#curling up with roan and feeling so happy and content and close to him

[bellassan]

◎ - What was your favorite part of your wedding?

@demandpeace | send ◎ and a question for my muse to answer honestly | (accepting)

“Honestly? Going to bed after.”

A soft little grin.

“The reception party was great, but it was something like three in the morning before it died down. And it had been a long and pretty emotional day already. Lots of people. I think seeing everyone and having such a good time is my second favourite part, but it was tiring in its own way.

“So … we went to bed. Fell asleep almost immediately. Best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.”

[otp-armada]

"Bellarke doesn't make sense," they say. They say because Clarke hasn't done anything that resembles romantic gestures toward Bellamy. 

Conceding to march to her possible death in exchange for Roan sparing Bellamy's life. Obstinately fighting against Bellamy's stubborn wishes to remain outside the Ark while Praimfaya burns to the world to ashes. Shattering her soul by choosing 100 people to live and writing his name on the list, because he must survive. She can't have it any other way. Relinquishing 50 of those spots to Azgeda when Bellamy is captured and threatened, and Roan calls her bluff. Desperation driving her to the extreme to ensure the survival of the human race, yet unable to kill Bellamy to keep the bunker closed and the grounders from possibly killing Skaikru. Leaving the guaranteed safety of the fort to stay by Bellamy's side on the brink of global cataclysm. The bittersweet yet soft head and heart exchange she prompted. The hesitation in her last remark before imploring him to hurry. 

4x13 ends six years and seven days post-Praimfaya with Clarke radioing Bellamy on the Ring. An activity she performs daily for six years. In any six years of my adult life, my only daily consistencies have been limited to breathing, eating, and sleeping. This girl is devoted enough to send her equivalent of love letters into the emptiness of space for 2,199 days. Season 5 opens with her trying to survive by herself in an apocalyptic wasteland. She spends her journey narrating to him her unvarnished struggles during the most traumatic experience of her young life to date. Her despondency. Her loneliness. Her agony. Her desperation. Her small victories. Her discovered treasures. Her determination. Her doubt. Her guilt. Her defeat. Her morbid self-reflection. Her relief and contentment. Her happiness. Her admission of missing him. She shares all of it with only him. Only he is permitted to know her to this depth. Not any of her other people on the Ring. Not any of her people in the bunker, a group including her mother. Not a spiritual communion to the great, big love of her life Lxa, situated on her throne in the high heavens and waiting for her trophy wife, for Clarke to stay connected to her dearly departed. Isn't that the sort of behavior that might occur by a bereft widow? 

After finding an oasis to rest and call home, even after discovering a companion to build a life with, she continues with her radio calls. It doesn't matter that he never received her communications. The importance of the gesture- the intimacy of sharing her life and thoughts with him while he was gone- remains the same. The magnitude of her devotion to him made clearer through the absence of a single responding utterance. 

She lovingly tells Madi stories of Bellamy as her hero. Gazing warmly, hopefully up at the stars as if she longs for her vision to cut through an endless pitch-black sky and find dark curls and freckled constellations from thousands of miles away.

"Bellarke doesn't make sense," they say. They say because post-Praimfaya ended with an established B/E.

As Clarke looks up at the stars, questioning if she'll see Bellamy again, we transition to our first glimpse of Bellamy after six years, forlornly looking down on Earth to the very spot of green where he is unaware of who is yearning for him to return to her. Contrary to Clarke, who is covered in warm firelight when thinking of him, he is colored in cold, muted greys and blue, no speck of warm hue. (The rhyming scheme was unintentional, but hey, I'm going with it.) Behind him, his family is sparring, but he's distant from them. He's trapped within this tin can, his arms folded, his body taut, not facing the view on the other side of the glass, but still enraptured by the sight of his home below.  

We see what changes to the characters and their dynamics have taken place until, at long last, we uproariously cheer as Bellamy & Co. find a way to return to Earth, the sole event we've been anticipating for eleven months, to the point we could feel it at our fingertips, jittery and tingly. Bellarke reunion!! He's going to know she's alive! Yes! Finally!! Break out the champagne! We're celebrating, dammit! It's going to be so damn emotional! Authors start crafting mental fanfics. People are bouncing off the walls like bright, errant fireworks, unable to sit still. I can't believe it's finally happening...what do you think it's going to be like? Will he run to her? Will he be stunned and speechless? Will they sob uncontrollably?!? They'll be clutching the life out of each other! Another Bellarke hug!! The very best hug!!! They're never going to let the other out of their sight again! He's going to meet Madi! Mom, dad, and adopted preteen make three!!! There's no way they're not getting together after this!! He just got her back after six years of thinking she was dead!! The reunion's not going to happen this episode, but maybe next week, when do you think? You mean we have to wait seven days before----

B e c h o.

We stood on the precipice of what we agonized and crawled through for eleven excruciating months, only for an anvil to drop, and our heads to be clubbed. Our bodies fell through the floor, descending lower and lower with immense haste, to take up residence in the seventh circle of hell. 

Do you think the framing of these events wasn't intentional?

Do you think the powers that be behind the creation of that calamitous bombshell for our protagonist, intended for us to root for B/E? 

By us, I'm not restricting the effect of the blow to Bellarke shippers. The entire audience, casual and fandom alike, shippers and non-shippers, was meant to await this reunion. We were all meant to feel devastated by this revelation. 

If they didn't want to invoke in us feelings of support for B/E at their inception, how in the name of all things holy is a purported B/E endgame your conclusion? 

"B/E doesn't make any sense," they say, "when last we saw them, she was his enemy. Nothing more, nothing less."

Do I think their pre-Praimfaya status as antagonists rendered it impossible for B/E to have a convincing love story or sexual relationship?

I think, if Jason were so inclined, we could have gotten flashback Ring rendezvous of secret trysts between Bellamy and a googly-eyed, blonde-wig-wearing broomstick designated Clarke 2.0. So no, I don't consider B/E a deviation inherently outside the realm of romantic possibility. Jason is an artist, and this show is his canvas. He can give life to almost any whim he'd like in his work of fiction. Not only that, but B/E is also hardly the first pairing in this series modeled by the enemies-to-lovers trope.

"Bellarke doesn't make sense, they'd say, "absent any concrete evidence alluding to a romantic relationship." "Seven years running, and not a trace of romantic love," they'd conclude. 

Remind me, what was B/E's sublime prologue into coupling up again?

Furiously choking the life out of an enemy in a fit of rage two episodes before revealing her as his new girlfriend evidently can be considered by some an adequate precursor to a sensational romantic relationship. But endangering Earthkru's lives by risking the wrath of two societies in refusing to let Clarke die, pumping her heart for her to stay alive while begging her to fight so she can come back to him, cannot be. 

Either this show is quite the oddity, or it’s fandom's periodic knee-jerk, ass-backwards, charming zeal at play. 

The lack of rising development is all the more reason why B/E's grand unveiling demanded perfection. Instead, our first insight into their union is overshadowed by Clarke and the impending Bellarke reunion. B/E isn't central enough to the narrative to warrant focus that would put to rest any discord of illegitimacy. But you know which pair of the two is concentrated on for seven seasons now? Three guesses... 

But don't despair. Fandom has decreed, by its own appraisal, the shorthand of kissing and sex has rectified the discrepancy of a complete absence of pertinent on-screen development.

"It's not ideal storytelling," they say, "to exclude B/E's development. But The 100 has historically been a plot-driven, fast-paced, contained drama. It has always evaded expanding on character dynamics to fans' satisfaction.”

The writers have done more to present Josephine and Gabriel as soulmates with less airtime than B/E ever had in total. They don't lack the skill or time to fortify B/E in anyone's mind as the central romance. Jason made a conscious choice not to. Why would he? Does he think the endgame love story of the show's deuteragonist doesn't merit attention to detail by the writing? Or does it seem more likely, it was never his intention for B/E to cross the finish line?

And, for a plot-driven, fast-paced, contained drama, they sure have an awful knack for finding the time to showcase Clarke's kicked puppy reactions to an embracing B/E. We've had three thus far. One for science, one for emphasis, and one to say, "Do you people get it now?"

"Bellarke doesn't make any sense," they say, "if they wanted each other, they'd have gotten together by now." 

A long time ago, someone stated, "Lovers are supposed to do that you know and if they don’t do that it means their relationship isn’t romantic if sexual intercourse isn’t added." 

And to that, I posed the question, "Where exactly is it written that "if a pairing is not made canon by season [insert arbitrarily chosen number here], it will never be made canon, period?" Was I just absent from fandom class that day and skipped to the lesson on slow-burn ships?" We are going into the final season, and I stand by this question today as I did then. Bellarke could refrain from physical expressions of love and candid confessions to season 17, and their journey could continue to exemplify a love story. Because the absence of either one doesn't preclude two people from falling in love. Nor does the inclusion of either one necessitate two people falling in love. 

"Bellarke doesn't make any sense," they say. They say because Bellamy is her dearly beloved, but platonic, best friend.

Well, you've got me there. I'm stumped. How can it be possible for friendship and romantic love to behave as anything but mutually exclusive concepts? It's not as if friendship can be contorted to serve as a foundation for love.

 The cornerstones of strong friendships include trust, care, support, devotion, and many other features of a similar nature. Love- deep and genuine love, that is- involves frequent kissing and passionate, vigorous sex. The wilder the display, the stronger the pairing. The dozens of couples, love interests, and sexual liaisons before B/E who have kissed and had sex before dying must not have first consulted the manual for proper protocol.

And the inverse? Once two people fall in love, they cannot fall back to say, a familial connection. No, no, no. Such a regression would be the work of a tragic, reprehensible flaw in the cogs of the universe. Speak nothing of it.

"It doesn't make sense for B/E to break up," they say, "when B/E has stayed together for two seasons sans any indication Bellamy loves Clarke more than Echo, enough to want to leave his loving girlfriend."

How many times has Bellamy tried and failed to honor his commitment to Echo? How many weak attempts are met with a corresponding scene of Bellamy shifting his attention to the girl he tells himself to get over?

Echo leaves for Shallow Valley, his focus immediately turns onto persuading Clarke not to leave his side. He symbolically chooses Echo in the fireside scene by touching her sword. Yet, he looks at his girlfriend for the first time since their separation with the most aloof expression unsuitable for the occasion. No hope to be found anywhere. They share a brief reunion hug, no time for intimacy. He is reunited with Clarke and casts a nervous glance at Echo when bombarded with Clarke's appreciative gaze. Still no time for intimacy between B/E before a decade-long nap, but time can be carved out for a warm, flirty Bellarke reconciliation, complete with intensive heart eyes. No inspired, emotionally wrought, double sunlit embraces for B/E. If Bellamy is going to look out of a window at his future home, he'll either be by himself or snuggling Clarke into his side. There's no place for Echo in the lock of his arms anymore, only room for flanking him in the way loyal lieutenants tend to do. His girlfriend glances over at him as their exploratory team roughly plummets to new territory, and he does the same at Clarke. B/E reconnects lakeside, him asking for a swim with her and leaning into her arms at a campfire. He sits by her side on a swing set, amidst talk of moving their people into an abandoned village. And it's all well and good for B/E, right? They're presenting the front of a happy, unified couple. 

Until...Clarke walks away behind his sight, and he leaves Echo's side to seek Clarke's missing presence where the flirting and warm gazes and near confessions are kicked into overdrive. He calls Echo to hear his latest discovery, then proceeds to ignore the hell out of her, communicating exclusively to his co-leader. He stares wistfully at Clarke dancing with her new flavor of the night, cannot stop doing so even while excoriating Echo for her stoicism, expressing his frustration at her inability to fulfill his emotional needs. 

He recommits to Echo, as Clarke is kidnapped and her body is stolen, with nary a transition, suggesting we are meant to link the two incidents together. For all his resolve to face the future with Echo, he spends the whole of the next episode with a wary eye on Clarke, to the point that he is the first to realize Clarke is not herself. In the ensuing arc ranging from 6x05 to 6x11, approximately half of the season, what was B/E, again? Was that a thing concurrently happening with Bellamy's Operation: Save My Clarke? Because I seem to be able to recall only Bellarke goodness. Oh, my mistake, there was the consoling hug which, oddly enough, did nothing to soothe him. As evidenced by his choice to grieve alone. No girlfriend he wanted close by for comfort, knowing clear as day she couldn't provide it if she tried. Not with who he just lost. 

B/E gets another brief reunion hug, the majority of which is spent with him peering at Clarke. The show saw that hug and raised us an Austenesque-quality counterpart that would do Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy proud. 

"B/E endgame is the only sensible outcome," they say, "they love each other so much."

I don't contend they don't love each other. But we are shown two people determined but incapable of snuffing their deep-rooted feelings out of noble propriety, and most importantly, out of needless fear of unrequited love. And another two people who sought- and failed- to keep grasping the wisps of a gentle relationship slipping out of their hands since they left their comfortable space bubble. For anyone in this conundrum to be happy, the only natural course of action is for the latter to call it quits. The writing has been on the wall for too long.

Maybe a single Bellarke scene plucked out of the lineup can be interpreted on its own as platonic buddies being platonic buddies. But when all those individual moments are woven together, what forms is an ornate tapestry with a pattern so vivid, any inane rhetoric involving a hint of the word "platonic" is little more than ludicrous anti drivel transparently cooked up by those wishing a different endgame.

I hope you've enjoyed my second long-winded rant, @sometimesrosy, @jeanie205, @travllingbunny. One born of a teaching moment in which I learn for the umpteenth time it's best to steer clear of Twitter.

[angrylizardjacket]

of comfort and joy {Ben Hardy}

Anons asked: can you write Ben as a dad / imagine staying up late to wrap presents for yours and Ben’s kids (the original prompts have been lost i’m sorry, but this goes out to you guys)

A/N: 1562 words. So this is my second attempt at this. I lost both the prompts but they weren’t super complicated, and this fills both very nicely. 

Ben’s so careful as he slides the door shut to the kids’ bedroom, the hour just edging past eleven. He winces at the sound of the door latching closed, and he waits for a few moments, listening for the telltale sounds of laughter or the thump of little feet, but all was quiet on the other side of the door, and he let out a sigh of relief, coming to join you where you’d surrounded yourself with gifts that needed to be wrapped at the last minute.

“They’re asleep.” His voice was soft as he rested his head on your shoulder, sitting beside you on the floor with the sofa at your back, legs kicked out in front of him and resting on a stack of assorted labels and gift tags. 

“My hero; how’d you manage that?” You asked wryly, concentrating on where you’re writing ‘To Abby, From Santa’ on a soft package that contained a Harry Potter robe and wand for your eldest daughter; Ben had been reading them the series as a bedtime story for the past few weeks, and Abby, who was always in awe of her dad, was adamant that she was a Slytherin, just like him.

“Bribery.” Ben yawned, looping one of his arms through yours, tucking himself closer to you. “The boys were okay, I mean, they’re too young to really know what’s going on, but I had to tell Abs that Santa would only write her a letter if she goes to bed on time.” And you laughed softly at that, putting the finishing touches on the label before putting the present onto the pile of wrapped gifts sitting neatly beside you.

“So how many chapters did you end up reading?” You asked, letting yourself relax for the moment, leaning against him, your head resting against his. The light from the Christmas tree showered the whole room in a warm, multi-coloured light, shining off of ornaments and the screen of the TV which was muted, playing an old black and white Christmas movie. 

“Only two; we got up to the Death Day party and she was out.” He sounds so fond when he says it, warm and kind, and he yawns again, letting out a low hum of contentment. He relaxes further against you.

“Honey, there’s still so much wrapping to do, you can’t fall asleep yet.” You say, gently shaking him, and he groans, before he moves to actually turn his head and look at you.

“You’ve been working so hard to get all this ready, can we just relax for a little bit?” He asked, so wide and bright you can see the lights from the tree reflect off of them. 

“Just for a bit.” You could never say no to him.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close to him, and you rest your head on his shoulder, letting yourself relax in his arms. You turn up the volume on the TV enough to be able to hear the end of the movie, but not enough to wake the kids. The heater in the corner of the room has you feeling warm and blissful, even as you watch snow flutter down onto the town outside through the window behind the television. It’s hard to find in the holiday season, but you’re going to hold onto this moment of peace and love with everything you’ve got. 

When the movie ends, Ben gently untangles himself from you, standing, stretched, and turning the TV off.

“I’m gonna make us some hot chocolate, give us a boost to wrap the last of these presents before we head to bed, okay?” He says, and you reach out, taking his hand and squeezing it in wordless thanks. When he squeezes your hand back, smiling fondly, you can feel your heart flutter like it did when you’d first started dating all those years ago.

“You’re so good to me.” You murmur over the lip of your mug, eyes falling closed as you bring the warm drink close to your chest, inhaling the aroma of chocolate that rose from it. Ben pets your knee softly, and when you open your eyes, he’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, one hand on your knee and the other holding his own mug. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, haloed by the tree, expression so full of unbridled love and affection it’s almost overwhelming. 

“’cos I know how lucky I am to have you.” He says, and it’s moments like this that remind you why you married him in the first place. Gently, you take his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles.

By the light of the Christmas tree, the two of you go about wrapping presents for your friends and family. The majority, of course, are for your kids; wrapping them at the last minute was easier than worrying that they’d tear into them before Christmas, or try and sneak a peak. Abby, the oldest, almost seven and forever a daddy’s girl, loved anything Ben did, also Frozen; Micha was four and has never met a robot he didn’t want to marry, though he didn’t understand what the word meant when he announced it on a daily basis while holding hands with a transformer action figure; Roan had just turned two and liked the colour red.

“Do you think Abs is old enough for a present hunt?” Ben asks where he’s sorting stocking stuffers. Looking up, you’re confused, and he looks a little shocked, “you’ve never had a present hunt?” When you shook your head, his mouth split into a nostalgic grin. “We had them when I was a kid; you hide a series of clues around the house and the kids follow the clues to find a hidden present.” His laugh was fond, which turned to a thoughtful hum as he reminisced, “I rode my bike all around the neighbourhood one year, dad really went all out.” 

“Maybe not around the neighbourhood.” You grinned, and his whole face lit up when he met your gaze. He’s up after that, so giddy he’s practically bouncing as he swans around the house with the sticky tape, writing and hiding clues as he went, ending up with Abby’s gift stashed in the back of the pots and pans cupboard next to the oven. When he comes back, he tapes one last clue to a bauble, hanging it at the back of the Christmas tree, proclaiming it to be the starting point. After that, he settles back in, filling the stockings that hung over the mantle, and helping you wrap the last of the presents.

When everything’s done, you feel the exhaustion settling into your bones, and you take a long moment to stretch. All the presents are wrapped, sitting neatly beneath the tree, and the heater’s been turned off, and all that’s left to do is put all the wrapping paper, tape, and labels that you’d commandeered for the occasion.

“You head on to bed, I’m just writing this letter for Abby.” He said, looking up from where he was leaning over a notebook, to see you waiting for him in the door. With a soft smile, you nod, and head to your bedroom, quickly getting changed into your pyjamas and sliding into bed. He follows not long after, but instead of getting changed, he sits onto the bed beside you, grinning and holding out a neatly wrapped box with your name on it.

“Merry Christmas, love.” He says gently, and you look from the box to where he’s smiling at you, nervous and excited. You’re lost for words, heart overwhelmed with love as you start to unwrap the present.

It’s a photo frame, silver, with metal vines decorating the outside, and space enough for two photos. The photo on the left is from when you first visited him on the set of X-Men Apocalypse, probably taken by a crew member. You’d never seen the photo before, but you know it’s the two of you; he’s got his arms around you, the two of you all but nose to nose and so blindingly happy. He’s in costume, wearing a leather jacket with his hair long, curled and teased, and you’re pushing a small strand behind his ear. The two of you are so wrapped up in each other, and he’s grinning at you like there’s literally nowhere in the world he’d rather be than in your arms.

The photo on the right is from your wedding day, in the same position as the other photo, his arm around you, you with a hand holding his cheek. It’s as if you’re not even aware of the photographer, blissful and elated and in love. 

“This was so long ago.” Voice soft and awed, you look up from the wedding photo to see him looking at you with that exact same smile you remember so clearly from when the two photos were taken; the smile that made you feel like the only person in the world. “I love you, Ben.”

“I love you too; there’s no-one else I’d rather by my side to raise our family with.” He says, and you think you’re about to cry, so overwhelmed at the sincerity and sweetness that it’s all you can do to lean forward and kiss him.

[thethingwithfeathers]

Our Sanctuary

I FINALLY finished another fic. Was hoping to have it up a couple hours ago but life happens. 

This all started when I had the idea a few months ago that a good opening for a fic would be "Marcus Kane had never understood the appeal of spending all day in bed until he was in bed with Abby Griffin." Then episode 2 basically made that cannon so I decided to write it. The first line has changed but the general idea has not. It’s also on A03, I finally got an account there. 

Sorry I’m bad at writing smut... trying to get better but it’s gonna take a while. 

Our Sanctuary- Abby Griffin/ Marcus Kane - Rated M 

     Abby’s eyes were sparkling with love and Marcus Kane had never seen the point of spending all day in bed until that moment. Her chin was propped on his chest, the candlelight flickering against her skin casting shadows over her back

which he traced idly with his fingers. Her body was still pressed tight against his, smiling lazily up at him. He gazed down at her and was momentarily overwhelmed by how wholly, entirely entranced by her. He keeps expecting himself to pull back from how complete her hold over him is but instead finds only a peace and contentment he never expected in this life.  

 He wants to spend the rest of his life sleeping next to her (and god he hopes they get more than 6 months), holding her and being held by her. Despite the nightmares that had taken up residence in the back of each of their minds they fall asleep easily when curled together. The second night they spent together Abby awoke in the middle of the night, crying out, fear and cooling sweat making her shiver. Marcus had dragged his sluggish mind into wakefulness as quickly as he could, knowing something was wrong before he knew what was wrong. They had separated a little as they slept so he gently pulled her back into his arms, stroking her hair and back, murmuring whatever clichés came into his head.

"Shh, it's ok. You're ok. I’ve got you. Clarke is ok." he reassured her. Her face was buried against his chest, one hand clutching at the back of his shoulder as she tried to banish the nightmare. Slowly the tears and shaking subsided. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing the tears away, dropped a kiss into her hair.

“I’m sorry Marcus. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t fight ALIE.”

Marcus tipped her face up so she was looking at him.

"You are so strong,” he told her, his quiet voice still sleep rough. "The strongest person I know.”

"I hurt you and Clarke.”

"I've hurt you too and I wasn't chipped." she started to protest but he carried on, this wasn't about his guilt for past crimes, it was about her. "You saved Raven. You’ve saved me so many times. And Clarke knows how much you love her. She has your strength, she’ll be ok.”

His thumb continued stroking her cheek as he spoke, his touch and the look on his face bringing her back to herself as much as his words did. He guided her back down onto the bed, wrapped securely in his arms. Finally she spoke again, her voice quiet but thick with emotion, “thank you Marcus.”

She pressed a kiss against his chest to emphasize her words and he tightened his arm around her a fraction more. “No need to thank me Abby. Try and get some more sleep.”

“G’night Marcus”

“Goodnight Abby”

 It took a while for his mind to slow back down but he was content to hold her close, to listen as her breathing evened back out. He focused on the feel of her hair splayed over his chest, the soft puffs of breath ghosting across his collarbone. He felt his chest swell and ache as a wave of protectiveness towards the woman in his arms crashed over him. He spent so much of his life not allowing himself to get close to anyone; he still doesn’t know quite what to do with the size and intensity of his feelings for Abby. So for the moment he contents himself with closing his eyes, breathing her in and making a silent vow to himself to never cut himself off from his feelings for her.

 He is surprised at first how much he enjoys being in her arms. He had never felt relief like her arms around him as he knelt on the throne room floor, pain and guilt threatening to crack his mind beyond repair. It was her arms around him, her strong doctors hands, spread against his back and buried in his hair that allowed him to remain whole, damaged but somehow whole.  

 Abby has shown a certain fondness for his hair, and beard that he finds in turns, endearing, amusing, relaxing and arousing. The day he finds out about Rafael and his plot to overthrow Roan he arrived back in their room tired and frustrated. It took Abby less than 30 seconds to discover something was wrong and she wasted no time pulling him into her arms, guiding his head down against her shoulder and letting her fingers go to work, carding through his long, thick hair, nails sporadically scraping gently along his scalp. Her hand occasionally slipping lower to stroke his beard as she listened to him talk, offering the odd suggestion but mostly just support and comfort. He had felt the stress slowly drain out of his body, was hardly even conscious of the way he snuggled closer to her, seeking more contact. They had stayed like that for a long time after he was done talking, savouring the all too rare quiet moment. Marcus had fallen half asleep, calmed by Abby’s gentle caresses. The casual intimacy of her arm around him, keeping him close as she caressed and pet his hair, lulled him into a greater sense of safety and relaxation then he had felt in years.  

 He wants to spend all day in bed just kissing her. He craves long, slow explorations of her mouth and passionate, urgent clashes of lips, and tongues. He isn’t exactly sure when he started thinking about kissing Abby Griffin. He does recall that the frequency of the thoughts became problematic after mount weather. He became increasingly consumed with thoughts of how soft her lips would feel against his, how her hair would feel as it ran through his fingers. At that point he would attempt to reign in his traitorous brain.

 When Roan informed Marcus and Octavia that he wanted them to lay low for a couple of days Marcus’ first reaction was frustration. He believed so strongly that he could convince others that peace and unity were the way forward, if only he was given the chance. He knew they needed to keep the alliance with Roan strong though, so reluctantly he agreed. He was half way back to his room when he realized the one glaring advantage; “staying out of sight” provided him. He could feel a smile stretching across his face as he picked up his pace.  

 20 minutes later he was stretched out on his side in bed, Abby facing him. They kissed slowly, Marcus intending on taking full advantage of the opportunity he’d been presented with. Today he would not let himself be hurried, but would take his time with Abby. He sucked gently on her bottom lip, causing her to smile against his mouth. He pulled back momentarily to return her smile before leaning in again, this time running his tongue along the seam of her lips. She opened to him right away, sighing into his mouth as the kiss deepened. Eventually the need for air forced them apart and Abby rested her forehead against his.

“You” she said “are in a strangely good mood.”

“Is it so strange that I would be in a good mood?”

Abby pulled back to look at him and raised an eyebrow, “oh no” she said in mock seriousness. “All the kids call you Mr. sunshine behind your back.”

He tried to look shocked and severe for a moment but just ended up laughing.

“Roan thinks Octavia and I should lay low for a couple of days.” He admitted, the smile on his face dangerously close to a smirk.

“Lay low?” Abby asked in disbelief. “Clearly Roan doesn’t really know you yet. You’ve never been able to lay low in your life.” She teased him.

His smirk only became more pronounced, “Guess I’ll have to practice then.”

Abby let out a laugh at that, shaking her head but her eyes shone with amusement. She leaned forward and captured his lips, effectively shutting him up and erasing the self-satisfied smirk from his face. He relished the feeling oh her lips sliding against his, the way she pressed her whole body closer to him.  She tasted of some fruit he couldn’t put a name too; one of the fruits that grows plentiful on the trees surrounding Polis, it’s sweet and tangy and he chases the taste with his tongue. He knows he will never get enough of the feeling of her lips against his; he will never get enough of her. She nipped at his bottom lip before shifting and pressing a kiss against his jaw. Marcus let his hands roam along her body, a lazy, unhurried exploration that Abby matched, letting her lips trail along his jaw before moving back up to his lips. He let one hand wander down her side before resting it on her hip as he tilted his head to slot their lips back together. Her lips were as soft as he had ever imagined and he thinks this is a much more effective and enjoyable way to feel intoxicated than illegal moonshine. It is her who deepens the kiss this time, their tongues tangled and they fought for dominance of the kiss as the air around them changed subtly. Abby swung her leg over his hips, pushing him down onto his back. He was happy to oblige, pulling her on top of him with the hand still curled around her hip. Her weight settled on top of him, causing him to moan into her mouth, as his other hand slid into her hair, keeping her close as he poured the months of yearning for her into his movements. When the need for air forced them apart again he sucked in a deep breath before leaning up to press his lips against her neck, moving up to find the spot behind her ear that never failed to draw a breathy moan from her swollen, kiss reddened lips.

 He wants to spend all day in bed just talking to her. The thought makes him realize how much of an old romantic Abby has turned him into, but that doesn’t stop it from being true. In bed with Abby was the one place he felt at ease; able to finally lower the walls he had built so strong over the course of his life. It has taken him a long time to be able to trust even Abby, but with a new apocalypse clock looming over them he doesn’t want to waste any more time.  

 They talk about everything. They delve into their tumultuous past, there is pain and apologies and tears. They are both nervous, scared of ruining this, just moments after they found it. But they are nothing if not stubborn and life has taught them that ignoring something because it is hard just makes it worse later so they lay it all out. They dredge up the shock lashing, the arrest of Clarke and the death of Jake. They confront the consuming anger they felt towards each other. Marcus apologies again and again, threatens to retreat into self-loathing but Abby refuses to let him. She forces him to look at her while she tells him how proud she is of him, how much he has changed, but also how wrong she was about him on the ark. That she knows now he was always trying to do what was best for their people. Both are profoundly relieved to find the foundation they have been building together is strong enough to absorb it all. There is forgiveness and more tears. They fall asleep with tangled limbs and wake up spooned together.

 He can get lost in his own head, but Abby has been honing her ability to recognize when that is happening for months. Now she kisses him softly when she sees the signs and then distracts him with stories, questions or flirting innuendo. He figures out that she is doing it on purpose and is amazed she pays enough attention to notice the signs, and cares enough to bring him back to the present.

 They talk about what they will do if they survive this apocalypse (and another one doesn’t intrude 5 minutes later), where they would want to live and what they would do if freed from their responsibilities. They laugh about how poorly they would both deal with not having work to keep them busy. They talk about all the kids. He shares his fears about the path Octavia seems to be taking, his hopes for both Blake kids. Abby talks about how difficult it has been to see Clarke as a grown up, to watch her daughter shoulder responsibilities that would cause most seasoned adults to buckle. She tells him about the hopelessness she felt watching ALIE invade and torture Raven.

 Mostly though they talk about whatever comes into their minds. In their bed they have created a sanctuary of lighthearted banter and dreams of a peaceful future. It takes Marcus several days before he realizes that Abby likes his voice, she was always encouraging him to tell her stories. She wanted to hear ones from his own life but also stories he remembered being told as a child, or even ones he’d read as an adult. He had noticed her drifting off one day as he was telling her a story about Prometheus (he had loved stories about the trickster and thief when he was younger) and so stopped talking, but she had cracked one eye open and mumbled, “why’d you stop?”

“Abby, you’re falling asleep.”

“Mmm, I know” she slurred “m’sorry, but I am listening.”

So feeling slightly ridiculous, but unable to deny her anything when her fingers trailed along his bare chest and her voice was soft and plaintive, he had dropped a kiss into her hair and continued. Her sleepy smile as she snuggled even closer to him was all the reward he needed.

  And, of course, he wants to spend all day in bed drawing pleasure filled sighs, moans and scream from Abby Griffin. He is continually amazed that she wants this, wants him, as much as he wants her.

 They both know what is about to happen, neither feels any need to pretend differently. The moment the door closed between the two of them and the rest of the world they moved towards each other. Their bodies meant softly while lips collided, urgent and desperate. They shed their clothes without much ceremony, eager to get the soiled garments off their bodies.

 He was happy to let her take the lead the first time, worried about hurting her, or somehow overstepping what she wanted. Abby had already learned that when it came to touch Marcus would wait for her to set the boundaries, or to take the new steps. From shoulder touches to kissing, he had always followed her lead. So Abby guided him to the bed and nudged him gently backwards, controlling his movements enough to prevent him from landing on his wrists. She crawled into his lap, her weight settling on top of him, causing both of them to moan softly.

 As hands grew bolder, exploring the expanse of newly exposed skin, their kisses became messy and breathless. Abby shifted back on his lap, her hand teasing his hardening length, drawing a guttural groan from deep within him. Her hand wrapped around him, thumb circling the head of his cock, her eyes flicking between what she was doing and the look of rapture on his face.

“Abby” he moaned as his hand came down to wrap around her wrist, “please, feels too good” he managed to get out.

She released him, and Marcus hooked his hands around the back of her thighs, urging her forward enough that he could reach between them. The angle wasn’t ideal, but he could feel how wet, how ready, she was and he knew his thumb found her clit when she ground down on his hand and keened out the best sound he’d ever heard.

“Need you in me now Marcus” she breathed out and he withdrew his hand to her hip as she sank slowly onto him, giving herself time to adjust.

When he was fully inside her he had to shut his eyes, overwhelmed by the onslaught on sensations, her inner muscles stretching around him, her nipples brushing his chest, fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders as their tongues met and danced between breathless pants.

 She moved slowly at first, getting used to the feeling of him, but it didn’t take long before she rotated her hips, and began to ride him, it was her turn to close her eyes, head thrown back, pleasure evident in every line of her body. Abby pushed him back onto the mattress; her body following his as she placed open mouth kisses against his skin. He could never recall which of them reached for the others hand first, and he decided it didn’t matter; all that mattered was their hands linked together as they moved. Abby smiled against his skin and squeezed his fingers briefly, as her core squeezed around his cock and her name fell from his lips.

 He was so close, overwhelmed by everything about this beautiful woman. He reached his hand down between them, tilting his head back to look at her with a question in his eyes and she nodded, “yes Marcus, please” she gasped. He found her clit, and though he was too far gone too apply much finesse to his movements she seemed to appreciate the effort, as her sighs and moans increased and she increased her pace again. She came with his name on her lips and as she contracted around him he could feel his own orgasm begin to build and in seconds he followed her over the edge.

 Abby collapsed against him as they tried to catch their breath. Eventually she rolled off him, immediately snuggling up to his side. His hand trailed lightly over her skin, stroking her arm and her side. He feels half dazed and fights down the urge to laugh at the absurdity, the improbability of this moment, of the fact that he, Marcus Kane is naked in bed with an equally naked Abby Griffin, who has an arm thrown across his torso and her head on his chest. He wraps his arm around her, pulling her tight against his side as he leans his cheek against the top of her hair. She hums happily in response before whispering a sleepy “goodnight Marcus”.

“Goodnight Abby” he whispered back, finally allowing his eyes to close as he surrendered quickly to sleep.

 He wants to learn everything about her; he wants to spend an entire day mapping her body with his hands (and then he wants to start all over again and map her with his mouth). He wants to catalogue every inch of her skin, every reaction she has, the sounds she makes and the way she tastes. He would happily devote the rest of his days to this task.

 She is worried about his wrists at first, always aware of where they are and trying to ensure he won’t put too much pressure on them. It makes his heart clench but he’s fine and he doesn’t want her worrying so finally he flips them over in the bed, holding his weight with his wrists and lowers his head to kiss her hard and deep, thrusting his tongue hungrily between her lips as he devours her mouth. When they parted for breath Abby lightly drew her finger up the bandage, a question in her eyes. In answer he just smiled before claiming her lips again.

 She runs her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, across his back, over his chest. She seems to always have a hand in his hair, or stroking his beard. So when he begins to kiss his way down her body he lets his beard scratch against the sensitive skin of her neck before continuing down her body. He stops when his lips reach the top of her breasts, rubbing his beard against the soft skin as he kisses down to her nipple. He alternates between sucking her nipple into his warm, wet mouth; tongue flicking against the already hard bud, and then rubbing his beard over it. He brought his other hand up to cup her other breast, lightly pinching her nipple. When she let out a wordless moan, hips arching off the bed he switched to the other breast, giving it the same treatment. Her hand twists in his hair, holding him close. His free hand drifts lower, down past her stomach. She opened her legs for him, beyond caring about how desperate she must seem. Abby grabbed his head bringing his lips back to hers in a breathless, messy meeting of lips and tongues. His finger slipped through her folds, eliciting a long keening whimper that ended only when she bit her lip as his finger found her clit. He smirked down at her before pushing himself off her, moving back until he could settle between her thighs.

 "Marcus" she breathed her voice completely wrecked and he took that as his cue, licking a long stripe down her center, his tongue alternating slow hard licks and teasing little flicks, arm draped across her hips to keep her still. Finally he moved his mouth to her clit as he slid 2 fingers inside her. Her hand clenched painfully in his hair in response, her free hand twisting in one of the fur covers. He was high on her, completely overwhelmed by how completely she flooded his senses. His name falling from her lips, spurring him on. He breathed her in deeply, letting his beard tease the sensitive skin of her folds, which he had already discovered drove her crazy. He added a third finger, crooking them until he found the spot that made her scream. She arched into his mouth as she writhed on the bed. He knew she was close so he moved his fingers faster and wrapped his lips around her clit. When he moaned around her clit and the vibration seemed to travel through her whole body and she fell over the edge.

 He slowed his movements, before pulling away, wiping his face on the one of the small fur blankets and dropping it beside the bed before laying his head against her hip, nuzzling into her soft skin.  She loosened the grip on his hair, hand now petting and stroking in a wordless apology for earlier.

 He crawled back up her body and she kissed him hungrily, licking into his mouth, chasing her own taste. This time she arched her hips up deliberately, rubbing against him. He broke the kiss as a growl tore from his throat. Abby took advantage of his distraction to push him off her and onto his back. Before he could protest she shimmied down the bed until she was between his legs.  

 She smiled up at him and, looking at him from underneath her lashes, he had never seen anything sexier. She licked a long slow stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, before swirling her tongue around the head. He choked out her name as he tried not to thrust up into her mouth; he clenched his hand into a fist, nails biting into his own skin. Abby set a slow pace, her head bobbing up and down on his length, tongue flicking against the underside of his cock.

 It was so tempting to give up the last shred of his control and finish now but he wasn’t done with her yet. So he slipped his hand from her hair to her shoulder and tugged her up. She gave him one last lick before crawling back up his body. He flipped them again and she went with him easily, guiding him to her opening. He pushed in with one deep stroke. They were both too worked up for anything slow, and Abby wrapped her leg around his waist, holding him close as he drew almost completely out of her before plunging back in. They gave themselves over entirely to the sensations, their panting breaths and occasional moans the only sounds in the room. When he knew he was close he slipped his hand between them and found her clit, finger rubbing circles around the swollen bud. He had learned quickly what the right amount of pressure was to bring her to the edge.

“So close Marcus” she gasped out and he increased the pressure a tiny bit, flicking his fingertip against her as he increased the speed of his thrusts, his rhythm starting to stutter as he tried to hold on. As she came her muscles contracted around him and he followed her over the edge seconds later.

 He knows that this time will end, and much sooner than he would like. He loves being Marcus with Abby but too the rest of the world they are still Ambassador Kane and Doctor Griffin and they have work to do, but for the first time Marcus is fighting for more than an abstract future for their people, now he is fighting for his own future as well. He is fighting for Clarke, for Bellamy and Octavia and all the kids, he wants to see them thrive on the surface. But he is also fighting for the chance to build a life with Abby, to have more days wrapped in safety with her.