#we’ll see how i feel when she leaves but

[d-z20]

Resistance is Futile (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Agatha and Rio have claimed you as their pet but you're not going down without a fight and are defiant to their advances. The two witches are undeterred and keep trying, knowing they'll break you eventually

- OR -

They've finally grown tired of your reluctance, they fuck you with their magic strap-ons until you can't think (or walk)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Agatha, Top Rio, Pet Reader, dub-conish, reader refered to with she/her pronouns, magic straps, magically enhanced orgasms, voyeurism, breeding, marking, degradation, praise, magical restraints, Agatha and Rio are dark in this universe, kind of stockholm syndrome, overstimulation, possession/ownership, throat fucking, cum as lube, maybe more who knows

Words: 4.4k

A/N: So in my head the magic straps in this are like similar vibes to Celestial Agatha in What If so you know: gay and powerful. It's easy to see how Rio got Agatha pregnant. Fic req

AO3 | Masterlist

You were not going to make this easy for them. That much was clear. The long, shadowed corridors of Agatha’s lair feel like a prison, but you don’t care. No, your defiance is all you have left—the only thing that gives you any semblance of control in a world where you are nothing more than their possession, their thing, their pet.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself to survive.

Agatha’s eyes follow you as you pace, her gaze calculating and predatory. Rio sits at the table, arms crossed, her sharp smile never wavering. Their attention feels like a weight pressing against your skin, heavy and suffocating, like predators waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“You think you can defy us forever?” Agatha asks, her voice low and honeyed, sliding under your skin like a blade. “You think you can stay strong in this cage of your own making?”

You stop in your tracks, meeting her gaze with fiery resolve. “I’m not your pet,” you spit, defiance simmering in your voice.

Agatha chuckles, rich and dark, the sound curling through the air like smoke. “I’ve seen stronger wills break under pressure. Yours will too. Just wait.”

Her words are a subtle threat that lingers in the air, but you refuse to let her see the sting. “We’ll see,” you mutter, arms crossing over your chest as if to shield yourself from the weight of her gaze.

Rio’s grin widens as she leans forward, her sharp eyes studying you like a puzzle she’s dying to solve. “You know,” she muses, her voice smooth as silk, “you make this so much more fun than it needs to be. But I think you’re wrong about one thing. You are ours.”

—

Days bleed into weeks, and every moment feels like a war. They test you constantly. Punishments come as sharp reminders of your place—subtle and precise—but they’re always followed by praise that’s just as cutting. Agatha’s actions are cruel and calculated, leaving you trembling with exhaustion but too stubborn to yield. Rio’s methods are softer, more insidious, sinking under your skin like an itch you can’t scratch.

“I’ve seen stronger witches than you fall apart,” Agatha muses one evening, her fingers tracing the sigil that glows faintly on your wrist. The magic embedded in it burns, sparking through your veins like electricity, and you barely manage to suppress the flinch. “What makes you so special?”

You refuse to scream; you won’t give them the satisfaction.

“This supposed to break me?” You sneer, voice shaky but defiant. “Because it’s not working.”

Her lips curl, amusement dancing in her sharp eyes. “You think you’re strong? Maybe. But strength is nothing without control.”

Rio stands in the doorway, her dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. “She’s right,” she says, her voice velvet and steel. “Strength alone won’t save you when you’re as lost as you are. But you could find control... with us.”

You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I don’t need either of you.”

But the look they exchange, the promise and challenge flickering between them, makes your chest tighten.

—

A week later, they come to you together. Agatha’s magic is constant, clinging to you like smoke, pervasive, and invasive. Rio’s touch is gentle yet commanding; her movements slow and deliberate, as though she’s teaching your body how to respond to her. You hate how easily it works.

It begins with something small. Agatha’s fingers brush over the curve of your neck, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “So defiant,” she purrs, her voice a dark promise. “But I see cracks in your armour.”

Your breath catches, and you hate yourself for it. The pressure of their presence is overwhelming, making your head swim. Rio steps closer, her hand lightly brushing against yours, her grin dangerous and knowing. “Maybe we’re getting somewhere after all.”

—

The next night, they return. Agatha’s magic binds your movements, a reminder of the power she wields over you. Rio removes the physical restraints, her hands steady and deliberate, as though she’s peeling away the layers of your resistance. You fight, struggling against the invisible force that holds you still, but it doesn’t stop them.

And for the first time, you start to wonder if you even want them to.

It’s late when the breaking point comes. You stand in front of them, all your defences stripped bare, the cracks in your resolve widening by the second. Agatha’s gaze is unwavering, sharp enough to pierce through every wall you’ve built.

“You can’t keep hiding from us,” she snarls, her voice low and commanding, threading through you like a spell. “You’re ours. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can turn pain into pleasure.”

Your head shakes, but there’s a tremor in your voice you can’t mask. “I’m not yours.”

“You are.” Her words are a whisper, a command, and they press down on you like a weight you can’t escape. Your knees weaken, and you gasp, overwhelmed by the sheer power of her presence.

Rio steps closer, her hand curling around your arm in a grip that’s both firm and comforting. Her touch sends a shiver racing through you as she tilts her head, her voice a soft murmur. “Stop fighting it. Stop pretending this isn’t what you need.”

Their proximity is suffocating. Your body trembles with desire, with the ache of something deep inside you finally breaking free. The walls you’ve spent weeks fortifying come crumbling down in a single moment.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of surrender.

Agatha’s lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. She steps forward, her hand settling at the back of your neck, her fingers cool against your skin as she pulls you toward her. Her kiss is slow and deliberate, a claim that leaves you breathless. The taste of her is intoxicating, and it leaves you reeling.

Rio’s laughter is soft and low as she moves behind you, her hands settling on your hips. “There she is,” she muses, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. Her teeth graze the sensitive skin, sending a jolt through your body that makes you curse under your breath.

“Fuck you both,” you manage to hiss, but the heat in your voice betrays you.

Agatha pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Such a sharp tongue,” she says, almost to herself, as if considering how best to silence it. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

With a flick of her fingers, magic courses through you, curling around your wrists and pulling them above your head. The force isn’t rough, but it’s unyielding, holding you firmly as glowing tendrils bind you in place. Your pulse pounds as Agatha steps back, her eyes raking over you like she’s admiring a masterpiece.

Rio’s hands slide to the hem of your shirt, and with a whispered word, the fabric disappears, leaving your skin bare and exposed. Her palms are cold as they trail over your stomach, her nails scraping lightly against your ribs.

“Is this supposed to impress me?” You snap, though your voice is breathless and uneven.

Rio laughs again, the sound rich and dark. “No, sweetheart,” she purrs. “This is supposed to ruin you.”

Agatha’s magic shifts again, a tangible wave of heat brushing against your skin, making you arch involuntarily as it settles low in your abdomen. Her fingers move through the air, weaving invisible patterns, and you feel it—a phantom touch tracing up your thighs, teasing, testing. Your breath hitches, and you tug against the restraints, hating the way your body reacts to the sensation.

“You’re trembling,” Agatha observes, her voice silk and steel. “Tell me, pet—are you afraid? Or just desperate?”

“Go to hell,” you snap, but the words sound weaker now, edged with something you don’t want to acknowledge.

Rio’s hands move lower, her touch firm as her fingers hook into your waistband. Another muttered spell, and your clothing vanishes completely, leaving you bare under their gaze. Her nails rake lightly against your inner thigh, drawing a shudder from you that you can’t suppress.

“Look at her,” Rio murmurs to Agatha, her voice heavy with satisfaction. “So defiant, but her body knows better.”

Agatha steps closer, her hand ghosting over your chest, her magic lacing every movement with electricity. When her fingers brush your skin, it’s as if she’s leaving a trail of heat in her wake, her touch deliberate and possessive. “Let’s see how long you can keep up this act,” she says, her voice low and commanding.

You’re trembling now, every nerve alight as their magic weaves through your senses, blurring the line between pain and pleasure, control and surrender. Every touch feels amplified, every breath stolen, until all you can do is cling to the last threads of resistance—and even those are slipping through your fingers.

Agatha’s magic pulses, a living thing coiling around your body, dragging sensations across your skin that feel like whispers and lightning all at once. Her lips are back on yours, devouring, commanding, and pulling you deeper into her orbit. The taste of her is heady, and it leaves you reeling, your legs trembling as if the floor beneath you has given way.

Behind you, Rio’s hands continue their slow, maddening exploration. Her fingers dig into your hips, grounding you just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. Her mouth is at your neck now, lips pressing hot kisses against your skin, teeth grazing the sensitive spot that makes you gasp.

"Such pretty sounds," Rio mumbles, her voice dripping with amusement as her hands slide down, teasing at the edges of where you want her most. "And you’re trying so hard to hold back. It’s adorable, really."

Your jaw tightens, but your body betrays you, hips twitching under her touch. “I hate you,” you breathe, though the words lack conviction, each syllable faltering as Agatha tilts your chin up to meet her sharp, knowing gaze.

“Hate?” Agatha repeats, her tone mocking as her thumb traces along your jaw. "No, pet, what you hate is how much you want this. How much you need it."

Her words settle over you like a weight, and the truth burns. You jerk against the glowing binds holding your wrists above your head, but the magic only tightens, pulling you taut and vulnerable between them. The heat of Agatha’s magic licks over your skin, and your breath hitches as the phantom touch returns—this time teasing higher, brushing against your inner thighs in a way that makes you bite back a whimper.

“Such a stubborn little thing,” Agatha muses, her fingers brushing over your chest, her nails scraping lightly. "But look at you now—shaking like a leaf, your body begging for more even while you try so hard to keep that sharp tongue of yours.”

Rio’s hands press against your thighs, urging them apart, her touch firm and deliberate. "Let’s see if we can help her find her manners,” she says with a smirk. “Think we should ruin her properly this time?”

Agatha hums in agreement, her magic shifting in intensity, winding tighter around you. The phantom sensation becomes sharper, more precise, brushing against your sensitive clit, drawing a cry from your lips that you can’t suppress. Agatha’s smile widens. “Oh, darling. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Let’s hear more.”

You stutter out a curse, but it dissolves into a gasp as Rio’s mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, her teeth leaving marks that send heat racing through your veins. Her hands, firm and demanding, leave no part of you untouched, tracing patterns down your sides, across your stomach, and lower still.

“Such a mess,” Rio murmurs, her voice heavy with satisfaction as her nails rake over your thighs, making you jerk. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. Just admit it—you like being our plaything.”

“Fuck—fuck you,” you stammer, though the heat in your voice betrays you, every word trembling with desperation.

Agatha laughs softly, the sound rich and dangerous, her magic surging in response. The phantom touch turns relentless, teasing, and tormenting, and you arch involuntarily, a broken moan spilling from your lips. Your knees buckle, but Rio’s hands are there, steadying you, holding you exactly where they want you.

“That’s it,” Agatha purrs, leaning in to press her lips against the corner of your mouth. “Let go, pet. Let us take you apart.”

Rio’s fingers find you again, slipping between your thighs with devastating precision, and your head falls back against her shoulder as your body betrays you completely. “There she is,” Rio murmurs, her voice a low growl in your ear. “Knew you couldn’t hold out forever.”

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the world spinning as Agatha steps closer, her hands cupping your face to make you meet her gaze. “Look at me, Y/N,” she commands, her voice leaving no room for disobedience. “I want to see the moment you break.”

You can’t fight it anymore. The sensations are too much—the heat of their touch, the pull of Agatha’s magic, the way Rio’s fingers work you with merciless expertise. Your body trembles violently, and you cry out, shattering under their combined efforts.

But they don’t stop.

Agatha’s magic shifts again, coaxing another wave of pleasure from you before you’ve even recovered from the first. Rio’s hands are unrelenting, her touch alternating between rough and gentle, keeping you on edge, leaving you helpless against the onslaught.

“Pathetic,” Rio says, her tone gleeful as she watches your body twitch and tremble. “Completely undone. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You try to respond, but all that escapes is a broken moan, your voice cracking as your knees finally give out. Only the magical binds and Rio’s grip keep you upright as Agatha’s lips brush against your ear. “You’re ours, Y/N,” she whispers, the words sinking into your very core.

With a flick of her fingers, Agatha adjusts the magic holding you in place. The binds shift, no longer just keeping you upright but suspending you in midair, as if resting on an invisible bed. The sensation is strange but oddly comforting, the magic cradling your weight effortlessly. Your arms remain bound above you, leaving you completely exposed.

Rio moves to stand by your head, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead as she smirks down at you. Meanwhile, Agatha positions herself at your feet, her glowing eyes raking over you as though admiring her handiwork.

Agatha’s smirk grows as she steps closer, her fingers glowing faintly with her signature purple magic. “We’ll start slow,” her voice a soft caress, though the wicked glint in her eyes promises anything but gentleness. Her hand slides between your legs, her touch precise and knowing, and you can’t stop the sharp inhale as her fingers begin to work you open.

“Relax, pet,” she whispers, her voice low and commanding, as her other hand moves to your thigh, holding you steady even as the magic does most of the work.

At the same time, Rio hooks her fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze. “Open,” she orders, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. You hesitate for the briefest moment, but the commanding heat in her eyes makes resistance futile. Slowly, you part your lips.

“Good girl,” Rio purrs, her magic flaring as A glowing, dark strap materializes at her hips. Without hesitation, she guides herself into your mouth, her grip firm as she sets a punishing pace. The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch and weight of her filling you completely as Agatha’s fingers curl inside you, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.

“You’re taking us so well,” Agatha coos, her tone mocking yet almost affectionate. Her thumb brushes over your sensitive bundle of nerves, her movements deliberate as she stretches you open. “See, Rio? She’s learning her place.”

Rio hums in agreement, her hips rocking forward, forcing you to take her deeper. “She’s a quick learner,” she mutters, her tone dripping with amusement. “But I think she can do better.” Her hand tangles in your hair, holding you steady as she thrusts into your throat, her breath hitching with each movement. The magic allows her to feel everything, and her low moans of pleasure send heat pooling low in your stomach.

Tears prick your eyes, and your throat protests, but you push through, the weight of their control pressing down on you until you’re trembling under their combined attention. Agatha’s fingers curl, hitting a spot inside you that makes you cry out around Rio, your body jerking in response. Rio groans, the sound rough and needy as her hips stutter, the magic amplifying every sensation as she pushes herself closer to the edge.

Her breath hitches, and a deep, guttural moan escapes her throat as she pulls back abruptly. “Fuck,” she rasps, her voice breaking with raw need as her strap pulses in your mouth, just shy of her release. She withdraws with a deliberate slowness, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she grips the base of her strap.

Rio circles you with slow, measured steps, her predatory gaze dragging over your trembling form as she moves to stand by Agatha. “Switching places for a moment, darling,” she smirks as she traces her fingers along your calf. Agatha just chuckles, her magic flaring as her own glowing strap begins to materialise at her hips, its sleek, enchanted form matching the dangerous glint in her eyes.

With a shuddering exhale, Rio begins to jerk herself off, her movements slow at first but growing more desperate as her climax quickly builds again. The room fills with the sound of her ragged breaths and low, throaty groans, the raw need in her voice making your own pulse race. As her release finally hits, a long, drawn-out groan tears from her throat. Her body trembling with the intensity of her orgasm as she cums all over your pussy. “A little something to make things easier for you, darling.” Rio says after a moment, her voice husky as she steps back, her satisfaction evident in the smug grin curling her lips.

“How thoughtful of you,” Agatha chuckles, her hand aligning the tip of her strap against your entrance, which was now dripping with a mix of your arousal and Rio’s cum. “Let’s see how well our little pet takes it.”

The stretch is slow and deliberate as Agatha pushes into you, the slickness making it easier, though no less overwhelming. She fills you completely, her hips moving in slow, devastating thrusts that leave you gasping and trembling. “That’s it,” she whispers, her hands gripping your thighs as her rhythm builds. “Take it all. Good pet.”

Rio’s eyes glint with hunger as she watches, arms crossed and shoulders relaxed as though she isn’t buzzing with anticipation. Her lips curl into a sly smile as Agatha sets the pace, each thrust precise and devastating. "Look at her,” Rio remarks, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Already such a mess. She’s perfect like this. Just for us."

Agatha’s answering laugh is low and sultry, her grip on your thighs tightening as she drives into you with more force. Each movement sends jolts of pleasure tearing through your body, amplified by the hum of her magic. She leans down, her breath warm against your neck, and you feel the sharp graze of her teeth. A shiver runs through you as she bites down, hard enough to leave her mark.

“She needs more,” Agatha purrs, her voice laced with wicked amusement. “Doesn’t she, Rio?”

Rio hums in agreement, stepping behind you. Her hands glide over your trembling form, possessive and firm as she tilts your head back, exposing your throat. "Let’s make sure she doesn’t forget who she belongs to," she hums, her lips brushing your ear before sinking her teeth into the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. The sharp sting pulls a broken moan from your lips, and you feel the curve of her smile against your skin.

“Tell us who owns you,” Agatha demands, her voice sharp and commanding as she drives into you with unrelenting force. Her magic courses through you, burning in all the right ways, overwhelming your senses until you’re teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

“Y-you,” you stammer, the word barely a whisper as your body trembles under her onslaught.

“And?” Her pace quickens, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

“Rio,” you gasp, tears streaking your cheeks as your release builds, unbearable and all-consuming.

Agatha hums in satisfaction, her movements growing rougher as her own breath hitches. The magic connects her to every sensation—the friction and heat dragging a deep, guttural moan from her throat. “Good girl,” she groans, her voice strained with pleasure. With a particularly deep thrust, she sends you tumbling over the edge. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum tonight, as a fresh climax hits with an intensity that leaves you sobbing, the pleasure tearing through you until you’re left trembling, every muscle quivering with aftershocks.

But Agatha doesn’t stop. She presses deeper, drawing out every last spark of sensation, her own shuddering release building as she feels you clenching around her. An almost feral growl escapes her as her hips snap forward in one final thrust, her movements stilling as you feel her twitching inside you, magic amplifying the waves of her release. Her grip tightens on your thighs, her nails digging into your skin as her body shudders against yours.

When she finally pulls back, her breath comes in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she stands tall, a smug, satisfied smirk curling her lips. “Mine,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with possession, as her fingers trail over the fresh marks she’s left on your skin, her touch lingering like a brand. A slick, warm sensation follows as her release drips out of you, a vivid reminder of the claim she’s just staked.

Rio steps forward then, her hands sliding up and down your trembling thighs, her touch deliberate as if savouring every inch of you. She hums softly, her lips quirking in amusement as she watches Agatha’s cum trickle down. “Messy,” she remarks with a low chuckle, her tone almost mocking.

Leaning in, Rio gathers it on her fingers and pushes it back inside you, her grin widening as you gasp at the intrusion. “Can’t let that go to waste,” she purrs, her tone thick with satisfaction.

Only then does she line herself up fully, her hands gripping your hips tightly as she thrusts into you with brutal precision. The pace is relentless from the start, her hips slamming against yours in a rhythm that leaves no room for reprieve.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well,” Rio growls, her head tipping back as she buries herself in deeper. Her pace is relentless, each movement sending fresh waves of pleasure crashing through you. Her nails dig into your hips, and she drags you back against her, forcing you to take her deeper still, making you cry out in pleasure. “I thought you were defiant,” she mocks, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “And yet, now you’re practically begging for it.”

All you can manage is a broken moan, your body arching into her as the pleasure blurs the edges of your thoughts. Every thrust leaves you gasping, every scrape of her nails and bite of her teeth reducing you further. Rio leans down, her teeth grazing your shoulder before biting hard enough to make you cry out. "That’s right," she murmurs, her voice low and rough. “You’re ours to ruin.”

Her movements become erratic, her breaths ragged as she slams her hips into you, every twitch of your already overstimulated cunt pushing her closer to the edge. “Fuck,” Rio hisses, her voice breaking as her hips snap forward, her own release tearing through her with a force that leaves her trembling. She holds you tight, her head dropped back in pure ecstasy, a rough groan escaping her throat as the magic amplifies every pulse and throb of your body around her.

Rio doesn’t pull out immediately, instead grinding her hips against you, dragging out the sensations until both of your bodies finally stop twitching. Her chest rises and falls heavily, and she leans forward, pressing a possessive kiss to the curve of your shoulder before straightening and calling over her wife. “Come here, my love.”

She adjusts her position, kneeling between your legs, her hands firm on your thighs as she spreads them wider to give Agatha a clear view. “Look at this,” she says, her tone dripping with amusement as she watches their combined release trickling from your thoroughly used body. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Agatha’s sharp eyes gleam with approval as she steps closer, her lips curving into a satisfied smirk. “Absolutely perfect,” she purrs, crossing her arms as she leans in slightly, watching intently as Rio moves between your legs.

Rio’s tongue flicks out, her movements slow and deliberate as she begins to ‘clean you up,’ her warm, wet strokes collecting every drop of their cum. The sensation is unbearable, the overstimulation pushing your body past its limits as each pass of her tongue sends sharp jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through you.

“P-please,” you stutter, your voice cracking, but your plea only earns a low chuckle from Rio as her hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place.

“Shhh, pet,” Rio whispers against your skin, her breath warm as she continues her slow, torturous movements. “We’re not done until we say we’re done.”

Your body jerks under her attention, the overstimulation finally cresting into another peak that crashes through you with devastating force. Your release hits like a thunderclap, leaving you sobbing and trembling as Rio licks you clean, her tongue never missing a single drop.

By the time Rio is finished having her fun, you’re a trembling, stuttering mess, every shred of resistance melted away. They’ve undone you completely, your body and mind utterly spent. As Agatha waves a hand, the magical restraints dissolve, and you slump forward, only for Rio to catch your limp form.

“Good girl,” Agatha affirms, her voice soft yet laced with smug satisfaction as she strokes your hair.

Rio hums her agreement, her arms tightening around you as she presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re ours now,” she whispers, her voice filled with possessive pride.

And in the haze of pleasure and surrender, you don’t argue.

-----

I told myself I'd get the next chapter of Neighbourly Care out before New Years but then this fic possessed me. Oh well, if I managed to get my degrees by writing everything the night before I can certainly do the same for my fics 😤😤

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Taglist: @danveration @aceday @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @gbab09 @vigilante24ish @marvelwomenarehot0

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Is it broken?

aemond x betrothed!f!reader

Summary: Aemond finds out just how much care you need in the mornings. 

Warnings: 18+ innocent reader testing aemond’s composure, bathing, masturbation(f), fingering, oral(f), humping, slight cum play, unintentional edging and teasing bc aemond is fighting to hold onto his control he fails every time

Authors Note: my first aem request from @jacaerysonlywife 🥹💞 apparently i’m giving my innocent readers a soft pink mood board and ykw it’s what they deserve 🤗 i put some plot in this bc i can’t help myself when it comes to this man 

Word Count: 4.4k

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Every morning Aemond has the same routine of waiting outside of your chambers for you to greet him with a smile. Today he was able to spend an extra couple of minutes training because of your morning bath. After every bath he listens to your complaints of your handmaidens not seeing to all of your needs. He’s tried to help you come up with what to tell them but you still come to him with a fresh pout. The only way he can make you feel better is give you a hug and take you to the gardens.

You’re a little later than normal, not that he minds, he hopes your handmaidens have finally gotten something right. He leans against the wall fiddling with the hilt of his dagger waiting for you to come out and join him. He sighs when he sees your company of handmaidens walk out of your chambers with red faces.They avoid his gaze and wait to the side of the door as he walks up to it before turning back to them.

“Is she ready?” he asks lowly.

“No, my Prince.” one of them whispers. 

“Why not?” he sighs.

“She’s not happy. She won’t say. She told us to come get you.” he clenches his jaw at their words. 

How hard could it possibly be to bathe you? He knocks softly on your door before stepping into your chambers and softly clicking the door shut behind him. He looks around your chambers and his eye stops when he finds you still in the tub. His steps are slow and deliberate as he watches you sink lower into the water. He stops and grabs a stool to take a seat next to the tub. You scoot closer to the lip and rest your arms on it looking up at him with a small frown. 

“Why do you keep kicking your handmaidens out?” he hums, brushing your hair back over your shoulder. 

“They don’t know what I like.” you pout when he takes his hand away from you. 

“Did you tell them what we came up with?” he tilts his head picking up the cloth that’s resting over the tub, deciding to finish bathing you himself.

“No.” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“How are they going to know what you want then, sweet girl? Hm?” he sighs, reaching for your hand to begin washing you. 

“I don’t know.” your voice small as you look up at him. “Can you tell them to get my oils and my soaps?” you grab his hand. “This is just water that’s tepid.” you purse your lips and he dips his fingers in the water. 

“Mm,” his finger trails up your arm leaving droplets and goosebumps in their wake. “Is there anything else you need?” his eye meets yours and he tries to avoid looking at your heaving chest from his touch. He knows he should leave and call your handmaidens back in but he can’t find it in himself to go.

“Milk for my bath.” you whisper. 

“I’ll tell them.” he nods. “When they come back with what you desire I’ll let them bathe you.” he presses his lips to your forehead. “Then we’ll go on our morning walk.” he starts to rise. 

“Aemond,” your voice a plea as you reach out for his hand. “Can you?” you chew your lip. 

“Can I what?” he watches as you play with his fingers. 

“Bathe me. Your touch is softer.” you bring his hand to your mouth and press your lips against it. “Please,” your soft plea is music to his ears and he nods once. He doesn’t care if it’s indecent, you’ll both be wed by the end of the month.

“I’ll be right back.” he walks to the door and cracks it open and sees your handmaidens still waiting with their hands folded and heads down. “My betrothed requires soaps and oils, not just warm water. Bring another bucket of steaming water along with some milk and petals. Surely it’s not that hard to figure out what she needs.” he hisses, watching as their heads lower even more. “Go on then, with haste.” he clicks his tongue before sealing himself back in your chambers with you. 

“Thank you.” you watch as he slowly walks back over to you. “Can you just bathe me from now on?” you blink up at him as he stares down at you. 

“I’ll tell your handmaidens what you like.” his eye trails over the length of your body and he groans as you reach your hand up for him. 

“I want you, Aemond.” you grab for his hand. “Please, please, Aem,” you pull his hand down to you and he grunts taking a seat on the stool. “Aemond, please,” you get on your knees and he inhales sharply as he’s greeted by your breasts, willing his cheeks not to flush.

“I’ll see-“ a quick succession of knocks has Aemond standing up. “Lay back down.” he nods at you before going to the door and letting your handmaidens in with the baskets and buckets. They leave the extra supplies near the tub and are out the door before you can even offer them a small thanks. 

“What did you tell them to bring?” your eyes look over the baskets. 

“Hot water.” he picks up the bucket and empties it into your bath and you lean back, sighing as the warmth licks up your body. “Milk as you requested.” he trickles it down the length of the bath and watches you squirm as the cool liquid mixes with the water. “Your soaps and oils.” he brings the basket to the side to let you shuffle through and smell them. 

“I like this one best.” you place a small jar of sweet smelling soap in his hand. 

“And what oil would you like?” he tilts his head. 

“I don’t know yet. That’s for after the bath.” you look up at him and he chuckles softly. 

“Of course, I should’ve known.” he nods his head. “I had them bring some petals for you.” he brings the small box to the bath and takes his seat on the stool again. 

“Thank you,” your soft tone causes him to internally groan. 

He spreads the petals throughout the water and watches you mix everything together in the water. He picks up the cloth, adding soap to it and slowly starts to clean you watching you lean back against the tub. When he gets to your legs you allow him to lift them out of the water one at a time. He only washes up to your mid thigh not trusting himself enough to go further. You pout when he puts both of your legs back in the water and starts washing your back. 

“You missed a spot.” you turn your head to look at him. 

“Where did I miss?” he chuckles at your furrowed brow. 

“Between my thighs.” you grab his hand with the cloth. 

“I'm not supposed to go between your thighs, sweet girl.” his eye darkens as you pull his hand under the water.

“Why not?” you pout. “My handmaidens clean me there.” his back straightens when you brush his fingers against your center.

“Okay, okay,” he steels himself. “Let go of my wrist and I’ll take care of you.” you bring your hand back up to your chest and watch his face as he slowly slides the cloth against you. Aemond can’t help but let his fingers slide up your slit after the cloth and watch your cheeks flush. “Like this?” he hums and you nod your head.

“They’re usually less- Aem,” your hand reaches for his wrist again as he abandons the cloth and slides his fingers through your slit, unable to help himself. “Aemond,” you whine as your thighs clamp around his hand and he watches you suck your lip into your mouth. “Feels so- yes,” he groans at your soft whimper when he brushes against your bud. 

“Shh, shh,” his fingers swirl around your bud and your fingers dig into his wrist. He scolds himself and starts to pull his hand out from between your thighs. He knows he shouldn’t have even been in this position in the first place but you tug his hand back down. “What are you wanting me to do?” his voice strained. 

“I don’t know,” you whimper as his finger trails down your slit once more. “Feels so good Aem,” he watches your body tremble as he brings his fingers back up to your bud. “Mm, right there, yes,” your soft pleas go straight to his cock. 

“I should stop.” he brings his lip between his teeth watching you arch out of the milky water. 

“No, please don’t stop.” you hold his arm under the water. “Aemond please,” you gasp as he circles his fingers faster making the water start to slosh. The warm feeling in your stomach coils and your hips start to roll against his hand. “Why?” you let out a soft cry as he starts to remove his hand.

“Let me finish washing your hair and get you out.” he pulls his hand out of the water despite how you claw at him. He shakes his head at himself that he allowed his control to slip and touch you so intimately before your wed. Despite that fact, he desperately wants to hear more of your noises. 

“Aem, it hurts.” you put your hand under the water to replace his and gasp as you copy his movements. “Oh,” you gasp, feeling the difference in wetness from the water. “Aemond,” his name falls from your mouth breathlessly and he readjusts himself in his trousers. 

“Leave your little cunny alone.” he tsks pulling your hand from between your legs. “Lean back and let me wash your hair.” you whine, squeezing your thighs together as you do as he says.

Aemond has no idea how to steel himself for the rest of your bath if you’re going to keep up with your pouting and whining. He slowly trickles the water down your hair and listens to your soft hums as he runs his fingers through your hair. You slip your hand beneath the water hoping to recreate the feeling Aemond was offering you with his fingers. You start to squirm and tremble as he washes the soap out of your hair. 

“Aemond,” you whine as your hips chase your fingers. He flares his nostrils seeing your hand under the water once more.

“Gods,” Aemond groans, pulling your hand out of the water. “What did I say?” he stands and you look up at him with flushed cheeks. 

“But it hurts.” you whimper and he pulls you out of the bath and wraps you in a towel. “Is my cunny broken?” you turn and look up at him as he starts to rub the towel against you.

“No, it’s not broken.” he chuckles, walking you over to your wardrobe. 

“How do you know? You haven’t even looked at it.” he clenches his jaw and closes his eye to try and collect himself but when he looks down at you once more you have your towel dropped to the floor. “Can you check, Aem?” he watches you lay back on your chaise. 

“I’m not supposed to until after we wed.” he groans as you pull your legs up to your chest. 

“But you can touch it?” you tilt your head and his eye widens. “Please. Do you want them open like this?” you spread your legs apart. 

“Gods, you’re going to kill me.” he watches your slit glisten in the morning light. 

“If you won’t check can you call someone else in? Maybe a maester? I don’t know Aem, please.” you reach out for him. 

“I’m not calling a maester to come and play with your cunny.” he shakes his head at the thought. 

“Tell me how to make it feel better then.” you bring your fingers down between your legs and trail them up your slit. “Aemond please,” you look at him with flushed cheeks. “Your fingers felt better.” your body trembles as you swirl around your bud. 

“I shouldn’t.” his voice low and he knows he’s going to give in soon. He watches your legs start to shake around your hand as you start to move your fingers faster. His name is on your lips like a prayer and he decides he wants to make you come for the first time and for the rest of time. 

“Aemond,” your plea breaks his will and he’s on his knees in front of you pulling your hand away. 

“Let me check for you, sweet girl.” he looks up at you and you nod your head quickly. “Show me where it hurts.” he watches you nibble your lip and point to your bud. “Shall I kiss it to see if that makes it feel better?” he spreads your legs more, softly squeezing the flesh of your thighs. 

“You want to kiss my cunny?” you squirm as he dips his head down. 

“I would like nothing more.” his eye flicks up to you. “But I’m asking you. Would you like me to kiss your aching cunny?” his breath fans over your center and you scoot closer to his mouth and he chuckles. 

“Yes.” you nod. “Please,” you squeak when he presses his lips to your thighs. He watches you dig your fingers into your blankets the closer he gets to your core. “Aemond,” you cry when he licks his tongue up your slit. 

He circles your bud and your breath catches when he starts to flick his tongue quickly. His lips encase your bud and you whimper above him rolling your hips against his face. He chuckles at your soft gasps and relishes in the way that you grind against him. He licks down to your core and pushes his tongue in and groans at your sweet taste. 

“Aem,” one of your hands grabs onto his that’s gripped on your hip when he licks back up to your bud and lashes against it quickly. “Mm, I- Aem, something’-“ he listens to your broken words as your body jolts. He licks faster and your whimpers become more high pitched. “Aemond please, I-“ intense pleasure washes through you and you hold onto his hands as if you're falling. He licks at you softly before moving back and looking at your heaving chest. 

“How does your cunny feel now, sweet girl?” he chuckles as you grab on his arms and pull him up to your lips. “Yeah? Did that feel good?” he mumbles against your lips slowly molding to you. His tongue slips into your mouth at the same time his fingers slide through your wetness. You whine into his mouth as his fingers start to swirl around you faster. 

“More.” you grab his hand and push it further down. “It hurts inside now.” you whine against his mouth and he groans. 

“Let’s get you dressed and see if it’ll stop.” you whimper as he lifts up from you and you wrap your arms around him, clinging to him. “Sweet girl.” he tries to keep his voice firm but it falters when you curl against him as he stands up with you. He has no choice but to hold your ass and he groans as you wrap your legs around him and bury your head in his neck.

“Aemond please,” you whine. “I think my cunny is begging for you.” his heart starts to beat faster and you squirm in his arms. 

“What about your oils? I had them brought up here.” he tries to coax you into doing something else. 

“After my oils then?” you press your lips to his neck. 

“We’ll see.” he chuckles as you start to untangle from him. He sets you down and you look up at him with a soft pout. “Enough with the pouting.” he grabs your chin. 

“Aem,” your voice dripping with need. 

“Go pick out an oil.” he turns you around and scoots you over to the basket. He’s thankful for the minute reprieve because if he doesn’t readjust his cock he’s sure it’ll split out of his trousers from how hard he is. 

“I picked this one.” you hum and walk over to him. 

“Remind me where we put this.” he plucks the jar from your fingers. 

“Everywhere.” you smile up at him. “It keeps me soft.” you step closer to him. 

“Very well.” he hums and twists the lid off. “Arm.” he holds his hand out for you. He tips the jar slightly and you jump when it meets your skin. 

“It’s cold.” you look up at him with furrowed brows. 

“It’ll warm up when I rub it in.” he nods slightly and gently massages the oil into your arm. He repeats the process on your next arm and he starts to kneel down to your legs when you stop him. 

“Aem you keep missing places.” you sigh loudly. 

“My apologies.” he chuckles. “Where have I missed now?” he watches you with a smile. 

“My chest.” his eye widens when you grab your breasts. He clears his throat and nods once. He brings the jar to your neck and slowly lets the oil drip down your chest and tries to calm his breathing. He watches your nipples harden as the oil meets them and you clench your legs. “Rub it in. It’s cold.” he can’t take his eye off your breasts. 

“Yeah, okay.” he nods, swallowing. He brings his hands to your breasts and stills. He startles slightly when your fingers wrap around his wrists and starts to move his hands. 

“Aem, you have to move your hands to rub the oil in.” you giggle. 

“Yes, I know, sweet girl.” he chews on his lip and starts to knead his hands into you. He spreads the oil up your neck and back down past your navel. His hands wrap around your waist before bringing them back up to engulf your breasts once more. He swipes his thumbs against your nipples and chuckles when you gasp. 

“Do that again.” you pant. He takes the hard peaks between his fingers and rolls them. “Oh,” you gasp. “More, Aem.” your breathing deepens as he softly pinches them. 

“No more.” he internally scolds himself for getting lost in you again. “I have to oil your legs now.” he removes his hands to grab the jar once more. He kneels down before you and drips some oil into his hands and starts to massage it into your legs. He makes sure to go to the tops of your thighs so you don’t pout that he ‘missed’ a spot. He even goes as far to rub some oil into your ass trying his hardest to ignore your pleas. “Let’s get you dressed.” he stands and leads you to the wardrobe. 

“But Aem my cunny needs-

“I need you to get some type of covering on. Even if it's just a slip. Sweet girl,” he sighs. “It’s hard for me to control myself around you right now.” you look up at him with a furrowed brow.

“Why?” you whisper. 

“Go sit on your chaise and I’ll start bringing things over to you.” he exhales shakily and walks over to your wardrobe. He grabs out a pair of stockings and stops when he hears you whine. “What’s wrong?” he prompts.

“I want my pink ones.” he nods at your whisper, not trusting himself to turn to you. He starts to pull a slip down when he hears you whine again. 

“Use your words. Tell me what you want.” he fists the silk of the current slip he’s holding. 

“I want a white slip. That pink one doesn’t match my stockings.” you chew your lip as he pulls down your white slip. 

“What color small clothes then?” he doesn’t even attempt to pick them out. 

“None. My cunny still hurts.” he closes his eye trying to find the restraint not to walk over to you and flip you over and take you. 

“Which dress would you like?” he trails his fingers across the line of dresses hanging. 

“I want to match you.” your words sink into his chest. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a black dress.” he chuckles thinking about it. “Do you even have one?” he looks around your wardrobe. 

“I do.” you get up and walk over to him. “It’s in the back there.” you point and he pushes the other dresses aside. “I had them make it for me. See it has darker blue for your sapphire and some silver because you like to train with swords. I was going to have them add some green for Vhagar but I think she deserves her own dress.” you look up at him and see his red cheeks. 

“I don’t..” he shakes his head. He never expected you to have a dress made that reminds you of him. “You’re too sweet to me.” he whispers and you pull him against you in a tight hug. 

“No I'm not.” you cup his face and bring him down to your lips. His hands rest on your waist and squeezes softly into your skin. 

“Let’s get you dressed.” he pulls back and sinks to his knees before you once more. He would never be on his knees for anyone else and the sight of you looking down upon him could send him down to his hands too if you so desired. He grabs the first stocking and taps your calf. You lift up your leg and he slides it up your leg before placing a kiss on your knee. He repeats this action with your other leg and looks over you only clad in stockings. “Gods you’re so beautiful.” you flush at his words. 

“So are you.” you whisper, brushing his hair back. He stands and grabs the slip, waiting for you to lift your arms. He slides the silk over your body and groans that seeing you like this is even more indecent than when you were bare. 

“Can I put your dress on or is your cunny still hurting?” he straightens out the neckline of your slip. 

“It still hurts.” you whisper, stepping closer to him.

“Come on.” he tugs you over to the bed. “We’re going to try something.” you nod your head quickly trailing after him. 

“Does your cock hurt too?” he stops at your words. “It’s been pushing against your trousers for a bit now.” you pout, pressing your palm against him. “Are we broken?” you squeeze your hand and he groans wrapping his fingers around your wrist. 

“We’re not broken.” he chuckles. “Go lay on the bed so we can make your cunny and my cock feel better.” he nods and watches you crawl into the center of the bed. 

“Can I see?” you prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“See what?” he tilts his head. 

“Your cock, Aem.” you push your bottom lip out. “Please,” he’s undoing his belt at your words and you sit up and scoot towards him as he pushes them down enough to free himself. “I wanna-

“No, no,” he bats your hand away. “Lay back down, sweet girl.” he smiles when you listen and he crawls over you hoping that he has enough restraint to do this properly. “Gods,” he presses his forehead to yours when his tip slides up your slit. 

“Aemond,” your hands grip onto his shoulders as he slowly starts to slide up and down your slit. “Mm, Aem- yes,” your breathless pleas have him starting to hump against you faster trying to elicit more of your whimpers. 

“How does it feel?” he presses his lips to your neck while you squirm beneath him. Your hips buck up into his every time his tip brushes against your bud. He moves his hips faster listening to the sound of your wetness coat his length. “Tell me.” he smiles at your soft sounds. 

“Feels so good- I, Aem, please,” you tremble beneath him and he starts to move his cock through your wetness faster. “Aem it feels- something like,” your voice breaks into a soft cry. “Please,” you cling to him as you start to shake from your pleasure washing through you. 

“My cock thinks your cunny feels good too.” he smiles watching your face scrunch up as he becomes more coated as your pleasure pours out of you. He moves his hips faster looking for his own release. The sounds of your soft pleas and whimpers push him over the edge and his come starts to coat your cunny. 

“What’s this?” you reach down and swipe your thumb against his tip and he almost collapses on top of you as you rub his slit while he’s still coming. 

“Oh Gods, sweet girl.” he stills and grabs your hand. “It’s what I’m going to fill your sweet little cunny with once we’re wed.” you bring your hand up to your mouth and he watches you taste your mixed pleasure. 

“Why can’t you fill me with it now?” his cock twitches at your soft words.

“Stay here so I can clean us up.” he closes his eye and slowly stands up. He walks back over to the tub and grabs the discarded cloth. He wipes off his cock and situates himself before he walks back over to you on the bed. 

“Thank you.” you say softly as he wipes up your pleasure between your thighs. “Can we still go for a walk in the gardens?” you look up at him and he presses a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Of course we’re still going to the gardens. Let me help you dress.” he helps you up off the bed and at last, finally begins to lift your dress up your body. 

“Do you think my flowers have finally begun to bloom?” you turn and look up at him once your dress is laced up. 

“Let’s go see.” he offers you a soft smile as he intertwines your fingers and leads you out of your chambers. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌 

i want him to take care of me in the morning 😔 

taglist ✍️

@ka1afbr @ninihrtss @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @alexxavicry @misspendragonsworld @papichulo120627 @ashovertheriver @gabriella-aesthetic @moonymoo1 @faenyra @uwuuness @lizzylovebooks280501 @nostalgiagoth03 @multilover19 @summer-and-sunflowers

[inlovewrafe]

I still love you, I promise

pairings: ex!lovers; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia;

warnings: angst; sickness; ed; pregnancy;

"Do you need to sit down?” You hear a muffled voice as you feel your feet beginning to give up on you. "What- What do you mean I'm pregnant?” You ask with a shaky voice. You had a feeling that you were but now that your suspicions are confirmed, and you hear it out loud, you can't believe it. Don't want to believe it. You are denying it. "No, I can't-“ You choke on your words, trying to make sense of what you were going to do. You feel a sharp pain in your heart as you realize. He isn't here. He isn't yours. He is hers.

You realize you will have to raise the baby alone. His baby. You were forever going to have a reminder of him. Every time you'll look at the baby, all you'll see is him.

"What if I don't want the baby? Can't I do anything about it?" You blurt out without even thinking. But as soon as the words leave your mouth you regret ever saying them. “I'm afraid you can't. You are already three months and a half in. Your boy is developing.” You freeze in your spot. "What do you mean boy?” “You are having a baby boy, congratulations!” She gives you a warm smile but you feel your stomach drop. A boy. You were having a boy. 'What will Rafe say when he finds out? Should I tell him?' You were deep in your thoughts when you heard the doctor talk to you again. “That'll be all. We'll schedule an appointment to check on him but we'll do that later on the phone.” “Thank you.”

You made your way towards your car as you stood frozen in your seat. You'll be all alone, raising your baby, while he plays happy couple with Sofia. You took a shaky breath as you pulled out of the parking lot, driving to your house.

When you got there you quickly made your way inside, seeing all of them displayed on the couch. The sound of the door closing made them all look towards where you stood. “Where have you been? Do you know how concerned we were?” Topper yells as he is quick to stand up from the couch. “I know, I'm sorry.” You mumble while fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. Sarah and Rafe spare a concerned glance to each other before they turn their attention back to you. “Sarah I need to talk to you. It's important." You say still fidgeting with the rings. "Yeah, 'course” She replies as she starts walking out of the room, following you.

“What happened? Are you okay?” But you don’t answer, instead you pull her in a hug as she remains confused but squeezes you hard as she reciprocates the hug. “I need to tell you something but you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone, especially not Rafe.” “I promise! What is it?” You take a shaky breath as you say the words out loud. “I’m- I’m pregnant.” You wipe away a single tear that escaped your eye. “WHAT?” She looked at you shocked and excited at the same time. “Shhh” You hush her because you don’t want the boys to find out. “I’m sorry. Is it Rafes?” She asks just to make sure. “Of course, who else’s would it be?” She nodded her head with an obvious expression on her face. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I don’t know what to do, I don’t- He isn’t even- How will I raise-“ You mutter between choked sobs as you panic. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, I’m here for you. You’ll be fine.” She tries to reassure you, but you can’t calm down. You sob into your hands as she pulls you in a hug. “It’s okay, let’s just eat something and we’ll sleep, yeah? We can deal with it tomorrow, okay?” She mumbles as she gives you gentle strokes on your back.

“Okay.” You let out a quiet response as you wipe around your eyes. “Do you want to order something? The boys already ordered when you were out. Or we can make something ourselves.” She gives you a light smile as you plop down on one of the chairs. “We can make some pasta if you want to.” You played with the necklace around your neck. “Yeah, sure, whatever you want.” She smiles as she puts a pot with water on the stove. You get up and take another pot where you can make the sauce in. You pour the sauce in the pan and add some seasonings to it.

After some time, the pasta is ready and you plate it. “Wow, this looks delicious! Ask the boys if they want some, while I wash the dishes, please!” You exit the kitchen and made your way towards the living room where you see the boys caught up in a game.

You clear your throat and all three heads snap towards you. “We made pasta. Want some?”

“Did you poison it, or why are you asking?” Topper raised a brow while snorting.

“No, but I’ll make sure to poison it next time, just for you.” You gave him a wink as you waited for an answer.

“Yeah, sure we’ll have some!”

“Come on then!”

You start walking to the kitchen with Top and Kelce in front of you and Rafe behind. You feel a hand on your wrist starting to pull you back.

“Why were you at the hospital?” He asks still holding your hand.

“I-“ You suddenly felt out of breath at the touch on your arm. You stare at his hand and back up at him, and he quickly lets go of you as if your touch was fire.

“Just had to check something.” You murmured, missing his soft hand on yours.

“Check what?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to look for an answer, but couldn’t come up with anything.

He was still staring at you, waiting for a response.

“What’s going on here?” You hear Sarah’s voice interrupt the silence between you and him.

“Uh, nothing. We were just talking.”

“Okay, come eat! You haven’t eaten anything today! Come on!” She grabbed your hand, leading you to the kitchen where you saw Top and Kelce on their second plate already.

“Oh come on! Leave some for the rest of us.” You laughed as you sat on a chair next to Sarah.

You ate half of the food on your plate when Kelce got up to go and plate a third portion.

“Kelce, chill out man! Do they keep you starved?” Everyone laughed as he sat down with his plate.

“You are the best chef ever! I might come over every day if you are cooking.” He laughed.

After you all finished eating, Rafes phone was buzzing with a few texts from next to you.

He was putting the dishes in the dishwasher with Topper so you though it won’t hurt anyone to sneak a quick glance.

As you glance at the texts with pit in your stomach you start feeling sick. The smile from your previous jokes was replaced by a sad expression as you remained quiet, taking out your phone to scroll on instagram. When you noticed the boys finished with the dishes, and he was walking towards you, you got up from your seat to retreat to your room. You repeat the texts from her over and over in your head with a heavy heart. ‘hey baby’. They were calling each other baby. Yours and his nickname. Now you were truly sick. You rushed past them and upstairs to the bathroom gaining a few concerned looks from your friends.

“What was that?” One of the boys asked but it was silent.

Sarah followed you upstairs and Rafe went to check his phone. He saw a few texts from Sofia but he ignored them. He placed his phone back on the table and raised a brow at nothing in particular.

“What was that? She was fine like a minute ago.”

“I don’t know man, she must’ve seen something on your phone when it buzzed ‘cause she seemed happy like three minutes ago!”

You were fast asleep now with Sarah massaging your scalp while you dreamed of how easy things used to be when it was just you and him.

To be honest in your head it was Rafe that was massaging your scalp while you slept next to him, not Sarah.

“Look at this view! Rafe it’s beautiful!” You said as you admired the beauty surrounding you both.

The salty breeze of the ocean giving you goosebumps as it hugged your skin. The sand and the water colliding together like they were made for each other, while the sky was displaying gold rays of sun making the sand that was sticking to your skin radiate your features more.

“It really is beautiful!” He smiled softly while watching you with only love in his eyes.

This was the moment when he truly knew that you were the one for him. That he loves you.

“I love you!” He said with a genuine and soft voice.

You turned around shocked, unsure if what you hear really came out of his mouth. You were not expecting this.

“You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to kno-“ But before he was able to finish his sentence, your lips crashed onto his, hands going behind his neck, while you got closer on the picnic blanket.

When you pulled away you both were smiling like fools.

“I love you too!” You said without hesitation as he pulled you against his chest. You sat there in a comfortable silence, watching the sunset as you replayed his words over and over in your head with a grin on your face.

You looked over your shoulder again to see what he was doing, but he wasn’t there. You sat up panicked as you started to call out for him, but to no avail. He wasn’t answering.

You looked around desperately but al you could see was a bunch of sand, no track of Rafe.

“Rafe!” You called out again, and again.

“Rafe, where are you?”

“Rafe, please, this is not funny!”

“Rafe, please don’t leave me all alone!”

“Baby, please come back!”

a/n: Hey guys!!! Hope you like the chapter. This is PART 2 of my series IslyIp!! Please leave a feedback so I know if I should keep going and also if you have any requests please lmk!!

[moody-alcoholic]

On a Wing and a Prayer

Part 10 - They Say the Truth Set's You Free

CW: dead dove don't eat, torture, suicidal thoughts, vomit, mentions of injury's, near death experience.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

It’s like a dream. 

You wake, your body dragged into the room, strapped to the table or the chair. It’s always Graves and one of his shadows. You’ve stopped listening to them, you just sob or scream. Anything to get your energy out, you’re scared you might slip up, say something just to get them to stop. You tried begging when it was John and Simon, they didn’t listen to you, they didn’t believe you. Why would Graves be any different? 

You won’t give him the satisfaction. 

‘What do you think Riley would think of you now?’ 

‘141 left days ago. Left you here to suffer and you still keep your mouth closed?’

‘It doesn’t matter anyway, at this point you’re just delaying the inevitable.’

What is the inevitable? Death? You used to be scared of death, you don’t fear it anymore, now you know there is someone waiting on the other side.

When Graves comes back you don’t bother holding your breath anymore while water is poured over your face. By the time they’re finished and pulling the rag away you can barely breathe. 

It’s one of those days again, you’re shivering water drenched over your body. Your throat is raw and your stomach is heavy with water.

“Price trained you well.” Graves says as he dunks the rag back in the water. You can barely focus on him, you can’t think straight. you‘re worried if you open your mouth you might say something you don’t mean, admit something that’s not true then it would be over.  

He presses the rag over your nose and mouth. There's no water this time, just his palm over your mouth and his thumb and forefinger pinching your nose. 

Your body involuntarily squirms. Your lungs burn, your head swims. He’s not letting go, maybe this is it. 

You hope there's a heaven you would like to see Simon again.  

…

“It’s been 3 days, this has to be enough.” Kyle says, slamming a folder down.

“We get one shot, we should collect everything we can. Leave no room for error.” John says he agrees with Kyle but rushing in could do more harm than good. “Laswell will be here in a few hours, we’ll go then.”

“That’s a few hours too long.” Johnny says. He’s been the most quiet, sitting behind a laptop or stacks of paperwork. It’s not the same, he’s not the same, none of them are. 

“Why don’t you go check on Simon, get something to eat.” John suggests.

“Not hungry.” 

“Coffee then.” Johnny looks over at John. It’s less of a suggestion and more of an order. He sighs, getting up, closing the laptop and walking over to the door. When Johnny opens the door he almost jumps. The doctor from the hospital is standing there, his fist clenched like he was ready to knock. 

“I wanted to speak to Captain Price.” He says, Johnny frowns moving to the side. John stands up nodding him in. 

“I want to help. I had no idea this was going to happen. I thought it was because you took the helo. I told her it was supposed to stay.” he says, Johnny stands behind him crossing his arms. 

“I didn't know he was going to torture her. She’s not a traitor, I can vouch for her.” The doctor says, he seems genuine. John sighs, sitting back down. He’s fidgeting, seems like he really didn’t know how fucked things were. His word isn’t worth much but at least there’s more people in your corner and he can definitely get access to the hospital computers. At least then that makes it easier to prove your movements. The doctor's pager goes off and he turns his body to look. 

“Can I?” He asks, pointing at the phone on the table. Price nods, rubbing his chin. Anything to get you out quicker, Johnny was right making you wait a few more hours is a few hours too long. 

“Okay, I’m on my way.” The doctor puts the phone down.

“Is she breathing?”

Something makes the hairs stand up on the back of John’s neck, he looks at the doctor, something feels wrong.

“It’s the custody wing. You might want to come.” The doctor says. John is on his feet in an instant, he doesn't need to order Kyle or Johnny. He knows they’re following.

…

You wake to pain on your chest. You cough, spluttering as someone grips your face forcing your mouth open. Bile rises in your stomach and before you can stop yourself you vomit. Someone pulls your body on its side. Your vision is still blurry, as your heave emptying your stomach of all the water you’ve ingested. 

‘What the fuck were you thinking!?’ 

‘Your job was to get intel, you almost killed her!’

Your body shakes hands run over you. You blink trying to clear your vision, it's not working. 

‘Christ! What’s going on!?’ 

You recognise the voice. It’s John. Graves said they’d left you. You force your body to turn on your stomach, someone is trying to stop you. You groan out trying to drag yourself to the open door.

“Hey, don’t move okay?” It’s Dr. Sand's hands trying to stop you from moving. 

“John?” You call out your throat raw as you reach out to the door. There's movement in the doorway, you squeeze your eyes closed again. 

Warm hands press on your face, you open your eyes looking up at John bent down in front of you. You look up into his deep blue eyes. His thumb rubs your cheek.

He didn't leave you. He’s still here, you try to smile but you don't think you can. 

“Captain, I can explain.” That’s the General’s voice. 

His hands leave your face and your head slumps on the floor. 

“Soap, Gaz stay with her. The General and I need to have a chat.” There's hostility in his voice. He’s angry.

Johnny bends down by your head. His arm comes round your back. 

“Don’t move her too much, medics are on their way.” 

“Hear that lass, we’re getting you out of here.” Johnny says.

“Simon.” Your voice is barely a whisper. Johnny frowns at you. 

“General-” 

“Stand down Graves.” 

“Sir-”

“Did you not hear him? Back off.” There’s a scuffle, boots dragging on the floor, you keep looking up at Johnny, he’s trying to keep your attention on him. Tears are streaming down your face. Your whole body hurts your chest is the worst.

“Gaz! Leave it, stay with Soap.” 

“Johnny..” 

“You’re okay lass, just relax.” 

You don't know what happened, the last thing you remember was Grave’s hand over your face. You hear more commotion it makes your head spin. They’re trying to move you onto your back but it hurts.

Your eyes droop closed before you can stop them, going limp in Johnny's arms. 

“No, none of that lass. C’mon.” He shakes you forcing your eyes to snap open. You can feel fresh tears run down your cheeks. You try to keep your eyes open but you can’t, it’s just too hard. 

______________________

“Obviously we can both agree that Commander Graves has gone too far.” The General says lacing his fingers together and leaning forward on the desk. John doesn’t say anything, he keeps his arms crossed. Too far is putting it lightly. 

The General swallows, blowing out a breath. Clearly John is not giving the reaction he wanted. 

“I think that we’re both in agreement that we can put this all behind us.” He picks up one of the folders John slammed down in front of him. He had read them in silence, scanning his eyes over every piece of paper that exonerated you. “You have done a thorough job Captain, I don’t think there is any further need to suspect her.” 

Price just hums pressing his lips together. He doesn’t take his eyes off him, staring him down. He’s scared, Graves almost killed you, he did kill you for over a minute. If you died Graves could have lost everything. The General would be making frantic phone calls to whoever he needs to, you were tortured and died on his watch he let it happen. There’s a knock at the door interrupting John’s thought process. 

The General calls in whoever it is leaning back in his chair. John knows who it is, he stands up moving to the side so Laswell can walk in. The General frowns, tipping his head to the side.

“Good to see you again.” She says walking up to his desk, John moves out the way for her. “Torturing an innocent army medic.”  

“Mistakes happen.” 

“For 3 days?” John says, it’s a low blow, he doesn’t care. She puts down a piece of paper. 

“The DOD will cover your ass, you’ll be dishonorably discharged but you won’t face prison time. No one ever needs to know what happened.” She explains. He scoffs, like he has a choice.

“Or, there’s a British General a few hours away who would love to sit down and have a chat with you. After John of course.” The General's eyes flick to him standing at the back of the room, there’s a faint smile on his lips. There won’t be much talking.

He sighs looking down at the paper. 

“C’mon, let’s give him some time to think.” John says walking to the door. Laswell follows silently, she did good, as always. He lets her walk out first before taking one look back then closes the door behind him. 

“Think he’ll take the deal?” She asks as they walk away.

“If he’s smart.” He replies. His tone is short, his words laced with anger. It’s not over yet. 

“What now?” She asks stopping outside the room he commandeered as his office.

“Now I'm going after Graves.” 

______________________

You smell the familiar scent of disinfectant and alcohol wash before you open your eyes. The repetitive beeping of machines behind your head, the dulled pain. It almost feels wrong being back in a safe sterile environment after what you’ve been through.

You look round, the lights are low, it’s dark out. Johnny is asleep in the chair next to the bed, his head slumped over on your arm, his fingers laced with yours. So that’s why your arm is numb. You reach over with your other hand, you push your fingers through his hair. 

He jolts awake, like he’s just been electrocuted, his hand squeezing yours. “Hey lass, I’m so sorry it took us so long.” He’s on his feet wrapping his arms around you. A stabbing pain shoots through your chest, your head is still swimming. 

“Ouch,” you wince. 

“Sorry, sorry. You’ve got a broken rib.” he says, helping lay back down. You try to think back to what happened. It’s still foggy, you don’t even know how long it’s been. 

“Simon.” You say before you can stop yourself. It brings tears, tears you can’t stop as you think about him being dead.  

“He’s fine, woke up yesterday. Being his usual demanding self.” Johnny smiles. You frown almost not believing the words out his mouth. Maybe this is still a dream, he raises his eyebrow as you gawk at him. 

“Graves-” his name catches in your throat, your voice is hoarse. “He said Simon was dead.” Johnny lets out a breath bringing your hand up to kiss it. 

“Want to see him?” He asks. You nod, a bit too enthusiastically. Johnny insists you take a wheelchair, you don’t care, you just want to see him, feel him. Tell him you’re sorry. It feels like the short trip across to the ward is taking forever. When you turn into the room and see him sitting up in bed talking with Kyle. 

When he sees you he stops talking, Kyle turns to see you too. He smiles and comes over, throwing his arms round you as you groan. 

“Shit sorry. I’m just so glad you’re okay.” Kyle says. You smile at him. Johnny pushes you round to the side of the bed. Simon watches you the whole way in silence, his eyes dark. You don’t know what to say, you don’t think he does either. 

You reach out and take his hand, you’re moving slow almost like you’re not trying to spook him. You lace your fingers with his and he squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing yours. This time it’s happy tears that fall. You look up at him, you could swear you see his eyes welling up too. 

You stand up out the chair, your legs feel like jelly but you don’t care leaning against his bed. 

“I forgive you Simon.” You look right in his eyes, it’s almost just saying that forces him to relax. You don’t let him talk, just lean over and kiss him. His hand slips out yours and goes to your waist holding you steady. You break from the kiss taking a breath in. 

It feels like a weight has been lifted. You thought he was dead and you were ready to die with him. He’s here, he’s real and he’s safe. Johnny’s hands come up to support you. 

“Shift over LT let her get in with you.” Johnny says. Simon doesn’t hesitate shifting his body over and pulling the bedding back. You slip in beside him, he reaches his arm around you pulling you up against his chest. You don’t care about the stabbing pain where your rib is broken. 

You relax against him as he gently squeezes you.

“Had to get shot too huh? Couldn’t let Johnny have all the glory.” You say, he hums kissing the top of your head. It feels right being back in his arms, Johnny and Kyle nearby. 

“Can’t have that ego of his getting any bigger.” 

“Na, he just wants a matching scar.”  Johnny says scoffing. You smile, closing your eyes and breathing Simon in. You can feel it, in the back of your head. The memories, the pain, graves face bending over you. The water, holding your breath until your lungs burn and you’re forced suck in air only to have water fill your mouth and nose. 

It’s different this time, you’re not alone. It wasn’t the people you love who hurt you, now you can heal together you hope. You open your eyes, you’re safe. You’re in Simon’s arms, he’s okay he’s not dead. 

“Where’s John?” You ask.

“Beating Graves to a pulp probably.” Kyle says. You smile at him as he reaches over to pull the blanket further up your chest. “He’ll be here soon. You should get some rest. I’ll go find him, tell him you’re awake.” 

“I’ll join you, could use a coffee.” Johnny says. You smile as you watch them leave the room. Simon holds you tighter in his arms, his hand running up and down your side. You’ve missed this, missed him. 

You close your eyes, relaxing against him. “I love you Simon.” 

“I love you too.” He says kissing the top of your head. “This will never ever happen again. I promise.” 

“Make that promise once Makarov is dead.” 

“Only if you promise to come back and help us put a bullet in his head.” You chuckle, like he’s in any position to haggle you. 

“Promise.” 

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[twola]

Passerine - Chapter 6 [Finale]

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Wading through blood, you must confront the reality of where the road has taken you.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

chapter cw: graphic childbirth, smut, violence, blood, illness, graphic rape, death.

This is it, folks. Thank you for coming along for the ride. Please, I'd love your feedback after all is now said and done. Feel free to leave a comment or hit up my inbox. See you in the New Year.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous 

The wagon roughly bounces on the path, your teeth sink into your lower lip to stifle a groan. You cannot stop the tears from streaming down your face, not anymore.

One of your hands lies upon your distended abdomen, the child's movements having grown frantic and agitated.

Jack looks at you, fearfully, as he’s clutched in his mother’s arms. Another jostle of the wagon and the boy buries his face into Abigail’s bosom. 

Sadie drives the wagon, cursing each time it hits a rough patch in the road, which is often this north in Roanoke. 

From the ride to Copperhead and then turning around and piling into a suspiciously procured wagon, the last two days have been hellish. One hiding in plain sight along the river and the marshes, and the second was riding by night north again, trying to at least get past Annesburg. Ambarino -it would be safe there -

A horse pulls up next to the wagon, and a dirty and disheveled John Marston looks down at you, then down the bed of the wagon with a grimace, clutching at his bloodied arm. “How is he?”

Tears spill from your eyes anew as you look down. 

Arthur, bloodied, bruised, and barely breathing, lies in the wagon bed, his head perched upon your thigh, your hand lightly draped over his collarbone.

You can’t respond.

John realizes this, looking up the trail again as the horse plods forward next to the wagon. “We need to keep moving, get to Ambarino.”

Abigail, who has been quiet for most of the ride, pipes up. “John. We need to find somewhere to hunker down. Soon.”

“I know-”

“No, I mean now. She ain't gonna give birth in the back of a wagon.”

John’s eyes dart back to you, wide and fearful. “Shit, shit, alright,” he looks up the road again, then looks behind them.

He figures they are just north of Annesburg, he chews his lip before remembering,  “Arthur told me of a widow that lives up at Willard’s Rest. Kind woman. We can see if she’ll take us in.”

Abigail reaches over and places a hand on your belly, frowning when she feels how hard it is. She looks up at you, “Don’t you worry, we’ll get you settled.”

Another burst of tears overflow from your eyes. Your hand clutches at Arthur’s shirt, but your lover does not respond.

-

God bless Missus Balfour. She missed not even a step when a wagon and rider full of women and bloodied men appeared at Willard’s Rest, this safe haven hidden away off the road, far, far north of civilization. 

“Here, here, you can put him in that room there. Let me get this room ready for her. I’ll boil some water.” 

John and Sadie half-carry, and half-drag an unconscious Arthur up the stairs as Charlotte slowly walks you into the house, her arm under your shoulder. Abigail follows with the little shadow of her son directly behind her and rubs at her brow tiredly when they reach the kitchen.

Jack tries to bury himself in his mother’s skirts. She frowns down at him for a moment, and when John reappears from the other bedroom, she leans down and kisses Jack on the forehead. “Jack, I’m gonna need you to go with your father. You gotta stay with him and help him, alright?”

John looks as if he is about to say something, but wisely closes his mouth as Jack leaves his mother’s side to tuck himself against his father.

Abigail gives John a tired look, her brow furrowed and serious, “Please, take him a bit away from here. For a while.”

“What, wh-”

“So he don’t hear the screaming. John, please.” Abigail takes John’s hand and squeezes it, whispering low in an attempt for her son not to hear.

John blanches when he realizes what she’s talking about. He steels his jaw and nods, his other hand falling on his son’s head. He nods to Abigail, taking her hand and pulling it up to his lips quickly. “I hope everythin’ goes alright.”

Abigail’s brow falters, and she leans forward and catches him quickly on the lips, surprising him. He quickly recovers and kisses her back, and they both pull back slightly and lean their foreheads against each other, “Me too, John, me too.”

Your groan from the bedroom takes them from the moment and John’s mouth falls into a straight, hard line. “I’ll take him over by the waterfall. Far enough not to hear, but we’re close if you need anythin’.”

Abigail nods a quick thank you and darts into the bedroom.

John looks down at his son, the son for so long he had ignored, “C’mon now, let's get to see if we can get some fish for dinner. That’ll make everyone happy.”

-

Abigail leans over and undoes your boots as you sit in the bed, and after she works them off your feet, she helps you swing your legs up and sit atop the bed, as you breathe heavily. The tightening sensation in your abdomen comes again, and you hiss in pain.

“Breathe through it, that’s it.” Abigail takes your hand and lets you squeeze it. When the pain subsides, you let out a deep breath.

“I’ll be gettin’ everything together. You’re safe, and you’re gonna have the most beautiful baby.” Abigail cups your cheek gently, lovingly. Assuringly. You nod and her hand squeezes yours again before she leaves the room.

You close your eyes, the aching in your hips is near unbearable, and the pain that comes every few minutes is like a bolt of lightning strikes you at your core.

“You must be his wife.”

The dark-haired homeowner steps through the door, carrying folded linens and a large bowl of water, steam wafting upward as she sets it on the dresser.

You're genuinely surprised at the statement, unable to respond at first, “I-….”

“He’s a wonderful man, your husband Arthur. Probably saved me from starving. He couldn’t stop talking about you, his wonderful wife, how you were back home about to have your first child together, how he couldn't wait. He is smitten with you, dear.”

Oh god, your Arthur, your wonderful, sweet… dying Arthur.

“He’s, he’s…. agh-!”

You double over in the bed, clutching your belly and wincing, yelling out in pain as your belly tightens and hardens. Charlotte takes one of your hands in her own and lets you hold it through the contracting of your body.

Abigail bursts through the door, followed by Sadie. Grimacing, she rolls up her sleeves, muttering to Charlotte and Sadie to lay you back from your sitting position. Your head falls back on the pillow as you gasp in pain, clutching at your belly. Abigail pulls up your skirts, folding them at your hips. A warm liquid trickles against your inner thighs as Abigail mutters to Sadie, and the two women manipulate your legs to slide your bloomers off. 

Another pain, and this time you cannot help the moan escaping your throat as your abdomen tightens. It's like your body is collapsing in on itself, and you are barely cognizant of the women in the room. Charlotte steps in and helps as well, and by the time the pain lets up, they have stripped you down to your petticoat shift, have propped your legs up, and your knees falling open.

You're in so much pain that you don't think about decency at all, Abigail propping herself between your legs, your entire lower half on display. Another strangled cry claws its way out of you as you throw your head back.

“Arthur-” you call out in vain, “I need Arthur-”

“I know, honey. He’s just in the other room.” Sadie pats your hair back as she holds your hand.

“H-how am I supposed to do this without him?” You weep, squeezing your eyes shut against the waves of pain.

Sadie frowns, looking across the room at Charlotte. The women share a knowing, pained glance between them - a look of familiarity, of pain, of uncertainty.

Of losing one’s other half.

-

The shitty, ramshackle cabin smells of unwashed men and rotting food. Arthur doesn’t know what’s going on -why is he here, what is this place?

Two men sit at a table, playing cards and drinking from open bottles of whiskey.

Their vests are green. Arthur seethes and goes to pull his gun from his belt, to find that there is none. There’s no gun, no belt. He looks down, and frankly, there is no him. He is not… really there.

His confusion is interrupted as a half-dressed man bursts through a door from another room, hoisting his pants up as he steps in.

“Donal, you rat bastard - how’d you pick up a thing like that?”

The dark-haired man laughs as he places his h cards down. “Enjoy it while she lasts - I’m sure she won’t be so tight when we take ‘er back to Hanging Dog.”

The returning man rebuttons his pants before sitting down in an empty chair, “‘er cunt is still real nice.”

“Wait till you fuck her ass, talk about real nice.” The third chuckles, taking his bottle of whiskey and taking a long drag.

“Ain’t you worried about Van der Linde?” 

“Naw, ain’t no one comin’ for her. She ain’t anyone important.” Dark-haired man takes a large swig of whiskey before slamming the bottle on the table. He takes his gunbelt off and places it on the table as well as he stands up.

“Now if you excuse me, think I’ll fuck that tight little hole again.”

Why couldn’t do anything, why couldn’t he kill them? What was this all?

The door swings open. That old, dirty, ratty bed where he found you, it’s there. Lantern light spills out, casting shadows through the room. Arthur is able to follow, somehow, in this incorporeal form.

You’re curled on the bed in a fetal position, nude and unbound. Your skin is peppered with bruises and your hair disheveled and dirty.

Arthur has never felt so helpless, like he was on the outside, looking in. 

“Come on now, get on your back f’r me. Been thinkin’ bout you all day.”

The terrible clicking sound of a belt being undone pierces the stillness. You don’t move on the bed. The O’Driscoll starts to work at his trousers as he approaches your battered form. His pants drop to the ground as he reaches the bed. He manhandles you onto your back with no resistance, no fight in you.

He climbs atop you, parts your legs, and settles himself between them. The O’Driscoll spits in his hand slathers it over his hard cock, and without any preamble or gentleness, he pushes himself inside your abused cunt.

Arthur is stuck - he can’t look away, he can’t do anything. You don’t scream, or cry, or fight. You simply squeeze your eyes shut for that moment of penetration, completely resigned. Is this… is he seeing what happened to you? This, this heinous violation that happened because he wasn’t able to keep you safe.

The O’Driscoll moans in pleasure and Arthur wants to tear the world apart. Your body moves back and forth on the bed with each heinous thrust of the man on top of you. He grabs one of your legs and pulls it to rest on his shoulder. You don't react at all, staring at the wall.

“P-pretty miss.”

You need him, you need him, and again, he cannot keep you safe. 

Arthur sees red, unable to do anything but watch.

You turn your head, catching Arthur’s gaze. Your eyes are dull, worn, dead. You can see him, the first acknowledgment from anyone all night.

You open your mouth and the most blood-curdling scream he has ever heard fills his ears.

-

Arthur’s eyes open;  his vision blurred for several moments before being able to focus on the ceiling.

The screaming - it's not from his dream, it’s real, it’s happening right now - you need him-

He blearily awakens, his mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood as he pants. He struggles to sit up, but finally does so, his head spinning. He feels so weak. Another pained scream from down the hall. Wheezing, he clutches at his chest as he sits up in the bed. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, blood staining the fabric. 

He hears Abigail through the wall, some sort of murmured affirmation that he can’t understand.

The baby-

Arthur slides from the bed onto unsteady feet, nearly falling as he stumbles forward and grasps onto a dresser to stay upright, loudly panting. 

Another scream. The baby, you’re having his baby-

He wipes his mouth again as he looks around, recognizing the bedroom as one he’s seen before - he’s up at Willard’s Rest, Charlotte must have taken them in.

Arthur musters the little strength he has and takes step after unsteady step, leaning against dressers and the wall as he exits the bedroom and slowly drags himself down the hall.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, breathe through it.” 

God bless, Sadie Adler is here too.

Arthur sucks in a loud breath as he leans against the frame of the open door, quickly exhausted by the exertion he has already gone through. It takes moments for his vision to correct and his lightheadedness to subside a little. Only then is he able to take in what is happening in this other bedroom.

You recline against Sadie, who rubs at your biceps gently as Abigail sits between your spread legs, arms bloodstained up to her elbows. Her brow is furrowed in concentration. Charlotte Balfour leans over and places a wet cloth against your forehead, wiping away the sweat.

He must be dead, he must be. There’s no way on god’s green earth he’s seeing this. He’s completely unnoticed by the women, all rightfully focused on birth and life and not on a dying man.

“There we go. Alright, come on now honey.” Sadie coos gently. You grab at one of her hands and she holds it with the strength that Sadie is known for.

Abigail looks up to see Arthur leaning against the doorframe. Heaving breath, trying to keep himself upright. For an instant, she wants to go to him, but another scream escapes your throat and she immediately turns back to you. She mutters something to Sadie that Arthur cannot hear, and Sadie moves to let you lay down in the bed as a racking sob shudders out of your body.

“Couple good pushes left, you can do it-” Abigail places one of her hands below your knee and pushes your thigh back to round your belly. Sadie does the same with the opposite thigh, one hand free to brush back sweaty strands of hair from your forehead. Abigail nods to Charlotte and the latter takes Abigail’s place at the side of the bed, taking your thigh in her hands, holding it back the same as Sadie.

You scream again, head craning back on the pillow. Your hands clutch at the bedding beneath you with an unmatched strength. 

“Yes - yes, there we go, here we are-” Abigail mutters, her free hand disappearing between your legs.

Your voice, rough and abused, suddenly changes tone. From fearful and pained to something fierce. The scream from your lungs is one of determination - of strength and power and by god, he’s never been so in awe of you.

Arthur’s heart stops beating at this moment, and he nearly forgets the weight in his chest that makes it nigh impossible to breathe.

“Now push-” Abigail orders.

A fresh burst of tears works its way down your face as you suck in a breath and clench your teeth as you follow Abigail’s instructions. A defiant yell claws out of your throat. Arthur’s hand squeezes the doorframe with a strength that nearly escapes him, all from you. He wheezes, trying to keep quiet as the birth unfurls.

Fitting, a dying man witnessing this space of women delivering life. Fitting, that he's at the very least able to see this feat of strength from you, after everything you’ve been through. 

But in this moment, you didn’t need saving. Not by him.

Your screams are of strength, not fear nor pain.

You didn’t need him. 

You’d be fine, even after he’s gone.

One last strangled cry from your throat and you grit your teeth, pushing with every fiber of your being. Sadie leans forward and pushes your thigh apart just a bit more, Charlotte following suit on her side of the bed.

“Yes, yes, that's it!” Abigail exclaims.

The world slows, collapsing in on itself, he wasn't just watching the labor of a woman, he was staring at the birth of stardust, creation, and holiness incarnate. He, the sinner that he is, does not deserve to bear witness to such a thing.

From his vantage point leaning against the doorframe, he sees the baby’s head appear between your legs, cradled by Abigail’s waiting hands. 

He can’t hear the women’s exclamations, a tinny sound having taken over his hearing. Arthur watches you suck in another breath and bear down once again.

In a rush of blood and fluid, Abigail catches the child as you deliver. 

Arthur has never seen something so beautiful in his life. All the riches in the world, he’d have traded for this moment. The three women murmur joyful praises at you as Abigail rubs at the newborn roughly swaddled in the clean linen. 

The tinny noise goes away when the babe wails, a high-pitched screech that fills the room, over your panting, over the beating of Arthur’s heart, the crackling of his lungs. 

“Oh honey, y’ did perfect.” Sadie grins, letting your thigh down gently as she leans over toward the table and picks up her hunting knife. Abigail coos at the baby and undoes the linen enough to make that pulsing blue-white cord, the last connection between you and the child, accessible for Sadie to cut above the child’s stomach. Charlotte blots your forehead again with a wet cloth, holding your hand as you try to crane your neck to see your baby.

Abigail smiles as she places the newborn on the bed and wraps it tightly in linen with practiced ease. Once satisfied, she nods up to Sadie, who with Charlotte, slowly and carefully adjust the pillows behind you and help to pull you into a reclining position.

Abigail places the child into your waiting arms.

The baby wails and it’s the most beautiful goddamn sound that he’s ever heard. This sight is the most beautiful goddamn thing he’s ever seen. You, in all of your glory, settling in on the other side of childbirth.

And then reality crushes back in.

Arthur can taste the coppery blood in his mouth, and he slumps down the doorframe as he coughs, losing his breath as the back of his hand is covered with blood. Through his fading vision, he makes eye contact with you, hazy, but perfect lying there on that bed, holding his healthy child. You look horrified as you try to get out of bed, crying out in pain as Abigail and Sadie try to push you to lie down gently again, the baby wailing against your breast. Charlotte begins to round the bed to reach toward him as he collapses.

Crumbling to the floor, blood bubbles across Arthur’s lips as he wheezes, drowning in the weight of his own sins.

-

Your head pounds as you awaken, being jostled roughly and uncaringly. It takes you a moment to realize you are gagged, something tied across your jaw. Your eyes dart back and forth as they get used to the light in the room.

You know this room. The pit of your stomach opens up as you are roughly placed against an old bed, and you can see your companion.

Dark, greasy hair. Dark, ruthless eyes. A green scarf tied around his neck.

Companion, captor, rapist.

‘Ello there love, time for us to get to know each other.

You try to claw at him, but he proves to be too strong - and the both of you tumble onto the dirty old bed. He is able to hold you down as he stands up, one elbow across your back and his hand encircles your neck, pushing your face into the mattress.

You’re just gonna make this worse for yourself.

You scream against the gag, in rage then in pain when he pulls your arms backward and tucks them behind your back. Rolling you over, he keeps weight and one on your shoulder, your arms scream in pain as he holds you down.

He snarls as he catches his breath, pulling his knife from his belt.

You goddamn witch, I should kill you instead of fuck you. But it’s been so goddamn long since I’ve gotten my cock wet-

He draws the knife’s blade slowly across your collarbone. You stop fighting, afraid that the blade is going to pierce your skin. Instead, he starts drawing it down the front of your blouse, and buttons start popping and flying as he drags the blade against the fabric. He reaches the last button before your blouse gets tucked into your shirt and places the knife on the bedside table. 

This is takin’ too long. He smiles, and your stomach drops as he takes a fistful of your blouse and rips. 

You scream into the gag again as he continues, tearing the blouse off of you, the sleeves falling down your biceps, disconnected from the rest of the fabric.

His arm moves from where he holds you down to land on your chemise’s neckline and you immediately take advantage of his weight being gone, trying to sit up and throw an elbow. He is wise to your moves, however, and catches your arm as you swing it.

Fuckin’ Van der Linde whore-

The O’Driscoll backhands you across the face, leaving you smarting and gasping out in pain, falling back to the bed.

Another rip. Your chemise is torn at the neckline, between his two hands, and he continues to tear the cotton in half, your breasts uncovered as he looms over you. You can taste blood in your mouth as your eyes water over, dizziness taking over your being.

You can feel the cool knife blade against the curve of your waist as he slides it against the ties of your skirt, pulling the blade up and slicing through the strings, placing it back on the table side as he starts to pull your skirts off, his grubby fingers digging into your skin, gathering your bloomers as well as he works them down your hips, thighs, and legs. Your knee-high stockings get pulled from your feet.

You begin to weep as the O’Driscoll strips you naked on that shitty bed, every scrap of clothing gone. A rough, dirty hand squeezes a breast, grabs your hip, smacks your ass. Fingers reach to toy with the dark curls hiding your cunt.

He leans over you and pulls the gag down, smirking evilly.

Your man isn’t here to save you. He’s not coming. It’s just you and me like it always has been.

Like it always has been. 

Like it always has been.

You know how this ends. You know what happens next. You know the pain, and the shame, and the pity and hurt in Arthur’s eyes when he finds you. 

You cannot keep letting him do this. He’s right, Arthur is not coming.

The O’Driscoll stands to full height and begins to undo his gunbelt, a sickening grin still on his face. He looks down, starting to unbutton his pants and you see the glint of the knife on the side table as the lantern light flickers. With his eyes off of you, you swing your arm up, grasping the knife and immediately turn it on him before he has a chance to react, jumping up from the bed.

You sink the knife into the O’Driscoll’s neck. He sputters in surprise for a moment as he rears back, his blood spraying out between your bodies. 

You grit your teeth and pull the knife out of his neck and immediately plunge it in at a different angle. Warm lifeblood splatters all over your chest, your naked breasts, your neck, your face. The man makes a gurgling sound as he begins to slump forward on top of you. You let go of the knife and push him with all of your might, and he rolls to the side off of you, off the bed, crumbling into a jumble of limbs on the floor, blood seeping out of the holes in his body.

You lean over and pull the knife from his neck.

You stand above him as he dies, his blood dripping down your naked form. For so long, this man has controlled you, taken your body as his own, and held you down in fear and nightmares, long after his death. But now, now you stand above him, knife in hand, like a warrior queen. 

You are unashamed of your nakedness - you needed no armor to vanquish him. You are unashamed of the blood - it is not smeared between your thighs as evidence of violation, it is splattered across your face, your breasts, trailing in rivulets down your belly and your legs.

The O’Driscoll shudders in a death throe, his eyes wide as he stops twitching.

You grip the knife tightly in your hand. He’s dead, he’s dead and he can’t hurt you anymore. He can never hurt you again. 

The room begins to fade away.

And for the first time in so very, very long, you wake up in your bed, alone, at peace.

-

The oil lamp flickers, casting a shadow throughout the room. You frown, mentally taking note to get more oil the next time someone goes to town. 

You tiredly wipe the table of crumbs with an old rag, collecting said crumbs in your hand and tossing them in the sink, along with the dirty dishes from dinner. You had no desire to address those dishes tonight, the sun has long gone down. Sighing, you wipe your forehead of dotted sweat with the back of your hand as you clear the rest of the table.

A muffled bang comes from the door, and you hurry toward it before another knock rings through your house. Opening the door, it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness.

John Marston stands in your doorway, holding a large canvas sack over his shoulder. You smile and step out of the way for him to come inside. He does so, stepping immediately toward your newly cleaned table and placing the sack down on the table. You consider scolding him, but hold your tongue as he unrolls the canvas, a large, paper-covered slab of meat as his bounty. Freshly shot, you know, Abigail having mentioned that John was out hunting this morning.

“Guess you were successful?” You laugh as John rolls his shoulder.

“A little bit.” He mutters, rubbing at it.

“Gettin’ old there, cowboy?” You tease, and Marston scowls back at you, his scars across his face always making him look more severe than you know he is. But the scowl does not remain long.

“Shaddup.” He laughs in that rough voice that brings you such comfort.

You laugh as well, placing your hand on his bicep, “Thank you, John, this means a lot.”

“You sure you’re alright out here? You know Abigail would rather you stay with us.”

“John, I’m fine. Besides,” You motion over to the wrapped flank of meat that he has placed on the table, “You provide enough as is.”

He rolls his eyes, “You do know I’m gonna get an earful from Abby when I get back to the house.”

“John Marston, both you and I know that you was gonna get an earful from her no matter what my answer was.” 

He smirks, looking at his feet. Still bashful, after all these years. He looks up again, that half smile across his face, the silvered lines of his scars visible through the beard that doesn’t grow along them.

His gloved hand reaches toward you.

“You let me know if you need anything. Seriously. You know I watch out f’r you.” John squeezes your shoulder in a comforting manner. 

You smile, brushing his hand from your shoulder, and reach around his shoulders to bring him into a hug, “Thank you, John.”

“You’re family to us.” You can feel him nod, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing gently.

“You tryin’ to butter me up to watch the baby?” You smirk as you unwind yourself from him, laughing.

John scratches the back of his head sheepishly, tilting his hat for a moment before resettling it, “I mean… an extra pair of womanly hands carin’ for a baby is always welcomed.”

“Think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”

“Abigail thinks it’s a girl. Says she’s feelin’ different this time around.”

“And you?”

“I don’t do a lot of thinkin’… you know that.”

“You’re a silly man. Now go back up that hill and take care of your pregnant wife.”

-

“Mama.”

You crack one eye open. The sun has risen in the east, and the door to your bedroom is open wide, and a small shadow appears at your bedside.

“Susannah.”

“Mama please-”

You sigh, yawning before giving in, knowing you can’t win this fight, “C’mon now, come get into the bed.”

The girl giggles and dives under the blanket that you hold open. You wheeze as she climbs over you, a knee to your belly, a hand squishing your breast, and finally her small body curls in against you under the warm covers, and you blow away a few strands of sand-colored hair from your face as she tucks her head upon your breast. You close your eyes again as you wrap your arm around her, hoping she will fall back asleep with you.

Blessed silence.

“Mamaaaaa-”

Interrupted.

“Yes, dearest?” You sigh, but you can’t help but to smile as the small body next to yours squirms under the blanket.

“Tell me about the house by the waterfall again.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve told you about it four times this week.”

“But I wanna hear it again.”

You sigh, looking up at the ceiling, but start the story anyway,  “You were born on a bright, sunny day… like today.”

She crawls up to look you in the face, “And everyone was there.”

“Yes, everyone was there. Abigail and Sadie and Missus Charlotte helped me bring you into the world, just like how I’m gonna help Abigail bring the new baby into the world in just a few days.”

You kiss her forehead, brushing the mess of her honeyed hair back. “And when you came, and you cried and cried, but it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.”

“Before you were born, your papa said he loved the name Susannah. That’s why you’ve got that name,” You poke her little nose and she giggles, just like every time you tell the story. What joy simple things bring to a child.

The songbird that perches outside your window chirps gaily. It sits outside most mornings, and you have grown accustomed to its song, greeting you in bed. A horse whinnies from outside and your daughter bolts upright, throwing the blanket off her body and half off of yours. In a jumble of limbs, she bolts out of the bedroom, “Mama, mama!”

“Susannah, mind your shoes!” you call as you climb out of the bed, but secretly you want to run as fast as your daughter as you find a robe and throw it over your nightgown. You know you just scolded her to put on her shoes, but you also forego anything on your feet as you hurry toward the thrown-open front door, where Susannah bounds out as fast as her little legs can take her.

“There she is!”

Oh, your heart. Oh, your world. You have to hold onto the doorframe as you watch your daughter dart from the front door across the grass to the hitching post, several strides away. The large horse, tied to the post, swings its head toward the joyful shouts of the child. From behind the horse’s rump, a figure strolls around, tall and strong and bursting with excitement.

He stoops down on one knee and catches Susannah as she throws herself into his embrace.

“How is my favorite girl?” He easily swings the child up into his arms, holding her out and twirling her in a circle before gathering her into his chest. 

“I missed you so much, Papa.” She buries her head into his shoulder. 

“I missed ya somethin’ awful, sweetpea.”

The man looks up at where you stand in the door and smiles. His dark beard is long, his hair unruly underneath that old gambler’s hat.

He marches toward the door, and when he’s a step away from you, he lets your daughter down, who immediately latches herself to his pants leg.

“Susannah, Go on and get dressed. Give your father a moment to wash up.”

She scrunches her little nose in mock irritation, but dutifully does so, scooting past you and into the house, leaving you and him alone in the threshold of the door.

“Missed you somethin’ awful too, darlin’.” 

You smile as his hands find your hips, “You owe me, Arthur.”

Arthur snorts, and his lips press gently at your exposed neck, “For what, leavin’ you with the little one while I rode a cattle train all the way to Denver ‘nd back? Sounds like you got the better end of the deal.”

You lean forward in his embrace as he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Think you should stay closer to home next time.” You muse as you close your eyes.

Arthur’s hand creeps up from your waist and cups one of your breasts, squeezing firmly. You squirm in his embrace, gasping. 

“Stop - Susannah is right there, you-” You push his hand away from your chest but he only chuckles in your ear as he unwinds himself from you.

“I’m bringing her up to Abigail’s. She can watch ‘er for an hour or two.”

“You just got back-” You are cut off when his hand darts forward and grabs your rear through your robe and nightgown. You can barely keep yourself from squealing.

“Yeah, and I need to make love to my wife ‘til she can’t take it no more.” Arthur rumbles roughly into your ear with a tone of voice that goes straight to your cunt. You are unable to find the words to respond as he pulls back and nods, a smirk painted across his face.

“Gimme fifteen minutes. You better be naked in that bed when I get back, woman.”

You frown as he rights his hat back on his head.

“You know how obvious that is going to be?”

Arthur waves his hand dismissively, “You didn’t notice me takin’ Jack out on so many rides nine months ago?”

“Mama, can Jack take me for a ride on the pony?” Susannah darts past you, having changed into a cotton dress and thrown little boots on, her hair a disheveled mess.

“Ah, ah, come back here missy. Go get a ribbon and let me tie your hair up.” You scold, and your daughter scowls back at you with a nearly identical look before stomping back to her room.

Arthur chuckles, and your finger wags at him, “Don’t think I don’t know where she gets that from.”

“Her mother, exactly.”

“You son of a -”

Your daughter reappears and you close your mouth before cursing. She holds a ribbon out as she marches to you, turning around right in front of you so that you can reach her hair.

“Mind your mother, Miss Susannah.”

“Papa-”

“Or there won’t be any pony rides. I’ll tell Jack to have you clean out the pony’s stall today.” Arthur laughs, completely unable to be serious.

“Ew!” She shrieks, her hand darting upward to give you the ribbon. You laugh to yourself, taking the ribbon and gathering her hair into a ponytail, tying it up and over her head. Once secured to your liking, you gently tap her shoulder and she bounds toward Arthur, who immediately scoops her up into his arms again.

Arthur juggles the five-year-old onto his hip, to her joyous, shrieking laughter, “C’mon, let’s go up and save Jack from his daddy’s chores.”

As he opens the door to the cabin, Arthur glances back at you, his eyes darkening, “You best be ready when I get back.”

You roll your eyes, but secretly, a shiver goes down your spine at his implication. He gets like this - ravenous, hungry, passionate whenever he comes back from a cattle drive. As much as you hate the weeks alone, the amount of money Arthur brings home makes the ranch nearly abundant. Last year both John and Arthur went, and kept the families fed throughout the winter comfortably.

Of course, this year Abigail threatened to castrate John if he left her alone for six weeks at the end of her pregnancy… so this drive, Arthur went alone.

You pick up his mud-speckled leather coat, laying it over the wash bin. The sack of clothing Arthur left outside the door was sure to smell of a cattle herd - he was smart enough to leave it on the porch this time.

You make your way back to your bedroom, sighing as you idly rub your back. Your gaze catches the mirror above your bureau and you slowly walk toward it.

You stand in front of that mirror, pulling your nightgown up, up and over your knees, your thighs, your hips, your belly. You pull the fabric over your breasts and finally your head, holding it in one hand as you look at yourself.

There are no scars, just like that night standing in front of the fire in Valentine. There are no outward signs of what happened to you those years ago. Placing the nightgown atop your dresser, you glance in the mirror one last time. You see fuller hips, silvered lines at your belly, your breasts flatter against your chest.

A half smile comes across your face. No, the scars on your body were not from the O’Driscoll that raped you - they are from growing and birthing the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You look away from the mirror and let a breath out through your nose as you climb back into bed. Flopping back against the pillows, you smile to yourself as you wait for your husband’s return, naked in the marital bed as requested.

It is not several minutes more before you hear the front door slam and smile to yourself as you hear Arthur’s heavy gait beeline toward the bedroom.

The bedroom door swings open as Arthur barges in, and his hungry eyes immediately devour you whole as you recline into the pillows.

“Jesus Christ.” Arthur huffs, unable to move for a moment, staring at you. He pulls his hat from his head and chucks it to the floor.

“C’mon, ain’t known you to be one to keep your lady waitin,” you smirk, some of that old flirtation that you had at the beginning of your relationship shining through. You open your legs to bare your cunt, the dark hair parting as you spread your thighs further.

You’ve never seen him strip himself down faster. Boots tossed across the floor, his shirt thrown over the dresser haphazardly. He steps out of his pants and leaves them in a pile on the rug.

Fully nude, he climbs onto the bed, his hulking muscles undiminished by the years. Maybe, at first, in those months when he was bedridden at Willard’s Rest, where he slowly recovered from tuberculosis and you recovered from the ordeal of childbirth - was he a lesser man. But now? Now he was the Arthur you knew and loved - the Arthur who could tear men apart.

But you feel nothing but safe. You giggle as one of his hands immediately cups your cunt.

“Wife.”

You smile, your hands brushing down his shoulders to his biceps to his forearms.

“Husband.”

He parts your folds gently, rumbling as his other hand encircles his blood-hardened cock. He looms over you, and there is a secret sweet part of you that feels safe and protected underneath all of him.

“Sweetheart.”

He presses that trigger-worn finger inside you.

“Arthur-”

Your husband leans down and presses his lips against yours, his coarse beard tickling your chin as he begins to swirl and thrust that finger inside your cunt.  You moan into his mouth as you begin to cant your hips, wanting more, more.

Arthur lets go of his cock to steady himself against your bucking, groaning at your desperation. His hard shaft smacks against your inner thigh and you mewl and gasp as he slides a second finger into your cunt. He begins to rut himself against the jointure of your thigh and hip, his cock settling in there as he prepares you, eases the way, ensures that he would never, ever hurt you.

God, you love this man so much.

He pulls his fingers from your body and immediately smears your slick on his shaft, the head of his cock already weeping. His eyes trail from his cock up your body to lock with yours.

You raise your arms, open wide, inviting him into your embrace and he smiles, knowing he is home. Arthur takes that hefty cock of his and lines it up with your cunt. 

He grunts as he pushes into you, his head slipping inside as you whine; throwing your head back onto the pillow. He lowers himself down on top of you, plastering his entire body against you, and the two of you wind arms around each other’s boulders and your angles hook behind his back.

It’s slow, and full, as that first press inside always is. A strangled noise claws out of your throat as you dig your fingers into his back as those girthy inches stretch you. He rumbles against your neck as he works his way inside, his breath warm on your skin until he is hilted completely within you. He raises his head and kisses you headily.

Your bed is far more spacious than the small tent in Big Valley that saw your first coupling. 

“Don’t know - how many times,” his breathless voice is interrupted by the frenzied kisses he gives you, “...I had to fist m’cock at night - thinkin’ of you and this perfect little cunt.”

Arthur begins to thrust his hips against yours, finding that rhythm perfected by years of experience together, “My perfect little wife-“

“Missed you so much, Arthur.” You throw your head back against the pillow as he continues to roll his hips against you, his cock dragging in and out, in and out of the vice grip of your cunt, “I love you so much -”

A particularly deep thrust makes you gasp and Arthur groans into your hair, panting as he continues his pace, “God, oh darlin’ -my darlin’ girl… I love you-”

He grabs your hand, pressing it down on the bed next to your head, interlacing your fingers as his pace slows, becomes more measured, deeper. The gold bands around your ring fingers make a soft clink against each other, nearly unheard among the sounds of lovemaking. 

You cry out as he hits that spot within you again and again, sending you careening toward completion, the sensitivity of your channel making your legs shake and your breath hasten even more. 

“Ar-Arthur- oh… I’m gonna-“ you whine breathlessly, squeezing your eyes shut as your husband groans in recognition. 

“Come fer me, that’s it, come for me-” Arthur orders, throwing his hips roughly into yours in desperation, wanting, needing you to fall off the edge for him.

You cry out loudly as you throw your head back on the pillow, your hand squeezing his as the other claws into his back as you come, your entire body clenching as your arousal gushes around his cock. 

“Yes, yes - oh, my perfect girl, oh-” Arthur praises you as you ride out your release, and gives three more heady strokes before he finds his own. You come down from your high just in time to dig your heels into his tailbone, the sign for him not to pull himself from your velvet heat.

His hips stutter, and he lets out a long breath as he stills, cock twitching as he comes inside you. You whine as you feel the warmth bloom in your core. He cuts off the sound from your throat by kissing you, hard and fast, needy and desperate.

“My…” he pants between kisses, “pretty little wife-”

You smile breathily against his lips, “My strong, handsome husband-”

The wet sound of lips meeting lips takes over for several moments before Arthur slides himself from your body, settling on his side next to you before laying his head upon your breast. 

“Don’t go away for so long anymore. You gotta stay closer to home.” You muse as you run your fingers through his hair. The honey-blonde strands by his temple are peppered with grey- along with his too-long beard. Weeks in the saddle left your husband looking like a rugged mountain man whenever he returns. You’ll have to cut it later; it is growing longer than you like it.

He snorts playfully as he rolls off of you, sitting up on his elbow, facing you in the bed. With his other hand, he grabs the sheet that had been kicked away in the haste of lovemaking, pulling it up to pool around both of your waists.

You cannot help the smile that cracks across your face. You grasp his hand, his callused, rough hands that have built your home and provided for your family. The hands that rocked your daughter to sleep when she was a baby. The hands that keep you safe, warm, fed. 

The hands that pulled you from your pit of misery those years ago. Maybe if that hadn’t happened - maybe - maybe that tawny-haired girl running around the house wouldn’t be here. Maybe Arthur would still be robbing and stealing and ushering himself to an early grave. Maybe he would have bled out on that mountain in Roanoke instead of being dragged out by John.

It hurts, still. Every so often on quiet nights, you awaken sweating and fearful and an O’Driscroll’s laugh echoes in your mind. But then - you turn into Arthur on those nights and he holds you through ‘til the morning. He whispers sweet nothings until you drift off again. He reminds you of his love for you, through words and touches and enveloping you in the most intimate of embraces. The circle of gold around his left ring finger, though tarnished as he never takes it off even when he works, still glints in the morning light. 

And those nights that he’s out on the cattle trail? You pull yourself from your bed and pad quietly over to the other bedroom in the cabin, gazing through the sliver of the door partway open to see your daughter, born of struggle and the razor’s edge of that pain. How perfect she is. What joy she brings.

There will always be a part of you that O’Driscoll scarred you that night.

But maybe, just maybe - it fades, little by little over time. 

Arthur playfully squeezes your hand in return, “Them weeks too long f’r my girl? Miss me that much, huh?”

You bring his hand up from where he holds yours to spread flat across your belly, and you lean toward him with a smile on your face and lightness in your heart.

Arthur Morgan’s eyebrow arches with confusion.

The songbird’s luted melody softly echoes through the window of your bedroom, the mid-morning light spilling out over your sheets, over your bodies in your warm, well-loved marital bed.

“No, silly man. I’m pregnant.”

[yinemw]

𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

context: celebrating bf Toji’s bday and also new years 🎇 (female reader)

warning: swearing, mentioned sex

character: Toji Fushiguro from JJK

m.list

“I wonder, how did your mother feel like when she gave birth to you and heard fireworks outside the hospital” you think out loud as you lick your fork, swallowing the rest of the chocolate cake you had made for Toji. Half of it already eaten by the birthday boy, well, birthday man.

“You’re an odd woman” Toji snickers as he cuts himself another piece of cake. A golden birthday hat sitting on his messy black hair as some confetti was still stuck to his clothes. This year it was just you and Toji celebrating his birthday and New Years. So you had surprised him when he came home from work, opening the confetti right in his face as he stepped into your shared apartment.

Letting out a soft giggle, you wrap your hands around his bicep and lean your head on his shoulder. “Remind me again why we’re not going to Shiu’s New Year’s party? It’s been fun every year”

Toji shrugged, taking another bite from his piece of cake. Humming when the velvety chocolate taste melted on his tongue, he always loved your baking. “I’m getting older, jumping around with a bunch of drunk adults isn’t really how I feel like spending the night. Besides, you’ve been talking about how you wanna go to the roof of the apartment complex and see the view. I bet we’ll see the fireworks even better from up there” he explains, seeming genuine for once.

Nodding along, you place a kiss to his jaw before pulling away. “Whatever my man wants on his birthday, as long as I get to kiss you at the countdown”

“You always do, brat”

A few hours went by, Toji and you enjoying your evening together. He was right, it certainly was cozier and quieter spending new years just the two of you.

A glass of wine rested between your fingers, your third glass that night, Toji’s fourth glass, yet he remained sober. Though his kisses did start to taste like red wine and chocolate.

“Always someone who has to start early” Toji grumbles as you hear fireworks go off outside. “Still 20 minutes till midnight”

“20 minutes goes by fast” you get up from his embrace on the couch, placing the wineglass on the table before hurrying to the kitchen. Hearing Toji groan from the living room as he follows after you. “We’ll need champagne, also I bought sparklers, and we can’t forget to put on jackets and scarf because it’ll be cold—”

“I stayed home so we wouldn’t need to stress, woman” your boyfriend snickers, pulling you by your hips right back into his chest. “Sparklers? Really?”

“Oh come on, if not for new years, at least let’s light them up for your birthday” you look up at him, batting your eyelashes as your hands sneak up his chest and neck.

“Fuck, you’d think it’s your birthday with the way I’m agreeing to your stupid ideas”

The two of you get dressed, Toji reluctantly having to wear a scarf after you wrapped it around him. He said he doesn’t need it, but he knows you won’t leave the apartment without him fully clothed.

“Whoa, how come we’ve never been up here before?” your eyes practically sparkle as you enter the rooftop. It was fairly high up, giving an amazing view of the city and starry sky. “We’re lucky, no one else is here”

“Fucking snow”

Turning around, you see Toji grumble annoyed as he steps through the snow.

“Told you to put on boots, yet you didn’t listen. I on the other hand have dry socks and no snow in my shoes”

“Whatever smart-ass”

Standing close to the railing, you take in a deep breath of the chilly winter air. It truly was a beautiful view from up here, and with Toji standing next to you, holding a bottle of champagne in his gloved hands, you can’t help but agree with him. This would be a much better new years.

“Hey Toji”

“Hm?”

“Happy birthday”

The older man let out a scoff, a slight smile on his lips as he kicks some snow. “Yeah whatever, thanks pretty”

Before you could say anything else, the sky gets lit up by fireworks. Flinching at the first few, you quickly get used to the loud sound as the various colors paint the night sky. “Shit, did we miss the countdown?!”

Toji looks at his phone, the time showing 00:00. “Yup”

“Told you 20 minutes goes by fast!” Wasting no further time, you wrap your arms around Toji’s shoulders and lean up to his face. Kissing his lips quickly, you continue to hear the fireworks around you as Toji pulls you closer. Not shying away from the kiss, Toji made sure that the first kiss of the year would be one you wouldn’t forget until next year.

Pulling away from his lips, and pushing Toji away slightly before he could go in for another smooch, you take the champagne bottle from him. “Quick quick, we’re already behind”

Toji watches you struggle to open it, letting out a chuckle as he admires the way the colors of the fireworks reflect off your face. “Gimme that, chicken arms”

“Chicken arms? Oh I see how it is, grandpa”

“It’s a new year, and the first insult you give me is grandpa—”

Finally, you manage to open the champagne, the cap going flying somewhere off the roof. “Uhm…”

Toji bursts out laughing, actually wholeheartedly laughing. It wasn’t often you saw him like this, but seeing him happy and carefree warmed your heart. Letting out a few giggles too, you pour two glasses of champagne and clink them together.

“Happy new years Toji”

“Happy new years brat”

“Would it kill you to be sweet for a second?!”

After chugging his champagne, Toji took out a lighter and the sparklers you had bought. “There, happy now?”

Smiling, you can’t help but nod your head. Taking out two sparklers and lighting them up. Twirling yours around, seeing the patterns it created. Even Toji seemed to be fascinated, following your lead and twirling it around, the light illuminating his face and making his eyes sparkle.

“What a pretty man I have”

Toji can’t help but smile, turning his head to look at you. Though he teased and made annoying comments, he was happy, more than happy. He felt content and whole.

“Seems like it’s a good thing we didn’t go to Shiu’s party”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

Toji lifts his phone for you to see. Shiu’s panicked messages of how chaotic his party was going and asking for Toji to come over and help.

“Poor Shiu…oh well, anyways, new years sex?”

“You read my mind”

[misaerabl]

Fading Lines ; p2

“Even the lines that fade… we’ll redraw them. No matter how far apart we are.”

part two of In Between The Lines - m.list

SUMMARY: The quiet calm of Ellie's return to the facility is disrupted by buried emotions that resurface unexpectedly. As the two of you navigate your growing bond, the weight of her past and the secrets she carries come to light. Old wounds and new fears threaten to pull you apart, but amidst it all, Ellie begins to dream of a future—a future you might share. However, just when you think things might be turning a corner, the truth of her next step comes crashing in, leaving you both to grapple with the fear of losing each other again. WARNINGS: majority set in a mental health facility, mentions of SH, mental illnesses, mentally ill characters, mentions of drugs/drug use, mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts A/N: i fucking hate writers block

The silence in the waking world is heavy, almost suffocating, but it’s in your dreams where the true weight of it all settles. Every night, Ellie comes to you—not in the way you want, but in a way you fear.

You find yourself standing on a beach, the sky a canvas of soft blues and the sea stretching endlessly before you. Ellie is there, with her hair rippling in the breeze, the kind of freedom you’ve always wished for her. Her laughter is soft, carried by the wind, and for a moment, it feels like everything is okay. Like the world is still whole.

But then, the water shifts. It churns with an unsettling intensity, rising higher and higher, swallowing the shoreline, pulling Ellie closer. You reach out, your hands trembling, but the distance between you grows, the sand slipping through your fingers like time itself. You call her name, but it’s lost in the roar of the waves, and Ellie is pulled under—vanishing into the dark abyss.

You wake, heart pounding, sweat beading on your forehead, the taste of salt on your lips. The silence of your room is deafening. You feel it—that sinking in your chest, the terror of losing her. It’s as if she’s drowning, not in the water, but in the space between you. In the brokenness of what once was.

The dreams don’t stop. They come again and again, relentless, the haunting image of Ellie slipping further away. Every night, you try to save her, but you’re always too late.

The line between sleep and wakefulness blurs, and you’re left wondering if you can ever reach her—if you can ever pull her from the depths of whatever’s pulling her under.

You finally see her again.

It’s a quiet afternoon, the kind where the light filters through the windows in soft, golden beams, casting long shadows across the floor. You’re walking through the facility, the usual hum of conversations and footsteps in the hallway almost drowned by the sound of your pulse in your ears. And then, as if the universe itself has breathed life into the air, you spot her.

Ellie.

She’s in her usual spot, her sketchbook open, a pencil moving effortlessly across the page. The way she sits—head slightly tilted, brows furrowed in concentration—feels so familiar, so untouched by time, like she never left. Her hair, though shorter now, still catches the light, and her fingers curl around the pencil with the same grace they always had.

For a heartbeat, you stand frozen, caught in the tangled mess of emotions you’ve been carrying since her absence. The anger. The guilt. The fear. And yet, beneath it all, there’s a relief—an overwhelming, undeniable relief—that she’s here. That she’s alive.

Without thinking, your feet move before your mind can catch up. You rush to her, heart hammering in your chest.

“Ellie,” you breathe, and it’s like the air leaves your lungs all at once.

She looks up, her eyes meeting yours. For a second, there’s a flicker of recognition, something behind her gaze that softens, like she’s not sure whether to pull away or pull you closer.

But before either of you can say another word, you don’t hesitate. You wrap your arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body, the reality of her presence. It’s as if you’re holding onto a piece of yourself you thought you lost.

Ellie’s stiff at first, unsure of the touch, but then she sighs, her body melting against yours, and for the briefest of moments, everything feels right. Like the world outside doesn’t exist. Like the brokenness you both endured is no longer between you.

“I thought I lost you,” you whisper into her hair, voice trembling.

She doesn’t say anything for a long time. But when she finally speaks, it’s so quiet, so raw, that it feels like a confession.

“I’m still here.”

There’s something different about her now. Something that doesn’t sit right with you, even as you hold her in your arms, feeling her warmth seep into your skin. She’s calm. Too calm. The fire, the defiance, the rebellious spark that once danced in her eyes—those things are gone. Instead, her gaze is steady, the corners of her lips slightly curved in a way that feels… almost resigned.

She’s drawing again. Birds. Like she always used to. The way her pencil moves across the page is effortless, but there’s a stillness to it now, a carefulness that wasn’t there before. Birds have always been her escape, her refuge, something she’d sketch endlessly, as if drawing them could hold together the fragile pieces of herself. You’ve always loved the way her hand flew across the paper, how the birds took shape—wild and free, the wings outstretched, almost as if they could take her with them. But this time, it feels different. There’s no urgency to it, no passion in the strokes. It’s like she’s going through the motions, as if the act of drawing is just that—an act.

You want to ask. You want to say something. You want to pull her back into the chaos that you both shared—the laughter, the fights, the messiness of it all. You want to know why she’s so quiet, why she’s acting like everything is okay, as if the days of heartbreak and confusion never existed. But instead, you just watch. You sit beside her, the silence wrapping around you both, thick and heavy.

Is she fine?

She hasn’t looked at you like she used to, not with that vulnerability or the unspoken weight of everything she’s been through. There’s a calmness now, a sort of peace that feels artificial. You trace the edge of her hand with your finger, but she doesn’t react. It’s like she’s somewhere else, in a place you can’t reach, her mind somewhere distant, unreachable.

“Ellie…” you murmur, trying to catch her attention, but she just keeps drawing. The birds are endless, a never-ending series of lines and shapes, like she’s lost in them.

“Are you okay?” The words are barely a whisper, as if speaking them too loudly will shatter the fragile peace between you two.

She finally pauses, her pencil lingering in midair, as if she’s considering the question. Then she looks at you, her eyes different now—calm, yet unreadable. She’s fine. That’s what she says, and you want to believe her. You want to wrap your arms around her and make it all better, but there’s a hollow ache in your chest that says it’s not that simple.

She’s fine.

But is she really?

The question lingers in the space between you, unanswered. It doesn’t matter. Because when she finally speaks again, her voice is steady, distant.

“I’m fine. I’m here.”

But in her eyes, there’s something you can’t ignore. Something that says, maybe, she’s not really here at all. Maybe she’s already slipped away—one step at a time—into a place that you can’t follow.

And you’re left wondering if that’s the Ellie you know now. The one who’s still here, but not really here at all.

Throughout the next few days, you keep doing everything you can think of to help Ellie feel just a little better. You bring her snacks, try to crack a joke or two, and do anything to break through that calm wall she’s built around herself. But nothing seems to stick. She’s still there, distant, lost in her own quiet world.

Today, though, you’ve got something new. You’ve been practicing drawing—well, trying to. You know you’re not an artist, but you’ve got an idea in your head, and you just have to show it to her. With a nervous breath, you grab a piece of paper, quickly sketch something, and then, feeling a little ridiculous, you roll it up and hide it behind your back.

You find her in the usual spot by the window, where she’s sitting, staring out at nothing in particular. Her pencil’s in her hand, moving in slow, deliberate strokes. When you approach, you try to keep it casual, but your pulse picks up with the little hope you have.

"Hey," you say, a little too loudly, holding the paper behind you like it’s some big reveal. "Got something for you."

Ellie glances up, raising an eyebrow. "What is it this time?" she asks, her voice soft but a little curious.

You hold the paper up and, with a dramatic flourish, unroll it. "Well, I’m not an artist," you start, looking at her with an exaggerated frown, "but I thought I'd give it a shot."

You show her the drawing. It’s not much, but it’s definitely her—sitting at the window, hair falling messily over her face, pencil in hand, and looking… a little ridiculous.

She stares at it for a few long seconds, her lips twitching, clearly holding back a laugh. You can already feel the weight of her gaze, and you brace yourself for the judgment.

Finally, she breaks, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Okay, first off," she says, leaning in to get a closer look, "what’s going on with my hair? It looks like a bird’s nest."

You squint at the drawing, and she’s right. The wild curls are exaggerated into what looks like a messy explosion of lines on her head. "I tried," you admit, laughing. "You’re always drawing birds, so I thought I’d give your hair some wings."

Ellie snorts, then stifles it with a hand over her mouth, looking at you with an almost mischievous smile. "And what’s with the eyes?" She gestures to the drawing, where her eyes are comically huge, like a cartoon character. "I look like I’m going to hypnotize someone with these. Are you trying to give me a superpower?"

You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. "Well, maybe you have superhuman vision. You know, like a hawk or something." You grin, hoping she’ll take it as the joke it was meant to be.

She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Yeah, right. And what’s with my pose? Do I always look like I’m about to fall off the chair? I look like a confused flamingo."

You chuckle and shrug. "I mean, you're always sitting in that one spot like it’s your throne. I just… tried to capture your majestic pose."

Ellie stares at the drawing for a moment longer, her lips twitching again, but this time, it’s less about holding back a laugh and more about something else—something softer. Then, without warning, she lets out a soft giggle, one that feels genuine and warm. It’s the first laugh you’ve heard from her in what feels like forever.

"You know," she says, her tone quieter, "this is really bad… but in the best way possible. Thanks, I think. I needed that."

You smile, relieved that she’s actually laughing. "Yeah, well," you tease, "maybe I’ll take a class or two. You never know. Maybe I’ll become the next Picasso."

She shakes her head, but her smile doesn’t fade. "Sure, sure," she says, still chuckling softly. "Just try not to give me any more superpowers next time, okay?"

"Deal," you say, grinning. "But you have to admit, I’ve captured your grace. You are, after all, the majestic, possibly-hypnotic flamingo of the facility."

Ellie looks at the drawing again, and her smile softens. “I never thought I’d see myself like this,” she says, almost to herself, “but it’s kinda nice.”

You glance at her, catching the vulnerability in her voice. The teasing joke lingers in the air, but there’s something deeper between the lines now—something real, something that’s been missing. The tension has lifted, and for the first time in a while, Ellie looks… okay. Maybe not completely whole, but at least she’s laughing again.

And that’s enough for now.

That night, the dream returns, as it always does.

You’re on the beach again. The air feels warm, the golden sun stretching its light across the horizon, and Ellie is standing there, her auburn hair swaying in the breeze. She turns to you with that familiar, easy smile, the one that used to feel like a promise that everything could be okay.

It’s always the same at first—Ellie calling your name, her voice soft and light as the waves lap gently at the shore. You walk toward her, the sand cool beneath your feet, and when you reach her, your hands meet. Her fingers are warm, grounding.

But then the shift comes, just like it always does.

The sea grows restless, waves rising higher and higher, their deep, rumbling growl swallowing the sound of her laughter. The sky darkens, storm clouds rolling in to smother the sun. Ellie’s smile fades, her expression twisting into fear as the tide pulls at her feet.

“No!” you shout, your voice muffled by the roar of the waves. You reach for her, but the ocean surges forward, rushing around your ankles, pulling her away.

Ellie stumbles, her hand slipping from yours. The connection—the one thing that mattered most—breaks. She’s swept back, her body lost in the violent pull of the water.

“Ellie!” you scream, thrashing against the tide, but the ocean is relentless. Her auburn hair vanishes beneath the surface, and the storm rages on.

Then, silence.

You wake with a gasp, your chest heaving, the echo of her name still trembling on your lips. The room is dark, the shadows unmoving, but the pounding of your heart is deafening.

This dream—it’s not the first time. It’s been haunting you since Ellie’s return, pulling you under night after night. No matter how much you tell yourself it’s just a dream, it feels too close, too real.

Every time it ends the same way: Ellie slipping away, lost to something you can’t control. The dread sits heavy in your chest, and you run your hands through your hair, whispering her name into the quiet.

You can’t keep waking up like this. You need to find a way to reach her, to understand the depths of what’s pulling her under before the dream becomes reality.

The garden is quiet that afternoon, a sanctuary of stillness broken only by the soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of conversation from the facility’s common area. You find Ellie sitting under her favorite tree, her sketchbook lying forgotten on the grass beside her. She’s staring at the horizon, her knees drawn up to her chest, and the sunlight filters through the branches, casting dappled shadows over her face.

You approach cautiously, the weight of unspoken questions hanging between you like a fragile thread. When she hears your footsteps, Ellie glances up, her eyes meeting yours. There’s something in them—an old ache, softened by time but still present, like a bruise that hasn’t quite healed.

“Hey,” you say softly, sitting down beside her.

“Hey,” she murmurs back, her voice quiet, almost distant.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You watch as her fingers trace absent patterns in the grass, her gaze fixed somewhere far away. Then, unable to hold it in any longer, you break the silence.

“Ellie,” you begin, your voice gentle but steady. “I need to know… what happened. The day after—” You pause, your cheeks warming at the memory of your first kiss. “That day.”

Ellie flinches slightly, her shoulders tensing. For a moment, you think she’s going to deflect, to brush you off like she’s done so many times before. But then she exhales a shaky breath and turns to you, her eyes shimmering with unspoken truths.

“It wasn’t the kiss,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not directly.”

You nod, encouraging her to continue.

She hesitates, her fingers clutching the fabric of her jeans. “The kiss… it was beautiful. You made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope. Like maybe there was a future I could want. But—” Her voice cracks slightly, and she looks away, her jaw tightening. “That same day, I got a letter.”

Your brow furrows. “A letter?”

“From my mom’s family,” she explains, her tone bitter yet resigned. “I hadn’t heard from them in years. And then, out of nowhere, they sent this… reminder. About how I didn’t belong. About how they didn’t want me.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and raw, each one cutting deeper than the last.

“It was like everything hit me at once,” Ellie continues, her voice trembling. “The kiss, the letter… it stirred up everything I’ve been trying to push down. The pain, the anger, the feeling that no matter what I do, I’ll always be…” She stops, biting her lip, her eyes glistening with tears she refuses to shed. “Unwanted.”

You feel your heart break for her, the weight of her confession settling like a stone in your chest. “Ellie,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “You’re not unwanted. Not to me. Not to anyone who truly knows you.”

She shakes her head, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t get it. That day, it wasn’t about you. It was me—everything inside me felt like it was collapsing. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. And I didn’t know how to ask for help.”

Her honesty is both heartbreaking and healing. For the first time, you see the full scope of her battle—not just with the world around her, but with the wounds she carries inside.

You reach for her hand, your fingers curling around hers. “You don’t have to go through this alone anymore,” you whisper. “I’m here, Ellie. I’ll always be here.”

She looks at you then, really looks at you, and for the first time, you see the faintest glimmer of something other than sadness in her eyes. Hope.

The air between you softens after Ellie’s confession, like a weight has been lifted, even if just a little. The two of you sit in silence for a while under the tree, her hand still in yours. It feels fragile, this moment, like a piece of glass that could shatter if either of you moved too quickly.

Eventually, Ellie lets out a small sigh and leans back against the trunk, her head tilted to the sky. “You’re going to get tired of me someday,” she says, her voice light but laced with a self-deprecating edge.

You shake your head immediately. “Not a chance.”

She gives you a skeptical look but doesn’t argue. Instead, she reaches for her sketchbook, brushing off some loose grass before opening it to a blank page. “Alright, let’s test that theory.”

“What do you mean?”

Ellie smirks, the faintest glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “I’m going to draw us. In the future. Let’s see how long you can stand me once I sketch you as an old lady.”

You laugh, the sound breaking through the lingering tension like sunlight through clouds. “Fine. But only if you give me the same treatment.”

“Deal,” she says, already setting to work.

As her pencil glides across the page, you watch the way her brows furrow in concentration, her tongue peeking out at the corner of her mouth. It’s so achingly familiar and so Ellie that you feel your chest tighten with something close to affection.

After a few minutes, she holds up the sketch. It’s a surprisingly detailed drawing of the two of you sitting on a porch, surrounded by lush greenery and a few potted plants. You’re both older, wrinkles creasing your faces, but there’s an undeniable warmth in the way she’s captured your smiles.

“And, of course,” she adds with a grin, “we’ve got a couple of dogs. Big ones. Like, the kind that take up the whole couch.”

You tilt your head, inspecting the drawing. “Okay, but why do I look like I’m about to fall off the porch?”

“Because you probably are,” she teases. “You’ll still be clumsy, and I’ll still have to save you from yourself.”

You snort. “Fine, but I’m drawing you now. Let’s see how you like it.”

Ellie leans back, arms crossed, a playful smirk on her face. “This should be good.”

You grab her pencil and make a valiant attempt, but after a few strokes, it’s clear you haven’t improved since your last effort. The result is a cartoonish version of Ellie, her features exaggerated and uneven, with a giant dog looming behind her like something out of a comic strip.

Ellie bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, is that supposed to be me? Why do I look like I just got hit by a bus?”

“Hey!” you protest, holding the sketch protectively against your chest. “It’s abstract.”

“It’s a disaster,” she counters, still laughing.

But then, as her laughter dies down, she looks at you with something softer, something deeper. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she says, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world narrows down to just the two of you.

The conversation shifts naturally, flowing into bigger dreams. Ellie starts to talk about places she wants to see, things she wants to do—things she never let herself believe she could have. “Maybe one day we’ll travel,” she says, her voice tinged with wonder. “Somewhere with mountains. Or maybe the beach, like in your dreams. Except, you know, without the drowning part.”

You smile, your heart swelling at the hope in her words. “And then we’ll come back to our little porch, with our dogs and our plants. And we’ll grow old together.”

Ellie hesitates for a moment before saying, quietly but firmly, “And get married.”

It’s the first time she’s spoken about the future with such certainty, such hope. And you can’t help but cling to it, holding the vision of a life together close to your heart.

It’s a normal day—or at least, it feels like it should be. You walk down the hallway, the usual sounds of people talking, footsteps echoing against the walls. It feels routine, almost comforting. Everything is as it always has been. Until you turn the corner and see her.

Ellie.

She’s standing by the door, but something’s off. She’s not sitting at her usual spot near the window or sketching away in her book. Instead, she’s holding a bag, her back turned to you as she speaks with her adoptive father, Joel. His voice is low, but the worry in his eyes is impossible to ignore. His expression changes when he notices you walking toward them, and for the first time, you realize something is wrong.

Ellie’s shoulders are tense, her eyes darting nervously as she looks between you and Joel. Her grip on her bag tightens, and your stomach drops.

You stop dead in your tracks, the reality sinking in. Your heart skips a beat. “Ellie… what’s going on?”

Ellie freezes, her eyes locking with yours. You see it then—the bags under her eyes, the way her lips press into a thin line. It’s not just that something’s off; she’s leaving.

You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat. The air is suddenly thick, suffocating. Your breath hitches, and you feel like you’ve been knocked off balance.

Joel looks at Ellie with a heavy, almost apologetic expression. He opens his mouth to say something but then turns his gaze to you, offering nothing but the truth. “She’s being transferred. To a different facility. One that’s more equipped to help her,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

Ellie doesn’t say anything. She just stands there, her hand still clutching her bag like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

You feel a cold rush of panic. “You’re leaving?” The words come out of you before you can stop them, and you hate how weak they sound. You’re afraid. Afraid of what this means.

Ellie’s expression cracks, the walls she’s built around herself crumbling for just a moment. She opens her mouth, but no words come out at first. She finally speaks, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

You’re rooted to the spot, heart racing as the reality of her departure presses in. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The hurt in your voice is unmistakable.

“I thought… I thought it would be easier this way.” Ellie’s voice falters, and she looks down, not able to meet your gaze. “I didn’t want to make you feel like you were losing me again.”

The pain of those words hits you harder than anything. It’s not the fact that she’s leaving; it’s the fact that she’s been hiding it from you. It feels like a betrayal, and your chest aches with the weight of it.

Ellie steps forward then, hesitating before pulling you into a hug. You hold her tightly, not wanting to let go. The scent of her, the warmth of her body, it’s all fading too quickly. You’re both too close and too far apart at the same time.

“I’ll be okay,” she whispers against your shoulder, though neither of you believe it.

“I don’t want you to go,” you murmur, gripping her even tighter.

“I’ll be back,” she promises softly, though her voice cracks. “We’ll figure this out. I’ll come back. I swear.”

But the uncertainty in her voice echoes in your mind as she pulls away.

And just like that, she’s gone.

The door swings shut behind her.

The days blur into one another, each one a shadow of the last. You wake up, breathe in the quiet of your room, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like Ellie’s still there, like the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet. But then reality crashes in, as sharp and cold as the space where her laughter used to fill the air.

You move through the motions, your heart still half asleep, still holding onto the dream of her, of the way she once was. The dreams have returned, the same ones that haunt you: Ellie standing on the beach, her auburn hair tangled in the wind, her eyes meeting yours with that same smile that made the world feel endless. But then, the waves rise, violent and unrelenting, and she’s pulled under, slipping away from your grasp. Every time you wake, the sense of drowning stays with you, heavier than before.

One afternoon, when the sky seems to bleed into dusk, you sit in the garden, the same garden where you and Ellie once talked about the future as if it were already written in the stars. The world is quieter now, the hum of life somehow muffled, as if the earth itself is holding its breath. You pull out the sketchbook she gave you, the one filled with her art—moments frozen in time, stories she told in lines and shades.

You run your fingers over the pages, each one a lifeline to her, but the last one, the last page, is a void. An empty space where there should have been something—a message, a sketch, a promise.

You close the book, pressing it against your chest, and close your eyes, letting the tears slip quietly down your face. The wind stirs around you, and for just a moment, you hear her laugh in the rustling of the leaves. It’s a sound you’ll never forget, but it’s fading. Like the lines in a drawing, the edges slowly blurring until you can no longer make out what it was.

You’ve always feared that one day, the lines between you would fade completely. That she would slip away, like the last fleeting star in the early morning sky, swallowed by the coming light. And yet, here you are, still holding onto her, still searching for something solid in the ever-shifting tides of time.

You stand, the weight of the sketchbook heavy in your hands, and walk to the door. The breeze catches your hair, and for a brief second, you swear you feel her beside you. You whisper into the wind, not sure if it’s meant for her or for yourself, “Even the lines that fade… we’ll redraw them. No matter how far apart we are.”

And as you stand there, in the quiet of the garden, you realize that some lines never truly disappear. They may blur, they may fade into the distance, but they remain, like a quiet promise in the night.

Because love—like the stars, like the dreams that haunt you—never truly fades. Even when it feels like everything is slipping away, there’s always something left behind. And you will wait. You will wait for the day when those lines are redrawn, when Ellie finds her way back to you, just like you’re finding your way back to her in every waking moment.

! in between the lines masterlist

[taissaswifelowkey]

cigarettes, cigarettes.

a/n: idk why i felt like dishing this out??? and it was so random too like 💀💀 also, melissa is adorable and deserves the best of hugs people 😎‼️ proofread but there might lingering mistakes left. leave feedback if you have any, enjoy reading you already knowww, mdni

w/c: 3.4 k words

warnings: suggestive themes, mentions of a casual affair, swearing, mentions of smoking, love used as a metaphor of addiction and smoking, drinking at a party, overly dramatic writing, attempts at humour, gay yearning. melissa is in love but kind of doesn’t know how to deal with it.

second part will be written. more will be told about the reader’s background, and we’ll have a deeper insight on when they started seeing melissa. let me know if i missed anything else :)

it starts below the cut 🤠

Sitting on the rooftop, your eyes are mindlessly trained on the landscapes drowned by lamplights. A cigarette hangs between your lips and you’re starting to taste the bitter, raw nicotine from how long it has remained unlit. You wish you could bring yourself to inhale the toxins and allow the rot to travel throughout your lungs, consequently tainting your oxygen, but you’ve decided that you do too much of it already, the smell of her lingering fragrance marking your bedsheets being enough to ruin your health. It was a deranging fact considering you weren’t even a smoker. You wanted to find an alternative addiction that would slowly, softly kill you. It’s better to crawl at the hands of death rather than someone. At least that is what you think. Though you were always kind of melodramatic in that way. She’d tell you that whenever you would plead with her to stay with you after your nightly secret meetings.

Looking back at it you feel a little embarrassed. All those wasted words and wasted time. Wanting nothing more but to go back to stop yourself from breathing three words that left a taste of bile at the back of your mouth even after weeks.

Taking the cigarette away from your lips you twirl it around your fingers, the paper now nearly melted off. You don’t want to throw it away, feeling ridiculous that you spent your money on a twelve dollar pack. Lying back to rest on the cold concrete, you carefully place the cigarette on your chest in an almost cradling gesture.

The cold wind blows past your face, the skin of your neck, touching the places that were traced by her lips. Your fingers reach for them and you swear it’s like she never left.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

A voice startles you, jerking you up. Instinctively you hold the cigarette like you’ve been caught. The act itself is unintentionally amusing, making the redhead bite back a smile.

“I don’t.”

“There’s no harm in it if you were.”

She casually strides up to you. She’s so pretty. She always is but you can swear that at this moment you’d be on your knees apologising to her for something you didn’t even do. And maybe that’s the problem.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t.”

You stand up, dusting off your pants, wanting to leave. The further you stay the more your brain shifts to your first conflict. Memories of raised voices, of tears, flushed faces and accusing words quickly speed past your membrane.

“Then why is there a box peeking out of your pocket?”

“Why do you care?”

Melissa sighs, crossing her arms. She wonders if whatever you had to drink tonight warranted that behaviour. But she also knew you never really were the drinking type. This only somehow worsens things, knowing that you’re sober and somewhat justifiably annoyed.

Ava’s laugh breaks the tension brewing between you, reminding your surroundings. At Janine’s flat, a get together between colleagues.

“This is useless.”

You make a move to leave but she steps in your way. You almost want to laugh at her boldness.

“We need to talk.”

“We talked already.”

You grit, looking down at your shoes. She is being unfair. Sending you off, ignoring you for days and only talking to you when she needed to. Your friends did catch on to the shift of the atmosphere but couldn’t exactly place it. No one asked any questions either, knowing not to bother Melissa when she was having her pondering moments. It’s not like they could ask you anything either, always finding a sly excuse to get out of the conversation.

“Won’t you just cut the attitude and be serious about this for five minutes—”

“You have no right to tell me what to be serious about, Melissa. Not when you’ve got some questions to ask about yourself.”

You’re right. She knows you are. You have that same look on your face the day you pronounced the same words that felt like an open wound. “Why’d you have to ruin everything?” She asked, not frustratingly cried out. Then again her reasonings were justified. The agreement you had between you was simple. No attachments, no feelings.

With flushed cheeks she looks ahead of you. Her pride not wanting to let you know you aren’t exactly in the wrong, at least not really. Whatever it is, she won’t give you the satisfaction. Much to your great relief. Biting back your tears, you scoff, walking past her. She catches the subtle whiff of your linen scent, instantly bringing back memories of you spending rare mornings in her kitchen. Or evenings of her trying to teach you how to cook Italian food but ended up being distracted by the way you wrapped your arms behind her, placing soft kisses on her neck.

A couple excuses and farewells later you left the party, wishing everyone well and ignored Ava’s slight inquisition in your mood. You waved it off, joking that you’ve had many drinks in you and needed to rest. Which you should have seriously thought of before because Ava being inquisitive Ava knows you don’t really drink, failing at convincing you to slip a few drops of alcohol in the punch at a PTA reunion that one time.

“Something’s off with Romeo.” She points at Jacob and Barbara, who casts a curious look as you leave. He thought about it for a moment before speaking up again.

“I think Romeo is the wrong romantic hero to use here—”

“Can we drop the nerding for a second and gossip…I mean, talk about our colleague?” Ava exasperates.

Usually, Barbara isn’t one for gossip, but she had to admit your behaviour was strange.

“The other day I still saw her class lights on. I presumed it was to catch up on correcting papers but this has been the fifth time in a week.”

“What do you think it is? Heartbreak? Food poisoning?” Ava ponders, already thinking of the bake sale that you participated in, and accepts a plate of visibly raw cookies from a student out of pity.

“Or maybe it’s just stress and fatigue?” He hums, pretending not to know what she was talking about. The truth is, he was aware. At least he had some idea. He saw Melissa in one of your shirts once. Chalking it up to you two having a sleepover he dropped the thought but it was admittedly strange. He tried talking about it to Melissa in a completely innocent curious way, to which she quickly shut him down. He tried asking you, but you would always find a way to slyly change the subject.

“Another theory is either a relationship or a situationship gone wrong. Probably the second one. I haven’t seen that look in a while, that’s someone who needs to get lai—”

Melissa enters after, walking towards Janine and Gregory. She asks for you but they confusedly answer that you left. Right. She knows you did. But a part of her hoped you’d stay. A tiny part.

“Hmm, I don’t know. Digging into her life seems a bit unethical.” Jacob scratches his neck, acting as if he didn’t want to know what was really happening.

“It’s not unethical if we’re preoccupied.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but Ava’s right. We should be rightfully preoccupied.” Barbara supports, earning a slight indignant expression from Ava.

“What do you mean you can’t believe what you’re saying? I’m always right. Almost always.”

“What are we saying?” Janine interrupts, smiling cheerfully at the group. “Oh…is it about the appetisers? Look, I know they’re not exactly homemade but I tried to make it look presentable.”

Melissa is right behind them, peering through the groups' eyes. She catches on to Jacob’s uneasy smile, who grabs an appetiser from a nearby platter to avoid speaking. Ava clears her throat and resumes talking.

“We know they aren’t homemade. Maybe that’s what got our friend sour.”

Ever the sweetest person, Janine’s tone changes at the mention of you. You did look a bit off. She really thought it was the food but you reassured both her and Gregory.

“Thank God because I ate at least ten of those…” mutters Gregory, offering a teasing smile when Janine bats his biceps.

“What got our colleague sour?” Melissa questioned, or rather interrogated. She knew she somehow had to appear clueless if she wanted to avoid having a discussion. The incoming questions were already giving her a migraine. Though the only person she’d trust this issue with is Barbara.

“Now, I am in no way condoning gossip nor peering into personal lives—”

“Oh, just spit it Barb.” Ava eggs on. Barbara sighs and rolls her eyes before turning to Melissa again.

“We think it might be a case of a heartbreak. The opposite of you, actually.”

Ironic.

“Is that what it looks like?” Melissa ponders, trying so hard not to let her voice waver.

“Oh, yeah, speaking of how’s your date going?” Janine smiles, knowing a bit about Melissa’s “mysterious date”, consequently allowing the topic about you to change.

“It’s…it’s going okay. Ish.”

“Are you thinking about going official?” Ava nudges her shoulder, a conspiring smile on her face. “I would like to see who’s giving you that glow. Like where did you find them exactly? Wherever it is, maybe they have more.”

She fights back from blushing, her brain rushing to moments of you taking care of her, your soft praises, how your lips traveled across every inch of her skin.

“That good, huh?” Jacob quips, instantly recognising that look she has. She had it when you left to get coffee and he could’ve sworn she wasn’t just “tired”. She was unabashedly gazing at you. The woman’s eyes widened, wondering if she should shut Jacob up. But that will for sure sell her out.

“Leave the poor woman alone. She’s not who we are talking about at the moment. But you will have to tell me everything soon, won’t you, Melissa?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll tell you everything.”

“In any case, I hope it’s not too bad. I’ve seen that kind of heartbreak before.” Barbara winces at the thought of your solemn face. You were genuinely bright, not too talkative, but still a positive figure at Abbot Elementary.

“Let’s all drink in the honour of our Romeo and hope it’s not that case.” Ava pours drinks for everyone, clearly not using this as an excuse to get everyone to drink.

Melissa stares down at her cup before taking another sip, hoping the cup’s contents will wash down the churning feeling in her stomach.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The next following weeks went on as usual. You preparing your lessons, marking your students' papers. You think you’ve seen fiery red hair at your door but maybe that’s just your delusion.

Melissa’s week was fairly average like yours. Except that there is an issue. She’s not able to clear her mind out of you. That and you’ve left your shirt at her place. She wondered many times if she should call for you to pick up but has decided that your relationship is already awkward as it is. That and she still hasn’t told her best friend who had her smiling dreamily.

To make matters comedically worse Jacob is somehow connecting the dots. Asking her about the shirt you’ve left. Then about you and if you two talked recently. She tried to answer his questions normally but had a gut feeling that this wasn’t just innocent curiosity.

They were now at the professors' lounge room, having just had a lunch break with everyone except you. You said you needed to catch up on lesson prep and heated your lunch and left.

“Melissa I know it’s none of my business—”

“Damn right it’s not.”

“But I was just wondering—”

“Then stop wondering.” She shrugs, moving to pack her things from the lounge room. She liked to consider herself helpful but right now what she needed was to get home. And definitely not try to text you.

Jacob quickly stops her from leaving, blocking the entrance door.

“Jacob don’t make me start—”

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

She blinks her eyes, eyebrows furrowing.

“Look I know I shouldn’t care and it doesn’t concern me. But I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

Before she could even answer the door opens, making them both jump in fright. Barbara looks between them and shoots a conspiratorial glance.

“Gossiping again?”

“No?” Jacob answers as he pretends to dust lint off Melissa's shoulders. “Just catching up on…the weather?” To be fair he was a bad liar.

She shrugs his hand off her shoulder, looking at Barbara. She knows she can’t hide anything from her. What is surprising is that she can’t even hide anything from Jacob. Either he was too observant or she was becoming too transparent.

“Is anyone going to tell me anything?” Barbara raises an eyebrow, taking note of their awkward looks.

“It’s complicated.” Melissa sighs out, massaging her temples.

“I think this is something that you two need to talk about alone…” Jacob temptingly mutters, making a move to leave before the redhead grasps his wrist.

“Oh, no. You’re staying.”

It’s the least he could do for trying to dig into her personal affairs. His face is stricken with fear as Barbara’s confusion deepens.

“You might want to uh…sit down for this one, Barbara. But please don’t blame her for anything, I mean like she said it is complicated—”

“Wait, you knew about this?” Barbara inquisitions, her hand waving between her best friend and the frightened man.

“No, no, no! I mean I had some idea of it, Melissa was oblivious and I sort of figured it out—”

“Jacob. Quiet.” Melissa sits down on a chair, head dropping to her hands, mentally preparing for the incoming headache she’s about to get from all this mess.

“Will someone tell me what is going on? It’s not anything too serious is it?” Barbara takes a maternal tone, concern wavering in her voice at the sight of her friend in distress.

“You know I’ve been seeing someone?”

“Yes…? Did he…or they broke up with you? Sweetheart, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s someone we know.” The redhead speaks between her teeth, shame coursing through her body. She takes a deep breath, looking at Jacob who sends her an encouraging nod.

“You know I will never judge you, right?” Her best friend moves to sit in front of her, taking her hand in hers and lightly squeezing it.

“I know, it’s just…”

“Messy.” Jacob completes, earning an exasperated look from the redhead.

“Yeah.”

“Well I’m here to listen. And not judge. That’s not what we’re here for, right?” She looks up at Jacob, who shakes his head and offers his hand in support, hoping the redhead won’t break his phalanges.

“You know we’re here for you no matter what, Mel.”

The support is surprisingly enough for her to gain a little courage. She has to do it. If not for her then for you. Silence ensues.

“It’s…it’s…well.”

When Barbara hears your name, she swears she thought it was a joke. But at the look of Melissa’s face, she knows she is being completely serious.

“For how long?” The question isn’t meant to be judgmental, but the redhead fears it is.

“Four weeks.”

“That explains everything. You tolerated Jacob’s jokes more than usual.”

“Wait…you aren’t…mad at me?”

“Sweetheart, why would I be? I’m in no place to judge you whatsoever. As long as you’re happy and safe, you are free to live your life and see whoever you want to.”

“O…okay. Thank you.”

“There is no need.”

The pair hug, while Jacob awkwardly clears his throat.

“So does this mean I’m safe and won’t get kicked out?” He shrinks back in his posture as Melissa gets up, Barbara stands with her just in case she needs to hold her back. 

“Everything’s all good.”

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay. I think sooner or later you were bound to find out anyway..”

“It is true that I started asking myself a couple of questions when you didn’t have your glow anymore.” Barbara nudges her, smiling at the way she fights back her blush.

“Yeah, well…it’s kinda over now, so…”

“Over? Oh, honey, this isn't over for the two of you. Not until you two had a proper conversation between adults.”

“But she’s–”

“Then tell her you’ll give her all the time she needs. But soon you will need to talk. If she does not understand that, then at least you gave it a chance. Don’t let her run anyway again.”

She knows she’s right. She can’t let this go any further.

“Let who run away?”

Janine walks in a tow with Ava and Gregory. Mr. Johnson, who walked in to look for trash, stayed when he heard something that might make his day interesting.

Melissa looked at everyone before catching your figure in the hallway. You two share a fleeting look before you leave. Everyone follows her gaze before looking back at her. Ava raises her eyebrows and sips her cup of coffee.

“This is messy.”

“Ava, stop–” Janine softly intervenes but Melissa shakes her head.

“No, she’s right. It’s my mess to fix.” She gazes at the empty spot you left, wanting nothing more but to stop you from leaving.

“Are we going to have to play matchmaker?” Ava excitedly whispers to Gregory, who places a hand over her shoulder.

“Looks like it. Or maybe this is something for them to fix themselves.”

“You’re going to have to tell us everything. If you want to, of course. No judgments here.” Ava speakers earnestly, though her voice is edged with curiosity.

“I think this is something for me to talk about later. See you after class.” Melissa smiles at the group one last time, nearly breaking into a grin when Barbara offers her a thumbs up.

She already screwed up once. She wasn’t about to let you go again. Even if you decide to let her go, she has to let you know what she had to say from the beginning. What she wanted to say.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Tagged by @iinryer @butchdiaz and @eddiebabygirldiaz to do a 2024 year end fic round up! 125,710 words over 26 fics… damn… at least one fic a month and now I desperately want to try and finish something in the next few days so I dont break that streak for December… we’ll see… okay here we go! Thank you to everyone who’s read anything of mine, I had a lot of fun writing and I hope you had fun reading!

January

I got love to give, and give and give 1,638 words, rated T, melancholy and fluff, Hen and Buck bestieism

“What’s up with you, Buckaroo?” She laughs, poking his silly cheek.

“I love you,” he says, so sweet, looking even happier just to say it. “So much, Hen. Do- did you know it?”

“Yes,” she says, laugh still in her voice but chest a little tighter. “I know it, Buck.”

He drops his cheek to her shoulder, and then turns his head quick to kiss the spot. “Good. You’re the best. You should know it, a- a hundred- a thousand percent.”

—

Hen thinks about Buck at a party

the more we move ahead the more we’re stuck in rewind 4,278 words, rated T, the Buckley’s bad parenting

Bobby frowns at his phone, then leans over to show the screen to Buck. “May keeps sending me these memes,” he says the word wrong, and it makes Buck’s eyes sting for some reason. “And I just don’t understand what on earth this is supposed to mean.”

Buck coughs, mostly to cover up for the way his eyes are watery, and blinks at the screen. He doesn’t know how to say thank you, for any of it, but maybe he can at least figure this out.

—

After the factory fire, Buck’s parents show up at the station. It goes poorly. Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: backhand slap.

only the best will do 801 words, rated G, silly wedding fluff

Buck gets a little intense about wedding planning. Chimney hides in the kitchen. Eddie is a man in love.

February

and I know I should go but I’ll probably stay 2,535 words, rated T, buddie hurt comfort

It’s unpleasant, enough that Buck screws his eyes shut and breathes and tries to pretend he’s someplace else. Chris is at the Wilson’s tonight, it’s their turn in the rotating childcare-for-date-night agreement that Hen seemed to have been eagerly waiting to sign them up for. It had been the third thing she said when they got together, right after congratulations and I’m so happy for you. Anyway, they’re going to go sit down at the Thai food place they usually only have the time and energy to order from home. It’ll be nice. Three months in and Buck still gets all giddy when Eddie holds his hand out in public. Or anywhere, really. He could slide their fingers together at the bottom of this stupid pit and Buck would feel all fluttery and starry eyed.

—

Buck and Eddie are both hurt on the job and a choice has to be made. Written for the Bad Things Happen Bingo square “Take Me Instead”

won’t you close your weary eyes 3,714 words, rated T, Buck and Bobby hurt comfort, parental feelings

Bobby doesn’t actually hear the warning shout. Or- it’s possible that he did, in the moment, but he has no memory of the sound. Just Buck, 20 or so feet away, turning towards him mid conversation with a look of horror on his face, mouth open around an unheard word, arm moving slow motion up in what he's sure is a frantic wave. He does hear the sound of impact, an almost comical series of hollow metallic bonks. They'll all laugh about this later, he thinks on the way down. Bunch of pipes dropping on the fire Captain's head. Pretty sure he saw that on looney toons.

—

Bobby gets a concussion and Buck stays with him. Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: concussion.

March

the going water and the gone 31,547 words, rated T, cruise ship spec, Eddie missing presumed dead, angst with a happy ending

It doesn’t take long for Buck to be cleared to leave. He’s given antibiotics for the water he swallowed, a handful of bandages to cover shallow wounds, and instructions to take it easy. Horror clenches in his stomach. Eddie is gone and he gets off with Advil and a nap.

—

Eddie is missing presumed dead after the cruise ship sinks, Buck tries to keep his promises

I’d shine up the old brown shoes, I’d put on a brand-new shirt 3,565 words, rated T, friends with benefits buck/natalia, Eddie and Buck feelings realization through giving Chris dating advice

“No, I need, like-“ Eddie sighs so hard it almost sounds like static. “I need… guy help. Will you just come over?”

“Are you-” Buck turns away from Natalia and kind of hunches over the phone, making his voice quieter. “Are you having a penis problem?”

“What?” Buck’s never heard Eddie that high pitched. Loud, too, enough that Buck yanks the phone away from his ear and Natalia snorts with barely contained laughter behind him. When he brings the phone back in, Eddie is making a lot of blustery sounds, which Buck waits out until he finds words again. “Wh- No! No, I don’t have- I’m not having a ‘penis problem,’ Buck!”

Buck shrugs at the air in front of him. “Okay, Eddie, you’re the one who’s hiding in a bathroom and said you needed my ‘guy help,’ what was th-”

“Oh my god, Buck, I need relationship advice, okay!”

—

Chris is going on his first date. Eddie calls Buck for backup.

what useless tools ourselves 4,905 words, rated G, Buck in the hours after Eddie’s s5 breakdown

After Eddie chokes out what he can of a tragedy nearly a decade in the making, and after they go together to make sure Christopher is okay — the kid's eyes are wide where they meet Buck's over his father's shoulder, Eddie still trembling as he holds him — they sit back down at the kitchen table and Buck cleans Eddie's knuckles.

—

Buck, between the breakdown and dawn. Written for the BTHB prompt bloody knuckles.

April

when we’re barely awake in the heat of the day’s weight 1,037 words, rated M, buck/tommy early relationship tenderness

“You okay?” The man asks, voice rough with sleep though not too loud even with his mouth maybe three inches from Buck’s ear. He’s so soft. All his hard edges and he’s just so soft.

“Yeah,” Buck half-whispers, relaxing into him. “Sorry. It’s just, uh- been awhile since I woke up someplace new.” He hadn’t been paying much attention to ceiling texture when they’d stumbled to bed last night, either. It matches what little glimpses he had been paying attention to in Tommy’s charmingly vintage apartment. Brick exterior. Funny orange tiles in the kitchen. “Think it might have been since, uh…” Shit. He’d been to Natalia’s once for just a few minutes because she had an ornery roommate, and Taylor always came to his. Ali found him the loft specifically to have a nice place to wake up in after fucking. “Uh, Abby, maybe.”

—

Buck wakes up at Tommy’s place and they have a conversation about taking up space

you’ve got too much to wear on your sleeve 4,136 words, rated G, buck/tommy hurt comfort

“Uh, sorry.” He stares down at Eddie’s shoes. “I just think I’m- I’m kind of scared.” He eventually understood, intellectually, why Ali left him. It was a lot. She didn’t really get the scope of what she was signing up for. His leg had turned something fun and casual into something suddenly dead fucking serious. So, yeah, he understood, but he’s not sure until this moment that he really, actually understood. Tommy’s down that hall somewhere, and he got hurt at his job which is dangerous, and Buck is wondering how awful it would be to flee back through all the hallways and out of Pasadena to parts of the city he knows better, and go and find a nice safe girl with a nice safe job so his chest won’t ever feel like this. Or, only feel like this sometimes, with Eddie or Hen and Chimney and Bobby, or Maddie, people who he’s already seen bleed so he knows they can do it.

—

Tommy’s helicopter goes down. Buck fixes the station AC unit.

If you go down to Hammond you’ll never come back 1,339 words, rated G, early relationship buck/tommy fluff, madney wedding spec but more like madney wedding au really, prophetic daddy joke

“Oh, uh.” Eddie shrugs, stretches. “You know. Buck. It’s kind of… who he’s become, who he’s proud of being. I guess, I mean- we haven’t talked about it specifically. But yeah, I think… it’s like the turnouts, you put them on, feel good about who you are in them. And it’s the name he’s used ever since he came here, it’s- neat. Like, a clean break from when he… was young, and alone.” He shrugs again, smiles a little. “His friends call him Buck.”

Tommy’s thumb slips in the condensation on his glass. “Should I-”

“No.” Eddie’s voice is very soft. “I think… for most of his life only Maddie ever said ‘Evan’ and meant ‘I’m happy to see you.’ I think… it’s good, that he has that with you.”

Tommy just- tries to remember how to breathe normally for a second. “I am,” he says. “Happy to see him.” A funny, shaky little joy in his stomach every single time he looks up and sees Evan Buckley.

—

Eddie and Tommy talk at the wedding

May

that makes calamity of so long life 1901 words, rated T, buck/tommy fluff and angst, tragic backstories

The afternoon sun sneaking through the curtain lights him right up, glowing in his curls and against his cheek like the air itself can’t help but touch him. It makes Tommy feel kind of out of breath, kind of out of his depth. “Sometimes I think I must have made you up," he says, because the walls aren't melting but this still feels like a dream.

“I was.” Buck says it softly, and then blinks, like the words were out of his mouth before his brain could catch them. “Made up,” he says, a clarification that doesn’t make anything clearer.

—

Tommy learns about Daniel, and thinks about life and safety and caring about things

Autolysis 5,607 words, rated T, Bobby Nash goes in the blender, parental feelings, guilt grief and depression, food as a metaphor for love and what happens when you dont have enough of either

Buck dies, and he’s cold right away. They all are, this isn’t the kind of summer storm where the rain is almost warm. It’s freezing out here, even under all the layers of their gear. Bobby’s sure his own skin is corpse-cool, but he holds Buck and the harness pulls him stiff in his arms, and his body is cold, and he thinks Wait. It’s happening too fast. Wait. He’s dead, and Bobby lays him carefully on the gurney, and he rides up front with Eddie as they tear through the streets towards the hospital, frantic noise and movement reaching them from the back. He’s dead when they pull up to the doors. The human body begins to decay after four minutes, starts to consume itself, the final hunger. Bobby hears the crack of his sternum when Eddie’s palms press so far into his chest his heart starts to beat again. 43 seconds to spare.

-

Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: make it look like an accident

June

big heart, I wanna let it bleed 2,106 words, rated G, buck joins the team a little younger au, buck and Bobby feels

Buck looks happy as a dog with a bone, glancing at Bobby with a mile wide grin. It's a familiar kind of look, though it takes until they're almost at the ambulance — Buck chatting away all the while — for him to place it, and it nearly makes him stumble when he does. Robert would give him that look when he made a new friend on the playground and got invited to hang out. Please, Dad, can I go? He's sure Buck didn't mean anything by it. Bobby doesn't have that authority in his life, nicknames and Springsteen concerts nothing that adds up to a tangible connection. And the kid- well, he's not a kid. 25 years old, can arrange his own playdates perfectly well.

July

I know the words, I know the sounds 2,147 words, rated G, buck/tommy breakup because one of them realizes their best friend they’ve been in love with forever is suddenly an option, oops wrong best friend

“I’ll step on your toes,” Buck warns, turning fully towards him and vaguely holding up his hands for Eddie to do whatever it is that needs to happen to make the dancing start.

Eddie snorts, moves one of Buck’s hands to his shoulder and holds the other, and taps his shiny dress shoe very gently into Buck’s big toe. “Do your worst.”

—

Buck and Eddie dance at Tommy’s wedding

and the air was full 397 words, rated G, storm chasers au

There’s a crack in the sky, lightning glowing white hot across his field of vision, and it’s behind Buck but somehow his eyes are lit up with it. The thunder comes less than a second later.

buff in, fan dry, wash out 1,758 words, rated G, art student au, Buck and Shannon are friends and that makes his crush on her recently divorced husband kind of awkward

The old drawing — something abstract, all bold sweeping lines — slowly disappears as it wears away and gets covered by sludge. He always feels a little guilty, getting rid of somebody’s work like this. A little inadequate, trying to come up with something good enough to replace it.

—

Eddie stops by the printmaking studio as Buck and Shannon work

August

get out of the waves get out of the water 1,856 words, rated T, Eddie pov of going water and the gone

Eddie’s foot slides out from under him and his first thought is Oh shit, sorry. He’ll find that funny, eventually.

—

Lost at sea, Eddie dreams

Autobiography 13,152 words, rated M, Buck’s turn in the blender, unreliable narrator but its hardly his fault no one tells him anything about his own life, depression and suicidal tendencies, past assault, pet death that may or may not have happened, 😬, also a twine game

A dog runs into the street after a ball and gets hit by a car.

September

every moment points towards the aftermath 1,755 words, rated G, friends at the table crossover/au but you dont need to know the podcast to read but also you should listen to the podcast, they’re wrestlers, they live in New Jersey but it’s Weird

For awhile, in the beginning, every time Eddie meets Buck the other man has blood in his teeth.

October

should we talk about the weather 20,059 words, rated M, au where some people are drift compatible but without the giant robots, madney fluff and buddie angst and hen + chim bestieism

And then, in Los Angeles, 2018, Eddie had met Buck. Then, huddled over a man with a bomb in his leg, Eddie had needed gauze and Buck’s hand had moved. Then, in the parking lot bathed in the light of an ambulance on fire, Buck had inhaled and Eddie's lungs expanded. And, well, that was that.

cut through the knot 9,924 words, rated M, oh boy Bobby is in the blender again, the whole thing is a therapy session with Frank, long list of content warnings on this one I’ll just leave them on ao3, did you know i love that guy. i love that old man. sorry Bobby that i keep doing this to you

“I’ve been doing fine lately.”

“I’m glad. That’s not what I asked.”

Bobby frowns at Frank, who’s sitting as relaxed and neutral as he always is. “You’re a therapist. Don’t you need to know my… current mental state, something like that?”

“Sure,” Frank smiles just the tiniest bit. Bobby doesn’t know if that means he’s succeeded or failed at something. “But I asked: why are you here?”

—

Bobby goes to therapy. Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: self harm

right here with you 1,112 words, rated G, the 118 basically in a cuddle pile as penance for what I put Bobby through in the last one

Bobby’s not convinced it wasn’t a stumble — he’s pretty sure he saw a kind of panicked look on Chimney’s face between the whirling limbs — but Buck lands on the couch somehow. There’s a lot of cushion space unoccupied, but he ends up half on top of Bobby, sort of sideways, sort of leaning against Bobby’s chest. He twists his head this way and that until he finds an angle that’s not too sore to look up at him. His grin is big and goofy, eyes a little vacant in the way that comes with strong painkillers, and Bobby laughs down at him.

—

The 118 recuperate after a rough day. Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: cry into chest

November

3 new short fics in the all my life, there you go series

Family 1,211 words, 118 family feels, new buddie, Eddie and Maddie friendship

Phone calls 1,938 words, Eddie calls Buck drunk from wine night and confesses his love

Hand kisses 1,022 words, angst, Eddie’s moved to Texas and is centimeters from a big gay realization but is already trying to marry Buck anyway

Phew!!! We got through it! Hello down here! @colonoscopys @wildehacked @shitouttabuck @bigfootsmom @devirnis @chronicowboy @gayeddieagenda @homerforsure @ anyone who’s tagged me or I’ve tagged and who’s urls I’m forgetting, anyone who sees this and wants to brag, you dear reader, please share your stuff if you wanna!

[itsmarsss]

bet. [Blitzø x Reader] (Helluva Boss)

(established relationship, talks about sex, blitz uses the word babygirl but otherwise gender neutral, will probably have a part 2 with the actual smut.)

“Well, that was really fucking awful,” Blitzø states, clearly irritated, as the two of you entered his office, and you already know how this was gonna go.

He was going to say he was annoyed because the double murder you’d all gone off to that morning had spiraled out of control, but when had any of your killings played out as planned? He was actually annoyed about his favorite coat getting partially burnt.

“Fucking Moxxie. Always gotta fuckin’ mess shit up,” he mutters under his breath as he begins undressing, taking the coat off first and examining the burnt fabric before disposing of it carelessly on the floor. 

“Will you relax already?” You lean on his desk, crossing your arms over your chest. “We killed more than half our targets for the day and it’s not even noon yet.”

“Yeah well if we all followed the plan it wouldn’t have been such a mess.” His bow tie was the next to go. 

“Blitz? I love you.”

He looks up at you, an unamused look in his face, stopping midway through sliding his suspenders off his shoulders. “Uh-huh, but what?"

"Why does there have to be a but? Could I not be telling you I love you just because?"

"You could. But I can feel a but in there."

"That's what she said."

He shoots you another unamused look.

“Okay, fine, but we got the job done, didn't we? Regardless of anything that might have happened."

“Oh stop licking their assholes,” he complains with an eyeroll, detaching the red skull charm from the collar of his shirt. “Catch,” he tells you, throwing it in your direction. You place it on the desk and he begins unbuttoning his somehow still pristine white shirt. “You just don’t want me to yell at him.”

“Well yeah? It would be a little hypocritical.”

He stops midway through undoing the buttons. “You saying I fuck up?” He questions, incredulous.

“Yes? All the time. We all do.”

He huffs in annoyance, unable to find a good retort within himself. Other than an ‘oh, fuck off’, of course. He only keeps undressing, taking the shirt completely off.  

“Hey, it’s alright to be upset that your coat’s burnt. I know you liked it a lot.”

“What? I’m not ‘upset’ about it,” he air-quotes, mocking your voice with an accent that sounds nothing like yours. “‘S just a stupid fucking coat.”

“Whatever you say, pretty boy,” you extend your hands to take the shirt from him. “Stop leaving your clothes on the floor,” you reprimand, and he rolls his eyes again before collecting the discarded clothing from the floor and throwing it to you. You place everything except the coat on the chair next to you, inspecting the item for a moment. “Hey, it’s not that bad. We can go get it fixed tomorrow. And if they can't fix it I bet we can find another one just like it, we’ll just leave Millie and Mox to handle the morning kills. How ‘bout that?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m taking a shower.” 

“I can see that,” you grin, making sure to exaggerate on the once-over you give his shirtless body.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t look at me like that, you know I get horny when I’m mad!” 

“What did I do?”

“You just checked me out!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I did not.”

“Yeah you did you conniving witch!”

“Where the fuck did you even learn that word?”

“Honestly I don’t know what it means, but it sounded like it fit.”

“Surprisingly, it kinda does.” 

“See? You picked a smart man.” He teases.

“Sure did. A nerd ,even, one might say.” 

“Okay, nerd crosses a line.” 

You let out a laugh and he unbuttons his pants, pulling the zipper down and taking them off, leaving him only in his ‘honse’ patterned underwear. He leaves the pants on the floor and turns around towards the tiny bathroom connected to his office to take his shower.

“What’d I say about leaving the clothes on the floor?” You call from behind him.

He stops, turning back to look at you. “It’s my office.” 

“Doesn’t mean you should just leave stuff on the floor. You wouldn’t be all too pleased if I did the same-“ your voice dies out as you reach the end of your sentence and you purse your lips together, realizing your mistake:

“You’re more than welcome to leave your clothes on my floor right this second if you want to,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows up and down.

“Okay, okay, I walked right into that one. Go take your shower.”

“What? You’re evil, you know that?”

“What the fuck did I do?”

“You got me all hot and bothered now I’m not gonna be able to shower!” He explains, completely serious about it.

“I hardly think you wouldn’t be able to shower just ‘cause you’re a little horny.” 

“I’m not a little horny, baby, I’m mega stupid thunder horny right now, c’mon.” 

“Please don’t ever use those words together again.”

“Come shower with me,” he asks before he walks up to you, with a fake pout and puppy dog eyes, his hands on each side of you on top of the desk, caging you against it. 

One of your hands is instinctively placed over his bare chest, running your fingertips over it. “You know I’d love to, baby, but we both know that shower doesn’t fit both of us,” you laugh at the memory- you’ve tried. 

“Stupid fuckin’ tiny-ass shower,” he mumbles under his breath in frustration, eyes glancing at the floor for a moment as he very clearly tries to think of other alternatives. His mischievous grin quickly reappears as he looks back up at you. “Guess I’m just gonna have to fuck you here, then.” 

Look, you’ve fucked in his office. That’s no taboo- few things are when it comes to him. You’ve fucked on the couch, you’ve fucked on the floor, against pretty much every wall, against the door, on his chair. You name it, you’ve done it. The only place in there you had yet to deprave was, funnily enough…

“Haven’t fucked you on this desk yet. Wanna try it out?” 

"And then we can shower?"

"You still on about the shower thing? I'm trying to have some filthy raunchy passionate sex here."

"Oh silly me, I interrupted, sorry."

"Oh you're acting real funny today, aren't you? So what do you say?"

"Bet."

“Oh, fuck yeah.” His hands travel behind your thighs and he lifts you up into a sitting position on top of the desk behind you. “Gonna fuck you so good everyone outside’s gonna hear you screaming my name.” 

“That’s presumptuous.”

“Stop making up words, babe, it ain’t cute,” he complains as wastes no time before placing open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

You roll your eyes at him. “You know what that one means.” 

“No fancy words during sex, babygirl, it throws me off my rhythm. And it’s not ‘presumptuous’ if I can deliver, by the way.” 

“See you do know what it- shit- what it means. Are you ever going to shut up and deliver, then?” 

“Impatient, are we?”

“Yes. Now at least kiss me or I swear to fucking Satan I’ll-“

“Yup, that’ll do, shutting up now.”

[najaemism]

i think she knows! | karina x fem!oc

chapter 01: chemistry read

synopsis. march shim and karina yu had been compared and pitted against each other for years, and the media even dubbed them as rivals simply because their careers were slightly similar. their professional lives cross when they’re both casted as leads in a new series, sparks flying both onscreen and off.

(oh—and march also runs a secret stan account for karina.)

warnings. language, stans being dramatic, march being down bad

word count. 855 words

MONTH. march!

March smiles and thanks the second actress that she did a scene with, shaking her hand before she leaves the holding room where they’re doing the chemistry screening. As soon as the actress is out of the room, March’s smile falls as she lets the three—Wonwoo, Mingyu, and the casting director—discuss the chemistry read. She listens intently before her mind eventually starts to tune them out.

Her phone vibrates, and she notices that she’s been receiving notifications from the groupchat with her friends. Before she can go and check them, the assistant comes in to announce the last actress they’re doing the screening with, and March pockets her phone quickly before she stands up from her chair to greet the actress.

She puts on a smile as she turns around, and then—

Oh my fucking god.

“Ms. Karina Yu, this is March Shim. She’s going to be one of the leads of the show,” Wonwoo introduces them, smiling from his spot at the long table with the casting director and Mingyu. 

March glances at them with wide eyes, as if asking for help. She then sends them a glare when she notices Mingyu trying not to laugh and Wonwoo’s lips twitching in amusement.

“March?” 

Her glare immediately falls upon hearing Karina’s voice, her head quickly snapping to the other actress’ direction, looking at the older girl with her eyebrows raised. 

Karina sends her a warm smile as she offers her a hand. “We met before in passing when you had a small scene in ‘Dreams Come True’, but I doubt you remember meeting me. I’m Karina Yu,” she introduces herself.

March feels like she’s malfunctioning—she’s so fucking pretty, how the fuck is someone this pretty? Of course I remember meeting her, how can someone forget meeting the Karina Yu—she takes a few seconds before she hears someone clear their throat (it was Mingyu, who is definitely going to give her shit for this later) and she snaps out of it, giving a shaky smile at Karina before accepting her hand and giving a firm shake. 

“Nice to meet you, Karina—well, we… I know we met before. I remember you, I mean—” she lets out an awkward laugh and lightly shakes her head— “but yeah, hi, I’m—I’m March Shim,” she introduces in turn. 

Oh, god, can the ground swallow me up whole now? she thinks to herself.

Karina chuckles, nodding at her before she pulls back her hand to to stand beside March—god, even her laugh sounds pretty… snap out of it March!

Mingyu starts speaking to Karina. “You can start anytime,” he says, making both actresses turn their heads to look at him. He offers them a reassuring smile. “Go on ahead.”

It takes only a few seconds before Karina’s reaching out to hold March’s wrist, and her eyes widen in surprise before she realizes that—oh, right… we’re starting. She puts her mind to the role that she’s supposed to be playing, and lets the scene roll out.

They both hear a click, signaling that the scene is over. March turns to look at the three people sitting at the long table, and she can’t quite make out what the expressions on their face mean. She sees them whisper among each other before scribbling something down, and then looking up to both of them.

The casting director smiles. “Thank you, Ms. Yu. We’ll be in touch with your team if you are selected for the role.”

Karina bows at them in respect and thanks them, before turning to look at March. “I’ll see you around, March.”

March's eyes widen for a fraction before smiling at her and nodding. “See you around, Karina,” she echoes her words before the girl waves goodbye at her and leaves the room. 

There’s a few moments of silence before she snaps back from watching Karina leave and walks towards the long table. “Okay, I’m not being biased when I say that was the best among the three, right?” she asks.

Wonwoo chuckles. “I don’t know, Mara, we’ll have to talk about it,” he says.

“Wonwoo, come on, you know she’s perfect for the role,” March insists.

“She is right,” the casting director agrees, “and it helps that their chemistry is good.”

“We have chemistry?” 

“It’s a chemistry reading,” Mingyu points out as he pushes her head with his pointer finger, letting out a laugh when she frowns up at him. “We’ll discuss it with the others tomorrow, and you’ll just find out when it’s announced, yeah?” he says, and the girl pouts before crossing her arms.

Wonwoo stands up and ruffles her hair as he smiles at her. “We’ll head to dinner, you wanna come with?” he asks, changing the topic.

“All I’ll do is convince you to cast Karina,” she says as if it’s a threat.

“I know,” he says, “shall we?” 

March huffs and nods. Maybe she will end up convincing them with this dinner, or maybe, they have decided the moment the older actress entered the room and approached her to introduce herself to her.

PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

notes.

accidentally posted this earlier then unpublished it bc it's supposed to be for new year... but then i thought fuck it why not so here it is

i actually dont know what happens during chemistry reads, nor do i know how to write a script so pls dont attack me !? 😭 i just wanted to do the script thing for when they're acting out scenes from the show

also if u got confused with their roles in the show, march = rowan, karina = skye

my favorite part in writing celeb smaus are the tweets between the fans SO !!!! if u want to be a stan account for this smau, pls let me know!!!

also !!! taglist is still open !! 💌

taglist. @archivedmkl @yuyuy90 @linonyang @yjiminswallet @jaeyuuns @syronns @gtfoiydlyj

[sleevebuscemii]

turns out im not depressed i just needed to see my best friend

[aviangrian]

thank god chappell roan didn’t release good luck babe in summer 22!

[myloveforhergoeson]

↖️ proud to be tumblrs #1 producer of rames content

[pathologicalreid]

here with me | s.r.

four times Spencer feels out of place in your house after being released from prison, and one time it's like he never left

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: mom!reader, dad!spencer, post prison, crying, stephen walker's death, non-specified illness, baking, kissing word count: 3.58k a/n: i love this fic format i have been wanting to do it for ages. and here we are. as always-tell me how you feeeeeeeel

“I wanna stay home,” your daughter whined from her place at the kitchen table. She periodically reached to her sister’s high chair so that she could steal blueberries from her plate.

You hummed, pouring the egg mixture into the preheated skillet, “We played hooky yesterday, bub. We’ve gotta go back to school today.” Using a silicone spatula, you started to scramble the eggs.

She grumbled unintelligibly, dramatically sliding down the chair, “Livvy gets to stay home.”

Turning down the heat on the stove, you went around the counter and crouched in front of your five-year-old, “Well, Livvy’s two, and before you ask, Finn’s not going to school either.”

“Finn’s a baby, mom. He can’t go to school,” she told you proudly.

You frowned at your daughter, “It’s hard to be the oldest, honey. We can’t keep staying home.” Ruffling her hair affectionately, you get up from the floor and go back to the stove, you continue scrambling the eggs.

To your eldest, going back to kindergarten was a fate worse than death. It wasn’t strictly that she didn’t want to go to school, it was that she didn’t want to leave home. The sniffle from the table lets you know that this morning was going to be harder than you initially anticipated. “I wanna stay with daddy,” she cried, kicking her legs at the table.

Turning off the heat, you set the pan on a trivet before going back to the table, “I know,” you responded. Every time you thought you had run out of tears, new ones managed to find their way out.

Of your three kids, Eleanor was old enough to really feel Spencer’s absence. To your dismay, she ended up bearing some of the burden of her father being gone for three months. After staying with your parents for a few days, she was finally reunited with her dad yesterday morning, and they had been nearly inseparable since.

“Oh, Nell,” you sighed, cupping her cheeks in your hands, “I don’t know if daddy has plans today. He has a lot of stuff that needs to be done.

Pulling away from your touch, she frantically wiped the tears from her eyes, “I can do stuff too,” she whimpered.

She unwound your resolve like a ball of yarn, “I know you can, honey. I just…” you faltered. You had let her miss so much school over the last three months that the school had sent letters home, “We’ll just have to see.”

You sighed helplessly, standing back up and smiling softly at Olivia, who had successfully gotten blueberry juice everywhere. Returning to the kitchen, you put some scrambled eggs on Eleanor’s plate and put more in a bowl for Olivia, setting it aside to cool more before you give it to your toddler.

Putting the pan in the sink, you flipped on the tap before starting to clean it. While you kept a watchful eye on the baby monitor, you didn’t notice Spencer come downstairs and walk into the kitchen. In fact, you were completely unaware of his presence until he spoke, “Can I help with anything?”

You lost your grip on the pan, sending soapy water flying all over the kitchen as you frantically tried to catch the handle. Eleanor either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Olivia thought it was hilarious. “Oh,” you breathed as Spencer reached over and turned off the water, “You scared me.”

The two of you shared a timid glance, his hand ghosting over your waist as he walked past you to where the girls were sitting.

Biting the dead skin off of your lips, you finished rinsing the pan before setting it on a drying mat. You were wiping down the countertop when Finn finally woke up, and you dropped everything to go get him from his crib, almost like you were running on autopilot.

Unzip the sleep sack. Change the diaper. Get dressed. Cuddle him. Every morning. In that order.

Resting the groggy baby on your hip, you made your way back downstairs and into the kitchen, starting the bottle warmer and listening to the conversation between Spencer and Nellie.

“What if you go to school today, but on Friday we can both take the day off? We could go out for lunch,” he offered, crouching down so he was at her level.

She looked pointedly over at Olivia, who was happily eating the eggs that you assumed Spencer had given her, now thoroughly doused in ketchup, “Just us?”

Spencer nodded reassuringly, “If it’s okay with mommy, we can have a daddy and Nellie day.” He reached out tentatively and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, everything about him seemed so timid.

You looped around the kitchen table, ruffling Olivia’s hair before doing the same to Eleanor’s and even Spencer’s, which made Olivia giggle.

“Can I?” Spencer asked, nodding his head to the bottle that you had just grabbed from the warmer.

Blinking absently for a moment, you eventually nodded, handing Finn over to his dad along with the bottle, watching as Spencer cradled him, walking him around the kitchen while his bottle was clamped between his tiny hands. “Hey, girls, time to get dressed,” you said, forcing yourself to peel your eyes off of your husband.

Eleanor groaned but got up anyway, trudging up the steps while you followed with Olivia in your arms, feeling like you were missing something without Finn also in tow.

Nell made her way back down first, sitting on the couch and watching her dad, keeping an eye on him like she was afraid he was going to disappear before her very eyes. “Daddy?” She whispered, her voice barely audible from your place at the top of the stairs.

“Yeah?” He asked, you heard the sound of him setting the bottle in the sink.

She’s quiet for a moment before responding, “I missed you.”

Spencer’s footsteps stopped abruptly, “I missed you too, lovebug.”

You started to make your way down the stairs, letting Olivia go down on her own now that she wasn’t covered in blueberry. Eleanor looked at you with big eyes before helping her sister climb up on the couch. “Finny, Finny, Finny,” Olivia echoed.

Zipping up Eleanor’s school lunch in her bag, you sighed, hoping you were doing the right thing by sending her to school. “Hey, Nell,” you said, checking a new message on your phone, “Mrs. Jareau is here.”

JJ’s carpools had saved you multiple times while Spencer was in prison, you were just grateful she was willing to continue them.

Normally, she’d run out the door at the prospect of being able to talk to Henry, but this time she lingered by the front door, holding her backpack straps in her hands and staring at her dad, “Will you be here when I get home?”

He looked at you, a thousand emotions flashing in his brown eyes, and he squatted in front of her, “I’ll be here,” he said, holding out his pinky finger to interlock with her much smaller one. “I promise,” he said, kissing her forehead before standing up.

Once you knew she was off to school, you made sure Olivia was settled in on the couch and Finn was in his bouncer before going back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. You were placing dishes in the dishwasher when Spencer came back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning against the countertop and handing you a bowl to put on the top rack.

Taking the bowl, you didn’t look at him as you placed it in the dishwasher before putting a tablet in and pressing the start button, “I wish you’d stop apologizing.”

He stepped slightly closer to you, “I know. It’s just… watching you handle all three of them in the morning. It’s incredible,” he praised you. “I left you alone,” he said mournfully.

You shrugged, having never really thought of it that way, “You didn’t leave me alone. I had them,” you said, nodding in the direction of the living room, where Finn and Olivia were having a conversation that only the two of them could understand.

You sighed in relief as the shower water washed over you, an early afternoon shower just before Eleanor got home from school, the little ones were down for their naps, and you had to race against time before one of them woke up. It didn’t give you a lot of time to just sit under the running water, but you’d have enough time to wash your hair before you needed to pause the shower.

You had narrowly avoided disaster this morning when the girls’ breakfasts had been mixed up. Thankfully, you navigated a toddler meltdown that was triggered by the appearance of ham in her eggs. Poor Spencer was still confused even after you explained to him that she wouldn’t eat ham because it’s pink and pink is her favorite color.

It wasn’t something that made a lot of sense to you either, but the only person that it needed to make sense to was your two-year-old.

Rinsing your hair, you remembered how happy Spencer had been when he got Finn down last night. He’d spent the day talking about how babies don’t start to really recognize faces until they’re around four months old, and that was about how old he was when Spencer left.

Finn knew his dad. He’d even started reaching out for him when he wanted to be held but feeling comfortable enough to be put down for the night by him—it felt like a milestone.

The crying started right after you finished rinsing your hair, you quickly shut off the water and grabbed your towel off of the hook. Wrapping it around yourself, you dried off your feet before opening the bathroom. Sometimes when Finn cried while you were in the shower, you’d just bring him in with you to finish, but when you opened the door, his tears were already waning.

Spencer had gotten to him first, scooping him out of the crib in your room and holding him to his chest, “Hey, buddy,” he cooed softly, “What’s wrong?”

The baby chattered in response, gripping the cotton of Spencer’s t-shirt in his tiny fists and wiping his tears away.

“You’re alright,” Spencer whispered, placing him on your bed to undo his sleep sack, smiling at his son when he kicked his legs once freed. “You just wanted to be held, huh? Your sister was the same way when she was a baby,” he said.

Nell. He was remembering Nell as a baby, who slept best when she was being held and would cry if you were out of her line of sight.

Spencer turned around, stopping in his tracks when he saw you in the doorway, “Did you finish?”

You’d been caught, “Oh. Could you get a new soap from the hall closet? We’re out,” you fibbed, mindful of the way your hair was still dripping wet.

He frowned, “I just put a new one in this morning. Did you look on the caddy?”

Blinking, you shook your head, “No, my bad.”

You had already started closing the door when he called for you, “Honey?”

Pausing, you peeked out the door to look at him, “Yeah?”

“I’m here,” he told you, something urgent in his tone.

Your face warmed, the reminder of his presence making your heart race, “I—” you faltered, “I know.”

You had managed to get Nell out the door without a fight this morning with the promise of her father-daughter date tomorrow. Olivia was settled with her toys in your line of sight and Finn was in a sling. The baby hadn’t slept well last night, and you were fairly certain that he had a new tooth poking through. He seemed fine now, catching up on sleep while you wiped down the kitchen.

Spencer was across from you, filling out some required papers for his reinstatement hearing. He hadn’t fully committed to seeking reinstatement until you brought it up. Frankly, you were horrified by the fact that Spencer was under the impression that you would ask him to leave the BAU for any reason.

“What do you have planned today?” Spencer asked you, still focusing on the papers while making gentle conversation with you.

You raised your eyebrows briefly, “Really awesome exciting stuff.” You took a sip of your coffee before adjusting Finn’s sling. Very slowly, you were beginning to find a new routine with Spencer and the kids in the morning. Spencer was learning about everything that had changed, and you were learning how to give him more responsibilities around the house.

You needed to let go of the notion that you were still alone. Spencer hummed in response, laughing at your blatant oversell, “Like what?”

Smiling, you dried your hands on a tea towel before standing next to him, distracting him from his paperwork with the cuteness of a sleeping baby. “There is so much dirty laundry in this house,” you told him, “I’m surprised anyone has any clean clothes.”

“Anything else?” Spencer asked, placing one hand gently on your hip and pressing a tentative kiss to your lips.

You hesitated, “Uh, cooking?”

He looked at you curiously, “Cooking for what?”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you looked over at Olivia, making sure she was preoccupied before answering, “Monica and the kids.”

Realization dawned over Spencer’s face, “Oh,” he breathed. It didn’t surprise you that Spencer had conflicting feelings about Stephen’s death, given that he hadn’t known him that well prior to his arrest, but he and his family had grown close to you in your husband’s absence.

You nodded, “There’s a meal train thing going on for them, so I was going to make some stuff and drop it there later.” Tentatively, you smoothed Spencer’s hair back, needing something to do with your hands, “Maya used to babysit a lot when I needed extra hands. I just want to feel like I’m returning the favor.”

“Can I come with you?” Spencer asked, tilting his head back to look up at you.

Smiling softly at him, you answered, “Of course.” You sniffled, “If we time it right, we could pick Nell up from school at the end of the day.”

He squeezed your hip comfortingly, “I love you.”

You leaned down and kissed him again, “I love you too.”

The chattering woke you up, Finn in his crib talking to himself as you glared at the alarm clock. It was just past three in the morning, and the second thing you noticed was that you were alone in your bed.

You sat up in a panic, worried you had dreamt the past few weeks until your eyes found Spencer’s watch sitting on his nightstand. Rubbing your eyes, you dragged yourself out of bed before getting Finn from his crib, taking his sleep sack off to make him easier to hold, “Hey,” you whispered, “Let’s go find daddy.”

It didn’t take you long, Spencer was sitting on the floor in the hallway, his knees bent to his chest as he looked into Nell’s room, her space nightlight providing a soft glow into the hallway.

“If you move to the left about a foot, you can see both of them at the same time,” you informed him.

He listened, shifting over so that he could see Eleanor and Olivia at the same time, both of them sleeping peacefully in their beds. Spencer looked up at you, “Why do you know that?”

You slid down the wall, taking a seat next to him and settling Finn lengthwise along your thighs, “At the beginning of March, Nell brought home a virus from school and gave it to Liv, and then one of them gave it to Finn. So, I’d sit out here in the hallway and watch the girls with Finny in my lap,” you told him, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Just so I’d be nearby if any of them needed anything,” you kept your voice at a whisper, rocking your legs in hopes that it would soothe Finn back to sleep.

Spencer didn’t respond for a moment, thinking through what you had said before finally speaking up, “No one told me they’d been sick.”

Humming, you smoothed the baby’s hair back, keeping it out of his face, “I didn’t tell anyone.” To this day, no one else knew that you had juggled three sick kids at once, “I lied to JJ and told her that I was keeping Nell home for a few days, and she didn’t push for more information.” No one had pushed you for anything in the past three months.

“Why didn’t you ask for help?” Spencer asked, leaning his head on yours and resting a hand on your knee.

You didn’t want to, quite honestly. You hadn’t wanted to have to call your mom or anyone from the BAU when you needed help because it felt like an admission of sorts. Admitting that Spencer was gone long-term and that you were a solo parent. “I don’t know,” you lied, “I felt like I had something to prove to the world.”

Spencer swallowed thickly next to you, “Did it work?”

Shaking your head, you sighed a breath of relief at his presence, “No.”

He was quiet for a while, likely wallowing in a pit of guilt that he had been constructing for weeks, “We should get him back to bed.”

“Spence?” You whispered, closing your eyes and listening to the sounds of your quiet house, “Can we just stay like this for a little while?”

Humming a confirmation, Spencer placed a gentle kiss on the crown of your head, leaving his hand resting on your knee while the two of you remained in the hallway, enjoying each other’s company.

“We should’ve done cupcakes,” you said mournfully, turning on the oven light to see that there was something very off about the cake you’d put in the oven.

Spencer hummed, looking at the recipe again to see if there was something you had missed, “Why didn’t we do cupcakes?”

You huffed, “The Pinterest photo I found was of a cake.” It was a perfect cake, complete with a purple graduation cap made out of fondant that you could put on the top. The only problem was you had severely overestimated your baking abilities.

“So,” Spencer started, “It’s your fault.”

Scoffing, you tapped his chest with a silicone spatula, “It’s the fault of whoever posted the original photo!”

Spencer smiled at you, a dopey look in his eyes despite it being one in the morning. “We should’ve asked Penelope to do the cake,” he told you, flipping over the recipe you had printed out.

“We can make a cake,” you retorted, you were throwing a very small party for Nell’s last day of kindergarten—the first time you’ve invited a group over since Spencer was arrested. “You have three PhDs and you don’t think you can bake a cake?”

He raised his eyebrows at you, “This might come as a surprise to you, but none of my coursework ever involved baking.”

You grinned at him, “That does surprise me, it’s basically chemistry,” you challenged.

Spencer rolled his eyes, “Okay, come here,” he said, pulling you into his arms by the fabric of your t-shirt.

Realization fell over you as you scrambled to get away, “No! You’re gonna put frosting on my nose again.” It would be his second offense of the evening.

He followed you into the living room where you tripped over a toy truck, causing you to fall to the ground. When he offered a hand to help you up, you tugged him to the floor, causing one of the balloons that you had previously blown up to pop.

You covered your mouth to muffle your giggles, waiting to see if the noise had woken any of the kids up.

The kids were all so happy to have Spencer back, but your stomach twisted at the realization that this was the first night you’d really felt like you had Spencer back. You loved the kids, but you haven’t had a moment without them since February.

“Hey,” you said to Spencer, rolling over and flinging a balloon at him for good measure.

Carefully, you rested your chin on his chest, staring at him while he tried to calm his own laughter, “Hi,” he said back, ruffling your hair affectionately.

You took a deep breath before speaking up again, “I missed you.”

You hadn’t said it yet. You’d developed some misconstrued fear of making him feel guilty if you’d told him just how much you missed him, but it was the truth. You missed him. He smiled softly down at you, almost as if he had been waiting for you to say the words. “I missed you too,” he whispered.

Slowly, you lifted yourself up and pressed your lips to his, kissing him. It was more than any of the quick pecks you’d shared in the last few weeks, it was real. His hands dug into your waist as if he was afraid you were going to disappear, but you stayed there. You stayed with him, and you always would.

Up until the timer for the cake went off, your phone buzzing in your pocket when you finally pulled away. Breathing heavily, Spencer asked, “Is it too late to ask Penelope to do the cake?”

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

۶ৎ Bows and Blows ۶ৎ

Sevika x Female Reader

Contains: Sex: strap-on, deep throat, thumb sucking, hair pulling, rope play but with bows, and ass slapping.

A/N: Took sm pills, im NOT staying sick. This is the second time, all bc my fuckass friend took a sip of my drink. FUCK THISSSSSS!!! Also this isn’t proofread!!!

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི

Her eyes stared down at your swollen lips as you sucked on her large thumb. Your tongue felt every curve of her finger as she, herself, felt around your pretty mouth. With her dark lips curled into a smirk, Sevika’s mech hand gripped tightly onto your hair as she slid further into your mouth. She made sure your eyes watered when she slid to the back of your mouth to feel around. You held back a gag before she pulled out.

You could barely take her thumb.

“Don’t think you can handle a strap, baby.” A soft scoff left her lips as your girlfriend brushed back your disheveled hair, she liked keeping you full; mouth or cunt, she had to have something in you. “I can handle it..” You, swallowing another gag, look up at her with teary eyes. Everything about her was pulling, especially the way she gently tugged onto your hair again. You would do anything she asked you to, even let her mouth fuck you.

“Can you now?”

You were sat on the edge of the bed, arms tightly tied behind you with the use of ribbons. Sevika had made sure to tie them into perfectly pretty bows as you demanded so. “We’ll see if you can, doll.” With a pull of your head, your girlfriend rested the tip of her strap on your lips before running it along your moistened skin. “Open wide for me, sweet thing.” And you obediently did as she said. Opening your mouth, you held back a gag as she immediately bucked her cock to the back of your your throat. A sinister smirk played on her lips as she watched you struggle with taking her thick strap.

“You got it, baby.” You did your best in letting her fuck your throat, each thrust was harder to swallow than the one that came before. Your eyes watering, you stay open for your girlfriend’s pleasure. Sevika was enjoying seeing your flushed face, it brought her a sense of thrill to the way you were so damn obedient. You did whatever she said, desperate for her approval or not it made her feel powerful.

All you could really do was take it. Hands curled into a fist, eyes tightly shut, and breathing heavy you patiently wait to actually be fucked. Sure, you liked the way your girlfriend looked down at you whenever you had her thumb in your mouth but you liked it so much more when she’d actually hit the spot that got you writhing. Your cunt was a pulsing mess, it was screaming to be acknowledged, to be touched.

After a few good thrusts, your girlfriend was satisfied with your wet and red cheeks. Sevika pulled out of your mouth and watched as you coughed, it was a sight she’d never get enough of. “You did good, baby..” with a deep breather you let your girlfriend shift you on the bed. She wasn’t done with you just yet. On your knees, with your ass up, and your face burried into the pillows, she couldn’t keep herself from spreading your folds apart to see just how slick you were; and of course she’d point it out. “All wet and ready for me, how cute.” She was growing cocky at how good of a listener you were, how you never complained and took her without a second thought.

With a press on your entrance, Sevika gave your ass a rough slap— which you whined at— before gripping onto your tied hands with her mech hand. “You gonna take it like a good girl?” Tone all playful, your girlfriend tilted her head to get a better look at the way your cunt fit perfectly around her tip. It was as if you were meant for it. “Mm-hm, I will, Vika.” Voice shaky, you prepare yourself for the night of your life. To be fucked for your good behavior.

With a gasp leaving your lips, you feel your insides squish against your girlfriend’s cock. She’d went hard and deep, and she wouldn’t stop. She gave no warning and pounded in and out, giving you no time to react. “Look at you, all pretty and tired up.” Her words were gruffed out from the excitement you gave her. The room was full of your moans, your girlfriend’s grunting, the contact between her cock and your pussy, and the squelching of your wetness. It was already too much to handle and it had only been a good minute. Your walls were closing and you were sure you couldn’t last long; even though you wanted to keep feeling the warmth pool in your core.

Sevika’s grip on the ribbon tied around your wrists was tight, it even helped keep her pace steady and strong. She was practically blowing her cock inside of you. With the view of your backside, your girlfriend silently admired you. Your hair, the way it sat perfectly on your back, and your moans that turned her on furthermore. They were sweet and damn hot. “You’re.. damn good for me.” Slapping your ass a few hard times, she increased her speed and fucked you until your moans were desperate pleads. “Vika! Shittt, I can’t— I can’t go on!..” it was hard to keep up with the overwhelming pleasure jolting around your body, from your pussy to your brain it was too good to be real. “Cum on it, doll.” Her smirked out demand, she wanted it messy.

And messy was what you gave her.

Head dropping, mind hazy, you let your orgasm come. Whimpering into the pillows, you cum all over her cock that was dug deep into your pussy. She didn’t pull out, nor did Sevika want to. Your cum was practically dripping off her strap, and she liked how slick it now looked. Your walls clenched around your girlfriend as you shuddered, feeling every bit of the orgasm Sevika had provided. The feeling was unbearably good, so much so that it could drive you wild.

Pulling out, your girlfriend ran her finger over your cunt before licking your cum off.

“Sweet as ever.”