Okaaaaay but Royal!Price who’s married to Reader for like two years and the entire time the court is breathing down your neck because you haven’t produced an heir yet.
And ofc somehow this becomes entirely your fault bc nobody questions Price or considers that the problem might not be you because he’s the king, he’s healthy, he’s strong, he’s already proven himself in every other way that matters to these people, so obviously it must be his wife who’s defective.
And you spend two years being poked and prodded by royal physicians and forced to drink disgusting tonic things and tracking your cycles and praying at shrines and enduring every older noblewoman at court giving you unsolicited advice while rumors about the “barren Queen” spread through the palace.
And Price doesn’t exactly stop them. Maybe in the beginning he tells you not to listen, tells you there’s still time, but as the months pass he starts treating your inability to conceive like a personal failure.
And ofc there’s this one woman at court who makes your life like absolute hell over it. Daughter of some powerful duke or neighboring kingdom or whatever, beautiful and fertile looking and exactly the sort of woman everyone whispers Price should have married in the first place.
She makes little comment about children whenever you’re nearby, brings babies into conversation just to watch you go quiet, maybe even starts getting increasingly bold because Price is starting to favor her. And you know they’re sleeping together long before he admits it. You just don’t have any power to do anything about it.
Then Price divorces you.
And he’s not quietly about it either and that’s the part that really destroys you because he could’ve found a dozen political reasons to dissolve the marriage, could’ve protected whatever dignity you had left and let you save face but instead he specifically cites your failure to provide an heir as the reason for the divorce. Has it entered into the official decree that the marriage produced no issue and that you’re presumed barren, basically stamping it into history that you failed in the single duty expected of a queen.
And to add insult to injury he marries the woman who spent the last two years tormenting you, who becomes Queen, and suddenly all those rumors about how she’d always been better suited for him become accepted fact.
Meanwhile you’re just… there. The discarded Queen. Technically still noble, technically still wealthy enough, but socially ruined because who is going to marry the woman the King publicly declared barren?
Except Simon, Price’s knight who’s his own kind of social outcast cause he’s scarred, disfigured, and everyone assumes will never marry anyway because nobody has ever exactly been lining up to become Lady Riley to a monster, you know.
So when Simon asks for your hand, you say yes. Maybe Price even allows it because he thinks there’s something almost amusing about it. His unwanted wife and his disfigured knight. Two things the court has decided are damaged being tucked neatly away together.
Except Simon doesn’t treat you like you’re damaged. And then the absolute fucking scandal when, before the end of the year, you start appearing in court with a very obviously rounding stomach.
At first everyone tries to pretend they don’t notice because surely not. Surely the former Queen who spent two years unable to conceive isn’t pregnant within months of marrying Ser Simon Riley.
Except you are and it isn’t even ambiguous after a while. You’re glowing with health, Simon is hovering around you like some enormous armored guard dog, the physicians confirm the pregnancy is progressing perfectly, and suddenly all those old whispers start changing direction because Price’s new Queen still isn’t pregnant even after and entire year.
Meanwhile you give birth to this enormous fat healthy Riley baby and suddenly the court has to reckon with the fact that maybe their discarded barren Queen was never barren at all.
Which means maybe the King publicly humiliated and divorced his wife, destroyed her reputation, married his mistress, and announced to the entire kingdom that she was incapable of giving him an heir-
when the problem had been him the entire fucking time.
amnesia! au… simon would never want to leave you, never in his life could he imagine a life that didn’t have you in it. he couldn’t bear to think of it. price would leave his wife in a second, but simon can’t imagine wanting to leave you.
and after the attack on you. the other side had a mole in the SAS, and the location of significant others was made obvious. the building next to your workplace was blown up. it’s at that moment he knows he has to leave you. has to divorce you, pretend to cheat on you, have you send and sign the divorce papers because it had to look plausible for the mole.
to keep you safe.
all he wants is to keep you safe. alive, keep the sparkle in your eyes.
he only has three years left of service. and he’ll tell you the truth if you’d take him back.
three years later, he gets a desperate call from a hospital, something about you being in a terrible car crash. barely holding on, and a daughter that’s only listed relative is simon riley. she even has his last name, and not yours.
they say you have irreversible head trauma, almost total amnesia. and with the way his stomach drops when he sees the girl, with her curls and brown eyes, he knows it’s his daughter.
and so he gives a bright smile to the nurse, and well he hadn’t really signed the divorce papers anyway. and what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you :)
cough cough immortal!casper and mortal!mc is actually my roman empire, so...
imagine casper's reaction once years pass, and you start to grow older...
soon, there are lines near your eyes, your nose, your chin -- it's like they're spreading everywhere. he kisses them whenever he can.
then, more and more grey hairs start to appear. you always joke about how you're matching now, but casper can't find it in himself to laugh. if you complain about them enough, he'll offer to pluck them for you, and with each grey hair picked, he hopes that it makes you younger.
your legs start to ache faster, and he always offers to carry you every time you grown about it. obviously, you chuckle and push him away. but when you don't, he takes the chance immediately and pulls you into his arms.
you're growing older -- you look a lot more like the souls he would reap.
he doesn't know how to feel about that. more accurately, he doesn't know what to do about the way he feels about that.
casper holds your hands tighter nowadays. his hugs last a little longer. his touch has more feeling into it.
simon's team finds out that he has a missus and she's heavily pregnant.
simon had never taken you to fancy galas before, and this time, he said he'd introduce you to his team, hence why you were so nervous.
he walked through the doors like he owned the place, a firm hand pressed on the small of your back.
everyone expected him to show up alone, like he always did, but tonight, he had a companion. behind him, clutching the fabric of his dark silky suit, was you. you were dressed in a flowing floral dress that hugged your body perfectly.
your cheeks were flushed, not used to all the attention on you, and you kept your eyes fixed on the floor, hiding behind his massive frame. you felt overwhelmed, completely out of place.
and then their focus shifted to your growing belly. you could hear the whispers and their gasps.
your bump was unmistakably showing. simon had helped you pick up that dress, let them see how beautiful you look, knocked up with my child. he had said, before leaving the house.
simon's hand rested possessively on your lower back, while his other hand was protectively splayed across your stomach.
lieutenant riley has a missus? and she's pregnant? was all you could hear.
gaz, who was exchanging words with a recruit, nearly choked on his champagne. soap dropped his glass. price just stared, his cigar forgotten in his hand, his eyes wide.
simon leaned down, pressing his lips to your ear, his voice so low that only you could hear. "you're doing well, love." he murmured, and there was a dark satisfaction in his tone.
simon's intention was clear. he'd brought you here deliberately, knowing exactly what the reaction would be. he wanted everyone to know who you belonged to.
it was a silent warning. let them talk. let them stare. at the end of the night, he would be the one listening to your sweet moans.
how do you feel about writing about simon being really angry at us , like we argue or smth orr when he’s like worried but expresses it through anger ? nothing too specific other than that , or maybe just the same au as in “simon’s toll” . i would love to read that from you if you like this idea
WEIGHT | WC 1.3k | Loved this Ask!!
The bullet had been meant for him. Simon knew that with a certainty that made it worse.
Knew it from the angle, from the half-second before it happened when he’d caught the shooter’s position and hadn’t had time to do anything but shout your name,
And you’d moved anyway, put yourself between him and the shot with the same reflexive, unthinking speed you brought to every op, and taken it instead.
He didn’t remember most of the extraction.
He remembered your weight against him, and the blood, too much of it, soaking through his hands faster than he could keep pace with, and his own voice gone hoarse shouting for the bird.
After that there was only a long, grey stretch of hospital corridors and waiting rooms that blurred into each other, vending machine coffee gone cold in his hand, until a surgeon finally told him you’d made it through and the next seventy-two hours would tell them the rest.
He sat with you every hour they’d allow and several they technically wouldn’t.
He didn’t sleep.
He didn’t eat much either, though nobody had the nerve to point that out to him directly. He’d never sat with anything like this before, not really, not in the specific, helpless way where there was no weapon to check, no perimeter to clear, no single action available to him that would change the outcome.
He was a man who solved problems with his hands, and for three days his hands had nothing to do but sit folded, useless, at the edge of a hospital bed.
Somewhere around the second night, alone in the corridor with the vending machine humming and the corridor lights doing that flat, sourceless hospital thing they do at 3 a.m.
He found himself talking to the ceiling like it might actually be listening.
Quiet, furious, entirely out of character for a man who didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t put his hands on.
He didn’t examine what he was doing too closely.
He just did it, because sitting in silence had stopped being something he could manage, and the silence needed filling with something, even something that made no sense coming out of his mouth.
You woke on the fourth day, groggy, disoriented, and the first thing you saw was his face, wrecked, unshaven, closer to breaking than you’d ever seen it in six years of knowing him.
“Simon.” Your voice came out cracked, barely a whisper.
“I’m here.” His hand found yours immediately, gripping tighter than he probably meant to. “I’m here.”
You tried to sit up, wincing, and he was already easing you back down, his jaw tight, something dangerously close to anger flickering underneath the relief on his face, the two of them so tangled together he couldn’t have told you which one was driving.
“Why,” he said, low, rough, before you’d even fully surfaced. “Why would you do that. That bullet was mine. It was meant for me. You had no business putting yourself in front of it.”
“Wasn’t going to just watch you take it.”
“You could have died.” His voice cracked clean through the middle of the sentence, and he didn’t bother trying to hide it, which told you more than the words did.
Simon didn’t let his voice crack in front of people, not even you, not usually. “Do you understand that? You could have died. And it would have been because of me. Because you decided, in half a second, without stopping to think, that my life was worth more than yours.”
His hand tightened around yours. “Are you actually insane? Do you have any idea what that would have done to me? If you’d died putting yourself in front of that shot, it would have killed me just the same. There’s no iteration of that where I walk away from it whole. You’d have traded your life for mine and left me with nothing worth having left to spend it on.”
“I wasn’t thinking about the trade, Simon. I was thinking about you not dying in front of me.”
“Well I need you to start thinking about it.” His voice stayed rough, edged with something that hadn’t burned off yet and wasn’t going to for a while. “Because I can’t lose you.“
He stopped, jaw working, like the sentence had run somewhere he didn’t have language ready for. “I’ve never had this before. Something I couldn’t afford to lose. I’ve spent my whole life making sure of that, making sure there was nothing standing close enough to me that its loss would take me down with it. And then you happened, and I let it happen, because I wanted you more than I wanted to stay safe the way I’d always kept myself safe. And you just…..you just decided, in half a second……..that your life weighed less than mine. And I need you to understand what that does to a man who has never once had something worth being this afraid of losing.”
You were quiet for a moment, watching him, the anger in his voice tangled so thoroughly with something rawer underneath it that you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
“I weigh it,” you said finally, quiet. “I weigh it every single day, Simon.”
His jaw was tight, his eyes hard, though there was nothing steady left in his voice to back the hardness up. “You don’t get to decide, unilaterally, that your life is worth less than mine. That’s not yours to decide. Not when I love it. Not when I love you, breathing, careless, reckless as you apparently are, more than I have ever loved a single other thing in my entire miserable life. You don’t get to spend something I love that much without asking me first.”
“There wasn’t time to ask, Simon. There’s never time to ask. That’s the whole nature of it.”
“Then find the half a second anyway.” His voice cracked again, and this time he let it, no longer bothering to hold the line at all. “Find it. Because I am not equipped for this. I don’t know how to carry the version of this where you don’t wake up. I have spent years learning how to survive losing people, and I am telling you, plainly, I don’t know how I survive losing you. I don’t have the first idea. So don’t ask me to be reasonable about this. Don’t ask me to be grateful you’re brave. I am furious. I am absolutely bloody furious that you thought so little of your own life that you’d spend it on mine without so much as a second’s hesitation.”
“I don’t think little of my life.” Your voice had softened, but the resolve underneath it hadn’t moved an inch. “I think a great deal of it. I also think a great deal of yours. I made a choice, in the only amount of time I had to make it, and I’d make it again.”
“Don’t say that to me right now.” His voice dropped low, rough, something close to pleading working its way into it despite every instinct telling him not to let it show. “Please. Not right now. I can’t hear you say you’d do it again while I’m still sitting here looking at what it cost.”
You reached for his hand instead of answering, weak but steady, and he let you take it, his whole frame still carrying the same rigid, coiled tension it had held since the moment you went down.
He lowered his head to your shoulder, careful of the wound, and let the shaking finally take him, three days of it, all at once, with nowhere left to go but out.
“Don’t do it again,” he said, muffled, rough. “I can survive almost anything. I don’t think I can survive that.”
He stayed there, breathing you in like proof, and let the anger finally fold into the plain, exhausting relief of having you still there to be angry at.
Still warm, still arguing back, still stubbornly, infuriatingly alive.
This was my very first request and I’m glad you like the stories I create. If you ever have any more requests I would love love love to hear them!!!
simon always says you fit well in his arms. fit well when he's inside you, begging you to just stay still, so he can finally cum. you fit well in his arms when he holds you when watching a scary movie, you're terrified when watching saw. fit well in his arms when you hug him tight, soothing him after a bad dream.
fit perfectly well in his arms when he holds your lifeless body, in the hospital bed, a wailing baby in a crib - his wailing baby.
your wailing baby. if you had anything left to own. when your cooling body lays in his arms, like a pile of limbs, arms and legs never to move on their own again. fit well in his arms as he's dragged away, never to fit in his arms again.
Ghost doesn't like to be bossed around, everyone knows this.
Sure, he can duck his head and go along with superiors during missions, show the required amount of respect so he isn't shot. But off the field? Ghost has sent people to medical for telling him to move out of the way in a crowded hall.
Which is why everyone is shocked by how you treat him.
"Ghost, over here." You snap your fingers in his direction without looking up from your clipboard. A scowl firm on your face while ghost just...obeys. walks right over to dutifully peer over your shoulder "the hell is this, lieutenant? I shouldn't see discrepancies in inventory like this."
Ghost, to the rooms shock, simply nods peacefully. He seems almost shy when he offers "i can go recount, won't take me long."
Ghost, the guy who has genuinely pulled a knife over being told to make copies of something, just volunteered to recount the entire inventory.
That's just one example of the way you boss him around.
Soap won't shut up about the time you grabbed a still-bloody ghost fresh off the heli by the strap of his vest just to hiss "get your ass to medical, lieutenant. You look pathetic." Or the time gaz saw you chew ghost out for "standing in the fucking way. Either sit down or come help, Riley."
Ghost takes every rude comment and scold with a smile under that mask. Practically basking in your ire, almost blissful in gazs opinion.
Of course, no one dares to speculate on why. Most importantly no one mentions it to you.
They don't need to, either. You know damn well ghost gets off on you pushing him around. He likes to think he's subtle but even with compression shorts you know when he's sporting a stiffy. You don't mind, he looks hot when his brow pinches at dissapointing you.
Really, you want to know how much it takes before he begs for a chance to fuck you.
Simon Riley who's surprisingly clingy once he realizes you actually love him and ain't leaving him. His spends his days off clinging to your side and kissing your neck while you do your thing, dragging him around while he stares at you like you hung the moon.
Simon Riley nearly cries the first time you both have a serious argument, he doesn't even remember what it's about he just wants to hold you but you won't let him. So he settles for sitting outside the bedroom door and waiting for you to finally come out and as soon as you do he apologizes and pulls you against him as if he hasn't seen you in weeks
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