#They'd look up to Arthur | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cressidagrey · 6 days ago

Text

White Horse - Chapter 13: February 2024 - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes:

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, Me trying to write therapy sessions, Oscar being a lost little duckling, Lando being a feral street cat, Brocedes in the year 2024? Sebastian Vettel making a guest appearance just for myself.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Oscar Piastri

Max: You free tonight?

Oscar: uh I think so? Why?

Max: come to dinner.

Oscar: …okay? Where?

Max: Our place. 7pm. We’re already feeding Lando. And Belle adopted you.

Oscar: I’m honored? I think?

Max: Good. Bring your appetite. And maybe patience.

Max: Lando’s already being dramatic about it.

Oscar: What’s new?

Max: Exactly. See you at 7.

***

Oscar showed up at Max and Belle’s apartment at 7:02 p.m., clutching a bottle of wine he wasn't sure they'd need and trying not to look like he was afraid.

The door opened before he could even knock properly.

Max stood there, expression dry. "Two minutes late. Tragic."

Oscar grinned sheepishly. "Traffic?"

Max just shook his head, stepping aside to let him in.

The second he entered, Oscar spotted Lando sprawled on the couch, dramatically claiming all the cushions like some sort of feral housecat.

One of the actual cats was glaring at him from the armrest.

Belle appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, smiling when she saw Oscar. "Hey, you made it."

Oscar relaxed immediately. "Wouldn’t miss it."

"You’re brave," Belle teased, nodding toward Lando. "He’s been sulking for half an hour."

"I’m not sulking!" Lando yelped from the couch. "I’m... emotionally preparing!"

"For what?" Oscar asked, genuinely curious.

He looked up and immediately pointed accusingly.

"Traitor!" Lando said dramatically. "You got adopted before me!"

Oscar grinned and dropped into the seat across from him. "Not my fault you’re unadoptable."

Max, passing by with a plate of food, muttered under his breath, "Natural selection."

Belle rolled her eyes fondly and started setting plates on the table.

Oscar stood up to help without even thinking about it — grabbing forks, glasses, anything she pointed at — and Lando immediately protested.

"Hey! No stealing points! That’s cheating!"

Oscar grinned. "Skill issue, mate."

"You are SUCH a teacher's pet," Lando groaned dramatically, as he came to help as well.

Max dropped down into a chair at the table with a smirk. "You're both insufferable."

Belle just smiled, utterly unbothered, moving around the kitchen like this chaos was completely normal.

Oscar, trailing after her as they finished getting everything ready, cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Hey, uh," he said under his breath. "Quick question."

Belle turned, eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, feeling about twelve years old. "Heard you freelance now? Like, design stuff?"

Belle nodded. "Architecture and interiors. Why?"

Oscar winced. "Hypothetically... if someone's apartment was a complete catastrophe... and that someone’s girlfriend was visiting Monaco in two weeks... could I, uh... hire you? Like, officially?"

Belle blinked, then smiled — warm and kind. "Oscar."

"I’ll pay!" he blurted out. "Or like... buy you coffee. Or cat toys."

Belle laughed, soft and musical.

"You don’t have to pay me," she said. "I’ll help you."

Oscar sagged in relief.

Belle just shook her head, grabbing the last plate and nudging Oscar toward the table. "Sit. Eat. We’ll save your apartment later."

Oscar smiled, warm and easy.

This — this ridiculous, chaotic little world — It felt like home already.

***

When Belle showed up at his apartment, Oscar knew he was in trouble.

She stepped inside with a tote bag slung over her shoulder — full of measuring tape, a notebook, a fabric swatch or two — and immediately gave the whole place a slow, assessing once-over.

Oscar stood awkwardly in the middle of the mess, like a defendant waiting for sentencing.

Belle didn’t say anything at first. She just exhaled, long and low, and shook her head fondly.

"We have work to do," she said, setting her bag down with finality.

Oscar smiled, a little helplessly. "I know."

And then she took over — completely.

Belle moved through the apartment like a general, gentle but utterly in control. She measured walls, vetoed half the sad furniture he tried to keep, drew rough sketches of new layouts.

"No," she said calmly when he pointed at a sad, lumpy chair. "That’s not a chair. That’s a health hazard."

"But it’s vintage—" Oscar tried.

"It’s a crime," Belle corrected, utterly unfazed.

Oscar found himself trailing after her, nodding obediently as she rattled off notes: "We’ll need a new rug. A real lamp. You’re getting curtains, Oscar, not just sticking paper over the windows like a college student."

It should have been overwhelming. But Belle made it easy — light, funny, somehow never making him feel stupid for needing the help.

And somewhere in the middle of hauling a sad, broken coffee table toward the door, Oscar realized:

She’s so nice.

Not the fake kind of nice — not the "I’m being polite because I have to" nice. The real kind. The kind you didn’t earn — the kind she just gave, freely and without asking anything back.

It hit him harder than he expected.

And for the life of him, Oscar couldn’t understand — How could her brothers not see it?

Later, while they sat on the floor eating sandwiches she had packed ("I didn’t trust your fridge," Belle had said, deadpan), Oscar glanced over at her.

She was perched against the wall, hair falling into her face, sketching something in the notebook balanced on her knees.

"Can I ask you something?" he said before he could second-guess it.

Belle looked up, curious. "Of course."

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, voice low. "You don’t have to. I’m not your responsibility."

Belle smiled — small and real.

"When I moved to Paris," she said, "for university, I didn’t know anyone. I was eighteen. Scared. Completely overwhelmed."

Oscar stayed quiet, listening.

"I met my best friend Emilie my second week at Sorbonne," Belle continued. "She saw me drop all my books in the metro. Helped me pick them up. And then — without even asking — she took me under her wing." Belle’s voice softened, threading with something warm. "She showed me the little things. How to find the good groceries. Where to get a real coffee. Which bus routes were safe late at night."

She smiled faintly. "She saved me, in a way. Made Paris feel like home."

Oscar felt something ache in his chest.

"And when I asked her why," Belle said, looking back down at her notebook, "Emilie said: 'Because someone should.'"

Oscar swallowed hard.

"And now," Belle added, glancing up at him, "I guess... I just think everyone deserves that. Especially people like you."

Oscar laughed, soft and stunned. "What, hopeless cases?"

Belle’s smile widened. "No. Good ones."

Oscar looked at her — really looked at her — sitting cross-legged on his floor, sleeves pushed up, caramel hair catching the light from the window.

He thought about how easy it would be for her to be selfish. How the world hadn’t exactly been kind to her, but she still chose to be kind anyway.

"Thanks, Belle," he said quietly.

She just smiled, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like giving kindness was as natural as breathing.

And Oscar realized — maybe it was, for people like her.

***

Nico Rosberg liked the quiet of the stables just outside Monaco.

It was one of the few places in Monaco where people didn’t care who he was — just another dad holding juice boxes and brushing mud off boots.

The stables had become something of a second home on weekends in the off-season.

His daughters loved their riding lessons — loved the ponies, the hay-scented air, the thrill of mastering the trot.

Nico leaned against the fence, arms crossed, sipping a coffee, watching them finish their class.

He smiled when he saw the younger one waving excitedly at someone near the paddock entrance.

There she was.

The woman both his daughters constantly talked about.

"Belle helps me with my pony!"

"Belle makes the best braids!"

"Belle said I did the best two-point position today!"

Isabelle Leclerc.

Nico had pieced it together after the second or third lesson — the soft-spoken young woman who occasionally helped at the stables wasn’t just any Monaco local.

She was Charles Leclerc’s sister.

Though you wouldn’t know it from her.

No airs. No attitude.

Just patience, steady encouragement, and a laugh that made the kids beam with pride when she said they did something well.

Today, she knelt beside his youngest daughter, adjusting the stirrup leathers with careful hands, chatting easily as the girl nodded along solemnly.

Nico smiled to himself.

He liked her — genuinely liked her.

There was a calmness to her he rarely saw.

He was about to wave when he caught movement from the corner of his eye — someone slipping through the stable gates with practiced ease.

Max Verstappen.

Not in race gear.

Not in Red Bull blue.

Just jeans and a hoodie, baseball cap covering his messy hair.

Nico blinked.

Max? Here?

He looked... easy. Comfortable.

Especially when Isabelle turned, spotted him, and lit up with a smile that could have powered half of Monaco.

Max’s whole face changed at the sight of her. Softened. Brightened.

He walked straight to her, not hesitating, crouching to say something that made her laugh — that small, quiet laugh Nico had seen his daughters light up over.

Max reached out, brushed a stray piece of hay from her hair like it was instinct.

Nico straightened slowly against the fence, eyebrows raising.

Oh.

He watched for a moment longer, unnoticed.

Watched how Max’s hand lingered at the small of Isabelle’s back.

Watched how easily she leaned into him, unthinking.

Not new.

Not casual.

Something steady.

One of Nico’s daughters came running up, cheeks flushed with excitement. "Papa! Belle said I can ride Daisy next week!"

"That’s wonderful,," Nico said, ruffling her hair. "Did you say thank you?"

"Yes!" she beamed.

He gave her a kiss on the forehead, sent her back toward the stables, and took a slow sip of his coffee, considering.

Later, as Max drifted closer — probably spotting him now that the initial magnet pull toward Isabelle had worn off — Nico met him with a knowing smile.

"Max," Nico said lightly. "Didn’t know you were into ponies."

Max shrugged, the barest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I’m into her."

Nico chuckled under his breath. "Figured."

Max shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, eyes never leaving Isabelle, who was now kneeling to show a little girl how to buckle a bridle properly.

"My daughters adore her," Nico said after a beat. "Apparently ‘Belle’ is the best teacher they’ve ever had."

Max smiled then — properly, fully — something so rare and genuine that Nico almost did a double take.

"Yeah," Max said, voice low. "They’re not wrong."

They stood there for a moment, two men who had seen the brutal side of fame and pressure, silently agreeing that this — this quiet, real thing — was worth a hell of a lot more.

"Charles know?" Nico asked eventually, curious but gentle.

Max huffed a dry laugh. "No."

Nico winced. "Oof."

Max shrugged, unbothered. "Doesn’t matter. She’s mine."

There was no arrogance in the words.

Just certainty.

Steel wrapped in something terrifyingly soft.

Nico smiled slightly. "Good. Don’t lose that."

"I won’t," Max said simply.

Isabelle looked up then, spotting them across the arena.

She gave a small wave, smiling — easy and bright, like the sun slipping through the clouds.

Later, Nico watched Max head back toward the barn, where Isabelle was helping the younger kids put away their helmets, her hair half-falling out of her braid, her cheeks pink with the cool air.

Max didn’t even look at anyone else.

Max was watching Isabelle the way Nico watched Vivian — with a kind of unconscious gravity, like the rest of the world had blurred out and there was only her left.

And Isabelle — She looked up, caught Max’s eye, and smiled again — soft, sure, like she knew exactly where he’d always end up.

Nico shook his head fondly and muttered under his breath, "The paddock is not ready for this."

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Oscar Piastri

Oscar: Hi Oscar: sorry to bug you again Oscar: But can i ask for another favor?

Isabelle: Hi Oscar Isabelle: you’re never bugging me Isabelle: what’s up?

Oscar: Do you have any good restaurant recommendations for Valentine’s day? like... somewhere actually nice but not stupidly touristy?

Isabelle: You’re planning a Valentine’s dinner?

Oscar: Yeah. First one in Monaco… I want it to be good

Isabelle: That’s really sweet.

Oscar: I’ve got a short list already. I just need your opinion because Lando’s advice was (quoting here) “idk just get pasta or something, she’ll live”

Isabelle: oh my god

Oscar: I know

Isabelle: Send me your list. I’ll help you pick.

Oscar: Maison Bleue, Le Petit Bar or maybe that little italian place near the flower market?

Isabelle: All good choices!! Isabelle: I would lean Maison Bleue Isabelle: It’s a little quieter, more romantic

Oscar: Perfect, thank you!! Also already got her a necklace so I’m like 90% prepared, only panicking a little bit.

Isabelle: You’re more prepared than 99% of people I know (cough my brothers cough)

Oscar: …Do they not plan?

Isabelle: They just expect me to plan everything. Birthdays, anniversaries, mother’s day, sometimes their friends' birthdays too.

Oscar: ... that’s awful.

Isabelle: It’s nice that you asked and that you already had ideas. I am not used to that.

Oscar: Of course? You’re helping me. It’s the least I can do to be a human about it.

Isabelle: You’re a very good human, Oscar

Oscar: You’re a very good human, too, Belle.

****

It started with a text.

Arthur: Isabelle HELP I forgot to book anything for valentine’s day what do i do

Then Lorenzo chimed in.

Lorenzo: Hey, can you find a florist for me? Everything’s sold out.

And then Charles, predictably, a minute later.

Charles:Can you order something for Alex? I don’t know what she likes.

Isabelle stared at the group chat, feeling that familiar, sick tightening in her stomach.

They just assumed she would fix it — like she always did.

No hello, no how are you, no are you busy.

Just Isabelle, save us.

She set the phone down on the counter carefully, like it might explode.

Max was leaning against the stove, stirring something in a pot. He looked up when he saw her face.

"What's wrong?"

Isabelle opened her mouth. Closed it again.

And then, quietly: "They want me to fix Valentine’s Day for them."

Max didn’t say anything for a second. Just studied her, like he already knew she was about to go to war with herself.

"You don’t have to," he said softly.

"But if I don’t—" she started, and stopped, clenching her hands into fists. "If I don’t, they’ll be upset. Or disappointed. Or say I’m selfish."

Max set the spoon down carefully, wiped his hands on a towel, and crossed the kitchen to her.

He took her face in his hands, gentle but firm.

"Belle," he said, voice steady. "You are not responsible for their girlfriends' happiness."

Tears pricked behind her eyes. She hated how easily they came now, how raw she always felt lately.

But Max didn’t flinch. Didn’t rush her.

"You deserve to have a Valentine’s Day too," he said. "You deserve to put yourself first."

Isabelle nodded, shaky, terrified — but somehow, deep down, she knew he was right.

She picked up her phone with trembling fingers and, for once, instead of making excuses or softening the blow, she just… said the truth.

Isabelle: I’m sorry, but I’m not available to help this time. Good luck.

She hit send before she could overthink it, before she could drown in the guilt.

There was a long, aching silence.

Then Arthur's message popped up.

Arthur: seriously? wow. okay then.

And another from Charles.

Charles: Nice. Thanks for nothing.

And Lorenzo, icing on the cake.

Lorenzo:Guess we know who we can count on.

The shame hit her hard and fast, brutal in a way only family could manage.

She set the phone down again and braced her hands against the counter, breathing hard, fighting not to crumple.

Max didn’t say I told you so.

He didn’t say they’re assholes, even though she could see it in his eyes.

He just moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin lightly on her shoulder.

"You did the right thing," he murmured against her skin. "I’m proud of you."

Isabelle choked on a laugh that was half sob, half relief.

"But they’re mad."

"So let them be mad," Max said. "You’re not their secretary. You’re not responsible for their poor planning."

She turned in his arms, burying her face in his chest, breathing him in. Steady. Solid. Hers.

"It hurts," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "But hurting doesn’t mean you did the wrong thing. Sometimes it just means you’re finally doing the right thing."

He rubbed her back in slow circles, patient and sure.

"You’re allowed to choose yourself," Max said. "Every time."

And Isabelle, standing there in their kitchen, wrapped in his arms, knew: This was what real love looked like.

Not demands.

Not expectations.

Not conditional approval.

Just acceptance.

Just safety.

Just Max.

***

Team Redline Stream – Transcript

Stream starts, usual chatter as the guys set up for the race.

Luke: “Alright, so Valentine’s Day is in two days. Anyone got plans?”

Gianni Vecchio: “Uh—”

Chris Lulham: “Define ‘plans.’”

Gianni: “I mean… I’ll figure something out.”

Luke: “That means no one has done anything.”

Max: already annoyed “Useless. All of you.”

Chris: “Oh, and you have plans then?”

Max: “Of course. What kind of question is that? I love my girlfriend.”

Twitch chat:

• here we go again

• max “i love my girlfriend” verstappen strikes

• the way this man is always 10 steps ahead

• someone check on the team redline WAGs

Gianni: groaning “Okay, yeah, we get it, you’re in love.”

Max: “No, because seriously—why do so many guys just assume their girlfriend or wife or mother or sister will handle everything? How is that cute? It’s embarrassing.”

Gianni: laughs “Tell us how you really feel.”

Max: “I will. Because it’s not just Valentine’s Day. It’s all the time. Birthdays, holidays, family events—who does all the planning? Who buys the gifts? Who remembers every single thing? The women. And the men just show up, say ‘Oh nice,’ and then act like they had anything to do with it.”

Chris: “Alright, I feel personally attacked.”

Max: “Good. Do something about it.”

Twitch chat:

• he’s SO MAD HELP

• he’s right and he should say it

• max verstappen, feminist king??

• every girlfriend watching this is nodding

Gianni: whistles “This is… a lot of feelings.”

Max: not done yet “No, because I’ve seen it firsthand, and it pisses me off. You know how many times I’ve watched someone handle everything for the people in their life and not even get a thank you? Not even acknowledged? Like it’s just expected? They do it because they care, but no one ever stops to think, ‘Oh, maybe they’d like to feel appreciated too.’” And if they for once don’t do it, the passive aggressiveness is through the roof, because they take it for fucking granted! It’s actually pathetic. Like, you are an adult, but you can’t book a damn dinner reservation? You need your sister to do that for you?!

Gianni: “Oh, this is personal-personal.”

Max: “Of course it’s personal! I see it happen to people I care about all the time. They put in so much effort and get nothing back. Their family forgets things that matter to them, just assumes they’ll be fine with it. Do you know how awful that is? To love people who don’t even notice when you’re hurting?”

Twitch chat:

• nah bc this just got too real

• someone in max’s life is NOT getting enough love and he’s fighting for their life rn

• blinking twice for the mystery girlfriend rn

• the way this man is not even being subtle anymore

Chris: nervous laughter “Uh… yeah, that sucks.”

Max: flatly “Yeah. It does.”

Gianni: “I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Max: “You should.”

Luke: “So… are you gonna tell us what you planned?”

Max: “No.”

Gianni: “So you’re out here preaching about effort but won’t give us ideas?”

Max: “Correct.”

Chris: “You’re actually evil.”

Max: smirking “Maybe.”

Race starts. Max wins, because of course he does.

Twitch chat:

• he went on a 10-minute rant then destroyed everyone on track. classic

• someone tell the mystery gf that max has a RING READY bc there’s no way he doesn’t

• max: “i love my gf and i hate men who do nothing”

• whoever he’s talking about, i hope they know he would actually burn the world down for them

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/F1GossipQueen: Max Verstappen just went on a full-on TED Talk during the Team Redline stream about how men need to step up and actually plan things for the women in their lives. I have NEVER seen him this passionate about anything that isn’t racing.

@/LandoStan_4: Nah, because the way he said, “It’s not even just about Valentine’s Day or girlfriends or wives, it’s always the women in families doing all the planning and never getting a thank you,” like he had a PERSONAL vendetta.

@/softverstappen: Who hurt you, Max??

@/F1memes_daily: Max Verstappen when he thinks about men who make their wives and girlfriends or mothers or sisters plan every holiday, birthday, anniversary, and social event: [insert exploding volcano meme]

@/GridTea: I swear he was holding back from name-dropping someone specific. The frustration was too real.

@/ChaosLeclerc: The way he said, “You are an adult, but you can’t book a dinner reservation?” sir who are you calling out.

@/TireDeg_33: I’m telling you, his mysterious girlfriend is fighting for her LIFE against the invisible burden of being the only responsible one in her family.

@/AloNorrisFan: The man really said, “Bare minimum behavior is NOT cute,” and you know what? He’s so right.

@/DR3Honeybadger: Max Verstappen being the voice of reason for women everywhere was not on my 2024 bingo card.

@/F1_WAGwatch: We all joke about ‘wife guy’ Max, but this just confirmed it. He’s SO in love and he’s SO annoyed on her behalf.

@/PitLaneDrama: This was NOT a general take. This was deeply personal. Whoever she is, she’s got this man READY TO FIGHT.

@/MaxFanClub: Honestly, this is the kind of energy we need from men. He called out half the grid without even naming names.

@/RedBullBesties: Lmao Max really said, “Bare minimum? Embarrassing. Do better.”

@/UndercutStrategy: His girlfriend better be watching this like [insert smug cat meme] because she’s got the reigning world champion out here advocating for her rights.

@/McLarenChaos: I need to know what triggered this. Did someone in his friend group forget a birthday? Did he overhear some teammate say “my girl will plan it” and see red??

@/F1DetectiveAgency: There’s a bigger mystery here… who IS she, and why does Max Verstappen love her so much that he’s out here calling out society???

@/FormulaLover: Max really said, “Love is about effort,” and I’m gonna need the men on this app to take notes.

@/DR3Always: He was talking to someone SPECIFIC. You can’t tell me this was just a general rant. He had receipts.

@/VerstappenSimp33: Max Verstappen, voice of the people. Advocate for women everywhere. A true feminist icon.

@/F1Detectives: There’s something SO funny about Max Verstappen, of all people, being the one to passionately call out the mental load women carry in relationships.

@/RedBullF1Fan: I’ve never seen a man so aggressively pro-Valentine’s Day.

@/SassyTauri: Max out here unionizing girlfriends.

@/F1WAGWatch: This man is SO IN LOVE. He literally said “She deserves effort” with his whole chest.

@/TireDegGOAT: Imagine being his girlfriend watching this like “Yes, my man, drag them.”

@/Undercut_Stan: Petition for Max to start a relationship advice podcast.

@/RedBullGirlies:Max Verstappen: F1 World Champion, Cat Dad, and now the internet’s unexpected Feminist Icon.

@/PaddockSpy: We don’t know who she is, but she’s got this man out here EDUCATING the masses.

***

Lily wasn’t exactly worried, flying into Monaco to visit Oscar for Valentine’s Day — but she was... curious.

Very curious.

She loved Oscar — loved his quiet steadiness, his dry humor, the way he texted her good morning no matter what timezone he was in.

But decorating had never exactly been his strong suit.

When he said "I’m settling into the apartment pretty well!" over FaceTime a few weeks ago, she’d had... doubts.

Mild, loving doubts.

Visions of mattress-on-the-floor bachelor chaos danced in her head.

So when she walked into his place for the first time — duffel bag still slung over her shoulder — she stopped dead just inside the door.

Blinking.

Staring.

The living room actually... looked good.

There was a real couch.

Matching throw pillows.

A soft rug that didn’t look like it came free with a video game console.

Curtains that actually matched the walls.

Fresh flowers on the kitchen island.

It was— it was warm. It looked like a home.

She turned slowly to Oscar, who was hovering nervously behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"You did this," she said slowly. It wasn’t exactly a question. More like an accusation.

Oscar flushed. "Well... sort of."

She narrowed her eyes, stepping further inside. "Oscar. Be honest."

He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "I had help."

Lily folded her arms. "Yeah, no kidding. This has woman’s touch written all over it."

Oscar winced. "Belle helped."

Lily blinked. “Belle?

"Isabelle Leclerc."Oscar answered, grinning now. "Charles’ sister."

Lily remembered her vaguely — a soft smile, a quiet presence tucked in the corners of the paddock. Kind, but easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.

"Do I need to be worried?" Lily joked lightly, bumping his hip.

Oscar laughed so hard he nearly dropped her suitcase.

"Trust me," he said, still grinning, "you don’t. I think she adopted me. Like... another cat."

Lily snorted.

Oscar leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Besides, I don’t have three Drivers’ Championships and a fleet of cats. I’m not her type."

Lily stared at him. Oscar just raised one eyebrow. “Isabelle Leclerc and Max Verstappen?” Lily said, surprise colouring her voice.

“Absolutely besotted with each other” Oscar said with a laugh. “And he’s good for her.”

"You like her," Lily said after a beat, softer now. "Not like that — but you like her."

Oscar nodded immediately.

"Yeah. She’s..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. "She’s the kind of person who just helps, you know? Without making you feel like you owe her for it."

Lily smiled, stepping closer to loop her arms around his waist.

"Sounds like you lucked out," she said.

Oscar smiled, pressing a kiss to her hair. "I definitely did."

Lily glanced around the apartment again — at the carefully chosen throw blankets, the tiny succulents on the windowsill, the framed print over the couch that actually matched the room instead of clashing violently.

She thought of the quiet girl she'd seen once or twice, standing in the background while her brothers soaked up all the attention.

And Lily decided, very quietly, that she liked this Belle already.

A lot.

***

Monaco at night always looked beautiful.

All glitter and shine, like the whole city was pretending to be softer than it really was.

Lewis Hamilton knew better. He wasn’t dazzled by the surface anymore.

He was walking back from a late dinner with some old friends, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, keeping his head down, when the world exploded.

The screech of tires.

A flash of headlights where they shouldn’t be.

The sickening crunch of metal hitting metal.

Lewis whipped around just in time to see it happen.

A green Volvo — coming through the intersection on a green light — blindsided by a black SUV that barreled through the red without even slowing down.

The impact spun the green car sideways, sending it skidding up onto the curb, crumpled against a light post. The SUV swerved wildly, tires smoking, before lurching to a stop a few meters away.

Lewis didn’t think. He sprinted.

He reached the green car first, heart pounding hard enough to drown out the sounds of shouting passersby. The front end was mangled, the windshield spiderwebbed with cracks, airbags deployed.

He yanked the passenger side door open — the driver’s side was crushed in — and leaned across.

"Hey, hey—" he said urgently. "Stay with me. You okay?"

The girl inside was small, dazed, blood trickling from a cut above her eyebrow.

Blinking slowly, struggling to focus.

It took him a second to recognize her.

Isabelle Leclerc. Charles’s sister.

"Isabelle," he said more gently. "It’s Lewis. You’re okay. I’m right here."

She stared at him, glassy-eyed, her breathing shallow and fast.

Shock. Pure shock.

Lewis cursed under his breath, fumbling for his phone with one hand.

He called emergency services first, rattling off the location, demanding an ambulance. Then he crouched by the open door again, keeping his voice low and steady.

"You’re doing great, Isabelle. Just breathe. Help’s on the way."

Her hands were trembling badly. She tried to unbuckle herself and flinched at the movement.

"Don’t," Lewis said quickly. "Stay put. You could be hurt worse than you know. Just sit still for me, okay?"

She nodded, small and shaky, tears starting to well in her wide, shocked eyes.

Lewis took off his jacket and draped it over her lap to keep her warm, crouching to stay at her eye level.

"I’m gonna call your brother, yeah?" he said gently. "Charles’ll want to know—"

Isabelle’s hand shot out, grabbing his sleeve with surprising force.

"No," she said, her voice raw and cracking. "Don’t call him. Please."

Lewis blinked, caught off guard. "Isabelle—"

"Please," she said again, desperate now. "Don’t call him."

Lewis sat back on his heels, frowning slightly.

He didn’t argue — it was clear she wasn’t in any state to be pushed — but it planted a seed of confusion deep in his gut.

He knew families could be complicated.

But something about the panic in her voice unsettled him.

Not embarrassment.

Not stubbornness.

Something deeper.

Fear, maybe. Or exhaustion.

He swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "Alright. I won’t call him."

Isabelle sagged back into the seat, closing her eyes tightly, breathing ragged.

The ambulance sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer.

Lewis stayed right there, hand braced lightly on her knee to let her know he wasn’t leaving.

Future teammate, he thought grimly, the words sitting heavy in his chest.

He’d just signed with Ferrari.

Was about to step into the same garage as Charles Leclerc next year.

He knew Charles — or at least, he thought he did.

But now he wondered.

Because whatever was going on between Isabelle and her brother — whatever had made her so terrified at the idea of him finding out — it wasn’t simple.

It wasn’t small.

And Lewis, for the first time since agreeing to the move, felt the first real crack of doubt spider across the surface of everything he thought he knew.

***

Max’s phone rang late—too late for anything normal. Isabelle had been at Emilie’s for the evening, some kind of girls’ night that they always did just before Valentine’s day, involving ice cream and bad Rom-Coms.

He was already half-asleep, curled up in bed with Sassy stretched across his legs, when the vibration jolted him awake. He frowned, blinking at the screen.

Belle ❤️

Something in his chest tightened.

"Schatje?" he answered, already sitting up. "What’s going on?"

There was a pause. A breath. Then, softly—too softly—Isabelle said, "Max."

He was awake instantly.

"What happened?"

"I'm okay," she said immediately. "I'm at the hospital."

Max was already moving, throwing off the blanket and reaching for his sweatpants. "What? Why?"

"There was an accident," she admitted. "A drunk driver ran a red light and hit my car."

His blood went cold. "Where?"

"Just outside the tunnel," she said. "Max, I'm okay."

"You’re in the hospital, Isabelle," he snapped, shoving his feet into sneakers. "That’s not okay."

"They just wanted to check me over," she reassured him. "No serious injuries, just some bruises. Probably because of the Volvo."

The one he insisted she get, because safety ratings mattered more than aesthetics, because he’d seen too many crashes to trust anything less.

"Which hospital?" he demanded.

"Max—"

"Which one, Isabelle?"

She sighed. "Princess Grace."

"I’m coming."

"You don’t have to—"

"I'm coming," he repeated, already grabbing his keys.

There was another pause, then, quieter: "Okay."

"Stay on the phone with me," he said as he got into the car, putting her on speaker. His hands were tight fists, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Tell me exactly what happened."

She exhaled. "I was driving back from dinner with Emilie. It was late, so the roads weren’t busy. I had a green light. Then, out of nowhere, this car just—slammed into the side of me. Hard."

Max’s grip tightened on his phone.

"The police said he was drunk. Almost twice the legal limit."

"Fuck," Max muttered.

"I didn’t even see him coming," she admitted. "One second everything was fine, the next… airbags, the car spinning, glass everywhere. Then people running over, trying to get the door open."

Max clenched his jaw, swallowing against the sheer terror clawing up his throat.

"Isabelle," he said, voice rough, "are you sure you're okay?"

"I promise, I am."

Max exhaled shakily, throwing the car into park.

"I'm here," he told her. "Where are you?"

"Emergency department."

Two minutes later, he found her sitting on an exam bed, her coat draped over her lap, her hair slightly disheveled but otherwise—whole.

The moment her eyes met his, relief flooded her face.

Max didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in two strides and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. She was warm. Real. Breathing.

"I hate you driving alone at night," he muttered against her temple.

"I know," she whispered, holding onto him just as tightly.

"You're getting a driver."

"Max—"

"I'm serious."

She huffed a small laugh. "My Volvo might have saved my life tonight."

Max just tightened his grip, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "Then I'm never letting you drive anything else."

Max didn’t let go for a long time. He just held her, breathing her in, grounding himself in the fact that she was here, in one piece, instead of—

He couldn’t even think about the alternative.

Isabelle eventually pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. “You really didn’t have to come all the way here.”

Max gave her a look. “Don’t say stupid things.”

He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, before pulling back properly to look her over. She looked tired—her makeup smudged from the night, her hair messy, a faint red mark along her collarbone where the seatbelt must have held her back.

Max pulled back only when a nurse cleared her throat nearby.

"We're keeping her overnight," she said, flipping through the chart. "Mild concussion. And her vitals were a little unstable when she came in — classic shock. Nothing serious, but better to monitor."

Max nodded tightly. "Good. That's good."

Isabelle groaned quietly. "Max, it’s not that bad—"

"Not arguing," he said firmly. "You're staying."

The nurse handed Isabelle two small white pills and a cup of water. Painkillers, she explained. Isabelle took them without complaint, sagging back against the pillows.

"She’ll be moved upstairs to a private room soon," the nurse said. "You can stay, if you’d like."

It didn’t take long before the painkillers hit her.

By the time they had put her in a private room, Belle was definitely enjoying the side effects of said pills.

She turned her head slowly, blinking up at him like he’d just materialized out of thin air.

“Max,” she said dreamily, her voice soft and a little slurred.

He moved closer, crouching so he was at eye level. "I’m here, Schatje. How do you feel?"

She reached out clumsily, grabbing the front of his hoodie and tugging him closer.

“I love you so much,” she mumbled, her face squishing against his chest. “Like…stupid much.”

Max’s heart twisted painfully in his chest.

“I love you too,” he murmured, brushing her hair gently off her forehead. “You’re concussed, sweetheart. You need to rest.”

She didn’t listen.

Instead, she stared up at him with big, glassy eyes and announced, very seriously: “You’re the best boyfriend in the whole world. The best. Like, you should get an award. A giant trophy.”

Max bit back a laugh, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I don’t need a trophy, Belle. You’re enough.”

“No, no,” she insisted, poking his chest with one finger. “You don’t understand. You’re...you’re like, made of magic. You’re so good, Max. You’re…you’re my favorite,” she said solemnly, like it was the most important announcement in the world. "More than croissants. More than horses. More than the cats."

Max smiled, throat tight. "High praise."

She nodded, wide-eyed. "Don't tell Sassy."

"Your secret’s safe with me." He caught her hand gently, threading his fingers through hers. “You’re my favorite too.”

She blinked at him, still fighting to stay awake. “You’re so pretty, too. So pretty it’s rude. Like, how are you so pretty? It’s criminal.”

Max let out a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re beautiful,” she said solemnly. Isabelle blinked up at him, utterly adoring. “You have such nice eyelashes. They’re so long. You know that? It’s not fair.”

“Schatje—”

“And you smell really good. Like soap and anger.”

Max bit back a laugh. “You’re off your head.”

She poked his chest with a finger. “You’re in love with me.”

He blinked. “That’s true, yes.”

She lit up. “I knew it! Good. Because I’m in love with you too. Like, so much. Stupid in love with you.”

Max melted and tried not to show it.

“I’m gonna marry you,” she added helpfully. “Someday.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Yeah? That the morphine talking?”

“No,” she mumbled. “That’s me talking. But the morphine is making it easier.”

Max took her hand and squeezed it. “Good. Because I’d marry you too. But first, we’re getting you better. No wedding until you can walk in a straight line.”

“I can walk in a straight line,” she said proudly. “It just moves sometimes.”

He laughed, unable to help it.

She just tugged him down until he was practically draped across her, clinging to him like he might vanish.

“Promise you won’t leave,” she whispered.

Max kissed the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here the whole night.”

“You’re my safe place,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep and meds. “You always make me feel safe.”

Max closed his eyes for a moment, breathing her in.

He would’ve fought the whole world to keep her safe. He would’ve torn Monaco apart brick by brick if it meant putting her back together.

“You’re safe,” he whispered back. “I promise.”

Isabelle finally drifted into a light sleep, her fingers still tangled tightly in his hoodie. Max stayed right there, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, letting her use him as a pillow if that’s what she needed.

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Sebastian Vettel

Lewis: Mate. Lewis: You awake? Lewis: Need to ask you something.

Sebastian: Always awake for you. Sebastian: What's up?

Lewis: Ran into a situation in Monaco tonight. Lewis: A car crash. Drunk driver. Lewis: Girl got hit.

Sebastian: Christ. Sebastian: Is she okay???

Lewis: Yeah. Shaken up. Lewis: Shocky. Lewis: It was Isabelle Leclerc.

Sebastian: ...wait. Sebastian: Charles’s sister Isabelle??

Lewis: Yeah. Lewis: I stayed with her till the ambulance came.

Sebastian: Good man. Sebastian: How bad was it?

Lewis: Bad enough. Lewis: She was freezing. Could barely speak at first. Lewis: Stayed with her until paramedics got there. Lewis: She’ll need a proper checkup, but she was alive, breathing, conscious.

Sebastian: Poor girl. Sebastian: She’s always been... quiet, but good. Solid. Sebastian: Did Charles get there?

Lewis: No. Lewis: I told her i’d call him. Lewis: She begged me not to. Lewis: full panic. Lewis: like—not just “i don’t want to worry him”— Lewis: like "please don’t tell him"Like panicked.

Sebastian: Shit.

Lewis: Seb. Lewis: What the hell is going on between her and Charles?

Sebastian: It's... complicated.

Lewis: That’s not an answer.

Sebastian: It’s family stuff. Sebastian: Not my story to tell.

Lewis: I’m not asking for gossip. Lewis: I’m about to be in the garage with Charles next year. Lewis: I need to know if I’m walking into a minefield.

Sebastian: It’s not a minefield. Sebastian: It’s a slow bleed that no one ever stopped. Sebastian: The Leclerc family dynamic is... difficult. Sebastian: Charles loves her in his way. Sebastian: But he doesn’t see her. Never really has.

Lewis: How do you mean?

Sebastian: It’s not loud.Sebastian: Not shouting or fighting. Sebastian: It’s worse. Sebastian: It’s forgetting. Ignoring.Sebastian: Charles forgets she’s a person sometimes. Sebastian: Like she’s background noise. Takes her for granted.

Lewis: Jesus.

Sebastian: Look, Charles isn’t cruel on purpose. Sebastian: But he doesn’t see her properly. Sebastian: Hasn’t for a long time. Sebastian: Too caught up in being the golden boy. Sebastian: It’s easy for everyone to overlook someone who doesn’t scream for attention.

Lewis: She shouldn’t have to scream.

Sebastian: No. She shouldn’t. Sebastian: But that’s the Leclerc family for you.

Sebastian: Charles loves his sister. I don’t doubt that.

Sebastian: I tried telling him once…I don’t think he even understood what I meant, Lewis.

Sebastian: Charles isn’t cruel. He is a good guy in a lot of ways. He’s not malicious. But he’s blind.

Sebastian: And the people around him? His family? They expect Isabelle to just... carry everything. Be the good girl. Be grateful.

Sebastian: Isabelle grew up in a shadow she didn’t ask for. And no one ever pulled her out of it.

Lewis: That’s fucked up. Lewis: You should have told me sooner.

Sebastian: It wasn’t my story to tell. But now that you know... be kind to her, if you can. Sometimes being overlooked hurts more than being hated. (And she has some fantastic thoughts on Ecological architecture, if the topic ever comes up!)

Lewis: I will. Thanks, mate.

Sebastian: Anytime. Sebastian: And good luck at Ferrari. You’re going to need it.

***

Lewis didn’t usually make a habit of visiting hospitals.

Not if he could avoid it.

But after the night he’d had — witnessing Isabelle Leclerc’s accident firsthand, seeing her curled up in that crumpled car, bleeding and shocky — he hadn’t been able to shake the image.

He needed to make sure she was really okay.

Especially after she had all but begged him not to call Charles.

So here he was, walking through the polished halls of Princess Grace Hospital, a coffee in one hand and the quiet buzz of early morning filling the air.

The receptionist had waved him up to her room without hesitation.

“She’s in 433,” she said. “They moved her upstairs overnight for observation.”

Lewis headed for the elevator, heart pounding a little too fast.

He wasn’t family.

He wasn’t even a close friend.

But last night… he hadn’t been able to just walk away.

He pushed open the door to room 433, expecting to find Isabelle sleeping alone.

Maybe a nurse checking in.

Maybe Charles finally at her bedside.

Instead, Lewis froze halfway through the doorway.

Because slouched in the chair next to Isabelle’s bed — hoodie rumpled, hair a mess, legs awkwardly stretched out and still somehow managing to look like he belonged there — was Max Verstappen.

Lewis stared.

Max was half-asleep, head tipped back against the wall, Isabelle’s hand still clutched tightly in his.

Not loosely.

Not casually.

Like he couldn’t bear to let go.

And on the bed, Isabelle was curled toward him in her sleep, her fingers twisted into the fabric of his hoodie like she was holding onto a lifeline.

Lewis’s brain short-circuited for a second.

He hadn’t known what to expect — but it definitely hadn’t been this.

Max stirred slightly, blinking awake as Lewis stood there like an idiot in the doorway.

His eyes sharpened immediately, full of instinct and protectiveness.

“Morning,” Max said quietly, his voice rough from sleep.

Lewis cleared his throat. “Morning. I—uh—I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Max said simply, glancing down at Isabelle to make sure she was still asleep before looking back at Lewis. His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles without thinking.

Lewis’s mind was racing.

Max Verstappen.

Max “I hate Monaco socializing” Verstappen.

Max “I don’t do drama” Verstappen.

Holding Isabelle Leclerc’s hand like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Lewis stepped further into the room, lowering his voice instinctively. “I didn’t know you two were…”

Max’s mouth twitched slightly. Not quite a smile. “Yeah. Not a lot of people do. Lando does.”

Lewis nodded slowly, the pieces starting to rearrange themselves in his mind.

The panic in Isabelle’s voice when she said don’t call Charles.

The protectiveness bleeding off Max in waves.

The way Isabelle’s whole body, even unconscious, leaned into him like it was instinct.

It made a kind of sense, now.

A messy, secret kind of sense.

“I was there last night,” Lewis said quietly. “At the crash.”

Max’s eyes sharpened even more, alert now. “You were?”

Lewis nodded. “I saw it happen. I called the ambulance. Stayed with her until they arrived.”

Something flickered across Max’s face — gratitude, raw and immediate.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, like the words cost him something. “For staying with her.”

Lewis shook his head. “You don’t need to thank me. She… she didn’t want me to call Charles.”

Max’s jaw flexed. He looked down at Isabelle again, the tension in his shoulders visible.

“I know,” Max said after a beat. “It’s… complicated.”

Lewis thought about asking. About pushing.

But one look at the way Max’s hand tightened protectively around hers, and he decided against it.

Not his business.

Not today.

Instead, Lewis set the coffee cup he’d brought down on the bedside table, careful not to make too much noise.

“For when she wakes up,” he said simply.

Max nodded once. “She’ll appreciate that.”

Lewis hesitated, then gave Max a small, understanding nod.

And for the first time, he realized —

Max wasn’t just dating Isabelle.

He was in it.

Fully. Completely.

No half-measures.

And maybe — maybe that was exactly what Isabelle needed.

“Take care of her,” Lewis said finally, meaning it.

Max looked up, his expression hard and certain. “Always.”

Lewis nodded once more and quietly slipped out of the room, leaving them to their small, private world.

And for the first time in a long time, Lewis smiled to himself.

Because against all odds —

Isabelle Leclerc had found someone who would never let her stand alone again.

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Sebastian Vettel

Lewis: You’re not going to believe what I just walked into.

Lewis: Went to the hospital this morning to check on Isabelle.

Lewis: You know, after the crash last night.

Sebastian: Right. How is she?

Lewis: Sleeping. Safe.

Sebastian: Good.

Sebastian: But that’s not what you’re texting about.

Lewis: No.

Lewis: Max Verstappen was there.

Sebastian: ...what?

Lewis: Sitting in the chair next to her bed. Lewis: Holding her hand. Lewis: Full-on boyfriend mode.

Sebastian: Are you serious???

Lewis: Dead serious. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t new either.

Sebastian: Holy shit.

Lewis: Yeah. Lewis: Suddenly a lot of things make sense.

Sebastian: Like her panic last night when you mentioned Charles.

Lewis: Exactly. Lewis: She didn’t want Charles finding out. Lewis: Probably doesn’t want any of them finding out yet.

Sebastian: Honestly? Sebastian: If anyone’s going to protect her, it’s Max. Sebastian: He doesn’t do anything halfway. Sebastian: And god help anyone who tries to mess with her now.

Lewis: Yeah.

Lewis: He actually thanked me for staying with her after the accident. Like he sounded actually sincere.

Sebastian: I think she finally found someone who sees her.

Sebastian: Not the Leclerc name. Sebastian: Just... her.

Lewis: Yeah. Lewis: Yeah, that’s what it looked like. Lewis: And honestly? I’m happy for her.

Sebastian: Me too. Sebastian: God, Charles is going to lose his mind.

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Lando Norris

Lewis: I know.

Lando: ????????? know what???

Lewis: about Max and Isabelle.

Lando: OH MY GOD Lando: WHO TOLD YOU????

Lewis: no one. Lewis: I saw it with my own eyes. Lewis: Hospital bedside. Lewis: Hand-holding. Lewis: Sleeping in a chair like a lovesick idiot. Lewis: It’s real.

Lando: holy shiiiiiiiit Lando: WELCOME TO THE NIGHTMARE

Lewis: what nightmare

Lando: hang on Lando: adding you

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz Jr. and Lewis Hamilton)

Lando Norris has added Lewis Hamilton

Lando: guys Lando: GUYS

Lando: LEWIS KNOWS NOW

Daniel: LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Oscar: It was inevitable tbh.

Carlos: Hola Lewis. Bienvenido al infierno.

Lewis: ...why does this chat exist

Daniel: because max and isabelle are RIDICULOUS and SECRETIVE and it's KILLING US

Oscar: also because we needed a safe space to scream

Carlos: and gossip.

Lando: and bet how long until Charles finds out and has a meltdown

Oscar: How did you find out?

Lewis: Last night in Monaco. Lewis: Isabelle got in a crash. Lewis: A drunk driver ran a red light. Lewis: Slammed into her car.

Lando: WHAT?! IS SHE OKAY???

Lewis: She’s alive. Lewis: Spent the night in hospital. Lewis: Mild concussion. Bruises. Lewis: They’re keeping her for observation.

Carlos: Oh my god.

Oscar: Poor Belle :(

Daniel: HOW DID WE NOT KNOW THIS

Lewis: I was there. Lewis: I saw the crash. Lewis: Ran over. Lewis: Stayed with her until the ambulance came.

Daniel: You're a legend, mate.

Lewis: There’s more. Lewis: When I said I was going to call Charles— Lewis: She begged me not to. Lewis: Like, full-on panic.

Daniel: ... That tracks tbh.

Carlos: Yeah. It’s complicated.

Lewis: This morning I went to check on her. Lewis: And Max was there. Lewis: Sleeping next to her. Lewis: Holding her hand like he was afraid to let go.

Lando: max literally acts like a disney prince around belle

Lando: hand-holding and everything. Lewis: how long has this been going on??

Lando: ages.

Oscar: Since like March.

Lewis: does Charles know?

Daniel: ...............no.

Oscar: dear god no

Carlos: If Charles finds out there will be a war.

Lewis: You guys have been covering for them????

Daniel: YES. AND WE’RE DOING AMAZINGLY Daniel: (except for the part where we’re all gonna die when charles finds out)

Lando: new plan: Lando: if charles finds out Lando: we blame max.

Daniel: and also maybe… pretend we just found out too.

Daniel: Max can protect himself anyway Daniel: He’s built like a house and has no survival instincts around belle

Lewis: Honestly after what i saw last night he’s never letting her out of his sight again

Lando: cute but terrifying

Oscar: love that for her tbh

***

922 notes · View notes

mv1simp · 7 months ago

Text

for the bully!Max, Leclerc!Reader and chubby!reader simps in my requests…I heard you and I’m here to deliver 😼😼 enjoy!!

You Belong To Me ♥️

Bully!Max Verstappen x Chubby!Leclerc!Reader

say it louder, say it louder, who’s gonna love you like me (who’s gonna fuck you like me?)

Growing up as the youngest daughter in the Leclerc family, you’d had a childhood crush on your brother’s rival and friend, Max. But when you grew older he turned into your worst nightmare, always bullying you. You’ve been able to avoid him for the last 5 years - but now with your new engineer job on the paddock, you can’t hide from Max any longer…and can’t stop the feelings you still have for him.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, size kink, dom/sub, dark! Max who bullies innocent virgin!reader, dub con, brainwashing, bimbofication, somno, yk all the good shit, WC 9k 😨

You shiver as you walk into your family’s childhood vacation home along the Cote de Azure, despite the summer heat. It’s been a long time since you’d visited this house. Even though your Mama and three older brothers came by often, looking for a weekend break from their busy lives or a romantic getaway with gorgeous girlfriends, you’d always turn down their offers to join once you were in college. They'd always be confused at your hesitance - but then again, they don't know just how many bittersweet memories this home holds for you. You’d grown up here in the summers, the youngest daughter of the famous Monegasque Leclerc family. Racing was in your bloodline, and your beloved Papa had instilled his passion into all of his children before he’d passed away.

Your older brothers, who were all handsome, tall and athletic, made natural drivers right from childhood and easily progressed through the karting competitions. Meanwhile, you were the youngest and the only daughter, and were raised in a far gentler manner as the apple of your family’s eye, their cute bunny as they’d nicknamed you, after your favourite childhood pet. In comparison to your brothers who ran around outdoors, you were more shy, preferring to be left with your books and colouring pencils in the safety of the patio.

Of course, with all your differences, there had been the healthy sibling rivalry of brothers vs sister growing up. They hated being forced to play house or pose for your scribbly drawings (not Arthur though - even at age 5 you were convinced he secretly loved when you made him join the Barbie tea party.) And in turn, you'd alway complain when you’d be dragged to cheer on Charles from the sidelines as he won his karting competitions. You would sulk, childishly annoyed at your parent’s attention shifting from you to their middle son’s rapidly growing racing career.

But it all changed when Charles raced against Max Verstappen for the first time at age 11. The blonde Dutchman aggravated your competitive older brother immediately with his aggressive driving tactics. You’d heard Cha, as you’d been calling him since you were little, furiously ranting about the illegal moves Max had been pulling and your 7 year old brain tuned it all out. But when you first saw the mysterious blonde in question, your heart fluttered with a feeling you’d never felt before and a bright blush overtook your chubby cheeks.

You immediately became infatuated with the older boy, who was far nicer to you than Charles had been back then. Your middle brother's idea of “sibling time” involving hiding beetles in your bed and laughing when you screamed. So it became a common sight to see you wandering after Max instead of being by your family’s side, tugging on his shirt sleeve and showing him the racecar drawings you’d made. Max always entertained you, ruffing your hair and smiling back toothily, telling you that you were a much better artist than his little sis Victoria.

You’d beam from the praise, only leaving Max’s side when his scary father Jos would approach and eye you with disdain. You scampered back to your family, to your older brothers who accused you of the worst crime imaginable to the loyal Leclerc blood - exchanging racing strategies with the enemy Dutch. Your mother had hit all three sons on the back of the head and told them they could learn a thing or two about treating Bunny with respect like that cute boy Max did.

As you grew older, your pigtails were replaced with cute pins and headbands in an effort to look pretty whenever Max would come around to your summer home. By now, his rivalry with Charles had turned into a reluctant "frenemies who also spent summers together to discuss racing". You'd get to be with Max all day, swimming in the turquoise ocean and eating sweet stroopwafel that he always brought. An in the evenings, the two car-obsessed 14 year olds would be arguing about overtaking strategies at your family’s dining table. You’d pout, childishly wanting attention at age 11, interrupting whatever stupid point you're sure Charles was making to bat your eyelashes at your guest. Holding up your now detailed drawings of a black kart, you asked Maxie - as you’d taken to calling him - if he liked your recreation of his.

He’d grinned at you, still boyishly handsome and in the lanky phase of growing up as he told you he loved it, should he sign his autograph on it? with that Dutch accent you adored. Charles watched your shenanigans with a roll of his eyes, snidely muttering (in French, thank god) that the annoying little bunny wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding her crush on the enemy Dutch. You flushed, frantically checking to make sure Max hadn’t been able to understand, and had run off with a red face to tearfully rat him out to your Mama. Unlike Charles, she found your crush on Max rather cute, and always encouraged you to give your favourite ribbons and bows to Max for a good luck charm the way you did with your brothers pre-race (Traitor, teen Arthur and Charles mouthed at you).

She eyed you knowingly when you do your best to avoid blushing as you grew older still, this time seeing Max when you were 14 and him 17 with an impressive winning streak in the Junior Redbull team. He’d started to develop into his tall 6 foot frame now, towering over your tiny 5”2 frame like your brothers did. What, no drawing of a racecar for me to sign Bunny? he gently teased, leaning down so you could shyly kiss both of his cheeks - a Monegasque tradition Max had become accustomed to from your family. You stuttered out your no, of course not, you were too old for that now! making him laugh at how cute you looked before walking off. Arthur watches the exchange with a smirk, elbowing Cha when he emerges from the changing rooms. Your middle brother’s frenemy status with Max was more of a friendship these days, and his earlier accusations of you being a traitor had turned into something much more annoying. Max and Bunny, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G-

But by the time you turned 16, your Maxie changed from the sweet, laughing boy you’d always trusted into someone darker, someone who you felt scared of at times. You were at the age where you now wanted Max as your boyfriend, naively thinking that the 19 year old driver would return your affections when he’d attended your Sweet 16th. You’d spent hours getting ready, styling your long curly hair and wearing a cute dress all your friends had insisted you would be irresistible in (but had almost given your older brothers an aneurysm). It was tight and short, and although you'd always been a chubby kid, you feel a self conscious of the new plush curves around your hips and chest, in comparison to your older brothers who now looked very handsome and muscular.

You’d lit up when you saw Max across the fancy yacht club, flooded with all your schoolmates and family friends who’d come to celebrate the baby Leclerc’s birthday. He'd looked so handsome, his muscular frame now filled out and catching the eye of many girls. There was a devilishness in his smile that came with the confidence of being the youngest F1 driver in history. Lately, your innocent crush had started to drift towards naughtier, dirtier fantasies about what Max’s large hands and lips would feel like on you, if he snuck into your bedroom in the middle of the night and told you he loved you as you willingly gave him your first kiss.

But all your naive hopes come crashing down when you see a slim, sexy blonde approach Max where he’s talking to Charles intently, drinking a beer. His hand squeezes her ass in a familiar motion as she wraps her arms around him, leaning up to give him a kiss. You quickly turn around in the crowd before you can be seen, heartbroken, and drown yourself in blurred conversations and slices of birthday cake. Max doesn’t even come to wish you happy birthday like he normally did, always with a special gift in hand. At some point in the night you’re talking to Charles and try to subtly ask who that blonde girl with Max had been. Your older brother gives you an amused look, asking if you still had your silly little childhood crush on Max? You adamantly deny it, and he smirks and tells you that was Giana, Max’s girlfriend and an Italian model. You’re upset, of course, but thankfully he changes the topic to tell you how Max had recommended his old F2 seat go to Charles, wasn’t that amazing Bunny? You nod mutedly, having become used to Cha being less and less aware of anything that went on outside his racing career these days.

After a sneaky shot of tequila your friend gave you, you have the courage to go approach Max. His girlfriend is still at his side and raises an eyebrow, pointedly glancing down at your figure to make it clear what she thought of your curvier body. What shocks you, though, is seeing an annoyed look on Max’s face as well, as he demands to know why you’re interrupting, couldn’t you see he was busy? You’ve never heard him speak like that and are confused, asking him why he’s being so mean, did I do something wrong, Max-

He cuts you off, smirking as he asks why you weren’t calling him Maxie anymore. The girl laughs at that, saying no way, she’s such a kid, she calls you that? A few of your older schoolmates have wandered over, curious to see what was going on and you flush from the embarrassment of having Max treat you like this in front of your friends.

From then on, Max just became crueler and crueler to you. It’s like he enjoyed seeing how you'd react, your cute chubby cheeks darkening with embarrassment as you avoided his gaze. Once he'd officially moved to Monaco, you ran into him everywhere as him and Charles formed a close friendship and would often hang out. Max would always time his harsh remarks just when your brother wasn't in earshot. He'd mock you about everything, from your childish appearance, to your innocently conservative outfits, your nerdy perfect grades, your animated Italian gestures and accent which he'd always seemed to adore growing up. Your popularity in school plummeted as your friends watched the talented F1 driver roll his eyes and mutter how pathethic you were when he heard you were reading romantic novels on Friday night instead of partying, saying the only reason you had any friends was because of your talented brother’s fame. Your family had no idea what was going on - as Max’s bullying started the same time your Papa becomes unwell and landed in hospital. Your brothers thought the change in your sweet demeanour was because of your sadness for your father.

If only they knew the real culprit was right under their noses.

It seemed there was nothing teen Max enjoyed more than seeing your big brown doe eyes welling up with tears. He’d use everything you told him growing up against you, making gossip and rumours fly around your school constantly. Any guy who tried to talk to you was assumed to be doing it as a dare. The first few years of high school had been like hell - the only thing making it bearable being your perfect grades and promising future. Unlike your older brothers who were natural sportsmen, you were the opposite and excelled at academics, and you’d used it to get a full ride scholarship at a prestigious engineering course in the UK.

That’s what you reminded yourself to get you through a graduation party at the end of high school. You'd been reluctantly dragged by the small group of friends you’d thankfully kept despite all the bullying and rumours. In true Monaco trust fund kid fashion, the party was hosted on one of your schoolmates' yacht, with many juniors and older siblings tagging along as well. Towards the end of high school, Max’s bullying was less common as he became busier with his racing - something Charles had become fully invested in with his new F1 Alfa Romeo seat. And you’d grown up, too, maturing into your curves and pretty dark Italian features, catching the eye of a few boys in your year.

It seemed you’d been briefly relieved of your duties of being a social pariah when you're yanked into a circle of already wasted partygoers playing 7 minutes in heaven. But when your friend pulled out your name with a drunken flush, you could only widen your eyes in horror when the next name she announces was one you'd never expected - Max.

And then you see him, on the other side of the deck, leaning against the railing and ignoring the girls trying to speak to him as his ice blue eyes intently watch you. You squeaked out your protests, begging your friend to try again, but it's hopeless when the circle begins chanting your name and Max’s. Giving up, you turned around and ran through the crowd, trying to reach the ramp and get off the boat -

-when a large, warm hand wrapped around your waist and easily pulled you into a broad chest. Before you knew it, you're in a tiny, dark storage room, with Max Verstappen blocking the door and smirking down at you. Your naive heart still ached with conflicting feelings for Max, who was your childhood knight in shining armour, who always stood up for you when your older brothers ganged up on you, always knew how to make you laugh when you were crying from their teasing. But this was also the same Max who made your high school life hell, had teased you mercilessly behind your brother’s back, and used all the secrets you'd trusted him with against you. He'd make you look like a childish little girl in front of your effortlessly cool, rich peers. This reminder brought you back to your senses and you quietly but firmly ask him to let me out.

He hadn’t let you leave, of course, instead leaning down until he was whispering in your ear with his deep voice that still send shivers down your spine, mockingly asking if you’d had your first kiss yet or if you're still the same stuck up Leclerc who thinks she's too good to be fucked by anyone here?

Heart racing furiously from nervousness, you mumble out that you hadn’t had your first kiss, avoiding his ice cold eyes as he chuckled. You know his game well enough by now to understand he wouldn’t let you go until he gets his answer. You hated the boy you once hoped to give your first kiss to. He’d ruined your reputation beyond repair, had made it so no guy at school would touch you even if they found you pretty.

Well, apparently except for one boy.

Turns out Max himself had no issues laying his hands on you, hidden in the darkness of the storeroom. His hands had pushed you up against the wall, your face cutely scrunched up in confusion, and then your jaw almost dropped in shock when he pressed his lips to your ear. He huskily whispered how pretty you looked, how he’d hated the way boys had been checking you out all night. They didn’t know you’d already promised to marry Max when you were little, yeah Bunny?

And then he’d captured the surprised gasp you let out, shocked that he’d remembered your childhood wish to be his vrouw, his wife, when he leans down to press a surprisingly gentle kiss against your soft lips. When he pulled back, his face remaining close to yours, your brown doe eyes looked into his with whirling confusion and hurt - but also desire flickering in them. And then you’d both gotten lost in another kiss, then another, and then Max being Max had starting running his hands all over your body. Squeezing his hand into your juicy ass to make you shyly moan, and then greedily slipping his tongue inside.

That’s how everyone had found you when they yanked the door open, with Max having you moaning his name, one hand sliding up your skirt and the other running over your tits. The darkness in his gaze returns as he pulled back and left you leaning against the wall with wobbly legs. He laughed as he strode off the party, saying it’d been so easy to get you to beg for him like a little slut, who would’ve guessed with your innocent appearance?

You couldn’t wait to graduate high school and go to university after that. And it had been amazing, moving far away from Monte Carlo. No one knew who you were or how deep your history with world famous athletes like Charles or Max went. You reinvented yourself, becoming confident after months of therapy and your intelligence becoming something you were admired for instead of teased. You’d though that was the end of it, that you’d never have to be humiliated or have your heart broken by Max Verstappen again. Until 5 years later when you got a call from Lorenzo asking you to come home.

With the intimate engagement party of your oldest brother being held at your family’s scenic vacation home, you’d been unable to refuse. You knew Max was going to be there, but you’d taken a deep breath and reminded yourself that things were different now. You were 22, a qualified engineer and had used your own hard work to get a job within the Alpine garage - even using your mother’s maiden name as your last name because you wanted to prove it was because of your skill, not connections. Charles had been bewildered, begging you to please come work at Ferrari, bebe but you’d been adamant about needing to prove your own worth. You loved your family, and were so happy for Cha’s success as your relationship with your brothers blossomed into a close, loyal one as adults. It had always been your father’s dream to see him in the red suit. It was unbelievable to have millions of Tifosi literally worship your older brother - and their adoration extended to you, his sweet younger sister Bunny. You make rare appearances on the paddock but were hailed as a good luck charm when you did, Tifosi cheering when you affectionally kiss your brother on both cheeks and tie a hair ribbon to his suit. You always made sure to stay well away from the Redbull garage.

And you’d become radiant in your beauty, too, in pretty, flattering dresses and fitted miniskirts that showed off your soft stomach and thighs, your generous cleavage and juicy ass. Full, lush lips and long dark curls framed your sweetheart face and you’d been finally been able to put makeup on without fear of being mocked. A few guys had tried to ask you out in college, but you hadn’t been quite there yet in your confidence to say yes. Max had seemed to put you off all men, for now at least….and your protective Italian brothers seemed to make it their personal mission to protect your honour and integrity. Very dramatic, you’d said to them with a fond roll of your eyes, secretly enjoying how they cared for you despite their luxurious celebrity lifestyles. So you’d ended up still being a virgin at your college graduation, wanting to save it for the man you fell in love with.

You reminded yourself of all that you had to offer, of how you weren’t the same nerdy little girl who was going to be bullied, when you heard Max would be joining your family prior to the engagement party. The night before he was meant to arrive, you’d been overthinking and anxiously wringing your fingers so hard that your whole family had started demanding to know what was troubling you. After giving them some weak excuse about being worried about your new job, you'd gone to read one of your romance novels by the pool after dinner to destress. You had ended up falling asleep under the stars, your tired mind eager to rest.

You didn’t know the man you were desperately hoping to avoid had landed a night earlier with his private jet. When he’d greeted your middle brother late in the night, saying he would crash for now and greet everyone properly in the morning when they were awake, Charles had gone to bed and the last remaining light of the house switched off. Only the silver moonlight illuminated your pretty face and unsuspecting figure when Max Verstappen stepped outside his bedroom's French doors, hoping to cool off - but instead felt his blood pumping heatedly at the sight of you.

Honestly, he hadn't expected to see you for years as you'd understandably fled to the other side of the continent the second you had the change to escape. You’d turned from a nervous, cute schoolgirl into a gorgeous woman, and his intense gaze hungrily roams over your peaceful sleeping body. He was going to ruin you, he thinks wickedly, gently stroking your still chubby cheeks that subconsciously leaned into his touch.

He decided to give you one last night of quiet as he left you in deep sleep, walking back inside with dark desire brewing. The childish bully he’d been as an angry teen, desperate to prove himself, was gone. He was now a thrice proven world champion, a millionaire, a man who’d been with dozens of women but found only one he still wanted through it all. And it was none other than his racing rival's sweet younger sister, the one who'd stayed loyal to him since she was little. He was ready to make you his, whether you still wanted him or not.

When you finally saw him at breakfast the next morning you had been suspicious at his pleasant behaviour, greeting you like he would any family friend and asking how college had treated you. Your whole body had gone stiff, eyes distrustfully following his every move. You’d been forced to respond back politely as your family watched you, your mum still grinning as she rooted for her daughter to become romantically involved with her childhood crush. If only your family knew how much Max tormented you, they’d never let him get within 10km of you again. But to your surprise, Max kept up his kind manner even when your family would be out of the room, laughing and smiling easily at you and somehow bringing confusing butterflies back to swirl in your stomach. After the week he'd spent at your vacation home, you'd naively started to think maybe he had changed. Maybe the five years away had made him mature into the charming, funny driver you'd seen in numerous interviews and ads, being unable to avoid his far reaching fame.

But it turned out his respectful behaviour, all through the engagement celebrations and the after party, only served as a ploy to get you to foolishly lower your guard. Max had greedily collected up all the information he’d missed over the years, about what your likes and dislikes were now, about how you’d gotten a job with your own means at the F1 paddock. And then he casually informed you over dinner that he’d spoken to Horner who was coincidentally looking for a mechanical engineer - and had wanted to interview you after seeing your resume. Your family had been ecstatic at a job for you in a prestigious garage, despite their blood thirsty Ferrari loyalty. Even Cha had caught you after dinner, telling you that it was thoughtful of Max to look out for you, that as your big brother he’d feel so much better if you were working in a winning team’s garage and being protected by Max, instead of alone in a poorly performing team.

You were so confused, couldn’t understand why Max was trying to get involved - and you told him so that night, hushed angry whispers in the hallway after everyone had gone to bed. He’d smirked, leaning down to press you into the wall, saying Wasn’t it obvious Bunny? I want you.

Your eyes widened in shock, and you stammered out your confusions, asking him why he would say such a thing, only to feel his lips brushing your ear. His deep voice murmured his explanation of how his father didn't think Max had been focused enough when he was younger, had wanted him to throw all distractions to the side...including you. I'm a three time world champion now, Max said with a cocky grin. It doesn't matter what he says anymore, I do what I want.

Although his initial words about how the change in his behaviour being due to his controlling father sent a pang of empathy through you, you hadn't come this far to just give in. You pushed him off you with all your might, only being able to get a couple of inches as you glared and said you're delusional, Max, if you think I'd ever forgive you. Much less want you back after the hell you put me through. Storming off, you naively thought that was the end of it, that Max would back off once he saw you weren't the same lovesick girl he could toy with anymore. Not gonna call me Maxie anymore? he teases at your retreating back.

You should have known Max always got what he wanted, because he finds his way into your bedroom later that night. It was stupid to not lock your room because you think he wouldn't lay a hand on you when under the same roof as your brothers. Softly closing the door behind him, Max's dark gaze took in your curvy, sleeping figure in your childhood room. It was still decorated with your younger self's belongings as your Mama had always wanted you to feel welcome - but you had never come back after graduating. So you slept against a large plushie Bunny, cutely dressed in a pink matching shorts and camisole set. The twisted desire to corrupt the sleeping beauty in front of him rushes to Max's head - and his hardening cock- and he doesn't hesitate to slowly run his large palms over your body. He teasingly slides one hand up your sheer camisole to graze your large tits and the other down your shorts, to lightly toy with your pussy through cotton panties. The sweet dream you'd been having started to turn into a dirty one from the stimulation, and you instinctively grind back against the warm, hard body pressed into your back as you moan sleepily.Your dream is getting more and more heated as Max plays with your sensitive body, and only when you’re starting to drench your panties with slick do your eyes hazily blink open. Your adorably confused expression turns him on even more as he captures your gasp in his mouth, using his tongue to explore the inside of your mouth. Soon he has your panties pulled to one side and his thick finger sliding into your dripping folds. Your muffled protests have started slipping into confused moans, and he doesn't need to keep you silent any longer as start kissing him back when your body's frustrated needs take over your mind's denials. Max looks down on your face, memorising how pretty your wide brown eyes looked as you teared up, and he whispers filthy things in your ear to send you off the edge and spiralling into your first orgasm. You're so sensitive, bunny, you’re still a virgin aren’t you? Saved yourself just for me like a good girl, hmm?

You’d silently cried into your plush toy as you buried your flushed face into it, feeling lost in the overwhelming pleasure that you knew you shouldn't be feeling, that was wrong but felt so right. Drool stained your poor bunny plush as you bit down on it to muffle your scream of Maxie as waves of satisfaction rolled over you. You'd fallen back into a deep sleep after the overwhelming stimulation, distantly feeling Max's lips press a goodnight kiss to your tear stained cheeks. And when you awoke in the morning, you almost thought you'd imagined up the whole thing, a particularly naughty wet dream, but when you found that your panties were missing underneath your cute pajama shorts you knew there was only one person who would have taken them with him.

You didn’t even get a chance to confront him because you find out the very same day that Max had gotten his lawyer to cancel your Alpine contract and have Redbull send you a new one, complete with a generous signing bonus that anyone would be a fool to refuse. With your family watching you expectantly, you knew it would be too hard to explain your way out of this. So you reluctantly signed the 1 year contract, telling yourself it was only a temporary problem, that you would surely be hiding out the back of the garage and in the workshops, well away from your childhood bully.

That’s all Max needed to get you alone, to start his corruption of you, his favourite Leclerc sibling. Right from your first day, he’d welcomed you with a firm hug, his swollen biceps pressing you against his broad chest, squeezing your plump ass and making you squeal - but striding off before you could say anything. Or coming up behind you when you were bent over, tinkering on something, and making sure you could feel his impressive semi against your covered slit. You'd always desperately try to move away, anxious someone would see - but you stood no chance against the adult Max's strength when he tightened his grip around your thick hips and grinded himself on your jiggling ass.

He still teased you, sure, but now it came off as harmless flirting, steeped into your childhood friendship. And conflicting feelings swirled in your chest when you saw the lucky ribbon you’d gifting him as a kid somehow still tied to his seat, an ever present good luck charm. Everyone else would smile at you two encouragingly, saying you looked so sweet together, where you secretly a couple? No one seemed to share your nervousness around Redbull's champion driver, or pick up on the undertone of darkness in his intense gaze when he looked at you.

Soon he has you travelling exclusively with him, staying in all the same hotels, under the guise of being his personal mechanic for any last minute corrections. Charles loved it, saying this way Max could always keep a close eye on you when you were away from home. If only your overprotective brother knew he was sending his little sister right into the den of the lion. And the so called Dutch Lion was no longer holding himself back from taking your sweet innocence all for himself.

You'd always belonged to him, after all.

It first started when he’d gotten absolutely furious seeing you at a race afterparty in Miami, giggling cutely in a pretty minidress with an engineer you’d started to flirt with at work. Max had all but dragged you to his private booth, tossing you over his strong shoulder when you tried to stand your ground and stand firmly in your strappy high heels. He kicked all the models and B list celebrities trying to leech out of the dimly lit room, pushing your head down till you were staring up at him, your pretty face bathed in the red neon lights as you anxiously bite your glossed lip.

If you wanted to get fucked so bad, he growled deeply, unbuckling his belt and making your eyes go wide with fear as the biggest cock you’d ever seen emerges, you can just beg for it nicely like the good little slut you are, hmm? You’re sniffling, tears emerging in your wide doe eyes as you beg him please Maxie, please don't do this, I promise I’ll stop-

But he doesn’t listen to one pleading word, his twisted mind obsessed with one thing and one thing only - making the pure Leclerc sweetheart gag and choke on his mean cock. You knew better than to get in the way of what Max wanted, because he always ended up getting it. Instead you let your mind go blank, letting the guilty pleasure cloud your senses to ignore the reality of how mean Max was being, your pliant mouth dropping open as you let him ruin your throat. There isn’t a glimmer of his childhood sweetness in his dark, icy blue eyes as he memorizes the hypnotising sight of your chubby cheeks slurping at raging erection, the tears falling down your face at performing your first blowjob on your knees at a nightclub just making him impossibly harder. He groans as your sweet mouth slurps on his warm length, continuing to whisper his filthy promises to punish you and slipping into dutch as he climaxed. Fuck, fuck, erg lekker, so fucking good- He made sure your crying cheeks was pressed right into his tense abs when he finally emptied his load inside you, panting heavily from how good your heavenly tongue felt. He didn’t move until you followed his instructions and tried to swallow every drop. Your inexperienced mouth struggled, half of his sticky cum leaking out the corners of your mouth. He tutted mockingly, smearing his release all over your swollen lips with his thumb and saying he’d have to give your throat so much more training so it knew how to suck a cock, hmm?

Your cheeks burned with humiliation at failing to please him properly, even though he was practically forcing you to deepthroat him. The next day, when you woke up with no voice, you’d had to pretend you had a cold when seeing Cha for brunch the next morning.

And when he’d have a bad qualifying, he’d easily swipe his way into your hotel room two doors down from his. He often finds you in a cute silky babydoll, getting ready to sleep after a long day in the garage but making sure to dress prettily because you never know when Max is in a bad mood and wants to take it out on you. You had one more job to do, and that’s to make up for whatever mistake you must have made with the car and fucked up his hot lap, Max would argue. An angry Max always scared you so you would sweetly beg for his forgiveness, even for a mistake you would never have made on the car, letting him abuse your petite frame to vent his frustrations.

Tonight, he wanted to play with your breasts, sliding the silky straps off your nightie off your shoulders to hungrily eye your curves, tanned nipples quickly tightening from the chill. Can’t get enough of these pretty fucking tits, he said as he sloppily fucked them while you obediently kneeled in between his spread legs. You’re squeezing your plush chest together to cushion his raging erection, his angry red tip making you squeal when he growls and splatters cum all over your deliciously tanned skin. Knowing he’d get mad if you don’t let him mark his territory, you rub the sticky cream all over your hardened nipples and large breasts before you clean up his drooling cockhead with your mouth. He cooes his praises at you, telling you see, you’re perfect at this, maybe he’ll have you promoted from engineer to his personal cocksleeve to relieve his stress, hmm?

You feel so dirty at the wetness gushing between your legs at his filthy words, biting your lip at the thought of Max fucking you in his driver’s room while your brothers stood just a garage over in Ferrari. But despite his constant teasing, he knew to never cross the line fully and actually fuck you. That would scare you away, make you too anxious, and although he played rough and mean when he'd been younger, he now had the patience to wait and leave you wanting more, so that you'd be the one to come to him. So he edged you constantly, working you up only to pull away just as you almost climaxed, his name on your tongue like a prayer. Or pulling you into sleep against his bare muscled chest, so that you'd feel his morning wood against your soaked panties but be unable to do anything except dry hump him.

And his plan worked because after only a few months, your once pure and innocent mind has become utterly ruined for Max’s attention. The Dutch Lion has convinced you that you’re meant to be his plaything, and you can’t find it within you to try and deny him any longer. Would it truly be so wrong to give in to the naughty desires you’d been having about your childhood sweetheart, your school bully, your brother’s rival on track but friend that had been trusted to keep his little sister safe? When you’d grown too desperate to satisfy yourself by grinding on your pillow or your tiny fingers, you’d decided to entice Max even more in the hopes that he’d properly take your innocence.

You’d certainly caught the Dutchman’s eye, as well as many other hungry gazes, when you started arriving on the paddock in cute heels and floral minidresses. And of course, your generous cleavage was out on full display in sweetheart necklines, instead of conservatively hidden in an oversized Redbull shirt. You’d made sure to have your lanyard tucked right in between your bouncing tits too, the label of Max Verstappen’s Enineering Team dangling and drawing attention with each bounce of your tits when you walked. Because you knew your Maxie just as well as he knew you, after all - and he was a intensely competitive and jealous man. You hadn’t even had to wait till the debrief as he’d hightailed it right out of the meeting room, taking you to his motor home through a back passage.

You still play the clueless little virgin, adamant on trying to resist him even though you're secretly finding it just as dirty and hot as Max does when he shoves you against the door, locking it firmly. Fuck, your body drives me wild, it’s all your fault that I’m getting distracted like this. How can you be such a naive virgin but walk around with the body of a slut just begging to get fucked, huh?

You frantically shake your head, trying to plead your innocence but he doesn’t hear your words, instead grabbing a hold of your miniskirt and asking if you understood girls with thick asses like you shouldn’t be showing them off unless you wanted attention, yeah? You started crying easily, already finding your thoughts going fuzzy as you slipped into submission, craving the way he’d degrade you for his own pleasure.

He’d have to punish you for distracting him, he said, even though he’d won P1 it had been torture seeing your fat ass bending over when you dropped your phone in front of him. You were lucky no one else had seen your cotton panties or he’d have to fucking kill them.

His possessive words make you shiver, doe brown eyes staring up at him expectantly and waiting for his orders. He swears at your obedient expression and guides your hand to his sizeable bulge, making you squeal, hoping it sounds like fright and not eagerness. He rubs your tiny palm across his pants, demanding to know just how the hell he was meant to focus with a hard on the whole race?

When you can’t answer him properly he smirks and tells you that you’ll just have to take your punishment like a good girl, then. Within seconds he has you lying across his lap, your miniskirt up around your hips and white cotton panties pulled down to snugly trap your thick thighs together. And then he’s spanking you with his large hands, telling you to count and meanly restarting each time you lost track when he hits extra hard to watch your ass bounce. By the time he’s finally content your cheeks are red and burning, and you’ve left drool all over his sofa from your desperate efforts to muffle your wails.

You like that, don’t you bunny? He asks meanly. You start sniffling again at his mean words, cheeks burning with humiliation because it had felt soooo good but you felt so naughty for enjoying it. You'd die if he found out. So instead you tell him he was being so mean, Maxie, couldn’t he just be nice to you like when he’d been younger?

Your eyes widen as you blurt the words out instinctively, making Max’s expression grow stormy at your bratty reply. Ripping your panties off entirely, he stuffs them into his pocket and tells you to explain why you’re fucking dripping all over me then, hmm? - running his thick fingers along your dripping cunny and smirking at the long strands of sticky wetness that connect to his fingers when he pulls away. When you don’t respond, too embarrassed by how your body has given you away, he slides the fingers into your closed mouth despite your attempts to turn your head. He makes you lick him clean, tasting yourself on him, murmuring if you were a good slut and spread your legs for him he might consider eating you out.

The ache between your thighs is almost as painful as your tender ass now, and your virgin cunny tingles from the idea of Max kissing you down there. Even though he’s being so mean, you can’t help but sit down willingly against the sofa arm and slowly part your thick thighs, blushing all the while as he examines you intently. You whine when his hungry gaze continues to linger, but he doesn’t stop, even taking out his phone to snap photos of your pussy after holding your thighs open to stop you frantically closing them when you see what he’s doing. It’s so cute and wet he murmurs distractedly, looking entranced as he slowly sinks a single thick finger in and finds it completely sucked in by your tight, drooling pussy. Really, you’ve never let any boy except for me touch you here, not even with his fingers? At the shake of your head and shy murmur of no, just my own, I promise, Maxie he breaks into an evil, satisfied grin. So this little hole is really all mine to claim, huh?

It turns out going down on you was really more of a punishment than a pleasure because he makes you cum multiple times with his skilled tongue. You’re begging him to stop, feeling overstimulated and completely wrecked, mascara stained tears running over your chubby cheeks. When he finally eases his sadistic torture after teasing flicks of his broad tongue have you squirting a third time, you’re too fucked out to protest him separating your puffy cunny lips and spitting onto it, as if it belonged to him. Bunny, if your brothers knew the kind of things I was doing to their precious baby sister, Max says, chuckling darkly. They’d want to slam me straight into the nearest barricade and have my head on a spike.

But your brothers remain as oblivious to your corruption as ever, with an endless supply of work excuses easily being used by Max and now you, as you started to fully give in and enjoy the intense pleasure being his personal fucktoy brought you. He’d taken your sweet virginity on a hot night in Singapore after beating Charles to P1, telling you that the best reward wasn’t the trophy but knowing he got to cum raw inside your untouched cunny. After plying you with champagne at the yacht afterparty, he'd taken you back and fucked you on the French chaise, not even making it to the bed. He’d been gentle the first time, huskily whispering praises in your ears as you desperately tried to adjust to the size, his cock so much larger than his fingers. He licked away the tears at the corner of your eyes as you bite his shoulder, lost in the waves of pleasure as you ride out your orgasm.

When he finally carries you over to the bed, climbing over your satisfied figure, you’re fooled into thinking he’s going to cuddle you. He’s turning you onto your front and you’re expecting to feel him behind you, bringing you into him as his little spoon like he does ever night. But your sleepy eyes go wide open when your thick hips are suddenly pulled up into the air, and your flushed face pressed down firmly into the sheets. And then he huskily whispers it’s time to fuck you properly, be a good bunny for me and take it, okay?

You wailed into the cushions, your open mouth leaving drool all over the pillowcases, as his cock bullies your tight cunny over and over. He reaches around to toy with your sensitive clit, smirking when your crying turned into confused moans of pleasure as the pressure in your pussy starts to feel so good. Soon he’s slamming his hard length into your twitching figure, slapping your red plump ass repeatedly and telling you how funny it’d be if Charlie found out his rival had claimed your virginity, hmm? Should he tell him next time the Ferrari driver tried to one up him on the track? You sob, begging him not to tell your protective brother, shaking your ass onto him and telling him he could even cum inside if he wanted instead of telling your brother. Max groans at your gullibility. Silly girl, he croons as he bends down to whisper in your ear, his muscled abs pressing down on you. I was always going to do that anyways, hmm? This ass belongs to me.

And then he’s moaning into your drooling mouth as his hips still above yours, draining his heavy balls into your pussy that had already been stuffed full of his thick, creamy load from the first round. Rivulets of your mixed juices run down the inside of your thighs, overflowing from the sheer amount of cum he’s pumped you full of. You know better than to ask him to wear a condom, instead praying that it was the wrong time of the month to get knocked up. Especially when he doesn’t let you get up and try to pee it out, instead murmuring he’s just going to stuff a couple of fingers inside and make sure you don’t waste anymore, okay? You try to resist, crawling away and wanting to save your poor, overstimulated clit but once again Max easily holds you still. Hmm, guess I’ll just have to teach you a lesson and use my cock to plug you up, he threatens meanly, making tears fall down your face again and his dick twitches with interest. Every man had his pleasures, and world champion Max Verstappen’s was to see the Leclerc baby sister crying and begging for him. Sick bastard, you think distantly through a pleasurable haze as he sinks back inside your gummy walls and makes you keep his cock warm.

Your secret affair with the Dutch Lion continues easily throughout the year. And at the end of your contract, at the yearly FIA prizegiving, you attend with Charles instead of with the Redbull team, dutifully doing your part as the Leclerc sister now that your term at a rival garage was done. At one point you get up from dinner, saying you had to find the bathroom, but end up gone for 20 minutes, missing Cha being awarded overtake of the year for when his Ferrari had divebombed the leading Redbull. Later, when everyone is mingling, Charles walks over to Max’s table, shaking his hand and taking a seat to reminisce about the season. They’d come so far together from their childhood karting days, wasn’t it heartwarming now that they stood together on the F1 stage?

The two men laugh, catching up on missed updates during the busy end of season. Soon they’re talking about their love lives, Max congratulating Cha on his relationship he’s recently made public. The Ferrari driver warmly returns the compliment, saying whoever the Redbull driver was seeing recently must be treating him well because he’s never seen Max so relaxed before. He’s seen the gossip magazines speculate who the silhouette of a mystery girl seen making out on Max’s lap in a paparrazi shot through his car window. Max slyly commented that it was good the camera hadn’t been able to go lower, because then they’d have seen that she’d actually been bouncing on my dick underneath her skirt. Charles laughs at Max’s deviousness, patting him on the back for being such a shameless fucker.

Charles had forgotten to go find the youngest Leclerc, which was just as well because he would never have been able to guess where you had been hiding. You’re diligently on your knees, drooling on Max’s cock underneath the tablecloth, safely tucked in close between his spread legs. Your brother is completely unaware that the girl he and Max are joking about is his innocent baby sister, who’s currently worshipping his rival’s thick length eagerly. Paying the price for her brother’s overtake on the track with her glossy pink lips, just as Max had ordered you too when he found out what award his rival was getting tonight.

As the night continues, all formality lost as the party goers make use of the open bar, it was all to easy for the blonde Dutchman to make you follow him to the private bathroom. It’s so degrading, so mean of Max to do this, to have you on the dirty bathroom floor with your pretty curls unpinned from the classy updo you’d spend ages styling. Your expensive red silk dress hangs off your hips and exposes your bare, bouncing tits to his hungry gaze. So slutty, no bra and all, hmm? You wanted me to fuck you tonight, didn’t you? Answer me! He slaps his hard length repeatedly against your chubby cheeks, spraying precum everywhere and making your perfect makeup run.

Soon mascara stained tears are dripping down your face as Max makes you finish sloppily sucking him off, his phone camera on you and recording every single filthy sound that fills the air. It’s obscene, the way his huge cock stretches your small plush lips open all the way and your eyes roll to the back of your head every time his tip grazes the back of your throat. Hmm, so eager to drink my cum, aren’t you? He coos, and you nod dazedly, your doe eyes glassy. Fuck, you’re such a good little slut, letting me do whatever I want you to your body. My own personal fucktoy. Bet you’d even let me piss down your throat if I wanted, huh?

You gag at this, trying to shake your head but finding it impossible with the strong grip he has on your hair. Max chuckles at your panicked expression, reassuring you not to worry, he wasn’t that mean. You don’t believe him, because later he bends you over the bathroom counter and makes you look in the mirror to see where his leaking cock repeatedly sinks in to the hilt, stretching your cunny out yet again, filling it with his thick seed. You text Cha some excuse about feeling unwell and leaving early as Max buckles you into his passenger seat, knowing there was no way you could explain your absolutely wrecked appearance to your brother afterwards.

You’ve realized that the legal end of your Redbull contract really had no say on anything. Because at the end of the day the only thing that mattered was what Max wanted - and he wanted you to stay by his side, forever. So you let him take your hand in his a few months later at Lorenzo’s wedding, revealing the secret relationship to your family. Your mother is overjoyed, telling you both that you always had her blessing, ever since you’d been kids. Your brothers take a lot more convincing, of course, as well as Max swearing privately to Cha that you certainly hadn’t been the girl from the paparazzi car incident, he’d never treat the Leclerc princess like that of course! He was a playboy before, sure, but for you he was willing to stop all that and commit.

Charles gives you two his begrudging yes, seeing how attentive Max was with you, always intently watching you whenever you entered the same room as him and always knowing where you were if you walked away. And the way you’d look up adoringly at the blonde, desire and love clear in your doe eyes. Soon you’ve accepted Max’s offer to move into his penthouse, unpacking all the lingerie and diamond necklace sets he’s been buying you for months. And when he comes home at the end of a tiring day, sighing and settling on the living room couch, you now know to anticipate Max’s needs before he has to tell you. You crawl over to him, wearing skimpy lingerie in his favourite colour, nuzzling your face into his clothed thigh and asking please Maxie, could you please suck him off, your mouth felt empty without him?

He places a loving kiss to your forehead and unbuckles his belt for you, cooing praises at what a good little pet you were being for him. This time, when he cums, you have no issue greedily swallowing every single drop of his hot, sticky cum, licking your well trained lips. So yummy, Maxie…Would you like my pussy or my ass next?

He smirks down at your slutty words, a dazed expression on your face, dumbly ready to please him however he liked, whenever he was in the mood, wherever he wants it. Nothing quite beats having his own personal toy, even if it’s taken some time to break you in. Doesn’t matter now, though, because it has been worth it. Because you’ll never leave his side again, completely devoted to him, the concept of being with any other man ruined for you.

Time for him to make good on his childhood promise, Max thinks. Make you his vrouw, his wife, once and for all.

2K notes · View notes

calamity-talvi · 4 months ago

Text

So Arthur, the knights and Merlin are about to enter this mystical place of some sort for a mission and at the door they are asked to remove any and all weapons.

Knights remove their swords, any knives they have, a couple crossbows and bows and arrows and at the end have a sizeable pile or weapons that you'd typically expect for them.

Then the likely magical creature at the door turns at looks at Merlin. "You as well, otherwise you can go no further."

All the knights pipe up various announcements of "Merlin!? But it's Merlin!? There's nowhere to hide any weapons on his person! He doesn't carry anything!"

And Merlin rolls his eyes, tired of magical creatures trying to catch him out with their tricks and relents.

*Cue the largest pile of odds and sods around*

Numerous daggers, out numbering the knights rather respectable pile.

Several vials of poison, some of them so cartoonishly poison they'd probably have a puff of smoke the shape of skulls if opened.

Some how a bow and quiver of arrows (The knights dare not ask because the murderous look Merlin is giving the creature guarding the door every time he tries to claim he's done everything and is told to keep removing items he's holding makes them all a fair bit terrified)

And the pile just grows and grows and the items get stranger and stranger. A horn that when blown into summons a pack of wolves to help, an alarming number of cursed items that do various things that causes even the creature at the door to pale in concern, a vial of water from Avalon, a strand of unicorn hair (again none question how that is considered dangerous, they're all too scared to ask)

But eventually Merlin get's rid of everything deemed to be a "weapon" and just huffs his way inside and goes "You lot coming? I can't believe magical creatures and their stupid laws, I couldn't even sneak x by them."

#bbc merlin #merlin #concept #merlin bbc

1K notes · View notes

sweetbuckybarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Spencer's Family

Summary: The team finds out what Spencer did on his sabbatical.

Inspired by a post, I saw about how, in the one episode we're going to see Spencer in, they meet his wife. I took it and ran.

1k words

After finally closing the case, Penelope practically demanded they go see the new place Spencer had bought a few years ago. Once he agreed (begrudgingly), the BAU tech was literally vibrating in her seat.

Spencer had picked out a small-town house on the edge of DC, a train ride away, but the small town had shops, schools, and parks for an all-around American family.

He unlocked the door, making his way in first, summoning his team in with a nod of his head.

It seemed like a lovely home for a nearly mid-40s man.

However, there was something that caught Penelope's attention. It sounded like there was someone (possibly more than one) in Spencer's living room.

"Spencer," Penelope hisses. "I think there's someone in your house."

Spencer raises an eyebrow and makes his way into the living room without his gun raised. "It's just my wife and stepdaughter," he says over his shoulder.

"Stepdaughter?" Came from Tara and Luke.

"Wife?" Whereas this came from Penelope, Emily and JJ.

The last anyone had heard from Spencer about his love life was Maxine, and judging by the voice - this wasn't Maxine.

The group hurried after Spencer, seeing a young girl - possibly around the age of 5, maybe 6 - with her arms wrapped tightly around Spencer's neck. The little girl was an absolute chatterbox. She hadn't stopped talking since the moment he set foot in the living room.

However, the woman they were more interested in was Spencer's wife. Who was sitting on the sofa, giggling at the pair in front of her; a blanket was thrown over her lap, and some sort of embroidery was now abandoned at her side.

"-and then Tony stuck a pencil up his nose!" She giggled.

"Why did he do that?" Spencer asked the little girl, taking a seat on the sofa and pulling her into his lap.

Just as she was going to explain why, she burst into more giggles, Spencer looked over at his wife for a possible explanation. "Apparently Arthur dared Tony to do it."

"Ah! You'd think after the incident with the Magic Marker, they'd know not to dare Tony to do things."

Spencer's wife shrugged her shoulders. "Now you're here, I'm going to take a nap."

Before Emily could question why his wife was going to take a nap, she got herself out of the little nest she had made for herself. Protruding from her abdomen was a baby bump. A pretty big baby bump.

"Reid, you're going to be a father?!" Luke exclaimed, earning himself a rather harsh glare from the little girl (who now obviously sees Spencer as her dad). "Again..." he trails off, correcting himself under the child's gaze.

"Has she been giving you any hassle?" Spencer asks, ignoring Luke's question (or many of the genius didn't hear him), as his hand rested on the bump, a large smile growing on his face told the team the baby was probably moving. JJ still remembers when she was expecting Henry, and when she got Spencer to feel her bump on time, he mentioned how it felt alien-like.

"Well, she's happy now her daddy's home," his wife comments.

He looks up at her. "Have you given any more thought to going on maternity leave yet?"

The team watches as she rolls her eyes. "As I told you before I left, I'm completely fine; the semester doesn't finish for another 3 weeks."

"Your due date is in 4 weeks, Y/N! I know you feel you have a duty to your students, but I think even they would agree you should be at home."

"They would only agree because they don't want to see me go into labour whilst I'm at school."

"What's labour?"

Both Spencer and his wife, who they now know is called Y/N, look down at their daughter. The wife looks at her husband. "Can you-"

Spencer leans over and presses a kiss to her temple. "I'll deal with this. You go take a nap."

She sighs happily. "Lifesaver, I don't know what I would do without you."

"And you won't have to," he replies, giving her a kiss. "Go take a nap."

After a spirited conversation with his stepdaughter about childbirth and babies (that was appropriate for a 5-year-old), she happily went back to her colouring book, which was neat and tidy, with every scribble kept firmly within the lines - she was more like Spencer even though they don't share blood.

Penelope plops herself down on an open chair and stares at Spencer like she has seen a ghost. "A wife, a stepdaughter, and a baby on the way?" Spencer nods, reaching over to run his fingers through the little girl's hair (who they now know is called Betty).

"You're excited to have a little sister, aren't you Betty?" Spencer asks, watching her blonde hair bounce around her head.

"I gets to help Mommy and Daddy take care of her!" She replies, the excitement bursting out of her.

Emily looks over at Spencer. "Are you ready?"

Spencer looks away from Betty for all of a second to smile at Emily. "I don't think I've been ready for anything more in my life," he turns to Betty. "Have you come up with any more names for your sister?"

Betty coming up with names for her little sister was a way of her having a part in her little sister's life before she even gets here.

However, this time, Betty only had one. "Willow."

18 days later...

Just as Penelope hung up the phone on Emily, her personal phone pinged in her purse.

There was a notification from Y/N. In a picture from a hospital room, Y/N sat in the bed, cradling a bundle; Spencer sat at her side with Betty in the middle of them, the evidence of tears having rolled down the little girl's face.

Meet Willow Penelope Reid, born 5:37am, 6 pounds 9 oz; mom and baby are well. Oh, and Betty has asked Spencer to adopt her!

Penelope was crying when she called JJ. "Hey, Garcia."

"Y/N had the baby, and my name is the baby's middle name!" Penelope cried, and before JJ could say anything. "And Betty wants Spencer to adopt her!"

JJ smiled softly. "Well, we will have to go visit them once they are out of the hospital and settled in at home."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x wife!reader #criminal minds fic

453 notes · View notes

georgeclarkesgf · 10 months ago

Text

shush, it's a secret | george clarke

it's not unusual for you to be over at george's flat considering you and him met at university and both moved to london around the same time. but about four months ago, your relationship changed from close friends to just that, a relationship.

you'd both decided to not tell anyone, despite how difficult it was proving to be to not be all over each other 24/7. the fans knew of you, to an extent. you'd appear in the backgrounds of videos or tiktoks posted by the boys. your social media was public, however, none of your accounts included your name, making it less likely for fans to find you.

tonight, you're over at the flat again, legs strewn over george's lap and eating some of the dominoes he'd ordered. a movie chris had picked out plays on the tv, but was now long forgotten about since a debate has broken out amongst the boys. over what? you don't know. you're too focused on the way george's hand is subconsciously trailing up your thigh, dangerously high for a 'close friend'. he honestly hasn't noticed that he's doing it, too engaged in the ongoing debate. so, you pick your phone up from your chest and message him.

too high x

his phone dings and he leans forward, grabbing it off the table before noticing it was from you. you watch as his brows furrow in confusion, before sending him another message.

your hand x

realisation hits george and he squeezes your thigh gently as an apology, moving his hand back down to rest above your knees. he mouths 'sorry' at you, to which you can't help but giggle and shake your head. arthur (hill) looks between you two in slight confusion, going to say something but deciding to keep his mouth shut.

it wasn't that you didn't want to tell people, you'd both just agreed it would be easier figuring things out and adjusting to this shift in dynamic without other people prying their noses in. it didn't make the thrill of getting caught any less exciting though. even the simple things such as him wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your shoulder made you get an adrenaline rush.

you can feel your eyes growing heavy, despite it still being relatively early, and decide to call it a night.

"sorry guys but i'm gonna head to bed," an echo of boos fill the room while you shrug, laughing, "i'm tired guys leave me alone. mind if i crash in your bed george?"

it feels weird having to ask your boyfriend if you can sleep in his bed, but it seems to be doing the trick of keeping the relationship a secret. there are only three bedrooms and you've known george the longest, so it makes sense you'd stay in his room.

"no go for it, i probably won't be long." you give him a smile and climb off the sofa, heading to his room.

george's eyes widen when he next checks the time, not realising it was so late.

"shit." he mumbles to himself, gaining a weird look from the boys.

"you alright george?" arthur (hill) questions.

"yea i'm fine. just didn't realise it was so late that's all, got stuff to do tomorrow. i'm gonna go to bed though, night guys." he was lying right through his teeth, he had nothing to do tomorrow.

what george had meant to be ten minutes or so had turned into an hour and a half. arthur (tv) ended up coming over and they'd gotten so caught up in conversation that time seemed to fly by. he knows that you hate falling asleep without him and feels guilt seep into his skin. especially since he knows you won't ask for him to come to bed, not wanting it to come off weird since to the others, you're 'just friends'.

you're staring at the ceiling when he shuts his bedroom door, having fallen asleep for all of twenty minutes before you woke up to an empty bed over an hour ago.

"i'm so sorry baby, i didn't realise it had been that long," you turn to look at him, enjoying the way he starts stroking your cheek with his thumb, "have you been waiting for me?"

"mhm, fell asleep for about twenty minutes and been awake since. it's okay though, kept myself busy," george's jaw drops slightly, clearly misunderstanding your words, "oh my god george, no! i meant by reading some more of my book you perv. get your mind out the gutter."

he laughs and goes in to kiss you but you push his forehead away before he can. you scrunch up your face in disgust.

"ow, what was that for?" he's rubbing his forehead like you just hit him with a bat, making it much more dramatic than necessary.

"brush your teeth, you have pizza breath." he tries to do it again and catch you off guard but fails, "i mean it george."

"yes ma'am."

he disappears into the bathroom and returns a few minutes later. his teeth are brushed and he's wearing a pair of grey joggers. your arms open wide, inviting him to lay on top of you so you can run your nails through his hair and up and down his back. a feeling both of you love.

"can i kiss you now?" he teases, grin widening when you nod your head.

several kisses are planted on your face and you know he's purposefully missing your lips. you frown, wanting him to kiss you properly, not having felt his lips on yours in what felt like years. realistically, it's been a few hours.

"george, kiss me properly." you whine.

and he does just that. one hand holding himself up to hover over you, the other stroking your cheek and bringing you in closer until your lips finally meet. the kiss starts off slow and loving, until he presses you further into the mattress, his hands beginning to roam your body. every ounce of sleep you were feeling disappears, suddenly becoming hyper aware of what's happening.

pulling away, you mumble, "we can't, everyone's here. they'll hear us."

"never stopped us before." george whispers against your mouth, connecting your lips once again.

well touché.

a/n don't ask where the inspiration for this came from at 2 in the morning cause i don't have an answer. not proofread either sorryyy. shall i make a part two? i feel like i'll end up doing it anyway but what do you guys think??

1K notes · View notes

heavenlymorals · 11 months ago

Text

I feel like a lot of people forget that the Van Dir Linde gang was actually famous in their universe- Dutch Van Dir Linde was as famous as the real life Butch Cassidy. The gang had as much infamy as the Wild Bunch or the Dalton gang. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Bill Williamson, Javier Esculla, Lenny Summers, Charles Smith, Sean McGuire and more were probably as famous as the real life Doc Holliday, Jesse James, Black Bart, Rufus Buck, Ike Clanton, the Sundance Kid, Wild Bill Hickock, and more.

Sadie Adler would've been just as famous. She was a gunslinger like the real life Calamity Jane and Anne Oakley and she was an outlaw at one point like Laura Bullion, Pearl Hart, Belle Star, The Cassidy Sisters, and more.

The other women of the camp would've probably been less popular but still very intriguing figures to people in the future.

In the newspapers, we see that there are songs about Dutch's boys and books too. Trelawny mentions them being on dime novels. In the future, the pieced together story of the Van Dir Linde gang might've gotten adapted into a movie, similar to "Butch Cassidy and the Sun Dance Kid" or "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford". They could've gotten biopics, documentaries, and more.

Historians and fans of the wild West era would dig up records, find pictures, and maybe even track down people who were apart of the gang, accomplices to the gang, or victims of the gang. They would try to piece together stories to figure out the mystery of what actually happened to the gang.

People would argue over things that happened in the gang and have their evidence to back it up. Letters written by gang members would become so valuable. If they ever someone come across Arthur's journal, it would probably be considered one of the most valuable pieces of documentation to ever exist for that time period.

The guns of the gang would probably be kept in museums if found. Albert Mason's portrait of Arthur Morgan would be found in history books, same as other pictures.

Dutch would probably be a very controversial figure in history- some would hail him as a failed hero and others would condemn his violence no matter the reason- they wouldn't know what the people in the gang knew- especially in the end. Same with the rest of the gang members.

They'd probably all get romanticized. Hosea and Dutch's friendship, the raising of the boys, Dutch and Annabelle and his fued with Colm, Mary and Arthur, John and his family, Javier being a revolutionary- no one would know the full story.

And then there is Jack- he may live to see the 1960s and 70s and 80s. He may have grandchildren who'd pull him into a theater to watch a retelling of the gang that he was a part of at one point. He'd be amused. He'd think that the actor playing his father was too clean looking, too pretty. He'd think that the movie Arthur was too skinny. He'd think that the man playing Dutch had a funny voice as he tried to mimic the accent. He'd laugh and make notes in his head of the historical accuracy. He'd feel sorrowful at the deaths of the characters- he knew them at some point. And no one at the theater would know that the old man with the rowdy bright eyed boys who brought him there was Jack Marston, the last of the Van Dir Linde gang.

Jack might talk about it to the public. He might do interviews. He might even write a book about his father, the infamous John Marston. Those would be priceless. Even Beecher's Hope might be kept around and visited as a historical site for history goers.

And honestly? It is such a bittersweet thing.

2K notes · View notes

brothermoth · 5 months ago

Text

The fact that John signed his bank papers with his actual fucking name is so funny to me. Sweetie, literally just change your last name. Do you know how many fucking Johns there are??? As far as 1907 is concerned you could look him in the eye and tell the man your name was Hodge Glongler and there would be absolutely no way to verify this. Hell, they'd believe you if you said it with enough conviction.

Dutch has like twelve people unquestioningly believe his name is HOAGIE MACINTOSH. He just says it on the spot and not a soul questions it. Arthur just changes his last name but he at least like ...sticks to it. He'd had zero trouble just fully living by a different name for years. His grandkids would've been like 'what do you MEAN our last name isn't actually Callahan??? He just fucking made it up????

#red dead redemption 2 #john marston #arthur morgan #rdr2

611 notes · View notes

grugruel · 1 year ago

Text

Big Iron

Pairings:

bounty hunter!Arthur Morgan x outlaw!f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: She's escaped a robbery, and bounty hunters have been sent out after her. They'd made no problem so far– that said, the notorious Arthur Morgan set upon her trail.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: Arthur Morgan, pinv sex, rough sex, soft sex ish, lap/bulge-riding, praise, petnames (girl, sweetheart, ma'am), creampie, overstimulation.

AN: 3rd person pov, trying it out. Not yet proofread!

A campfire blazed in the night, casting a warm glow over the small, temporary hideout.

Smoldering flakes of ash rose skyward in tired swirls, and the woman's face lit up, sizzling embers of spent coal entrancing her.

The fires of a bright building shouldered It's way into her mind, stealing precious space from all else.

Trees around her rustled, and she leaned back against the rockwall. An overhanging cliff sheltering her.

Guard lowered, at last. She let herself slide down the wall until she felt the ground beneath her thighs. Then dove deeper into the memory.

Money was all she had needed. But the simple, well practiced heist escalated. Attempted arson had suddenly been added to her list of offences, robbery another one among them. Which she could admit to, and proudly so.

But the fire. . . Now the fire was not her fault.

Not only was the law after her, but they'd also sent out money hungry bounty hunters aswell. She'd already tied two of them down yesterday, big brutish men they were. All muscle and no brains. Still, they proved to be quite the nuisance. But they wouldn't be a problem anymore unless they died of starvation, which would indeed be u fortunate.

She gritted her teeth at the memory, her eyes interanally. She doubted it, seeing as they were curently tied to the fence of the sheriff's office.

Which left only one real threat.

One man, one singular man; a notorious outlaw himself. He was the sheriff's most resent hire. Big, deadly, tall and muscled. From long days of hard work killing and robbing she imagined.

She'd actually seen him in person once, and she could admit, he looked dangerous, and devilishly handsome. The rumors had been right about that, she was only hoping that his volatile reputation along with the Van Der Lind gang's would turn out to be folly.

She shivered at the thought, shaking her to the very bones. If it were from the thought of him or the cool of the night, she did not know. She closed her arms around herself, stroking them for warmth as she pushed the unpleasant thoughts away, her gaze snapping to the treeline beyond.

Back to reality, and suddenly accutely aware of the black darkness that lingered between the thick stems beyond. Her vision was good, and she was quite hidden after all. No one would be sneaking up on her.

"Ma'am."

From the shadows, a man appeared at the edge of the campfires domain, vaguely illuminated by its warmth. Broad and tall in frame, the deep night clung to his back. His sudden prescence was the only evidence of his arrival, he'd made no sound nor been seen before he'd needed to be.

Her eyes snapped in his direction, widening with recognition, the eerie sense divulged itself to her body. Like poison, it spread quickly, crawling into every blood vessel and turning them ice-cold along its journey.

"Mister," she greeted, doing her damndest to stay calm.

His hat covered his eyes, but the smile he dealt was unmistakable. 'There's quite the bounty on you, girl.' The drawl of his accent sunk into her skin like the warmth of the fire.

"There's no doubtin' that," she nodded in admittal, slowly moving away from him, "Although im only worth half of it, I assure you."

She moved slowly, eyes meeting his as they poked out beneath his hat. He tilted his head to face hers, regarding her silently. Eyes flickering over her, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, and how her blouse revealed the hills of her chest. ". . . 'S that so?. . ." He took a step closer, the rope in his hands now excruciatingly evident to her.

She got to her feet in one swift motion, hesitantly gesturing for him to stay calm. "Mister, I'm not a murderer. The sheriff framed me." She took a few steps to the left, placing the fire between them.

The man chuckled. "I belive ya' ma'am." His hands pulled on the lasso, adjusting its length. Gripping it roughly from time to time, trigger fingers readying themselves for any sudden movement. "But the law can be a crooked thing sometimes." His eyes narrowed in on her, then shrugged nonchalantly. "But, a bounty 's still a bounty girl."

The birds sang above them, and the world blurred around her, her knees suddenly weak. Unfortunately for her, he would be there to catch her in a sense too literal for her liking.

"And I can say the same for myself ma'am, I'm a bad man. . ." His voice imposed, yet, the gravely tone vibrated perfectly well in her ears.

Gulping her nervousity, she assessed her options. . . And then ran.

Trees rushed past in peripheral whirls as she made her way along the cliff wall. Rope flexed behind her, threads wringing against eachother as it was swung and thrown with a woosh.

The air caressed her cheeks, pulling tears from her eyes and whistling in her ears. She gave it all she had, but it wasn't enough to stop the lasso from capturing her with deadly accuracy. It fell over her shoulders and tightened around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.

The rope pulled taunt–and the world stopped moving for a short second, with a yank, her body whipped forward, and her feet was swept from under her–then, just as suddenly, it sped up again.

Like a tree cut down for its timber, she fell. The ground rushed up to greet her face as she stumbled to the ground with a hard thud. She panted, smelling the earth and feeling the wet grass tickle her face as she struggled against her entanglement; wriggling and thrashing like a stranded fish.

Well-used leather chaps groaned behind her as he stalked closer, winding the rope up with friction she was sure could start a fire, her stumache churned the thought.

The woman rolled onto her back to get a better layout of the situation–and there he stood. Just by her feet, he loomed over her. With his back to the fire, it cast a back-lit glow around him, framing the big man as he filled her sight. Fear and desire fought for the helm, conflicting her mind terribly.

He crouched down, bending over her as he circled the rope around her waist, foirtyfying her restraints and securing his valuable bounty tightly.

He grabbed the lasso and pulled her up diagonally. It pinched her midriff painfully and pulled her body flush against his, just so he could level her head with his. ". . . And I've done bad things," he whispered, lips brushing against her ear. A dull pulse appeared where there ought to be no pulse. She screwed her eyes shut, and lust for this man was the last thing she should be feeling. But oh. . . How his breath raised goosebumps and spread like a wildfire over her skin.

He straightened his legs and stood back, pulling her with him while keeping their bodies close together.

Her breath fanned over his lips as they stood a mere inch apart, one bound and the other free. A smirk made its way onto his lips, his hands sliding along the tied rope around her abdomen until they were at her waist. And in one strong motion–he threw her over his shoulder.

She yelped in surprise. "You brute!" Kicking wildy in hopes of getting free. But one of his arms circled around her legs and gripped the back of her thigh to keep them still, while he laid the other on the small of her back to stop her from falling. "You keep your hands to yourself Mister!" She shouted, struggling against his bullish strength.

"Yes, ma'am." He assured as he began walking, not paying her futile thrashing much mind. "That's not the kind of bad man I am."

She cleared her throat and huffed, expecting more of a reaction. She didn't quite know what to do in this situation, she hadn't planned this far ahead. She didn't think she'd ever be properly cought. "Well, good," she said curtly, calming herself.

Being a nuisance and making this whole situation worse would be a bad idea, and she hadn't made any progress thus far, seeing as his grip was solid steel. So she'd have to settle her mind with the feeling of his strong back beneath her instead. In fact, she was reveling in the feeling of his hand on her thigh.

He stomped out the campfire before moving to where he'd hidden his horse. "Sittin' or layin'?" He asked, being nice enough to hand her to option of sharing his saddle or to be stored over his horses ass.

She huffed, "what a gentleman. Take a guess Mister," she muttered.

He nodded, "Sittin' with me it is." His hands moved to her waist, and easily transfered her from his shoulder and onto the saddle. She scoffed for the sake of scoffing, eyes narrowing as she looked down on him, and if it had the power to, her look could certainly have killed him. "Quite presumtions of you."

With a low chuckle and a shake of his head, he gripped the saddle before climbing on. Placing his hands on either side of it, one hand on the pommel and the other on the cantel. Which just so happened to be between her thighs, and just behind her ass. Almost grazing her on both sides as he braced himself against the saddle, eyes meeting hers with a satisfied smirk, "Much more attitude from ya' girl and I'll have to take meassures."

Shock sprung itself on her, feeling dizzy all over again. The knuckle of his thumb was an inch away from brushing against her cunt. Her eyes widened at the fact, and the implications his words carried. Her loins burned, but she simply cleared her throat and neutralised her expression, "Id like to see you try." And faced away from him, turning her nose upward.

He climbed onto the horse, placing himself close intil her back and leaned over her shoulder. "I will if you'd let me, respectfully, ma'am," he whispered in her ear and then spurred his horse. Shivers shook her at that, her entire body vibrating with a dull sense of need.

They rode silently for a long while, and she wanted to sass him, she wanted it terribly. But was both afraid and hoping he'd take action, just as he'd stated.

The miles wound on, oh it felt never ending. Especially with the man behind her, rutting his hips against her with every step of the horse. He was a blessing against the cold, but pure torture as his heat soaked into all the wrong spots of her body.

Finally, it came time to rest. They'd ridden nonstop from the early morning of her capture to the next night. If that weren't enough, a heatwave had been raging for the entirety of the day as well, and the setting of the sun had barely made a difference.

He set her on the ground, binding her feet and hands before starting on the camp. Making quick work of the fire and tent as she sat down on a rock, silently watching the man work, and very much enjoying the show.

His skin was slick with sweat, much like herself. The cool light of the moon and the warmth of the fire made him glisten in every sense of the word, and oh, the way he toiled away.

He'd removed his vest and chaps as he got to work, respectively rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, which now stuck to his skin. A nuisance for him to be sure, but a dream for her, she could practically see the muscles of his chest rippling.

A drop of sweat trickled down her temple, tickling her skin and drawing focus away from the view. Her eyes widened as she realised how she stared at the stranger and shook her head, attempting to clear it.

Goodness, focus. She needed to hatch a plan.

Running would do her no good, he would be too fast. He wouldn't accept bribes either and was very hard to persuade. No attempts had been successful so far.

At that thought, unavoidably, abashedly her eyes snapped back to him as he pulled his shirt off and reached for a new one in his saddlebag. She clenched her jaw to keep it from falling, his strong chest was adorned by hair, trailing down his abdomen and disappearing under, the waist of his pants.

She swallowed. In that exact moment, she wanted nothing more than to see where that trail ended.

Her jaw began aching, she fought to tear her eyes away from him. Managing to direct her gaze to the ground instead, a d impatiently waited for him to put a fresh shirt on.

After a short while, she dared look up again. He'd pulled a log to opposite side of the fire and sat down, a cigarette had been placed between his lips, and was currently being inhaled with fervor. Tilting his head back, he released the cloud of smoke with a sigh.

Her eyes followed his movements intently, studying them as she hoped that perhaps he'd notice her and offer one–

"Want one, girl?" He nodded toward her, gesturing with the match box.

"I do, yes," she answered expectantly, holding her hands out for him to untie.

But to her surprise, he scoffed, then stod and walked around the fire. He crouched onto one knee in front of her, his arm bracing on top of the other. "You'll have to do better than that," he said.

He plucked the cigarette from his lips and offered it to her, holding it an inch from her mouth. She hesitated, observing him with disdain. "Go on," he nodded.

Reluctantly, she followed his orders, but met his eyes to make sure he knew how unhappy she was about it, and then leaned in.

Closing her lips around the cigarette, she could feel the dampness where his own lips had been moments before, and sucked the toxic smoke into her lungs, as if it were air.

She swore she saw something glint in his eyes, studying her pouting lips. And a plan struck her suddenly, but–

"Good girl," he hummed.

Again, shock gripped her. The praise rose right to her head, sending waves of heat cascading through her body. Then she coughed, the smoke settling wrong in her airways. She pulled back, letting him retrieve his cigarette while she worked to regain her composure. "You alright there, sweetheart?" He asked with a grin and patted her back before replacing the cig between his lips.

"Just fine, mister," she hissed, still reeling. "You got anything stronger? Whiskey, bourbon?"

He nodded and pulled out an old bottle of bourbon from his bag, "Could you?" She held her hands out to him again.

He studied her, stroking his stubbled jaw in thought. "Got somethin' for me, then?"

Insinuations led her down a path of filthy thoughts, but she instead opted for a simple, "Please?" Instead, attempting it cheapishly.

His hands slipped down to his hip, pulling the knife from its hilt. "That's more like it," he mumbeled with his cigarette clad lips.

And cut the rope around her hands and feet, stopping at the rope around her waist and met her eyes. "Try anythin'. . ." He raised his eyebrows and lowered his voice to a mocking tone. ". . . Run, hurt me, trick me." His eyes narrowed, the corner of his lip tugging. "And there'll be a steep price to be paid."

Swallowing, she nodded enthusiastically, "I just wan't a sliver of freedom before im locked up, you could understand that."

He nodded. "S'pose so. . ." And began untying. "The difference is, girl–" The lasso loosened and slid down her sides. "–that I'd never get caught." He gathered it and pulled it over her body, his fingers accidentally brushing against her hips, the sides of her breasts.

Her breath hitched, and their eyes met. Her skin tingled desperately as fluttering wingbeats set off in her stumache. Such a small thing, building into such a big reaction.

He cleared his throat, handing her the bottle as he threw the rope into the fire and put the lasso bag in his saddlebag. Finally replacing himself on another log, not as far away from her this time. He leaned back against the tree behind it and spread his legs wide. His bulge was enough to make her salivate. "It's not easy, you know, for a woman like me, when there's men like you, Mr Morgan."

Arthur quriked an eyebrow in question. "You know me?"

"I know of you," she corrected, taking a big swig of the fluid, then handed it back to him for him to do the same.

He nodded silently, a sigh escaping under his breath. "All bad I hope." He took another swallow, not to bothered by her statement. Probably used to hearing it by now.

She shook her head, taking the bottle and another gulp. "Many of the ladies say you're handsome."

At this, he looked up at her, chuckling. "Well, I don't know 'bout that."

"It's true. . ." Antoher sip, followed by a hiccup. "They say you can be quite the gentleman too."

His eyes bore into hers, his tone serious but expression joking as he humored her. "Depends on the lady." He reached for the bottle, and she stood up to give it to him. Walking closer, she handed it over, fingers brushing against each other in the motion.

His eyes met hers, and she brushed her hand under his chin. "You know what else they say, Mr Morgan?"

"No . . . What do they say about me, sweetheart?" A smirk made its way onto his lips. The liquor seamingly starting to affect the pair of them.

"That you're good in bed. . ." he stepped between his thighs, her hand falling from his chin to his neck, scratching at the nape gently.

He hummed appreciatively, then took another sip of the bourbon and set the bottle aside. His hands reached for her, coming to a rest on either side of her thighs, pulling her closer to him, squeezing them at his pleasure. "They're only rumours girl." He tilted his head backward, resting it against the tree to get a better look at her, eyes fastening on her lips.

With her other hand, she hiked her skirt up, revealing her thighs as she stepped over his legs. One at a time, then slowly sank down on his lap, while his hands automatically slid to her hips.

She placed herself on top of his bulge. He grunted from the pressure. The pulse within her began strumming at her nerves, turning them jittery.

"See, I doubt that, Mr Morgan." She whispered. "Women do not lie to eachother of such things." His bulge beneath her grew harder, luring a hidden smile from her. It took strength to will it from her lips and only reach her eyes. "They say you're rough, or gentle. Dependin' on your mood." As she said that, she could've sworn she detected the faintest red creep up his cheeks. Arthur Morgan, blushing? Now, she couldnt help herself and the smile reached her lips.

The man cleared his throat, acting as if it had never happened. "That's told of me in everythin' I do." He smirked, the grip on her hips hardening, knuckles turning white.

"But you're always sweet 'n caring." She continued, her own words were building the lust within her, making the pulse ever stronger. It grew harder to focus. She needed to release some of the pressure building inside her. Evaluating the consequences, and deaming them minor in conparison to her needs, she rocked her hips downward–grinding into his bulge.

Simultaneously, she whimpered and he hissed. She leaned against him, her lips brushing against his ear as shenuzzled his cheek. "Apparently, It's also true what they say 'bout ridin' cowboys-"

"Girl," he interrupted with a chuckle. "Dont think I dont know what you're doin'. . ." He breathed. "Seducin' me." With the tight grip on her hips, he rocked her hips against him, the rough fabric of his pants grinding against her core.

With a gasp, one of her hands shot out to burry itself in his hair. She leaned into him, the other hand grabbing his shirt for support as she rested her head against his shoulder. He nuzzled his cheek against hers, returning the gesture and muttered. "You use your sweet talkin', then get me drunk 'n run off, that your plan?"

Her eyebrows furrowed, hips grinding down harder, her ruts becoming more frantic, needy. She screwed her eyes shut from the copious amounts of pleasure washing over her. All she could do to answer him was hum in admittal as she strained hard to focus.

He chuckled. "Easy girl. . ." His voice commanding, low and raspy as he slowed her hips, but keeps the pace hard. "Use your words." He ordered, loving the way she fell apart for him.

She nodded hastily, hoping it'd be enough satisfy his request. But he pinched her hip through the fabric of her skirt, and her eyebrows furrowed in pain. However, not having the energy to even make a sound. Her thoughts were a blur, she couldn't tell what to keep hidden anymore. "Yes– yes. . ." She moaned, the coil inside her tightening impossibly hard.

"Thought so," he breathed, the words curt on his tongue, but lust evident in his voice. Suddenly, his hands left her hips, snd one arm snaked around her waist, his hand placing itself at the small of her back to push her against him.

Then he stood, drawing a whine from her. She did not quite understand what was going on as the loss of movement gradually undid all the progress she'd made. "Mr Morgan?" She inquired, hesitantly wrapping her legs around his hips.

He walked them toward the tent. "Arthur," he corrected, carrying her with ease. Pushing the tent flap to the side, he kneeled, bending over her as he placed her on the ground.

"Arthur," she smiled, worry seeping out of her as she realised he was making them more comfortable.

His knees slid apart, hooking her legs upon them as they spread. Her hands shot up in response, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, close enough for his lips to hover over hers. Their eyes met. "Please. . ." She whimpered, one hand sliding downward. ". . .Please." She said again, fingertips trailing down his abdomen, suddenly grabbing hold of his bulge with a firm hand, his member rock hard. "Outlaw or gentleman?" She asked, smiling a wicked smile.

A grutn escaped him while his lips brushed over hers. "Neither." And grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away from his crotch and catching the other in the same motion. His free hand reached over her head, and the hauntingly familiar groaning of strong rope sounded above her. She shook her head, "Arthur, please. . ." Panic moved into her voice, the repeated words carrying a completely different meaning this time.

He held both wrists with one hand and tied them together with the other, the rope stinging her skin. She cried out unhappily.

But he chuckled, in a matter of factly kind of way. Stroking the burn gently as ge corrected her, "Should've behaved." And when done, he sat back. Observing her as she laid tied up, legs spread in front of him, and circled around his hips. Much to his dismay, he wouldn't be enjoying the sight as much as he wanted to. "It's late."

"Arthur. . ." She pleads, attempting to appeal to him, one last time.

He turns his head just enough to see her in his peripheral. "Get some sleep. You got a long day ahead of you tomorrow." He flashed his eyebrows smugly. "Night, sweetheart." Then exited the tent without another word.

She huffed, unbelievable.

Sweetheart. . . But how could she be annoyed when he called her such a thing. She dreamed herself away, with imagines of a shirtless Arthur Morgan and the feeling of him inside her. But she'd not given up, make no mistake, he would fall asleep and she would leave. . .

The night carried on and the temperature finally began dropping, a shiver shook her pleasantly. It was a welcome change. Her body strained as she raised her neck to get a look of the outside. Through the flap she saw Arthur, sitting, snoring, hat covering his face as he leaned back against the tree he'd previously been sitting on.

Now, she needed to get rid of her restraints. Rolling over, she crawled toward the opening, her eyes never leaving Mr Morgans sheathed knife.

The fire had been reduced to embers at this point. Crackling and sizzling lowly as the cool moisture in the air riddled the grass with dewdrops, dampening her hands and skirt as she approached her goal. She sat on her knees, then moved to grab the knife carefully, gnelty sliding it out. The sound of it unlatching nearly had her yelp.

No movement in Arthur.

Shallow breaths, she exhales. Relief flooding through her begoee she began working the knife against her entangled wrists with her fingertips. Carefully regarding the vicious man for any signs of waking. But her thoughts slid, perhaps, if he caught her, he would be kind. Or would he be angry? She could truly not decide werther which reaction she'd most prefer–

The rope snapped, and exhilaration filled her. Gaze snapping between her free hands and the hunter, imagining her prospects. She stood quietly, holding her skirt tightly around her to keep the fabrics from rustling. Slowly, knife still in hand, she backed away. On careful tiptoed steps she faded into the night, the fire dwindling in the distance.

The darkness made it hard for her to see much of anything, at its height the tree-crowns silhouette were visible against the blue summer sky. Branches moved, leaves swished in the gentle wind. She grew paranoid, head snapping in every direction, reacting to every little noise around–

A branch broke behind her, she jumped, turning around so fast she almost ripped– a Buck. She froze, a god damned buck? She had expected it ro be Arthur, but she seemed to have ogtten the better of him. The animal looked at her, ears twitching as it chewed on grass– suddenly hopping away. She sighed and turned back.

Only to collide with something hard. Her thoughts raced, she knew, she knew. She looked up, eyes tracing along his body until they met his, half hidden under his hat. Reflexes prepared her to run, but before she had as much as taken a step back, a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to him. Again, she thumped into his strong chest. Held against him with the familiar iron grip, she fought, as usual; but to no avail, as usual. He snaked an arm around her waist to hinder her from breaking free, yet she kicked and punched violently with her free limbs. But it made no dent in the man. He couldn't even spare her a reaction as he half carried, half dragged her back into the low light of the burnt out fire. He spun her around and pushed her up against the cliff wall, grabbing the wrist closest to him and pinning it above her head. "I warned you, girl." He snarled, the look in his eyes doing just as good a of job pinning her to the wall as his hands. He reaches for the second–

When something sharp digs into the soft flesh of his throat, he froze. His chest was the only thing moving between the two of them, heaving breaths of annoyance.

"Thrid times the charm." She smirked.

He raised his eyebrows and chuckled, "That so?" His voice mocking, and before she could comprehend what had happened, he'd captured both wrists with one hand and slammed them above her head and into the wall. And the knife had appeared in his free hand, she noticed this because it was now held against her own throat. "Repeat that for me girl."

Her lips struck a thin line as she attempted a neutral expression, although fuming on the inside. She shrugged her shoulders, "No." Was all she said, but stubborn in tone.

He nodded, looking her up and down, studying the buttons on her blouse. "Ought to teach you a lesson sweetheart."

She cleared her throat, deciding that to act nonchalant was her best option. "Yeah? What ya' gunna do, huh? Ravage me?" She asked half joking, but still hoping there'd be some truth to it.

At this, the corner of his mouth turned up, a wicked grin developing on his lips. "I just might." He breathed, tracing the tip of the knife downward, along her collarbone and then along the front of her blouse, coming to a stop at the first button. She gulped, feeling the knife poke through the thin fabric against her chest, making goosebumps run amock in reaction and the pulse reheating in her core. He leaned forward, pushing his body against hers until there was no room left between them, his head hovering just above the crook of her neck. "May I do with you as I please?"

This was it, the sweet balance between a hardened outlaw and a tender gentleman. "Yes– yes, Arthur please." Her voice near a cry, it took everything in her to control her tone–

Her blouse ripped, from top to bottom he cut it open, and she wasn't wearing a brasier. Her chest laid bare before him, and he groaned happily at the sight.

With her go-ahead he wasted no time, he let go of her hands and cut her skirt too. Cutting a slit as far as he reached with the knife then threw it to the side, and the tore the rest. She gasped, every nerve in her body on edge. In an instant, his lips were upon hers. Hungry, hungry lips devouvered her as hands roamed her body, groping and grabbing wherever they got purchase. Her own hands greedily searching for a steady hold in his hair, she grabbed a fistful and pulled gently. He moaned at the feeling, such a beautiful sound. His hands slid over her breasts, squeezing them, then pushed the remains of her blouse off of her shoulders.

Except for her undergarments, she stood completley exposed for him. She could practically feel him salivating when he cupped her clothed mound, and finding her clit with expertise and rub it through the fabric.

She tore herself free from his kisses, she had to breathe. A deep gasp brought oxygen to ger lungs once again, allowing her to whimperand moan in equal measure as he worked her clit. The pressure made her knees week, she wriggled, attempting to rut against his hand. But she was too unsteady to make progress. Noticing her difficulties, his other hand slid behind her back and held her steady. Allowing her to chase her pleasure. And left with no lips to kiss, he latched onto her neck instead, to suck at her sweet spot.

She hummed appreciatively, unable to keep a big smile from her lips as pulses of pleasure washed through her. She slid her hands from his hair and unbuttoned his shirt, running her fingers along his strong chest and abdomen, gingerly feeling all of him as her hands worked themselves lower. Finally unbuttoning his pants. She did no longer have to wonder were his happy trail dissapeared too, she bit her lip. He was huge. She stuck her hand into his pants and stroked him eagerly. "Need ya' Arthur, please." She panted.

He let out a strained grunt against her shoulder, and his hand left her clit. She whined, but didn't have to stay displeased for long.

Both his hands slid down her sides, and she tried to breathe steadily, but it proved hard. The feeling of his calloused hands on her skin was too heavenly. Suddenly, he lifted her. Pinning her against the cliff wall with his arms and the weight of his body, allowing her to wrap her arms and legs around him. She hadn't known, but he had wordlessly obided her request. He pulled her garments to the side, and line himself up with her entrance. "Sure about this?" He asked, a final reassurance.

"Yes." She purred, no hesitation in her answer.

And so he pushed inside her, the sheer size of him was making her want to scream–

"Good girl." He moaned, and directed his eyes to hers. She repressed a moan, biting her lip hard to hinder it as heat flashed through her. It was two words, yet she could've come undone from them alone, when said by him alone.

He gazed upon her softly, one of his hands left her thigh to gently stroke a strand of hair from her face. She smiled, and so did he. He was just giving her time to adjust, but her heart soared at the simple gesture.

God how could she feel so strongly for a stranger?

Her hands retangled in his hair as Arthur slid out of her, she furrowed her brows– but in a rough, quick thrust. He shoved himself back inside of her, filling her to the brim. He set a cruelly pleasurable, unrelenting pace. Any trace of gentleness gone.

She felt the pressure tightening within her, building snd building until she was on the verge of coming once again. Her hands sunk to his back, clawing and scratching because she did not know what else to do, he was too much, too good, too big. He overstimulated her with his mere prescence. And he knew when her walls tightened around him, adding extra pressure onto his already throbbing member. "You close girl?" He grunted, his gruff voice breathed against her ear and his hand squeezing her thigh roughly beneath her. God it was sublime.

"Mhm. . . So- close.'" She murmurs, her words coming out jagged as her body rocks with Arthurs thrusts. Pushed closer to her release with each thrust, once again, she shut her eyes and spots speckled her eyelids. Breathing turns frantic, she could no longer tell who was who as they mixed, moans and curses spilling from them both.

With a flash of pleasure, searing hot it soured through her, making her whimper uncontrollably. His thrusts slow, holding her securely, caressing her face and kissing her lips as she rides out her high. "You're alright girl." He breathes reassuringly, "Well done Sweetheart."

Overstimulated tears roll from her eyes, "Oh Arthur, you sweet, sweet man." She sighs happily, and he comes a mere second later. His seed filling her and oozing out.

They'd clean themselves tomorrow, since tiredness plagued them currently. He backed away from the wall and she clung to him, desperatley not wanting to part with him.

He carried her back to the tent, this time not bothering to tie her up as they laid down facing eachother. Arthur, grabbed her chin between his index and forefinger. Studying her thuroughly before they finally succumbed to sleep. She could escape if she wanted to, he wouldn't stop her this time. Her plan had worked, they both knew it. But they felt something else too, and they both knew it.

Hooded eyes blinked, blushing at Arthurs intent eyes and searching gaze. Her eyelids weighed down by exhaustion, It'd been a long few days, and before she knew it–

The light dawns, rays of dusty sunlight shone through the flap of their tent as the morning wakes. Bringing warmer tempratures and calm birdsong.

He opens his eyes, and immediately meet hers. She'd just been admiring him. "Surprised?" She asked, biting her lip and stopping herself from reaching out to touch him.

He smiles, "Naw, I was hopin' I'd wake up to you girl."

#arthur murgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 smut #rdr2 arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 smut #rdr2 fanfic #rdr smut #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfic

2K notes · View notes

novaursa · 15 days ago

Note

Robert Baratheon x Targaryen!reader.

Aerys goes on his "everyone must burn" rant and his daughter tries unsuccessfully to talk him down. Finally, Jaime snaps and kills Aerys while ordering his father's men to hold the Princess back. She's not guilty, so he doesn't want her dead.

Robert claims the throne and dismisses Tywin's attempt to marry him to Cersei. Instead, Robert declares he'll "legitimatizes" his rule by marrying Rhaegar's sister, who is being held as a political prisoner. He's planning on using the smallfolks' love of her to soften the blow of taking the throne; if he kills her, there might be a riot he can't afford.

In the weeks Robert had spent settling into his new role as interim King, she's been depressed and inconsolable, especially after hearing of her mother's death. Not to mention just about everyone she loves has either betrayed her, died, or is out of her reach; Jaime, Rhaegar, Lyanna, Aerys, Rhaella, Arthur, Barristan, Viserys, Dany.

She's no longer speaking, hardly eating, and alternates between crying her eyes raw or staring numbly at nothing. She's barely sleeping. There is talk she'll starve herself. Hearing about Robert's plans doesn't do her fracturing psyche any favors, but it doesn't matter.

She sees memories of their relationship; meeting for the first time after he sees Lyanna and Rhaegar together; how cold he is to her. Running into her coming out of the library with an embarrsing book, which amuses him. Later finding her sketching him- teasing her instead of being embarrassed, finally seeing her instead of her twin. Still doesn't love her, though.

For all her lashing out at him, she still winds up at the alter.

3 three time skip and Targ Princess has given birth to her first child. It's the first hint of happiness she's shown in years and when Robert is let into the room, he's dumbfounded by how attractive her maternal side is to him.

The story ends with him trying to get closer, maybe under the guise of seeing the child and hoping she won't pull away when he finally touches her. Left open ended.

Thank you! Sorry for the original ask. I scrolled down it after you posted yoir response and went "Holy shit, that's a wall of words!"

I hope I shortened it enough. If not, I'll try again or you can cut anything you don't think adds to the story. Again, so sorry. And thank you if you choose to take on my request.

The Crown That Bled

Requests are closed

- Summary: He married you to keep the realm in line. You married him because you had no choice. And happiness is an elusive thing.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Robert Baratheon

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: So, this was still a little too overwhelming for a short story and I've struggled with what to keep and what to discard. This is what I've managed to write with the information provided. I hope this is something you had in mind.

The Sept of Baelor smelled of incense and wilting roses. Smoke curled from brass censers, spiraling toward the high-arched dome where sunlight bled through colored glass, staining the floor in hues of crimson and gold. The bells tolled dully in the distance, sounding more like a funeral dirge than a wedding celebration. The gathered nobles whispered in hushed tones, draped in velvets and silks, eyes darting toward the altar and the lone figure standing beside it—the King, newly crowned and wide-shouldered in his fur-lined cloak of black and gold, Robert Baratheon.

You were not there yet.

You sat in the chambers they'd locked you in, a gilded cage fit for a princess—cold and quiet, except for the caw of a raven outside the window and the steady creak of footsteps as guards paced the hall. Your reflection in the mirror looked like a ghost: hollowed eyes rimmed in red, skin pale and drawn from weeks of mourning and madness. Your silver-gold hair hung in limp strands, unbrushed. You barely remembered the last time you bathed or ate. The food they left was always taken away, untouched or barely picked at. The maids stopped trying to coax you. You no longer spoke to them, or anyone.

They had told you of your mother’s death three nights past, and the sound you made then had not been human. You’d torn the hem of your dress, your nails bloodied your own arms, your sobs had echoed like a broken harp string long after you collapsed onto the stone floor. Rhaella—your mother, the last steady thing in a world of fire and betrayal—was dead, her frail heart giving out after the news of her husband's fate and her son's. You had not wept since then. Not truly. You had simply… leaked tears, as though your soul had cracked and the sorrow slipped through the fissures, silent and endless.

When you first heard Robert intended to marry you, you had laughed. It was a horrible sound, brittle and dry. Then you screamed. Screamed so long your voice disappeared. You spat on the servant who brought the message, shattered a goblet against the wall, and threatened to throw yourself from the tower window. But none of it mattered. You were the last piece left on the board—the only one of value. And Robert, ever the brute, ever the warrior, had turned conqueror and king. He didn’t want Cersei Lannister, despite Tywin’s persistence. He wanted you. Not for love. Not even for desire, though there had once been something hungry in the way he looked at you during court gatherings, long before the war. No, he wanted you to silence the blood in the streets, to win the hearts of those who still whispered your name as they lit candles for the dead dragon prince. Rhaegar's sister. A daughter of the old line. If he couldn’t kill the dragon, he would cage it. Wed it. Breed it.

A knock came at the door. You did not answer.

It creaked open anyway. You didn’t turn.

“Y/N,” a voice said, rough and low and too alive. “It’s time.”

You didn’t move.

He stepped closer, boots scraping the stone. “The realm needs this.”

The realm. You hated that word. The realm had taken everything from you.

Still, you rose. Slowly. Mechanically. The maids came, silent as ghosts, dressing you in the gown that had been ordered. White. As if your innocence could still be claimed. They wove braids into your hair, pinned a small crown of rubies and pearls. One offered you a veil. You shook your head.

And so you walked to the Sept without it, your face bare for the world to see—shattered, exhausted, and empty.

Robert turned when he saw you, and for a moment, something flickered in his blue eyes. Not victory. Not lust. Something quieter. Sadder. He didn’t smile.

You stood beside him, your hand limp in his. His palm was calloused, warm, too large around yours.

The Septon's voice droned on, reading the vows of House and Faith. You barely heard it. Words floated past like wind in a dead garden.

“Do you, Robert of House Baratheon, take Y/N of House Targaryen—”

“I do,” he said before the Septon even finished, the words rasped from his throat like they pained him.

You said nothing. The Septon looked at you, hesitated, then gently prompted: “Princess?”

Your lips parted. The words did not come.

Robert’s hand tightened.

You closed your eyes. You saw Rhaegar on the Trident, dying with Lyanna’s name on his lips. You saw Jaime's haunted face as he watched your father burn the city down in his mind. You saw your mother’s hands, trembling as she held baby Viserys. You saw Dany’s face, too young to understand any of it. All of it gone.

“I do,” you whispered.

The bells rang again.

The crowd clapped politely.

And the man who had helped kill your family leaned forward and kissed your cheek, soft and solemn, as if it made anything better. You did not flinch. You did not cry. You did not breathe.

You were a queen now. But there was no joy in it.

Only ash.

The birthing chamber was quiet now, save for the faint pop and hiss of the brazier in the corner and the distant echo of revelers in the Red Keep, drinking to the health of the new heir. It had been a hard labor, a long one—two days and a night of pain so deep it had splintered your mind, left you delirious with heat and blood and the haunting memories of every Targaryen woman who had died doing this same sacred, monstrous thing. You had not screamed, even when the pain was worst. You had whimpered, sobbed, clenched your teeth until your jaw ached, but never screamed. That part of you had been burned out long ago.

But now, as the sun bled pale gold through the sheer curtains of the tower windows, you lay propped on linen pillows, your hair damp with sweat, skin aglow with the exhaustion of survival. And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, your arms were full. A child. Your child. A small, warm bundle swaddled in Targaryen red silk, already calm, already curious. He blinked up at you with wide, unfocused eyes—eyes that were not violet like yours, but a deep, rich blue that reminded you too cruelly of the man who sired him.

Still, you did not hate him for it. You did not hate him for anything. You loved him. Already. Utterly.

You traced his downy cheek with a trembling finger, and for a moment, a smile—small, stunned, wondrous—broke across your face like sunlight through a storm. The midwives had seen it. The maester had noticed. They exchanged glances, hushed and wide-eyed. It was the first expression of happiness they’d ever seen on your face since the sack of King’s Landing. The stillness in you had cracked.

“My lady,” one of them said, gently, reverently. “The King is waiting.”

You didn’t answer right away. You only looked down again, studying your son's tiny fists, his slow, sleepy blink. “Let him in,” you said at last, softly.

The door creaked open moments later, and Robert entered.

He was cleaner than usual, though his hair was still a bit unkempt, and the heavy cloak of royal blue slung over his broad shoulders gave him a warlike silhouette. He looked older, wearier than the man who had crushed Rhaegar’s chest with a hammer, older than the roaring brute who had seized your hand and crown in one swift move. But his blue eyes sharpened the moment he saw you—really saw you, sitting there in the sunlight, your hair loose around your shoulders, the silver tangled and darkened with sweat, your gown undone at the breast as you nursed your newborn son.

The sight stopped him cold.

He didn’t speak for a long moment. He simply stared, his mouth parted slightly, his gaze flickering over you not with the drunken lust he usually turned on brothel girls or serving wenches, but with something far more quiet and dangerous. Hunger, yes, but layered over awe. You were radiant, even with the fatigue etched into your face, even with the bruising along your throat where the maids had steadied you in the worst of the pain. There was softness in you now that hadn’t been seen since before the war, before madness and fire took your family from you. A part of you had returned, and it shook him.

You didn’t look up right away. You focused on the baby, adjusting the swaddling gently. “He’s healthy,” you said at last. “Strong. They say he didn’t even cry until he was cleaned.”

Robert cleared his throat. “He’s mine, then,” he said, trying for jest, but the words came out too raw.

You looked at him. There was no bite in your eyes today. Just tiredness. And something else—something soft and distant, like the echo of a dream.

“I named him Baelor,” you murmured. “After the Blessed.”

He blinked, clearly surprised. “Not… not a more fierce dragon name?”

“No.” You kissed the baby's forehead. “He was born in fire, but he deserves peace.”

Robert stepped closer, more slowly than usual, as if he feared startling you. He was so large that his shadow cast over the bed, over you and the boy. “May I…?” he asked, and his voice faltered. “May I hold him?”

You hesitated. You didn’t recoil, but your arms tightened instinctively around the bundle in your arms.

“I won’t hurt him,” he said, quieter this time. “Or you.”

You nodded, slowly, and shifted the child just enough for him to slip his arms underneath. He moved with surprising gentleness, lowering himself to the edge of the bed, cradling his son as if he were holding a cup made of glass. Baelor blinked once at him, then yawned.

“Seven hells,” Robert whispered, a chuckle caught somewhere in his throat. “He’s real.”

You watched him closely, head tilted, your hands still hovering near the baby’s blanket. You didn’t lean away. You didn’t tell him to go.

He glanced at you sideways, unsure, and something flickered again in his expression. Not just pride. Not just male satisfaction. But need.

“You smiled when you looked at him,” he said.

“I did,” you whispered.

He was silent for a beat longer, then dared to reach out. Not for the baby, but for your hand. Just two fingers grazing the edge of yours. Barely touching.

You didn’t pull away.

Not yet.

243 notes · View notes

vervainandspritz · 2 months ago

Text

CRAWLING BACK TO YOU

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word count: 4k

Warnings: drinking, swearing, feelings, friends to lovers trope kind of

Notes: Guys thanks for 400 follows love y'all

Was it possible to get used to a life so bizarrely unusual and different to find it… peaceful? Feeling her lungs fill out with fresh air when in reality every piece of clothing Y/N owned was sprinkled with ash of the wild flame that the Shelby family was?

People were scared of getting burned, naturally. Fading in and out of her life as soon as they'd find out she was associated with Peaky blinders.

At first it bothered her, oh, so much. That people didn't see a thing about her besides her association. Now, she was years into the strange peace she found in one of the most dangerous cities in Britain, with a gun settled in her hand so frequently it fit better than the several sets of leather gloves she owned.

A matter running so deep in her mind, she found herself touching it over and over, sometimes with a glimmer in her eyes.

…or like that day, sitting in the Garrison with her gaze fixated on a glass in her hand. Mentally fiddling with the churning in her stomach as his blue eyes filled her head all over again. The room was as loud as ever, accompanied by both men and women in questionable states of sobriety, laughs and conversations that didn't matter. Not one bit.

An upcoming weekend allowed people of Birmingham to loosen up, shake off the tension from the hard work they've been holding in their tired bones.

Nobody seemed to notice when the door swung open, allowing cold air of a Friday night to seep in. Nobody but her.

Footsteps echoed quietly, going unnoticed in the loud crowd but Y/N knew exactly who came in despite her eyes remaining on her glass of rum.

”Y/N, what do you think about him?” A voice came to her ears suddenly, a slight nudge to her side bringing her out of the weird state.

”Hmm?” She asked before quickly glancing at her friend, gaze looking for clues as to not show her disinterest. Emily rolled her eyes with a sigh, dramatically slumping her shoulders.

”Don’t tell me you just zoned out, again, after I just spent five minutes explaining the matter.” She raised her eyebrows while her blue eyes narrowed for a moment before she sighed again. ”Alright. You're lucky I can't be mad at you. What's wrong?” Y/N’s demeanour seemed to be a little different than usual, and knowing her for so long, Emily immediately picked on it.

Okay, maybe not immediately, she thought, but eventually she got there.

Y/N cleared her throat, a chuckle pushing past her lips before she pushed her glass away.

”Nothing really. I haven't eaten much today, and alcohol hit me harder than usual.” Came out of her mouth so smoothly, despite being just partially true.

”And it absolutely doesn't have anything to do with the pack of wolves you surround yourself with, does it?”

Just like that Y/N loosened up again, laughing at the way Emily always so easily joked about them so lightheartedly, as nobody else would dare. ”Speaking of the devil” she added with a smirk, glancing towards the door. ”Yours just appeared. Right on time as well, because I need to wrap it up and go home. Betty refuses to sleep when I'm not home.” Y/N sighed, feeling bad for not paying attention before Emily had to leave.

”Of course,” She nodded, ”Arthur will drive you home” Y/N said, as usual but Emily shook her head while making a funny face.

”Absolutely not! Send the younger one. Arthur can't seem to understand I'm married,” She rolled her eyes with a giggle as she nudged Y/N’s side. ”I’ll wait outside”

As the taller woman walked away, Y/N threw back the remaining liquor and took a deep breath before she got up, looking around.

Before she spotted the Shelby brothers, she felt a heavy gaze on her back which admittedly made things easier. Turning around, her eyes met Tommy's from the other side of the room. He was sober while she clearly already had a few, her gaze a bit softer around the edges. Making her way to their table, she took a deep breath once again.

”John,” Y/N greeted him first with a smile, “would you kindly drive Emily home tonight?” her speech came out a little smoother than usual, tension from her voice long gone which showed her state, already a bit softened by alcohol.

“I don't mind driving her,” Arthur abruptly interjected.

“No, no that's all right Art you're in no state to drive clearly.” She stated firmly with a hint of humour in her voice. His brows shot up.

”I just had ONE drink! Are you mad?” He asked pretentiously with a huff, making John laugh.

”Seems like you need to try harder, aye!” The younger brother chuckled before getting up and standing by Y/N.

”Sure thing, Darling, but you owe me a drink” He winked, making her roll her eyes playfully.

”Sure thing” She repeated, mockingly.

”Someone already had a few” Tommy interjected suddenly, a hint of teasing in his voice, but one only Y/N could pick up on.

”Oh, and you're here as well” She replied, her gaze meeting his once again with that mischievous glimmer. ”Found time to spend among us, Mr. Shelby?”

Thomas watched her for a moment before slowly but surely one corner of his lips twitched in sort of a smirk.

”Sit down before I kick you out of my pub, eh?” He patted the free space where John was sitting just a few moments ago.

And so she did, ignoring his comment while pouring herself a glass of whisky with a smirk. One thing that never changed between them were their verbal skirmishes. Ever since the young blue eyed boy chased her with a stick dipped in the mud, devilishly proud of himself while at it.

Arthur kept mumbling to himself about the unfairness of the situation, unserious as ever. Pouring himself another drink, he glanced at Y/N, feeling her amused look on him.

”Don’t need me as a driver, so let the man be, would you?” He threw in a snarky remark with a hint of amusement, to which she lifted her hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.

”Wouldn’t dare to tell you what to do, old man”

a smirk slowly spread on his face and so the game began all over again. Soon John came back along with other Blinders crowding the table as they drank, talked and had fun just like always while making sure everything in the pub was going just fine.

Y/N’s nonchalant, easygoing aura was strong as ever when Tommy's eyes drifted towards her every now and then. Time was passing by quickly when they had fun simultaneously drinking.

Nights like these were secretly meaningful to all the Shelby's, giving them space and time to forget for a little while about the heavy responsibilities and dangers of their day to day life. It was one of the instances where people could see Tommy slightly let his guard down as the alcohol affected his mind, causing him to behave more freely in a less controlled environment.

A lazy smile appeared on Y/N’s face as she chuckled listening to the colourful stories, obviously enhanced into dramatic details to be more entertaining. She liked seeing them like this, these fleeting moments of freedom making each of the men by the table turn into these young boys she used to know long years ago without the scarring of life they all carried nowadays.

Reaching for a pack of cigarettes sitting on the table, Y/N plucked one for Tommy, putting it into his hand out of habit without even thinking. One of those things she'd do even under the influence, with her better judgement clouded almost completely.

Without looking at her, Tommy put it between his lips, reaching for matches to light her cigarette before his own. The gestures were so natural nobody even noticed.

Putting the little box back on a table, Thomas let his hand fall down, landing on her thigh as his fingers began slowly stroking her soft skin mindlessly as he spoke to Isaiah across the table.

Her eyes drifted briefly on his face, grazing over his strong features and the way his lips remained formed in a relaxed smile as he spoke when suddenly another person got her attention.

A man in the background, about ten feet away from them, stood with a woman, kissing her cheek as she hugged him quickly before disappearing in the crowd.

His familiar features and cocky grin immediately sparked her interest, as she recognised Paul, a good friend of hers who happened to be delivering ingredients to her bakery everyday.

Seeing her, he moved closer before finally standing by the table.

“Evening, Y/N” He spoke up, nodding towards the men who quickly realized he was familiar with her, so not a bother. ”Care to go for a smoke with me?” He suggested, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. His light hair dishevelled, eyes shiny from the small amount of alcohol he had as well.

Tommy's hand remained on her thigh, only slipping away as she moved towards the exit.

”Lead the way” She responded, grabbing her coat as well as her eyes briefly met John's who was clearly having a good time tormenting her whenever a man would show any interest.

”See you tomorrow then, aye, Y/N?” John called after her with mischief in his voice followed by a chuckle from Arthur.

She just shook her head with amusement before they disappeared through the door.

Tommy straightened his back, reaching for another cigarette to light, nodding to Isaiah to pour another drink.

”Well..” John started off, clearing his throat, ”At least someone gets some action today” elbowing his brother to the side he laughed, reminding Arthur of the failure in pursuing Emily. One of many.

”Already told you to fuck off, didn't I?” He responded, rolling his eyes before shoving him back.

Tommy remained quiet, his mood taking a hit from Y/N’s abrupt exit with another fella. His emotions usually kept at bay, now strengthened by the alcohol, grew to an alarming size in his head.

Throwing back another glass of whisky he relaxed into the seat once again, barely listening to the conversation as he zoned out, consumed by his contradictory thoughts.

Not long after he decided enough was enough, raising from the seat slowly, letting his brothers know he'd be going back home as tomorrow he had business to attend, as usual. It took a moment for his eyes to regain focus as whisky affected him a bit more than usual, perhaps because once again he forgot to eat anything substantial throughout the day.

Saying his goodbyes Tommy pulled his cap onto his head, walking through the crowd as people parted, not wanting to disrespect the mobster.

Cold air of the night hit him as soon as the door swung open, his eyes getting used to the darkness fairly quickly as he gazed towards his vehicle, simultaneously searching for keys in his pocket.

Making his way to the car he squinted, trying to grasp the right key which was a bit of a challenge in his current state. Getting a hold of the right one, he suddenly dropped the keys hearing a familiar voice behind his back.

”You’re absolutely not driving in this state” Y/N said, grabbing his arm.

”Fuck!” Tommy groaned, eyeing the fallen item. He could barely see them, wiping his eyes he turned towards Y/N. ”I dropped my fucking keys” He informed her, as if she wasn't a witness to this situation.

His balance was slightly off as he narrowed his cloudy eyes, obviously blaming her for what just happened. His drunken state made Y/N unable to hold in a giggle as she rolled her eyes stepping closer. Bending over she grabbed them, choosing the right key as she opened the door on the driver's side, slipping into the seat.

He stood there, his brows raised in a question which she immediately answered.

“I told you. You're not driving. Get into the car before you'll have to walk.” Her voice was lighthearted as she held his gaze.

Thomas tilted his head to the side, the small hint of bitterness making it through his exterior.

”Don’t you have places to be?” He asked, obviously hinting at the man she left with, making Y/N roll her eyes once again on his dramatics.

”Tommy get in the car” She repeated, knowing there was no point in arguing with him over whatever In his current state.

He stood for another longer moment before finally sighing and making his way around to the other side, sitting on the passenger seat. Tilting his head back he let it rest, closing his eyes.

Y/N let her eyes linger on his face for a moment before taking a deep breath and starting the engine.

They didn't say a word throughout the whole drive, and only later she realized Tommy fell asleep. Parking the car she leaned closer, touching his shoulder.

”Come on, let's get inside” She whispered, watching as he slowly opened his eyes in an awfully adorable way.

She bit back the smile as he nodded, mumbling something before climbing out of the car.

She grabbed his arm wanting to help him walk, but he pulled it back, telling her he was perfectly capable of walking alone. Stubborn as always.

A couple minutes later she shed her coat, pulling his own off of him as well along with the cap, making him roll his eyes.

”You realize I'm not that drunk, eh?” He asked, seeing her behaviour.

”I’m not allowed to help, am I?” She shot back, grabbing his hand as she pulled him towards the stairs leading up to his bedroom. ”Oh, and by the way, no. I've got no places to be so I'm staying over.” She stated, completely unfazed and with enough attitude to make him laugh out loud.

”Good to know” He replied, letting her pull him along. Despite his stubbornness, they both knew it happened more times than they'd be able to count. Their relationship was so specific in ways other people wouldn't understand… and neither of them seemed to be ready to admit it.

Thomas was on the edge of bed, groaning as he took off his boots. Y/N walked across the room, opening the wardrobe as she found her own shelf.

He watched her as she pulled out his shirt and her shorts, knowing well she'd be sleeping in this set. Thomas realized he couldn't remember the time before she was in his life. Before the top shelf was hers, filled with pieces of clothing he never cared to move.

She moved around so confidently, knowing exactly where everything was. It brought him a weird sense of comfort, even though his face remained in a neutral expression as she looked back.

”Do you need help changing or are you perfectly capable of doing that too, Mr. Shelby?” She asked, matching his neutral expression along with a professional tone of voice, obviously teasing him.

He shook his head slightly, letting out a sigh as he finally smirked. Looking at her for a longer moment, Tommy let his eyes linger on her body before meeting her eyes again.

”Are you trying to take advantage of me, Dove?” He asked, his voice clearly lower and with intent as he gave her the smile, one he learned long ago worked on women ever since he was a boy.

Y/N chuckled, approaching him to the point where he had to tilt his head back so their eyes could meet. Leaning down to his level, she started unbuttoning his shirt.

”I wouldn't dare” Her voice was calm, even though she felt everything but calm seeing him looking at her like this. Unable to put up the walls that usually surrounded him when he was sober. The tension seemed to grow rapidly as she was halfway down, eyes focused on the task but Tommy's gaze had her face turn slightly red which was not visible in the dim light luckily.

Stepping back, she looked up at him.

”You take care of that, and I'm going to change. Try not to fall, eh?” She teased with a smirk, walking into the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Y/N took a deep breath, leaning forward as she needed a moment. She was very aware of the tension surrounding them the whole night and as she stood in front of him, with his eyes gazing at her this way, it felt more dangerous than ever before despite the fact they were bordering on this line for years now.

Everything felt stronger lately and she was.. more anxious than anything.

Looking up she caught her reflection, silently grazing over her face and body before sighing deeply as she turned around, swiftly changing into his shirt and her shorts.

Returning to the room, she looked up to check whether he was sleeping and surprisingly, Tommy was laying on the bed, shirtless and wearing only his undergarments. His arm was draped over his head, eyes closed but the tension in his shoulders was visible. Y/N knew he wasn't sleeping, but she didn't want to risk anything more after today so she let him be, turning off the lights as she moved around the bed, slipping on the other side.

His bed was big, more than big enough for the two of them. Y/N and Tommy never had an issue sleeping together even back when they were teenagers, sharing a bed in his small room in Small Heath.

She covered herself with a blanket, facing away from him for a while, attempting to get comfortable but the silence was deafening. She heard him move and turn as well, looking for a position comfortable enough to sleep in. Minutes were passing and Y/N was still wide awake, unable to even close her eyes for longer than a moment with the amount of thoughts running through her head.

The clock was ticking, and she looked through the big window, moonlight seeping in through the blinds and she still yet to be comfortable enough to feel even remotely tired.

Eventually the frustration took over and she sighed with annoyance, slowly sitting up. Y/N desperately wanted to sleep, as it would be the easy way out. Making it to the morning and hoping the infatuation would pass or fade away into something more bearable, just like always.

The moon looked beautiful that night, she thought, as she heard him move in a different way this time. The mattress dipped closer and she felt him sitting right behind her, the warmth of his body contrasting to the coldness of her hands caused by anxiety.

Her heart started thumping wildly in her chest, the anticipation almost took much to handle, shivers running down her spine as his breath touched her skin.

Yet she didn't dare to look at him, stubbornly keeping her eyes fixated on the view while he moved closer.

After a longer moment his fingers grasped her chin, making her look at him. Tommy felt the stirring too, somewhere in his chest, and the desperation seemed completely impossible to escape.

Forcing her to look at him, he moved closer. His face seemed even more unreal that way, kissed by the moonlight in the middle of the night causing her to sigh weakly.

He didn't move either, not for a while as they watched, fixated like it was the very first time, even though they knew each other’s features by heart. From her chin his fingers moved to cup her cheek instead, feeling the subtle warmth of her skin.

Lost in the moment Y/N sighed, his face so close to her own she could see every detail. Every scar and freckle decorating his skin. Her lips parted slightly as she tried to catch a breath, but his presence and warmth felt so.. overwhelming in a way she couldn't describe. A warmth she grew to associate with safety while simultaneously feeling like she's gambling every time they're close.

His arms wrapped around her tighter, pulling her on his lap with one hand holding her hip while the other cupped her cheek so roughly. Delicate caresses of his calloused fingers feeling better than she cared to admit. She couldn't think properly while his firm chest was pressed against her soft bosom, his lips ghosting over her jaw.

”Y/N” He whispered, Tommy's hot breath against her skin making her shiver and her eyes fall shut.

She moved her hand on top of his, trying to ground herself. Chaotic snippets of moments and thoughts running through her puzzled mind as her core ached for his touch.

”Look at me” He spoke again, tilting her head down to look him in the eyes. His own were barely open, pupils blown out with need as he stared at her with something she couldn't really understand. Failing to keep herself at bay, Y/N slowly leaned down, their breaths mingling and noses touched. She could feel the ghost of his soft lips touching hers, but couldn't quite force herself to let him have her. Again.

“Why do you keep doing this?” She whispered breathlessly, her other hand grasping his shoulder so hard she thought he might bruise.

Thomas' breath hitched, and he stopped moving for a moment, frozen as he realized the sense of her question. His heart began racing but he kept holding her so close, panting against her lips as he tried to search for an answer in his mind, which now seemed to be.. empty.

Y/N squeezed her eyes painfully hard waiting for an answer that seemed to never come before letting go of his shoulder with a humourless chuckle. Pulling his hands away from her she raised from his lap, quickly fixing her blouse before grabbing her black coat from the chair.

”Y/N” He spoke up, his voice gravely with disappointment aimed nowhere but at himself. ”Y/N, don't go” Tommy tried to convince, attempting to grasp her wrist but she slipped easily, seemingly between his fingers.

Like she always did.

”Goodnight, Tommy”

~~~

The whole next day Y/N threw herself into a bunch of work, whether it was around the house or finishing up the new recipes she prepared to introduce in her bakery the upcoming week.

By the end of the day she was covered in flour, but her apartment was squeaky clean. Her hair was a complete mess when she saw herself in the mirror, making her chuckle. She was physically tired but mentally proud of herself for taking her mind off of the blue eyed man so successfully.

…and then her phone rang. It was late, way too late for any other person to call, so subconsciously she knew it was him. Silently cursing herself for it, she picked up.

”Hello?” Y/N asked nevertheless but she didn't hear anything else for a moment before he cleared his throat.

”Because I can't force myself to let you go” Thomas spoke up, his words a little blurred, gravelly with the weight of his confession. ”...and I'm tired of pretending. This needs to end.” A moment of silence seemed to stretch into eternity, but Tommy knew she was listening. He could hear her breathing. As Y/N finally found some words, wanting to respond, he hang up.

She stood there, frozen for a couple moments, holding the phone as if he was still on the other side. What are you talking about, she wanted to ask, but Y/N knew what he meant. Despite her asking yesterday, it intimidated her a little to hear it from him. They never confronted each other before, but.. her heart swelled with the emotion she was never able to express before.

Suddenly a loud knock on the door came to her ears, her heart froze still for a moment before she opened it.

His eyes were bright, raw and vulnerable as he held her eye contact.

“Can I come in?”

#cillian murphy #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby smut #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby fluff #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x you

337 notes · View notes

pretty-little-mind33 · 1 year ago

Text

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You're a stupid drunk and James Potter is very very bad at dealing with his romantic feelings.

Genre: Angst (happy ending), fluff, hurt and comfort (a little bit of everything honestly)

Warnings: jealous!james, stupid!james, swearing, screaming, arguments, crying, injuries, punching, blood, protective!James, protective!marauders, platonic!best friends!marauders, confessions, dangerous activities (reader puts herself in danger), mentions of dying

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

You look towards the ground and your ankle bends a little in your winter boots as you try to control your movements. The cherry liquor you had drank earlier lingers in your mouth and in your drunken haze, the tower you're currently balancing on feels secure as you move forwards and the onlookers below continue to cheer.

"Please don't stay out too late," Remus warned you.

You blush, shaking some snow from your hair as you outstretch your arms for better balance, biting your lip. You look up at the sky, the stars prominent this evening.

"And don't drink too much," James reminded you with small smile.

"We'll see you there," Sirius promised.

What the hell did they know? You pout, now staring down at the snow on the ground. They hadn't even shown up!

You hear someone call your name and you look down to see Arthur Brown, a Ravenclaw boy you'd been talking with at a party. He's handsome with a charming smile and as you wave to him, you almost fall over.

Arthur just chuckles and encourages you to continue whatever nonsense and liquid courage inspired you to walk on the castle roof in the snow this late at night.

"Y/n?" you hear Remus's strained shout and when you turn your head, you're surprised to see Remus, James, and Sirius rushing over. They aren't dressed for the cold weather and they look extremely shaken and confused. "Come down from there," Remus shouts. You wonder how they'd known.

Sirius looks pale and James is frantically looking around to find some way to help you down safely. He looks more distraught than the others and Sirius has to calm him.

Your eyebrows knit together. You're afraid James might make a scene. Only, why would he? You know he'd let Remus, Sirius, or Peter do this in a heart beat, and he'd find it funny.

Bloody hell, James would probably do it himself so why does he look so worried when it's you?

"Bugger off, she's fine," Arthur interrupts as you take another step. Your boots slip on the snow again but you laugh as you move your arms out further to catch yourself. "See, she's fine. So, stop being her little guard dogs for one second and let her live a little," he says with unnecessary venom.

"What did you just say?" Sirius barks, grabbing Arthur's collar. He looks furious now.

"Y/n, come down, please, honey," Remus calls, occasionally telling Sirius to drop it and to concentrate on you.

You frown as Arthur's teasing riles up your friends and the crowd underneath you. Wind swirls around you and you gasp, feeling suddenly even more unbalanced and you start to realize maybe this wasn't the smartest plan.

"You fuckin' prick, don't talk about her like that, you hear me?" James suddenly swears loudly. Because you hadn't been paying attention to the boys under you, when you hear James and look down at him, you see that he'd pushed Arthur into the snow and was pinning him down.

Alarmed by their shouts, you accidentally slip as you turn around to make sure James's is okay.

You let out a shriek and all the students suddenly look up, seeming to remember your presence. Momentarily distracted by your scream, Arthur slams his elbow into James's cheekbone and sends him falling off him. Chaos ensues as everyone rushes to crowd around both you and James separately.

Remus kneels next to you, his hand coming behind your head to support you up. You're clutching at your ankle as you wail uncontrollably from the way you had fallen onto the snow. With nimble fingers, Remus cuffs your jeans and sees how swollen your ankle looks. "Oh, honey, that looks like it hurts," he whispers and caresses your cheek with his knuckles.

From next to you, Sirius and other students are standing around James; James, who has scrambled up from the ground. His nose is bleeding and the crimson liquid stains the snow as he curses at Arthur. Sirius is holding James up by his shoulders and he uses his hand to pinch James's nose as his best friend winces in pain. Arthur, who has a prominent bruise under his eye, is pulled away by his friends.

"What happened here?" The low drone of the Headmaster, accompanied by an anxious looking Professor McGonagall, is heard and you all turn your heads around.

* * *

Around an hour later, as Madam Pomfrey takes the time to heal your ankle, a disheveled looking James sits on the bed opposite of yours. He's holding a handkerchief to his nose and Madam Pomfrey hasn't tended to his injury yet. To her defense, James still looks extremely pissed and you wouldn't want to approach him either. You won't have that same luxury as the moment Madam Pomfrey is gone, James is staring.

"What were you thinking?" he whispers, his tone quipped. Still a little fuzzy from how drunk you'd been, you blink at him and shift uncomfortably.

"What was I thinking? What were you thinking?" you counter, defensively.

"What?" James drops the handkerchief and glares.

"Why would you jump Arthur like that?"

"Why the fuck do you care?" James hisses, his eyes narrowing. He's your best friend, he knows you hate it when he swears but that doesn't stop him now. "You're fucking reckless, you know? How could you have been so fucking stupid?"

You stare at James as your eyes water painfully. No coherent words form in your head. You're grateful for an escape when Remus and Sirius pile into the room.

Sirius rushes to your side. "Aw, poor sweetness, does it hurt terribly?" his sentence dies when he sees your tears and he wraps an arm around you so you can hug him. "Y/n, what's wrong?"

Remus, always more intuitive than Sirius, looks at James and sees James's furious expression. He frowns and quickly walks over to his best friend and holds onto his arm. James pushes him away and you see Remus whisper something in his ear.

However, Sirius pulls your attention away from them as he wipes your tears with his thumb.

"I am not!" Your attention is pulled again and you hear James shout as Remus shushes him.

You sniff, and look at Sirius. "James hates me," you say and Sirius's expression falls. He looks behind and sees Remus and James's shushed argument. He turns to you and holds your chin in his hand as his gaze softens.

"James couldn't hate you even if he'd been cursed to," he says so simply.

You shake your head and bite your lip. "No, he's really mad…like really mad, Pads."

Sirius chuckles and sighs, "Oh sweetie, James isn't really mad at you. He's mad at himself. Merlin, you should have seen him when he first saw you on that roof, the poor bloke looked about ready to faint."

Sirius continues and turns to Remus and James only to see they've moved further away from you and Sirius, and James looks like he could burst into tears at any moment, "Jamie is madly in love with you, Y/n. Just the possibility of you and another guy makes him go absolutely bonkers. And listen, if he hadn't hit Arthur like he did, I don't know if you would have fallen, doll. James knows that too and he's simply mad with guilt."

You try to concentrate on Sirius's entire story but your mind stays stuck at the words; "James? In love with me?"

Sirius's lips curl in amusement but he doesn't have the time to answer because he hears Remus shout an exasperated; "Prongs!" as James, his nose still very much broken and bloody, storms out of the Hospital Wing without a second word. Your chest tightens as you watch him and if you could, you'd run after him.

* * *

James has been avoiding you. Or more accurately, he's been avoiding everyone for the last three days. He's never in the common room anymore and he has evening detentions with Professor McGonagall so you don't see him at all outside of classes. Remus, Sirius, and Peter all tell you he's been quiet in their dorm too and that they don't know what's happened with him either.

Remus won't tell anyone what he spoke to James about that night in the Hospital Wing.

By the fourth day of complete silence, you've had enough. You manage to catch James on his way to detention. You speed walk over to him and cut his path, spinning around to look at him. You gasp when you see him. His face is bruised and his lip is split. "James!" you gasp and stop him. James's brown eyes narrow and he looks angry.

"Get out of my way, Y/n," he hisses as his fists clench.

"What happened?" you insist. His burises look horrible, and you think that he hadn't got his broken nose healed properly since he'd stormed out of the Hospital Wing. Why handn't the boys told you James looked like this?

"Are you a bloody insane? What he fuck happened?" your voice comes out stern and James pauses at your curse word, his frustrated expression faltering for a moment.

"What?"

You hold onto his sleeve and push him into the nearest girls lavatory. James almost trips as you make him lean against the sink. His eyes widen when you pull out your wand and firmly grasp his chin in your hands. You ignore his whinning as you point your wand at his wounds. "Episky—shush be still," you mutter sternly as you heal all of his wounds. "What is wrong with you, James Potter? Tell me who you've been tousling with this instant!"

James scrunches his nose and touches where his wounds had been. He leans away from you. "Nobody," he says, his voice high so you know he's lying.

"James," you warn. You move away and shove your wand in your cloak. "Please, tell me."

James has never been able to deny you a thing, even at times like this. "Fine, just don't lose your head over it, bird," you scowl at the nickname with an eye roll. "Brown keeps pushing my buttons, is all," he says.

"Arthur? The same boy who broke your nose?"

"Yeah, that little fucker, I'm pretty sure he's in love with you—or he has some weird obsession because he can't keep your name out of his fucking mouth," James suddenly pinches his nose and shuts his eyes, "Shi-sorry I keep curing, I know you don't like it when we curse."

Almost like he's sulking, James leans against the sink and stares at you. He doesn't speak.

"You're such a wanker," you mumble and look at him more closely, "Why are you acting like such a prick since that night?"

"Oh, since the night you almost fucking died?" James raises his eyebrows, his tone sarcastic and you ignore the curse word again.

"Horrible exaggeration considering all I did was break my ankle."

"Could have been your neck," James deadpans.

"Well, it wasn't my neck and that's certainly no excuse to be a such a prat," you say seriously. James considers your words and sighs. He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and looks away.

"What do you want me to say?" he asks.

You stare at him like he's absolutely mental. "That you're sorry?"

James laughs and you swear you've never met a boy as stubborn as he is. "Why would I be sorry?"

"Are you serious, James?" you whisper and press your finger accusingly on his chest, "Listen to me, I know I shouldn't have been on that roof, that's my mistake, but you know damn well I wouldn't have been on that roof if you'd all come with me to the party like you'd promised!" your voice comes out rushed, "And I wouldn't have fallen if you didn't have to knock down Arthur Brown and make me worried for you!"

James's cheeks are flaming. "You think I, out of everyone, don't know that?" he says, straightening up and moving closer to you, his voice harsh, "do you think I don't lay awake at night, going absolutely insane over every possible scenario that prevents you from falling?" James's voice cracks and he steps forwards again.

You look up at him, slightly breathless. For someone so angry, James looks undeniably handsome. "I know we should have gone to the party with you, but Merlin, I couldn't bear another one! Another party I would have had to spend watching other boys fawn all over you! Fuck, Y/n, how could I have known you would decide take a drunken nightly stroll on a roof because we hadn't shown up!"

You listen to him, eyes wide, "You don't like it when boys fawn over me?" you whisper.

James frowns. He bites his lip and squeezes his eyes closed. "Of course I don't," he says, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Why?"

"Because you should be mine," James's voice is smaller now, less authoritative, less angry.

You stare at him and take in his expression with an inhale of breath. "But, James, I am yours."

James shakes his head quickly and tugs at his curls. "No, no. You aren't mine. You're ours. Sirius, Remus, Peter—you're our best friend. And I was okay with that, until I wasn't anymore and now everytime Arthur Brown says he wants to kiss your lips all I want is to punch something." James's fists clench and he looks away from you.

"You're scaring me," you look at him, whispering honestly but you don't move away from him.

James looks down and this time he looks really remorseful, "I'm sorry, Y/n, I don't meant to scare you. I—"

"So, Sirius was right," you inquire, taking his sudden remorse as a widow for a civilized conversation.

"Sirius was right about what?"

"You're in love with me," you don't say it as a question, more like a statement and James's eyes round so wide you're almost afraid they'll pop out of his skull.

James tries to escape but as he backs away, he bumps into the sink and his heart sinks. His eyes are moving so rapidly around the room and his cheeks have turned a less aggressive crimson and into a more lovesick pink.

"Why does everyone keep telling me that?" he mumbles to himself, feeling warmth on his cheek.

"What?"

James rubs at his nape and looks less angry and more nervous. You smile. You had been right to strike this conversation now. "Moony, in the Hospital Wing. He said I loved you—which was why I was acting like a prick and I don't," he backtracks immediately, "I mean, I love you as a friend and n-nothing more."

You expected to feel pain at the rejection but instead, you laugh. You stare at James and laugh harder. So hard, you clutch your sides and James's eyebrows crease with worry as you hyperventilate in front of him.

"Because you should be mine," you repeat his words through your laughter, "That's what you said and now you want me to believe you aren't in love with me?!"

"What?!" James's crimson cheeks have returned and he sounds annoyed now, "I- listen, sorry to disappoint but I-I am not in love with you!"

"You aren't?" you look at him, your eyes flickering to his lips.

"No!"

"Then why do you want me to be yours? What does that mean, hmm, James?"

You walk a little closer and your arms rest on the sink behind him. You ignore the way your heart is pounding your chest and screaming at you as you stand so close to him. James is staring down as you look up at him through your lashes. You expect another protest, maybe another incoherent defense, but instead he mumbles, "Fuck it," under his breath and takes your cheeks in his hands as he kisses you.

Without a second thought, you kiss him back. Your hand tangles in his hair as you press your lips to his. It's almost animalistic the way James is kissing you and it only lasts a few seconds before he's disconnecting your lips and resting his forehead onto yours. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he pants, shaking his head, "I shouldn't have kissed you without asking you—"

"Oh, shut up," you grumble and kiss him again. He accepts the kiss and spins you around. He uses his arm to hoist you onto the sink and deepen the kiss. You hold onto him and wince when your hip accidentally hits the faucet. James pulls away and looks at you like he can't believe what just happened.

"Okay, so maybe I am in love with you," he finally admits and his chest is heaving from all the emotions.

You crack a smile, "I'm in love with you too, James," you admit and touch his cheek. "Only, you can't act like a prick to me when you can't deal with your emotions. You should have told me all these feelings instead of sulking like a child."

James nods and squeezes his eyes shut, "I was just so angry at myself," he whispers.

"I know, Sirius said that was the reason."

James chuckles with a roll of his eyes, "How does Sirius suddenly know my emotions better than I do? He's usually the emotional wreck!"

You adjust his glasses a little, "He's just observant," you say, "and you're stubborn."

James pulls you in, holding you close to him as he dips and kisses your neck. He hums against your skin and whispers, "I'm such a fool, can you forgive me?" he asks, basically pleads, "I'm just, I was jealous."

You laugh, "Oh, I know. But, James, you know you have no reason to be jealous of anyone."

James whines and looks at you with his famous doe eyes; "I have every reason to be jealous. I'm jealous of the way Peter laughs at your jokes, or how Remus bonds over books with you. I'm jealous of Sirius and how he makes you laugh, and I'm jealous of every boy that looks your way. And worst of all, I'm jealous of the sun because it shines on you every day and I can't," he sounds like a lovesick idiot. He's barely making sense.

You look at him seriously, "James. You are the sun. You're my sun."

James looks into your eyes and bats his eyelashes innocently. He says, "So, you forgive me for being a wanker?" It's obvious he wants to make you laugh and he succeeds as you chuckle and playfully and lightly swat his cheek.

"I'll forgive you," you say, "for now."

James pouts but he also lifts you and spins you around. He drops you on the ground, his hands at your hips and kisses your forehead. "I'll take it, love. Now, let's tell our friends we aren't mad at each other anymore."

"I was never really mad with you," you point out with a snort as James takes your hand.

James squints, and looks behind his shoulder at you. "Yeah, you were," he says but when you shake your head he decides not to argue with you and just smiles, "Okay, fine, then let's go tell our friends I'm not being a baby anymore."

"Much better," you beam with a giggle and James realizes with a hopeless smile that he wants to be the only reason you ever giggle like that again.

Merlin, he really is madly in love with you.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #marauders #james potter smut #marauders fic #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter x you #marauders imagine

2K notes · View notes