Noona's Dukedom Gave Me Brain Worms
Noona's Dukedom Gave Me Brain Worms
@beloveds-embrace legit gave me brain worms. We aren't going to talk about how long this damn thing got. Can be read without context of the Dukedom AU but it makes more sense if you've read all the possible endings. Shout out to @strangergraphics for the cute divider. ***It got a little bit away from me... Word count: Shy of 6K
Sneaking into the stable of the noble house of Price was a bad idea. He knew it. The hunger gnawing at his spine pushed him forward despite his mind’s warnings. Due to the starvation, his body was smaller than it should have been. He used that advantage to sneak between the slats in the fencing and to hide below the edge of the empty stalls.
Voices and clopping of hooves lifted over the walls. The grooms were rotating the horses in the paddock, he would have a few moments to scrounge for something to eat. He would even take the horse’s oats at this point.
Darting from the stall he scanned the walls for a full door; the horse food would most likely be up to keep away the rodents. His hand nearly touched the handle when a swish of skirts had him unlatching a stall with a large black horse and hiding. The horse did not care for his presence and began to flick its ears and swish their tail.
The swishing of skirts continued, nearer and nearer to the stall with the upset horse. It stopped and he ducked further down, holding the door shut but not letting it latch for fear that the sound would travel. Three loud breaths in his ears and the horse pawing at the straw were all the sounds that he could hear.
“Child, I need you to come out of there. Now.”
The voice held the commands with familiarity. Shutting his eyes tight the boy wished that God listened to orphans. He did not complete another breath before he was hauled out by the collar of his shirt. The damn thing ripped as the woman slammed the door closed to the angry sounds of a horse.
“Ma’am!” A groom, dressed in nicer clothes than should ever be used to care for horses, came running in. He skidded to a halt at the sight of the boy. “Do you need me to take care of him, my Lady?”
Hells beyond, of course, he had been found by the lady of the house. The devil must want his soul something fierce.
“No. Thank you, Benjamin.” You must dismiss him with a nod for the groom eyes him warily before heading back outside.
Chancing a glance upward he saw a lovely dress, must be the height of fashion because none of it made sense to him, and a sad face.
“What is your name child?” You ask him kindly, despite the hand still gripping the ripped portion of his shirt.
He thought about running, leaving his shirt behind in your hand.
You let out a small hiss of reprimand and the thought is abandoned.
“David, ma’am.”
Even in those two words, he knew his low-brow accent could be heard.
“And what are you doing in the stables and with my husband’s horse, David?”
He thinks about lying. You must see it in his face for the small bit of tension in your shoulders falls away, as does your hand.
“Come with me, David. And before you tell me the lie on your tongue, make up a story. Tell me the most unrealistic reason of how you came here, and then we can discuss the truth.” You gesture to the bright light beyond the stable and begin to walk.
You make it several steps before you turn around and lift a brow at him. Trained by society to listen to his betters David scurries after you.
He tells you a tale, of how fae had stolen him away from his family and left him for dead in the woods because he never seemed to grow. He spun the story so neatly that he nearly missed that they entered the side door of the grand manor on the property. A maid passed in front of you, long strides taking her down the hall.
“Mary,” you state her name, waiting for her to pause with a quiet, ‘yes ma’am’ before you continue. “Please send a tray of bread and cheese to my room. Also, have someone open the old trunks in the nursery to see if there are any clothes that would fit this child.”
Mary’s eyes flick to him and back to the lady, the confusion only thinly masked.
“And if his Lordship asks?”
David knew this wasn’t usual; his last posting would have called that cheek and seen him dismissed. You handle it with almost an ease of familiarity.
“Then send his Lordship to my room.” You settle a hand on his shoulder, directing him to the stairs, “Come, David.”
He moves where you direct, curious and cautious in equal measure. He had no training for how to act when the lady of the house pulls him into her sitting room and directed him to sit on a wooden chair near a writing desk. You disappear into what David assumes to be your bedroom for a moment.
Taking a moment to observe the room he notices a stack of books next to a comfortable chair with a blanket draped over the back of it. There is dust in the corners of the room and along the windowsill. Your maids were terrible at their jobs.
His mother had been a maid before she had been forced to put him in the orphanage due to illness and probably dying from consumption. She would be ashamed to claim this room as clean. For a duchess no less? Disgraceful. David could feel his brows pull down in a glare as he looked more. No stack of wood near the hearth, and a large collection of ash in the grate spoke of negligence.
When you return you are carrying a pitcher of water, a bowl, and a rag. Setting all of them on the floor you settle yourself down next to them. David had never seen a lady deign to sit on the floor before.
Pouring some water into the bowl, you wet the rag and wring it out before gently lifting it to his face.
“Where are your parents, child?” You ask in kindness, he flinches anyway.
He was a bastard of an earl and a maid who could not refuse. A knowing enters your eyes at the set of his chin.
“They do not care for you here.” His tone is serious.
It is your turn to flinch. It does not stop you from wiping the dirt from his face.
“What makes you say that?” You ask in a quiet voice, eyes not straying from your task.
“The maid was cheeky, and the state of your sitting room. Any maid worth her salt would not let dust collect like this.” He is still scowling as you rinse your rag and begin on one eye.
“Mmm, the staff were chosen by my husband before marriage. He is…resistant to change,” you hedge.
David does not reply other than to watch you in silence. Something here did not feel right. He would know, he had served in a great house once before. The lady of that house had been a mean and hateful woman, nothing like what you had presented yourself as. No one in the gentry would have saved him from a horse or brought him into their space to dress and feed him. He decided he would stay, ask for a position, and see if you were as good as this first impression.
A light knock at the door did not prevent you from finishing your task.
“Enter,” you called as you started on his hands.
“Found these in the nursery ma’am, a few moth holes but they will serve for now.” Mary, the cheeky maid from earlier glared at you as she settled the clothes across the settee. The tray of bread and cheese rested on the cushion next to the clothes.
David glared at her over your head. Mary jerked back when she saw his black look. She returned a sneer and breezed from the room as easy as you please. Acted like she owned the damn place.
“You need new maids,” David near as growled as his child’s voice would allow. Confusion washed over him like sacrament water at your soft smile, both hands holding his.
“Let’s get you in some clean clothes and get some food in your belly. I can hear it from here,” rising from your position on the floor you settle the water on a side table and join him near the settee.
David fingers the fabric. It is finer than anything he has ever worn, even with the moth holes. Glancing up you are looking at him with expectation. He had not grown much since the orphanage at eight but he knew that changing in front of you would not be wise. In response to the single brow you lifted, he held up the clothes in answer.
“Use the antechamber,” you point to the same door you had used to bring back the water.
Soon enough David is changed into new clothes and is seated on the settee stuffing his face with bread and cheese in alternating bites. Sleep overtook him with the strength of an executioner. When he stirred next he could feel your fingers parting his hair. The deep voice came again, that is what had woken him.
“Are you sure this is what you are willing to bargain for, wife?”
“John, as I am your wife in name only, I am asking for a compromise. Let me take the child as a ward and I will delay choosing a lover until he is grown and managing his own affairs.”
You present the option as if it makes sense and is the only logical choice. David slits his eyes open, taking in the pattern of your dress up close.
“I am not allowed,” David heard the fury in your words, he wondered if the duke did. “To take a lover for fear that he will feed the roses. But none of you would stoop so low as to murder a child. Heaven forbid I get to feel a modicum of love in my own home.”
“You tread a dangerous line, wife.”
Shifting fabric from behind his head has David tensing to leap up and defend you from a blow. Your fingers dig into his hair enough to give a warning, ‘Stay still.’
“No more dangerous than your lovers do, husband.”
The silence is laced with danger, it wrings his neck as if he were the queen. Your fingers tighten almost painfully on his skull. David breathes, slow and steady, matching the lie of your calming breaths.
“Are you threate—”
“I am again repeating my offer. I care for the boy as my ward; in return, I delay taking a lover so you may continue to enjoy your three without worrying about my behavior.”
David thinks not even the queen could keep her composure in this situation. You maneuvered your husband magnificently.
“You would have been a good general wife,” the Duke replies coolly.
“How fortunate for me then women are property and not people,” you reply with equal chill.
He grew, and grew, and grew. Regular meals and exercise saw David immediately falling into several growth spurts. He only wore short pants for three months before you had a tailor taking in some of your husband’s older and discarded clothes. He still wonders how much you paid the valet to sneak them out of John’s room.
David had taken to calling everyone by their first names. John and Simon were not ‘my lord’ or any other superfluous title they did not deserve, for they did not treat you as a gentleman should. Dinners were stilted in silence. You sat at one end of the great table, David seated next to you; eight chairs separated the pair of men at the end from your bright smile. They never attempted to usurp convention and sit closer, or invite either of you to move up and forgo the distance.
Your days were split between bringing David’s reading and math skills up to speed as you secured a teacher for him. Or rather David flourished under your tutelage until several teachers arrived to teach him math, French, history, Latin, and even science.
The house never suffered under the reduction in your attention. That did not stop the head butler from calling attention to the delay in requests being fulfilled.
Mr. Kyle Garrick could be no older than you. While twenty-four appeared ancient to his twelve the head butler being no more than thirty. He had never heard of such a thing below stairs, and the servants would have gossiped about it.
Kyle stood now in your office, eyes trained above your head as he spoke to you. David watched from his place at a side table; chalk pinched between his fingers and letters abandoned.
“The staff have reported that the expected deliveries have been delayed,” he clasped his hands behind his back, still not looking at you.
“Are the staff in need of an item urgently?” You look up from your correspondence. While John might manage the land, you managed the people and the tenants and the local clergy and did so without ruffling any feathers. David had to say you worked harder than your husband.
Kyle’s nose scrunched as if the question were one he would rather not answer.
“No. Not as of yet ma’am”
“And have you confirmed that the deliveries will arrive before the matter becomes urgent?” You arch a brow at your head butler.
The angry shift of his jaw tells David you are a master at stepping through this house without any of the blood you let fall onto your skirts.
“Yes,” comes the terse reply.
“Then is there anything else you need from me, Mr. Garrick?” Your face is innocent and open as Kyle’s eyes flick to you.
“No, ma’am. Thank you,” Kyle turns sharply on a heel, every line of his suit pressed to perfection.
Both you and David watch Kyle as he pauses at the door. Without turning he broaches the subject.
“Ma’am the staff have all been wondering…about the boy.”
David glances to Kyle’s hand on the doorknob. His arm shakes with the force with which he is holding it.
“David is my ward. He is confirmed as such in my will and by John’s own solicitor. If any of the staff take issue with the decision they can be dismissed immediately with a letter of recommendation and their wages due,” you reply, the chill in your tone removing all heat from your office.
The words land like arrows in Kyle’s back from the way his spine straightens.
“Yes ma’am, thank you,” he flings open the door and is gone with only a soft click of the shutting door to mark his departure.
Kyle was added to his list of people in this place who were not safe, right next to John and Simon. The head chef joined that list on the selfsame day.
Nipping down into the kitchens for a bite to eat, for feeding his hungry body only seemed to fuel more hunger, David listened to Johnny rant and rave about the lady of the house and her ‘particular tastes’ and her unwillingness to eat any meat presented to her. Something in his tone hinted that his anger grew from something deeper than a delicate palette. David did not raid the kitchen when any staff might be present from now on.
Observation was a tool that kept David safe on the streets after he had escaped the orphanage. Between his teachers and his daily meals with you, David witnessed a deepening sadness he could only attribute to your husband and his lovers.
Each night you tucked him into bed in the room next to yours. Reciting the Lord’s Prayer, reading a chapter of whatever book he had been reading, and laying a kiss on his brow were the standard. One night you laid an especially long kiss on his brow.
“I think I would have taken to my bed and never left if you had not arrived when you did David. Thank you for allowing me to save myself for you,” were the whispered words against his forehead.
Having no words for the overwhelming feelings in his chest David sat upright and hugged you tight.
“You’re the best mother I could have asked for,” came his own whispered reply.
Neither of you commented on the tears in the others eyes.
Nearly a year passed in that building others called home and he thought of it as a shared prison. At thirteen he had put on nearly a stone in weight and could hold his own academically with any boy his age who had been nurtured from the womb to stand among the peerage.
A letter from your desk, and a preemptive payment, secured him a spot at Eton in London. The household held its breath as you directed both your items and David’s to be packed for the move. John preferred the country estate but kept a home in the city for when Parliament was in session. David had missed the frigid argument that must have ensued before you were allowed to leave.
The years at Eton were grueling. Being a no-name ward to the Lady Price did not buy him the safety he would have received at being an acknowledged earl’s son. He often returned to the home he shared with you each weekend littered with bruises and with a sour mood.
It only took three weekends for you to call on your friends with children at Eton to run interference and to hire a pugilist to teach David how to handle the rest. Things didn’t get easier for nearly a year.
Returning as a fourteen-year-old with a bit more weight on his bones David channeled the attitudes he had seen both John and Simon wield to great effect and used his fists to even greater effect. His attitude and willingness to scrabble with even the boys who could be called men made the rounds. He walked away from every fight. Limping and spitting blood still counted as walking away.
Only once did David pull the attitude of the duke out with you.
“I will not be attending the picnic this weekend.”
David looked down his nose at you where you sat reading a Jane Austin novel. He stood, to give himself the illusion of height. He didn’t really mind either way about the picnic but he wanted to test his powers against you. When he looked back on the moment as a fully grown man he could see that he wanted to be sure that you could, would, still love him and keep him in hand as he grew. He wanted to know if you would protect him, even from himself.
A single finger slipped between the pages, turning it.
“David, if I do not let my husband speak to me so, why would I let you?”
The lack of emotion in your question sent sparks of fear up his spine, akin to the fireworks he had seen last year.
He remained silent and unsure how to reign in the wild horse of his mistake.
Closing your book softly you lift your eyes up to him. A wall of neutrality sat in your eyes that he hadn’t seen since leaving the country estate. Patting the seat next to you twice you waited until David sat to prune his behavior.
“Command is something given, not taken. If you wish to be a leader among men they first will need to want to follow you.” Only the sounds of carriages on the cobblestone outside the window break the silence. “My husband commands because of his birthright. I command because I have been trusted to do so. All of the charitable works I accomplish while you are in school, the lives I change, the directives I lead? These have all been trusted to me because I have proven I will not abuse them.”
David swallowed hard, lip starting to quiver.
“I’m sorry, mum,” his voice is small, a dandelion of admitting he had been wrong.
You reach up behind him, and despite the years between then and now being filled with nothing but love and gentle guidance, he still flinched. The hand on his head pulled him to your breast, soothing him as he cried.
“Trust I will care for you. Trust that I love you, David. If you have concerns we can discuss them, but no one deserves high-handedness unless they have proved themselves worthy of its censure.”
College had been his goal, the plan he would dare say. That plan flew out the window when John called David to his London office and handed him a letter.
“I have need of my wife, and our bargain has come to a conclusion. This is your commission. You will be serving under Admiral Wishart. He is expecting you on the third. The Royal William sets sail on the fifth,” John said all this with a wild gleam in his eye.
David snatched the letter from John’s hand, scanning over every word. His stomach sank further with each line he reread.
John Price had purchased a commission for him. As no law stood in the way of paying for a commission for any man, David had been promised to the crown as a soldier against his will.
Straightening to his full height David took three deep breaths to prepare his thoughts.
“She will not forgive you for this.”
“Maybe,” John shrugged, “But a woman of her age yearns for a child and with you gone, I can provide her with one.”
Civility fled with the thought of this man, so long abandoning his wife, touching her in any way filled David with nothing but rage.
“You would have better luck stealing the king’s trousers from his still awake body than bedding your wife. Good day, sir,” he infused the word sir with every ounce of hate he held for the man.
David had searched you out after leaving John’s office. Eighteen had once felt so grown, but now he knew he could be nothing more than a child masquerading as an adult. He had found you having tea with the neighbor. Pacing the front hall his hands worrying at his cuffs David swallowed hard to force the acid back into his stomach. The butler, this one old like every other butler was, announced him.
Rodgers opened the door wide for David to pass through. Instead, he caught your eye, the tears in his own clear even from the distance. Rising without removing your eyes from him you took your leave. Sliding your hand into the crook of his arm you nod for Rodgers to open the front door.
The door is not fully shut when David whips out the commission letter for you and tears streak down his face. Reading the letter three times all color leeches from your face.
“He didn’t,” you whisper, aghast.
“Mum, I’m scared,” David hugs himself, trying to keep the pieces of himself from flying in every direction. “He said you yearned for a child, and he could give you one with me gone.”
The pallor of your panic disappears until all that is left is a Duchess. You take his hand, squeezing it tight.
“You have all the skills to get through this. Wishart is a solid man to serve under and despite all his faults, John did purchase you a commission which will keep you safer than if you had volunteered. Now come and lay down in my bed and let me read to you.”
David laughed out a sob. You had not read to him like this since he went to Eton. The offer is all the sweeter because soon he won’t have a chance. Holding your hand up all the stairs he settles into your bed, arms wrapped around your middle. The soothing effect of your voice lulls him into sleep.
When he wakes he is alone in your bed and a soft sobbing drifts from the closet. He never doubted your love for him, but to hear you weep for him nailed it to the center of his soul.
He would survive the war.
Better yet he would come back decorated and rich beyond measure.
Six years passed before David could settle his feet on soil and not track his eyes around the port waiting for the bell to drag him back. He had clawed his way through the ranks; he saved so many men that when he had received his own ship as a captain he had nearly a full crew from volunteers alone. He had been made one of the youngest captains in the Navy.
Your last letter had reached him four years ago. He doubted any of his had reached you, spread out along the coasts as they were.
He and his men had eight weeks of leave while their ship was dry-docked and fixed. The first thought that crossed his might was to find you, Duchess Price, his mum.
The lamp lighters were working their way down the street as he approached the last non-floating home he had. Music drifted to the street from the open windows. Laughter and a cacophony of voices told him that a party was in full swing. Bounding up the stairs David knocked twice, loudly.
Hawthorne, the man who had served as butler when he left for the sea opened the door with an imperious look.
“Yes?” He lifted a brow.
“Hawthorne is that any way to greet the prodigal son?” David grinned and lifted both brows.
All servant’s decorum fled when Hawthorne realized who stood on the stoop.
“Master David? We all thought you dead.”
Stepping into the door David pushes it open forcing Hawthorne to let him in.
“Is the duchess in my good man?” He pats the butler on the shoulder.
“She is entertaining, bu—”
David does not wait to hear what other words might have followed. His long strides ate up the distance to the sitting room. And there you were, dressed in starlight. A healthy look on your face and a gentle smile at your current conversation companion ease the tightness in his chest that had lingered since you waved him off at the docks all those years ago.
The woman you are speaking with glances at him as he moves closer. Turning you follow her gaze. Your brows pull together as you look him over.
He had been so familiar with your thoughts when he left he can see them now. ‘This is not a guest I invited. Could he be my husband’s invite? Why does he look familiar?’ And there it is, the recognition.
“David?!”
No sign of a woman trained in moderation here, only a mum welcoming her son back from the dead. He catches you as you fling yourself into his arms. David spins you twice before settling you back on your feet.
“‘‘ello mum,” he whispered down to you.
Blinking away the tears you remember all of your guests. Turning you address the room.
“My friends, let me reintroduce you to my ward, David. He has been serving in the Royal Navy and has just returned to us,” your hand settles on his arm, fingers digging into the muscle below his sleeve.
Nodding to the room David settled his other hand on yours. That is when he shifts his head enough to find Simon and John standing together, staring daggers at him. He gifts them with a saccharine grin. They scowl all the harder.
The instant you let go of his arm they bully David into the hall and further into the study.
“When I sent you to war I did not expect you to return a captain,” John flicked at the brass on David’s chest.
“I didn’t expect you to still be holding tighter to your lover than your wife,” David eyed Simon before dropping his eyes back to John. “She never did forgive you, did she?”
David had gotten taller than he realized. Simon had towered over him as a child, now he looked down to make eye contact with the man.
“We’ll make this fast. Are you the duchess’ paramore?”
Recoiling as if he had been shot, David stared at the two men agog.
“This is the longest I have been on land since I left to fulfill my commission and you are asking if I am bedding the woman who I view as a mother?” Disgust dripped off every word. “What in the nine hells led you to that conclusion?”
John and Simon share a look.
“There is a report that the duchess took a lover. A man of large stature who has not been seen in polite society before,” John explains, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
Smirking, David can’t help the rush of pride that fills his chest. You were still holding your own.
“Must burn you up inside, both of you, that she continues to hold you at bay,” David gloated.
“And how would you know that so recently returned to land?” Simon snapped at him.
“It’s clear from this conversation.” David gestures between them, “You waited too long to offer her love and she found the idea of your bitter fruit repugnant, didn’t she?”
The sour look on their faces had David folding in half laughing.
“And now she has taken a lover and you mistook me for her paramore,” David clutched at his stomach as the laughter continued. “Ah, this is such a better reunion than I had hoped for.”
“This is not a laughing matter, boy,” John chastised him.
Standing tall David wiped the tears that had leaked from his eyes.
“On the contrary I find this to be the funniest thing I have heard in nearly a year. When the duchess brought me into your home as a child she did so to fill the void you left her with. Had you loved her, any of you or your lovers, she would not have taken me in to fill that hole. But more’s the loss for you. Now when you can finally see the gem you threw away, I hope it burns.”
David threw open the door of the study. He left behind him two men who would forever regret not seeing the gem in their midst. Rejoining you in the party he answered your questioning look with a smile and a shake of his head.
When at last all the guests are tucked into their carriages and heading for home you pull David into your sitting room and lock the door. It is here you are able to take his face between your hands and study him like a vicar does the bible. Seated on the settee, he lets you examine him and ensure for yourself that he is well.
“You scared me, David. I thought you were dead. No one could confirm if you were alive or dead for so long I went into mourning for you.”
The thought of you wearing black for him tugged at his heart.
“We were pulled into a series of secret missions, our still being alive was not reported anywhere. I doubt even your husband would have been able to find the information on us if he had asked,” David bumped your forehead with his own.
Letting his face go with a laugh he can finally appreciate the fact you are more beautiful than when he took to the sea. It’s no wonder there are rumors of you taking a lover.
“Is it true you have taken a paramore?” David leans back into the seat.
His eyes go wide as you squirm slightly. He sits straight again and stares at you as you grab a shawl left within reach.
“Mum?”
“It is not that simple, David,” you hedge.
“I am a smart man, you made sure of that. Now tell me, please,” he took one of your hands between his.
Heaving a great sigh you look at the man your son had become.
“After John signed you away to death I nearly perished. My heart had been broken and I knew deep in my soul you would not return to me.” Curling your fingers around his you look at them as you continue, “The crown asked that I help host a collection of the Austrian aristocracy. The task gave me something to focus on. It was no more than something to fill my time until the fourth set of visitors. I meet one Lukas König, a lord.”
Your words peter out as your shifting and squirming increase.
“Go on,” David encourages.
“It did not begin as it has progressed. He makes me laugh and listens and values my opinion,” you speak as if pleading your case before a judge.
You look up at him, searching for something. He must not provide the answer you are looking for because you tuck your chin to your chest again.
“Mum,” David frees one hand to lift your chin to see your tear-stained eyes, “What do you need from me to be free of this prison? A divorce? I know men close to the Archbishop and am willing to call in all my favors to see you happy.”
Tears begin to stream down your cheeks, so different from the ones earlier squeezed from his eyes by laughter.
“You would do that for me?” The breaks in your voice hurt him deeply.
“For the woman that saved me time and again? For you who became my mother when you did not need to? I would do anything for you, including delivering you to Austria myself.”
“David, my son, I think I will take you up on that offer.”
Before he heads back to the sea, David will see you to the arms of a man who loves you. He will know you are safe and when he returns to you he expects to have at least one sibling. He keeps that thought tucked behind his smile.
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clo i need to know your thoughts on cal, johnny and benny all falling for the same, sweet local girl! <3 love ya xoxo
suse how could you do this to me :( currently trying not to scream cry and throw up in the coffee shop :( this somehow turned into jealous!danny? dunno how! kinda long, so ya gotta read more xo
benny says your name like it's this sacred thing and danny knows he's in for a treat. the sun grows weary as she dips beneath the tree line, but danny is unyielding; bony forearms braced on the tops of his thighs, microphone edging just a bit closer to his pondering interviewee. benny blows a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth, watching as it mingles with the cotton candy clouds and it's hard, danny thinks, to be around benny because everything he does is so damn picturesque. he's filled more than three rolls of film with just benny and yeah, he's gotta be mindful because film isn't cheap and he's broke but there's something about the way benny looks; leather cut laying just so over his shirtless form, white levis baggy from age, speckled with either dirt or blood, he doesn't know, and he's just so cool that it's impossible to resist. danny snaps a quick picture, scolds himself as the ticker tells him he's got four shots left, then turns his chin to watch as benny plucks the near-extinguished cigarette from between his teeth, flicking it into the grass. "what'dya wanna know about her?" "well," danny shifts in the creaky lawnchair, "y'know, i've talked to the guys and they, uh, they say she's the best thing that's happened to the club. girls are sayin' it too, n'not just cus she made you nasty bastards start washing your hands." benny is chuckling, pillowy lips damp from the swipe of his tongue. "so what is it about her?" danny asks then waits and waits and waits as benny sits, per usual, in silence. and, okay, maybe this isn't going as well as danny hoped and now he's scrambling, throwing haphazard sentences around his brain, but then benny is speaking and holy shit he's speaking. danny has never heard him say more than fifteen words but now he's a leaky faucet "she's good - everythin' about her - doesn't have a mean bone in her body, y'know? gave all've us a chance, gave me a chance." benny shakes his head as though he still can't believe it then stops, turning his head at the faint sound of the screendoor closing and there you are in a pair of cutoff overalls, hair pulled back with a crocheted bandana and danny can see it, the whole angelic thing. you pay neither of them any mind, tending instead to the flowers 'round the porch. your little yellow watering can is cute and danny can see the fondness constricting the base of benny's throat. "think m'biased." benny says, turning back to face danny. "but 've said it once and i'll say it till they throw me in the ground: she's heaven sent. an' i hope imma good enough man to see her again when i get where i'm goin'." danny leaves with a rekindled belief in love and hopes that maybe one day he’ll be lucky enough to be loved the way benny is.
it's been three weeks since benny's interview and danny can't help but notice things. he carries this leather notebook around - jotting down names and places and tape numbers - but the page he keeps coming back to is one he scribbled across a few days ago. the thing about benny's girl is that she isn't just benny's girl. he's circled it three times for good measure because benny's girl doesn't just belong to benny - sure, maybe in the ways it matters - but every single soul adores her; lights up when she walks in and it sure is a sight to see fifty or so bikers grinning and stumbling over their own feet for this girl who looks like she couldn't harm a fuckin' fly. if she had a male equivalent danny reckons it would be cal. cal with a personality as warm as fire, who talks to everyone, and cracks jokes, and is unabashedly himself. but cal has a temper and it shows during a run to akron. danny is interviewing zipco when he hears the commotion then suddenly everyone is stampeding toward two swinging figures and he knows this is where he steps back. it's a full-on brawl now and zipco sure as shit wasn't going to stay and yap while there was chaos amuck, so danny plops down, lights a cigarette and waits. "s'guy called her a bitch," cal says and danny almost jumps out of his fuckin' skin. where did the sun go? he scrambles to a sitting position, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth and smacking the record button on his cassette recorder. "what?" "some fuckin' prick called her a bitch." cal's got a handful of ice cubes pressed to his busted jaw and because the man knows no personal space a bloody mix has dripped onto danny's pant leg. "her?" danny's not following but the beat up boy tips his head and danny should've known. it's you. of course it's you. "not gonna let nobody talk to her like that. i don't take too kindly for no one talkin' ill to a lady, but 'specially her. s'the most fucked up shit you can do." that's when danny realizes that cal has it too. it's the same look benny had when you came out of the house - that dumb, lovesick gaze - but cal's is laced with longing and danny actually feels bad for him. "she sure is something." he says, testing the waters. he's out of cigarettes so his nimble fingers pluck a handful of grass from beside his boot. "sure is." cal takes a seat, reaching behind danny to grab the jug of strong-smelling alcohol. "never met anyone like 'er. been everywhere; hell to fuckin' Houston, never met a girl like her before." he takes a deep swig, grimaces, then swallows. "benny sure is lucky, ain't he?" danny says, peering under his lashes at the golden-haired boy and he laughs. "we're all lucky. she's the sweetest of the sunflowers, man. she's like the fuckin' sun. least she is to me - to us." poor bastard, danny thinks. poor infatuated bastard.
"where ya gonna be sittin', baby?" "with johnny." "good girl, c'mere gimmie a kiss." danny's at the bar nursing a beer and a hangover and probably a concussion and you know what? this kinda talk doesn't phase him anymore. he's used to it by now; sure he doesn't know the rules, but it's none of his business anyway and in his four months with the club he's learned, above all else, that bikers are fuckin' weird. still danny finds you, watches as benny grabs your chin bringing you up up up onto your tiptoes before planting delicate kisses onto your giggling mouth. "you go see 'em." it's a whisper and danny's not trying to eavesdrop but he finds himself leaning closer. "looks like he needs some cheerin' up." and maybe danny is still invested because he turns, following you as you float over to johnny's table where he's hunched over an intimidating stack of papers. you say something, but your sweet voice is too quiet over the racket and danny cares so he stands, goes over to the pinball machine, but doesn't turn it on. "hi, pretty." johnny reaches over, takes your hand, tugs you closer and you giggle, bracing your hands on his broad shoulders and this is different. none of the other guys put their hands on you - just benny, just benny because he's yours and you're his but johnny does it so naturally danny knows he's done it before. "what's goin' on, old man?" your voice drips nothing but affection and johnny smiles around his cigarette and launches into club dues and the upcoming springfield run and the dwindling bail fund and danny starts losing interest; his feet are going numb and there's only so much longer he can stand there pretending to fucking play pinball before someone catches on but then you're on johnny's lap and yeah this never happens. danny has seen benny beat the dog shit out of a guy for even suggesting that you sit next to him but now here you are, balanced on one of johnny's broad thighs, spinning his wedding band around and around his finger and benny sees, fucking smiles at the sight, and drops his head, lining up his next shot at the pool table. danny realizes you're talking and running your hand up and down johnny's arm as you validate his feelings and strategize fundraising plans and promise to bake some of your infamous strawberry shortcake bites. johnny's promised hand lays so delicately upon your cheek danny thinks he may kiss you but thank fuck he doesn't because danny'd surely blow his cover and a load in his pants because, okay, yeah, he gets it. knows now why everyone loves you, has started to catch feelings of his own but he's not johnny or benny and he'll never be able to touch you the way he wants so he guesses he'll join the ranks with cal as just another distant admirer. just another love struck bastard.
i need more needy megumi who js wants kisses :( i just read the halloween costume fic and i need moreee
pretty boy megumi just needs you to kiss him more
💗めぐみ
note : needy cutie pie gumi hot off the press 😘 i think if anyone would be needy and obsessed with kissing, it's mr pretty boy over here
content : fluff, kissing, bf megumi, fem reader
playme : kiss me more (of course lol)
"kiss me more..."
it's not a command, but a shy plea. he tugs at the hem of your shirt. he only looks this soft for you.
megumi has spells where he's insatiable and wants to kiss you over and over and over and— overrrrrr. until his lips plump up and tingle, until he's almost gasping and out of breath. until he's dazed. he's just... so in love with you. have mercy. he's never enjoyed kissing anyone before you.
your phone floods with messages from your best friend. megumi groans when you break from the make out session, he was putting his whole back into it, pouring his whole heart into it.
📨 nobara : where r u ??
📨 you : gumi's
📨 nobara : not emo boy again. didn't u two have an argument
📨 you : uh yeah... about which pizza is best lol.
📨 nobara : shopping. now.
📨 you : isn't yuji ur dedicated carry horse...
📨 nobara : yes but he's busy and also i miss uuuu 😘
megumi groans, "is it nobara?"
"yes, it's nobara. i'm gonna meet up with her."
he frowns. "but..." he pays glance to your lips. he doesn't wanna seem needy, or anything. gosh no, that would be humiliating. but the way your lips look so inviting, like a door opening to his home, he can't help it and —
"kiss me a bit more before you go..." he asks quietly. but truthfully, he wants more than that. he wants you to ruffle his hair. cup his cheeks. make him dizzy. drain his lungs. with a thousand kisses that turn into two thousand. he's a bit greedy.
you kiss him lightly, "you're so sweet... gumi."
"shut up... and kiss me harder. what are these baby kisses?"
you giggle, "so mean!"
he pulls you in, and kisses you. and the poor boy, he follows you to the door on your way out with kisses, too; he just doesn't want to let you go.
"okay, one more kiss."
"yes, just one more."
"seriously, only one more, gumi."
"yes yes, just one more..." he's itching to kiss you, you can feel his whole body buzz with desire.
he kisses you so hard he pins you to the door and it clasps shut with a click. you feel his weight press into your body, pinning you tighter.
and he cups your cheeks, thumbs back and forth on the crown of them. no kiss engulfs you quite like megumi's. he kisses you so deeply you feel it in your soul.
"megumi... this is more than one kiss."
he whines and curls his lips into a frowny grimace. "can't you just spare me... fifteen more minutes...?" he breathes heavily.
you laugh, "fifteen? nobara's been waiting for thirty minutes at the station..."
"yeah... sorry... but..." he licks his lips, then brushes them against yours. he gives you that deep look that shows off the dark beauty in his eyes. "...i just really need your lips today."
"feeling a bit crazed huh?" he feels your smirk against his lips and it makes his heart leap around in his chest like a frog.
"...yeah...a bit..." and he melts into another buttery kiss, feeling his stomach fill with butterflies.
© arminsumi
Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.
Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.
"fuck it we ball" is for stress about the future "it is what it is" is for stress about the past and "this too shall pass" is for stress about the present thank you for coming to my TED talk
Distracted
Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader
Summary: Locked in a room with the boy who has the relic you've been hunting, you try whatever you can to get it back.
Content: fight scene, flirting and making out, a bit suggestive but nothing explicit
A/N: requested by @superpositvecloudshipper - hope you like it! Also can you tell it's my day off with the way this is my third fic in less than 12 hours lol
Word count: 1.9k
As yet another auction came to an abrupt end, the crowded room filling with screams and alarms, Lockwood began to wonder if he was developing a track record.
He was there for a book, written at the very beginning of the Problem, which George insisted would be invaluable in the case they'd just accepted and which DEPRAC were determined to put into secure storage. Nobody had seen it for years, but a week ago it had been listed as the star item at Fothergills Auction House. It wasn't anything as serious as the Bone Glass, but the team had still had to blag their way into the auction with a pocket of tricks each and an unofficial nod from Barnes to do whatever was necessary to prevent the book from winding up on the black market.
So it was that Lockwood found himself surging through the throng of panicked auction-goers, scrambling to escape Lucy's recently detonated smoke bomb. He could barely see through the mass of bodies, made worse by the cloud of dark grey fumes and the pulsing red light of the alarm system. It was only a matter of time before the sprinklers activated. He had to get the book before then.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted an unusual movement - another figure fighting against the tide of bodies. Probably a relic man with more greed than sense, but at least they'd thought to put their hood up and draw a scarf across their mouth to protect against the smoke. Lockwood pressed forward with increasing urgency.
He reached the podium seconds before the mysterious figure, snatching the book and giving in to the urge to throw his pursuer a triumphant grin. They swore, drowned out by the alarm as it shifted in pitch to indicate the activation of the water sprinklers. Lockwood tucked the book into his coat and bolted for the nearest door, the other person hot on his heels.
Overhead, an automated voice alternated with the alarms.
"Defence alert. Room cleared. Initiating lockdown procedure."
Oh no.
—
You forced your way through the crowd, eyes trained on the book. It would fetch you a pretty penny and give you an advantage over a group of relic men who were giving you grief. As you reached the podium, you stumbled to a halt at the sight of a scrawny dark-haired boy clutching the book. Your book. You scowled, expression deepening as he gave you a bright victory smirk. Well, that was that. No way were you letting him leave here without getting the book. As he sprinted for the door on the left, you followed.
Too late, you realised the door the boy ahead had chosen was not the one for the offices, but for a storage cupboard which would usually have held the items for auction but now was almost bare. Too late, you noticed there were no other doors or windows, just the one that had now sealed behind you.
"I swear," he growled, hand on his rapier, "don’t come any closer. There's nowhere to go and I've fought enough relic men that if you want to get out of here alive you'll keep your distance."
You scoffed, a higher sound than Lockwood was expecting.
"Excuse you, relic man? Presumptuous much?" As you spoke, your scarf shifted to reveal plump red lips, and in one smooth movement you tugged down your hood, scooping the mane of windswept hair it concealed into a messy ponytail.
Lockwood froze for a second before switching on his trademark charisma. No sense in making enemies straight away, besides the more he looked the more he realised there was little room to use his rapier without risking self-injury.
"I meant no offence, I thought Flo Bones was the only relic woman."
You'd heard of Flo, of course, but didn't run in the same circles. She was a one-man, well, one-woman band, except for whoever this guy was it seemed. You tended to keep to yourself, but occasionally took advantage of the more simpering relic men who were so desperate for a woman to look their way that they'd give you anything, making you the leather-clad rogue to Flo's knitted outcast.
"Easy mistake to make, darling, but it won't happen again." You returned his charm with your own, thinly veiling the threat behind your words. "Just give me the book and we can both go on our merry ways."
"I don't think so." He dropped the act in a flash, gripping the book.
Your scowl returned. "Fine. That door's not budging, so I've got time to change your mind."
Without warning, you lunged, catching him off-guard enough that he almost lost his footing. To your dismay, he recovered quickly, pushing you back to give him time to adopt a defensive stance. He was trained, then. Probably from agent work, judging by the rapier. By the book, though. Time to see if he fought dirty.
A scroll of paper was about the only thing left on the shelf beside you, but it would have to do. With a grunt, you tossed it past his shoulder, and as he watched it sail past (no doubt questioning your aim, as you'd planned), you used his distraction to slip closer and force him backwards into a shelf. He cried out as the metal bit into his back and for a moment you hesitated. The boy was only young, he looked about your age, and he wasn't bad looking at that. You could have been in his place in another life, or he in yours. Or both of you on the same team, fighting off some other scoundrel. Unknowingly, you eased off the pressure on his shoulders.
Big mistake.
Lockwood shoved you once more, finally deciding to bring the fight to him and reaching for his rapier. You couldn't allow that, but you were running out of ideas. So you did the only thing you could think of: whipped off your jacket and hurled it directly at his face. The boy was quick, though, you had to give him credit, as he batted it away like a pesky fly. Suddenly he was in your space, hands locking around your now bare wrists and foot snaking out to knock your feet from under you. You fell, unable to stop yourself, but with his grip still on you he lowered you almost gently to the floor, arms pinned above your head and his weight straddling your thighs to keep you from lashing out. He did fight dirty. Interesting.
Your breath was heavy, both from the fight and from finding yourself in such close quarters with the young man. With nowhere to turn, you finally got a proper look at your rival. His dark eyes were trained on you, filled with a mixture of anger, respect and something else. His previously coiffed hair now fell haphazardly across his forehead, and his face was flushed. Still had that insufferable smirk, though.
"I think," you paused to catch your breath, "we got off on the wrong foot. Care to start again?" Your hands were still pinned, hanging loosely against the cold stone floor, but you brought one up in as close to a handshake as circumstances would allow. He didn't take it.
"Who are you?" he asked bluntly.
"Does it matter?"
"Depends."
"On?"
"What you want with the book."
"Let's call it personal insurance."
"I see."
"Do you, darling?" You'd met his type before - rich, cocky, scornful of anyone who'd fallen into the relic hunter lifestyle to keep themselves alive. Then again, he seemed to know that other girl Flo well enough, and he hadn't given any indication he disliked you beyond having the same target, and really it was very hard to form any other opinions of him when his pelvis was practically on top of yours.
He leaned a little closer, pressing your wrists more. "I'm not your darling, darling." The last word came out low and husky, and you resisted the urge to squirm beneath him. It wouldn't do to give him any more of an upper hand just yet, not that there was much more he could get.
"You could be, if you wanted, the position you're in." You'd been watching him through your lashes, but with those words you allowed your gaze to slide down to his lips as your own parted slightly.
Lockwood took the hint.
His kiss was passionate, almost frantic, and you returned it equally. To get low enough to reach your lips, his hips had bucked into yours, and as you gasped at the sensation his tongue darted in. He tasted like bergamot tea. One hand never left where he was keeping you pinned, but the other came round to support the small of your back as you arched into him. Eventually (it took him long enough, distracted as he was when you dragged your teeth across his lower lip), he realised he was supporting all his weight on your wrists, and he propped himself on his other hand and let go. With this newfound freedom, you pushed yourself off the ground, leaning into him until he was sitting back on his feet, your legs still under him but torsos upright and pressed together.
Now on a more even playing field, you were able to have a bit more fun. Not that you were going to complain about the original position, to be fair. It had certainly made things interesting. In the back of your mind you registered that the sirens outside had stopped, but you still had time to kill.
You slid your hands up his chest to the collar of his coat, sliding it down until it gathered around his remarkably firm biceps, then loosened his tie. All the while, your lips never left his, kissing him hungrily. He responded by reaching up and removing the tie from your hair. One hand travelled back down to your waist, the other twisted into your hair with a playful tug. You gasped against his mouth again, tugging his tie which brought him up off his heels. The pressure eased from your legs, and in one swift movement you pulled them through the gap.
As your legs disappeared from under him, Lockwood found himself leaning back with you taking position above. Your hair cascaded around your face, tickling his ears, and he broke the kiss for breath and to stare up at you in wonder. His hand left your hair to support himself, but you adjusted to balance yourself so your hands could slide into his coat and around his waist.
"Well, that's certainly not how I expected this auction to end, but I can't say I'm disappointed," he chuckled.
"Me neither." Behind you the door hissed as the automatic lock disengaged. Abruptly, Lockwood felt your hands retract from within his coat and he dropped painfully onto his elbows. You stood, brushing yourself off and retrieving your jacket, which you slung over your shoulder. At the same time as Lockwood realised his coat felt significantly lighter, he noticed the book tucked under your arm.
"This has been fun, we should do it again some time," you said with a wink as you stepped through the door.
Lockwood scrambled to his feet. By the time he made it to the doorway, the auction room was empty. You'd gone, and so had the book.
He didn't know which he was more disappointed about.
just learned that magnolias are so old that they’re pollinated by beetles because they existed before bees
You know what? Fine. It’s been 5 years. Here’s the version you always wanted.
House of the Dragon characters x Sick!Reader
Alicent makes sure you have everything that you need & that you're comfortable.
She'll tuck you into bed when it's time for you to sleep, fluff out your pillows, and feeds you herself.
She prays every night & makes her children pray before every meal to wish you a quick recovery.
Alicent would rather no one visits you while your sick - especially Rhaenyra - because she doesn't want anyone to disturb you or for the sickness to spread.
Helaena likes to sit next to your bed and embroider, comfortable listening to your breathing while you rest.
She'll embroider a bug that reminds her of you in hopes to make you feel better.
When she can't visit you, she'll leave one of her bug friends to keep you company :)
Aegon can't stay away from you even when your sick.
He doesn't care if he also catches your fever.
He'll sleep on the same bed as you & try to cuddle with you, even when you tell him not to, worried that he'll also get sick.
Alicent has kicked him out of your chambers multiple times, scolding him not to bother you.
Aemond likes to read to you. Preferably stories about the Targaryen Ancestors.
He'd sit next to your bed while you sleep, so he can make sure nothing will happen to you during the night. One of the candles will be left lit so he can read one of his history books.
If you refuse to take your medicine the maester had given you, Aemond bribes you with rides on Vhagar.
Rhaenyra & Daemon usually visit you together.
Daemon will sit in a chair close to your bed, while Rhaenyra sits on the bed.
Rhaenyra will tell tell you about the gossip she's heard in court while Daemon brushes your hair off of your sweaty forehead - he keeps it there almost the whole visit.
They'd both get really stressed if you weren't getting better - but worse.
Especially Daemon after what's happened with his brother.
Daemon will threaten the maester. If the maester can't help you get better, he'll find someone who will.
Rhaenyra is more patient and will try calm Daemon down.
(elys anon) gonna try my hand at something. Ignore if too cringe!!!!!
----------------------------------------------------
She hears of you before she sees of you.
Rumors travel fast you see, with halls like these; the walls have ears, and the windows are simply another pair of eyes for the court. They call you prey, in the same sweet mocking way all fae do. You have many names she thinks with silent apathy and an even more silent curiosity—Pretender, Little Queen, The Court's plaything—her people whisper of you, mock of you.
"What a joke." They'd giggle in the same sickening way all fae do. "Isn't that right your majesty?"
She hums, non committal, ever neutral. Ice and steel her cosmetics and apathy draping over her words like a shawl. "I suppose." But her true feelings are far from that.
They say you're weak. That you're pathetic. She however, sees something else.
You are strong. She thinks, unlike everyone else. Even your own husbands who look at her with adoration perhaps. Yes, the walls hear of gossips and more, and the windows brings light to even the most greatest secrets—such is the way of the fae, but you see, she is a firm believer of actions being more louder than words. It is how she's kept her own kingdom alive and running for this long, and so—she sees you for what you are.
The hardest worker there was in those castle walls—the smartest person in your own kingdom perhaps.
She's seen the results of your endless labor you see, how much that kingdom has flourished because of your effort, of how beautiful your kingdom has become.
Yes, your kingdom. Not that man (who she refuses to call by name too appalled at how he and his men treated you), or even the queen.
Yours, a mere human. The softest thing there was in the court, the weakest there was in a room full of the inhuman.
But still, still, it is rightfully yours and even the Forest creatures know. The wretched omen of death, the mischievous whisps, and perhaps even more—all of whom were Mother Nature's most cherished children whom seemed to all but adore you, and how correct they are to be she thinks. Mother nature may be fickle and cruel but she is not a fool, and neither are her children it seems.
She is of the same opinion.
That is why when the day arrives she is to grace your kingdom and finally sweeps past her greetings with the Queen and the men, she passes by them to greet you—who's head is hung low (what a travesty they have reduced you in, you were the one who deserved to hold her head high. Not them), and curtsies before you ignoring the scandalous gasps around her.
The sounds draw your attention, as you lift your head and look at her and—She smiles as softly as she can (because humans are soft, and you are human regardless of how you dress yourself. That is fine she thinks, she likes honest and good things. You are one of them, and therefore the deceit they have forced you to hide in is something she wants you to throw away when she is around.), and gingerly holds your hand up for her to kiss—much like those human stories the court whispers you so dearly adore.
"It is most pleasant to meet you at last, your majesty []"
THIS IS SOO GOODDD ELYS ANON I CANT THANK YOU ENOUGH 😩 an absolute masterpiece istg you gotta make a writing blog now pls 😩 <333 i hope you don’t mind me adding this and basically having it escape me 🙂↕️😭
Your name is soft on her tongue. The only name she bothers to speak. Not theirs.
You blink, startled, your lips parted slightly in confusion, and in the space between that breath- she sees it. The glimmer of what once was: the queen who stood alone in a foreign court, wrapped in fae glamours and political silk, holding up a kingdom with hands cracked from too much ink, too many late nights, too many broken promises. A queen no one ever crowned aloud but who ruled all the same.
They tried to grind you down to nothing, she thinks. Chipped at you until even you forgot how tall you stood.
And still, you remain; a little softer, perhaps. A little more quiet. But still, you remain, a solitary tree withstanding hail and storm/
Your hands are still stained with the ink that built this court. Your eyes still carry the weight of every lie you’ve had to wear. And your spine- gods, your spine, decorated in bones and gold and snakes- is still straight enough to shame kings, and she hopes your joined husbands are the most ashamed.
You have been robbed of everything except your dignity. So she will not rob you of that, too.
Thus, it continues quietly, like all dangerous things do; with glances and silence and gifts too carefully chosen to be mere coincidence.
“Is this… for me?” you ask one morning, holding the delicate glass vial up to the light. The honey inside shimmers like starlight- amber and strange, scented with something that doesn’t belong to this land.
Her voice is calm as ever. “It reminded me of you.”
You blink at her, confused. “Sticky?” you try to joke, your smile dry, unsure why she cares for you so- why she seeks out your company above everyone else’s. “Hard to clean up if spilled?”
Her lips curl, small and secret, a moment just between and for the two of you. “Rare. Sweet. Difficult to forget.”
It’s in the spiral-carved bookmark that appears in your book next- your favorite book, though you never told anyone it was.
You lift it from the pages with a furrowed brow. “…This wasn’t here before.”
“I thought it might suit you,” she murmurs from where she stands at your window, pretending not to watch the way your lips part in surprise. “You always lose your place when you fall asleep reading.”
It’s you, who still sits at the same desk, fingers stained with ink, lips pursed in thought as you organize a council that will never truly thank you for it.
It’s you, who walks through the gardens cloaked in styles you no longer believe in, trailing behind the court with that same tired smile, always five steps behind your husbands- no longer quite queen, not quite dismissed.
And yet…
She is always near.
She watches you the way others watch constellations: in awe, in silence, with a kind of reverence that borders on worship. She’s not obvious about it- not as obvious as the others might be, not as obvious as the first day she came to this court and only held disgust for your husbands. Her admiration is laced in frost, dignified and distant. But it’s there.
Gods, it’s there.
She never speaks cruelly to you. Never jokes about your soft hands or your mortal sleepiness. Never calls you “Little Queen” the way the others do, sharp with mockery and disrespect.
“Do you ever tire of it?” she asks you once, her voice like glacial water, after you had to watch another meeting go by without a lick of care being given to your opinion. “Being here. With them.”
You hesitate, glancing down at the scrolls in your lap. “I tire of not knowing where I stand,” you say softly. “But I’ve been tired longer than I’ve been anything else.”
She doesn’t smile. Not then. Just watches you for a long, quiet moment. “They don’t see you,” she says finally. “Not properly. They don’t server you.”
You laugh, and for one it’s not the sound of sweet, tinkling bells heralding joy- but a broken sound, early morning blue skies and rain pattering on a window. “Do you?”
“Yes,” she says. Simply. Without pause, without even needing to think about it.
You think she means it in that polite way that nobles do- acknowledgement, nothing more, even though your heart beats so fast the remainder of the day everyone keeps sneaking you confused, nervous glances.
But you don’t see the way her fingers curl into her silks every time you laugh too brightly. You don’t see the way her throat bobs when your knuckles brush hers reaching for the same document. You don’t see how rigid her shoulders go when you flinch after someone calls you the human consort again, like your existence is a footnote.
You don’t know that she’s dreaming of you, either.
That she lies awake and wonders what your voice would sound like in bed, sleepy and real. That she thinks of your mouth on a teacup and wishes it were her instead. That she remembers, too clearly, the way you sighed once, just once, when her hand lingered too long at your back.
You don’t know that her guards are worried. That her advisors whisper of distraction. That a visiting noble once dared to touch your arm and she, without blinking, laced frost through the veins of his wrist.
You are just… confused.
You notice her kindness, and you thank her with a smile- but you don’t ask why she always stands between you and the cold; you don’t ask why her eyes find you first in every room; you don’t ask why she always smells like the sea wind, like distance and salt and something wild coming closer- you just thank her with too-human softness and bow lower than you should.
“Your Majesty.” You say whenever you pass her. Too formal and grateful for basic kindness..
“Please,” she sighs, and the ocean stills and watches the moon- hushed and yearning. “You can call me by my name.”
You blink. “Are we… that close?”
She looks at you then, and there is a sea-storm in her gaze, though you don’t feel afraid at all.
“I would burn the distance between us to ash if it meant you would see what I see.”
You say nothing. You think it’s fae poetry. A courtesy. You do not yet know her like she knows you, surely she doesn’t mean those words when no one here likes you-
And still- still-
She watches, and she wants, and oh, she thinks:
If she ever lets me love her, I will never let her forget what she is.
Not prey, and certainly not burrowed. Beloved.
And your husbands- oh, your poor, foolish husbands- they laugh at first.
“She’s playing the game.” Simon says, arms crossed, voice clipped.
“She’s being diplomatic- even if’s not needed.” Johnny agrees, too loud.
“She’s curious,” Kyle adds, with that forced little shrug, and John nods.
“Humans are a novelty.”
But their confidence begins to crack when she begins to show you off; at festivals, she walks with your arm in hers instead of their; in court, she praises your rulings before the council, cutting off nobles who try to talk over you.
At feasts, she pours your wine before her own.
“I never knew you liked rosewater.” You murmur, blinking at the glass, a happy little smile curling your lips.
“I didn’t,” she says, eyes steady and hands steady. “But you do.”
In the end, it shouldn’t be surprising when the maids sent to wake you doesn’t find you in bed. She searches and searches, and they are growing alarmed and have informed the guards who have gone to inform your husbands-
And then her maids finds you asleep in her bed, in her arms, and your flimsy nightgown’s ridden up enough they can all see the bite marks littering your inner thighs and your neck.
no more ace to play [mamma mia part two] | formula one social media au
drivers: sebastian vettel, fernando alonso and jenson button
the investigation was fruitful but now y/n has a handful of drivers and a bucket load of criticism
general note: i answered an ask about this but i thought i'd reiterate here, this is a no wives or kids au, so seb and jenson's wives and kids do not exist in this !! thank you so much for all the lovely feedback on the last part, hopefully i remembered to tag everyone who asked x
part one | masterlist | ko-fi
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yourusername
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liked by sebastianvettel, jensonbutton and 1.405,605 others
tagged: fernandoalo_oficial, sebastianvettel, jensonbutton
yourusername: so i guess it's kinda real now and they're all lovely x
view all comments
user4: i know the bitter old people are going to find this now but i for one think it's fucking ICONIC
user5: the guys are way too chill for the situation
user6: they've not said anything, so how would you know?
user5: idk reeks of babytrapping
user7: be for real y/n doesn't need to baby trap anyone she has her own career?
yourbff: debrief needed STAT
yourusername: literally on my way to yours right now get the non-alcoholic wine READY
landonorris: do i like get a prize for my hand in this?
yourusername: here's a gold star ⭐️
landonorris: i was hoping for some monetary rewards
yourusername: ur literally a millionaire ?
landonorris: and?
user8: are any of them gonna like comment or?
user9: very odd considering they wouldn't shut THE FUCK UP on their own posts
user10: for real they were very proud of their 'accomplishments' but now it's the consequences of their actions and their silent ?m
user11: have yall considered the fact that finding out you might be a dad is a bit of a shock, let them all process it?
![No More Ace To Play [mamma Mia Part Two] | Formula One Social Media Au](https://64.media.tumblr.com/db12ad3deb89bc2c5ab929e7d55dfc35/304d9949faec25b3-04/s500x750/35474bd0d441507de9687608bfc719481c74f5bc.png)
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jensonbutton
![No More Ace To Play [mamma Mia Part Two] | Formula One Social Media Au](https://64.media.tumblr.com/a2c537be70c9c9b179d4bbd6777bb6b6/304d9949faec25b3-63/s400x600/a8ca0542d7d06253acde3e8e11790cd1de03871f.jpg)
![No More Ace To Play [mamma Mia Part Two] | Formula One Social Media Au](https://64.media.tumblr.com/415b7296eab91aa86088b52aef73a423/304d9949faec25b3-e8/s640x960/b1977b34ad2c79c656db4842691bbc590526a431.jpg)
liked by lewishamilton, sebastianvettel and 302,889 others
jensonbutton: back to see the old rides
view all comments
user12: SPILL JENSON PLEASE
user13: so like what team is this kid going to support they've got so much to choose from?
user14: if they have any taste, ferrari 💅
user15: i mean their momma clearly has taste so ....
oscarpiastri: nice to meet you jenson!
jensonbutton: by how much mark talks about you i could've sworn i'd already met you
aussiegrit: bold of you to send shots my way considering your current predicament
user16: mark saying this like they aren't lucky to be with y/n ?
user17: bro we all saw that you met up with y/n and the baby daddy squad... wanna maybe share some thoughts?
user18: why would he want to publicise that he got with a slag?
user17: i know you're not calling y/n a slag when we're talking about f1 playboy JENSON BUTTON ?
user19: i have complete faith that this mamma mia summer WILL have a good ending but i NEED these men to maybe actually talk about it so people aren't just out here coming for y/n ?
![No More Ace To Play [mamma Mia Part Two] | Formula One Social Media Au](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e254d8361c6ed2c6c59fdb591009d08a/304d9949faec25b3-ff/s500x750/31d3a625b2f1bf899f7884a1dd4dfd6d919787dc.png)
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yourusername
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liked by fernandoalo_oficial, jensonbutton and 1,209,677 others
yourusername: got myself a sweet treat and did some meditation (i.e. listening to asmr roleplay) because life is crazy and morning sickness is a bitch
view all comments
user24: not to be sappy but i am emotional watching y/n go through this, she's been on the internet for so long i feel like i've watched her grow up, idk anything about f1 but i hope they're good for her
yourbff: gosh who knew you getting pregnant would lead to us having to go to the bakery every single morning
yourusername: but but but they have such good croissants and SHUSH I BUY YOU YOURS EVERYDAY
yourbff: i know you're like my sugar mama, please still buy me pastries when you have your actual child
user25: i think we're all being a wee bit dramatic about the whole "they haven't said anything" business. yes, they probably should say they're fine with it so people stop accusing y/n of baby trapping them but ALSO we don't know what they do everyday, maybe we should just let the adults go about their business
charles_leclerc: i am basically seb's kid so i shall be a character witness: that man is an ANGEL and believe me that took a lot for me to say in public lol
yourusername: why thank you charles, i have heard a lot about you. in fact on his "provisional dad cv", sebastian directly named you, some guys called max verstappen, mick schumacher and lance stroll as fatherly experience
maxverstappen1: LOL I KNEW SEB LOVED ME BUT WTF IS A DAD CV
sebastianvettel: this is a serious matter and i wanted to show that i'm serious about fatherhood
mickschumacher: soz max, charles and lance i think WE all know who his favourite is
lancestroll: i'm just happy to be recognised tbf
yourusername: well i kinda hope this real child will be his favourite...
charles_leclerc: boring 🥱
alexalbon: well i'm gonna nominate myself as jenson's grid kid and woah that guy is great 👍
jensonbutton: sounds kinda sarcastic but thanks for the effort alex
carlossainz55: seeing as we're all here i'll say that nando is the best grid dad sorry not sorry
yourusername: you're all here but idk who you people are ?
fernandoalo_oficial: chilli have i ever told you how proud i am of you?
stoffelvandoorne: do i mean nothing to you old man
user26: wtf is going on here
fernandoalo_oficial
![No More Ace To Play [mamma Mia Part Two] | Formula One Social Media Au](https://64.media.tumblr.com/c33a4e77687aa942894de60135caa40f/304d9949faec25b3-f7/s500x750/9accb859baf5c4e3c1a121ce6a67aa7d37195a56.jpg)
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liked by yourusername, sebastianvettel and 1,403,677 others
fernandoalo_oficial: what a race! thankful to finally be back on the podium this weekend and i'd like to dedicate this race to the soon-to-be new addition and my new family, here's to our future ❤️
view all comments
user27: HOLY SHIT THIS IS SO CUTE
user28: i'm sorry the THUMB IN THE MOUTH CELEBRATION ARE YOU KIDDING?
jensonbutton: proud of you, come home quick x
user29: i'm sooooo chill about this
fernandoalo_oficial: i'll make sure to tell the team that THE jenson button wants the meeting to go faster
sebastianvettel: do i mean nothing? that's literally my old team name drop ME
yourusername: just tell them i've gone into labour
fernandoalo_oficial: you've not even been pregnant two months yet...
yourusername: they don't know that
astonmartinf1: this is a public instagram comment section...
maxverstappen1: maybe when the little one is actually here i'll let you win for once
fernandoalo_oficial: how kind of you?
maxverstappen1: i need the little one to know that at least one of you is cool and that i should be their favourite god father
lewishamilton: now that is a bold assumption
danielricciardo: i have been quiet on this topic but if anyone is prime god father material YOU'RE LOOKING AT HIM
yourusername: you'll all receive an email and a god father application in the coming weeks
charles_leclerc: is this another seb idea?
yourusername: maybe... but idk yall so i think it's a good idea
![No More Ace To Play [mamma Mia Part Two] | Formula One Social Media Au](https://64.media.tumblr.com/34243f2c14cbb7ffbcb61dfc1a353d14/304d9949faec25b3-de/s540x810/99261898de233ea319b8f74151b47b2bb5b298fa.png)
yourusername
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liked by maxverstappen1, mickschumacher and 1,509,874 others
tagged: jensonbutton, fernandoalo_oficial, sebastianvettel
yourusername: welcome to the crazy house
view all comments
user33: so we've confirmed the poly? yes or no?
user34: i'm gonna say yes but with them you literally never know
georgerussell63: so we all sent them a jellycat?
alexalbon: speak for yourself george that sick ass rocking bunny is all albon
user35: not to be weird but this kids is literally going to have the hottest parents of all time
user36: no cause if i'm a teacher and all of them walk in for parent's evening i'm passing out
jensonbutton: oh wow what a lovely crib i wonder who put that together
fernandoalo_oficial: don't you dare take all the credit
sebastianvettel: as if anyone other than the WOOD WORK KING put that together
yourusername: guys they are lying the delivery guy put it together and they all stood around watching like dads at the airport
jensonbutton: "like dads" so still getting the experience in
danielricciardo: so who is responsible for this grandpa ass nursery aesthetic?
yourusername: well this is awkward i thought it was cute
fernandoalo_oficial: it is don't worry honey, it matches seb's overall grandpa aesthetic
sebastianvettel: you guys agreed to move to mine don't switch up on my aesthetic now
jensonbutton: oh seb we all love your certain affinity for tartan and plaid
sebastianvettel: i'm not feeling this love right now :(
yourusername: cuddle pile incoming
note: ahhh okay this was very highly requested so i hope it met expectations. i'm thinking this could defo be a longer series (i am also working on into the arms of another dw) following the whole family if yall would like that? i'm gonna try and tag everyone who requested that, i am sorry if i missed anyone x
taglist: @boiohboii @vellicora @faithm120601 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @luv4kani @minkyungseokie @eugene-emt-roe @magical-spit @ironmaiden1313 @jaydaaasworld @whoreks @rainerax @nonsensical-nonsence @laneyspaulding19 @chelseyyouraverageluigi @lxclerc @gemofthenight @woweewoowa
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