people he respects the most and, in his willingness to help strangers (notice how he often does unnecessary acts of service for total strangers such as: carrying their things, holding out hands etc. even though they had already troubled him). Despite the life he has lived, Arthur does not enjoy violence, he does not enjoy hurting people. He doesn’t want to dominate over others. He thinks mostly about others and not about himself. This fact alone is very telling of his character.

He writes about Charles, a man who he truly respects: ‘’He’s a better man than me. He does not need to think to be good. It comes naturally to him, like right is deep within as opposed to this conflict between GOOD↔EVIL that rages within me.’’ A man who is not struggling with his inner self would not have written this. To me this clearly implies an inner desire to be a better man. He writes about his mentors: ‘’I love Dutch like a father, but in many ways, I love Hosea even more. He’s kind and fair and like a human being. Dutch is something else.’’ Clearly showing a preference for Hosea who is of a more gentle nature and shows genuine kindness. Unsurprisingly, these are the people who see through his dumb/though act and encourage him to drop it.

When he comes across Brother Dorkins for the first time, he writes: ‘’(he)was one of those innocent people who make you feel better about human beings and about yourself a little. Must be odd to see all that goodness in the world. Place always seemed dark and brutal to me.’’ Expressing how he does not see goodness in the world, implying lack of good examples/kindness/good experiences in his life. Yet, the monk leaves an impression and imo, this encounter (seeing genuine goodness) disrupts Arthur’s perception of what the world truly is. ‘’Just as evil begat evil your whole life long, so good may begat good’’ (what strengthens my belief in this, is the following, symbolic scene of Arthur realising the consequences of his actions right after picking up a crucifix. He was aware of them before sure, but is unable to truly ignore them now having seen it right in front of his eyes). If only Arthur was presented with more examples of goodness in his life.

''You have it in you... I can tell!''

His desire to do as much good as possible after realising he won’t live long is instant. This would not be the mindset of someone who did not already possess kindness in his heart. ‘’Know glory and forget about shame.’’ Arthur’s shame and self-loathing caused by his previous actions were what was holding him back from allowing kindness into his life. Knowing that he has limited time left has not made him into someone he wasn’t before. The diagnosis was a catalyst, allowing him to embrace that love/goodness truly does exist and accelerate the process of chipping away from the persona he has made for himself. This was a newfound understanding for him as in the past he was rejecting any notion of kindess. In himself and perhaps the whole existence of it. ‘’You keep hidden all that matters, even from yourself.’’

After being diagnosed, he writes: ‘’What kind of a man have I been? What kind of a man am I? What world is this we live in? A land of fury or a place of love? Am I being prepared for eternal damnation? Am I past any kind of saving? Is that all fairytales? Man ain’t got much good in him. I ain’t got no good in me… I don’t think and yet I see goodness. I see it. If not in me, in good folk. In Abigail and her love for Jack. In that silly monk. In Downes, I guess. Begging not for himself but for the poor, even though he was near starving himself. Maybe I don’t want salvation. Part of me has always longed for death.’’ This entry perfectly shows how deep Arthur’s self-loathing goes and just how much it has damaged him. As his journal allows a look into his true feelings, he truly does not see a single good thing about himself. He knew for a long time that the way he lives is detestable but he could not let go of it. Not because he didn’t want to, but because it’s all that he has ever known. He didn’t believe in anything else. This sudden acceptance of goodness has allowed him to see clearly, which was obscured from him before, and for the first time, enabled him to act free of past regrets for what is right.

⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪

Arthur’s redemption is not about becoming a good man. It is about finding the strength to change and recognise your true self despite a lifetime of self-loathing and breaking free from destructive beliefs of the past.

In Arthurian legends a stag is a symbol of the unending quest of spiritual knowledge/enligtenment

[writingstoraes]

merry and bright 🎄

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: aaaa i really missed writing here! it's been months since i last posted but since i have a short holiday break, i thought why not get back into it! sooo here's a small holiday piece! hope you're all having a nice holiday so far 🤍

about: christmas shenanigans with charles!

yourusername

liked by joris__trouche, arthurleclerc, wags4eva, and 205,283 others

yourusername someone's finally home for the holidays 🎄missed you beyond words, my love!

lecslover MY PARENTS

scuderiaferrari Happy holidays, Y/N and Charles! ❤️

charles_leclerc Brb, putting mistletoe in every corner of the house 😅

hamilwhattt HES SO????

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, alexalbon23, maxverstappen, and 670,294 others

charles_leclerc 'Tis the season

yourusername why didn't you post your very beautiful gingerbread man cookies? 🤔

arthurleclerc Beautiful???? pierregasly Come on Arthur, it's Charles - of course Y/N is being sarcastic charles_leclerc I do not wish any of you a Merry Christmas 😑

maxverstappen Tell Y/N Penelope misses her baking!

lecssainz55 if you zoom in on the tree you can see me on top of the star about to jump

yourusername and charles_leclerc recently added to their instagram stories!

yourusername

liked by lilymhe, racingthusiasts, lorenzotl, and 321,242 others

yourusername freezing cold these days... thanks for keeping me warm charles_leclerc 😘

charles_leclerc Only put in this world for your thermal purposes, amour

lestappenz THERMAL PURPOSESHWBHW

hotcars need me someone to keep me warm too 😣

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen, scuderiaferrari, arthurleclerc, and 832,394 others

charles_leclerc The best gift I could ever ask for 🎁

yourusername is???

charles_leclerc You, obviously 😘

pierregasly Happy holidays, lovebirds 🎄

alexalbon23 Merry Christmas, Charles and Y/N!

danielricciardo Soulmates are reunited I see...

riclaren OHH daniel is a charles and y/n enthusiast???

yourusername

liked by lorenzotl, wagslove, scuderiaferrari, and 203,294 others

yourusername best time of the year 🎄 hope everyone is feeling merry and bright 🤍

tagged: charles_leclerc

lilymhe Happy holidays my loves ❤️

isahernaez happy holidays, y/n and charles! meet up soon xo

wagstuff THE RING??? IS THIS???? AN ANNOUNCEMENT

yourusername merry christmas, user wagstuff :)

-------

notes: wishing everyone happy holidays! hope you're all surrounded by loved ones :) tysm for reading and pls don't be shy to let me know what you guys thought of this!

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy, @fdl305, @iloveyou3000morgan, @cxcewg, @sassyheroneckgiant, @ang3licho3, @pitlanebabe, @riverdalexvixens, @msliz, @boherahpsody @storminacloud @leclercdream (if anyone else wants to be a part of my taglist or if i forgot anyone that asked to be tagged, pls lmk by replying or sending me a message hehe)

[queers-gambit]

Aces

prompt: ( requested ) during a terrible storm, you're invited to stay at your boss' house. years of tip-toeing around one another comes to an end when emotions are finally laid on the table.

pairing: Tommy Shelby x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Peaky Blinders

word count: 3.5k+

warning: honestly, it's pretty tame. some cursing, kinda-sorta one bed, most def OC Tommy, fluff, author is def on the Grace Hating Train but it's mild.

With a grunt, you threw the file of paperwork from your hands across the empty room; scattering across the floor. You were agitated, grouchy, beyond exhausted, and yet, there was no use in trying to leave when the worst storm to ransack England was being unleashed from the seediest parts of hell.

All you wanted was to go to bed for about 16 hours, but as midnight ticked closer and closer, that dream was dwindling. You'd be lucky to get a few hours at this point since your job was demanding enough to warrant early mornings and late nights. But this night was later than ever before.

You often wondered if your employer's antics brought this hell-storm upon you all, but figured, God didn't care that much about Small Heath. He most certainly didn't care for the Devil running it.

"Woah!" A voice laughed when the file went flying. "Gott'an arm on yah, love! Nearly took me fuckin' eye out!"

"Ha-ha," you mocked John Shelby, your employer's younger brother. "What're you still doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same," he smirked, squatting so he was in front of you with an exaggerated pout. "Why're you still here, love? Tommy's still gotcha workin'?"

"No, it's my own vocation."

"Tommy don't pay overtime, sweetheart."

"No shit," your eyes rolled. "In case I'm the only one capable of seeing it, there's an outlandish storm outside that prevents me from getting home." You gestured around where you sat on the floor, surrounded by files and other paperwork, "So, what else was I gonna do to pass the time?"

"It's not that bad," he waved you off. "C'mon, I'm off t'the Garrison, come with me, love. We can drink 'til the storm passes, huh?"

"John, seriously, I'm warning you," you deadpanned, watching him adjust his flatcap.

"C'mon, sweet cheeks, we can endure it," he laughed, opening the door and literally being shoved back by the force of the wind. You didn't make a sound, just reaching to hold down the papers around you as he grunted and groaned, trying to shut the flailing door; only able to once he threw his entire weight into it.

"Told you," you mused, his face and coat dripping wet from the short time the door was open.

"So, you're staying here, then?" He asked, panting, trying to play off the entire ordeal.

"I figured I'd get some more work done, it's not like Tommy gives any days off," you shrugged.

"He'd give you whatever you asked for," John smirked, taking his coat off.

"No, he needs me to do shit on the daily, there aren't days off, John Boy," you rolled your eyes playfully. "But I knew what I was signing up for when I agreed to work for you idiots."

"Hey," he pouted.

"Oh, honey, if it helps any, you're my favorite idiot!"

"Good," he pointed at you with a small laugh. "But seriously, love, if you need the day off, Tommy would do it."

"No, there's so much to do here," you frowned. "We're on track to reopen in a few weeks, and if I take a day off, we'll fall behind, and you know Tommy doesn't do delays."

The gambling den the Shelby's operated was getting a make over now that The Shelby Company Limited was soon to be up and running. Hence why you were there in an empty room with only files around you and a dimly lit lap, you were trying to get shit organized before furniture could be moved back in.

You would have to restock Polly's office, Tommy's, Arthur's, and John's - all of who were Company members and would need their space to work. Not to mention the completely different office Tommy was currently eyeing to use as his base of operation, something you, as his personal assistant, was expected to help with every step of the way. Honestly, it was a miracle Tommy was ever able to get shit done before you - an organizational Goddess.

"Well," John sighed, looking around for a moment before shrugging and placing his hands on his hips, "want some help?"

You chuckled, "No, it's all right, John, you go on. Surely the lads will be home soon - "

Speak of the Devil! And He will appear!

The door burst open, sending your files every which way from the gust of wind; several bodies shoving their way inside before the lone, single body of Tommy Shelby stalked in last. He shut the door without issue, being a force of nature himself; a professionally observant, silent, lone menace that commanded the attention of any room he walked into. People on the street parted for him like the Red Sea, flocked to the darkened parts of the streets just to get a glimpse of the gangster in motion.

For as long as you can remember, you've harbored overwhelming affection for your boss, but never once vocalized it out of sheer fear of rejection.

He was Thomas Shelby. He was an enigma; a mysterious, stoic man that instilled a sense of fear and respect from those around him. You included, but yet never dare let your admiration for your employer be known in public. You loved him from a distance; admiring him and feeling yourself fall further into your unrequited love due to the intimate proximity you shared. He's always treated you as exactly what you were - a valuable member of the Company and his personal assistant. You worked intimately together on a daily basis, and each night you went home, you would scream into a pillow out of sheer frustration.

Being his personal assistant meant you were constantly in close proximity, and no matter how hard you tried to fight your feelings, it was impossible. He was Thomas bloody Shelby - insanely suave, charismatic, a deep nut to crack, but once he opened up, he was insanely loyal, caring, even decently amusing. He was all you wanted, but never felt secure enough to admit your feelings for him.

You were greeted happily by the men, all piling into the Shelby home to take refuge from the storm. You were left to silently rock to your feet and start gathering the papers that had gone flying in their entrance, glancing up when a hand offered help in rounding up your supplies. "Thank you, Mr. Shelby, but I got it," you insisted quietly, accepting the pages he handed you.

Tommy always had a soft spot for you.

He was silent for a moment, then asked, "What're you still doin' here?"

"Storm makes it impossible to get home," you shrugged. "I was waiting until it lessened, but it doesn't seem to," you glanced out the window, still shuffling files and papers together.

"You've worked all day," he sighed, "c'mon."

"Uh... Where?"

"Think you've earned a drink," he eased, already striding out of the room. You quickly finished gathering your papers, stacking them all together, but was pleasantly shocked when Tommy returned to the empty room with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

"Mr. Shelby, don't - "

But he was already sat on the ground, back against a wall, watching you with amusement. "Think a man's too good to sit on the floor?" He asked, uncorking the bottle.

"When their suit is so expensive that I have to take it to a specific cleaners, perhaps, then yes," you answered truthfully.

"I've money to spare, I can send this suit to be cleaned by another errand boy, you won't have to any longer," he poured two glasses of whiskey, "but tonight's company is too good to pass up."

You laughed, "Oh, no, what did you do?"

"Hmm?"

"You're kissing my arse a little, what've you done? What mess do I have to clean tomorrow?"

He smirked as you finally sat beside him, a bit stiffly, but accepted the drink he served. "Nothing, love, this storm's put a halt on everything," he gestured to the window, unaware that your heart stalled in your chest when you heard him call you 'love'. "What is it you were working on?" He asked, fingering the few files stacked between you. "Ah," he mused, reading the titles of the packets, "trying to get a jump on tomorrow, huh?"

"Not very much else to do," you shrugged. "I... I got a little frustrated. I think I'll need Polly to go over a few things with me."

"I'm sure you've got it," he spoke quietly. "I wouldn't have hired you if incapable."

You nodded, "Right, of course, sir."

Mr. Shelby offered you a look, taking a swig of whiskey. "You know, after hours, you don't have to be so professional."

"You didn't hire me to be unprofessional, though."

"No, I didn't, but this isn't a work meeting," he offered his glass. "We can still be friendly, can we not?"

You clinked his glass with yours, "Sure, of course we can..." How the hell could you be 'friendly' to the man you've pined after for the past two years? "So, I heard Grace skipped town," you started, instantly wincing when you realized what you said. "I-I'm so sorry, Mr. Shelby, I didn't mean to - "

But he chuckled, "You heard correct." He waited a long moment, then offered, "She's gone - for good."

You tested the waters, "Is... That a good thing?"

"It is."

"I thought you liked the barmaid?"

"I thought I did, too, but I've been wrong before."

"I doubt that."

"No, truly," he smirked, "I've made my fair share of mistakes."

"That you'd be willing to admit to?"

"Well, that's a different story," he mused, downing the last of his glass. "C'mon," he decided, sitting up, "the others are in the den, if you'd like to join?"

"Oh, no, I don't wish to intrude."

"Where were you going to sleep, then? If this storm doesn't die off in the next hour?" You gestured to where your coat and belongings were bunched up beside you, shrugging lightly. "No, absolutely not," he glared when he took in your makeshift bed, "you're coming in, you'll stay the night here."

"No, you lot are having family time - "

"And why do you assume you aren't family yet?" He asked sharply, making you reel back a little. "Three years, you've worked with my family, a portion of that before any of us came home. C'mon, love, you're more family than others wish to pretend to be."

"You mean that?" You worried softly.

He offered a look of mild offense, "I don't speak to hear the sound of my own voice. I would not say it if I did not mean it."

The whiskey in your system encouraged you to offer a sharp look, snipping, "It would not kill you to just say, 'Yes, I mean it.'"

Tommy smirked lightly, nodding, "Yes, I mean it. Come, you'll stay here tonight."

You couldn't fight off the smile even if you tried. With your coat and purse in one hand, Tommy took the other to help you off the floor. Like a gentleman, he took your belongings before leading you further into the Shelby home; leaving the empty gambling den to find the others all stuffed around a table with a card game loudly being played; fireplace stoked to life.

Polly greeted you happily, not knowing you were still here. Tommy set your things to the side as Arthur wrangled you into the seat beside him - insisting you had to be on his team! A quick sniff of his tea mug assured he was waist deep in the whiskey.

"Okay! New player at the table!" John announced, yanking all the cards back to hand over to Polly. They were all smoking, minus you and Finn. "You all know the rules - hey, hey, hey, no! Tommy's not on her team!" He pointed at you and his brother, who had sat beside you to sandwich you between Shelby's.

"Why not?" Tom asked, accepting the tea from Polly as Finn handed you your own.

"Thank you, little love," you whispered, pecking his cheek as he giggled.

"Becuase you two can communicate without words - it's fucking weird!" John insisted. "All right! Polly, you're with Tommy - the fucker likes to cheat."

"Being better than you isn't cheating, John Boy."

"Is when there's money on the line!" John laughed, Arthur leaning over to explain to you the game. He was actually a very good teacher, and even for a few rounds, you weren't a "viable player" just to let you watch and get the gist of things.

However, when you joined the game, it was far more intense than you had given credit for. But the Shelby's were competitive lads, Polly just happy to laugh and remind the boys of the rules; letting them dominate the table as you were content to just watch, laugh, and sip your tea. After a few rounds, Finn came over and hopped up on your lap, declaring you two a team now, and believe it or not, you won the next three hands!

"CHEATERS! AYE!?" John yelled, laughing right after as a boom of thunder rattled the home.

"No, call that beginners luck!" Arthur tried to defend, Tommy lighting a new cigarette.

"Or maybe John's just not accustomed to losing?" You grinned. "Especially from a lady?"

"I lost to a lady? Where? Where is she?" John looked around comically, earning a swift kick under the table that rattled the tea cups.

"All right, all right, next hand, we play for money, come on, come on, bets in the center," Polly instructed. "Finn, don't," she warned and you reached up to push the lad's hand down as he was ready to toss in a few pounds.

"Here, I'll cover us," you told the little lad, both grinning when you offered money to the center. Unknown to you, Tommy was keeping mental track of however much you were betting - intent to pay you back. Yet he didn't say anything, content to watch you and Finn have fun together.

Arthur and John were the most vocal of the group, arguing about scores and tallies and who won which round. You chuckled as Finn leaned into your chest, everyone waiting for the two to finish arguing; Polly looking over with a broad smirk before dropping her gaze. Tommy had seemingly naturally moved closer to you, one arm extended behind your chair to keep you close to his warmth.

Neither seemed to notice.

Not even when you would turn to crack a joke directly in Tommy's ear, his lips spreading in an easy smile that made Polly fight off her own grin. Grace was something special to Tommy, sure, this was true, but after the time together, she could tell that the two of you had become something more - without even verbalizing it.

Never realizing.

Hours passed, the storm still raged, two cartons of cigarettes was smoked between the lot of them, and there was no clear winner in sight. Finn had fully deflated into your embrace, asleep despite the loud thunder and blinding flashes of lightning. Your head had lulled onto Tommy's shoulder, sleep clawing at your eyelids as you listened to a drunken John and Arthur still argue about the card game. Polly eventually called it quits and bid everyone a goodnight, smiling softly when she noted the cozy seating between you and Tommy.

The longer you sat there, you more exhausted you became.

"C'mon, love," Tommy whispered softly, rousing you from your half-sleep, "let's get you to bed. C'mon, up you get," he smirked, aiding you from your chair as you kept a firm hold on his little brother. "We'll see you lot in the morning," he told his brothers.

"Night," John and Arthur waved, still deep into their argument, but smirking to one another when Tommy lead you up the stairs. When you were gone from sight, John leaned in and asked his eldest brother, "Think Tommy'll make a move tonight?"

Arthur glanced up the stairs, musing, "If he doesn't, he might be stupider then we thought."

John agreed.

Upstairs, Tommy opened the bedroom door and let you lay Finn softly on his bed, pausing to tug his shoes off and cover him with his blanket; moving his stuffed teddy bear closer and watching his sleeping hand naturally curl around it. You snuck out of the door, Tommy shutting the door, and tangled your hand with his.

Silently, he lead you to his bedroom.

It was small, ridiculously small, but it was enough for his single person. Tommy shut the door after you, moving around, muttering, "You can sleep in this," as he handed you one of his shirts, "and I'll be in the drawing room if you need me - "

"Tommy, I'm not kicking you out of your room," you sighed. "I can sleep on the sofa for the night, it's not - "

"I'm not letting you do that," he refused sharply.

"Then we seem to be at an impasse," you decided with perked brows. "Either we're both sleeping on the sofa or we both crash your bed. You choose."

He chuckled dryly, "And here I thought the whiskey would make you less stubborn."

"Wishful thinking."

He nodded, letting you have the room to change and get under the covers. It was decently cold in his room, more so without pants; the storm doing nothing to remedy that, and when Tommy returned, everything felt different.

A good different, but still different.

Neither of you made eye contact, him joining you in the absurdly small bed after blowing the candles out. You settled on your side, facing the wall, and after a few moments of adjusting, Tommy was settling down - but hesitating to deflate in comfort.

"Is it all right if I, uh... If I...?"

"Yeah, 's all right, Tommy," you whispered, reaching for the hand that hovered over your waist and pulling it so he was curled around you. It was all he needed to readjust, sigh to himself, and deflate against your back. You shivered slightly when his warm breath fanned over your neck and shoulder; his hand splaying over your belly and rubbing his thumb mindlessly. "Thank you for letting me stay the night," you whispered.

"Wasn't gonna send you home in this weather," he answered, voice vibrating the shell of your ear. "Besides," he whispered in a sigh, "this is where I wanted you, and where I wanted to be."

You chuckled, "Oh, yeah? So cold in here you need a warm body in bed with you?"

"No," he whispered, "but I've been in love with you for months now that I didn't want you far from me. Doesn't feel right, seeing you go home without me - everyday. I was overjoyed to come back and see you still here."

"What?" He didn't let you turn around, just kept you both there; locked in your spoon. "Tommy, what're you saying?"

He took a sobering breath, "That this is what I want, this is where I want us to be."

"That's the whiskey talking."

"No, love, it's you," his lips danced across your ear, making you shiver. "It's always been you, but I wasn't in my right mind to do anything about it."

"And now you are?"

"I might be, I couldn't go another minute with you thinking I don't want you - that I don't value you in my life. The fact that you were ready to sleep downstairs hurt me more than I'm willing to admit," he sighed, "and I knew, I needed to confess a few things so you know, you're welcome in this family. You won't ever sleep downstairs, love, you're meant to be here... With me... If you want to be."

You had to slap his hand to get him to loosen his grip and let you turn around to face him; but his hand remained on your, moving up to grip your ribs. In a whisper, you asked, "You're being honest? Genuine?"

"I can't lie to you, you can always tell. So, am I lying?"

"I don't think so," you whispered with skepticism, eyes narrowed. Neither of your voices rose above a whisper, "Why say any of this, Tommy?"

"Because the idea of going another day without at least trying to tell you how I feel was beginning to feel suffocating."

"What about Grace?"

"It's taken me a bit, but I know now that I was infatuated with her simply because I had already decided you were out of my league."

"Do you hear yourself?" You grinned, caressing his cheek. "You're everything I've wished for, Tommy, but know I can't have. You're the one in a league of your own, I'm the one unable to touch you."

His head shook, "You're all I've wanted and more. I wasn't sure you'd think it appropriate - my affection for you - given you work for me."

"The same reason I feared voicing my affection for you, too."

"Now that it's in the open," he whispered, "how do you want to proceed?"

"We can figure logistics out later," you smiled, tracing your fingertips over his face, "but for now, I just want to enjoy this. I never thought you'd look at me the same way, and now that you do, I don't want to look away."

"You won't have to," he whispered. "I'm in this for us, my sweet, if you are."

"Nowhere I'd rather be," you whispered, cuddled close, and simply breathing the same air. For a single moment, Tommy felt unparalleled peace; the shovels quiet, heart content, and body warm.

requesting rules and masterlist

Peaky Blinders masterlist

[thethirdromana]

There have been a bunch of posts (mine included) about how meaningful it is that Mina chooses to marry Jonathan in an ableist society that would tell her to break off the engagement, or at the very least wait until he recovers.

But I think it's worth noting that Mina is not the only one committing to a loved one despite their illness:

This morning I am horribly weak. My face is ghastly pale, and my throat pains me. It must be something wrong with my lungs, for I don't seem ever to get air enough. I shall try to cheer up when Arthur comes, or else I know he will be miserable to see me so.

We know the reason why Lucy's illness is getting worse, but a) Arthur doesn't and b) many of her symptoms predate any encounter with Dracula.

There's much less of Arthur's perspective on Lucy than there is Mina's perspective of Jonathan, so it doesn't shine through as much, but he too is making the choice to marry someone chronically ill - against the usual advice to Victorian men to choose a healthy wife.

In fact, since it was frowned upon (and legally actionable) for men to break engagements, all three suitors were prepared to make a commitment to Lucy in full knowledge of her poor health.

[allzelemonz]

Dare: The Van der Linde Boys X Male Reader

(Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, Sean MacGuire, Javier Esquella)

Fictober Prompt: Day 17, Multi Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘fella’ and ‘man’, heavy masculine implication Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: (have you ever been in a men’s locker room and things got a little weird), smut, background relationships, masturbation, hand jobs, kissing, oral sex, blow jobs, dirty talk, facial, cum swallowing, Micah being an asshole, flirting, casual sex, everyone is gay but especially Bill Summary: Drunk Sean wanting to get off prompts a dare to jerk off and last longer than anyone else at the fire. Gay chaos of a sort ensues.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Arthur nearly shrieks, his head turning away from a much drunker Sean.

“Oh, come on now, Englishman.” Sean giggles. “We’re all men here, ain’t no trouble at all, is it?”

His hand palms at the bulge in his pants. A bulge that has only now been noticed and has the rest of camp’s attention. Bill fixes his eyes for a few seconds before he looks away, shifting his legs nervously. You try to look almost anywhere else.

Sean grins. “Ya know what, fellas, I bet you I can get myself off ‘fore any a’ you.”

Micah scoffs. “We all heard yer whore goin’ off ‘bout how ya can’t last, cowpoke.”

Sean hisses, stilling his hand. “Fine, then I bet I can ‘least outlast a greasy arse of man like you.”

“What?” Javier grimaces. “You want us all to sit here with our dicks out?”

“Embarrassed, Mister Escuella?” Sean laughs, giving him wavy eyebrows.

“We’re not all gonna jerk off in front of each other.” You mutter. “That’s insane.”

Sean sits up, putting a falsely offended hand over his chest. “That ain’t fair, big man.” A grin grows over his face. “What if I dared all a’ ya?”

“A dare?” Charles mutters.

Sean proudly puts his hand over his bulge. “I dare each a ya ta last longer than the legend Sean MacGuire. An’ whoever lasts longest, I’ll give ya my share a’ the job.”

The men around the fire shuffle, some hiding their own erections, others simply uncomfortable. It’s just a handful of the young men here, sent out for a train job. Arthur stares into the fire, as does Charles, Bill glances all around as he tries not to look at anyone at all, Micah and Javier seem more insulted than anyone. A dare is an odd thing, often able to make a man do things he never would, stupid things at that. And one like this, as odd as it is, is almost a challenge to each one of your own masculinity. Everything about dicks is.

You assume that’s why it’s Micah that starts unfastening his pants first. “Fine.” He mutters.

And Javier follows, wordless. Then Bill, fumbling quickly. Sean flicks his eyes between the rest of you as he fishes himself out. You admit, confident in your manhood or not, a dare is a dare so you pull your dick out as well. Arthur grumbles something to himself, doing the same. Charles is the last, seemingly embarrassed and likely thankful that his complexion hides most of the heat in his cheeks unlike most of you.

“Alright.” Sean says proudly. “Everybody gives a good effort, whatever ya like, long as ya don’t stop. Huh?”

Nods follow, each man showing their nerves in little bits and averting their eyes as much as they can. Plenty of you have been naked in front of each other or just caught glimpses during a piss break, but it’s much odder with this context to see each other’s dicks in hand.

“Count a’ three then.” Sean grins. “One! Two…! Three!”

You lick your hand and wrap your fingers around yourself, focusing down on that sight as opposed to anyone else. You flick your wrist loosely, moving slow and trying to ignore how the shivers spread over you. If you were alone it wouldn’t be much stimulation, but knowing you’re surrounded by six other men makes it just a little more exciting.

When you chance a glance up you find shamelessly wandering eyes and slow strokes all around. Arthur’s face is flushed red as his eyes stare around, the most shame anyone has. Sean lets noise spill from him easily, his hand the first to move faster. He doesn’t last long past that, Micah laughing at him as he releases.

“Shit…” Sean sighs, staring down at the mess of his pants.

Some of the other men still, looking at the loser of the little competition.

“Well don’t stop on my account.” Sean says with a smile. “Winner gets my share a’ the job, remember?”

The slow strokes continue.

Sean looks around for a moment before you see a grin spread over his face as he tucks himself away. “‘a course, that don’t mean I can’t play favorites.”

“The hell’s that mean?” Bill mutters.

Sean stands, slowly making his way over to Micah. “Ain’t like ya need the money, do ya?”

Micah eyes the Irishman warrily, but makes no move to stop him from dropping to his knees. Sean shocks everyone around the fire when he takes Micah in his mouth. Micah hisses, moving his hand out of Sean’s way and into his tangled red hair. Bill gasps next to you, his eyes fixed on the sight. You look away, the thought of Sean’s share of money paying for a nicer saddle or something keeping you restrained. Micah caves, gripping Sean’s hair and fucking into his mouth until he releases.

Sean coughs and splutters, swallowing most of the cum before he can pull himself away. “Least…” Sean spits. “Least  you ain’t winnin’, ya lousy arse. When’s the last time ya wash that little thing a’ yours anyway?”

Micah scowls at him, tucking himself away. “You wanna play rough, MacGuire, fine.”

It’s like a cloud of hated lust washes the sense from everyone, both Micah and Sean moving to a target they don’t want winning.

As Arthur glares at Micah, Sean smirks. “New rule, boys. Ya get picked by somebody that’s out, ya gotta let ‘em try fer at least a minute.”

“That’s stupid.” Arthur mutters, eyeing Micah as the blond smirks down at him.

“Only fair, Morgan.” Micah says. “I ain’t gonna be the only fool that got out on a technicality.”

Arthur grumbles, but doesn’t stop Micah from gripping him and stroking furiously. Your heart skips when Sean’s eyes meet yours and he takes a few steps forward.

“No hard feelings, big man, Bill said he’d buy me a drink.” Sean snickers as he drops to his knees in front of you.

You shudder when he touches you, your hot skin buzzing at his cool fingers. But before you can blink, his mouth has engulfed your entire length. Sean is far too good at this. He bobs his head and you will yourself not to give in for the minute he has.

Across the fire, Arthur shoves Micah away. “Ya had yer chance, sick bastard.”

Micah grunts, wiping his hand on his pants before turning to Bill and starting his process again. Bill moans at the touch, struggling not to buck up into Micah’s hand. You’ve lost track of Sean’s minute, but he wasn’t far behind Micah so you shove at his shoulder.

“Better luck next time.” You say, your voice shaking a bit as you replace your hand.

Sean grins up at you, whispering. “Hope ya win.”

Likely because he’s losing his promised drink with the way Bill is shutting under Micah’s touch. Just as Sean reaches Javier to tease, Bill releases with a gasp. Micah grins to himself but you catch it, you also notice how he doesn’t stop as Bill shakes but instead strokes him through it.

“Get Morgan.” He mutters.

Bill nods, sweat covering his face. Micah straightens himself and glances between you and Charles, opting for you after a few seconds.

“Sorry, cowpoke.” He mutters. “Just rather touch you than him.”

“Fuck off, Micah.” You say through gritted teeth.

Micah smiles at you as he sits down next to you, leaning close as his arm wraps around your waist and his hand closes on your dick. “That ain’t any way ta talk. I’m ‘bout ta get ya off, ain’t I?”

For as much of an ass as Micah is, he’s good at this. Your mind wanders, picturing all the times you’ve seen Micah by the fire cleaning his guns. His fingers wrapped around the barrel as he drags the cloth over the metal.

“Shit!” You gasp.

Micah’s hand feels better than Sean’s mouth did, fast and furious strokes making you have to stop yourself from squirming. A low groan from Javier takes him out as he fills Sean’s throat, the Irishman not pulling off like he did with Micah and choosing to swallow it all this time. Only a moment later, Arthur mutters a curse as he releases onto Bill’s face and dirties the man’s beard. He mumbles an apology as Bill grumbles about it, both of them blushing deeply.

“Alright, alright.” Sean says. “Let’s give our finalists a chance.”

Micah leans a little closer as he takes his hand back. “Win this, cowpoke.”

You shutter as his breath hits your neck.

Sean grins. “Hands away now, boys! Take a breather.”

Charles pulls his hand back, resting it on his thigh as he eyes the group. You swallow thickly, still feeling all the heat from Sean and Micah’s attempts. Charles hasn’t even been touched once, he has the advantage.

“How should we do this, boys?” Sean asks, turning to the group of losers. “Let ‘em keep at it, help ‘em out?”

“This is stupid.” Arthur grumbles.

Bill is too occupied with trying to get the cum out of his beard to answer.

Javier is still catching his breath from his orgasm.

Micah shrugs.

“Fine.” Sean grins. “I’ll be the judge ‘ere. Javier an’ Bill.” He points to you. “Ya work on ‘em an’ Arthur an’ Micah get Charles.”

No one moves for a moment. You look over and share a sympathetic look with Charles.

Sean groans. “Come on, boys! Have a little fun… I’ll buy a round a’ drinks.”

It’s enough to get Bill at your side, Javier follows as Micah and Arthur go to Chalres.

“Alright, count a’ three.” Sean grins, rubbing his hands together like the schemy little shit he is. “One, two…three!”

Bill goes straight for your dick, wrapping his big hand around it and stroking almost as well as Micah. You screw your eyes shut, trying to focus on lasting. It becomes infinitely harder when Javier’s hand dips below Bill’s and finds your balls still tucked in your pants. He leans in close, whispering a mix of English and Spanish in your ear and you know well enough that every word is dirty even though you try to tune it out. You can hear Micah snickering in the distance and take it as a good sign, he’d be the type to laugh at Charles getting off and losing. Bill’s other hand wanders up your chest and squeezes at your pecs briefly before he winds it under your shirt and feels at your skin. Javier’s other hand finds your jaw and his fingers trail as he turns your head. Your eyes peek open in time to see him smirk, then he kisses you as his hand squeezes at your balls firmly.

With their hands all over you, you can’t hold it anymore. It’s like a burst. The waves hit you hard and you spasm as you cum over your pants. Bill strokes you through it, his other hand gentle as it settles on your waist. Javier muffles whatever odd little noises you would have made, trailing off in smaller kisses before he stops. You open your eyes to look at him and he kisses your cheek with a wink. The three of you look over at the competition. Micah is stroking furiously, as he did with the others he tried to sabotage while Arthur kisses Charles’s neck and a hand plays with his nipples under his open shirt. Charles won, he hasn’t cum yet.

“Damn it.” Bill grumbles, glancing at you. “Was hopin’ you’d win.”

“Your fault.” You reply, breath still not quite back in your lungs.

Bill blushes. “Sorry, got, uh, caught up…”

“‘s alright…” You slur, head spinning still.

Sean doesn’t say a word to stop anything, holding a finger to his lips to silence any of you from alerting them. It’s only fair. Charles holds strong, though he seems to enjoy it when Arthur kisses him properly as his hand grips the other’s hair and holds him in place. Micah, never one to like losing and still unaware of his sealed fate, takes Charles in his mouth. Javier has to clap a hand over his lips to keep a laugh from alerting them. All of you sit in shock, never expecting Micah to suck off a man he berates on a daily basis even for the sake of winning some silly competition.

Charles’s hips buck and Micah moans when his hair is gripped and his mouth is used. His hands do nothing to stop it, only wandering over Charles’s thighs as he’s used. It only takes a minute after that, Charles’s hips stutter and he holds Micah flush to him as he releases. Arthur continues to kiss him and Micah is held in place despite his squirming until Sean clears his throat.

“Ya won, boys.” He grins. “Unless ya wanna keep goin’.”

Micah shoves himself away, falling back on his ass as he spits and coughs. Charles watches him, smiling for a moment before pulling Arthur closer and continuing.

“Alright then…” Sean turns to you and your saboteurs. “Anybody else all cheeky now?”

Bill grumbles something, standing and going over to Micah. He grips the smaller man by his collar, yanking him to his feet and shoving him towards the little collection of tents.

Sean has his eyebrows raised when he turns back, but he grins. “I ain’t gonna lie, I seen them hidin’ in the trees a couple times.”

“So you made us all get each other off?” Javier smirks, his arm draping around your shoulders. “Lousy move, cabrón.”

“I didn’t make ya do a thing ya didn’t wanna.” Sean crosses his arms. “It ain’t my fault you boys all wanted ta fuck each other.”

You sigh, remembering to tuck yourself away and glancing over to the winning fools. They’re nowhere to be seen. “They sneak off?”

“Suppose they did.” Sean chuckles. “Filthy sods.”

Javier waits a beat before turning to you. “Seems like everyone else is having a good time tonight. You wanna?”

Before you can answer, Sean whines. “Ya gonna leave me out? I’m the one that got ya started!”

“You’re taking then.” Javier mutters.

Sean grins. “Happily.”

You shake your head, sighing. “Fine, I guess.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy me, cariño.” Javier whispers, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

You hang your head, smiling softly. “Shut up, Escuella.”

He tugs at your arm as he stands, pulling you with him.

The fire light dies down over the course of the night. Faint, muffled moans and whimpers can be heard if you really listen, but it’s mostly that distinct sound of skin hitting skin that echoes well into the night. Some of you can’t walk in the morning, very much complicating the robbery and no one knows how you all are going to explain the failure to Dutch.