#yes he is bloody I love bloody men

[cmnzoq]

derek hale doodle

[beloveds-embrace]

Part two of the Lavender Marriage au! Considered adding smut to this but I chickened out lmao if the ending is abrupt it’s because of that 🙂‍↕️

The four men are fuming.

Since witnessing the lip-lock battle, they’ve been stewing in barely-contained anger. Every time they see you- on your porch in one of those sweet sundresses, humming to yourself as you water the flower boxes or hand them freshly-baked cookies- they’re consumed by a burning desire to tell you the “truth” about your cheating husband. But the ring on your finger, and your seemingly cheerful demeanor, stop them every time.

Still, they’re restless. It’s wrong to let you live in ignorance like this. But also, it’s not their business even if they want it- even if they want you. The thought of ruining your cozy life, despite your husband’s unfaithfulness, isn’t an easy one to swallow.

It becomes easier to think of admitting it all to you with each passing day, though.

“He’s walking around like he’s done nothing wrong! The bastard. How does she not see it?” Kyle grumbles, gesturing wildly with his tea mug. He grits his teeth, watching your husband saunter inside the house without offering to help you. He just puts down a plate of steak Kyle knows is too fucking cooked. Heathen. Bastard. Ughhh.

“She’s either blind or loyal to a fault,” Johnny agrees, sprawled out on the couch, looking far more despondent than usual. “Breaks ma bloody heart, lads. She’s makin’ us lemonade an’ cookies, an’ he’s aff canoodlin’ wiith some bloke under her roof.”

Simon grunts, his eyes narrowing as he joins Kyle’s side. “What kind of man cheats on her? She’s…” He trails off, unwilling to finish the sentence, but everyone knows what he means: She’s perfect.

Meanwhile, John leans back in his chair, puffing thoughtfully on a cigar. He’s been unusually quiet, though it’s clear he’s just as agitated, fist clenching on his lap. Finally, he speaks, his tone commanding.

“We wait until he leaves,” he says, much to the others’ dismay. “We don’t meddle now. If she finds out on her own, we’ll be there for her. Until then, we keep our mouths shut.”

The others grumble, but they nod in agreement. For now.

You, meanwhile, are oblivious to the internal warfare raging next door. Your days are filled with your usual routine of pretending to be the dutiful wife, gossiping with the neighborhood ladies, sweetly cooing about your hardworking husband, and pretending you don’t know they will gosspi about you after you leave. On the way, you also deliver a basket of homemade muffins to your handsome neighbors.

Such good men; they didn’t even yet know they were your little kitchen rats to taste-test everything you make for the annual baking contest. This year, that bitch Beatrice will not win and you swore it.

“Oh, these look incredible,” Johnny says when you hand over the basket. He flashes you a cheeky grin, and you can’t help but smile back, cheeks warm. “Y’know, if yer husband does not appreciate all this, I might just have ta steal ye away, lass.”

You laugh, waving off the comment as a joke, but the other three men go rigid. “Not the time, mate.” Kyle mutters, elbowing Johnny, though you really don’t notice. Their house is coming along so nicely and so fast; the perks of having handy men as its owners, you suppose.

Later that day, while you’re trimming the hedges of your precious little garden , you spot Simon working on their roof. You catch him staring at you- not that you blame him, you are wearing your one of cutest skirt and top- and you give him a small wave. He almost falls off the roof even if he does wave back, so you decide to just focus on the damned hedges and hopefully avoid any more incidents.

They’re so distracted by your lovely self that they almost forget their rage toward your husband. Almost. Because just as Price and Johnny are helping you carry bags of groceries back to your house, your husband- traitorous bastard- walks out of the house all patient and whistling.

“Be back soon, honey! You know how long my business trips take.” your husband calls over his shoulder, giving you a quick wink before he hops into a car and drives off.

Unbelievable.

The tension is palpable. John glares. Johnny looks like he’s seconds from sprinting after the car. Simon mutters, “Unbelievable,” under his breath from where he and Kyle are watching from the window.

“Oh dear,” you sigh, though on the inside you are very happy. You know your husband’s boyfriend has a nice surprise picked for him- you helped get it, after all- and now you have the house all to yourself again. Perfect.

You turn to John, batting your lashes up at him and it is as if all his anger melts away. “Be my guests this evening, John? I’d be terribly lonely, all by myself in this big house.”

John really, truly, fucking hates your husband for doing this to a precious, lovely thing like you. But at least it means they’ll be the ones in your company.

“Alright, doll,” he nods, fond as he watches the grin stretch across your face. “Let me just go tell the muppets, then we’ll come by and help.”

“There’s no need-“

“I insist, sweetheart.”

That evening, as promised, the four of them come by to “keep you company” and help. You’re in your element, flitting around the kitchen in an apron as you serve drinks and chatter away, oblivious to the tension radiating from the group. You are practically glowing; your pretty flowers were complimented and the food looks so good you can’t wait to post it on your instagram.

Simon leans against the counter, arms crossed, staring daggers into the walls- into the portraits of you and your husband. Kyle is poking at one of the cookies you made like it’s done something to offend him, his mind adrift. Johnny’s chopping away at vegetables, muttering under his breath and wishing it was something else under his knife. And John? He’s nursing his whiskey like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. It might as well be. You talk so nicely about your husband and what he’s customized for you in the kitchen, still so unaware of the truth.

John contemplates just telling you right then and there, but then it happens.

The front door swings open, and in strolls your husband, laughing loudly with none other than his boyfriend- the one the group saw kissing. They’re holding hands, both grinning like idiots.

“Sorry we’re back so soon!” your husband calls out, completely unbothered by the fact that your house is now hosting four very large, very angry military men. “I forgot my wallet-”

The rest of his sentence dies in his throat when he notices the four men staring at him, expressions ranging from pure disbelief to murderous rage. His boyfriend freezes too, glancing nervously between you and the men like he’s walked into a firing squad.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Johnny practically shouts, pointing between the two men with the knife. “You’ve got the audacity to bring him here? Here?”

Kyle crushes the cookie when he slams his fist on the table, standing abruptly. “Under her roof? After all she’s done for you? Again?”

Simon doesn’t say a word because he truly doesn’t need to- he’s just staring, fists clenched, practically vibrating with barely-contained fury.

John finally speaks, his voice low and dangerous, pulling your surprised self against his side protectively. “You’ve got some confessing to do.”

Your husband just… blinks, then glances at you. “Wait, you didn’t tell them?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I didn’t think it would come up like this.”

“Tell us what?” John demands, his tone sharp. He is still glaring at your husband and the boyfriend

You wave your hand dismissively, like this is the most normal thing in the world with a soft sigh. “Oh, we’re not really married for love, John. It’s just for the benefits- y’know, keeping his parents off his back and mine off mine.”

The room falls silent. Dead silent.

“What?” Simon finally growls, his voice low and dangerous. All this time…

Your husband grins sheepishly, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Yeah, I’m gay. This is my boyfriend. He’s great, isn’t he?” He says, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek.

Johnny looks like he’s just been hit with the frying pan the vegetables he’d been chopping was meant to go in. “Yer what?”

Kyle stares at you, wide-eyed. “You knew? This whole time?”

You shrug, popping a cookie into your mouth. Ohh, Beatrice should count her fucking days. “Of course I knew. We planned the whole thing together. It’s not that complicated, really.”

Simon mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse.

“Anyways, we do have places to be,” your husband sighs. “I’ll just get my wallet and leave you all be to your date.” When he returns with his wallet a few minutes later, he kisses your forehead. “Bye, love. I snuck some of the cookies too- Beatrice is absolutely not winning this year, trust me.” And then he leaves at last.

John exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let me get this straight,” he says slowly. “You’re married but it’s just… out of necessity, and you’ve just been… pretending to love him?”

“Exactly!” you say brightly, clapping your hands together. “See? Not so hard to understand.”

The four men just stand there, utterly gobsmacked.

“You mean to tell me,” Johnny starts, pointing an accusatory finger at you after placing the knife down. “that we’ve been stewin’ for weeks over a cheatin’ husband that doesn’t even exist?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” you reply with a giggle, pouring a drink. Your eyes widen then. “But you cannot tell anyone here, in this shitty town, about this!”

“We won’t, love, promise.” Kyle groans, slumping back into his chair. “I need a bloody drink.” And then he perks up when you slide him the drink you just made. “…fucking lifesaver you are, love. Thank you.”

Simon just shakes his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.” under his breath.

John sighs, downing the rest of his whiskey in one go. “You’re going to be the death of us, doll.”

You grin, completely unfazed. “Oh, come on, boys. It’s not that bad.”

The four of them exchange a look- one of disbelief, exasperation, and maybe just a hint of relief. Because as much as they’re reeling from the truth, one thing’s clear: you’re technically single. And that, at least, is something they can work with.

[punkshort]

Protect and Honor

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Summary: Marcus Acacius promised his best friend he would look after his wife if he ever perished in battle. What he didn't expect was to fall in love.

Warnings: OC death (reader's husband), grief, descriptions of battle/wounds/blood, guilt, angst, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, dry humping, cum eating, pining, language

WC: 6.6K

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The entire city of Rome slept when the army returned. Warships quietly entered the port with another victory to announce, along with countless lifeless bodies in the hulls. Tomorrow, the emperors would rejoice, filling the streets and arena with games, wine, and laughter. But many families would be in mourning over the loss of fathers, brothers, children, and husbands.

It was those families Acacius thought about when he stood in between the young leaders of Rome, accepting praise and applause for leading those brave men into battle, then leaving their loved ones with holes in their hearts.

It wasn't unusual for him to feel burdened with responsibility and grief when he returned from war, but this time was especially painful because he lost someone very important: Antonius Sattius. His right hand man in battle, and his close friend since he was a boy. The man he celebrated with when he was married one year prior was now carefully carried from his ship, body draped in clean linen and emblazoned with gold.

His heart felt heavy in his chest as he made his way up the winding road to your modest home. Even though it was the middle of the night, he couldn't fathom not telling you the news right away. You deserved to know directly from him and not rumors that would inevitably flow through the streets at first light.

He knocked on your door, then stood with his head bowed and his hands clasped firmly at his waist. He wore his amour, although now clean, out of respect. His muscles were weary and everything ached, yet the thought of his own soft bed was distant in his mind when you swung open the door a moment later with a small lantern in your hand.

"Acacius?"

His head lifted and he met your gaze, eyes filled with sorrow, and watched while your expression changed from confusion to despair when you realized the reason he was alone at your door in the middle of the night.

"My lady, may I come in?"

Your lower lip trembled when you nodded and stepped aside, allowing his hulking frame to engulf your small sitting room as you hurried to light some candles with shaking hands.

"Was it quick?" you asked with your back to him. He nodded, standing stoically next to your furniture.

"Yes. He did not suffer."

Flashes of your husband's bloodied, dirt streaked face clouded his vision. He remembered voices shouting, swords clanging, and distant cries of pain as he hunched over Antonius's body, searching for signs of life.

You sighed and turned to face him, silent tears staining your cheeks, then slumped into a chair.

"Please, sit."

He relented and chose to sit across from you, perched on the edge of his seat, poised and ready but for what, he did not know. He watched you stare down at your tangled fingers in your lap, giving you time to process your loss.

"How will I ever go on? What am I going to do?" you whispered softly. Marcus pursed his lips, his heart breaking.

"I shall help you with anything you may need," he said. "I made a promise to him long ago. He was able to die with peace in his heart, knowing you would be watched over."

You gave him a weak smile. "And what was he to do for you, Acacius, if you had fallen first?" you asked. "No wife. No children. I have never heard you speak of family."

"He was my family," Marcus replied. "He promised to return my body to Rome, to be buried next to my mother and father."

You nodded solemnly and looked around the candlelit room. He could see the anguish flitting across your face as you tried to reconcile with the new life you would have come morning.

"If I had a choice, I would have taken his place."

"Do not say that," you said firmly. You narrowed your watery eyes at him and he fell silent. "We lost him for a reason. The gods - they have their reasons. Perhaps one day, we will discover what those are."

He held your gaze for a moment, a heaviness hanging in the air between you until the tears began to spill down your face and your vision blurred. Without considering decorum, Marcus stood and crossed the room to sit by your side. Tentatively, he reached for your hand, and you eagerly took it before leaning into his shoulder to sob quietly. All the while, Marcus sat strong beside you, letting you cry yourself out until your body sagged and your eyes could no longer remain open.

You didn't ask him to stay and he didn't ask permission. Once you disappeared into your bedroom, he removed his armor and made himself as comfortable as possible on your lounging chair before crossing his arms and willing himself to sleep.

The following morning you weren't surprised to hear Marcus stirring in your sitting room, no doubt being woken up by the two girls you had employed to assist with meals and laundry. A luxury, you realized, you would likely have to forgo as a widow.

You wrapped yourself in a fresh stola and splashed some water on your puffy face, trying to make yourself look halfway decent before exiting your bedroom. Marcus was just securing his armor when he turned to face you.

"I hope you were able to rest," he said. You saw some movement from the kitchen and your gaze slid over his shoulder to the two sets of eyes peering around the door. The girls saw you and quickly disappeared, but it didn't stop your face from warming when you realized they must have been whispering about Marcus being in your home so early in the morning.

"Some, yes," you replied. You swallowed thickly and stretched your arm towards the dining area. "Would you join me before you leave?"

"Of course, thank you," Marcus said, straightening his spine and following you into the room to sit at your table, where the two servants had already begun to place some food.

After you had filled your plates, you ate in silence, the only sound coming from the cleaning being done in the kitchen. As you stared down at your plate, you felt your stomach churn. The thought of eating while your husband lied dead somewhere in the city made you sick.

"What happens now?" you asked. Marcus set his fork down to look at you. "His body? Where is it? What do I need to do?"

"I was hoping to take some of his clothes to the mortuary while I am here," he said. "Whatever you prefer he be buried in, of course. If it is too much, I can assist in planning the ceremony."

"I do not wish to make a spectacle of it," you told him. "Antonius would not have cared for that."

"I will be sure to keep it small. The men will understand."

Marcus kept his promise. He planned most of the ceremony on your behalf and even stood valiantly at your side the entire time. He supplied the two coins for you to place upon your husband's closed eyes, then led you back home. You cried more tears you ever thought possible in the eight days you spent mourning while soldiers came to pay their respects in small groups, all the while Marcus sat by your side like a pillar of strength.

Once the typical mourning period passed, you expected Marcus to go back to his life where he might occasionally check in on you to uphold his promise, but to your surprise, he stopped by your home every day. It wasn't always the same time of day, nor for the same length of time, but every single day for months, you saw one another.

Eventually, you fell into a routine once a week where he would escort you to the markets. With your basket looped around one arm and your other hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, you meandered down the street together, wandering slowly from stall to stall until you gathered all the goods you needed for the week.

"I wish you would have kept the girls," Marcus told you for the third time that week. "I would have paid-"

"It was not about money," you reminded him, picking up a ripe piece of fruit and testing the firmness between your fingers. "It was unnecessary, I told you this already. What do I need servants for? To cook food for one? I hired them in anticipation of having children. My dream of being a mother is gone."

"You could remarry."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes before placing the fruit back and moving on.

"You know as well as I that suitors look for an untouched woman," you said quietly so that you couldn't be overheard.

Marcus remained silent by your side as you continued to stroll. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining but it wasn't terribly hot, and there was a slight breeze in the air, bringing with it the scent of lemon trees from a nearby orchard. You were about to open your mouth to remark on the perfect weather when Marcus spoke.

"I could help you find a suitor."

You twisted around and looked up at him in surprise. The sun glistened off his tanned, battle-scared face, his dark eyes gazing down at you without the faintest glimmer of humor.

"You are serious."

"If you like," he said, "I know there are some higher ranking officers who are still unwed. I would never bring any man who Antonius would not approve of."

The idea of moving on left you speechless. It was something you knew you should do, that otherwise you would live a long and lonely life, but it still unsettled you.

"Perhaps," you said slowly, then looked away. Marcus noticed your discomfort and patted your hand.

"If you are not ready, we can wait."

You nodded, pinching your lips together as you pretended to look at some flowers.

"And what of you, Acacius?" you asked, changing the subject. "Are you searching for a bride?"

Marcus chuckled and shook his head. "I fear the emperors have chosen war as my betrothed. It was a rare act of kindness they have allowed me this time of rest and mourning."

Your heart clenched in your chest, realizing for the first time that some day soon, Marcus would be sent off to a faraway land once again, leaving you all alone. Suddenly, the perfect weather and the sounds of the market was not enough to keep a smile on your face. You struggled to make sense of the mixed emotions you were feeling but did your best to shrug them off and carry on.

What you didn't realize that right next to you, Marcus was wrestling with the same uncertainty.

Just as you both expected but didn't want to acknowledge, three weeks later Marcus received word he was to lead Rome's army across the sea to conquer yet another distant city. When you heard the soft knock at your door far too early one morning, you sat up in bed, dread filling your chest.

With a cloak wrapped tightly around you, you slowly padded towards your door, only opening it timidly after taking a deep, shaky breath.

Marcus stood on the other side, clad in his black battle armor with a look of regret once again. Your heart sank as you tried not to slump against the doorframe.

"Come in," you said meekly. He nodded, jaw tense, and stepped inside your home the same way he had been every day for six months, only this time he set his sword by the door and turned to address you.

"I have my orders," he began, "I will be gone for a month or two, but I have asked a trusted retired general to check in on you in my absence."

You nodded and blinked away the tears that welled up in your eyes, but you weren't quick enough. Two fell down your cheeks and your lower lip quivered when his face softened and he stepped forward.

"Be brave," he murmured, cupping your jaw and swiping the tears away with his thumb. It was the most intimate thing he had done since you have known him. "I will return and escort you to the market in no time. Until then, do try to stay out of trouble. I do not want Julius to write of you injuring yourself chasing after the crows in your garden again."

You laughed as more tears spilled down your face. "I will try."

He smiled down warmly at you, eyes scanning your face and palm still cradling your jaw. You both felt something shift in that moment. The air grew thicker when your eyes met and your heart flipped when his gaze briefly fell to your lips. Your fingers itched to touch him, to pull him close and dispel of the gap between you, but you hesitated. Unknowingly, Marcus was doing the very same, swallowing nervously at the butterflies in his stomach, something he hadn't felt in years with a woman. But neither of you acted on your feelings, for the ghost of your husband still lingered in the room.

You cleared your throat and gently took his hand, the one that was pressed against your cheek, and pulled it down to hang between you.

"Please try not to die."

Marcus grinned and the air in the room instantly lifted.

"I will try."

Begrudgingly, he let go of your hand and took a step back. "I will return before you know it. And when I do," he said, bending to pick up his sword, "I expect to be inundated with all the exciting rumors around the city, first thing."

You bit your lower lip and swiped the back of your had across your cheek.

"I promise."

Marcus gave you one last lingering glance before forcing his feet to move. You watched with a heavy heart as he made his way down your walk, towards the road, towards the direction of the sea. From where you stood, you could just see the tops of the warships, their sails already fluffed in the dimness of the sliver of sun peaking over the horizon.

As it turned out, Julius was quite good company. He was old enough to have all grey hair and deep wrinkles around his eyes. He walked with a limp, which was assisted by a cane he had whittled when he was a much younger man. He would share a meal with you or sit in your garden a couple times a week, and he would tell you stories of war, his family, and the exciting adventures he had experienced throughout his long life.

"My wife passed on three years ago," he told you one morning while you watched the sun break through the clouds and warm up your vegetable garden, which was growing at a substantial rate. "She had grown quite ill for a long time. She suffered greatly, and it broke my heart to not be able to ease her burden."

You frowned and gently took his hand in yours. "I am so sorry, Julius. But I am sure she was grateful for every moment she had with you."

He smiled at you, yellowing teeth peeking out behind his lips.

"We had a lovely life together. I feel such sadness that you and Antonius were not afforded the same luxury."

"As do I," you sighed, then turned to look back out at your peaceful little garden. "But the time we had together was good. He was a kind and strong man. Marcus told me once in this very garden how he died. That he was saving the life of a young, scared soldier. He sacrificed himself for that young man, because that was the type of soul he had. Always looking out for others."

Julius ignored your slip of the tongue, using Marcus's informal name, and instead hummed quietly next to you as he considered your words.

"He sounds as though he would want you to find another," he said after a beat. "Am I wrong?"

You shrugged and fiddled nervously with the hem of your tunic.

"I suppose he would."

"So... will you allow yourself to find happiness once again?"

You pressed your lips together, gaze falling to your lap. "I would like to, but..."

You trailed off, cheeks burning from guilt. Julius gave you a moment before he spoke again.

"Do not tell me you cannot find any suitors. You are a beautiful woman."

You laughed and shook your head.

"I have not been interested in seeking out a courtship," you said, but Julius could hear the hesitation in your voice. Slowly, realization dawned on him.

"Acacius is a good man."

You whipped your head to the side, eyes wide with shock. "What are you implying?"

Julius shrugged. "He told me he has been here to visit you every day since the passing of your husband. He knows much about you, about your life. Spoke to me for what felt like hours before he left."

"Well, yes, he has been assisting me due to a past obligation he promised my husband," you assured him, sitting up straight.

"And what if he has been assisting you simply because he enjoys your company?" Julius asked. "That, perhaps, something has grown amongst the anguish, tethering his heart to your doorstep?"

You sputtered in surprise, struggling to come up with something to say. Julius just chuckled and patted your leg before standing.

"I am simply an old man," he told you, grabbing his cane and putting all his weight on the wood. "But I have experienced love. Despite what you may think, Acacius cares deeply for you, of that I am certain. And I do believe you feel the same for him."

He left you frozen on the worn bench in your garden, mind reeling and heart fluttering wildly in your chest. He spoke the very words you wished you could admit. Even in the solitude of your home, you could never say just how much you had grown to care for Marcus. And now that the words were out there, floating around in the summer breeze, you couldn't think about anything else.

Marcus had been gone nearly three months. Not one. Not two. But three whole months. Fear gripped your throat every passing day until finally you were walking along the shore one morning and far off in the distance, you could see the ships on the horizon. They were just a handful of black triangles, but you couldn't stop grinning. As each hour passed, they got closer and closer, pulling in groups of people all day long to watch, but they were so far away that by the time the sun set, all had retreated to their homes. It was too dark to watch the ships arrive, and citizens knew there would be a celebration in the morning, so everybody chose to go home and rest.

Everybody except for you.

You sat on the shore, the sea breeze whipping through your hair and cutting across your cheeks. You shivered from the spray of the ocean but you stood your post valiantly. When the first of the ships reached the docks, you stood and bounced nervously from foot to foot, yet still kept your distance.

It took nearly an hour for the ships to unload, but even in the darkness of night with only the dull flames from their lanterns to guide them, you saw a flash of bright red and your hands clamped excitedly over your mouth.

He was home. He lived and he was safe.

He was calling out orders to his men and ushering workers onto the ships to assist with the fallen and injured soldiers, his red cape draped around his broad shoulders, billowing in the wind. When he turned away to walk up the dock, head hung low and bones likely weary from battle, you couldn't hold back any longer.

"Acacius!"

His head snapped up and his eyes locked onto you immediately. Instantly, his face brightened and he smiled wide. His pace quickened to reach you and yours did the same until you finally found yourselves standing just a mere foot away, gazing up at his tired but happy face.

Neither of you knew what to say. Instead, you both let your eyes rake up and down the other, examining each other for any differences or maybe just to confirm it wasn't all a dream.

"You did not die," you breathed, both of you laughing.

"I did not," he said, smile still stretched across his face. A shiver shot down your spine at the sight of him, all tall and imposing and real. He quickly shed himself of his cape and wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you close against his armor and breathing you in.

"You smell of the sea. How long have you been here?"

"All day," you confessed, already feeling warmer. He tutted under his breath and nodded towards the sleeping city.

"I will walk you home and tomorrow, we shall celebrate."

You allowed him to lead you through the streets, listening to him tell you tales, but none of battle. He told you of the different animals he saw, about a terrible storm that gripped the army for three straight days, and how a drunken solider swore up and down he spotted a mermaid and had the whole ship poking fun at him for the remainder of the voyage.

You walked past the statue of him that was erected in the center of the city after his last victory and you grinned.

"I have not seen you in so long, I began to think this is what you looked like."

Marcus rolled his eyes and tugged you closer. "I am sorry it took longer than expected. I trust Julius kept you in good company?"

"He was wonderful," you told him honestly, then nervously added, "but I would have preferred you."

If it wasn't so dark, you would have seen his face flush.

"I have been told we will remain home for several months now," Marcus told you. "Emperor Geta has sought a bride. He wishes to spend the next few months planning a wedding. It sounds as though his bloodlust has been assuaged for now."

"Ah, so you are saying I get you all to myself once again?"

Marcus laughed as his face grew even warmer than before. "So it seems, my lady."

He walked you up the familiar path to your door, waiting patiently as you unlocked it and hurried inside to fetch your lantern. When you returned, you sheepishly handed him his cape with your thanks.

He did not toss it over his shoulders. Instead, he gripped it in one hand while his eyes roamed over your beautiful face. He had missed you so much that it caused an ache in his chest the whole time he was gone, mind riddled with thoughts of you to the point where he felt like a madman.

Inviting him inside would be forward and untoward. You racked your mind for a legitimate reason, but you couldn't think of a single one. So, you resigned yourself to feeling grateful he was alive and unscathed, that you could sleep peacefully knowing he was home and you would see him tomorrow.

"You will be by in the morning?" you finally asked when the silence had gone on long enough. Marcus blinked and focused on your eyes.

"Yes," he said, "first thing. I shall be here as if no time had passed at all."

You grinned and bit your lip. "Wonderful. Then... I suppose I will release you. Please go home and rest, General, you have earned it."

He nodded in agreement, then forced his feet to move away from you, even though every fiber of his being screamed at him to go the opposite direction, into your arms.

"Sleep well," he croaked, eyes still glued to your face. You smiled shyly, the reaction so endearing it had his heart leaping.

"You as well. I am glad you are home safe."

He stumbled backwards but continued to gaze at you until you giggled and slowly shut the door. Once you were hidden in the safety of your home, you took a deep, ragged breath and fanned your face. Your pulse was racing and your blood was pumping so fast, you were certain you wouldn't sleep a wink all night. Instead, you set your lantern down and began to pace around your sitting room, wondering what you should do to exhaust yourself when suddenly, you heard a sharp rap on your door.

Without thinking, you rushed to open it, already knowing exactly who it was.

"Marcus," you breathed when you laid eyes on him once again. He looked slightly different now, a little more disheveled and filled with determination. "W-what is wrong?"

You watched his throat bob nervously before he stepped forward and cupped your face.

"My apologies," he said, "but I should have done this months ago."

His neck craned down and his lips pressed urgently against yours. You melted immediately, throwing one arm around the back of his neck to pull him inside so he could kick the door closed behind him. His tongue flicked across your lower lip and your jaw dropped, granting him access to deepen the kiss.

His hands dragged down your sides, fingers plucking at the fabric of your stola as you lead him further into your home.

When you staggered into your bedroom, his eyes popped open to look around. It was modest, just like the rest of your home. A soft, large enough bed sat in the middle of the room, along with a small wardrobe and a chair that sat next to it. It was quaint and unassuming, just like you.

"Wait," he whispered, breaking the kiss. His palms still pressed against your cheeks, fingertips curling around the backs of your ears. You looked up at him, lips wet and parted, panting for air. "Are you quite sure this is what you want? We can slow down, we can wait."

"I am sure," you replied. Your hands fell to the tie on your stola, blindly undoing the knot as you continued to hold his gaze. "I thought of you every day. I feared something would happen to you and you would never know my true feelings. My heart could hardly handle the stress."

You felt the fabric slip loose and fall to the floor. Marcus's eyes darted down and with pride blooming in your chest, noticed the hungry way he looked at your naked body for the first time.

"Thoughts of you were the only thing that kept me alive," he murmured, walking you backwards to lay you down on your bed. He began to unhook his armor, all the while his eyes remained roaming over you. "You saved me more ways than I could count, my lady."

You almost told him that he saved you, as well. But something about the look in his eye told you he already knew. After the loss of Antonius, you were not the only one who felt despair. You both were broken, the memory of Marcus's dearest friend, your husband, weighing heavy on both your hearts. But finally, after months and months, you came to the realization that Marcus was your husband's final gift to you.

Once he finally rid himself of the last of his clothes, you allowed yourself a moment to take him in. He was strong and broad, just as you imagined, and his body was littered with old scars. By all accounts, he looked like a rough man, but much to your delight, his touch was soft and his kiss was tender. When he climbed on top of you, settling his hips between your legs and sliding his tongue leisurely past your teeth, you didn't feel scared. You felt safe.

The tip of his cock nudged against your inner thigh when he shifted his weight. The subtle reminder of his thick length you had only gotten a glimpse of caused you to inhale sharply.

"You are so soft," he mumbled against your mouth. His calloused hand drifted up and down your side, gently grazing along your skin before it rested on your breast, cupping the heavy flesh in his palm and rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You moaned and lifted your back off the bed, pressing into his hold while your fingers got lost in his hair.

Something stirred inside of him when he heard the noise of pleasure escape your lips. His hips ground against you and his mouth trailed down to suck a mark on the sensitive skin of your throat, eager to pull more sounds from you. It took no time at all before you were whining and rolling your hips in rhythm with his, relishing in the feeling of his cock gliding between your folds, taunting you with his size.

The very same hand that took countless lives with the blade of his sword slipped between your bodies so he could stroke two fingers through your pussy, testing your arousal and making a pleased noise at what he found.

"Does that feel good?" he asked lowly. His chest had pressed against yours, desperate to feel as close to you as possible, with only his arm separating you.

"Yes," you gasped while wrapping your legs around his waist. It seemed you wanted to be closer, as well. "I wish to feel you. Please, my general, do not make me beg."

Marcus chuckled against your throat, fingers still petting at your entrance. "I am willing to wager you would sound so pretty begging for my cock."

You squirmed impatiently underneath him and nipped playfully at his scratchy cheek, making him smile.

"Fine. If I really must," you sighed, "please, Marcus. I have spent countless nights dreaming of all the ways you would make me yours." You felt his muscles tense and his lips paused against your neck. "I would lie in this very bed wondering what kind of lover you are, your favored position to take a woman, and how incredible it would feel to be split open by your thick cock."

Marcus reared back with a growl, fisting himself before lining up his cock at your opening. Blind with lust and need, he pushed forward, entering you with one swift pass. Your head flew back into the sheets at the sudden fullness, mouth opening and closing pathetically, unable to formulate a single sound.

"Breathe," Marcus reminded you when he fell forward to rest on his forearms which were braced on the sides of your head. "Breathe for me, my love."

You forced yourself to drag in a shuddering breath, the pressure between your legs stealing all your attention. You couldn't stop yourself from glancing down, mouth agape, to see where you were joined, almost as if you couldn't believe it unless you looked. Seeing yourself stretched around his considerable girth shook loose a shattered noise from the back of your throat. His nose brushed against the side of your head and you heard a similar noise from him when he followed your gaze.

"Look how beautiful," he murmured before slowly pulling back his hips, leaving just the tip of his cock nestled snugly inside your cunt. Your eyes widened when you saw how his length glistened in the candlelight, soaked with your arousal, then moaned his name into the night air when he sunk back inside you, parting your walls and carving a spot for himself to claim as his own.

"You are so tight," he grunted, jaw clenched from the way you squeezed around him every time he thrusted back inside you. "Next time, I will make you come from my tongue and fingers first. But tonight, I simply could not wait."

You huffed a breathless laugh and dragged your eyes up to meet his. "I had no idea the fearsome General of Rome was so indecent."

Marcus lifted the corner of his mouth in a smirk. "I look forward to showing you just how indecent I am."

With every thrust, he drove himself deeper, knocking the air from your lungs each time the tip of his cock met a place inside you that had your back arching off the bed and your nails leaving red marks down his back.

Your hips burned from how wide you stretched and your skin tingled everywhere his lips touched. He was gentle, but assertive, a lethal combination you didn't know you needed until it was between your legs, whispering filth in your ear while ramming himself inside of you over and over.

You whispered his name, voice broken and raspy, then said, "I am close... please, please-"

Before you had a chance to realize what was happening, he rolled over, pulling you with him so you sat slumped over his chest. You blinked and looked around before pushing yourself up. Straddling his hips, you gazed down at him, eyes unfocused and hazy with desire.

"I now see why I never felt the urge to seek out a wife," he whispered, watching when you got your bearings and began to bounce in his lap. His fingers gripped your hips, indenting your skin and helping you move. "None could ever compare to you. You are more beautiful than any flower, taste better than any sweet-" He groaned when you began to circle your hips faster, grinding down on him and breathing heavily. "Your eyes shine brighter than any star. And this fucking cunt-" he growled, roughly grabbing at your ass so he could pull you up and down on his shaft. You cried out, fingers scrambling for purchase on his chest. "Best fucking cunt I ever had. Gods above, Rome could be in flames and it would not keep me from between your legs."

"Marcus," you whined, gasping for air while the pressure mounted low in your belly. "So deep... s-so deep, I can hardly breathe."

"Come for me," he commanded, "come on my cock. I wish to see the look on your beautiful face when you fall apart."

Moments later, you did just as he asked. Your eyes squeezed shut but stars burst behind your lids as your orgasm rolled through you, hitting you in waves that had you cursing and crying his name. The blood rushing in your ears was so loud, you didn't even realize he was speaking until his massive hands lifted you off with an urgency that had your eyes snapping back open. When you looked down, he was furiously stroking his cock, chin tilted towards the ceiling and bronzed chest glistening with sweat.

As quickly as you could, you slid down to the floor, kneeling between his thighs and pulling on his free hand for attention. When he saw you gazing up at him with your mouth open, spent but eager for his seed in your mouth, he whimpered and pushed himself up.

"Stick out your tongue," he whispered. You did as he asked, a shiver shooting down your spine when you heard his voice so thick with desire.

The fat head of his cock rested on your warm tongue. When his eyes met yours, you preened at the instant look of relief you saw half a second before he spilled down your throat.

His jaw hung open wide, hypnotized as he watched thick streams of his seed paint your lips and tongue. It wasn't until he was milked dry and exhausted that he let go of his cock. With parted lips, he gently lifted your chin, closing your mouth and nodding at you to swallow. He gave you a satisfied smile when your throat bobbed and you licked your lips, shaking his head in disbelief.

"And you speak of indecency," he said, voice hoarse.

You giggled and climbed into his lap, slinging your arms around his neck and nuzzling against his throat. With a deep sigh, he leaned back, pulling you with him until your bodies were stretched out across your bed, limbs tangled together while you caught your breath.

"Will you stay?" you asked meekly as you traced invisible shapes over his chest. He kissed the top of your head and gently squeezed your arm.

"Of course."

You laid just like that, holding one another with only the sound of insects outside your window filling the silence. Eventually, Marcus shifted a bit and your chin tilted up.

"Are you..." he began, then you watched him swallow nervously as his eyes darted up towards the ceiling before trying again. "Do you feel any regret? Or... guilt?"

You turned so your chin rested on top of his chest. "No. Do you?"

He shook his head but kept his eyes pinned to the ceiling.

"Not anymore. But months ago, when I began to see you differently... yes, I did."

You pressed a soft kiss against his skin, making his eyes drift back down to you. "I believe I denied my feelings for a very long time for the same reason," you admitted, "but while you were gone, it afforded me the time to think. And I have concluded Antonius sent you to me for a reason. He requested you take care of me should anything happen." You shrugged and rested the side of your head against his shoulder. "I believe he trusted you more than anybody in his life. He would have been happier I chose you rather than some stranger."

He considered your words for a moment before nodding and turning on his side. You smiled up at him sleepily with your head resting on the inside of his bicep. He cupped your cheek and, after searching your eyes, slotted his lips with yours for a tender kiss.

"Do you think we can share a fruitful life together?" he asked with his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your cheek.

"Oh, yes. You ought to see my vegetable garden. I hardly need to go to the market for much any more," you joked.

He laughed, dark eyes sparkling in the dim candlelight.

"That is a good start," he said, and you giggled. When you both quieted down, he gave you another kiss before saying, "I would be honored to take care of you for the rest of our days, if that is something you want."

"It is," you replied a little too quickly.

His face lit up at your eagerness. "Good. Then let us rest. Tomorrow at the ceremonies, I shall announce our pending nuptials."

And although it felt a little fast, you didn't argue.

Marcus followed through with his promise, as he always did. The following morning, you both dressed in your finest clothes to attend the celebrations being held at the arena. It was never something you enjoyed attending, the ritual of sacrifice feeling barbaric, but on that particular day you didn't mind. You sat with Marcus in the emperor's box, a place you only ever saw from afar. He introduced you to the emperors and you tried your best not to let your nerves show. Before the games began, Marcus announced his plans to wed, which was met with polite acclaim by those seated in the box.

"That was a little scary," you admitted quietly to Marcus once everyone had found their seats and the first fight began. The loud cheering and yelling drowned out anything you said, but you still kept your voice low.

"Nothing to be scared of, my lady," he assured you with the squeeze of your hand. You smiled when he brought your knuckles to his lips for a brief kiss. "I told you I would protect you for the rest of our days."

Happiness bloomed in your chest, excited for what your future held. But there was one thing you knew for certain:

As long as Marcus was by your side, you would never know sadness again.

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[snowballseal]

Tipsy Tricks

Sylus X Reader

Summary: You and Sylus agree to focus on work for a little bit, meaning you don't have time to see each other. That is...until you get a panicked call from the twins saying their boss is drunk and needs someone to cuddle with.

Word Count: 1836

Note: FLUFF - Sylus is drunk, but honestly, I feel like he can handle his alcohol well so he does a bit of acting. It's all just to get your attention and he's a little more clingy. Also, Luke and Kieran my beloveds.

---

“Miss, we need your help!”

You blink at the sudden shout that comes through your phone the moment you answer it.

“Luke?”

“Please Miss! Boss is not acting himself!”

“Kieran? Wait- hold on, just-”

“Ah! We’re too late!”

“Please Miss, come save us!”

You blink again as the call ends just as abruptly.

What the-?

You stare at the now dark screen for a long moment, just trying to process what happened. It’s late, late enough that you’re already dressed in your pajamas and winding down in bed. The last thing you were expecting was to get such a panicked call from Luke and Kieran.

What were they even talking about? Why do they need saving? Is something wrong with Sylus?

The thought wedges into your chest like a thorn, sharp and uncomfortable. You hadn’t heard from the Onychinus leader - your lover - in a few days due to his busy schedule. Neither of you liked it, but you agreed it was best he just focus on work, and you’d do the same to keep yourself occupied.

Getting a call like this only makes your anxiety skyrocket.

You don’t even bother wasting the time to change, throwing a coat over your pajamas and snatching your keys as you hurdle out the door. 

---

“Miss!!! Oh you’ve come to save us, thank you!”

Luke and Kieran throw the door open before your knuckles even touch it. You jump back, chest heaving from having run all the way from the transport station. They look just as frazzled, well, as frazzled as two men in masks can look. 

“What’s wrong? Is Sylus okay? Why are you guys freaking out?” You shoot out questions quickly, grabbing one of the twins by the shoulders. “You guys were infuriatingly cryptic over the phone! Seriously, who calls in the middle of the night like that?”

“We’re sorry,” Luke leans in, trying to rescue his brother from your vicious grip, “We just didn’t know what to do. Boss hardly ever gets like this!”

“He kept talking about you so we figured you could help us,” Kieran insists, ducking away with the help of his brother.

“Okay, but what’s wrong? Is he hurt?” You press for more details, concern only growing. “What happened to make him act weird?”

“He’s drunk.”

…

Your jaw shuts with an audible click, going tense as you stare at them incredulously. Seriously? All of this, all of the panic, the urgency, because Sylus got drunk? You take a deep, slow breath, trying to ease the immediate desire to knock their heads together.

“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you called me. In the middle of the night. After I had settled down for bed. Screaming bloody murder over the phone. Because Sylus had too much to drink?”

“...yes.”

“That’s right.”

You close your eyes. Another deep breath. Slowly, the panic that had washed over you recedes, leaving a sliver of irritation and amusement. You really should expect nothing less from them.

“Okay,” you sigh and prop your hands on your hips. The two seem to relax, like they had actually expected you to smack them. Which you might have, if they hadn’t sounded truly distressed earlier. “So why is this such a bad thing? Sylus is an adult, he can handle being a little drunk, but you two are acting like the world is ending. Why?”

“Well you see-”

“Boss gets incredibly physical when he’s drunk-”

“Not in a violent way-”

“Unless he’s around people he doesn’t like.”

“Right.”

You blink slowly at them, “...so?”

“It’s scary!” Kieran crows.

“It’s like having a kodiak bear trying to give you a hug!” Luke adds, curling his fingers in a gesture you’re sure is meant to mimic said bear.

“We love the boss, but we can’t handle him like this.”

“And he kept asking for you! So we called.”

Ah.

You take a moment to really process all of it. Sylus is drunk. Sylus is a touchy drunk…

It’s too good to pass up on

“Alright, boys,” you hum, an excited grin slowly spreading across your lips. You clap both of them gently on the shoulder. “I’ll take it from here. You can go hide wherever you usually do.”

“Thank you, Miss.”

“We knew calling you was the right decision. Please take care of our boss.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The twins skitter off as soon as you let them go, leaving you alone in the foyer. You quietly slip your coat off, hanging it up properly before making your way further into the base. Not knowing exactly where Sylus could be, you check all the obvious places. The bar. His bedroom. The kitchen. All of which are empty.

Finally you come to the den. Each step makes your heart race a little quicker, the thick silence putting you on edge. A drunk person shouldn’t be so hard to find. But as you step into the room, looking over every nook and cranny (despite how large the man in question is), you once again find it empty.

Where on earth could he be?

“My, my, a kitten’s wandered into my home.” You nearly jump out of your skin when an arm curls around your waist, drawing you back against a solid chest. The familiar warmth of his touch is like a balm to your nerves. You glance over your shoulder, gaze meeting a pair of sleepy vermillion eyes, their depths hazy and dark. “You broke our agreement, sweetie.”

You bite back a smile, “Maybe I wouldn’t have had to if a certain someone hadn’t gotten tipsy and scared the boys.”

Sylus huffs, his face dipping to nuzzle into the crook of your neck in an uncharacteristically soft show of affection. His breath is dizzyingly warm against your skin, his nose tracing featherlight along the column of your throat, like he’s breathing you in. It makes you feel dizzy. You clutch onto his arm to anchor yourself, breath hitching when his lips press tenderly against your racing pulse. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

The words are a mere whisper, the sound rumbling through his chest, so deep you can feel it with how his body leans into yours. You let out a shuddering breath, eyes flickering shut.

“I missed you too, Sy.”

So much. You didn’t want to admit to yourself just how much his absence had been wearing you down. Little by little until you could feel the gaping emptiness, like a stream carving a canyon. You were homesick. And it makes your heart flutter to know he felt the same.

“How about we sit, huh?” You suggest softly, and his arms tighten. Turning your head, despite the awkward angle, you press a reassuring kiss to his silvery locks, “I’m not going anywhere, love. I can’t support your weight much longer, though.”

Seemingly appeased, Sylus lets out an understanding hum. In a puff of black smoke, you find yourself settled on the couch, your back pressed into the soft leather with Sylus laying on top of you, his arms still curled around your waist, head resting on your chest. He nuzzles into you like a cat, letting out a long, drawn out sigh.

It’s adorable really. And jarring. While Sylus has never shied away from being affectionate, it’s always been in his rough, teasing way. This feels tender. Vulnerable. While you were originally planning to tease him to no end, you find yourself overwhelmed with a gentle kind of adoration for the man, your fingers softly fussing with his hair.

“You know, I think I like this side of you.”

“Hmmm, is that so?” Sylus mumbles sleepily, his eyes barely open as he gazes up at your face.

“Yah,” you breathe, tracing the relaxed line of his brow, fingers skimming down his cheek to brush the corner of his lips, “You’re acting so cute and docile. Maybe I should start calling you kitten.”

Even sleepy Sylus won’t let that stand. The second your fingers graze his lips, he nips at them, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you snatch them back, inhaling sharply. Heat curls in your chest, matching the heat burning behind his gaze as he flashes you that lazy yet dangerous smile.

“Don’t mistake my affection for passivity, sweetie,” he rumbles, pushing himself up just enough to graze his lips against yours, the smell of expensive alcohol and his rich cologne clouding your senses. “You should be more wary of a man when his restraints are loose. There’s no telling what he might do once you fall for his trap.”

Ah. You hold back a giggle, eyes narrowing up at him with mirth. So that’s what this was all about.

“Trap, huh? Is that what this was? Did you get tipsy and scare the twins on purpose so they’d call me?”

Sylus doesn’t look ashamed for even a second, offering a nonchalant shrug. The way his ears go red, though, tells you that you’ve hit the nail on the head.

“Aw, you did all that just cause you missed me?” Reaching up, you loop your arms around Sylus’ shoulders and draw him even closer. Your lips brush his as you murmur, “You could have just called, pretty bird.”

“And what fun would that be?” Sylus tilts his head, eyes flickering down to your lips. 

He wants to kiss you breathless, the sensation of your lips ghosting against his driving his already muddled thoughts wild. The way you look under him, hair a mess, dressed in such cute pajamas, is a perfectly tempting image, but it’s the fact that he can’t quite think straight that makes him hold back. While getting drunk was certainly a good way to get you here, it was not conducive to anything else he might want.

And simply having you by his side is enough.

You sigh as Sylus presses a sweet kiss to your lips. Unlike most of your kisses, this one isn’t about passion or hunger. Intense, yes, but intense in a way that feels like devotion. It’s reverent and slow, leaving a lingering hum under your skin as he draws away.

“Will you stay?”

Fondly, you rub your nose against his ever so slightly, “Of course.”

“Good.”

Sylus lowers himself back into you, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Your arms loop around him, fingers going back to his hair. The silence that envelops you is comforting, the only sound being that of your mingled breath. His warmth covers you so completely, you can’t help but relax, eyelids growing heavier with each second that ticks by. Sylus’ breathing steadily grows deeper, lulling you further and further into sleep. Until you slip under, your lips pressed to his temple as you fall asleep.

And that’s how Luke and Kieran find you the next morning. Cuddled up, with their boss curled around you protectively, like two lounging cats.

You wake up to a notification on your phone.

The picture immediately becomes your new background.

(And secretly, Sylus also makes it his, too.)

---

Hope you enjoyed, my lovely fishies!!!

[the-secret-formulaone]

prompt: you and max have been secretly together for years. neither the fans or the media have a clue. what happens when you and max are neck and neck for the drivers championship and you get the unexpected news that you’re pregnant?

pairing: max verstappen x ferrari! reader

word count: ~7.6k

warnings: 18+, cursing, mentions of sex but no real smut, mentions of miscarriage, some mention of blood

a/n: hello, i'm brand new at writing fanfic for f1. i've had this idea for a while and it was eating at me so i hope you enjoy. i thought it would be cool to have it be like a normal fic with a bit of that social!au content that the fandom loves.

this is pt.1 of how everything is going down and then the next and final part will be what happens after, her pregnancy and what reader does this time around. along with some fan social media mayhem.

id love to hear your thoughts!

enjoy!

LAS VEGAS, USA | NOV 2024

The nausea settling in the pit of your stomach is unbearable, it gets worse with each lap you complete. You're confident you can push through and finish the race without throwing up in your helmet, until the track begins doubling and tripling.

You haven’t felt this dizzy since you crashed in Spa three years ago due to rain. There were no stakes then as you were having a bad race weekend and started P7. Today you’re P1 and the gap between you and Max is getting shorter as you slow to try and compensate for the nausea and dizziness.

You hear your team in your ear, asking you if the car's giving you trouble since there’s no apparent reason for you to be slowing down at this point. Especially with ten laps to go.

“The car is fine,” you say through gritted teeth, trying to relax your abdomen to keep the nausea at bay.

“Then what’s the matter? Are you okay?” Riccardo, your race engineer, asks. His tone is stern yet concerned.

“Yeah, I’m perfectly fine. My head feels like it’s spinning is all.” You're nonchalant but deep inside you’re panicking. This race means so much to you and your team. Now is not the time to get sick.

“Can you finish the race?” His filtered voice asks through the radio.

“Yes, I’m finishing the bloody race,” you curse, pressing on the gas pedal and tightening the hold on the steering wheel.

“If you continue feeling this way, box immediately,” he orders, not wanting to risk the safety of his driver, “By the way Max is 2 seconds behind you.”

“Fucking hell.” After all the work to create a 10 second gap Max is catching up because your body decided to get sick.

There’s rage building inside of you, keeping Max away is the most difficult part of racing. It took pure skill to keep him at a distance, he’s only catching up because you’re slowing. You're letting yourself down.

It’s been a battle of pole positions and fastest laps for you two. The championship is within your reach, threatening to break Max’s two year streak. It's why Max is giving everything he has to get ahead of you. If he wins this race he’ll be on top once more.

Another bout of nausea takes over your body, shivers running down your spine. Why are you nauseous and dizzy? You were hydrated before the race, the temperature in the car is warm as always but it’s cool outside, unlike Singapore, and you felt perfectly fine earlier.

It’s most likely karma for teasing Max this morning and leaving him with a raging hard on.

You notice Max in your peripheral vision. He’s ready to attack and regain P1. You accelerate and block him as best you can but nearing the turn you miscalculate giving Max the perfect opportunity to pass you.

He settles right in front of you, mocking how he got ahead so easily. If you didn’t love him and felt the bile coming up your throat you would’ve cursed at him. You were famously known for insulting the men driving the other cars.

At this point, you weren’t driving straight and your race engineer, Riccardo was telling you to pit and pull out of the race.

“I promise you I’m good enough to finish the race,” you say after a moment to swallow the bile coming up. You'd rather die than DNF'ing with a handful of laps to go.

“Norris is catching up. Let’s finish this race quickly so you can get checked.”

You’re glad you created a gap at the beginning of the race, otherwise Lando and Charles, your teammate, would’ve caught up already.

You see Lando trying to overtake you but you surprisingly block him and go as fast as you can. It’s not your best work and the FIA will have something to say about it but you make do.

Finally, down the final straight you press on the gas and cross the finish line. You finish the race out of pure muscle memory since you can’t rely on your distorted vision. Ignoring the celebratory cheers, you pull up on the spot marked #2. No one says anything about the askew parking job.

Your hands are clumsy, pulling out the steering wheel and standing. One of your teammates is right there giving you the hand you clearly need as you sway and almost fall straight out of the car.

Max is none the wiser, calmly getting out the RB and running over to his team who congratulate and scream his name. In his head, you lost control of your car, giving him a way to pass you. That's how F1 works.

You pull on your helmet and all the straps fast, the Ferrari team member helping you when he sees your urgency. As soon as you pull off your balaclava you bend over and empty the contents of your stomach.

Privacy be damned.

It’s not pretty. You’ve been holding this in for 20 laps and it’s not going to stop any time soon. The cameras focus on you as you push away the Ferrari team and finish throwing up. Ready hands catch you and you’re sat on a wheel chair as they roll you over to the medics. You close your eyes and throw your head back, everything around you spinning.

The murmurs of the crowd and the media cause Max to notice. He catches sight of you being wheeled away into the back. He takes a tentative step towards you, itching to be by your side but remembers the agreement you made to keep your relationship a secret.

Sometimes he hates how stubborn you are. At this point, the world should know you two are together, married even. Yet he understands your hesitancy with how cruel the media and the fans can be.

Max stays rooted on the spot, watchful eyes and dozens of lenses noticing every movement. Lando gets close to Max trying to avoid the cameras.

“What happened?” Lando asks referring to you.

“No idea, mate,” Max says, staring intently at the door you were just rolled through. A sleuth of Ferrari members following.

“She wasn't driving straight,” Lando shakes his head. He knew something was off when he caught up to her. “It was so unpredictable it made it harder on me to battle it.”

Max didn’t think much when he pulled up behind you but he did think it was strange how easy it was to overtake you. You always give him the hardest time.

He remembers this morning when you were in bed kissing him, touching him, teasing him. You were so cheeky, his length in your hand as you sweet talked him. 'Convincing' him to throw the race. Not like he’d ever do it. You were simply having your fun with him.

There wasn’t any sign of sickness then. It’s not like you spun out during the race either. You had been flawless out on the track until you weren’t.

“I'm going to check on her,” Max tells Lando, motioning with his head and wondering what exactly is wrong with his wife.

"Just wait," Lando stops him with a hand on his chest. They notice Charles in the Ferrari garage, heading to the back where they have you. "If you go, it'll stir up rumors."

Max tenses his jaw and looks away. With a roll of his eyes he turns to get weighed. He doesn't like it but Lando is right. He doesn't give a damn about his reputation only yours and the promise he made you.

f1_news tweeted: Ferrari’s Princess is transferred to hospital after race. It was heard through their radio she was having severe motion sickness, giving Max Verstappen the lead. Not many details are known as of this moment. More updates coming soon!

comments:

user2: hope she’s doing okay! she needs to come back to kick max's ass and take the championship from him 😮‍💨

user3: bet max is celebrating

-> user4: he looked very concerned when he saw her in the wheelchair

-> user14: who wouldn’t, she looked like death 💀

user4: did ya'll notice max disappear after the ceremony?

-> user5: lol he was making sure his favorite rival was okay 🤣

-> user101: no point in staying if he can’t rub it in her face 🤐

user6: our ferrari princess 👸 looked out of it. not sure how she made it out the car

user7: the podium felt so empty without her in it 😓

-> user8: did you notice max kept looking at the spot she was supposed to be as if expecting her to suddenly appear

-> user9: she’s like his best friend and his enemy wrapped in one. can’t live with her, can't live without her

-> user10: i swear he’s in love with her. 🗣️ it’s not normal the way he looks at her

-> user11: please, she’s married. you guys need to stop being delusional and stop shipping her with every guy on the grid

-> user10: not every guy, just max and maybe charles… -> user76: let's take a moment to appreciate charles immediately asking about her and leaving the track to see how she was. it's a win for us predestined x princess shippers

In the hospital, they quickly take you into a private room. The nurses retake your vitals and give you a shot to help with the nausea. A doctor comes in relatively quickly, asking you an array of questions to help him figure out why you got sick.

"The nurse should be in quickly to draw blood. I'm not too worried about this being anything other than a virus but we just want to make sure you're all good before leaving."

"Thank you, doc," you respond, lying back on the bed. They've given you one of the flimsiest hospital gowns in existence but you've gotta admit it's more comfortable than your race suit.

It's awfully lonely in the hospital room but it gives you time to relax and wind down. Fred and Riccardo were extremely concerned for your well being- not related at all to the fact you're on the run to win the championship-forcing you to go into the hospital.

Their stressed energy, the ambulance ride and then the nurses fussing over you was overwhelming. It would've made your nausea worse had it not been for the shot.

You're snoozing off when the door opens and your husband walks in. Max has a backpack slung over his shoulder with a set of clothes for you, along with your phone and other personal belongings you left at the paddock. He hurries over to you, dropping the bag and wrapping his arms around you.

"I was so worried, schatje," Max says in your ear, kissing your temple. The softness of his hoodie and the familiar scent he carries is comforting.

"I'm okay. You should keep your distance though, doc says I have a virus," you tell him, slightly pushing him away.

He’s stubborn as he keeps hold of your hand. "I don't care if I get sick. We've got two weeks until the next race, plenty of time for me to get better." Max sits on the chair next to your bed, asking you what happened during today’s race and listening to every word you say.

"What did they do for podium?" You later ask curiously, turning on your side to get more comfortable. Max props his head on his hand as he leans on your bed, getting closer to you despite your protests.

"Riccardo was there to accept it," Max tells you, kissing the back of your hand. He had been really worried. A part of him kept checking his surroundings for any sign of you.

It’s days like today where he wishes your relationship wasn’t secret. Max wants to express how worried he was about his girlfriend wife. He wanted to say ‘fuck you’ to all protocol and go after you.

He understands your reluctance and the need for privacy in your personal life. He knows what it’s like to have his privacy invaded and Max agrees that good things have come out of keeping your relationship a secret but you’ve also had to miss out on others. One day, you’ll have to come clean to the public to be able to live your life to the fullest.

The doctor returns before he can vocalize this. He knocks on the door as he steps into the room, a tablet in his hands. “Results have come back. Would you like the gentleman to step out or is it okay if he stays?”

“He’s my husband,” you tell the doctor.

You're used to people not recognizing you outside of Formula One but Max is more known than you. You wait for the doctor to react at the sight of Max, except there’s not an ounce of recognition in his face. Good, or else, you’d have to rely on his patient-doctor confidentiality.

“Let’s get into it then. Lab’s show dehydration which is normal for the state you came in like. In addition, to the fact, you had just finished a physically demanding race. Surprisingly they also showed that your quantitative hCG levels are high meaning—"

“I’m pregnant?” You pan, shocked. Max's hand tightens around yours. Last year's endeavors left you with enough knowledge to know what that term means.

“Yes, you are pregnant,” he nods.

Max instantly turns towards you in complete shock. There’s part of him that’s happy but then there’s another that’s concerned. Personally, he’d love to have a child but it would mean you would have to sacrifice the championship.

You stare at the doctor with parted lips and furrowed brows, “That’s impossible. I have an IUD.” This couldn't be happening at a worse time.

“All methods of contraception have a percentage of failure,” the doctor sighs. “Your pregnancy explains today's sudden dizziness and nausea.”

“Do you know how far along she is?” Max asks, holding your hand tightly to show his support.

“We would need an ultrasound for that but based on her last menstrual period it can’t be more than 6 weeks.”

“Six weeks,” you breath out. You could only hear your pounding heart and the air coming in and out of your mouth. God, you've been training and driving the whole time. For fucks sake, just two weeks ago you had been celebrating your win with lots of alcohol.

You hardly hear the doctor excuse himself, leaving you and Max alone. Tears brim your eyes at the cruelty of the universe. You have in your hands the two things you want most in life. A shot at the championship and the opportunity to become a mother.

Max sits on the bed, wiping away your tears. He doesn’t say much, at a loss of words. There’s not much he can say to make this better but he thumbs away your tears and pulls you into a hug.

You fist his shirt in your hands, crying onto his shoulder, “This is not fair.”

“I know, schatje.” Max is at a loss. He understands the conflicting feelings you have. It’s no easy thing especially after everything you and Max went through.

“I can’t go through this again,” you sob, remembering the painful memories of the previous year.

United Arab Emirates | Nov 2022

The last race of the season has come quickly, deeming Max the World Champion for the second time running. He’s at the top of the podium as the Dutch national anthem plays. You look up at him from the third position, smiling at him proudly.

You’re frustrated that you weren’t able to catch up to him but you’re confident your time will come. Every year you’ve spent in the grid you’ve been able to rise through the ranks and get great contracts.

Mercedes took a chance on you this year and you’ve made them proud. It was a challenge against Ferrari and Red Bull but as the only woman you’d say you did brilliant.

You’re going to miss this next year but a break is due. After years of hard training and dedicating everything to your career you’ve decided to focus on your personal life.

It’s been nearly a year since you’ve married Max and the conversation surrounding children becomes more constant. It's a nagging sensation in the back of your head. A longing you can't stop.

Feeling at peace with your performance, you decided to take this next year to become a mother. You’re young so in two years you’re sure you can come back stronger than ever and give Max a run for his money.

As the ceremony comes to an end, the party begins and the champagne bottles are brought out. “Don’t run,” Max laughs, spraying the frothy liquid in your direction.

You fight back, shaking the bottle and spraying some at Max and Charles. They gang up on you as Charles blocks your way and they both spray you. That will keep the fans making edits for months to come, the implication of the action clear.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Charles yells over the cheers when you aim the spray at his mouth.

Getting off the stage and into a private room, Max takes off his hat and pulls you in by the waist to press his sweet tasting lips against yours. You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. “Congrats two-time world champion.”

“Thank you, schatje,” Max responds, brushing back the hair sticking to your forehead.

“Get a room you two,” Charles huffs, knowing you forgot he was there.

“Sorry,” you say with a blush.

“I’m not,” Max laughs, stealing another kiss.

Outside, reporters of all kind were waiting to interview all three of you. They want Max’s celebratory words and you and Charles’ disappointment and regret. They live for the heartfelt promises you'll make for next season.

“Over here!” A reporter calls you, handing you a microphone. “What’s the plan for next year? Are you renewing with Mercedes or is there another team making offers?”

“I come with sad news,” you pout at the camera, “I won’t be on the grid next year.”

The reporter stares wide-eyed at you. This is the first time you've said those words out loud. “Could you share with us why?”

You nod at his question, fixing your hat as you speak the words you rehearsed many times before. “Since I was young I was prioritizing racing and getting into Formula One. I love how far I’ve come but I want to take a step back and enjoy my personal life for a little while. As you know, I got married a year ago and I want to enjoy that newlywed life. I will be back though,” you say with a smile and a wink at the camera.

“Is there a chance you’ll tell us who the lucky guy is?” The reporter questions, not really expecting you to answer. That the one thing you won't disclose.

You laugh, shaking your head at him, “No chance. I like to keep my personal life private.”

“Worth a shot," the reporter laughs with you. "Thank you for your time and we hope to see you soon!”

youtube upload: The Grid's Princess QUITS

thumbnail 📸: Toto Wolff looking angry and yelling at a Mercedes staff member. Lewis Hamilton with an arm around an upset looking reader.

comments:

user25: our queen is leaving? 😫 user30: who is going to keep the boys in check -> user5: i bet that’s why she’s taking a break, it’s not easy keeping charles and max under control user6: aren’t we curious as to who this mystery husband is? 👀 -> user17: i bet it’s either someone old or a billionaire, or both, i mean did you see the rock on her finger? -> user 46: oh they must be loaded to win over the grid's princess -> user96: i'm sorry but until i see proof of this man i will continue to set her up with charles user59: please, use a more dramatic title user48: i'm ready to fight 🤺 whoever made her stop racing. she's the only reason i watch them go in circles. who else is going to learn french to curse out charles properly? user55: *sigh* guess it’s time to rewatch all of the edits of her and max on repeat until she returns user104: let’s make a game. take a shot every time max and charles mention her next season.

Monaco | March 2023

When you temporarily retired, you thought you'd become pregnant in a matter of weeks. That is not the case.

Movies make it seem so easy to become pregnant, when in reality, it’s a challenge. It took nearly four months and multiple doctor visits for you to become with child.

The Winter break was spent tangled in sheets, keeping warm in each others embrace. Max was insatiable and so were you. Any chance you had you’d be dragging him somewhere private, his hands pulling at your underwear to tug them off...or to the side.

Max's voice would be in your ear as he spoke of how good you take him. He'd encourage you with words he'd never otherwise use. His cologne would intoxicate you, putting you in a trance.

His hold was firm and steady, making you shake and arch against him. His length sinking into you until you came with his name on your lips and his seed inside you.

Then, it finally happened. A positive pregnancy test in your bathroom counter. The alarm rang loudly, making you and Max share a nervous glance.

“You look,” you say with a shaky voice and shakier hands. Your period was late, followed by your tender breasts and the morning sickness. You fear your body was making it up because you wanted it so much.

“Before that,” Max says, cupping your face, “Don’t be disappointed if it’s negative. We’re just getting started and we have a whole year to try, yeah?”

You place your hands over his and nod with a small smile. Max presses a kiss to your forehead before he picks up the home test.

Max erupts in a smile, nodding and showing you the word positive. You scream, falling into his arms. He spins you around, kissing all over your face.

You and Max are over the moon, giddily waiting for every appointment with your doctor. Every ultrasound was recorded along with the babies heart beat.

Max is ecstatic. He's been wanting to have a family with you since he realized you were the one. He thought it wouldn't happen for a long time but then you revealed you wanted it too and soon despite your career.

It took a long conversation to figure out how to go about it with both of your careers being at their peak but you came to an agreement. He was ready be a father and you were ready to be a mother, even if it meant putting your career in pause.

Your desire to bring a child into the world was greater than giving the championship another shot. Whenever you're ready to return to F1, he'll take a step back and support you.

Max planned a dinner with the whole family where you told them you were expecting. Plans to decorate the nursery littered your coffee table and your internet browser history was filled with shop links with cute clothes and baby items.

Weeks later, it happened. Something felt wrong, off.

“Maxie,” you breathe heavily, feeling wet between your legs. Cramps littering your lower abdomen.

“What's wrong?” Max sits up in bed, sensing your distressed state. His gaze fixes on the red stain forming on the white sheets.

“I’m scared,” you cry, afraid to move or do anything. Cramps squeezing your insides like a bad period.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here,” Max reassures you, “Let’s go to the bathroom, yeah? I’ll call the doctor.”

A quick trip to the ER confirmed it. You miscarried.

You couldn’t look at Max that night, hugging yourself tightly as he drove home. You ignored all the glances he threw your way, shiying away from the hand that reached out for you.

All that happiness you felt drained out of you, leaving complete sadness behind.

Max was sad about the baby but he was more focused on you and the toll it took on you. It was always a possibility. The doctor spoke about what to expect on the first trimester and this was one of the things he mentioned. You both chose to ignore it at the time.

Max kept most of the lights off in the apartment. Remembering the bags with baby stuff from your online shopping. He kept the spare bedroom closed, where you were planning how to arrange it and paint it to transform it into the nursery.

He’s never seen you this devastated. After years of knowing you and dating you he never had the chance to see you at your lowest. It breaks his fucking heart.

Max holds you that night while you're in pain and bleeding. He rocks you as you cry, tears spilling from his eyes too as all that new hope is crushed.

You need him. Max is all you have at the moment because while he goes to race on the weekends and clear his head, you stay home with the weight of losing a baby.

Zandvoort | August 2023

With medical clearance and a couple of months to heal mentally. You and Max got to trying again.

You aren’t quitters and again you both desperately want a child. There's lots of sex, more than before. Something reignited in the relationship, like when the relationship began. Nothing could keep you away from Max back then.

He would fuck you wherever he could. Often times risking being seen. It was a moment where neither of you cared about being caught or being exposed to the whole world.

The Two-Time World Champion and the Grid’s Princess. Happily Married and Horny for Each Other.

The second time you found out you were pregnant was in Zandvoort, Max’s home race. You weren’t traveling as much trying to give your body rest and hopefully encourage it to take but this was a special track for Max so you tagged along.

Similar symptoms were arising so you waited to arrive at Zandvoort to take the test with Max. You were once again in the bathroom, sitting on the counter. He was between your legs, his head on your chest, waiting for the four minutes to be over.

“If it’s negative?” You asked, your fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp to relax him.

“Then we try again and again and again,” he says cheekily, grabbing onto your thighs and kissing you.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you,” you giggle, pulling at his roots to make him groan.

“Perhaps but I’m not the one yelling out my name,” he smirks, recalling the other night when he had you with your legs up on his shoulders as he entered you slow and deep. If he closes his eyes he can hear your whiny moans begging for him to tip you over the edge.

“Poor Checo had to call the front desk and fill in a complaint,” you giggle, hiding your face from Max with your hands.

“It’s not my fault I didn’t see his text,” Max shrugs, not having a care in the world.

He was in his suite with his wife, having fun and trying to conceive. It’s not his fault he was making you feel so good you felt the need to scream his name and it’s not his fault Checo’s bedroom was right next to yours. Blame the Red Bull team for reserving two suites right next to each other.

The triggering alarm sounds, making your heart race. This time you grab the test, deciphering what the faint lines mean. You ran out of the good pregnancy tests and you were too lazy to go out and get new ones.

“It’s positive!” You squeal, showing the home test to Max.

Max’s eyes widen, “We did it!”

“I'm so happy,” you tear up from joy, hugging Max’s shoulders. Nothing is stopping him tomorrow on the track. He’s going to ride this high as long as possible.

Max grabs your thighs, forcing you to wrap your legs around him. He carries you over to the bed, kissing your lips, your neck, your chest.

Max was going to make you scream out his name again.

There was little celebration. You and Max kept the news to yourselves for a while longer. You took every precaution on the book. You stopped traveling with Max afraid it was one of the causes of your first miscarriage. You took care of your diet, you did minimal exercise, took every prenatal vitamin you could find but much like the first time, it happened again.

This time you felt so defeated, like something was wrong with you. Like maybe you weren’t meant to bring a child into the world or become a mother.

Max found you on the balcony one night after it happened. It was freezing outside so he got a blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“‘I'm sorry,” you sniffle, not meeting his eyes. Your tears were cold against your cheeks.

“For what?” Max asks, watching you carefully. Your eyes red rimmed and nose runny.

“There’s something wrong with me and I can’t give us a baby,” you cry softly, wiping away at your tears.

You feel so ashamed and embarrassed. Having a baby shouldn’t be this fucking hard. You’ve done so much in life and this simple thing you can’t do. Something your body was designed to do.

“Hey, no. You know what the doctor said. There’s nothing wrong with you and there’s so many other ways we can have children together,” Max chides you, pulling his chair closer and grabbing your shoulders so you look at him.

“If there’s nothing wrong with me why does it keep happening?” You ask as your eyes well with more tears. They haven’t stopped in a good ten minutes.

“It’s not our time yet.” It’s the only thing Max can say. He doesn’t have all the answers in the world but there is one thing he’s sure of. “I love you no matter what.”

“I don’t want to go through this again.” Your bottom lip wobbles as you speak. The words getting caught on your throat.

It’s not like you don’t want children because you desperately do but you can’t go through another disappointment. More pain and more blood. More false hope.

“You don’t have to,” Max tells you, comforting you the best way he can. He picks you up, settling you on his lap as he wraps his arms around you. He kisses your head, coming up with words to make you feel better.

He doesn’t want a child if the process is going to cause you so much suffering. It’s hard seeing you like this when he’s used to seeing you be this independent strong woman, who broke barriers in a field of men.

He’s discovering a new side to you deep into your relationship. He loves you but it���s shocking to see you be this vulnerable when a lot of times you love to handle things on your own. In a way, he’s happy he’s able to be here with you and help you.

Monza | November 2023

In Formula One rumors spread like wildfire. Within the teams and its members and riders the reason for your break didn’t remain a secret for long.

It didn’t stop certain teams from reaching out and persuading you into joining them. As far as they know you’re not pregnant yet and you did promise to return one day.

As the only woman in the grid you pull in lots of sponsors and the media and fans love you. Having you on a team is a win all around, considering you also bring in trophies.

Ferrari is a big team showing their interest in you. They’ve sent your manager multiple invitations for you to come and visit Ferrari Headquarters. No strings attached just a simple tour and meeting.

It’s tempting. Driving for Ferrari is every F1 racers dream and to be invited to test out their car and talk business is an honor.

You went quietly to the meeting, undecided if it’s the choice you want to make. Mercedes awaits your return whenever you’re ready, having led them to victory many times alongside Lewis.

Oh, Toto Wolff has you in his sight constantly. If he knew you were at Monza he’d probably fly down and get you out. You’re one of his biggest assets yet.

“There's our princess,” Charles greets you, running up to you and giving you a big hug.

He missed having you around. The fans never let him forget of all the good times, constantly tagging him on instagram and twitter.

“Hey Charles,” you laugh as he sways you from side to side.

“I missed you,” he says as he guides you over to the garage.

“Missed me kicking your ass?” You quip, playfully pushing him.

“Please, competing against Max on my own is exhausting. Too much responsibility,” Charles admits.

“He’s having the time of his life.” Max has the most fun when there are challenges and Charles has proven to be a worthy one. Insults and all. He loves getting a rise out of him.

The Ferrari team sets you up with a bright red race suit, giving you a visual of what your future has in store.

The feel of the baclavla is familiar around your head and the weight of the helmet comforting. It’s been a year since you last wore the uniform and it feels like home.

You step into the car, slidding in the steering wheel. The crew gives you the signal to pull out and you do with a push on the gas.

The rumble of the engine is exhilarating as is the blend of colors around you. It comes back so naturally, knowing when to push the car when to break. Learning this car is easy, like it’s made for you.

It has the potential to be a winner, to help you achieve the goal of becoming world champion.

“Ready to join Scuderia Ferrari?” Frederic Vasseif asks you once you get out of the car. There’s a smugness to him. He knows you enjoyed it and you’re itching for more.

“I don’t know. Carlos seems to be doing really well,” you try to play it cool, taking off your helmet and baclavla to shake off your hair.

“He’s good but you’re the greatest,” Fred says, giving you a knowing look.

“If I accept it’s because I want to win the Championship,” you negotiate. Charles is the first driver and it makes sense he stays there since he’s been with the team longer but you will not sacrifice yourself for him.

“We wouldn’t have it any other way,” Fred agrees, extending his hand to shake yours.

“The predestined and the princess?” Charles smiles, wrapping an arm around you.

You smile and bite your lip, “It’s time to take down Max Verstappen.”

No wonder the fans think there’s a long standing rivalry between you and Max. You talk a lot about taking him down and winning the championship. With the trust you two have he bites back with words of his own. It makes for quite a show. They’re going to lose it once it’s revealed you’re joining Ferrari.

Your joy returning home is palpable. Max notices it the moment you walk into your shared home in Monaco. The cats notice it too as they weave between your legs asking to be pet.

"Hi, love," Max greets you, placing his hands on your hips and kissing you. You wrap your arms your his neck loosely, smiling into the kiss.

He doesn't let you go when the kiss breaks, his thumbs caressing your back. You smile at him, a hand on his face, as your fingers brush over his stubble. He leans into it. “How did it go?”

“It's top secret," you say cheekily.

"Really?" Max follows along amusedly, "You can't even tell your dear husband Max Emilian?"

It's been an inside joke since you started dating that the person you're dating is Max Emilian and not Max Verstappen. Helps keep things separated to a certain degree but mostly it's funny.

"Well, if it's Max Emilian asking I can tell him that I've just signed with Ferrari and that Max Verstappen will have some serious competition next year," you tell him as your smile widens.

“Congratulations!" Max exclaims, hugging you tightly. You laugh is music in his ears. From the moment you stepped in he knew something changed. You were laughing and smiling like a weight was lifted off your shoulders.

“I’m a Ferrari girl now and I’m going to take that title from you,” she boasts, playfully pushing him.

“That’s a big statement,” he says, playfully caging her in his arms. Max adores that her competitive streak is back, it's one of the things he fell in love with when you began dating.

Being married means being there in the bad and the good, in sickness and in health. He'll be by your side through it all but he'd rather have you be happy and competitive than depressed and anxious.

“What you think I can’t do it?” You laugh when he tries tickling you. Your this close to elbowing him if he doesn't stop.

Finally letting up, he cups your face and looks into your eyes as he says, “If there’s someone who is going to do it, it’s you. You're my girl after all.”

f1 posted on instagram: The Princess is back and in red. Everyone bow down. 📸: Reader wearing a Ferrari race suit posing in front of the new Ferrari SF-23. Comments: user8: holy shit she’s back

user95: this was not on my bingo card, but it was in my dreams every night since she left -> user57: like a wise woman once said in rome; this is what dreams are made of

user72: guess she had enough of that married life and is back to wreck these boys

user14: i might actually fucking cry. our queen is back and in ferrari red -> user98: red is definitely her color. -> user67: you know who's color it is too? charles... ->user53: you know who likes charles? max... ->user17: i can't with you 💀

user67: i want to see max squirm with both charles and her against him -> user55: please if anything it’ll turn him on -> user45: hell even i'm turned on

user88: wait does this mean she can’t curse at charles anymore? -> user68: don't worry, the second charles gets in her way it's coming. don't you remember that one time she almost crashed with lewis and she let him have it? -> user 90: i've never seen lewis be that fast outside of a car

user12: i’ve got my editing program ready, i’ll get all the edits. max x princess, predestined x princess, max x charles, i got them all -> user56: i'm not picky, i'll help -> user02: you should do one where she's walking in like in those wwe fights with the dramatic music

Monaco | Nov 2024

The conversation about the pregnancy is kept on pause. You and Max wait till you're back home in Monaco to continue it. It's fresh in your minds though as you try and make sense of he timing of it all.

There's only two more races to the season, you are so close to the end. You wish you hadn't found out till much later, they do say ignorance is bliss.

You're filled with fear and uncertainty. What if this pregnancy ends up like the rest? What if you give up the championship for something that might not even happen? But what if you chose the championship and give up a viable pregnancy?

The morning after arriving at Monaco you're in the kitchen with your laptop in front of you as you schedule an appointment with your doctor. The cup of coffee you made earlier is now cold as you could barely drink it with so many thoughts in your head.

You cover your face with your hands, groaning at the headache forming so early in the day.

Max finds you like that and he knows it's time to talk. He comes up behind you, pressing a kiss and resting his chin on your shoulder as he hugs you from behind.

"What's on your mind, schatje?"

You take a deep breath, focusing on him to try and gather your thoughts, "I don't know what to do, Maxie. What do I do?"

"I can't tell you what to do. I can tell you that I want to have a baby with you but I don’t want you to go through all that pain again or feel pressured that you need to do this for me. I love you and I want you to be happy. If it's choosing your career I'm here for you. If it's starting a family I'm here as well," Max says as he hugs you tighter until you relax against him.

You shake your head, lacing your fingers with his as they lie on your midsection. "It's the fact that the first two didn't end well and it was such a horrible experience. If I knew for a fact I was going to give birth to this baby I would drop the championship in a heartbeat."

"I'm happy with whatever you choose. Even if you decide that carrying a baby isn't for you. Later on we can try surrogacy or adoption."

It's 2024 and there are tons of options out there in the case you want to become parents. It doesn't have to be one way or no way. Plus, they are young and have their lives ahead of them.

"Really? You couldn’t be like one of the awful men who insist women need to have a baby? You’re making this hard on me," you lightly joke, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss it.

Max laughs along with you. He knows you've made a decision even if you haven't realized. He's only there to guide you. “You already made a decision, schatje.”

Your eyes return to your laptop where the appointment with the specialty clinic is displayed. “I need to give this pregnancy a chance. I mean think about it. I've raced, I've drank alcohol and it's still here. It happened against all odds, Maxie. What if it’s a sign? That the timing is right,” you say, recalling the conversation you had with him a year ago. “I just hate I need to withdraw from the rest of the races.”

Max made a decision that same moment, “I’ll pull out from the races too.” It feels shitty that because you're a woman you have to pull out the races for your safety and the baby's while he continues on like nothing has happened.

“What? That’s insane Max,” you exclaim, staring at him bewildered.

“It’s only fair. You have to do it to have OUR baby, why do you have to be the only one who quits?”

You laugh and shake your head, placing your hands on his chest, “You’re not doing that, Max. This is F1 and it’s ruthless which is why you’re so good at it. Besides, with last Sunday's race you're already ahead of me and there's no chance the others are catching up with two races to go. The title is yours," you reassure him, kissing the corner of his mouth, “It’s not my time to be a world champion yet and maybe it never will. I have to accept that."

Max scoffs, poking his tongue on his cheek, “No, you will be. Once you have this baby you’re coming back even if I have to give away my seat in Red Bull.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you hum, looking into his eyes.

“You beat me on your rookie year,” he reminds you.

Back when you started in F1 and neither you or Max were on the top you had friendly battles in the midst of the races. It wasn't for podium but it kept the fans entertained and recruiters eyes on you both. Max beat you most times but there was one day you beat him on a wet race which is unheard of.

“Once!”

“Once was enough!” He insists. Max fell in love with your competitive side, it didn't matter if you beat him or not. That day when you approached him with that big smile and malicious intent in your eyes he was done for.

“How will we handle the media?” He steers the conversation a different place. He's not sure how much longer he can keep the relationship a secret with a baby on the way.

“Same as always. They can’t know about us yet, Maxie. They will throw your name on the ground and say horrible things.”

If the media finds out that you're pregnant with Max's baby they will say it's sabotage cause he felt threatened that you were going to take the title from him. They don't care for details.

“I don’t know how much longer we can keep this a secret,” he confesses, trying to reason with you.

“Not long okay? After the baby comes,” you promise him. After the baby comes you will tell the world everything.

F1_news tweeted: The Grid's Princess is withdrawing from the rest of the races this season due to her health. Not much is known yet. Carlos Sainz to take over her seat.

comments:

user56: not again please -> user97: i'm in tears -> user57: alexa play 'see you again' by charlie puth

user64: i hope she's doing okay and is able to return next year. she was so close on getting the championship

user76: i love the queen but i'm happy to get charlos back again! -> user34: it's very bitter sweet isn't it? -> user57: i wonder if she'll be back with ferrari next year? -> user45: well her contract is for two years so if she's okay when the next season starts i don't see why not -> user08: contracts mean nothing in F1 user04: get ready to witness a pouty max -> user 87: these next few races will be a piece of cake and he hates it -> user72: i love lando and charles but there's no way they are going to give him a hard time

user46: this is the end of the princess, who is going to want her back? -> user 43: get the fuck out of here you hater -> user345: who asked for your opinion?

F1_fanpage: The Grid's princess seen walking out of a clinic specialized in complicated pregnancies. 📸

user45: holy shit, it all makes fucking sense she’s pregnant -> user58: i didn't want to say anything but dizzy and nausea? it’s textbook pregnancy

user67: our queen is having a prince(ss) -> user176: who is the fucking dad? -> user404: he needs to be a part of F1 for her to still be around when she should be home resting

user47: she's glowing

user68: not her audibly rooting for carlos on the latest race -> user99: well it is only temporary and it's not like they kicked her out. she left because she had to -> user55: we love a supportive queen either way

user88: did ya'll see her interacting with max and charles after the race? they were so careful with her. it makes so much sense! -> user44: i'm hyperventilating we got a max hug! -> user 67: better yet we got a charles hug! -> user12: opening up my editing program as we speak

Part 2 Coming Soon

The world is aware you're now pregnant. You got a job working for the F1 social media and interview team during your pregnancy. Rumors keep spreading about who your husband and baby daddy is. Fans keep shipping you with Max and Charles. Max might just explode if he doesn’t tell everyone, but will he?

[gloomwitchwrites]

What about the whole 141 ships it or tries to play wingman, but the couple are idiots in love and denial? Lol

The way I SMILED while writing this prompt. I had so much fun with this. Thank you so much for sending it in! This whole thing is just humor, hijinks, and shenanigans. And lots and lots of denial. Enjoy!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, brief alcohol, denial of feelings, shenanigans, humor, fluff, suggestive themes

Word Count: 1k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“That,” emphasizes Kyle by pointing in Price’s direction, “is a man in love.”

“It’s like watching your old man attempt to flirt,” mutters Simon.

“You’d know all about that wouldn’t you, Lt?” smiles Johnny.

“Fuck off, Soap.”

Kyle frowns. “Think we should do something?”

Simon side-eyes him. “Like what?”

“Step in?” shrugs Kyle.

“Look at him. I think the captain can handle himself,” replies Johnny, leaning against the doorframe as Price talks with you across the room.

As Price talks, he reaches for his mug. He shoots wide, knocking it over, and spilling the contents everywhere.

“Well…I take that back,” sighs Johnny.

Kyle shakes his head. “I can’t watch this.”

“We should help,” Johnny says over his shoulder. “These two lovebirds need a push.”

Simon snorts. “They’ll figure it out.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then they don’t.”

Johnny guffaws. “Hate to be dating you, Lt.”

Simon leans toward Johnny, voice low. “Want to have a go?”

Kyle reaches between the two men, snapping his fingers to get their attention. “Pay attention.” He shakes his head. “Fucking weirdos,” he mutters.

“Fine,” says Simon. “I’ll step in.”

“And do what?” counters Johnny.

“Tell them to kiss already.”

“No,” says Kyle. “No!”

“Too late,” whispers Simon as he walks into the room, heading for you and Price.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Look at those idiots,” sighs Kyle, leaning an elbow on the high-top table behind him.

Price and Simon stand on either side of him, watching as you and Johnny attempt to play pool. Johnny uses the cue stick as a support, both hands clasped over the top of it, chin resting on his hands. There’s a massive smile on his face, eyelids a bit soft as he gazes at you. You are not serene. With hands waving in the air, you appear slightly irritated but also amused.

“He won’t go for it,” replies Simon, crossing his arms over his chest.

“See how close they’re standing?” observes Kyle.

You and Johnny are almost on top of each other. Only one of you needs to lean in to erase all separation.

“Leave them be,” mumbles Price. “They’ll figure it out.”

Kyle addresses Price. “They’re both in love. Look at them. Their seconds away from having it off on the pool table.”

“If they start making out, I’m leaving,” grumbles Simon.

Price cracks a smile. “It’s denial,” he sighs, reaching for the ash tray to move it closer. “Lovebirds don’t want to admit it.”

Kyle shakes his head, turning back to you and Johnny. Johnny is teasing you now, cracking jokes, making you all flustered.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Simon. “Just fuck already. Give us all some bloody peace.”

Soap tilts his head slightly, whispering something to you that as you smacking his arm and laughing hysterically.

Price knocks back his whiskey. “We need a plan.”

“Agree, Captain,” replies Kyle. He turns to Simon. “You in?”

“You know it.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You look upset, Lt.”

“I’m fine,” growls Simon.

Johnny and Kyle both glance at Simon’s whiskey glass at the exact same time. Simon’s hand is clutching it tightly, knuckles white from the effort.

“Sure about that?” asks Johnny.

“Yes,” snarls Simon.

Johnny’s lips purse, his gaze shifting to a place across the bar. “Wouldn’t be that a certain someone—”

“I told you,” says Simon slowly. “I’m not angry.”

Kyle leans in, lowering his voice. “Johnny and I could chase them off. Give you an opening.”

Simon’s grip on his glass relaxes a bit. The intensity between his brow softens.

Johnny chimes in. “What do you say, Lt?”

Simon rolls his shoulders, straightening his back, the grip on his whiskey class easing completely. “Looks like they need saving.”

Johnny is nodding enthusiastically, already standing, pushing back his chair. He clasps Simon’s shoulder and nods at Kyle.

“I’ll go shepherd them off,” says Kyle, winking at Johnny as he heads in your direction.

“There’s nothing going on between us, Soap,” says Simon.

“Course, Lt,” nods Johnny as Simon gets up from his chair, aiming for you. When you notice Simon, the corners of your mouth upturn into a huge smile. “Nothing at all.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“What?” asks Kyle around his toothbrush.

Johnny and Simon have him cornered in the communal locker room. It’s late, the three of them just in from a quick mission. Simon looms, his stare intense as Johnny crosses his arms over his chest, leaning forward slightly like he knows a secret Kyle doesn’t.

The two men remain silent.

“This is fucking weird,” continues Kyle, his gaze darting between the two of them.

Johnny’s knowing grin widens. “You’ve got a thing for one of the team.”

Kyle blinks. “Price?” he splutters, little droplets of toothpaste shooting in various directions.

Simon chuckles. “The other one, smartass.”

Kyle spits into the sink and rinses the toothbrush under the faucet. “Don’t know what you’re on about,” he mutters.

Johnny steps around to Kyle’s right side, he and Simon boxing him in. “Do you think we didn’t hear the two of you over comms?”

Kyle takes a step back, hands raised. “Just a bit of banter.”

“Banter?” counters Simon. “That was banter?”

Kyle shrugs. “What else would you call it?”

“Flirting,” deadpans Simon

“Verbal fucking,” replies Johnny, just as monotone.

Kyle shakes his head, hands still raised like he’s about to ward off evil. “You have it all wrong.”

“Do we?” asks Simon. “Then explain what happened after we got off the plane.”

Kyle swallows. “Nothing.” Johnny’s knowing grin returns. He scoots closer and Kyle groans, running his hand over his face with annoyance. “Don’t go there, Soap.”

“Are tongues down each other’s throats nothing?”

Kyle places his hand over Johnny’s face and gives him a light shove. “Nothing happened.”

Johnny swats at Kyle’s hand. “Admit it!”

“Should go for it, mate,” says Simon.

“Nothing is going on!” Kyle tosses his towel onto the bench and slides on a pair of joggers. “Leave it.”

Johnny and Simon exchange a look.

“What?” prompts Kyle, shirt in hand.

Johnny leans in, lowering his voice. “Want us to have a chat with them?”

“Fuck off. The both of you.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

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@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[princessbellecerise]

You Kiss Their Scars

Summary ✩ How your lover reacts to you kissing their scars

Warnings ✩ Mentions of violence and blood

Jacaerys Velaryon

You were amused as your lips pressed against the teeth shaped scars, in the shape of tiny little bite marks that Jace explained were from Vermax

“He used to bite me plenty when we shared a crib,” Your husband told you. “He was a nasty little thing. Mother was afraid he’d take a chunk out of my arm—but he never did. He stopped doing it when I bit him back,” He revealed

You giggled as you imagined baby Jace and baby Vermax—both the same size at one point—going at it while Rhaenyra tried to separate them. “So I suppose you’ve both always been temperamental then,” You said

It was no surprise that your husband, who also had quite the temper, related so much to his dragon. The two were one of the same, and you guessed that’s why they got along so well

“Yes,” Jacaerys agreed, a fond smile on his face as he recalled the memories. “We were quite a menacing pair indeed.”

Aegon Targaryen

“She did it again,” Is the only thing Aegon had to tell you in order for you to pull him into your arms, kissing the spot where a nasty red bruise was forming

It was no secret that your husband and his mother did not get along, but never did you think that she would have the audacity to strike him after an argument

It was appalling to you every time it happened, and you wanted nothing more than to march towards her and give the same treatment, Queen be damned

It wasn’t fair that she took out her anger out on Aegon but he begged you, no pleaded with you to not do anything

“It won’t do any good,” He’d tell you sadly, and your heart would ache as you saw the brokenness, the sadness on his face. “She’ll just hate me even more if you act.”

Aemond Targaryen

“Hold still.”

You jutted your tounge out in concentration as you cleaned Aemond’s scar, making sure that it was sanitized properly for the day

Your husband trusting you with such a thing was an act of love itself. The fact that he trusted you to see his deepest insecurity meant alot to you, and all you could do to repay him and hopefully bring up his spirits was pepper light kisses on the skin surrounding it

“There, all done.”

“Thank you, my love,” Aemond smiled slightly as he touched the spots were your lips touched, still wondering how he got so lucky as to find someone like you

Cregan Stark

“Ow! Be gentle, woman,” Cregan said playfully, wincing as you brushed over his ‘scar’ with a wet cloth

Somehow, for some reason, your dear husband thought it would be funny to wrestle with his dire wolf and then he had the nerve to come crawling to you, asking you to patch up his wounds after the beast had bitten him

Of course, it wasn’t really that big of a deal and Cregan wasn’t really hurt, but you still smirked as you pressed a kiss to it like it was a real wound

“There. That should ease some of the pain, you big baby,” You teased, rolling your eyes

Cregan chuckled as he checked your work, looking at the bandage you had placed over some ointment

“What do you suppose it’ll look like when it heals?” He asked you seriously

“It’ll look like you simply have a freckle, Creagn,” You responded sarcastically, and then you giggled as he grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap

“Don’t make fun me, wife. You should be proud,” He said, flexing the arm where the bite was. “How many men do you know have taken on such a beast and lived to tell the tale?”

“Only you, husband. Only you.” You snorted at his dramatics, wondering just what you were going to do with your silly, drama queen of a husband

Benjicot Blackwood

There was reason they called your husband ‘Bloody Ben’

You found this out when one day, he came limping home after solving a conflict in the Riverlands, covered in wounds and blood—so much blood

Thankfully, most of it wasn’t his but Benji still did have a few wounds that needed looking after

The Maester was busy, having been sent by your husband to tend to the other men, so you got the pleasure of dragging him to your chambers, making sure that he was clean before you began to stitch him up

The entire time you worked, Benji barely even flinched which amazed you

By the time that you were done with his top half, he’d barely said a word or complained which led to you kissing over a few of his stitches as a reward

“What was that for?” He asked in wonder, a small blush on his cheeks while you grinned

“That, my love, is for being such a good patient,” You told him cheekily, and you did not expect what Benji did next

Standing up, he loosened his trousers and then he grinned as he pointed at the area beneath his small clothes

“Well in that case, I’ll need plenty of kisses here, too. No promises that I won’t move if you touch me there though.”

“Benji!”

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, childhood bestfriends to lovers, tlou'verse, jackson era, mild hurt/comfort

word count: 4.9k

summary: When your boyfriend is desperate to win back what he lost, he bets on you this time without your knowledge. And everyone knows you don't go back on your word when it comes to Joel Miller.

warnings: okay so technically not cheating because your boyfriend literally gambled you buuut if that's not your thing I totally get it, piv, dirty talk, choking, spitting, size kink, soft!joel & feral!joel, he likes hearing how big he is, affectionate whore calling™, a hint of analplay, oral (receiving and giving)

a/n: another joel fic inspired by p.orn, we love to see it

a special thank you to @nothoughtsjustmeds for the beta! 💕

Joel was never that into gambling. 

Back before everything had gone to shit, that had always been more Tommy’s forte than his own. Joel doesn’t remember the amount of times he’d had to bail his brother out, either by protecting him while putting himself in the middle or by giving him loans he’d never ever see again. Joel hadn’t minded. Tommy was his baby brother after all. As long as he was safe Joel was happy—annoyed, for sure, but happy. 

He was surprised when he learned that Jackson had a pretty heavy gambling scene and that Tommy wasn’t a part of it. He didn’t know why that was, because even on the nights where he had to go bail him out and bring him home all bloodied and bruised, Tommy just made the same mistakes. Not even Sarah’s worried expression, while she peered from between the wooden stair railing, deterred him from it. 

Guess it was different when your own kid was on the way. 

However, despite his lack of interest in gambling, he found himself betting away what little he had for someone else—someone he thought he would never see again. But honestly, he wasn’t half bad at it so he didn’t mind it that much. His only complaint was when he had to get messy hunting down those who didn’t pay up. 

One by one the men around the table folded, only leaving Joel and Liam. A huge stack of weaponry lies in the middle of the table, Liam’s eyes constantly flit between the stack and Joel. They stare at each other long and hard. Joel knows that he’s going to win. He usually did with these face-offs. 

Liam folds. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of Joel’s lips. There’s nothing better than to take what someone he absolutely detests wants. 

“Let’s go again,” Liam grunts, his forehead shining with sweat. 

Joel raises an eyebrow, “You don’t have anythin’ else to bet on.” 

“Come on now, Miller,” Liam leans back into his chair. “There must be something that you want.” 

Joel’s eyes bore into his long enough for the man to grow uncomfortable and nervous. Only then did he speak. 

“You still have that pretty girlfriend?” 

Someone Joel didn’t bother learning the name of pipes up from his right, “I thought we were only betting huntin’ supplies this time.” 

“Come on, let the man try to win his rifle back.” Joel grins. 

“Fuck you, Miller.” 

“Careful now,” he slowly places his elbows on the old table, his weight on it enough to let out a threatening creak. He cocks his head to the side, his smile small but still there. “My kindness wears thin.” 

Liam’s an addict. And of course, he says yes. 

“You fucking gambled me away?!” your voice is shaking, body trembling all over as you pace back and forth in front of the couch Liam was nestled on top of. At least he has the decency to look guilty. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Liam? I’m your girlfriend, not some kind of deer hide you can put on the table.” 

“Look I said I was sorry alright?” He stands up fast enough to make you flinch. He holds you by the shoulders, thumbs moving in a soothing manner. “Won’t happen again, I promise.” 

You scoff, “We both know that’s a lie.” You lift your chin up in defiance. “I won’t do it. I have free will. You can’t make me.” 

That makes Liam sweat. You can’t blame him, you’ve heard of Joel’s. . . outbursts. But honestly, that’s the least of your worries. You’re mostly confused as to why Joel asked for you specifically. You’re positive that he’d been avoiding you ever since he came into Jackson, only talking to you a handful of times. Why now? And why like this?

“Baby,” Liam whines, snapping you away from your thoughts. “You have to. He’s crazy, he’ll kill me.” 

“You should’ve thought of that before.” 

“Please. All you’d have to do is entertain him for the night, make him happy.” 

“So to be his plaything? Is that what you want?” 

“Maybe he’ll ask you to cook him dinner, hell if I know.” 

“Sure,” you roll your eyes. “I’m sure he’ll just want something to eat.” 

You give him one more look before slipping away from his gentle hold. Your heartbeat is slow, hours spreading across every beat, making your chest feel heavy and lightheaded.

“Fine,” you cave, wrapping yourself with your shaking arms. “But after this, I’m done, Liam. I’m so tired of bailing you out.” 

“You can’t leave, where would you go?” 

The soft tone he used while begging you to spread your legs for Joel quickly turns into a tone with sharp, dagger-like edges. You don’t say anything. Don’t answer him or agree with him. You’re lost in a broken world. 

And now, amongst all the things you’ve been through, you have to see the pity in your childhood best friend’s eyes. 

You don’t want to be here. You don’t. It’s embarrassing. 

Your boyfriend is in the other room, brooding on his couch, examining his life choices. You’re not doing any better. Your robe loose over your shoulders, the chill of the bedroom settling over your skin. It’s especially embarrassing because it’s Joel for crying out loud. You’ve known each other since you were kids causing mischief all around the neighborhood. You still remember the time you fell and scraped your knee, how he kissed it better and placed a pink bandaid over it because it was your favorite color. 

Why the hell had he asked for you? To humiliate you? Well, he definitely succeeded. 

The door opens and you jolt. His presence is large in the room, making you shudder despite yourself. Your pulse quickens. You shouldn’t be afraid of him yet here you are, trembling like a newborn doe. He closes the door with a gentle click, the wood creaking and solidifying your fate. 

You haven’t known him for years. Even before the outbreak had torn the world apart. You had moved away two years prior and after everything went down you never expected to see him again. When he showed up in Jackson you barely recognized him. He looked rugged, more salt than pepper in his beard, his eyes drained of life. He had scars that ran deep and he had found a kid along the way. You were surprised but relieved to see he still had a big heart. 

You were ashamed the first time you two sat down after years. Everyone knew of Liam’s gambling problem, he couldn’t help it, and you knew that Joel knew. You hated the idea of him pitying you, of him seeing the world weighing down on you. You’ve heard from around that Joel also started to place bets. Nothing too big though, unlike your boyfriend who would bet on almost anything in the house. You knew those bets could turn out violent and people feared Joel. Even in a safe utopia like Jackson, the kind of man he’d become traveled from ear to ear, striking fear. And when someone that owed him money ended up with a bloody nose and broken jaw. . . no one dared to deny him of anything. 

And it seemed like you were no exception. 

Joel stands in front of you, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, exposing sinewy muscle. He stands close. Close enough that you feel his breath on your lips. Your eyelids flutter before you avert them, tears stinging the corners. 

You drop the robe, the old fabric pooling at your ankles. You’re left in a decent enough-looking bra and somewhat matching underwear. 

“Not interested,” Your entire body goes taut, eyes wide. You hear the blood rush in your ears. Joel moves past you and takes a seat on the bed, crossing his arms over the expanse of his broad chest. You stare at him and a thick knot forms in your throat. He gives you a brief look before explaining. “I only wanted to teach your boyfriend a lesson. He’s reckless. One of these days he’s gonna be in real debt to me and, darlin’, I don’t want you gettin’ caught in the middle.” 

Your heart drops. You don’t know what you’ve been expecting but it certainly isn’t this. Tears blurring your vision, you quickly bend over and scoop up your robe, throwing it over your shoulders. Somewhere along memory lane, you forgot to remind yourself that Joel was your first; first crush, first love, first kiss, first time. But it just hadn’t worked out. You had stayed close friends until you moved away, he had Sarah, you had a promising career. You were planning on getting back to him. It just never came to be. Liam didn’t know you knew Joel, only Tommy knew about the connection you two had, mainly because he was there. 

And now you had Liam—Boyfriend who calls you names because he hates everything, Liam. Shitty boyfriend, Liam. Boyfriend who put you up as a prize, Liam. 

It’s just too much. All of it. Your heart can’t handle how unfair it all is. The pity Joel shows you, the way Liam treats you. He loves you, you know that much, but he just doesn’t care enough to treat you right or tend to you when he’s so broken himself. He doesn’t understand that you would take care of him just as much. 

And now you’re just a shell. A shell of your former self. 

The first salty tear slips from your lashes, it’s followed by another and then another. 

You manage to reach the end of the bed on shaky legs, collapsing, you cover your face, heaving silently into your palms. You don’t want Liam to hear you cry, deep down you want him to think Joel is fucking you this very instant. You want him to feel guilt, or at least a sliver of the way you feel. 

There’s a gentle hand on your shoulder. Your brain doesn’t even register that Joel is pulling you into his chest, wrapping solid arms around your shaking frame. He holds the back of your neck, squeezing tenderly just like he did when your mom yelled at you and he wanted to calm you down. 

“Why are you cryin’?” he mumbles. “I told you I’m not gonna do anythin’ to you. Or to him. I just wanted him to think before he put you in any danger. What if it wasn’t me there? Not everyone is as they seem in this town.” 

After all this time Joel Miller is still looking out for you. 

“It’s not that,” you answer, between sniffled and muffled hiccups. “I’m embarrassed and so fucking tired. I don’t want you thinking I’m some damsel in distress, even though me crying isn’t really helping,” you take a deep breath and peel yourself unwillingly from his chest. “I don’t feel good about myself. I never do with him. I just feel like shit with some more shit thrown over. And well. . . now I know that you don’t want me either. It’s just too much. But I’ll be okay, thank you for looking out after me even though I’m a mess.” 

He suddenly grips your chin and pulls you close enough that your noses almost touch, “What the hell makes you think that I don’t want you?” 

“You. . .” with a sigh, you look away. “You didn’t want to fuck me.” 

“You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

Squeezing your chin, he forces your gaze back to him. His lips are parted, pupils wide enough to hide the chocolate brown of his eyes. He seems just as surprised as you feel. Arousal pools between your legs, heat dripping down the curve of your spine. You press your thighs together and swallow. 

Joel’s hand moves up to your cheek and cups it gently, thumb toying with the corner of your lip, “I just never thought you’d be interested if I’m bein’ honest. Especially not after. . . everything I’ve done.” 

“You’ve done what you’ve had to do to survive,” you kiss the curve of his palm and he shifts, coming even closer. “I always wanted to come back to you, you know? You’re my first love, Joel Miller. Deep down I always wanted you to be the last.” 

Joel was never an emotional guy. He always had trouble expressing what he thought and felt, thinking he always had to hide behind large invisible walls. The outbreak had put a magnifying glass over that quality of his. You can only tell that your words affected him by how the crease between his brows softens and his cheeks gain a subtle red hue. 

He only grunts as he forcefully brings your hand to his crotch, his cock hard and throbbing under your palm. His lips skim down your neck, kissing where your pulse beats frantically. Joel grinds into your palm, “You still want to fuck with your boyfriend waiting in the living room?” 

“God, yes.” 

You stand up and he parts his legs for you, allowing you to take your rightful place between them. Looking up, his fingers dance up your shoulders, pushing off the robe so it once again pools at your feet. The fabric of your bra has worn away with time, meaning that your nipples meet no resistance as they stiffen under his gaze. Joel licks his lips and brings both thumbs to the peaks, rubbing them until they’re fully hard. 

Then he suddenly shoves you closer to him, your aching nipple met with his wanting mouth. He sucks through the fabric. Saliva darkens the color. He sucks and moans each individual nipple until both are hard like diamonds and only then do you find yourself on the bed, his mouth still on you, starving for more. Your back forms the perfect arch, the sheets feeling like silk against your skin despite them being years old—almost rotten.

He drags his lips down your body, rough facial hair tickling your skin, your hips helplessly stutters into the air. Two large hands pin your hips down. You can’t help the noises that tumble from your lips. For the first time, you’re feeling whole. He lays soft kisses against your inner thighs and finally, he reaches where you want him most. 

Joel sucks your clit through the fabric and your body jerks, seeking the heat of his mouth against your bare cunt instead. He smiles, digging his blunt nails into your flesh. 

“Patience,” he licks a stripe down your clothed folds. “I want you to be loud, sweetheart. Make noise for me. If you want me to fuck you, that’s my price—your sounds.” 

Liam never liked the sounds you made. Unless you were mimicking porn and whispering how close you were, which was a very rare occasion. 

Joel slides his hands up to the softness of your stomach, squeezing gently. Like you might fade away at any given second. He kisses the lips of your pussy and his eyes flutter closed. 

“Doesn’t it feel good,” he begins, his southern drawl more prominent as his voice grows deeper. “To have that prick in the next room listenin’ to me fuck you, riddled with guilt because he bet on his pretty girlfriend?” 

It does feel good. “You think I’m pretty?” 

“‘Course I do,” his brows furrow, eyes finding yours. “Prettiest girl I’ve known since the first day my dick got hard.” 

The words send a tingle up your spine but Joel doesn’t allow you to linger on them for long. He slides your underwear to the side. The fabric sticky with slick, he immediately presses his lips deep into your cunt, tongue swirling around your entrance and teasing it by pushing in the tip. You cry out and grip his head, your legs pressing against his ears. Your heart hammers within the confinements of your ribcage. 

“Gonna ruin you,” he groans, licking himself deeper and rutting the bed. Your eyes roll back, your body melting with every fat stroke of his tongue. 

Joel takes you apart slowly. His jaw moves, head lazily going from left to right. You feel so wet, soaked, from both his mouth and your slick. It’s almost like he goes slower the more soaked you are. He draws various shapes around your throbbing clit. You're left withering under him, shaking, begging, and moaning his name loud enough that the entirety of Jackson could probably hear. The wet smack of his mouth is followed by loud slurps and groans, and your stomach coils tight. 

After all these years, Joel Miller had certainly learned a few new tricks. He wasn’t that same teenager anymore, though, neither were you. He feels different, yet he also feels the same. Like a familiar wind stroking your skin. 

“So damn wet and sweet like honey, fuck.” 

He moves away and you nearly cry out of frustration, fingers burrowing into the old sheets. You only move when you hear the deafening sound of a belt buckle coming loose. Joel’s pants drop to his ankles, cock painfully hard and slightly curving to the side. Your mouth waters, “No underwear?” 

“Got too lazy to wash’em last Sunday,” he lazily strokes himself. Today is Tuesday. He’s been going commando all this time. More saliva fills your mouth, you don’t know why but the thought excites you and he seems to notice. “You always did get turned on by the weirdest things,” he mutters. “Now get on your knees, sweetheart. Been waitin’ a long time to feel those lips again.” 

You pout, “Forearms are sexy, ask anyone.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, his dark gaze makes you clench around nothing. He ignores your comment entirely.  “Don’t make me say it again.” 

You sink to your knees immediately after that. 

He’s so much thicker than you remember. The bulbous head a beautiful shade of red, shiny beads of precome gathered at the slit. You notice the vein meandering down the underside of his cock and you trace it with the tip of your tongue. The blood pumps harder in response, his length twitches and smears the shiny pearls against your cheek. 

You moan as you finally take him between your lips. The corners of your mouth sting from how wide you need to open to accommodate him. You manage to take him half way in, swirling your tongue, you hollow out your cheeks. 

“That’s it—That’s it, fuck—suck me harder, sweetheart, please—” his hips rock forward, his cock filling your mouth until the head is hitting the back of your throat. You choke on him and his head falls at the way your throat constricts around the width of him. He then pulls out, prompting you to look up. His hair is a mess, lips swollen and parted. “Use your spit, need you to wet my cock good if you want me to fit darlin’. I ain’t that teenager anymore.” 

You kiss the soft crease between his balls, rolling them with your tongue. You’re delighted to witness how he shudders at the soft caress of your lips, “I can see that.” 

“Get on with it then.” 

Joel sounds almost annoyed—no, not annoyed, but eager, desperate—to have your mouth wrapped around him with Liam in the other room. You don’t want to make him wait so you slowly allow a thin line of saliva to drip from between your lips. His thighs tense when it touches the head of his cock. 

“Is his dick as big as mine?” he asks, jaw locked, words bouncing off of clenched teeth. 

“No,” you gasp, dragging your lips down the length of him while staring at him through heavy lashes. “No, it’s not as big as yours.”

Suddenly you’re lifted to your feet, your body nothing but a ragdoll as he pushes you to the bed, the old mattress creaking with protest at the added weight.  

“Play with that fuckin’ pussy for me, I want to see it.” He wraps a hand around his weeping cock, his strokes hard and calculated. Your breasts tingle as you push a hand between your thighs, he clicks his tongue in disapproval, approaching the end of the bed. “Spread your legs wide, honey.” 

As soon as you open your legs and spread your folds for him to see how soaked you are, he’s quick to climb up the bed. Turning you to your side, he gets right behind you. Joel wets his own fingers, sucking on them with a loud groan before replacing yours with his own. He rubs your clit with precise movements, each stroke hitting the mark and making you see bright, dazzling stars. Your body moves on its own. Heat pools between your legs, your hips grinding back to feel the heft of him on your ass. 

“Joel, please,” you whimper. “Please, fuck me, please—” 

His lips touch your cheek and he breathes heavily, his chest heaving and rattling with every exhale. You feel the head of his cock slowly sinking into you, stretching you wide as his lips decorate your sweaty skin with fleeting kisses. 

“You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ well, honey,” your eyes roll back, a mild pain blossoming from where you two connect. He brushes his fingers over your clit, the sharp pleasure shortening your breath. “That’s it. That’s my girl takin’ my big cock so well. So good. So good for me.” 

Your jaw drops as you take him inch by inch. He continuously plays with your clit, kissing you and whispering words of praise while his tongue plays with your earlobe. You feel like mush. Like dough that only he can mold. Your lashes grow wet with tears, your heart beating so wild that you swear he can hear it as well. Joel slightly pulls back his hips and pushes back in, your breath catches in your throat, and soon enough he begins fucking you with shallow thrusts. 

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” he mutters into your ear. You nod helplessly, your body burning from the inside out. “Tell me, louder, come on,” a smack echoes in the small room, and pain blossoms over your ass cheek. “Come on, louder.” 

“Yes!” you cry out. In a weak attempt to meet his thrusts, you roll your hips. “Yes, this is what I wanted. I’ve never stopped thinking about it—never stopped thinking about you.” 

“Is this pussy mine?” 

“Yes, it’s fucking yours.” 

Your voice must’ve come out too much like a whisper because Joel’s pace quickens. He fucks you hard, deep, hammering into you until you’re struggling for air. He wraps thick fingers around your neck, squeezing until there’s pressure building under your eyes, your lungs burning. 

He loosens his grip around your throat, “I wanna hear it, come on now, don’t make me beg for it. Tell me, is it mine?” 

“Yours! It’s fucking yours!” 

Suddenly Joel is underneath you and you’re on top, his hips relentless as he snaps his hips up into you. It feels even better now. The way his cock massages your walls shooting crackles of electricity up your spine. He holds your ass with both hands and spreads you for his liking. 

You moan his name and when you look down, seeing him staring at your face, a sudden gush of embarrassment overwhelms you and with a small whimper, you cover his eyes with both your hands. Joel grits his teeth at that. He fucks you harder, the vicious way he presses inside making you gasp and drop your hands so you can brace yourself by flattening your palms over his chest. His eyes flash with anger. 

“Why the fuck—” he growls, “would you cover my eyes?” 

“I–I got embarrassed—” you squeeze your eyes shut and open them back again. You push down your hips, taking him to the hilt as a form of apology, but he doesn’t seem to accept it and holds you still. Your head falls back with his every thrust. 

“If you ever pull that stunt again, I’ll take you over my knee,” he rasps, ignoring the way your pussy clenches at his words. 

His finger teases your asshole and beads of sweat gather at your tailbone. Joel’s grin is dangerous, something you’d run away from rather than run towards. But you can’t help it. A wanton moan rattles your throat, your pussy clenching hard around his cock. He presses forward, burying his finger down to the first knuckle. You shudder over and over, your body building tension and releasing it simultaneously. 

“You like that, wildflower?” he groans, thrusting his finger in and out while snapping his hips up. “You enjoy it when I play with your tight little asshole?” 

“Fuck, fuck—Joel—yes, yes I do.” 

His other hand snakes around the back of your neck and yanks you down. His damp lips touch your ear, “Gonna fuck this hole one day, pretty thing. . . gonna fuck it so hard you’re not gonna be able to stand for weeks.” 

Before you can catch your breath, you’re being hauled towards the closed door, the emptiness you feel sudden and cold. He pulls your hips up, presses your cheek against the barely standing wood. Your hard nipples graze against the surface, a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine. Again, Joel thrusts forward, filling you to the brim. The mild pain tingles within your lower abdomen and you melt against him, eyes rolling back as you wiggle your ass for him. 

With every rock of his hips, your body hits the door with a thud and you’re sure Liam can hear every forceful fuck, “Tell him how fuckin’ bigger I am than him—I wanna fuckin’ hear, it come on.” 

“He’s so much bigger than you!” you groan, bracing your palm against the door. “You hear me, Liam? Never had a bigger cock in my life, I’m soaked.” 

Liam’s muffled voice follows through, “Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is wrong with you? You fucking whore!” 

You know it shouldn’t, but his words still jar you. 

“I’ll fuckin’ break his hands for that, don’t you worry darlin’,” Joel mutters into your skin, his words marking you as something untouchable. “And I’ll make it fuckin’ hurt.” He then kisses your shoulder and shouts towards the door, slamming especially hard this time so the thud of you hitting the door echoes. “You’re the one who gambled her like some kind of prize you dickhead. Don’t blame her for feelin’ good about it!” 

“You could never satisfy me,” you say barely above a whisper, like you’re not entirely sure you’re allowed to feel good about this. About finally having him all to yourself. 

“That’s it, tell him,” Joel growls, pushing his cock even deeper. You swear that if you looked down at your stomach, you’d see a bulge, as impossible as that sounds. “Tell him.” 

You desperately grab at Joel’s forearms, feeling the sinewy muscle tense. Your slick drips down his length and wets the inside of your thighs. With a loud moan you repeat your words and it feels delightful. 

You only smile when you hear the outer door close shut. Liam is gone. 

“Yes yes yes,” Joel murmurs into your neck, ramming into you harder. “That’s it, come on my cock, sweetheart, please—I wanna feel it—” 

Your breath catches in your throat, body seizing, “B—Bed,” you manage to choke out. 

If he pulled out, you’re not aware. His body is a constant presence against your back, lips always latched on to a patch of skin, tasting the salt. Joel lays you down gently and pushes your legs high enough that it grazes your forehead with every desperate snap of his hips. 

“Is this what you want?” he groans, the wet noises of him fucking into the tight fist of your cunt bouncing off the walls. 

“Yes, Joel— this is what I want.” 

“My whore,” he leans over and grinds into you. He slips his tongue into your mouth, sucks on your tongue. The back of your thighs ache with protest but you whimper into the kiss anyway. Breaking the kiss, Joel breathes into you, “My good sweet little whore,” and another kiss. 

Your eyes roll back, “So deep,” you groan, breaking the kiss. 

“Deeper deeper deeper,” Joel mocks you by mimicking your dazed tone with his drawl. He slowly pushes in, holding himself there, he halts your breath. “How’s that, wildflower? Deep enough for you?” 

“Oh god, Joel—” you choke. You fist the sheets, your cunt fluttering and throbbing. He doesn’t move, he flexes his cock and the pressure of that is enough to break you. 

Joel wasn’t expecting it, this much your muddled brain is able to realize from the shocked groan he lets out. His lips find purchase on your forehead, kissing and mumbling praise as your entire body clenches and releases, your pussy gushing around him. You feel the trickles of fresh wetness ripping out of you and all you can do is take it when Joel resumes his thrusts, fucking you through your messy orgasm. 

Despite your insistent begging of wanting him to come inside, Joel pulls out, coming undone instantly as he does so. He rubs himself over your mound, thick ropes of come spurting across your stomach and even the underside of your right breast. He releases your legs and they fall limply to his sides. 

Joel kisses you long and deep, his weight comforting above your trembling body. When he finally pulls away, he lets out a low chuckle and brushes your noses together. 

“I think he left, sweetheart.” 

“Good,” you mumble and press a quick kiss to his flushed lips. “All I want is you.” 

Liam’s not your boyfriend anymore. 

[bunnyinvanilla]

sugar daddy bar!owner john price x sugar baby!waitress series

🥀 |warnings: +18, laaargw age gap (reader is 21 and price is in his 40s), fem!reader, sugar daddy/baby relationship mentioned, not smut but suggestive.

price thought a doll like you deserved a grown, strong old man like him to treat you like a princess — spoil you rotten, wrap you up in bubble wrap and take care of you. You didn’t need to work, get your pretty hands sore and tired from pouring drinks all the time. he’d give you all the money you needed to pay off your college and to get all the pink, girly things you liked so much, ribbons and all. You just needed to sit cutely on his lap, to be his, and he’d give you the whole world. He was in his 40’s, you had only recently turned 21, a flower on the prime of her blossoming youth, who could give an old, worn out man like him some sugar.

that’s why he offered you to be his sugar baby. that offer, made you flush on the spot — he was so confident and composed, unfazed by his own words. The moment he saw redness spread over you cheeks, he knew he had you. His mustache twitched, his salt and pepper beard stretched as he wore an amused, lazy smile. you were always so obedient and compliant to him, always chirping a “yes sir” to anything he’d ask or tell you to do, a sweet, young, too young lil thing, eager to earn his praise, to feel those goosebumps trail down your skin when he muttered a gruff, deep “good girl”, you’d be the perfect submissive, you’d have it in you to be trained already, even in your innocence and inexperience..

..but, you’d initially declined his offer, because “I want to earn that money, sir, and I’d feel bad if you just..gave it to me like that”

oh, how honest, naive, innocent and pure you were. He admired that about you, but you could see it in his eyes, the way he cocked his thick, dark brown brow upward, that he didn’t believe you’d cling onto those words for long. He knew you were just too shy to accept, but you wanted to. You wanted to be his pretty, little girl. and he was right, as always. One particular night, you’d found a moment to lean your arms against the wooden counter and just breath. You’d been studying all morning, head buried in your notes, and when you got to the bar, you found dozens of soon to be drunk men ready to order alcohol and ask you to bring them ashtrays.

you wanted nothing more than go back home, snuggle in your pink, soft blankets and read your so loved books — it had just been a draining day, you enjoyed your job, but to be honest with yourself, the thing you liked the most was feeling john’s attention and eyes on you during your whole shift and maybe you could finally have someone provide for you.

so, that’s how you found yourself in front of his office door, hesitating lightly while millions of tiny butterflies flew around in your chest, your cheeks as red and warm as ripe strawberries under the summer sun.

knock, knock.

he’d recognized that knock. A feeble, light thud against wood. That couldn’t possibly have been Simon, whose hand could make the whole door shatter down with a single knock, nor Soap’s — bloody hell, that man never bothered to knock at all, he’d just break in.

so he wasn’t surprised to see you, standing meekly in front of his large, wooden desk, the hem of your skirt hugging your milky, bare thighs, your fingers fidgeting together and your eyes looking down at his sitting stance, shy and timid.

“what is it, doll? need ol’ price?” his voice was so rough, so husky, you wondered how it would sound from between your thighs, or from behind you, while his large palm pulled your hair to make you arch against him.

you blinked once, gathering courage to ask for what you’d secretly been daydreaming about, your boss, old enough to be your father, aging like the finest wine, showing you things you’d never ever experienced.

“about your offer, sir” your cheeks were burning, flaming up, “if I accept, can I still come here and help you around?”

“if you accepted,” he almost didn’t even let you finish, eyes already darkening at the thought, a wave of desire rushing through his weary, battle scattered heart, “you could do whatever you wanted, angel, you’d just have to say please”

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x READER ) [ Final Part ]

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: King Aegon Targaryen x Little Sis! Reader prompt: Aegon would do anything, if it meant killing every ratcatcher or gold cloak in the city, he'd so. word count: 1, 000+ words

You wept and wept. Aegon feared that you would never be able to stop. Helaena was no better, locking herself up and shutting down. The two of you spiraled into madness and tears. It only made him drink and rage more. He hated to see you cry. You were supposed to be the happy one out of all of your siblings.

Aegon was the drunken mess, needing to be put in line. Helaena was the odd one, in a dream-like state. You were the perfect little angel, his perfect little angel. Aemond was the brooding one, face pulled into a stupid brooding look. Daeron was the forgotten one.

Now you were the broken one. Rhaenyra has stolen your smile. Rhaenyra had stolen his perfect little angel from him. She took the good from you, leaving him with a broken mess. A mess he wasn't sure of how to repair. So, he was going to do what he did best. He was going to get even.

If Rhaenyra wanted to take the one good thing he had in his life from him. He was going to burn everything she cared about to ash. Even if it made him a monster in the eyes of his own Court. Because you were worth burning the world down.

Blood and Cheese. Blood was one of his men, or now a former man of the City Watch. Cheese was a rat-catcher. That's how they knew how to get into the Red Keep. They were paid to kill Aegon's son. The worst part of all it had to be the fact that your son was "just in the way". They had no reason to kill him. He wasn't the one they had been paid to kill. They just killed him because he was in the way of things.

Blinking back the tears in his eyes, Aegon stares at the club in his hand, the metal rusted and jagged. Blood's words confession ringing in his ears. They killed his son for a debt, but yours because they thought of him in the way. Collateral damage. That was your son was, fucking collateral damage. Nodding his head for a moment, he thought of not killing the man, just leaving him to rot. But, another part of him truly wanted to see him bleed.

"You killed my son. You killed my sister's whole world." Aegon states, his voice cold. "My sister's loved their son's. And you just killed them."

"The Seven will never forgive you for this." Blood blubber's out, "To kill me.."

"Ah, yes, but the Seven aren't here, now are they?" Aegon mocks, adjusting his grip on the club.

Motioning around the Black Cell's, there was nothing but the rats and darkness there. No one to hear Blood's screams. No one there to help. It was just Blood and Aegon. Alone. Looking at the jagged end of the club, Aegon brushes his thumb over it, seeing it was sharp enough to cut. Though it would not be smooth or painless.

"You can fuck with me all you want. You can beat me. You can mock me." Aegon states, "Do as you please to me and I can endure it."

Blood sobs, the chains around his arms and legs clanging and jiggling loudly. Mercy was below, Aegon now. Mercy was not shown to his son or yours. Why the fuck should he show it to Blood?

"See, my friend. The thing is, you made my sister's cry." Aegon's face goes deadly cold, "I don't like bastard's that make my sister's cry."

Bringing the metal club down onto the man's head, he doesn't stop, unable to stop thinking of you. The way you wept, sobs full of heartache. The way you clung onto him, the blood on your nightgown seeping into his own clothes. The way the bastard made you cry. The way the bastard made you feel so unsafe in your own home.

The way the bastard made you doubt him. The way the bastard made you think he was a liar. Feeling a hand grab onto his forearm, he's pulled out of his daze, now realizing the man was now dead. His head caved in a bloody mess. Dropping the club, he takes a step back, licking his lips. He can taste blood on it, though it was not his own.

A son for a son. A son for a son. A son for a son. They got there son. Now a debt was now owed, on behalf of your son. The cycle repeating over and over again. Lucerys died, Jaehaerys died in payment. Your son died, now Rhaenyra would die in payment.

"Your grace?" A kingsguard asks, "What shall we do with the body?"

"Feed him to the pig's. I have no desire for time or a hole to be wasted upon him." Aegon spits at the corpse for good measure.

Hearing the door to the chambers open, you couldn’t find the strength to get up from bed, clinging onto the blanket. You could still smell your son on it. He smelt of lemon cakes and mud. He always loved to steal the frosting off the lemon cakes, just like Aegon did. He was just a boy. He was innocent. Why him? Why? Feeling tears bubbling up, you did not wish to ponder on your son’s death. It forced you to think of the sounds of a head being sawed off.

Feeling the bed dip for a moment, you look over to see Aegon there, his doublet and breeches soaked in blood. Blood’s blood. Sniffling softly, Aegon leans over to you, tucking back a strand of hair from your face. It was comforting to be touched and tended to like this, like you were still a child and not a woman grown with responsibilities and duties. Like everything was still okay.

"It is done." He whispers, nodding his head.

You don’t say anything, not being able to find the right words. Even if you could, what would you say? “Oh, that is so amazing to hear from you, dear brother.” or some other bullshit. 

"You have my word, I swear it upon my life. I will burn everything down that Rhaenyra loves." Aegon pledges, "From her favorite tailor to her favorite child. I will avenge your son, sister."

"Aegon.." You croak out, trying to find your voice. 

"I will kill her myself. I’ll fucking feed her to my dragon.” He vows, “No one will remember the name Rhaenyra Targaryen, when I am done.”

“Aegon..” You try again, voice barely above a whisper. 

"She'd be a fucking myth. She'll be a fucking ghost of the Red Keep. No, no, not even that. I won't even let her haunt the Red Keep."

He doesn’t hear you, clearly swept up in his plots and plans for revenge on your behalf. His words left not a drop of comfort.

“I will do anything that you ask of me. Just tell me what it is that you wish and I shall do it. I’ll kill whoever you wish⎯" He rambles on and on. 

"Egg." You whisper, tears bubbling up.

The childhood nickname falling out of your lips naturally. You did not wish for grand words, for grand promises, or grand actions to be done in your name or favor. That was meaningless. Mayhaps when the grief dimmed, you would wish for revenge for your son. But, for now, at this moment. You just wanted your big brother to hug you. You wanted things to be back as they once were. Here you were just Y/n and he was just Aegon, your big brother. Not the King.

Feeling the tears bubble up more and more, you sniffle, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. You watch through teary eyes as he goes deadly still. You did not regret saying his old nickname. You just wanted to feel as safe and happy as you used to be in your childhood. You wanted to escape from the crushing reality that your son was dead and war was invincible now. Mayhaps it was childish. But, you wanted to be okay once more.

"Y/n.." He whispers, his face crumbling.

"Just hold me like you used to do." You whimper out, “Please.”

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

@lexi-anastasia-astra-luna 

[runnning-outof-time]

The Brother That Always Wins | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @kpopgirlbtssvt

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader, with hints of John Shelby and Arthur Shelby trying their hand at flirting with the reader

Summary: (Y/N) is oblivious to the fact that three of the most powerful men in Birmingham are interested in her. When it's all said and done though, the brother that always wins, wins.

Warnings: language, drinking, terribly written flirting

Word Count: 4350

A/N: this story turned into an absolute ride, one that I enjoyed much more than I thought I would. It’s a bit of controlled chaos…I hope you’re ready for it. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message Me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

"The fuck are you grinnin' for?" John Shelby asked as soon as his brother, Arthur entered the snug. He couldn't help himself, his older sibling's grin was able to be seen from a mile away.

"I just helped the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen in me life," Arthur proudly answered, his chest jutting out slightly as he spoke.

"Helped in what way, eh?" Tommy questioned, his one eyebrow raised. He'd been reading the newspaper and keeping to himself, only half-listening as John talked away about whatever, but he couldn't deny that he was interested in what Arthur had to say.

"I bet you he just stood there and gawked at her!" John chimed in before Arthur could respond, a smug grin on his face.

"I did not!" Arthur snapped back at his younger sibling, sending a glare his way, "I had a bloody conversation with her and all!"

"What happened?" Tommy asked another question, slowly losing his patience as he waited.

"So she was walkin' with a box, right? A big ass box...one that's too big for a lady like her to be carryin’. But she was walkin' with it. And so I was watchin' her from across the road, because she was goin' the same way I was. We must've walked for some time, how long I don't remember. Anyways, she gets to this one stretch and she trips...loses her fuckin' balance or something. All of the things in the box go flyin'. So I did what any man does and ran 'cross the street to help her. We put all the shit back into the box and then when she looked up at me, I thought I was gonna die on the spot. She was so fuckin' beautiful, lads. Shy, and sweet, and just fuckin'...gorgeous. I swear to you that if she would've..."

"Get on with the story, Arthur," Tommy interjected into Arthur's tangent, making him snap out of the attraction-riddled daze that he was quickly slipping into.

"Yeah, right," Arthur nodded, shaking his head slightly as he tried to recall where he was. "She was actin' so shy and thankin' me for helpin' her clean the stuff up that I couldn't but just be, fuckin'..."

"Arthur," Tommy said in a warning tone.

"I'm gettin' on with it," he brushed his brother off before continuing, "I couldn't help but not want to leave her. So I asked her where she was goin' and she said to the school. That was out of my way, but I didn't fuckin' care. I carried her things to the school she went on with thankin' me again. She was so fuckin' gorgeous and...shit, boys, I think I might be in love," he finished up his story, continuing on with it despite the scoffs or stiffled laughter coming from his brothers.

"You said she was going to the school?" John asked a question once it was clear that Arthur was finished with his story.

"Yeah...she's a fuckin' teacher, mate. Even better," Arthur grinned.

"Did you get her name?" John asked another question.

"Course I did!" Arthur responded like it was obvious.

Silence fell in the snug then, the three men looking between each other. John waited on bated breath for a few moments before it became obvious that Arthur wasn't going to say it without being prompted. "What was it?"

"(Y/N), I think it was," Arthur recalled, his answer making John choke out a weird sound, one that seemed to be a mixture of a scoff and a laugh. "What?"

"She's Katie's fuckin' teacher, mate!" John exclaimed, his declaration making Arthur's eyes widen. "She is fuckin' gorgeous, I'll tell you that," he then agreed with Arthur, a wide grin now plastered across his face.

John and Arthur then went about talking about her after Arthur prompted his younger sibling to tell him all that he knew about her. Tommy sat in his chair, half reading the paper and half listening to their conversation. He couldn't deny that he was intrigued by his brothers' stories, and everything they said about her made him want to go and meet her for himself even more.

"Can I help you?" (Y/N) (Y/L/N) asked the man that she swore appeared in her doorway out of nowhere. He was dressed in an expensive looking three-piece suit with an equally as expensive looking overcoat over top of it, as well as a peaked cap atop his head.

"I'm looking for (Y/N)," the man answered.

"You found her," (Y/N) smiled, setting her book down on the desk to give the man her full attention. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I was directed to you by the front office. They said you're in charge of the donations?"

"That depends...if you're looking to donate to the building, you'll need to speak with our headmaster, but if you're looking to donate directly to the children, you can speak to me," she explained with a smile. She was proud to have been named the head of the board that made sure the children in the school had the tools they needed in order to thrive in the learning environment.

"I'm looking to donate to the children."

"Then you're in the right place," she chirped, "you can come over here and we'll get into the details of it," she said then, waving him over to her desk.

He finally entered the room, and as he walked over, (Y/N) felt the commanding aura that swirled around him. It wasn't one that made her scared, but rather one that filled her with intrigue.

"Can I have the name for the donation?" she asked once she had a piece of paper and a pencil ready.

"It's Thomas Shelby," he answered her, watching as realization sparked in her eyes. He couldn't help but think that Arthur was absolutely right - for once in his life...she was absolutely gorgeous.

"Shelby? I have a student whose last name is Shelby."

"Katie?" Tommy questioned, even though he already knew who she was talking about.

"Yes!" (Y/N) happily answered, "Katie's such a lovely girl. Who is she to you?" she couldn't help but ask.

"She's my niece," he shared, his words making her nod in understanding.

"What sort of donation would you like to make, Mr. Shelby?" she asked then, the pencil ready in her hand.

"I'd like to make it so that all of the children in the year you teach have whatever they need to excel in their classes," he answered, speaking in a nonchalant tone.

"Oh...my goodness," she gasped, stopping what she was writing as the weight of his statement finally clicked in her mind.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, it's just that..." she trailed off, unable to put her thoughts properly into words, "no one has made such a generous donation before."

"I like to make sure that others benefit from the wealth I've gained," he told her in an assured tone. Well that was one of the reasons why he'd made such a donation.

"I...uh, goodness, I don't even know where to start," she confessed, still genuinely baffled by his generosity. "Usually I'd go through with the person donating and we'd make a list of where the funds can be allocated, but with your overwhelming donation, I'm not sure I know what to do first," she added, a sheepish smile present on her face when she looked up at him again.

"It's nothing you'd need to have done in a hurry," he told her, showing that he wasn't upset by her unsuredness.

"I'd hate to waste your time now and make you wait..." she trailed off, biting on the end of the pencil as she tried to think of some ways his funds could be used.

Spending time with you would not be time wasted, Tommy thought to himself just as an idea came to mind: "what if we go for dinner at the end of the week? You can have time to think of ideas and you'll share them with me then," he proposed, his eyebrows raising slightly as he awaited her response.

(Y/N) took a moment to think about his proposition. It'd certainly be a good idea for her to have more time to think about it, and she couldn't say that she'd be opposed to having dinner with this man. "Dinner sounds nice," she gave her answer after a few moments had passed, "I'll come prepared with good ideas," she assured him with a smile.

"I'm sure whatever ideas you'll bring will interest me," Tommy told her, nodding once before he took a step back towards the door.

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby. It's a great pleasure to have you working with us," (Y/N) smiled, still truly overwhelmed by his generosity.

"The pleasure's mine, (Y/N)," he couldn't help but let a smile break onto his lips as he looked over her one last time. They said their goodbyes then, and Tommy exited the school. He was genuinely pleased with the fact that she'd agreed to have dinner with him. It was certainly a step in the right direction with her.

John Shelby entered the school that his children attended two days after his brother did. He was unsuccessful in finding someone who could help direct him to the room he wanted to visit, but thankfully found the woman he was looking for as she walked towards the main doors from down a hallway.

"Miss (Y/L/N)!" he called to her, hoping to get her attention.

To his luck, she heard him. "Can I help you?" she asked with a smile, one that made John feel like he was going to go weak at the knees.

"Yes. You're my daughter's teacher. Her name's Katie Shelby. I wanted to ask how she's been doing in class," he told her the reason behind him being there. Truthfully he couldn't care less about Katie's performance. School wasn't something he was ever interested in, but if it meant he'd be able to talk to an utterly gorgeous woman, he'd give the performance of the century.

"Oh Katie!" (Y/N) answered, her smile growing wider as she recalled one of her students, "she's amazing...such a pleasure to have in class. She's always working hard and staying on top of her assignments," she then gave him a run down on his daughter's performance.

John nodded as she spoke. He had no shame in the fact that he was only half listening to her answer; being too preoccupied with drinking in her appearance. Silence fell between them then as that topic of conversation passed quickly. John didn't want her to leave just yet, so he scrambled for another talking point. "I heard that you met my brother, Arthur, the other day," he said then. It wasn't his best choice of topic, but he hoped it would keep her around. His hopes fell when a look of confusion formed on her pretty face. Shit, John...save yourself here! "He, uh...he told me that he helped you with one of your boxes...?" he ended his statement like it was a question, hoping that she'd show some sort of recollection.

Realization did appear on her face, but the sentence that accompanied it was one that left John confused: "oh...it seems I've met two of your brothers," she informed him, effectively making him wear the same expression she had moments ago. She took the time to explain then: "Thomas came in a few days ago to arrange a generous donation to aid the children who come here."

Fucks sake. John couldn't help but sigh internally. Tommy had already sunk his paws into the territory John thought he'd have a leg up in. "Oh he did?" he decided to play it cool, hoping that his aggravation didn't bubble up to the surface.

"He did. The other teachers and I are all so thankful for the contribution," (Y/N) answered, her smile telling John that he was doing well at masking how he was really feeling.

"Well I'm happy to hear that," John stated, running a hand over his face as he tried to think of a way to divert the conversation away from Tommy. "I can't say enough how happy I am that my daughter has a wonderful, smart, caring teacher like yourself," he said then, deciding to go the compliment route. There were many other things he wanted to include while referring to her, but he didn't want to overdo it.

"Awe thank you, Mr. Shelby. As I've said before, Katie is such a pleasure to have in class," (Y/N) accepted the compliment with grace, a bashful smile forming on her face.

Silence fell around them for a few beats before John spoke again: "you're probably wantin' to get home, so I should probably go," he stated, nodding his head back towards the main doors of the school.

"Oh yes, it's certainly been a long day," she answered with a nod.

"I'll see you around sometime then," John began to say his goodbyes.

"You certainly will," (Y/N) sent him one last smile before John turned and exited the school.

John was thankful to see the majority of his family sitting around the main table of the betting shop when he entered it that evening.

"Where've you been, John Boy?" Arthur asked, everyone's eyes following John as he made his way to an open chair.

"I just left the school," John answered, his face straight as he spoke.

"The school?" Arthur questioned.

"Something happen with one of the children?" Polly asked, her brows furrowed.

"No, everything's fine with them," John quelled her concern.

"Why were you at the school then?" Polly asked another question.

"Ah I know...you were tryin' to see the hot teacher, huh?" Arthur chimed in before John could answer, a grin now present on his face.

John shot a glare in his brother's direction, slightly annoyed by the fact that he was a little too anxious to know. But with all of the eyes in the room on him, he figured he may as well give up. "Yeah, I went to see her."

"Did ya talk to her?" Arthur eagerly asked.

John didn't miss Polly's eyeroll before he answered his brother: "yeah, I did...and I was told that Tommy already went and talked to her." He couldn't help but glance at Tommy from the corner of his eye, seeing if his statement roused any type of reaction from him.

"Why would you have gone to talk to the childrens' teacher, Thomas?" Polly was the one to ask, her eyes now zeroed in on him.

"She told me that he wanted to make a donation to the school," John offered more information, a sour tone still present in his voice.

"Tommy," Polly sighed, bringing her hand up to her forehead.

"We've arranged to have dinner one of these upcoming evenings to discuss it further," Tommy nonchalantly shared more details of his meeting with (Y/N).

"Bloody hell, Tommy," Arthur grumbled, a frown on his face as he shook his head. He'd have no chance in hell with her now.

"Why was this not brought up in a family meeting?" Polly asked a sensible question, seemingly unaware of the brothers' reason behind their responses.

"Because I have decided that we need to start putting back into the city," Tommy answered, an authoritative tone laced into his voice.

"And you thought that the school would be the most logical place to start?" she quirked an eyebrow.

"Why not?"

"You're putting yourself into places you shouldn't be...if this blows up in your face, I won't be here for it," Polly spoke in a firm tone, showing her distaste for his decision.

Tommy held his gaze on her, an uninterested look present in his eyes. He didn't quite care what his aunt had to say about this, he was going to continue on how he saw fit.

Polly held his gaze, waiting for him to say something. When he didn't, she rolled her eyes and let out a scoff before turning and stalking over to the door. She stopped before she could grab the handle, abruptly turning to look at the three men sitting at the table. "If any of you make her cry or so much as hurt a single strand of hair on her head..." she paused, pursing her lips as she shook her head slightly, "you will have hell to pay." Her voice was flat, but her tone was serious, and she let no one respond before she opened the door and exited the betting shop.

"Ms. Gray, it's so nice to see you again," (Y/N) said with a smile as she found the older woman standing in the doorway of her classroom. "Is everything ok with Katie? We missed her in class today."

"Katie's fine," Polly quelled the teacher's worry, "she was feeling ill so she stayed home."

"Oh, ok. I hope she gets better soon," (Y/N) offered her regards with a smile, one that Polly reciprocated. "Is there something that you need?"

"Yes," Polly didn't beat around the bush, "my nephew, Tommy, came to speak with you the other day..." she began, trailing off in hopes that (Y/N) would continue.

"Yes, he did!" she took the bait without question, "he made a very generous donation, and then suggested we have dinner to work the smaller points of it out."

"And how did that go?" Polly asked with raised eyebrows.

"Very well," (Y/N) smiled in response, "the children are already benefiting from the money he's given. It was very kind of him to do this."

Nothing Tommy Shelby has done was done just for the sake of 'being kind', Polly thought to herself as she mentally scoffed at the younger woman's statement. "I'm happy to hear that the children are benefitting from it," Polly said in response, keeping her thoughts on her nephew's intentions to herself.

(Y/N) smiled in response, completely overjoyed by the kindness of the Shelby family that she was oblivious to even the mere thought of Tommy having other intentions behind his decision to donate. Nothing else was said then as the women exchanged parting words.

(Y/N) smoothed out her dress as she reached the doors of the establishment. She hoped that the outfit she chose didn't make her over, or under, dressed for the occasion. With a deep breath, she grabbed the handle and opened the door, the sounds of chatter and music smacking her in the face. She entered the pub with a smile, hoping to quickly find a familiar face.

Of course one of the Shelbys quickly found her at the door. It was their re-opening party after all, and a beautiful woman like (Y/N) was most certainly not going to go unnoticed.

"Oi, you came!" Arthur was the first of the brothers to spot her, and a big grin was plastered across his face as he moved over to greet her.

"Yes! This place looks lovely!" she answered, smiling as she looked around the room.

"We made sure to get the best of the best," he boasted, his grin still present. "And speakin' of the best...can I offer one of the best women I've seen a drink?" he smoothly transitioned, his one eyebrow raised as he looked at her.

"I'd love one, thank you," she answered, smiling at his kindness.

"Come on then," he stated, offering her his arm so that he could lead her to the bar.

She accepted it, walking over to an open seat so that he could go around the bar and get her a drink. She thanked him again when he set it down in front of her, and just as he leaned up against the bar, ready to chat with her, Isiah came to him with a matter of business. He left her with a slight frown and an 'excuse me, love,' before going off with the younger man. (Y/N) sat by herself, sipping her drink and enjoying the revelry around her. She wasn't alone for long though.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)...I didn't think I'd see you here," shock was present in John Shelby's voice as he came up beside her.

"I decided to stop in and see what all of the talk was about," she smiled at him.

"Well we're certainly happy to have you here," he grinned at her, trying so hard not to give her a once over. "Say why don't you come and share a dance with me?" he suggested.

"Oh, I couldn't," she turned down his offer, her shyness creeping in.

"Come on...a quick dance wouldn't hurt," he didn't quite give up hope.

"I'm rather terrible at dancing."

"You've not seen me dance then."

(Y/N) bit her lip to conceal her giggles, surprised with how forward he was.

"Come on..." John coaxed her, hand outstretched in her direction. She was hesitant, but accepted it, allowing him to lead her to the floor. "Just follow my lead and you'll be fine," he said, assuming the position before he began to lead her in a similar dance to what the other partygoers were doing.

(Y/N) couldn't help but smile as she danced around the floor with John. She certainly was having fun, not really thinking about what she looked like or what others thought. John couldn't believe that he was dancing with one of the most beautiful women in the room.

They danced for about two songs before (Y/N) excused herself, wanting to go have a seat. John allowed her to go, deciding that he'd go into the snug and check on Finn - who he knew was sneaking stronger drinks than what his brothers originally told him he could have.

(Y/N) found a newly opened seat at the bar as soon as she came to it. She was bummed that her drink had been lost, but she didn't need to worry about that for too long.

"You made it," Tommy Shelby's voice came from her left, making her turn slightly to see him approaching her from behind the bar.

"I did, thanks for inviting me," (Y/N) smiled at him, "this party's amazing!" she commented, glancing around the room.

"It is," Tommy agreed once she focused on him again, "can I get you something to drink?"

"Please," she smiled kindly at the offer, watching as he went about grabbing a bottle from the shelf. "I wanted to also thank you, again, for the dinner and the donation. The children have already gotten some of the supplies that we've received, and they're loving them," she shared some information once he came back with a glass for her.

"That's good news," he nodded, taking a drink from his glass then. "You know I was thinking maybe...maybe you and I could have dinner again, without the need to talk about the donations this time," he proposed, watching her intently as he waited for a response.

(Y/N) couldn't stop her eyes from lighting up at his suggestion. She had a lovely time with him at their first dinner. "I'd like that," she answered with a smile.

"Figured we could get to know each other better."

"That would be lovely," she agreed, giggling slightly at the fact that he was practically reading her mind.

The two then went about planning the dinner, agreeing on a time and place. (Y/N) couldn't help but feel giddy when he suggested a restaurant that was far more classy than the first place they'd met. If she wasn't excited before...she certainly was now.

As they spoke more, Polly Gray kept a close eye on them from across the room. She'd been watching the brothers all evening as they tried their hand at her. It became clear to her, though, that Tommy had ended out on top as she watched them converse at the bar. She could easily tell from how (Y/N) was invested in their conversation, giggling and leaning closer to him when he'd speak, that what he was doing was being received well. John and Arthur wouldn't have much of a chance now.

-One Year Later-

Slowly, Tommy lifted the veil up to reveal (Y/N)'s smiling face. He draped it over her head and let his eyes dance across her features, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he felt the joy radiating from her.

"We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N) and Thomas Michael Shelby," the officiant began, commanding the attention of everyone in the church.

Ever since the evening of the party at the Garrison, (Y/N) and Tommy found themselves wrapped up in a whirlwind of a romance. Tommy proposed after five months of them being together, knowing that he wasn't going to find another woman like her. They spent five months being engaged and doing a great amount of traveling - it was the summer holiday for (Y/N), so she was able to follow Tommy wherever he went. Now they were standing at the altar in front of a great number of guests who were anxiously waiting to see them pronounce their love for each other.

Well...two of the guests weren’t exactly anxious. John and Arthur sat on Tommy's side of the church, watching as the ceremony commenced. Both were happy for their brother, but they'd be lying if they said that they weren't bummed that it wasn't them up with (Y/N).

Everyone stood up and celebrated as the officiant pronounced Tommy and (Y/N) 'man and wife', and they shared their first kiss as a married couple.

"As always..." John started, elbowing Arthur in the ribcage as they both clapped for their brother, "Tommy gets the girl, and we've gotta sit back and watch."

Arthur couldn't help but snort as he heard what John had to say. "You're right, John boy," he agreed, shaking his head but nonetheless continuing clapping.

No matter what happened, or how hard John and Arthur tried to get ahead, Tommy would forever be the brother that always wins.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[novemberheart]

{overview} You get answers for Simon’s behavior

{warnings} fem reader, poly 141, a/b/o dynamics, mentions of fighting, cursing, mentions of heat cycles and marking

Chapter 31 <- Chapter 32 -> Chapter 33

“He has the flu,” the doctor spoke. John growled, not in the mood for games. “Alpha flu,” The doctor clarified.

“Bloody stupid name,” Kyle mumbled.

“What does that mean?” You urged.

“Has he been away for a while?” The doctor questioned. Her glasses had become foggy. She was nervous. John growled again. They had already answered that.

“Yes,” you answered. You wrapped your arm around John’s bicep giving him a small squeeze. His shoulders fell slightly.

“Have you been marked yet?” she asked, turning her full attention to you. You quickly shook your head.

“That would be why. His alpha already considers you his omega and being away from you without marking you”- she cut herself off with a sigh. “It would be like if you left your car with the keys in it in a bad neighborhood- for lack of a better analogy,” She explained. You weren't sure you loved the comparison.

“So his alpha is losing it because she's his omega but doesn't have the claim to prove it?” John clarified. The doctor nodded her head.

“Being away could've caused paranoia, especially if his alpha felt she wasn't well protected- or it could just be because deeper bonds have formed,” She continued.

Could be both.

You were by yourself with Kyle, who wouldn't be in the best position to protect you. Plus the two of you have grown closer.

“How come I haven't experienced this?” John voiced what you were thinking.

“It depends on a lot of different factors,” she started. “Could be biological, genetic, outside factors, so many things,”

John nodded his head.

“What do we do now?” Kyle questioned.

“Well, the best thing would be claiming. When's your next heat?”

“About three to four weeks,” John spoke for you. You were happy he was keeping track.

“Well then our next option would be sedation”-

“No,” John interjected. “She’s not being marked while sedated. Simon wouldn't want it to be that way and neither do I,”

“I’m fine with it,” you assured. You lied. No one wanted to be marked while sedated- besides betas. It was traumatizing, even though it wouldn't be painful. When you woke up you had to work through every emotion sober- unclouded by your heat. It scared you.

“No,” John pressed again. You breathed a sigh of relief. John’s hand rested on the back of your head, pulling you towards him. You whined, burying yourself into his side. “Is there a way we can spur on her heat?” John suggested.

“I suggest talking to an omega specialist,” she offered. John sucked in through his teeth nodding his head.

“Thank you, doctor,” He extended his arms towards the door. He showed her out. “Come here, pretty girl,” John soothed. You clawed at your eyes, quickly finding comfort against his chest. “I'm sorry that happened,” he whispered, his own throat growing tight at the lingering scent of your fear.

“We can talk to an omega specialist,” you mumbled, once your tears had finally died down.

“You sure, lovie?” Kyle spoke up.

“Could just lock the bastard in Johnny’s room till he snaps out of it,” John jested. You chuckled dryly, still refusing to remove your face from his chest. The two men sighed, sharing a glance with each other.

This wasn't how they wanted this to go down.

“If there is something we could do, would you be open to being marked?” John hummed, pressing you even further against him.

You were ready.

You had been during your heat.

You had waited longer than most omegas to be marked, not that that's saying much. It was more of a privilege than anything. Your pack was letting you consent to it on your own.

“Yes,” you agreed aloud. “I’d want you to mark me too though,” you added. John quirked his brow, an almost amused look on his face.

“That’s a lot, sweetheart,” he reminded. “Besides I’m not sure Simon’ll let me that close to his omega,” John purred. You grumbled, shooting him an angry look.

“I don't want to just belong to one of you. I want to belong to all of you,” you pressed. A flame sparked in the bellies of both men, their hearts skipping a beat.

“You already do,” John hushed, brushing your hair away from your forehead. “All ours. Which is why we have to take care of you. I'll schedule an appointment with an omega specialist today and you go write down all the questions you have, yes?”

“Yes, alpha,” You agreed.

Simon groaned causing Johnny to sit up in his seat.

“Morning, L.T.” Johnny yawned. Simon groaned again, a familiar ache and neediness in his body, along with a deep ache in his already bruised jaw. “How ya feelin’?” Johnny pressed.

“What happened?” he groaned. He could hardly open his eyes.

“Cap knocked you out. Right hook,” Johnny responded. That would explain it. The captain had a deadly hook. He was lucky his head was still attached to his neck.

Simon suddenly snapped awake, causing Johnny to throw himself forward.

“Pup?” Simon questioned, his eyes bearing into Johnny’s for assurance. He could still smell you against the sheets. His stomach twisted with a painful groan.

“She’s alright,” Johnny responded quickly. He didn't believe him. Johnny could tell. His eyes still searching for any signs that he had fucked up beyond repair. While it wasn't a good situation to be in, it wasn't Simon's fault.

Johnny knew why this happened to Simon. Simon’s walls were still up. Granted, you had shortened them quite a few feet, yet he was still holding himself back. Johnny could see it. He could see the way Simon stopped himself from letting his alpha take care of you. The way he’d whisper to Johnny to get you seconds once you cleared your plate instead of getting it for you himself. The way he always put your raincoat in plain view so you wouldn't forget it- instead of just reminding you.

It was only natural that his alpha wanted credit for these acts. He wanted to be seen as a worthy mate.

“She was a bit shaken, but she won’t hold it against ya,” Johnny assured. Simon's back flattened against the mattress, not in ease but in defeat. “Wanna hear what the doctor said about you?” Johnny's tone was too teasing for Simon's mood. “She said your alphas pitchin’ a fit because you were away from our girl,” Johnny smirked. “You wanna mark her,” Johnny whispered. The gravel in his voice usually sent a tingle up Simon’s spine, this time it made Simon kick him off the bed. “Bastard,” Johnny grumbled. The thud alerted John.

“Find my tooth while you're down there,” Simon requested of Johnny, shooting a glare at John.

“Don’t hold that against me, honey,” John soothed. Simon flushed at the name, rolling over onto his stomach. “I’d want you to do the same to me if I was in your position,” John added. Simon felt a wave of sickness wash over him again.

“How is she?”

“I just told you ho”- John held up his hand to cut-off the Scot.

“Go cuddle with you omega,” John directed, nodding his head towards the door. Johnny huffed at the cut-off, but would rather be doing that anyway. “She was scared,” John said once the door had shut. “Had all of us scared,” John continued. Simon whined low in his throat. He was with his alpha- his captain, he didn't need to be strong anymore. “None of that,” John soothed. His hand grabbed Simon by the scruff so his head was in his lap. “Wasn't your fault. She’s sitting at the kitchen counter writing questions to ask the omega specialist. She wants you to mark her,” John explained. A pleased rumble echoed in Simon’s chest at the idea- but stopped due to another.

“She’s not being sedated,” Simon snarled.

“Course not,” John assured. “Kyle’s been talking to one over the computer, apparently there is a pill that can spur on a heat. We’re looking into that,” John explained.

“I can wait till her heat,” Simon assured. “I can pick up a mission till her heat”-

“That's not feasible Simon,” John sighed. “First of all, we can't send you out there in this condition. Second, who knows when our girl will even get her heat. Third, your being away will only make the symptoms worse.”

“She gonna hate me after this?” Simon asked, mostly to himself.

“Do you want to mark her?” John asked suddenly.

Yes.

He's been biting back the urge to sink his teeth into you since Inverness.

Simon settled for a grunt.

“Then she won’t hate you, Simon,”

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Johnny thanked, peeling off your raincoat for you. The doctor smiled at the interaction.

“Of course. The situation, as it has been described to me, isn't one that should be taken lightly or pushed back,” she responded. “How are you doing?” She asked softly, turning towards you. She had eyes that looked exactly like Kyles. It instantly calmed you.

“I’m alright. Nervous. Thank you for asking,” you tried to smile.

“Your alpha- John, sent me over your medical history and I think the best option will be Camilcotazine. Are you familiar with that drug in any way?” She asked.

You were. One of the doctors at the omega holding house wanted to put you on that to regulate your heats. You declined because of the side effects. Instant two-week heat.

You nodded your head, explaining why you chose not to go on it at the time.

“Well, that's exactly why I want to prescribe it to you,” was her response.

“How long will she have to take it?” Johnny asked. You suddenly realized you left your paper with questions at home.

“For about three months,” she said, making both of you wince. “We can't tell if the medication is a good fit for you during the first month, because it will throw you into a heat regardless. The second month is to see if your heat begins to regulate itself and the third month is to see if it matches the second month,” she explained. It made sense, unfortunately.

“That’s fine,” you spoke up. “What if my heat lasts longer than it is supposed to?”

“The good thing about Camilcotazine is that it's a very commonly used medication. It has gone through thousands of tests and has been used for omegas for over fifty years. 1/7 omegas are on or have been on it. I am very confident in its ability,” she explained.

You looked over at Johnny.

“When do I start?” you breathed.

Hi friends!!! The next few chapters are going to be veryyy spicy! Hopefully that is something you enjoy…… see you in three days! 🧡

[beloveds-embrace]

(Part two of this: “house-trained” simon riley)

The second visit to Ghost’s cozy cottage started with the same mixture of disbelief and awe as the first. The team once again found themselves surrounded by pastel walls, cheerful flower boxes, and an overwhelming sense of warmth that clashed with every preconceived notion they’d had about their masked lieutenant, but at least this time it was a mere courtesy visit and without the worries of needing to stay hidden hanging over them.

The morning began with the usual spectacle: Simon quietly, happily obeying your every request without a care about his team’s amused stares.

“Si, love, could you grab the butter from the fridge?”

Simon stood immediately, massive frame moving through the delicate kitchen with surprising ease. He returned with the butter in hand and set it on the counter, earning a soft, “Thank you, darling.” And a gentle kiss to his temple.

Soap snorted from the couch, where he was wrapped in one of your soft, pastel-colored blankets. He loved them- had spent the entire time before having one on his shoulders, and this time it’d been the first thing he asked for. “Still can’t believe this is you, L.T.”

“Believe it.” Simon replied flatly, brushing his hand against the small of your back as he walked by.

But this time, you didn’t stop with Simon.

“Johnny?” You called sweetly, stepping into the living room with a tray in hand.

Soap looked up, a crumb of your delicious cookies already on his chin. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” You giggled, setting the tray on the coffee table. “Would you mind fluffing the pillows for me? They’re looking a bit flat.”

Soap blinked, still not sure he heard right. “You’re asking me to- ?”

“I would ask Simon, of course,” you said innocently, a little pout on your lips. “But he’s busy getting the sugar for tea. You’re not busy, are you?”

Caught in your warm, expectant gaze, Soap sighed, tossing the blanket aside (gently) with a dramatic groan. “Fine, fine, hen. I’ll fluff your bloody pillows.”

“Thank you, Johnny!” You beamed.

Gaz laughed as Soap began half-heartedly fluffing the floral cushions, grumbling under his breath the entire time- though they were all light grumbles.

“You’ll get used to it.” Simon said dryly, walking past with a jar of sugar in hand. “Good on her for not having you just sit on your arse.”

“Gaz,” you said brightly, then, turning your attention to him. “Do you mind helping me bring in the tea trays? I’ve got too much to carry, and I’d hate to make Simon do it all.”

Gaz stood at attention at your call of his name, caught off guard. “I- yes, Ma’am.”

You led him into the kitchen, where a tray laden with delicate china teacups and a teapot sat waiting. “Careful,” you said gently, placing another tray of sandwiches into his hands. “These teacups are my grandmother’s, and they’re quite old.”

You got them from a thrift shop, but who said you can’t have a little fun?

Gaz nodded earnestly, gripping the tray with the utmost care- as if it was a secret weapon, or a file with the most important information recorded on earth. He carried it like he was on a mission. When he re-entered the living room, Soap was still fluffing pillows, now with exaggerated vigor, muttering. “Is this fluffy enough for ya, lass?”

“Perfect, thank you.” You said as you placed a small vase of flowers on the coffee table. “Oh, Captain?”

Price looked up from where he’d been lounging by the window, his hands resting comfortably on his knees. He’d been amused at how you basically commanded his men, but now that your attention was on him…

“Would you mind slicing the lemon for the tea?” you asked softly and sweetly, holding out a small knife and a lemon. “Your hands look steady. I want good, even slices, please. You seem like the type to do it properly the first time.”

Caught between amusement and curiosity, Price rose from his seat and took the knife and lemon from you. He stood by the kitchen counter, slicing perfect, even rounds of lemon while Simon watched from his chair, clearly enjoying the sight of even his commanding officer being gently bossed around.

By the time the tea was ready, Soap had been roped into setting the table with floral plates and napkins (“Really? Floral?”

“Why not? The blankets you like so much also have floral designs!”)

Gaz was carrying plates of cheeses and olives with the care of a man defusing a bomb, and Price was pouring tea into delicate porcelain cups like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You floated through the room with a soft, effortless authority, gently directing each of them like it was second nature.

“Johnny, could you fetch the coasters from the drawer? I don’t want the table getting scratched.”

“Kyle, do you mind straightening that picture frame? It’s a little crooked.”

“Captain, would you light that candle? It’s my favorite scent, and I think you’d like it too.”

And somehow, none of them could say no to you. Not like they even considered it.

By the time everyone was seated, Simon pulled out your chair for you, his large hand resting briefly on your shoulder before he sat beside you. Soap stared at the table, now perfectly set and adorned with delicate tea accoutrements, and declared: “I think we just got outmaneuvered by a woman in a cardigan.”

“Outclassed, more like.” Gaz added, reaching for the olive oil and za’atar plate.

But when you turned that radiant smile on them, warmly thanking them for their help, none of them could bring themselves to mind. And with Simon watching as well, none of them even dared to mind.

[boolger]

Never getting rid of me - John Price x reader

Hi sinners, so here are some dark!john price x reader thoughts that got out of hand. Yes, inspired by the song ‘never getting rid of me’, both the musical version but also the more creepy version by Egg on Spotify.

Dead dove don’t eat. Read the tags. Mdni. 18+. Tw creepy ass Price, stalking, kidnapping, non-con and dub-con, forced marriage, forced gender role/stereotypes, non-con punishments, loss of virginity, daddy kink, squirting, just….dont read if you’re looking for a sweet fic w John price. There will also be feet kink and scent kink.

Reader is chubby and described as having a pussy and perceived to be a woman by Price. Whether or not the reader actually is this, is up to you, really. besides that, i did my best to keep the description of reader vague. I apologize for any grammatical errors. English is not my first language and i am ttired

Something something dark! Price who sees you randomly at a coffee shop where you serve him awful tea - but it’s okay, pet, because you are the most beautiful and innocent thing Price has ever seen.

Dark!Price who knows it’s best to be sweet at first as to not scare you away - he can’t lose you this early, you’re perfect for his retirement after all, even though that’s far into the future. So despite the bloody awful tea, Price does his best to be a regular at the shop.

He even walks you home afterwards, you just don’t know it. He doesn’t consider it stalking — no no, he is just making sure you come home safe after your shift! Never know what kind of men are out there after all, besides himself of course.

While you’re at work, he breaks into your house early, going through everything throughout a couple of days. After an hour or two (sometimes three if he is feeling cheeky) he leaves, going to the shop to see you. He has time off before the next mission, what else is he supposed to do?

And is that a diary? Oh my, how convenient for Price, he needs to know his sweetheart's thoughts after all. And boy, does he learn a lot of fun things in that little book of yours

He becomes obsessed with very specific things in the following days — the way you write the letter J and P. The way you organize the fridge, the way your socks and underwear smells - so sweet, so perfect. All you. He liked how you read a lot of romance, how you always drank dr. Pepper every Friday evening. 

Okay, so you might prefer coffee, but don’t worry, Price knows he can fix that! You just need to taste actual tea, good tea, not the dog piss he drinks at the coffee shop almost every day by now.

He pulls a few strings and gets access to all of your electronics and oh isn’t it fun to see what you do on your phone every day, what music he needs to get on CD, because a silly lass like you can’t be trusted to have a phone when you get together in the future, can you? Not at first at least, maybe you can earn back the right with time.

Dark!Price loves seeing what kind of porn you watch. Loves seeing what your search words are, whether it’s kinky or not.

Especially after reading in your diary that you are a virgin! It has him frothing at his mouth, the urge to take you instantly, overwhelmingly strong when he sees the words for the first time.

Of course he always makes sure to put everything back in the exact same spot and way as he found it. Can’t have you stop writing in your sweet diary, it’s his favorite book already!

The first mission he goes on is awful. Sure everything goes smoothly and even though he has installed hidden cameras all over your apartment, it isn’t the same as being there.

Dark!Price who proudly shows you off to his team - the boys need to see who their captain is in love with after all. And he trusts his men, knows that they’re just as fucked up as him — they coo at the sight of you, of the few photos he has dared to take of you while you slept. Not his fault that you live in an apartment that is embarrassingly easy to break into, is it, pet? 

Dark!Price who feels so proud as his men drool over your soft curves, talking about your tits and ass and when Price mentions that you’re untouched, he is pretty sure Soap and Gaz almost come in their pants. Possibly Simon too, Price knows him, but he pretends he isn't as affected by the words - As if Price can’t see the man’s erection in his pants.

He gets everything ready, his little house in the middle of nowhere gets fixed up. He always imagined he would move into the house much later, when he actually retired but he can’t wait that long to have you. He loves the idea of having his missus all ready for him whenever he returns from work. All his. He would never let you go, you would always be his. He would take care of you forever - he already imagined bringing you to his mom, bless her. Old and sick, but you would charm her, he is sure.

Price who asks you out after two months of coming regularly to the coffee shop, putting on his best charming smile - and of course you, his future bride, says yes! All shyly, barely able to look him in the eyes, but there is a jump to your step afterwards and you’re grinning like you won the lottery.

Price, who is the perfect gentleman at the date, he takes you out somewhere nice, pays for everything despite your protests, soaks in all of your attention, who loves every second he spends with you. He is ready to declare his love for you at the end of the night but he knows it’s too early. He doesn’t try to kiss you, doesn’t even imply he wants to get in your knickers, despite his strong urge to do so. No, no need to scare you away.

so imagine Dark! Price’s reaction to seeing your diary entry the day afterwards - you describe him as too sweet, unsure if you’re ready for a relationship - almost upsets him, until the last line. He would probably be a nice person to lose my virginity to. That’s as good as a love confession to him! A bloody proposal almost and despite not having planned to move things along this quickly, well he has to, doesn’t he?

It’s embarrassingly easy to kidnap you together Gaz. He just happens to drive by you on your way home after a long shift, and saying “want a lift, sweetheart?” is all it takes.

Gaz who was hidden in the backseat and the moment the doors closes and locks, he sits up and uses one of those fancy syringes to stab you. Don’t make a fuss, don’t be silly, birdie, it’s all good! Just take a nap, eh? 

Nikolai and the rest of the team are almost finished packing up your things - they’ve been at it all day after all, dark!Price has personally packed the most important parts of your home, like that nice diary of yours, sextoys and underwear and all those nice photo albums you have. Nothing is getting left behind! You need to feel at home at his house after all. The boys almost deserve to have their fun with you at some point in the future.

He is there when you wake up, smiling happily at you, as you groggily take in the basement you’re currently in; See how some of your furniture is down there, the nice green color he painted the walls, how it’s your own lampshade hanging from the ceiling. He lets you take in the wedding dress hanging proudly in front of the wardrobe, the little bathroom not too far from you - the cameras that hang everywhere, not even attempting to be discreet. He has to make sure you’re behaving after all.

Dark!Price who gets incredibly turned on when you realize you’re wearing a metal collar and chained to the wall - the way your eyes widens and how confusion visibly changes into fear. Like a little prey releasing they’re in a trap - and unable to get out.

he is extremely proud over how he doesn’t take you right then and there, despite how much he wants too.

Oh how adorable your attempts at attacking him are! Even though you’re still groggy from those nasty sedatives, you hit his chest and try to claw at him. Screaming and crying, throwing a proper tantrum! He can’t help but laugh as you threaten him. “sure you’ll go to the police, pet” he agrees while he easily catches your fist that was aiming for his nose, “but no I’m not letting you go.”

you scream bloody murder, as if he has done you anything. Ridiculous. But Price patiently (and easily) fights you off all day. Teasing back, pointing out that it’s not that bad down here, trying to explain that the two of you are going to be together forever.

Price who lets you run out of energy that first day, until you’re a sobbing mess - gathering you into his arms, promising you that he is never gonna leave you, that you’re never getting rid of him. Not like all those other people in your life, no don’t worry, princess! Price will be your daddy, he will make sure you have everything you need! You’re not even going to work at that lousy job anymore, pet, don’t worry, he already quit it for you. 

Dark! Price, who is all sweet and gentle as he comforts you, kissing your forehead and temple, muttering about how silly you are - that he understands that you might feel a little overwhelmed - but look at how pretty your wedding dress is, sweetheart! All in the different sizes as well, don’t worry, he has taken your measurements and bra sizes and everything, his missus doesn't have to worry about anything. He saw your Pinterest boards, Gaz and Soap showed him how the website works, and saw all the different dresses you had dreamt of. Isn’t this perfect? Just for you!!

Dark! Price who doesn’t outright admit to having read your diary, breaking in or stalking you, despite all those accusations of yours… no no, he didn’t he just … got ready for the two of you to be together - but of course he knows so much about you sweetheart, he has seen the daddy kink porn you watch regularly, yeah he knows you’re a virgin. No no, he won’t rape you, what’s that all about? No, you’re saving your virginity to marriage, you’re a good girl - the two of you can wait another week, that’s nothing.

and after everything, how nice he has been and how he has sat everything up in the basement you’re still angry with him? Don’t be absurd, sweetheart, you would come around soon - you were going to be his missus after all, what kind of wife would you be if you didn’t want to talk to him?

Something something, he ends up pushing you to the floor, holding your hands down as he takes his time to properly smell you. Your pussy, over your clothes, don’t worry - your armpits. Grabs your ankle and sniffs your foot too. Sweet all over!

dark! Price who loses control of his anger when you throw the entire tray of breakfast that he made for you, at him. The tea is not too hot because of the milk, but still. You made a mess and that isn’t nice. He takes you over his knee for that, slapping your arse and upper thighs sore, leaves you an absolute mess. He apologizes afterwards of course, not really because he feels bad about it, but because you made him do that. He has to make sure you understand that there are consequences for your actions! 

Dark!Price who keeps you downstairs in that little basement of his, while you get your worst fits over with. He expected these, you’re a strong woman after all, you just need to understand that the two of you are meant for each other. Next week the boys will swing by and they’ll be witnesses as the two of you get married - isn’t that grand?

No, the shop won’t be looking for you, bird, don’t worry about that! You already quit immediately - had to move home for a family emergency, but you were very sorry about it. You already terminated your apartment lease too, moved out already! Pesky family emergency again, innit? No no don’t cry pet, Price knows you don’t have any family you’re close with, it’s okay. Nobody is hurt! All is good! You’re just being silly, you don’t know how good all of this will be for you. How you will be a perfect missus!

He will threaten and hurt you all week, but not touch that sweet pussy of yours - grope you? Sure, but nothing more than that. You’re not married yet after all. 

Price who sweetly explains that he knows you love him, even if you can’t say it out loud yet! That’s alright, sweet pet, you will be able to soon!

Dark! Price who happily makes it clear to you that making any kind of fuss at the town hall and they will kill everyone. You won’t have to wear the beautiful dress at the town hall, no, Price got you something much more simple, they don’t deserve to see you at your most beautiful - it will be quick anyways, don’t worry sweetheart. Just sign the papers. No fuss, remember? No protest - look, all the boys dressed up nicely in suits - and look! They’re all armed as well. Would be a bloody shame if you were guilty of getting so many people killed, wouldn’t it?

dark! Price who kisses you for the first time after you sign the papers, who almost wants to lick off the tears rolling down your cheeks as the workers of the town hall coos, thinking you’re crying from happiness. And you are, but you’re also a little overwhelmed, aren’t you, pet? Better get you home again.

dark!price who dresses you up at home, forcing you to swirl in your dress in front of his men, Nikolai and Laswell. All of them ignore your attempts at asking for help and you’re a quick learner - you figure out that they’re not going to help you after a few attempts. You’re his girl, his sweet missus, and you’re handcuffed as you sit on his lap during their dinner at home, being fed all the nicely made dinner from a fancy restaurant. You don’t even throw a fuss as you eat all together, so you’re rewarded with some champagne and wine. Good tasting, aren’t they?

Dark!Price who grins as he sends his guests on their merry way, while you begin to cry again, begging to not be left alone with him - aw, you’re so sweet when you’re getting nervous. Is the wine getting to your head?

Dark! Price who throws you over his shoulder then, not bringing you down to the basement but instead into your new shared bedroom. Laying you down on the bed, taking in the sight of you like this. In your wedding dress, surrounded by rose petals, painted all warm colors by the sunset. Cooing at you as you hiccup and cry and hide your face behind your hands, saying you don’t want to. Don’t worry, he will be nice! All gentle for you, pet, it will feel good!

Dark!Price who cuffs you to the bed, pushing up that nice dress of yours to expose your bottom half. Looking at the pretty lace he forced you into earlier, praising you for how beautiful you look! He kisses your thighs, keeping your legs open with his strong hands, taking his time. Finally the two of you are married. You’re going to be his in every way now! With a ring on your finger, a new name — losing your innocence to your husband.

Dark! Price who eats you, Mrs. Price, out all lovingly, enjoying the sounds that escape you against your will. Loving your taste, loving the way your legs shake, the way you cry as he ducks on your clit. He makes you come on his tongue and then fingers, and you’re perfect! Squirting for him! He is lapping up the sweetness that pours from you! See, he will make it feel good for you. He even frees your hands. 

Dark! Price who shushes your cries as he pushes his fat cock into your hole, ruining your sweet pussy for everybody else; he can feel how wet you are for him, croons at how good your cunt feels. How daddy will take care of you, just breathe. Yeah, just like that, c’mon princess, look down to see how the two of you are connected! He pushes in the last couple of inches the moment you look down, taking in your cry with pride, drowning in pleasure and ownership.

You’re so wet and warm around his big cock, he couldn’t help himself, lass! His perfect wife with a perfect cunt, feels so good - he is going to fill you up, don’t worry, but not until he has made you come again and again.

dark!Price who whispers “i know I know, pet,” as you whimper over how it feels weird, how it hurts because his cock is so big. Who drinks in the sight of you as he licks two fingers before slipping them in between the two of you, gently rubbing at your clit and oh, that feels nice, doesn’t it?

Dark! Price who finally begins to fuck you then - no, he isn’t fucking you, he is making love to you. The first round is all sweet and gentle, he is claiming you, taking his time. Covering you in kisses as he rolls his hips, touching all those soft places of yours. He wants to run his tongue over those stretch marks, wants to fuck his cock in between those two breasts of yours. But for now he fucks you as you deserve, enjoying your little moans and whines that grows stronger and louder, the way your body shakes and the way you grab onto his shoulder and back. How those sweet nails of yours digs into his skin.

Dark! Price who makes you come twice, cooing in your ear about how you wanted it after all, how you’re his wife forever now - before he comes himself, hot cum shooting deep inside of you.

The second round isn’t as gentle in any way - it’s after twenty minutes of holding and kissing you, cuddling you and declaring his love, that he takes you again. He fucks you, properly. He makes the bed rock as he fucks into you, making you scream and trash, before surprising the both of you by squirting again. 

Dark! Price who almost fucks you the entire night - yeah, he might have taken some viagra, but he honestly wouldn’t even have needed it, because you naked in front of him is enough. Wedding dress ripped to shreds, cum all over it and over you. You’re fucked from behind, then in a mating press. You pass out during the last round, much to his amusement! Sweet missus, all tired, eh? That’s okay, the two of you got the rest of your lives together - forever and ever, because you’re never getting rid of Price. Never.

[devil-in-hiding]

I'm having a real bad day... Feels like I'm losing my grasp on literally everything; mentally, financially, emotionally, with my family, etc... Just want you to know that reading through your fics gives me just enough of an escape to get through the day... So, thanks for existing. <3 If you have any 141 x female reader fluff/comfort bouncing around in your head I'd love to read it. 🥺

(I genuinely hope things start to look up for you babe and that your day gets better, it’s still early 🫶🏻. I understand that feeling all too well and it can be overwhelming and overstimulating because your brain is sending panic signals every other second, i’m sending you big hugs)

how about some soft 141 x assistant reader? *doesn’t look at my price x emotional!reader everyone has screamed at for more*

The day had already started terribly, it was a downpour outside, and your car had refused to start that morning. Some jackass didn’t have the decency to slow down, soaking you more on your mad dash towards the base. Your foot slipped off the curb more than once and your ankle was throbbing as you limped your way towards John’s office, defeated and embarrassed.

You would have laughed at the shocked faces, and Ghost’s wide eyes, if it weren’t for your chattering teeth and tears blurring your vision.

“I-I’m s-sorry I’m l-late sir, my car-“

“Bloody hell woman why didn’t you call me?” John grouses, standing from his desk as he sends the boys running with a flick of his wrist. “Towels!”

“Aye!”

“On it Cap!”

Gaz and Soap make a mad dash down the corridor, and Ghost hovers next to you. “How’d you like your tea this mornin’ lovie?” He asks, voice gentle and you feel your lip tremble. “Just anything hot. Thank you Lieutenant.”

He just nods, striding out the door and towards the rec room, and when you turn back around, John is rummaging in one of his drawers. “You should have called my pretty. I would have come and picked you up myself. Walkin’ in the rain like that, what were you thinking?” It’s an affectionate scolding as he takes a shirt and pajama pants (how long had those been there? That damn man was he sleeping in his office again?)

“Here ya are lass, let’s get ye cleaned up.” Soap announces, wrapping a towel around your shoulders as Gaz turns you around, grinning as he places a towel on your head, gently drying your hair.

“Little wet rat.” He snickers, and you gasp, slapping his chest as you cross your arms.

“Arse, how could you say that after I’ve had such an awful morning?” You pout, and he chuckles. “Got that sad look out your eye didn’t I?”

“Oh very cheeky Garrick.” You glare, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips.

“Bleedin’ Jesus hen, what happened to ye ankle?” Soap grunts, crouching down and you wince when he pokes the tender skin around your ankle bone.

“I must have rolled it-“

“You are never walkin’ ‘ere in the bloody rain again, understand?” Ghost states as he reenters the office, mug in hand.

He’s ushering you off your feet in seconds, herding you towards Price’s couch, laying out a towel he plucked from the pile before easing you down.

It was a funny sight, four large, highly trained military men, crouching around you as they inspected your ankle. “Gonna have to cut it.” Price says solemnly, and you choke back a snort as you giggle, covering your mouth at the somber nod the other three give.

“Aye, not much to do about a rolled ankle lass. Desperate times an all.”

“You all are idiots.” You laugh, shaking your head at the pleased looks that spread across their faces.

“There she is.”

[witchthewriter]

Poly141! | Mission Pixie Dust

Okay so... I was making up scenarios in my head as I was falling asleep last night and I made myself cry ... so I obviously had to share...

Poly141; the four men are your husbands and all deployed at the same time, leaving you home with your three kids at the beginning of the school holidays.

This turned out longer than I thought it would but I just had to write it out. I love Poly141 AND them being dads :')

Da = Johnny

Papa = John P.

Dad= Simon

Daddy = Kyle

School holidays had just started, and your three pups were buzzing as soon as they came home. Bags were thrown on the floor, school shoes unlaced and scattered around the shoe stand. They knew the rules, but first day of school holidays meant they were allowed to get a little wild.

Your oldest, Paesha, had just turned eight and her father was obvious. Thick curls, dark skin and warm brown eyes made it plain to see. But all your husbands loved her the same. In fact, she had a special bond with her Da (Johnny).

Malachai, your second, could have been any of the three other men's. Light brown hair, fair complection, and utterly/overly protective of his sisters. He had been born a year after Pae.

And your youngest, Felicity (known as Flick), had started her first year in big school. She was known for having exceptional blue eyes.

None of your husbands wanted a DNA test, they thought it useless because everyone treats the children with the same love, compassion and warmth.

Throwing your keys on the counter (Paesha picked them up and placed them on the hook). You rubbed the bridge of your nose and tried to quell the longing in your soul. You didn't know if it was worse when the kids were gone or with you. Being completely alone let the terrible thoughts attack but you didn't want your kids to miss out on having their fathers'.

Calming the oncoming tears, you turned around and asked, "who wants pizza for dinner?"

"YES!" Yelled Mal, a fist punched in the air. Paesha nodded her head enthusiastically while Flick did a little happy dance.

Paesha halted and squinted at you, "Not homemade right?"

After dinner arrived, the four of you sat on the large dark green couch. Your two ex-military dogs, Moth and Teddy, sat on either end of the lounge.

Turning onto the streaming service, you found the exact movie you were looking for. The 2003 version of Peter Pan.

With the lights off (except for the kitchen, the kids were still scared of too much darkness), you watched as one of your cats jumped into Pae's lap. Barnaby started purring instantly. His fluffy white tail settled around his body.

The seven of you settled in. Your four human babies snuggled up to their mama, smiles already on their faces.

When the movie had finished, your kids still wouldn't go to bed.

"Oh wait, I know why it isn't working - we don't have the pixie dust!" Flick pulled on your sleeve with a huge gap-toothed smile.

You had been watching as they jumped around the room. Lights flicked on, bodies flinging from one couch to another.

"I know! But ... we don't have any in the house..." You grumbled.

Paesha was staring dreamily at Peter Pan, a cheek resting against her face. "Where do we get some?" Her head turned slightly to look at you, her eyes nearly heart-shaped.

"Ugh-" god trying to keep childlike wonder alive was bloody difficult. Like a sign from the Universe, your phone started to ring.

All three kids ran over to it, knowing exactly who was calling at this time of night. Swiping the screen, four familiar faces popped up.

"Da! Papa! Dad! Daddy!" Smiling through the screen, the men had been just as eager to see their kids as their kids were to see them.

"Hello little munchkins, ya been good for mum?" Simon greeted first. His mask was off and no black could be found around his eyes. He never showed that side to the children.

"We're going to fly!" Flick chirped, her arms outstretched and running around.

"You're - what?" Price said with a slightly panicked face.

"But we need pixie dust," Malachai explained. Shaking his head like this was obvious information.

"I introduced them to the ... live action Peter Pan," you explained and a smile of regret grew on your tired face.

"Oh honey," Kyle replied, understanding the situation. He was the first of the men to.

"But we don't have any and we have to go buy more!" Pae said while leaning against you.

"Eh, pixie dust ...?" you heard Johnny mumble in the background.

"Oh! I have an idea!" You said with a faked expression, "why don't the Dada's get us the pixie dust!"

The chorus of cheers was heard throughout the house. Alerting the the tired Moth and Teddy.

Kyle shook his head. And Price's nose flared. Mum: 1 - Dads: 0.

"We'll bring back the goddamns finest," Simon said. You couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

"See! You heard Dad! Now get your butts' upstairs and in bed."

"Yes ma'am!" They said in unison (a nickname they'd heard their father's use one too many times.)

Once the kids were upstairs, your face dropped.

"I miss you guys," you whispered into the phone. The tears welling and spilling down your cheeks.

"We miss you too," John said, his words strangled with his feelings.

It was always hard to hang up.

It hurt.

But tonight's farewell felt like the hardest. You could just imagine how the scenario would've played out if their father's were there with them. With you.

'Can't always get what we want,' you thought bitterly.

"Not long now," Kyle said. You stared at his eyes and then his lips. God how much you wanted to kiss him.

"You better make sure you bring back some fucking pixie dust or there'll be a riot."

"Aye, Laswell definitely knows someone-" Johnny replied, giving you a wink. "Miss you gorgeous." He always tried to uplift the mood. And it nearly always worked.

You fought out of your misery, knowing the four soldiers couldn't bear to see you upset. And as they said their goodbyes, you said so in return.

"We love you, our precious wife. We'll all be together soon."