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reilemon · 6 months ago

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🌊Beneath the Abyss🌊

♡︎ synopsis: Lured by a haunting melody, you find yourself pulled into the depths of the sea, only to be saved by Rafayel, a mysterious merman.

♡︎ pairing: merman!Rafayel x fem!reader

♡︎ part 2 ♡︎

⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒

♡︎ cw: depictions of (almost) drowning, mermaid au , semi-public seggs, oral (f!receiving)

♡︎ word count: 6.2k

♡︎ a/n: the second story for kinktober 2024. the beginning was very fun to write for someone with thalassophobia 🙂

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

Tonight is like any other night - where you sit on a wooden bench by the cliffside and read an old book. The sky is dark as ink, the stars distant and blinking slowly. The moon hangs low and casts a silvery light, illuminating the worn pages of your book. The sea is far below, its waves like whispers, soothing your thoughts as you read. Each wave crashes against the cliff’s base in a rhythmic hum. This place seems cold and unwelcome, but it’s yours. You’ve always come here, seeking solitude that only the night can offer. The dark doesn’t frighten you—it embraces you like an old friend. You feel safe here.

But then, it happens.

A sound, soft at first, like a breath carried on the wind, slips through the night. As it drifts closer, it wraps itself around your mind, around your soul. It’s a melody unlike anything you’ve ever heard—haunting, hypnotic, and achingly beautiful. It calls to something deep inside of you, and before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re standing, the book forgotten, your feet moving on their own.

The song grows stronger, tugging at you, pulling you toward the cliff's edge. You don’t resist. You can’t. The sea below crashing, dark and deep, but it no longer feels distant or dangerous. It feels inviting. The melody grows stronger, filling the air with its melancholic beauty. It’s not the sweetness of the song that unnerves you, but the way it seeps into your bones, like the sea pulling at the shore. You take another step, the rocks beneath your feet slick and uneven, but none of it matters now. Only the song matters.

And then—you fall.

The world tilts, and the sky spins above you as you plummet toward the water. Panic grips your chest, your heart racing as you crash into the icy depths. The cold is shocking, like needles through your lungs, and the once inviting sea now feels like it has you in its grasp, pulling you under. You thrash, desperate, your limbs sluggish as the water envelops your whole being. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound escapes—only bubbles rising to the surface.

You can’t believe this is happening. You’re going to drown.

Terror floods your veins as you sink deeper, your lungs burning, the black water pressing in from all sides. The song, the beautiful, irresistible song, has led you to this cold, watery grave.

You’re sinking into the deep. How could you let this happen to you?

But then, through the suffocating darkness, you see him.

A figure, a shadow, moving swiftly through the water. His form isn’t human, but sleek and graceful. His movements are too fluid, too fast. You blink, your vision fading as the last of your air escapes in a stream of bubbles.

For a brief moment, you think he’ll leave you to this terrible fate. But then, his hands, cool and firm, wrap around your waist, pulling you upward with a strength that feels effortless. His touch is strangely gentle as he propels you toward the surface, through the crushing weight of the sea.

You break through the surface with a gasp, sucking in air as your body shakes, your limbs still heavy and numb from the cold. His grip remains on you, guiding you through the water as he swims toward the shore. He brings you to a sheltered cove hidden from the world. Here, the water is calm, the sea’s roar softened to a murmur. He releases you gently onto the shore, your body trembling, your mind reeling from what just happened.

You lie there for a moment, catching your breath, your heart pounding in your chest. When you finally lift your head, you see him.

You can’t believe it. You sit in the sand, your breath ragged, lungs burning from the saltwater you swallowed, but your eyes—your eyes are locked on him. A figure not human, not entirely, but something out of stories you were told as a child. Stories you never believed. Myths, you always thought.

A merman.

The word seems impossible, heavy and foreign in your mind, yet he is there before you, dripping with seawater, his form half in the waves, half on the shore. His dusky purple hair clings to his forehead, eyes the color of shifting sunsets—blue fading into pink, hypnotic and unreal. His pale blue tail glistens under the moonlight, every shimmering scale catching the silver glow, moving with a grace that seems almost too smooth.

Are you hallucinating? You struggle to grasp at the fact what you're seeing is true. Mermaids were the stuff of stories, tales sailors told after too much drink, legends spun to explain away the strange sea. But now, here he is. A merman. He saved you.

You feel the weight of that thought settle in your chest—he saved you. Pulled you from the dark, icy depths. His hands had been firm around your waist, his strength undeniable as he swam you to safety, your body limp and helpless in his grip. The memory of it sends a shiver through you, a mixture of fear and awe. And now he is watching you with those strange, unreadable eyes. Your heart beats faster, not out of fear but something deeper—curiosity, wonder, gratitude. You don’t know how to feel.

“Thank you,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse and trembling.

He doesn’t respond, his gaze flickering as if trying to understand your words. He’s silent, but there’s something in his eyes—something that isn’t cold, something that isn’t indifferent. He’s saved you, and yet, you can see the hesitation and caution. His lips part, as if he wants to say something, but no words come. He seems frustrated, as though language is a barrier neither of you can cross.

Still, there’s a connection between you—fragile but real. You stand up and take a small step toward him, your eyes meeting his. He stares at you, taking in your wet form, the way your clothes cling to your body. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—something that looks almost like curiosity. But then, as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone.

As he slips back into the water, his eyes linger on you one last time, and without a word, he disappears beneath the surface. You realize then, with a strange certainty, that you’ll see him again. He may not have meant for you to be drawn into his world, but now, neither of you can escape it. You’ve crossed a threshold, and there’s no going back.

Tomorrow, you’ll return. You both will.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼

You arrive at the cove just as the sun begins to set, the sky turning into shades of amber and rose. What happened last night feels surreal. But the ache in your muscles tells you it was very much real. In your hand, you clutch a small gold bracelet. It’s a token, a simple gesture, but it feels like the least you can offer him for saving your life. You hope he’ll accept it.

You sit by the shore, the same place where he left you, eyes scanning the horizon. You don’t know how long you’ll wait, but something tells you he’ll come. And you don’t wait long.

The water stirs, a ripple moving across the surface. Your breath catches in your throat as you see him. He emerges from the depths with that same graceful ease, his scales glistening in the fading sunset. His eyes find yours, and for a moment, neither of you speak. You simply stare, caught in the same strange tension from the night before. He stays just out of reach, half-submerged in the shallow waters of the cove, watching you.

You shift towards him slowly, trying not to startle him this time. You hold up the bracelet. “For you.” your voice hesitant. You know he doesn’t understand the words, but maybe he’ll understand the gesture.

His gaze flickers to the bracelet, and slowly, cautiously, he moves closer. He raises one hand from the sea, fingers delicate, reaching toward the gift. His gaze never leaves yours as his fingers brush against the gold. You clasp it around his wrist gently, and a breath you’ve been holding leaves your lips. He stares at it for a moment, watching the way it catches the light. Then, he looks at you, his expression unreadable, but his guard... lowered. He doesn’t speak, but there’s a softness in his gaze now.

You smile, gesturing to yourself. “I’m...” You say your name slow and clear, hoping he’ll understand. You point again, repeating, “My name is...”

He watches you, brow furrowing in concentration. He lifts a hand, mimicking your gesture, pointing to himself. “Rafayel,” he says, and your heart skips a beat at the sound of his silky voice.

A smile tugs at your lips. You repeat his name, savoring the sound of it. It’s a small step, but it feels like a bridge between your worlds.

For the next few minutes, you try to teach him more. Simple words. “Water.” You gesture to the sea. “Sky.” You point to the sky. Each time, he watches you closely, though his lips struggle to form the words. He repeats after you, hesitant at first, but with growing confidence. It’s slow, but it’s something. You laugh softly when he stumbles over a word, and his lips twitch, just the slightest hint of amusement in return.

The moon starts to rise. You sit by the shore while Rafayel rests in the shallow water, his body half-submerged. The quiet between you feels comfortable now, no longer heavy with uncertainty. He watches you with a mix of curiosity and caution, his guard still there, but not as rigid.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼

You bring a book the next night, an old fairytale, the kind with simple words and enchanting stories. He’s there again and you sit together by the water, turning the pages. You point at the pictures, saying the words slowly, and he listens, repeating the ones he can manage. Each night, you bring another, reading to him in the soft glow of the moon. His words are broken, but he tries. He watches your lips when you speak, mimicking the movements, and each night, you get a little closer to understanding each other.

And as the days pass, something else shifts between you. His wariness fades, replaced by a playful curiosity. He teases you with small splashes of water, grinning at your surprised reactions. His hands linger when he helps you stand up, his touch growing bolder, more confident. You catch him staring sometimes, his eyes roaming your face, your body, with an intensity that sends warmth rushing through you.

You talk more now, not just with words but with gestures, shared looks, and smiles. He asks questions, his voice thick with the unfamiliar human language, but eager to learn. You tell him about your world, your life, and he listens, even if he doesn’t understand it all. And when he speaks of his world, you try to piece together the meaning from the few words he knows, from the way his hands move as if painting a picture.

And each night, as you leave the cove, there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to go. There’s a part of him, too, that lingers in the water, watching you with a look that makes you think he feels the same.

The gold bracelet still gleams on his wrist, a reminder of the night he saved your life.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼

Rafayel has always been wary of humans, but with you, he finds himself wanting to know more. There’s a softness in your eyes that eases him, a vulnerability that makes him open up, bit by bit. Each time you smile at him, something stirs in his chest, he can’t quite explain it. It’s different from anything he’s ever known. You’re not like the humans he’s been taught to avoid; there’s no malice, no threat in your presence.

Your beauty, though undeniable, isn’t what captivates him the most. It’s the way you see him. He is not a creature from the deep, something to be feared, but something - someone you want to know. And it confuses him—this growing need to be closer to you, to understand you, to touch you. He’s never felt this way before, and it scares him. But he can’t stay away. The more time he spends with you, the more he begins to desire your presence, the way you make him feel more alive.

The comfort of the cove has become a sanctuary for Rafayel and you. But tonight, something lingers in the air. You’ve been thinking about that first night—about the song that led you to the edge of the cliff. You turn to him, your voice soft but curious “That night, the song... were you the one singing it?”

Rafayel’s gaze hardens at the question, his eyes showing a mix of emotions. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you worry that you’ve overstepped. But then, his head dips, as if looking for the right words. He takes a breath, his voice low. “Song... not for you.” His eyes meet yours, and there’s something darker there now, something painful. “For sailors, bad men. Hurt... my kind.”

You feel the weight of his words. You’ve heard stories of sailors plundering the depths, but seeing the pain in Rafayel’s eyes—it feels real now. His hand reaches for yours. He explains, his voice thick with emotions he struggles to contain. “Revenge, for my kind. They come, take… kill. They don’t care. ”His fingers tighten slightly around yours, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say next. “I... stop them. I sing, they follow.”

You realize then what his song was meant to do. It was a lure for the sailors, to drag them beneath the waves. The weight of that presses down on you, and yet, there’s no fear. Only sadness for the pain he’s carried. You swallow, trying to find the right words. “But... I wasn’t meant to hear it.”

He shakes his head, his grip on your hand softening, his voice quieter now. “No. You... not like them. You hear, but...” His brow furrows. “I... not want to hurt you.” The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard. This creature, so powerful and full of vengeance, pulled you from the depths when he could have just let you drown.

You look at him. “I’m sorry.” you say softly, though you know it’s not enough. “I’m sorry for what they did to you. I didn’t know.”

His eyes soften, the darkness in them fading as he looks at you. “You... don’t need to know,” he murmurs. “You are... different.”

You squeeze his hand gently, offering what comfort you can. “I’m glad you didn’t let me drown.” you say, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Rafayel smiles back and you see a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. “Me too.” he says quietly, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤ��ㅤ⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼

The nights spent by the cove have become a routine. You sit with a fairytale book in your lap, your fingers tracing over the worn pages as you read aloud. Rafayel lies on his stomach, his body still, but his gaze is not. He watches you, ombre eyes tracing every movement of your lips, every flutter of lashes as you speak. You glance up from the book, catching the intensity of his stare. A playful smile tugs at your lips, and you pause mid-sentence. "What are you looking at?" you tease.

Rafayel’s brows furrow in concentration. He still struggles to find the words, but he gestures to his own face, then to yours. "You... beautiful."

The words catch you off guard, a blush peppering your cheeks. You are taken aback by his honesty. He says it so simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your heart skips a beat, but you brush it off with a soft laugh. “Thank you.”

He tilts his head with confusion in his eyes, as though he doesn’t understand why you would laugh. You shake your head, reaching out to rest your hand on his arm, feeling his cool skin. His body reacts instantly to your touch, a shiver running through him, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand comes to rest over yours.

Each evening, the distance between slowly fades. Touches become more frequent, more intentional. A hand resting on his arm, fingers tracing his jaw, the way his tail brushes lightly against your leg as he moves closer.

One night, Rafayel’s curiosity takes a new turn. You’re sitting on the sand, the fabric of your flowy dress bunched up around your legs. His gaze lingers on the material that shifts with the breeze. He tilts his head, lips in a small pout. Then he reaches out, pointing at your legs, gesturing to the flowing fabric. “Why... clothes?” he asks.

You laugh softly. “Humans wear different clothing depending on the weather, or their style. And we wear shoes to protect our feet.”

At the mention of shoes, his eyes drop to your bare feet. He looks back at you, his lips parting as if to ask something, but hesitates.

"Do you want to touch them?" you ask.

His face lights up with a mix of curiosity and caution. He nods. You stretch your leg out toward him, offering your foot, and he reaches for it, his fingers brushing lightly over the arch. You smile, watching his face as he studies your foot with such focus that makes you chuckle. But then, his fingers accidentally graze a ticklish spot making you pull away from his grasp and laugh as a reflex.

He jerks his hand back, eyes wide with concern, but you shake your head quickly, still laughing. “It’s okay! You just tickled me.”

His expression softens into a playful one, and he does it again, deliberately this time. He watches as your body reacts, your foot flinching away from his mischievous hands, your laughter bubbling up again. You can see the spark in his eyes, the way his lips curl into that rare smile you’re starting to see more often.

Now your eyes trace pale blue tail that glimmers in the water. You can’t stop yourself from staring. You’ve wanted to touch it from the very first moment you saw him.

You take a deep breath. “Can I... touch your tail? It’s okay if you don’t wa - .”

He chuckles at your stammering and nods, easing your anxiety. He takes your hand in his, and lowers it onto his tail, around where knees would be. Your lips part in awe, feeling the cool, sleek texture of his scales beneath your fingertips. It’s smooth, almost silky.

You look up at him. “Your tail... it’s incredible.”

Rafayel’s lips twitch into a small smile, pleased by your fascination. He shifts his body, fully focusing on your legs again. His eyes travel up, towards the space between your thighs. He glances at your face, then back, as though trying to make sense of something. Slowly, he leans in, his head tilting as he peers under the hem of your dress, his curiosity as innocent as it is bold.

A flush of heat rises to your cheeks, scooting back and pressing your thighs together. "Uh, Rafayel..." you murmur, your voice catching.

He looks up at you, confused. You can tell he doesn’t fully understand what he’s done to make you flustered, but he’s aware of the shift in your energy. “What... there?” he asks, his voice uncertain, his hand motioning toward your dress.

You bite your lip, the blush deepening. There’s no hidden intent in his question—just pure curiosity, the same way he’d ask about the books or the language you’re teaching him. You take a shaky breath. “It’s... private,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “Humans have parts that are personal, and we usually keep them covered, especially around others.”

He nods slowly. His eyes go to your dress for just a moment before they return to yours. “Private,” he repeats, the word unfamiliar on his tongue, but he seems to grasp the meaning of it. You can see the restraint in him now, the way he pulls back slightly, giving you space.

In the quiet that follows, you smile at him, reaching out to touch his face lightly, your fingers brushing over his soft skin. “You’re learning quickly,” you say softly, and he leans into your touch, his eyes closing for just a moment. But now you have a question. Your heart races as you summon the courage to speak. "Rafayel..." you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Where... where are your private parts?"

The words hang awkwardly between you, and you immediately regret it. Your body tenses as you brace for his reaction. Instead of laughing or brushing off the question, Rafayel’s expression softens with understanding. He lies on his back, glancing down at his sleek, muscled form. There’s a pause as he considers how to respond, his lips curving in a soft smile.

"They're hidden," he says quietly, pointing to the area right below his pelvis. "Beneath, for… when we need them."

You find yourself staring at the spot where he’s pointing. You bite your lip, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze is already on you, soft and unassuming, as if waiting for you to speak.

"So… how does it work?" you ask hesitantly.

Rafayel tilts his head, his brow furrowing slightly as he processes your words. "Work?" he repeats. He looks down at his tail, then back up at you. "You… want to know?"

The heat rises to your cheeks, and you glance away, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. "I—I guess, yeah," you stammer. "I mean, you asked me, and I…" You trail off, embarrassed.

Rafayel’s lips quirk into a small, knowing smile, and his eyes soften at the sight of your flushed cheeks. Slowly, he speaks again. "I can… show?"

Your breath catches in your throat. The idea of him revealing that intimate part of himself makes your heart race. But before you can respond, Rafayel adds "If… I see yours too?"

Your hands tighten on the fabric of your dress, your mind racing. There's an openness in the way he asks, a genuine desire to understand you better. "You want to see mine?" you ask, your voice trembling just a little. Rafayel nods, his eyes flicking downward for just a second before meeting yours again. “Yes. You… show me. I… show you."

The tension hangs heavy between you, and for a moment, you both just sit there. You consider his words and finally, you nod. "Okay."

Rafayel hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching yours for permission one more time. With a slow nod from you, he shifts, moving just enough to give you a better view. The area he pointed at begins to part slightly, the scales pulling aside to show what is hidden. Your eyes widen as you catch the first glimpse of what lies underneath. The sight is mesmerizing, a beautiful hybrid of human and something entirely otherworldly. His member, long and thick, tapers slightly toward the tip. The texture is smooth with faint ridges along its surface. Your breath hitches as you notice how his arousal throbs gently, merging seamlessly with his aquatic form.

Rafayel watches you, how fascinated you are by this part of him. His lips quirk into a teasing smile, but a faint blush colors his cheeks. He’s aware of the tension of this moment, but there’s a playful, mischievous glint in his eyes as he tilts his head.

"You… stare long time," he teases, "You… like?"

Your breath catches as you meet Rafayel’s gaze, embarrassed for staring for so long. "Maybe," you admit with a shy smile.

Rafayel’s smile widens, his blush deepening. He glances down at himself, starting to feel bashful under your gaze, before his eyes return to yours. He shifts slightly, his hand moving to caress your cheek. His eyes move downward, toward the thin piece of clothing, then back to your face. You know it’s your turn.

The realization makes your palms clammy. Rafayel’s gaze never leaves yours, patient but full of expectation. And you want to match his vulnerability, to let him see you in the same way you’ve seen him. With a trembling hand, you reach under your dress, tugging down the bottom part of your swimsuit, his eyes following your every movement. Discarding the piece of clothing to the side, you lean back on your hands, spreading your legs.

Rafayel’s eyes widen as he stares at your exposed form, lingering on the soft skin between your thighs, on the slickness already gathering there. He looks mesmerized, his gaze flicking between your face and your body, as if he can’t decide where to focus.

"Can… I touch?" he asks, his fingers twitching with anticipation.

You nod, your heart racing. Slowly, his fingers brush against your inner thigh, cool and soft at first. His fingertips graze your entrance, and you let out a small gasp as a jolt of pleasure courses through you.

He pauses, glancing up at you with concern. “Hurt?”

You shake your head quickly, breathless. "No, no… that feels good," you assure him, your voice a little shaky. "But… if you keep touching me like that, I’ll get more… aroused." The honest answer makes your face flush even more.

Rafayel seems both intrigued and flustered by your response. Rafayel watches you closely, his fingers still resting gently against your slick entrance. He looks down, his breath catching as he feels the wetness coating his fingers. You can see his chest rising and falling as if he's trying to keep control of himself.

He glances back up at you. "Can I… touch more?"

The question takes you by surprise. This isn’t just curiosity or playful exploration anymore—this is crossing into something more intimate. You look at him, your breath catching in your throat. There’s a need that’s been growing inside him for so long—one he’s kept carefully in check, unsure if he could ask, unsure if this moment would ever come.

You feel a rush of warmth flood through you at the realization, and with a soft, shaky breath, you nod, guiding his hand a little higher. "Touch me… here," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you place his fingers on the sensitive nub just above your entrance. "This is… very sensitive. If you touch it the right way, it’ll feel incredible."

Rafayel’s breath hitches as his fingers move under your guidance. His touch is light at first, but as he watches your reaction—how your body tenses with pleasure—he grows bolder, circling the sensitive spot with slow, deliberate movements.

The sensations are overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you with every stroke of his fingers. Your hips instinctively move, seeking more of his touch, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips. Rafayel’s eyes are locked on you now, his breath coming faster, his arousal clear in the way his body tenses.

"Yes," you gasp, your hands gripping the fabric of your dress as you struggle to hold back the rising tide of pleasure. "Just like that…"

Your body is trembling now, shaky gasps leaving your lips, each stroke pulling you closer to the edge. He watches you intently, eyes wide with fascination. He’s studying every reaction, every sound you make. Your fingers dig into the sand, gripping tightly as the pressure builds inside you, a tight coil ready to snap. His touch is gentle but insistent, the perfect rhythm against your most sensitive spot, and it doesn’t take long before you feel that wave approaching. Your hips buck against his hand, and the pleasure becomes too much, too overwhelming to resist.

“Rafayel -” you moan, your voice shaky. Everything seems to blur as the intense pleasure crashes over you in waves, your thighs trembling, your back arching helplessly as you come. Rafayel watches in awe, mesmerized by the way your body reacts to his touch, his hand still gently moving over your clit, prolonging your release as you ride out every last wave of pleasure. Your chest heaves, breathless, the sensation so intense you can barely focus, your body still twitching from the aftershocks. But as the pleasure subsides, his curiosity hasn’t. His fingers, still slick from your release, hover near your entrance, and he glances up at you. His fingers brush against your wetness, lingering just on the edge.

“What… if I…” he trails off.

You’re still catching your breath, your body sensitive, but you manage a nod, giving him permission. He moves slowly, his fingers slipping inside you, cautiously exploring. His finger slides into you easily, your entrance wet from your orgasm, and you let out a soft gasp as he pushes deeper. When he adds a second finger, stretching you just a little more, a shiver runs down your spine, the fullness making you moan softly. His eyes flick up to yours again, watching your face for any sign of discomfort, but all he finds is more of that same pleasure, your hips gently rocking against his hand, guiding him.

And then, as he curls his fingers inside you, searching, he finds it—the spongy spot deep within that makes your body jolt with pleasure. You react immediately, a gasp escaping your lips as he presses against it.

“There,” you gasp, your voice breathless and needy. “Right there…”

Rafayel’s eyes light up, his fingers moving with more confidence now, curling and stroking that sensitive spot inside you. The pleasure is overwhelming, a different kind of ecstasy that makes you arch into his touch, your walls tightening around his fingers. Each movement makes your moans grow louder, more desperate.

Without warning, he leans down, his mouth hovering just above your clit. Then he presses his lips to the sensitive nub. The shock of his warm mouth against you makes you cry out, your hips jerking against him as the pleasure intensifies tenfold. His tongue flicks out, tasting you, and when he hears your moan, he repeats the motion. Your hands instinctively tangle in his hair, guiding him as his tongue moves over your clit, licking and sucking in perfect rhythm with the motion of his fingers inside you. The combination is almost too much, the sensations making you dizzy, your body on the verge of losing control.

Rafayel seems affected by your reactions, his own breathing heavy now, his face flushed. He’s learning fast, his fingers curling just right inside you, hitting that sensitive spot over and over, while his mouth works your clit with growing skill. Your hips move desperately against him, seeking more of the pleasure he’s giving you, unable to stop yourself.

And then, you feel it—the tight coil inside you, about to snap again, but this time it’s different. The pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable. You can feel your muscles clenching around his fingers, wet sounds filling the air as your body responds to him.

“I can’t… I’m going to…” you gasp, but before you can finish, your orgasm crashes over you, more powerful than anything you’ve ever felt before, your body convulsing, your hips bucking wildly against his hand and mouth. A sudden gush of wetness escapes you, your release splashing against his fingers, your muscles spasm with the force of it.

Rafayel freezes for a moment, startled by the intensity of your release, but he doesn’t pull away. His fingers stay inside you, his mouth still working your clit as you ride out the most intense orgasm of your life.

As your release finally subsides, you collapse back against the sand, panting and spent, your body still tingling. Rafayel pulls back, his fingers slipping from your entrance, wet with your release. He looks up at you, awe and a hint of pride in his eyes, as if he can hardly believe what he’s just made you feel.

When you catch the sight of Rafayel’s face, glistening with the remnants of your release, a shy smile tugs at your lips. You reach out, brushing your thumb gently across his cheek, wiping away the wetness. Both of you share a soft, breathy chuckle. Rafayel, his gaze lingering on your lips, leans down slowly. His breath fans across your skin, and then, with a soft press, his lips meet yours. It’s gentle at first, but the moment your lips connect, something shifts. The kiss deepens, grows more urgent, as though all the pent-up desire comes to the surface.

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of him. His lips move against yours, his tongue teasing yours, and you feel the weight of his body pressing against you. His tail shifts in the sand, positioning himself between your legs, his hardened member brushing against your thigh. The contact makes you moan into the kiss, and you both know where this is headed. It feels natural, like this is where you were always meant to end up, like the bond between you has been building toward this moment. Rafayel’s gaze locks onto yours, checking for any sign of hesitation. But all you offer him is a small nod, your body aching to feel him inside you.

He begins to push forward, slow and careful, the head of his throbbing member pressing against your wetness. You can feel the stretch as he starts to ease into you, your body accommodating his size. The sensation is intense, your walls fluttering around him as he gradually sinks deeper. His eyes never leave yours, his brow furrowed in concentration, his mouth slightly parted.

“You… okay?” he asks softly, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

“Yes,” you gasp, your body trembling. “Don’t stop.”

Encouraged, Rafayel moves deeper. Rolling his hips, each thrust pushes him further, until he’s fully within you, his body pressed flush against yours. He stills for a moment, savoring the warmth of your body wrapped around him. His hand moves down to where your bodies are joined, his thumb finding your clit, pressing against it in slow circles. You moan, your hips instinctively bucking against his, the stimulation pushing you closer and closer to the edge again.

Every thrust brings him deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside you, and you can’t hold back any longer. Your orgasm crashes over you, more powerful than the last. Your walls clench tightly around him, drawing him deeper, and you cry out his name. Your entire body shudders with the force of your release. The feeling of you pulsing around him pushes Rafayel over the edge. His thrusts become erratic, his breath ragged. With a deep groan, he buries himself inside you, his body shaking as his own orgasm overtakes him.

As the last hints of pleasure fade from your bodies, the night air settles around you, cool and soothing against your flushed skin. Rafayel’s body remains pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own as he holds you close. Your legs are still tangled with his tail, the beautiful texture of his scales brushing against your thighs, grounding you in this moment.

Rafayel presses a tender kiss to your temple. His lips trail down to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, and you turn your head, meeting him in a soft, languid kiss. Neither of you speaks for a long moment, simply resting in the aftermath. Rafayel shifts slightly, easing out of you carefully, and you can’t help but shiver at the loss of connection. He watches your face for any sign of discomfort, but all you offer him is a lazy smile.

A faint blush lingers on his cheeks, and his lips curve into a small, sheepish smile. "You not hurt?"

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "No," you reply, your voice gentle. "Not at all. That was… wonderful."

He exhales in relief and chuckles softly. "Good."

You move to rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, as if he can’t bear to let go just yet.

Then, after a few moments, you both start to chuckle, the sound light and easy. "I… didn’t think this would happen," you admit with a smile. "Not like this. Not tonight."

Rafayel hums in agreement. "You… so different. So... human," he adds with a playful smirk, but his tone softens. "And yet…"

You smile, lifting your head slightly to meet his gaze, finishing for him. "And yet, it feels right." Rafayel’s lips curve into a slow, gentle smile, and he leans down, his breath warm against your skin as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "Yes," he whispers. "It… feels right."

For a long time, you simply lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, your bodies warm and comfortable against the cool night air. Rafayel’s fingers continue to caress your skin, his touch tender and slow.

"Stay close," he whispers after a while, his voice barely audible, as if he’s speaking to himself, as if the thought of distance—any distance—is unbearable. His arms tighten around you, his embrace full of warmth and need.

You smile against his chest, nuzzling closer. "I’m not going anywhere," you murmur back. And you mean it. Whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

#love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel smut #lads smut #lads x reader #lads rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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moonlightwritingf1 · 1 month ago

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What Remains of Us | LN4

𓆩❤︎𓆪 summary ━━━━━━━ A week after their divorce, Y/N and Lando find themselves back in the home they once shared, haunted by the memories of their love. When Lando arrives to collect his belongings, he finds Y/N crying over their wedding photos, and the weight of their heartbreak pulls them back into each other’s arms. In the quiet intimacy of their old bedroom, emotions overflow, leading them to seek comfort in each other one last time.

𓆩❤︎𓆪 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader, Lando Norris x ex-wife!reader

𓆩❤︎𓆪 word count ━━━━━━━ 4.8k

𓆩❤︎𓆪 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie,

Based on this request.

A heavy silence settled over the house—the kind that felt almost alive, pressing against the walls, lingering in the empty spaces where laughter used to echo. This had been their home once, a place filled with warmth and whispered confessions, but now, it was just a shell of what it used to be. The echo of each footstep seemed louder now, even as the sun streamed in through half-drawn curtains. Dust particles drifted lazily in the late afternoon light, and the faint hum of traffic outside was the only reminder that a world still moved on beyond those walls.

A week had passed since the divorce became final. The silence between them had been deafening since then. Y/N tried to live in the emptiness of the house, haunted by the memory of his laughter in the living room and the ghost of his touch in the hallways. That day, Lando came by unannounced to collect more of his belongings. Neither of them had explicitly planned this moment, but deep down, both must have known it was inevitable.

He let himself in quietly, the spare key still working in the front door’s lock. The hallway seemed so much smaller than before, or maybe it was the weight on his heart that made everything feel drawn in, claustrophobic. He called her name softly—“Y/N?”—but received no answer. There was only a slight shuffle behind the bedroom door.

When he pushed it open, he found her there on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging beneath her slight weight. She was in her old pajamas, hair bundled into a haphazard knot. Spread across her lap were photographs from their wedding day—prints and polaroids that captured stolen smiles, playful kisses, the promise of forever. Tears streaked her cheeks, and she made no attempt to hide them.

Lando’s heart clamped painfully in his chest. He set down the cardboard box he’d brought for collecting a few more of his things. “Y/N,” he murmured. Guilt and longing rippled across his features.

She swallowed hard, forcing a small, shaky smile. “I thought I’d be okay,” she whispered, gesturing to the pictures. “I—I thought…maybe looking at them would help me move on.”

He moved toward her slowly. His voice quivered, reflecting the same heartbreak in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything… for how it all ended.”

She shook her head. “No. I share in that fault too,” she managed, though her voice cracked. “I keep wondering if I could’ve done something… something more to keep us from losing each other.”

He lowered himself beside her on the bed, not quite touching at first. She was close enough for him to smell the faint traces of her shampoo and the salty tang of tears. The photographs fanned across her lap were so bright and happy—Lando spinning her around under fairy lights, Y/N laughing while Pietra and Max teased them with wedding games, the radiant grin on Lando’s face when he first saw Y/N walk down the aisle.

Softly, tentatively, he placed a hand over hers. “I never wanted to lose you,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.

Her eyes snapped up to his, that old electric connection burning between them. “I know,” she replied. “Neither did I. But we lost sight of each other somehow.” A sob hiccuped in her throat, and tears welled up anew.

Gently, he brushed a tear from her cheek. “I gave you the house because… because it always felt like yours more than mine. You made it a home. Even after I moved to Monaco, it was here—your laughter, your warmth—that felt real to me.”

She closed her eyes at his touch, the memories threatening to pull her under. She remembered how she used to crave every teasing text he sent before they dated, how she’d make him work for her affection back when they first met. She recalled the way his dimpled grin and flirty remarks would make her heart race. And there had been that moment—the night she finally gave in to all the tension brewing for months—when he had taken her into his arms with such absolute certainty. Through everything, the heartbreak, the anger, and the distance that followed, this man was still the one person in the world who made her feel undeniably alive.

Lando could see the flicker of those memories in her tear-filled gaze. He let out a slow breath, feeling the heaviness in his own chest. “We had good times, didn’t we?”

“Some of the best,” she whispered.

Silence settled again, but this time it hummed with an undercurrent of unspoken words, bottled-up confessions and regrets. Cautiously, Lando’s fingers laced through hers, and she squeezed back, a tentative acceptance of a comfort she had missed more than she’d ever admit.

He slid closer, so their knees touched. “You look so tired,” he said softly, eyes scanning the faint shadows beneath her eyes. “Are you sleeping at all?”

She shook her head. “Not much.” Her gaze drifted to the wedding photo at the top of the stack—she was wiping cake frosting off Lando’s nose while he laughed with boyish delight. The memory tugged at her, and her throat tightened.

As though drawn by an invisible force, he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. It was a delicate gesture, one that lacked any presumption or expectation. She let her head tip forward, resting it against his shoulder. Her tears seeped into his shirt, and he wrapped an arm around her, breathing in the faint hint of vanilla and rose that always clung to her skin.

“I miss you,” he admitted in a raspy whisper.

She looked up, eyes shimmering with tears. “I miss you too,” she breathed. Her grip on his fingers grew firmer.

The swirling storm of emotions crested inside them, and Y/N felt her heart leap into her throat. She remembered the ache of pushing him away back when he first chased after her. Now it felt like a cruel parallel—pushing him away all those months, only to watch them separate in an even bigger, more painful way.

“Do… Do you want me to leave?” he asked gently, stepping into the role of caretaker again, the way he used to.

Her voice was unsteady, but her gaze was unwavering. “No. Stay. Please… stay.”

That was all it took. The tension that had once pulled them apart now drew them together like a magnet. He cupped her face gently, his thumb grazing away the stray tears. She closed her eyes at his warmth, surrendering to the comfort of his presence. Every doubt, every regret, every moment of anger seemed to dissolve the second he pressed his lips softly to hers.

It was a kiss filled with heartbreak and longing—a sudden rush of desperate affection that built upon itself with each passing second. She clung to his shirt, pulling him closer, not wanting to let go. Heat spread through her, a reminder that once, they had loved so fiercely it consumed them both.

He broke the kiss to breathe, and his forehead fell against hers, their breaths mingling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

She shook her head, blinking away fresh tears. “Don’t be,” she replied. “We’ve… we’ve both made mistakes. But I just… I can’t…” A sob caught in her throat, not fully forming a sentence.

“Shhh,” he soothed, pressing a series of featherlight kisses along her temple. His hands moved to her arms, shoulders, back—tentative at first, ensuring she welcomed his closeness. She melted into him, the sadness and passion colliding in a swirl of emotion that felt raw and overwhelming.

They found themselves lying back on the bed, the same bed they had once shared so many quiet mornings and late-night laughter in. The photographs fell off Y/N’s lap onto the floor, scattered like fragments of their memories. In the hush of the moment, their fingertips traced over familiar curves and contours, reacquainting themselves with a map they knew by heart.

Lando’s breath shook as he leaned down, capturing her lips again. This time, he took his time, a slow, deliberate exploration that coaxed a soft whimper from her. She welcomed him, hands roaming across his shoulders to feel the solidity of him, reminding herself that this was real—he was here. The heartbreak of the past weeks, the messy swirl of the final divorce papers, the swirling pain in both their chests—it all pressed them closer together, desperation singing in their veins.

He murmured her name, voice thick with a trembling need, and she answered with a kiss to his jawline. Each brush of their mouths was a plea for forgiveness, each touch an apology for what they lost, each whisper a promise they had once failed to keep. Yet in that moment, it seemed like all the anguish had forged a new kind of closeness between them.

He helped her ease out of her pajama top, trailing gentle kisses along the path of newly bared skin. His hair tickled her collarbone, and she shivered, clinging to the warmth of him. She pressed her hands against his chest, recalling that night years ago when she had finally given in to all the build-up of their flirtation. Back then, it had been exhilarating—wild, passionate, and overwhelming in the best way. Now, it was a softness born of sorrow and yearning, but no less intense.

Y/N’s breathing grew uneven as he continued, each movement carefully checking her comfort. At one point, they paused, eyes meeting in a fragile moment. “We don’t have to do this,” he said. “I just want to hold you if that’s what you need.”

She answered by pulling him down for another kiss, deeper than before. Her body arched beneath him, and his hands slid around her waist, bringing them flush against each other. They gave in, letting the storm of sadness and desire carry them further. In the hush that followed, the memories of their happiest times filtered through her mind—his grin on the day he first asked her out in London, the jokes they shared when he teased her about being shy, the flicker of longing in his eyes every time they parted ways when his racing schedule took him abroad.

A softness spread through them now, the moment free of words, replaced by gentle sighs and murmured names. His lips skimmed along her neck, her gasp answering the unspoken question in his eyes. She slid her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, every nerve in her body alight with the need to feel him near. The bed creaked beneath their shifting weight, echoing quietly in the still air.

When the final barrier of clothing slipped away, the warmth of skin against skin felt familiar and right, as though no time had passed since the last time they touched. What started gently soon built in intensity, fueled by the pent-up longing that had tormented them both for far too long. She found comfort in the press of his body, his lips seeking out every part of her that still remembered him like a cherished secret.

“Lando,” she whispered, voice low and trembling. “I—”

He silenced her with another kiss, but his expression was laced with the same heartfelt intensity. “I know,” he breathed.

They lost themselves in each other, passion and tenderness entwined. It was a soft collision of two broken hearts trying to mend for just a moment in time. Each caress soothed an ache, each kiss a gentle reminder of how deeply they had once loved.

Their breaths mingled in the quiet room, the air thick with unspoken emotions and the faint scent of vanilla and salt. Lando’s lips lingered on hers, soft and searching, as if trying to relearn the way she tasted. His hands trembled slightly as they traced the curve of her waist, his touch featherlight but deliberate, every movement a question. She answered with a sigh, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, needing him to feel her longing.

Y/N’s heart pounded, a chaotic rhythm that mirrored his. The bed creaked softly as he shifted, his weight pressing her deeper into the mattress. She could feel the rapid beat of his pulse against her skin, his warmth seeping into her, chasing away the cold emptiness she had carried since the divorce. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. The intensity in his gaze was unmistakable—regret, desire, and something deeper, something that made her chest ache.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, a plea wrapped in vulnerability.

“I want this,” she breathed, her voice trembling but certain. “I want you, Lando.”

His exhale was shaky, a mix of relief and something else—something raw and unfiltered. He leaned down, capturing her lips again, this time with more urgency. His kiss was warm, familiar yet new, a collision of past and present that left her dizzy. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands gripping his shoulders, anchoring herself to him.

His hands roamed her bare skin, the warmth of his palms a stark contrast to the cool air that had settled in the room. Her body lay exposed before him, every curve and contour familiar yet achingly new in this fragile moment. She shivered, not from the chill but from the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes traced her with a mixture of longing and reverence.

Lando’s touch was slow, deliberate, as though he was memorizing her all over again. His fingers brushed along her hip, then trailed upward, leaving a path of tingling warmth in their wake. She closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and leaned into his touch, needing to feel him, to remind herself that he was here, really here. His hand paused at her ribs, the pad of his thumb tracing the delicate curve, and she felt the faint tremor in his fingers—the same vulnerability that had always made her love him even more.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy, heavy with emotion. The words were soft, but they carried the weight of everything they had lost and everything they might still find.

Her hands found his face, her thumbs brushing against the stubble on his jaw. “Look at me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with the same intensity that pulsed between them. His eyes met hers, and in that moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had melted away. There was no divorce, no heartbreak, no regrets—only the two of them, raw and unfiltered, relearning how to exist in the same space.

His lips captured hers in a searing kiss, his body pressing closer, his warmth enveloping her. She arched into him, her hands sliding down to clutch at his shoulders, anchoring herself in the moment. His touch was soft yet insistent, every movement a silent promise, a plea for forgiveness, a reminder of what they had once shared and what they might still salvage.

In the quiet of the room, their breaths mingled, their heartbeats synchronized, and for the first time in weeks, she felt whole.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured again against her neck, his lips brushing over her pulse point. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

She closed her eyes, her body arching into his as his mouth trailed lower, leaving a path of fire in its wake. His breath was hot against her skin, and she could feel the way his body trembled above her, the way he was holding himself back, trying to keep this soft, gentle, even as the tension between them grew.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Her hands found his face, gently guiding him back up to meet her eyes. “I need you. All of you.”

His gaze softened, and he nodded, his forehead resting against hers. “I’m here,” he said simply, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands roaming over her body with a familiarity that made her heart ache. She remembered the way he used to touch her—confident, playful, full of adoration. Now, there was a hesitancy to his movements, a cautiousness born of their shared heartbreak. But there was also a raw intensity, a need that matched her own.

When their bodies finally came together, it was slow, almost achingly so. Lando paused, his breath shallow, as he pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance, feeling the warmth and wetness of her. Her chest rose and fell in unsteady waves, her eyes fluttering closed as she braced herself. He lowered himself further, his hips pressing forward with deliberate care, allowing her body to adjust to him inch by inch. She was so tight, her walls clenching gently around him, as though welcoming him home after a long, painful absence. For him, it was an overwhelming sensation—the velvety heat of her, the way she embraced him so perfectly, as if they were made to fit together. For her, it was a mixture of relief and pleasure, the fullness of him stretching her just enough to make her gasp, her nails digging into his back as he slid deeper.

“God, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice trembling with emotion. His name fell from her lips like a prayer, soft and broken, and he couldn’t help but press his lips to her temple, murmuring words of reassurance. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Her pussy felt like heaven to him—warm, slick, and so familiar yet new, as if he was rediscovering her for the first time. For her, his cock felt like a missing piece, sliding into place with an ease that made her heart ache. She could feel every ridge, every inch of him as he filled her completely, the pressure of him both comforting and electrifying. It had been months since they had been this close, months since they had shared this intimacy, and the sensation was almost too much to bear. She could feel the tremble in his body as he held himself above her, the effort he was making to keep this slow, soft, and tender.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes was overwhelming—a swirling mix of love, pain, and hope that mirrored her own. “I’m here,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “I’m here.”

They moved together, their bodies falling into a rhythm that felt both new and achingly familiar. It was slow, deliberate, and devastatingly soft, each thrust a gentle exploration of their connection. Her walls tightened around him with each movement, pulling him deeper, and he groaned softly, his forehead pressing against hers. Every stroke was a wave of warmth, a gentle friction that built steadily, making her thighs quiver and her breath hitch. For him, it was the perfect balance of pressure and pleasure, her pussy gripping him in a way that made his chest ache with emotion.

This was the first time they had been together like this in months, and the weight of that knowledge hung heavy in the air between them. Yet, in this moment, it didn’t matter how long it had been or how much had changed. All that mattered was the way they fit together, the way their bodies moved in sync, the way their breaths mingled as they clung to each other. It was a reunion, a rediscovery, a promise that they were still here, still connected, still capable of this kind of closeness.

The softness of it all was what struck her the most. There was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet rhythm of their bodies moving together, the sound of their breaths, the occasional whispered word or gentle moan. It was romantic in a way that made her heart swell, a reminder of what they had once shared and what they might still reclaim. His hands were tender as they roamed her body, his touch careful and reverent, as though she was something precious he was afraid to break. And she held him just as gently, her fingers tracing the muscles of his back, her body arching into his with a quiet need.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a balm to the wounds they had inflicted on each other. The world outside didn’t matter—not the divorce, not the heartbreak, not the years of silence. In this moment, it was just the two of them, rediscovering what they had lost.

Her hands roamed over the familiar surface of his back, tracing the contours of his muscles as they tensed and relaxed beneath her touch. She could feel the strength in him, the way his body worked to keep their rhythm steady, yet there was a softness to his movements, a tenderness that made her heart ache. His breath was hot against her skin, each exhale sending a shiver down her spine as his lips brushed over her shoulder, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She could feel the heat building between them, a slow, simmering fire that threatened to consume them both, and yet, there was a gentleness to it, a carefulness that spoke of the love they still shared.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her fingers dug into his back, pulling him closer, deeper. Her legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him in, her body arching into his with a desperate need to feel every inch of him. “I—I can’t—” She didn’t finish the sentence, her words swallowed by the intensity of the moment, by the way his body moved against hers, by the way his breath mingled with hers in the quiet of the room.

He kissed her again, his lips claiming hers with a desperation that matched her own. His hands threaded through her hair, holding her close as their movements grew more frantic, their bodies moving in perfect sync, as though they had never been apart. The tension coiled tighter, a palpable force that seemed to hum in the air between them, and she could feel it in every fiber of her being, in the way his body shook above her, in the way her breath came in short, uneven gasps.

She could feel the way he trembled, the way he held himself back, trying to keep this soft, gentle, even as the need between them grew. His name fell from her lips again, a broken plea, and he answered with a kiss, his lips moving against hers with a quiet intensity that made her chest ache. His hands roamed her body, touching her with a reverence that spoke of the love they still shared, of the pain they had endured, of the hope they still held onto.

Their movements grew more urgent, their bodies moving together with a rhythm that felt both new and achingly familiar. She could feel the heat building inside her, a slow, simmering fire that threatened to consume her, and she clung to him, her nails digging into his back as she gasped his name. He held her close, his body trembling above hers, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as they moved together, finding their rhythm, finding their way back to each other.

In that moment, it didn’t matter how long it had been or how much had changed. All that mattered was the way they fit together, the way their bodies moved in sync, the way their breaths mingled as they clung to each other. It was a reunion, a rediscovery, a promise that they were still here, still connected, still capable of this kind of closeness.

When the wave finally broke, it was quiet, almost reverent. Her body tensed, her thighs trembling as a soft, rolling heat spread through her. Her pussy clenched around him, a rhythmic pulsing that felt like a warm, velvety embrace, pulling him deeper with each wave. “Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her nails dug into his back, anchoring herself to him. The sensations were overwhelming— a mix of warmth, pressure, and an electric pleasure that radiated from her core, leaving her breathless and trembling. “I—I can’t—” she whispered, her words swallowed by the intensity of the moment.

For Lando, the feeling was almost too much to bear. Her pussy was impossibly tight, her walls fluttering around him in a way that made his breath catch. “Oh, God, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice trembling with emotion. Her body was warm and slick, her pulse throbbing around him, and it felt like she was drawing him in, wrapping him in a cocoon of heat and love. He could feel every ripple, every tremor of her climax, and it sent a shiver down his spine, his own need building with every second.

His cock throbbed inside her, the sensation of her orgasm making him feel complete. For him, her pussy was a perfect fit, a warm, wet haven that seemed to cradle him with every movement. As she came, her walls tightened around him in a way that was both soothing and electrifying, and he could feel the way her body trembled beneath him, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “You feel so good,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “So, so good.”

For her, his cock felt like a missing piece, sliding into place with an ease that made her heart ache. She could feel every ridge, every inch of him as he filled her completely, the pressure of him both comforting and electrifying. The warmth of his release followed, a soft, pulsing heat that spread through her, making her feel whole in a way she hadn’t felt in months. “Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I missed this. Missed you.”

For him, the sensation of coming inside her was overwhelming. His cock throbbed, the release intense and all-consuming, and he could feel the warmth of her pussy enveloping him, pulling him deeper. She felt like home, like the missing piece he had been searching for. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he held her close. “I’m here. Always.”

As they lay there, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room, the world outside seemed to fade away. In that moment, it was just the two of them, rediscovering what they had lost. The softness of it all was almost too much to bear—a quiet, gentle reminder of the love they still shared, the bond that had never truly broken. “Stay with me,” she murmured, her voice barely audible but filled with a quiet intensity. “Please, just… stay.”

He kissed her temple, his lips brushing over her skin with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “Always,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Always, Y/N.”

And in that moment, as they clung to each other, the softness of it all felt like a second chance—a quiet, gentle reminder that even after everything, they could still find their way back to each other.

Slowly, Lando shifted, adjusting his position so he could lay beside her, his arms instinctively wrapping around her. He pulled her close, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head as he buried his face in her hair. His warmth enveloped her, a silent promise of comfort, and she curled into him, their bodies fitting together as though they had never been apart.

When at last they fell still, they remained wrapped in each other’s arms. Her cheek rested against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm that lulled her. Neither found the words to define what had just happened or what it meant for them.

Eventually, Y/N lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest to look at him. Tear tracks still glistened on her cheeks. “Do you regret it?” she asked hesitantly, fearing what his answer might be.

He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, gazing at her with an achingly tender expression. “I could never regret being close to you,” he said, voice husky with emotion. His own eyes were bright, an unnamed sorrow lingering there. “We might be divorced, but… part of me will always love you.”

She closed her eyes at his confession, pain slicing through her all over again, yet also a warm reassurance flooding her heart. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you,” she admitted softly, tears threatening once more.

He pulled her against him again, arms tightening protectively around her. “I didn’t come here expecting this,” he said in a strained whisper. “I just… I needed to see you.”

She nodded, pressing her forehead against his collarbone. “Me too. I was so afraid that this house would be a reminder of everything lost. But now, for a moment… it feels like the old times.”

They lay there in the fading daylight, the curtains glowing gold as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the floor and the scattered wedding photos. A gentle breeze fluttered the curtains, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire world held its breath in respect for the heartbreak and fleeting joy they shared.

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soulofapatrick · 7 months ago

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Sleep, I've Got You - Liam Mairi x Female Reader

Summary: you haven't slept in two weeks and two people are pushing you to seek Liam's help

Warnings: none

Words: 2.3k

Y/N's POV

The training room is filled with quiet conversation, but I linger in the doorway, unnoticed. Violet is stretched out on the floor with a book in hand, Bodhi and Garrick are watching Ridoc and Sawyer debating something trivial. Liam is just listening along, breathing air through his nose when either of the goofs say something even more ridiculous than the other but he’s fiddling with a dagger in his hand. Xaden is in the corner, brooding as usual, his dark eyes occasionally flicking up to meet mine before drifting away.

“Go to him.” Draighanmúr’s, or Draighan as I call him, voice rumbles in the back of my mind, firm and gentle. His presence is soothing, as always, but his suggestion catches me off guard, feeling his silent urge for me to move from where I’m still hovering in the doorway. He doesn’t say who the ‘him’ is but I know exactly who he is on about.

I shouldn’t be here. My body is heavy with exhaustion, my thoughts fogged by the lack of sleep that’s haunted me for days. I know I should turn around and head back to the dorms, crawl into bed and pull the duvet over my head and try to get a single wink of sleep. Something, or someone, keeps me rooted in place, Xaden’s eyes flicking over to mine again once more before he goes back to brooding.

The shadows around me seem to come to life, curling around my ankles like tendrils, their touch cold and almost tangible. There’s a light pressure at the back of my legs, an insistent nudge that makes me take a wobbly step forwards. My breath catching in my throat as I realise what’s happening—these aren’t just ordinary shadows. They’re Xaden’s.

I glare at my wingleader instinctively, annoyance flickering in my chest. He’s the only one who could be doing this, the one manipulating the shadows to push me out of the safety of the darkness where I’ve been hiding. His eyes meet mine briefly, and there’s a knowing look in them, an acknowledgment of what he’s doing. He doesn’t say anything, though, just tilts his head slightly as if to say, You know this is for your own good.

Draighan chuffs in the back of my mind as if agreeing with Xaden’s silent comment, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and agreement as he tells me You need rest, and you know who can give it to you. His presence is warm, comforting, but it doesn’t take away the frustration bubbling inside me. Xaden and Draighan unknowingly conspiring against me.

With a resigned sigh, I continue to shuffle forwards, my movements somewhat sluggish and uncertain—things you don’t want for a dragon rider. Every step feels heavier than the last, and I hesitate again, my body instinctively trying to resit the pull. But I can feel Xaden’s eyes boring holes into the side of my head, a silent pressure that refuses to elm me retreat. It’s as if his gaze alone is propelling my forwards, leaving me no choice but to keep moving until I find myself standing next to the group of boys.

Ridoc glances up at me, a mischievous grin on his face which would have me worried if it were anyone else but Ridoc as he asks, “You joining us?” His tone is light, but there’s genuine curiosity in his eyes, like he’s surprised I’ve wandered over to them and not Violet.

I just nod, the motion feeling more like a reflex than a conscious decision. Without saying a word, I sink down the wall, near Sawyer and a few steps away from Liam, close enough to feel the warmth of Liam’s presence but far enough that I don’t feel complexly exposed.

The golden evening light streams into the training room, casting a warm, ethereal glow over everything it touches. Liam sits bathed in that light, his soft light-blond hair catching the glow, making him look almost ethereal. His tall, muscular frame, as built as Dain, is relaxed as he fiddles with a dagger, the blade catching the light as it twirls effortlessly between his fingers. His blue eyes are focused on the conversation, a soft, thoughtful expression on his face as he listens to the banter around him. There’s a rugged handsomeness to him, emphasised by the prominent nose and the sprawling rebellion relic that begins at his wrist and disappears under the sleeve of his tunic. When he smiles, a dimple appears, adding a touch of warmth to his otherwise stoic demeanour.

My heart tightens in my chest as I watch him. He looks like he belongs in this light, like the strength and calmness of it are just extensions of who he is. There’s a quiet confidence about him that draws me in, and I can’t help but feel my crush on him swell, massive and overwhelming. I’m head over heels for him, and it’s a feeling that terrifies me as much as it thrills me.

Draighan’s presence in my mind is a steady, reassuring hum, bolstering my resolve. I scoot closer to Liam, my movements slow and deliberate as I inch toward him. My heart races as I reach out, nudging his right arm from his lap. He looks down at me, a hint of surprise in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything as I lay my head down where his arm once rested.

I tense, my whole body stiffening in anticipation of some kind of backlash or teasing comment. I’m ready for Ridoc’s sharp wit, for Sawyer’s playful jabs, or even for Liam to shift uncomfortably and pull away. But none of that happens. Instead, there’s a beat of silence, and then I feel Liam’s hand find its way into my hair. His fingers are gentle, tentative at first, before they start to move in slow, soothing strokes.

Liam's fingers begin to move through my hair, the touch light and careful, as though he’s afraid of hurting me. He smooths out the knots with practiced ease, each motion gentle yet firm. The tension I’ve been holding in my scalp and neck gradually starts to dissolve under his deft touch, the soothing strokes lulling me into a state of relaxation I haven’t felt in days.

As his hand continues to comb through my hair, he leans forward slightly, tilting my head to the side so that our eyes meet. His blue eyes, usually so sharp and alert, soften as they take in the exhaustion written across my face. There’s a quiet understanding in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of how tired I am, how much I need this moment of comfort.

“You’re exhausted,” he murmurs softly, his voice low and tender. “Sleep.”

The warmth in his tone wraps around me like a blanket, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the noise of the room, the worries in my mind. It’s just him, his voice, and the steady rhythm of his fingers in my hair. He lets go of my face, leaning back against the wall as he continues his soothing ministrations. Before he settles, though, his fingers briefly brush against my cheek, a tender gesture that sends a warmth spreading through my chest. Then, his hand returns to my hair, the steady, rhythmic strokes coaxing me closer to the edge of sleep.

As I begin to drift, I catch Ridoc’s eyes from across the room. He’s been watching quietly, his playful demeanour momentarily subdued. He mouths a single word at me, a question: Nightmares?

I nod once, softly, the motion barely perceptible. It’s all I can manage in my state of exhaustion, but it’s enough. Ridoc’s gaze softens in understanding before he turns back to his banter with Sawyer, Bodhi, and Garrick, picking up the conversation where he left off.

The world around me fades into the background as Liam’s fingers continue to move through my hair, the gentle rhythm pulling me closer to sleep. Draighan’s presence hums softly in the back of my mind, a comforting reminder that I’m safe, that I can finally let go. My breathing slows, and before long, I succumb to the exhaustion, my body sinking into the warmth and comfort of Liam’s lap.

————

I slowly drift back into consciousness, the heaviness of sleep gradually lifting as awareness returns. The first thing I notice is the softness beneath my head—a pillow, not the comforting firmness of Liam’s lap where I last remember resting. I shift slightly, feeling the warmth of a blanket draped over me, its weight soothing against the cool air of the room. There’s another weight too, heavier and more solid, resting across my waist. It takes me a moment to realize it’s an arm, strong and steady, holding me close.

I blink, my eyes adjusting to the dim light in the room. The training room is gone, replaced by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through a small window. The familiar scent of leather and something distinctly Liam fills my senses, grounding me as I take in my surroundings. I’m not in the dorms, not in my own bed. My heart skips a beat as the realisation sinks in—I’m in Liam’s bed.

I take a slow, deep breath, feeling the rise and fall of the warm body behind me. His presence is solid, comforting, and undeniably familiar. The heat of his body seeps into my back, and for a moment, I just lie there, processing the unexpected but welcome reality of where I am.

Carefully, I roll over, shifting beneath the weight of his arm until I’m facing him. The room is quiet, the only sounds being the soft rustle of the blanket and the steady rhythm of Liam’s breathing. My eyes trace his features, relaxed and peaceful in sleep. His spiky blond hair is tousled, a few strands falling across his forehead. His sharp, blue eyes are hidden behind closed lids, their intensity softened by the calmness of slumber. His prominent nose and the faint shadow of stubble on his jawline give him a rugged look, but there’s a gentleness to him now, a vulnerability that makes my heart ache.

As I lie there, taking in every detail of Liam's serene face, I feel an overwhelming tenderness swell in my chest. His usually intense blue eyes are softened by sleep, his features relaxed in a way I rarely get to see. I can’t help myself—I lean in and press a gentle kiss to his jawline, just where the faint shadow of stubble begins. His skin is warm and slightly rough beneath my lips, the contact filling me with a quiet sense of intimacy.

The soft press of my lips causes him to stir, his brow furrowing slightly before his eyes slowly flutter open. For a moment, he looks disoriented, but then his gaze finds mine, and a slow, sleepy smile spreads across his face, the dimple in his cheek deepening.

"How'd you sleep?" he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

I begin to answer, my voice still soft and laced with the remnants of sleep, "Better than I have in days—" But before I can finish, I notice his eyes flick down to my lips, lingering there for just a heartbeat before he moves.

In a fluid motion, Liam closes the small distance between us, capturing my lips in a kiss that feels like the culmination of something we’ve both been wanting for far too long. His lips are warm and firm against mine, moving with a gentle urgency that takes my breath away. His hand, still resting on my waist, tightens slightly, pulling me closer as if he needs to make sure I’m real, that this moment is real.

The kiss is slow and tender, but there’s a depth to it that speaks of unspoken emotions, of the comfort we find in each other. His thumb brushes over my cheek as he deepens the kiss, his touch both loving and reverent. I lose myself in the sensation, in the way his lips mold perfectly to mine, in the way his warmth seeps into every corner of my being. It feels like coming home, like finding a piece of myself I didn’t know was missing.

When we finally part, it’s with a shared breath, both of us a little dazed but undeniably content. His forehead rests gently against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.

"Maybe we should get a little more sleep," he whispers, his voice a soft murmur that makes my heart flutter. There’s a hint of a smile in his voice, one that I can’t help but return.

"Yeah," I agree, my own voice barely more than a sigh as I shift closer, tucking myself against his bare chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear is a comforting rhythm, lulling me back toward sleep. His arm wraps securely around me, holding me close as his other hand continues its soothing motions, tracing gentle patterns along my back.

As I drift off, the warmth of his body enveloping me and the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath my head, I feel an overwhelming sense of peace. With Liam holding me close, sleep comes easily, and I let myself surrender to it, knowing that for now, everything is exactly as it should be.

Fourth Wing Masterlist - To be made Comment to be added to tag list

#Liam mairi #liam mairi x reader #Liam mairi x you #Liam mairi x y/n #Liam mairi fourth wing #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing Liam mairi #fourth wing Liam #Liam mairi fluff #Liam mairi smut #Liam mairi angst #Liam mairi one shot #Liam mairi imagine #fourth wing imagine

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mournthebird · 4 months ago

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Stained.

summary: Soldat continues to have nightmares.

a/n: So sorry it took so long for another part. Been super distracted with other blogs and life stuff. There's a few more things I will write about for this 'series' then I will start another one with him. This one's a bit shorter but I have another one almost completed. Anyway enjoy comforting the baby <3 Unedited. ;; wc: 2.7k

His screams were so chilling.

They seemed to pierce through the very walls of your home. The haunting sound reverberated in the air, leaving an eerie silence in its wake that was almost as unsettling as the screams themselves.

Every single night, without fail, they never ceased. You could almost set your watch by their occurrence, anticipating the exact moment when the torment would begin. As the clock ticked closer to that dreaded hour, you'd find yourself tensing, waiting for the inevitable.

Then, right on cue, you'd hear him thrashing violently, desperately fighting against the blankets that enveloped him like a straitjacket. In a frenzied panic, he would scramble to the corner of the room, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. His eyes splayed wide with terror, darting around the room, seeing horrors that only he could perceive. His breathing came in ragged gasps, as if he had just breached the surface after being submerged in the depths of his nightmares, desperately gulping in air as if it were his first breath after a near-drowning experience.

The nightmares were a relentless, unyielding torment that plagued him night after night. They seemed to have a life of their own, cruel entities that delighted in tormenting him, forcing him to relive moments he desperately wished he could forget. These nocturnal demons dredged up memories from the darkest corners of his mind, parading them before him in vivid, terrifying detail, making him relive everything. It was as if his subconscious were punishing him for abandoning his previous affiliations, determined to extract every ounce of pain from his past experiences, leaving him raw and vulnerable each morning.

Just like its old handler had.

In an attempt to provide some comfort, you began a nightly ritual of telling him goodnight every evening. He began to seek out your company, a noticeable shift from his previous isolation, over the previous few days. He would actually spend time with you, choosing to sit by you as you watched TV on the couch. Although he still maintained a certain distance, unwilling or unable to fully let his guard down, he would position himself near your legs, just close enough to feel your presence without fully engaging.

Occasionally, in moments of vulnerability or perhaps seeking comfort, he would lean against your legs. You would gently, almost hesitantly, reach out to touch his hair, those fleeting moments of him actually initiating contact were rare. The contact was brief, barely more than a whisper of touch, before he would inevitably pull away, retreating back into his shell. But even these small moments of connection felt like monumental progress, a tiny crack in the walls he had built around himself.

Tonight had been a bit rough.

The weather conditions had deteriorated as the season switched from fall to winter.

A fierce snowstorm had been mercilessly battering the exterior of the apartment building you lived in for hours without reprieve. The violent gusts of wind sent snowflakes, dense and numerous, into a frenzied dance through the air, creating an impenetrable curtain of white that obscured nearly all visibility. That meant anyone driving was pretty much driving blind, and some places in the city have closed until the storm stops.

The persistent howling of the tempest as it wrapped around the building created unfamiliar sounds throughout your apartment, though these disturbances never bothered you when you slept. You had slept through thunderstorms before, howling wind wasn’t anything to bug you. Soldat, situated in the other room, was experiencing quite the opposite reaction to the weather.

There were things he remembered from HYDRA, memories that haunted him like persistent shadows, but the cold remained the most vivid and haunting of them all. The experience of cryo was something permanently etched into his being, a sensation that lingered long after each freeze. He could still feel with crystal clarity the way the freezing process felt. The gradual slowing of his blood flow, the painful stiffening of his muscles, and the biting chill that penetrated deep into his bones.

The cold would wrap around him like an unforgiving blanket, creating an impenetrable cocoon of ice that sealed him away from the world. In those moments, he became more than just a prisoner of HYDRA - he became a prisoner of winter itself, trapped from which he could never fully escape. Even now, warmth felt like a distant memory, a comfort that his body had forgotten how to truly experience.

No matter how many blankets he covered up in, no matter how hot the shower was, he still felt cold.

You shifted position in your bed, consciousness gradually returning as you stirred from sleep, your eyes fluttering open while your hands instinctively moved to clear the lingering drowsiness from them. You were going to just roll back over, but the unexpected presence of a dark silhouette towering above your bed startled you wide awake. Pure adrenaline rushed through your system, causing you to let out an involuntary shriek as you scrambled away from the mysterious figure. You realized it was Soldat, and you let out a breath you had been holding.

"Fuck...y-you startled me!" You exclaimed breathlessly, your trembling hand pressed firmly against your chest where your heart continued to thunder against your ribcage like a drum.

The man watched you intently from across the room, maintaining his silence. When the wind howled against your window panes with renewed intensity, his cold, calculating eyes briefly darted towards the source of the sound before returning to fix on you again. Before you could break the silence between you, he moved forward and crawled up onto your bed.

His movements were awkward and cautious, like an animal discovering new texture beneath its paws. His every motion was measured and uncertain, acting like the bed was going to fall out from beneath him. The soldier finally settled himself onto the bed beside you, positioning his rigid body so that he was facing away from you.

This was really unexpected but...you weren't going to complain. He was clearly struggling with something so you decided to just be quiet and pretend he wasn't there. Hopefully that would somehow make this fragile moment less overwhelming for him.

When you finally drifted back to sleep, consciousness returned abruptly as his sudden movements jolted you awake. He had jerked and scrambled, pressing himself firmly against the headboard of the bed, his rigid posture betraying his distress. His eyes were wide with an unnamed fear, darting frantically around the darkened room, searching desperately through the shadows for phantoms that existed only in his mind. His breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling with an intensity that suggested he had been running for miles.

His fingers were wrapped so tightly around the bedsheets that his knuckles had turned white and his metal hand was whirring with pressure, the fabric bunching beneath his iron grip. When you spoke his name, his wild gaze snapped to your face, focusing on you with an intensity that was almost frightening. "Soldat...what's wrong?" Your words came out thick with sleep, barely audible against the war raging in his mind.

"What's wrong?" The handler's voice dripped with cruel sarcasm as his boot connected violently with the asset's stomach, sending a spray of crimson across the pristine floor as it doubled over, coughing and choking. "Can't sleep? I told you to quiet down." Its handler had a particular hatred for nighttime disruptions, especially the ones he deliberately orchestrated, taking perverse pleasure in ensuring the asset's nights were filled with terror while simultaneously punishing it for displaying any signs of disturbance.

The asset remained silent, managing only to expel the remaining blood from its mouth as it struggled to regain its upright position. Through its blurred vision, the handler's eyes stood out with terrifying clarity, piercing and unforgiving as they bore down upon the asset with unmistakable malice. His voice cut through the silence like a knife, the handler’s demeanor shifting to become much more threatening. "You stained my fucking carpet."

He shook his head vigorously, scooting away from you until he reached the edge of the bed and lost his balance. "Shit," you moved forward instinctively, witnessing his unsteady stumble and the harsh thud that followed as he tumbled off, he let out a small grunt as he hit the floor. "You okay?" You asked softly, your voice gentle as you carefully made your way down and knelt beside his huddled form.

Your bed was positioned close to the wall but not touching, creating a small, sheltered alcove that provided him with a sense of security. A perfect hiding spot where he could feel somewhat protected from the world, he had ventured from the small spaces in the spare room but he tended to resort back to them when he felt especially anxious.

"Hey, you're bleeding," you noticed with concern as a thin crimson line began making its way down his forehead and along his brow. His hand shot up immediately, pressing against the wound in an attempt to stem the flow. A flash of unmistakable panic crossed his features, causing your stomach to twist with worry. "It's okay, I'll go get something for it..." You reassured him gently, rising to your feet and making your way to the bathroom where you kept a small first aid box, tucked away under the sink.

When you returned to his side, you knelt back down and carefully held out some small pieces of sterile gauze. His lack of response to take them gave you an invitation, you took his stillness as silent permission to help. Your hand carefully guided his away from the injury, replacing his trembling fingers with the soft gauze, which you held there with the lightest possible pressure while maintaining a strong enough hold to stop the bleeding.

As you held the gauze against the wound, his eyes slowly trailed down to the floor by his feet. A deep frown creased his features as he noticed two tiny red droplets seeping into the little strings of carpet, expanding like delicate watercolor paint on wet paper. The crimson spots seemed to grow before his eyes, each fiber darkening as it absorbed the blood. "I...I'm sorry," He rasped, his voice so rough and broken that you almost flinched at the sound.

The words hung heavy in the air between you, and before you could register that he actually spoke to you again or even understand what exactly he was apologizing for, he spoke again, his voice growing more distressed with each repetition. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispered, his gaze fixed intently on those small drops staining the carpet. He curled in on himself even more, the apologies falling from his lips over and over again like he were completely overwhelmed with a foreboding sense of incoming danger.

You followed his line of sight downward and observed the tiny marks yourself, finding yourself fighting back an inappropriate smile at the situation. Here he was, clearly distraught over what amounted to barely more than pinpricks of blood on the carpet. The whole concept almost felt ridiculous, that among everything else happening, this would be what concerned him so deeply.

You couldn't understand why he'd be so genuinely upset about such a minor stain, but his distress was clearly real and you didn’t want him to feel this way over something so minor. "Hey, hey. It's fine, don't apologize," you assured him gently, trying to draw his attention away from the floor. "It's just a few drops. No big deal..."

He looked back at the crimson droplets that had dripped down the soft carpet, then shifted his gaze towards you while carefully avoiding direct eye contact. His shoulders hunched inward defensively as he spoke. "I...I stained." The words emerged as barely more than a breath, his voice trembling and uncertain, barely managing to push the confession past his lips.

"And stains can be cleaned." You responded, keeping your voice steady and reassuring. "It's not a big deal at all. I'm not upset - they're just a few tiny drops. And honestly, even if it had been a much bigger mess, I wouldn't be angry that you bled on the floor. Getting upset about something like that would be completely ridiculous..."

"Ridiculous thing you are." Its handler spat with venomous contempt, "Clean this up immediately. The more you bleed, the more you are corrected for staining my goddamn floor."

It wasn't fair.

Soldat shook his head vigorously, trying to dispel the vivid flashback that had seized him. As your words continued in their gentle cadence, so different from those memory-echoes, the sharp edges of panic began to soften and recede. You remained unaware of the depths of his psychological turmoil, but at the same time, your very obliviousness to his internal struggle served as an anchor that helped guide him back from the brink of his mounting anxiety.

If you had known earlier, your choice of words might have been different, more carefully selected to avoid triggering such a response.

However, for the moment, the situation appeared to have stabilized - his breathing had steadied and his trembling had subsided to occasional shivers. You gently finished cleaning and examining the minor abrasion on his forehead, the injury was superficial, requiring nothing more than basic first aid. Once you were satisfied with it, you helped him rise to his feet, "Would you like to try sleeping again?" you asked in a soft, reassuring tone, making sure to keep your voice steady and calm, "I can stay awake and keep watch, if that would make you feel better."

He remained silent, his eyes meeting yours with an expression that seemed vulnerable and childlike, caught between trust and uncertainty. The unfamiliar sensation of feeling protected and cared for seemed to war with his instincts to panic, but something held him back. Perhaps it was the realization that throughout this entire ordeal, you had been nothing but patient and had shown genuine concern for his well-being.

His response came in the form of a single, slight nod - brief but unmistakable. You accepted this minimal communication as a positive sign.

You guided him back to bed, allowing him to settle into a position that felt natural to him. Sleeping in a bed after literal decades of sleeping on the floor, cots if he was lucky, took getting used to again. Taking up your own position nearby, you reached for the television remote and switched it on, being mindful to keep the volume low so it wouldn’t be too loud. He assumed his previous position, curling up with his back towards you, creating a small barrier between himself and the world. The soft background noise from the television seemed to provide a comforting ambient sound without causing him any distress.

After an episode of the show you were watching passing by, he gradually shifted his position to face in your direction. Though his eyes remained closed, you had your doubts about whether he had truly drifted back to sleep so quickly. The distance between you had noticeably decreased as he moved closer and your heart ached with the desire to wrap him in your arms, yet you remained perfectly still, not wanting to make any sudden movements. The fear of startling him kept you frozen in place, patiently waiting to see if he would choose to close the remaining gap between you.

To your surprise, he continued his careful migration until his body was snugly pressed against yours, seeking comfort in your presence. You felt your throat tighten with emotion as you felt the warmth of his body against yours, touched by the fact that he had deliberately chosen to seek out your closeness. Slowly, you lifted your arm and positioned it behind him, keeping it relaxed and loose while he adjusted himself, eventually settling into a position where he used you as an impromptu pillow, his breathing steady and peaceful.

You eventually fell asleep after a while too, unable to resist. By now he had huddled against you, his metal arm draped across your form, the weight of it both reassuring and comforting against your body. The steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth radiating from his presence definitely helped you grow drowsy.

Knowing he was at last getting the peaceful rest he so desperately needed brought a sense of contentment to your heart and gave you enough comfort to slowly drift off too.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

Let me know if you'd like to be added/unadded anytime.

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #captain america the winter soldier #catws #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #blythewrites⛓

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sweetheartsofpanem · 21 days ago

Text

Twenty-year-old Y/N returns to the ruins of District 12, seeking something—anything—of the life she lost. Grieving, self-contained, and carrying the weight of a brutal past, she finds herself quietly drawn into the lives of Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch. As unexpected friendships form and long-buried parts of herself begin to resurface, Y/N starts to wonder if it’s still possible for something soft to survive the wreckage.

Pairing(s): Haymitch Abernathy x Female!Reader (romantic), Katniss Everdeen x Female!Reader (platonic), Peeta Mellark x Female!Reader (platonic)

Warnings: themes of grief, past emotional and verbal abuse from a parent, past physical abuse from a parent, past self-harm (cutting), past alcoholism (Y/N) / ongoing alcoholism (Haymitch), references to non-consensual sexual experiences (no explicit scenes), PTSD, mental health struggles, age gap romance between adults (20s and 40s), eventual smut, death, descriptions of death/gore, mentions of bombing, descriptions of district 12 after the bombing, might be slightly divergent from canon, peeta was not hijacked

All heavy topics are treated with care, but reader discretion is advised.

this is basically just a suuuuper long slow burn friends to lovers. Y/N’s backstory is very detailed but i have not and will not describe her appearance. the first 5 or 6 chapters are basically just providing Y/N’s background and building a foundation for the rest of the story.

Shadows of the Past - Six months after the Second Rebellion, you return to the ruins of District 12. Haunted by memories and loss, you wander through the wreckage—until a flicker of light draws you toward something, or someone, unexpected.

Fragments of Home - In the unfamiliar stillness of Victor’s Village, you find yourself cared for by an old friend and a stranger. As wounds are tended to, new connections begin to take root—quiet, cautious, and strange in their kindness.

The Space Between - You move through the stillness of what remains, caught between memory and reality. In the space left by loss, something quieter begins to grow—unspoken understanding, and the first fragile steps toward connection.

The Club - A nightmare drives you outside in the dead of night—and you’re not the only one who couldn’t sleep. An unexpected conversation beneath the stars begins to chip away at the walls you’ve built.

The Quiet Shift - You wake to a new day and begin to settle into your new reality. A simple visit turns into something more, as laughter and conversation spark the beginnings of something long forgotten: friendship.

Porchlight - Three months into your return, you’ve slipped into a quiet routine—baking with Peeta, trading late-night banter with Haymitch. But comfort doesn’t come easy, and even the smallest moments of ease shine like a porchlight in the dark.

The Shape of Warmth - You spend the day with Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch—what begins with a truth leads into something softer, steadier. Something that feels almost like belonging.

Shoulder to Shoulder - The weight of your thoughts pulls you under, but an unexpected knock reminds you that not all doors stay closed. Some nights don’t feel as heavy when you’re not alone.

Dust and Danish - The distance between you and the people around you is starting to shrink. Not all at once—but in the soft space of banter, taste testing, and old memories that still ache. You don’t trust it yet. But you’re trying.

Mint and Memory - You spend the morning in the woods learning the quiet language of herbs, your scars aching in more ways than one. In the comfort of kitchen light and soft laughter, something fragile and steady begins to form. But even in the warmth, some voices still echo.

What’s Waiting Inside - You leave with a smile that doesn’t quite reach, and a voice in your head that cuts too deep. But when you ask not to be alone, you’re met with quiet understanding—and something steady enough to lean on.

Something Real - As summer settles in, so do you. What once felt unfamiliar begins to feel like home. You spend a day with Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch—harvesting herbs, sharing dinner, teasing each other in the living room. And somewhere in the middle of the quiet laughter and small comforts, you realize you’re not surviving anymore. You’re living.

Almost Subtle - A quiet afternoon puzzle turns into something softer—shared teasing, easy silences, and the kind of presence that lingers longer than either of you mean it to. When Katniss and Peeta suggest a trip to the lake, you drag Haymitch along, sun and sarcasm pulling something looser from him. You see him—truly see him—and say something you didn’t mean to. Maybe he doesn’t mind. Maybe neither of you do.

She Fell First - You wake up with one goal: figure out what the hell is wrong with you. Why does your heart do gymnastics every time Haymitch talks? Why do you want to be near him 24/7 like some kind of emotionally confused barnacle? Naturally, you barge into Peeta’s house to demand answers and are promptly diagnosed with a crush. Disgusting. Mortifying.

Totally Chill - You’re totally fine. Completely normal. Not at all losing your mind over accidentally massaging mint balm into Haymitch Abernathy’s scarred, shirtless stomach. Nope. Nothing to see here. Except maybe the part where you sprint to Peeta’s house afterward to dramatically declare your emotional demise. Totally. Chill.

Paper Spine - The sharpness guts you like it always has—like it did before anyone ever said your name gently. You fold, crumple, unravel. And when the panic finally breaks you wide open, all you can do is hold your chest and hope it doesn’t stay like this forever.

Back to Steady - A few days after everything cracked open, you find your way back to normal—soft sarcasm, warm tea, and limbs pressed a little too close on an old couch.

Pinecone Problems - You spend the day with Katniss and Peeta, basking in cinnamon bread, emotional whiplash, and whatever flavor of denial you’re currently fermenting. Feelings are talked about. Trauma is unpacked. And Haymitch—unfortunately—still exists, looking unfairly good doing absolutely nothing. You’re not in love. You’re just dramatically inconvenienced.

Pinecone Emergency - You’re pretty sure spraining your ankle after dramatically chasing Haymitch through the woods wasn’t part of your character arc, and yet—here you are, face down in the grass, in pain, in denial, and in love. Probably. Unfortunately.

He Fell Harder - Haymitch starts the night in a classic spiral—staring at a wall, brooding about feelings he definitely didn’t mean to catch. Then Y/N shows up at his door (again), and things only get worse. Or better. It’s hard to tell when she’s stealing his couch, insulting his snacks, and looking entirely too good while doing it. He’s not in love. Definitely not. He just… likes her a little. A lot. Maybe forever. Who knows.

Storm Spirit and Sunshine - You feel the storm coming in your knees and immediately decide it’s your entire personality. Haymitch thinks you’ve lost it—until the sky starts throwing tantrums and the power goes out. Cue unexpected darkness, shared candlelight, emotional trauma bonding, and accidental (but very intentional) hand-holding. Turns out, thunder’s not so scary when you’ve got a grumpy ex-victor and his veiny arms beside you.

Tension? What Tension? - You go to the lake to cool off, not to feel warm all over. But between the splashing, the teasing, and a few glances that linger a little too long, things start to shift. It’s just a normal day with friends. Nothing’s different. Nothing’s changing. Except maybe it is. Not that you’ll admit it.

Don’t Ask Me How I Slept - Something wakes you in the dark. You follow it upstairs and find more than you expected. A name, a moment, a quiet unraveling. You stay. And when morning comes, everything feels a little different—though no one says it out loud.

Just One Good Day - It starts with laughter and leans too close to something real. For a moment, it almost feels safe—almost. But soft things are fragile, and you learn again how quickly warmth can vanish. When the silence finally breaks, it leaves you reaching for someone who’s still here.

One Good Day, Gone - You try to hold onto something soft. He tries to push it all away. But some silences say more than words, and when the quiet settles, it leaves you both with nothing but the truth—and the space where one good day used to be.

As Long As It Takes - You don’t expect to see him. He doesn’t expect you to stay. But when the night unravels and the ghosts are named, you offer him the one thing he’s never been able to ask for—time. You don’t know what this is. You just know you’ll wait. As long as it takes.

Casual, Right? - You and Haymitch are fine. Totally normal. Just two emotionally stable people moving a table and not at all panicking about how close you’re sitting. But when the teasing turns soft and the space between you disappears, you start to wonder if pretending it’s casual is getting harder to believe. Especially when Peeta and Katniss walk in and feel every inch of tension in the room.

This Year is Different - On the day before his birthday—and what would’ve been another reaping—Haymitch starts to unravel. You stay. Through the silence, the memory, the ache. And by the end of the night, with moonlight on the sheets, something shifts. He lets you in. You let yourself stay.

I Hope It Keeps Becoming - On the morning after everything shifts, you wake to the warmth of something you’re scared to name. There’s laughter. There’s teasing. There’s a quiet moment where something almost happens. And later, after the chaos settles and the kitchen quiets, you let yourself hope this softness might stay.

What We’ve Been Becoming - A quiet day drifts into something warmer, softer—something that feels a little too good to question. You spend it in good company, with laughter and teasing and quiet truths. But when the evening settles and it’s just the two of you again, something finally shifts in the stillness you’ve both learned to trust.

Now, Not Then - You wake up from the past like it never left you. But this time, you’re not alone. And even when the words won’t come, he stays—gentle, steady, and real. This is now. Not then.

Without Needing to Say It - You end the night wrapped in warmth, in quiet, in something that feels a lot like love. You both haven’t said the words. But you don’t need to. Not when it’s already there—in the way you touch, the way you stay, the way you keep choosing each other. Again and again.

Clinginess Is a Symptom - He’s got a minor fever and a major case of “don’t leave my side.” You make the tea, the soup, the rules—and he, apparently, makes whiny affection into an art form.

The First Time It’s Safe - In the quiet before sunrise, wrapped in shared breath and steady hands, you and Haymitch finally speak the truth that’s been living between you for months.

Soft Things Stay - You and Haymitch settle into something slow and safe—until Katniss and Peeta burst in, convinced you’re dead. The rest of the day is filled with teasing, toast, and sunlight, the four of you slipping into a rhythm that feels like home.

Soot Sprite - You return to the ruins of District 12 for the first time since coming home, with Peeta beside you. The walk is harder than you expect—but softer, too. Just as the past begins to settle, a reminder of the settling past latches to your leg.

Did You Just Whimper? - With Soot spending the night at Katniss and Peeta’s, you and Haymitch finally get the alone time you’ve been craving.

We Are Not a Normal Family - Soot causes chaos. Peeta makes up a game with no rules. Haymitch suffers. You laugh until it hurts. And for a moment, under stars and mismatched blankets, you remember what it feels like to belong.

I’ve Been Yours

Epilogue

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imagine-you · 9 months ago

Text

won't somebody come take me home? [Logan/Reader]

Summary: You've been abandoned to the Void after experiencing heartbreak in your universe. Instead of becoming food for Alioth or one of Cassandra's underlings, you find a new family with the resistance seeking to bring her down. When Johnny doesn't come back to the hideout, you keep watch in the hopes of seeing his return. Instead, you find a Deadpool variant fighting someone who looks achingly familiar. Someone who reminds you of your old life and the person who broke your heart. When you finally come face to face with a Logan after being pruned from your universe, you're not expecting the longing you're met with or the fact that in his universe, you were his wife. Word Count: 7.7k Author's Note: I've wanted to write for X-Men for so long and then I saw Deadpool and Wolverine and fell in love with Logan all over again. If you like this, please let me know! I'm so nervous about writing for a new fandom. And if you want to see more X-Men stuff from me, please let me know that as well! Reader's song for this is definitely I'm With You by Avril Lavigne, but I kind of imagine Logan's ends up being Hanging By a Moment by Lifehouse.

closer to where I started // all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me

Read on AO3

Everyone in the Void had a tragic backstory that was befitting a hero or villain or anything in between. You were the ones who were lost, abandoned, or forgotten by your worlds and the people you cared about more than anyone else.

You didn't remember much about how you got to the Void, but you had a pretty good understanding of why you were dropped into the barren wasteland for the multiverse's landfill.

Like most people in the Void, you were here because of heartbreak. The one person you had loved with your entire being had loved someone else. You had given him your all, but he only gave you a piece of himself. And when he ripped that piece of himself away, leaving you aching and broken, you were swept out like unwanted trash and right into the Void.

"What's got you so down today, ma chérie?" Remy dropped down into the chair at your side.

You huffed out a laugh that was nowhere near amused. "Besides the fact that we're all stuck here and trying to avoid Cassandra and her wandering fingers?" You brought your hand up and wriggled them in Remy's face, reluctantly letting out a laugh when he snapped his teeth at them.

"Ah, there's that smile," he mused, bumping his shoulder into yours. "You thinkin' 'bout your old life?"

You rolled your eyes, inanely feeling your throat tighten as you fought the urge to cry. You kept your gaze on the bottle of whiskey on the table. Remy reached for it, but he met resistance and turned a glare on you.

You shrugged your shoulders before dropping the forcefield. "I had a dream about him last night," you admitted with a scowl. "About what happened and how no one on my team had my back. How they all thought it was inevitable." You snorted before you quickly grabbed the bottle and took a swig, relishing the burn that traveled down your throat and sent warmth pulsing through your chest. You handed it over to Remy, ignoring his obvious annoyance.

"Listen, you're a lot better off now than you were with those fuckers," he consoled as he finally wrapped his hand around the bottle. "But don't go gettin' between me and my drink, now," he warned, his eyes briefly flashing red before fading away. "I'm not like those assholes who abandoned you. You've got nothin' to hate me for."

"You're real shit at pep talks, you know that?" Johnny cut in, knocking into Remy as he walked by. "Leave Y/N alone. She doesn't want to put up with your bullshit right now."

"And you suppose she wants to put up with yours? All you've got is bullshit," Remy taunted, idly twirling a card between his fingers. It was half a threat, but Johnny would only fight fire with fire and Remy knew it. Elektra had forbidden both of them from using their powers in the hideout, since they had almost burned it down last time.

"Will you both just stop?" You groaned, letting your head hit the table. Someone reached out to pat you on the shoulder, but you didn't bother to look and see who did it. "I love and respect you both dearly, but if you leave another scorch mark in here, then we'll all be in trouble."

Remy obediently stowed the card back up his sleeve while Johnny rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever," he sighed before making for the door. “See you later.”

"Where are you going?" You called, watching him retreat.

"I'll be around," Johnny answered, shooting you a smirk over his shoulder. "I always come back, don't I?"

You didn't get a chance to respond before he was gone. You always worried about Johnny when he went on his little trips around the Void. He swore he would be careful not to run into any of Cassandra's goons, but you knew all of your days were limited. Whether it was Alioth or Cassandra or one of the many rogue Deadpools wandering around, it was only a matter of time before trouble found you.

Remy stood up and placed the half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of you. "Just this once," he allowed with a wink. "You appreciate that, though, you hear?"

"Thanks," you muttered before reaching for the bottle.

You spent the rest of the day trying to block out the dream while you trained with Laura.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn't realize you had company.

"Damn, what's got you so riled up?"

You turned to look at Eric, surprised to see him standing there. You then realized your knuckles had split open and you had trashed the makeshift punching bag you had made out of an old blanket and some sand.

"Nothing," you deflected, half-tempted to go invisible just so no one could see you. Even though he was wearing sunglasses, you knew you had his full attention and you didn't want another lecture on leaving your past behind.

No one on your team was good at that, but you were arguably the worst at letting your pain go.

You always hated when you dreamt about Logan. His last words to you echoing in your mind over and over. You hadn't been enough for him, but Jean? Jean was everything he wanted. You supposed your powers paled in comparison and you would never measure up when all you could do was conjure forcefields and become invisible. Logan had been in love with her from the first moment he laid eyes on her, but you had never seen that look on his face when he looked at you.

It was a pity that you had given Logan everything only to be cast aside for the one who truly held his heart.

If Johnny were there, he would have told Blade to mind his own business, but he still hadn't come back.

"Again," Laura prompted, drawing your attention towards the punching bag. It was half-demolished, but you figured you still had some fight in you.

You noticed her shake her head at Eric as you turned away and focused all your hurt into your fists, watching the bag fall apart.

Johnny hadn't returned by the next morning and you were starting to worry.

You considered everyone your family, but you had a special bond with Johnny. He had been the first person to welcome you to the resistance and you, specifically your powers, had reminded him of his sister. He opened up to you about how much he missed his team, his family, and you told him about the heartbreak you had endured in your universe.

"I'll tell you what, if I ever get my hands on your Logan, I'll light the fucker on fire."

You felt a laugh bubble out of you. It was the first time you had laughed in ages and it felt so good to know you could still find joy in things. "He'd just regenerate."

"Not when I'm done with him," Johnny promised. "I'll cook him 'til he's just a heap of ash and then you'll dance on his remains."

You shook your head, but let Johnny carry on with his elaborate plan for revenge on your behalf. Johnny would never meet your Logan and you knew you would never actually see him again. Everyone in the Void was forgotten and there was no escape.

"You worried about Johnny?" Elektra wondered, coming to stand at your side.

You were keeping an eye on the horizon, searching for any sign that Johnny was coming home.

"It's not like him to be gone this long without some kind of message he's okay.

"He's gotten this far, hasn't he?" Elektra pointed out, shooting you a reassuring look. "He'll be fine."

You nodded your head, but didn't budge from your spot.

"You plan on staying out here all night?" Elektra asked.

"If I have to," you admitted with a shrug of your shoulders. "What if he's in trouble?"

"Then you won't be any help to him sleep-deprived," she answered.

"I've had worse," you deflected with a forced grin.

Elektra sighed, but didn't try to dissuade you again.

You had a pair of binoculars Laura had scavenged and you were doing your best to keep an eye on your surroundings. You were surveying a forest when something caught your attention. You focused on the sight, wondering for a moment if Elektra had been right and sleep deprivation was messing with your mind.

You pulled the binoculars away and blinked a few times before looking through them again.

"Ah fuck," you groaned when you realized that what you were seeing was real.

"What's wrong?" Laura asked, startling you.

"Shit," you hissed, nearly dropping the binoculars. You handed them over and pointed towards what previously held your attention. "You see that?"

"Is that--?" Laura cut herself off before shooting you a disbelieving look. "It's him."

"With a Deadpool," you confirmed with a nod of your head.

"We should get them before someone else does," Laura suggested, handing the binoculars back to you.

You hesitated, knowing she was right, but hating the idea of seeing him again.

"I can go alone," Laura offered. You knew she also loved her Logan, but he had been like a father to her up until his final moments. Your Logan had managed to bring you nothing but pain and insecurity.

"No," you told her with a firm shake of your head. Johnny had gone off alone and now it had been almost two days since the last time you saw him. In the Void, that was as good as a death sentence. "I'll go with you."

You let the others know you were off to rescue two new recruits to the resistance and helpfully left out the fact that one of those people was a Logan variant.

Laura led the way and you followed in her tracks. You kept yourself invisible, knowing that if anyone came after Laura, then you could use your presence as a surprise. You had also learned to use your forcefields as a weapon as much as a defense and you were ready if anyone tried to attack.

Once you got to the station wagon, you let yourself become visible again. You slowly approached the car while Laura investigated the clearing for any signs that you might have been followed. You could see the Deadpool variant wrapped up in the seatbelts, but you couldn't help but let your focus stray to Logan.

He was different from your Logan, but seeing his face hurt all the same. Your Logan had taken everything from you and given nothing back except for pain. This Logan was a stranger, but he still brought up familiar feelings. Love and confusion and agony.

"Is he yours?" Laura wondered, finally joining you in your study of Logan.

"No," you assured her. "Mine would've never been caught dead in the yellow suit," you admitted with just the tiniest hint of relief. You never wanted to see your Logan again, but you couldn't help but admit to yourself that didn't mean you never wanted to see any other Logan. You were scared, terrified of the pain he might cause you, but you hadn't been able to let go of the love you held for him. You were sure, even in that moment, that you would love Logan in every universe. It was too bad he wouldn't love you just the same.

Although, you supposed you didn't really have a Logan. You never did, since the one from your universe was never yours in the first place.

Doubt and wariness began to creep in and you started to herd Laura towards the Honda you were half-sure belonged to the Nicepool variant. "You drive," you prompted, opening the passenger door seat and carefully sitting among the wreckage and blood that was practically painted on every surface of the car.

Laura started the car and you glanced over your shoulder, waiting for the two backseat occupants to stir, but they were both still knocked out.

"They really did a number on each other," you muttered, your gaze already back on Logan.

Laura was silent for long enough that you thought she was ignoring you. "It's not your Logan," she reminded you after a couple of minutes. You realized you were still watching him and finally forced yourself to turn around in your seat.

"It's not," you confirmed, studying your hands in your lap. You let them shift in and out of visibility, a nervous habit you had when you were torn between fight and flight.

"Then he's not the one who hurt you," she continued, keeping her focus on the path in front of you.

"He's not the one who saved you," you shot back. The way she looked at this Logan like she was seeing her savior miraculously alive all over again had felt like a punch in the gut. You were both mourning and the source of it had just dropped right back into your lives. "He might be worse," you pointed out.

"He might be better," she argued with a quick glance at you. "He might not even know us."

"Yeah," you sighed, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, silently apologizing for being so defensive. "Eric's right," you conceded with a grimace. "I need to let it go."

"Hard to let something like that go," she allowed with a soft smile at you. She was the only one who knew the full story. Johnny knew most of it and the others knew enough, but Laura had loved her own Logan like family. She knew what it was like to lose him, albeit in a very different way.

When you got back to the hideout, Laura helped free Deadpool while you formed a forcefield around Logan and used it to lift him out of the car. Charles had claimed it was a form of telekinesis, but you always told him you were just controlling the forcefield. Whatever was inside it just happened to move with it. If you dropped the forcefield, then whatever was inside it would fall.

Laura dragged Deadpool inside while you let Logan hover through the air and into the hideout. Laura left Deadpool on the floor, but you were careful with Logan and let him hover just over the bed you used before letting him go.

Laura shot you a bemused look before going to let the others know you had company.

You weren't really sure what to do with yourself, so you settled for pacing from one end of the room to the other. You were halfway across the room when you heard a rustling noise behind you. You half-hoped it was Deadpool waking up, but when you turned around, it was to see Logan squinting up at the ceiling.

You froze, not daring to move a muscle. Logan blinked a few times before he began to sit up. He stopped and then tilted his head up, sniffing the air. You had always found the way he used his enhanced sense of smell adorable, even if no one else did. He suddenly turned and buried his face in your pillow, pulling in deep breaths. He reached up to clutch the pillow in his hand as he sat up, keeping it pressed to his face.

You weren't even really sure what was going on, so by the time he finally lowered the pillow and met your gaze, you were staring at him completely dumbstruck.

Several emotions warred for control on Logan's face when he saw you. Grief, despair, heartbreak, hope, disbelief, and relief. Finally, he seemed to pull them all together into a neutral expression.

"Y/N," he started, taking a step towards you.

You instinctively took a step back. You knew that this Logan wasn't the one who hurt you, but it was hard to let all of that go when someone who looked exactly like your Logan was staring right at you.

"You're alive," he tried again, taking another step, as if he was drawn to you.

"I am," you answered, your hands clenched into fists at your side. You couldn't handle the way Logan was looking at you. He looked at you like you were his whole world. You would have killed to get your Logan to look at you like that. But having it now, from a different Logan, felt equal parts thrilling and unsettling. "Who am I to you?" You asked, needing to know what you were dealing with now. You had assumed maybe you were part of Logan's team in his universe, but he was hopelessly in love with Jean and didn't give a fuck about you. The way he was looking at you told an entirely different story.

"You're--," he started before he looked down at his left hand. You could see a wedding band around his ring finger. "You're my wife," he finally admitted as he balled his hand into a fist. "You were, at least," he added with a grimace. "And me? What am I to you in your universe?"

You didn't know whether to tell the truth or lie. But Logan had always known you way too well and any story you spun would unravel as you told it. "I loved you," you finally confessed. "But you left me for someone else," you continued, noting the way Logan's expression tightened, rage flashing in his eyes.

"Who?" He growled, advancing on you.

It was your biggest shame and worst heartbreak, so you faltered over the name for a moment. But you weren't even in the same universe as her or him anymore and it was time for you to stop running from your pain.

"Jean. He left me for Jean, alright? It didn't matter that I loved him and it didn't matter that we were together. Scott died and Jean needed someone and apparently that couldn't be anyone but him. He told me it was nothing, but I knew. He never looked at me the way you just did. He looked at her like she was the only person he cared about and when he left me for her, I ended up here," you hissed, finally walking towards Logan. "And I bet neither of them ever gave a fuck that I just up and disappeared. So, seeing you now has brought up all the shit he put me through," you snarled, reaching out to push at his shoulder.

"Y/N, I--," he started, reaching out for you. His expression was nearly reverent as he let his hand fall on your shoulder.

"Don't," you said, pushing away from him. "I'm not your wife," you snapped, hating the way his expression closed off and was replaced with that look he got when he was trying not to feel anything at all.

"And I'm not him," he shot back. His gaze drifted to the side and he reached out to grab a bottle of Remy's whiskey. He popped the top off the bottle and took a long swig.

You heard someone groan before you looked over at Deadpool. He brought a hand up to his head and Logan turned to watch him. He took another drink, keeping the bottle close to his chest, as he approached Wade.

"Ugh, what's with the angry bear staring me down?" Wade wondered, finally sitting up. "Also, where the hell are we? Are we about to be skinned and used as decoration for some post-apocalyptic lair?"

"Do you ever shut up?" Logan growled, taking another drink.

You knew it took a lot to get Logan drunk, but at the rate he was going, he would end up there by nightfall.

Deadpool finally scanned the room and noticed you. He got to his feet and pointed a finger at you. "Oh, holy shit. You're Y/N! You're a big part of this guy's tragic backstory, I can tell ya that, so what are you doing here?" Wade reached out to clap a hand to Logan's shoulder and got brushed off.

"That's enough!" Elektra called before walking into the room.

Wade looked shocked to see Elektra, but his eyes went wide at the sight of Blade striding into the room. Gambit then made his entrance before Laura took up the rear of the group.

Introductions went around, before Wade started in on Gambit and his accent. You could tell Remy was reluctantly amused, but he was distracted by something else.

Remy dismissed Wade and focused in on Logan. He shot you a quick, concerned look before he began flipping a card as he studied Logan. "Well, we've never had a Wolverine up in here before. Not sure we've ever wanted one here before," he said with another look at you. "I can tell you now it's just a common courtesy to at least ask before you go drinking up all my liquor."

"It's a good thing I don't give a fuck," Logan responded before taking another drink.

Remy's eyes burned red as he muttered an insult under his breath. He let the card in his hand go, letting it slice the bottle of liquor in half. Glass and whiskey rained down on Logan's boots, but he looked unbothered. He reached out to grab another bottle before pulling the top off and taking a drink.

"Oh, you sure are an asshole, aren't you? I'm starting to see why you hate this one," Remy continued, aiming the last sentence at you.

"You hate him?" Wade asked, whipping his head back and forth, from you to Logan and back again. Wade gasped and turned to point an accusing finger at Logan. "You and you," he pointed to you, "aren't a you in your universe?" He pressed his hands together, letting his fingers interlock. "What'd he do? Was he too busy practicing his brooding in the mirror? He try to slip you a little adamantium surprise in the bedroom? Did he--"

"Shut up," Logan snapped, tightening his grip on the bottle in his hand.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," you admonished Wade.

Wade held his hands up in surrender, but he reached out to put a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, my friend," he consoled before he approached you. He held his arms out as he walked towards you. "Come here, baby bird, and tell Papa Deadpool all about it," he said as he wrapped his arms around you.

"Get your hands off her," Logan growled, unsheathing his claws.

You brought a forcefield up between you and Wade. It was big enough to encompass his chest and abdomen and you used it to forcefully push him back. You slammed him into the wall, easing up, just to slam him into it again.

"Alright, alright," he coughed out, holding his hands up in surrender. "Don't piss off the Invisible Woman, got it," he conceded as you let your forcefield drop.

You rolled your eyes before crossing your arms over your chest. "That's not what they call me." The reminder of Johnny's sister brought up the worry you had for him. "Where the hell did you two come from?"

Wade did most of the talking and explained about the TVA, Cassandra, and their near-miss with Alioth.

"No one's ever made it out of Cassandra's clutches before," Elektra observed with something verging on respect in her tone.

"No one alive," Eric interjected with an unimpressed glare at Deadpool.

"Well, she is quite terrifying and a little grabby," Wade allowed with a nod of his head.

"One of ours has been missing for two days," you told Wade, carefully not looking at Logan. Logan had been watching you the whole time and you knew he was only mourning a ghost, but you hated how much you liked finally having Logan's undivided attention. "His name is Johnny. Did you see him?"

"The little flameball might've made an appearance, sure, but he's not with us," Wade explained with a flippant wave of his hand.

"Yeah, because you fucking got him killed with your big mouth," Logan snapped at Wade.

"Johnny's dead?" You asked, not wanting to believe it. You loved the others like family, but Johnny had practically been a brother to you. Sure, he let his mouth get him in trouble half the time, but he always managed to get himself out of it. "What the hell happened?"

"Cassandra decided she liked his insides on the outside," Wade answered, "because she's a megalomaniacal, psychotic asshole. Johnny’s words, not mine."

"Well, we've all been knowin' that," Remy said, idly shuffling a deck of cards in his hands. "But what're we gonna do about her, huh? She's got an army and we've just got us."

"Look, you've all been forgotten by your universes, but we can still take her if we team up. You got a Magneto here?" Wade questioned, hope in his voice that you knew was about to be crushed.

You moved to sit down at the table while you listened to the conversation carry on. There was a lot happening all at once and you didn’t know how to process any of it. Wade was desperate to get back to his own timeline, but Logan only seemed resigned. You didn't know how to accept the fact that Johnny was dead and you didn't know how to ignore the fact that Logan was still watching you.

When a plan was made to go after Cassandra and use Juggernaut's helmet to block her powers, you reluctantly agreed that it had some merit. If only because you wanted to get any type of revenge on Cassandra that you could to avenge Johnny.

The others were all on board and you knew most of them wanted nothing more than to bring Cassandra down as well. It was a suicide mission for most of you, but you figured if it meant stopping Cassandra and saving someone's universe, even if that someone was Wade Wilson, then it might be worth it.

"I'm in," you found yourself saying.

"Like hell you are," Logan cut in. "You'll just get yourself killed again and I can't--"

"I'm not dead," you pointed out, aware that the others were watching the pair of you. "I'm right here, because I'm not the one you lost."

"Well, I sure as hell don't want to go losing you again. You can't tell me you think this whackjob's plan is actually going to work out? He’s an idiot."

“Sticks and stones,” Wade muttered, rocking on his heels as he looked at Logan. “Sticks and stones.”

"You can do whatever you want," you told Logan, finally standing from your seat at the table. "But I'm going and if I die? Then at least I die doing something that's not just hiding and waiting for my inevitable end. At least I can help someone, even if it's a Deadpool," you said, gesturing towards Wade.

"Thanks?" Wade tried, sounding torn between flattered and insulted.

You didn't give Logan a chance to reply, because you left the room, opting to walk outside to get some distance from him.

Later, you heard from Remy that you were heading out first thing in the morning. You agreed to be ready by then and spent the rest of the evening invisible. You wanted to be alone, but you also hated the idea of losing one last opportunity to talk to Logan, even if he wasn't yours.

He was outside, staring into the fire he started, and steadily drinking Remy's liquor. You approached him as Laura was leaving his side. Even though you were still invisible, she seemed to know you were there, and walked around you.

You stayed a few feet behind him, watching him frown into the fire.

"I know you're there," Logan called out, turning to look over his shoulder. "You were never good at hiding from me."

You let yourself go visible before you continued to walk towards him. "My Logan didn't really give a shit about me, so I guess he knew where to find me, he just didn't care," you observed with a sigh. Having this Logan around was only showing you what you had missed out on in your universe with your Logan. You reached out to grab the bottle from Logan before taking a drink and handing it back. "You know, I wanted nothing more than for him to love me back. But I wasn't enough for him. And he knew, he knew everything I felt for him, but he never felt the same. I was just someone to warm his bed while his thoughts were with someone else."

Logan was quiet for a few moments before he held the bottle back out to you.

"You've made it clear you're not my wife," he started, keeping his gaze on the fire. "But I don't think you get that I'm not him. I see you and, God, I wish I could keep you safe. I wasn't able to save her. I wasn't able to save any of them and it's my fault my team, my family, my wife are all gone. I walked away and they died because of it," he admitted and you could see a tear begin to slip down his cheek. You had never seen your Logan so vulnerable and you didn't know what to do with this one. "I don't want to lose you again. I know you're not her, but I don't want to walk away and know that you died because of it."

"Then don't walk away," you whispered, moving until you were right beside him. You could feel the heat emanating off him and it sent a shiver down your spine. You had felt the chilling sense of isolation for so long that feeling Logan again felt like you were coming back to life.

"I know I wasn't happy to see you," you allowed with a grimace. "But since you got here, you've done nothing but remind me that I could have had what I wanted all along, but I was stuck in the wrong damn universe. And maybe it was possible for my Logan to love me all along and I just wasn't enough."

"Your Logan is a fucking idiot," he growled, finally looking at you. "You're here in this shithole because of him and you're ready to sacrifice yourself for someone you don't even know. He was the one who wasn't good enough. I guess I'm more like him than I would want to be."

You took a chance and reached out to grab Logan's hand. You were both grieving different people and you knew you weren't his wife, but you wanted to offer him comfort all the same. You also couldn't deny that the feeling of Logan's hand in yours felt like a balm for the pain you had been carrying around since falling into the Void.

His hand tightened around yours and you saw some of the tension leave his shoulders.

"You're enough, Logan," you assured him. "And I believe in you," you confessed. "You don't have to go tomorrow, but I'm going to be there. And if this is the last moment I ever get with you, then there's one thing I want to do."

Logan furrowed his brow in confusion before his expression smoothed out into surprise. You had leaned forward, just barely letting your lips brush his, waiting for him to either lean in or push you away.

You waited for a beat longer, sure you were making an idiot of yourself, before you felt Logan's hand at your hip. He pulled you closer, practically into his lap, as he returned the kiss. It was passionate and tender and in turns aggressive and searching. His tongue was twined around yours and his teeth were nipping at your lips and your head was beginning to spin from the rush. Logan let out a whimper and his hand clutched your hip tighter, and you knew you were going to have a bruise there by the next morning, but you didn’t mind that there would be a reminder of this moment.

You reluctantly pulled away, meeting his eyes and noticing how Logan looked like he was ready to drag you back into another kiss.

"Thank you," you whispered, reaching up a hand to brush your thumb over his bottom lip. You let it drag down briefly and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to it. Your Logan had been rough and demanding and uncaring, but the love and want this Logan had poured into the kiss had shown you what it would have been like for the love of your life to love you back. Maybe, with that memory, your death the next day would be a little sweeter.

"Y/N," Logan started, but didn't continue.

You offered him a sad smile and started to stand. "I should try to sleep. I've got a big day tomorrow."

You moved to leave, but Logan reached out and grabbed your hand. He reeled you back towards him, causing you to drop down into his lap, but he caught you by the hips. He wrapped his arms around your waist and trailed his hand up your back before it was resting against the back of your neck. He pulled you down into another kiss, this one just as intense, but less frenzied. Logan kept you in place with just the slightest pressure of his hand on your neck and you let him pour everything he had into it.

By the time you pulled away, you were breathless and speechless, reluctant to leave now that you had another taste of him.

"I'll see you in the morning," Logan promised, finally releasing you from his hold.

It took you while to shake off your daze, but then you realized what he was telling you.

You felt a smile tug at your lips before you got off his lap.

"See you in the morning," you agreed before leaving Logan in search of your bed.

The drive in the Honda Odyssey was cramped, but Wade insisted if it could house an all-night brawl between a Deadpool and a Wolverine, then it would hold the rest of you just fine all the way to Cassandra's lair. And then he started spouting off something about safety features and cup holders and you started to wonder if following his plan had been the dumbest thing you had ever done.

You found yourself sneaking glances at Logan at the rear of the car. He was watching you the whole time and every time your eyes met, a little spark of heat shot through you. Maybe he wasn't your Logan, but he had helped you begin to heal all the same. And now you were starting to fall for an entirely different Logan who was likely leaving the Void while you stayed behind and died to get him out.

Life had never been fair to you, but you hated that it was downright cruel to you as well.

By the time you were arriving at Cassandra’s, you were starting to wonder if there had ever been a happy ending for you in store or if it was just supposed to be one tragedy after another.

You lined up with the others as you faced down Cassandra's henchmen. You could see Azazel popping in and out of view and Psylocke trailing through the crowd. Juggernaut was staring down the group while Toad perched high above, a smirk on his face. There were dozens of them and you had no idea how you were going to pull it off, but even if you did die, at least it was to save someone's universe, even if it wasn't your own.

"You know how long I've been waiting for this? Ooohuee, I'm about to make a name for myself here," Remy boasted, eagerly bouncing on his feet while he began to charge a card.

"I don't think any of you walk away from this," Logan pointed out, sending a quick glance your way.

"You just make sure they know what happened here today," Remy continued, not seeming to care that he was staring death right in the face.

"We'll watch your six," Blade told Logan and Wade. "You get up there and we'll get you that helmet."

Before he could follow Wade, Logan turned to you and pulled you close. He pressed a kiss to your lips, one full of longing and grief. "I don't want to leave you," he murmured into the kiss.

You pulled back to meet his eyes, ignoring the fact that you felt like you were losing him all over again. "What you're fighting for is more important," you told him. "Maybe we'll meet again in another universe."

"Maybe," he agreed before kissing you again.

This one was brief, but it left you wanting more.

You watched Logan follow Wade before you were caught up in the fight between your friends and Cassandra's lackies.

The fight was terrifying, because the stakes were so high. You flickered in and out of visibility as needed and used your forcefields to protect your friends or attack your enemies. You used a forcefield to gather rocks and then propelled it into someone just to turn invisible to avoid someone's knife.

You were exhausted as the battle waged on and you knew that circumstances were beginning to look dire for you and your friends. Most of you were hurt and bleeding, and the fight was beginning to drain out of you.

You got distracted by Laura taking Juggernaut out and managing to get his helmet up to where Logan and Wade were no doubt dealing with Cassandra despite Psylocke intervening. You moved towards them, but you felt a searing pain in your side and you looked down to see the end of Azazel’s tail sticking through your flesh.

He jerked you back towards him and a blade sliced through his tail, freeing you. You were quick to form a forcefield around Azazel before he could escape and you began to press in on the sides, shrinking it down so he had nowhere to go. You could see him trying to teleport out, but it wasn’t working, and a look of panic flashed across his face.

You kept pressing in until his skin started to split and blood began to pour. All at once, you swept the sides in, watching as Azazel was crushed. You let the forcefield go and watched as his remains fell to the ground with a splat.

“You squashed him like a bug,” Eric observed with a nod of his head, cleaning Azazel’s blood off his blade. “Impressive.”

“Thanks,” you smiled at Blade, glancing down at the gash in your side.

“Keep your head,” he warned you just as someone rushed at you. You went invisible and stepped to the side, letting them impale themselves on Eric’s sword.

The battle took twists and turns, but after getting stabbed in the shoulder and nearly losing consciousness when someone hit you on the back of the head, you realized that the bodies were starting to drop, but your friends were still standing.

You figured your victory would be short-lived when the skies began to darken and Alioth showed on the horizon.

“He’s looking for a meal,” Elektra grunted, avoiding a hit to the side before using one of her twin sais to bring someone to their knees. She finished them off with a strike to their neck before she turned to look at the rest of you. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

You were distracted by a portal opening up in the air above you and you looked up in time to see Logan and Wade jumping through it.

Someone grabbed your arm and you instinctively moved to hit them, but you realized it was Elektra.

"Come on!" She yelled over the roar of Alioth and pulled you to cover inside Cassandra's lair.

"That was a close one," Remy said as he helped Blade into the makeshift shelter.

"But they got away," Laura pointed out with a small, satisfied smile.

"And we got to kill the fuckers that've been making our lives hell," Remy added with a grin. "Any of you see that one trick I pulled? I got the cards charged up and then guy went boom."

He looked so pleased with himself that you couldn’t stop the helpless little laugh you let out. The past few days had felt absurd and surreal, and you couldn’t even tell if it was all some fever dream. Maybe Remy had spiked his liquor to keep unsuspecting people out of it and you were currently back in the hideout, riding out one terrifying trip.

But when you twisted to the side, you felt like your side was splitting open all over again and you let out a gasp. Elektra knelt at your side, studying your wound with a frown.

"So, what happens now? Are we just stuck here until we know it's clear? We go back to our hideout and wait forever? Half of us need some kind of medical attention,” she pointed out, searching around her until she found a discarded jacket. She pressed it against your side and you let out a hiss of pain.

"Well, we didn't die, so at least there’s that," you offered with a shrug of your shoulders. "I figure we've earned some retirement. Even if we're still stuck here," you allowed with a wince as you pressed a hand to your shoulder. The wound was deep and still bleeding, but you figured you had suffered worse before. You were going to need stitches and painkillers and some more of Remy’s liquor, but at least you were still breathing.

You weren't sure how long you waited for the storm to pass, but by the time you got back outside, it was already dark. Most of the bodies were gone, consumed by Alioth, and you leaned into Elektra’s side as she helped you navigate the various body parts left behind.

"Think the car will make it back?" Remy wondered, surveying the Odyssey with its crushed sides and flat tires. It was practically drenched in blood and viscera, nearly indistinguishable as a vehicle.

"Why don't you start it up and see?" Eric prompted, looking at Gambit like he thought he was a special kind of stupid. “Maybe we can ride one of your little cards back to the hideout. How far can you throw them?”

"That won't be necessary," a voice interrupted, startling you.

A portal had opened up to your left and a woman had walked through it. She had soldiers behind her who were wearing uniforms with a TVA logo stamped on the right arm.

"Wade Wilson struck a deal for all of you," the woman continued, surveying the group. "It's time for all of you to go home."

“Home?” Remy repeated with a skeptical look at the rest of you. “What if we don’t have a home?”

“Then wherever you’d like to be,” she amended. “With conditions, of course.”

It turned out that Wade and Logan not only saved Wade's universe, but every universe. Cassandra had wanted nothing to exist except for the Void where she reigned and both of them had managed to stop her.

You never considered that your fight with Cassandra’s minions wound end with anything except for your death. You certainly never thought you would have the option to leave the Void.

You definitely didn't want to return home, so you asked if you could stay in Wade's universe. Logan and Laura had opted to stay as well and since your variant had never been born in Wade’s universe, you were welcome to stay. It felt like you were getting the opportunity to carve out the kind of life you wanted all along. One where you knew you would be welcome and wanted without fearing that you would be abandoned for someone else.

Now, you were sitting around a table with Wade's family and the beginnings of a new one for you. Laura was sitting to your left and Logan to your right and you couldn't help but feel like this was where you had belonged all along.

Logan had admitted that he wasn't allowed to try to save the people in his universe, but he wanted to be whatever you needed or wanted him to be in your new one. You knew that was a daunting order for someone like Logan, so you settled for telling him that you wanted to start at the beginning.

You wanted to get to know this Logan, because even though you already loved him, you knew that you wanted a clean slate. One where you weren’t comparing him to your universe’s Logan and one where you gave him every opportunity to show you that he was better. You also didn’t want him to just see the ghost of his wife in you, so you wanted him to get to know you.

You soaked up the love and laughter that flowed through the room and met Logan's gaze. You weren't even surprised to see that he was already watching you. You reached out to grab his hand, delighting in the way he immediately welcomed your touch.

You no longer felt forgotten and hopeless. Everything you had yearned for, fought for, in your old life had quite literally dropped right into your new one and you couldn't have been more grateful for another shot at happiness.

From the way Logan smiled at you and brought your hand up to kiss the back of it, you knew he was just as appreciative at the opportunity to turn his life back around.

"Thank you," you whispered to him, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder.

"Nothing to thank me for," he answered before dropping another kiss on the crowd of your head.

You wanted to argue with him and tell him that he had saved you, but you figured you would tell him later. For now, you were going to enjoy the feeling of belonging you felt and look forward to the fact that there would be a later with Logan.

Edited To Add: I am writing a sequel! It's going to involve Cable (even though he didn't test well) and Logan getting payback on reader's original Wolverine on her behalf and a whole bunch of other fun surprises!! If you want to be tagged, just let me know!

The sequel is HERE for anyone interested!

This is now a whole series! Main post for the series is HERE.

#deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan x reader #deadpool #wolverine #reader insert #marvel #marvel imagine #logan #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #wolverine imagine #x men #my fic #x reader #imagine #marvel x reader #spoilers #when i'm with you i'm home 'verse

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mina-org · 13 days ago

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what if john's wife wasnt so into poly?

tw: murder and kidnapping, bloody

"don't ya remember what I said last time lovie?" all you can do it stare at the man who haunts you, wandering down the halls he should no longer have access to. Your breathing turns rapid as you peek the liquid red ribbons that begin to trickle down the wall.

"We can't let ya go, can't be without our girl, boys have been missin' ya". His voice is devoid of anything trace of emotion, you wondered if this was a mission to him. Your wide eyes are glued to the corpse, his feet at the corner of the bed and as he lifts you up it reveals more and more, you had held hope he'd still survive but that fire is soon put out, your heart dropping and bile builds as you see the aftermath. red liquid piles on the now saturated rug, stained pink.

He stops, instead of tucking you away or covering your eyes, he lets you see it, a warning, letting you soak the scene in and when you pull your eyes away from it, a harsh tug to your hair doesn't let you. he wants you to take in every blood splatter and grey matter smeared against the wall, your lover looks like a rotten mushroom, flesh hanging lose around where bone structure should be.

"not lookin' aye? I reckon I found his brain, surprise enough its not in his ass." his boot kicks the body revealing more cruelty.

"you didn't have to do this." your voice cracks and rasp, desperate to keep the tears at bay but it doesnt do anything good, soon tears slide down your cheeks, you body shudders as it chokes on sobs.

The bun you wore to bed is gathered in his fist, hes able to yank and tug as though he was a puppet master. After you've studied the now concave head and the too many to count stab wounds. His grip soon vanishes and you float out the room, tucked in his arms.

you feel like a traitor as you find yourself seeking out comfort, nestling into the neck of the man who just came into your home and murdered your 2nd chance at love.

"your suppose to be with us, lovie." there it is, the gruff, this hurts me more than it hurts you. "can't let ya think you can do this shit to me, im your husband, til death 'n all that shite, you made a vow to me."

"just count yer self lucky I didnt let simon do this, he was eager to get ya back." your stomach twists at the thought, you'd have to face them, simon was as loyal as a dog to price, you can only dread how his teeth will come down on you and tear you apart.

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cowboybeepboop · 4 months ago

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Crave

"Y/N, is this... what you want?"

Pairing: Sergei Kravinoff x fem! Reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: You’re close friends with the two brothers from childhood, years of a debilitating crush on Sergei finally builds into something more.

a/n: i just saw this movie like a couple days ago and all i can think of is needy virgin Sergei 😣 i didn’t proofread what so ever and also i wrote this in barely any time but i hope you all enjoy AND PLEASE IF YOU HAVE ANY KRAVEN REQUESTS SEND THEM MY WAY IM CRAVING THIS MAN

It's been a few successful days in avoiding the two brothers, you do this every year, like clockwork. Whenever Sergei comes back home, you distract yourself and stay away the best you can. It’s not worth the heartbreak to see him leave over and over again.

Dimitri has been calling you nightly, but each night you can hear the sounds of Sergei in the background. He plagues your thoughts, your dreams, your days. All you can think about is the warmth of his skin under your fingers and the gentleness of his touch.

You shudder as your eyes shut, warmth pooling in your panties as your mind wanders back to him. "Dimitri.. I've gotta go," you murmur into the phone. "I'm going to get some drinks with my friend here soon."

Dimitri replies enthusiastically, agreeing with your choice. He wishes you goodnight and hangs up the phone, leaving you with the image of Sergei's intense gaze, the feel of his muscles under your fingertips, and the lingering warmth in your stomach.

You can't shake the thoughts, the images of him constantly swirling in your head, the way his voice changes when he speaks, the touch of his hands. It haunts your dreams, and you can't help but feel an unexplainable intrigue and a growing desire for him.

You quickly get changed, ready for a night of reckless distraction, desperately seeking a way to forget about the complex hunter. You head out, the cool night air hitting your skin, the music getting louder and louder as you approach the club.

You arrive, and the thumping music and flashing lights engulf you, offering a temporary escape from your thoughts of the man who has been plaguing your mind. Taking in the overwhelming atmosphere of the club, the loud music, the flashing lights, and the sea of bodies, all of it works together to create a sense of chaos and excitement.

Despite the distraction, you can't shake the sensation of being watched, it lingers even as the bouncer returns your ID. Your mind drifts back to Sergei, and the memory of his intense gaze lingers in your thoughts, almost as if you sense his presence somewhere nearby.

You try to shake off the feeling getting a few shots to distract yourself and calm your wandering mind. As time passes, you've found your target: he's a decent-looking man, with a similar haircut to Sergei, a gentle demeanor, and he has a nice smile. He's good enough for what you need him for.

The two of you exit the building, the chill midnight air freezing your skin immediately, the man you're with clutches his jacket tighter. Obviously showing a lack of interest in helping you cover your skin.

Despite being with this man, you still can't entirely shake the feeling of being watched. It lingers, a constant reminder of the man you're trying to forget. Sergei watches from afar, his jaw clenched as he notices your shiver. You whip your head around, looking for the eyes that are following your every move.

You can't see him, but he's still there, standing in the shadow of a dimly lit alleyway. His eyes follow your every move, observing your interactions with the man beside you. His jaw remains tight, his gaze cold and intense.

As you whip around, you catch a glimpse of a figure in the darkness, just beyond the reach of the dim street light. It’s subtle, but the feeling of being observed lingers.

Unfortunately, this night will not be filled with any sort of satisfaction as you notice a group of men dressed in dark clothes, weapons hidden in their pockets. "Fuck." you whisper, using your arms to cover your skin the best you can.

The men approach, their intentions unclear, and the tension in the air is palpable. The cold wind bites at your skin, and you can't help but wrap your arms around yourself, your teeth chatter, and goosebumps rise on your skin, yet you can sense another gaze watching you, fixated, observing your every move.

Before you have time to react Sergei approaches from the shadows, giving the group a warning look as he steps closer to you. The men stop in their tracks, their gazes shifting to the imposing figure stepping out of the darkness.

Their muscles tense, and they exchange hesitant glances as Sergei approaches closer, his presence radiating danger, his piercing eyes fixed on the men in front of you.

His hands are gentle on your shoulder, causing you to jump as you turn to look at him, you immediately relax when you recognize him. Finding comfort in his strong protective arms.

His touch carries reassurance, his big, sturdy hands gently resting on your shoulder, offering a subtle sense of security. His eyes, no matter how cold they seem, convey a flicker of concern, a flicker of reassurance that speaks more than words.

The tension lingers, but the warmth of his touch somehow seems to offer a moment of tranquility, a gentle comfort despite the surrounding danger.

Sergei removes his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders to keep you warm. "I suggest you all disperse, go your separate ways," he warns with narrowed eyes. The men listen, running in different directions, even your date scurries away.

The men disperse hurriedly, leaving you and Sergei standing alone in the cold, the sounds of the night filling the air around you. You shiver, the cold air seeping through your clothing, but the warmth of his jacket offers some comfort, the fabric soft against your skin. The tension in the air is now replaced by a hushed stillness, save for the faint noise from the club behind you.

"You scared away my date.." you whisper, turning to face him while gripping the coat around you tightly.

He stands there, the cold air mixing with his breath, his expression cool and composed, but there's a hint of sincerity in his gaze as he looks at you. His voice, low and measured, responds to your words.

"Your choice in company leaves much to be desired." He watches you, studying your shivering form, seeing how you clutch his jacket tightly for warmth.

"I suppose you're right," you move closer to him, craving the warmth of his skin. "But, I did have a plan for how my Friday night would go." Sergei begins to lead you in the direction of your apartment, his hands gentle on your frame.

He walks beside you, his presence towering above you, his movements deliberate and measured. He remains silent as he guides you towards your apartment.

He glances at you from the corner of his gaze, seeing how you instinctively lean into him, seeking his heat and protection. He can't help but notice the way you grasp his coat, his gaze flickering to your hand gripping the fabric.

Once you reach the building you face him once again, the alcohol mixing with your unwavering horniness as you study his features. "Sergei.." you whisper his name, stomach twisting with desire.

His eyes meet yours, his icy gaze studying your face as you say his name. His eyes flick between yours, the sound of his name causing a subtle reaction in his expression, a flicker of some unknown emotion.

"Yes, Y/N?" His voice is composed but holds a hint of something unfamiliar, something subtle and hard to discern, perhaps an echo of a memory or a flicker of feelings he thought were long-forgotten.

"Don't say my name like that," you whine, your eyebrows furrowing with frustration.

His eyebrows raise slightly with curiosity upon hearing your words, a flicker of confusion crossing his eyes. He studies the frustration in your expression, his gaze softening ever so slightly.

"How else should I say it?" He asks, his voice quiet but measured, a hint of genuine curiosity in his words. Despite his icy demeanor, there's a hint of gentle protectiveness as he looks at you, trying to figure out why the way he said your name made you react with frustration.

You groan, turning away from him, your body aching for his touch. "Forget it, I should get inside. It's cold."

He follows you into the building, the door closing behind you both. The sound of the city seems to fade away, replaced by the stillness of the hallway.

He studies you, noticing your frustrated groan and the way you turn away from him. As you stand there, he can sense your frustration, the unspoken desires still hanging between you two.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" He asks, his voice quiet and measured. He watches you, feeling a pang of curiosity as to why you seemed to grow frustrated at the mere sound of his voice.

You unlock the door to your apartment, the neediness in his tone making your panties soaked. "Sergei..." you practically whine his name, frustrated with the lack of awareness he has of how much he's affecting you.

As you unlock the door, his eyes flick to yours, the slight desperation evident in your voice causing his gaze to soften even further, his eyes fixated on you. He follows you inside the door, his eyes trained on your face.

There's a noticeable pause, a slight shift in the air. He can sense the tension and the subtle emotions hidden beneath your frustration, but he seems unaware of the impact he's having on you.

"Y/N..." He responds gently, his voice carrying a hint of a question, a tinge of hesitance as if he senses something but can't quite tell what.

You squeeze your thighs tightly together, "Don't say it like that.." you gasp, he finally catches on to your behavior. The scent of your arousal fills his nostrils.

He's still for a moment, the realization seems to dawn on him, a subtle shift in his expression, and his eyes widen a bit as he stands there silently. The air feels heavy with your arousal, the scent filling his senses, the realization hitting him like a sudden wave.

He stares at you, his eyes tracing the way you squeeze your thighs together, trying to hide the visible effect he's having on you.

"Like what?" He asks quietly, his voice low, as if he knows the answer, but needs your confirmation. His eyes remain fixated on you, taking in every tiny movement, every little sign of your arousal.

There's a flicker of something in his eyes, a hint of a realization that he may be the cause of your frustration.

"I can't.." you sigh, reaching out to touch his firm abs, "The way you're saying my name.. it turns me on." you press your face into his chest, craving his touch.

A shiver runs through his body at your words, the touch of your hand against his abs, and the way you press your face to his chest. He seems to tense up for a moment, caught off guard by your words and the way you press against him.

He stands there, still trying to process your admission, his expression unreadable, his eyes fixed on you as you nuzzle against him, the tension between you almost palpable.

"Sergei.. Say something, anything.." you murmur, pulling away from him reluctantly.

His breath catches in his throat, and his chest heaves as he stares down at you, the scent of your arousal flooding his senses. He's silent for a moment, still trying to comprehend the effect he has on you, his heart beats a bit faster, and his words seem to get stuck in his throat.

"Y/N..." He murmurs softly, almost hesitantly, his voice carrying a slight tremble as he tries to choose the right words amidst his unexpected arousal.

You take his hand in yours, leading it towards your aching cunt. "Sergei.. please.."

His eyes widen slightly at the gentle touch of your hand, his breath is sharp as he feels the soft heat of your body. His fingers tense as you lead his hand, a mix of bewilderment and arousal coursing through him. He follows your lead, his touch gentle as he moves as you guide him.

"Y/N.." He exhales, his voice low and gravelly, his eyes holding a hint of uncertainty as he looks at you, his gaze flickering between your face and his hand as you guide it to where you need it most.

You moan as his fingers brush over the growing wet spot, your body shaking with anticipation.

He can feel the heat of your arousal through your clothes, a shiver runs through his body, goosebumps rise on his skin, and his eyes hold a mix of surprise and a subtle hunger. His touch lingers for a moment, his fingers just tracing the growing wetness, his voice wavering as he speaks.

He swallows hard, his words still hesitant, a breathless tone to his voice. "I don't know what... I'm doing..."

You guide his hand under the fabric of your panties, silently begging him to please you, to take control. You're too far gone to process the words he murmured, lust clouding your mind.

He takes a deep breath as his fingers move under the fabric of your panties, the touch sending a bolt of electricity through him, his whole body seems to shudder at the sensation. His eyes hold a mix of uncertainty and a sudden surge of arousal as he tries to understand what he's feeling.

"Y/N, is this... what you want?" He asks, his voice hoarse as he speaks, his other hand gripping your waist, his fingers holding onto you needily despite his uncertainty.

"Yes… Yes please," you whine, fingers pressing into his as you guide his movements against your clit.

His breath catches as you guide his fingers, a low, almost guttural groan escaping him, his fingers press into you, trying to find the right rhythm. His grip on your waist tightens slightly, his body pressed closer to you.

"Like this?" He asks almost hesitantly, his words coming out in a rush, the tension between you both rising by the second.

You moan desperately, body shuddering as his rough fingers tease your swollen pearl. "Exactly like this.." your breathing becomes uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He can feel the effect his touch has on you, the sounds that escape you pushing him forward, the feeling of you responding to his touch. His breathing grows heavier, and his hand moves between your thighs, fingers pressing and teasing exactly as you guide him, a surge of arousal coursing through him at your sounds.

"I want to make you feel good, Y/N," he whispers, his voice low and gravelly, filled with a growing hunger, but still a hint of uncertainty, as if he's not entirely sure of what to do.

Your moans become more needy, using your free hand you pull his face to yours desperately kissing him. Your legs tremble as you cum, your nails digging into his back as your thighs clench around his arm.

The suddenness of your kiss catches him off guard, his lips respond to yours urgently, a mixture of hunger and a subtle hesitancy in his movements. As you moan and tremble, he can feel it in every inch of his body, his own arousal growing at the sound of your pleasure.

He kisses you back with a mix of need and an undeniable arousal, his strong arm holding you tightly against him. He can sense the tension breaking, your nails gripping tightly to him, your body pressing desperately into his touch, the heat and the taste of your lips driving him wild.

You shudder, leaning forward and pressing a few soft kisses into his neck as all the tension leaves you. "Fuck, Sergei.. so good.." you murmur, eyes fluttering shut as you slide your fingers over the marks you left on his back, gently soothing the reddened scratches.

He moans softly as you press kisses against his neck, a low, pleased rumble escaping his chest. He pulls you closer against him, his body pressed flush with yours as he wraps his arms around you. A mix of feelings swirling within him, uncertainty and hunger, his breath coming out in shallow gasps.

His grip on you tightens slightly, holding you in place as you soothe the scratches you left behind, a subtle shiver running down his spine as your fingers graze over the marks. His heart pounds furiously in his chest, his body responding to every touch and every sound you make.

You slip out of his grasp, leading him to your bedroom as you slide out of your dress, standing in front of him in just your panties and bra. "I need you.." you whisper, eyes full of desire.

He follows you to the bedroom, his eyes scanning your body as you slip out of your dress, his gaze dark and intense as he takes in your form. His heart beats furiously in his chest, the hunger growing inside him, a mix of desire and uncertainty as his eyes roam over you.

A low, quiet moan escapes him, his voice hoarse and filled with longing as he responds to your words. "I need you too, Y/N, I'm just unsure.. I've never..." He hesitates, his eyes filled with a combination of uncertainty and a growing hunger that he can no longer deny.

"It's all instincts," you murmur, bringing his hands to your breasts. "I can teach you... but just do what feels right." you brush your thumb over his cheekbone.

He swallows hard at your words, his eyes fixed on your form as his hands move to your breasts, a mix of uncertainty and a growing hunger filling him. As his palms cup your chest, he exhales deeply, his breath catching in his throat. He nods in response to your words, his eyes searching for guidance as he looks into yours.

You reach back and unclasp your bra, freeing your chest to his hungry gaze, sliding out of your underwear and moving to undress him.

A low growl escapes his throat, his eyes fixed on your chest, his gaze filled with hunger and a growing need. He can feel the anticipation coursing through him, his breath catching as you undress him, his heart beating thunderously in his chest.

He can't help but respond to your touch, his body is eager for your guidance. As you move to undress him, his eyes linger on you, taking in every little detail as his mind seems to be clouded by arousal, a mix of lust and an unfamiliar sensation he can't quite name.

He slowly lowers himself onto his knees, his gaze dark and lustful as he stares up at you. Sergei presses wet kisses onto your thighs, the scent of your cunt making his eyes roll back as he spreads your legs.

There's a mix of hunger and anticipation in his eyes as he drops to his knees before you, his gaze intense and dark with a growing desire, his hands caressing your thighs. As his kisses travel along your thighs, his breathing grows heavier, his eyes rolling back as he takes in the scent of your desires.

He looks up at you, a mix of hunger and a subtle uncertainty in his gaze as he runs his tongue along your inner thigh, his movements gentle as if he's trying to gauge your reaction, to figure out what to do.

Your legs spread wider, giving him room to bury his face into your soaking pussy. He sticks his tongue out, slowly licking up your wetness, and his hands grasp onto your hipbones pulling you closer.

He can feel the warmth and wetness against his lips, and his tongue flickers over your sensitive flesh, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His grip on your hipbones tightens, pulling you closer to him, his fingers pressing into your smooth flesh.

“Fuck..” you moan eyes fluttering shut as you lurch forward, his tongue slips into your pulsing hole, lapping up every liquid. Your hips instinctively begin to move against his mouth, grinding against his stubble.

His eyes are trained on your face, watching every bit of pleasure wash over you. His mouth moves to your clit, his tongue gently brushing over the sensitive bud causing you to jolt and let out a needy moan.

“Right there, jus’ like that..” you whine, fingers twisting in his hair as moans fall from your open mouth. He does as you instruct, his lips wrapping around your clit, his tongue teasing it roughly as his hunger grows.

You let out a gasp, eyes rolling back in your head as you tremble, legs growing weak. Sergei holds your body up his mouth working against you as he chases your orgasm.

Tears brim your eyes as the pleasure overwhelms you, with a loud moan you finally let go, cum spilling from you as you press onto his face trying to pull him away from your overly sensitive clit.

He keeps lapping up at the liquids, hungry for more. “Sergei.. no more..” you whine, shaking above him.

His face is glazed as he stands up, he can taste you on his lips, the hunger in his eyes still evident. He stands before you, his eyes filled with lust and a mix of newfound confidence. He looks you up and down, his eyes lingering on your trembling form as he holds onto you, trying to steady you.

You pull him into another hungry kiss, feeling his hands explore your body as he palms your breasts. His fingers tweaking your nipples as he sits on the edge of the bed, pulling you onto his lap.

He responds to your kiss with urgency and need, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every curve and contour, tracing over your skin with a kind of hunger and reverence. He sits on the edge of the bed, pulling you onto his lap, his grip firmer now, his own need and hunger growing more intense.

He breaks the kiss, his breath heavy as he looks into your eyes, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and a hint of something more, a feeling that he can't quite comprehend.

“You’re so hard..” you murmur, feeling his clothed length pressing into your wet cunt.

He moans softly at the feeling, his breath catches as you speak, and a low growl escapes him as he responds. "You... do this to me." His voice is low, his hands gripping your hips firmly, guiding you closer to him. "I can't control this... this feeling. I need you..." He admits, the sensations coursing through him overwhelming, his body responding to your proximity to him.

You begin to slowly move your hips against his, shaking as the roughness of the fabric brushes over your overstimulated clit. "Then take me.." you whisper into his ear, kissing and nipping at his neck.

He growls softly, his breath catches in his throat as you move against him, his senses flooding with sensations, his breathing is shallow, and his hands tighten on your hips. His eyes burn with hunger, his body moving in unison with yours. "I don't know if I can be gentle, Y/N," he whispers, his voice hoarse and desperate, "I need you. Now."

With trembling hands, Sergei guides you back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He can't ignore the need pounding through him, but he's cautious, knowing this is new to him. He carefully positions himself over you, his large hands supporting his weight as he aligns his cock with your entrance.

His eyes flicker with uncertainty, but the heat in them is unmistakable. "Y/N, are you sure?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. You nod eagerly, your body arching up to meet his. He takes a deep breath, and with one swift, gentle thrust, he enters you, filling you completely.

His eyes squeeze shut tightly as he feels you stretch around him, his whole body shaking with the effort to hold back his desire. He's so thick, so warm, and the sensation sends a new wave of pleasure through your core.

"So good," he murmurs against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he starts to move, his hips tentatively pushing in and out. His inexperience is evident in his careful movements, but the need in his touch, the way his body responds to yours, is undeniably erotic.

You wrap your legs around him, urging him to go deeper, and he responds, his strokes becoming more confident as he finds a rhythm that has you both panting and moaning in sync. Despite his lack of experience, his instincts guide him, and every touch, every stroke feels like it was designed to make you lose control.

His gentle, yet firm grip on your hips, the way he kisses and nips at your neck, it's all too much, and you can feel another orgasm building, threatening to shatter you apart. "Y/N... I'm... I'm going to... " he stammers, his body tensing as he nears his release.

With a final, deep thrust, he fills you with his stringy thick cum, his body collapsing on top of yours, his breath hot against your neck. He reaches down to your clit, brushing his forefinger over it desperate to make you cum again.

A few more strokes cause you to shudder and tremble around his, your pussy clenching around his cock as you cum. “Holy shit.. you’re so good,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his hungrily.

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hauntnseek · 6 months ago

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"The Haunted Forest - A Confrontation with the Past"

In this haunting scene, Dex is forced to face the consequences of his darkest actions. Chompy, the dog he once loved and then murdered, returns in a twisted form, summoning demons that are disturbing representations of his own daughter. Set in the very forest where Dex used to walk Chompy, this encounter is a terrifying blend of guilt, grief, and surreal horror. Every step brings Dex closer to the truth—and further into his own personal hell. Can you survive this emotional and terrifying reckoning in Haunt N' Seek: Silent Siren VR? https://hauntnnseek.com

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ovaryacted · 4 months ago

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JAGGED EDGE

─ QZ Joel Miller x f! reader || WC: 900

CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. Age gap implied. Possible dub-con. Rough sex. Degradation. Dom! Joel. Dom/sub elements. Hair pulling. Daddy kink. Joel is a meanie & a big scary man. Ambiguous/toxic relationship.

A/N: This is literally something I wrote and typed out based off of this singular picture that was shown to me. I had to do this, for the people! Proofread by moi.

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

Joel was pissed.

Coming back to the QZ with less supplies than he’d like had him on edge, a shit deal led to two less bullets in the magazine of his gun. A waste of his time, a waste of his energy and whatever fucking else he managed to have left in this dying world.

The parasitic things around him continue to take, and take, and take until he’s a dog fighting for scraps again. He’s already worked for the current rations he has, bribed or killed for the rest, did whatever he had to do just to get by and ignore the stench of rotting bodies he has to dig up and burn. He’s already dealing with enough, he doesn’t need to lose any more of what he had.

At least he had you.

Steady. Solid. Real. The only constant in his world, something so tucked away from other people's grasp they couldn’t tell the difference between their Joel and your Joel. He holds you at arm’s length, just close enough to let you touch him, but far enough to consider you an outsider, another survivor amongst the rest of the poor unfortunate souls that seek purpose with death creeping around every corner.

Though the moments where he grants you closeness, you don’t take it for granted.

Pliant. Malleable. All for him to have and to hold. You’ve come to learn that Joel was a naturally rough man, all of him was. You can’t blame him, he was a product of the losses that haunts him in his nightmares, slowly chipping away at his wavering humanity one death at a time. A predator with razor sharp teeth containing a bite full of jagged edges. You just happened to fit the role of his prey, a lamb that has ventured too far from the herd, ensnared in his grip with no way out. Not that you’d ever want to leave.

His molars grind in his mouth as he growls from behind you, the pistoning of his hips filling the dingy apartment with an audible slap of skin. Large hands kept you pinned by the neck underneath him against the tattered mattress, your nails digging into the comforter as Joel pummeled into the arch of your back. Every brutal thrust he gave you sent you inching higher up on the bed, spine curved to keep your ass high in the air, right where he could see you at your best.

The glistening skin of your pussy wrapped tight around him, clutching at his cock every time he slipped out just to punch back into you with a snarl, your body wishing to keep him inside for as long as he allowed. His heavy balls slammed into your pulsing nub with each resounding drill of his hips, amplifying the sensations and sending you closer to your impending release.

Joel fucks without mercy, his touch as ragged as the rest of him. But this was your Joel, and you loved him in any way he came, in any way he’d allow. After all, you weren’t given any other option.

“Joel, please…” your gasp was followed by a moan, eyes rolling to the back of your skull when the tip of his length kissed your cervix with precision. You shrieked as your head was quickly yanked backward, thick digits pulling on the strands of your hair, now wrapped around an iron fist.

“Please what, hm? What does my fucking slut need from me this time?” He bit harshly beside your ear, the tone of his sharp voice forcing your walls to clench around him.

“I need to cum,” you cried out meekly, his unforgiving pace had your eyes fluttering, wishing you could look at Joel at this angle, but he wouldn’t let you get more than what he decided was enough. He tugged at your head harder, the pain rushing to your sensitive nub between your thighs, throbbing from his intensity.

“What you need is to take what I give you. You fucking got that?” Joel muttered next to your temple, your heart pounding in your ribcage at his command.

“Yes.” Another forceful jerk to his body made you jolt, deepening the curve of your back.

“Yes what?” The gears in your head began to turn, finding the right words in the back of your mind to avoid pissing him off any further.

“Yes daddy.”

He slams you back down to the mattress with a groan, grabbing hold of your hips and fucking into you with such force you know you’ll be left with an ache in your pelvis afterwards. You know he doesn’t mean to be so aggressive, that’s just who he is, it’s within his nature. You understand him despite others viewing him as anything but human. A man with so much blood on his hands shouldn’t have the ability to make you cry for him, to make your body sing and crave him when he deserves nothing of the sort.

Yet when the textured tips of his fingers reach your slick pearl to circle it with intention, sparks fly under your eyelids and you spill around him with a loud wail of his name, tears stinging the corner of your eyes as you fall apart. You’d consider it an act of kindness on his end, the only time you’d ever think the man, or any man, touched you with such reverence.

He’s rough all around, but perhaps you’ve always liked them that way.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedrohub #ovaryacted drabbles #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

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iraot · 3 months ago

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Word Count: 13,138 Content Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, M/M sex, M/F/M sex, knotting, rough sex, copious amounts of body fluids, primal behavior, oral ( m & f receiving ), sex with strangers, no protection, breeding, creampie(s), A/N: I worked on this like non-stop for two days, probably should have slept more but I wanted to finish this so bad before I have to go back to work tomorrow. I don't really have time to write during work days, so I hope this sates everyone who reads it :3 Also thank you to @hyyih for being my beta and correcting my atrocious grammar. ao3 link

Beneath the sleek exterior of the website, Heat Haven was not a Dating Site. It was a lifeline for Omegas in desperate need, with suppressants hard to get due to political upheaval (they wanted more omegas to breed since the population of Alphas was dwindling). The platform bills itself as a "discreet, sophisticated service for Omega-Alphas seeking biological compatibility," but everyone knew what it was: the most reliable way to find someone to fuck an omega through one of the most delirious moments of her life— her heat.

No coy euphemisms. No prose or fake wining and dining or promises of long walks in the park ruminating about shared dreams of the future. Heat Haven catered to primality. It was about survival, desire and need.

The homepage was clean soft gradients of blue and light Grey giving it a calming effect to soothe an omega's frazzled nerves. "find relief, find safety, find who you need." — floated over the serene image of an omega half curled into a bed with her nest surrounding her.

Once logged in, the interface told a different story. This wasn't a place for purity; it was raw, brutal and a little thrilling in its honesty. The Users profiles featured key details like "Rut Status", "Knot Size Preference" and a graphic "Pheromone Match Rating" system that calculated compatibility based on submitted scent samples. Uploading your heat cycle schedule was an optional feature, but highly recommended especially for those Omegas who preferred to line up potential partners before their bodies turned them into a mess of slick and reduced them to a needy fevered haze.

And the reviews? Oh, the reviews. Each Alpha profile came loaded with ratings and detailed feedback from past hookups.

"Knotted me so hard I couldn't walk for two days, 10/10." "Not rough enough, felt like he wasn't committed; Beta? 3/10" But the Omegas left reviews too, their profiles a haunting combination of raw vulnerability and primal sexuality. Alphas could make their own requests, "Experienced Omegas only, no first-timers." whereas Omegas could also leave demands. "Breed me, knot me, leave - no games."

It wasn’t uncommon for pictures of their time to be uploaded; explicit heat photos, glossy-eyes and cock drunk expressions on their faces, a blatant challenge for Alphas who scroll the site hunting for that exact kind of submission.

She was desperate. Her heat was closing in fast just a couple of days now and the clinic had run out of suppressants. Fifteen fucking days until the end of the month, and they couldn’t keep stock? It was her first heat in eight long months, and the thought of facing it unprepared made her stomach twist. If she thought she could tough it out alone, maybe she’d lock herself in a padded room and try to sweat it out. But she wasn’t naive. She knew what would happen if she tried. Going her whole heat without even one knot wasn’t just miserable—it was dangerous.

The slick was the issue.

Without it, an Alpha could spiral. Too many ruts without an Omega’s slick, and they risked going feral—a state that was as ugly as it sounded. And Omegas? They weren’t any better off. Her body wouldn’t just let her skip a heat out of convenience. No, her heat would stretch on, lasting days longer than usual, until her body got what it was biologically screaming for.

An Alpha’s scent.

An Alpha’s knot.

She shuddered at the thought, scrolling over her Heat Haven profile as she fought off memories of the last time. It hadn’t been great. The Alpha had been too rough, angry even, and she left the encounter sore in ways that weren’t satisfying or cathartic. It was enough to make her hesitant now, her finger hovering over the keyboard as she considered her options. Sure, she could try to find someone outside the site, but the odds of getting a decent Alpha without going through Heat Haven’s vetting process?

Not worth the gamble.

She sighed, resigned, and got to work tweaking her profile.

First, she added a few selfies. Nothing too risqué, but enough to grab attention. Heat Haven had a brutal marketplace vibe, and standing out was half the battle. If she didn’t look good, she wouldn’t get offers worth accepting.

Next, she updated her heat schedule to reflect the urgency. Imminent. That single word was often enough to draw in Alphas who got off on that raw, fevered desperation. And fine, maybe she was desperate, but that didn’t mean she was throwing away all her standards. She added a note: Willing to host. That was non-negotiable. She didn’t trust some Alpha to throw together a decent nest for her. It would be her nest, with her blankets, her scent, her comforts. At least then she wouldn’t be starving on some bachelor’s floor because the idiot forgot to stock more than protein bars.

Lastly, she hesitated over the relationship status filter. Did it matter? Did she care if the Alpha was single, mated, or just some guy looking to scratch an itch? No. She deleted the filter entirely. If an Alpha could do his job—get her through her heat safely and satisfyingly, she didn’t give a shit if he had a partner at home or not.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the profile for a long minute. It was all there. The pictures, the urgency, the note about her nest. It wasn’t flashy, but it was honest. And with her heat bearing down on her, she didn’t have time to overthink it. Her body was already starting to turn against her, the low, dull ache in her core an unwelcome reminder of what was coming.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long for her profile to start attracting attention. It never did. She was careful to present herself well—clear, direct, and unashamed of what she needed. But as the site gained traction in recent years, it had drawn in more users, including some real risks. A lot of Omegas still hesitated to trust it, worried about whether it could really protect them from predators or clueless Alphas with no sense of boundaries.

What those idiots failed to understand, though, was just how dangerous a scorned Omega could be. Ever heard the saying, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?" Well, multiply that by a thousand, throw in heat pheromones, and give her the instincts of a pissed-off wolf. There were Alphas who’d learned that lesson the hard way—leaving her nest unsatisfied, trying to push boundaries, or outright being reckless. She wasn’t the type to let herself get walked all over. Not ever again.

Her inbox lit up with notifications, the scent-matching algorithm already doing its work. Most of the messages were what she expected: blunt, one-line propositions from desperate Alphas or sleazy attempts at charm. But one message stood out.

A pair.

[AbyssalFlame Messaged You]

It wasn’t uncommon for Alpha-Beta pairs to search for an Omega together. In fact, it had its appeal. A Beta could temper an Alpha’s rougher edges, bringing a kind of balance that made the entire experience smoother for everyone involved. They weren’t just caretakers, though many played that role instinctively. Betas had their own unique place in the throes of biologically driven passion—they weren’t immune to the pheromonal intensity that heat and rut created, and sometimes, they heightened it.

Her eyes flicked to the profile. The Alpha was named Sylus and his presence practically leapt off the screen even through a few lines of text. His profile picture was classic Alpha energy—broad shoulders, a sharp jawline, and a smirk that teetered somewhere between cocky and inviting. His description was just as straightforward: Alpha, mid-rut control certified. Looking for an Omega who values stamina and strength. Knot-friendly, non-aggressive but firm when needed. Paired with a Beta to ensure complete heat care.

Then there was Rafayel, the Beta, who looked like he’d walked out of a painting. His features were softer, more refined, and he had a kind of calm confidence that balanced out Sylus’s intensity. His profile hinted at a creative streak—he was an artist, apparently, with an obsession for oceanic landscapes. He’d added a personal note to the profile: Betas don’t just pour water on the fire; sometimes we fan it. I’ll make sure your nest stays in one piece and you’re never left wanting.

She felt a flicker of intrigue, despite herself. An Alpha-Beta pair wasn’t something she usually considered, but Sylus and Rafayel didn’t come across as your average duo. They’d clearly put effort into their profile, making it known they’d respect her boundaries but wouldn’t shy away from giving her what she needed. And right now? That was sounding more appealing than sifting through a pile of overeager Alphas who barely understood how to handle a heat.

Her thumb hovered over the reply button, her thoughts racing as she reread the message. It wasn’t particularly long or flowery, but it was direct and straight to the point. Sylus had written it, though it was signed with both their names. That little detail made her pause. Most Alpha-Beta pairs that messaged her on Heat Haven usually didn’t bother with that level of coordination—it was always one taking the lead and the other fading into the background. But here, Sylus and Rafayel were clearly presenting themselves as a unit. That alone gave them an edge over the sea of poorly thought-out messages clogging her inbox.

The message read:

"Saw your profile—noticed you’re looking to host and have your nest set up. That’s a good call. I’m Sylus, and this is Rafayel, my Beta. We’ve got experience with Omega care, and we make a good team for heats. You’ll get my focus, strength, and stamina, and Rafayel’s here to keep things balanced and make sure everything stays smooth. If you want to talk specifics or see our heat-session reviews, we can share them. Your profile caught our eye, and we’d like to help. Heat’s a hard thing to face alone. Let us know."

It wasn’t pushy. There were no assumptions, no condescending overconfidence. They didn’t jump right into over-the-top promises of how great Sylus’s knot would feel or how Rafayel could pamper her in the aftermath. Just a straightforward offer, clear boundaries, and a hint of experience without coming off cocky.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at their profile pictures again. Sylus’s eyes practically burned through the screen, that quiet Alpha intensity impossible to miss. Meanwhile, Rafayel’s smile was disarmingly calm, his body language radiating an effortless kind of reassurance. They balanced each other out in ways that felt… solid. Reliable. Like they actually knew what they were doing and wouldn’t treat her heat like some glorified hookup.

Still, she hesitated.

Her last experience had left her wary—an overly aggressive Alpha with a nasty temper and no self-control, who’d turned her carefully constructed nest into a disaster zone. She had promised herself after that she wouldn’t rush into another arrangement, no matter how desperate her heat made her. And it was coming—oh, it was coming. Her body was already betraying her, the dull ache in her core growing worse with every hour. The pre-heat signs were undeniable: the way her skin prickled, the way her scent was shifting, growing sweeter and thicker in anticipation. She had maybe two days, tops, before she’d be too far gone to make rational decisions.

Sylus and Rafayel’s offer felt safe, or as safe as anything could feel in a situation like this. They weren’t asking her to give up control, and they seemed to respect her autonomy. That mattered. She wasn’t about to let some Alpha waltz in and try to dominate her on his terms. This is my heat, she thought, her lips pressing into a firm line. I decide how it goes.

But there was a nagging curiosity in the back of her mind, too. What would it actually feel like to have both an Alpha and a Beta tending to her? Most Omegas swore by it, claiming the dual dynamic was unmatched for heat care. The Alpha for the primal need—his knot, his pheromones, the raw power she’d crave when the heat really hit. And the Beta for emotional steadiness, the touch that wasn’t purely driven by instinct but by deliberate, soothing care. It wasn’t just about survival—it was about satisfaction. Fulfillment.

She inhaled sharply, the ache in her belly flaring at the thought. Fine. She wasn’t going to overthink this anymore. Heat wasn’t the time for overanalyzing.

Her fingers moved quickly over the keyboard.

"Thanks for the message. I appreciate how straightforward you both are. Hosting’s a non-negotiable for me—I need my nest and my space. If that works for you, I’m open to discussing specifics. I’ll need to see both of your certifications and heat-session reviews before we finalize anything. My heat’s imminent, so we’ll need to arrange this quickly. Let me know if you’re still interested."

She hit send before she could second-guess herself. The knot of tension in her chest eased slightly, though the low hum of anticipation in her body only seemed to grow stronger.

It didn’t take long for them to reply. The little notification popped up less than ten minutes later.

[AbyssalFlame]: "Absolutely still interested. Hosting’s not an issue. I’ll send our documents and reviews now—you’ll see everything’s in order. Let us know what else you need. Timing-wise, we’re flexible. Rafayel’s great at helping prep nests if you want assistance before things kick in."

She clicked on the attachment they sent. Their certifications checked out: Sylus was mid-rut control certified, exactly as his profile said, and Rafayel had completed Omega care training. Their reviews? Impressive.

"Sylus is all raw strength, but never loses control. Knotted me exactly how I needed and left me feeling satisfied in ways I can’t even describe. Rafayel was a dream—he kept me hydrated, helped me recover between sessions, and his scent was so grounding."

The perfect balance of Alpha and Beta energy. I was nervous about trying a pair for my heat, but they exceeded my expectations completely. I didn’t even think about the time passing—I just felt cared for the entire time."

"Knots for days. Rafayel’s hands are magic. Enough said."

She found herself smiling faintly, despite the heat rising in her cheeks. Maybe...just maybe this wasn’t a bad idea after all.

She sat back, chewing her lip as she scrolled through their reviews again, feeling her body responding against her will. The detailed accounts stirred something deep in her gut, fanning that slow-growing burn of her pre-heat. Her scent thickened in the room, sweet and heady, and she cursed under her breath. Get it together, she thought, shaking her head like she could somehow shake the heat away with it. But it wasn’t going anywhere. It was crawling up her spine, tugging at her insides, leaving her restless and far too aware of her body’s needs.

Sylus and Rafayel had their shit together, though. That much was obvious. The certifications, the reviews, the way they handled her concerns without a single ounce of pushback—it was all enough to calm her nerves, even if her instincts were screaming at her to move faster. The truth was, she didn’t have time to be overly picky. Her heat wasn’t going to wait for her to deliberate like this. And from the way her core throbbed every time her thoughts wandered to their message, her body had already made its decision.

Before she could overthink it, she fired off another reply.

"Everything looks good on your end. Let’s lock this in. My heat’s going to hit in about 48 hours, so I’ll need you both here tomorrow evening to prepare. Bring anything you might need—supplies, clothes, whatever—but understand this: my nest is sacred. Don’t mess with it. You can add to it, but nothing gets taken out or moved. If that’s clear, then we’re good to go."

She stared at the message for a moment, her thumb hovering over the send button. It wasn’t exactly warm, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t here to make friends. This was about getting through her heat without losing her mind or her dignity.

She hit send.

The response came almost immediately.

[AbyssalFlame]: Understood. We’ll respect your space. We’ll bring supplies and anything else you might need. See you tomorrow evening—looking forward to meeting you."

Her stomach twisted, a mix of nerves and anticipation settling there as she set her phone down. It was done. She had a plan, and if everything went smoothly, this would be just what she needed to survive the week. Still, the idea of having two strangers in her space, her nest of all places, made her uneasy. An Alpha and a Beta. Sylus, with his smoldering, intense energy, and Rafayel, with his disarmingly calm demeanor.

She wasn’t sure which one unnerved her more.

The next evening came faster than she expected. She spent most of the day distracted, her body increasingly betraying her as the hours ticked by. The ache low in her belly was no longer subtle, and her slick had started to come in spurts, her underwear damp enough to force her into constant wardrobe changes. She was grumpy and restless, her nerves shot, as she fussed over her nest for the hundredth time, rearranging blankets and pillows that didn’t even need rearranging.

When the knock finally came, her heart jumped into her throat. She froze, her hands gripping a blanket as her instincts flared. Her scent spiked, sweet and thick and impossible to ignore. She hated how obvious it was—how they’d smell her the moment the door opened and knew she was close to breaking.

She forced herself to move, smoothing her shirt as she made her way to the door. Taking a deep breath, she opened it.

Sylus stood in front, and she immediately understood why so many of his reviews had described him as "intense." He was tall, a lot taller than she expected – and broad, his presence radiating that distinct Alpha energy that practically demanded attention. His hair was white—she’d seen it in the pictures but she supposed it still shocked her , like he’d run a hand through it on the way over, and his sharp jawline made her swallow hard. His crimson eyes locked onto her instantly, and the way his nostrils flared as he took in her scent sent a shiver straight through her.

Behind him, Rafayel was the perfect counterbalance. Softer, leaner, but no less confident. His ocean-blue eyes with a shimmer of red or purple hues held hers for just a second before flicking to Sylus, as if silently checking in with him. His calm smile, paired with his easy stance, was disarming in a way that made her chest tighten. He carried a bag slung over one shoulder, and she caught a glimpse of supplies—water bottles, snacks, extra blankets.

He’d come prepared.

“Hi,” Sylus said, his voice low and steady, though she didn’t miss the slight rasp to it. His rut wasn’t far off, she realized, it seemed they were on the same page on that front. Not bad enough to lose control, but close enough that the edge was there.

She could practically feel it.

“Hi,” she said back, stepping aside to let them in.

Rafayel was the first to move, giving her a small nod as he walked past. “Nice setup,” he said, glancing around her apartment before setting the bag down near the edge of her nest. “We’ll stick to this area unless you tell us otherwise.”

Sylus followed him inside, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned to scan the room. “Your scent is already thick,” he murmured, his voice low enough that it was almost a growl. “You’re close.”

She crossed her arms, both annoyed and embarrassed by how easily he could read her.

“I know,” she snapped, before softening just slightly. “That’s why you’re here.”

Sylus’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk, and for a split second, she thought he might say something cocky. But Rafayel cut in before he could.

“Let’s get things set up,” Rafayel said smoothly, his tone so calm it was almost soothing. He crouched near her nest, carefully setting out a few items from the bag—water, nutrient bars, extra towels. He didn’t touch anything in her nest itself, just added to the edges, respecting her space exactly like she’d demanded.

Sylus, meanwhile, stood back, watching her with that same sharp focus. “We’ll take care of you,” he said simply, his voice soft but firm.

The words sent a shiver through her, and she hated how much she wanted to believe him. But as the first real wave of her heat hit, her knees threatening to buckle, she realized she didn’t have much of a choice.

Her legs felt weak as the first wave of her heat slammed into her, like an invisible hand gripping her from the inside, twisting low in her belly until her breath came in sharp, shallow pulls. The flames that licked under her skin caused a groan to escape her, she tightened her grip on the edge of the doorframe, cursing under her breath as her body betrayed her in front of them. The two men froze immediately, their gazes snapping to her as her scent spiked and pheromones flooded the hair like a heavy mist, heavy and cloying like sweet, overripe fruit. It was suffocating, but it was all she could do to stay upright.

Sylus was the first to react, his crimson eyes darkened as he took a single step forward, his entire posture shifting in that uniquely Alpha way, predatory, protective, and all instinct ready to act. He wasn’t out of control, on the contrary his movements were entirely deliberate. When he reached out a hand toward her, he stopped short, waiting for her permission.

“You’re already peaking,” he spoke, his voice rougher than before. The gravel in his tone sent a shiver down her spine, her body hyper aware of the Alpha before her.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, though her voice sounded anything but.

“You’re not,” Rafayel said gently, his tone as smooth as silk. He stepped forward as well, his hands slightly raised like he was approaching a skittish animal. His eyes glistened in the light of her room, the ocean blue pierced through her with startling clarity. She noticed the faint stain of red in them now, just enough to give them an otherworldly depth, like a sunset bleeding into the horizon.

She hated how safe he looked, how disarming and steady he felt just standing there, it made her feel exposed.

“I just need to sit down,” she replied, forcing herself to take a step back towards the living room.

Rafayel followed her immediately, his movements fluid and careful as he kept his distance. “Let me help you,” he offered, his voice softer now. “We won’t touch your nest until you say so, but if you fall, I am catching you.”

She hesitated, her pride bristling at the idea of needing help, but another sharp pull deep inside her left her gasping and his arms came around her keeping her from hitting the floor.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered softly, moving her to sit in her nest, his hands on her waist guiding her as her legs were weak, his touch feather light like he was being careful not to set her off. Once she was nestled into the pile of blankets and pillows she’d spent the entire day obsessing over, her body sagged into the softness and for a moment she just breathed.

Sylus stayed near the door, his crimson eyes locked on her as he adjusted his stance. His presence was electric, his scent – like hers, was filling up the room like a heavy blanket, but he didn’t move closer. The amount of control this required should have impressed her but she simply had other concerns to deal with. His gaze flicked to Rafayel, there was a silent communication between them-one that she didn’t miss.

“Let me know what you need me to do,” Sylus said, his voice low and steady. There was a tightness in his tone, and she knew his rut was coming on just as fast as her heat – neither of them quite knew why. His nostrils flared, her scent was pouring off her now, wrapping around him, tugging at every Alpha urge in his body.

“She’s already close,” Rafayel murmured, crouching beside her nest but keeping enough distance to respect her space. His eyes softened as they landed on her, “You’ve been holding back haven’t you?”

Her eyes downcast, then nodded her head a little. The small croon that escaped him prickled her skin with a chill, a smirk curving his lips.

“Don’t worry, Cutie...we’re going to take real good care of you.”

Her body responded all too kindly and she felt her cheeks heat when she felt slick drip onto her underwear. If she were being honest, this was likely her least favorite part – the amount of lubrication her body made was obscene. She knew it was to help them adjust to the Alpha’s incredible size but it didn’t make it any better. It was messy and sticky, like silicone lube that could actually be washed away.

Her body tensed as another wave hit, stronger this time. A broken whimper escaped her throat before she could stop it, burying her face in her hands as heat flushed through her skin. Their gazes too added to the flames that licked at her veins, that centered inside her with undeniable want for pleasure.

“Let me come closer,” Sylus spoke, his voice strained. He wasn’t asking because he wanted to. He was asking because she needed him to and they all knew it. “I won’t touch your nest, and I won’t do anything until you say so but you need me near you.”

She raised her head from her hands, panting softly as her scent spiked again, flooding the room with the unmistakable sweetness that could only be from an Omega. Sylus’s crimson eyes flashed, her defenses faltering as she took in the sight of him standing there, chest rising and falling steadily, muscles taught with careful restraint. She realized then, as much as she loathed to admit it- she did need him. The heat clawing through her body wasn’t going to ease on its own, and his presence, powerful and ground, was exactly what her body was screaming for.

“Come closer.” Her voice was soft and laced with desperation, her cheeks burned, the vulnerability of the moment hitting her. The walls she had carefully built to keep herself safe from overbearing alphas were slowly crumbling due to the very patient men before her.

“I—I need you here.” she motioned to the edge of her nest.

Sylus doesn’t hesitate even a second, the words left her lips and he was already moving across the room in smooth strides. He knelt at the edge of her nest, his size and presence seemed to fill the space instantly. Crimson eyes locked on hers, but he didn’t crowd her. He remained just where she’d told him to, waiting to be invited in further.

“Better?” he whispered, his voice low and even, unintimidating – just what she needed. The unmistakable rasp of arousal was tinging his tone now, His instincts were clearly pulling at him, but he had unadulterated control of himself, a feat not many Alphas could claim to.

“Better,” she admitted, the tension in her chest slowly ebbing away slightly just from having him closer. Her body still ached, her heat pushing at her limits of sanity, but the sigh of him; his broad shoulders, his sharp jawline and messy hair—was strangely calming.

Behind him, Rafayel shifted into view, his eyes flicking between the two of them with quiet understanding. He crouched beside Sylus and stroked his neck gently with soft contemplation, a delicate smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he felt Sylus leaning into his touch ever so slightly igniting a rumble in his chest..

“Do you need anything else before things get worse?” Rafayel asked, his eyes turning to her. “Water, food...anything you didn’t think to grab earlier?”

“I stocked everything earlier, I just.. I need you both to stay close.” She whispered hating how needy her voice sounded but by the look on her Alpha’s Sylus’s face he didn’t seem to mind it one bit.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Rafayel reassured her, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his lips – a tinge of pink flaming across his cheeks. Her scent was strong, unwavering and, normally, Betas weren’t supposed to feel this affected, However, there was something different here that none of them could place. “This is what we’re here for.”

Sylus leaned in slightly, his crimson eyes glowing faintly as his Alpha instincts flared. The scent of her heat was overpowering this close, and she saw the way his jaw tightened as he fought to keep himself steady. “Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

Her breath hitched, her body reacting immediately to the prospect. Every part of her was screaming yes, yet the words stuck in her throat, she hesitated, her fingers curling into the soft fleece blanket beneath her. She was on the edge of losing herself to this heat that was curling around her and dragging her into primal insanity – the pull of her instincts too strong to ignore any longer.

“Yes,” she finally breathed, her voice trembling. “Please.” a beg.

Sylus’s tension eased slightly, his eyes softening as he reached out and curling his hand against her jaw, his touch firm but careful. The moment his skin met hers, it was like a jolt of electricity shot through her, the tension in her body breaking as a small, involuntary whimper escaped her lips.

“You’re okay.” His voice deep and soothing, a rumble sounding through his chest–a purr.

Rafayel shifted closer as well, his presence a calming contrast to Sylus’s intensity. “You’re in good hands,” he said softly, his gaze settling on hers. “Just focus on what you need, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

Her body relaxed slightly under their careful attention, the weight of the heat pressing down on her feeling a little more bearable now that they were here. Sylus’s hand moved slowly brushing her jaw and neck gently, his thumb stroking her cheek softly. “Don’t fight it, kitten,” he whispered a small smile curving his lips, “I’ve got you.”

He was right, and she knew it. There was no point in holding back now—not when her heat was already dragging her under and not when this capable pair was oh so willing to do whatever she needed.

“I trust you,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Sylus’s eyes closed and he took a calming breath, “Good,” he said, voice low and steady.

“Then let's begin.”

With that, he leaned in, edging into her nest waiting for her to protest but she didn’t. Her hand moved and pressed to his chest as he was closer to her, his shoes were long gone and he could feel Rafayel behind him rubbing his back in gentle circles. He felt his Beta’s mouth on his neck and he lifted her jaw, “I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured before claiming her mouth with his own.

The moment Sylus’s lips met hers, her mind went blissfully blank. His kiss was firm yet, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to savor her. His lips moved against hers with an intoxicating mix of control and heat, and when his tongue brushed against her bottom lip she eagerly opened for him. A soft, helpless moan escaped her, muffled against his mouth, and she felt the rumble of his purr vibrate through his chest against her palm.

Her hand curled tighter into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and Sylus didn’t resist. His presence, overwhelming and grounding all at once, was exactly what her body craved. The raw pull of her heat sharpened, her instincts screaming louder now that he was finally giving her what she needed. She could feel the controlled strength in the way he cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of her cheek as if reminding her she wasn’t alone.

Behind him, Rafayel’s touches were steady and reassuring, the Beta’s fingers tracing slow soothing patterns along his back. The contrast between them was startling, but not unwelcome. Where Sylus was fire—intense and consuming—Rafayel was water, calming the burn and easing her into the storm.

“That’s it,” Rafayel breathed, leaning forward as his breath brushed against Sylus’s ear, “take care of our Omega,” he murmured before gently kissing his jaw, his eyes peering eagerly at where their mouths connected in a heated display.

The sound of his voice sent another shiver through her, and she turned her head just enough to meet his gaze. Her lips parted from Sylus's, who was heavy lidded with desire and thinly veiled control, feeling his pants tighten considerably as his rut edged closer the longer her scent was the oxygen he breathed.

“I can’t---I can’t think,” she admitted softly, her voice trembling as her heat clawed at her insides, leaving her slick dripping down her thighs.

“You don’t need to think,” Rafayel whispered, his tone firm yet reassuring. He reached out, brushing his fingers against her temple before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That's why we’re here—we’re going to take such good care of you, cutie.”

Rafayel stroked her cheek moving closer to her, her eyes fluttering close at his touch, the tenderness in his movements almost startling.

“You’re doing good, kitten,” he murmured against her skin, his mouth pressing to her neck as he gripped her waist and pulled her body flush against his own. “Let it happen, we’ll catch you.”

The knot of tension in her chest loosened at his words, and she exhaled shakily, her body instinctively leaning into him. Her heat was pulling her under, dragging her deeper with every second, but with Sylus’s strength and Rafayel’s calm presence surrounding her, she didn’t feel like she was drowning anymore.

Sylus shifted, edging further into her nest as she leaned back into the blankets, his hands moved carefully, one resting on her hip while the other continued to cup her jaw, keeping her grounded as his eyes searched hers. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes,” she breathed, the word slipping out without hesitation. Her fingers curled into his shirt again, pulling him closer as her heat roared through her, leaving no room for pride or second guessing. “Please.”

Sylus’s eyes darkened and he nodded once before lowering his head to kiss her again, this time less restrained and more heated. She melted into the blankets of her nest. Her body arching into his hand that tightened on her hip, his purr deepened, vibrating through her as he kissed her like he just couldn’t get enough.

Rafayel helped him take his shirt off, exposed the muscular expanse of his chest, he could tell his Alpha was warm and the last thing they needed was for him to overheat. Watching him with her had his own pants tightening and he tried to ignore it but the intensity was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Never had he ever felt this way when they were with other Omegas.

Rafayel tilted her mouth from Sylus’s and claimed her lips with his own, his kiss was so different from Sylus’s—softer, more deliberate, like he was savoring every second. His hand cupped the side of her face and, his tongue meeting hers as she gasped against his mouth while Sylus pressed wet kisses to her neck, leaving small marks against her skin.

Her heart raced, her body trembling as her instincts took over completely. “That's it, kitten,” Sylus whispered against her skin as he removed the button up shirt exposing her to their gaze. He groaned and moved his lips down her chest rutting against her hip.

Sylus’s growl was deep and guttural as his eyes raked over her now exposed skin, drinking her in like a predator who had finally cornered his prey. His hands slid over her waist and up her ribs, his touch firm yet reverent as he explored every inch of her bare skin. She shivered under him, the mix of his overwhelming presence and Rafayel’s more measured touch creating a whirlwind of sensation that left her gasping.

“Look at you,” Sylus murmured, his voice thick with arousal as his lips brushed over the swell of her breast. He licked a slow teasing stripe over her skin, making her arch into him with a soft needy cry. His mouth trailed lower, his breath hot against her nipple before his tongue darted out to swirl around it. He groaned as she reacted, her fingers threading through his messy hair tugging gently.

“Beautiful,” Rafayel murmured, his voice soft but laced with hunger. He leaned over, his hair falling into his face as he pressed a kiss to her jaw, then down the line of her throat. His hands moved with delicate precision, sliding over her thighs and spreading them to give her relief from the heat pooling between them. “You’re incredible, cutie. And you smell so good.”

Her body trembled as Rafayel’s fingers found the slick dripping down her inner thighs, his touch so gentle it almost felt teasing. Her scent spiked, and Sylus groaned into her skin, the sound vibrating against her chest. His hips rutted instinctively against her leg, the hard bulge in his pants pressing against her as he tried to hold himself back.

The sounds of Rafayel’s fingers in her soaked heat caused him to groan, “Raf, don’t tease her…” his crimson gaze meeting his Beta’s oceanic one, darkened now with his own desire.

Rafayel smirked slightly, his fingers brushing higher, just barely skimming where she needed him most. “I’m not teasing,” he said, his tone playful, “I’m just making sure she’s ready.”

“I’m ready,” she moaned when she shifted her hips towards his hand and his fingers slipped past her soaked folds.

“You’re so ready,” he murmured his voice in awe of just how slick she was. He pressed a kiss down her chest nipping at her breast, tongue teasing her nipple and sucking it gently, grunting softly. He licked her skin down to her stomach and groaned as he rubbed against the scent gland on her hip before kissing her thighs. Her head fell back into the nest of blankets as the sensations began to overwhelm her, Sylus’s hot mouth on her lips and chest, Rafayel’s skilled fingers working into her heat with precision that had her hips bucking against his hand. The combination of their touches was too much and not enough all at once, driving her higher and higher as her heat burned hotter.

Sylus growled as his rut clawed at him as he watched her come undone around Rafayel’s fingers. He couldn’t hold back any longer, his thick fingers replacing his in her liquid heat and groaning. “Fuck,” hissed, “so fucking perfect.”

Rafayel leaned up, capturing her lips in another searing kiss as his hand stroked along Sylus’s arm, grounding his Alpha even as he added to the intensity. Their movements were perfectly coordinated, their touches seamless as they pushed her close and closer to another edge.

“You’re doing so good, cutie..” Rafayel whispered against her skin, “let go for us.”

Sylus’s pace quickened, his fingers thrusting into her as the other hand gripped her hip, steadying her. He groaned as her walls clenched around him, his control slipping further with every sound she made.

“Cum for me, Kitten,” Sylus growled, his voice rough and commanding as his fingers curled into her and his thumb stroking the bud at the top of her sex.

Her body tightened like a rubber band and snapped a strangled cry escaped, and Rafayel soothed her with praise as she spiraled. Her body trembled and twitched as he thrust his fingers through her release, lips claiming hers, swallowing her moans greedily. Sylus pulled his fingers from her heat and brought them to his mouth, his eyes blown wide with lust.

“Ready?” Rafayel asked him.

“I’ve been ready,” he murmured as he leaned down to kiss her after quickly discarding his clothes, wanting nothing more than to be bare against her soft skin.

His skin was feverishly hot against hers as he pressed her back into the blankets, his now bare skin flush with hers. His muscles were taught beneath her fingers, every inch of him humming with primal need. Her hands slid up his chest, nails dragging lightly over the hard planes of muscle, and Sylus shuddered at the touch. His breath was uneven as he buried his face in the crook over her neck, his lips pressing to her scent gland. “Fuck, Kitten…” he groaned, inhaling deeply, his tongue darting out to taste her scent directly from the source.

“You won’t break her, Sylus,” Rafayel soothed him, kissing along his spine, his fingers kneading the muscles there, “Breed her,” he whispered, “can’t you see how bad she wants it.”

The encouragement wasn’t needed but Sylus let out a rough exhale, his hands gripping her thighs spreading them further apart. He could feel the heat radiating from her slick drenched core. He felt as if he’d lost his mind; perhaps he had.

“Kitten.” He rasped, "I need to—”

“Yes,” she interrupted, her fingers tangling into his hand pulling him to her. “Sylus, please...Alpha…” she breathed.

That was all it took for his rut to truly snap into place. Sylus shifted, lining himself up, his thick cock pressing against her dripping heat. He hesitated for a second, feeling just how wet she was then pushed in slowly. She felt the burn as he stretched her in the most delicious way while the omega purred for the first time that night.

“Fuck..” he snarled, his fingers bruising against her hips as he forced himself to go slow, to savor that feel of her wrapped around him. “So fucking tight…”

Rafayel watched with heavy lidded desire, his lips parted as his hands slid over his back, “There you go, my love,” he whispered against his shoulder as Sylus bottomed out inside her his entire cock sheathed. “She can take you.” it was almost a sentence of awe, how no other Omega had ever been able to take him fully seated without some maneuvering.

She whimpered beneath him, her back arching as the thick length filled her to the brim, their combined fluids seeping out of her aching heat. The fullness inside her sent a shock wave through her already overheated body. Her nails bit into his shoulders and he groaned at the sensation.

“More,” she begged, her voice broken.

Sylus didn’t need to be told twice.

He pulled out halfway before snapping his hips forward again, a filthy, wet sound filling the air as he buried himself to the hilt. She cried out, her hands clawing at him but he didn’t let up—his thrusts quickly building into a steady, punishing rhythm that had her gasping with every roll of his hips.

Rafayel’s fingers slid between them, too eager to include himself in the fun. He found her swollen clit, circling with expert precision. “That's it, cutie,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her open mouth as she panted, “You’re taking him so well, such a good omega,” he whispered into her mouth, swallowing her moans. They were his for the taking and he was ravenous.

Sylus growled against her throat, his teeth scraping against her scent gland. Marking in Alpha and Omega relationships was common, however, marking a scent gland was only done in very specific situations as it tied the alphas scent to the omegas. Bonding them. The fact that he was tempted at all was all too telling; they were a pheromone match and it had made them both delirious. Rafayel’s presence kept him grounded, kept him from completely losing himself in the mindless haze of his rut.

Rafayel chuckled, feeling the way Sylus was fighting himself, “You wanna bite her so bad…” he teased then nipped his ear lobe, kissed his shoulder and nipped it gently.

“Go ahead, she smells like she wants you to.”

Sylus groaned, his hips stuttering for a moment before he did bite—not hard enough to claim but enough to leave a deep possessive mark against her skin. She screamed as her entire body locked up as pleasure tore through her, her orgasm hitting like a freight train. Sylus cursed, feeling her tighten around him– he nearly lost it right then and there.

He slammed into her rough now, chasing his own release as her cries filled the room.

Rafayel kissed her through it, his fingers working her clit mercilessly, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until she was shuddering beneath them, boneless and wrecked.

Sylus’s growl deepened, his thrusts turning frantic as his knot started to swell, attempting to lock him inside her, his body desperate to fill her completely. “Fuck, kitten, I—”

“Do it,” she gasped, wrapping her legs tighter around him, her eyes wild and glazed with heat. “Knot me.”

That was all he needed.

With a final, devastating thrust, Sylus buried himself as deep as he could go, his knot catching and locking them together as he came with a broken snarl, his entire body shaking as he emptied himself inside her.

Rafayel groaned at the sight, pressing kisses down Sylus’s back as he rode out his release, his Beta’s hands stroking over his skin soothingly.

“That’s it,” Rafayel murmured, kissing the back of Sylus’s neck before leaning down to kiss her lips softly. “You’re perfect, both of you.”

She moaned weakly into his kiss, her body still trembling, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of everything. Sylus panted against her neck, his grip on her thighs loosening as he started to come down, his mind hazy but content.

“Fuck,” Sylus finally breathed, his voice hoarse. “You’re incredible, kitten.”

Rafayel chuckled, pressing a final kiss to Sylus’s shoulder before reaching for the water bottle nearby. “She is,” he agreed, bringing the bottle to her lips, helping her drink. “But don’t think we’re done just yet.”

Her eyes fluttered open, her breath still shaky as she swallowed the water Rafayel offered her.

Sylus smirked, tilting her chin up with his fingers, his crimson eyes still dark with hunger.

“We’re just getting started.”

Rafayel smirked as he set the water bottle aside, his eyes flicking between them. Sylus was still pressed close to her, his knot keeping them locked together as he pulsed cum straight into her. He craved that feeling. He’d taken Sylus’s knot more than a few times and while his physiology wasn’t necessarily made for it; it felt good. He leaned over her and kissed her softly, “You’re so soft,” he whispered, leaving a path of warmth in the wake over his hands that stroked her skin.

“I can’t believe how good you smell,” he murmured.

She whined softly as Sylus shifted slightly, his breath warm against her throat as he let out a deep, contented growl. He was still stuck inside her, his knot keeping them connected as his cock pulsed inside her pushing more and more cum into her. Rafayel could tell by the way Sylus’s fingers twitched next to her hips that he was watching, waiting, hungry to see what would happen next.

Her expression was dazed, her lips still swollen from the desperate kisses between gasps and moans. He brushed his fingers along her jaw, tilting her face up before kissing her again, this time more slowly, more indulgently.

Unlike Sylus, Rafayel wasn’t in rut; biologically he couldn’t ever be. But something was still pulling him in, something deeper. He had never felt this way before, never had an Omega’s scent affect him quite like this. She was burrowing under his skin, her heat more intoxicating than anything he’d ever encountered.

It wasn’t just biological—it was profound.

And it was making her feel it too.

She moaned into his mouth, her body arching toward him instinctively. Sylus groaned at the movement, but he didn’t complain. If anything, he seemed amused. “You’re already reaching for him, kitten?” he murmured, pressing lazy kisses along her shoulder, still dazed from his ongoing climax. “That desperate already?”

“Yes,” she gasped into Rafayel’s mouth where his tongue met hers in a frenzied but passionate kiss. Her fingers curling into his hair tugging him close.

Rafayel chuckled against her lips, but the sound was strained, his own control fraying. He wasn’t usually the type to rush things—Sylus was the one driven by instinct, by sheer force—but right now, he wanted her just as badly. He cupped her cheek and moaned into her mouth guiding her hand gently to the band of his sweats, she didn’t need to be told twice. Her hand moved down his abdomen and into his pants, finally finding what she was looking for, her hand wrapping around a hot and thick cock that was sticky in her palm. She stroked him slowly and he groaned into her mouth, his hips rutting up into her hand.

They stayed like this for sometime, waiting for the swell of their Alpha’s knot to go down.

Sylus’s purring rumbled through her as he lazily nuzzled into the crook of her neck, his nose brushing that scent gland that he desperately wanted to mark. His satisfaction radiated from every breathy exhale, the slow aftershocks of his climax still making him twitch inside her. Yet, even through the lingering haze of his rut, he was watching—his crimson gaze flicking between her and Rafayel with curiosity and hunger.

Rafayel groaned into her mouth, his hips jerking slightly into her hand as she stroked him, her fingers slick with his arousal. His body was burning for her, craving the warmth and wetness he could feel against his fingertips as they trailed over her stomach.

“You’re trouble, cutie,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with amusement and lust. “Can’t even wait for your Alpha’s knot to go down before you start making a mess of me too.”

She whimpered softly, giving him another slow, teasing stroke. “Don’t act like you don’t want it,” she whispered, licking into his mouth, her heat still burning hot inside her, still pushing her toward more, more, more.

Sylus chuckled against her throat, his fingers tracing lazy circles over her thigh. “Raf’s the patient one, Kitten,” he mused, his voice a slow, sultry drawl. “But you keep touching him like that? He’s going to lose all that careful control.”

And he was losing it. Rafayel’s breath hitched as she twisted her wrist just right, making his cock jerk in her palm. His eyes darkened, his usual playful, easy going demeanor starting to unravel. It was then that she felt the knot slowly shrink and Sylus popped free from her a mess of slick and cum dripping out of her making her whimper.

“Turn over,” Rafayel murmured, voice husky as he pulled back slightly, watching her reaction.

She shivered at the command and whined at the loss of Sylus inside her, the underlying authority in his tone sending a jolt of arousal straight through her. The moment she could bring herself to, she did as Rafayel asked, rolling onto her stomach—her cheek pressed into the blankets of her nest.

“Good girl,” Rafayel praised, his large hands sliding down her back, his fingers kneading into the muscles there. He took his time, trailing his lips along her shoulder blades, soothing her with soft kisses, gentle licks.

Sylus shifted beside them, propping himself up to watch his eyes still hazed over for the time being—they all knew it wouldn’t last. “You going to give her what she wants, baby?” he asked him, his voice dripping with lazy satisfaction but his eyes burned with interest.

Rafayel smirked as he kissed down her spine, stopping at the curve of her ass. His fingers spread her open slightly, his breath hot against her dripping cunt. “She smells like you,” he whispered, voice full of reverence. “Still so needy.”

She gasped as he licked a slow, broad stripe over her slick folds, his tongue teasing her clit before delving deeper.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered, her body trembling as his tongue worked her open, lapping at the mixture of her and Sylus like he was starving for it.

Sylus groaned, gripping her hair and turning her head just enough to kiss her. It was deep and filthy, his tongue dominating her mouth as Rafayel devoured her from behind.

“Look at you,” he murmured between kisses, his fingers lightly tugging at her scalp. “So perfect like this—taking everything we give you.”

Rafayel hummed against her core, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure through her limbs. His hands kneaded at her thighs, holding her open for him as he worked her with practiced precision.

“Raf...please,” she begged, her body tensing as the pleasure built higher and higher, “I need—”

Placing one last lick on her clit before pulling back, “I know what you need, cutie,” his voice was raspy and low. He pulled his sweats off and kicked them away as he positioned himself behind her, his cock pressing against her entrance.

Sylus grabbed her chin, making her look at him. “You ready for him, kitten?” he asked as his eyes searched hers.

“Yes,” she moaned, pushing her hips back, desperate for more.

He groaned as he pushed inside, his breath hitching at the tight, slight heat that immediately wrapped around him. “Oh fuck,” he growled, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he buried himself to the hilt.

She cried out at the stretch, the fullness, her body overwhelmed but craving every second of it.

“That’s it,” Rafayel groaned, pulling out just enough before slamming back in, his rhythm immediately rougher than before, fueled by need. “You feel..so fucking good.”

Sylus smirked, kissing her deeply, his fingers playing with her nipples as he watched Rafayel claim her—he admired the look of desperation on the man's face, his eyes trailing down the expanse of his chest. He felt his own cock twitching but he had more self control than that. At least for now.

Rafayel’s pace was fast, his body moving like he was made for this—like he was made for her. Every thrust sent shock waves through her already overstimulated body, and she could feel her release creeping closer, creeping up her spine.

“Close…” she gasped, gripping the blankets in her fists as her pleasure overwhelmed her senses.

“Cum for me, cutie,” Rafayel growled, one hand slipping beneath her to rub tight, teasing circles over her clit. “Wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

Unlike anything she ever experienced before, her body obeyed instantly. Pleasure crashing over her like a tidal wave, her vision going white as she sobbed through her release. Rafayel groaned as she clenched around him, his pace stuttering as he chased his own climax. “Fuck...fuck—”

He thrust deep one final time before spilling inside her, his body trembling as he came with a low, shuddering groan. His hands held her tightly, his lips pressing kisses onto her shoulder, his body still moving in slow, lazy rolls, riding out every last wave of pleasure.

Sylus hummed in approval, stroking her hair as he kissed her temple. “Told you, kitten,” he murmured softly and lifted a bottle of water to her mouth.

“Drink,” it wasn’t him asking, it was a command. For several minutes he made her drink a little water every time she let out a small sigh, she was contented but he could tell she was falling into a slumber she likely wouldn’t wake from till morning.

He sighed as her breathing evened out, her body finally surrendering to the exhaustion of her heat and the sheer intensity of what they had done to her. He brushed his fingers gently over her damp hair, his touch softer now, reverent. She was still working, slick between her thighs but her body was too spent to ask for more—for now.

“She’s out,” Rafayel murmured softly, his voice quiet in the dim light of the room. His hands stroked down her back absentmindedly, his fingers pressing slow, grounding circles into her skin. “She fought it, but I knew she wouldn’t last much longer.”

Sylus hummed in agreement, he studied her peaceful expression, the way her body remained pliant between them, trusting. He had never felt this settled before. His rut was satisfied for now—but his instincts weren’t screaming at him to get up, to pace, to search another fight or fuck. His Omega was here, their Omega, and something about that made his entire body relax in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

“She’s not just some random match,” Sylus muttered, almost to himself. His fingers trailed over the possessive marks he’d left along her throat, and shoulders, lingering at the deep imprint of his teeth he had left over her scent gland. Not enough to bond her, but...fuck, he had wanted to.

Rafayel watched him carefully, his eyes dark with thought. “No,” he agreed after a long moment, pressing a kiss to her temple. “She’s not.”

Sylus let out a slow breath. “This heat felt different.”

Shifting closer, his bare chest pressing against Sylus’s side, his lips trailed over his shoulder in lazy, absent minded kisses. “Yeah… It’s her, she’s different. It’s not just the heat making us feel this way.”

Turning his head Sylus catches Rafayel’s mouth in a kiss, slow and unhurried. It was messy, deep, their tongues sliding together as Sylus tangled his fingers in the soft waves of Rafayel’s plum hair. The beta groaned softly, pressing closer, letting Sylus pull him deeper into the warmth of the nest.

A soft chuckle escaped the Beta, “You’re still wired.”

Chuckling, Sylus shifting slightly, his cock already half hard again, pressing against Rafayel’s thigh. “Can you blame me?”

Rafayel rolled his eyes fondly, sliding a hand down his chest, over the taught muscles of his stomach, before gripping him loosely, stroking him just enough to make his breath hitch. “Poor alpha,” he teased, “Still needy, even after all that.”

Sylus growled, his patience snapping as he rolled Rafayel onto his back, pinning to the nest beneath him. His eyes gleamed as he pressed his weight against him, grinding against his stomach, their cocks flush.

“You knew what you were doing, teasing me like that,” Sylus muttered, dragging his teeth over Rafayel’s jaw before kissing him hard. “You love getting me worked up.”

Rafayel moaned, arching into him, his own cock twitching. “Maybe,”

Grabbing his wrists, Sylus pinned them above his head as he used the slick coming off his own cock to prepare him as he lined himself up. His breath ragged—he didn’t waste time—he couldn’t. Rafayel’s teasing, his scent, her scent, the way his lips were already swollen from their earlier kisses. It was too much.

He pushed inside slowly with a deep shuddering groan, feeling Rafayel stretch around him

Gasping, Rafayel’s eyes rolled back slightly. “F-fuck—”

Sylus didn’t start slow. He didn’t want to be slow. His body was still humming with need to take, to own and Rafayel knew that—wanted that. Sylus fucked into him with sloppy, desperate thrusts, his grip bruising on his hips as he chased the heat pooling in his gut.

Rafayel loved this, loved the way Sylus lost himself in him, fucked him like he was the only thing keeping him from going feral. His moans were breathy, punched out of him with every snap of his lover's hips, his body pliant, open.

Sylus growled against his throat, licking over his scent gland, tasting the sweat and heat on his skin. He wasn’t an Omega, but Sylus still wanted to mark him, to claim him in a way words couldn’t define. His rut was far from over, tamed for now by her slickness, but his instincts still roared for this, for them, for her sleeping beside them.

“Say you’re mine,” Sylus snarled against his jaw, his thrusts becoming erratic, rougher, sloppier.

He moaned, wrapping his legs around Sylus’s waist, his fingers digging into his back. “I’m yours,” he gasped, his nails scraping down his spine. “Yours, Sylus.”

A strangled groan escaped Sylus, his teeth clamping down onto Rafayel’s shoulder, enough to claim. Rafayel cried out, his entire body tensing, his cock jerking between them as he came, his release smearing between their stomachs.

Sylus wasn’t far behind. With a final, broken growl, he slammed deep into Rafayel one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his knot swelled, locking him inside. His body shook with the force of it, his cum spilling deep inside his Beta as he collapsed over him, panting against his throat, laving at the bite mark he’d placed there.

They stayed like that for a long moment, their bodies tangled, sweat cooling on their skin.

Then, Sylus shifted, his knot popping from Rafayel’s tender hole, grimacing softly. He rolled onto his side and pulled him against him, kissing him softly. “You okay?”

Rafayel chuckled breathlessly, “I think you broke me.”

Sylus snorted fondly, nuzzling into his hair, pressing a lazy kiss against his forehead. “You love it.”

“Yeah,” Rafayel admitted, sighing contentedly as he melted into Sylus’s warmth. “I do.”

They both turned their heads toward the Omega sleeping soundly beside them.

“She’s out,” Sylus murmured, his voice quieter now, more certain.

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah,” he whispered, “she is.”

And this time, there was no doubt.

The next time she stirred, it was to the feeling of gentle fingers running through her hair and the distant sound of running water. The room was still warm, the heavy scent of heat and sex lingering in the air, but the haze in her mind had softened, the worst of her exhausting ebbing away.

“You awake, cutie?” Rafayel’s voice was soft, soothing, his fingers still stroking over her scalp. She let out a soft hum in response, nuzzling into the blankets, her body sore but pleasantly so.

Rafayel chuckled, shifting closer to press a kiss to her temple. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice dipped in fond amusement. “Let's get you cleaned up before you pass out again.”

She made a noise of protest, but before she could burrow deeper into the nest that smelt of them, strong arms slipped under her, lifting her with ease.

“You’re so dramatic,” she mumbled against his chest, too tired to put any real bite behind it.

“I know,” he replied with a grin, carrying her toward the bathroom, his ocean eyes gleaming happily. “But you love it.”

She would have rolled her eyes if she wasn’t so damn tired. Instead, she let herself relax into his warmth, her limbs heavy and pliant as he brought her into the steamy bathroom. The shower was already running, warm mist curling around them, filling the air with the scent of clean soap. Rafayel eased her down carefully, helping her step under the spray, his hands never leaving her skin.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, more serious.

She nodded, blinking up at him. “Yeah,” she murmured, feeling the water wash over her, easing away the sweat and stickiness of the night before. “Just….tired.”

“Figured,” he smirked, stepping into the shower behind her, running his hands over her shoulders, working the tension from her muscles. “You were a little busy, after all.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, but before she could retort, Rafayel’s fingers worked over her scalp lathering in the shampoo with slow careful strokes. The sensation sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine, and she let out an involuntary sigh, her body sinking further into him.

He chuckled, “that good?”

She hummed in response, tilting her head into his touch, the intimacy of it making her chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with her heat. Rafayel had been so careful with her, so steady. His hands worked over her like she was something precious, something to be careful of.

She wasn’t used to that.

“Let me take care of you, cutie, “he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Just relax.”

So she did.

By the time they emerged from the shower, she felt lighter, more grounded, the sharpest edge of her heat dulled—at least for now. The scent of food hit her first, something warm and savory drifting through the apartment.

“You cooked?” she asked, her voice still a little rough from sleep as she leaned against the doorway.

Sylus, who was standing by the stove, shot her a smirk over his shoulder. He was wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweats, his messy white hair still damp from a shower of his own. “Raf cooked, “he corrected, “I just taste tested.”

She snorted, moving to sit at the counter, her body still feeling a little too loose and content to argue. Rafayel slid a plate in front of her—an omelet with onions, peppers, salmon and cheese. On the side, he had cut up some fruit and put it in a bowl with some granola. Simple, but it made her stomach growl on sight.

“Eat,” Rafayel said, nudging a fork toward her. “You need it.”

She obeyed, shoving a bite into her mouth. It was good—perfectly seasoned and warm, filling.

Sylus leaned against the counter, arms crossed as he watched her eat with an amused expression. “Guess she was hungry,” he mused.

“Told you,” the other replied.

Despite the teasing, something warm settled in her chest as she ate. This—whatever this was—felt natural. Comfortable.

And the way they were both looking at her, it made her heat start to rise all over again.

She didn’t mean to end up on her knees in her nest, but somehow, it’s exactly where she was. Rafayel was beside her, his eyes gleaming with playful competition as they both pressed closer to Sylus, who was now leaning back against the blankets, half-hard already from the way she and Rafayel had been teasing him.

“Think we can make him lose that famous control of his?” Rafayel mused, his lips brushing against her ear as his fingers traced over her thigh.

She smirked, eyes locked on Sylus’s already darkening gaze. “I think we can.”

Sylus scoffed, but there was a tightness to his jaw, his hands clenching at his sides like he was waiting for them to move. “You two are ridiculous.”

Rafayel grinned, reaching to wrap his hand around his cock, stroking him slowly, teasingly. “You love it.”

Sylus growled lowly, his hips jerking slightly into his hand, his eyes narrowing. “Shut up and use that pretty mouth of yours.”

Rafayel laughed, but he obeyed, leaning down to press a slow, wet kiss to the top of Sylus’s cock before licking a long and teasing stripe up the length of him.

She followed his lead, mirroring his movements on the other side, their tongues brushing against each other as they worked Sylus in tandem. The groan that tore from his throat was filthy, his head tilting back against the blankets, his muscles tensing beneath them.

“Fuck,” Sylus hissed, his fingers threading into Rafayel’s hair, then into hers, tugging just enough to make her whimper.

Rafayel shot her a smirk. “Watch closely, cutie,” he murmured before taking Sylus into his mouth, his lips stretching around his length, his throat relaxing effortlessly. She swallowed, heat pooling low in her stomach at the sight.

“Use your tongue,” he instructed, pulling back slightly, his hand still stroking the base of Sylus’s cock. "Like this.”

She followed his lead, dragging her tongue slowly around the tip, teasing just like Rafayel had. Sylus groaned, his grip on her hair tightening.

“Good girl,” Rafayel praised, shooting her a wicked grin before going down again, his mouth hollowing around Sylus as he sucked.

She followed, their movements synchronized, teasing, drawing ragged curses and groans from Sylus as his restraint started to crack. Their mouths and tongues each covering one side of his cock up and down his length soft whimpers from them both at his heady scent as their tongues touched in a partial kiss around his cock.

When he finally broke, he grabbed their heads and fucked up between their mouths with a desperate growl.

Sylus snapped. His grip in their hair was firm, controlling, as he fucked up between their mouths his cock slick with their spit, their tongues working together to drive him over the edge. His growls filled the air, ragged and demanding. His control shattered completely as his thick length twitched.

“Fucking—fuck,” Sylus panted, his head tilting back against the pillows, his muscles tensing as he used them, barely able to decide which one he wanted more.

She moaned as she felt Rafayel’s tongue meet hers as they lapped at his cock eagerly. Rafayel let out a breathy chuckle around his cock. It was filthy, and hot as they shared the taste of him.

Sylus’s breath hitched, his grip tightening and then with a sharp groan he came his cock twitching as ropes of thick cum landed on their mouths and face. They worked together to swallow down what he gave them, licking at him, cleaning him up with soft, slow drags of their tongues until his body sagged into the nest.

He looked wrecked.

But not done.

His crimson eyes flickered open, hazy, dark with the need still lingering in his gut. His rut was still there, but her heat-- the scent of it, the feel of it clinging in the air, still rising—was pulling him back under.

His growl was low, warning, as he grabbed her wrist, tugging her up onto his lap. His lips crashed against hers. His tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting himself on her, his hands slid over her skin, nails biting into her hips.

“You want me again, kitten?” he murmured against her lips, his voice teasing, “can smell it on your-fuck-your heats kicking back up isn’t it?”

She whimpered, nodding, rocking her hips against him, already desperate for him again. Rafayel hummed, licking his lips as he sat back on his heels, watching. “Guess she can’t help it,” he mused, fingers trailing over her spine. “She’s an Omega. She needs you, Sylus.”

A groan pulled from him, his cock already hardening under her, “Fuck, you’re right.”

And then he was flipping her, pressing her down onto the nest, his body covering hers, his hands gripping her thighs as he spread her open beneath him. She gasped, her body arching, and then he was inside her, hot and deep, stretching her all over again.

He didn’t start slow this time. He couldn’t.

Sylus slammed into her, his growl vibrating against her throat as he fucked her rough and deep, chasing the heat, the primal, instinctive need to fill her, to breed her.

“Fuck, kitten,” he panted, his hands gripped her waist, holding her still as he ruined her. “Feel so fucking good—can’t get enough of you—”

She sobbed his name, her body burning, her nerves on fire, her slick dripping onto the blankets. She could feel her orgasm creeping closer, every hard thrust pushing her further into it, making her whimper, making her beg. Sylus groaned, his pace stuttering as his knot began to swell again, one thrust, two thrusts, three and he groaned as it caught the fourth time.

“I got you, kitten,” he growled, “gonna fill you.”

“Yes,” she sobbed, her nails dragging down his back, “Please, Sylus—“

His cock stayed in her, stuck as he filled her with rope after rope of cum. Grinding deep as he spilled, her body opening up for him. She came with a broken cry, her walls clenching down and milking him, making him snarl into her throat. Tempted once again to mark her and make her officially theirs.

For a long moment, they just breathed, tangled in each other, the aftermath still humming in the air. When he slipped from her the sound of his cock slipping out of her soaked pussy made him groan.

Then, Sylus turned his head, eyes landing on Rafayel, his rut in full force now.

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips.

“You look like you’re waiting for something,” Sylus drawled, his voice rough but teasing.

Rafayel huffed out a laugh, stretching out beside them, his own cock hard and aching between his legs. “You are good at reading me.”

Sylus grinned, “get between her legs.”

Rafayel’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening, but he obeyed. “Fuck, she’s soaked,” he whispered, his tongue darting out to taste her, his voice reverent.

Sylus chuckled as he moved behind Rafayel and lifted his hips up so he was on his knees, bent over with his mouth on her cunt. “Lick her clean,” Sylus commanded, his voice edged with something dark and possessive.

Rafayel didn’t hesitate.

His mouth latched on to her, licking deep, drinking from her, his tongue slipping inside, tasting both her slick and Sylus’s cum as he moaned against her.

The action had him feeling drunk, surrounded by their scent, his own cock twitching in anticipation. She cried out, her entire body shaking, the over stimulation nearly too much.

And then, Sylus was behind him. Strong hands gripping his hips, dragging him back. Rafayel groaned, his tongue still buried in her as Sylus used his cum soaked fingers to ready him for his cock. One finger, then two, then he pressed the head of his length to the opening before pushing inside in a single thrust.

“Fuck,” Rafayel sobbed against her, his whole body shuddering.

Sylus growled, his grip bruising as he fucked into him, his pace immediately unforgiving. Her moans, their moans all echoing off the walls of her room. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him tighter against her.

“Good boy,” Sylus purred, his breath hot against his spine as he fucked into him with deep short thrusts. “Just like that,” he whispered, and they all came together.

It was too much. It was perfect.

And none of them wanted it to stop.

The aftermath was a slow, breathless tangle of limbs, bodies collapsing into the nest, still warm and slick with sweat and release. Their bodies were exhausted but sated—for now. The room was thick with the scent of sex… of them. A scent that had become something familiar, something that felt like home.

Rafayel was the first to move, rolling onto his back, his chest still rising and falling in uneven breaths. A lazy, satisfied smile tugged at his lips as he turned to look at them.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice rough, “that was...something.”

She huffed out a breathless laugh, curling instinctively into Sylus’s side, pressing her face against his chest. “That's one way to put it.”

Sylus chuckled, his arm tightening around her, pulling Rafayel closer with the other, sandwiching them between his warmth. His fingers idly stroked over her back, then up into Rafayel’s damp, tangled hair, smoothing it out as he kissed his temple.

“Don’t think you’re getting rid of me now,” Sylus murmured, his tone teasing but laced with something deeper, something real.

Rafayel sighed contentedly, nuzzling into his Alpha’s touch. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She swallowed, tilting her head up to look at them both. There was an understanding between them, something unsaid but deeply felt.

This wasn’t just a heat arrangement.

This wasn’t just Sylus scratching the itch of his rut.

This was more.

And it terrified her—but it also settled something deep inside her, something she hadn’t even realized had been so restless before.

The desire for a family.

Sylus must have sensed the hesitation in her, because he cupped her cheek, tilting her face toward him, focused. “Kitten,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her skin. “Tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours.”

She hesitated, then let out a small, shaky laugh. “I guess, I just...didn’t expect this.”

Rafayel shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, watching her closely. “Expected what?”

“This,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, “to want this, to want you, both of you.”

Sylus’s grip tightened slightly, like he was afraid she might slip away. “You do want this,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

She exhaled slowly, her body still aching, still sensitive—but there was no denying the truth of it. She nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

His entire body relaxed as he pulled her in again, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “Good.” he murmured against her skin. “Because I’m not fucking letting you go.”

Rafayel chuckled, rolling onto his stomach so he could drape himself over both of them. “Possessive.” he teased, “typical alpha behavior.”

Sylus shot him a flat look. “Shut up, you love it.”

Rafayel smirked, but there was nothing but fondness in his gaze. “I do.”

She felt warmth spreading through her chest as she relaxed into them, letting their scents surround her, wrap around her like something safe.

“We don’t have to define anything right now,” Rafayel murmured after a moment, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over her hip. “We don’t have to rush it, but we do have to acknowledge it.”

Sylus made a small disgruntled noise. “I already know what I want.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “I want you, both of you. And I will make you mine.”

There was no room for argument in his tone.

And neither of them wanted to argue anyway.

Rafayel smirked, leaning in to kiss him softly, “Yeah?” he murmured against his lips. “That's a promise, Alpha?”

Sylus growled, nipping at his bottom lip before kissing him again, slow and deep. “Damn right it is.”

She watched them, her heart swelling in her chest. This felt right. It felt good. It felt real.

For the first time in a long time she wasn’t afraid of it. She smiled, pressing a kiss to Sylus’s shoulder then to Rafayel’s cheek before settling between them. Their warmth cocooned her completely. “We’ll figure It out,” she murmured.

Sylus grunted, already half-asleep, his grip on them protective. “Damn right, we will.”

And as they drifted off, tangled in each other there were no doubts in any of their minds.

This was theirs.

And none of them were letting go.

#sylus x reader #rafayel x reader #rafayel x sylus #sylus x reader x rafayel #love and deepspace smut #sylus smut #rafayel smut

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vesperaominosum · 22 days ago

Text

Second Reason

@purplerosebouquet asked:

"Heyy! Could you do a res4 Leon x fem reader fic where reader is his colleague/ fellow agent who has a situationship w Leon but he’s getting hung up on Ada and reader is jealous? Maybe even confronting him about it? Lots of angst but good ending 😭"

Summary : You escape burnout by turning your life around and becoming a government agent. Old mistakes haunt you and you find it difficult to replace old problems with the new, especially when you find yourself in a situationship. Pairing : RE4 Leon! × Fem Reader Tags : Angst, angst, ANGST, unreliable narrator, unethical therapy mention, hurt/comfort, slight smut, moderate strong language, slow burn (for a one shot) jealousy, open ending perhaps, reader is not okay and grew up watching cop drama. Word count: 10k A/N: I did NOT proofread it as well as I should've. It starts off as a hard read. but gets better eventually.

You always held pride in your emotional intelligence. It wasn’t superficial, you had a degree in psychology after all, so you knew it to be true. Managed to practice as a therapist for few months before taking time to reflect and turning your life around. It was quite a big stretch to jump from your ideas of becoming a therapist, leaving your straight A student persona behind, ditching those PhD dreams and leaping into a cycle of never-ending physical trainings, on your way to become a government agent. It was a shock to everybody in your life, but to you it wasn’t. Not in any way.

There were two reasons.

First, you mapped up the time, glued up a dream board and realized that it would take you years to finish your academic journey before you could actually do what you intended to. You also realized that watching a lot of daytime TV did you a disservice and planted an unrealistic idea in your head. You wanted to seek our murderers using your knowledge of the human nature. Help the police track the bad guys, interrogate them, wear expensive suits and even go out in the field wearing bulletproof vests with a real gun.

After years in university, this concept revealed itself as unattainable. It would take you decades to even get on a level where your expertise would be sufficient to write a decent report that could be used in court. And no one would ever let you go after criminals with a gun. And what was it about it that drew you in? What were you planning to do exactly in this scenario other than looking good and feeling badass? In case they actually hire you for that job, as a profiler (which would take additional years and expertise), you’d be too old to be physically fit enough for any of the badass visions. And when it came to those visions, you’d have to be too visually old to be taken seriously as a woman in the field anyway. At least some grey hair and wrinkles to get any respect from the men who stepped anywhere near military. It was not at all what you wanted.

Second reason was a bit more personal and way more grounded in reality. You didn’t like to think about it, but you had to be honest with yourself. Sometimes you wished you were a little bit less honest, just in your head. You wanted to sugarcoat things, and ignore problems and patterns, but you couldn’t. Admitting that you wish you could cloud your mind was too, a testament of seeing things clearly. You assessed the situation you got yourself into, and left. You didn’t like thinking about the second reason, it was a little too private, even for your own thoughts.

The third reason, that wasn’t mentioned, was the one you kept repeating to others. It wasn’t mentioned, because it wasn’t entirely true. After all, you couldn’t lie to yourself, but lying to others was easier. You told everyone that therapy was stressful and not at all physically demanding. You got into university with a scholarship because you were an athlete in school and the prospect of growing stiff sitting around and stressing wasn’t alluring. Stress needed a way out. You needed an active job. That was true, you knew it better than most and had a degree to back it up.

Training for becoming a government agent wasn’t easy. You did your best and still couldn’t get in the first year. Nevertheless, you weren’t known for the lack of determination, and soon enough you were an agent. Your dreams of wearing a bulletproof vest and carrying a gun were close enough to grab, if it wasn’t for all the paperwork you were hired to handle.

Didn't take long before you found out they only decided to accept you because of your degree, which to them made you a perfect candidate to process large amounts of information fast and make important connections. Heading straight into severe burnout, you nagged your way into a mission once, where you successfully managed to enter the building without drawing too much attention, and this success turned everyone’s eyes to you, becoming your golden ticket into the world of real missions, where the stakes were high, adrenaline was rushing and your actions actually mattered.

It was your dream life, bulletproof vest, a gun, you signed commands to your teammates, had a codename “Dove” (that you chose yourself) and for the first time in your life you felt in the right place doing the right thing. Your family and friends did not agree.

Every time you got back home, people would ask whether you found yourself a husband, implying that you only got into the field because “that’s where the real men are” since you must've gotten tired of those whiny boys you met in therapy and uni. You were perfectly aware that they tried to devalue your achievements and it made you want to never ever settle down out of spite, which wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself. Poor coworkers that were bold enough to try their luck asking you out - got rejected, before you even thought of it. The idea of your family ending up thinking they were right all along and smirking about it for the rest of their lives made you sick. You were emotionally intelligent, yes. It didn’t mean that you were suddenly a robot and their toxicity didn’t get to you. Understanding and admitting this issue was a part of it, keeping it in mind was enough. Besides, it’s sensible to know better than confusing professional with personal.

You had it all figured out at first, the work/life balance thing. While most people in the filed allowed themselves to lack focus, only wishing to go back to their families, or on the contrary, spent all their time working as a distraction from not having any personal life or hobbies - you managed to be right in the middle. Hobbies, friends, self-care, education. At first.

Your optimistic desire to learn and improve yourself led to you taking on all the available courses that work managed to provide, which in turn led to you dealing with things mostly outside of your grade of training. Every time they were short on agents, you came in to help. Never alone, you were still too inexperienced and a woman. Nobody wanted to be responsible for writing you off dead. Even though your work was impressive, sending a young girl on a mission which resulted in her death cold not possibly look good on paper.

You disliked working with most agents. They happened to be arrogant, bad at commutation and for some reason always acted insulted that you were given the same task. It was never about teamwork to them. One of the agents once greeted you with a “Seems like I’m going to be your babysitter for this mission”. You knew better than to bite back, you never spared them the reaction they wanted to get out of you. Always friendly.

It took a toll on your mental health, but it wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was them being nice, making you finally feel accomplished, just to badmouth you behind your back afterwards.

Laugh about you being a burden and whatnot. You knew they just tried to keep up their image, to appear tough to other guys and to make sure everyone knew that they did not take you seriously, so their little crush wouldn't be that apparent. You also knew that everybody knew that, so it wasn’t getting under your skin most days.

Some nights it felt too unfair to ignore, so you imagined telling them off and commanding respect, like the women in those daytime shows you loved to watch as a kid. But every morning you felt too professional and too grounded in reality to pay it any mind. Maybe too small, but it was a secret you kept, unable to grant yourself at least a little courtesy, at least a little white lie, a lie by omission. Some silence that would protect you from self-doubt. Had to be cruel.

That nagging and flattery bothered you up until the moment you got paired with the moodiest agent. It was a brief time, a small task to help him out on a mission, getting into the building pretending to be barista and retrieving a package with intentions to pass it on to him. Got caught in a little bit of a cross fire and ended up helping out beyond your instructions.

He was famous for extreme cases and a cool attitude so you prepared for the worst. To your surprise, he happened to be extremely easy to deal with. A bit cold and he made a weird joke once that almost didn’t seem like a joke coming from him (or at best, for sure didn’t land). You hated that it didn’t go according to plan and prepared to hear all about how you were trusted with something delicate and created problems (even though it wasn’t your fault, it rarely was), but when you learned of his reports praising you for having potential and a fast reaction, you started seeing him in a different light.

Leon Scott Kennedy kind of proved to you wrong just when you started to think you were doomed to drown in self-deprecation before finally quitting. Your higher ups mentioned him giving you positive feedback and you didn’t waste time telling them that you found working with Agent Kennedy productive. He didn’t need your praise, so you praised your synergy. In all the best and seamless ways you knew how to, in order to manipulate them to pair you together more.

Your skills did not disappoint, soon enough you were working together every other mission. You were cautious not to seem annoying, but he had a way to make you feel at ease. He’d smile when you saw each other. He wasn’t a talker, but you didn’t feel any pressure. You were comfortable with his professionalism, it made you feel understood and respected.

After some time working, you were happy to return the favor, tolerated (a fair share of) his weird sense of humor. He’d alert your walkie-talkie with a stern “Dove.” and when you answered, he’d say “Flying high today?”

Made you roll your eyes every time. And finally, you were the one who got to feel annoyed, instead of feeling like you annoyed others.

He appreciated your attitude, sometimes he’d call you up to the shooting range at the base and helped you adjust your aim dealing with a bigger recoil than you were used to.

Maybe it was when he put his strong arms on yours, standing so close behind you without the gear being there to block his body heat from warming your back.

Maybe it was when he asked you if were okay at the end of the day. Maybe it was when he protected you from danger as his first priority every mission. Maybe it was when he trusted you with his life. Maybe it was when he wrapped up the mission before completing the task, because he didn’t want to risk you loosing too much blood due to your injury that one time.

Maybe it was when he texted you later. Lying in your hospital bed, you read “Dove. How’s the flight?”, how it made all the pain irrelevant. How you never answered because you suddenly didn’t want to say the wrong thing, but did everything in your power to hop back to your feet and get back to work. Maybe it was the shift in the energy that you felt once you saw him again, maybe it was the way you noticed how attractive his attitude was (when it was directed at everyone else but you). But you noticed that he certainly had an effect on you.

It was him who was the first to tell you that you’d have to stay put for a while, no feet on the ground, just “remote work”, as he kindly put it.

“Found a way to get rid of me?” - you joked before letting the sadness seep from your tensed up eyebrows straight into your eyes. He noticed and reassured you it’s temporary. And for the better. “If you say so.” was all he got. You were agreeable and there was nothing to discuss really. It was the first time he made you feel hurt. It wasn’t his fault, and you knew it, you were very mature after all. Emotional intelligence. But you still wanted to test if he’d feel bad about it and judging by the sigh that he let out, it worked. Smirk on your face as you walked away.

Same smirk curled up your lips when he came by the headquarters to ask how you’re doing, seeing you in hoodie with your hair down, talking to an intern, a young nerdy guy who was explaining something you pretended to care about.

“Getting comfortable?” – he asked, you weren’t sure if he was referring to your friendliness with an intern or your blunt dress code violations. Truth be told, you knew he was entering the base and let your hair down intentionally.

“Yeah…” – you put a hand through your hair, - “Keep getting headaches staring at the screen for hours and all..., hair ties do not help”.

You noticed his gaze lingering, - “Can’t catch a break, can you?” – he joked.

“Well, if everyone writing me off counts as a break, it’s all I’ve been catching.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” – he rolled his eyes, before looking at the intern, the guy's name was Nail, Neville, Niall something like that. Niall pretended to work behind you, and Leon lowered his voice, softened even, - “you know it’s not like that.”

“I know, I’m just making sure you know I don’t like it.” – you lowered your voice to match his, - “However it is.”

“Came here to make sure of that.” – there was a hint of a smile in his voice as he leaned closer to say that, before pulling away, - “Planned on disrupting your little holiday soon.”

Your eyes sparked, - “You did?”

“Can’t afford all my mentoring go to waste because of one stab wound. Ridiculous.”

“Your mentoring?” – you laughed, watching his relaxed smile for the first time, you liked that smile, - “Sure, that would be criminal.”

Getting back to work was easy, you never really needed that much time off anyway. You’d consider it a waste of time, if it wasn’t for a conformation that Leon cared about you in some way. You got bolder equipped with that knowledge.

Things generally shifted a little. His usual teasing turned into “Dove. Flying high? Both wings intact?”, he switched to a more hands-on approach, moving you around and grabbing your arms to stall you more than usual. He got more comfortable. It was like after your first big injury he got his conformation that you can handle harm and stopped acting like he was responsible for your every step, even though he never was.

Things got more easy until they got more complicated. When adrenaline got the best of you after speed climbing an abandoned military base wall to get away from landmines that were about to be triggered by a fallen satellite tower. Both heaving, lying on the floor, ecstatic that you made it.

Leon crawled his way to you, putting his hand to your side, where you were stabbed (three months ago by now), - “You okay?” - he put his hand on your forehead and brushed his knuckles over your temples, like it will give him any indication.

You sat up slightly. “Yeah…” - grabbing onto his forearm to get up, but getting lost in the vision instead. You both were high on the rush, him almost on top of you, sweat covering your faces, breathing deeply, it was only natural to put your hand on his shoulder and letting him kiss you. Kissing him back. Falling back on the floor, hearing him grunt into your lips as he fell onto you, putting your hand into his hair, pressing him closer, deepening the kiss. You made it out alive. You were so alive.

“Fuck,” – he breathed out between kisses, - “we got to go back”, - he kissed you deeper, as he let his hand grab your chest, moving it to your back, possessively, lifting you up, closer.

You held onto his arm, as if ordering it to stay there. Ordering, begging, approving… Nodding, - “yeah,” – and kissing him back. You both knew this moment might be the only one to steal. It was all there. It was all there was.

But you managed to pull away, the spell was broken and it turned into tension. And you got back without any distractions. Silent on the helicopter, both solemn in your own throughs.

Both planning on how to go about this incident, both trying to keep it professional, without ruining your partnership. Both failing as your off-duty talk turned into you kissing him against the wall of your on-base apartment, his knee between your legs, your hands under his shirt.

The story was: you both had the same monologue prepared, your ideals, sense of professionalism and morals aligned. And since it all aligned anyway, why does it matter?

You were great when it came to team work, you trusted him with your all and he met you in every way possible, every kiss, every thrust, every bite, he even came through with it every time all you needed to cum was to hear him moan.

You managed to keep it professional outside of the bedroom (or any room really where no one could see). It worked. You were too busy for proper relationships, you knew how to make each other feel good, you cared about each other, and you both wanted it. That’s what you kept telling yourself.

But you were a bad liar when it came to facing yourself. You knew damn well that you didn’t want any other proper relationships. You also didn’t want to change how things were, you did not put everything at stake for this career to throw it away on some good dick. Some good dick. Nice shoulders. And strong hands, that held you up, like they designed you and were making sure it stayed in place. Big legs and steady hips, that felt just right every time you came down on them. Firm lips, that took what they wanted. Soft voice that was sharpened with a rasp, always asking if you’re all right, if it’s okay, if you like it, if you’re close. Never had to ask, in his mind he always knew. His mind, always busy. Baby blue eyes, attentive, detached, sad. Ghosts, so many ghosts.

You wanted to take it away, you could. You saw past his exterior, you wanted to repair it, whatever it was. Your past mistakes coming back to the surface. Your second reason. Never could keep any boundaries. Drawn to all the broken things, too invested. You made a bad therapist, an even worse agent as it turned out.

But it was different with Leon, he was on the same page. There was no disbalance, no uncomfortable power dynamic, besides that in the bedroom, where he could easily overpower, holding you down, as you shake, as you pull his hair; him not letting you come down from your high before forcing another round of bliss onto your overstimulated body. No, outside of all that, there was no disbalance. You were on the same page. You were both okay. You were equal. It was better, he wasn’t your client, you didn’t have to feel bad.

You could care about him and it didn’t mean going back to destructive patterns. And it’s only natural for a person to care about another. You weren’t his therapist. You weren’t even his friend. You were just two people who understood what they..., were to each other and who were on the same page. Whatever that page was. He wasn’t letting you down this road alone. He had you. Whatever it meant.

It was special. And you felt like it was all worth it. It was scary to let your mind wonder to places he occupied, but soon enough you had trouble finding any space he didn’t. He was everywhere, like a new puzzle you tried to put together. What shaped him into this man you wanted to disappear into? What weights him down? What was he like as a child? What’s on his mind when you’re not together? What are the missing pieces? What pieces needed mending?

It was not your intention to let yourself get so wrapped up, but it was hard not to when he wrapped your legs around his shoulders, riling up the tug in your stomach with his tongue until your mind went white. So so wrapped up. Messed up. His hair, your body, your thighs, your thoughts.

You cut down on joint missions, couldn’t risk it. Seeing him in action distracted you, it wasn’t safe. He understood. It was hard seeing you in gear. It was really hard.

When you finally learned how to behave, you happened to work together more, couldn’t risk growing too far apart. Had to keep your hands to yourself, your thoughts focused on the task. Despite betting your all on these changes helping you to prioritize your career, you found yourself more ready than ever to throw it all away. Head first into his embrace, you didn’t care about your family gloating about being right, about proving it to yourself that you’re unable to keep anything professional enough. Despite every wall you’ve built. He made it seem worth it. Inviting. Safe. And if you were on the same page…, Were you on the same page? He had to be.

Where was he?

Those thoughts were doomed to be pruned before blooming because you couldn’t let the reality slip away. You had a dangerous job, even if you leave to make it more acceptable for you to be together, he won’t. And you can’t trust yourself to be okay with him putting himself at risk with no means to help out or at least to know what’s going on.

And you couldn’t forget that the only reason you happened to fall into this was out of convenience. Maybe not the only reason, but the main reason. One of the main reasons.

You were sensible, but in your head, you were retired in a house near some sea, lying on a blanket on some beach, reminiscing the old days with a smile with Leon next to you. For now, your goal was to collect as many memories as you could, make sure you have plenty to look back at. He’d be hot with grey hair. He’d kiss your temple and there’d be no ghosts in his eyes by then. You could see it so clearly. You’d love it all down. It would be perfect.

The day you wrapped up another mission (a big round number for you) you started planning the celebration. It was how it was done here. Had to plan ahead, but was way too busy daydreaming.

You knew it would be risky to have other agents, you and Leon at the same table. Add alcohol into picture, and the risk is high. But not inviting a person you owe at least half of the number you’re celebrating to, would be even more suspicious.

Little did you know, the reason why it was the worst idea ever never even crossed mind. The topic of you two wasn’t brough up until most of the guests left, the bar was almost empty, it just you and some of the agents who knew Leon “forever”, to quote them.

“So, Leon keeps snatching up all the ladies?” – came from one of them.

You had no idea if they knew anything or simply insinuated, so you looked taken aback. That’s when the guy added, - “Oh, I’m just kidding. I know Leon does not shit where he eats, not after Ada Wong!”

You didn’t know what to process first. To be relieved you were off the hook, to be disgusted by the phrasing, or to pay attention to the way Leon’s face changed after the mention of the name. He said the guy’s name sternly. A warning.

“Oh sorry, hit a nerve. He doesn’t talk about Ada.” – he finished his beer before adding, - “Would you believe our Mr. Cool over here fell for an enemy out of all people? Now he’s above it all, sure. Let that bitch walk all over and still-”

Leon stood up, - “Shut it. And take her name out of your mouth. You know nothing.”

It was your cue to deescalate the situation, but you just sat there. Silence filled the bar, and Leon walked out.

The guy who brought it up whistled, - “You’d think he’d be over it by now.”

“Hopeless romantic, that one” – cackled another, - “You must be used to his temper by now.” – He looked at you knowingly.

Before they left, you said that you’re were going to stay for a while, you had some business with the bartender. And you did, asked him for something stronger than beer.

At first you waited for Leon to come back, not letting any thoughts seep into your head. It wasn’t the best idea. You were better than this.

Did they know? Did they suspect? Was it their way to warn you?

You knew of Ada Wong, not much. Clearly not enough. It didn’t matter.

Didn’t it?

Whiskey never eased your thoughts, just made them flow more freely. It was a mistake to drink more after what happened. Another mistake.

Was it all a mistake? A thousand thoughts you desperately tried to keep at bay broke the dam and flooded your mind.

So that’s what it was about. Not about you, just him falling back to his habits. How could you judge? You weren’t exactly exhibiting a golden standard of professionalism yourself. It’s not a big deal. You both knew it wasn’t a big deal since the start, on the same page. Were you?

Suddenly everything felt disgusting, the bar, waiting for him felt embarrassing. Your thoughts right now, your dreams earlier. God, you were stupid.

You paid for the drinks and headed out. Bartender asking you something, as you turned to leave, not even listening. That was rude. Disgusting behavior.

It will all go away in the morning. It’s just too much information. Not enough information. Most people your age had past relationships; Leon was a couple years older. It’s not a big deal, he’s a young man with needs.

And you were just there to aid him with that. You had needs too. It was convenient and fair. Never gave any promises. Except that you did.

A lot of silent promises, it was convenient. Didn’t have to follow through if the only person who knew of them was you. Falling asleep was a challenge. You prayed for sleep to take away these thoughts. These feelings. You begged for a clean emotional palette in the morning.

But morning felt heavy on you on your shoulders. Sticky thoughts clinging to your consciousness and spreading like a disease. Embarrassing, grotesque, ugly.

You did your best to pick right through them and cage unwarranted ones. You were an adult.

So what, he had an ex. So, he didn’t want to talk about it with others. So, he didn’t want to be mocked. So what? It makes sense.

Was it because of her? What was it? You wanted to interrogate him, to strap him down to a chair and to get it all out of him. Make him confess it all to you. You deserved it. He owed nothing to you. You were way too mature to think like that.

You knew it was unhealthy since the start, you never learn. You needed a reality check. It felt like a slap in the face; hot, burning. Shame.

You were stupid enough to think you were special. You were stupid enough to overthink it now. Always overcomplicating. Was she the ghost in your eyes?

It wasn’t about you, it was your curiosity that made you walk into the office, wasting your day off, finding the intern you used to flirt with. By the time he got a promotion. Cut his hair differently, training weathered his frame a little, a beard making it's way to his face. Almost handsome. You tried your best to gather a crush, to cling to some dignity. It wasn’t all about Leon, your mind was capable of thinking of other people as well. And when you asked ex-intern to get you all info on Ada Wong he could find, it wasn’t about Leon as well. It was about your case. You saw him as a puzzle after all, it wasn’t personal. Just a curiosity.

Leon looked unaffected, if you weren’t there that evening he got all insulted over a mention of his ex-whatever, wouldn’t have a clue. He’s good at hiding. What else is he hiding? You thought you had your clues, not one.

Reading Ada’s files made you feel stupid. You kept thinking to all these times you thought it was sweet of him to care about you, to train you. You thought he liked feeling like he had something to teach, something to show. You were wrong, if Wong was what he wanted, he found your training sessions pathetic at best. She was better than you, better than him. Is this what he liked? You were so stupid. She was beautiful, not in the way you were.

You learnt all about how she wrapped Leon around her finger, he messed up. It was pathetic of him, embarrassing. You tried your best to transfer those feelings onto him, to project. It didn’t work. He wasn’t pathetic, he was this hopeless romantic with a ghost of a lover in his eyes. A woman who managed to steal her way into his heart even after betrayal. That wasn’t pathetic. You were, collecting any piece of information about her that you could. Now that was pathetic.

How you wanted to solve this puzzle, convinced that once you do, it will let you go. Set you free. You couldn’t possibly spend much longer on his leash. Tracking all your thoughts to him. To her.

They made you feel sick. You hated her for disrupting your fairytale. You hated him for not playing his part right. You hated yourself for allowing this fairytale to take roots.

It was stupid. You had so many guys after you in university, so many people at work who’d die to ask you out. You had all the cards when it came to dating, and you knew it. But you felt stupid and ugly. It was like all the miserable scenarios; all your jealousy seeped its way through your skin and you had to wear it heavy on your face. Ugly.

He ruined everything. He was not responsible for your feelings. You took pride in your emotional intelligence. Even that, he managed to take away from you. It was all tainted.

You weren’t jealous, just disgusted with yourself. Ashamed of being naïve. Ashamed of your thoughts and reactions. Was it even her real name? Ada Wong. Seemed fake. She surely made that up, who in their right mind uses a real name with a job like hers? If you can even count it as a job.

You wondered if Leon knew her real name. He knew of her nature, knew what she was doing for a living, he killed people for less. And yet couldn’t stand someone speaking badly of her. Left you alone.

Maybe it was a way to escape the conversation, maybe he knew something, knew these people and knew they would dig to find the truth about your affair if he stayed. This had to stop. You couldn’t afford to advocate for him just to justify your lack of maturity. You had sex because you were two adults in close proximity who happened to find each other attractive enough. That was it. Any complications will only hurt down the road.

The urge to shut off and be cold was as immature as it was natural. You could not force yourself to be any different. Couldn’t let go of the only shield that you knew, even though you knew it was childish, you knew it was wrong. You know it, you knew it all. You were smart. You were beautiful, you were capable and daring and independent. Why on earth did you do this to yourself?

You were miserable.

You had to let this go. It was in your head. Ada Wong was nowhere to be found, she was an evil, horrible person who betrayed people, a criminal with no regards for anything other than money. If Leon fell for it, he’s pathetic. You had a moral high ground in the situation regardless of any circumstance. At least you weren’t a criminal. The days you spent in therapy came to your mind. That was unethical, not illegal. It would be considered illegal in some states.

You weren’t a bad person.

Seeing Leon on duty was easier than you anticipated. Acting like you didn’t drag your dignity through the mud was harder, but you managed. Made it work.

A little more quiet than usual, but it was fitting for the mission. You flew over to another country to assist Secret Service agents responsible for president’s safety by tracking down the shooter. They knew assassination attempt was planned, but couldn’t risk to let it be carried out, so you had to track down whoever was smart enough not to die by being too bold, but dumb enough to be entangled in this mess. Not very physically demanding for the most part, a lot to do with getting into the head of someone who puts their life on a line to do something stupid.

Daytime shows always portrayed these criminals as some genius people who had a plan and an ideology. Reality was disappointing; it was mostly poor people with no education, desperate enough to do any “job” for a promise of money they never end up seeing. Their handlers weren’t much smarter, bribed to organize the mess you had to take care of because violence pays.

They were all stupid at the end of the day, putting their lives at risk for money. Just like Ada Wong. She was less stupid than your regular criminal, had to give her that. Maybe that’s why she was able to leave such a lasting impression. She’s just like a daytime TV drama character.

So smart and horrible, but since she’s sexy and rich, it can all be forgiven, it makes her cool. Was she rich? No idea, but she had to be, a lot of money involved in the field, if you can even call it that. Surely, she was sexy, you saw the photos that were in the system. Studied the 3D model of her face that was created to identify her under all the wigs and disguises just in case. You looked at her face for hours imagining Leon kissing her lips, what it would feel like. Desensitize yourself, so you don’t get visually bothered next time someone brings her up. To understand him better, perhaps, he was just a puzzle at the end of the day. You were invested as a phycologist; it was essentially just research.

“Missing the action?”

“What?” – you looked at Leon, who was setting up yet another spyglass set (that looked more like a telescope fit to see what was happening on Mars) in the empty apartment you were stuck at.

“Looks like you’re not enjoying our little getaway.”

“That’s not a getaway, Leon, we’re on duty.”

“Could be worse.” – a sly smile as he adjusted the lens, eyes hidden by the steel tube.

Fuck, he was hot. You knew better than to open your mouth, feeling the word vomit coming up. You were going to mention her name, if you kept talking. This whole thing turned into obsession that wasn’t healthy. Let it go.

There are ways to process those emotions. Therapists can provide valuable assistance in dealing with feelings of jealousy over a partner's ex by offering various strategies and approaches. You’re capable.

Understanding Emotions. Exploring and understanding the roots of this jealousy. Was it insecurity? Fear of abandonment? You had nothing to be insecure about. And there’s no abandonment if you weren’t an item in the first place. Knowing someone could be this close to you and not head over heels might have hurt your self-esteem. So, he was kissing your neck as your bodies collided, but it wasn’t enough to forget another woman. Like you weren’t that special. That hurt, we all want to be special. Sometimes you felt your pride suffer when a barista ignored your smile as they gave you your coffee. That rarely happened, maybe once. But you still remember. It was an issue to work on. Nothing to do with Ada Wong.

Cognitive Restructuring. Cognitive-behavioral techniques were useless on you, you had no irrational thoughts. You got high on feelings, got hurt, humbled and it was an uncomfortable situation to deal with. Your negative thought patterns associated with jealousy were mostly about your pride. It wasn’t about other people. They had no control over you.

Communication Skills. There was no point in talking about something you created in your own head. You were not in a relationship with Leon, you did not know the Wong girl, whatever her real name was. It was about you and your self-esteem issues. Thinking it through was enough.

So, building self-esteem was the way. What were you defined as that you took most pride in? It used to be your academic achievements. You gave it up. Your job? Where you really any better than hired criminals who put their lives at risk for someone else? Where you really that much better than Ada fucking Wong?

There was no pride in your job anymore. Daytime TV lied and you weren’t even the best at what you were doing. Did you find pride in your looks? Yes, but now that you were used as a fuck doll, it was pretty hard to do it. Your maturity and emotional intelligence? Not when you were crushing out because a co-worker you screw for fun has an ex he didn't manage to get over. As if it matters in any capacity. Ridiculous how you let yourself get so low. All this inadequacy and competitiveness was a result of doing a job you did not even like anymore. A burnout.

Mindfulness and Emotional Regulation. You had to regulate any and every ugly thought, filter your goddamn mind. No more wallowing.

Setting Boundaries. It wasn’t even an affair; you were just helping each other to blow off steam. You had to trust each other with your bodies at work, it worked. Could trust each other with your bodies off work; not a big deal.

Had to reframe the relationship in your head. Remind yourself of the frame.

Comparative Analysis. Ada was nowhere to be found. Hiding like a criminal, that she was. And you were there. There was no way she could realistically get in the way of you living your life, and even if that happens? She can have him and moody ass any time. You do not need his energy bringing you down anyway. She can play these mind games with him; you just liked the way his body felt. The rest was hormones, you must’ve been very hormonal when you made all these things up. And you analyzed him because you missed your true calling.

Finally, the curse is broken. You took a sip of hot green tea, relaxing into the sofa in your hotel room. It was nice to be back, to not feel guilty, to finally make sense out of everything.

A knock on the door. Leon, Leon, Leon. So predictable. You debated opening the door for a split second before realizing that it’s a perfect opportunity to prove to yourself that you can finally trust your mind to not act like a lunatic. Essential even.

“Hey, I thought…” – he couldn’t finish his excuse, before you grabbed his shirt and tugged him inside, put him up against the wall. He looked at your hands, taken aback slightly; like it wasn’t what he came for. So charming, just how you like him.

You kissed his jaw, broad kisses travelling down his neck, - “Now that’s a gateway”, - you smiled as your hands dropped to the belt and felt up his thighs, teasing.

“Yeah…”, - he swallowed, throwing back his head slightly. Like he was contemplating something. You felt his neck move under your lips and it made you think of all the ways his body could move, will move in few minutes, the bottom of your stomach feeling tense, - “I thought… Had to check up on you” – he hissed as you bit above his shoulder.

“Check up on me, huh? I got a couple ideas…” – the hands on his pants circling closer to bulge that was very much prominent at this point.

“You must have some ideas” – he let out a breath, brows knitting slightly, - “Spent so much time at the office lately.”

You laughed, so silly. Did he keep track of your whereabouts? Waited for you to be available? – “Mhm… I have friends there.” – the circle came to a point and you palmed him, squeezing lightly.

“Like that Niall guy? What’s his name?”, - he tilted his head down to look at you, fast enough for you not to see it coming, you found yourself scared you might accidently kiss his lips. It terrified you for some reason, so you sank lower.

And lower, - “You’re thinking about me with Niall?” – slowly stroking the outline clear under his clothes, - “Does it turn you on?”

“What?” – he made a face, scrunching his nose, - “No”.

Hilarious, - “What about us three together?” – a frustrated huff through the nose, - “What about us three but with another girl?” – you picked up the pace, undoing the belt with a free hand, it was so entertaining riling him up, all this frustration, he could let it all out on you.

He called your name in that assertive tone that you liked, made you laugh as you licked the skin between the pants and a shirt, - “What if it was Ada Wong?”

He said your name again, catching both of your hands in a tight grip. Had to ruin all the fun.

“Come on, what now?” – you whined, rolling your eyes.

He yanked you up to your feet and looked at you. Studying, disappointed, accusing. What did you do?

You started at each other for a moment. You didn’t do silent treatment. “What?” – you repeated, this time more genuine annoyance in your tone, - “Use your words, Leon, fuck. I’m too tired for this.”

That look of a disappointed parent. Or a pet owner, - “Get some rest then.” – so full of it as he set in motion.

“No need to react this way, threesomes aren’t for everybody.”

“And don’t,” – he closed the door before lecturing you more, - “Don’t ever mention her name."

“Fine!” – you exclaimed, raising your eyebrows, - “Jeez, thought she made you hard, didn’t know she was such a boner killer.”

“You don’t know anything about her.”

“Fine! And I don’t want to!” – he wanted to act like an angry dad, you could match. It didn’t sound at all like you wanted, you didn’t have the authority in that scream to back it up; so, you stood there in silence for a slip second, - “Get out.”

The sound of the door closing felt like a punch to the core, a sob coming straight from your ribs before you chocked it with a hand to mouth. Pressing hard, tears flooding your fingers, tickling.

So fucking stupid. Everything was so fucking stupid. It hurt that you were just another fling at work, yes. But it hurt more that she wasn’t.

You hated her. You couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. You wanted to die.

The pain in his eyes, the disappointment. Did she do this to him? The ghost in his eyes? Was she the one who could make it go away? The burn in your chest rang up your ears and breathing got harder.

If she was so dear to him, you’d find her. Set them up together. And then you’d die. Horribly. You’d fall off a cliff, rocks breaking every bone and smashing away your body parts and then some… Some wild dogs would tear you to pieces and he’d watch. And before the fall someone would shoot you like ninety times. Straight to the heart, and then you’d fall. And as those wild dogs ate your flesh, they’d growl loudly. And he wouldn’t care.

He would be happy with his glorified criminal knowing that you died for it. And you’re the only reason he got to be happy. And it would… It would haunt him forever. He would look at Ada and see your ghost. Finally, she would be the one dealing with the ghost of you staring back from his beautiful eyes.

You were mature and rational. And you’d rather be dead than live through this.

You never learned how to lie to yourself, no matter the effort. It was never meaningless to you; it was larger than what you allowed yourself to dream of. And he was never a puzzle.

He was the only person who made you feel like you had nothing to prove. Like you were worth the effort with no payback. And you had such deep respect and love for him. It hurt to admit. Knowing that your feelings were yours alone. It hurt to know that truth.

That all these times he trained you, he missed his very much skilled lover. That every moment that was meaningful to you, was just a distraction for him.

You didn’t want to be small, your ego was through so much, but maybe it was the lesson you had to learn. To let go of that thing that stalled you every time you made a mistake.

You weren’t special, nobody cares if you’re in the right, if you’re better, smarter, ethical. So, it’s okay if you fall short. That you’re going to live through this.

You are going to live through this.

Last day of the mission the weather was mockingly good. Feathered clouds hugging the sun just enough to soften the rays that danced on the ground as if they were playing hide and seek with the wind. Daytime TV always matched the weather to the feelings of the main character. Maybe you weren’t. Not even special enough for the weather to reflect your turmoil. It made you smile, the realization. Bittersweet, but you could handle knowing this truth, so you could handle the rest.

Leon was even more brooding than ever, weather didn’t pick him as the main character either. You were both doomed. Warm wind merrily moved his hair, as if it was pleading “Play with me, play with me, Leon!”. He didn’t care for it.

Leon noticed you looking at him, tucking his radio set in a pocket, he was about to say something when you interrupted, - “I’m quitting.”

The wind decided to try you this time, tickling your face by messing up the hair and exposing your neck, you smiled. That wind reminded you of a little kid. You weren't in the mood to play, sorry.

Leon nodded, said “Okay, we’ll get back to that” and picked up the radio set. Just like he would if you weren’t there. Just like he will.

Sure, but there was nothing to discuss. He could go back to whatever he wanted.

The flight home was silent. It was nice to be on a plane for a change, a private jet, not being thrown into the helicopter. You realized you never got to say goodbye to those views out of that noisy flying box. You never knew your last helicopter work transfer would be your last the last time you were there. Funny how things work. You have it all figured out and before you know it, everything changes and you don’t know whose body you’re in. Who is this strange person? What will this person do? Will it feel familiar ever again? Will it feel like home inside your skin?

Your blue-eyed partner spent the flight staring at the window, deep in his thoughts, up until he decided to occupy the seat next to you, leaving quite a bit of space, like you might not be safe to get close to.

“Hey…” - his voice soft, you’d like to remember that voice instead the one that he used earlier, - “Listen… Did something happen? Is it your family? Did something happen at home?”

The tenderness in which he carefully approached almost surprised you. You looked at him.

“You’ve been… I’ve never seen you like this. Noticed for a while… Now you want to quit.” – he glanced and looked away, not to pressure, - “You know, you can tell me”.

You slowly shook your head, - “Nothing happened.”

Silence once more claimed the cabin. It was comforting to have him around, not too close, just there, - “You spent so much time at the office lately. Reading, studying… Do you miss it? Want to go back?”

You looked at him, indifferent yet with so much pain in your eyes, tired, raised your shoulders in a little shrug. You looked so broken.

“You know… I understand. I had my moments… I was the best at the academy, put my all into it, and when I… When I graduated and it hit me that you can’t always measure… How good you did something…”

He was truly good. You could never paint him a villain in your story. Not even when he hurt you. He managed to find the root of the problem, you missing the career you left behind, dodging every shameful detail. Took your time spent studying as something upstanding instead of what it was, dignified your most embarrassing lows. You really loved him. And it tugged on your shattered heart.

“What are you doing?” – you asked him kindly, his attention fully yours, - “You don’t have to mentor me…” – you reached out and put your hand on his, comforting. It was okay.

A warm look, those blue eyes studying yours, looking for something, - “I’m not…”

“It’s okay.” – Gave him a bittersweet smile.

He took your hand in his. Strong warm fingers, brushing carefully, - “The sky is going to be lonely without you, Dove.” – you hummed, humoring the joke, - “I’m going to be lonely.” – he added, it hurt.

You sighed, - “You’ll find another.” - Took your hand away, - “You and the sky.” – There was no malice in those words, you truly meant it, - “After all it’s not your first affair at work. Won’t be last.” – it was comforting to finally accept it. Accept it to the point where you could say it and not feel rage. It broke your heart, but you’d learn how live with it. It wasn’t your first affair at work as well, after all.

Silence was cushioned by the mellow sound of the engine, white noise; after some time, he got closer and you put your head on his shoulder. He kissed your head as you pretended to fall asleep. It was something that will always stay with you. Had no photographs, it was too late to borrow his clothes, nothing. Just this one memory that wasn’t tainted by jealousy. That wasn’t butchered by an autopsy and fragmented into pieces to be devalued in a shrewd attempt to glue your ego back together. And it was nice. He was nice. It was okay.

You sat up straight when you were convinced that Leon fell asleep, looked at him, expecting to memorize his features. To your surprise, he was awake, completely still. You could swear his eyelashes were more matted than before. Your poor baby, it wasn’t worth it.

“You know… Ada.” – his voice heavy. Oh. Well, perhaps that was worth it. Perhaps she was, - “We met… Few times. She was the one who took something from me. Made it impossible to care for others.” – That explains it. Finally, the puzzle is coming along. Your goal is about to be complete and there’d be nothing left to do here. You almost didn’t want to know all the answers of why he couldn’t ever care about you, - “I spent years thinking I gave my heart in vain. I was so sure all I was good for was to be used.” – hearing him say that was devastating, - “But when I met her again. I figured it wasn’t like that. She saved me, more than once. More than in one sense. She really cared. She did. But she couldn’t act on it, fully, because she wasn’t free. It wasn’t me who was good for nothing. It was her, refusing to let go of her cage. I owe it to her, recognizing that there’s something worth breaking the rules and cages for, and if you don’t…”

“You embody the cage that trapped you?”

He nodded, - “Hollow.”

You wanted to move to hug him, to hold his hand, anything, but he wasn’t done.

“So, I owe it to her. Nobody gets it. I owe it to her to not end up the same. I know that she l…- “– he bit his lip, angry at himself for some reason, - “She loved me. I know it. She had love in her. And she walked away from it. So, I promised myself not be like that.” – there was a build up in his tone, what seemed to be a sob story about his one true love, was revealing itself a charged speech that was about to go off, - “So you may it call an affair, us, but I cannot agree with this. I don’t. And if you want to treat it that way, it’s your call. But you have to be honest with yourself.”

That was a lot to process. A lot of cracks in your theories to fill. What kind of strategy is this? What was he getting you into? This is disruptive, it made you uncomfortable.

“Understand that. I care, okay?” – he nudged your shoulder, - “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m all ears.”

That last phrase sounded a lot like “I’m all yours” to you at first and when the realization of what he actually said hit, you found yourself looking for an escape from that corner he got you in. You’re hearing what you want to hear again. That’s unhealthy.

That man didn’t even belong to himself. Despite what he’s saying, he’s a lot like Ada, a thought ran through your head. He saw so much of himself in her, and he didn’t like it. He must’ve seen enough of goodness in her to not give up on himself in that case. You spent so much time cursing the woman who in actuality convinced him to care about you, if you buy what he says. Did he have a reason to lie? Where you becoming just like them? Jaded.

Above all, she saved his life. You owed it to her. And in that moment, it hit you all at once. The stress you’ve been under. The idea of Leon dying, not being able to talk to him again, to touch him. Ada Wong and her love that she never got to share. Was it fair that she saved him for someone else? Where was she? How was she? Were you experiencing ego death?

Your eyes hurt, tears filling up the corners, chocked up, - “I’m so tired.”

Leon must’ve pulled you in, because for a moment, the world narrowed down to black, feeling of wet cheeks against a fabric, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears, temples pulsing, and it smelled like him. Must’ve been an awkward position, couldn’t tell where your limbs were, but you felt his hands caressing the back of your head, rubbing your back; you stayed like that till you breathing evened out, and you wiped your face, standing up and excusing yourself to go wash your face.

When you came back, he offered you a water bottle without saying a word.

Lingering sadness in the air. What a wild mess. Who are you going to be when you walk out of the jet?

“How can I help?” – poor guy looked genuinely worried, was probably convinced something bad happened and you were going through a lot. Maybe you were.

You shook your head and he dropped it.

Usually, he’d carry the bags with equipment out to the storage facility once you land, a courtesy to the staff. This time he followed you, calling your name and on land you felt more strangely claustrophobic next to him, more so than in a tiny cabin in the skies, so you quickened you pace, hearing him call your name. Dangerously bad at goodbyes, so much for being mature, you just took off and ran. You wanted out.

Leon caught up to you, trapping you in an empty hallway, both of his hands against the cold white walls, your shoulders in between, didn’t touch you, but you knew you couldn’t get away easily. You whined and closed your eyes, when will this interrogation stop? You wanted to sleep.

He got closer, studying your swollen face intensely, traced your jawline with his nose, pressed a soft kiss onto your lips, the corner of your mouth, to the side of your nose, you tried to push the man away; your palms on his chest, but he grabbed your hands by the wrists and pinned them to a wall, next to your face. So dependent and reactive, every time one of you got tougher, the other got weaker. It was obvious what was coming, you had no strength in you left to fight it, it wasn’t clear why you were fighting it to begin with. He kissed your lips, soft and intimate. A deep kiss, slow, it was the most vulnerable thing between you to this day. Heartbreaking, for no reason at all. His hand, cupped your face, as soon as he felt tears on the lips, then he took your face in both, - “Fuck, not this…” – he kissed your cheeks, stroking your jaw; rough hands suddenly tender and careful, - “Please, baby…”

You clung to his neck, hiding, gripping, he picked you up, held closely, before sliding down the wall, squeezing you in his arms, like you’d fall apart if he were to let go. It was true.

You were so scared of letting go of the life you grew to be familiar with. Scared of starting it all again. Scared of facing the truth that running away from problems was the biggest problem of them all. Scared of letting another person in, the one who had too much power over you, who had an affect on you so profound you were no longer the one in control. Scared of not letting him in and ending up alone. Scared of loud noises because of all the blood and the pain. Scared of this job traumatizing you for life for no good reason.

Someone appeared from the left side of the hallway, you heard rushed footsteps echoing and a worried voice, - “Is everything alright?”

Scared of footsteps.

“Need a medic.” – Leon’s voice firm, full of urgency.

You felt like you were going to die.

You didn’t die though, and no one did. Got looked at, got a strong prescription, got sent home. Got a service dog, kept you active as well as safe and alert when it got worse. Leon loved that dog, sometimes it even made you slightly jealous, making you laugh at how immature you could be. You quit. On your way of getting a PhD, working on most severe PTSD cases and yet still sometimes jealous over the silliest things like your boyfriend paying too much attention to your dog. It was hard to stay jealous through, catching Leon’s adoring eyes every now and then as he watched you. And he loved watching you; as you were studying, writing, doing chores, cooking, walking, playing with the dog. You never wondered what was it, never tried to read his mind. His mind was his and you trusted him with it. Couldn’t see far enough into the future, but you trusted him with it too.

_____________

I typed a lot straight to tumblr at the end there and if doesn't go through i'm gonna kms bc it will be lost forever

#aaaaaaa #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon x you #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x ada wong #angst #hurt/comfort #ao3 #fanfic #leon x reader #resident evil #re4 leon

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cheollipop · 1 month ago

Text

𝙘𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 (𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙙)

navi | taglist

pairing: woosan x fem!reader x song mingi

w.c.: 6.4k

tags: smut, boyfriends!woosan, implied criminal activities, standalone sequel to heists and celebrations.

rating: mature

Weeks passed and the stolen necklace—your only tie to the museum—had long since been pawned away. And yet buzzed, pink hair continued to haunt your fantasies. Until you remembered: Wooyoung was incapable of denying your requests, no matter how sticky they were.

warnings: semi-public sex, van sex, really fucking filthy sex, voyeurism & exhibitionism, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, fingering (f & m receiving), handjobs, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, dom!wooyoung, switch!san, switch!reader, ??!mingi, he's just happy to be there tbh, lots of mxm between all three of them, so much kissing holy fuck, jealous!san, some begging, restraints, everyone gets a little overstimulated, nicknames, san's a cutie when riled up, and he's got a potty mouth, I think that's it ^^

A/N: this one was a wild ride. I'd recommend grabbing a bucket and a mop, just in case. happy reading~

nsfw under the cut—minors dni!! 🔞

“I’m surprised, (y/n). It’s been how long since that day? You’re usually quick to move on,” Wooyoung said with a smile on his lips, pouring hot water into his mug.

“Woo,” you whined, leaning your upper body over the kitchen island, inhaling the fresh scent of instant coffee wafting from Wooyoung’s direction. “You should’ve seen him. I mean, how many men have you seen rock pink hair, let alone a buzzcut?”

“Have you seen Park Seonghwa?”

“Who?”

“Shame. You know Hongjoong? Anyang Group’s boss?”

“Ah, Seonghwa as in that Hongjoong’s sidepiece?” Wooyoung nodded as he sipped his coffee. “Mm,” you mirrored the movement in agreement, lips curling, “wouldn’t mind seeing more of him.”

“Damn right,” he laughed.

He brushed away the image of a slender frame and plush lips to redirect back to your conversation. “You seriously want this?”

“Can you do it?” Tilting your head sideways, you peered at the man before you with wide, hopeful eyes.

Wooyoung’s eyebrows shot upwards, and he walked around the island to where you were sat on a stool, placing his mug down to cup your nape, his voice raspy as he spoke, “you know better than to ask me that, darling.”

You smiled, snaking your arms underneath Wooyoung’s baggy shirt and around his waist, pulling him closer to press tender kisses over the line of his jaw, moving up to his lips while he leaned down until you were at eye-level and giving him a firm kiss.

Pearly whites peeked at Wooyoung, “then I really want this.”

“And you’ll get it,” he moved your head towards his with the hand at your nape, his nose pressing into your cheek as he kissed you until you ran out of breath, pulling away with a kitten lick to your upper lip.

Fingers scratched lightly at the back of your head, Wooyoung leaning closer once again, this time nuzzling your temples, taking in the scent of your shampoo before exhaling contently. “But,” he started, moving back until he could meet your eyes, “what about San?”

“What about him?” You feigned ignorance.

The corner of Wooyoung’s lips tugged upwards at your darting gaze. “You know how he gets. I can’t imagine he’d be thrilled watching you devour another man.”

You pouted, arms retreating from Wooyoung’s waist to cross at your chest. “He can deal with it.”

Wooyoung chuckled, moving to kiss you again, frowning when you stopped him with a hand to his chest. You spoke before he could question the movement,

“What about you? Or do you not get jealous”

His frown melted away, expression softening as you avoided his gaze, hands immediately seeking yours to guide them over his shoulders. “My love,” he peppered kisses over your cheek. “You know well how I treat bastards who dare touch what’s mine,” he craned his neck to follow your gaze, until his dark irises met yours. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

You nodded, flashes of gore and spattered red rushed through your mind and your heart warmed at the memory of his dedication, but you weren’t convinced. “Then why—”

Wooyoung interrupted, “but, my darling, since when have you known me to turn down any of your requests?” Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pressed your foreheads together. “While our precious Sannie might want to keep you all for himself, I certainly wouldn’t mind watching you use another man to satisfy a craving,” he moved to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, “especially if he’s as hot as you described.”

You heard San’s ringtone go off, followed by a short exchange of words before his voice echoed through the suite, “jagi, Youngie’s on his way.”

San’s socked feet padded over the carpet when you didn’t reply, stopping at the bathroom doorway to admire your form, leaning over the sink while blinking into your mascara wand. He leaned against the doorframe, watching you move back to examine the drying coat of black for a second before using the tip of the wand to brush over the outer corners of your lashes.

You dropped the tube into your makeup bag and zipped it shut. Meeting San’s gaze through the mirror, you smiled—almost shyly—while smoothing down your dress, its hem resting just below your behind.

“Who are you all dressed up for?” San teased, eyes flitting down to the burgundy colouring your lips.

You turned to face him, smile still stretching your lips as you leaned back against the counter behind you. “Woo said he had a surprise for me before your match tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow, taking a few steps closer, “a surprise? He didn’t mention anything to me.”

You simply shrugged, hoping he’d let it go before the excitement in your eyes betrayed you.

“Ah, I forgot to wash this for you last night,” you shifted the subject, hooking a finger under the hem of San’s singlet, the drops of dried blood staining the collar a memoir of his victory a couple nights ago.

The suspicion in San’s gaze faded, replaced with fondness. His hands reached for yours, balling them in his palms and bringing them to his lips. He pressed a kiss on each of your knuckles, “my perfect girl.”

You frowned; eyes fixed on the flaking blood smirching the white.

San breathed out a laugh, craning his neck to meet your eyes. “I’m serious, my love. It’s okay. It’s gonna get dirty again anyway.”

Seemingly unconvinced, San took your chin between his thumb and pointer and tilted your head upwards. He muttered a breathy “jagi” before his lips crashed over yours—desperate, hungry, wanting. Hands roamed up and down your sides, squeezing at your waist and ass and pulling you impossibly closer to his body. You felt dizzy, arms wrapped around San’s waist and palms splayed over the toned muscle of his back. His breath was hot as it blew over your skin, tongue moving with yours and spit melting the burgundy off your lips.

San’s ringtone sounded in the other room just as strong arms lifted you onto the counter, a disgruntled groan vibrating over your lips before he pulled away to answer, planting a quick peck on your mouth before scurrying out the bathroom.

Giggling to yourself, you slid off the marble to fix the makeup San kissed off you, wiping the product that bled past your lip-line before sliding the applicator over the slightly stained skin.

San showed up at the door once again, hopping on one foot while squeezing the other into his sneakers. “C’mon baby, Youngie’s waiting for us down the street.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you packed your makeup. “Why not pick us up from here?”

“Fuck if I know,” San sighed, swinging his backpack over his shoulder and grabbing his keycard.

The elevator ride was tense, the other passengers averting their gaze upon noticing San’s unabashed groping, a blank expression on both your faces while his hand disappeared under the back of your dress. You elbowed him when the landing doors opened at ground level, finally letting out an airy laugh as the other guests scurried out with hung heads, a cocky smirk forming on San’s lips.

‘Down the street’ was a much longer walk than originally anticipated, San’s grumbling indictive of his irritation, and yet his hold on your hand remained gentle, fingers tangled with yours and squeezing softly with every few steps he took.

After what felt like hours, you took a sharp left into a dark alleyway—tall buildings on either side blocking the sunlight—vivid graffiti overlapping on the damp walls, mould forming where they met the cracked pavement. The familiar white van appeared as you turned the corner, newly painted to refresh the previously peeling lettering, though the various dents in the metal remained.

Wooyoung stood leaning back against the van with a lit cigarette hanging off his bottom lip. The lit edge burned bright orange as he sucked in a breath, pushing off the cold metal to face the two of you.

“Why’d you fucking make us walk so far?” San spat, swinging his arms outwards for emphasis.

Lidded eyes met yours from a few feet away, and you attempted to maintain the faux irritation furrowing your eyebrows.

“Relax, I didn’t want anyone seeing our special guest,” he smirked, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Even if he came here voluntarily."

San looked as heated as he was confused, “the fuck are you talking about?”

Sensing another series of string of curses coming his way, Wooyoung put his hand up to stop him. “Calm down, kitten. Here, see for yourself.”

He exhaled a final cloud of smoke, dropping the expended tobacco onto the pavement and crushing it with the toe of his boot. He stepped towards the van again, pulling the back handles until the double doors swung open. Faded pink hair peeked at you from the back corner of the small space, longer and less vibrant than you remembered, though his defined features were just as captivating; though, you’d argue the full lips looked far more alluring spread apart by the rag Wooyoung had gagged him with.

Your gaze lowered, checking him out while he sat there, staring back with his wrists tied behind his back. You wondered whether Wooyoung had surprised him while getting ready, eying the top three undone buttons of his white shirt, and those missing from his open vest.

A snicker sounded behind you, “sorry, darling, I couldn’t help but inspect the goods while waiting.”

Your shared laughter snapped San out of his trance, turning to face Wooyoung. “Isn’t this the security guard from the last museum? Wooyoung, what the fuck is this?”

Wooyoung’s calm demeanour only seemed to irritate San further, as did the dry chuckle he gave towards his alarm. “Seems like distracting the dog wasn’t enough for our pretty (y/n), she wanted to take him on a walk.”

San’s eyes widened, his head snapping to your direction only to find the space you’d occupied beside him empty.

Your knees dug into the mattress laid on the floor of the van, the used, stained fabric holding the round indent you’d left behind for a few seconds before returning to its original shape. Crawling towards your target, you realised just how much the pink had faded since you last saw him, roots retouched but his grown-out locks closer to being blonde now. He didn’t seem afraid or confused—and you’d thought Wooyoung was only trying to enrage San by hinting Mingi wanted this encounter to occur. The doe eyes that checked you out in the museum were instead replaced by a sharp gaze drowned in an unknown emotion, something sultry, dangerous. But despite the thoughts churning in Mingi’s mind, the fact remained that he was helpless in his current predicament, tied up and unable to touch the woman he so desperately wanted, the threatening presence of her two partners lingering only a few feet away.

Wooyoung watched you closely, both his and San’s eyes shifting to the exposed, pretty black lace of your panties as you crawled towards the bound man. He could sense San’s jealousy simmering beside him, his eyebrows in a deep furrow and fists clenched at his side.

“Want me to untie him?” Wooyoung poked his tongue out between his teeth as a failed attempt to hide his growing grin, awaiting San’s beratement.

Though, your voice stopped the unkind words at the tip of his tongue.

“Uh-uh,” you turned down his offer, settling on your knees, “no need.”

Turning to face the two men still outside the van, you extended a hand towards San, smiling as the crease between his eyebrows softened and he scurried towards you. Grabbing your reaching hand, he led the open palm up to his mouth and pressed five kisses onto the soft skin, inhaling deeply with each one. You smiled, waiting until he’s had his fill before leading him closer. San’s arms wrapped around your waist, his body attaching to yours like it was second nature: front flush with your back, his face buried into the side of your neck until he could smell nothing but your scent, and a faint hint of your shampoo.

You felt the van dip slightly as Wooyoung climbed into the driver’s seat, the engine sputtering before coming alive. You craned your neck to the side to meet San’s eyes, smile dripping with mischief as you spoke, “just want him to watch for now.”

—

San almost couldn’t keep up, his knees digging into the mattress to keep himself steady, arms around your waist keeping you both upright as you threw yourself onto him, lips hungry and desperate as though you’d been craving his taste for days. Teeth clashed against each other, content hums and breathy moans vibrating in the air between you, your hands squeezing at the exposed muscle of his biceps, moving over his chest and down his abdomen.

Moving a few inches back, you dragged the white tank over San’s head and threw it to the side. “C’mon, Sannie,” you pressed a kiss to his lips, hooking your fingers into his waist belt to tug him closer, “don’t you wanna show our guest how good you can be for me?”

Fingers tangled in the hair at your nape, pulling roughly until your neck craned backwards. San’s voice had a rasp to it, dripping with lust he desperately tried to conceal, “don’t push it.”

The corner of your mouth curled, “that’s not being good,” a choked scoff blowing against San’s face, “maybe Mingi here can do better?”

You twisted your head sideways despite the resistance, meeting Mingi’s wide eyes for merely a second before your gaze was forced forwards once again.

“(Y/n),” his tone dripped with warning.

You swiped a finger over San’s bottom lip, protruding yours slightly to egg him on further. “Sannie,” you purred, smiling at the faint flutter of his lashes upon hearing the pleasant sound. “C’mon, baby, show Mingi how good you make me feel.”

Your eyes locked on Wooyoung’s through the rearview mirror while San manhandled you onto his lap, perhaps a little too calm as his gaze travelled over your bare skin and the thin sheet of sweat reflecting the sunlight peeking through the windshield. Your dress tossed somewhere behind you, back stuck to San’s chest and your legs hooked over his thighs, you could feel a flush creeping up your chest upon noticing your position—sat in San’s lap, spread open and bare while Mingi’s eyes roamed over the expanse of smooth skin.

Two fingers circled your clit, and you sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden touch, exhaling a content sigh when he didn’t waste time sliding them past your pulsing hole. San leaned closer, nuzzling his nose into the junction of your neck as he pumped his fingers slowly.

Sensing the unusual warmth of your skin, a smile stretched his lips. “Oh darling, isn’t it a bit too late to be feeling shy?”

“Shut up,” you moaned, tilting your head to the side to make room for San’s peppered kisses.

Your cunt squelched with every thrust, and you kept your eyes trained on Mingi while it spat slick around San’s fingers. He curled them into your sweet spot, soft ‘ah’s leaving your parted lips as pleasure soared through your body, eyes lidded and head lolling to the side, San’s fingers fucking you open and simultaneously dragging you towards the edge of your release.

“San, Sannie, right there, baby—hnngh, yeah,” his name dripping like honey off your lips.

You grabbed onto his wrist, tight yet not restraining his ministrations, your back arching off his abdomen when his free hand slapped your clit.

“So close already?” San teased into your ear, though his eyes were sharp and contemptuous upon meeting Mingi’s over your shoulder. “I see the audience has got you all worked up.”

His palm landed onto your clit again, and again, content watching your hips jump then fall back onto his lap with each slap.

“Sannie, please,” you panted, hips rolling towards his hands as he played with your cunt, nearly crying out when he pinched your clit between his thumb and pointer, vision blurring when you finally came.

San’s fingers continued pressing your g-spot, languidly to extend your orgasm, his other hand cupping your inner thigh and taking in the tremors shaking your form. His lips found their way back to your neck—blossoming bruises of red and blue scattered over the delicate skin—while his eyes remained on Mingi, as though an unspoken challenge was being communicated between the two men.

Slipping his fingers out from between your clenching walls, San readjusted your position on his lap, moving you sideways so your legs dangled off one of his thighs, an arm around your back holding you upright with your head resting on his shoulder. Mingi watched silently as San leaned down to press a delicate kiss to your lips, checking up on you through whispered questions while massaging the tired muscles of your thighs. It was like he was non-existent, merely a prop in the small bubble enveloping the two of you.

It wasn’t until your tired eyes met his that the bubble popped, and Mingi snapped out of his thoughts. You sat up, your gaze suddenly alert and glimmering with hints of mischief, beginning to crawl towards the man merely a few feet away after San had begrudgingly let you go.

With just a few inches separating your faces, you pulled the wet rag between his lips down to hang around his neck, “did you enjoy that?”

Mingi began nodding before you could finish the question, “yes,” he cleared his throat, the rasp in his voice sending a wave of heat down to your core, and San could see your pussy clench from where he was sat behind you.

“Mm,” you hummed, “I could tell.”

You smiled, tilting your head down to drag your attention to Mingi’s crotch, his cock hard and straining against the constraints of his dress pants. You brushed your fingertips over his zipper, smiling wider at the displeased groan sounding behind you, looking back up at Mingi when a chocked moan left his full lips, a thick gulp following it.

He rested his head against the back of the driver’s seat, taking you in wordlessly through hooded eyes, watching as you reached between your legs to swipe your fingers through your sopping cunt only to bring them back to hover in front of Mingi’s face.

“Be a good boy,” you whispered, and pushed your fingers past his plush lips.

Mingi didn’t need to be told twice, taking them like a starved man and moaning unabashedly as your slick met his tastebuds, rolling his tongue around the digits and sucking them deeper into his mouth. You felt yourself getting wetter, squeezing your thighs together while running your fingers down Mingi’s tongue until he gagged. His whine when you slid them out nearly made you cum, his head moving to chase your retreating fingers, your lingering taste alone driving him halfway to madness.

So, you brought them back, this time hovering around and over his lips despite his attempts to take them inside his mouth. Brushing your thumb through the spit soaking his lips, you shoved it past them to hook behind his bottom teeth, tugging his head forward and removing your hand just before your lips crashed. It was sloppy, way too much teeth and saliva and tongue, and yet your pussy ached, skin buzzing and your need growing the longer your mouth moved against Mingi’s. Lust guided you, your fingers squeezing around Mingi’s cock through his pants while your tongue ran across his teeth, the raspy moans reverberating against your skin fanning the fire burning within your core.

Warmth spread against your back, San’s body covering yours and his hand closing around your chin to pull you off Mingi, pausing to take in the gloss covering both your lips before his irritation grew once again, “don’t slobber on another man’s face when I’m the one fucking you.”

You visibly shuddered at his words, arching back against his torso and leaning forward to catch his lips, barely brushing against then when Mingi’s voice startled you away,

“You’re cruel, miss,” he mumbled, as though talking to himself, yet his eyes fixed on your flushed face. Noting your confusion—and San’s glare—he continued, “I called that number so many times,” he breathed deeply between each of the last three words, his voice dropping at octave as he mumbled the rest of his sentence “’kept wondering whether you tasted as sweet as you smelled.”

San felt the shiver shaking your body, and your pussy getting wetter against his cock where it lay slotted between your legs. He was so occupied with this sultry exchange he didn’t notice the engine’s silence until the doors behind him swung open. A quick peak over his shoulder calmed his reflexes, arms relaxing around your waist as Wooyoung crawled towards him.

Just as he turned his attention back to the pink-haired man admiring you with heart eyes and a tongue heavy with honey-laced words, the string of curses nearly leaving San’s mouth got interrupted,

“Oh come on, Sannie, loosen up a little,” Wooyoung ribbed, dragging his fingertips up San’s spine. “Our friend Mingi here was so excited when he heard (y/n) wanted to see him.”

“Youngie, stay out of this,” San growled, feline eyes narrowing in warning.

Scoffing, Wooyoung left San’s side with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder and a whispered “suit yourself,” moving towards your guest. You both sat back and watched as Wooyoung grabbed Mingi’s defined jaw and smashed their lips together. It was almost like watching your prior kiss from a new perspective—Wooyoung was clearly leading, sucking the plush of Mingi’s lips into his own, digging his tongue into his mouth to seek out more of him, and sneaking his hand lower to palm over his cock. His touch was rough, rendering Mingi unable to do anything but groan against Wooyoung’s mouth, the gravelly sound travelling right to your core.

“More,” he recited, tugging against the restraints at the small of his back while simultaneously fucking up into Wooyoung’s palm. All the while, Wooyoung’s kisses remained relentless, teeth digging into Mingi’s bottom lip and tongue roaming within his mouth, wanting nothing but to manhandle the taller man and take him however he wanted. He held back, though, your excitement in the back of his mind while he enjoyed what he could have.

San was starstruck, his irritation with Mingi long since fizzled away, wholly incapable of moving his eyes off the scene before him, so turned on he imagined a fire would burn less than the heat spreading under his skin.

He hissed as your fingers wrapped around his length, bringing him back to the present and aligning him with your entrance, a nonvocal appeal in the lookback you’d given him. So he slid inside you with a muttered curse, throwing his head back as your heat engulfed him, pleasure soaring through his body at the tight squeeze of his throbbing cock between your walls.

You felt so full, satiated with San finally inside you. Lowering yourself onto your elbows, you allowed your head to hang limp while San thrusted experimentally, jolting you forward with an airy ‘ah’ leaving your lips.

Wooyoung finally parted from Mingi’s now-swollen mouth, glancing behind him at the sound and missing how the other man had leaned in for more. Pretending as though he hadn’t shaken Mingi’s world and possibly given him a sexuality crisis, Wooyoung moved his attention to you and San. He watched shamelessly as San’s hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing and pulling until you sat upright on your knees, tits jumping and lips parting as ecstasy blurred your vision. He was so deep, so heavy where he sat within you, sheathing his full length inside your cunt before pulling out once again.

Following the minute shifts in your expression—brows furrowing then relaxing, lips parted and spit pooling at the reddened corners, your lashes fluttering each time San drove his cock into you—Wooyoung couldn’t stand still any longer. His lips were on yours before you could even register him moving, fingers tangling with the hair at the back of your head to push your faces impossibly closer. He inhaled deeply where his nose dug into your cheek, pulling away slightly only to press wet kisses onto your mouth, allowing you to breathe while he continued satisfying his hunger.

Mingi gulped, also sat up on his knees now and staring directly at San. And as much as San attempted to look away, to focus on his partners making out in front of him, he couldn’t take his eyes off the other man’s lips—somehow fuller than ever, red and slightly chapped from Wooyoung’s relentless nips. Walking a step forward on his knees, Mingi now sat a few inches away from San’s face, and he took the opportunity to lean even closer, frowning when San flinched backwards on instinct.

Noticing the exchange in his peripheral, Wooyoung untangled a hand from your hair to wrap around San’s head and push him forward, successfully ending his resistance when his lips touched Mingi’s.

San could taste you both on Mingi’s lips, nearly shying away them as the other man towered over him, acting as though he’d wanted to put San in this position ever since he’d gotten in this van. Spit-soaked teeth closed around his bottom lip, dragging it with them as Mingi pulled away, only to move back in for more.

You could feel San throbbing inside you, his thrusts sloppy and desperate, losing his rhythm while Mingi was on him. They sounded downright sinful, and one look over your shoulder clamped your pussy down around San, a throaty moan vibrating over Mingi’s lips.

Wooyoung left you with a tender kiss, sneaking around the tangled bodies to reach San’s posterior and bending forward to graze his lips against the shell of his ear, jolting him away from Mingi.

“Seems like our dear Sannie is finally enjoying himself,” he sneered, running his pointer over San’s pert hole and smiling wider at his startled gasp.

Drowning out the conversation behind you, your eyes fell on the tent in Mingi’s pants. You peeled San’s limp fingers from your throat and bent at your waist, placing your palms on his thick thighs to push him into a seated position. It didn’t take long to free his cock from its constraints, Mingi’s eyes wide and wanting, leaning his body back on his elbows, wrists violently tugging against the cloth around them until Wooyoung’s dark glare over San’s shoulder ceased his attempts.

You pumped his length once, taking in Mingi’s rough groan while in awe at the sheer amount of precum coating his reddened skin. You paused before taking him in your mouth, squeezing your fist around the tip and forcing Mingi’s eyes to roll back momentarily, though your head hung low and an elongated moan dragged off your tongue as San adjusted his angle, fucking up into your g-spot until splotches of white spread across your vision.

“Fuck, Sannie— So good,” you tilted your head back, lips parted as another moan slipped past them.

Mingi’s cock jumped in your hold, and you didn’t waste time lurching forward to suck the tip into your mouth. The tang overwhelming your tastebuds goaded you to take him further, flattening your tongue against the underside of his length and lowering yourself until his cockhead nudged your uvula.

“Fuuuck,” Mingi moaned on an exhale, his hips moving upwards in light thrusts to meet your mouth halfway, eyes fluttering shut each time he bottomed out within your tight channel.

You felt lightheaded, Mingi’s taste on your tongue and the deep baritone of his voice driving you to take him further inside. You could barely breathe, the backs of your thighs on fire, San’s slamming against your skin as he fucked into you like a crazed man, pushing you forward until Mingi’s cock bumped the back of your throat. Tears blurred your vision, gagging around his length before pulling off to rest your head over his quivering thigh, but San remained relentless, pumping his cock inside you until your moans went quiet, your mouth open helplessly while burning pleasure overtook your senses.

It took you a few seconds to regain your breath, and you were sucking Mingi’s cock back into your mouth before he could even check up on you. He fought against his restrains, wanting nothing but to tangle his ringed fingers through your hair, to guide your head over the length of his cock until your spit ran down the sides.

“You can do better,” Wooyoung’s voice startled San away from his thoughts, noticing his hand going limp around Wooyoung’s cock. “Look at our pretty girl taking the both of you so well,” he compared teasingly, curling his fingers inside San while he spoke.

“Youngie, ah—fuck, ‘want a turn?” San asked, ignoring the provocation in Wooyoung’s tone and squeezing around his leaking tip.

“Mm,” he hummed into his ear, leaning some of his weight on San’s side and planting a kiss over his shoulder, “fill ‘er up for me,” another kiss on the back of his neck, “I’ll have my fun with you later.”

The purposely harsh thrust Wooyoung gave prodded right at San’s prostate, his cock jumping inside you at the stimulation and his mind going hazy.

“Fuck me, ‘m gonna cum,” San panted, squeezing around the other man while he jerked him off before letting go, instead reaching back to grab his wrist to stop his fingers from driving him off the edge.

“Ah, Sannie, feels so good,” you mumbled while kissing over Mingi’s cockhead, digging the tip of your tongue into the slit to watch his eyes roll back.

You clamped down around San when Mingi spoke suddenly, “please, please, please, miss, oh god—I’m so close,” his head hung sideways to rest over his shoulder as he watched you swallow his cock through lidded eyes.

Your pussy squelched loudly around San, slick running down the inside of your thighs, and jealousy panged painfully within his chest as he watched you deepthroat the man sat in front of him. He let go of Wooyoung, bowing forward to wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull your body towards him, Mingi’s cock slipping out of your mouth with a whine and falling heavily against his lower belly.

“San, what—”

“Don’t you even think about coming in her mouth,” San interrupted to address Mingi, balancing on one hand with the other tucking you closely against his chest. “You haven’t earned that yet.”

Yet.

The word alone made precum drip down Mingi’s cock, his voice a higher pitch as he whined disgracefully, “please, ‘wanna cum so bad,” he thrust his hips in the air involuntarily.

San paused inside you, as though contemplating for a few seconds before his hips stuttered and regained their previous pace, your hand flying to wrap around San’s hand where it dug into the mattress. And just when you’d thought the pleasure had completely dumbed you out, San slowly withdrew the arm around you and waited until you settled onto your elbows, pressing his lips to your crown before shifting his attention back to Mingi.

Wordlessly, he reached towards him and wrapped his fingers around his cock, Mingi’s sharp hiss sounding in the stuffy van as San began getting him off.

“Go on then, cum.”

Despite the animosity in his tone, you could feel San grow thicker inside you, stretching your cunt out even further. Squeezing San’s free hand, you laid your top half on the mattress and waited until Mingi absentmindedly scooted closer, resting your head on his thigh to watch San’s fist pumping his girth. San’s pace slowed while he focused on the cock in his hand, and you couldn’t complain, Mingi’s rasp in your ear and his thighs shaking underneath you, thick ropes of cum spurting from his angry tip and splattering onto the side of your face.

San waited until he’d drained Mingi completely before letting him go, his eyebrows raising when your hand took his place, squeezing around his base to hear him hiss in sensitivity. But you kept going, lifting your head and squeezing his wet cock until he began spasming, the overstimulation stretching his vocal cords until he sounded thoroughly pathetic. He panted like a dog even after you’d let him go, and you couldn’t help but wonder how he’d act when pussydrunk—your hole dripping with his load, his airy begging echoing in your ear while you slid down on him yet again, fucking yourself full of his softening cock.

An abrupt change in position paused your forming fantasy, eyes fixing on the van’s roof before San slipped into your field of vision, dimpled cheeks and warm smile lighting a gentle fire in your chest.

“Where were we?” He whispered, your familiar bubble forming around you once again as he leaned down to kiss you.

His lips were soft, moving leisurely over yours as though you were a hallowed treasure, an invaluable jewel he’d set out to heist. His cupped your jaw, burning palm against your heated skin tilting your head so he could move impossibly closer, deepening the kiss until you feared he’d devour you. Reaching between your bodies, San aligned himself and pushed inside you once again, his groan and yours mingling in the negligible air between you.

He started off slow, letting out a shuddered moan as the tight heat of your pussy sucked him in, so deep he considered never pulling out. San fit inside you like he was born to fuck you dumb, his cockhead pressing your sweet spot every time he buried himself within your cunt, pushing more of your slick out and down past where he stretched you out.

San’s hips stuttered just as he’d built up his pace, the feeling of sneaky fingers prodding at his hole again dragging his attention off your face, his features contorting when Wooyoung easily slipped two fingers into his ass. A guttural moan left his lips, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squeezed shut as he got stretched open, his hands squeezing around your waist while he adjusted.

“Is it too much, Sannie?” Wooyoung provoked him, and you knew it was his own wicked way of getting back at San for leaving him out. You could tell by the violent throbbing between your walls that San was close, and Wooyoung loved playing with San when he was desperate to cum. “’You gonna cum before our girl?”

San snapped his head towards him, glaring despite his predicament—two fingers pumping inside him and your pussy squeezing around his cock. He was in no position to glower at anyone, and yet your small giggle set him off further. He turned his attention to you, moving back to meet Wooyoung’s fingers and forward to piston his cock into your sopping hole. You sensed your orgasm building back up, arching an extra inch off the stained mattress each time San drove into you, lowering himself even more to wrap his lips around your nipple, biting and sucking it raw before licking a strip up your cleavage to the dip between your collarbones.

“Need you to come, baby, let go for me,” he wrapped both arms around you, whining between desperate groans, the stimulation from both sides almost too much for him.

You nodded wildly, a repetition of his name falling off your lips like honey-laced poison; San’s heart nearly arrested.

He untangled one of arms from your quivering form to reach for your clit, frantically flicking and rubbing until you began spasming in his arms, the whites of your eyes showing before you’d squeezed your lids together, jerking away from San’s touch yet rolling your hips towards it. Fiery pleasure blinded your senses, oxytocin rushing through your veins while your orgasm crashed into you like a cyclone wave, twitching uncontrollably within San’s hold.

It didn’t take long for San to follow, deep, breathy ‘ah’s leaving him while your pussy clenched around his cock, barely able to move as you held onto him while you came. Behind him, Wooyoung remained mostly impassive, humping San’s hip while his fingers massaged his prostate, opting to hurriedly jerk himself off instead when San’s thighs began shaking.

San could feel his sanity slipping away, Wooyoung’s fingers milking him of all he had. His cum spurted out of him in hot ropes while he hysterically grinded into you, stuffing your womb full of his seed. His moans lowered an octave, dropping himself over you while still coming, a stream of liquid squeezing past his cock and down to seep into the mattress below you.

At the first uncomfortable whine from the overstimulated man, Wooyoung pulled his fingers out, fucking his slick-covered fist until white ribbons painted San’s back, a few drops landing over his pulsing hole. He could help but reach forward to run a rough thumb over it, pushing his cum inside until San reached back to swat him away with a curse.

Wooyoung took you in from where he towered over you— sweat covered your entire body, skin sticking to San’s as he laid on top of you, head resting on your shoulder; your tits were bitten and bruised from his rough mouth, a bitemark circling your nipple, and cum dripping out of your cunt which San’s softening cock still resided within. Moving his eyes back to your face, they softened at your relaxed features, hooded eyes peering back at him and a warm, grateful smile on your lips. His cock twitched in interest upon noticing Mingi’s drying cum splattered over your face, his tongue poking the side of his mouth, aching for a taste.

Wooyoung grabbed San’s discarded singlet to wipe off the slick wetting his fingers, figuring the man wouldn’t mind another fluid staining the fabric. It was only then that he noticed your guest’s presence, fucked-out with flushed skin and blown-out pupils slowly lifting off your stretched hole to meet Wooyoung’s. Mingi’s own cum coated his toned abdomen, the muscle shaking as he took a shuddering breath in.

Wooyoung’s lips curled with something dangerous, and Mingi nearly flinched. His words, however, lit a treacherous wildfire within him and spread to his core.

“Be good, Mangi,” the nickname coming naturally, “and who knows? Maybe you’ll get the chance to taste her someday.”

please reblog/leave feedback if you enjoyed~ ^^

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briefinquiries · 2 months ago

Text

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 1

Tommy Shelby x Reader : Chapter 1

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you've seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby's) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: Seeking a fresh start in Birmingham, you never expected a late-night knock at your door to pull you into the orbit of fa family like the Shelby's. But as you work to save the life of their wounded leader, a buried memory stirs, because this isn't the first time you've stitched up Thomas Shelby.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Violence, injury, stitching wounds, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, brief PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language.

A/N: I've decided to give a Tommy Shelby x Reader multi-chapter fic a go. Comments / replies are always so appreciated (and motivating). Thanks for reading!

Birmingham greeted you with coal-stained skies. The air was thick with smoke and iron, clinging to your skin and settling into your lungs like something you’d never quite cough out. It wasn’t warm, and definitely wasn't welcoming. But then, you hadn’t come here looking for comfort.

You had come for a fresh start.

You stood outside the house, studying it carefully. It was small but solid, tucked on a quiet street away from the chaos of the factories. The bricks were darkened with soot, the windows a bit dusty, but the roof was sound, and the door was sturdy. Nothing fancy, nothing remarkable. Just a house.

Your fingers tightened around the key, the cool metal pressing into your palm. You turned it over, studying the familiar scratches, the worn edges.

The house had belonged to your uncle, a man you barely remembered. He had been a quiet, reserved man, a blacksmith who kept to himself. You recalled visiting him once as a child, the memory hazy, clouded by time. You couldn’t even remember his face.

He had left Birmingham years ago, moving out to the countryside, somewhere greener, quieter. Then, he had fallen ill.

About a month ago, a letter arrived. It was short, written in your father’s careful, uneven scrawl. "Your uncle passed away, left the Birmingham house to the family. No other heirs. If you ever need it, the house is yours."

You didn’t think much of it at first. You were busy. Trying to survive in London while out running memories of blood and war. But as the weeks dragged on, as thoughts of the war continued to haunt you, the letter weighed heavier in your mind.

It was an escape… a place to start over.

So you took the key, boarded a train, and came to Birmingham. To this house.

You took a deep breath, the air heavy with smoke and the faint scent of metal. Then, you pushed the key into the lock and turned. The door creaked open, the hinges stiff with age. You stepped inside, the wooden floorboards groaning underfoot.

The air was stale, dust settling in the corners like forgotten memories. The furniture was sparse. In the corner, a worn armchair, a rickety table, a narrow bed in the back room.

It was yours. And that was more than you’d had in a long time.

You closed the door behind you, leaning against the wood for a moment, eyes drifting shut. The house was quiet, almost peaceful.

You let out a breath. Your fingers brushed over the windowsill, the paint chipped and peeling. This place needed work. A fresh coat of paint, a good cleaning. But that could wait.

For now, you needed to figure out your next steps. You had made it to Birmingham. You had the house. But what now? Where were you supposed to go from here?

Your gaze drifted to the bag by the door, still packed with the few belongings you had brought with you. Clothes, a journal, medical supplies.

You had been trained as a nurse during the war, a healer amidst blood and chaos. You still had the skills, the knowledge. And if you were being honest, you needed work. You couldn’t live off of memories and dust. You needed a purpose.

But the thought of returning to the sick beds, to the blood and the wounds… it made your stomach twist. You had seen enough pain to last a lifetime. Still, healing was all you knew. And despite the memories, despite the nightmares, you were good at it.

You thought about finding a clinic, a hospital, maybe even a small apothecary. Birmingham was a big city. Surely there was work to be found.

You just had to keep your past buried. No one needed to know about France, or about the war. They just needed to know you could patch wounds and heal the sick. You took a breath to steady yourself. Maybe you could find work somewhere quiet, somewhere far from the blood and gunfire.

You looked back at the window, watching as smoke curled through the streets outside, people bustling about their business.

You didn’t know anyone in Birmingham. No friends, no connections. Just a house. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe a clean slate was exactly what you needed.

…

The next morning, you set out with a clearer purpose. The air was thick with the scent of damp streets, the sky an endless stretch of gray, pressing low over the city. Birmingham was loud and alive, a mess of bustling crowds, shouting vendors, and the clang of metal from the factories.

You moved through the streets, weaving between workers with soot-streaked faces and women carrying baskets of bread and potatoes. The city had a pulse, gritty and restless.

You weren’t sure where you were going. Not exactly. But you needed to get a feel for the city, to know what work might be available, to see if there was a clinic, a hospital– something that wasn’t a battlefield.

The small apothecary caught your eye first.

The wooden sign creaked in the wind, the glass windows slightly fogged from the warmth inside. Shelves lined the walls, filled with glass bottles of tinctures, jars of dried herbs, and vials of tonics. The familiar scents– lavender, mint, camphor, grounded you in a way you hadn’t expected.

You picked up a small bottle of laudanum, checking the label, when a voice broke through your thoughts.

"Excuse me."

You turned, finding a dark-haired woman watching you with sharp, curious eyes. She was young, but there was something about her– a confidence, an ease, like she was someone who was used to asking questions and getting answers.

"Could you pass me that bottle?" She gestured to a jar on the high shelf just above you towards something amber-colored and thick, labeled in neat handwriting.

You nodded, reaching up and handing it to her.

"Thanks," she said, turning the bottle over in her hands before glancing back at you. Her eyes flickered over you, assessing. "I’ve never seen you in here before."

Your shoulders tensed instinctively, but you kept your expression neutral.

“Probably because I’ve never been here before. I’m new to Birmingham," you said simply. "Just moved from London."

Her eyebrow arched, her lips twitching with something like amusement. "New, huh?" Her eyes scanned your face again, lingering a little too long, like she was trying to figure out what kind of person you were.

"Yeah," you answered, keeping your tone even. "Looking to get settled in."

She hummed, clearly unconvinced. "You have family in the area then?”

"Used to. Not anymore. But my…" You paused, choosing your words carefully. "My uncle left me his house. Figured I’d put it to use."

The woman’s brow arched, curiosity flickering in her dark eyes.

"Whereabouts?"

You hesitated again. There was something unsettlingly sharp about her gaze, the way she looked at you like she was putting together a puzzle. But you couldn’t think of a reason not to answer. Not yet, at least.

"Small street. On the quieter side of the city, just east of the factories."

Her eyes flickered with recognition, her mouth curving into a half-smile. "That would be on the edge of Small Heath, then." She hummed, her expression thoughtful. "Not many folks live out that way anymore. It’s mostly warehouses and old workshops."

You nodded. "It’s quiet. Suits me just fine."

"Quiet, yeah," she echoed, her voice dipping slightly. Her eyes flicked back to you, sharp and knowing. "Unless you count the factory whistles, that is."

You offered a faint smile. "I’m hoping I’ll learn how to tune them out."

Her lips twitched. Amused. "Must be quite the change. Birmingham’s not like London."

"No, it’s not," you admitted.

"What brings you to the shop, then?" Her gaze flicked to the bottle of laudanum still in your hand. "Not feeling well, are you?"

"No," you shook your head, placing the bottle back on the shelf. "Just stocking up. I’m a nurse."

Her eyes flickered with something– curiosity, intrigue, maybe. "A nurse?" She repeated, leaning against the counter, crossing her arms loosely. "That’s rare around here."

You shrugged, trying to keep your posture relaxed. "Figured I’d try my luck."

She studied you a moment longer, her dark eyes tracing your face, her expression unreadable. For a heartbeat, you wondered if she could see right through you.

But then she smiled– a quick, fleeting thing that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I’m Ada, by the way." Her lips twitched with a smirk.

You introduced yourself, though the way her eyes lingered on you afterward made you feel like she was filing the name away for later.

"See you around."

And then, she was gone, disappearing into the bustle of Birmingham.

The bell above the door jingled softly in her wake. You stood there for a moment, staring after her, trying to shake the unease creeping into your bones.

Something about Ada felt like a warning.

…

By the time you made it home, the sky had darkened, and the city had taken on a different kind of life. The distant hum of music from the pubs, the sharp voices of men laughing and shouting in the streets, the occasional clatter of hooves against cobblestone, all of it filtered through the cracks in the door as you stepped inside.

You locked the door behind you, double-checking the latch before exhaling.

Nights were always the hardest, but routine’s helped keep you steady.

You lit a candle on the worn table, the dim glow flickering against the bare walls. From your bag, you pulled out a small tin of herbal tea, a habit you had picked up somewhere along the way, one of the few things that had helped keep the worst of the nights at bay.

The kettle on the stove took its time, the soft whistle filling the silence. You let the sound settle into your chest, grounding you, reminding you that you were here, in Birmingham, not back there.

You poured the tea, letting the steam rise, inhaling deeply. Lavender, chamomile. Comforting. Soothing. Familiar.

You let the cup warm your hands as you moved to the small washbasin near the window. With slow, deliberate motions, you wiped the soot and city grime from your face, rinsing away the day. Your fingers traced the edges of old scars, faint but still there, a map of wounds that had long since healed.

You pushed the thought away before it could root too deep.

Back at the table, you took a slow sip of tea and focused on the small, simple details, like the warmth of the cup, the crackle of the candle, the soft creak of the house settling. Something in your chest loosened, just slightly.

You weren’t naive. You knew the night wouldn’t be easy. It never was.

But for now, you had a roof over your head. For now, you were safe. You had to let that be enough.

…

The days passed in quiet, measured steps.

You had spent most of your time wandering the city, mapping the streets in your mind, feeling out where you might fit. Birmingham was a city of industry, of labor, of men and women working themselves to the bone. It was restless, alive, always moving.

Finding work, however, had proven more difficult than expected.

You had stopped by a few places– a small clinic near the factories, an apothecary that looked like it could use an extra set of hands. But while people were always in need of medical help, no one seemed keen on hiring a stranger.

You filled your time with small tasks, simple things to make the house feel like your own.

The place had been untouched for years, and it showed. Dust lingered in the corners, the air had been stale, the furniture old and impersonal. You scrubbed the floors, aired out the rooms, patched the curtains that were fraying at the edges. Little by little, it started to feel less like a stranger’s house and more like yours.

You found an old wooden trunk buried in the bedroom closet, filled with relics from your uncle’s past. A few books, a rusted pocket watch, a small collection of letters yellowed with age.

You didn’t know what to do with them, so you stacked them neatly in the corner. Some part of you felt strange throwing them away.

The work kept your hands busy, your mind occupied. And at night, when the city quieted and the memories tried to creep in, you stuck to your routine. Tea. Candlelight. Wash the day away.

You set the steaming cup of tea onto the worn wooden table, the candlelight flickering as the night settled around you.

The routine had become a comfort, a way to quiet your thoughts before bed. You dipped the cloth into the basin, dragging it across your skin in slow, measured strokes, rinsing away the day’s grime, the lingering scent of smoke and iron from the city streets.

The house was silent, peaceful, save for the distant hum of Birmingham outside– the occasional shout from a passing drunk, the distant bark of a dog, the clang of metal from the factories that never truly slept.

And then– A knock.

Not just a knock. A frantic pounding at your door.

Your body tensed instantly, the cloth slipping from your fingers, landing with a soft splash in the basin.

Three sharp knocks. They were urgent– desperate.

You froze, heart hammering, staring toward the door.

For a brief, foolish moment, you considered ignoring it. Letting whoever it was move on, letting them assume you weren’t home. But then you heard another slew of frantic knocks before moving quickly across the room, your bare feet silent against the wooden floor.

You unlatched the lock and pulled the door open. A woman stood on the doorstep, wild-eyed, breathless, her coat slightly askew.

You didn’t recognize her. Her face was sharp, lined with experience, her eyes fierce and intelligent. She looked like a woman who was used to being listened to.

"You’re the nurse?" she demanded.

You blinked, the urgency in her voice rattling you.

"What–"

"No time for questions." She said sternly. “Are you a nurse or not?”

You nodded blankly.

The woman reached forward, gripping your wrist. "Someone’s dying. You need to come. Now."

Your stomach twisted. You could have said no. You should have said no.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed your medical bag, stepped out into the cold night air, and followed the woman into the dark.

The woman dragged you down the darkened streets of Birmingham, her grip firm as you struggled to match her pace. The cobblestones were slick with the night’s dampness.

"Who are you?" you asked breathlessly, glancing at her from the corner of your eye.

"Not important," she shot back, barely sparing you a glance. "What matters is that someone is hurt, and you’re the only nurse in the bloody area who can help."

That should have made you stop. It should have made you pull away, demand more answers. But something in the woman’s tone, the raw urgency, made your feet keep moving.

"What happened?" you pressed.

"Beaten within an inch of his life," she answered curtly. "Needs stitching, stabilizing. And we can’t take him to the hospital."

That last part made your stomach turn. "Why not?"

The woman finally looked at you then, a sharp, assessing glance that made your breath hitch. "Because hospitals ask too many questions," she said.

You didn’t argue, though unease curled in your gut. You weren’t completely stupid. You knew the type of folks who avoided hospitals were typically the ones who had reasons to stay in the shadows. The kind who couldn’t afford questions, who didn’t want records or police involvement.

The woman led you to an imposing brick manor, its dark windows towering above like watchful eyes. It stood apart from the grime and chaos of Birmingham, looming at the end of a quiet street, a stark contrast to the soot-stained buildings you’d grown used to.

The iron gate creaked as she pushed it open, the path leading to the heavy front door lined with manicured hedges and polished stone. Inside, the air was cooler, cleaner, but no less suffocating.

The woman moved swiftly, her heels clicking against the gleaming floor as she led you through grand hallways, past rooms with plush armchairs and dark, heavy drapes. Without a word, she led you up a winding staircase, her posture rigid, her pace quick. She stopped outside a heavy wooden door, turning to you with sharp, dark eyes.

"In here."

Your eyes adjusted to the dim lantern light, and that was when you saw him. A man lay slumped on top of a bed, his head lulled to the side limply, his body battered and broken. The white of his shirt was soaked through with crimson, his face barely visible beneath the swelling and bruises. He was surrounded by about eight other men– all cross talking and hovering.

"Jesus Christ," one of the men muttered when he saw you, his voice heavy. “Who the hell is this, Polly? Thought you said you were getting help.”

"Get out." The woman– Polly’s voice cut through the room like a blade. Firm. Absolute.

Most of them hesitated, but then they obeyed. Filing out into the hall with murmurs and glances, leaving only the one who had questioned you behind.

She turned to you. "Fix him."

You swallowed, stepping closer, taking in the damage. The man, whoever he was, had been worked over with brutal precision. Deep cuts, swollen bruises, a gash at his temple still bleeding sluggishly. His breathing was uneven, shallow.

"I– I don’t know if I have the right supplies… He’s burning up," you murmured, pressing the back of your fingers against the man’s clammy skin.

"I can assure you that you will be compensated more than fairly if you help him," Polly said firmly.

The weight of her words settled between you like an unspoken challenge. You hesitated only a second longer before nodding, rolling up your sleeves and pressing your fingers to his pulse. Weak. But still there.

You set your medical bag down. "I need clean water and more light, if you have it. And someone needs to hold him still."

The same man stepped forward immediately. "I got ‘im."

Polly exhaled. “I’ll get the water.”

You nodded once, then got to work.

You dropped to your knees beside the man and started taking inventory of his injuries. The most pressing issue was the bleeding. He had several deep gashes– one above his brow had sent blood streaming down his face, coating his cheek in dark red smears, another along his abdomen was deep and oozing. His ribs were bruised, possibly cracked, his breathing shallow and uneven.

His hands were scraped raw, the skin around his knuckles split open, he had fought back. But judging by the state of him, whoever he fought had won.

"I need whiskey," you said, peering towards the man, now lingering towards the end of the bed. "A lot of it."

He let out a grunt of approval before moving toward a shelf in the corner.

You reached for a clean cloth, dousing it with whatever antiseptic you had on hand, and pressed it firmly to the gash on the unconscious man’s head.

He flinched, his whole body tensing. Still fighting, even now. You murmured something low and instinctive. "Easy. You’re alright. Just hold on."

You focused on stitching the worst of the wounds, steadying your hands, ignoring the shake in your breath.

The man with the whiskey stepped forward, dropping a bottle onto the table beside you with a dull thud.

"This for you or for him?" he asked dryly.

You didn’t glance up as you poured some onto a clean cloth, pressing it to a particularly deep wound along the unconscious man’s ribs.

He tensed, but didn’t wake.

"Both, probably," you muttered, shaking your head.

The man let out a short chuckle just as Polly returned with a basin full of water and a stack of clean cloths. She kicked the door shut behind her before carefully setting it down beside you.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked.

You exhaled slowly, stepping back to assess your work. "If the fever doesn’t take him."

Another silence. Then Polly nodded once, as if that was good enough.

"He’ll make it," the man muttered, rubbing his jaw.

You weren’t so sure.

You took a step back, rubbing your sore fingers against your skirt, trying to wipe away the lingering dampness of blood. It had taken several hours– careful, grueling hours, to stitch and clean each wound, to stabilize his breathing, to keep him tethered to life.

The man in front of you was alive, but for how long was still uncertain.

"He needs rest," you said once you were finished. "No movement, no stress. Keep him warm, keep his wounds clean."

Polly nodded. But her sharp gaze lingered on you, like she was trying to see past your words, past your face, past whatever you were trying to conceal.

You held her gaze for half a second before shifting your focus back to your bag, checking your supplies, steadying your hands.

"You’ve done this before," she said suddenly.

You hesitated. Not long. But long enough for the moment to stretch. "Yes."

"In a hospital?"

"No."

Another silence.

Then she asked, “Where?”

But before you could respond, the door swung open.

"Told you she could help," a familiar voice announced.

You turned toward the sound to see the woman from the apothecary. Ada. Your stomach twisted slightly as you realized how this family had even found you.

She looked concerned, but unfazed by the scene in front of her, the gore, the man slumped on the bed, the piles of bloody, used gauze. She just strode in, coat draped over her shoulders, sharp eyes flicking from you to the unconscious man.

"Will he be alright?" she asked.

Before you could answer, the man spoke first. "He’s Tommy fucking Shelby. He’s bloody tough is what he is, ‘course he’ll be alright.”

The name made you pause. Your heart stuttered in your chest, and your eyes flickered back to the man on the bed. Thomas Shelby.

You knew that name. But from where?

You looked at him again, really looked at him– past the bruising, past the swollen eye and the split lip.

There was something… familiar. Like a ghost creeping at the edges of your mind.

And then, it hit you.

From France– from the trenches, from the cold earth and suffocating dark.

From the tunnel collapse.

Your mind reeled, the memory creeping in like a ghost, unbidden, unwelcome. You could still see it– the flickering oil lamps barely cutting through the darkness, the stench of blood and damp soil thick in the air. The cries of the wounded had blurred together into one endless, agonizing sound, but somehow, over all of it, you had heard his voice.

Thomas Shelby had been one of the lucky ones, dragged out of the tunnel collapse, barely breathing, covered in dust and blood, muttering things under his breath that no one could understand.

You had been the one to sit with him for hours while you waited for help. You pressed a cloth to his forehead, wiped the dirt from his wounds, checked for broken bones. You had been the one to sit beside him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. And you had been there when he woke up later on in the infirmary.

His blue eyes had been dazed, unfocused. He had blinked up at you, confused, disoriented, barely clinging to the present.

"You’re alright," you had murmured, your voice calm, steady, the same tone you had used on countless soldiers before him.

He had just stared at you, breathing raggedly, his chest rising and falling in shallow movements.

Then, a whisper. The words were barely audible, slipping through cracked lips like a prayer, or a curse. "Still here, then."

“Yeah,” you responded. “You’re still here.”

Then, his gaze flickered, just for a moment. "And so are you."

It had startled you then, that he had remembered you. In the chaos, in the dark, you had been just another nameless pair of hands keeping him from slipping away. But he had remembered.

Your fingers clenched around the bloodied cloth still in your hand. You forced yourself to move, to step back from him, to push away the ghosts that clawed at the edges of your mind.

"You’re not leaving, are you?" Ada’s voice cut through the thick silence, sharp and knowing.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus on the present. "I’ve done all I can," you murmured, more to yourself than to them. "If he makes it through the night, he’ll live."

The man huffed. "And if he doesn’t?"

You didn’t answer. Because you had seen enough men slip away in the dead of night, their bodies giving out long after their minds had fought to stay.

You didn’t want to see another.

Polly, who had been watching you closely, exhaled through her nose, as if making a decision. “Stay the night. Watch over him. I’ll double your payment."

Your eyes flickered to hers. Calculating. Appraising.

A pause stretched between you.

Then, finally she sighed, “Triple."

“Jesus, Pol,” the man said.

“Quiet, Arthur–” she snapped.

They were desperate– his family, you had to assume. And how could you say no? They were begging in the language they knew, money.

“Triple is robbery. Double is fair,” you replied with a sigh.

Polly’s sharp gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before she gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied.

"Okay then," she said.

Ada exhaled beside her, arms crossed over her chest, watching you with something unreadable in her dark eyes.

The man– Arthur, then took another swig from the bottle of whiskey and muttered, "Fucking hell, he’d better wake up after all this."

You turned back to the man lying unconscious on the makeshift bed, his face still swollen, barely recognizable under the deep bruising. His breathing was still shallow, his body eerily still except for the slight rise and fall of his chest.

You reached for the cloth and basin of water that Polly had brought earlier, wetting the rag and dabbing gently at the dried blood along his jawline.

"We’ll be downstairs if you need anything," Polly said after a moment. "Ada, come on."

Ada hesitated briefly, her gaze flickering between you and Tommy, before she gave you a slight nod and followed her out of the room.

Arthur lingered. He stood by the bed, arms crossed, watching as you continued to clean the remnants of violence from Thomas’ face. "You know, when Pol said she was getting help, I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about," he admitted, voice gruff.

You didn’t look up, just kept your focus on pressing the damp cloth to the dried blood along his jawline.

Arthur exhaled through his nose, rubbing his face briefly before nodding toward you.

"But… thanks. For saving my brother."

You finally glanced up, finding something genuine in his gaze. You just nodded. A quiet acknowledgement.

Arthur lingered for a beat longer before muttering, "Right then."

Then he turned and strode toward the door, disappearing into the hallway, leaving you alone.

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