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writingsbytee · 2 months ago

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GET BACK

TOXIC BABY DADDY TERRY x BLACK FEM READER

Photo: @partiallyfuctional7

*Remember you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minors please don’t interact!*

WARNINGS / TRIGGERS: Reader has feelings of insecurities; Terry is a big, sexy, toxic, idiot here.

PAIRING: Terry x Ava (reader)

SUMMARY: Tension develops between you and your baby’s father when he discovers you might be moving on. Terry’s unhinged ass is going to do whatever he can to get her back.

TROPES: Second chance romance; MDOM or dominant themes

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I’m so excited to share this one with you guys! I’ve wanted to write toxic Terry for forever, but I was just nervous. I really liked writing this one. Maybe it’s the toxicity in me lol. Please tell me what you guys think, but be nice please. Babygirl is sensitive

“TJ get your cleats! Your father’s almost here!,” I shouted up the stairs. I hear the tell-tale thumps of his little feet as he rushes to put everything in his duffle bag. Wandering into the living room, I tighten up the area a bit. Straightening out couch cushions, the coffee table, you get the gist. Looking at the clock, I notice it’s almost two o’clock.

“TJ! Two minute warning!” I exclaim. Within seconds I hear the thunderous steps only a child can make. Then my little boy rounds the corner, a giant beam on his face.

“Did it Mommy!”, he said proudly handing his soccer bag to me so I could double check everything. Rifling through the items I notice his epipen isn’t in there. Before I can ask my little man where it is, I hear the familiar chime from the ‘ring’ app on my phone. Grabbing it from the charger, I see my son’s father through the pixelated lens. I take a calming breath before walking to the door.

“Hey baby girl, TJ ready?” Terry asked, smiling down at me. It’s truly unfair how fine this man is. Standing at his full height on our porch in a navy blue tee and olive cargo pants with asics. He could make a trash bag look good. I ignore the flutter in my belly at his smile and step aside to let him in.

“He’s just about ready, but I can’t find his epipen. Can you come in while I run upstairs really quick?” I ask moving back so Terry can cross the threshold. He steps in like he owns the place (well technically he does).

“We gotta get going soon, I’m taking TJ to ‘Winter Wonderland’ after practice,” Terry said, sweeping his eyes over the living room.

I nodded, “Well I’ll find it and meet you guys there or at practice. Thanks for taking him,” I say, trying to be civil.

“Just to let you know, Brandy’s going to be there,” Terry said, crossing his arms over his chest.

I feel my back molars grind, “That’s fine.” I can’t fucking stand Brandy. She’s Terry’s new situationship and we didn’t get off on the best foot. That sour taste has never really left my mouth when it comes to her. Why Terry’s bringing her around our son, I’ll never understand.

“I trust you’ll keep it civil,” Terry says, looking down his nose at me. I roll my eyes and head toward the stairs completely ignoring him. Who the fuck does he think he is telling me to behave? She better fucking behave, I’m liable to beat a bitch. When I reach the bottom of the stairs Terry grabs my hand, spinning me to face him.

“Ava, I’m serious, keep it cool,” Terry’s voice had a slight edge to it which I didn’t appreciate.

“Listen, as long as she plays nice I’ll play nice. Matter of fact I’ll pretend she’s not even there. That work for you Terry?” I asked in a sickeningly sweet voice. I never wanted us to end up in this tumultuous cycle, but it wasn’t my decision. Terry broke up with me, said he didn’t want to be tied down. Vowing to be a good father he gets Terrence Junior (TJ) every other week. He’s the best dad and I won’t take that away from him, I just thought we’d be a family. I was holding out hope for a year hoping he'd change his mind and we’d get back together.

Ultimately, I shattered my own heart, scrolling on facebook. I saw that he’d been tagged in a photo hugged up on another woman. I stopped hoping after that. I stopped trying to get a man to see that I was enough, stopped trying to get him to stay when he so clearly was happy elsewhere.

“Terry, the last thing I want to do is fight with you right now, yes I’ll be nice. Please just take TJ and leave, he'll be late for practice,” I say on the verge of tears.

Terry’s eyes soften as he takes a step toward me, “Bunny…”, he starts. I hold my hand up stopping him and shake my head. I can hear our son make his way towards us obviously hearing his father’s voice as he barrels toward him.

“Daddy! Daddy!,” TJ yells, launching himself into his arms.

“There my little striker! C’mere man,” Terry’s face blooms into a megawatt smile as he reaches for our son. He picks him up and blows a raspberry on TJ’s cheeks, causing him to burst into giggles. A small smile forms on my lips as a warm feeling spreads in my chest. Moments like these made me wish that we could be a little family again. But I can’t think like that anymore, Terry made his choice. He wants to be in the streets, that’s where he can stay.

“You ready to go little man? I’ve got a surprise for you after practice,” Terry said, putting TJ down. Spotting the epipen on the kitchen island, I grab it, and pass it to Terry

“Well I’m going upstairs to shower and change, and I’ll meet you guys there,” I say, turning toward the stairs.

“TJ, go hug your mama before we leave,” Terry says looking at me. TJ comes barreling towards me, goofy smile and arms outstretched. A warm smile blooms on my face as I hug my gentle little man.

“Hey, mama loves you, be good and listen to your dad ok?” I ask straightening his backpack.

“I always listen mama,” TJ giggles, with a playful roll of his eyes. Terry grabs his son’s hand and with a half- assed ‘see ya later’ from Terry, they’re both out the door. I grab my airpods and head upstairs. Needing the comfort of a dominant mafia boss, my current audible obsession to ease some of the tension I feel creeping up my neck. Pressing play on my audiobook I begin getting ready. After the grueling arm workout of trying to tame my curls, I place it in a slick back bun with a few face framing curls to enhance my beauty (ref). Then I put on some light makeup and a simple outfit for this bipolar Georgia winter weather (ref). Grabbing my purse and keys, I head outside to my bronco, mentally preparing myself for the next few hours.

When I pull up to the soccer field, I see that practice is in full swing. I immediately spot Terry standing off to the side with all the other parents. Why does he have to look so fucking good just standing on the sidelines. Brandy’s standing next to him ear pressed against her phone, what a shocker. Getting out, I pop my trunk to grab my lawn chair.

“Ava! Let me!,” I turn to see Lance, another one of the dad’s lightly jogging toward me. A small smile forms on my lips. Lance is fine don’t get me wrong, he just gets around the bookclub if you know what I’m saying. Hmm, maybe my bookshelf could use a good dusting off. I think it’s about time I had a little fun. I haven’t been with anyone since Terry, that needs to change.

“Aww, that’s nice of you. Thank you Lance,” I say in a sickeningly sweet voice. Lance grabs my lawn chair out of the trunk and we head toward the soccer field.

“I assumed you weren’t coming, since Terry brought TJ,” Lance said.

“Oh, so you checking for me now?”, I say, smirking at him.

A small blush forms on the apples of his cheeks, “I look forward to seeing you at practices, sue me.”

A small giggle burst from my lips, “I’m just picking Lance.” He grins at me as we finally make it to the sidelines where the other parents are. My eyes find Terry to see him mugging Lance down. Lance isn’t paying him any attention as he sets up my lawn chair for me.

“A throne fit for a queen,” Lance says, gesturing toward the chair.

“Thank you Lance,” I say with a small smile before taking a seat. Okay so far so good, I just hope I can get through the rest of this evening unscathed.

TERRY

Since when did Ava and Lance become cool? That motherfucker has been sniffing behind her for over a year now. I subtly inch closer to the two, trying to listen in on their conversation without being detected. I hear him ask her what she had planned later. A pit forms in the bottom of my stomach dropping anchor and forming an uncomfortable weight there. I recognize the feeling in an instant, jealousy. Fuck.

“Oh, Terry and his girlfriend are taking TJ to ‘Winter Wonderland’ downtown. I’m probably just going to tagalong with them so I can get pictures of TJ,” Ava says. Girlfriend? She thought Brandy was my girlfriend? Fuck no, I’m just having fun with her. I just didn’t want TJ to see the two of them arguing since they obviously didn’t like each other.

“Do you mind if Max (Lance’s son) and I join you? And maybe after I treat you and TJ to dinner?,”Lance said, smirking at Ava. My fucking Ava, and she’s smiling back?! Fuck nah, I ain’t about to have that. I take a step to interrupt their conversation when a hand on my shoulder grabs my attention.

“Sorry boo, but I have to go. Family emergency,” Brandy said, before laying a kiss on my cheek and then she left so fast I would’ve thought her ass evaporated. I locked back in on Ava and Lance seeming to be in just a friendly conversation but I couldn’t shake the fact that Ava was entertaining him. As long as I’ve known her she’s only ever wanted me. So, to see her chatting it up with another man is really rubbing me the wrong way.

She jumps up out of her chair, jumping up and down cheering for TJ. I damn near go cross-eyed trying to keep an eye on TJ and the jiggle of her ass when she jumps. Don’t get me wrong, I love Ava, she gave me my son, and she’s a fantastic mother, friend, and support system. I don’t know why seeing her potentially move on is fucking with me so bad. I pull out my phone and text my younger sister Trinity, I need advice ASAP.

ME: Trin I need your help. Fast

TRIN: Damn, no hi lol. What’s up Terry?

ME: It’s Ava, she’s going on a date tonight I think.

TRIN: Ok…what’s the problem?

ME: I don’t want her to.

TRIN: Aren’t you actively fucking that brittney chick??????

ME: ..yeah

TRIN: Ok so let me get this straight. Ava has to sit back while you fuck through all of Savannah, but the minute she gets a little bit of attention, you can’t deal?

ME: Well, when you put it like that..

TRIN: I love you bro, but you’re a fucking idiot.

AVA

“We’d love to have dinner with you and Max tonight” you say, smiling at Lance. He smirks down at me, “I can’t believe that worked.”

Your brows furrowed, “What do you mean?” you asked.

“I’ve been trying to get you to look my way for months, what changed?” Lance asked, leaning in. ‘I’m trying to get over my baby’s father’ , you thought. But you can’t just say that out loud so instead you just smile and say, “I thought it was time I put you out of your misery.”

Lance laughs and says, “Well thank you for that pretty lady.”

A throat clears behind you and you glance over your shoulder to see Terry standing there.

“Can I talk to you real quick?”, he looks with anxious eyes darting back and forth between you and Lance.

You glance back toward Lance, “I’ll be right back” you say, getting up from my chair. You follow Terry a few feet away to the edge of the field, but still able to keep an eye on TJ.

“What’s up?” you say, raising a brow.

“We need to talk, Bunny,” Terry said, wringing his hands. What’s going on? This nigga is never nervous. You raise both eyebrows this time, indicating that he can continue.

“What’s going on with you and Lance?” he asked, crossing his arms. Your eyes widen in disbelief, there’s no way his ass is questioning you about who you’re seeing.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you reply, crossing my arms.

Terry scoffs and rolls his eyes, “It’s my business if his ass is going to be around my son.”

You could feel the attitude crawling up your spine gripping your throat in a vice grip. “So you can prance all the bitches you want around our son? But when his friend’s dad; someone he’s familiar with, is around more often all of sudden it’s an issue?” you roll your eyes, Terry is really starting to piss you off. Just when you decide it’s time to try and move on he comes back with this.

“Terry what is this really about? You know Lance, you should be happy for me” you say pleading with him. His eyes soften, and he shuts them giving his head a rough shake.

“Happy? You can do way better than Lance!” he whispers.

A sarcastic laugh leaves your lips, “Mind your business Terry. I stay out of your love life, you stay out of mine.” you turn to leave but Terry reaches out and grabs your wrist.

“C’mon Bunny, you know I didn’t mean it like that. All I’m trying to say is he better kiss the ground you walk on, anything less is an insult.”

You roll my eyes yet again, a small smile on my lips, “You’ll get him right if he doesn’t?” you ask with a subtle pop of my hip.

A smirk grows on his lips, “Bunny, you know how I’m coming behind you,” Terry said, crossing his arms.

You shake your head to slow the smile from forming, “It’s nothing serious between Lance and I. I just need a little fun right now.”

“You know, we used to have fun,” Terry said, taking a step toward you. You could see it in his eyes. The way he was looking at you, he’s going to bend you over the first surface he can get his hands on.

You reach your hand out, slowing his advancement toward you. “No, Terry. Don’t do this here.”

His smirk widens, taking in your panicked yet aroused features. You still wanted him , that he could see. “Don’t you miss me Bunny? We were good together. I could always tell what you needed before you knew yourself and vice versa.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Where is all this coming from? Less than two hours ago, you were telling me I needed to be nice to Brandy and now you wanna reminisce? We’ll talk about this later, I’m not doing this right now.”

You couldn’t believe Terry! ‘We used to have fun’, he thinks he can just walk in here all gorgeous and muscled and you’ll just roll over? Well you will but you want to make him work for it at least. You spin, prepared to return to your seat when Terry grabs your wrist.

“Don’t go out with him tonight, Bunny. Let me treat you and our son to dinner instead, and I can explain everything.”

“What if I don’t want to hear your explanations Terry? I’ve waited and waited for you to finally come to the realization that we should be together. Now that I have the potential to find something with someone new, you can’t handle it. How do you think I felt watching you parade girl after girl in front of my face? If you’re serious about me, you and TJ becoming a family again, you’re going to have to prove it to us. The back and forth shit isn’t going to work, and TJ deserves stability,” crossing my arms, I finish my rant and turn to head back to my chair.

TERRY

Fuck, I need to get my family back

Okay, so I wanted to make this a little short and to the point So I can set you guys up for the next part. Let me know if Terry is toxic enough for y’all or should I crank it up a little. I wasn’t expecting to turn this into a series but I think I just might *winks* As always let me know what you guys think, if we’re feeling this or not. Happy new year beautiful people! Sending you all love I hope this year is better than your last and you get everything you want!

Happy New Year! Until next time

TEE <3

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roosterforme · 11 months ago

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Some Things Take Time | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob is a man well known for his patience. He never rushes things in the air, and he tries to live by a similar philosophy on the ground. You and he are both on the same page about welcoming a child into your home through foster care, but it's hard for him to watch you try to bond with her unsuccessfully. He soon realizes that Avery is a lot like him, and that some things are worth the extra time.

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of infertility, mentions of foster care and adoption, Bob making all other men look like trash

Length: 5800 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x wife!reader

Happy birthday @wkndwlff! Check my masterlist for more!

You were laying on the couch with your head resting on your husband's lap, spinning his wedding band around on his finger while you tried to put your thoughts into words. You could tell he knew you were on the verge of speaking, sending you several expectant glances as you and he both pretended to watch the movie he started an hour ago. But Bob would never rush you, and you were thankful for that, because you wanted to make sure you got this right.

"We've been trying for a long time," you whispered, and Bob's blue eyes met yours as you looked up at him. "Almost two years."

He nodded once and smiled softly. "We have," he murmured, squeezing your hand in his larger one. You pressed your lips together as tears stung your eyes. Bob never seemed upset that he was pushing forty years old and in spite of trying and trying, you'd never gotten pregnant. He never put pressure on you to keep trying or to stop. You were convinced he never would, but you wanted to know what he was really thinking.

"What if we... stopped. Stopped trying. And just went with an alternative?"

"Honey, I already told you I'm happy with things how they are. We can stop trying if you want to, or we can talk about alternatives if you want to do that. But there's nothing wrong with just you and me. In fact, I'm really quite enjoying myself."

You closed your eyes as his fingers drifted along the curves of your side. It would be delicious to get back into the habit of having sex when you wanted to instead of when your cycle demanded it. You and Bob sharing your undivided attention with each other was something you were craving, but you still wanted something else, too.

"What if I said I wanted to look into fostering and adoption again?" you asked softly as you started to sit up.

He pulled you closer so you were straddling his thigh. "Then I would say we can call our lawyer on Monday and get some answers."

You smiled as you nudged his glasses with your nose and kissed his cheek. "And what if I said I'm not fertile today, but I want you anyway?"

Bob reached for the remote and turned the movie off as a soft blush rose in his cheeks. "Then I would say it's time we got in bed, Honey."

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Bob was a man who was well known for his patience. He never rushed things in the air, and he tried to live by a similar philosophy on the ground. He knew he wanted to marry you about halfway through the first date. He also knew you would have looked at him like he was insane if he admitted that to you halfway through the first date. So instead of rushing things, he took the time to make sure you were on the same page he was and that you were comfortable. He always tried to do that.

When a baby just didn't seem to be happening, he was more than willing to keep trying, but he was also completely content with the idea of no kids at all. It wasn't worth rushing anything as long as he had you in his life. But you had recently convinced him of a third option, and his lawyer helped the two of you smooth out the details.

And this is how Avery ended up at Bob's house on a random Monday evening. She was eight years old and in need of a foster family, and you were adamant when you answered the phone call that you and Bob were more than ready for her to be dropped off even on such short notice.

"I'm so nervous," you whispered as you held Bob's hand and watched through the front window as a van pulled up.

"I'm excited," he told you with a soft laugh. When he thought about having kids, he always pictured a little girl. For some reason, the idea of reading princess stories and painting a bedroom a putrid shade of purple really appealed to him. As he watched Avery being led up the walkway, he realized she didn't look one bit like you or him. He also realized that having a child who resembled him was actually never part of his dreams.

As the doorbell rang, you bounced in place and whispered, "She's here. She's really here."

Bob pulled you in for a kiss as his heart thudded. He realized he needed to tamp down his excitement a little bit. The two of you were merely fostering Avery. Nothing was set in stone even though you told the lawyer you wanted to eventually adopt a child. But right now your eyes were glittering with hope and anticipation, and Bob couldn't take that away from you.

"Let's make her feel welcome," he said as you both headed for the door.

Avery stood there with an unreadable expression on her adorable face, and Bob noticed right away how the case worker seemed to rush through everything. There were papers to sign and a schedule to keep, and even though all of it pertained to Avery, she ended up sitting quietly at the kitchen table while everyone else talked about her.

It was late by the time you and Bob were alone with her, and now her unreadable expression looked something like sadness. "Avery," Bob said softly. "Do you want to see your bedroom?"

She looked up at him and nodded without saying a word, and then you helped her down from the chair. You had taken the time to freshen up the extra bedroom and buy a pink glitter toothbrush and a pair of pajamas in her size. But Avery just sat down on the edge of the bed with her bag and asked, "Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"

"Yes," Bob replied with a smile. "I'll drop you off on my way to work, and then I'll pick you up in the afternoon."

When she didn't respond, you asked, "Is there anything you want? A bedtime snack or something to drink? I could make you some hot chocolate or get you a cookie. Bob makes the best oatmeal cookies, and there are a few left from the weekend. Maybe you can help Bob make the next batch." You were rambling now, and Bob reached out to squeeze your hand as you said, "We're just excited that you're here."

But Avery shook her head and told you, "I'll just read my book. Thanks." Then she untied her shoes and took a well worn copy of The Secret Garden from her bag, but she sat on the bed with rigid posture, not looking at either of you.

Bob wasn't quite sure what to do. You'd already shown the child where the bathroom was, and she seemed to have all of her essentials. He swallowed hard, deciding not to rush Avery even though he could feel your disappointment radiating off of you. He cleared his throat and said, "We'll leave our bedroom door open in case you need anything. And we'll get you up around seven for school. Good night, Avery."

She just nodded and squinted down at the tattered book cover like she was going to cry. Bob led you down the hallway, through your room and into the en suite bathroom where he gathered you in his arms as tears filled your eyes. "I don't think she likes us," you gasped before you buried your face against his neck.

Bob kissed the top of your head and whispered, "I just think she needs some time. Let's not rush anything."

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You cried yourself to sleep the first night. You knew that your response wasn't fair to Bob or Avery or even to yourself, but you'd imagined meeting a little girl who was at least a little bit more talkative if not upbeat. You had your hopes set on fostering a child who at least gave the impression that your home was better than another alternative. You'd been given a vague picture of where Avery had come from, and you wanted her to be comfortable here, but now you felt stupid for buying the glitter toothbrush and the Minnie Mouse pajamas.

Bob's hand drew lazy circles on your back as you turned away from him and cried softly. "It's just the first night," he reminded you in that sweet, even tone that you loved so much.

"I know. I just wanted this so desperately," you admitted between shaky breaths. His hand on your body helped you eventually fall asleep, and the next morning, Bob was up before you, making breakfast. When you tapped on Avery's door which was ajar, you poked your head in to find her once again sitting on the bed reading.

"Did you sleep okay?" you asked, and she nodded in response. "That's great!" you said in a tone of forced excitement. "Do you need help getting ready for school?"

"No," she said softly, setting the book aside.

You took a deep breath and said, "Bob's making breakfast. Do you want to come downstairs and eat?"

"Yes."

That was the last word you heard her speak before Bob led her out to his car in his uniform. He smiled at you over his shoulder as he told you to have a good day working on your true crime novel, but you knew you weren't going to. You spend two hours trying to write, but you ended up with three and a half new sentences. Instead, you spent most of the day thinking you'd made a huge mistake and hating your own body. Avery would probably last two weeks tops with you and Bob before she was begging to go somewhere else. You didn't even know if you could stand to see her melancholy little expression when your husband brought her home from school today, but you didn't want to call her case worker for help yet.

In the afternoon, you bought everything you needed to make oatmeal cookies along with the rest of your usual groceries. You paused next to the checkout line where there was a display of children's books and grabbed a few of them. Avery appeared to like her book more than anything else, so maybe she would appreciate these ones, too.

But when Bob brought Avery home with him after school, she barely spoke. She didn't want to help make any cookies, and after dinner, she went back to her bedroom. Bob tried to help her with her homework, but she told him it was easy and she already finished it. When you dropped off the new books, she told you she already had a favorite.

"Oh," you said, standing in the doorway with your hands full of the unwanted books. "That's good... that you have a favorite. I have a favorite book, too."

She looked up at you and nodded, but soon you were backing out of the room and trying to hide your tears from Bob. "It takes time," he reassured you as you balled your hands into fists and cried on him again.

You knew you needed to be as patient as he always was, but you just weren't like him. And you started talking before you could stop yourself. "If we could have gotten pregnant, we'd have our own child," you sobbed. "One that we raised from day one who would love us and bake cookies and read new books."

Bob kissed your ear and whispered, "Nothing is easy, Honey. But sometimes the harder something is at first, the more rewarding it is later on."

You cried yourself to sleep again.

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Bob tried his best for that first week. He watched you start to pull away and retreat into yourself the more Avery kept to her bedroom. Every day when he dropped her off and picked her up, she thanked him for the ride. When he asked if she would rather start taking the bus, she told him it didn't matter. When he asked if there was something special she wanted to eat for dinner, she said she wasn't picky.

And all the while she just squinted down at her book. Just The Secret Garden even though you brought home some others. When he pulled up to the curb in front of her school one morning, he said, "Avery, would you like me to take you to the library one day? Or maybe a bookstore where you can pick out what you want?"

She looked at him as she grabbed her backpack in one hand and her book in the other. "Maybe." Then she climbed out of the car, and he waited to pull away until she was inside the school building. That was the most promising answer he'd received yet. He drove to work thinking about signing her up for a library card, and when he got there, he was in a much better mood.

Natasha was the only one who knew that Avery was under his care. He didn't want to give anyone too many details, but she sweetly asked him the same question every morning after they got to work. "How are you and the Mrs. making out with your houseguest?"

And this morning, he said, "Maybe a little better today, Nat. I'm just trying not to rush it."

She patted him on the chest and smiled. "You never do, Bob. You're a man of details."

She was right. He spent the day thinking about all of the details that he knew about Avery. She was eight years old and very quiet. She only wanted to read one book even though you offered her more. She seemed to find the most comfort when she was alone. She was honestly a lot like Bob.

When he picked Avery up from school, he watched as one of the teachers patted the top of her backpack and sent her on her way. She squinted toward his car before trudging over in his direction with a frown on her face. Bob sighed as she climbed into the backseat and buckled herself in. "How was your day, Avery?" he asked as he shifted into drive. But today he got no verbal response at all. Instead he heard her crying.

Without another word, Bob pulled his car around and into an empty parking spot before killing the engine. He opened his door and closed it before taking a few deep breaths, and then he climbed in the back door and settled in next to the crying child. He let one hand gently rest on her shoulder, giving her a small squeeze before asking, "Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

She just shook her head as tears flowed down her cheeks, and she stared at her feet. "It's stupid."

Bob smiled slightly. "You might think so, but I'd probably find what you have to say fascinating."

She turned her head to look at him, examining his face to see if he was being honest. But of course he was. He just wanted her to tell him what was on her mind. It took a few minutes before she started to settle down, but eventually she said, "I failed my eye exam with the nurse today." She unzipped her bag and pulled out a yellow sheet of paper and handed it to him. "She told me my eyesight is terrible and that I need to get glasses."

Bob looked at the page and had to hide his alarm from her. Avery failed her eye exam spectacularly. It was a wonder to Bob that she was even able to see in her classroom. But now her squinting and her preference for one, well worn book were starting to make sense. As he filled in the blanks in his mind, he said, "Glasses aren't so bad," while he tapped his own silver frames. "They certainly make my day a lot easier."

She kind of rolled her eyes and said, "But you're an adult. People aren't going to make fun of you for wearing glasses."

"You think you'll get made fun of?" Bob asked softly, folding the yellow paper in half.

"Yes," she replied immediately as she wiped at her tears. "I already do. Glasses will make it so much worse."

Bob wanted to press her for more details, but he didn't think this was the right moment. Instead he asked, "Is that why you only like to read The Secret Garden? Because you already know most of the words by heart?"

Avery looked at him like she couldn't believe he solved a very complex riddle. "Yes."

He nodded and asked, "Would you like to be able to read other books, too? Because glasses would definitely help with that."

She shrugged and sniffed as she said, "I like books about gardens and flowers and fairies. I don't know of any other ones I would like anyway."

Bob patted her on the shoulder one more time and said, "I like those kinds of books, too. And I think I can help you get glasses that look cool and help you pick out more books. If you'll let me."

Another partial shrug was his only answer, but at least she wasn't telling him no. As he climbed back into the driver's seat, he sent you a quick text telling you that he and Avery were fine and to go ahead and have dinner on your own. Then he drove along to his optometrist's office, hoping they would squeeze an extra appointment into their schedule.

"You're in luck," the receptionist told him when they arrived. "There was a last minute cancellation. Have a seat, and we can take you back shortly."

The rack hanging on the wall was filled with books and magazines for people of all ages, but Bob watched Avery squint as she took a seat empty handed. He skimmed a magazine and offered to read an article to her, but she said no. When ten minutes had passed, Bob asked her, "Are the kids at school mean to you?"

He was already considering other options that might make her feel more comfortable when she said, "I just don't fit in. Everyone else has parents or grandparents. Everyone else is loud, and I like it better when it's quiet. Everyone else already made friends."

Bob nodded his head. It was like she was living his own childhood in many ways. "I like it better when it's quiet, too. So does my wife. And making friends can be hard at any age. I still struggle with it."

"You do?" she asked him, eyes wide and interested.

"Absolutely. Sometimes I still get nervous and stumble over what I want to say, and I'm thirty-nine. And you know what?"

"What?"

"There's nothing wrong with that."

He watched Avery take a deep breath and look down at her hands before both of their names were called. Once they were in the exam room, Bob got to witness her fail the test for the second time in one day, and then her tears started up again. The crying was only made worse when the receptionist popped in and tried to quietly tell Bob that Avery wasn't approved for any vision insurance.

The child was clearly smart as a whip, and if she was having a hard time fitting in at school, he didn't want to make it worse by making her feel like she didn't fit in with you and him either. "I was planning on paying out of pocket today," he told the receptionist who just nodded in response. Then he turned to Avery and said, "Looks like the nurse was right. How about we pick out some glasses?"

She looked at the displays while she wiped at her eyes with a tissue, but she wouldn't tell Bob which ones she wanted to try on. "Which ones are the cheapest?" she asked softly.

"I have no idea," Bob replied easily. "What's your favorite color?"

"Purple," she whispered, and Bob followed her squinting gaze to a purple frame sitting on a shelf above her head.

"I like purple, too," he said as he reached them down and handed them to her. She held them for a couple minutes, and Bob decided not to rush her. She finally slipped them on and looked in the mirror, and he told her, "I think they look cool."

She nodded a little bit. "They're pretty good. But nobody else at school has purple glasses."

As she removed them and tried to hand them back to him, Bob quickly looked at the adult sized frames. There was one pair that came in a deep purple, and he kind of liked them. "Just hang onto those for a minute. I need help picking out new glasses for myself, okay? What do you think about these?"

When he removed his wire frames and replaced them with the purple plastic, it seemed like Avery couldn't help but smile. "I like them."

He nodded once. "Then I'll get them. That way we can match since we both like purple. Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome," she replied quietly, looking at the glasses she was still holding before handing them to Bob.

He took both pairs in his hand before nodding toward the door. "I'm feeling like it's a good day to get ice cream for dinner and look around the bookstore. I can think of at least two more books that you might like to read once your glasses are ready for you to wear. Sound good?"

"Yes."

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

You didn't know what to expect when Bob brought Avery home after seven o'clock on a school night, but you definitely weren't prepared to hear her laughter for the first time. You'd barely made any progress on your novel since Avery arrived a few weeks ago, merely existing in your own funk all day long. But the sound of Bob's voice followed by her light giggle as they walked inside left you feeling better than you had in ages.

"Hi," you said, your voice dripping with optimism as Bob headed your way with a shopping bag in his hand.

"Hi, Honey," he replied, kissing your cheek while Avery took her shoes off.

"How was school?" you asked her.

"Terrible," she told you with a smile aimed up at Bob. "I failed my eye exam."

"Oh," you gasped, already making a mental note to call the eye doctor first thing in the morning so she could get some glasses. "We can take care of it for you."

"Already did," Bob said as he squeezed your hand. "Stopped on the way home and picked them out. Should be ready next week."

"Really?" you asked in surprise as he pulled two books out of the bag. Both were covered in vines and flowers, but one was clearly a novel for an adult while the other was much slimmer and looked like it was for Avery's reading level.

"Yes," he replied softly. "Now, on the drive home, I told Avery that you're a writer, but that you're also really good at reading books out loud." When you nodded and looked at her, she was squinting up at you. Bob handed you the smaller book and said, "I didn't get to take a shower before I left work, so I need to go do that now. But I promised Avery that you'd read a chapter to her after she gets ready for bed." He patted her on the shoulder and then made his way upstairs.

Your head was swimming with information. New glasses and new books and a child who was looking up at you with hope in her eyes. A husband who set up some time for you to spend alone with her. Tears stung your eyes as you said, "I love reading books out loud. Do you want to change for bed and brush your teeth now?"

Ten minutes later, you were sitting next to Avery on the spare bed, reading to her about a magical garden filled with flowers that turned the characters into superheroes. You read all sixteen pages of the first chapter, and then she asked you to read more.

It was a little bit past bedtime when you finished the third chapter, and she was yawning. "How about I go get you one of my bookmarks from my office? And we can read more tomorrow night?"

"Okay," she replied easily, and when you returned a minute later with a bookmark that had a purple tassel, she smiled. "I like this book so far, but I think I'd like it a lot better if there were fairies, too. Thank you for reading to me."

"You're very welcome," you told her, barely shutting off the light in time for a tear to slide down your cheek. "Goodnight, Avery."

When you rushed into your own bedroom, Bob was in bed reading the other new book. "How did you do it?" you asked him, quickly climbing under the covers with him. "How did you get her to open up a little bit?"

He set the book down with a soft smile. "She just needed some time, Honey. She's a lot like me. She can't be rushed."

"No," you said, pushing your fingers through his hair as you cried a little bit. "That's not it. I think you're actually magical."

"Maybe," he agreed. "But her vision is so bad. That's why I think she kept reading The Secret Garden. She probably has it memorized and didn't want to tell anyone she couldn't see."

"Poor thing," you whispered, realizing that most of Bob's magic came from his patience as you fell asleep in his arms.

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

A week later, Bob noticed you were exhausted, but you seemed a lot happier, because Avery seemed a lot happier. You had successfully read two books to her, and she was starting to become more vocal around the house. He was hoping she was having an easier time making friends at school now, too. But he was a little bit concerned with how late into the night you'd been working.

When he got a message around lunchtime letting him know both pairs of glasses were ready, he smiled. Pretty soon Avery would be able to attempt reading a new book on her own. He sent you a text letting you know that he'd be home with Avery after a quick stop back at the optometrist's office. And when he picked her up from school, she squinted at his car before climbing in the backseat.

"Ready to go get our new glasses?" he asked before pulling out onto the road.

"Yes," she replied softly. "I've decided that wearing glasses is a better alternative than not being able to read new books. At least until I can get contacts."

Bob chuckled. "A wise choice."

A few seconds later, she asked, "Will you take me to the library this weekend? There have to be more books there that I'd like."

"Of course I'll take you to the library. We can ask the librarian to help you find you as many books as you want to read."

He hoped that would make the new glasses an even easier decision for her. He parked and led her inside where the eye doctor got them both fitted correctly before handing them a mirror. "What do you think?" Bob asked as he smiled at Avery. "I think they look cool on you."

She shrugged. "They're okay."

"Can you see better?"

"Yes," she whispered. On the way outside, she said, "Thanks for getting new glasses with me. I like yours, too."

Bob checked himself in the mirror before he backed out of the parking spot. "I think it's kind of my color."

You were waiting in the living room for them when Bob opened the front door. The house smelled like dinner cooking, and you had a stack of bound pages on the couch next to you. When you jumped to your feet, you said, "You both look great!" as you bounced in place a little bit.

"Purple is kind of our color," Avery said, making Bob laugh as you covered your massive smile with your fingertips.

"It really is," you replied, wrapping Bob in a quick hug before cautiously placing your hand on Avery's shoulder for a beat. "I have something I wanted to show you. I was hoping to get your opinion."

"Me?" she asked, looking up at you, eyes wide behind her purple frames.

"Yes," you told her softly. "I've been working on a new story for the past week, and I really think you'll be able to help me with the ending."

"What kind of story?" she asked you, and Bob slowly made his way into the kitchen where he could still hear the two of you talking.

"Well," you told her as she joined you on the couch, "it's about a fairy who gets invited to live in a magic garden. And she starts to learn how to use magic herself while a friendly witch and a kind wizard supervise her. And the garden is really pretty, and she loves it there and starts to make friends with the other creatures. Do you want to take a look at it?"

"Okay."

Bob hovered in the doorway and watched you hand the bound manuscript to the little girl next to you while you chewed nervously on your lip. He knew you wanted this to work out; he did too. He was also very surprised that you'd been working on this for the past week without sharing your secret even with him. But it truthfully wasn't really for him. It was for her. And you.

The child looked up at you and whispered, "You named the fairy Avery."

You just nodded and smiled. "Your name is so pretty, and you remind me of the kind of little girl who would have magic inside her."

Avery turned back to the page in front of her and snuggled in a little bit closer to you. She started reading out loud, and after a few pages, handed it over to you for a little bit. The two of you went back and forth like this for an hour before Bob carried in two plates of dinner and set them on the coffee table.

"Even magic fairies get hungry," he said softly before leaving both of you to the story.

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

When you woke up a few weeks later on Avery's ninth birthday, you were beyond exhausted. The past few nights had been late ones for you as you tried to finish up and edit the story you'd been working on. The title that the two of you came up with was The Littlest Fairy in the Garden, and you were just as proud of this as your true crime releases.

Then you realized that there was actually a reason why you woke up. You could hear Bob talking. It sounded like he was on the phone even though it was barely eight o'clock. You climbed out of bed and stretched before finding him sitting on the floor in the walk-in closet talking softly on the phone in his pajama pants, undershirt and purple glasses.

"I'm sure she's going to agree with me. We want to move forward if that's what Avery wants, but I'll call you back in an hour or two. Thank you so much."

He ended the call right when you asked, "Who was that?"

Bob jumped a bit as he looked up at you with a tentative smile. "Our lawyer," he whispered.

"What did they say?" you whispered back as he got to his feet and wrapped his arms around you.

When Bob's lips found your ear, you shivered at his words. "It was just a preliminary conversation, but they asked if we would be interested in pursuing adoption."

"With Avery?" you gasped, and he nodded against you.

"Yes. With Avery."

Tears filled your eyes as you clung to him. You thought about all the books she'd been reading with you and the birthday cake waiting in the kitchen. You could practically still smell the oatmeal cookies she and Bob made a few days ago. You could picture her smile and imagine her laughter, both of which were coming more easily with each passing day. "I want to adopt her. She belongs here. With us."

"I think so, too," he replied immediately, and you could hear the unshed tears in her voice. "I think we should have a conversation with her about it today. The process could take a little time, but I want to be sure it's what she wants as well."

You nodded, a jerky motion against him as your heart pounded faster and faster. "Let's talk about it when she wakes up."

Bob led you downstairs to the kitchen, his fingers laced with yours, and he started to crack some eggs while you made coffee and fresh orange juice. Avery had picked the menu for each meal today for her birthday, and the plan was to take her to the zoo after lunch. There was currently a purple banner with flowers and fairies on it stretched across the kitchen along with a large assortment of balloons. You couldn't remember being this excited about something in such a long time.

"Good morning," came a soft voice from the bottom of the stairs, and you nearly dropped a mug on the floor as you turned to look at her.

"Happy birthday!" you and Bob replied in unison, and then all three of you started laughing.

Without another word, Avery made her way into the kitchen in her Minnie Mouse pajamas and gave you a hug around the waist. You gasped softly as you hugged her back, her purple glasses pressing against you. Then she tucked herself against Bob's side and hugged him right after that. "Thanks for all the birthday stuff. And thanks for being so nice to me and getting me glasses and everything."

You and Bob shared a look over her head as he rubbed his hand along her shoulder. "It makes us happy that you're here, Avery," he said softly, and you had to swipe at your tears. "Let's have your breakfast, and maybe we can talk about making this permanent."

"Permanent? Like me staying here for a while?" she asked softly as she looked up at him.

"Like you staying here forever."

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

This is a little birthday treat for @wkndwlff! I hope you have a great day, Taylor! I set out to write a nice little story based on this mood board, but somehow it turned into this angsty thing instead. Thanks to @sylviebell @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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vigilante-3073 · 5 months ago

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Flowers In Bloom

Logan Howlett X Female Mutant Reader

Summary: A glimpse into Logan's life with his significant other.

TW: Pre-established relationship, Logan being a lovesick puppy, mutant abilities, pregnancy.

Logan never expected to get a happy ending for himself. His life had always been filled with anger and pain, a cycle that he believed would continue until his life eventually came to an end. Logan's outlook on his life began to change when he met Y/N L/N through Charles Xavier.

Y/N was a teacher at Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters and she absolutely loved her job. Y/N had the ability to control plant life and the children loved it.

Logan watched Y/N as she knelt in the grass with one of her students, bright pink flowers sprouting up from the soil around them. The little girl smiled widely, letting out a happy squeal as she spun around in the flowers.

Y/N smiled, carefully picking one of the flowers and tucking it behind the young girl's ear.

Logan found himself smiling softly as he watched her, admiring the woman he had come to love so deeply. Y/N brought him to life and he was finally able to see a future that was different from the one he had always imagined.

Everything Y/N touched turned to light and love, putting Logan at ease in a way that he had never experienced before. He didn't believe in soulmates, but she would definitely be his if he did.

Logan watched the little girl collect the flowers from Y/N before running off to give them to her friends. Y/N observed the girl for a moment before she stood up from the grass, brushing the dirt from her knees.

Y/N was great with kids and Logan hoped that he would be able to give her a child of her own one day. She would be an excellent mother and any kid would be lucky to have her.

Y/N seemed to feel his gaze on her, turning her head in his direction, he watched her face light up when she realized that he had returned from his mission. Y/N ran to him, Logan moved towards her and opened his arms. He caught her as she collided with his chest, holding her tightly in his embrace.

"Missed you so much, baby," He mumbled.

"I missed you too," She replied.

He pulled away slightly, her fingers tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck, bringing his lips to her's in a passionate kiss. Logan's hands shifted to rest on her hips, thumbs circling her hipbones gently as they kissed.

"Mister Logan," A soft voice called, the pair broke apart quickly. Logan smiled at the bright red flush that darkened Y/N's cheeks at the interruption.

"What can I do for you, bub?" Logan asked, looking down at the young girl.

"Do you want a flower? Miss Y/N grew them," She said, holding up a pink flower.

"She did, huh? Then I definitely have to have one," Logan said, accepting the flower from the girl, "Thank you, little miss," He said.

"You're welcome," The girl chirped before running off to hand out the remaining flowers.

Logan brought the flower up between them, spinning the stem between his thumb and forefinger before carefully tucking it behind Y/N's ear.

"Beautiful," He muttered, leaning in to give her another kiss.

...

Y/N moved through the hallways of the school with a large stack of books in her arms. She had raided Xavier's library for some resources to use in her lesson for the day.

Y/N shifted the books in her arms, struggling to manage the weight, "Need a hand, baby?" Logan asked, stepping out of one of the various classrooms.

"That would be great actually," Y/N said, Logan took the heavy stack of books from her and tucked them under his arm. His other hand quickly founds her's, fingers fitting together easily as he walked her through the mansion towards her classroom.

Y/N shifted closer to his side as they walked, "What do you need all these books for anyways?" He asked.

"Mushrooms," Y/N said simply.

"You need this many books to explain a fungus?" Logan asked, looking down at her with a raised eyebrow.

"There is a lot that people don't know about mushrooms. They're actually pretty cool," She said.

"Maybe I'll stay for the lesson then," He said.

"Really?" Y/N asked, an excited smile spreading across her face.

"I could listen to you talk all day long and never get bored," Logan said, her cheeks flushed.

"You're sweet," Y/N replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Only for you," He stated.

Logan released her hand as they approached her classroom, opening the door for her. Logan allowed her to enter the room first before following after her.

Every available surface of her classroom was lined with plants, the bright colors and vivid greenery making the room look like a jungle.

Logan set the stack of books on the edge of her desk, "How much time do we have before your next class starts?" He asked.

"About twenty minutes, why?" She asked.

Logan's hands quickly found her hips, spinning her body around and backing her up against the nearest wall, "Just want you to myself for a bit," He said, leaning in and pressing his lips to her's.

Y/N smiled into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his body closer to herself. Logan slid his hands from her hips to settle on the small of her back as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

He pulled away slightly, "Baby, I got something to ask you," Logan said. Y/N's hands slid down from around his neck to rest against his chest. Her fingers tangled around the chain of his dog tags, "Can you kiss me some more before you ask whatever you need to ask?" She questioned breathlessly.

Logan smiled, "I think I can manage that," He said, leaning in and pressing his lips to her's again.

His hands slid up underneath the material of her shirt, his touch heating up her skin and making her heart race. She tugged on his dog tags, pulling him closer before her hand slid up to rest on the back of his neck.

Logan pulled away, watching her pout at the loss of contact, "I gotta ask my question, baby," He said, hands returning to her hips and giving them a gentle squeeze.

"What's your question?" Y/N asked.

"Will you marry me?" He questioned, her eyes widened, "Logan, are you- Are you serious?" She asked softly.

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out the small velvet box and flipping it open before holding it up in front of her. The engagement ring glittered in the light, "Marry me, baby," He repeated.

"Yes, yes, of course I'll marry you," Y/N said shakily, happy tears gathering in her eyes.

Logan smiled, pressing a quick kiss to her lips as he plucked the engagement ring from the box. He took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger carefully.

She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a tight embrace. He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly and burying his face in the crook of her neck.

"I love you," He said.

"I love you too. I love you so much," She replied.

...

Logan made his way across the grounds of the mansion towards the greenhouse. The sun had set a few hours ago and a chill was beginning to settle in as night fell. Dew lined the grass, dampening the material of his pants as he walked.

He approached the greehouse, opening the door and stepping inside. The air was warm and humid, the string lights casting a soft yellow glow over the rows of plants.

Y/N was standing in front of a collection of strawberry plants, holding her palms over the soil and watching the vines grow, weaving themselves through the metal trellises that had been wedged into the dirt of each pot.

Logan made his way over to her, "Bit late for gardening, don't you think?" He questioned.

"I couldn't get to sleep... The baby kept kicking and she wouldn't settle. I think she could tell that you were away," Y/N replied, watching the green strawberries on the vines ripen into bright red ones.

"I'm sorry," He said.

"For what?" Y/N questioned, looking over at him.

"She's been giving you a lot of grief," Logan said, nodding to her swollen belly.

"It's nothing I can't handle," She smiled reassuringly.

"I know... I just wish that I could do more for you," Logan said, moving closer to his wife.

A sudden feeling of nausea washed over her and she turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut as she gulped.

"What is it?" Logan asked gently, hand resting on the small of her back.

"If you want to do something to help," She started.

"Yes, anything," Logan replied instantly.

"The smell of your cigars has been making me really nauseous," She said.

"How long has that been going on?" He asked.

"Since I was about six weeks along," She admitted hesitantly.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" Logan asked.

"I thought that it would pass and it hasn't," She said.

"I'll quit tomorrow," He replied, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Thank you, honey," Y/N said.

"You don't have to thank me... You're growing our kid, I'll do whatever you need me to," He stated.

"I really want to kiss you but-" "The smell, I know... Tell you what, why don't we head up to the house? I can shower and then we can go to bed, how does that sound?" He offered.

"That would be amazing," Y/N replied.

"Good, let's get you to bed, baby," Logan said, taking her hand in his.

They walked up to the mansion and made their way through the hallways to their bedroom. Logan hopped into the shower as Y/N got changed and settled herself in their shared bed.

Y/N read a chapter of her book before Logan emerged from the bathroom, water droplets clinging to his skin and a towel wrapped snugly around his hips. Y/N stared at him over the top of her book, watching him change into a pair of boxers and pyjama pants.

Y/N set her book aside as he hung up his towel before making his way over to her. Y/N smiled, holding up her hands and cradling his jaw as she met his lips in a gentle kiss.

"That's the stuff," He mumbled against her lips before leaning in for another kiss. His fists pressed against the mattress on either side of her body, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

Logan pulled away, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before getting himself underneath the covers on his side of the bed. He laid down and Y/N quickly moved closer to him, laying down with her body pressed against his side and her head resting on his chest.

Logan wrapped his arm around her waist, his other hand settling on her bump. The baby kicked harshly against his hand, "Wow, you weren't kidding about those kicks," He chuckled.

"Yeah, feels like she's gonna start leaving bruises soon," Y/N said.

"Only a few more months until we get to meet her," Logan said, his thumb rubbing back and forth across her skin gently.

"Two months tomorrow," Y/N sighed.

"Two? Wow, that's coming up fast," He said.

Y/N nodded, "I know you're going to be great, honey. She loves you already," She said.

"Well, I don't think she could find a better mom than you even if she tried," Logan stated.

"I love you," Y/N said with a soft smile.

"I love you too, baby," Logan replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

#logan howlett #logan howlett imagine #logan howlet x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett xmen #x men #wolverine x reader #wolverine #logan howlet imagine

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dark-fics-4-you · 1 year ago

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Just This Once

@deceitfuldevout

Dark!stepbro!Rafe Cameron x f!reader

Warnings: noncon!! coercion, somno, dubious consent, incest relationship (step siblings), choking, unprotected sex, stealthing, forced pregnancy, unplanned pregnancy

A/N: reader is a year or two younger than Rafe in this, and a senior in high school at the time of this fic

Staring at the two plastic tests in your hand, you felt all the blood in your face drain.

Unfortunately there was no mistaking it. You had hoped that your cycle was just messed up, but you couldn’t deny the truth staring you right in the face.

You were pregnant, and the only person who could possibly be the father was none other than your older step brother.

But how could you be pregnant? Rafe had used a condom every time he had snuck into your bed late at night, aside from the first night which was over a year ago.

Hadn’t he?

You had never meant for any of this to happen, but now you felt utterly trapped.

The night Rafe had taken your virginity, you had both been drunk after a party. After taking more shots than you could count, you hadn’t put up much resistance when your step brother climbed into bed after you, before slowly peeling your clothes off of your limp body, caressing you and whispering sweet words in your ear the whole time.

“Just one time baby… please princess. ‘M dying to feel you.” His hands crept lower, reaching between your soft thighs.

“Rafe, what are you talking about?” You mumbled in confusion.

“I should be your first, Y/N. Not anyone else.” There was a determination in his eyes that you had seen many times before. It was the same look he had when was prepared to do whatever he needed to do to get what he wanted, and tonight it gave you shivers.

“My first what?”

Before you could realize what was actually happening, Rafe was already pushing the head of his cock past the resistance of your tight cunt, slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your surprised moan. Your hand flew up to press against his bare chest, trying to push him off of you, but your step brother smacked your hand away.

The way his cock was stretching you out made your toes curl. The alcohol coursing through your veins made his touch feel amplified and you couldn’t hold on to one thought long enough to grasp what was happening.

Your initial disgust gave way to pleasure when he began to move his hips against yours, and you babbled away drunkly against his hand as he fucked you slowly, trying to ignore the way your pussy clenched around him.

“Oh fuck-” he groaned when he pressed himself deeper into you. “You feel so good sis.”

Your head was spinning, and the rocking of your bed wasn’t helping you ground yourself. The pressure between your hips was building with every stroke of his thick length.

Every sensation was foreign, but somehow you were the most disturbed when Rafe took his hand from your mouth before smothering your lips with his own. Your stomach twisted as his soft lips moved against yours before he pushed his tongue into your mouth, and to your horror, you felt a twinge of twisted pleasure in your gut.

Rafe rutted into you faster, looking between your legs to watch his large cock disappear inside you, filling you up over and over again.

“You’re so sweet, baby. So sweet for saving yourself for me,” he was mumbling against your neck in between pressing sloppy kisses to your tender skin. “Mm I’m so fucking lucky.”

Pleasure and disgust were mingling in your gut, the way your pussy was pulsing around his dick and growing wetter with each thrust confused you

“Rafe?” You whined, looking up at him as he leered above you, pushing his cock into you faster now. You couldn’t help but notice the way his abs were flexing as he fucked you.

“That feel good, Y/N?” He cooed above you, enjoying the feeling of you trembling beneath you and clenching around him.

“Mm mm,” your head lolled back, chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to collect your thoughts, but the alcohol was making your head swim.

“God you’re so pretty. Such a good girl, letting your big brother take you like this. I always thought you were- fuck- always thought you were so uptight. I never dreamed my perfect little sis would be such a shameless slut for me.”

His words made your cheeks burn with embarrassment and you turned your head, eyes falling. You were forced to meet his eyes when he gripped your chin, twisting your neck and holding you in place.

“Look at me, I need those innocent eyes on me.” You nervously held his gaze, trying to swallow down the confusing feelings of looking at your step brother as he held you down and forcefully took your virginity.

“God I need to fill you up, Y/N.”

His words momentarily broke you out of your trance and you shook your head, protesting anxiously.

“Rafe no! I’m not on birth control-” his hand slapped over your mouth and your eyes widened as you looked up at your brother in fear.

“You’ll be fine, baby. I promise. Just this once.” His pace hadn’t faltered at your pleas, if anything he was fucking you harder now, large cock roughly pushing up into your pussy.

In your drunken confusion, you hadn’t noticed his hand moving until it was too late and you flinched when his fingers clenched around your throat.

You froze, terror paralyzing you. Rafe groaned at the feeling of you tightening around his cock, squeezing him even harder than before

You were so slick that the sound of Rafe’s dick plunging into you was echoing in your ears. His hot breath was fanning over your face and his thrusts were accompanied by low groans.

When the hand at your throat tightened, you cried out against the one covering your mouth.

Rafe chuckled darkly, “if only our parents could see their perfect daughter now. I wonder if they’d think of you the same if they knew how wet you were, all for your big brother.”

His words made you feel sick, but you didn’t have time to focus on them because Rafe was demanding your attention with his frantic thrusts.

His hair was disheveled, blue eyes drinking in your every sound and movement and when your pleading eyes finally met his again, it sent him over the edge.

Rafe’s grip on your neck tightened as he spilled himself deep inside your warmth. Your chest was heaving as you tried to catch your breath and calm your racing thoughts. A sick feeling was settling in your stomach, and you could feel his cum dripping between your puffy lips.

“What did you just do?” Your voice was barely a whisper, so quiet you didn’t know if he had heard you or not.

“Nothing that I haven’t wanted to do for years.” He responded with a chuckle that made your skin crawl and thighs squeeze together.

Rafe waking you up in the late hours of the night with his tongue became a regular occurrence. One of his strong arms would wrap around your thighs, preventing you from squirming away while he devoured your messy cunt, lazily pushing his fingers into you until you were trembling in his arms and cumming on his tongue.

You were tired out from your orgasm and it didn’t take much convincing from Rafe once he promised he had put on a condom before he was climbing on top of you, parting your legs, and pressing his cock to your soaked pussy and pushing himself inside of you.

It became a routine, with Rafe climbing into your bed in the middle of the night, never taking your sleepy protests seriously, and then pushing himself inside of you until your no’s became moans.

You had always trusted him when he told you that he put a condom on, and why would you believe otherwise?

Looking down at the tests, you felt like an idiot for thinking that you could trust him, especially after the way he had taken your virginity.

You tossed them into the trash before wrapping your arms around your waist and sighing.

What the fuck were you supposed to do now?

It’s not like you could tell your parents. You were the golden child of the family, the girl who had gotten straight A’s throughout all of school and was planned on going to college after graduating this year.

Although, you realized with a shock, how could you go to college and deal with a pregnancy and a then afterwards a child? Yes you had always excelled at school, but parenting was a whole other beast, and you still felt like too much of a kid yourself to be able to raise one!

You were terrified to tell Rafe, but to your surprise, he didn’t seem concerned at all when you told him that you were pregnant with his child. In fact, he almost looked excited.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you kept it,” he trailed off and you stared at him with a bewildered look on your face, expecting him to tell a punchline that never came.

“Rafe, you are my brother-!”

“Step brother,” he corrected you gruffly.

“It doesn’t matter, this is wrong!” You hissed. “I am not fucking having your baby Rafe!”

“I’m the father, Y/N!” His hand shot out, gripping your wrist hard and digging into your skin. “You aren’t the only one affected by this!”

“It’s my baby, it’s my body, it’s my decision! So I don’t want to hear any more about this. I’ve already decided!” You ripped your arm away from him, shaking your head in disbelief.

As you walked out of his room, you couldn’t ignore the feeling of his eyes following you as you as you left.

Two days later, you were surprised when you came home from hanging out at a friend’s house to find your mom, step father, and Rafe all waiting for you.

There was a horrible sinking feeling in your gut when Ward called you into his office and you saw them all there.

You were frozen with fear, but that quickly morphed into quiet rage when Ward explained why he needed to talk with you.

“Your brother just told me that you’re pregnant. Is this true?”

You swore you felt all of the air leave the room. You moved your tongue to speak, but it felt so heavy you couldn’t make a sound.

When you finally nodded your head, you saw your mother’s jaw drop.

“Who’s the father Y/N?” Ward’s voice was stern and demanding. You looked at your mom, but Rose offered no assistance, just shooting another disappointed look at you.

You dryly swallowed, eyes darting to Rafe who was standing behind Ward with his arms crossed, an amused smirk on his lips that all but dared you to tell your stepfather who had really been warming your bed.

More tears spilled past your lashes and you shook your head, pressing your lips together in a frown. Of course you couldn’t tell Ward and Rose it was Rafe, but it was not like you wanted to pin the blame on anyone else.

“I- I don’t know,” your eyes were on the floor but the heat of Ward’s glare made you feel like you were six feet under. You had seen Ward look at Rafe in this way so many times before, but he had never had a reason to scold you.

“You don’t know?” He repeated in disbelief, and you could feel your guilt and humiliation eating you alive.

“No, I don’t,” you quietly responded, daring to look up and meet his gaze, not missing the triumphant grin on Rafe’s face.

“What the fuck, Y/N?! I mean, you’ve never had a boyfriend in 17 years and now you’re knocked up and you don’t even know who the father is? You haven’t even graduated high school yet for Christ’s sake!” Ward spat at you, and you felt your face burning.

“I- I could get an abortion, I mean, I know we could afford it,” you stammered out, more tears falling and staining your cheeks.

“Like hell you will!” He shouted at you and you recoiled at his anger. “No child of mine is going to murder her baby. You know that goes against every one of our values, Y/N!”

You felt hopeless about the situation, and Ward was only making you feel worse. You could feel a panic attack coming on and you could barely breathe.

When you staggered away from him, trying to walk past him to leave, he moved in front of you, blocking your path.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

“For a drive!” You spat out in annoyance. You would come back and deal with the fallout of this later, but now you desperately needed space.

“You’re not going anywhere, Y/N. As of tonight, you’re grounded indefinitely. I can’t trust you to have a car if you’re going to be making so many irresponsible decisions.”

“But Ward! This isn’t fair!” You cried out in shock.

“Well, you should have thought about that before you got pregnant and tried to keep it a secret from me, Y/N!” His words shot through you, only compounding your helplessness in the situation.

Through it all, you couldn’t ignore Rafe’s burning gaze on you.

“The only time you’re allowed to leave this house is when you’re going to school or when in the company of me, your mom, or Rafe. Is that understood?”

“B-but what about with Sarah?” You asked, hopeful that he had just misspoken, but the shake of his head confirmed that it was intentional.

“I’m not gonna let you sneak out with her to see the same Pogues that probably got you pregnant in the first place! Now give me your car keys.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you handed your car keys and freedom away. You couldn’t believe that Ward finding out had gone this bad, and there was only one person to blame for telling him.

Rafe.

As if taking your virginity, fucking you against your will several times, and now knocking you up wasn’t enough for him.

Now he had even more control over you, and seeing as Ward had just grounded you, it’s not like you could get away from him at home.

With tears still burning in your eyes, you ran to your room, locking the door behind you and collapsing onto your bed to cry.

You must have fallen asleep at some point because the next time you cracked your eyes open, you realized it was pitch black outside your window.

There was a clicking sound coming from the other side of your door, and by the time your exhausted brain put together what it could be, your door was swinging open and then closing shut again as Rafe stalked in.

“You should know by now that a locked door won’t stop me, Y/N,” he chuckled cruelly. You sat up in bed, now wide awake as adrenaline coursed through your body. Your eyes were locked on Rafe as he approached the foot of your bed.

“Rafe, please! If you don’t leave right now, I swear to god, I’ll scream.” Your threats did nothing to deter him. He was bigger than you, stronger. Overpowering you was easy for him.

Which is why you knew he was pissed when he was using more force than usual, he wanted to hurt you for daring to lock him out of your room. You were stunned into silence after he landed a slap on your cheek that left your ears ringing.

Rafe chuckled as he discarded his shorts before tugging at and ripping your clothes, “I’m gonna miss roughing you up, Y/N. Won’t be able to do that in a couple weeks.”

You struggled against him hard, but you were never any match for your older brother’s strength.

You cried when he held your legs open and forced himself inside you. Your tight walls weren’t prepared, and for a few moments he just held you in place as he basked in the feeling of you clenching around his cock before tilting his hips back and pushing into you again.

At the sound of your cry, one of Rafe’s hands snaked around your throat, while the other covered your mouth, insuring that you couldn’t be too loud.

He was filling you up to the brim with every stroke, anger evident in his speed, which was now picking up.

“They always liked you more than me,” he hissed, venom dripping for his voice as he pushed his cock into you at a brutal pace. “Well let’s see how much Ward and Rose like you now that you’re a disappointment too.”

#rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron noncon #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #stepbro!rafe cameron #rafe cameron dubcon #just this once

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bulgingforbucky · 7 months ago

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Helping Hand

NSFW Warning: Eating out, Fingering, Missionary I want the human version of big bird right neow like look at him hitting those balls when he needs to hit his balls on my ass <3

"Please just, let me show you how a man is supposed to treat you." His tongue comes in contact with your swollen clit as a gasp comes from you. Art moves with a mix of caution and nervousness gripping your thighs. He groans against your pussy as he starts to concentrate on doing a great job for you.

"You taste so good." He mumbles against your pussy as he squeezes your soft thighs. His tongue laps at your pussy desperately sucking on your clit for a second before he goes back to licking. You can hear the wetness as his mouth makes repeated contact with your achy pussy. The feeling of his slightly rough hands on your thighs feels good, they're big, and squeeze the soft flesh of your thigh as he pleasures you.

He put pressure on your slit flicking it up and down slurping softly on your wetness trying to taste more of you. Teasing he pushes his tongue more onto your slit wanting his tongue inside, your cunt pulses in response to his actions. You squirm trying to move away from the overwhelming feeling but also want to chase it, you don't know what you want. Art watches your movements closely feeling out what he should and shouldn't do, he once again slightly pushes past your slit with his warm tongue watching your reaction.

With the way you're moaning and gripping the sheets, he's taking this as a positive reaction as he slowly starts to push his tongue inside very slowly not wanting to surprise you. A small whimper comes from you as you clench on his tongue as he starts to move his tongue before pulling it out and replacing it again in a continuous cycle.

Soft groans escape your mouth as you try to grind on his face trying to satisfy your sensitivity that's coursing through your body. With the pace of the man's tongue increasing, your body jerks as your sounds of pleasure start to increase. Your thighs lock on his head as you shake, Art rarely reacts to this action as he continues his movements.

"Art I can't, it's too much." You whine as you writhe on the soft bed below you making Art chuckle against you and sending vibrations to your needy cunt. His tongue moves slightly faster as your head spins slightly. "Art please I can't." the gasps coming from you quicken looking down at him.

Your legs twitch occasionally before you squeeze his head with your thighs letting out a whine trying to push his head back. Art pulls back looking at you seeing you panting and flushed out. "Ok I'll give you a break." he whispers before his thumb makes contact with your clit as it almost immediately throbs against his finger.

Art rubs his finger in slow circles on your bud making it glisten as you moan softly. Your hips roll in need as he keeps the same pace on your sensitive bud. You beg softly for more making him look up at you, "You sure?" Art asks with caution.

God for a man to want you so bad but still nervous he'll go too far and make you uncomfortable is so hot.

You nod in desperation before his index rubs against your wet slit making your pussy clench around nothing. "Art please?" The slight beg eggs art on before he starts to push his finger inside your weeping hole. The noise you let out is small but he can hear the distress in your voice. "I know what you need." Art moves his finger as you gasp nibbling on your bottom lip moving your hips trying to get more from him.

"Your pussy is aching huh? Need relief that bad?" Art teases as you clench on his digit wanting more. "Art don't tease me." You say in a breathless tone. "I need more, right now." You look down at him seeing the desire all over his face. "Want me to fuck you? Right now?" He asks to which you immediately say yes.

Art takes off his sweatpants and then his boxers as you see his hard leaking cock. "You want this?" he asks getting on top of you. "I need it." You correct him before he leans down and kisses you before he starts to move his cock on your clit. "Art I thought I said no teasing." You moan as the small wetness starts to mix.

Art grabs his cock before he positions it toward your entrance looking at you for confirmation. You nod before Art starts to push inside as you control your breathing trying to relax. Once he is fully seated he lets you adjust before he starts prepping kissing over your face. Testing the water he slowly starts to rock against you.

Feeling him you moan as your body clamps down on him. "Oh fuck..." he exclaims getting into the rhythm. The feeling of his cock makes your core flutter around him squeezing a groan out of Art. The wetness that's heard between you two makes his cock throb inside.

"I'm guessing you like what I'm doing, right?" He asks making sure that he is satisfying you properly. "You feel good, you're so thick." Art chuckles, "Yeah? It's filling you up nice?" You nod as you try to move your hips against him. The man leans down kissing your jaw pinning you down and keeping you in place as you shudder against him leaning into his kisses.

Art's hips move back and forth as he concentrates on making you feel good with his cock. "Oh my God baby." He moans kissing you. "God you feel so good." Art moans as he rocks his hips gripping yours as he throws his head back.

"Art give it to me please, God I need your cock so bad." You beg in need as you look up at him, the grunts coming from him are such a turn-on as the wet sounds progressively get louder. His cock leaks precum inside you as he winces slightly.

"Fuck your pussy so good baby, squeezing my cock so tight." He pulls your hips to meet his as your breasts bounce from the rocking. You squirm from the feeling as you scratch his arm needing to hold something then wrapping your legs around his waist you pull him as close as you can get him.

"Jesus baby my balls are so heavy right now, they're so full of cum." Art says heavily as he grinds into you, that sentence alone makes your pussy squeeze him as you let out a whimper moaning his name. You grind on his cock trying to get more of what you're craving from him. "Right there baby like that yes." The blonde moans as he pumps his achy cock into you.

His cock starts to hit your sensitive spot as you cry out dipping your fingers into his skin. Art reacts in slight pain as he lets out a shaky breath, "Right there? That's your spot?" He asks with a slightly cocky attitude. "Yes, Art please don't stop it feels so good please." You unhook your legs from his waist spreading them wide begging him. "I got you, I'll make you cum you know I will." He reassures you as he feels you tighten around him.

"That's it baby let me hit that spot." His cock keeps hitting the same spot that makes you beg for more. Your hands shake slightly before you grab his shoulders squeezing them with all your might to keep you grounded. "I'm gonna cum." You moan as Art keeps the same pace feeling his cock twitch. "That's what I want, need you to soak my cock, make a mess." Art kisses your forehead holding you close as you repeatedly beg him to make you cum.

He keeps bumping that same spot before your hearing goes out as your cunt clamps down him on him as you release. You close your eyes as you can feel Art fuck you through your orgasm and you whine hanging onto him for dear life. Art presses both of your foreheads together as he pants. "That's it there you go baby milk my cock."

Your sensitivity levels go up after your orgasm subsides as his thrust starts to go slower trying to bring himself to the edge. You wince slightly as Art kisses you, "I know you're sensitive I'm almost there bare with me ok." He grabs your hand squeezing it as you return the gesture. The man keeps at the action as he moans before he starts to feel himself getting on the edge,

"I'm gonna going to cum, going to cum for you." Art lets a slight whine slip as his cock pulses. "Come on Art cum for me, cum inside." You encourage as Art speeds up his thrust moaning before feeling you clench one last time before he starts to cum inside you. You grind your hips helping him go through his orgasm as he shakes against you trying to push his cock deeper into you as he possibly can.

Art sighs in satisfaction before he kisses you softly and pulls out of your sore cunt. You lean into him feeling his arms wrap around you as you sigh in from the intense orgasm both of you shared.

#art donaldson #art donaldson smut #mike faist smut #mike faist #art challengers #challengers #zendaya #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig #wrap it before you tap it

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submattenthusiast · 3 months ago

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3.5 dealer!chris

you shouldn't be here, shouldn't have came back but, to you he was irresistible. christopher sturniolo. it was irritating how on and off you were with him. one moment he wanted to be with you and would lay low on dealing and smoking, the next he was silently sliding from under the warmth of your sheets in the middle of the night — disappearing once again.

ripping his shirt off his chest with eager, and you already topless, the cycle continued. "you really missed me huh?" he'd say with cocky grin painting his lips. you shut him up quickly by smashing your lips against his, the bitter taste of weed filling your mouth instantly. this is why you couldn't leave him alone for long, the feeling that he gave you was irreplaceable; no substance, no person, no object could make you feel the way he did — unfortunately. the heavy makeout distracted you from feeling his hands making their way up your waist. without separation, he flipped you over with head spinning speed.

breaking the heated kiss, chris gave his lips something else to focus on, never breaking eye contact with you. "ya look good mama, gonna let me have you this time?" he mumbled as he kissed down your thighs, just around your soaked pussy. "no" is what you should say, is what your heart is begging you to tell him for once — but you can't the lust you feel for him is too strong. whispering out a hushed yes is all you can do, in your mind a quiet yes is somehow better than a full blown confident yes.

the spark of the lighter brought you back to your situation. your head laid against his bare chest, watching him as he sparked up. high when you called him, high when you fucked, still faded now but he was feigning for more. just like you in a way, wanting to feel the high you felt when you were with him, all the time. the smoke filled your senses, and clouded the room as the blunt was shared between you both. an intimate moment that you relished while it lasted. "3.5 just to help me sleep" he jokes, putting out the blunt.

for once everything you had with chris felt real, maybe it was the weed flowing through your system, maybe it was the closeness of both of your bodies, you couldn't pinpoint it exactly but you enjoyed this feeling. not knowing how quickly it would come crashing down. dozing off on his chest as the high hit you like a truck, your eyes shut, thinking finally he would stay the night. wrong again.

confused, you sat up from the spot chris was just occupying. "you're leaving?" a nod was shot your way was he continued to redress in your mirror, rashly as if was in a hurry to leave you. "got a deal, guys' paying double since it's last minute". sat on the edge of the bed to slip his timbs on he gave yet another excuse. "what about me, can it wait?" you pathetically ask, of course it couldn't wait, he was gonna leave whether he had a deal or not, but you had hope for some on reason. "you get prioritized if it's profit involved" he whispered, kissing your head before slipping away — again.

heavily inspired by 3.5 by ian.

#chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #christopher sturniolo angst #jules writes ★ ˙📓 ̟!!

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mollysunder · 5 months ago

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I know Heimerdinger's Christian Linke's favorite character, and I sort of tolerated it in s1, but now it feels like things are a little too indulgent. Heimerdinger gets to team up with Ekko to launder his reputation through Ekko and the Firelights. Heimerdinger gets the first narrative game and second character teaser in the promotional cycl. Heimerdinger gets to SING A SONG that's included on the s2 Arcane soundtrack (Spin the Wheel).

Maybe I'd be less annoyed if the show at least did more to acknowledge Heimerdinger's failings as a leader, but his character description can't even do that. This is how the official Arcane website describes Heimerdinger:

"Heimerdinger warned the Piltover Council about the dangers of using magic without tangible solutions for safeguarding its use. Learning from his mistakes with Jayce, Heimerdinger inspires Ekko to keep looking for a solution and works with him to solve the problem, instead of just offering advice."

That's not Heimerdinger's main problem! The problem is the fact he's the person most singularly responsible for the state of Zaun and Piltover. It feels like the show and the cast are just dancing around the fact that Heimerdinger technically has the highest body count in the show (Day of Ash, pollution, extreme poverty, etc). The one time someone puts him to task (Jayce), the show makes it seem like Jayce is wrong or overstepped, and yeah he did do it for Viktor's sake, but Jayce was right! Heimerdinger's bad at his job, he shouldn't be in a leadership position if he's a bad leader.

#arcane #arcane ramble #heimerdinger #they probably didn't include heimer in the scene where the council gives the greenlight for enforcers #to shakedown zaun #but inaction is still a choice it's still a failing politically and morally #it still makes him look bad and i don't know if the showrunners really get WHY #that's why the decision to have Ekko be paired with Heimerdinger is so baffling #it ignores the weight of the Heimerdinger's impact as a leader and is frankly a disservice to Ekko's character #and really any character from zaun or even piltover that cannot take the 2 nanoseconds it requires to recognize how heimerdinger failed them #and the explanation that ekko respects heimerdinger as an inventor and they connect as such is kind of ridiculous #does that mean if silco had an engineering degree suddenly he and ekko could be bffs?#alright I've said my piece about this oversized troll doll #maybe I'll say more after s2 #almost definitely #also I'll always be on Jayce's side for kicking heimerdinger out #he was objectively rught that heimerdinger shouldn't be there #Heimerdinger's still president of the Academy he's just not council member #why work in policy if you're uniterested politics?

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orcasoul · 3 months ago

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The Lesser of Two Evils

Chapter summery: Condemned to a life of forced servitude by your own people, every monotonous day is a never ending cycle of despair and humiliation. But one day a mysterious Roman is brought to your village...

Warnings: Swearing, smut (eventual), threats of rape, sexual harassment, violence, gore, detailed injuries, angst, enemies(ish) to lovers, protective Marcus Acacius, age gap, OFC/reader

A/N: While daydreaming of this tale I envisioned it happening in Germania (thanks to the first Gladiator movie) so Alia/reader is Germanic. She's mid 30's, has long hair and is smaller than Marcus Acacius. I have done a bit of research of the ancient Germans as well as Ancient Romans but there will, no doubt be a lot of historical inaccuracies but hey, it's fan fiction baby, so anything goes! I hope you all enjoy...

Word count: 5,173

Chapter 1 The General

The chaos is unrelenting, spreading like the roots of a weed, destroying everything it touches. The deafening clanging of steel against steel, the anguished screams of men in their last moments, the earth turning red; it's brutal and harrowing and raw, but it's necessary. It's for the glory of Rome. That truth alone is enough to drive Marcus Acacius in his rage fuelled onslaught. Body after body falls as his sword meets enemy flesh, every man put down means one less adversary for Rome.

With adrenaline and purpose flowing through him, he advances beside his men, slowly but surely, the goal seemingly just within reach. Impossible to tell if the sludgy ground beneath his feet is saturated with rain or blood. Impossible to tell the difference between the roars and wails of his brothers in arms and that of his foes. The carnage intensifies with every heaving breath, the sickening stench of iron assaulting his senses as he mercilessly ends yet another life, the heat from his victims blood steaming against the frigid air as it drips from his Gladius (sword).

A quick glance at his surroundings reveals a much more devastating encounter than Marcus had anticipated. The Gutones are a savage and ignorant people but they are cleary also very formidable. It will make the conquest all the more glorious for Rome. So, Marcus thunders on, meeting combatant after combatant in a gruelling test of strength and endurance. After dispatching his latest victim - some foolish man-child who believed he could take on a seasoned general, of all people - he turns to check over his shoulder just as a very large brute swings at his head with an axe. Marcus ducks at the last second, grinning at the now enraged man as he prepares for another swing.

Marcus counters the blow, holding his sword horizontally above his head. He throws the axe to the side, the momentum taking his attacker with it, causing him to stumble. Marcus, seizing the opportunity granted to him, spins to face the man, sword poised to deliver the final blow. In a split second Marcus is on his knees, a hot stabbing pain shooting across the back of his right thigh. Despite the throbbing and spasming in his leg, Marcus tries to stand but it's futile; all strength in his leg is gone. Looking up he's met with a sadistic and victorious smile from his assailant as he raises the axe above his head, ready to strike.

This is it! This is how it ends. In these last precious seconds of his life, Marcus becomes overwhelmed with a myriad of emotions and thoughts; what will become of his men? Will whomever succeeds him as general be worthy and commited to Rome? Will he be remembered and honoured for his steadfast dedication to expanding the empire? Marcus refuses to close his eyes for this moment; he will look his death defiantly in his cold blue eyes, refusing to show even an ounce of the crippling fear he feels right now.

Just as the object of his death swings towards him, a deep voice booms from behind him. "Alive! We need him alive!" The man before him stops mid swing, looking furiously in the voices' direction. However, before Marcus can look back the big brute flips his axe. The last thing Marcus sees is the thick, blunt handle, thrust towards his face before the world turns black.

Cold, dark, wet. That's what Marcus Acacius opens his eyes to. This is not Elysium. There's no warm sunshine, no cooling west wind, no lush green meadows with brooks of water and wine. In place of tranquillity and bliss there is only pain and suffering. Did he not lead a virtuous life? Why does Elysium not embrace him? He fights against the pull of his eyelids, rolling onto his back as his foggy mind struggles to make sense of his surroundings. It's the sudden and intense surge of pain in his leg that startles him back into reality. He's very much alive.

Wide eyed and groaning, Marcus reaches down to feel the afflicted area, fingers finding a damp and crudely applied strip of cloth. His instincts abruptly return, willing him to rise, to fight and survive. But instinct and will alone cannot overcome physicality. His vision darkens in the subdued torchlight as he tries - and fails - to push himself up, limbs aching and head throbbing furiously. He falls, landing face down on the muddy ground. Rolling over, he wipes the cold mud from his eyes and mouth, anger and frustration quickly building. His blurry vision clears only to reveal what looks like thick and rough wooden bars.

A cage! He's locked up like some worthless dog. The shame of it! Death would have been the favourable option, not this. Never this! "Well, look who's finally awake," a mocking voice jeered as the cage door swung open. Marcus gathered what remained of his strength and pushed himself up sit up, back resting against the cage bars and chest heaving from exertion. A man about his build and height wearing animal hyde and simple trousers strode over to Marcus, looking down on him like he was nothing more than horse shit. Marcus returned the sentiment by fixing him with a glare of pure revulsion.

"Who do you think you are staring at, slave!" The man literally spat at Marcus' feet. "Get in here!" he yelled impatiently while keeping eye contact with Marcus, no doubt to try and intimidate him. Marcus sat in confusion for a moment until movement behind the man caught his attention. You were quite small in stature compared to the lout barking orders at you, but that could also be due to the fact you had your head lowered and shoulders tucked into yourself, an unmistakable defensive posture. "Clean him up," his big meaty hand shoved you forward, nearly causing you to spill the fresh water from the jug you're carrying.

You managed to find your footing just before you almost fell into the prisoner. You dare not look at his face; the face of a monster. Never have you had to face a Roman before. You've heard countless stories about the "Red Demons" who consume the world, leaving death and destruction in their wake, and now you stand before one. You're not sure what to expect. Despite your best effort to remain collected, your hands begin to shake in fear. "Make sure he lives if you know what's good for you. He's no use to us dead."

Dread licks up your spine at the threat. With a lingering sneer thrown at the general, the man began to walk away, but stopped by the gate. "Careful around around that savage." You could hear the smirk in his mock warning. "Men like that always take what they like from women. It would be a shame if he defiled you, being the animal that he is." The sudden slam of the gate made you jump, the sound of the lock clicking into place causing your stomach to churn. You're trapped! Fear has you rooted to the spot.

Unsure of your next move you force yourself to at least look upon his face. His scowl send a cold shiver to every part of your being, his eyes slowly raking over your whole body and his lip curling as if the mere sight of you disgusts him. No change there then; it's how you've been viewed your whole life. His eyes, burning with hatred, settle on yours and you gulp. He says nothing; but he doesn't need to. The intensity of his glare says it all. Taking a steadying breath, you will yourself to sound more confident than you feel. "I, uh... need to clean your wound."

He remains motionless, staring you down. One uncertain step towards him is all it takes for his anger to burst forth. "Dont. Touch. Me!" he seeths as he awkwardly shuffles away from you, fighting against the ropes that bind his hands and feet. It's evident he's trying to mask the pain caused by moving. "Please...I won't hurt you." You suddenly feel ridiculous for stating the bleeding obvious. Of course you won't hurt him; couldn't if you tried. You can tell just by looking at him this man could snap you like a twig if he so desired, restraints or not. "No, leave me. I'd rather die than be a captive.'' "You don't understand," you begin to plead, stepping a bit closer. "If you die they'll blame me. They'll do terrible thi-" "I don't fucking care!" he spat, silencing you.

You know there's no point arguing; a cornered animal will always lash out. Anxiety pools in your gut. You just know you'll get hell for this. "Wigmar?" you call while you wait by the door. "Wigmar!" you shout this time. A minute later the man - Wigmar - returns looking annoyed. "What?!" he barks. "Uh... I can't... I mean... he won't let me come near," you say with a little shrug. "Please, it's not my fault." Wigmar looks at the prisoner then at you. "Useless cunt," he sneers and storms off. "Wait! You can't leave me here!" You slam your fist against the bars. You're thundering heartbeat fills your ears. Is he really going to leave me in here with him?! The thought makes you feel sick.

You open your mouth to call for Wigmar again but stop when you hear multiple footsteps approaching. He's returned with two more men. He unlocks the door and shoulders you out of the way, making straight for the general with the other two men. Grunts and snarls fill the air as the general is thrown face down and restrained. "Get on with it!" Wigmar shouts at you. For a moment you just stare, shocked at the brutal struggle taking place. "Now!" Wigmar's booming voice snaps you from your shock. Dropping to your knees beside the men, you quickly get to work, cleaning the stab wound, applying a mixture of honey, grease and herbs and wrapping a clean, dry dressing over the area. All the while the prisoner fought and thrashed on the ground.

As soon as you'd finished you packed all your supplies away, emptying the red tinted water from the jug and leapt to your feet, eager to distance yourself, even in this tiny space. The men, however, laughed the whole time, jeering and taunting the furious Roman. "Fucking animal," one of the men spat at the general as he now lay on his back, catching his breath. Visibly trembling with rage, Marcus forced himself to sit up, his eyes boring into every one of these bastards who had dared to put their hands on him. The disgraceful indignity these barbarians had just bestowed upon him only intensified the fury he was trying to contain. He has to keep a level head right now.

His focus shifted to you and he was taken aback when Wigmar viciously grabbed a fist full of your hair, yanking your head back so forcefully you couldn't do anything but yelp. Gods above. Is this how they treat their own people? "Next time handle this yourself," a red haired man stood in front of you and growled in your face. Marcus watched as you attempted to beg for release, only to have your words literally slapped from your mouth, the sound of a palm striking flesh louder than should have been possible. You continue to cry out in terror as you are bent over and dragged roughly by your hair from the cage. The gate slammed shut, locked once again, the encroaching night making it difficult for Marcus to see your retreating forms; all that remained were your desperate cries, piercing the otherwise still evening.

You couldn't get home quick enough. Not that you'd really considered this your "home" - just some dug out structure with a poorly maintained roof, once used for storage. Now said storage has a better residence than you. All that furnishes this place is a bed with a few fur blankets, a small table with a rickety stool and a few shelves that holds your clothes and very few personal items you have. The last of your tears had dried, leaving a stickyness to your cheeks, but your scalp is still burning.

This time you had lost a small clump of hair. Still, it could have been worse. With fatigue beginning to creep up on you, you take a seat on the low stool, pour some water from your waterskin into a bowl and begin cleaning the rags you had used on the prisoner when the door to your hut opened and a chill swept over you - but not from the night air. "Alia..." came a sickly sweet voice that instantly made your muscles size all over. Wincing internally you stand and turn to face your unwelcome guest. The tall intimidating figure filling your doorway slowly saunters over to where you stand. Just before he reaches you, you turn your back to him defiantly and sit down to continue with your task.

"What do you want, Bardulf?" you sigh, irritably. Bardulf grips your shouders, pulling you to your feet and spinning you to face him. "I want you to look at me when I'm talking to you!" he snarled, his stale breath invading your nostrils. You release a long breath and look up to meet his eyes. "That's better," Bardulf smirks. "Heard you were causing trouble tonight." "No," you shake your head. "The Roman... he wouldn't allow me to approach. I had to get help. What else was I supposed to do?"

Bardulf, still holding you in his iron grip looked you over and snickered, "Why didn't you just use your... influence on him and finally be of some use to us." Rolling your eyes, you shake yourself free of his hands and step backwards almost tripping over your stool. "You and I both know that's a load of horse shit. If I were a seeress, don't you think I would have saved myself from this hellhole before now?" "Careful..." Bardulf stood in your personal space now looking down at you with hate twisting his features. "One would think you're ungrateful of our hospitality." Adrenaline pumps through your body, making your hands shake. You clench your fists, trying to hide your fear. You want to scream at him, tell him exactly what you think of this so called "hospitality."

If being enslaved, beaten, humiliated and hated by your own people is "hospitality" then you have it in abundance. "Maybe..." Bardulf slowly ran his hands down your arms, his slimy touch like poison on your skin, "you'd prefer a different kind of hospitality." Disgusted, you open your mouth to protest but Bardluf's hands slip behind you, one on your back and one grabbing your arse. He slams you roughly against his body. You freeze in horror when you feel something hard press into your lower stomach. "Y... you wouldn't dare," you stammer, while trying to push him away. "Your father would have your balls!"

Bardulf grips your face with one hand so tightly, you hear your jaw click. His thin, pockmarked face is now an inch from yours and for a moment you fear he might actually make good on his threat. "My father won't be around much longer," he warned. "And I don't fear you like he does. Enjoy your protection for now, you little whore. When he's gone..." he turns your face and licks your cheek, repulsion and shock making you cringe as you swallow the bile rising up your throat, "you're all mine." Pain bursts in your knees as he throws you to the floor and walks away, chuckling proudly to himself. You sit in disbelief, staring at the door he'd just walked through, his ominous threat still ringing in your ears, You're all mine.

Surely when his elder brother succeeds their ailing father as chief he would still enforce his fathers rule. The only good thing to come from everyones fear of you was a command that no man shall ever wed, bed and breed you, lest you produce more of your "kind". But Bardulf had seemed so sure of his words, his intentions, and it fills your veins with icy cold dread. At a loss in this hopeless moment, all you can do is pull your scuffed knees to your chest, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself while silent tears of despair begin to fall.

The sound of dogs barking jolted Marcus from a fitful sleep. A sharp jab shoots through his skull as he sits bolt upright - momentarily confused by his surroundings. The hot sting in his thigh returns and he hisses through his teeth. Then it all comes back to him; the battle, the voice demanding his live capture, waking in this cage and... the fearful looking woman who'd treated his wound and was then dragged away, screaming. Marcus propped himself against the bars of his new abode, let his head fall back and sighed. How could he have let this happen?

It would have been better to die honourably in battle. This is his greatest shame. The barking is suddenly joined by the voices of several children nearby. Marcus watches the children playing with the dogs by some huts. It's looks so... normal; people going about their daily tasks. For the most part he is ignored, save for a few curious kids who decided to push their luck with him, only to run away in fear when he greeted them with a glower. Alone once again, Marcus' thoughts retrace the events that lead to his capture.

Could he have done anything different? Did he become to complacent on the battlefield? But the most pressing issue now is how will he get out of here. He's valuable to these people; that much is obvious otherwise his head would not still be attached to his body. But what do they want from him? If it's information, they can fuck themselves. No amount of torture would ever bring him to betray his soldiers. He'll die before that happens! But maybe neither has to happen.

If he can just find a weakness in this crude looking prison. Upon further inspection it appears to have been constructed in haste. Marcus rises to his knees, swallowing down the groan as his injured leg protests his movements with waves of pain and cramping. He tests every beam, every bar, hoping to discover a weakness somewhere. To his dismay, he finds none. Even the gate is secure. Marcus slumps down, dropping his head into his hands in frustration. A noise at the gate catches his attention. He recognises you as the same woman from last night, accompanied by the same man unlocking the gate.

As soon as you enter, he slams it shut, locks it and walks away. Yet again, you both stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before you clear your throat. "I brought you some food," you say, cautiously, setting down a bowl of stew in the centre of the cage. "I also need to change your bandage," you point to his leg after setting down a jug of water. He makes no attempt to move, to speak ... or to do anything, which you find peculiar. You decide on another approach, sitting on bent legs to seem less imposing.

You take off your bag and pull out your waterskin. "You must be thirsty," you coax gently, tossing the bottle to land at his feet. Marcus looks at the bottle, then at you before grabbing it and gulping it's contents. "You need to eat." You pick up the bowl, offering it in a gesture of goodwill. Again, silence. "You have to keep your strength up if you're going to heal." "What does it matter?" he finally speaks in a hoarse voice, narrowing his eyes at you. "If you die it will be my fault. The consequences would be... awful." You fear to think of what punishment would await you.

"You are not my responsibility, girl," the hostile man before you glowers. "But you're mine," you stressed, placing the bowl back down. "It's in your best interest to obey them. Trust me, resisting never ends well. You remember what happened last night." It wasn't a question, but a warning. Marcus can tell from your grave expression that you've suffered the ramifications of disobedience in the past. "Why?" You blink at him, confused. "Why... what?" "Why do they treat their own so abhorrently? You are one of them, are you not?"

You were not expecting him to ask questions of a personal nature. You've never considered yourself to be one of them, not since... that day. "I was born to this land and this tribe, yes..." is the best answer you can give. "So why would your own people-" "These are not my people!" you declared, indignation wrapped in your words. A flash of confusion crosses his face. "So you're a slave?" "Essentially," you respond, flatly. "What's your name, girl?" he asks after a few moments of silence. His frown softens somewhat as you search his deep brown eyes. "Why do you want to know my name?" you ask, unsure of where this conversation is heading.

"Just don't want to keep having to call you girl." After a moment of uncertainty you answer "Alia. What's yours?" "Marcus Acacius, General of the Armies of the north." You nod, pursing your lips. "Well Marcus Acacius, are you going to tear my throat out if I come any closer to tend to your leg?" Marcus rolls his eyes and huffs, "Do what you have to do." He clumsily slumps to his side, still bound at his hands and feet. You edge closer, bag in hand, still weary of the man in front of you. If the stories are true these monsters cannot be trusted. Marcus inhales sharply as you carefully unwrap the bandage and begin to cleanse the deep laceration at the back of his thigh.

The silence between you both is tense and charged. What only took a few minutes to clean and redress felt like aeons. The sooner you can get away from him, the better. Marcus shuffles onto his backside as you pack your bag. As you sand to leave Marcus breaks the awkward silence. "Why do they keep me alive?" "I don't know," you shrug. "Your life is clearly of value right now... but whatever the reason, it can't be good." Marcus' jaw visibly ticks as your words sink in. "Hmmm," he nods. You walk to the gate and call for Wigmar. Grunting, he comes over to let you out. Before exiting the cage you risk a glance over your shoulder and meet Marcus' eyes. It's Almost like he is studying you and it makes you shiver.

The day drags slowly for Marcus. Exhaustion still afflicts his body and mind, resulting in him drifting off every now and then, only to wake with a jolt each time. The damp ground on which he lays serves as a reminder of his newfound situation. He lays on his left side to keep his injury dry and clean. Half asleep he's suddenly startled by a yelp close by. His vision is blurry as he tries to focus, blinking heavily to clear his head. Then he sees you - about 20 feet away - caked in mud and struggling to get to your feet. A group of young women laugh and hurl insults at you, their laughter becoming hysterical as you slip and slide in your futile attempt to regain your footing and your dignity.

Marcus assumes you had just said something to them as you stood - he's too far away to make out your words - because a blond, who seems to be their leader, is now sneering in your face. He watches the whole interaction with puzzlement and also... pity? A part of him feels slighted on your behalf. You rush away, in obvious haste to put distance between you and your tormentors, eyes landing on Marcus' as he observes from between the bars. He can see, even from this distance, the redness around your eyes as you struggle to withhold the tears that threaten to spill. You quickly disappear down the bank and into a small, shabby hut as the women walk away giggling.

The fading warmth of the low sun spills across Marcus' face, the brightness intolerable even through closed eyelids. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he slowly pulls himself up to a sitting position, leaning against the bars. Footsteps once again catch his attention, his whole body instinctually on high alert. The cage door opens and three men file in, heading straight for him. He tries to fight them but it's hopeless. Two men force Marcus to his feet, both holding him up under each arm while the third holds the gate wide open. Determined to not go easily, Marcus thrashes and struggles as he's paraded through the village towards a long, rectangular building.

Marcus takes in the environment he now stands in; multiple beds with fur blankets line both walls, the wooden walls adorned with sconces, shields and various woven tapestries. Shelves in a corner at the far end hold pottery of different sizes and a large roaring firepit crackles in the centre of the room. Across from the firepit, sat in a large wooden chair draped in furs is an imposing but aged looking man wearing a dark green tunic, cinched at the waist by a thick leather belt. A fur pelt covers his shoulders and a gold band sits on his wrist. Marcus stares impassively at the man he can only assume is the chief.

Despite being in terrible pain, Marcus forces himself to stand tall, shoulders pulled back in a show of confidence and pride. The chief makes a show of giving Marcus a full once over, then with a mocking tone, says, "The General of Rome." Snide laughter arises from several men also present. "And you are...?" Marcus responds with a curl of his lip. "I am Adhelm, chief of the Gutones," the old man replied with an air of superiority. Marcus scoffed at the display of this mans self importance and for that he received a backhander from one of the men who brought him here. "Show some respect to your superiors!" he ordered in a low tone. Marcus turn his head forward, spitting blood onto the floor. "What do you want with me?"

Adhelm rose from his seat and stood face to face with Marcus, his eyes blazing with hate. "I will look into the eyes of my greatest enemy before he dies." Marcus returned the look of contempt but remained silent. "You and your scourge have bled the world dry! You have murdered, enslaved, defiled and brutalized us for so long. Now I shall have my vengeance." Adhelm returned to his chair with satisfaction written all over his weathered face. "So you spared my life just to take it?" Marcus huffed. "Exactly," Adhelm smirked. "Alia!" he barked while picking up the goblet from the arm of his chair. Marcus hadn't even noticed you tucked into the shadows by the wall.

His eyes followed as you hurried over and began filling the chiefs cup with wine, then slunk off with your head down. Adhelm continued, "Your death will send a message to your army and to Rome. At the next battle you will be presented to your men and then I will take great pleasure of relieving you of your head and limbs." Marcus felt the blood drain from his face, his stomach churning with both dread and anger. To be slain like a beast in front of his own men is unthinkable! His mere presence amongst his troops gives both inspiration and hope, so for them to have to witness the demise of their commander will significantly impact them.

But of course, that's the whole point; to crush moral and instil fear in your enemy. This piece of horse shit knows what he's doing. Marcus spat at he feet of the chief, screwing his face up in revulsion. "You're all nothing more than a bunch of barbaric heathens! You are mistaken if you believe my death will bring you victory. All you will do is bring the wrath of Rome upon you and your people to the likes of which have never been seen!" Adhelm raised his nose in the air, a pleased smile tugging at his lips. "We shall see, general. Take him back." With a wave of the chiefs hand Marcus is escorted out of the building and back to his prison.

All through the heated exchange you kept your head down, feigning disinterest while listening intently to every venomous word thrown back and forth by the two men. The silver lining to being practically invisible to these people meant you'd often overheard sensitive conversations regarding war stratagies, problems within the community, and even issues of a more intimate nature. You were never considered to be of any significance or even a threat, which is why you are now present while Adhelm dismissed all of his men to talk privately to his sons. "Kuno, Bardulf..." the chief began as he slouched back in his chair, trying to, but failing to stifle a deep, rattling cough, which resulted in him bringing up a bit of blood.

After a moment he continued, " You must both be made aware that this next battle will likely be my last." At that your head tipped up involuntarily, cautiously observing the conversation. "Father, you can't-" Adhelm raised a hand to silence Kuno. "I have accepted that I shall die soon. Either from battle or from what ails me. The future of our people, our way of life will depend on you, Kuno. You are strong and capable." Adhelm then looked to his second born. "Bardulf, I expect you to aid and council your chief accordingly. He will need all the support he can garner." "Of course, father," Bardulf bowed his head, reverently, "We will not fail you." Adhelm stood, walked over to his sons and clasped them both on their shoulders. "I am proud of you both."

You couldn't help but scoff quietly, rolling your eyes. Proud? Of what? Raising two arseholes. The second one being the cause of most of your misery for years. Maybe your reaction hadn't been as quiet as you'd thought because Bardulf is now glaring at you with pure detestation. You freeze, gulping down the lump in your throat while trying to remain calm. While Adhelm and Kuno continue to talk Bardulfs wrathful expression slowly dissolves into a sickening grin, his icy blue eyes dragging along your body, making your skin crawl. Unable to stand his gaze any longer, you drop your head down, willing the knot in your stomach to unclench. You're sure this isn't the end of it, judging by that maniacal grin; a promise that you won't get off that easily.

Series Masterlist Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Ch 4

@myownwholewildworld @imherefordeanandbones @picketniffler @h0w-1-wanna-l1v3 @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup @meetmeatyourworst @yorksgirl @joeldjarin @echo-ethe @whirlwindrider29

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x female reader #general acacius #gladiator 2 movie #gladiator ii #marcus acacius fluff #marcus acacius x ofc #marcus acacius smut

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trustmypoison · 4 months ago

Text

Touch Me I'm Going to Scream

Seungcheol and Y/N have never been friends. Never, not even when they started training at their new jobs on the same day. They’re competitive and they love to correct each other’s work in a brutal fashion. That’s what keeps them at work late one Thursday night.

Pairing: Seungcheol x female reader

Genres: enemies to lovers, smut, office au

Word count: 5k

TW/CW: MDNI, this contains explicit smut and no mention of protection. If you have some claustrophobia, this one might not be for you.

Y/N hates Choi Seungcheol. That’s the only explanation for why her head feels like it’s about to burst. She hates him for how massive his ego is. She hates him for how smug he is everytime he can one-up her. And she hates how she can’t read his fucking handwriting.

That’s the biggest thing right now. The report he’s slapped onto her keyboard is redlined brutally, but she can’t make out a single word of what he’s written in the margins. It’s like he does it on purpose when he’s assigned to proof-reading something for her. His handwriting is perfectly legible on a whiteboard when it’s his turn to lead team meetings.

He’s already plopping back into his chair to continue spinning his pen between his fingers. That’s what he was doing before Y/N had slapped the report draft on his desk thirty minutes ago. While he was bleeding all over this report, she was busy working on another one. For some reason, her workload was more than his this week, as it often is.

Y/N throws the report back down on her desk tempermentally, glaring at him cross the double cubicle. “You could at least make it legible. I don’t know what the fuck any of this says, Seungcheol.”

“We’ve worked together for four years, Y/N. You should know how to read it by now,” he replies boredly, not even bothering to turn his chair to face her. But she can see the smirk in his profile. Ugh.

Y/N huffs, rubbing her tired eyes. Her makeup is long gone, save few for a few crusts of mascara. It’s nearly 10pm and the two reports that have been cycled between them are due tomorrow, along with a presentation. Which reminds her. She whips around to him. “The least you could do is start the slide deck. The finalized graphics are in the shared folder.”

“Slide deck is pretty much done,” he says, still sounding bored. “Just waiting on you to fix your wording so I can add it to the slides.”

Y/N resists the urge to bang her head against the keyboard. It would do as much good as trying to understand his handwriting. But she refuses to ask him for help. She only asks him to markup and review things for her because it’s part of his job description, same as hers.

They’re both junior team leads for their department. The company’s structure attracted her initially when she accepted the role. Each department has a senior team lead, but this senior team lead is supposed to hand down assignments for the juniors to deliver. There are two of them because they believe in learning through collaboration here.

She liked the idea until she met Seungcheol on her first day. His competitiveness killed any sense of teamwork.

Y/N puts on her glasses and squints at the paper, making the edits that she believes make sense. She knows he’s not dumb, far from it. If he’s marked something up, that means it needs some attention. She just doesn’t always know what kind of attention, so she guesses.

With some satisfaction, Y/N slaps the report fresh off the printer onto Seungcheol’s desk. She walks away before she smacks him when he grins, “So you can read.”

“But you can’t write. Work on that so I can bleed all over your report next time.”

“But you’re so good at it. That’s why you get stuck with so many reports and I get stuck with all the slide decks and presentations.”

The comment burns her up inside. She must not be so good at it if he bleeds all over the pages everytime she hands him something to review. And the slide decks and presenations are a sore spot for her. He’s far better at public speaking than she is, but everytime they step foot in the conference room, it looks like Seungcheol’s done all of the work. She doesn’t reply to him and she hears the pen click behind her.

When he hands it back to her, there are only a few markups, and those have blessedly legible notes. Maybe he’s in a rush to get out of here. She makes the edits quickly and prints the copies for the meeting tomorrow. She’s done asking him to review it. It’s gone through three editing cyles and it will be never be perfect enough for him, but it’s nearly midnight now. She opens the slide deck as soon as he drops it into the shared folder, and a single flip through has her shrugging. Good enough. This is his part of the job anyway.

Without any announcement, they stand up at the same time, gathering their things. Despite their constant arguing, they do have a system and can read each other after four years. Y/N rushes to the elevator, pressing the button. Seungcheol strolls leisurely behind her. “Hot date or something?” He teases.

“More like a hot bath,” Y/N huffs. “What the hell kind of date would start at midnight?” Seungcheol gives her a suggestive look and she scoffs. “I see. Go have fun with that.”

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. They step in and Seungcheol presses the button for the first floor lobby. The doors slide closed and Y/N is so tired that the little vibration of the elevator gliding down nearly puts her to sleep standing up, kind of like a car ride would.

Until it lurches violently to a stop. Y/N grips the railing and curses, wide awake again. They’re on the 8th floor, not the first. And the doors don’t open.

“What the fuck?” Seungcheol hisses, stabbing at the button for the first floor. When it does nothing, he stabs at the buttons for any other floor. He sighs, glancing over at Y/N. “Stairs it is.” He peels back the doors and… there’s a wall. They’re stuck somewhere between the 7th and 8th floor.

He’s cursing loudly now and Y/N has put her head in her hands. “Security should still be here,” he mumbles, stabbing at the alarm button a few times. The blaring is short and shrill and when he steps back they wait in silence. But Seungcheol’s impatient. Minutes pass and he periodically presses the button. Nothing.

Next, he presses the emergency call button. A dial tone rings in the small speaker on the panel. It rings, and rings, and rings. When they hear a robotic ‘Disconnected’, they both curse. Y/N pulls out her phone. Their swearing is becoming creative because neither of them have signal.

“Might as well get comfortable,” Y/N sighs. Seungcheol doesn’t listen, repeatedly trying the alarm and call buttons.

It’s nearly 1am and they’re both sitting on the floor of the elevator, facing each other with their legs stretched out. “This is your fault,” Y/N mutters in the silence.

Seungcheol’s head snaps up from the metal wall, pinning her with a glare. “My fault? Write a good fucking report and we wouldn’t have been here all night.”

“The report was fine. What kept us here so late was you bleeding all over my pages,” Y/N said, monotone. This is an old argument and she can’t find the usual energy to give to it. Normally, she gets fired up as soon as he opens his mouth, but she’s exhaused.

Seungcheol scoffs. “As if you haven’t ripped apart my slide decks before.”

“That was deserved. You slapped some graphics on it that made no sense. And who leaves the background plain and white? Pick a fucking theme, there are hundreds to choose from,” Y/N finds herself heating, despite her tiredness.

“I told you, it distracts from the graphics,” Seungcheol cries, standing up to pace the small space. He’s been a pacer since day one. It’s something he can’t help it when they argue.

“It’s lazy. Pick anything but white and move on. Or better yet, use the template the media departement constantly asks us to use,” Y/N is standing too now. She doesn’t like that he can hover over her. She still has to look up at him when she’s standing, but it’s better than the looming he can do if she’s still sitting down.

“Nothing is ever good enough for you,” Seungcheol hisses.

“It isn’t for you either,” Y/N bites, getting into his face to stab a finger into his chest. “How many red fucking pens have you gone through in four years? And then you turn around in the presentation that I gave you the content for and give me no credit.”

“What are you talking about?” Seungcheol raises his voice. “Your name is always right there next to mine. Get up and present it yourself tomorrow if you want all the credit so badly.”

“What? So you can ream me out later for how poorly I did? No thanks.”

He’s closing in on her, crowding her space, fuming. She backs up into the elevator wall only because she has nowhere else to go. But she’s not scared of him, never has been. She’s angry.

“Try not to stutter in front of the entire board then,” Seungcheol shouts. “You’re supposed to be the fucking expert, so act like it and say literally anything with some confidence.”

“We’re both supposed to be experts, Seungcheol! We have the same title and job description. Yet I’m stuck with all the grunt work so you can waltz into the conference room, throw up a slide deck, and dazzle them with your charm.” She’s stabbing him in the chest again with her finger.

“Then get some fucking charm, Y/N. Stop blaming me for that,” Seungcheol hisses, face close to hers.

She glares back at him. “I hate you so much.”

The words seem to make his eyes harder. “The feeling’s mutual.” Then his lips are slamming into her. His hands find her hips roughly and Y/N’s hand find his tie, tugging hard. He folds to her height, hands groping fast. Her waist, her back, her breasts, her ass. His hands fly to the buttons of her shirt and she smacks them away, pushing him back hard.

“Don’t you dare rip it,” Y/N scolds, her fingers loosening the top buttons.

His fingers smack hers away this time and he’s quickly unbuttoning them down to her stomach.”You’re too slow,” he scolds back against her lips, hands tugging the material out of her skirt.

When his hands land on her bare stomach, she hisses and wants to smack him at how satisfied he looks at the sound. “Don’t get cocky yet. I doubt you’ll be able to make me come.”

Something shifts in his eyes. He’s still angry, but he likes the challenge. “I’ll make you eat your words.” He spins her to face the metal wall, but her whole body isn’t there for long. His hands roughly tug out her hips, leaving her upper body against the cool metal. He’s shimmying up her tight skirt and she can barely adjust to the chill before a hard smack lands on one of her ass. A gasp flies out of her mouth and she hates how wet she is already. His hand gropes at the reddened spot, repeating the process a few times. He leans in close to her ear. “Still think I can’t do it?”

Y/N tastes blood from how hard she’s biting her tongue. “Yes,” she hisses.

He releases a dark chuckle, and his hands are crawling across her body. He pushes her hair to the side, burying his face in her neck. The kisses and love bites are a distraction as he pulls her upperbody away to shove her bra up, roughly groping her breast and rolling her nipple between his fingers. She’s already keening when his other hand slides between her legs. He doesn’t hesitate to pull the string of the thong to the side and bury two fingers in her heat immediately. The intrusion makes her cry out and he’s chuckling into her neck again.

“For someone who hates me, you’re dripping, sweetheart,” he says patronizingly.

“Still hate you, but your hands and mouth aren’t bad,” Y/N bites but it’s losing any strength she had before. His fingers are pumping fast and the fingers on her nipple have her mind scrambling. She struggles to keep her reactions under control because she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

He sucks on her neck, surely leaving a mark, but she doesn’t stop him because the feeling has her clenching on his fingers. “I offer more than my hands and mouth, but you’ll have to be a good girl and come on my fingers first before you can find out.”

Y/N wants to be strong. She’s determined not to let him have so much power of her body, but his hand slides from her breast to her neck, gripping lightly. She clenches hard at the touch and he’s kissing her cheek patronizingly. “Sweetheart, I had no idea you liked it like this. We could have been doing this for the last four years?” His fingers flex against her neck as the ones inside her curl, making her eyes roll back a bit. “All the late nights here over the years that I could have taken you on your desk after everyone left? Or have you on your knees for me? All the missed opportunities.” His lips find hers and it’s shockingly soft compared to what his hands are doing to her body. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Be a good girl and come all over my fingers.”

She hates how everything about him makes her shake, orgasm slamming into her. He’s groaning into her ear, hand tightening around her throat. His fingers keep a brutal pace inside of her until she’s hurtling towards another orgasm before really recovering from the first one. It makes tears prick her eyes when she comes again and he sees them. “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t cry just yet. You haven’t even had my cock yet.”

He’s pulling away from her and she clings to the railing on unsteady legs. He grabs her hips, hands still rough as he turns her around. He lowers to his knees in front of her and her eyes widen. But she doesn’t have time to think about it because he’s yanking her thong down her legs, helping her out of it. Then he’s throwing one of her legs over his shoulders. “Seungcheol, what are you -“ Her question cuts off with a gasp as his tongue laps at her intently. She’s already so sensitive that it makes her whole body jerk. She grips the railing with one hand and and the other flies to his hair, gripping the locks hard. But she knows he’s doing most of the work holding her up.

Three fingers are sliding into her and she can barely wrap her head around the stretch before he’s lapping at her clit. The intensity makes her climb fast, coming hard again. He doesn’t pull away and she realizes he’s going for another one. She yanks his head back hard by the hair. “No. Fuck me now.”

He’s smirking hard at the demand as he tosses her leg off his shoulder, standing up. When he kisses her and she can taste herself on him and it makes her clumsily reach for his belt, ripping it open. He lets her, still smirking against her lips.

Y/N smirks at him instead when her hand wraps around his cock, because he’s gasping softly against her lips. “Sweetheart, for someone who hates me, you’re pretty hard.” The fire in his eyes is back when she throws his words back at him and Y/N is glad to see it. It means she’s getting under his skin just as much he gets under hers. “I thought you said you’d have me crying on your cock. Was that all talk?”

“You drive me insane,” he grates, voice deep and scratchy. His hands are roughly turning her again, pushing her to her previous position, upper body pressed against the cool metal wall and lower body pulled out, back arched. He kicks her legs apart and his cock presses into the plush of her ass. “You talk too fucking much.” He grips his cock, sliding the head of it into her folds repeatedly and it has her sighing. “Dripping like a faucet for some one you hate. Letting someone you hate make you come over and over. All but demanding for someone you hate to fuck you. Make up your mind, sweetheart. Do you really hate me?” The head of his cock notches into her opening and the stretch is teasing.

Y/N glares over her shoulder. “Yes. Now change my mind.”

He slams into her and she cries out loudly. He sits deep inside her and stays there. There’s something sweet about how his hand brushes back her hair and he kisses her cheek, like he’s letting her adjust for a second. But then he opens his mouth. “Beg for it.”

“No way,” Y/N spits in his face. “Your ego is way too big already.”

“We have all night, sweetheart,” he coos. “Security doesn’t show up until 6am. I can stand here all night inside of you if I have to.” His hand creeps up to her her breast, teasing lighly, refusing to give her any of the impact she craves. She squirms in his arms and he’s chuckling again, holding her still. “Come on, Y/N. I’ll give you exactly what you want, but all you have to do is say please.” He presses light kisses to her neck.

Y/N huffs. “Why do you always have to win? Why can’t you ever let me have what I want?”

“I’m selfish when it comes to you,” he mutters into her ear. “You drive me up the wall. You’re so fucking beautfiul, but you open your mouth and tell me how much you hate me. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to resist you for the last four years?” He’s smirking against her skin because he can feel how she clenches at his words. “Maybe you do. I’ve seen how you squeeze your legs together sometimes and squirm in your seat when I come over to your desk. Tell me, were you wet all of those times, even when I didn’t touch you?”

He’s right and she can taste blood in her mouth again from biting her tongue. The smell of his cologne lingering behind her is enough any day. He keeps going, hand skating around to lay flat across her stomach. “It’s okay if it did. You make me rock hard at the most inconvenient times. I’ve thought about bending you over my desk at least a dozen times.” Another gentle press of his lips to her cheek. “Would you like that? Me pounding your cute little cunt?”

“I don’t know. Try it out and I’ll let you know,” Y/N bites. She feels his fingers flex against her stomach at the dare. “I won’t be begging until you make me.”

“Such a smart mouth,” he tsks. “Have it your way.” He slides out of her and her head falls back at the drag against her walls. Then he’s slamming back into her, the force making her bump back into the wall. His fingers crawl into her hair, tugging her head back. His pace is hard and fast and it has her seeing stars. There’s a bit of an ego boost for her in how he’s groaning into her ear loudly. “Fuck, can’t believe I waited this long. You feel so good, sweetheart.” The words have her clenching hard around him and he hums in her ear. “Like when I talk nicely to you? Not used to it?”

Y/N doesn’t really have an answer for him because she doesn’t know how to take anything he’s doing right now. The feeling of him hitting her cervix is overwhelming and the praise makes her chest warm. “You look sweet when you aren’t mouthing off to me. I'll give you whatever you want as long as you look like this. Just tell me.”

“More,” Y/N mumbles weakly. He doesn’t comment on how that’s dangerously close ot begging, but instead speeds up to a nearly impossible pace. It has her crying out, tears rushing out of her eyes. He cranks her head to face his again, gripping her throat tight. “Fingers.” This one is another plea disguised as a demand, and the hand on her stomach starts sliding down but she shakes her head rapidly, grabbing at the hand on her throat. She takes two of his fingers into her mouth and he’s groaning loudly now, curses echoing against the walls. His fingers press into her mouth roughly and she gags a bit, but it’s exactly what she needs to fall over the edge, coming harder than she ever has. Her mouth falls open and it makes the orgasm drag out even more that he doesn’t remove his fingers right away.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Can I come inside of you, sweetheart? Please?”

She’s coming again at his desparate tone, but not before saying ‘yes’ around his fingers. As abruptly as he started earlier, he halts deep inside of her, fingers popping out of her mouth to grip her shoulder and pressing his face into her neck with a broken moan. They stay like that for a long time, trying to catch their breath. When he finally pulls out, Y/N can’t help a whimper and he gives a soft apology. He gently turns her, redressing her with care. He guides the thong back up her legs into place, and flips her wrinkled skirt back down, doing his best to smooth out the material. Then his fingers deftly button her shirt back up, helping her tuck the edges back in.

The gentle touches make her eyes leak again and she wipes them away, smoothing down her hair. He’s watching her with an expression that she doesn’t understand because she’s never seen it before. It unnerves her because this is the sobering moment that she realizes what they’ve just done.

Rather than thinking about it, she reaches out to zip and button his pants, then buckling the belt back up. Then she’s smoothing down the wrinkles in his shirt and tie and straightening his hair up. He lets her.

It’s 4am when they try the alarm and call buttons again. Just like before, there’s no response and they come to terms with the fact that they’ll have to wait until security comes in at 6am. So Seungcheol and Y/N sit next to each other against the metal wall, shoulders touching. She’s been dozing off against him when he speaks up, breaking the silence. “I don’t hate you.”

Y/N feels herself tense, slowly raising her head to look at him. He’s got his eyes closed. “You don’t?”

“No,” he sighs. “You seemed to hate me right off the bat when we started here. We were already fighting on our second day. I didn’t know what I did, and eventually it just made me mad. But I don’t hate you. I never did.”

Y/N smiles a little, looking away from him as she leans her head back to match his pose. “I don’t hate you either. You frustrate me to no end, particularly because of how our work is divided, but I don’t hate you.”

It sounds like Seungcheol starts to say something, but there’s suddenly yelling outside of the elevator shaft. A few minutes later, they’re stepping out of the elevator on the 7th floor to face a very apologetic technician. “My damn phone died,” he said lamely. “I hope you guys weren’t here for too long.” He seems to know the answer already, but Seungcheol and Y/N shrug and wish him a good night, or rather a good morning.

They’re parked a couple spots from one another in the lot and Seungcheol simply tells her to get home safe. He waits for her to pull out onto the road before he backs out of his spot.

9am comes early. Y/N rushes into the office to throw her stuff into her cubicle and grab the reports on the corner of her desk. Seungcheol’s computer is locked but still lit up, so he must already be here. She finds him in the conference room, schmoozing the execs that they’re presenting to today. No one really acknowledges her as she takes a seat off to the side, pulling out her notepad.

Seungcheol glances at his watch during a lapse in conversation. “Let’s get started. I’m sure all of you have busy schedules.”

Y/N glances at the slide deck that was built last night and a small change catches her eye. Report and content by Lee Y/N. Presentation by Choi Seungcheol. He’s making a joke about forgiving him if he looks a little tired because he spent half the night stuck in the elevator, but she barely hears the chuckles becaue she’s blinking back tears. He gave her credit.

Blessedly, the exec team has very few questions following the presentation and compliments her report while looking directly at her. Back at her desk, she falls into her chair, sighing. She’s squinting with tired eyes to read her email when a mug is placed in front of her. Seungcheol simply says, “A little cream and three sugars.” Her eyes follow him as he walks to his side of the double cubicle and sits down, logging into his computer.

She wants to say something to him - about the change to the slide deck, or the fact that she didn’t know he knew how she took her coffee, or about last night in the elevator, but her phone rings and they’re being called into another meeting. Seungcheol makes sure she takes her coffee with her.

Seungcheol waits for her to gather her things right at 5pm. They pass by the elevator bay without a word and head to the stairwell. Somewhere around the 5th floor, Seungcheol turns to her. “Hot date tonight?” His tone is a little teasing.

Y/N scoffs. “Yeah, that hot bath that I didn’t get to have last night. My rushed shower this morning didn’t cut it.” Seungcheol chuckles. “What about you? Hot date tonight?”

“Not unless it’s with you.”

She nearly misses a step and his hand flies out to her waist to steady her. They’ve stopped somewhere between the 4th and 5th floor. “What?” He’s standing on the step below her and they’re basiclaly eye to eye. She’s perplexed when he looks a little sheepish.

“I would have asked you on our first day four years ago, but you were mean to me.”

She shoves at his shoulder and he barely moves. “You were mean first.”

Seungcheol laughs. “Maybe,” he admits, both hands holding her waist. “What do you think? Do you still hate me too much to go on a date with me right now?”

Y/N laughs too. “No, I think I might even like you a little bit now.”

#scoups #seungcheol #choi seungcheol #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #smut

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lonely-cowboy · 1 year ago

Note

hi!! how are you? i just wanted to tell you that i am obsessed with your writings omg :’((( i can’t even put into words how happy i am to find your account, the way you write connor is just <33

i was wondering if it’s okay to request something where connor is being protective over fem!reader?maybe some hurt/comfort with fluff in the end <3 I don’t have a specific scenario in my head, so it’s totally up to you, and i would love anything you decide to write for this request!!! also, you are totally free to ignore this if you don’t feel inspired enough by this request, it’s absolutely okay! ♡

thank you! have an amazing day and please sorry for my english, it’s not my first language

ugh thank you my love this is so sweet to hear!! i'm so sorry it took me so long to post, midterms have not been fun my friends. i fear this is not my best work, but i hope you can still enjoy our silly android boy <3 you have an amazing day too!!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

helping hand

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: connor comes to help you when you don't need him. again.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: graphic(?) violence (connor shoots a guy oops)

author's note: i write way too many first kisses and this is no exception. prepare for silly goofy domestic married fluff in the future bc that's what i live for

masterlist ⟡ requests

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You could’ve handled it all perfectly fine on your own. You didn’t need Connor’s help, you didn’t want Connor’s help. You were entirely capable of taking down a runaway vigilante on your own.

Sure, maybe it was stupid of you to run off on your own to the crook’s last known location the second the call was made. But he had been only three blocks away from you. What were you supposed to do, wait for backup? Of course not. You had the opportunity to catch a known criminal, so you took the risk. It was all part of the job.

You found yourself at an empty construction site with your gun drawn and pointed at the runaway criminal. You inched closer to your target– some crazy, murderous, anti-android protestor, there were a lot of those these days– slowly drawing your cuffs. You reached forward to restrain his wrists, fingertips brushing against his skin.

And then you were on the ground. You had been practically tackled, your temple striking the rocky earth hard enough that it looked like the world was spinning.

You sat up uneasily as you tried to orient yourself. Who in the world would have shoved you like that? The only indicator was your attacker’s quick “Sorry, Detective.”

You grunted in frustration as your vision cleared, focusing on the one person you did not want to see: Connor.

In all the time it took you to readjust, Connor had taken the vigilante to the ground. He stood overtop the criminal who groaned between crazed laughter. Connor’s foot pressed firmly into the criminal’s chest, a gun– that certainly did not belong to the android– pointed directly at the laughing man’s face.

You moved slowly from the ground, holding your surely bruised side. Your gaze was locked on Connor’s trigger finger, anxiously anticipating gunfire. You feared what it could mean if Connor pulled the trigger.

“Connor,” you warned quietly, your voice steadier than expected.

As you approached, you noticed the twitch of his finger. His LED was cycling through every color imaginable, his brows furrowing and unfurrowing as he held the criminal’s gaze.

“Never even think about touching her again,” Connor spit, his voice so cold that it frightened even you.

The pinned criminal only laughed, an ugly wheezing sound as Connor’s foot dug deeper into his chest. “An android in love, huh? Never thought I’d see–”

Connor’s foot rose quickly, stomping hard on the crook’s face until he was knocked out cold. From the impassive look on Connor’s face, you could tell he was practically seething. But that didn’t matter. Now was not the time to comfort him because you were equally as angry.

With an agitated huff, you shoved Connor by the shoulders as hard as possible. He barely moved at all, only adding fuel to your fire.

It was then that Connor seemed to snap out of his daze and remember you were there. He turned to you abruptly and discarded the gun, his hands finding their place on your biceps with a firm grip. His eyes immediately scanned over your frame, analyzing you for any damage. The only damage he found was what he had done.

The crease between his brows returned as he reached up to touch your throbbing temple. When he pulled his hand back, his elegant fingers were tipped with your blood.

“Did he do this?” Connor questioned, an edge of doubt in his voice.

“No, Connor,” you snapped, shaking off his hands. “You did this! And it wouldn’t have happened if you had just let me do my job for once!”

His LED blinked a steady red. Funny how it matched the blood on your temple.

“Detective, I was only trying to help,” he reasoned feebly.

“I don’t need your fucking help, Connor! I was handling this just fine on my own! And then here you come to save the day yet again, all knight in shining armor! Acting like I’m your damsel in distress, in need of saving!”

“Did you know he was armed?” Connor asked dismissively, quizzically cocking his head in a way that usually enamored you but only seemed to irritate you now.

You opened your mouth to retort, but nothing came out as you processed Connor’s words. Armed? No, you hadn’t known he was armed. But if you admitted that then you would’ve looked stupid, like you needed Connor’s help. Like you were some damsel in distress.

When you didn’t answer, Connor gestured to his forgotten gun. “That was his. He was preparing to shoot you.”

“I could’ve easily disarmed him,” you scoffed, crossing your arms arrogantly. “I’m a trained professional.”

“The probability of success was 29%,” Connor stated matter-of-factually. “A majority of outcomes would have resulted in your death, Detective. I couldn’t take that risk.”

“Then maybe you’re not cut out for this job,” you growled. “This job is all about taking risks, Connor. I knew that when I signed up, and you should too.”

Your harsh tone made Connor pause, though he was quick to recover. He was determined for you to understand.

“If I can prevent your death, then I will. I won’t let your pride stop me,” he said.

It was your turn to pause, lips pursing into a thin line at the reality of Connor’s words. You knew he was right. He was right, he was right, he was right. But you refused to acknowledge that.

When you opened your mouth to speak, nothing came out besides a yelp.

So quickly you could barely process what happened, Connor’s grip on your arms tightened as he spun you around. One arm wrapped around your shoulders to pull you into his chest protectively while his other hand moved to your holstered gun.

A single shot was fired. And an accurate shot, you guessed, by the sound of a slumping body.

Peeking past Connor, you found the body of your runaway criminal, a bullethole pierced right through his skull. You made note of the gun beside his fallen body, the same gun Connor had carelessly discarded.

You felt Connor return your gun to its holster before his hand moved to your chin. He turned your attention away from the dead body, forcing you to focus on him instead.

“I know you’re capable, Detective,” Connor murmured, his voice full of a fondness you hadn’t noticed before. “But that doesn't mean I can’t help. I feel better knowing you’re safe than assuming you are.”

You swallowed hard as you held Connor’s steady gaze. His free hand moved to brush your aching temple. His touch was so gentle you could barely feel it as he wiped away the blood with a frown.

“I only wanted to keep you safe,” Connor explained, his voice holding a tinge of– was that regret? “And I only managed to hurt you myself. Maybe you’re right, Detective. You don’t need me. I’m sorry.”

Your hand moved to tug Connor’s hand away from your temple, holding him in your warm grip. His thumb rubbed against your knuckles soothingly as if it was second nature to him.

“I do. I do need you,” you insisted suddenly, surprising even yourself. One minute, you’re practically yelling at Connor for helping. The next, you’re reassuring him that you’ll always need him. You were confusing even yourself, you couldn’t imagine how confused Connor, the poor android. “I… I do. But… not all the time.”

Again, that crease between Connor’s brows returned, your lips forming a smile at the sight.

“I don’t appreciate you enough,” you continued with a defeated sigh. “I do need you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d already be dead, you’re right. You’ve saved me twice today. But that doesn’t mean I need you to swoop in and save me every single time. I can still handle myself.”

“I know… I know…,” Connor whispered, his eyes unfocused as if lost in thought.

You let a beat of silence pass, watching Connor expectantly. There was something he wanted to say, it was on the tip of his tongue. So you patiently waited until he found the words.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

An android in love.

The criminal’s words replayed in your mind as they suddenly came back to you. At the time, you hadn’t completely processed what he said, your anger outweighing any thoughts of reason.

An android in love.

“Was he… was he right?” you asked after a beat to which Connor tilted his head with a puzzled look. Damn him for not being able to read your mind and immediately know what you were struggling to say. “The guy. What he said… He said that you…”

“Are in love,” Connor finished, his tone flat and conveying not a single sense of love.

“Yeah…,” you shrugged.

“If love can be defined by a desire to keep you safe, then yes, I would say I’m in love with you.”

With you.

He was in love with you.

You couldn’t hide your wide grin, ignoring the warmth that had suddenly spread to your cheeks. Seeing your grin, the corners of Connor’s lips quirked into a small smile too. Your faces naturally moved closer together until your noses were brushing, the warmth of each other’s breath against your lips.

Connor leaned closer. Closer, closer…

He was going to kiss you, and you were going to ruin it.

“You know,” you interrupted, pulling back no more than an inch. But it was enough to make Connor frown. “I’d rather not kiss next to the dead guy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Connor’s smile returned, an affection glint in his eyes. His hand found yours, pulling you away from the scene.

“Backup is on the way,” he said. “They can handle this on their own.”

With his hand in yours, Connor led you away. He gave your hand a quick squeeze. It was a reassurance. A sign that you were safe with him, that he would do whatever it took to protect you. You returned his firm squeeze. Because you would do the same for him.

#detroit become human #connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh connor #connor rk800

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foli-vora · 27 days ago

Text

run to you: chapter eight

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: it's here. Finally. Don't look at me. Can't believe we only have 4 chapters to go after this one! I have such a deep fond love for this little universe and I'm so damn thankful for all of your comments, reblogs and asks! Your kind words make my bloody year! Hope you enjoy angels x

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and ‘You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: 4.7k-ish

Warnings: angsttttt, swearing, general heartache and bittersweet goodbyes, a break in, these two make me want to listen to a heartbreak playlist all day and just cry

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

The words play in your mind as you make a beeline to the public bathrooms, a relentless cycle over and over and over. Your conversation with the consultant had been mind achingly frustrating, and yet, despite knowing his little tricks and various mental hoops he gets his chosen victims to jump through, you can’t help it—you give in.

You find yourself jumping through those damn hoops, letting his words drive you borderline insane.

Jane has it all wrong—so wrong—so why can’t you stop thinking about what he said? What would give him the impression that Marcus has feelings for you? Feelings that extend beyond the expected responsibility of a leading agent, and mere guilt lingering from their shared history.

Does he see something you can’t? Has he heard something? Found something?

The bitter tang of resentment builds in the back of your throat as your mind goes down more paths, creating more questions with no answers in sight. This is what he wants.

Jane wants you to be overwhelmed with questions and what ifs and a desperation for the truth, so you’ll go to him for the answers. So he can spin words, play and pick your brain some more. It’s a cycle, one that obviously works well for him. This is how he plays, and it’s vicious and cruel, and—

—and yet you still let his words confuse you, still mull over them in your head.

You keep fucking falling for it.

Your hands shake as they deposit your bag beside the sink, the cold water splashing over your skin doing nothing to divert your thoughts or distract you.

Of course there are no feelings anywhere.

Maybe this is just a ploy to hurt or embarrass Marcus—surely there’d be some bad energy there, given the history between them both. Maybe Jane’s not finding enough entertainment within the investigation and is instead making his own.

You don’t know. What you do know is that you refuse to waste one more fucking second wondering what is going on in that man’s head, and what his ploy is.

It hits you as you stare back at your reflection in the mirror, the obvious internal war written across your face with creases of stress and watery eyes—you can’t do this. You’re not cut out for this rollercoaster of drama. You’ve had enough.

Jane, the case, Marcus, the FBI—you’ve had enough of all of it. You’ve done enough, and Marcus has always said to tell him when you decide you’re done. He’s always said that you’re under no obligation to do anything you don’t want to do, that you could back out at any point. Or maybe that was just another lie.

The bitter part of you churns to life, still angry, still holding onto the aching resentment from the past. Vicious thoughts and memories tainted by heartbreak flood your mind, but it doesn’t seem to cut as deep as it usually would. He didn’t lie about that.

He said you were in control, he gave you his word—and you took it. You trust it.

Would he be disappointed?

You did tell him that you’d help, that you’d do what the FBI asked of you and get them the information they need, but at what cost? Your mental health was already taking hits, an array of emotions continuously assaulting you from merely being around Marcus again, let alone being bombarded and interrogated by some wanna-be mentalist freak from California.

No. He’d understand.

You dry up, blotting the paper towel across your throat and willing your heart to slow down as you look over your frame in the reflection. The wire’s still perfectly hidden, tucked deeply away under your jacket from where Marcus had pinned it, but the mere thought of it sitting there has a cold dread creeping along your veins.

That whole conversation with Jane had been recorded.

Marcus is going to listen to it. His team is going to listen to it. You can’t deal with the fallout of that. You can’t be humiliated like that. What would he do? What would he say?

Though of course you know the truth and that the idea of Marcus having any type of romantic inclination towards you is fucking ridiculous, you’re still not exactly fond of the idea of sitting there and listening to him explain why he does not, and would not, ever have feelings for you.

Maybe—maybe you could get ahead of it.

Surely if you just tell him, ask him, that the recording be discarded as you’re backing out. There’s nothing on there, there’s no need for it. Just delete it, forget about it and move on.

You grab your things and leave the safety of the bathroom, clutching your bag like a lifeline as you begin to make your way towards the exit, but then you see him. He’s a good distance away from the path you’re taking, and you wouldn’t have noticed him at all if you weren’t suddenly highly aware of every person milling about the building.

Edward Thomas.

Someone who had played a big part in your life before everything went to shit. He’d been involved with some of your replicas, their creations and the deals around them once they were complete. You weren’t aware of his exact place in all of it, but you know damn well it was much higher on the food chain than you.

He looks the same, despite everything. Did nothing happen to him when it all fell apart? Was he not arrested along with everyone else?

Probably not. He had money—serious money. He had connections. He had the network you had ensured to keep out of. Perhaps you would’ve been better following his footsteps, kissing asses and sucking up to the underground elites of the world, making more of a name for yourself behind closed doors. You would've been untouchable, invincible.

Where would you be now? Back in your penthouse, mostly unscathed and living life as normal.

There’s no use dwelling on it. It’s a can of worms you could continue to open and close for the rest of your life, wondering what if until it drove you mad.

Doing what Edward Thomas did, does—it’s not you. It wasn’t you back then, and it wouldn’t be you now. You just wanted to paint, you weren’t in it for the money. Although, admittedly, it did help.

You want to move towards him, to hover in the background beyond the group of smartly dressed people surrounding him, enough for him to see you, to peak his interest. This could be what Marcus, the FBI, needs. This could, potentially, help the investigation, if he is still doing dealings under the table.

But then what? You’d be stuck having to go further. There’d be no backing out. There’d be more drama, more headaches, more mind games, more lies. You can’t do it.

This has developed into something you don’t think you have the nerve for. The idea of it all seemed so easy when Marcus came to you, but the reality of it? You don’t have the mentality for it all. You’re not an agent. You’re not trained for this. You don’t have people behind you, covering for you and protecting you.

You turn away.

Rigsby lingers by the bathroom you had exited from, nose in a pamphlet showcasing the must sees of the museum, but his eyes flick to you as if to check on your movements. You swallow, give a barely there shake of your head and then continue on your way out, leaving him to alert Marcus that you had left.

—

You’re only a mere few feet away, but he can feel the distance that now stretches in between you. Distance that could never be removed or forgotten. The thick sheen of glass hides him from your gaze, but that doesn’t stop him from flinching when your eyes glance at the mirror upon entry.

He’s a coward. A fucking coward. He intentionally sat out on the move today, refused to be a part of the team bringing you in, all because he was scared of seeing your face and the look of betrayal in your eyes. Shit, he’s still scared now. Maybe that;s why he stays behind the glass, refusing to be a part of the interrogation.

You’re holding on so fucking strong, he’s damn near proud.

Jenner throws everything at you. He does all that he can, but when you don’t budge, he throws an apologetic glance towards the mirror that you thankfully don’t catch. It’s time to pull out the ace card, to let you know they had more on you than you think, and it makes him fucking sick.

He can’t move.

You’re confused when you hear the mention of his name, his real name, and why wouldn’t you be? You have no idea who he is, who he really is.

Sweat slicks his palm as he pulls at the door to the interrogation room, builds on the back of his neck under the crisp collar of his shirt as he takes a seat. He can’t look at you. He can’t look at you because he’s a piece of shit coward, unable to confront all the shit he’s done.

Bile stings at his throat.

It takes every fucking bit of him to keep it together.

The file is heavy in his hand as he slides it across the table before he finally manages to meet your gaze. It cuts him to the very core. He feels the hit of it deep in his chest. His jaw starts to ache from the pressure of keeping his teeth clenched tightly together, forcefully swallowing down every flicker of pain and guilt and self fucking loathing until he’s nothing but a blank slate.

Tears start to build rapidly in your eyes and he knows then and there that he’ll never forget that look of pure and utter heartbreak creasing your face. The face he had stroked so softly, kissed so lovingly.

“Special Agent Pike,” you rasp softly, almost choking on the words.

It’s a viciously harsh blow to the system and he falters almost immediately.

I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry—

You don’t look at him anymore, and he’s almost glad for it. You’d see how he starts to crumble, how his tongue darts out to wet his lips in a panic and how Jenner makes a small gesture for him to take a deep breath and cool it before he says something that’ll end him in deep shit.

“I want a lawyer.”

—

“I can’t—I can’t do this anymore. Any of it.”

He seems to be expecting the words, taking them in with nothing but a small reassuring smile and a simple, “Okay.”

Honestly, you were expecting a little more. Maybe a few questions fired as to why you couldn’t do it when you seemed so intent on following through with it all originally, but when he says nothing else, you deflate. You wet your lips, wondering if there’s some sort of catch, but Marcus remains silent, watching the flutter of emotions pass over your face.

“That’s it?”

“When I told you that you’re in control of this, I meant it. If you’re done, then you’re done.”

Hearing him confirm it brings such a sweet relief to your mind, you can practically feel the weight of it all start to seep from your shoulders, but despite that guilt still sits in the pit of your stomach, uncomfortable and relentless. It falls from your mouth before you can even think to stop it—

“I’m sorry. I thought—I don’t know. I guess I just thought it would feel different, or be easier than it actually is. I think I’m just… tired. Of everything. I want—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he cuts in quietly, giving a small reassuring smile when you glance at him. “We asked a lot of you, and I understand that. It’s okay—really.”

Your conversation with Jane plays back through your mind, almost tauntingly. A small part of you wants to tell Marcus about it, he should know Jane’s off parading about on his own path without a care for the plans or rules or whatever it is that gets set in place during an investigation, but then what?

He’d want to know what he said, and you don’t have it in you to look him in the eyes and tell him. You don’t want to open yourself up to that embarrassment. Of course what Jane said is all bullshit, it’s ridiculous to even think about yourself, but to have Marcus bluntly tell you so would be a bit of a slap across the face.

“The recording,” you start with the creepings of hesitation, tongue rolling along your lips in an effort to bring the words out smoother, “what happens to it?”

A flutter of a frown creases his brows as he eyes you from across your kitchen before he gives a noncommittal shrug, finding no harm in your curiosity.

“It gets put in with the rest of the evidence.”

“Even if there’s nothing on it?”

“It would need to be cleared by an agent first, but if there’s nothing of use on it then it just gets discarded.”

“If—if I asked you to delete it now, without listening to it, is that… would you?”

The frown immediately deepens.

He seems to stand straighter, something seeping into his expression as your question lingers in the air, and you watch, waiting for the suspicion that doesn’t seem to come. He just seems concerned, whether on your behalf or his investigation you don’t know. He doesn’t seem to know that Jane had jumped on you at the museum, surely that would’ve been something he would address immediately upon seeing you after the last time, so you’re positive he’s unaware of what’s on it.

“I—” he stops, tongue running along his lips, “I can’t risk the case—”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you. There’s nothing worthwhile on it, but if I wanted you to forget about it and delete it, would you?”

Would you trust me?

It goes unspoken, but it lingers behind your words. Despite the anxiety churning in your stomach and the panic building in your chest from how he’ll take your request and what he’ll think of it, you’re curious. He has no reason to trust you whatsoever, especially given your history, but some sort of shaky foundation had been built between you over your time working with him—how far did it go?

His concern grows, and he takes a careful step towards you. “Has something happened?”

Should you tell him? No. Just be done with it all.

“Just answer the question.”

“What happened?”

“Marcus.”

The frown remains steady between his brows, his eyes unwavering as they focus on yours and study your features, but eventually, after a few moments of searching your expression, he gives a small careful nod. You can’t help but recoil slightly in surprise, not expecting the answer. You don’t even know what you were expecting.

Your first response is to call him out, because surely he wouldn’t, but as you watch him and the way he starts to shift almost nervously, you start to believe him.

“You would?” You question softly, brows pulling together. “Why?”

“Because you asked me to.”

That’s it? That’s all it would take?

He swallows, eyes falling to the floor as his hands find his hips. “Are—are you asking me to?”

“Maybe.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“No.”

It’s not an answer he wants, but he seems to accept it. His frown stays on you, his eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as he attempts to work out whatever you may be thinking. You see the conflict play across his face, the urge to push for more answers, the want to understand.

Something seems to click behind his eyes and you don’t know what to brace for in the seconds that follow. Anger? Accusations?

He strides towards the kitchen counter, takes the little device in hand and holds a small button along the side until it gives a small beep followed by a clear confirmation of ‘recording deleted’. It’s over and done with within the span of thirty seconds and you’re left reeling.

Holy shit. He did it. You stare, wide eyed as he tosses it back down and runs a hand over his mouth, before turning and pacing the small width of your apartment.

You watch him go.

There was nothing on it other than your little spat with Jane, but he didn’t know that. You could be hiding anything. You could’ve turned on him, evaded Rigsby’s watchful eye, found someone in your old circle and told them everything you and the FBI have been doing. Anything could’ve been on it, and yet he listened to you.

He trusted you.

“You could’ve just deleted evidence,” you breathe, still stuck in disbelief.

He knows it wasn’t. He fully believes you would never ask that of him, but at that very moment, he couldn’t have cared less if it was evidence. He would’ve dealt with it, like before. Technology isn’t always reliable, and issues almost always arise during cases with something tech-related. No one would know. No one would need to know.

“Yes,” he states plainly, and you’re so perplexed by the word and how he seemingly shrugs off his actions that you need to take another moment to process it.

“Just like that.”

He finally stops pacing, turning to face you fully.

“Just like that,” he echoes quietly.

This was a bad idea.

Not just the erasure of potential evidence and his apparent nonchalance regarding it and the risk to the position he had gruellingly earned over the years, but the whole thing.

The whole fucking thing.

He should never have bought you into this. He should never have knocked on your door. He’s right back to where he was back then, stuck and doing some very questionable shit he would easily lose his job over all because he’s an idiot.

You don’t hide away from his gaze, and he doesn’t shy away from yours. You��re still trying to work out his thought process, the logic behind his actions, and you keep coming up with nothing. There’s no reason why he would do something like this, for a nobody like you. There’s no motivation, no need on his side to do as you ask and blindly delete shit without questioning it further… unless—

Unless, what Jane said holds some merit.

Why else would he do it?

No.

Maybe he’s just doing it as a favour, to try and make up for all of the shit he put you through. That makes more sense than him having feelings for you. He hasn’t been around you enough to justify any sort of feelings—he doesn’t know you. Or is he carrying them from your previous relationship? But it’s been ages since you were together, and that was all fake back then. There was nothing real there, it was all a lie.

The headache is coming back.

You exhale slowly through your lips, eyes falling away from him and to the simple black device once more. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You don’t need to know any more. It’s all done. It’s over, and you can finally get back to your quiet little normal life. You can move on.

“Thank you.” And you mean it.

“Thank you,” he murmurs quietly, clearing his throat. “I know this must’ve been very hard for you, and we appreciate all of the hard work you’ve put into this investigation. I appreciate it.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” you half smile, the pull of it natural.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he huffs softly in amusement, slowly coming closer to pick up the device from the counter and tuck it away into his pocket.

“I mean, I wasn’t thrilled to begin with, but… it turned out okay.”

He smiles fully, and it hits just like it used to. You don’t look away. There’s no harm in taking it all in one last time. You won’t see him after this. You didn’t know last time, before it all fell apart. You didn’t get a chance to enjoy all of the little things you liked. You didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

“Well, I’ll—I’ll leave you to it. Thank you again. There might be some final paperwork, but I’ll post it out.”

You nod as you follow him slowly to your door, tucking your cardigan around you and crossing your arms tightly across your chest. You ache. Somewhere deep inside your chest twists, and your throat starts to tighten. You’re not exactly sure what you’re thinking when you call out to him before he can reach for the door, and you’re left with nothing to say when he pauses and turns to you.

There’s nothing to say. He doesn’t bother filling the silence. You stand there, eyes roaming his face in an effort to picture him as he was back then, when he was Alex. He lets you. There’s something there, something hanging in the stillness surrounding you both because you can feel it start to tug and twist at your insides.

Finality.

This is goodbye—a proper one.

It’s not Marcus you want to say goodbye to.

Slowly, deliberately, you step into him and he doesn’t move a muscle. He stills under the hand you steady yourself with on his arm, breath all but hardening in his lungs when your face nears his own.

Your lips press ever so softly to his cheek, only mere millimetres from the corner of his lips, and the shaky little exhale he lets out confirms it all for you.

Jane was right, but you have no idea just how much. He was in deeper than you could have possibly ever imagined. Everything was still there, simmering right under the surface and threatening to be his entire undoing. He doesn’t speak, can’t speak, for fear of saying the wrong thing and fucking this last little moment up.

He relishes in it, in the one final tender touch of your lips that sends his pulse to a heavy hammer beneath his skin. It kills him, destroys him, but he takes it willingly with an open heart. The final punishment to close the last chapter of your story.

His eyes are closed when you pull away, but they soon flutter open to meet yours, and they swim with all the apologies and guilt he doesn’t let himself say anymore. You’re thankful for it, you don’t want to hear it. Not now. Your lips tingle, and a warmth spreads along the skin of your cheeks.

“Bye Scribbles,” he rumbles finally, and you swear there’s a slight shine of tears in his eyes.

They mirror the ones suddenly building in yours.

Goodbye Alex.

“Goodbye Marcus,” you return softly, and then he’s gone.

—

He wants to tell you to run.

The words sit on his tongue: a beg for forgiveness, a plea to just get on the first plane out of the fucking country and disappear, and he damn near draws blood to stop himself.

Though he tidied up as much as he could, ensured there were appropriate plea deals in place and a chance for you to get out of this better than the others if you cooperated, he still dreaded the next few days.

You have no idea.

No idea that your world’s essentially going to shatter and come down around you, and it’s all his fault.

Your kisses feel like a punishment. Each one threatens to cut through his restraint, and when you whisper those three sweet words in his ear he wants to vomit.

He wants to tell you everything. He wants to explain that this fake persona you had given yourself to so fully was still him—it was all him, just under a different name.

He doesn’t.

He lets the guilt eat away at him, lets the heartache practically tear him apart from the inside out until he feels raw. There’d be no salvaging this. There’d be no walking away from this with you still on his side, and rightly so. This will fucking break you, and he’ll carry that for the rest of his life.

He sits up long after you fall asleep, studying each dip and curve of your face and committing it all to memory. He traces over your skin, attempts to smile when you sleepily wake from his touch and hides the presence of his tears by scooping you into his arms for the last time.

—

It’s surprisingly easy to return to life as it was before he knocked on your door. A weight had been lifted free from your shoulders, a promise of new beginnings born from finally gaining closure. Was it what you expected? No, but it was no less welcome.

You managed to get your old job back at the diner, and spent days sketching aimlessly in the park.

It was normal, until it suddenly wasn’t.

The door’s pried open when you return from a late night shift, the obvious signs of a forced entry with the wooden edges of the door chipped and the frame split from pressure. Your hand shakes as you push it open, stomach turning as it gives way to the utter chaos that is your little apartment. Your home.

Your things are everywhere, drawers are opened and the contents spilled out onto the floor, furniture upturned and tossed carelessly to the side. Someone had been looking for something, but you know you have nothing of worth. Not anymore. They wouldn’t have walked away with anything of significance but still, there’s a bitter sting of loss, of intrusion that seems to rattle you to the core.

Heart beating heavily in your throat, you carefully step over the mess and further into your small apartment, and beyond the thunder of your pulse you hear nothing else out of the ordinary. Whoever had been here was long gone, leaving nothing but destruction and questions in their wake. Who the hell did this?

He’s the first and only person that comes to the forefront of your mind, and when you shakily reach for your phone and find his name still saved in your small list of contacts, he answers after the second ring despite it being so late. You almost feel guilty for bothering him, but something about the way he seems so immediately concerned placates any doubt.

“Hi, I—I’m sorry, I don’t… someone broke into my apartment—”

There’s a sudden flurry of movement on his end that crackles down the phone.

“Get out of there,” Marcus demands, before you can even finish working out the right words to say.

He doesn’t tell you to call the cops, he doesn’t tell you it’s not his problem and that you’re on your own now. You feel a slight wave of relief, but facing the disaster of your apartment has a wave of vulnerability hitting you and your eyes start to burn.

“There’s no one here,” you mumble around the sudden dryness of your throat, “they’re gone. Can you—”

“I’m on my way. Listen to me, I need you out of there, do you understand? Do not touch anything, leave everything as it is.”

You nod, despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to see it, and step back out into the quiet corridor of your floor.

There’s no one around.

Your skin prickles with worry, your nerves working into overdrive to stay vigilant. Every quiet shuffle and bump beyond the walls of neighbouring apartments rattles your senses, and the hand holding your phone starts to shake. He must sense your panic, hear the way your breathing starts to pick up as your chest starts to tighten.

“It’s okay, I’m coming. Stay on the phone with me.”

“Okay,” you exhale as a tear tracks down your cheek, leaving a cool trail in its wake.

Maybe this is an overreaction. Maybe it’s just some random burglary, someone out to get a quick bit of cash for whatever they need, or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s not all over as you had hoped. Has someone found you? Do they know who you are? Do they know what you did?

You feel sick.

Your voice catches in your throat, “Marcus—”

“I know. I’m coming.”

#run to you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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lucygxybaird · 5 months ago

Text

billy finds out you're carrying his baby tw: pregnancy

As soon as you open your eyes in the morning, it feels like your stomach hits the back of your throat.

You slap a hand over your mouth as you roll out of bed — you’re barely aware of the cold floorboards against the soles of your bare feet as you race into the kitchen, only making it to the sink with moments to spare. When you’re heaving up nothing but acid, you spit, pumping the water spout to rinse the sink clean. You fill a glass with water and rinse your mouth out, too.

Then you sink to the floor and start to cry.

What are you going to do?

For the first time, you’re thankful that Billy has been gone the past few weeks, on a long job with Mr. Tunstall and the Regulators. When you first started feeling sick, as selfish as it may have been, you only longed for his arms around you and the familiar sound of his deep, husky voice, soothing you as he read aloud. You kept waking up morning after morning, sick as a dog, only to find yourself ravenous as the day wore on. Even as the cycle repeated with each sunrise, you tried to pretend it was just some strange bug.

You can’t do that anymore. Especially not when you know Billy is coming home tomorrow.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, putting a hand over your stomach.

All you want to do is keep crying, but you have to think. You drag yourself to your feet and sit at the kitchen table, drying your eyes with the sleeve of your nightgown. The first question on your mind is how you’re going to tell Billy. After everything he’s been through, he’s finally found stability and peace with Tunstall. Now you’re going to yank the rug out from under his feet.

The thought makes you want to weep all over again, but you swallow hard and push the tears back. Instead, you get up and make yourself some tea, to settle your stomach and give you something to do. You stoke the fire in the belly of the stove, set water on to boil, and move to grab a mug from the cabinet standing nearby.

Each action grounds you, giving you one simple goal after another: steep the leaves when the water is done, add a little honey, sit down again. Cool it with a little funnel of air from your pursed lips. Sip. Sip. Sip.

There’s no question in your mind that Billy is going to stand by you. You only worry that he’ll feel obligated, because it’s the right thing. For a while now, you’ve been hoping that…that he’s been thinking of — of asking you a certain question. You have no doubt about what you’d say, if he asked.

Or, at least, you hadn’t had a doubt.

You don’t want him to propose to you out of a sense of duty, because of the little life you carry inside you. You want him to propose because the idea of calling you his wife — Mrs. Bonney — makes him feel like he’s donned a suit of armor, like nothing can hurt him now because he has you. He has you in a way that can be seen, understood, appreciated. The ring on your finger, matching the one on his, will tell everyone at a glance that the two of you belong together.

Now the only thing it will say (at least to anyone who can do a bit of quick math) is that he married you because he’s a good man whose mother raised him right.

You’re so buried in the misery and mire of your thoughts that when a hand — so gentle, yet so broad and strong, that you really should realize who it is — lands on your shoulder, you shriek and jump badly enough to send your teacup flying.

“Honey—”

You jump to your feet in an instant, spinning around, and without thinking, your hands go to your stomach as if you can protect the innocent spark within. It takes you a few shuddering breaths to realize that it’s Billy standing in front of you, looking just as shocked as you feel. “You’re early,” you blurt out, staring at him like you’ve never seen him before.

And then you burst into tears again.

“Hey, hey, hey…” Billy is reaching for you at once, pulling you into his arms. You bury your face against his chest, clinging to him, and he cradles the back of your head in his large palm. “Baby, I’m sorry for scarin’ you, I just thought I’d surprise you…”

You shake your head, though you can’t bring yourself to look up at him, so you just end up rubbing your tear-stained cheeks against his shirt. “No, it…I mean, you did scare me half to death, but…”

When you dare to peek up at him, he’s looking down at you with his forehead wrinkled, concern written all over his features. He manages to cup your jaw, tilting your face up so he can look at you properly. “But? Sweetheart, what’s the matter? You’re white as a ghost.”

You sniffle. “I thought I had more time.”

“More time for what?”

Another sniffle. “More time to…to figure out how to tell you…”

You swallow hard, trying not to start sobbing anew. Billy presses his lips together, the lines in his forehead deepening. “Did…did I do somethin’ wrong?” he asks, his voice soft, almost…small. “I — is what you’re tryin’ to say…are you tryin’ to figure out how to tell me you wanna call it quits?”

The idea is so far from anything you’ve ever considered that you just stare at him for a second, like he’s speaking some foreign language you can’t even begin to grasp. “No,” you finally manage to say, and you press your hand against his where it’s still cradling your face. “Oh, Billy, no, of course not, no. I love you. I don’t ever wanna be without you.”

The air rushes out of him in a gust of relief, and he smiles. You haven’t even realized how tense he became until you feel him relax in your arms. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, good, cause I really don’t ever wanna be without you, either.”

His smile dims a little as he remembers that there’s still something bothering you, and badly. “So…so what is it, darlin’? What’s goin’ on with you?”

You bite your lip. “I…I don’t know how to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything,” he says. “Just say it. Whatever it is, just tell me. No frills, no fuss, just…let it out.”

“It’s not that easy.”

He shakes your head. “It is with me,” he says. “It is with us. Nothin’ you ever, ever say is gonna make me love you any less, or make me wanna go away. You’re everything to me.”

A small sob bubbles over your lips. “I’m…I’m…”

You watch the color drain from his face, and his arms tighten around you. “Are you sick?”

At once, you feel a pang of guilt. You know how much illness terrifies him, not for himself but when it comes to someone he loves.

“No, no, I’m…” You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and will the words out of your mouth. “Billy, I’m pregnant.”

You only open your eyes again when the words are out of your mouth, and you look up to see Billy with the biggest, most radiant grin you’ve ever seen on his face. You don’t think he even smiled like this when Mr. Tunstall told him he was a free man, without the stain of outlaw on his name.

“Honey, are you sure?” he says. “You’re sure, you’re sure?”

“Yes,” you mutter.

Billy frames your face between his hands, and kisses you — once, twice, three times, and then he goes on to kiss you so many times that you actually lose count. You sway in his arms, so dizzy from the rush of affection that you can barely stand up straight. He wraps you up in a firm embrace, arms anchoring around your waist. Billy rests his forehead against yours, and you think you hear him sniffle.

“A baby,” he murmurs against your lips, and kisses you yet again. “My baby. I never thought I…”

He trails off, and he’s silent for so long that you reach up to weave your fingers into the curls that brush against his collar, giving a gentle tug so that he has to lift his head. “You never thought, what?”

He smiles softly. “Well, truth be told, I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Billy looks at you for a moment, and his smile spreads over his face again, shining like a shaft of sunlight breaking through the clouds. “You’re sure, you’re sure?”

For the first time since you had to face the facts, you find yourself smiling. It’s impossible to keep yourself from doing so, when Billy is looking at you like this, practically overflowing with emotion.“Yes, I’m sure.”

At once, so suddenly you give another shriek of surprise, Billy scoops you up into his arms. You can’t stop yourself from giggling, clinging to him as he carried you over to the bed. “Billy, what are you doing?”

“There’s broken china on the floor!” You’ve forgotten about the tea cup. “I wouldn’t want you walkin’ around in your bare feet anyway, but especially now…”

You giggle again. “I can clean that up myself.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” he says, depositing you gently on the bed. “You’re hardly gonna lift a finger for the next nine months if I can help it.”

You lay back against the pillows, watching him bustle around, cleaning up the mess and even making you a fresh cup. When he brings it to you, you tug on his arm, wordlessly insisting he gets into bed beside you; he obeys at once, putting his arm around you and drawing you against his chest. You melt into his arms, nuzzling against a gap in his shirt, where you can catch an enticing waft of the musk rising from his skin.

“I hope they look like you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against the crown of your hair. “The most beautiful girl in the world is gonna make the most beautiful babies, I know that much.” He pauses, as though considering something. “Except, I guess, I hope they have my eyes. My mom always told me I had her eyes.”

You smile, kissing the hollow at the base of his throat. “I hope they have your eyes, too. I’d be happy if they looked exactly like you.”

Billy chuckles, shaking his head. “Mm-mm. Just a little bit of me. This one will have my eyes, the next one my curly hair, and then—”

You can’t help but giggle. “You’ve thought about this, huh?”

“O’course I have,” he says. “I spend a lotta time on my own when I’m away from you, baby, and I’m doin’ some hard work while I’m gone, with long, long days. Thinkin’ about you and our future together gets me through it.”

You bury your face against his chest and hold him tighter, but he knows what you mean. He kises the top of your head.

After a few minutes of quiet, he says, “Baby, can I ask you something?”

You sit up at his tone, sliding your eyes to his. You reach for the mug of tea to give you something to do with your hands, to hide your face in the steam still curling from the surface. “Of course.”

“Why…?” He trails off, his brow furrowing. “Why were you so scared to tell me?”

You start, gulping too much of your tea as you do, wincing when the hot liquid burns your tongue and your throat. “I...” You cough. “I just…you’ve worked so hard and been through so much, Billy, and now you’ve made this new life for yourself. I didn’t…I didn’t want to ruin it.”

His eyebrows draw further together. “Ruin it? You couldn’t ruin anything. The best reason I have for goin’ straight is you — I want a life with you. Knowin’ that you’re havin’ my baby just makes it better.”

Now, to your surprise, he’s the one who looks nervous. “I, um…I actually got you something,” he adds. “A while ago. I — I was waitin’ until I got back from this job to give it to you, cause this one paid a lot, and I wanted…”

He clears his throat, unfolding himself from the bed and crossing the room to the dresser, where he pulls open the top drawer, where he keeps his shirts. You watch him rummage around, reaching deep into the belly of the drawer, before withdrawing his arm and turning back to you.

“I wanted — well, I thought — I had an idea I was gonna do this in a more romantic way,” he babbles, and you feel a warmth creeping over your face, flushing over your neck and making your stomach flip.

“Billy…”

“Listen — please, listen.” Billy comes back to the bed, taking up your left hand while clutching a small box in the other. “I love you. Every day, I — I can hardly believe that you’re mine, and now…” He smiles helplessly. “I can’t believe the two of you are mine. You and…”

His voice catches, and you feel your own throat tighten. “You and this sweet little thing,” he says. He puts the little box down on the bedspread to put his hand over your stomach, splaying his fingers out as if to hold as much of you as possible. “I don’t know how it is that I can love someone I’ve never even met, someone I didn’t even know existed this mornin’, but I do.”

Billy shifts on the bed, putting his head in your lap. “If your mama will let me,” he says, addressing your belly, “I’d like to ask her to marry me. What do you think?”

You laugh, though you can feel tears — of an entirely different kind than the one you’ve shed already today — pricking at the corners of your eyes. “They think you need to ask me properly.”

He grins, sitting up and snatching the ring box of the bed. “I love you,” he says again. “You make me happier than I ever thought I could be be, more…more at peace. If there’s Heaven waitin’ for us, it can’t compare to the way I feel when I’m with you. An’ I — I hope I can make you at least half as happy.”

“More than half,” you whisper, and he just smiles at you.

He pries the lid of the little box open, holding it out to you. “Darlin’, love of my life, mother of my child, would you marry me?”

You press your hands to your face, as if to contain the smile that threatens to spill its borders like a river at flood. “Of course, of course, I will.”

Offering Billy your hand, you giggle like a little girl as he slides the ring into place. “Oh, here,” he says, fishing a piece of paper from the confines of the ring box. “A receipt with the date, so you know I bought this weeks ago. I wanna marry you for you. This baby is the next chapter of our family, not the first sentence.”

You peek at the receipt, and indeed, it’s from nearly a month ago, before Billy went on this last job. You crawl into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Look at you,” you tease. “Practically a married man, with a baby on the way. How respectable.”

He grins back at you. “I know,” he says. “Who woulda thought it?”

You smile, kissing the tip of his nose. “I would.”

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