#man’s just been seething for months and has so much pent up. everything. that he only knows how to express as anger

[designernishiki]

yakuza 5 kiryu is the gayest iteration of kiryu. also by far the angriest. this makes yakuza 5 kiryu extremely enjoyable

[helliontherapscallion]

Why Couldn’t it Have Been Me?

Part 2

Paring: Wilbur Soot x reader (past), Ghostbur x reader

Disclaimer: This contains major spoilers for Tommyinnit’s 4/29 lore stream

Warnings: swearing, violence, death, near death, cheating, 4/29 lore stream, grief, blood, injury, panic attack

Word count: 6,737

(A/N): So in this, you’re Schlatt’s twin and Puffy’s your older sister. Also, sorry for any mistakes, I typed a good 2/3 of this on my phone

This was your own personal hell: being trapped within cement walls with your ex fiance, your asshole of a brother, and a Dream wannabe that seemed to never lose any energy. Your life was like a trope in a novel alive you would’ve liked, however being cursed to live in it made you absolutely loathe any and all mention of it. 

Alive you would’ve killed to hang out with your brother again, not the one that turned to the bottle. Alive you would’ve craved the sweet melodies that streamed from Wilbur’s mouth. You would’ve swooned and maybe, just maybe, you would’ve forgiven him. Alive you would’ve perhaps liked this ‘Mexican Dream’ guy, you would’ve perhaps become the best of friends. 

However you despised the three locked up with you with your whole heart. 

Your ex fiance was someone you adored. Hell, you even idolized him when you were alive. The Wilbur you knew was sweet, loving, attentive, and just all around someone that you swooned over. You could still remember how your heart exploded when he first asked you out under the setting sun by the ocean. You remembered every song he's written for you, every word and rhythm by heart, even after all these years. 

You remembered how you felt your heart completely shatter when you found the songs he had in his drafts for someone that wasn't you. Someone by the name of 'Sally'. After a heated argument you had broken up with him, taking the engagement ring off from your finger and throwing it deep into the ocean. You stayed on L'Manberg's side even after all that, too loyal and proud towards the country you helped forge to drop it. You wouldn't let some stupid boy or rabid tyrants prevent you from raising your beautiful nation up from the ashes.

That had been your downfall. You should've listened to Puffy and left the country behind when you had the chance, now you paid the ultimate price for your deep rooted loyalty and devotion towards independence. And your sacrifice didn't even matter in the end! Your deranged ex blew it all to smithereens. If you didn't despise him before, you absolutely did after your dumbass twin told you about his little 'escapades' while you were gone.

Every little thing Wilbur did, no matter how small it was, made you hate him even more. Every time he would shuffle those damned cards, it made you want to rip them to shreds and throw them across the train tracks. Every time he would sing or even breathe, you wanted to strangle him. You were absolutely certain that Schlatt felt the same. 

Oh, your twin was a real card. Always boasting about how his horns were bigger than yours (who even cares anymore? Yours grew in first anyways), telling the others about your shortcomings through crude jokes, even going as far as fighting you through headbutting; you could still feel the pain of being beaten to death before respawning immediately. Schlatt hadn’t known that you respawn even in the afterlife, so you knew he was serious about killing you. You just wanted Puffy, she was far more tolerable than your twin. 

The rustling of his suit jacket and his small grunts and pants resonated within the walls as he did various forms of exercising. You now knew about all of the differing variations of a pushup and you hated yourself for listening to his explanations. He would beg you, Mexican Dream, and Wilbur to stand on his back while he did his endless routines. The only one to readily take him up on that offer was Mexican Dream.

That man was arguably the only one you slightly tolerated, and you said that very lightly. He was still annoying as all hell, but he was a new face. Well, one that you didn’t know well enough to have a grudge against while you were alive. It was slightly refreshing, in a sense. When he first got here, his songs, stories, and humor gave you a nice break away from Wilbur’s depressing songs and Schlatt’s crude jokes. However when you spend eleven years trapped in a cage with one person, everything they do becomes the bane of your existence. 

You were running out of things that kept you sane in this dump. You've read the same novel, counted the same ceiling and floor tiles (32 ceiling tiles and 57 floor tiles exactly), traced the same cracks in the walls, temporarily killing the same cellmates, you've done anything and everything that this cesspool had to offer. You've done everything billions of times over, a never ending cycle of monotony. 

Tommy joining your group of miserable has-beens was perhaps the highlight of your fifteen, almost sixteen, years spent in this shithole. Though he finally dropped the brave facade and showed just how broken down he was after everything he’s been through, having him around was the saving grace to your sanity. He told you how your sister was, how your nephews were, and most importantly what you missed. You knew about all of the events leading up to Mexican Dream's death, but you were left in the dark with everything past that. Ender, you missed so much since you died; It baffled you how much you missed. 

When the train actually stopped at your cell instead of just passing by and it's doors opened, you were just expecting another poor soul to be dropped off here. You could imagine everybody's surprise when none other than Dream stepped out of those doors. The nephew that had betrayed you without a second thought, that had murdered you, that had your severed head displayed on his mantle (you weren't sure the truth of that last statement, Tommy has a habit of over exaggerating. Though, Schlatt did say that your body was found with a missing head when you first forced him to tell you what you missed). Tommy talked to you about how he died only once, so you knew just what your nephew has been up to. It infuriated you knowing that your adult nephew was manipulating and abusing this young teenager.

While you were releasing your pent up frustrations on the masked man, he merely brushed past you and drug Tommy into the train by the arm. You could remember Wilbur banging on the doors begging for Dream to return his little brother and his angered screams echoing down the railways as the train sped off back towards the land of the living. 

Lucky Tommy, he got to live out the rest of his life and actually age. You and your crew of intolerable jesters were stuck together once again. 

Everybody was silent for a few months, reeling at the newly discovered fact that Dream could actually resurrect people. During those three months, they were quiet and tolerable. In a way, the talks that came out of it was like one of those family therapy sessions your older sister would hold in the living room (you remembered how she would grab you and Schlatt by the horns if either one of you refused to go). You would kill to attend one of those therapy sessions again, and this is the closest you were going to get to it. 

You all talked about the things you regretted most while you were alive. Mexican Dream's was that he didn't protect his girlfriend Mamacita well enough. Schlatt's was choosing alcohol and power over his family (tears were especially shed over Tubbo, he really did regret abandoning him to be raised by you). Yours was that you were too loyal to a cause that would be absolutely decimated a short while after you sacrificed everything for it. Surprisingly, Wilbur's was that he had hurt you.

He had begged and groveled for forgiveness, telling you that he just didn't feel that special connection with you anymore. That didn't take away from the fact that he was seeing another while you two were still dating and that he blew up your life's work. He had stolen everything from you, and you would never forgive him for that. 

After you made your thoughts on him completely clear, he had started treating you like you treated him in the last few months. Tension was building up between you two that had laid dormant for thirteen and a half years like a rope pulled taut about to snap.

Everybody had slowly returned to their annoying selves slowly but surely. Schlatt resumed his workout routine, Mexican Dream had started loudly singing and ranting about Mamacita's everlasting beauty again, and Wilbur eventually started up his solitaire and songwriting once again.

The three of them made you want to rip off your twisting horns and shove them in your ears in hopes of muffling them, but you knew that whomever put you here would restore your hearing and make your horns regrow. You knew that first hand after you spent a couple of years alone in this hellhole; breaking your horns off by repeatedly banging your head against the dull stone walls in a manic state was never fun. The regeneration of the keratin only slightly stung, it was like you were a kid and they were growing in for the first time again. 

You felt your eye twitch as Wilbur sang about that damned train for the umpteenth time since he arrived. It’s always ‘train this' and ‘train that' and quite frankly you were sick of it. You were sick of him. 

“Shut the fuck up about that damned train,” Schlatt seethed. You never once thought you would ever agree with your twin, but here you were nodding in agreement and shooting a glare at Wilbur’s direction. The brunet merely stopped his singing and reshuffled his cards, the sound making an ugly cacophony and grating at your ears. 

“Not my fault you two don’t want to talk to me. I’m just making due with what I’ve been given.” He dealt the cards out in piles and started yet another game of solitaire. Seriously, how many games of solitaire can one play before they lose it? You supposed that you’d find out soon, Wilbur has been playing that monotonous card game nonstop for thirteen and a half years.

“Yeah, let the hombre chill! I like his music.” The masked man reached up to stroke his goatee, the scratching sound further penetrating your focus on your book. 

Everything was quiet before Mexican Dream's voice pierced it, "hey, did I ever tell you guys how beautiful my Mamacita was?"

"You told us millions of times, fuckface. You narrate entire love letters daily, so how could we not know how 'beautiful' she was?" You complained, not once looking up from your book. Schlatt snorted to himself and returned to his workout. Mexican Dream crossed his arms in anger, cursing you out under his breath. Wilbur merely glanced at you and rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm tired of your bitchy attitude. Let him talk about Mamacita, it's not his fault every time you think you love someone it fails." 

Your grip on your book tightened impossibly. If it were physically possible, the book would be crumbling to dust in your voice grip. You practically see red as you slowly dog-eared the worn page you were on and put your book down. 

"Oh shit," you heard Schlatt mumble and move away from you, Mexican Dream following suit. When you both were alive, your anger was always something you knew Schlatt feared. However, you knew that he's never seen you this angry; nobody has. The majority of what you've been holding in for almost fourteen years is about to be unleashed. 

"You know what I'm sick of, Wilbur?"

"Oh, do enlighten us."

"I'm sick of each and every single one of you. You three have been absolutely intolerable ever since you arrived. I was doing just fine alone and the universe just had to fuck everything up for me, just like it always does."

"There you go again," Wilbur laughed sardonically, "making everything about yourself." He gathered his cards and shuffled them repeatedly. 

"I make everything about myself?! Do you even hear yourself? Mr. Oh-I'm-such-a-disappointment-to-Philza, you wallow in self pity twenty-four seven! You fucking write every single song about yourself!”

"I didn't want to come here, okay?! I didn't think it was gonna be like this! God, I might as well be in hell with you here." 

"Believe me, my hell started fourteen years ago when you guys started showing up," you growled out, your ears flattening to the sides of your skull.

"Have you ever stopped to think that you're our hell? All you've done since we came here was complain and be a massive douche to all of us." He fluttered through the deck more and more as the argument escalated, the noise making you want to scream until you tasted blood.

"I'm the one that's in the wrong here? You fucked up my entire life. He," you pointed at Schlatt, "keeps beating me to death. And he," you jutted your chin towards Mexican Dream, "never shuts the hell up… Would you stop with that damn deck?! You're literally so fucking annoying." 

He narrowed his eyes, "make me."

A mixture of an animalistic growl and a guttural scream left your lips as you charged at him, your head tilted downwards so he could feel the brunt of your horns. He moved out of the way just in time, the side of your horn brushing against his arm. You crashed head first into the stone wall before you stabilized yourself and looked at the brunet with seething hatred. 

He was staring at you in shock, "how're you-" You used his shock to your advantage, throwing a right hook at his face. His head whipped to the side and his body followed, sending him to the ground in a heap.

"How am I still conscious? I'm a ram hybrid, dumbass. What'd you expect?" You huffed angrily before you pried the cards out of his hand and stalked over to the tracks. 

He scrambled up to stop you, but before he could even reach you, you held the deck over the tracks and looked down at him. You could just imagine how your horizontal pupils were blazing with fury. 

You reveled in the betrayal and animosity gleaming in his eyes as you dangled the thing he held dearest in this hell over the railroads. If you were to drop them, he'd never be able to see them again.

"We promised not to touch belongings on our first day here!" He yelled at you, his hands wrung in front of him nervously hiding the slight tremor. "Our first day here?" You scoffed, "the last time I checked, I was here for two years before any of you showed up." You gestured around the room in one angry swipe, the cards slipping slightly with how sweaty your hands were. It was then that you saw the fear in Schlatt's eyes. Good, that bastard should be scared of you. "If anything, you all are in my domain."

Wilbur flinched at the sight of the cards slowly slipping out of your hand, his breath hitching and panic stricken across his features. Mexican Dream stood up from his place and put his hands up. He was slowly approaching you like you were a cornered wild animal, making sure that you saw his every move. 

He nervously chuckled, "let's just put the cards down and have a nice talk. Doesn't that sound better than this, mi amigo?"

You shook the cards once again, taking in Wilbur's silent anguish with glee. "I'm not your friend, I'm anything but. Don't tell me what to fucking do or else that picture of Mamacita is the next to go."

"...Okay, you're in charge, man. Do what you want." He reluctantly sat back down next to Schlatt. The ram was watching in fear, yet it looked like he was entertained with what was happening. You couldn't blame him, the last interesting thing that happened was three full months ago when Tommy was taken. That and you probably looked feral at the moment.

"You understand that if you drop those, they're lost forever right?"

You threw your head back and laughed, "of course I know, why do you think I only have one sock? I already tried that shit out before you came." You hummed to yourself in thought, then grinned. Wilbur was going to love this.

While you shuffled the deck, you kept a close eye on the movement happening inside the cell. Another perk to being a ram hybrid was that you had a nearly 360 degree scope of everything around you. The only movement happening was the panicked breaths from Wilbur, good. You huffed in amusement, "alright Wilbur, let's do a card trick. I'd ask you to pick a card, any card, but I don't want to risk you fucking shit up again. So, I'm just going to draw for you." You drew a card from the middle of the deck and showed it to him. "The eight of clubs, how fitting." 

"(Y/n), I don't know what you're getting at, but if you don't give me those cards right now-"

"Shut it, I'm not done. I'm going to shuffle this back into the deck, watch the hands." You kept eye contact with him as you shuffled the cards rigorously, the card you pulled long since hidden with the slight of a hand. After a bit of shuffling and reshuffling, you had sneakily put the card between the two halves and bridged them until the cards were in one pile with the eight of clubs on top. 

You chuckled and pulled the top card, once again showing it to him. "Is this your card?"

He nodded slightly, never once taking his eyes off from the deck. "Yes, now give it back to me!" The angry and anxious undertones were like music to your ears.

You tapped your chin in thought, "hm, I don't think I will. You've taken so much from me, it's only fair that I get some revenge." Without another word, you threw the cards behind your head and smiled widely at the sound of the fluttering down to the tracks. 

Wilbur launched himself forward with a frantic yell, his hands flailing to catch all of the cards before they were lost forever. He only succeeded in catching a few. 

His breath shuddered as he stared at the three cards in his hand: the five of diamonds, the four of spades, and the seven of hearts. The fate of the universe was on your side for once, perhaps preternaturally so. 

"You- do you realize what you just did?!" He spun around to face you. If humans could froth at the mouth, a full waterfall would be streaming through his gritted teeth. His eyes held the rage of a man that had just lost everything in one singular instant, the resentment swirling in his dark brown orbs. Several veins were bulging in his face and neck, painting the skin in a red hue.

You walked over to your book and plopped yourself down. "Yeah," you said with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. You opened up your book and started reading it again, leaving the man to his grief. 

Everything was quiet once more much to your delight. Though you read this book from cover to cover thousands of times, enough to know most of the words by heart, you were never able to fully enjoy and immerse yourself in it with them around. You took this time to reclaim your designated corner and spend some quality time reading. 

You spent hours with your nose buried deep in your book, savoring the peace. That was until it was snatched out of your hands and ripped away from you. You looked up in slight shock at the sight of Wilbur snapping it shut and walking over to the tracks. 

No. No. Nononono he can’t. That was the only thing keeping you sane. He can't just get rid of it when he's done so much towards you when you were alive. 

A wail left your mouth as you tackled him to the ground, your arms wrapped around his midsection. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, his forehead smacking against the painted yellow stone. You straddled his back and ripped the book away from him, throwing it across the room and away from the tracks. 

You grabbed a fist full of his hair after yanking off his beanie and tossing it into oblivion with his precious cards. You pulled his head up and leaned close to his ear, "you try that shit again and your hat and cards won't be the only things lost to the void." Venom was seeping through your every word, "do you understand me?" 

He merely jerked his head to the side, colliding it with your nose and mouth. You shouted in surprise and let him go in favor of holding your aching nose. You could feel the warmth of the blood pouring from it. Through teary eyes, you looked up at Wilbur as he grabbed your book and flung it against the wall of the opposite side of the tracks. You scampered to the edge and watched in horror as it disappeared into the void. 

Without warning, you were forced to the ground, a hand holding you by a horn and a knee between your shoulder blades. You struggled before a dark chuckle was heard, "if you keep moving, you'll slip! Do you really want that?" You begrudgingly stopped, realizing that he had all the power in this situation. If he wanted to, he could just slide you off from the platform and toss you away like throwing a piece of paper into the trash.

"Good, you're not as stupid as you were earlier today." He slid you forward, holding your upper body over the tracks by the horn. You came face to face with the swirling abyss that was the void, small shapes appearing from your eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of visual stimulant. Your breathing picked up as he lowered you slightly, "you don't wanna do this." 

"No, I do. Thirteen and a half years of having to be around you was hell, but the shit you pulled today just put the icing on the cake. Do you have any last words before you go?"

You grunted as he shook your head slightly, a slight pain coming from the base of your horn. "Fuck you." 

"How appropriate, now let's see if you'll come back this time. It'll be our fun little science experiment!"

He dropped your horn without a care in the world, sending you plummeting to your demise. A terrified scream ripped it's way out of your throat and you screwed your eyes tightly shut in preparation for the void. Your body came to a jerking halt as you held your breath, preparing for… whatever awaited you. However, nothing came.

You cracked open an eye only to be met with the uncanny inkyness, the invisible mist freezing your face and its frostbitten arms opened wide for you. But you never fell into its embrace. 

Instead, you were pulled back onto the platform. You laid on your stomach with your horn supporting your head staring at the wall, tracing every single nook and cranny of the bricks. Your chest heaved as you greedily gasped for air. You never thought you'd be so relieved to see the cement walls you've been trapped in for over a decade and a half.

You were once again pulled up into a now sitting position and leaned against the wall, your back touching the cool cement. Across from you, you saw Mexican Dream pinning a struggling Wilbur down to the floor. Wilbur's crazed eyes met you, piercing through your very being. However, that didn't affect you in the slightest; you almost were just wiped from existence completely, you stared into the abyss and it stared back at you.

You felt… strange, to say the least. While icy fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins, you felt warmth blossoming in you at the same time. It was like the void was an actual person, politely giving you some form of relief from the hell you've been subjected to for over a decade and a half. It was so welcoming, not terrifying like you initially thought it was. When your fingertips grazed its surface it felt freezing to the touch, yet you felt the staticky power it was showing you. In that split moment of touching it, you had already accepted the power it held over you. 

A hand softly slapped your cheek, "c'mon, (y/n). Talk to me." Your eyes drifted lazily to your twin. He was extremely pale, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of responsiveness. When you looked at him, he visibly relaxed. "It was so… so beautiful, Schlatt."

"Yeah, what the actual fuck did you just say? You almost just- just died for good dumbass." He looked at you incredulously, you could just see the cogs in his brain working hard to process what the hell he was seeing. 

You looked back at Wilbur, he had stopped struggling slightly and was instead looking at you with a hint of confusion shining through the crazed daze. Mexican Dream tilted his head, the mask skewing slightly to the side of his face. "Thank you, Wilbur. You've shown me that there's… there's more to this hellhole than suffering. There's beauty in the darkness." His struggling had come to a complete halt, now staring at you with the most confusion you've ever seen from him. You also saw a very small hint of fear from deep within his irises.

A calloused hand gripped your chin and forced you to look back at your twin. "What are you on," he hissed lowly, "the stuff that's comin outta your mouth right now is actually batshit insane. He almost just permanently murked you and you're fucking thanking him." 

"I haven't felt this at ease in nearly two decades. I feel ethereal, Schlatt, and it's all thanks to him." You let your eyes drift over to Wilbur. Giving him a content smile, you nodded your thanks at him.

The next few days went by tensely for the others, eyeing your every move and keeping you away from the ledge. You had only peered over the ledge once since then, it was just so alluring to you. It was nothing, yet everything at the same time. Mexican Dream had pulled you back to the opposite end of the room by your horns. The part that disturbed the three men was that you said absolutely nothing about it. You didn't even struggle against it, you just laid limp and let it happen. 

With each passing second you spent away from the void, the feeling of utter peace was rapidly draining from your body; instead being replaced by icy fear, paranoia, and the realization that you were almost completely swallowed whole by the void. 

After coming back to your senses, you didn't allow anybody near you. Your instincts going haywire and screaming that they were going to hurt you if they came close. The last time Schlatt tried touching you, you damn near took his finger off. They didn't bother trying to approach you anymore, instead glancing at you from the corners of their eyes. Wilbur was perhaps the one you feared the most, you knew that if he didn't hesitate to toss you away the first time, he would surely do it a second time. He spent most of his time staring at you, you didn't know if he was zoned out or not.

Everybody was against you, you knew it. You just knew it. They were plotting to toss you back into the void. That thing- or was it an entity? Whatever it was held a power over you that you didn't know was possible. That trance that it put you in, the craving you felt, was something that was repeating like a broken record in your mind. You could still feel the void calling out to you, it was terrifying. 

You spent most of the time huddled in your corner staring at the fingers that had grazed the textured nothingness. You could still feel the buzzing and popping of the power on your fingertips, that inky residue staining your skin wouldn't come off. No matter how hard you scrubbed, scratched, or scraped, it would not leave your body. It was freezing.

The oncoming train screeching to a gradual stop was perhaps the only thing you fully acknowledged outside of your safety bubble in days. You watched in shock as it stopped at the platform. The doors opened with a fwoosh, fog pouring out onto the smooth stone floors. 

Out stepped Dream, the smile etched into his cracked mask sent chills to your core. Next to him was… was another Wilbur? How in the name of Ender was that even possible? 

This Wilbur was different though. This one was desaturated. This one didn't have an insane glint in his eyes, this one had grief shimmering in the tears that steamed on his cheeks. This one was broken compared to the well established man against the wall. This one was defenseless. 

Dream shoved him to the center of the room, the man falling to his hands and knees. Sobs escaped his mouth as steam left his skin and drifted along the sides of his face before dissolving into the air. 

"Got a new plaything for you guys, this one isn't as… fun as Wilbur is though." Dream's head turned towards you before it tilted. "What happened there? Did our dear little (y/n) get too close to the void?" 

"They are none of your concern, pandejo," Mexican Dream seethed at his counterpart from his position next to the train. "Why are you even here, man?"

"Oh, I'm just here to make a trade. I'm afraid that I'll have to give you guys Ghostbur here in exchange for Wilbur."

Wilbur stared at him with pure hope and glee springing up in his eye for the first time in over a decade. "Really?" 

Dream chuckled, "yes, really. What, do you really think I'd lie to you?" 

"I don't know, ya smiley freak. You've been known to fuck people over." Schlatt scoffed, his ear flicking in annoyance. 

"I'm telling the truth this time. Wilbur, come with me." 

Stars shone in his eyes as he reveled in the sight of the open train doors. He followed the masked man with a skip in his step, ecstatic giggles leaving his mouth as he boarded. 

Anger flooded you as you purse your lips together and you darted towards the train. The doors were closing already, if you could just- 

The door shut with a clank, blocking you from freedom. Your clenched fists banged against the window, glowering at the sight of Wilbur's happiness and Dream looking at you with a wave.

"You fucking bastard! Take me, he doesn't deserve it! He threw his goddamned life away, you're wasting your time with him!" Your angry shouts were ignored by the two however as the train once again started moving with a small hiss. 

A frustrated scream left your mouth as you pummeled the iron with your fists as it moved. If only you could find a train car to jump onto- 

Now. You leapt from the platform towards the junction between two of the train cars. However, your leap of faith was set to a halt midair by Schlatt holding your upper arms. You thrashed against him, desperate to get back to the land of the living, desperate to leave this godforsaken hell called the afterlife, but once again, you were torn away from what you were trying to achieve. 

You fell limp as you watched the last train car pass the platform and disappear down the tracks and into the void. The next possible time it would show it’s face would be in a few months if you were lucky. You let him take you back to your corner, your feet limply being drug against the floor. After you were plopped back down, you stared at the clone of your ex. You were pretty sure Dream said that his name was ‘Ghostbur’. What a strange name, yet you supposed that it was fitting for Wilbur’s apparition. 

“Are ya done with your little ‘moment’, (y/n)?” Schlatt was kneeling in front of you, his hands prepared to grab you if you made a run for it. Though his tone was annoyed, you could detect the very small worried undertone of his voice. 

You nodded and watched as he took a seat next to you, also staring at the newcomer. This is the closest he’s sat next to you in years. 

“...What do you think of the clone over there?” You hummed to yourself, “he looks pathetic, but I think that might be the only thing he and Wilbur share.” 

Mexican Dream took a seat next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders. Normally, you would’ve shrugged him off, but you were too emotionally drained to do so. “Si, he does look kinda weak. But I think our new hombre here has promise.” 

“Promise for what?” Schlatt snorted. Mexican Dream hesitated, “...I don’t know. This is gonna be interesting, mis amigos.” 

“The party’s just begun, boys. Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild fucking ride.” You mused to them, unsure of what the future would hold with the newcomer. Though after a couple of years, you were sure you were going to hate him; that is if he’s nothing like his clone. Ender help you if he’s anything like Wilbur. 

As you stared at the broken man, you couldn’t help but wonder: why did he get to go back? As far as you were concerned, psychopaths like him do not deserve a second chance at life. If anything, it should be you boarding that train. It should be you getting a second chance. He was the one that so readily threw his life away while you had yours ripped away from you.

One continuous thought was circling in your mind: why couldn’t it have been me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wrung your hands together as you anxiously waited for Tommy, Ghostbur, and Friend outside of Pandora’s Vault. Ranboo and Tubbo sat next to you in the grass, giving you silent comfort with their presence. You were mainly worried for your boyfriend, his worst fear was Dream using the resurrection book on him. You had calmed him down from a panic attack prior to meeting up with the teenagers, begging him to let you go in his place. Of course, Ghostbur being the caring and brave soul he was, wove you off and ensured that he’d be okay. 

When you saw someone emerging from the portal, you leapt to your feet and steadied your head on your shoulders before you examined the people emerging. Except you only saw a human and a sheep, no ghost. 

Tommy looked pale and on the verge of tears as he led Friend towards you. Before he spoke, he used his sleeve to wipe at his tears. 

“Hey, Tommy! How did it- where’s Ghostbur?” The enderman hybrid stretched his usually slouched back to peer at the portal, keen eyes searching for any sign of movement. 

“I think he’s dead… He’s dead!” 

Tubbo tilted his head and looked up at the blond in confusion, “well, yeah. He’s a ghost. Of course he’s dead.” Ranboo nodded in agreement, “yeah, he can’t die again. That just isn’t possible.”

You said nothing (not like you could in the first place, your head wasn’t connected to your body), looking into Tommy’s eyes inquisitively. They were chock full of panic, grief, and fear, staring down at the lead in his clenched hands. 

“No, no you don’t understand, it’s not that he’s dead… it’s that Wilbur’s back.”

“Hold on, the Wilbur that blew up L’Manberg? That Wilbur?” Ranboo peered down at him incredulously. “Yes! C’mon, he- we gotta get to L’Manberg.” 

He spun around and led Friend towards L’Manberg, walking quickly with a purpose. You, Ranboo, and Tubbo followed. You hugged your head close to your chest, your eyes peeking over your arms. It was always something you’ve done whenever you were scared or worried about something. You heard stories about Wilbur from your nephew, if the stories of his insanity terrified you, you’d hate to see the man in person. 

“I was about to kill Dream, and- and Ghostbur died. Dream revived Wilbur… Fuck!” Tommy walked faster, L’Manberg far off in the distance. With one hand, you grabbed the blond’s attention and finger spelled, ‘are you serious? He’s actually gone?’

“Yes! How many times do I have to explain this?! Ghostbur isn’t with us anymore and Wilbur’s back. Wilbur’s back and we’re absolutely fucked.” He turned on his heel and resumed his beeline towards the crater in the wall. No, he couldn’t be gone. This was just a cruel prank they were pulling on you, right? 

Tubbo put a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a small sympathetic smile. You leaned into his touch slightly and carried on, stepping into the makeshift staircase behind Tommy. 

You moved your arms to cover your eyes as you stepped aside to make room for the other two teenagers. You heard a voice; it sounded exactly like Ghostbur’s voice, yet it sounded... off. You however remained hopeful and uncovered your eyes. 

The man that stood there certainly wasn’t your boyfriend. Everything about him was just so wrong. The emotion in his eyes, his clothing, his smile, his stance, his hair, everything. This was a completely different person. This was Wilbur Soot. 

“Hello again.” His eyes flicked around your group, his gaze lingering on you for longer than the rest. You noticed that he was staring at your neck, but that was okay. You were used to it; everybody did that. What you weren’t used to was the revulsion that flashed in his eyes. The eyes that once lovingly stared at you and reassured you that he’d love you even with your… condition were now filled with disgust. 

That was what broke you, the tears that you tried to hold in came streaming out like a waterfall. Stinging pain hit you as the water worked its way through the cloth of your uniform onto your arms, leaving steam floating upwards towards the cave ceiling. You phased through Ranboo’s body and made a mad dash towards your sister’s house. You needed her, you could feel a panic attack brewing inside you. Usually you would hate to be a bother to your older sister and Ghostbur would always calm you down, but now he’s…

You pushed that thought aside and focused completely on getting to Puffy’s house in the distance. You phased through the door without a thought to knock, frantically beginning your search for Puffy. 

You looked everywhere, but you couldn’t find her. Unable to cope any longer, you fell to your knees in the middle of the living room and hugged your head to your chest, your face being pushed against your uniform. Your shoulders shook with silent painful sobs, the only sound in the room being the sizzling of your skin. 

Why couldn’t it have been you? It should be Ghostbur standing there in that cavern, not Wilbur. This was completely your fault, you should’ve gone instead of him. You should’ve volunteered quicker than he did, you shouldn’t have let him talk you into it with his soothing words. Now because of your complete and utter cowardice, he was stuck in the afterlife once again. You were never going to see him any time soon. Your other half was ripped away from you because of your inaction. 

Between sobs, your lips repeatedly formed the same phrase: why couldn’t it have been me?

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[spencers-renaissance]

this heavy humanness

Summary: Spencer leaves the oven on overnight, and Derek - whose pent-up emotions get the best of him - loses it, exposing secrets neither of them expected to be spilled, for two very different reasons. They get there in the end.

or; Spencer's suffered far too much abuse in his life and Derek knew about none of it. He shouldn't have found out like this.

Tags: est. rel., past abuse, arguing & making up, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, hurt spencer TW: implied/referenced - child abuse, abuse & csa. trauma response that could be perceived as dissociation. misplaced frustration at neurodivergence. nothing graphic but message me for more info if needed.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.9k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This fills the "Domestic Violence" square of my Bad Things Happen Bingo. It's a heavy one folks so please heed the tags, but fear not, as always we have a happy ending ahead of us! <3 Title by Rainer Maria Rilke.

Spencer knows it’s ridiculous. Derek will not hurt him: this much he knows for certain. Derek is safe, he is home, he is his person. Derek would die before laying a hand on him.

This objective knowledge does not stop the fear from building in his chest, fizzling through his veins until his whole body is alight with it, simmering under the surface of his cold skin as Derek shouts, his face contorted in anger. Spencer might know that Derek won’t hurt him, but that doesn’t mean he can forget what’s happened in the past when he’s put that same expression on crueller people’s faces.

“How could you be so irresponsible, Spencer?”

He doesn’t know. The sinking feeling of failure, of disappointing someone he loves so much settles deep in his stomach as he watches Derek pace up and down the living room while he stays firmly planted on the sofa, pressed as far into the corner as he can.

He didn’t mean to leave the oven on overnight. Again. It’s just that sometimes he gets so lost in his head, in the studies he reads just before bed that getting ready for bed happens on auto-pilot, and small things like turning the oven off slip through the cracks. Derek’s never got this angry over it before, but that’s probably because he’s never said “yes” when Derek’s sleepily asked him if he remembered to turn it off, not when he actually didn’t.

He answered on auto-pilot. He didn’t mean to lie, but that doesn’t seem to matter that much to Derek as he wears down the living room carpet with his pacing, visibly seething. He tracks him with his eyes. He can’t afford to not see the blow coming.

The blow isn’t coming, he tries to tell himself. It’s not all that convincing when Derek stops mid-pace, turning to look at him dead in the eye.

“We could’ve died, Spencer! Does that mean nothing to you?”

Spencer doesn’t reply. He wants to, he really does, but the words are stuck in his throat, choked by fear and confusion and emotion and regret, God why didn’t I turn off the oven, I should’ve been better, it’s all my fault—

“Do you seriously not have anything to say?”

Spencer stares. He has so much to say. All of it is trapped in his throat, tangled in a mess of please don’t leave me and please god don’t hit me.

“You know, I can’t deal with this right now,” Derek mutters, throwing his hands up in the air, “this is unbelievable.” Spencer watches as he shrugs a coat over his shoulders, pulls on his shoes, pauses only to grab his wallet and keys, and walks out the door without looking back.

The door slams behind him and Spencer jumps at the loud noise, jolting out of his fear-ridden stupor, wincing as he’s forced out of his head and thrust back into reality. It’s only ten past ten in the morning; a nice, sunny Saturday in late Spring, and maybe in a different universe, Spencer and Derek are packing a wicker basket with a picnic, heading off to their favourite park to feed each other strawberries and enjoy jam-filled sandwiches.

In this universe, though, Spencer drags his heavy bones to the bathroom, and peels off his clothes. He feels weighed down, tied to some point of gravity far below his feet as he avoids the mirror at all costs and lets his pajamas lay where they fall instead of gathering them into a ball and throwing them into the hamper like he usually does. He turns the water on and steps under the spray, allowing himself to revel in the warm rivulets of water caressing his cold skin.

Shampoo bottles stand untouched in the caddy to his left. He’s not there to get clean, he’s there to forget and to think all at the same time. Slowly, he sinks to the floor, leaning against the wall as the water cascades down his front, but not before he turns the heat up. It’s a small comfort: the water just on the right side of too hot running down his face and his torso and his legs, pooling at his feet momentarily before sliding down the drain, never to be seen by him again.

Today shouldn’t have started like this, and it’s a hard pill to swallow that if he hadn’t left the oven on, it wouldn’t have. Derek would have smiled when Spencer stepped into the kitchen, pulled him into his arms and kissed him gently before making them pancakes while Spencer sat on the counter-top and told him everything running through his head. Derek would listen, enthralled, whether to the sound of Spencer’s voice or the words he’s saying, and he wouldn’t shut him up, not even when they sat down to eat.

They’d finally get ready for the day late in the morning, they’d decide what they would do that day, and they’d make a point to steal as many kisses as they could; making up for the affection lost during long cases.

Spencer knows this because it’s happened so many times before. They may have only been dating for just over six months, but they already live together, having fallen hard and fast; Emily teases them for it, calls them her favourite lesbian couple, and they don’t care because they’re in love.

Despite that, though, Spencer still hasn’t told Derek.

There are nights he lies awake pondering how unfair that is. He’s held Derek as he sobbed over memories of Buford, as he spilled every awful detail of the abuse he endured; he’s comforted him after he’d tried and failed to bottom, falling into a flashback every time, no matter how much he wanted to try it.

But Spencer stays silent. He doesn’t tell him about his dad beating him, or his mom getting confused off her meds and smacking him, shoving him, even punching him that one time. He doesn’t tell him about Matthew, his first real boyfriend, trapping him in an abusive relationship that took him months to get the courage to leave. About how when a third person hurt him, he began to wonder whether it really was his fault. Whether that was the only kind of love Spencer Reid deserved.

He stays silent now, staring at the shower wall. The fear has left him now the threat has too, and a cold type of numbness replaces it, and even once the water runs cold, he doesn’t leave. He traces the same four tiles with his eyes, drawing the same pattern with his gaze over and over again as his thoughts turn to an endless cycle of he’ll leave me, he’ll stay, he’ll hit me, he won’t, until he’s not really sure what he believes.

Derek is a good man, but Spencer knows how he can be. He messes up, he forgets things, he doesn’t read situations right, he doesn’t behave the way people think he should, he doesn’t think like a neuro-typical person does. And a good man can only put up with that for so long.

The proof is in the pudding, after all. Derek has always been understanding of things like this in the past. He’s given him a hug and told him not to worry about it, that mistakes happen, and no one can be expected to remember small things like this all the time. But this morning, he was furious. Spencer’s not sure he’s ever seen him so angry in all his years of knowing him, and it was directed at him. All because of an oven left on.

Eventually, a sound from the upstairs apartment drags him from his head again, and he’s suddenly aware of the cold water, of the way his body is trembling and his fingers are pruning. He pulls himself out of the shower, turning the water off, but he stands in the middle of the bathroom, aimlessly, for a long time. By the time he finally has the sense to wrap a towel around his body, he’s basically dripped dry. His hair is soaking wet and the dripping water is freezing, but he doesn’t have the energy to find a towel for his head, too, so he leaves it.

He walks towards the bedroom and climbs into bed, pulling the fluffy duvet over his damp skin and laying his wet hair on the pillow. It feels awful, being wet and damp under the dry bedding, but he doesn’t have the energy to move, so he stays there, towel still wrapped around his legs, hair still soaking the pillow, and he stares at the wall.

He doesn’t know what time it is, and he doesn’t know when Derek will come back home. If he ever will.

⭐️

Derek slams the door behind him as he storms out of the apartment, rage consuming his every move, his every thought. The force of it rattles the door frame, echoing down the empty corridor, but he can’t find it in him to care as he marches towards the elevator. The buttons are pressed with perhaps a little more aggression than socially acceptable, but the woman already on board takes one look at his face and has the sense to stay quiet.

He gets in his car and steps on the gas, the squeal of his tyres against the floor of the garage as he speeds out satisfying him more than it probably should. His jaw is locked and tight as he drives through the streets of DC, his thoughts going a million miles an hour, quieted only when he turns the radio up loud, a blasting soundtrack to his ferocious getaway.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he speeds down the highway, heading out of the city towards Baltimore. He doesn’t have a destination in mind: he’s just driving straight. Straight away from the apartment. Away from Spencer.

It’s after more than an hour of driving that his jaw finally loosens and the anger that had simmered in his blood so fiercely fades into reluctant rationality. He’s somewhere in the middle of Baltimore, and the traffic — the tangled road system he actually has to focus on — drags him from the absent headspace the highway had allowed him to slip into.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and turns off the road he’s on, onto a quieter one. As soon as he’s able to pull over, he does, and he hits the steering wheel angrily. “Fuck!” He leans forward, pulling off his sunglasses and burying his head in his hands. It’s not the same kind of anger he’d felt earlier, no. This time it’s directed purely at himself, fuelled by dismal regret.

Before he can stop it, his brain replays the fight with Spencer over and over, the wall he’d put up to block it out crumbling down as images of his boyfriend flood his mind. He hadn’t registered it in the moment, but looking back, God. There was something on Spencer’s face, something so broken, so scared and he feels nauseous at the realisation that he put that there.

Over something as fucking stupid as an oven.

Truthfully, he wasn’t really angry at Spencer. Waking up to see the oven left on again, even after Spencer promised he’d turned it off, was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

He’d fought with both his mom and Penelope yesterday, and he went to bed feeling like an utter failure, made even worse when Spencer had declined to join him, deciding instead to keep reading the series of papers he’d started earlier that evening. He woke up in a foul mood, and not even the sight of his peacefully sleeping boyfriend could make him feel better.

It’s his own fault. He should have communicated with Spencer: he should’ve told him about letting his mom down and saying the worst thing he possibly could have in his conversation with Penelope, but he didn’t. He silently stewed, and felt irrationally angry that Spencer wasn’t reading his mind. He knows for an absolute fact that if he’d asked Spencer to join him in bed last night, he would’ve dropped his studies immediately, and cuddled him until he felt better.

But he didn’t. And then he’d screamed at Spencer, in a way he never has before, over something he simply forgot to do. Derek swore to himself that he would never shout at or put Spencer down for his neurodivergent traits. Not in the way he’s seen so many people — regrettably, far too many of them on their own team — do before.

He’s always been understanding in the past, kissed Spencer’s hair and promised that it wasn’t a big deal, and he has always meant it. Because as dramatic as he’d been this morning, leaving the oven on wasn’t really the end of the world. He remembers ranting about the electricity bill, about how they were going to afford the house they were going to buy if he kept this up, about lying to him — even though he knew that was clearly an auto-pilot thing — about how dangerous it was. It’s a fan oven. They were never really in any danger.

What a god-awful way to let off the steam he’d built up and chosen not to let go.

As if he’s not already feeling shitty enough, though, his mind won’t stop circling back to the fear on Spencer’s face. The way he shouted back, but instead crammed himself into the corner of the sofa, never taking his eyes off him as he paced angrily back and forth.

He feels sick.

He digs his phone from the pocket in his sweatpants. He’s still in the clothes he sleepily pulled on in the dark this morning, and he hadn’t thought to bring his phone out with him, but luckily he’d picked it up off the kitchen counter that morning.

He clicks on Spencer’s name, listens to it ringing out as he desperately begs him to pick up. “Come on, baby, please,” he whispers, ignoring the tears burning behind his eyes. “Pick up, please.” He tries three more times before throwing it angrily on the seat next to him, allowing one more second of feeling the blind panic and the fury at himself before forcing himself to calm down.

Reaching over to his phone with one hand to turn the ringer up, he turns the ignition on and pulls back onto the road, heading back towards DC.

The traffic infuriates him, cursing as it takes thirty minutes to get back on the highway, but finally he’s back on the open road. It takes everything in him not to speed past the other cars, knowing that getting pulled over would only slow him down in the long run. He doesn’t turn the radio on. He just replays the fight again and again, each time remembering something new: something he said or something Spencer did.

He doesn’t wipe the tears away as they fall, lets them slide uncomfortably down his neck, under his collar, lets them drip into his lap, lets his nose run. It’s the only punishment he can afford himself right now.

Finally, finally, he pulls into their apartment building’s garage, finding their spot and parking roughly, abandoning the car as quickly as possible in favour of sprinting towards the elevator. He curses at the slow moving carriage, but it eventually spits him out on his floor, and he’s walking down the very corridor he stormed down just a few hours prior.

He pushes open the door to their apartment, closing it behind him softly. Suddenly, the nausea swimming in his gut isn’t just borne from regret, now fuelled by nerves and dreaded anticipation.

“Spence?” he calls softly.

He doesn’t know what to expect: he doesn’t know whether Spencer will be sad or angry, whether he’ll be screaming or crying. The kitchen and living room are empty, and the bathroom door is wide open, so he ventures into their bedroom.

Whatever he was expecting, it isn’t this.

Spencer’s tucked up in bed, duvet pulled up to his neck, facing away from the door. He doesn’t move so Derek thinks he might be sleeping, but when he circles the bed to check, he finds his eyes wide open, staring vacantly at a fixed point on the wall. They don’t flicker or blink or move when he steps into his field of vision, and Derek’s heart sinks, panic beginning to grip his chest.

“Spencer? Baby?”

When he still doesn’t move, Derek crawls onto the bed, and the movement or the sound or something must finally catch his attention, because all of a sudden his eyes are widening — in shock, surprise, fear, Derek doesn’t know — and he’s shifting under the covers.

“You’re back,” he says, and it’s so uneasy that Derek wants to cry.

“Yeah, baby, I’m back,” he says gently, “and I’m so sorry about earlier, I—”

He cuts himself off, because when he reaches to tangle his fingers in Spencer’s damp hair, he flinches. His hand freezes, but his stomach twists, because this is the confirmation he was both expecting and dreading. This is the confirmation of everything he prayed he had wrong, everything he wished he’d misinterpreted the whole drive home.

“Spence,” he whispers brokenly, withdrawing his hand, “I would never— never do… I’d never hurt you, God, I—”

A choked sob cuts him off this time, and another follows when he sees a tear sliding down Spencer’s face. A previously blank, emotionless canvas, his face is now full of sadness, tinged with the fear and guilt Derek hates himself for even suggesting was warranted in the first place.

“Derek,” he says softly, and his voice is so mangled with emotions he couldn’t even begin to decipher, it breaks his heart a little. He doesn’t say anything more though, eyes sliding shut instead as tears continue to stream down his face.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. “Anything, I— anything you need, you can have, Spence, I’d give you the world, you know that.”

Spencer’s quiet for a long time, and Derek sits there on the bed anxiously awaiting a response while trying to summon all the patience he doesn’t have as he stares at Spencer’s crying face.

“A hug,” he decides eventually, and Derek almost collapses in relief because, God, he can do that.

He crosses the small space between them, and carefully folds Spencer into a hug, sighing in relief as he melts into Derek’s side, placing his head on his chest and cuddling into him. Their legs tangle together and Derek holds him as gently and as closely as he can, carding his fingers through Spencer’s damp curls while his other hand rests on his waist, his thumb caressing the bare skin there.

He’s still in his towel, he thinks sadly. He didn’t have the energy to properly dry himself before crawling into bed. As if Derek could possibly feel shittier.

They lay like that quietly for a while before Spencer finally speaks. Derek wishes he hadn’t. The words “I’m sorry”, uttered so brokenly, so miserably, have no business leaving Spencer’s mouth.

“Baby, you have nothing to apologise for,” he says fiercely. “This is all on me. I’m sorry. Sorrier than I’ve ever been, Spencer, because this is completely my fault. I wasn’t actually angry at you, that’s the first thing you need to know, and I know that makes what I did so shitty, because you hadn’t even done anything wrong, but I was so pent up and frustrated with myself and I didn’t communicate that with you and— fuck, I’m doing such a bad job of explaining, I just. I need you to know, Spencer, that I’m not angry, okay? And I’m so sorry for losing it like I did, that never should have happened.”

He pauses and takes a breath in, burying his face in Spencer’s hair as he holds him even tighter, trying to keep his grip as gentle as possible.

“I never told you,” Spencer whispers after a couple beats pass.

Derek’s heart seizes tightly and he swallows. Prepares himself. “Never told me what, sweetheart?”

“My dad, he… he wasn’t a good man and he… you know, he hurt me a lot. And then my mom, when he left and she stopped taking her meds completely, she’d get so confused,” Spencer admits, voice so quiet as he murmurs into Derek’s chest that he has to strain to hear him. “She didn’t mean to, but she’d… And then my last boyfriend, he—”

He cuts himself off as a heaving sob that seems to come out of nowhere strangles his words and it’s all Derek can do to hold him tightly as Spencer cries, whispering every reassurance he can think of through his own tears. It shouldn’t be like this, he thinks. I shouldn’t know this just because of an argument we had; just because I lost control. Spencer should’ve been able to tell me on his own terms, in his own time.

He tries to cry as silently as possible, but it’s not easy when the grief of knowing the pain Spencer’s suffered in his life is weighing heavy on his chest, and the acidic taste of guilt abounds.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Spencer’s hair. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He’s sorry for so many things he’s not sure he could list them all out, neatly and coherently, if he tried.

Spencer fists his hands in the soft cotton of Derek’s t-shirt. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

Derek balks at the guilt in his tone, as if he actually believes he has anything to apologise for. “Baby, you could’ve waited until we were old and grey to tell me and I wouldn’t be mad, okay? Trauma like this… it comes out in it’s own way in it’s own time. I’m not sure how or when I would’ve told you about Buford if everyone hadn’t found out the way they did. And if I’d waited to tell you, you wouldn’t be mad at me, would you?”

Spencer shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry that I triggered you the way I did, Spencer,” Derek says seriously, gently twirling a loose curl around his fingers. “It was inexcusable, and it was a problem of my own making. I know you didn’t mean to leave the oven on and I know you were operating on auto-pilot when you told me you turned it off last night, and nothing I said was true. I was mad about stuff that happened yesterday and I failed to communicate that. It’s all on me. Nothing about this is your fault, you hear me?”

“Really?”

The way Spencer cranes his neck to look up at him, the trusting innocence in his eyes both breaking and warming Derek’s heart. “Really.”

“I want to tell you, Der, it’s just—” He sighs. “I’ve never talked about it with anyone, and it’s hard. I don’t… I don’t know where to start.”

“We have all the time in the world for you to tell me, baby. You can tell me everything all at once, or drop tiny pieces of information when you feel like it, or never tell me anything else ever again, and any of that is perfectly okay. I just need you to know that what happened this morning will never happen again, okay? I promise you.”

Spencer shifts, moving from his position curled around Derek to prop himself up with one arm, facing his boyfriend properly. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, before leaning down to kiss him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby. More than anything.” He kisses him again before moving the duvet and making to get up. “Now, how about I order us some pizza for lunch and we spend the afternoon in bed. You can read or we can watch some documentaries or a movie, whatever you want.”

A small smile crosses Spencer’s face, and nothing’s ever felt more like a win.

“I think that sounds like a plan.”

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[not-your-damsel]

Craving You

Word Count :: 4,994

A/N :: Go easy on me, my sweeties. This is my first full fic in the hottest of minutes.

This is just some soft, tender, Husband! Hitoshi Shinsou x Pregnant Fem! Reader missing each other dearly. We’re sticking with Keiid’s adult version of Toshi because that version of him has me absolutely fuckin’ weak 🥴

CW :: Minors DNI, NSFW, 🔞, Smut, Tender Loving Hours, Slight Choking. Pretty much it, I wanna say.

You will 100% be blocked if you’re a minor liking/re-blogging this work, or if your age isn’t in your bio and you’re liking/re-blogging this work. Simple as that!

You woke with a start, small hand darting out to feel for your husband only to feel his side of the bed not only empty, but cold. You sighed and attempted to sit up, holding your rounded stomach, feeling as your body ached. “Toshi?” You called out, silence answering back before sniffing for any hint of coffee in the air that he so loved to brew, strong enough to wake the dead. Nothing. Had he even been home at all last night? Being pregnant had done some weird things to not only your body, but your senses and sleeping habits. You noticed you’d sleep deeper than usual, something you hated. You wanted to be able to know when Hitoshi got home, when he hit the bed, anything. You wanted to be able to help should he need it. Take the other night for example. On his way home from being out on patrol he stumbled on a man who was robbing the local convenience store and though he caught the robber, he hadn’t escaped the ordeal without the guy putting up a surprisingly good fight. Toshi came home that night beaten to hell and you’d spent the better part of the evening with him on the toilet while you cleaned and patched him up. He didn’t want the help, wanted you to rest with your swollen ankles raised but you wouldn’t hear of it. When you were done, you carded your fingers through his short wild indigo locks, kissing his forehead while he caressed your stomach before wrapping his arms around you. You slipped your black cat slippers on, waddling from the loft down to the kitchen to grab a cup of black tea. Once you finished there, you made your way to the bathroom, turning shower on to your desired temperature. Your back was hurting and you wanted nothing more than to have hot water splashing against the painful spot as hot as you could bear. Carrying a whole other human inside you was hard work. You couldn’t wait to get back to work, kicking ass alongside your husband, the Shinsou’s back at it being a top hero power couple. You felt so out of shape and bloated and your breasts hurt when they were too full of milk, back and ankles on fire and swollen... you just seemed to be in perpetual pain these last 2 months. Not only that, you and Hitoshi’s sexual activities had to be put on hold and that was getting to you both and you knew it. You didn’t have to ask Toshi to know how much he was aching for you to the point of it making him at least a little crazy. As reserved as he was, gentle in his demeanor with you, and calm as a still lake, he was a human and he had needs. He’d never tell you, but he had to keep himself on more than one occasion from ripping your clothing off and bending you over the nearest surface to fuck you silly. Your dom and sub roles in the bedroom had to also be put on hold because Hitoshi could be a particularly rough man when it came to that, never truly knowing the full extent of his strength. He’d been absolutely terrified out of his wits of being rough once you started to show.

Great. Now you were sorely in pain and horny. “Stupid, stupid woman.” You seethed at yourself. You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t noticed the door to the shower open. It wasn’t until you felt the cool air hit your back that you felt a large set of hands slide from your hips to cradle around your stomach, your body tensing ever so briefly before relaxing. “Hitoshi, you scared the shit out of me.” You breathed, your shoulders relaxing. “I’m sorry, kitten. Are you ok?” He asked, hearing his voice was more gruff than usual had you turning to look at him. The normal bags under his eyes now looked like a set of luggage. He’d taken on more hours over the past several weeks to help build up some parental leave for when his daughter was due, he was busy doing so much and you felt bad. You cupped his cheeks before stepping forward on the balls of your feet with your lips poised for a kiss. He lent the rest of the way down to meet you, the water hitting his short wild tresses in the process, wetting it. “Toshi, thank you. You’re doing a lot and it shows. I wish you could rest already, we appreciate it and you so much.” You held the back of his neck, your thumbs rubbing lovingly along the sides behind his ears. He gave a tired, crooked grin, pecking your forehead then your nose before pulling away and looking at you with love, “It’s all for you guys, I love you with everything I am and I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” He joked with a chuckle.

Before you had a chance to protest, moving to swat him at his choice of words, he grabbed your wrist and held it to his chest, dipping again to kiss you passionately, swiping his tongue along your bottom lip for permission, but you were already opening for him to invade your wet cavern with his muscle. Hitoshi’s kiss was hungry, conveying all the pent up want and need he had for you, his wife. His large hands roamed down your back, thick fingers skimming the curve of your spine before they landed at your hips giving them a loving squeeze only to then rest on each cheek of your behind where he pulled you against him, allowing you feel how hard he was for you. Gasping in his mouth before continuing the kiss, you threaded your fingers through his hair again, tugging and earning you a groan of pleasure from deep within his chest. With your hand still held against his chest, you dragged your nails across the neat indigo chest hairs that lay there before sliding over to graze over his nipple, hardening it. Toshi was breathing harder through his nose now, his hips rolling of their own accord before pulling away. You whined, eyes lidded and drunk off his searing kiss. He grinned before looking around your spacious rainfall shower to the built in bench. “Do you trust me, kitten?” Hitoshi asked. You shook your head in confusion. “What kind of... you know I do, with my life.”

Hitoshi guided you to the bench to sit for a moment before he stepped out of the shower to grab a couple of things. “I-I’ll be right back,” he said with his hands held up, nonverbally telling you to stay put, where you smiled and nodded as he stepped out of the bathroom. You’d heard him faintly talking to himself before a loud bang sounded out followed by him swearing under his breath loudly. “Toshi? Are you alright?” You called, tilting your head from where you sat with a hand on your stomach rubbing it. “I’m ok, my love!” He called before turning up at the door a moment later with a couple things in hand, namely a towel and his hero weapon, the capture cloth. You were puzzled to say the least. “What are you doing, sweetie?” You asked him with your brow cocked and lips parted in wonder. “Well, I know we haven’t been able to get as intimate as we’d normally like due to me being so busy at work and you being... being... so pregnant,” ‘Nice choice of words, Hitoshi.’ He mentally slapped himself, “So I had an idea while I was on my way home. Care to try?” He asked you, purple tried eyes looking at you so hopeful it ached you to see. You’d nodded and began the monumental task of trying to stand until he stopped you. “No, no, let me set it up, ok?” Toshi nodded as he helped you to sit back down again.

You guys’ shower was rigged in a such a way that there were bare decorative pipes that were hanging from the ceiling with holes drilled in them that assisted in providing the rainfall effect. Toshi rigged his capture cloth expertly through those pipes and used the towel, folded, against a portion of it. Before you knew it, you were looking at a rigged swing made out of the two items. The towel was placed as a little padding for a seat of sorts and Hitoshi stood back to survey his handy work. He nodded, happy with the look of it before looking back at you with a lopsided grin. “What do you think, kitten?” He asked, reaching his hands out to help you up from the bench. “I think it’s really smart... and I think you’ve been thinking about this for much longer than on your way home.” You poked at his side with your nails, causing him to jump a little before he grabbed the back of his neck, rubbing it. “Ok, ok. I’ve been thinking of what to do for a couple of weeks now, you got me.” Hitoshi admitted, pulling you close into his side. “I just... I just really, really miss you.” He said lowly. You looked into his beautiful, tired eyes, noting that they were lust blown. His purple orbs almost drowned out by dark, black pupils resembling voids. Drinking you in, full of want and need, his hand roamed your back, squeezing in a massaging manner that had your own eyes slipping shut. He felt how tight and knotted various places of your back were, frowning to himself. “I miss you so much, kitten. So fucking much.” Hitoshi was now pressed against the side of your face, gruff voice in one ear as he kneaded the skin of your sore back. “Toshi, I miss you so much too, I wish I can know about your safety the way I used to.” You were now pressed against his body, your arms around his neck while on your tippy toes to reach him better.

Hitoshi’s hands abandoned your back to glide down your hips, further below to start squeezing the backs of plush thighs as he lent down to kiss you passionately, his tongue in your mouth again, exploring every inch of it trying to memorize it even after all these years together. “I missed the way you feel against me. I absolutely crave the way you taste to the point that it’s all I think about, getting in the way of my work, do you know that, little kitten?” Toshi said against your neck before he bit down on your pulse point. Moaning, your fingers dipping into his hair where your nails grazed his scalp. “Tosh- ah!” You squeaked, Hitoshi lifting you off the shower floor as your legs and arms immediately wrapped around your hulking husband for support, swollen, large belly pressed against his chiseled abs suddenly had you feeling some type of way as you stared down at where you both pressed together. “I love you.” You said, looking up to him to find that he was already staring down at you, watching as you took in the roundness of your stomach, holding his and your baby inside you. Your eyes brimmed with tears as he walked both of you to his little set up. “I love you, too. Baby? Baby what’s wrong?” Hitoshi asked, unsure if this was something that had to do with pregnancy hormones or something he possibly did. You hugged him, warm tears falling onto his shoulder. He held his capture cloth in place as he set you down, perching you on a few bands he’d lined up to make a makeshift seat that was plush from the towel he set there. He backed up cautiously in case you’d tip in any single direction and he needed to grab at you. You went to wipe your eyes but Hitoshi was already doing it. His large hands cupping either side of your face, large enough to eclipse your delicate face easily. It would’ve looked comical in any other circumstance, but he loved the way you fit perfectly in his hands.

“Talk to me, baby girl.” He said, squatting down to be able to look at you better. His hands now at your thighs, rubbing soothingly up and down them while occasionally rubbing your belly. “I’m happy is all. I just... as a pain in the ass as it can be sometimes, I couldn’t be happier carrying our baby.” you said, another round of fat tears spilling from your face. “I’m sorry, I’m all over the place and I missed you, I’m so stupid an-“ “Hey.” Hitoshi’s tone was stern, shivers instantly running down your arms and legs so strongly that even he felt the goosebumps break out across the skin of your soft thighs. “I don’t want my kitty cat talking about herself that way,” his hands now skimmed over the tops of your thighs, slipping in between them and parting them. “I take offense when my wife is talked about in any sort of negative capacity,” he leaned in closer, you were so enraptured by what he was saying, having not been spoken to like that for what felt like forever that you weren’t even paying attention to his actions. “Even if it’s from my wife.” He licked a fat stripe up your core, able to cover more ground with his tongue flattened, a hiss of a gasp being drawn in as your feet swung from the sensation. “Toshi!” You threaded your fingers through his hair and balled your hand into a fist, pulling his hair, spurring him on as he licked more forcefully, tongue delving into your hole as he nudged himself deeper into your wetness. His hands closed around your hips and pulled you closer, the stubble of his beard rubbing against your skin deliciously as he worked like a man starved.

Toshi was giving all he had then, moaning into you, as he slurped and sucked, tasting what he longed for for weeks. His hand closed around your thigh, propping it up over his shoulder to delve deeper. Even with the shower running you could see the pre leaking from Hitoshi’s tip. Wiggling a little and masking it as movements to his actions, you take your free foot and gently rub it against his length causing him to pull away with a hiss before looking up at you through purple lashes. His eyes became lidded, grabbing that same leg and throwing it over his other shoulder before diving back in and licking with fervor. “Ah, fuck!!” You yelped, feeling as though you’d fall backwards but Hitoshi’s hands wrapped around your back and pulled you closer, anchoring you in place, assuring your safety. It was then that he started to tongue fuck you, his wet muscle delving in and out while intermittently swiping up to pay attention to your clit when his nose wasn’t bumping into it. Your moans got louder, soft thighs shaking around his head as you felt your first orgasm approaching fast.

Hitoshi wrapped one arm around your back as sturdily as he could so he could bring a free hand into the mix. Two thick fingers slid into your core, replacing his tongue as he began pumping at a brutal pace, crooking them just right. “Oh, oh God...” Your voice shook, one hand in his wet hair and the other latched onto his shoulder, nails leaving crescent moon indents into his flesh now that your legs were free. Toshi’s breathing was ragged, his mind on one goal and one only, the one thing he’d been envisioning his fingers do for the last 4 nights at the agency while he filed reports into the early morning hours. Your walls began to flutter, his lidded purple orbs flitting to yours as he came up for air, watching his wife get overtaken with pleasure. “I love you... I love you...!” Toshi panted into your pussy before you threw yourself back from the force of your orgasm, liquid gushing forward and coating his arm and then his face as he dove in to lap up what he could, instantly wrapping his arms around you again for stability so you wouldn’t fall backwards. He went from vigorous licks to kitten licks which melted into soft kisses. Kisses leading from your drenched core to your thighs and then your stomach as he rubbed loving circles into it with his thumbs, getting up from his position on the floor of the large shower, kissing the top of your head when he reached his full height. “You did so good for me, my beautiful kitten, you always do. I love you, sweetheart.” He cooed. “I love you, too.” You panted out.

He tipped your worn out, blushing face upwards to look at him, still catching your breath but not caring as you leaned forward to reach for Hitoshi’s cock before he grabbed your hands softly. “Baby, no need... w-wait till we’re done here, I’ll be raring to go again.” He smirked. In your post orgasmic haze, you didn’t even realize that from the sheer visuals and moans alone that you’d provided was enough to make him come, the water having washed away his mess. Toshi gathered both of your wash items, placing them closer on the bench in the shower before helping you down off the makeshift swing to stand before himself. He deposited some shampoo in his palm before massaging it in your scalp, washing your hair before running his hands through it to rinse it. He did the same with the conditioner, only leaving it in your hair as he washed your body lovingly. Admiring every curve and dip, no sexual drive behind his actions, just pure love before rinsing you off. When he was done, you gently guided him down on the bench so you could reach his head properly. Hitoshi stood at a whopping 6’ 1”. He was always on the taller side out of the many students at UA, coming in at 5’ 9” when you two met but as the years went on, he just kept sprouting. You were smaller compared to him, standing shorter in stature, you just reached above his shoulder when you and him stood side by side and you loved it. You loved climbing him like he was a mountain, latching onto him, your smaller frame melting and melding into his larger one, and it was one of your most favorite things in the world when he was spooning you.

A large palm came to rest against your stomach as you worked the lather in his hair, pulling you from your thoughts. “What are you thinking about, kitten?” Hitoshi asked, feeling as his unborn baby would push against wherever he’d touch. “You.” You hummed to yourself as you rinsed his hair free of the conditioner, bending to pour some body wash on his washcloth. No loofahs for Hitoshi Shinsou in your house, ‘Too damned girly’ was how he’d put it and you giggled at the thought. “What’s so funny, hm?” He grinned lopsidedly, bending to kiss your stomach with his eyes closed, lips brushing across your skin. It was moments like this that you wanted to snapshot and put away forever for you to cherish, observing the endless beauty he never seemed to know he has. At least until the silent admiration was interrupted by him pulling away and holding his chin exaggeratedly. You laughed, as you rubbed the cloth over his neck muscles to loosen him up. “She’s gonna pack a wallop, huh?” He joked, rubbing his jaw as you nodded with a smile. Hitoshi sighed as you kept working the washcloth over his upper body, his back, pressing as hard as you could which earned you some relieved of grunts. “Up, sweetie.” You stepped back a bit as Toshi stood, willing the jelly feeling you’d imparted on him out of his body. Bringing the washcloth to his abs, you rubbed, the scent of his body wash filling your senses as you got drunk off it. Your husband always smelled so nice, so warm and comforting. Like a cozy cabin tucked away in the woods on a cold winter night, it brought you comfort and safety. He watched you work, noting how you’d pause every now and again to deeply inhale his scent and with every open of your eyes, the more they lidded. When you got to his member, it was semi erect. You looked up at him and he smiled with a wink, “I told you. Gimme that, I think we’re done here.” He said as he finished up the rest of his body in record time, you giggling at his quickness as you put the items away before he tossed the washcloth back in its spot, and swooped you into his arms.

You squealed out with a laugh, Toshi minding where your stomach landed, his broad shoulders between your breasts and stomach, pushing the door open and draping a large towel over your body before bringing the both of you to your bedroom where he gently plopped you onto your large bed. He hovered over your laughing frame, watching as water dripped down from his hair onto the bed above your own head. Your laughing slowed as you noticed his silence, smiling at him and bringing a hand to his scruffy cheek to thumb gently at a scar he had over the left side of his lips leading into his chin. He turned his head and kissed inside your palm, his hand wrapped around your delicate wrist as he held it against his lips. “Turn around, kitten.” He gruffed. Hitoshi was helping you maneuver, perching onto the bed himself as he molded the front of himself to your back, his fully hardened cock prodding at your ass cheek leaving a smear of pre along your skin. Kissing along your neck and shoulders, Toshi ran a large hand from your stomach to your thigh, grabbing and propping it against his own leg which he used to open you up. Your breathing was already uneven, knowing what was coming yet not getting to you fast enough, your hips already rocking back into him for stimulation only he could provide. Hitoshi chuckled against your ear, “Does my kitty want it that bad?” He teased, reaching his hand between the two of you to pump his cock in his fist, teasing your already wet entrance. “God, you’re already soaked, baby, fuck.” He gritted out. “Toshi, stop acting like you’re not dying too and make love to me already,” you whined. “You’re always so coc- HAH!!” Your hand flung upward to latch onto the back of Hitoshi’s head which was buried in the crook of your neck and shoulder, biting into the soft skin that lay there as he jutted his hips forward and sheathed into you in one fluid movement. He gave you time to adjust, running his hand up your body, softly squeezing your breasts and lovingly rubbing your belly as he pressed more kisses into your shoulder and neck, sucking hard enough at your pulse point to leave an immediate blooming bruise.

“To- Toshi please. Please, please I need you...” You begged him as he pressed more kisses into your damp hair, his hips starting to move to create that hot friction you both craved. It seemed he was panting like a dog within seconds, thick fingers pinching your nipples as gently as he could, breast milk dribbling down the tips as he rolled them between his tips. “Fuck, kitten!” Toshi was now snapping his hips faster into you, the bed creaking with each brutal thrust. The second the headboard hit the wall for the first time, it acted as fuel for Hitoshi to go even faster. Hips rutting into you from behind so hard it hurt in the best way. He could already feel your gummy walls twitch and clamp down on him, knowing that you were getting closer with each thrust. “Fuck, baby, the way you’re taking me so -shit!- so greedily, so fuckin’ well, you really missed my cock, huh? Answer me!” He almost barked out, feeling you clamp down on him particularly hard when he did. “Fuck your cock, I missed y-you, Hitoshi!” You moaned, your nails digging into his neck. He groaned lowly, breathily whispering out, “Oh my fucking God!” before his hand came down on the swell of your ass, the sharp sting causing you to clamp down on him again a little harder. The slap didn’t pack the usual punch it did with Hitoshi’s heavy hands, but it was enough and you both noticed.

You rolled your hips into him, meeting his thrusts with your own as that wonderful feeling of a taut invisible string began to fray inside your stomach. “So good, so -y-yeah!- s-so fucking good, Toshi I- I, Godfuckinghell!! Ugh, missed you, I missed you, I-“ a broken moan tore from your throat at the feel of Hitoshi rubbing circles against your clit, his thrusts reaching inside you deeper, the prominent vein that ran along his cock sliding against your walls. His breath was coming out in puffs against your neck and cheek, groans and moans sounding out from him just the way you loved. “Mmm, kitty cat, fuck, you’re gonna cum! C’mon now, c’mon, I wanna feel you cream all over this cock, your cock, this cock belongs to you, all yours...” he reached his other hand around, gripping your throat, getting lost in the pleasure as he railed into you, watching your face for any changes in discomfort, keeping mind of the baby. Once your eyebrows slightly furrowed, he loosened his hold, allowing you to catch your breath for a few beats before starting the process again. “Cum, cum because I fucking can’t hold on much longer you’re sucking me in so goddamn good!” Toshi growled in your ear, his hand abandoning your clit for a moment to spit on his fingers just to go back to rubbing it faster than before. As your smaller hand gripped his forearm for dear life, you came undone. “Toshi, fuck!!” Hitoshi felt his thrusting cock get wetter, slipperier, as he slowed his rubbing fingers through your orgasm having released your throat long ago.

Now he began driving into you with reckless abandon, seeking his own release which wasn’t far behind in the first place. The hand that was at your throat now wrapped around your shoulder, while the one that left your clit reached up to grab at your free hand, threading his large fingers through your own. “O-oh my God, oh my God I’m gonna cum, kitten, fuck, I’m gonna cum...” sloppy hips faltered even more before he gave one last strong thrust, stilling inside you spilling his warmth in thick spurts, giving 2 more soft slow thrusts before coming to a stop. The both of you were breathing heavily, Toshi’s head dropped onto your own before he bent down a bit to kiss your shoulder, his stubble scratching at the softness of your cheek. His hair was now dry, being short, it drooped down onto his forehead. There was a fresh sheen of sweat over both of your bodies, especially on his chest and your back. “I love you.” You said, your breaths coming out fast but not as harsh as before. Hitoshi wrapped his arms around you, pressing you into his almost too warm body, nuzzling in your semi damp hair inhaling deeply, “I love you, too. So fucking much, don’t ever forget it. I’m sorry I’ve been away so much, I just...” You shook your head, opening your eyes halfway. “No. I know why you do it. I can’t ever convey how much it means to me that you’re working your ass off for proper time with me and little Anzu once she gets here. Do I miss you? Of course I miss you, I miss you terribly. I also miss working with you. I never realized how spoiled I truly am until it came time for me to stay home from work. Getting to see you every single day, work alongside you, be out in the public eye with you... I never realized that I spend every moment with you. And now that I can’t, it has me a bit out of sorts I guess you could say.” You confessed, your eyes heavily lidded with sleepiness, voice soft and gentle.

The bed suddenly shifted, Hitoshi launching himself over your body and plopping next to you to face you causing you to squeak out in shock. He cupped your cheeks and brought you in for a slow, passionate kiss. Your smaller hands planted against his chest, fingers rubbing lovingly before scooting closer to him where he wrapped his arms around you instinctively. “I’m almost done, sweetheart. Just one more week, maybe even sooner if Anzu comes before then. And hey, if you want, I can help you train up again my agile, telekinetic kitten. Would you like that?” He asked into your hair at the top of your head. You hummed softly and he looked down having felt your hand slip off his chest and go limp, joining your other arm pressed against him and the bed. You were fast asleep, your breathing slow and deep as Toshi took a moment to look at you, large hand caressing from your head to your shoulder, only to glide down your back where he grabbed the blanket and draped it over the both of you, snuggling your body closer to his. “And I thought I was the one who got into people’s minds. I don’t deserve you, baby girl.” He whispered in your ear, kissing the side of your mouth before perching his head atop yours and falling asleep just as quick. You woke with a start, small hand darting out to feel for your husband only to feel his hand grasp yours and pull it to his lips, “I’m here, baby. I’m still here.” Hitoshi said as he cradled it in his own, pressed against his chest, a small smile gracing your lips before slipping back into the warmth of his embrace.

[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - viii (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: If the king can disrespect his queen so openly, surely the people can, too? 

Warnings: slight injury to reader, confessions, bad timing

Word Count: 3k

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

It was inevitable. The people began to lash out at you as soon as their king did. You were an outsider, the daughter of a king who waged a war against their country. They welcomed you into Brooken in hopes of a bright future and an heir for their king. And to their knowledge, you had disappointed them. So, when your husband struck you in front of his court, it opened the door to let his subjects treat you in the same manner.

In the days that took place after the party, the respect for you had dwindled. Ladies of the court who once pulled you around to chat your ear off and were all too excited to invite you to their tea parties and to their chateaus had all stopped acknowledging you when you walked into the room. You were given smug looks and side eyed stares. Their husbands, who were all eager to carry favor with the queen in doing so with the king as well, had barely spoke to you now. Before, when they grazed your shoulder with theirs, you were bombarded with apologizes, afraid that they had hurt the king by hurting you. But all that changed the moment your delicate skin was scarred by the wedding ring that symbolized your failing marriage. Now, their bumps were intentional, and they hurt – you had bruises to prove it.

You admired one of the paintings that adorned the wall of the east end of the castle. You were rarely seen outside of your chambers and when you were, you kept to yourself. The warm, welcoming Brooken was gone. And in its place stood a cold, lonely prison.

“(Y/N),” you let out a sigh when you recognized the low, hushed voice of Brock Rumlow. Ever since the party, you had spoken to four people – Wanda, Natasha, Jean the midwife, and Brock. The friendship between you and your husband’s cousin was platonic, you made it clear to the man that you had no intentions of an affair and he seemingly agreed, not wanting to further endanger you.

He glanced around to ensure that you were both alone. He wasn’t eager for any unwanted guests to listen in. Brock strode over to you with long steps until he stood next to you. Your eyes stayed glued to the giant painting. It appeared to be a portrayal of a war that Steven’s grandfather had been a part of.

“The arrangements have been made,” he whispered. You nodded. “There’s a tower opposite your bedchamber’s windows. When you see a light, know to meet at the docks the next time the moon rises. We will use the cover of the night to escort you and your ladies safely onto a ship.”

“Thank you.” You muttered. “Really.”

He reached out and gave a comforting squeeze to your arm. His fingers trailed the scarred flesh of your wrist – a reminder of another fault King Steven has done.

When the two men were young, Brock had been groomed to take the throne because Steven had been a sickly child. He remembered his aunt being told to expect the worst, so Steven’s father had taken Brock under his wing. He convinced himself that he would’ve been the perfect king. But then a “magic” doctor from a foreign land had been brought in and a few weeks later, Steven’s illnesses were gone along with the short, skinny prince. Steven grew to be broad and tall, towering over his cousin and a lot of other men. Brock was thrown to the side as Steven regained his proper place in the court.

He grew up with jealousy as he watched his cousin get everything that was meant for him. The castle, the title, the crown… Brock hadn’t been jealous of Steven’s wives. He had his own list of lovers and was very satisfied with the women whom he shared a bed with, but then your portrait was delivered by King Anthony Stark. The young, beautiful princess of York who got to be his cousin’s wife – who would’ve been his wife if he had been on the throne.

“Of course, your grace,” he nodded.

“Is there anything else?” He shook his head and mentioned he should go for the council had a meeting in a few minutes. You smiled at him before you dismissed him, wanting to be alone. He bowed before leaving.

You thought you’d be giddy, excited upon hearing the news. Lord Pierce worked quickly, contacted the Wakanda King and negotiated you and your ladies’ safe voyage. It was all falling into place. You’d be far from Brooken so that your husband and his court couldn’t hurt you anymore and far from York where your father would’ve just sent you back to your own personal hell.

But you weren’t happy. You were taking your unborn child away from its father. You were stealing away a kingdom’s heir. For what? Because you were unhappy in your marriage? Because your husband had hurt you? They were good reasons to leave. So, why weren’t you relieved?

After long minutes of silence and contemplating, you heard a tutting. With a frown, you turned around and saw one of the noblewomen, Lady Leah Nightingale, emerge from the shadows. She had been one of the women who took back her invitation to her chateau – it wasn’t as if you had any intentions of riding off to the outskirts of southern Brooken to go either way.

“Lady Leah.” You greeted with a fake smile. She had an eyebrow quirked up with a taunting expression with her arms crossed.

“You’re a whore.” She said. Your smile immediately dropped. “I didn’t want to listen to the rumors about you and Lord Rumlow, yet here I am… Did I intrude? The moment seemed rather intimate.”

“I believe you are mistaken, Lady Leah.” You nodded. You walked past her and towards the staircase behind her when she grabbed your arm and whipped you around.

“The king will have your head for your infidelity.” She said. “Then, any lady of the court gets another chance at being queen. That crown,” she snatched the dainty York tiara off your head, “belongs to me.”

“That is my mother’s.” You seethed as you reached over and tried to grab it from her hands. It became a tug of war.

You found it ridiculous, fighting over a headpiece. Your husband had gifted you hundreds of jewels and crowns that were stashed away. You could’ve easily exchanged it for something more extravagant or expensive, but Brooken had already stolen so much from you.

She pulled so hard away from you that the crown had slipped from both your hands. It clattered against the hard floors, the aged metal splitting in half. You gasped with wide, teary eyes. Lady Leah gave you a smirk.

“It’s all yours, your majesty,” she mocked. “It was cheap like your mother… and like you.”

You glared at her, feeling all the pent-up rage bubbling to the surface. You trembled with anger, unsure of how to exert such negativity. You weren’t sure whether to lunge at her and tear the stupid dangly earrings from her ears or scream until your lungs gave out.

“Queen Margaret had more grace than you and she was older than the king. Queen Sharon was more beautiful and kind. You little York bitch thought you were too good for the rest of us. Too good for the king?” She scoffed. “No wonder he grew tired of you. Hell, I wanted to slap you the second you stepped out the carriage. I can’t wait until he kills you.” You felt your breath shudder and the tears fall from your eyes. “In fact… I’ll go ahead and do it for him.”

You frowned with confusion but quickly let out a gasp when her hands reached out and pushed your shoulders hard. You lost your balance. Your foot missed a step as you tumbled down the stairs.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The five men sat around the wooden table, the king at the head. He drummed his fingers along the wood, the rhythm helped calm him.

It had been a week since the party – since he had slapped you as if you were just a defiant servant. He felt awful the moment it happened. You had a horrified look on your face as you stared at him as if he truly were a monster with fangs, horns, and all. He felt like he was one.

After the party ended, he saw an upset Strucker to his guest chambers before nearly running to your shared bedchamber with thousands of apologizes raging on inside his mind. He had intended to kiss the cut until it healed and hold you like he did in the first few months of your marriage. But you weren’t there. So, he sat at the foot of the bed and awaited your return. He stayed up all night long, but eventually collapsed hours after the sun rose.

He hoped to waken with you curled up beside his body, but he woke up to not-so-quiet servants who were briskly removing your things from the chamber. He pulled one girl aside and questioned her. She revealed that you wished to stay in your old chambers from now on.

He thought that this was perhaps a way of punishing him, so he allowed himself to be punished. He deserved it. He knew he should not have struck you – whether it happened privately or in front of a crowd, he knew he should not have laid his hands on you in that way.

He thought that you would return in a few short days and allow him to apologize for his wrongdoing. He hoped that there was still a chance at that happiness he promised you.

But days had turned into a week and you never returned.

And it hurt him.

Lord Pierce was droning on about the absence of grain. In the past year, Baron Strucker had been holding out on the essential good. He had been giving Brooken a fraction of what he used to. So, Steven invited him to court in hopes to coax out more of the grain so that his people could eat. But with your outburst and Wanda’s rejection, the Duke became angry. Now, he was refusing to ship grain, feeding the king excuses about a wildfire and insects that ravaged his lands.

“Is there anything we can do?” He asked. “Perhaps, reach out to any allies?”

“York.” Lord Rumlow suggested. “Although with the situation at hand, I doubt the queen would be willing to ask her father to help you.” The words were meant to be a jab at the king. Steven knew. His cousin was always poking and looking for a fight.

Before the king could respond, someone burst through the doors. It was a wide-eyed Natasha rushed through the doors. Panic written all over her features. “Your grace, my lords,” she bowed, panting slightly.

“Nat?” Lord James asked, rising from his seat. “What’s happened?”

“The queen…” she said, breathless. “The queen…”

“Out with it!” Brock snapped, jumping up from his seat and walked over to the woman, grabbing her arms and shaking her slightly. James had told him to unhand her.

“The queen was pushed down the stairs by Lady Leah Nightingale… Or at least that’s what the witness had said,” Natasha explained after regaining her breath. “She’s in the infirmary.”

Steven felt the color drain from his face as he shot up and rushed past her and out the room. He heard the lady’s heels clatter against the tiles as she followed him. The sound was accompanied by heavy footsteps, that undoubtedly belonged to the other lords of his council.

As he approached the doors, he noticed a midwife – he believed her name was Jean or Joan, or something along the lines of that – walking the opposite direction in quick, rushed steps. He dismissed it before bursting through the double doors.

The doctor, Stephen Strange, who was visiting from York, had been looming over you. Lady Wanda sitting at your bedside. “King Steven,” he greeted with a nod.

“Strange.” Steven responded. He glanced over to the men behind him and asked for everyone but the doctor to be dismissed. The two ladies glared at him – he didn’t miss the way his cousin did, too. “Must I repeat myself?”

“I will not leave you with her.” It was Wanda, the shy, meek auburn-haired girl, who spoke up. She had rarely been defiant or outspoken in the ways you and Natasha were. She had always smiled and nodded, but now, she scowled at the king with her brows knitted together and venom dripping from her words.

The king sighed, placing a hand on his hip. “Please,” he asked with a lower voice. It was as if he were begging. The two women stood as they were as if to say we don’t take orders from you. “Fine. Stay.”

Steven walked closer towards you. You looked so peaceful – asleep with your head turned to the side slightly and a hand over your stomach, which protruded in the slightest bit but was still unnoticeable beneath your gown. The scar left a scabbed line on your cheekbone. He hadn’t realized how shallow the cut was.

“Is she okay?” He finally asked. “And I apologize that I hadn’t been there to welcome you to Brooken, Stephen.”

“I’m only here because her father asked me to come check on her. I am her godfather after all.” Stephen lied. Though, truthfully, he was your godfather. “She’s only sleeping for now, your grace. No true injury. The ba – “he stopped talking when he saw Wanda shake her head over the king’s shoulder. He was a smart man. He knew not to overstep. “She’ll make a quick recovery and be on her feet in a day, if not, less.”

“If she doesn’t wake?”

“Don’t be so pessimistic. She will wake. I assure you.” Stephen said, confidently. He wasn’t here for your father’s bidding. He was here to inform you of your brother’s worsening condition. He believed that you had a right to know and say your farewells, but he realized that perhaps you had other pressing matters to deal with. “I suggest you get your court in order. If word reaches York about the treatment of their princess, there will be another war… And King Anthony will be twice as ruthless as he was during the first.”

Steven nodded. His eyes glued to your unconscious body. It was his fault that his people – your people, too – had been so cruel to you in the past week. Thankfully, you weren’t badly hurt in this incident, but what of the next? What happens when his own citizens become bold enough to have a true attempt at your life? It would still be your blood on his hands because he allowed this to happen.

“Let’s leave the king, shall we ladies?” Stephen asked. Although slightly wary and defiant, the two women reluctantly agreed. He listened to their receding footsteps and the door close behind them.

Steven brushed your hair gently with his fingers. He pressed his lips to your temple and to the cut before placing a chaste kiss to your lips. You head had turned, but you were still sound asleep.

“I don’t know if you’re listening. I hope you are.” Steven whispered, clutching the hand that laid to your side. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry for striking you, for allowing people to disrespect you so openly. I’m sorry for calling you a whore queen, for frightening you. I… There are so many wrongdoings, so many faults. I told you before I wanted us to be happy. I wanted our future to be happy. And I failed you. I want to do better by you, to be the man that you deserve, I truly do…

“But there are things going on in this kingdom that you do not know about… I pray that you do not. My cousin and Lord Pierce are plotting against me. I know it. I want to trust you, (Y/N). I do. I want to tell you of my plans to weed out everyone who dares go against us, but I see them looming over you. I see Brock whispering into your ear. I can’t help but wonder if you will betray me like Margaret? Like Sharon? I’ve been married twice before you and I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and it scares me because the only love I’ve known ends in betrayal. And if you betray me, I will not know how to recover.”

You were beginning to stir awake. Your eyes were fluttering open, wincing at the light. You felt a pressure in your head, a warmth radiating to your side. His words were muffled. You didn’t register anything he said. Not even when Steven whispered,

“I love you, (Y/N).”

Outside the infirmary doors, the lords had eventually dispersed. Wanda and Stephen had walked off, whispering about the secret baby that only you, your ladies, Jean, and now your godfather knew about. Rumlow and Pierce rushed off, whispering to one another about their plots. Only James and Natasha had stayed behind, standing against the wall across the door.

“Buck?” Natasha whispered. She surveyed the hallway. They were completely alone. Not a servant in sight. He hummed in response. “I have something to tell you.”

“About what?”

“I’m telling you because I trust you and because I do not trust Lord Rumlow.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

You were eventually moved back to your chambers – the one separate from the king’s. You were still a bit dizzy from the incident, but you were assured you’d be fine. Jean had come by discreetly and checked up on you. She assured you that the baby wasn’t harmed and that the fall wasn’t too harsh that it could’ve caused any damage. Your godfather had also promised that you’d recover.

It became clear that Brooken did not want you here. You were in danger. Your child hadn’t been born yet, and it was in danger, too.

And like a flame that ignited in the window of the tower across from your chambers, a new hope burned through you. The signal. The confirmation.

You rubbed your slightly protruded stomach anxiously. The next night you were leaving Steven and Brooken. Forever.

[whatismarvel]

expectations • bucky barnes

summary; Y/N finds solace in Bucky’s arms when she finds out her boyfriend, Steve, has been cheating on her.

warnings; SMUT. curses. infidelity. ANGST. the word soft used too many times. i was thinking of turning this into a series?? idk lmk y’all, enjoy this poorly written smut!

The vase thrown across the room leaves you hyperventilating, it doesn’t ease the anger as you hoped. Your fingers push back the strands of hair that have been glued to your face from the incessant crying. The shards of the broken vase prick your feet as you walk across the room to get your phone. It’s already ten past three and the dinner you cooked has undoubtedly already gone cold. He said he’d be back home by one for the latest, and you believed him. Again. You’ve already been through seven scenarios as to why he’s not here yet and each scenario you’ve pictured never came close to the truth you already knew. He was with her.

You were a fool. A fool who never questioned him when his phone vibrated in the middle of the night as you laid comfortably in his arms. A fool who never understood why he had to take certain calls in another room. You had all the evidence in front of you but you chose not to believe it. You loved him and he loved you. That’s what you told yourself as you cried yourself to sleep in your empty bed. Repeating that to yourself is what kept you waking up and going about your day as usual because you knew the minute you started believing your head instead of your heart, it was over for you.

He was the love of your life, your other half. You gave your all into loving him, taking back that now just seemed impossible. You’d never recover, you told yourself. So you never spoke your truth, never asked, told yourself it was in your head, that you were being crazy and overreacting.

Until you found his phone.

Not his usual phone, no. This one didn’t have his lock screen as the both of you or his bright-red phone case that you absolutely abhorred. It was a simple black case, the lock screen was a generic wallpaper and had multiple notifications from different apps. Dating apps. A name caught your attention, 16 unread messages from Ruby.

His password wasn’t hard to figure out, you knew the man inside out. Or so you thought as you sat there, completely shattered as you read through their conversations.

It had been a week since you found it. A week of you processing what you already knew months ago. That’s all it took, a bloody phone to realize what a dumbass you are. When he left tonight, the phone was nowhere to be found. So you knew exactly what was happening right now. He was probably balls deep into her right now and just the thought of it has you seething.

You close the door behind you, exiting your apartment. Your face is flush and your feet carry you to the nearest friend in distance, Bucky. His apartment was only a few blocks down and you just wanted to talk to somebody. Steve’s best friend might not have been your first choice but Bucky was a good friend to you and it didn’t really matter right now.

You come face to face with Bucky as he opens his door. His eyes meet yours and time stops for him. The way your smile doesn’t reach your eyes as you peer up at him worries Bucky. He knows you. Your eyelashes are still damp and your face is unquestionably red. It didn’t take a genius to know you were crying and it breaks his heart.

Bucky loved you. Truly, madly and deeply in love with you and though he thought he hid his forlorn well when you got together with Steve, you knew. A part of you always knew but never questioned it. It was uncharted territory and you loved Steve. You didn’t want to ruin the relationship you had with Bucky if you were out of bounds, so you kept quiet.

Wordlessly, Bucky leaned in a little closer. Your foreheads touching as you close your eyes. Tears streamed down your face and you wrapped your hands around his neck. Your relationship with Bucky was always comfortable, touchy, but comfortable. He made you feel safe when you were with him. You knew he always had your back.

Bucky picks you up by your legs and now you’re both sat on his sofa. Your legs wrapped around his waist as his arms circle your waist. You rest your face on his shoulder, breathing him in as unbeknownst to you, so does he. You were flooding his senses, he couldn’t fight against the thoughts that were going through him.

He strokes your hair as you whimper softly. There was no space left between you both and you could feel the beating of his heart against your chest. You pull away to face him and your lips linger against his. Not a word is said as Bucky slowly pulls you into a kiss. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rested below your ear, his thumb caressing your tear-stained cheek as your world slips away. You breathe each other’s air as you lazily pulled away from him.

“Y/N.” He whispers slowly, prolonging each letter as if to savor them. You grin, heart fluttering at his voice. Never before has your name fell from his mouth in a manner like that.

His left-hand drifts over your collarbone, to your neck, and finally to your jawline. He presses a soft kiss as you turned your head slightly. Your fingers slipped to the back of his head, running your fingertips through his locks. Your touch made him visibly relax. His lips twitched as your hands fell to his chest and slowly reached his face. You both lock eyes and your stomach drops. You knew this was bad. He was so in love with you and you weren’t in the right mindset to return his affection, you were just using him to cope with your broken heart.

His mouth never became demanding, you nudged open his lips with your tongue and he returned it with a soft lap and easily explored your mouth. Nothing hurried. The warmth in your stomach expanded and moved further down into your groin.

His hand brushed over and lingered at your most intimate area. Suddenly, that ember of arousal flared. Your body reacted just as quickly as his hands as you lifted your pelvis as much as possible for him.

He slips two fingers into your clothed pussy, pushing a little deeper. He curls his fingers, making you bend at the waist. Trying to wrap your head around the situation as you took a second to catch your breath, he shifted and delicately added a third finger, stretching your pussy. Your moans echoed through the apartment as you laid your head on his shoulder, eyes shut, mouth agape.

“Can you lie down for me babygirl?” He asks, whispering sweetly into your air. A blush forms on your cheeks as you comply. Settling back onto the sofa, he unzips your jeans and glides it off of you along with your underwear.

His eyes drop to your pussy for a moment as he lifts your thighs and rests it on his shoulders. that tongue of his wastes no time and slips, thick and heavy, through your folds, before he looks back up at you once more. You cried out rhythmically as his tongue delved into you, as he shoved the lithe muscle as deeply as it would go into your cunt, and suckled gently at your clit.

He gave a particularly strong suction to your clit and held it. You knew that was your breaking point. With your legs locking him in place as your back arched, pressing your groin to his mouth, hard. it didn’t take long for you to reach your climax. “Fuck, Bucky.”

He smiles as he watches you ride out your high and reaches up to brush his lips against yours. “Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N?” He asks, and reality hits you like a brick.

You don’t know how Steve does it. How he can fuck someone without thinking of you the entire time, how he doesn’t show a shred of remorse when he looks at you the morning after and says he loves you like nothing ever happened. How his conscience doesn’t eat him alive as he lays right next to you at night is baffling. The man you love is probably shit-faced right about now and going on round number three with his mistress. The thought of that has you fuming and you tell yourself if he can do it, so can you.

You were going to fuck his best friend and you didn’t care. The pent up anger in you made you blur out all the repercussions and consequences of your actions tonight.

You only cared about one thing, revenge. you just wanted to get back at him.

You give him a sincere smile and respond, “Yes, I want this, Buck.” You cup his face and pull him into another kiss, his hair fell to the sides of his face and you pushed it back, just to see him enjoy the mild caress.

Your fingers remained threaded into his hair as he rested his forehead on yours, the gesture made your heart fuzzy. Bucky was a sweet man, and you cherished his friendship but over the years you’ve noticed him change with you. You weren’t blind, you saw the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. You’d notice his sudden flinches when Steve put his arm around you, the signs come flooding back and you can’t help but wonder if he knew you were being cheated on.

You snap back to reality when Bucky begins to pepper you with kisses while hastily trying to shed clothing. His hands are everywhere, trying to do everything all at once, and managing to accomplish very little, which makes you giggle at his foolishness.

You help unfasten his belt and pants and pull them off his legs as easily as you can. His shirt is flung to the other side of the room along with yours, as well as your bra. Bucky takes a second to drink you in and then proceeds to attach his mouth to your breast, suckling as his other hand gently squeezes and pinches your nipple. You gasp and grab his head, pulling him in deeper. He does the same to the other one, leaving your nipples perky and wet with saliva.

His lips linger in front yours for a brief second as your hand finds his stiff cock, and begin to slowly stroke it. You watch as his eyes roll back and the sinful sound he makes stirs your desire for him. His tip is slightly wet due to the precum but you don’t mind. It makes it easier for him to slip into you.

He rocks his hips forward, entering you. The friction was delightful and the perfect amount of pressure. It felt like heaven as you were filled with his cock. Pushing all the way into you and pausing before a teasingly slow pulling out, then repeating the motion again and again. His fingers clenched in time on your hips with his movements.

With a smile of pure bliss, you slipped a hand around his neck to pull him closer for a kiss. You could feel him smile through it, and it was contagious. You both grinned like fools until the ecstasy was too much and you faltered, lapsing into moans and gasps as you reached your climaxes.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Bucky muttered as he found comfort in the crook of your neck. Pinned under him with his cock still throbbing inside you was almost enough to send you over the edge again, but not quite. You were tired, emotionally, and physically. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear as he pulled out of you. He found his shirt and gently cleaned you up before carrying you to his bed.

You both fell into a deep slumber, you found solace in his arms. The morning after, you awoke with his arms wrapped around your waist, caging you in. For a brief second, happiness enveloped you. Pure joy. But the second quickly slipped away and the memories of last night wash over you. All the profanities known to man-kind were spilled in soft mutters as you tried your best to escape from Bucky’s arms. He tossed and turned but settled down the moment you placed a soft kiss to his forehead.

You didn’t know if he thought it was reality or a dream but you knew the way his lips quirked when touched him, made you feel giddy but the feeling dissipates as guilt overwhelms you. It’s six a.m. as you check your phone and see numerous calls from Steve. Your stomach churns making you hurriedly leave Bucky’s apartment.

It doesn’t take you long to reach your once happy home. The shards of the vase from last night’s revelations are still left on the floor. Your first instinct is to check on your boyfriend, to see if he even made it back home in one piece or brought his mistress with him. You try your best to not make any noise as you set your things down. Reminding yourself to clean the pieces of ceramic littered on your floor before you get hurt.

Your heart is heavy as you glance at your boyfriend sleeping on the sofa. He was crouched up, on his side, oblivious to it all. You would’ve been curious about the item poking out of his left back pocket if you hadn’t known of his rendezvous, which makes you feel shitty.

You knew what you did was wrong. There was no excuse. You thought it would’ve made you feel better because Steve does it. But it didn’t. You didn’t want to be like him, but the damage had already been done.

You felt something for Bucky.

[bts-ficrecs]

i had this ask on queue but??? i noticed for some reason my “read more” is....placed within the ask aaand i can’t take it out (like even if i delete everything and start all over again).... i’m so confused lol

so anyway, here’s my reply anon! :) ↴ ↴

 

this was in reference to my smutty series recs...several months ago...so y’all know the drill. idk how to keep things short. and i always take forever to reply. so here u go <3

there’s a lot of smut out there...so i’ve restricted this to only pwps. maybe i’ll do a comp for smutty fics with plot in the future. 

also i’m kind of vanilla LOL so none of these should be too wild 😂 sorry if you were looking for a wild anal fisting blood play orgy adjfeajl 

KEY: (*) = haven’t read yet but i’ll rec anyway cause i can

NAMJOON

.•° As The Cauldron Bubbles by @winetae

°•. Summary: What makes for a potent potion? Step one. In one room, gather two people who seemingly dislike each other. Step two. Stir in a pinch of snark and four ladles of sexual tension. Step three. Wait until everything simmers to a boil.

 

.•° Attitude by @fightmejeonkook

°•. Summary: Namjoon is your best friend and a quick dare quickly changes everything between you two, a kiss leading from one thing to another as pent up tension surfaces.

 

.•° Bitten & Knotted by @jamaisjoons (*)

°•. Summary: As different as night and day, your two lovers have many differences, after all, one is a vampire and the other is a werewolf. They have their similarities too, namely their supernaturally long life. Something you don’t share. Something they’re going to rectify tonight.

 

.•° Chemi-beat by @hoseokiehopie

°•. Summary: Your fun plan to seduce your boyfriend in his studio backfires when it’s broadcasted on VLIVE for the entire ARMY to see.

 

.•° Choke by @writingseoul

°•. Summary: You help him to relax.

 

.•° Feeling Good by @ethertae (*)

°•. Summary: A wonderful threesome with Kim Namjoon, and Kim Seokjin.

 

.•° Forbidden by @junghelioseok

°•. Summary: A dance with the devil under the pale moon.

 

.•° Hunger's Only Friend by @bangtanbullies

°•. Summary: Namjoon has a philosophy that while some women are prettiest with their masks of cosmetic, a slut is at her most beautiful when she is freshly fucked.

 

.•° His Roomate by @joondaily

°•. Summary: When your boyfriend suggested the two of you spice up your sex life, you never expected that to include time alone with his roommate. (feat. Jungkook)

 

.•° Peaches and Cream by @jinpire

°•. Summary: “Baby,” he says, the sheer arousal in his eyes melting most of your resistance. He shoves the laptop back onto the coffee table before grabbing your hands, his thumbs running over your knuckles. “Y/N. Give me ten minutes between your gorgeous thighs, and you’ll never want to miss out again. I swear.”

 

.•° Please, Santa by @floralseokjin

°•. Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and you and Namjoon are about to partake in some peculiar roleplay…

 

.•° Through The Phone by @imaginethisbts

°•. Summary: The sexual frustration is real when Namjoon goes on a month long business trip, halfway across the world. So when the chips are down and the tides get rough, and you can’t actually get to one another… what do you do? You go to the next best thing of course - phone sex.

 

.•° Under The Mistletoe by @11-ish

°•. Summary: In which you’ve met your high school lover, Namjoon in the eve of Christmas.

 

 

SEOKJIN

.•° A Saint In Her Halo by @winetae

°•. Summary: Beneath his immaculate appearance and flowery words, no one would expect such filth to spew from his lips or; Kim Seokjin is simultaneously the best and worst kind of distraction.

°•. m/n: ok, so this isn’t smut per say. Moreso sexually suggestive. But it’s good ok. So good.

 

.•° Charm Me by @jungblue

°•. Summary: You have a test in charms tomorrow, and you know that you’re completely screwed, but luckily your boyfriend Jin, who is an expert in the subject, offers to help—however you quickly learn that he might actually be a bit too good at them.

 

.•° Daydream by @dom-joonie

°•. Summary: Your literature professor has a bit of a…gift. A gift that let’s him see other peoples thoughts when he wants to. And despite the fact that he warns his class openly about this gift, one day you forget, and find yourself in a bit of pickle when Kim Seokjin reads your mind, and finds you imagining some not so school appropriate scenarios…involving him.

 

.•° Dr. Kim by @btsfiles

°•. Summary: He’s the hospital’s best surgeon, and you’re more than just an admirer.

 

.•° Green Room by @hoseokiehopie

°•. Summary: You blow your boyfriend in the green room after a concert when neither of you can hold yourselves back.

 

.•° Hazy by @yoonia (*)

°•. Summary: “You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into.”

 

.•° In the Mood by @kinktae (*)

°•. Summary: With the second world war finally over, soldiers are coming back home to their families, and famous Hollywood actor Seokjin is no different. Eager to get to babymaking with his wife but plagued by the need to re-establish himself in the film industry, Seokjin is to forced to engage in a more unconventional conception method.

 

.•° Pink by @tayegi

°•. Summary: “Stop undressing me with your eyes! Use your teeth.”

 

.•° Sehnsucht by @johobi

°•. Summary: An embarrassing run-in with your new boss is only the start of your destructive infatuation.

 

.•° Self-Indulgent Fantasy by @bxebxee

°•. Summary: You try your best to wrinkle Seokjin’s vest, but he’s not having it.

 

.•° Urs by @floralseokjin

°•. Summary: Seokjin’s been dreaming of this moment for so long…

 

.•° Washing Machine by @btssmutgalore

°•. Summary: Jin shows you another way to use the old washing machine.

 

 

YOONGI

.•° 1:32 AM by @mikronysus

°•. Summary: Your eyes narrowed into slits as you glared at the scene unfolding in front of you, your fingers grasping the straw of your drink as you silently seethed to yourself. You watched as the girl laughed at whatever it was your boyfriend had said, her fingers grazing his arm as she looked up at him with eyes that were clouded over in a drunken haze. Sneering at the sight, you clenched your jaw as you watched her move closer towards him.

 

.•° 7:30 AM by @prolixitae

°•. Summary: It isn’t often that you get to wake tangled in each other.

 

.•° A Lesson by @btsxyou (feat. Jungkook)

°•. Summary: Maybe it was the thought, in the back of your mind, the thought that had swirled around inside, about how Yoongi could take you from the equal you were when you were with Jungkook, and turn you into a puppet. How he knew what he was doing.

 

.•° A Brush of Silk by @jinpire

°•. Summary: His lips curl around your neck, whispering, “I want slow today. You good with that, baby?” “You say that like you ever want anything else, old man,” you quip back, your voice a tad breathless.

 

.•° Between Chocolates & Candy Canes by @yoonia

°•. Summary: This day was supposed to be the best day of your life. After a long wait filled with curiosity, excitements and a bundle of nerves, you are finally here, walking between the other members in the tour group invited to visit the magnificent and renowned Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.  (feat. Jimin)

 

.•° Boyfriend Jeans by @bangtanboysboo

°•. Summary: Yoongi is leaving for tour and he needs his jeans.

 

.•° Buzz by @floralseokjin (complete series)

°•. Summary: In which you’re unsure if you’ve ever received an orgasm and when you finally pluck up the courage to use the vibrator you bought that one day on a whim, Yoongi barges through the door…

 

.•° Chardonnay by @btsxyou

°•. Summary: You lifted your gaze, turning your head towards him, and giving him a half smile, not too nicely, but that perfect smirk that you know would eat at him the whole night.  Because he wanted you, but he couldn’t have you.  

 

.•° Diaphanous by @yoongisbbydoll (*)

°•. Summary: Yoongi has missed you more than anything. Staying away for a long time it too much on him, but he knows it is much harder on you. Therefore, whenever he can, he brings home presents you could never have imagined.

 

.•° Firsts by @badbhye (*)

°•. Summary: You and Yoongi had been dating for a good six months, and you had told him from the get-go that you wanted to wait until you were ready to have sex. It wasn’t as if your virginity was something you held sacred, you just wanted to do it with someone you were comfortable with and trusted completely. And Yoongi was that.

 

.•° Ink by @guksthighs

°•. Summary: Yoongi needs to remind you who you belong to.

 

.•° Jitters by @versigny

°•. Summary: Yoongi read you like an open book, and judging from your blown-pupils and faintly parted lips, he probably definitely knew what you were thinking about.

 

.•° Long Distance by @miss-noo-na

°•. Summary: Yoongi misses the sound of your voice.

 

.•° Sticky Honey by @minlattes

°•. Summary: Yoongi’s every day life with you is a gift, you’re his favorite human.

 

.•° True Love Cafe by @versigny

°•. Summary: Make me fall in love with you.

 

.•° The Honeytrap by @jamaisjoons

°•. Summary: What can you do when your bees aren’t producing the amount of honey they should be? Ask your neighbour, the honeybee king, for help of course!

 

 

HOSEOK

.•° 100-to-1 by @mytaerminology

°•. Summary: “I have an idea” Hoseok said, way too enthusiastically for your liking.

 

.•° Adjustment by @yminie

°•. Summary: At Kim-Jung Chiropractics, they meet your every need, and today it’s not just your back that needs aligning.

 

.•° All Toy, No Mercy by @prolixitae (*)

°•. Summary: As an amateur porn couple, you’VE got roles to uphold. Said roles leave hoseok at your mercy when you conjure up a sick little theme for this week’s video. Two words: Orgasm torture.

 

.•° Barbarian by @httpjeon

°•. Summary: Your husband, Hoseok, comes home from a raid with the need to make you pregnant with his child.

 

.•° Cold Showers by @chillingtae

°•. Summary: Everyone has bad habits. Yours just happens to be long, hot showers - it’s not like it’s that bad. Long showers were a habit you couldn’t break despite the fact that Hobi told you on the daily not to use all of the hot water…Which brings you to your current situation. You decide that Hobi will just have to get over your habit, and you’ve got the perfect plan thought up of how to do just that…

 

.•° Gumdrops & Lollipops by @winetae (*)

°•. Summary: A visit to Jung Hoseok’s chocolate factory does not turn out the way you expected it to.

 

.•° Hatefuck by @njssi (*)

°•. Summary: Perhaps pissing off Hobi during dance practice wasn’t that good of an idea. Or perhaps it was the best idea you’ve had in a while.

 

.•° Sunlit Affair by @ubemango

°•. Summary: Twenty-five is a good look on Hoseok.

 

.•° Take Me by @yoonia

°•. Summary: “I don’t want you to stop.”

 

.•° The Last Day of Summer by @whichwaytowonderlandep

°•. Summary: 365 days in a year. Three months dedicated to a summer vacation and you wasted no time to fuck around with some guy you had met at the hostel you were staying.

 

.•° To the Beat of My Heart by @jeonggukingdom

°•. Summary: When you walk into the studio that Sunday afternoon, all you expect is a lonely and chill practice session but, a few hours later, your programs are shattered in thousand pieces by the unexpected presence of Jung Hoseok. And nothing could have prepared you for what he had in store for you.

 

.•° War Game by @yoonia

°•. Summary: “You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into"

 

 

JIMIN

.•° A Bite of The Apple by @jinpire

°•. Summary: The thought of Jimin not being able to feed from someone other than you is troubling in more than one sense– there will be times, like the past week, when you physically can’t be there for him, and what would happen in an emergency, if he somehow got hurt and needed a transfusion, if his body rejected the blood of someone else. And that’s not even considering the long term implications of that….

 

.•° A Matter of Pride by @jincherie

°•. Summary: You make some comments that wound Jimin’s pride and threaten his standing as Best Lover of the group so he sets out to prove you wrong the only way he knows how.

 

.•° Barefoot And by @dovechim

°•. Summary: I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk and I have to feel your cum drain out of me until I remember how to move.

 

.•° Birthday Boy by @polaritae

°•. Summary: You’re the best present Jimin could have asked for.

 

.•° Breaking Of The Fast by @versigny

°•. Summary: “Why don’t you want me?”

 

.•° Class President by @btssmutgalore

°•. Summary: Class president candidate Jimin would do anything to get your vote.

 

.•° Clone-a-Willy™ by @dovechim

°•. Summary: “I’ve had this plug in me all day, when do I get to feel your cock instead?”

°•. Sequel: Heightened Secrecy

 

.•° Euphoria by @94hixtape

°•. Summary: “Let’s have a threesome when we graduate, if… uh, we’re still single that is…”

 

.•° Gingerbread House by @readyplayerhobi (feat. Jungkook)

°•. Summary: Do you have a sweet tooth? Or do you prefer a bit of spice in your treats? Gingerbread House has all your needs met with our large range of confectionery that’s sure to meet everyone’s tastes. For those looking for something a little more personalised, we’re always willing to create bespoke confectionery to suit you. Give us a call or visit our store, you’re sure to find plenty to sink your teeth into!

 

.•° Little Monster by @floralseokjin

°•. Summary: You’ve been good friends with your roommate Jimin for a while, occasionally flirting with each other, especially when you’ve had a drink, but nothing has ever happened between the two of you…until that is, he secretly listens to you and Namjoon have sex one day…He thinks you don’t know, but he’s wrong…

 

.•° Lower by @parkmuse

°•. Summary: After six months you finally break the sexual tension… with phone sex.

 

.•° Mischievous Maintenance by @dark-muse-iris

°•. Summary: Like many adults who are trying to make the best of working in a field unrelated to their degree, you greet Mondays with the same enthusiasm as an ex with shared custody. You don’t to be there, but adult responsibilities require it and you need money. And coffee. And the salacious advances from the head maintenance technician working in your office.

 

.•° Nursemaid by @noona-la-la-la

°•. Summary: Jimin’s crush comes over to his house to help him out after he suffers an injury that leaves him with limited use of both hands.

 

.•° One More Time by taepott

°•. Summary: You can’t resist Jimin, even if he is a fuckboy.

 

.•° Raw by @btsjeonjazz

°•. Summary: A demon and an angel are trying to win over you. But who will succeed?

 

.•° Watch Me by @swoonjoon

°•. Summary: Who knew watching some camboy would turn into so much more?

 

 

TAEHYUNG

.•° Bad Decisions by @94hixtape

°•. Summary: Taehyung sighs in the curve of your neck, lips roaming the soft expanse of skin as his hands can’t seem to find a resting spot in the curves of your body. It’s one am and the silence in his dorm room is as overwhelming as it is exciting; you blame on the bottle of vodka the two of you had while studying for finals. One hour ago it seemed like a good idea. One hour later, not so much.

 

.•° Desideratum by @junqkook

°•. Summary: You had no idea you’d fall for a Hufflepuff, especially not the seeker with a big smile and wandering hands that you spent more time in bed with than you cared to admit.  

 

.•° Fever by @yoonia

°•. Summary: “I wish I could hate you.”

 

.•° Good Girl by @suga-kookiemonster

°•. Summary: You don’t really know much about kim taehyung. What you do know is that he’s your handsome coworker and that, since you just accidentally sent him a nude, you’re good and royally fucked.

 

.•° Heatwave by @curly-bangtan

°•. Summary: When your town is hit with a heatwave, and the air conditioning at your shared place coincidentally malfunctions, you start to go a little crazy at your shit luck because there’s nothing you hate more than clammy pits, while Taehyung goes a little crazy thinking you’re trying to seduce him with your tiny shorts and popsicle-sucking skills.

 

.•° H is for Hairpulling by @polaritae

°•. Summary: You continue your work, trying your best to gently untangle his hair. For the most part, you only have to give the strands a tug and they unravel, but some knots are worse than others. A particularly large mess has you yanking at the strands. Taehyung whimpers.

 

.•° Of Lace and Lust by @hobidreams

°•. Summary: Friendship rule number one: Don’t imagine how amazing your best friend’s cock would feel inside you. Except that’s all you can think about after accidentally discovering Taehyung’s kink for panties. Specifically, the lacy ones you’re so fond of wearing.

 

.•° On The Significance Of Names by @wildernessuntothemselves

°•. Summary: Despite living in a world where romantic or sexual relationships with witches could be punishable by death, you, a witch, still feel confident enough to ask your friend Taehyung, a werewolf and prince, to allow you to relieve your intense curiosity that could’ve only sprouted from years of sexual repression, and give you the chance to feel what it’s like to pleasure a man.

 

.•° One Night Snap by @taesjpg

°•. Summary: [23:09] Kim Taehyung: DO NOT OPEN THE SNAP I JUST SENT TO YOU FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE DON’T

°•. Sequel: Part 2

 

.•° The Fanmeet by @ellieljade

°•. Summary: Taehyung is jealous over Jungkook flirting with his girlfriend and decides to teach him a lesson in front of their fans.

 

.•° The Name Game by @drquinzelharleen

°•. Summary: You invite some of your friends over for a small party. When a tame night in turns into a dirty one. Your friend Hoseok comes up with a fun game for you all to participate in.

 

.•° The Silver One by @prolixitae

°•. Summary: You didn’t mean to swipe right but now you’re sleeping with a hot jewelry salesman who makes fun of bottoms as much as you do.

 

.•° Voice Note by @kpopfanfictrash

°•. Summary: Taehyung: did u listen [4:16 PM]

 

 

JUNGKOOK

.•° A Sip of the Grail by @jinpire

°•. Summary: You take in his expression curiously, trying to understand this new Jungkook that’s somehow both bold and shy, before tilting your chin to the left and exposing the curve of your neck. A quick hook of your finger into the collar of your sweater unveils more of your shoulder to his gaze. “Go ahead, Jungkook,” you murmur, voice just above a whisper.

 

.•° All I Want for Cockmas by @junqkook

°•. Summary: You tell Santa exactly what you want for Christmas.

 

.•° Arm Candy by @bisougi

°•. Summary: “Yes, Mr. Jeon.”

 

.•° CaptainAmerica!Jungkook by @hayjeon

°•. Summary: His shield clatters to the floor as he rips off his mask and presses desperate, hard kisses to your lips, sucking the breath out of you and swallowing your mewls.

 

.•° Desiderium by @jeonggukingdom

°•. Summary: “We’ve been at it like rabbits, how are you still so horny?”

 

.•° Fast and Definitely Furious by @parkmuse

°•. Summary: “Car sex looks so much easier in the movies.”

 

.•° Heat Wave by @iq-biased

°•. Summary: As soon as the ice touches his glowing skin, it begins to melt instantly - the jagged edge moulding into a smooth surface that ghosts lightly over his flesh.

 

.•° Mastur-bait by @kookswife (*)

°•. Summary: You drunkenly touch yourself in front of your neighbour, hoping he’ll take notice. You can’t help but do a double take when he actually does.

 

.•° Soft Touch by @minnpd

°•. Summary: “Thank god you’re home. I need a favor.”

 

.•° Stay by @kpopfanfictrash

°•. Summary: You and Jungkook are fuck buddies.

 

.•° Take Me to Church by @illneverrecover

°•. Summary: You can always tell when something is bothering your boyfriend, despite how hard he tries to hide it - and you have creative ways to get him to talk.

 

.•° Tinder 2.0 by @tayegi

°•. Summary: In disbelief over your good luck, you stumble down the hall towards the session rooms. A 9.8?! You’ve only been here twice. The first time you had been matched with a 6.5 and the second time with a 7, and both men had been so sexy and talented between the sheets that you had been walking on cloud nine for weeks afterwards. But now you were with a 9.8? You could hardly imagine what that would entail.

 

.•° Tooth and Claw by @johobi

°•. Summary: Sympathetic to the plight of the werewolves your kind have culled to near-extinction, life as a human informant has never been one of safety. However, when you catch the eye of an alpha, your situation only grows more perilous.

°•. Sequel: Moonsent

 

.•° Zipper by @parkmuse

°•. Summary: Your best friend thinks it’s a good idea to watch porn together, he’s dumb.

[madpanda75]

“Escape Room Escapades” Part Two

Part Two of my story where Rafael and the reader are locked in an escape room, with the prompts: "That’s probably the fastest I’ve ever done that” and “Isn’t this considered public indecency? We could get arrested!” from this lovely smut-filled list. 

You can read Part One on my Masterlist. I was gonna make this the conclusion but who knows, there may be a third part...ya’ never know ❤️

Warning: NSFW (I also call Rafael a “butt nugget” because I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy 😂)

A gust of wind rushed past your bare legs as you walked down the street. You clutched your skirt, making sure you didn’t flash any poor unsuspecting passerby. Having been too preoccupied with Rafael’s cases and your own, you had forgotten to do the laundry. The only pair of clean clothes you had was a brown suede skirt and a cream colored sweater. Going commando to a team building event was not ideal, but you could suffer through a couple of hours. You had been to an Escape Room before. The plan was to get the whole charade over with as quickly as possible and make it back home in time for some birthday champagne and a Netflix marathon on your couch.

You turned the corner and saw Rafael outside the building. He was dressed in a blue-grey cashmere sweater and jeans that did a stellar job accentuating his assets. Good Lord, the man looked amazing even in casual clothes. You walked up to where he was standing, silently cursing him for being so damn cute. “Rafael?”

Rafael turned towards you. Your heart skipped a beat. Up close you could see how the color of his sweater brought out the green in his eyes, some stubble on his face already beginning to grow after one day of not shaving. You shook off your impure thoughts and glanced down at your phone to check the time. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Patel couldn’t come. He had to take his dog to the vet and Walters is sick with dengue flu.” Rafael rolled his eyes at that last part. You would think a lawyer could come up with a better excuse.

“So it’s just us then,” you said.

“It would appear so.”

“Great,” you grumbled, reminding yourself to have a little chat with Patel and Walters on Monday morning. Let’s see them try and ask you for advice on litigation techniques now. “Come on. Let’s get this over with so we can go on with our lives.”

Once inside, a young employee whose name tag read “Lucy” signed you both in. Rafael stood next to you while you filled out the registration form, studying your profile—the gentle slope of your nose, your cherry red pout. He could feel your body radiating heat. You were exquisite. How was he supposed to concentrate with you in the room. His racing mind suddenly came to a screeching halt when you glanced up and caught him staring.

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows at him.

“Nothing. I just...uh...noticed it was your birthday today.” Rafael pointed to the form.

“Yep and I’m stuck here with you,” you sighed. “Lucky me.”

Once you finished, Lucy led you down a hall with several doors, stopping at one called, The Hydeout Game. “Here’s the story,” she replied in a dramatic British accent. “The good Dr. Jekyll has been acting strangely for weeks and gone missing!” She gasped. “A crazy fellow has been causing chaos in town so you’ve been hired to investigate. Can you find out what happened to Dr. Jekyll before it’s too late.” She rubbed her hands together and manically began to laugh.

You and Rafael looked at each other and then at her, completely unfazed.

“Tough crowd,” Lucy mumbled, losing the British accent. “Ok, here’s the deal. You have 75 minutes to figure out how to get out of the room. There’s a walkie talkie in there in case you need help.”

“75 minutes. I thought this was only supposed to be an hour,” you said.

“Your boss specifically requested that we give each group an extra 15 minutes to ensure you have enough time to figure out how to escape,” Lucy replied.

Rafael scoffed. “Well it’s nice to know Jack McCoy has confidence in our ability.”

Lucy unlocked the door and made a sweeping grand gesture with her arm for you to enter the room. The room was set up to reflect Victorian times, elegant with luxe blood red wallpaper and plush furniture. A large fireplace was on your right and to the left was a sitting area with bookshelves and a secretary desk. In the middle of the room a table was set up to look like a laboratory with various beakers, pipettes, and paper strewn around.  “Good luck!” She waved and slammed the door shut.

*****

It only took fifteen minutes of being locked in a room with Rafael for you both to begin bickering. You managed to find Dr. Jekyll’s journal, a large notebook with a cryptic message scrawled on the page. Obviously it was a code of some sort. The problem was you and Rafael couldn’t decide which code it was.

“It’s clearly morse code,” Rafael argued. “Look at the length of the message. It fits into the morse code alphabet.”

“That would be too easy, Barba,” you retorted. “It’s Alberti’s disk. The message is written out of order. You can encipher it one letter at a time.”

Rafael shook his head. “This isn’t rocket science. It’s a locked room in the middle of Manhattan where kids go to celebrate their birthdays. Trust me, it’s morse code.”

You stood there with your arms crossed, both of you going back and forth like a tennis match.

“No, it isn’t”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, you’re wrong.”

“No you’re wrong.”

“No, I’m the one who’s right! You’re just being...a...a...a butt nugget!” You exclaimed. There were several other choice words you had for Rafael yet butt nugget was the first thing that popped into your head.

“Wow. Butt nugget. Really?” Rafael laughed. “If this is how you argue in court, maybe you should have taken more plea deals with my cases.”

Red flashed before your eyes. You were seething. “That’s it! I’ve had it!” You boomed, stomping over to the door and pulling on the knob. When it didn’t budge you pounded on the frame, demanding to be let out.

Rafael’s eyes widened and went over to lead you away from the door. “What are you doing? Just calm down!”

“Calm down?! CALM DOWN?!” You screeched, practically in hysterics by that point. “I can’t calm down because I’m stuck in a room with YOU! What is wrong with you?! For months I’ve been bending over backwards, working like a dog to help you and for what?! So you can treat me like dirt and criticize every single thing I do.” You ranted and raved, moving closer and closer towards Rafael. “Whatever happened to a thank you! But no, nothing! Maybe if you removed that torts book you have wedged up your ass, you would realize that I was just trying to help you! And to think I was once attracted to you! Major mistake on my part.” You laughed like a mad woman before getting right in his face. “Now you listen to me. We’re going to figure out this puzzle, get out of this room and we’re going to do it MY way and if you don’t like it that’s too damn bad.” By this point you were practically nose to nose with him, jabbing him in the chest with your index finger, out of breath from your maniacal tirade. Of course it was hard to focus on staying angry when the smell of his cologne left you weak in the knees.

Rafael didn’t speak a word. He glared at you—his nostrils flaring, his jaw set. You felt a sudden shift in the room, your hateful stares transforming from fury to lust. The temperature began to rise and a flush crept up your face. It felt like you were about to combust. Beads of sweat dotted Rafael’s forehead, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He let out a shaky breath, lowering his gaze to your mouth. Before you could even react, he grabbed you by the waist and kissed you hard. Your bodies sighed in relief, finally releasing months of pent up sexual frustration.

The kiss was everything you had fantasized it would be and more. So much more. It was explosive and all-consuming. Rafael tasted like coffee mixed with mint and a hint of spice. His strong lips moving fervently against yours, sending a tingle straight to your core.

He pushed you back against the old fashioned secretary desk, a drawer popping open to reveal another clue. You gasped in surprise, allowing him to slide his tongue into your mouth. One hand found its way to your hair, threading his fingers through your silken locks while the other cupped your face. Rafael was shaking slightly, trying to restrain himself and not paw at your flesh. You grabbed his hand and moved it to your breast, granting him permission to explore your body.

He groaned, gently squeezing your breast, feeling your nipple strain against your thin sweater. His lips must have been laced with an aphrodisiac. Everything around you become fuzzy except for Rafael. The tension in the room began to dissipate. The hunger you had for each other reached its peak. Both of you surrendered to the moment, giving into your deepest desires.

Your pussy throbbed with need, your arousal beginning to coat your inner thighs. In an answer to your prayers, Rafael wedged his leg between yours, spreading you open for him. His eyebrows raised in surprise when he reached down to lift your skirt only to discover that you weren’t wearing any panties. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He purred against your mouth.

“Don’t ever underestimate me, Barba,” you giggled into a moan, rocking back and forth on his thick thigh, the rough denim providing the most delicious friction against your clit.

Rafael braced his leg against the desk and grabbed your hips, encouraging you to grind down harder against him. He could feel a wet spot beginning to form on his thigh. His kisses moved across your cheek, finding purchase on the sensitive spot below your ear. He inhaled deeply. You smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, alluring, warm, and good enough to eat. Your pulse quickened, he could feel your heartbeat beneath his lips as he painted your skin with his tongue.

You shuddered and reached for his belt buckle. “Fuck me,” you said in a breathless whisper.

The sound of clinking metal brought him back to reality. He stepped away from you, his chest heaving from exertion. “Wait. Isn’t this considered public indecency? We could get arrested.”

You nodded your head, completely out of breath. “True. It is a Class B Misdemeanor, punishable by up to 3 years in jail or probation and a fine of up to $500. Not to mention having a permanent criminal record.” You glanced down to see Rafael’s erection straining against his jeans. A sinful smirk slowly spread across your face. Sitting down on the desk, you opened your legs even more, teasing him with your glistening swollen sex. “So do you think we should stop?”

Rafael licked his lips, his eyes darkened as he drank you in. “No fucking way,” he growled.

In one long stride, he was on you, planting a searing kiss to your lips while he dragged his fingers against your slit.

You reached down and whipped off his belt before unzipping his jeans. “I’m on the pill and I’m clean,” you mumbled between kisses.

“So am I,” he replied, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift movement.

Grabbing his cock, he brought it up to your sheath only to stop for a moment. He locked eyes with you, searching your face for any sign of uncertainty. You smiled and nodded your head, wanting this just as much as he did.

Rafael slowly guided himself into your sheath. You mewled in response, grabbing a fistful of his sweater. “Fuck,” you whimpered. “I knew there had to be a reason why you were so cocky.”

Rafael let out a breathless laugh, stopping halfway to let you adjust to his size. As your body relaxed, he pushed himself further until he was buried deep inside your molten hot core. Inch by inch, he slowly pulled out, leaving the head of his cock inside you before pressing back in. Your head fell back, a loud drawn out moan leaving your lips.

Rafael shushed you and grabbed your chin to meet his gaze, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. “We have to keep it down.”

You nodded and gently bit down on the pad of his thumb before taking it in your mouth, moaning around the digit as he began to move against you. Rafael found his rhythm, his ass cheeks clenching with every hard thrust. The wet sounds of your coupling spurred him on and he quickened his pace.

You released his thumb and wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your head in the crook of his neck. “Barba,” you gasped.

“Call me, Rafael,” he replied in a strained voice.

You obliged, softly chanting his name. Your hot breath tickling his ear. “Oh, Rafael,” you softly moaned, biting down on his earlobe.

Rafael groaned. There were so many nights he would spend stroking himself, imagining you with your legs wrapped around him, whispering his name. Even now he wasn’t fully convinced that this wasn’t a dream and he would wake up alone in his bed, in need a cold shower.

He took hold of your leg and lifted it until your knee was pressed up against your chest, allowing him to penetrate you even deeper. You drew in a sharp intake of breath causing Rafael to freeze and instantly pull back. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. It feels so good,” you whined and wrapped your other leg around his waist, using it as leverage to arch your hips up. Letting go of his restraint, he pounded into you, grunting with his efforts, pushing you towards your release while trying to hold off his own. The desk banging into the wall with every movement.

You choked back a sob, the root of his cock rubbing against your clit. A warmth spread throughout your body, settling all the way down to your toes curling within your boots. One more thrust sent you over the edge. Rafael tugged you into a bruising kiss, silencing your cries as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through you. You trembled, your nails biting into Rafael’s neck as you clenched hard against him. He groaned into your mouth, impaling you one final time before his cock swelled inside your core, filling you with his release.

Aftershocks surged through your body, your walls still fluttering against Rafael’s cock. He shivered and gently lowered your leg. For a split second, you forgot where you were, losing yourself in his passionate embrace until Lucy’s voice came over the walkie talkie. “Hey guys!”

You pushed Rafael away and grabbed the walkie talkie. “We didn’t do anything!?!” You said in a panic.

“Well of course you didn’t, you’re still locked in the room. Consider this your 30 minute warning.”

“Thanks.” You hopped off the desk and adjusted your skirt. “How are we going to get out of here,” you mumbled to yourself while looking around for clues. Your mind switched gears from having impulsive angry hot sex with a man you were supposed to hate over trying to figure out how to win the game, which was no easy feat with Rafael’s cum leaking out of you.  

“This is ridiculous.” Rafael zipped up his pants and helped you search the room. He was sweating through his sweater from your coital workout. “We’re two of Manhattan’s top ADAs. It shouldn’t be this complicated.”

“Try to think outside the box and look in places you normally wouldn’t.” You bent down and inspected the faux fireplace.

Rafael stopped, noticing how your skirt rode up, following the line of your long legs all the way up to your ass. He tugged on his collar and cleared his throat, shifting his gaze over to the table and picking up a prop beaker. “So...ummm...do you always go commando.”

You turned towards him, blushing profusely. “Laundry day,” you explained, clenching your thighs together. Narrowing your eyes, you looked right past Rafael and noticed the open drawer on the secretary desk. The drawer you had bumped open while otherwise occupied. You brushed past him, making a beeline to the desk drawer and pulled out a decoder ring. Your eyes shifted to Jekyll’s journal on the side table that you and Rafael had been squabbling over earlier. “I’ve got it,” you announced.

It was all beginning to make sense. The numbers on the page spelled out another clue. Once you figured that out, it was all downhill from there. You glanced over at Rafael and smiled. “Alright counselor, are you ready to get out of here.”

*****

You and Rafael put your minds together and were able to find the key and unlock the room with 10 minutes to spare. The minute the door opened, you both thanked Lucy and fled, terrified she would suspect something other than puzzle solving happened in that room.

It was dusk by the time you walked outside. The cool crisp air whipped at your face while leaves danced around your feet. A rich and earthy scent hung in the air, it was warm, smoky, and inviting. Even the city that never sleeps couldn’t escape the impending arrival of autumn.  

You stood on the sidewalk next to Rafael, rocking back on your heels, avoiding eye contact at all cost. Apart from the honking cars and chatter of people brushing past, there was nothing but awkward silence between you both. The reality of what just happened less than an hour ago began to sink in. Neither of you dared to make the first move, waiting to see if the other person would speak first.

In the end, it was you that eventually caved. “That’s probably the fastest I’ve ever done that,” you blurted out. “Unlocking the room, not the sex. Although I don’t normally rush into sex either and definitely not with a coworker. I mean not that the sex wasn’t good cause in the words of Tony the Tiger, it was grrrrrreat! I mean, I haven’t orgasmed that hard in years and— Oh my God, I can’t believe I just said that.” You turned beet red and covered your face with your hands. Rafael’s eyebrows shot up into his forehead, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. While you were humiliated by your bout of verbal diarrhea, he thought it was absolutely adorable. “And on that note, I’m leaving. Have a good night and I’ll see you on Monday.” You gave him a half-ass wave and scurried away as fast as humanly possible.

It took Rafael a second to realize you were gone you had left so quickly. He was surprised that you hadn’t left a dust cloud in your wake like in the cartoons. “Y/N, wait up,” he called, practically jogging down the street to catch up with you. “Jesus, you’re fast,” he huffed.

You stopped in your tracks, shocked that Rafael was chasing you down and not laughing at your expense back where you had left him. “What is it, Rafael?”

“Well, I was wondering if you had any plans for your birthday?”

“Probably vegging out on my couch, binging “Murder She Wrote” while drinking champagne straight from the bottle,” you replied with a shrug.

Rafael nodded and scratched the bridge of his nose, his heart hammering in his chest at what he was about to say. “That’s too bad because I was wondering if you’d like to celebrate it with me.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Really!?”

Rafael chuckled. “Yeah, really. There’s a great French restaurant not too far from here. Unless you’d rather spend the evening with Angela Lansbury.”

“I think Angela can survive without me for one night.” You smiled and took a step closer to Rafael, reaching out for his hand.

He intertwined his fingers with yours, glancing down at your joined hands before looking up to meet your gaze. With his free hand, he reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before trailing down to your cheek, caressing the soft skin with his thumb. You closed your eyes and tilted your head, your mouth brushing up against his palm.

Rafael’s breath hitched, pulling you close enough towards him to press a soft kiss to your lips. This kiss was different than before. It was shy and hesitant, almost innocent. Almost. The kiss quickly began to unfurl into something more, something dark and desperate.

Somewhere off in the distance, you could’ve sworn you heard someone say, “Get a room.” As ironic as that was, you couldn’t care less and neither did Rafael. You melted under his touch, his tongue dueling with yours as your breaths mingled. You clutched fistfuls of Rafael’s sweater for fear your legs would give out.

Pulling back just a hair, you looked into Rafael’s big green eyes, now consumed by lust. “Why don’t we get the food to go?” You suggested with a devious smirk on your face.

*****

You were awoken the next morning by an expletive followed by the sound of a pan clanging against your counter. The rich smell of chocolate filled your nostrils.

Untangling yourself from the bedsheets, you sat upright and stretched your arms over your head, naked as a jaybird, your bedhead wild and crazy. It had been months since you had slept so soundly. You felt rested and invigorated.

You let out a contented sigh and flopped back in bed, melting into the mattress. Your fingers skimmed across your body, trailing down to the dull ache between your legs. Rafael’s touch still lingered on your skin, the smell of sex mixed with his cologne covered you like a blanket.

Last night, it was more than just layers of clothing that were shed. Words were exchanged. Months worth of suppressed emotions bubbled to the surface. You were finally able to look past the insecurities, the animosity, and truly see the other person.

Turns out you and Rafael had more in common than you thought. It wasn’t easy for either of you to open up but laying in bed, sweaty and satiated, your limbs entwined, you both felt safe, finding comfort in each other’s arms.

More clattering coming from the kitchen made you curious to see exactly what Rafael was up to. The walls of your apartment were paper-thin. You could hear him cursing and rifling through your drawers. Getting up out of bed, you shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself before spying Rafael’s cashmere sweater on the floor. You tugged it on, the hem barely concealing your bottom and padded down the hall, following the path of clothes that littered the floor.

You walked into the kitchen and spied Rafael standing in front of the oven, wearing nothing but your apron. His back may have been to you but you knew the front of the apron read, “Hot and Spicy….and the food is pretty good too!” It was an appropriate choice of outfit for him in that moment.

Leaning against the doorframe, you took advantage of the view before you, drinking in his bare feet, his muscular calves, all the way up to his thick thighs and finally settling on his firm yet oh so pinchable ass. His ass was the reason why they invented the peach emoji in the first place. You could bounce a nickel off it.  

Sensing that he was being watched, Rafael turned around. “Good morning,” he said with a shy smile, his ungelled hair sticking out in every direction. He had a dark smear of something that appeared to be chocolate batter on his cheek. There was a boyish charm to him, a far contrast to the tailored suits and sharp-tongued snarky ADA you had grown accustomed to. It was a side of Rafael you had never seen before.

“Morning.” You took a step closer and grabbed a kitchen towel, cleaning the chocolate smudge off his face. “Be careful with the oven. That’s an unfortunate kitchen accident in the making,” you teased and playfully tugged his apron. “Oh...yeah.” Rafael blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, stepping aside to reveal an unfrosted chocolate cake sitting on a plate. “I was trying to find your coffee but I saw the cake mix and since we never got to dessert last night I thought I would bake you a breakfast birthday cake.” You gazed down at the dessert, feeling a lump form in your throat. Noone had ever made you a cake for your birthday before, not even your parents. In fact, you had forgotten you even had the cake mix in your cupboard. The simple gesture touched your heart. You turned around and smiled at him.  “I appreciate the sentiment, although  I think I got my dessert last night.” You pushed back a lock of hair that had flopped forward on his forehead, planting a kiss on the spot then moving lower to kiss the tip of his nose, and finally his lips. “Thank you,” you whispered. “You’re welcome.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed you deeply, humming in appreciation as his hands moved lower towards your backside. “Can I help frost?” You purred against his lips.

“If you like.”

You grabbed the cake and placed it on the counter next to the open can of chocolate frosting that Rafael had set out earlier. Grabbing a knife from the drawer, you started to coat the cake in chocolate frosting. “I didn’t know you were such a baker.” Rafael stood behind you, inhaling the sweet warm scent of your shampoo. “I know my way around the kitchen, among other places.” He brushed your hair to the side and dropped open-mouth kisses to your neck and shoulders. “So I’ve noticed.” You dipped your finger in the chocolate frosting and brought it up to Rafael’s lips. He sucked greedily on your index finger, his eyes boring into yours.

Your breath hitched. You resumed frosting your cake which was becoming increasingly difficult to do with Rafael nuzzling your neck while he ran his hands up and down your arms. You bit back a whimper and grinded back against him, feeling his growing erection press against your ass. “Why do I feel like we’re about to reenact the pottery scene from Ghost.”

He chuckled and gently nibbled on your earlobe.The scruff on his cheeks tickled your skin. “Do you want me to hum Unchained Melody.”

You giggled and tried to wiggle away only to have him tighten his hold on your waist. “Actually I have a better idea. Why don’t we eat this cake in the bedroom.” You grabbed the cake and glanced back at Rafael, motioning to the fridge. “Don’t forget to bring the whipped cream too,” you said with a wink.

Traipsing back to the bedroom, with Rafael following, you made sure to put a little more swing in your hips, fully aware that if you turned around, you’d catch him staring at your ass. There were still a lot of unknowns for you and Rafael and while you weren’t sure what the future held, you did know one thing—this was definitely the best birthday ever!

@glimmerglittergirl​ @southern-magnolia​ @sweetcannolicarisi​ @delia26​ @obfuscateyummy​ @sass-and-suspenders​ @eclecticminded​ @thatesqcrush​ @katmstanton​ @amirightcounsellor​ @beltzboys2015-blog​ @letty-o​ @sonnysdoll​ @lyssa1385​ @sweetsummertime99​ @burningsorr0ws​ @gibbs274​ @izzythefanfreak​ @riodallas​ @babypink224221​ @livxrafa​ @esparza-army​ @obsessionprofessional​ @ottosuricato​ @melsquared79​ @dreila03​ @raulmonamour​ @tropes-and-tales​ @thecraziestcrayon​ @imjustreallynosy​

[car-karaoke]

I just saw “drabble/headcanons requests open” and I HAD to pop in👀 how about an angsty Ivar X reader with the random prompts “why would you do this to me” and “I never got to say goodbye”?? Thanks sunshine, hope you have an awesome dayyy xx

Warnings: angst, language, but a little sprinkle of fluff at the end because I can't help myself

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Gifs aren't mine, all credit due to owners!

This is my first attempt at angst, so pardon if it's terrible lol

---------------------------------------------------

"Why would you do this to me?" Your broken voice called out against the cold howling wind. You wouldn't get an answer, you knew that. He left. It had been one month since he left with no explanation, no warning, no remorse. Yet your heart wouldn't let you forget about it or let it go. It insisted that you call out to him every night since he left. And so it went. Every night for the past month, after you would try and fail to fall asleep, you would cry and picture him standing there in front of you. You'd imagine his warm strong arms encircling your body, his plump lips pressing against your forehead, lips and neck like they did countless times before. But when you'd open your eyes, all you'd see is the dark inside of your bedroom

The mornings always brought you new hope. Maybe I'll not even think of him today. You're thinking about him right now, you idiot. Stop trying to pretend like this doesn't still bother you. You'd eat your breakfast and then go take out your frustrations on some poor soul that ended up with you as a partner during training. Then you'd go hunting or visit your friend, come home make dinner then try and go to sleep again. Every day the same. The familiarity was comforting

This morning, though, your rigid schedule was interrupted by the horn signaling a boat nearing the shore. You were headed to training when the horn blew, and you instead joined the majority of people heading for the docks. Rushed whispers of the people around you all wondering who this could be. But when the boat came close enough for you to see the passengers, you stopped dead in your tracks

The familiar black braids gave him away to you before anything else. All at once, the people were cheering for him. "Ivar!! Ivar has returned!!" They all said excitedly. You thought if you ever saw him again, you would be filled with rage. He abandoned you. But your heart betrayed you by filling with relief and love at the sight of him. Tears started prickling at your eyes, the cold wind causing them to spill over and down your cheeks. He hadn't seen you yet. And you weren't even entirely sure you knew how you felt. Your knuckles were white against the grip of your dagger, but your heart longed to hold him close to you. Taking a shaky breath, you backed away slowly and went to your house. If he wanted to find you, he would

A few hours had gone by and you were starting to doubt that he was going to show up. You must have really meant that little to him. Anger boiled inside of you, threatening to explode at any second. You needed to hit something. Someone. Anything. Without even thinking, you hastily grabbed your sword and pushed your front door open. Right into someone. Before even looking up to see who it was, your instinct kicked in and you raised your sword against the person's neck

"Y/N" Ivar said quietly. You locked eyes with him and fought every instinct right there to just kiss him. The muscles in your arm were straining from holding the sword so tightly. You slowly lowered it from his neck without looking away

"Ivar" you said, voice straining with emotion. You hadn't said his name out loud since he left. Saying his name would make everything raw again. But now here he was, towering over you with mirrored emotions in his eyes. "What do you want?" You asked coldly, turning around and walking back into your house with the door open for him to follow. He smiled softly and came in, closing it behind him. The silence felt so thick in your house, just the two of you staring at each other while the wind howled outside

"There's a lot I have to tell you. A lot I have to apologize for" he said sincerely. You scoffed at that, tugging one of your chairs out and sitting in it. Ivar followed suit, pulling the chair to him so carefully it looked as if he was walking on ice

"You really think that ANYTHING you say can make me forgive you?? Make what you did to me acceptable?? You may be a king, Ivar, but you are just a man" you seethed, feeling a little bit better to let some of that pent up agression out. Until Ivar LAUGHED

His signature smirk crossed his face, and if he wouldn't have started talking that instant, you would've wiped it right off of his face. "Ahh Y/N. You haven't changed. That gladens me. But if you don't allow me to explain myself, I'll just have to wait here until you change your mind"

You crossed your arms and spit on the ground. "You may be waiting here awhile then" you warned. Ivar just shrugged

"Gives me a chance to look at you some more, I welcome the wait. I have a month to make up for not seeing your face, angry or happy or sad" he said matter of factly

"A month" you whispered, shaking your head. "A god damn MONTH Ivar! Without warning! You left as if I meant NOTHING to you!" You yelled, the emotions boiling over as hot tears cascaded down your cheeks. Immediately, Ivar's eyes softened and he moved towards you

"Y/N..." he whispered, reaching for your face. You swatted his hands away

"No! FUCK you Ivar!" You cried, covering your face in your hands as you sobbed. Little did you know, Ivar had started crying too. He chewed his bottom lip as he figured out how to explain himself to you

"39 days" he said flatly. "39 days I was gone. And every single one of those days, all I could think about was you. I knew the raid I was going on was of great risk. It was incredibly unlikely that I was going to make it back alive. But I had to go. If I hadn't gone to them, they would've attacked us. I knew if I told you the truth about the raid, you would do everything in your power to make me change my mind. And I can only say no to you for so long..." he said softly, sniffing back the tears

You looked up at him with a blank expression and waited for him to continue. His eyes pleaded with you to listen. "My whole life before you was hate. My whole life. And in my experience, hatred is easier to deal with than love. I figured if you were never going to see me again, it would be easier for you to hate me than to love me and hold on to the hope that I would one day come back. I couldn't bare thinking of you waiting by the shore for me to come back and I never did. I just....I couldn't do that Y/N..." he whispered

It made sense, you had to admit. He wasn't betraying you, he didn't give up on you, he loved you. He was trying to do the kindest thing for you, even if that meant making himself an enemy. The hatred slowly melted from you, leaving you feeling so emotionally drained

"Y/N..." Ivar whispered. "Please say something"

You took a deep breath and said one of the only things on your mind. "I missed you, Ivar". Those four words absolutely melted him. In one quick move, you were both right back where you needed to be; in each other's arms. The sounds of suppressed emotions filled the room as your lips melded together like they had so many times before. Ivar broke apart just long enough to mumble the words you'd been longing to hear for so long

"I love you so much Y/N" he moaned as he desperately tried to hug your body closer to his. You inhaled his scent, delighted to find that he still smelled the same. "I missed you more than anything" he assured you before cupping your face with both hands and leaning into another heated kiss. You clawed at him hungrily, trying to somehow make up for the lost month worth of touching him

You both collapsed onto your bed in a heap, laughing with the absolute elation that only the two of you could give each other. One thing was for certain, Ivar was never going to leave you again

@odinsravendutchess @peaceisadirtyword @ivaraddict @ivarlcthbrok @honestsycrets @meleedamage @lisinfleur @grungyblonde @laketaj24 @headedforvalhalla @forvalhallaandodin @dangerousvikings @thevikingsheaux @kissme-hs @ivarthebonelessvk @ivar-theboneless @ivarslittlebadgirl @ivarsshieldmadien @ivarswickedqueen @ivars-heathen-army @therealcalicali @nikky-the-writer @oddsnendsfanfics @angryschnauzer @vikingsbifrost @vikingsstories @vikingdrabbles @ravens-of-kattegat @lisinfleur @ivarsrideordie @justacripple @normatural @tephi101 @whisperer-of-freya @supernaturalvikingwhore @shieldmaiden25 @westcoastselkie @evilispretty-dead @lauwu9 @allvikings @yanii-the-hippie @mblaqgi @sallydelys @tgrrose

[1800areyouslapping]

Non-Con/Dark/Yandere.

You are just about the prettiest gal Jesse’s ever come across. All bright eyed and bushy tailed. Young, too young, as he’s heard many times. Came into Overwatch ready and willing to do whatever you can to fit in and pull your weight. McCree admires your Spitfire, all of your gusto. Your charming, angel of a smile that strangely reminds him of his own. You could charm the pants off of anybody, especially himself. 

What was best about your arrival sixth months ago, was that your attention was always homed in on him. Anytime you’d pass eachother in the hallways you always made time to say hi and give him the best hugs. Making sure to sit with him in the mess hall at dinner and lunchtime. It didn’t take long for him to latch onto you, start feeling a bit... possessive. 

It had gotten to the point where you were making plans to eat with eachother. Readjusting schedules just to get a little bit of time to hang out. McCree’s not usually one for falling hard and falling fast, but damn you’ve got a tied string wrapped around his heart, and you tug on it anytime you're around.

When he buckled down and invited you to his place, decided it was time he try and make an honest woman outa you, you seemed uncharacteristically apprehensive. Fumbled over giving him an excuse to say no. Every moment you spent not telling him yes, caused that string you tied around his heart to tighten painfully tight. Created a wash of heat in his chest. Thankfully you gave in,  slapped your hands down on your thighs and said, “Why the hell not!” 

McCree thought to himself, the words gliding across his brain as free and natural as a bird, good girl. He agreed out loud, “That’s right, why the hell not, Darlin’.” ‘Took you long enough to say so, nearly broke my heart.’ Broken off and swallowed down. Best to not come off to clingy. 

It’s not the easiest thing, just going out and taking a little lady on a date. The woes of being an outlaw. But he can still fix up some grub and make a table look real pretty. More personal and better than any restaurant in his opinion. He can provide anything you’d ever want or ever need, right within the confines of his home. 

Besides, it feels like you and him have been on plenty of dates already. All it’s gonna take is a few solidifying statements, and maybe a primal act to officially make you his. 

Jesse’s following you through the door to his place. You’ve got the best God damn sway in your hips that he’s ever seen, the nicest round ass. He don’t mean to be ungentlemanly, but he can’t help but gawk at it. You just dressed up so nice for your date with him. Wearing the cutest little sundress, with frilly shoulders that sit on your arms. Exposing your shoulders and neckline. 

Halfway through the dinner and Jesse is tryna understand how a girl like you can be so damn nervous. Your leg hadn't stopped bouncing under the table for the entire dinner. Sipping on your wine a little faster than he had anticipated you would have. Not he minds much, he likes a girl who can drink. The more relaxed you are the better things are gonna go later. After some banter, and a couple of more glasses of wine McCree gets up to put on a little slow dancing music. 

“Hey, McCree?” 

“Go on, Darlin’.” 

“Did you ever... I don’t know--” You hang your head as you tug and pull at the hem of your dress nervously. “I guess I was wonderin’ if you ever were sweet on the idea of havin’ a kid.” 

Lord, that’s another thing he adores about you. You grew up in the New Mexico just like him. Talk so much like him, the accent is so darling coming from your lips. McCree laughs as he picks out a song. Swings around, takes his hat off of his head, and extends his hand out to you. “It’s’a little early to be thinkin’ about children don’t’cha think?” 

As you’re doing that thing where you fumble over your words. Saying ‘no’ over and over again. Insisting that wasn’t what you were tryna get at. You were just curious is all. McCree grabs you by the wrist and yanks you up out of your seat. “Eh, now don’t fret so much. If I happened upon the right little lady, I’d be more than obliged to have a kid or two.” 

You whine a little at his answer. Shift around in his arms as he’s trying to hold you close. It seems like perhaps your tryna resist him a little bit and he doesn’t like that one bit. “Hey Sugar, how ‘bout you relax?” 

You mind him, but only slightly. Keeping your arms tightly pulled against your body, allowing him to sway you to and fro. Not exactly the romantic dance he was going for. Finally, he decides to just say “to hell with it.” Maybe your pent-up cause you're anticipating the flow of the night. So he’ll just go ahead and break the tension. 

Jesse tips your head up so you're looking him in the eye. “God damn, you’re beautiful, you’know that?” 

The look you give him is one of pity, and that’s something he just don’t understand. “Oh, Jesse I-- I really should get goin’.” 

His fingers curl around your jawline. Anger and offense bubbling in his belly. “Did you hear me just give you a compliment?”

“I-- I did but...” 

McCree lurches forward to kiss you. Forces his mouth over yours. Groans to let you know just how much he wants you. You don’t reciprocate it. Instead, you’re shaking your head back and forth. Trying to get away from him. Making the “mm-mm” sound in your throat. He pulls away to get a look at you and ask, “Are we goin’ too fast?” 

“No-no, Jesse-- I-- I don’t like you like that--” 

Instantly the string around his heart snaps. Releasing a dangerous flood of hurt, and livid hot anger through his blood. “What the fuck you mean, you don’t like me?! What have we been doin’ for the past six months?! What are we doin’ here tonight?!” 

Tears brim in your water line. Big doe eyes, darting back and forth across his face. You’ve never once heard him raise his voice, and here he his yelling in your face. “I’m real sorry-- I’ve been a coward, I realize this is awkward.. but--”

“Awkward?!” He growls as he shakes your head so hard some of your hair comes out of your neat ponytail. “You don’t get to fuckin’ tease a man to the point of lovin’ and then tear ‘em down like this!” 

“Jesse, I wasn’t teasin’--” 

McCree’s had enough of hearing you tear his heart apart. Seething rage at your audacity to string him along like this, breaking his gentleman-like persona. More like stomping on it, and trampling it into the ground. He clamps a hand over your mouth. Picks you up and starts to drag you along. Big, bright eyes widening, begging him to let you go. 

Tears stream down your cheeks. Legs kicking so wildly that you land two swift blows to his each of his shins. Startled he drops you, and you try to bolt. But his long reach gets you by that ponytail. Yanks you back into his hold, with a loud yelp from your mouth. Your back slamming into his chest, taking your breath away.  

You wheeze out, “McCree, please--” he’s quick to clamp a hand over your mouth, big fingers digging painfully into your cheek. McCree doesn’t wanna hear any more from you. As far as he’s concerned everything that’s ever come out of your mouth was a lie, a farce.

He continues dragging you towards his bedroom, your heels dragging against the floor. You’re still kicking, screaming and begging into the palm of his hand. The adorable, baby blue kitten heels you wore in here flying off of your feet, colliding with walls, with loud, jarring thumps. McCree keeping his neck craned back, avoiding your attempts to headbutt him with the back of your head. 

Jesse both throws you and himself down on the bed. His weight crushing on top of your body. Pushing you so far into the sheets that it’s hard to breathe through your nose. You’ve never been so scared, never cried so hard. If he’d just let up on your mouth you’d be able to tell him. All of the courage you needed to gather, here in this present moment, as your last hope of keeping yourself from being raped by-- you can’t even bring yourself to think it right now. 

It’s far too late. Your heart drops, stomach turning at the sound of his belt unbuckling. McCree yanks your underwear down your thighs just enough to jam his cock inside of you. You wail into his hand, squirm and try to get away from just how much it burns. His girth and length are nowhere near forgiving, and you weren’t lying when you said you weren’t attracted, not in the least. So the first moments of him jackhammering into your resistant pussy are agony. 

The pain is almost welcome. At least in replacement of the nausea that wells up in your throat when you think about just how fucked up your world as just become. You thought things were going so well. Eventually, you woulda got up the courage. You were just too naive to see the underlying darkness that McCree was always carrying around with him. Eventually, you acclimate enough for the pain to mellow out. But his thrusts are still too fast, too deep. 

Jesse has long been beyond giving a shit about your comfort. He’s too lost in the heat his body is producing. How fucking tight you are around his cock. Holding down one of your arms by your wrist. You smell so, damn, good. He always notices how you smell, but right now it’s heightened. Smelling like flowers and sweets, reminding him of an old, old fling he had once when he was young. 

His hand is soaked with your tears. Fevered, hot breath, bellowing against his fingers. McCree’s close to cumming, it’ll just take a few more moments. Just a little bit longer of you taking each cruel snap of his hips against your ass. Of his cock slamming up against your cervix. Stretching your walls apart. Making you keen and sob with every full, deep sheath. 

You start to settle down as his thrusts become more erratic. Sobs settling down into little hiccups. Damn you’re cute, cheeks all rosy and swollen. The string around his heart still tugging at the sight of you underneath him, seems it didn’t completely snap after all. He sits up, still holding your wrist to the bed, his hold around your mouth tightening as he cums. Buries himself inside of you and lets all of himself out, emptying his greedy cock, getting his satisfaction.  

Jesse’s feeling guilty for being so rough. Especially without any foreplay, but he just wanted you so bad, and nothing else mattered. You must understand, and he’s sure that if he’s sweet enough you’ll forgive him. He kisses your temple, down along your jawline and into your neck. “See how much I love you, Sweet Pea?” 

You shake your head from side to side, still trying to reject him. You look up at him, soft eyes turned into daggers. Finally, he releases your mouth. Sits up, pulling out of you in the process. Puts his dick away. Shakes his head in disbelief. “Any damn person would be lucky to have me, Sweet Heart.” He scoffs at himself, momentarily having forgotten about needing to be sweet. Corrects himself, “I’ll make it up to you, Baby.” 

Still, you shake your head. Pulling up your underwear with shaky hands. Sobbing openly and unrestrained. “You got anything to say for yourself?” He asks, leaning forward, as you’re crawling across the bed in order to get out from under him. “Don’t you see what’cha do to me?” 

All of a sudden you get up onto your knees, rear your hand back and throw your whole body into smacking him across his face. The hit hurting your own hand more than it hurt him. “I’m your daughter!” You spit at him, finally getting out what you’ve been aching to tell him from the moment you stepped foot into watchpoint. 

Anticipating his next bout of words you sob, “Ask the manager’a records if you don’t believe me.” 

You crawl off of the bed, nearly collapsing onto the floor but managed to gather your barrings. Sniffle and wipe away snot and tears with the back of your hand. McCree’s too in shock to stop you as you start to walk away. Trying to process the new hitch thrown into your relationship. You limp into the hall where you pick up your heels. That won’t do, he can’t just let you walk out that door. “Get back here so we can talk.” 

“Just ask to see my birth certificate--” you sob and stamp your foot when you fail to get your shoe on. Arms too shaky, body too weak for coordination. “They’ll show you.”   

“Do not make me get up after you, little girl,” Jesse says lowly. You look to him like a gazelle eyeing a predator in the grass. A dumb animal would have run, but you’re no dumb animal. You drop your heels in defeat, yielding to your father’s authority. Good girl.  

[madisonsclarks]

Calling it Hope - Chapter 5

Author’s Note: It’s been forever and a day since I updated, and I’m sorry about that. Does it make up for it that this update is close to 7,000 words? :D Promise I’ll be better about timely updates in the future.

Summary: After learning some unexpected news, Abby Griffin struggles to hold the weight of the world on her shoulders while separated from the man she loves. Canon-compliant S4 Kabby babyfic.

This chapter: Arguments! More Raven Reyes, because I know what I’m about, son! :P Angst! And, perhaps most importantly, the Raven/Abby rocket trip the show deprived us of. 

Thanks to @shefollowedfires and @skaihefamarcus for being awesome betas and making sure I sound semi-coherent!

On AO3      Chapter 1     Chapter 2      Chapter 3     Chapter 4                    

The next day began promptly at seven in the morning, when Abby was stirred from sleep with stomach cramps so intense she briefly wondered if she’d somehow slept through the next six months and was currently in the process of giving birth.

Pregnancy, she reminded herself as she kicked off the silky sheets, taking stock of her symptoms and deciding which were relevant to mention to Jackson (naturally, none of them were). Not brain damage.

Not five minutes later, she had – much as she suspected she would – thrown up in the wastebasket next to her bed. At least the stomach cramps were gone, replaced by a slowly waning nausea.

Wondering if it was worth it to try for the last half-hour of sleep before her alarm blared, Abby reclined in bed and placed both hands on her growing stomach, her lips quirking upward in an amused smirk.

“You’re not making this easy on me,” she whispered as she closed her eyes, running her fingers up and down the smooth skin beneath her tank top.

And, as if father and child were joined by some cosmic connection, it was at that moment that Marcus’ voice sounded over Abby’s radio.

“Abby?” she heard him say, the back of her name clipped by the faulty reception in her room. Generally she would have tried to go to the hallway for better clarity, but right now – half asleep and her stomach still performing slow somersaults – she decided she might be able to live with hearing 80 percent of his words.

“Marcus, I-“ she started, but he was too quick.

“I can be there tomorrow,” he said in a rush, sounding almost panicked. “Bellamy and David Miller have agreed to keep the camp in line while I’m gone.”

Her stomach sank as the puzzle pieces of panic fell into place.

As far as she knew from Clarke’s conversations with Bellamy, everything was fine – or at least survivable, for the time being at Arkadia. Which meant -

“Jackson told you.”

With silence devouring the other line, she swallowed hard.

Because of course Jackson told him everything, probably the moment Abby left the lab. Because if her assistant knew he didn’t have enough emotional weight to swing her decision, he also knew how to contact someone who had enough to send her careening through space, to knock her permanently off-balance.

Because for all the arguments she thought she and him had resolved, he was still, at his core, completely and unreservedly devoted to her safety.

Damn him.

Damn them both.

“He radioed earlier today,” Marcus admitted, sounding equally bold and sheepish over the airwaves.  He knew this wasn’t information to which she would have wanted him to be privy, but at the same time, now that he was…God, they were headed for one hell of an argument.

Her head pounded, and her words tumbled out accompanied by an involuntary little wince. “He wasn’t supposed to do that. We agreed he wouldn’t do that.”

“I know,” Marcus said. “But I’m happy he did. I never would have left you if I’d known what was going on. What was happening to your-“ he broke off, seemingly unable to validate the rest of the sentence by finishing it.

“Abby, please don’t do this,” he said, and the piercing sensation of her teeth against her lower lip was suddenly the only thing keeping her from crying. He sounded so lost, so small, so defeated; a shell of the man he’d been in Polis.

“I have to,” she said, wondering when the yelling would start. He’d try begging first, probably. Then, when that failed, they’d revert to earlier methods: screaming and yelling at each other until every breath and swallow radiated pain through hoarse throats. “Marcus, my injury isn’t fatal. If I get some rest, it’ll heal.”

“And have you been resting?” he asked, a pointed edge at the end of his question. He knew. She knew he knew.

And because she knew how well he knew her, she decided not to respond.

“No one else can go with Raven but me,” she said, determined to change the subject. “Jackson doesn’t know how to make Nightblood. I don’t have time to teach Clarke or any of the others. It has to be me.”

Her justifications fell on deaf ears.

“Have you been resting?” he repeated, that same pointed edge sharpening into something like anger.

“Yes,” she lied. Lying to Marcus wasn’t something she considered lightly – or typically, at all – but for now, it needed to be done. If she could undo the damage Jackson had done to his frame of mind and convince him he needed to stay in Arkadia, it would be a lot easier to keep going with her trip to space.

Abby didn’t know if she could leave the ground if she had to stare out the rocket’s window as they blasted off, taking in the tears on his cheeks as the countdown ended. That, she thought, might shatter her heart beyond repair.

“No, you haven’t,” Marcus countered. Now she was certain – his tone had morphed from casual attempts at convincing into flat-out rage.

And that realization was the final straw.

“Okay. You’re right. I haven’t,” she spat. “How could I? I’m trying to figure out how to make Nightblood. and how much of it we need after Raven and I come back from space. I’m trying to figure out how to save everyone. Is that what you wanted to hear? You were right?”

“Abby, I didn’t say you-“ he started, but she was nowhere near finished. It was as if his tone had opened a wound deep inside her, ripped stitches from a gash that formed on her heart from the moment they realized they had less than half a year to live. There was nothing to do but let the words pour out, unbidden, draining liters of discomfort and pent-up frustration into the open air.

“I can’t sleep because every time I close my eyes, I see my daughter with radiation burns and wake up in a cold sweat. I can’t sleep because I see you out there in black rain. I can’t sleep because I start thinking about how the next few hours might mean life and death for everyone I love, but I’m laying down in bed instead of working in the lab. So no, Kane, I haven’t been resting.”

Using his surname was risky, but validating. She knew it would hit him where it hurt – and right now, that was all her aching mind and heart could aim to do.

“Just for once, I wish you would do what you know is right,” he said, his words somehow both warm with emotion and frosted with anger. “That you’d let yourself heal. You know what to do, Abby. Jackson told you, and yet you’re not-“

He didn’t understand. Of all the things they’d shared, of the numerous similarities between them…how could he stop seeing eye-to-eye with her now? When she needed him most, where was the common ground they’d found?

Drowned under black rain, apparently.

“I’m trying to save everyone,” she interjected, uninterested in the rest of his sermon on self-care. “When the Nightblood is made and our people are safe, then I’ll rest.”

The other line was eerily quiet, and Abby realized she had no clue what was going on in Arkadia. Was it raining there? Had the signal been disrupted?

“Marcus?” she said, her feverish rage breaking into a blurry, foggy sort of fear. If her last words to the man she loved – the father of her child – had been an argument, she’d never forgive herself.

A few more seconds passed as Abby rested with one hand on her stomach and the other on the walkie, holding it to her ear with trembling hands. Then,

“I’m here.”

And just like that – like a flash of lightning – her anger was ablaze once more.

“Have you decided to stop lecturing me?” she snapped.

Another few seconds of quiet.

Had he really started giving her the silent treatment already? It had never worked on the Ark, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to work now. No matter what he did, she was going to space.

“I wasn’t trying to lecture you,” he said, returning her tone with bitterness manifold. “I apologize for worrying about your safety, Doctor Griffin. If my concern isn’t welcome, I won’t voice it in the future.”

The use of proper terms wasn’t quite as amusingly incendiary when used against her, and Abby found herself biting her lip and resting the back of her head against the cool wall panels. Arguing with him in the past had been as easy as breathing. When had she forgotten how to inhale?

She knew the answer: when she started falling for him, she forgot how to breathe.

Thoughts muddled by anger and logic broken by pain, her next few words tumbled out in a desperate attempt to win the debate. It was a sentence she’d dwell upon in the hours to come, a double-digit distraction from Raven’s prattling about the rocket. In those desolate moments, she found herself wishing she could go back and snatch those words from midair, wished she could disrupt the signal between their radios so her statement never reached his ears.

Unfortunately, at the present moment, the sentence seemed all too viable, too perfect, too guaranteed to close his mouth and hand her a title she’d find later she never wanted.

“Are you worried about me?” she said, seething, “or are you just protecting the baby?”

And just like that, the whole world stopped.

With nothing but static on the other line, Abby was left with naught but her frenzied, half-coherent thoughts. She knew it wasn’t true almost as decisively as she’d known she had to say it. It seemed like the most sensitive spot to aim a punch – a desperate swing at knocking the argument asunder, a chink in his otherwise logical, foolproof armor – but now, she realized she’d made things worse than before.

“Marcus,” she said, dropping his surname in favor of a hushed, apologetic plea. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m-”

“It was very clear what you meant,” he said, an even emotionlessness replacing the rush of warmth that usually accompanied her name.

Heart sinking, Abby reeled from the impact of his reaction.

“I shouldn’t have said it,” she apologized, sick with the understanding that she’d gone too far and would pay for it for the foreseeable future: likely for as long as they were separated.

So she said the only thing she could really say – the two words that usually left her with a sour taste in her mouth and a splitting headache. As fate would have it, by the time her lips formed them she had already long ago developed both: a side effect of their argument.

“I’m sorry,” she said, begging him without words, imploring him to understand that it was rage – not earnestness – that had driven those words from her tongue.

“Bellamy needs me,” Marcus droned, frighteningly measured in spite of his simmering rage. “He thinks a storm might be coming.”

Abby heard nothing in the background, but realized now wasn’t the time to debate his claim.

“Okay,” she said, swallowing hard with blurry vision. “Okay. Stay safe, Marcus. Please.”

“You, too.”

The line went quiet.

Her alarm went off.

 ***

“Go to bed, Abby.”

Raven’s voice carried across the lab, and although she was inside the rocket she heard her as clearly as though the mechanic had been standing next to her.

“I’m not tired, Raven,” she retorted, hoping the girl would press the matter no further. Unfortunately, her hopes went unanswered.

“We’re going to space tomorrow. You need to get some rest. I can’t have you passing out on me in the middle of our flight.”

“Raven, you’re piloting the ship. You should get some sleep.”

Raven emerged from the rocket, practically skipping down the stairs. Abby wondered how much of her good humor came from her brain’s exertion-caused imbalances and found irony in their exchange: both of their brains suffering, showing symptoms in different ways, but both insisting on the same thing.

The girl was by her side in less than a minute, her ponytail swinging as she ascended the stairs in a rush.

“I’m not tired, Abby,” she said, aiming a wink her way. Abby sighed, realizing Jackson would have to handle this particular obstacle. There was no way they’d be able to go into space with a pilot who had stayed up all night the night before.

“Even if you’re not tired,” Abby said, “you still need rest. You need energy and sleep to get through tomorrow. Your brain might not handle the exertion otherwise.”

Some tiny part of her thought that advice might also apply to her – heard Marcus telling her, not for the first time in the past ten hours, that she knew what she needed to do to help herself and voluntarily chose not to do it.

“Are you kidding?” Raven grinned, spun in a circle with her arms wide. “I feel great! Abby, we’re going into space. Not gonna lie…it’ll be nice to see it up close again.”

Abby frowned, buried her gaze in her microscope, and Raven seemed to sense something was off.

“You okay?” she asked, moving closer, her peppy grin replaced by concern and furrowed brows.

“I’m…” Abby started, focusing the microscope as she spoke, “fine.”

“Bullshit,” Raven said. “It’s Kane, isn’t it?”

She went rigid, tearing her gaze from blood cells and blurry lines.

“Marcus and I are fine.”

“Doesn’t sound like it to me.”

“Raven.”

The girl put her hands up in mock surrender, feigning intimidation.

“I’m just saying, he’s the only one who can get you pissed off like this. I could tell all day that you weren’t acting like you. Jackson thought-“

Abby bit her tongue, reminded that Jackson, in a roundabout way, was the reason for their argument. At some point, Abby had been planning to tell Marcus about her brain – it just wouldn’t have been until long after she’d healed.

“Here,” Raven said, holding out her radio. “Take mine. The range is better on it, so you’ll get reception in your room.”

Abby raised her eyebrows. “Why would I need reception in my room, Raven?”

“Because you’re going to bed. Right now. And you’re gonna talk things out with Kane in privacy.”

Abby spun in her seat, directly facing the girl. The offer was tempting – Raven had programmed her radio to get a better signal, and it would be nice to not have to migrate to the hallway every time Marcus tried to contact her. But at the same time…the thought of talking to him again made her stomach lurch, given the way they left things before they day started. And it was Raven’s radio…

“Marcus and I don’t need to-“

“Yeah, you do,” Raven interjected. “I really don’t want to go to space tomorrow with you if you’re just gonna be lovesick over Kane the whole time. Better if you guys make up now than trying to do it tomorrow over our comms link.”

Well…she had a point.

Out of the corner of her eye, Abby glimpsed Jackson making his way back to the lab from a brief nap. He would soon begin pressuring her to go to bed, and although she could handle one or the other, there was little chance she could hold her own against both her assistant and her future pilot.

“Okay,” Abby said, reaching for the radio with one hand while removing hers from its place next to the microscope.

Raven’s eyes widened. Apparently, agreement had been the last thing on her mind.

“Nice!” she exclaimed, turning Abby’s radio over in her hand as if trying to get a feel for the new device. “See ya in the morning. Go make up with your boyfriend before we blast off.”

Abby gave her one last look before descending the stairs, reminding her it was just as important that she get some sleep, too.

The journey to her room lasted less than five minutes, and Abby barely made it inside the door without collapsing. Exhaustion, it seemed, seeped into her bones only when she stepped through the threshold of her quarters.

Refocusing her energy, she carefully set the radio down on her dresser in the same space her old one had occupied. She then removed her shirt and jeans – Becca’s lab had many things, but not pajamas – and with a quiet promise to shower in the morning, she slid beneath the covers and closed her eyes.

She knew she should radio Marcus. Sleep wouldn’t visit until her apology was accepted, and the argument was festering into a nasty, aching infection that seeped into her every thought. Going into space without clearing the air between them was unthinkable, but right now, so was picking up that radio.

Then, it did something she never thought it would do – something that saved her quite a bit of trouble.

It hummed with white noise.

“Marcus?” she breathed, reaching over to retrieve it. almost unwilling to let herself hope. If it wasn’t him and she’d gotten her hopes up for nothing…

“Abby,” he said, his voice considerably calmer, and she let herself exhale as guilt stretched inside her chest.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” she said, hoping that time would make him a more receptive listener. “I didn’t mean it. I know you’re trying to help, and I know you care what happens to me. I’m just…” she paused, gritted her teeth as a throbbing in her head marred her words into a wince. “I’m a little stressed.”

When he spoke, he was a different man than the one who hung up hours ago. This Marcus – her Marcus – was kind, soft, gentle, remorseful.

“I’m sorry for what I said, too,” he murmured – even the slight interference, the brushstrokes of static, couldn’t paint over the regret in his voice. “You know me better than anyone, Abby. And you have every right to be stressed. I shouldn’t have made it worse.”

She laughed. Of course, of course Marcus Kane would find a way to blame himself for something she had said.

“You didn’t,” she consoled him. “I made it worse. You were trying to help.”

She could see him shaking his head, although he was miles away and her eyes were fixed on her bedroom ceiling. “I went about it the wrong way,” he said. “Instead of trying to discuss it, I made the decision for you. That’s not what…” he paused, searching for the right words. “That’s not what I want us to be. And I’m sorry I put you through it.”

And there it was, hidden between those seven words: we are equals.

Marcus would never make her choices for her, no matter how much it pained him to think of the consequences of her decisions. And she would do the same: allow him to walk his path, so long as their journeys intertwined.

Truthfully, she’d always known if he found out that he’d try to stop her. But she hadn’t counted on the rage he’d displayed, the outward defiance he fired her way. It occurred to her that this wasn’t the closest he’d come to losing her – they’d had several run-ins with dangers that threatened to part them permanently.

But this was one that he could do nothing about, and that likely terrified him to his core.

At Mount Weather, he’d been able to yell and delay the guards. In the City of Light, he’d been able to help the kids – at least until he was forced to take the chip himself. But Marcus Kane couldn’t distract her brain from breaking down. He couldn’t take a pill to save her, he couldn’t yell and beg to keep the hallucinations at bay. It was then that she realized where his uncharacteristic anger had originated: a place of helplessness.

“I don’t want that, either,” Abby said softly, wishing she could hold him instead of running her fingers over the weathered, scuffed plastic of the radio. “But it’s not who we are. Parents fight, Marcus.”

She stopped, the next few words lodging in her throat as her left hand came to rest on her belly. The place where their child grew each day, safe despite the danger pushing ever closer to their doorstep, living in a world that was slowly being ripped from its grasp.

And in spite of it all, she’d still said that one word – the one little word that betrayed every ounce of hope that still glimmered inside her confused, scared, directionless heart.

Parents.

When he spoke, she could tell his thoughts orbited the same territory.

“Parents,” he said, a smile warming his words. And in all her time at the lab – just when she thought it couldn’t get worse – the pain of needing him in her arms grew tenfold, blossomed into something beautiful and agonizing and wholly uncontrollable inside her chest. “Abby, we’re going to be parents.”

There was something shifting in the space between his words, nightmarish doubts she knew his words dredged up in the back of his mind, a plea for her to stay safe. For her to rest so her brain could heal. For her to hold on long enough for him to make it to the lab, so he could hold her and kiss her and reassure her that everything was going to be all right as long as they were together.

God, how she wanted to be able to obey him.

But for just a little while longer – for a few more days – she’d have to rebel. Once the Nightblood was made and distributed, she would let herself take a nice, long nap: preferably in his arms.

Her fingertips grazed the smooth skin just below her navel, where a solid bump was beginning to take shape. She smiled, knowing her expression matched his.

“We are,” she said firmly, as though the strength behind her words alone might stave off the impending doomsday. “We are.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m okay with arguing,” he said, his voice small and soft – a creature so far removed from the man she’d known on the Ark that they might as well belong to a different species. “These past few hours have been hell, Abby.”

A laugh wormed its way up her throat and shoved her lips open. She figured the noise must have translated well over the radio, because Marcus responded to it.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s just…if someone had told me a year ago that Marcus Kane would be torn up over arguing with me, I would have told them to float themselves.”

It was his turn to laugh, then. “Things have certainly changed, haven’t they?”

How she wished she could kiss him, pull him close, let the sound of his heartbeat drown out the drumbeat of war moving closer. “They have. We have.”

Quiet for a few moments, as he contemplated. Abby took the opportunity to slide beneath her sheets, thankful that Raven’s radio had better reception than hers. It would always be a mystery as to why her own hadn’t been able to reach Arkadia from her room, but she was thankful to the young mechanic for trading. It must have been obvious, she thought, that she needed it.

Her bedsheets were lukewarm with muted body heat, a luxury partially taken by her comforter and partially absorbed by the open air. Abby didn’t mind the coolness on her bare legs, the softness of the threads smoothing at least a few of her worries about the day ahead.

She’d never known comfort quite like this on the Ark, and the only thing that came close – their shared bed in Polis – was now naught more than a treasured memory. If only Marcus were here, she thought, it would be every bit as indulgent as their quarters in the tower had been.

Resting her head against the soft pillow, she gave a faint sigh. Tomorrow would come, as it always did. She would go to space with Raven, and make the Nightblood. Certainly, there were hypotheticals – questions to lead her weary mind deeper into the labyrinth of uncertainty that comprised their lives on Earth – but for now, the man she loved was on the other end of the radio.

“I won’t tell you not to go,” he said, his voice a broken echo of his earlier insistence. “You know what’s best for our people. What’ll help us survive. But Abby…please be careful.”

“I will,” she said. “I promise.”

Relief resounded through his response. “And you’re sure nothing would happen to the baby? Jackson said it wouldn’t. He tried to explain it to me, but…”

She smiled. For all his good qualities, Marcus Kane would never be a doctor or a scientist. 

“We were born in space,” she said, condensing the science to give him the gist of what the medical explanation meant. “That means I’m strong enough to carry the baby back into orbit without taking any extra precautions. In theory, I could even give birth there.”

His quiet showed his discomfort at the idea, and she decided it was best to keep the conversation moving.

“Everything will be fine,” she said, doing her best to soothe his fears while keeping the edges of her own sanded down to a dullness that at least allowed her to sleep. “I shouldn’t be up there for longer than five hours. That’s all the fuel we have.”

She knew, even without him saying it, that those five hours would be some of the longest of his life.

“I love you, Abby,” he said.

“I love you, too,” she responded. 

If something went wrong, if she and Raven couldn’t make it back…she needed to say it.

Most importantly, she needed him to hear it.

***

“So, you’re pregnant,” Raven said. Her tone left little room for debate, and Abby instinctively checked to be sure she wasn’t broadcasting their conversation from space back to the entire lab, and subsequently, the rest of Arkadia.

How had she found out?

Had it been Clarke? John? Neither of them would have told her, which left only one culprit. But Jackson, as close as he was with Raven…it was unlikely he would have allowed such sensitive information to spill forth, especially considering Abby was his oldest friend and mentor.

Raven looked back at her from her perch among the shining, almost iridescent monitors that lined the far wall of the ship. Abby realized her expression must have been something approaching terror, because Raven gave her a pitying smirk and changed her approach.

“Don’t freak out on me, Abby,” she said, idly swinging her legs back and forth below the countertop.

Far easier said, Abby thought, than done.

“Who told you?” Abby said, equally amazed and mortified.

For a split second, she wondered whether for all the pain the mechanic had been through, her brain had really been given an upgrade. Could the City of Light still connect them, even though the chips had long ago been fried?

Because she hadn’t begun showing, really – whatever tiny bump existed was easy to camouflage behind her regular clothes – and to the majority of their people, Abby’s pregnancy was still a well-guarded secret. No one but Marcus was close enough to see the faint lines on her abdomen at the end of the day, glaring red marks where the waistband of her pants dug in a little tighter than usual.

That would be another problem, eventually – maternity wear and where to find it – but one problem, she thought, at a time. She could deal with the absence of suitable maternity clothes once everyone had been injected with Nightblood.

“No one told me,” Raven said, sliding down from her seat to join Abby by the microscope. “I figured it out on my own.”

Abby looked away, quirked an eyebrow. They didn’t have much time left for this kind of banter – in less than ten minutes, they’d be in position to begin manufacturing the Nightblood. Conversations like this were well and good now, but Abby didn’t want to start anything that couldn’t be finished when they were in position.

“You’d be the first,” Abby muttered, focusing her energy on relocating a tray of materials to the space between her microscope and a rack of test tubes.

“I usually am,” the girl said with a wink, leaning against the table with a smirk.

Abby couldn’t take it anymore. With eight minutes left on the clock, she had to know.

“Really, Raven. You looked at me and decided I was pregnant?”

Raven shook her head. “No, not right away. It took me a few days to figure out why you were acting weird.”

“I was not acting weird,” Abby said, defensive. Because if Raven thought she was acting different – acting strangely – then who was to say Emori or Luna hadn’t thought the same thing? Who was to say others at Arkadia might not have thought the same thing? Could her secret already have gotten out, and she and Marcus were too blind to notice?

Raven snorted. “Whatever makes you feel better.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, each daring the other to give in. Abby almost wondered if Raven’s estimation came from a link between their brains – something caused by the EMP damage and residual ALIE interference – but it was a theory at best, a possible explanation for something that had likely been guesswork and a bullseye at a moving target of mood swings.

“Kane will be a good dad,” Raven said at last, giving Abby a small, genuine smile. Surprised by the tenderness in her statement – a softness generally removed from Raven Reyes’ bravado – Abby’s response was nothing but instinctual.

“He will,” she agreed.

“I mean, he’s basically everyone’s dad already. What’s one more kid on the list? He already has at least ten.”

Abby couldn’t quite shove down a laugh. Raven’s number was an exaggeration, but the core of it was true, she knew. Marcus was already a father in all but blood to Bellamy and Octavia, and it was clear from his interactions with Clarke before she left that he’d practically adopted her as well. She’d seen him often enough with Nathan and Harper to assume they were close, and recently, she’d glimpsed him talking to Monty.

But the baby she carried would be different. This would be their child, not a delinquent they’d sent to Earth. This would be a child they brought into this world not because they needed to test its survivability, but because they wanted to be parents. Because they wanted him or her in their lives.

“I don’t know if he has that many,” Abby countered with a knowing smirk.

“Between the two of you, you sure as hell do,” Raven said. “I mean, he has Bellamy, Octavia, Harper, Miller, and Monty. You have me, Clarke, Jackson, and Murphy-“

“When did I adopt John, Raven?”

She laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. I think he adopted you.”

Abby hardly thought John Murphy would allow himself to be adopted – he tolerated her, certainly, but to go so far as taking care of him and Emori would be a hugely difficult task. Not to mention they were entirely self-sufficient; they didn’t need her, or Marcus, watching over them. The rest of the kids…well, they’d become a family by default, almost.

She smiled as she remembered a particularly poignant memory from before the City of Light, before the current crisis, when they’d had a few precious months of calm.

“You agree?” Raven said, returning her smile. Abby shook her head.

“No, just thinking about something else.”

She had gone to see him after a long night of working in the Chancellor’s office. Dawn had only just begun crawling over the treetops, sprinkling the navy sky with streaks of orange. It was easy to forget her workload when she was with him – to ask him how his night had been, to inquire about the guards and the kids – and easier still to forget how far her daughter was from her embrace. With Marcus, even then, everything had felt right.

She’d knocked on his door twice before realizing it was open – it took her a few seconds longer to realize he wasn’t inside. Eventually she’d ended up wandering aimlessly around a sleepy, barely-moving Arkadia in an attempt to find him, to have a few moments of quiet solitude with the man who had become her rock, her constant.

Her feet took her to the common area, just beyond the piano. She thought he might be there, working at one of the tables; not quite what she found.

Surprisingly, Marcus was fast asleep on the couch in the far corner of the room – a brand new piece of furniture from Mount Weather that hadn’t yet found a more suitable home – with his head lolled back, snoring soundly. But the true shock came in looking to his left and right, where two young members of the guard had curled up beside him.

Harper had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, her blonde braid trailing down his upper arm, while Nathan had simply flopped over into Marcus’ lap, laying face-up across his legs. It was a wonder, Abby thought, that he hadn’t fallen over. They must have been discussing strategy and been overtaken by exhaustion; or rather, as she suspected, Marcus had fallen asleep with the kids by his side, and they had fallen asleep trying to decide whether or not to wake him.

Her smile widened as she remembered contemplating whether or not to wake them. Ultimately, she chose to let them sleep – although the kids might be embarrassed later, the image was too sweet, too innocent, to tarnish. Instead she’d walked away and headed to Medical for her morning shift, expecting a visit from Marcus that came an hour later.

“Hey, Abby,” Raven said, startling her from her reverie. “Five minutes on the clock. Just letting you know.”

“All right,” Abby said. She cleared the cobwebs of memory from her mind, refocusing on the task at hand. “I’m almost ready.”

Raven explained that they’d have a half-hour to make as much Nightblood as they could, and then she’d be forced to begin the descent process as to not engulf them into a fiery, painful crash landing. Abby figured she could manufacture quite a bit in that time – enough to save everyone – given that nothing went wrong or malfunctioned. With any luck, she thought, they wouldn’t have any trouble.

Then again, when was the last time their plans had gone smoothly?

“Seriously, though,” Raven said, raising her voice to be heard from across the room. “If you were going to get knocked up, I’m happy it was Kane.”

Abby smirked. Who else would it be, Raven?

“Me, too,” she whispered to herself, assembling materials on the countertop and waiting for Raven’s order to go ahead. Their communications with the ground would be disrupted until they were in position, but all things considered…Abby thought it might not have been the worst thing that she couldn’t talk to anyone there.

Abby glanced at the clock: two minutes until she could start bonding the elements.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Raven asked suddenly, her voice oddly tremulous, a chink in her usual bravado. Abby knew this was the result of her brain damage – the stroke she’d had only days ago – and knew that for the two of them, this trip meant something other than just survival.

Because they both knew, on some level, that survival wasn’t guaranteed for them; even if the Nightblood protected their people, allowed them to walk in black rain and breathe radiation-soaked air, that they might not live much longer than the onset.

There was a minute and thirty seconds on the clock, and as much as Abby wanted to comfort her, there was little to be said in such a short amount of time. So, in lieu of getting up and giving her the hug she so desperately wished to bestow, Abby simply responded, “It has to.”

It does, she thought. Without the Nightblood, they were doomed. Everything rode on the next half-hour and how many doses she could make during that scant, easily-withered timeframe.

Her hands started shaking, and she took a deep breath.

One minute on the clock.

As if on cue, her head started hurting.

Pain blossomed slowly throughout the first ten seconds – a gradual throbbing centered at the space that joined her head and the back of her neck. At first she mistook it for stress, as she always did – told herself the lie she needed to hear.

Fifty seconds on the clock.

The pain radiated upward like a sapling stretching its branches, encompassing the entire back of her head. Abby winced and gritted her teeth against the sharpening, steady waves of agony. Her fingers clenched around the metal of her seat, closing with enough force to part her skin.

Forty seconds on the clock.

The pain stopped, if only for a moment, but something felt off. Wrong, as if the world were still spinning, still moving, but backwards. Her lungs felt as though they’d shrunk to half-capacity, burned like they’d been set on fire.

And yet, from somewhere, she heard a voice that wasn’t Raven’s.

Thirty seconds on the clock.

“Hi,” the voice said, and Abby spun in her seat as though she’d been spun around by forces larger than herself, dropping both hands to her sides as she searched for their phantom intruder.

It’s not real, she reminded herself. There’s no one here but you and Raven. Focus on what needs to be done.

But try as she might, she couldn’t tune out the voice. It was small but insistent, quiet but determined, and grew louder with each agonizing pulse of pain that spread throughout her head.

Twenty seconds on the clock.

Abby felt a tug on her hand and jumped, looked down to find the source of the gesture. Her head now felt as though it had been clamped in a vise, each second tightening the mechanism until she found herself barely able to choke back screams. The simple gesture of looking down – tilting her head in the process – made tiny stars shimmer at the edges of her vision.

Ten seconds on the clock.

Abby looked down and finally found the voice – the source of the commotion. When she did, every muscle in her body stiffened.

It was a little girl – she could be no older than five or six, according to Abby’s estimation. Her skin was pale, but not sickly, sprinkled by a youthful pinch of redness at her cheeks. She wore a simple shirt with a patch on the elbow and well-worn jeans, clothes not dissimilar to the ones Clarke might have worn in her childhood on the Ark. Her thick, dark brown hair was pulled back into a braid, and expressive chocolate eyes stared up at Abby, radiating innocence and wonder.

Five seconds on the clock.

Abby found herself unable to let go of the girl’s hand, perhaps because her brain no longer responded to her commands. There was a world outside this child, she knew, but something held her transfixed in this moment, cemented in place as the world moved on around them. Her heart raced, and she felt her fingers twitch against the warmth of the girl’s skin.

Four seconds on the clock.

Abby heard someone else’s voice in the background, but no longer remembered whom she was with. Was there anyone else here? All around her objects began to look foreign, strange, as though the lights of the shuttle were dimming around the little girl by her side.

Three seconds on the clock.

On a logical level, she knew the pain in her head was agonizing. But emotionally, she no longer responded to the torture: it was as though somehow, this child had broken the connection between her pain receptors and the rest of her being. Everything hurt, but everything was numb.

Two seconds on the clock.

The girl smiled – a sweet, careless quirk of her lips that accentuated the brilliant spark in her eyes - and Abby felt an instinctive sort of warmth blossoming through her chest. Her own expression mirrored the child’s, as though her heart gave her no other option than to share in her companion’s apparent joy at seeing her.

One second on the clock.

“Hi, mommy,” the girl whispered, her voice a tinkling bell, the sound of a gentle rainstorm.

Then everything went black.