#her face and body language in this scene ;A;

[causeimhappinesss]

Rome's devotion (part 1)

Warnings: Emperors Geta & Caracalla are a warning themselves, (slight?) blasphemy, slight non-con/dub-con, misogyny (Ancient Rome, so…)

Pairing: Geta x Christian!reader x Caracalla (tell me which pairing I should focus on, please)

Words: 2,8k

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language (I'm french), so you can correct me if you spot some mistakes :)

-

The marble floor chills my knees as I scrub, the rough bristles of my brush rasping against the stone, lifting away the grime left behind by sandaled feet. My fingers are raw, my knuckles cracked from soap and water. The scent of oil and damp stone clings to the air, thick with the lingering aroma of roasted meats and spiced wine from earlier feasts. My back aches, but I do not stop. Stopping means being noticed.

“Y/N.” A voice cuts through the quiet, low and urgent.

I look up. Claudia kneels beside me, her face damp with sweat. Her tunic clings to her skin, her eyes darting about like a frightened hare.

"Lucius is sick. Fever." Her fingers curl around my wrist, gripping hard. "You must serve the Emperors tonight."

I recoil slightly, though I do not pull away completely. My stomach knots.

"Me?"

"Who else?" Her voice is hushed, but sharp. "You know what happens when orders aren’t followed."

I do. I have seen it. The punishments are swift, brutal. I have no choice.

I push myself to my feet, brushing dust from my tunic. The linen is rough against my skin, but that is the least of my worries. My Ichthus pendant shifts beneath the fabric, a small weight against my ribs, its presence both a comfort and a warning.

The Palatine dining room looms before me, impressive and opulent, the doors opened by the Pretorians guards. Braziers with candles cast flickering light over marble columns, their polished surfaces reflecting scenes of conquest and gods in golden relief. The air is thick with incense, a heady mix of myrrh and cinnamon that does little to mask the underlying musk of sweat, wine, tangled with the lingering smoke. Heavy tapestries hang from the walls, their deep reds and golds a sharp contrast to the dull gray of the stone. The long table before me is draped with a rich purple cloth, its surface cluttered with silver platters piled high with meats and fruits, wine flowing freely from golden goblets. The air smells of roasted meats, spices, and the faint musk of sweat and incense. Servants move quietly, their sandals barely making a sound on the cold floor. Every corner of the room feels weighted, heavy with power and the sharp, expectant gaze of those who sit at the head of the table.

Being silent, I step inside, my eyes low, my body tense.

Emperor Geta reclines on a couch draped in deep purple fabric, his golden curls slightly disheveled, his tunic a shimmering blend of silver and dark blue embroidery. Rings weigh down his fingers, glinting in the dim light. Across from him, his brother, Emperor Caracalla, sits more rigid, broader of shoulder, softer in the face. Isn’t ironical from someone with such a reputation? He lifts a cup to his lips without looking at me, his grip tight around the handle, knuckles slightly whitening. His tunic is red, with gold ornaments, the color matching his jewelry.

I step forward, the amphora of wine heavy in my hands. My pulse thuds in my throat as I tilt it carefully, the thick, ruby-red liquid flowing into Geta’s cup. The scent rises—rich, aged, laced with spices I cannot name. A drink I will never taste. My own wine is bitter, watered down, tasting of sour dregs and dust. This wine is liquid gold. Made by the Gods for the gods, as I heard.

Neither brother acknowledges me. Their conversation continues, words slipping between them like the edge of a blade.

“The legions are restless,” Geta says, swirling his cup, watching the wine cling to the sides. “You’ve heard the rumors.”

Caracalla scoffs and lick his lips before he pouts like a child.

“I hear everything. And I crush what needs crushing.”

Geta smirks, taking a sip. “So you say.”

The tension between them crackles like a storm on the horizon. I step back, keeping my hands folded before me, head bowed. I must be invisible. I must be nothing.

The doors open again, and a new tray is carried in. The rich scent of roasted fowl, honeyed dates, and spiced garum fills the air. My stomach twists. The taster, a woman older than me, her hands calloused from years of servitude, steps forward. She does not hesitate. She lifts a knife, slices into the meat, then the vegetables, brings them to her lips. Chews. Swallows.

Caracalla watches her closely, his fingers tapping against his goblet. His gaze is sharp, calculating.

“And?” he asks, his voice like a blade drawn from its sheath.

The taster inclines his head. “It is good, Augustus.”

Caracalla doesn’t respond, only reaching for his knife, playing with it, waiting for the effects of a potential poison to act on its victim. His shoulders remain tense, his eyes never leaving the taster. I glance at the older servant only briefly as she retreats on the side. Her hands do not shake, but I wonder if her heart does.

I stand still, waiting, watching from beneath lowered lashes. The Emperors laugh, their conversation shifting from war to more trivial matters: women, entertainment, the foolishness of senators. Their voices rise and fall, their words edged with cruelty and indulgence. I try not to listen, but their words coil around me, impossible to ignore.

My heart beats against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that doesn’t match the leisurely pace of their meal. My pendant presses into my skin, a silent prayer written in silver.

They do not see me.

I must make sure they never do.

Again, when their cups are empty, I step forward, the amphora of wine heavy in my hands. My pulse thuds in my throat as I tilt it carefully, the thick, ruby-red liquid flowing into Geta’s cup.

A giggle. High, sharp. Caracalla.

My blood turns to ice.

I shiver, my breath catching in my throat. A presence, heavy, scorching like a brand, settles on me. I don’t look. I dare not.

“You. More wine.” Geta’s voice is smooth, languid.

Without a word, I comply, the amphora steady in my hands despite the tightness in my chest. His fingers brush mine as I pour. A slow touch. My pulse pounds, but I keep my expression neutral, my voice low. Unfortunately, I can feel his gaze lingering on me.

Breathe… Just breathe…

“Look at me, woman.”

I hesitate, then lift my eyes on his own his iris, brown, deep as the earth after rain, studying me with something unreadable. He tilts his head.

“I have never seen you before.” He comments with a tone full of curiosity.

He shifts his focus on Emperor Caracalla who smirks, flashing us like thunder his gold tooth.

“Brother? Have you noticed her?”

“A servant? Should I?” he chuckles.

Geta's lips curve slightly before turning back to me. “Your name?”

I wet my lips and clears my voice, bowing my head.

“Y/N, Augustus.”

Caracalla hums and pats his fingers on the wooden table, in a strange rhythm, almost a soothing one. I know better than falling in his trap. I heard the rumors about their behavior, their hysteria, their violence, their anger for blood.

“That’s not your real name. That accent… You are not from Rome, mmmh.”

As a knot tightens in my stomach, I nod. My real name feels foreign on my tongue, yet I speak it, which makes Caracalla giggles and claps in his hands.

“Too complicated. The Roman version suits you better.”

The older twin leans back, satisfied and licks his lips, tilting his head on the side.

“How long have you been here?”

“Since Martius, my Emperor. Two months.”

My reply seems to satisfy them and soon, their focus come back on their plates full of food. The taster still stands, unharmed and the young Emperors begin their meal. As young as terrifying.

At some point, the large doors swing open. Praetorian guards step aside. A flood of silk and painted lips enters. The scent of perfume, heavy and cloying, fills the hall. Laughter, high and lilting, rings against the walls. Women dress so thinly, in clothes way too revealing, fills the place. Their concubines and whores, I realize. Heat rises to my cheeks. The air thickens, pressing against me like a weight.

They are not only Emperors, they are knows as kings of debauchery.

Geta flicks a wrist and slams his cup on the table.

“You may go.”

Caracalla chuckles. “Look how red she is. Shy little thing. Probably a virgin.”

I turn sharply, my heart pounding against my ribs as I slip from the room, leaving before my shame burns me alive.

*

Next day, same hour, same place, I step into the dining room again, heart pounding in my chest. The emperors, Geta and Caracalla, are already seated, their eyes following my every movement. The heavy scent of roasted meats and wine fills the air. I bow my head as I approach them, my hands trembling slightly as I prepare to serve.

“Ah, Y/N,” Geta murmurs, his voice smooth, teasing. “Come closer.”

I glance at him. His dark eyes glimmer with mischief. I swallow hard but approach as ordered. A goblet of wine rests in my hands. I kneel beside him, offering it with a steady arm.

“Not yet,” he says, his smile widening. “First, feed me.”

My breath catches in my throat. I know where this is going. I’m pretty sure he’s done this before to taunt other servants. A cruel game, and I am the unwilling pawn. Unfortunately, he picks a cluster of grapes from the bowl before me and holds it out, his eyes locked on mine with an unsettling intensity. Without a word, I grab one up, bringing it to his lips. The weight of his gaze presses down on me as he opens his mouth and bites into the fruit. My skin prickles. His fingers brush mine, sending a jolt through my body.

What is this? What’s happening…?

The touch is deliberate. I know it’s meant to embarrass me. He licks his lips, slow, tasting the juice, then brushes his lips over my fingers. I shudder. The sensation is enough to make my knees feel weak, but I force myself to remain still. My heart is hammering in my chest and blood boils in my veins. Veins they could slit if they just wanted it, without a single reason.

Caracalla laughs, his voice rich and cruel.

“Look at you, Y/N. So shy, so innocent” he comments, leaning back in his chair, his eyes flickering over me like a predator eyeing prey.

I feel his fingers on my thigh, just above the fabric of my tunic. Heat spreads across my skin. My breath catches, my heart racing. He presses gently, but the touch is enough to make my face burn with shame. I shouldn’t allow any men to touch me this way, inappropriately. I should reserve all of this for my future husband, one day…

Dear Lord, please, don’t hate me. I’m sure you know I don’t have a choice…

“Do you act this way for all men, or just us?” Caracalla keeps asking to make fun of me.

I try to speak, but my throat feels dry. He leans closer, his voice soft, dangerous.

“Are you a virgin, Y/N?”

I don’t answer. A wave of anxiety grips me. My body stiffens. Caracalla’s eyes, usually blue like the sky, are darkening just like the Mediterranean sea during a storm, and I feel his gaze sharpen.

“Answer him,” Geta commands, his voice smooth and insistent.

I hesitate, my pulse thrumming in my ears. The room feels too warm, too tight. Slowly, I nod.

“Yes. I am.”

The brothers exchange a glance, one that sends a chill down my spine. I wish I could disappear, but I hold my ground, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. A quick glance at the other servant, who’s standing nearby, offers me a flicker of comfort. Her eyes tell me to remain calm, though my heart is racing in my chest. Suddenly, Caracalla’s hand lingers on my thigh, his touch softer now, almost gentle. The tenderness doesn’t ease my anxiety. If anything, it makes it worse. I can feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of my tunic.

Then, as if their gods are toying with me, there’s a sudden rustling sound. I glance up, startled, as a small monkey, dressed in a brightly colored tunic, clambers onto Caracalla’s shoulder.

“Dondus, my sweet girl” Caracalla says, his voice full of amusement, “I think she likes you, Y/N.”

The monkey’s beady eyes twinkle as it hops from Caracalla’s shoulder to mine. I stiffen, trying not to show my discomfort. The creature sniffs at my hair, its tiny paws brushing against my neck, in a soft manner, almost playful.

But then, Dondus does something unexpected: the cute little creature tugs at my necklace, the Ichthus pendant I wear close to my skin. My breath hitches. Before I can react, the monkey yanks it free, the chain slipping from my neck with ease.

I feel sick. The color drains from my face as the necklace dangles from the monkey’s tiny paws. I try to steady my breath, but the tightness in my chest grows. The Ichthus is all I have left of my family, but it also betrays my faith… A faith I have to hide. Even if those Emperors are not the worst Emperors when it comes to the persecution of Christians, we are still frowned upon, sometimes rejected and condemned in harder ways than regular citizens.

“That’s mine,” I whisper, but the words feel lost in the heavy silence of the room.

Caracalla laughs again, his voice mocking as he watches me. “She’s not even upset, Geta. I think she likes our little Dondus more than you.”

Geta glances at me, his smile widening.

“She’s been so... obedient.”

I don’t know what to say. My throat tightens, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. The warmth from Caracalla’s hand still lingers on my skin. But all I can feel is the emptiness where my necklace once lay.

Dondus hops back onto Caracalla’s shoulder, still holding my necklace in his tiny hand. The little monkey looks up at his master, almost proudly. Caracalla grins, his gaze shifting to the pendant in the creature’s grasp. He reaches out, taking it from Dondus with a flick of his fingers, inspecting it with mock curiosity.

“My, my, my...” he murmurs, his lips curling into a sly smile.

Geta chuckles softly, his voice rich with amusement. “Christian,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery, with a spark of distaste.

As I feel the heat rising in my cheeks, I lower my gaze to the floor, trying to hide the shame that claws at my chest. The pendant is now dangling between Caracalla’s fingers, and I can almost hear the mocking laughter in his silence.

“You wear this?” Caracalla’s voice cuts through the stillness, dripping with mock disbelief. “Tell me, Y/N, what do you think of the gods?”

 “I respect every religion,” I reply, my voice steady, though my heart pounds in my chest. I know where this is going. I swallow hard.

Geta snorts, shaking his head in amusement. “Respect? Is that what Christians are taught? To respect everything?” He leans back in his chair, a knowing look in his eyes.

I meet his gaze, refusing to falter. “Indeed.” I answer quietly.

Caracalla lets out a low chuckle, and I feel his eyes on me, cold and calculating. His fingers stroke the inside of my thigh again, just like the day before. The warmth from his touch spreads through me, but there’s no comfort in it. Only tension.

“Where was your god when you needed him?” Caracalla’s voice is soft, but there's a dangerous edge to it. “Where was he when you had no choice but to come to Rome and serve us?”

The question hangs in the air, and I take a slow, steady breath, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “It’s His will,” I say, my voice calm, though the weight of the words presses on my chest. “My God has a plan for all of us.”

The silence that follows is thick with their amusement. Geta laughs first, a low, taunting sound that makes my skin prickle. Caracalla’s lips curl upward, his fingers still tracing over the curve of my thigh, sending shivers through me. His brother’s laughter fades, but his eyes remain sharp.

“Your god has no power here. Rome has no need for him. Rome’s devotion is the most important.”

He strokes his lips against my neck, making me bite my lower lips.

“You’re ours now. You’ll never escape.”

My heart skips a beat. His words are cold, cruel. I try to push the fear away, but it lingers in my chest, tightening with every passing second.

But then, Geta surprises me. He stands up, his hand outstretched. Before I can react, he pulls me toward him, forcing me to sit on his lap. I freeze, my breath caught in my throat. His fingers slip around my waist, gripping me tightly, and I can’t help the surge of heat that rises in my face. My body stiffens, my mind a whirlwind of confusion.

It’s wrong, and yet… it isn’t.

“Your god won’t help you, Y/N,” Geta whispers, his voice soft and dark. “Not here. Not in Rome. You’re mine now. And your god? He’s powerless against us.”

- - -

Okay, this is the first time I've written in English in a long time, and for these characters. I hope it's not too bad! Should I write another part? If so, what would you like to read next?

Who should the reader end up with? Geta? Caracalla? Both?

Let me know <3

My AO3: BetrayedWriter

My Instagram: carolinemertz_

[maretinelli]

STRAIGHT FROM THE 80'S

Ollie Bearman X Nurse!fem!reader

Summary: To which, Y/n is a true nerd of the 80s, of Marvel heroes, books, music, and sports. And Ollie falls more and more in love with his authentic and original girlfriend

Words: 9.2K+

Warnings: Make out session, mention of 80's music, cute, passionate, mention of many things from the 80's and I think that's it.

Author: English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes that may be in the story. And here Y/n is me, and I am Y/n hahaha jokes aside, I just wanted to say that the protagonist was created with my 'personality'. So there might be physical specifications too. Like hair color and height, but the rest is Y/n.

MASTERLIST

Ollie knew from the moment he met Y/n at the age of 10 that she was unlike anyone he had ever met. He knew the tall, brunette-haired girl had stolen his heart.

It wasn't just that she had a unique style, always flashing a genuine smile while wearing her vintage jackets or carrying a bag full of Marvel comics, but the way she navigated the world, always staying true to herself.

Y/n had a passion for life that was contagious. She didn't need filters to express herself, but she knew how to do it with a grace that never hurt anyone.

Ollie's fame never seemed to bother her. While others were dazzled by the world of racing, Y/n remained focused on her own life. To her, Bearman wasn't just a Formula 1 driver; he was just her Ollie, the man who made bad jokes, left his shoes scattered around the house and who, every day, made her feel special.

And Ollie felt that in the six years they had known each other and the four years they had been together, he loved her more and more each day.

That morning, the sun had barely risen when Y/n opened her eyes and felt Ollie's arm still wrapped around her waist. They were in no rush; the racing season was on hiatus, and that meant they could enjoy a routine they both loved.

Minutes later, they were in the kitchen. Y/n opened Spotify and put on her favorite 80s playlist. The melody of 'Send Me An Angel' began to fill the mood, and Y/n, with calm energy, began to sway her body gently as she separated the ingredients for breakfast.

"Will you send me an angel? Here I am" She hums softly.

"You're going to end up distracting me like that" Ollie commented with a grin as he picked up the frying pan. He was wearing a slouchy t-shirt and sweatpants, his messy hair giving him a casual charm.

"Distract you from what? You just need to flip the pancakes before they burn," Y/n replied, unable to contain her laughter, as she cut fruit for the table.

"Oh, but you know I can't take my eyes off you." He put the spatula aside for a moment and walked over to her, hugging her from behind. His face met her shoulder, and he whispered playfully, "I should make a playlist of just you singing softly."

She laughed, but her heart was racing. "You'd fall asleep."

"I doubt it. I'd stay up all night just listening to it" Ollie replied, giving her a quick kiss on the neck before returning to the stove.

Y/n laughed and placed the bowl of fruit on the table, as the music changed to 'Cheri Cheri Lady' by Modern Talking. She couldn't resist and started to sing louder, gesturing exaggeratedly as if she were on a stage.

Ollie stopped what he was doing and watched, completely enchanted. No matter how many times he had seen this scene before, each time was like the first. It was her energy, the way she made everything seem simple and full of life, that made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

"If it continues like this, I'll be the one who turns into a pancake" he said, catching her eye.

"You should be more focused on breakfast, Bearman," Y/n joked, grabbing two mugs for coffee.

"It's hard when you're the best thing in this kitchen." He smiled at her, and Y/n rolled her eyes, even though she was smiling too.

When they finally sat down at the table, with pancakes, fruit, and coffee, Ollie reached out to take her hand. "I like this," she said, sincerely.

"Me too." Y/n says oblivious to the subject. "I like it when I mix honey with the bananas in the pancakes..." She points to the ingredients, and when she's about to continue speaking, Ollie interrupts her with a laugh, "What's up, love?"

"I wasn't talking about breakfast." He laughs.

Y/n stops chewing, while looking at him curiously. The college student swallows the food while placing a hand in front of her mouth and questions.

"What then?"

"Of us. Of our routine. Of you here." He confesses, looking at her in love. The same look he had held for so many years.

Y/n squeezes his hand affectionately and smiles. A smile that softens the Haas driver's heart. "You know. I love it too."

•••••••••••••••••••••••

The night was chilly outside, with the winter wind whistling through the apartment windows, but inside, the room was warm and cozy. Ollie was sitting on the couch, dressed in a cozy wool sweater that Yin's mom had given him last Christmas, his legs stretched out on the rug and his head propped up in his hand.

He watched his girlfriend with a calm smile, the kind of smile that only someone completely enchanted could display.

Y/n was standing in front of him, with a book with a worn cover in her hands. She held the copy carefully, as if it were a treasure. His eyes shone as he enthusiastically told the plot of the last novel he had read.

"So, they meet at first completely by chance, you know? That typical cliché scene of a stumble on the street, but with an irresistible charm," she said, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. "But what I loved was how they didn't fall in love right away. It wasn't that forced love at first sight, you know? It was... slow, built, full of little moments that make you sigh."

"Like when you spilled coffee on my shirt our second week together?" Ollie asked, chuckling softly.

"Exactly! Only in their case, it was red wine," Y/n replied, rolling her eyes but with a smile on her lips. "And, look, let me tell you, the way the author described their first kiss... My God, Ollie, it was so perfect! He writes as if he was painting a picture."

Ollie just nodded, looking at her as if she was listening to the most important thing in the world. And for him, it was. He loved the way Y/n talked about the books she read - with passion, detail, and an energy that made it impossible not to be interested, even if he would never read them.

Suddenly, Y/n stood up from where she was sitting and began pacing around the room. "And then," she continued, pacing back and forth, "there's this scene where he finally realizes that he's in love with her, but he doesn't know how to say it. He just... stands there, staring at her. Like she's everything he's ever wanted, and I was like, 'Oh my God, this is so...' Oh, you get it, don't you?"

The way she spoke about the character was just like Ollie was. Only totally in love with his girlfriend of years.

"I think so. But honestly, I think you explain it so well that I don't even need to read the book."

"No, you have to read it! It's perfect!" Y/n paused for a moment, pointing the book at him as if giving him an order.

"I'd rather hear you tell it" he replied with a smile, leaning forward a little. "You make it sound much more interesting."

She shook her head, walking back around the room, still holding the book. "You're just too lazy to read, that's all. But seriously, Ollie, the way they build the novel... it's so subtle and delicate. Every word feels like it has weight, you know? Like the author knew exactly what he was doing."

For Ollie, he could spend his entire life listening to Y/n talk about books, comics, or even college papers that she read. There was an indescribable beauty in the way she talked about the things she loved.

"You know," he said softly, breaking the silence, "I think you'd make a great writer. You make any story seem more interesting just by the way you tell it."

Y/n stopped walking and looked at him, surprised but with a shy smile. "You think so?"

"I'm sure," Ollie replied, opening his arms, a crooked smile on his lips. "Now...about their kiss...how about recreating it? You said it was this passionate."

Y/n rolls her eyes and falls onto the couch next to him. Ollie's hands go to her cheeks. "But you know, don't you? That you're more captivating than any book or character!" She says with a mischievous smile.

"I know," he says and she laughs, before he attacks her lips in an electrifying, passionate, and heated kiss.

And Ollie, in that moment, knew once again that he was exactly where he was supposed to be: beside her, listening to her talk about the worlds she loved so much.

••••••••••••••••••••••

The Belgian GP was marked by low temperatures and a cloudy sky that made jackets seem essential. It was still early when Ollie gently shook Y/n awake.

"Honey, get up, I need to take you somewhere," he said, his voice filled with an enthusiasm that, to her, seemed exaggerated at that time of the morning.

Y/n, still half wrapped in the duvet, picked up her phone and looked at the time. 7 in the morning. She quickly grumbled to her boyfriend: "Oliver, you know it's still early in the morning, right? And it's freezing outside. Can't we wait a little longer?"

He just chuckled, slowly pulling the blanket away as he said, "If I wait, the surprise will lose its charm. Besides, you'll like it, I promise."

"Surprise? What kind of surprise makes me get out of bed in this cold?" She arched an eyebrow suspiciously.

"A surprise is a surprise," Ollie replied with a mischievous smile. "And you'll thank me for it, even if you look grumpy right now."

Y/n got out of bed, reluctantly of course, but got ready and left the hotel with Ollie.

"And seriously, Ollie, how do you stand this cold? It's like you don't even feel it," Y/n said, putting her hands in her coat pockets.

"Maybe it's because I'm too busy hugging you," Ollie replied with a playful smile, squeezing her a little tighter against him.

After a few minutes of walking, Ollie stopped in front of an open-air market, with several stalls that looked straight out of the 80s.

The vibrant, retro decor caught Y/n's attention instantly, and her eyes lit up as she saw the paintings of old bands, vintage posters, and collector's items scattered throughout the tents.

"Did you plan this?" she asked, looking at him in surprise as her eyes danced between the stalls.

"Maybe," he replied casually, kissing the top of her head. "But that's not all. Come with me."

They walked a little further until they entered a record store. It was an 80s paradise: shelves full of vinyl, CDs, paintings of iconic bands, rock t-shirts and even vintage decorative objects. Y/n stood there for a moment, taking in everything around her, completely enchanted.

"This is amazing," she muttered, not taking her eyes off the shelves.

Ollie leaned closer and said close to her ear, with a smile, "Take what you want. Anything you want."

Y/n immediately narrowed her eyes and glared at him, crossing her arms playfully. "You've got to be kidding. Ollie, these collectibles are expensive, and my birthday isn't far away. And our anniversary has already passed. Which, by the way, you already gave me a gift for."

Bearman chuckled, reaching out to hold her hands. "I'm not kidding." He smiled. "And hey, having you by my side every day is reason enough to celebrate. Now go ahead and pick out your trinkets."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but smile before she started walking down the aisles. She carefully looked at each item, picking up only the ones she truly loved.

When he left the store, he was carrying an original Queen vinyl, a Funko Pop of his favorite superhero and a small framed painting of the cover of The Breakfast Club.

"You didn't exaggerate, huh," Ollie joked, looking down at her hands as they walked back to the hotel.

"I didn't mean to bankrupt you," she replied, laughing. "But seriously, thank you, Ollie."

The pilot pulled her close and left a kiss on her forehead. "Seeing you happy is worth it. Now let's go back before you complain about the cold again.

And as they walked back through the city streets, Y/n felt that it wasn't just because of the 80s items that her heart was warm on that freezing morning. It was the way Ollie always made a point of showing how much he cared about the things she loved.

••••••••••••••••••••••

The new apartment was everything they had ever dreamed of: bigger, airier, and with an incredible view. It was in a quiet neighborhood and close to Ollie's parents' house, something he knew would be special for him and Y/n.

The boxes were scattered across the floor, and the space still smelled of fresh paint, giving it that fresh air.

Y/n was sitting on the floor, wearing her typical 80s vibe outfit: a colorful striped blouse, high-waisted jeans, and a pair of new Converse. She was organizing one of the boxes marked 'Decor', but her mind was already racing, wondering where everything would go.

The apartment door opened, and Ollie entered carrying several bags and a large box in his arms. He looked a little tired, but he still had a smile on his face when he saw Y/n busy on the floor.

"You could have called me, Ollie!" Y/n said, quickly standing up and walking over to him. "I would have come down to help."

"You didn't have to, love" he replied, his tone casual as he walked to the center of the room. "It was nothing. And honestly, the weight of these things is nothing to me."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but gave a small smile as she helped him put the bags and box on the floor. "Okay, Mr. Muscles. But what's all this?"

She sat back down on the floor, straightening her blouse as she stared at the box curiously. Ollie, in turn, gave her a small smile and began to open the box.

"These are some things I bought for decoration," he said, opening the lid and revealing the contents.

Y/n laughed lightly, crossing her legs and resting her elbows on her knees. "Ollie, we have enough stuff to fill this huge space."

"Ah, but I thought it would be cool if you put a little more of your passion for the 80s in here" The pilot replied, pulling several items out of the box that immediately made Y/n's eyes shine.

The first item was a framed cover of Guns N' Roses' Appetite for Destruction album. He then pulled out small collectible superhero figurines, vinyl records, classic movie posters, and even a wall clock with a totally retro aesthetic.

"Oh my God, Ollie, this is awesome!" she said, laughing as she picked up one of the posters to take a closer look.

“Wait, there’s more” Bearman continued, pulling out a small decorative kit with miniature stethoscopes, syringes, and other nursing-related items. “I thought you might like to put this on the shelf in the hallway, you know, something that’s more you.”

Y/n felt her eyes water as he showed the items. It was more than just decoration. It was as if Ollie had collected pieces of her and put them into gifts.

"Hey, hey" he said, noticing the tears rolling down her face. Ollie walked over, crouching down next to Y/n and gently wiping away the tears with his thumbs. "What's wrong, love? Did I do something wrong?"

Y/n laughed through her tears, shaking her head. "No, of course not. It's just... My love for you is so big that sometimes it feels like it's going to overflow, you know? And now it's overflowing." She said, smiling, as she held his hand.

Ollie smiled back, a warm, loving smile. "You're amazing, you know that? I just wish our home was like you: unique and special. And that there was a little bit of your soul in every corner."

Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing him into a warm hug. "Thank you, Ollie. Really. For everything."

"You don't have to thank me. I love you," he replied, kissing the top of her head before pulling away slightly. "Now... how about you start telling me all those brilliant ideas I know you already have? Don't hold back. I want to know everything."

Y/n laughed, wiping her eyes and starting to talk about where they would put each thing, her energy infecting the environment.

Ollie listened to her attentively, in love with the way she spoke with enthusiasm, and knew, once again, that he was exactly where he was supposed to be: With the woman of his life, building a home full of love and memories.

••••••••••••••••••••••

It was a busy day in the GP paddock, as always. Y/n, as a good friend and a great kind person, had promised to help Kelly, who had to fulfill a series of media commitments and meetings with sponsors.

Meanwhile, Y/n would be responsible for taking care of Penelope, Kelly's 5-year-old daughter. For the dark-haired girl, it wasn't a big sacrifice, she adored the little girl and, honestly, found it fun to spend time with her.

Ollie, on the other hand, was in a meeting with the team. So she lovingly sent a message to her boyfriend, saying that she was at the coffee shop with Penelope, so that as soon as she left the meeting she would go and find them.

And as always, Y/n had something related to her personality. Underneath the Haas jacket that Ollie had given her that morning because of the wind, she was wearing a black t-shirt with the print of her favorite hero on it. Spiderman. It was a drawing from the comic versions.

Penelope had complimented her as soon as she saw her. "Do you like him because he's strong or because he makes those cool webs?" Penelope asked curiously as she threw a sheet of stickers on the table.

Y/n laughed, sitting in front of her, while placing the hot chocolate she had bought for the child, on the table.

"The webs. Definitely." She says smiling.

Penelope laughed, shaking her head. "Do you have other heroes' clothes?"

"I have. A lot. I think Ollie is used to opening his closet and seeing a bunch of superhero shirts or stuff from the 80s."

At the mention of Ollie's name, Penelope stopped and frowned slightly. "Have you and Ollie always liked each other? I mean, have you been together for a long time?"

For a 5 year old, Penelope was very smart.

Y/n laughed at the direct question. "We've known each other since we were ten years old. But we've been together since we were sixteen. So I think so, if we've always liked each other and we've been together for a long time"

Penelope smiles contentedly, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. But ready to ask another question. "Are you two going to get married someday? Because mom always says that when you love someone so much, you end up marrying them."

"I think so." Y/n bites her lip a little. "We talk about it. But we never know when it might happen." She smiles gently and P nods.

Penelope seemed satisfied with the answer. Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she pulled a deck of UNO from the backpack she had brought. “Do you know how to play?”

"Of course I know!" Y/n replied excitedly. "But I'm warning you now, I'm really good at it."

"I doubt it!" Penelope exclaimed, laughing as she began to deal the cards on the table.

The two lost themselves in the match, laughing and teasing each other in a friendly way. Penelope loved to shout "UNO!" with a victorious smile, while Y/n pretended to feel defeated.

During the game, Penelope continued to ask random questions about Y/n, from what she thought about living in London with Ollie to who her favorite superhero was.

"Do you miss your mom while you live with Ollie?" She asks genuinely.

Y/n laughs, but Penelope doesn't mind her older friend's laughter.

"No." She smiles. "My parents live about 10 minutes away from us and Ollie's parents live in the same neighborhood as us. So there's no time to miss them." She smiles.

"Cool!" She plays a card. "We've known each other for a while and you're friends with my mom, but I don't think I've ever asked you what you do. Like, do you just take care of the house and Ollie or do you work?"

Y/n smiles. "I'm studying nursing and I work at a hospital."

Penelope frowns. "Hospital has a bad smell"

Y/n laughs out loud. "You get used to it, after all the hours you spend there."

Penelope smiles.

Ollie then left the meeting and saw his girlfriend's message. Smiling knowing how much she loved spending time with the little girl. Going to where they were, the pilot stands outside, appreciating his girlfriend as she smiles and plays with the girl inside the coffee shop.

He stood there for a few seconds, watching Y/n laughing as Penelope celebrated yet another victory.

Ollie smiles and enters the cafeteria, making both of them turn their heads towards the door. He approaches and, with a bigger smile, says: "Looks like someone is humiliating you in UNO." The pilot pokes his girlfriend's side, making her laugh at the tickle.

Y/n looked up at him, feigning indignation. "I'm letting her win. Of course."

Penelope laughed out loud. "No, you're not! I'm the best!"

Ollie ruffled Penelope's hair lightly and sat down next to Y/n, looking at the cards spread out on the table. "Looks like I missed out on the fun, huh?"

"You can enter the next round," Y/n said, handing him a deck of cards. "But I warn you: I won't let anyone else win."

Ollie and Penelope laugh in sync.

"So? What were you talking about?"

Penelope lets out a small laugh. "From you!"

Y/n smiles and the pilot lets out a laugh in mock surprise. "From me?"

"Yeah. Y/n was saying how cool it is to be with you."

The college student feels her cheeks flush with courage and smiles slightly, as she shuffles the cards to play again.

Ollie turns towards his girlfriend, placing his elbows on the table and looking at her, with a smile on his face, even provocative.

"Ah? It's nice, huh?" He stands a few millimeters away from Y/n's face.

"Shut up." She laughs, pushing his face away with her hand. "We're in front of P!" Y/n says through gritted teeth and Ollie understands, laughing as he watches his girlfriend hand him the letters.

"I love you" Ollie whispers in her direction. She smiles shyly.

••••••••••••••••••••

The apartment door opened softly, revealing Ollie carrying a few bags of groceries. He barely had time to step inside when an unusual, yet completely adorable scene unfolded in front of him: Y/n running around, completely focused on something.

"I already told you it's rude to fight with your sister, Bagheera! And you, Izzie, are no saint! Get back here, now!" Y/n shouted, running after the two kittens they had recently adopted, Bagheera and Izzie, who were now running in circles around the room, meowing indignantly.

Unaware of Ollie's presence, she ran past him, her hair flying and a look of pure frustration on her face. She followed the two puppies into the kitchen. Ollie followed the three and just leaned against the wall with a smile of pure amusement, watching the scene attentively.

When she managed to reach the two, she crouched down on the ground and began talking to them as if they were small children.

"You two need to learn to behave! I told you it's bad form to fight. Bagheera, apologize to your sister, now!" She pointed her finger at Bagheera, who let out a small meow, while Izzie stared at her with curious eyes.

Ollie, who was now at the entrance to the kitchen, with his arms crossed and a goofy smile, continued to watch. He refused to interrupt that hilarious and cute scene.

Y/n picked up the two kittens, holding one in each arm. "You two are going to make up. Now! Come on, make up." Bagheera raised his paw and, in a slow movement, gave Izzie a light slap on the head, who let out an offended meow.

"Hey! That's not an apology, Bagheera!" Y/n scolded, putting the two down again. The kittens went back to running around the house as if nothing had happened.

When Yin turned around, she finally noticed Ollie leaning against the wall, chuckling softly. "How long have you been there?" she asked, crossing her arms, though there was a smile on her face.

"Long enough to watch you raise our children" Ollie replied, still smiling.

She laughed out loud, shaking her head as she walked over to the stove to heat some water for tea. "If they're our children, you should talk to them later too. Maybe they'll listen to you better than they listen to me."

"I can try," Ollie teased, stepping closer to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in for a soft kiss. When they pulled away, he looked into her eyes, his smile now softer. "You're brilliant, you know that? I love you. You're going to be an amazing mother one day."

Y/n tilted her head in surprise and looked at him with slightly wide eyes. They had talked about children before, but Ollie’s confident and determined tone seemed to warm something inside her. “Children?”

"Yes" Ollie replied, with a calmness that seemed natural. "You and I married, maybe with three kids. Girls. Three girls. Because I can only imagine you being a mother of little girls."

Y/n's heart melted completely at those words. She threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly, as if she never wanted to let him go. Ollie smiled against her brunette hair, caressing her back.

"Three girls?" she asked softly, chuckling softly.

"Three girls" he confirmed, kissing the top of her head. "And I will take care of each of them as you take care of me."

She closed her eyes, feeling her heart overflow with happiness. The idea of a future with him seemed as perfect as could be.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was a lazy afternoon at Ollie and Y/n's apartment. They were both on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, with a bowl of popcorn on their laps shared between the two. On the TV screen, an 80s classic was playing Y/n's choice, obviously.

"See, Ollie?" Y/n pointed at the screen excitedly. "Now that's a real movie! Impeccable script, practical effects, and a soundtrack that makes you want to live in the 80s forever."

Ollie, munching on a handful of popcorn, raised his eyebrows. "Okay, I'll admit, The Goonies is good, but you can't deny that today's movies have special effects that the '80s couldn't even dream of having."

Y/n turned to him, hands on her hips, or at least as close to that as she could get under the blanket. "Oh, please, special effects don't make a movie good! Anyone with a computer can make an explosion look real these days, but what about the soul? The heart of the story? That's from the 80s, honey."

Ollie chuckled and tilted his head. "So you're saying Avengers: Endgame has no soul?"

"I'm saying that Avengers: Endgame is a generic movie that will never top Ghostbusters. And don't get me started on the '80s superheroes. 1978's Superman is still the best superhero adaptation ever made."

He threw some popcorn at her, laughing. "You're ridiculous! Don't you even consider Iron Man to be the best character ever created?!"

"Oh, don't make me laugh!" Y/n snapped, grabbing the popcorn and throwing it back at him. "Iron Man could never compete with the original X-Men from the comics! Not to mention his costume in the first movies is so... boring. I prefer the practical effects they used in the 80s. More realistic!"

"More realistic?" Ollie laughed. "Do you really think rubber dolls are better than CGI?"

"Yes! They had personality, okay?!" Y/n was now completely turned towards him, the passion for the subject evident in the sparkle in her eyes and the challenging smile she gave.

He stared at her for a few seconds, trying to keep the argument alive, but he couldn't resist. Ollie started laughing and leaned towards her, holding Y/n's face in his hands. "You're impossible. How am I supposed to win an argument with you when you're this beautiful?"

"Is this your way of escaping defeat?" she asked, laughing softly.

"It's my way of surrendering," Ollie replied, pulling her into a slow, tender kiss. When they pulled away, he smiled. "Okay, you win. The '80s are awesome. But you have to admit, Marvel from the last few years is good, too."

Y/n narrowed her eyes, pretending to consider the idea. "Maybe... but only because I love you. Not because you're right."

"I accept," he said, laughing, before stealing another kiss.

••••••••••••••••••••••

It was a typical and tiring Thursday for Y/n. College seemed to have sucked all of her energy with endless classes and complicated papers. When she finally arrived at the apartment she shared with Ollie, all she wanted was a hot shower and her bed.

Upon opening the door, however, she was surprised by a completely different environment. The lights were slightly dimmed, small LED bulbs decorated the room, and the irresistible smell of freshly made popcorn filled the air.

In the center of the room, the sofa was covered in pillows and blankets, carefully arranged to look like a real cozy movie theater.

Ollie appeared in the kitchen entrance, with a wide smile and a bucket of popcorn in his hands. He was wearing a Ghostbusters themed t-shirt. Which he had taken from Y/n, which made her let out a hearty laugh.

"Welcome to our private cinema, love," he announced, as if he were the master of ceremonies for the evening.

Y/n looked around, surprised and delighted. "Ollie, what's all this?" She smiled.

"I know how exhausting college is for you," Ollie said, walking over to her and putting an arm around her shoulders. "So I thought you deserved a special night. I've put together a marathon of your favorite movies. We've got Ghostbusters, The Princess Diaries, and of course, The Chronicles of Narnia. I thought you'd enjoy it."

She blinked a few times, processing his dedication, before throwing herself into Ollie's arms with a huge smile. "You're the best boyfriend in the world, you know that?"

"I'll do my best," he teased, kissing her forehead. "Go take a quick shower while I finish organizing everything. The popcorn is ready, and there's chocolate on the table. Oh, and I made some tea too, because I know you love watching movies with hot tea."

Y/n let out a light laugh and ran to the bathroom, leaving her things along the way.

When she returned, wearing a comfy pair of her boyfriend’s sweatshirts, she found Ollie sitting on the couch, a remote control in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. He was waiting for her with a relaxed smile, patting the space next to him.

"Come, the session is about to begin"

Y/n settled in next to him, pulling up a blanket and placing her legs on Ollie's lap. "Which one should we start with?"

"Ghostbusters, of course," he replied, as he pressed play on the movie.

Throughout the night, they laughed together, commented on the scenes and even argued about which character was the best in each movie. Ollie knew that Y/n needed this moment to disconnect from her responsibilities and just be herself, immersing herself in her favorite stories.

As The Chronicles of Narnia came to an end, Y/n looked over at Ollie, who was absentmindedly eating the last of his popcorn. "Thank you for this," she whispered, touching his face gently.

Ollie smiled and tilted his head to the side. "So what?"

"For always thinking of me and making everything so special. I love you more than anything, Ollie."

"And I love you more than all the 80's movies combined," he replied, eliciting a laugh from her. Ollie leaned in, sealing the moment with a sweet kiss as the TV in the background rolled the end credits.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was a rare Sunday off for Ollie, and he had planned to spend the entire morning in bed next to Y/n. However, when he woke up, he realized that the space next to him was empty, he frowned and stretched before getting up.

The apartment was silent except for a distant sound coming from the living room.

As he walked down the stairs, he found the most unexpected and, at the same time, so typically Y/n scene.

She was standing barefoot, in long pajamas, and she held one hand up, clearly trying not to smudge the nail polish she had just applied. Her eyes were fixed on the TV, where a football match was playing with increasing tension.

"Come on, take this, please!" Y/n muttered to herself, completely oblivious to Ollie's presence.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get any words out, a frustrated scream echoed through the room.

"Oh no! What the hell!" Y/n exclaimed, stomping her foot on the ground. "That goalie is a joke! How did he miss that?" She rolls her eyes, as if the players can see her. "Ha, if that was me, we'd be winning," she mutters.

Ollie leaned against the door frame with a wide smile on his face, watching his indignant girlfriend.

He cleared his throat, getting her attention. "Care to explain to me what you're doing standing in our living room watching football at eight in the morning... on our vacation?"

Y/n turned to him, her hand still in the air so as not to smudge her freshly painted nails. "Oh, good morning to you too." She replied with a mix of sarcasm and humor. "My team is playing, Ollie. How could I miss that? You know how fun those matches are!"

Ollie laughed, walking over to her and stopping beside her. "What about the nails? What does that have to do with any of this?"

“Multitasking” she replied with a mischievous smile, raising her hand to show off her bright red nail polish. “I get to support my team and take care of my manicure at the same time. Isn’t that brilliant?”

"You're one of a kind, you know?" Ollie murmured, wrapping his arm around her and kissing the top of her head. Her dark hair smelled of grape shampoo. "But I didn't know morning football was part of the package."

"You're just complaining because the goal wasn't from my team," Y/n retorted, pointing at him with the nail polish brush in her hand. "And by the way, it's Sunday. Is there anything better to do than cheer for the team you love?"

"Maybe stay in bed with your boyfriend?" He suggested and Y/n laughed, shaking her head. "But well, you're more passionate about your team than I'll ever be about any sport outside of motorsports. I think I'll let that slide."

Y/n gave a low laugh before looking back at the TV as Ollie pulled her closer to him. "Now sit down and explain to me who these guys are. I want to understand why you screamed so loud."

They sat on the couch, Ollie's right arm around her shoulders as she finished painting her nails and explained everything she knew about the team, occasionally pointing at the TV with the brush from the nail polish tube.

Ollie smiled, even though he didn't understand anything she was saying, but he was clearly paying attention and feeling his heart fill with even more love.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

The afternoon was quiet in the apartment, the sweet smell of cookies baking in the oven filling the air.

Y/n was in the kitchen, wearing a floral print apron, swaying slightly to the sound of 'Games' by the band Nazareth, which was playing on the apartment's speakers.

Ollie was in a meeting, which luckily was in London. And when he saw the time, Y/n's smile grew, knowing that he would be home in a few minutes.

As she mixed the ingredients for another batch, she softly sang the chorus, completely immersed in the melody and nostalgia that the song brought.

"You are not just ashamed of yourself. You're a part of the scenery, damned to hell." She slams her hand on the counter, completely immersed in her favorite song.

Ollie arrived at the apartment silently, opening the door carefully so as not to make any noise. He left his backpack near the couch and walked towards the kitchen, attracted by Y/n's sweet voice and the irresistible aroma of cookies.

Upon hearing the song, he recognized the familiar melody. The same favorite song as Y/n since she was 10 years old. Ollie smiles, knowing he's memorized that song inside out since the day they met. When they were still naive children and friends.

When he reached the kitchen entrance, he leaned against the wall, with his hands in his pants pockets and the wide smile that he never let go of when he was around his girlfriend.

He hummed softly, but Y/n didn't notice. For he had his back to Ollie's spot and was singing loudly.

"Can't you see. We are not going to play at your games. We are not going to ask you for names. Or for some of your history" Ollie approaches his girlfriend and hugs her from behind. Singing along with her.

Y/n stopped immediately, turning to face him with wide eyes. "What? You know that song?" She asked, surprised, a smile already appearing on her face.

Ollie shrugged. "Of course I know. I've heard you sing it every day since we were ten!"

She felt her cheeks flush. But she smiled, dropping the cloth on the counter and wrapping her arms around her boyfriend.

"There's just one thing..." He begins, an amused smile on his face and his hands snaking around her waist. "Don't you think this song is a little 'dark' to be your favorite?"

She laughs loudly, throwing her head back. Making her strands of brunette hair fall. Ollie took the opportunity and planted a kiss on her exposed neck, before Y/n returned to her original position.

"Dark? Just because she talks about fighting manipulation and mind games?" She teases.

"EXACTLY!" Ollie says loudly, with an amused tone in his voice.

"Okay, okay. The lyrics might be weird, but I love the instrumental." She smiles, then puts her arms tighter on the pilot's shoulders. "You need to feel the music. Close your eyes and focus on the instruments..."

Y/n closes her eyes and tilts her head to the side. Ollie, on the other hand, has his eyes open, admiring his girlfriend. He thinks everything about her is perfect, from the beauty mark near her mouth to her unruly brunette hair.

He hadn't confessed yet. But with each passing day he felt his love grow. If he could, he would marry this girl right now. There, in the kitchen of their apartment, with her in an apron and the smell of cookies in the air, while their cats brought the rings. Which was clearly impossible, since the puppies had the energy of four-year-olds.

"Are your eyes closed?" She asks, her own eyes closed.

"Yes..." Lie.

He starts to get closer to her face, and she notices, as she feels his warm breath on her neck and his firm hands on her waist tighten. Ollie starts with kisses on her neck, which move up to her jaw and reach her mouth.

"I'm feeling the music," he declares, before bringing their lips together in a slow, passionate, heated kiss.

Y/n smiled between the kiss, her hands now running through his curls. While trying her best to swallow the sighs that wanted to escape her throat.

••••••••••••••••••••••

Ollie always made sure to bring a little piece of the 80s to Y/n, especially during the races she couldn't attend because of college. He knew how much she loved everything related to that decade and loved surprising her with little gifts that captured her passion.

That week, Y/n was unable to accompany Ollie to the Austrian GP. So, as soon as he landed in London, relief took over knowing that in just a few minutes he would be in the comfort of his apartment and in the loving arms of his girlfriend, whom he hadn't seen for a week.

As soon as he entered the apartment, he found Y/n sitting on the couch, with her college books scattered around her. She smiled when she saw him and jumped off the couch to hug him.

"How was the flight, okay?" Ollie nods and kisses her. "And more importantly, how are you?" She asks, looking at him with curious eyes.

He laughed and took her hands in his. "It was okay. It would have been great if you were there, because..." He began pulling a bag that was resting on his suitcase. "I found something... for you!"

"One thing?" She asks curiously.

"Yeah. I actually bought this for you and when I was walking back to the hotel, I ran into a certain person who could sign it for you."

Y/n's eyes widen in curiosity and then Ollie hands her the bag. From it, she pulls out a fairly large box. She smiles curiously, looking at Ollie and the box as she opens it.

Inside, there was an original Guns N' Roses poster in a frame, autographed by none other than Slash, the band's guitarist.

"SHUT UP!" She yells and Ollie laughs out loud. "ARE YOU KIDDING?"

Ollie shakes his head. "No, Antonelli and I found him outside the hotel. Apparently he was staying with us and we only realized when he was leaving." He laughs. "Seriously! At that moment I almost cried because I wanted you there!"

Y/n's heart races and she smiles. "I love you so much." She pulls him into a passionate, appreciative kiss.

After that, Ollie hands over some more stuff he bought for her, which he thought she should definitely take back to their flat in London.

"Where did you find these things?"

"It was in a little shop near the hotel where we were staying. I thought you would like it," he said, watching her reaction with a proud smile.

While she had her collector's items on the table near the door.

"Like it? I love it! This is perfect" She said, hugging him tightly.

"I knew you'd love it," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

Which was hard, since she was as tall as him. Which made him love her more.

Y/n pulled back a little, still holding the presents, and looked at him with an amused smile. "You're going to end up turning our apartment into an 80s shrine, you know that?"

"If it's going to make you happy, I don't see any problem with that," Ollie replied with a calm smile.

She shook her head, laughing, and pulled him onto the couch. "Fine, but now you're going to help me choose where to put this iconic poster!"

And, as always, that small gesture from Ollie was further proof of how much he loved making Y/n happy, even in the smallest details.

Which this time was extremely big for Y/n. Well, look, she got an original Guns N' Roses poster signed by the band's guitarist from her boyfriend. That was incredible!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/n arrived home after another long day at the hospital internship. As soon as she opened the door, she was greeted by the welcoming smell of something Ollie was cooking - or at least less trying. She smiled when she saw him in the kitchen, wearing an apron that said 'Chef for a day.'

"Hi, love," she said, throwing her bag on the couch and walking over to him in the kitchen for a quick hug from behind.

"Hi, favorite nurse," he replied, turning to kiss her and face his girlfriend. "How was your internship today?"

"It was amazing!" Y/n replied enthusiastically, already pulling up a chair at the kitchen table and sitting down. "Today I gave a preemie a bath in the thermal crib. He was only 2 kilos, Ollie. He's so small, but so strong!"

Ollie wiped his hands on a cloth, grabbed two glasses of water, and sat down across from her, leaning his elbows on the table and watching her intently as the food cooked.

"And how is that? I mean, how do you bathe a baby that small?"

Y/n smiled, loving his interest. "Oh, there's a whole technique! We heat the water to the perfect temperature and, while holding the baby firmly, we wash with very gentle movements so as not to scare him. It's very delicate. And the best part is when he starts to relax and even smiles!"

Ollie tilted his head in amazement. "I didn't know premature babies could smile. That's... amazing."

"It is, isn't it?" Y/n agreed, her eyes shining with passion. "They are so fragile, but they have an impressive strength. And you know what? Today one of them squeezed my finger with his little hand. My heart almost melted!"

Ollie laughed, imagining the scene. "I think they feel they're in good hands with you."

"Do you think so?" She asked, tilting her head, a little shyly.

"I'm sure," Ollie replied with a tender smile. "You're so dedicated. I can barely follow half of what you say, but I can see how much you love it. And that just makes me love you even more."

Y/n bites her lower lip in shyness, the pilot notices and laughs, caressing her hand. "I love you, so much" He says.

"I love you more" Y/n smiles and blows a kiss in the air. He chuckles softly.

"So? What adventures did you have with these little ones from the neonatal unit?"

Y/n rested her face on her hand and smiled, as if reliving the day in her mind. "There was a special moment... One of the babies started crying very softly, and when I put his little hand on my finger, and he stopped right away. Like he needed a little comfort, you know?"

Ollie smirked, resting his chin on his hand, watching her carefully. "You really do have a magical touch, don't you? I don't think it's possible for anyone not to feel comfortable around you."

She laughed. "It's not magic, love. It's just affection and patience. Things you have too, you know?"

"Me? I don't know if I would have the same patience with babies. I would be afraid to hold them, because they are small." He makes a gesture as if he were holding a baby and Y/n laughs. "I only have patience because, well, I have you. Who calms me down."

Y/n laughed, throwing a napkin ball at him. "Silly."

"Hey, it's true!" Ollie said, holding up the ball and smiling. "You have a passion for taking care of people, and that's one of the things I love most about you. I can't wait to see you taking care of our own children one day."

Her cheeks turned slightly pink, but the smile remained. “Are you thinking about kids yet?” she teased. “What about marriage?”

"With you? I always think about that," he replied matter-of-factly, as if it were obvious. "What about the wedding? I'm working on some things for the proposal."

Y/n rolls her eyes laughing, thinking that comment was completely provocative and playful. But the truth was that Ollie was already looking for an engagement ring, he just hadn't found the perfect one yet.

"Thank you for always listening and supporting me, Ollie. I'm so lucky to have you."

"Lucky me" he replied with a smile, intertwining his fingers with hers. "Now, before the food burns, how about you tell me if my dinner will pass Chef Nurse Y/n's test?"

She laughed out loud, feeling completely at home next to him. Because after all, he is her home.

••••••••••••••••••••••

The rain gently tapped against the windows of Y/n and Ollie's London apartment, creating a relaxing melody that filled the room.

It was one of those days when the world seemed to slow down, allowing them to enjoy the simple, cozy moment of each other's company.

In the room, the smell of fresh paint mixed with the aroma of coffee that still hung in the air. Y/n was sitting on the floor, with a children's coat neatly laid out in front of her, her brushes and paints scattered around her.

She was working on a special project for her niece, delicately painting colorful flowers and butterflies on the back of her coat while softly humming along to 'Californication' playing on her phone.

Ollie, who was initially on the couch playing with his cell phone, looked up to observe the scene.

He smiled when he saw her so focused, her eyebrows furrowed on her forehead, as if she was angry about something. But it was just a trait he loved whenever she was completely absorbed in something.

Standing up, he walked over to where Y/n was.

"You're really good at this, you know?" He commented, kneeling down beside her and watching her progress.

"Thank you," she replied, not looking up from her work, adding a finishing touch to one of the flowers. "But don't you think you're a little lazy up there? Why don't you grab one of my canvases upstairs and do something with it, too?"

Ollie raised his eyebrows with an amused smile. "Do you think I'm good at painting?"

She finally looked at him, her eyes shining with a hint of teasing. "No," Y/n says sincerely and Ollie laughs out loud. "But it doesn't hurt to try." She smiles.

Ollie smiles and then agrees with the idea and gets up to go up to the 'mess room' that she had declared would be the place where they would throw all the things they weren't going to use for a while.

Walking upstairs, Ollie had an even more brilliant idea. After grabbing the canvas and a paintbrush from the junk room, he walked to the room they shared, reached into the closet, and grabbed a velvet box. Putting it in his sweatshirt pocket, he walked downstairs smiling.

He came back and sat down beside her, dipping his brush into the black paint. "Prepare to be amazed. You are in the presence of a true artist."

Y/n let out a laugh, tilting her head. "I can't wait to see that."

While she went back to customizing the coat, Ollie began working on his 'Artwork'. Only, instead of drawing a picture like she expected, he started writing something.

Ollie worked carefully, making sure the letters were perfect, while Y/n, completely oblivious to what he was doing, remained focused on her project.

After writing, he tried to draw a ring and a couple. But it came out more like a stick figure couple.

But for someone who didn't know how to draw, it was great.

A few minutes later, he wiped his hands with a cloth and leaned back, admiring his work, the canvas in front of him. "Done!" he announced excitedly.

Y/n looked up from her jacket, curious. "Are you done yet? That was quick."

"Come here," he said, holding the screen in his hands. "I need you to see it up close to understand the genius."

"Okay then!" Y/n smiles, and gets up from where she was to sit next to Ollie.

He, in turn, began to get nervous, his hands began to sweat and then he decided to put the box he had found in his coat pocket.

"Okay, handsome. Let's see this work of art of yours!" Y/n chuckles softly, sitting next to him.

And then, Ollie turns the screen over and shows it to her. The smile on her face fell, her body froze, but her heart began to beat faster and faster. She felt the tears begin to fall, as she took the screen from Ollie's hands.

There, written in elegant letters and surrounded by little hearts, a ring and a drawing of a couple of sticks that he improvised, was the phrase: Will you marry me?

Y/n's eyes widened, her hand covering her mouth, leaving the screen on the floor, as her heart raced. "Ollie..." She turns to him.

Ollie smiles widely, taking the ring out of his sweatshirt pocket. His gaze had nothing less than love and a little nervousness. He kneels in front of her, while she still has her hand over her mouth in shock and tears falling.

"Y/n, know that you've been everything to me since we were 10 years old. You bring color to my life. You have a way of looking at the world that makes me want to be a better person, just to deserve to be by your side. What I want for my tomorrow, for the rest of my life, is to be with you in every step, in every journey, celebrating every victory and facing every challenge, always together. Every moment with you, be it painting, cooking, or just watching 80's movies, it's perfect. I love you, Y/n. Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me? Do you want to be mine, forever? Do you want to marry me?"

Tears were now streaming down the girl's face, but she had a sweet smile on her lips. "Of course! I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be yours forever and I want to marry you!"

Ollie smiles, wiping away his own tears now. "I'm the happiest man in all of London!" He smiles in relief, and then pulls her into a passionate kiss, sealing that promise.

Y/n smiles between kisses and laughs when they fall onto the carpet in the living room of their apartment. "You caught me by surprise," she said with a smile, wiping away her tears. "I would never expect a marriage proposal like that. A true work of art, huh?!"

He laughs.

"Well, I wanted it to be special, just the way you are. And I knew that if it was during an afternoon like this, with something we love to do together, it would be perfect."

She looked at him in awe, feeling more loved than ever. "It was more than perfect, Ollie."

The two spent the rest of the day in the living room, laughing, talking about the future and, of course, finishing their painting projects - now with even more love in every detail.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Twenty Four)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Twenty Four: Y/N feels more unwell, and Cillian tries to be supportive. He's loving, he's attentive, and meets her every need. [Sexual scenes]

@strangeions @meadowshelby @watermeezer @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @cherry-cilly @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @lavender-haze-01

To proofread deeply so apologies for typos. I shall fix.

---------

“Are y'alright?” Cillian's voice calls through the bathroom door and you can tell he's trying to be helpful, but it isn't. Sitting on the bathroom floor, you rest back against the side of the bath but you are too afraid to move too far away. The nausea is lingering, and what precious little of your hotly anticipated takeaway meal you managed to eat was now sitting at the bottom of the toilet. “Y/N, can I do anything?”

“No,” you say and swallow hard. Your throat burns, and you're not sure if the vomiting is worse than the constant nausea or not. “Just give me a minute, Cill. I just need a minute.”

“Did you get sick?” He asks, and he sounds concerned.

“Cill, please!” You moan, trying to focus on breathing to avoid activating your gag reflex again.

“Will I get you some 7up?” He calls out again and despite yourself you laugh.

“You and the fucking 7up!” You sigh softly, blowing air from your pursed lips, and turn slowly to use the edge of the bath to stand back up. You close the top of the toilet and flush it, then walk towards the sink to wash your face and briefly swill your mouth with water. You think about brushing your teeth but the idea of the toothpaste taste threatens to make you gag once again. You look into the mirror at your reflection and curse yourself for even considering food like you had when you know you've been feeling sick. Who eats when they're ill? Idiot! You reach for the door knob and pull open the bathroom door, and he's there - hands in his pockets, soft pout on his lips, and a sad look in his eyes that sits somewhere between sympathy and concern.

“You didn't like the spicebag?” He smirks and you shake your head, rolling your eyes.

“I'm stupid - it was a stupid idea. Who eats that when they're feeling sick all day?” You tease yourself, and he smirks.

He pulls his hands from his pockets and opens out his arms, “Ah, poor wee Y/N.” He says with a small laugh, “C'mere to me, you disgustingly pale looking weirdo ya.” He wraps his arms around you and you snuggle against his chest gratefully.

“I need to brush my teeth but I don't want to taste it.” You laugh, and Cillian's body shakes a little as he laughs too.

“Ah, you dirty bitch,” he teases. “C'mon, go and lay down in bed there and I'll get you some 7up.” He pats his hands on your back and you shake your head with a laugh.

“Stop it with the 7up, for God's sake,” you say, laughing a little more, and doing as you're told by approaching the bedroom. He follows you, and leans in the doorway as you turn and sit on the side of the bed.

“It's good for ya when you're sick, vomiting like, it's like magic.” He nods at you. “Quit your moaning.” He smirks at you again. “Maybe you've a virus, picked it up on your office day this week,” he suggests. “Because I'm not so sure this is just your anxiety.”

You shrug your shoulders, “Yeah, probably.” You sigh through the remaining nausea. “Okay, bring me the fucking 7up!” You relent. “And come and lie with me.”

“Jays, you're demanding.” He tuts, shaking his head. “Right, I'll be back,” he says, and disappears down the stairs.

In his absence, you strip to your knickers and throw on last night's pyjamas. Despite knowing he isn't a fan, you turn on the rarely used bedroom TV and find a ridiculous adult animation you've been seeing snippets of; you had intended to watch without him, knowing he was far too high brow to enjoy the base, inuendous humour, but you also know that when you're sick he'll give you whatever you want! You leave the light on - he can turn that out - and you snuggle yourself into a half-reclined position under the duvet. The bed smells of him again, after having him over night, and you tell yourself that perhaps you won't wash the sheets for an extra day - just to have his smell for a little longer when he leaves again tomorrow. You start the stupid show, and you're already tittering as he comes through the bedroom door nearly ten minutes later. He has your 7up, and a handful of carrier bags, and he smells of the outside air and cigarette smoke.

“You're a crafty shit.” You say, pausing the TV. He stands at your side of the bed with a confused expression.

“A wha’?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Cill, I can smell the smoke off you.* You shake your head. “Love, I can't make you stop, but you stopped before. I know you can do it.”

He tuts and rolls his eyes. “Here,” he sets the pint glass onto your nightstand. “And I thought you might need these.* He holds out the carrier bags. “I checked they don't have the wee holes in the bottom so if you throw up, you're grand and so is the carpet.” He smirks and places them beside your glass.

“Romantic, thanks.” You laugh. “I actually feel a lot better. A little sickly, but so much better.” You smile up at him. “Clothes off, butt in.” You say, tapping your hand against the duvet still pulled across his side of the bed. “Hug me.”

“Now who's fucking romantic?” He shakes his head. “Are you not going to come on to me better than that? Sure I'll never get the horn if you keep that up.”

“What makes you think I want your erection anywhere near me?” You widen your eyes, laughing at the slowly changing expression on his face. He's gradually turning from lightly slagging, to intending to push this down a more fruitful route. You've missed him, and even with the lingering nausea - milder though it is - if he wants sex, you'll give way in every capacity. Let him leave tomorrow having left your entire body remembering he was home.

He raises a single eyebrow and his tongue slowly moves across his lips before that cheeky glint flashes in his eyes. “Well! Sort yourself out, so. I've two perfectly good hands.”

“I didn't think you were getting hard?” You smirk, and his laugh is so worth the insane level of embarrassment you feel for uttering those words. “And anyway,” you ensure you sound offended, “Your hands are for when I'm not here.”

He laughs again, “My hands are for the shower too.* He has his back to you, dragging off his sweatshirt and t-shirt, then turns around to look at you with a cheeky grin. The belt on his jeans is, despite the growth of his body for Peaky, still pulled tightly at his waist.

You shake your head, laughing a little. “I hate you.” You laugh more, and tilt your head a little as you watch him unfasten the belt buckle and drag the leather from the loops. He drops it down onto the chair in the corner, on top of his already removed clothes, before he turns his back to you again and unfastens his jeans before dragging them down his legs and throwing them, too, onto the chair. He awkwardly fumbles to pull each sock off before he turns back to you, standing in his red Calvin's, and you smile softly as he looks at you like he's forgotten you were both just being teenage-like suggestive. He looks soft-faced, loving, and you wonder if the conversations earlier today had lifted a weight he didn't even know he was carrying. “Come here,” you say quietly, jerking your head a little to beckon him closer, and you hold open your arms as he walks towards his side of the bed and slides in under the covers. He shuffles close immediately, right up beside you, and you curl up into his side. The warmth and familiarity of his arms is soothing, the smell of his skin is intoxicating and nostalgic, and the thrum of his heart in your ear when your head rests on his collarbone is all the mindful music you'll ever need. “I don't want you to leave again tomorrow. I almost wish you hadn't come home because now I've got to get used to you not being here again.” You sigh sadly.

“A few more weeks, and then I'm home. I've to travel all over the UK now and while you're welcome to come, I'm not sure you'd want to.” He says quietly. “You sure you're feeling better?” He asks.

You nod your head, your chin swiping back and forth across his freckled skin. “A lot compared to before.”

“Good,” he sighs. He raises his right hand off the duvet and cups or around your cheek, and quickly insists you raise your face. As you lift your head from his body and look up, he pushes his lips down against yours. You feel momentarily concerned that you'll send him to England with a vomiting bug, but when his hand leaves your face and begins to move down your arm, igniting your skin, it vanishes quickly.

It takes mere moments for his soft kisses to become hungry, and his hands paw cup at your breasts over your pyjama top. Already, you want him. He smells better - better than what, you're not sure - but he smells so good, it's almost as encompassing as his kisses and his hands. You turn more towards him, and eventually find yourself on your knees. He doesn't break the kissing for a single second as he reaches for the hem of your shirt and drags it up over your head and arms. You cup your hands around his face - he hasn't shaved today and the subtle signs of stubble against your hands feel stirringly masculine. His hands move down over your bare back and he cups your arse over your pyjama bottoms. Kneading fingers and huffing breaths leave him freely and you're desperate for him now. You don't want slow hands, sensual side-lying or gentle fingering - god, you want him behind you, your ass in the air, and you want to feel every fucking slam of his pubis against your cheeks. No! No, you want him to sit, and you want to straddle his lap and ride him until you're insane. Every passing thought, as his hands push your trousers down, sends an igniting throb through your entire pelvis. He marches your positioning, kneeling too, and wraps both arms around your back. In a second he flips you down onto your back on the mattress, and drags your pyjamas from your legs.

You push up onto your elbows and immediately he shakes his head as he peers down at you, still kneeling, an obviously straining bulge prominent in his red boxers. But you know what you want. You push up fully, awkwardly, and rub your palm along the shape of his cock. He's trapped, and your hand applies pressure to an already restricted erection that makes him hiss. You take pity on him, though the face he pulls is fantastically erotic, and you drag his shorts down his thighs. His penis springs free instantly and you raise an eyebrow as you look up at him. Balancing yourself, and for a single second wondering if you might vomit if you do it, you open your mouth and take his entire, delicately curving length in. You sink down as low as you can go, pushing your head forward, and hold your lips ever so slightly tighter so that you drag the foreskin back over his gleaming head as you pull entirely back. Releasing him completely, he huffs a deep sigh.

Making sure you get what you want, but not wanting to say ‘’fuck me doggy style', you turn wordlessly and position yourself before him. You feel a little abashed, for a moment, as he moves behind you. When you realise he had only shifted to remove his underwear completely, you try to tell yourself not to be so shameful about getting what you want and need from him sexually. You're never unsatisfied, but you rarely have a strong urge for something like right now. He keeps occupied for a moment longer, and you see the condom wrapper flutter to the floor beside you before you finally feel him place his hands on you again. He roams them over your backside and lower back before keeping his left hand on your hip. He moves his right hand over your arse once again before smoothing his fingers slowly down towards your vulva. He roams wildly - he touches every fold, gives gentle attention to your clit, and then draws his finger down until it slowly pushes into your waiting, throbbing, and wet vagina. In, and out, in and out, he's soft and slow and you're desperate to fuck yourself on his finger. And then he draws his hand away and you bite your lip in desperate want of the next step.

With his hands on your hips, he pushes gently into you and all you can do is design with pure relief. He moves steadily at first, but when you begin pushing back against his efforts, he takes the hint gratefully. He's gasping fairly quickly, and he slams himself into you exactly how you'd hoped he would. His fingers push into your hips as he pulls you against him with each thrust forwards. Deeper and harder, it's driving you wild. Balancing, though, you reach your hand between your legs and double your enjoyment by ferociously stimulating your clitoris. You wonder how turned on it would make him if he noticed you doing it - he liked it when you guided hand and you bet it would absolutely drive him wild to watch you masturbate. The thought drive your body crazy and you find yourself cumming hard, spasming around his cock as he pushes deep into you on a fierce thrust. “Fuck, fuck…” you gasp. He stills, and you sigh. “No…don't stop…” you chuckle, breathless. His breathing is hard and ragged and he winks with a wide open mouth before he thrusts hard into you again. You keep both hands planted into the pillows before you, trying to keep stable, but it's hard not to falter as he ruts and drags you back at the same time. It's deep and hot and fucking amazing, and you know he's enjoy himself by the huffy little moans he keeps breathing out.

His movements quicken more and the sound of your bodies hitting together echoes through the room. He almost whimpers as he pulls you down hard on his cock and you feel overwhelmed at the heat in your whole body. He slows and stops and you begin to worry something is wrong, but when his hands move from your hips and slide up your sides, you wonder what he's doing. He doesn't pull out of you, and you can feel each twitch of his cock as it begs for its stolen pleasures to be resumed. “Up, up,” he huffs, breathily. You awkwardly arch yourself up, and as your movement almost dislodges his penis, he grabs your hips and pulls your body closer again. “Up…” he says again. You push back, like you're trying to sit on his lap, and raise your upper body unsteadily. Once you're high enough, he wraps his arms around your body and pulls your back against his chest as he sits back against his feet. Your new position forces his penis in deeper, at a slightly different angle, and you groan as you sink back against his sweaty torso. He cups your left breast in his left hand, and slides his right hand down between your legs, fingers rubbing deliriously skilled circles around your clit. You rock your hips steadily on his lap, swallowing his cock, and throw your head back onto his shoulder as his fingers continue to work.

“Jesus…” you sigh, rocking your pelvis quicker. “Cillian…” he applies more pressure with his hand, serving both to please you and push you further down against his penis. He grumbles a deep groan as you snap your hips back and forth, your arse right against his lower stomach, your back arched, your head still back on his shoulder. You reach your hand down over his, and urge him to move quicker. You feel him twitch ferociously inside of you at the action, and delight in the long moan that falls from his open lips. “More…” you beg him, moving his hand faster with your own. Even in his odd position, he gives a hard thrust up into you. Your free arm folds back and you grasp at the back of his head, eventually finding your fingers enough of his short hair to grip onto as your orgasm slowly builds. “Yeah…fuck…” you sigh, and the feeling of his quickening breathing in your chest tells you this is a joint descent. And as your glorious explosion of intense ecstasy hits, you're not at all blind to the fact your contracting muscles pull him over the edge too. He grunts loudly, his hand pushing hard against your vulva as he pushes you down against his spilling cock. The grunt becomes soft, higher moans as he rides out the final waves of intensity and your body is slack against his. You know he'll have no strength to hold you up in mere seconds, but fuck that was exactly what you needed.

Muscles weak and body like jelly, you do the unsexy separation and flop down onto the mattress on Cillian's side of the bed. He's beside you immediately, sighing unsteady breaths as he lies face-down against your pillow. After a moment he turns his head, eyes lidded and cheeky flushed pink, and gives you a sleepy, sated smile. “You horny mare…” he barely contains his laugh enough to say the words, and you giggle beside him. “Did you touch yourself too?” He asks and you bite your lip at the question. “...I can't even think about that right now…” he laughs, “I haven't the strength for another round…”

You turn into your side, facing him, and watch his lulling eyes dragging open and closed. His breathing is nearly normal now, and he'll be asleep sooner than later. “Take your helmet off.” You say, cringing, and laugh loudly when he grimaces. But he moves with a moan, turning and sitting up on the edge of the bed. You lie, enjoying your relaxed body for a moment, and close your eyes rather than watching him ‘disrobe’. But you're disappointed when you open your eyes again and find he's pulled his boxershorts back on, too. “Pass my jammers.” You say and hold out your right arm, fingers grabbing in and out.

“So you're a lazy mare, too?” He smirks, but bends to the floor for your pyjamas.

“I'm sick,” you say as he straightens up, and you laugh when he raises his eyebrows. He throws the clothes at you, and you reluctantly sit up to redress for bed.

“Sick, me hole,” he shakes his head, laughing. When you stand up to get your pyjamas on properly, he fixes the bed with a shake of the duvet and pounds at the flattened and abused pillows. “And don't be getting in my side,” he warns, joking. “You are feeling alright though, yeah?” He checks, and for a moment he does sound concerned.

Fixing your top, you nod your head and begin to walk around the bed so you can climb back in on your side. “Yeah, I do.” You stand before him and reach out your hand, resting your palm into the salt and pepper patch of hair close to his collarbone. “Fuck, I don't want you to leave me again.” You say, suddenly feeling a huge wave of preemptive sadness.

“Y/N,” he sighs, and you're worried it sounds like he's exasperated with you. Have you said it that much? Are you being too needy, tok possessive? Too much? He cups his hand over your wrist and drags your hand up to his face and kisses his hand against your palm. “Come then. We're moving about, but sure… come?” He raises his eyebrows. “I'll get you onto the flight, and if I can't then we'll rebook a different time or something. Yeah?”

You frown, unsure. “I've got to work.”

“You're sick,” he jokes, smiling gently. “Come.” He repeats quietly, “...I wanna watch you next time you…eh…do it yourself.”

You splutter a shocked laugh at his brazen comment. “Cillian!”

“Come with me.” He repeats more soberly, releasing your hand.

You smile softly and slowly nod your head. “Okay,” you agree. “Okay, I'll come with you.”

He smiles, his lips right and his cheeks pushing high up under his eyes. “Good,” he licks his lips as he cranes his head a little and kisses you softly.

You reach up your right hand when he draws his face back and you push your fingers through the locks of silvery hair against his forehead. You stare into his eyes as he blinks sleepily back at you. “I love you,” you say, feeling more serious than anything. “I can't quantify it.”

His face softens further as he smiles delicately at you. “I love you too, mo ghrá.”

[schmweed]

[sugar-coated-saphic]

Wiener dog- body language

[thehmn]

Never underestimate the power of subtle body language to help those around you without causing a scene.

I use “stepping in front of insensitive/nosey assholes to block their view of a person they’re starring at” a lot. No words exchanged. Just getting between them (sometimes while starring back at them if they’re being extra weird) and they always seem to either realize what they’re doing or be jolted out of it. Either way it has never ended in a confrontation, just silent looks.

A kinda weird use of body language happened some time ago while I was standing at a bus stop near a train station. Right next to me stood a very short woman who I guessed to be from India based on her looks and dress, and around us were nothing but men. I’m very standard height for a Scandinavian woman so I’ve never felt short or tall in any group, but she looked tiny next to all these men packed tightly around us. I’m not sure why but I felt like she was uncomfortable with all these men towering over her and for some reason my response to that was to subtly change my stance so my front faced her a bit more. Not full on, but the way most friends stand next to each other, while still looking away from her. I don’t know why I thought that would be comforting to her because it could just as easily have come off as threatening, but after a few seconds she moved a bit closer to me. And then a bit closer. And then slightly closer. All without anyone else in the group moving. We stood like that until the bus arrived and then we went to separate seats.

So never be afraid to silently signal to strangers that you’re on their side or that they can fuck right off. People tend to respond better to that than words in my experience unless they’re already looking for a fight.

[neighbourscat]

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 , nicholas alexander chavez

THE LIFE-CHANGING EDIT.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . celeb!nicholas c. X non-celeb!black!fem!reader || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. when watching horror movies with your boyfriend leaves you waking throughout the night, you resort to social media to distract you from your disturbing thoughts. scrolling and scrolling, you find yourself on the steamy side of tiktok; your boyfriend the face of this new era.

+ cw. brief description of horror documentary ( no specific title ). mature language! established relationship, painfully horny reader // somnophilia, unprotected sex, dirty talk, cock-warming for a bit, multiple orgasms + orgasm denial, creampie.

+ nali’s notes; pure filth. wordcount :: 2.6k+

+ to be played: back to sleep, chris brown. || alternative: p power, gunna ( no drake, ver ).

THE LIFE-CHANGING EDIT.

you knew you shouldn’t have gave into your boyfriend’s request for a ‘horror movie’ night. it was the first night of october, so you figured why not ( and you regret that ). you prepared trays of snacks; anything you could find in the pantry: chocolate covered pretzels, leftover tostitos chips and spicy cheese dip �� which you couldn’t eat at all, unfortunately. you couldn’t understand how your boyfriend could watch those scenes and continue to stuff his face. like the one with the human man meat-grinding another human man; breaking him down to bits and pieces in order to better dispose of him.

after the second and final movie, you told nicholas to lock up once more — your level of paranoia astronomical. there would be no recovering from those movies, especially not in the month of october — “no one is coming in here,” nicholas said for the fifth time, teasingly, crunching up the empty bag of tostitos. “you don’t know that,” you had said, peeking through the cozy throw blanket. you were sitting criss-crossed, nicholas’s pumpkin-blanket outlined around your face and body.

nicholas laughed to himself, licking at his salty fingers. you saw as he turned his back toward you and started for the kitchen to wash his hands — leaving you all alone in the living area. you tensed, scrunching your knees up to your chest and becoming a tight ball.

on any regular night — when your imagination wasn’t filled with slideshows of dismembered human bodies ( mostly children’s. you swore tv-people couldn’t show that shit on television, even if it was all makeup ) or a creature that melted people and used their gushy remains to grow in height, weight, and strength — you would have the window blinds snapped closed, leaving you and your boyfriend in pitch black darkness.

not tonight. fuck that.

after jumping into bed and diving under the blanket, you demanded your boyfriend to open the blinds — and to leave them wide open. you felt like a small girl again, needing her nightlight and closet doors firmly closed. the jackets that you and nicholas had hooked on the walls were also placed into the closet. the reason why they were out on the wall in the first place, was because there was no room in the closet. but nicholas made room — needing to shut your complaining.

you were in and out of sleep for the next four hours. twisting and turning, latching yourself onto nicholas’ arm or his torso, scrolling through instagram and tiktok; sending your close friends reels and responding to fan accounts of nicholas’ — but you straightened up a bit when an edit took over your screen.

without a second thought, without a slight consideration or hesitation — you hearted the video, added it to your favourites, saved the video to your phone, and commented an excessive amount of heart-eye emojis. and when you scrolled up . .. . you scrolled back down to rewatch the edit. you propped yourself onto an elbow, letting it play and play over and over again. and suddenly, the dark hadn’t been so scary anymore. you kept the volume down low, the lyrics of ‘p-power’ by gunna faint; as well as the moaning in the background.

you pulled your eyes from your phone screen, only for a second at the low sound of nicholas tugging the blanket up to his chest. he rolled onto his side and let out a low breath, the moonlight illuminating his features. you raked your fingers through his hair and with your other hand, you swiped over to view the profile and watched more edits of your boyfriend — finding that over thirty minutes had gone; thirty minutes of watching your boyfriend do his job ( hotly ).

nicholas turned onto his backside once again, pushing the blanket downward and away from his bare chest. his sleeping form was always . .. . too tempting not to feel a little tingling on your insides. nicholas liked sleeping with only his briefs on and no matter how normal that was, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander around; even more so after liking and saving all of those edits.

there was something about actually having him here beside you. there’s something in the way his body was ( so toned and muscular ) spread out on his side of the bed and the way his face is as calm as the waters of a lake during a summer evening, or maybe . .. . it was the little tent between his legs that his boxers revealed, that increased your body temperature.

turning off your phone, you felt bad for being turned on just by the way he looked when he was asleep . .. . perhaps it was the effect love had on you or it was just another kink or the velocity edits, you didn’t know yet, but the aching burn in your stomach didn’t stop you from cuddling up beside him.

you rested your head on his spread arm and snuggled your face into the crook of his neck. the familiar scent made you smile and, for a short moment, you thought you could stay like this. maybe this is what you needed; the warmth of his relaxed body calmed you for a while, but then . .. . your hand moved like it had a mind of its own.

you trailed your fingers along his collarbones and he hummed in his sleep, shifting a bit. he looked so . .. . so cute, you couldn’t stop yourself from travelling far south, to caress his chest and abdomen as softly as possible, trying not to wake him up. and in this very moment, you felt like the luckiest woman on the planet; touching on the man that millions were so very attracted to.

you felt every muscle of his abdomen, which made your bottom lip get trapped between your teeth, to prevent a sigh from leaving you. mindlessly, you scooched in closer — your hand needed to go further down, past his sharp v-line, but you weren’t sure. your hand itched for it. for him, but your mind wouldn’t allow it just yet.

and when the slightly lined abs flexed under your touch, you immediately checked his face, afraid that you might’ve woken him —

— but his closed eyes and steady breathing told you otherwise. so, your arm moved to his exposed thigh. his skin was warm, and as you caressed and fondled with his body, the sinful thought of taking his cock out and stroking him, made you press your thighs together. the moans that would fall from his soft lips and the way he’d buck his hips up begging for more, using your soft hand to chase and tip over the edge, only made your breathing heavier.

and the thought of his brown eyes on you as you gently kissed his fiery tip and pumped the rest of him drove you crazy, to say the least. you could picture it . .. . but you wanted to taste it even more; you wanted to feel him shiver as your mouth wrapped around him. you wanted his world to center around you, your name heavy on his tongue, viscous and filling his mouth like honey until he was drowning in a pool of ecstasy.

you wanted him to cup the sides of your head in his big hands — his fingers holding your braids together in a messy ponytail — and start thrusting himself into the slick warmth of your mouth, pathetically using your throat as his own personal fleshlight, the constant flow of his thick precum and your saliva leaking onto the bed sheets. you wanted to hear him groan deep within the pits of his chest . .. .

but you closed your eyes, restricting yourself to only imagine. your mind no longer filled with horrible images of bloody corpses, but of nicholas fucking himself up into your body over and over again — the crotch of your panties were damp and at this point, you hadn’t realized how your grip on his thigh had tightened or how the muscles rippling through his skin had stiffened.

“ . .. . get on top . ..” his sleepy voice, raspy and deep, rang in your ears and you snapped your head toward him, wide-eyed. the burn in your stomach ached even more at the sight of nicholas’ still closed eyes and messy brown hair. you pushed yourself up a bit, staring down at his face. you poked at his cheek and he rubbed his eyes with a groan. he gave his thighs a pat, at which you got the message: come, and straddled his waist without any question or trouble.

“i’m sorry . .. .” you apologized lowly, feeling guilty for being the reason he was no longer sound asleep. nicholas shook his head, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and answered quietly, “don’t be sorry, pretty.” and then, “take what you need,” nicholas said under his breath and the tone made your eyes fall heavy. “you can take me.”

you leaned in and pecked his cheek, but as you pulled away he chased after your lips with a soft pout. a slow, open-mouthed kiss was all it took for the sigh you’d been holding back to finally escape you and when it did, his grip on your hips tightened. his fingers dug and dug into your brown skin, his pulse thumping and pounding. nicholas moved you a smidge, just enough to have you sitting right over his bulge — and his legs trembled, “shhit .. .” breaking the kiss.

you found his mouth again. and as you kissed; his tongue delving between your lips, your hand slid to the grown arousal — his breath hitched as your hand brushed against his hardness through the thin fabric. and you dipped your hand passed the waistband — taking him out of the obstacle that the underwear was.

you gave a clean up and down pump of your hand and nicholas groaned lowly into your mouth. as you gave another and another, he ripped his lips away from yours and tilted his head back into the pillow, the heat and pressure of your hand too delicious. it was almost too much to bear.

his muscles tensed and his breathing became shallow and ragged. nicholas could feel the intensity and pleasure building within him with every stroke of your hand. “need’ta . .. .” he mumbled, his voice low and strained. “holy shitt-oh fuck.” nicholas bit down on his lower lip, eyelids fluttering shut. he needed to be inside of you. he needed to feel your body wrapped around him. he needed you like he needed to breathe.

and when he felt your hand no longer pumping, he opened his eyes — staring up at the ceiling. “wha-what happened?” he had asked, coming to lift up . .. . and his voice died to a scratchy whisper at the feeling of you lining him up between your pussy lips. you moved your wrist; rubbing him side to side, his tip kissing at your clit and just almost pushing into your slit, collecting your syrupy slick — shivers washed your spine.

if it wasn’t for his arms helping, you wouldn’t have started pushing down. nicholas guided your hips down and the sight of his cock disappearing within you was just as overwhelming as the feel of your ribbed walls. “oh. .. . fuckkk.” he groaned deeply, his nails digging into your flesh even harder — the tightness and warmth of you brought tears to his eyes. nicholas could barely keep himself from bucking up into you . .. . but he wanted you to set the pace. he wanted you in control.

“y-you’re squeezing,” he muttered cutely, in a breathless whisper.

you hadn’t realized how needy you were until nicholas was shifting underneath you, burying his cock to the hilt — you felt full all over. you resisted the urge to pound down on him for the sake of his still sleepy daze. your hands landed on his chest for support and you raised your hips slowly.

the wetness of your cunt was enough to slip him in and out with ease — smooth gliding and a wet little smack when you touched down — and soon, you picked the pace up, just enough to hear his deep, guttural moans. you rode him slowly, feeling his tip reach deep at this angle while he eyed you with a drowsy stare. nicholas was losing his mind, his eyes now practically rolling in the back of his head. nicholas released a sharp, low breath, staring up at you then, “you’re makin’ it so hard to keep still . ..”

“you don’t even know,” he said, gritting his teeth.

raising your hips, it took quite some effort to pull him out that far because he was so girthy. your walls were literally pulling at his cock as if you didn’t want to let him go. which you didn’t. you did it slowly, terribly slow, every millimetre had your pussy lips tracing another facet of him.

a breathy moan fell from your lips, which made nicholas force you faster down on him and you clenched, instantly. “let me do it . .. .” he pleaded — the wet, squelchy sounds that came from where your body met his, was quiet enough to indicate lazy, early morning sex between lovers, and the rhythm was not a particularly quick one, but one to make the burn in your stomach feel like it’ll soon be on fire.

“let me, baby.” as you were about to give attention to your clit, nicholas planted his feet into the mattress and snapped his hips up, hitting your g-stop instantly. a muffled cry filled the room and the sudden lack of energy made you fall over him. nicholas snaked both arms around your waist and pulled you in closer, holding you firmly against his chest. “nngh-! just like that!” you whined.

your body worked with his, chasing after release.

"f-fuck-nic, please.. ." your jaw clenched so hard, you thought you were moments away from breaking your teeth.

he wanted to kiss you so badly, but the position was too good and he loved seeing the way your lips formed a small ‘O’ with every few thrusts. “baby . .. . shit, i need you’ta cum.” it was his way of hinting that he was struggling and he hoped you would understand it. “want’cha’ta look at me when you cum .. . okay?”

you gave him an eager nod, holding onto his forearms; you felt his arms flex and strain with how fast he was ramming into you. you wanted to hold it in until he came with you, but nicholas got the pump just right — your breaths were short — and you were having trouble keeping your eyes on his. it didn’t take too much longer to have you thrashing and shivering and cunning so hard. he doesn’t stop then.

his heavy breaths got mixed with curses at the feeling of your walls clenching continuously. nicholas continued to move his cock in and out of you, digging and scratching deep — hitting the spots that he knows only his tip can touch. “cum again . .. .”

“need’a feel it again.” the moonlight and his sweat made him shine, highlighting the sharpness to his jaw, the tension in his arms as he lifted you up by an inch; a slight new angle. wet skin slapping was all that could overshadow your moans and pleas. but he could hear you; loud and clear. his attention was all on you.

you might have tried to say something but your incoherent mumbles weren't meant for him to understand. because of his desperate need to keep you tethered as him, he still does not stop. you're howling, and curling into him, and cunt frothing with an orgasm lost into the next.

“s-shhit, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbled, heaving a breathless sigh. nicholas slowed his hips then; your pussy clenched so hard, so tight, that he could barely move. your clit screamed with the beating and thudding of your heart, loud in your ears and blocking the harsh cries and breathy gasps tearing from your throat.

stifled cries tickled nicholas’ neck, one hand holding your head, you trembled with your nails clawing in his shoulders for strength. he jerked up and gripped your ass tightly, but instead of forcing you to your limits till he came in you, he stilled himself — just sitting inside of you like this burned . .. . so good. nicholas had never felt so close to you, so intimately connected. he could lose himself in you forever.

nicholas was right there, quiet moans escaping him as more time passed. but it was evident that he was still holding out — you could feel his cock twitching. your hands cupped his cheeks, your fingers gently scratching the back of his ears. “why are you torturin’ yourself? hmm?” you asked softly, resting your forehead against his.

he came harder when he denied himself. “th’ build up.” it came out quiet and short and he knew if he stayed like this that he wouldn’t last much longer. “cum, baby . .. .” you pleaded, “please .. .” you squeezed him in just the right way that his chest was rising and falling rapidly. and then he couldn’t hold it in anymore — he was where he wanted to be.

“holy fuck-i’m gonna cum.” his voice was desperate.

the plastic band holding him back from his orgasm snapped as he thrusted particularly deep, and he arched his back off of the bed — letting him reach just a little deeper, just enough to send him over the edge again, more curses spilled from his lips. white filled his vision, red hot pleasure searing his body from head to toe, and you kissed him through it.

you knew you could fall asleep now.

[asvtrials]

𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒

Emperor Geta x fem!reader, minors dni!

masterlist

summary: Emperor Geta was a selfish lover. He expected you to give him everything, every thread of your being, body, and soul. Yet he refused to do the same. Why would he? He was the Emperor and you were nothing but his concubine, not too long ago you were a common whore that he just happen to take a liking to, just a vessel for his satisfaction. So why was his mind suddenly screaming for him to kneel before you, to let your thighs straddle his face until he suffocates? warnings/tags: smut, mention of an orgy in the beginning, mention of exhibitionism, generally ancient Rome things, Emperor Geta tries to act unbothered but is smitten for his concubine, facesitting, oral (f! receiving), p in v, kind of rough, sub/dom dynamics (obviously), implied abuse, potentially out of character, not accurate to the Gladiator franchise...

a/n: This man is consuming my thoughts. This is me basically pushing my pussy drunk Geta agenda. I love the idea of Emperor Geta being arrogant and selfish but caving at the idea of hearing her scream and moan as loudly as that woman. 'Mae Columba' means my dove, 'Corculum' means sweetheart. Also, this is my first time writing this man

tags: @teechallas-blog @ladynoonwraith @quuinyoung @ghostinhours @slasherflickchick @marn13s-vilewhispers @munsongirl48 @getas-empress @hillarymurray4 @cleo-2345 @lookingformuses @meganfoxismywife @claa-01 @funsquadgoalzz-blog w/c: 3.3k English is not my first language. Sorry for any mistakes I make. I tried present tense for the first time.

── ୨ৎ

Your thin tunic provides you with little to no warmth, yet you weren't cold even on this chilly night.

Your Emperor's hand runs up and down your right side, his fingers keep grazing your nipple but he is too focused on conversing with Macrinus to notice the impact of his action.

Your eyes wander around the room, from the people who drank, smoked, and laughed, too gone to do anything other than that, to the numerous naked, sweaty bodies intertwined with each other in the most intimate way that was humanly possible.

Yet there was nothing intimate about what you observe. It was primal and carnal, most of them didn't even look like people anymore, the scene becoming too animalistic and raw.

These types of gatherings were rather common in the Palatine and you have gotten used to settings like this one. But this time you couldn't take your eyes off of two people. Two prostitutes amongst the crowd of moving bodies caught your attention.

A woman sitting on top of a man, on his face… The expression of pure bliss she had looks like it was taken out of a vulgar painting, a carefully crafted sculpture depicting the most euphoric moment of one's life. The man's tongue works meticulously on the woman’s cunt making her scream and moan like she was touched by the god's themselves.

The sight was enough for your breath to get caught in your throat. 

That made Emperor Geta turn with a frown, some wine dripping from his full lips. You don’t notice that his eyes travel the path of your gaze, focusing on the same pair as you.

You snap back to reality when his hand gripped your thigh. If you weren't used to his rough touches you would yelp in pain.

When you meet his eyes, there's something behind them that makes you pause. Without a second glance, he turns back to his conversation, leaving you confused. But you don’t miss the way his hand slides further between your legs, almost teasingly.

It wasn't unusual for him to touch you in front of everyone, be it in these types of events or when the gladiator fights bored him to the point where he ordered you to get on your knees and ‘entertain’ him yourself.

But this time, his thumb merely grazes the thin fabric of your tunic between your legs as his hands grip your exposed thigh. Possessively.

Your mind started to race. Did you anger him? Was he upset?

You are in a room filled with naked bodies fucking each other like animals and it never angered him before when you watched. Sometimes you would even comment how ‘sloppy’ their technique was and he would chuckle. So what happened now?

You lean on his side, sliding your hand to his cheek, caressing it gently. He doesn’t react but he doesn’t push you away either. That feels like a win, an opening.

After being his concubine for so long you learned how to behave around him, how to slither your way out of trouble in case you had upset him.

A little touch here, a kiss there, a plea for forgiveness honeyed with praises about how good he is to you along with some dick sucking usually does the trick.

Geta was an emperor but he was also a man with a very big ego. You quickly understood that as much as it is a nuisance it could also become an advantage.

By the time you followed him to his chambers, it was well past midnight.

He had made it a habit to share a bed with you, not even the guards looked surprised anymore.

He walks inside the moment the guards open the heavy doors. He reaches for his golden belt with a heavy sigh but you quickly stop him. “Let me, my Emperor.” You speak, your voice soft. You quickly approach him and meet his stern gaze, waiting for his approval.

Geta lets go of the belt, letting his arms fall to his sides. He looks spent and tired from the long day but you could sense something else frustrating him.

Carefully, you undo his belt, feeling his shoulders relax at the loss of the heavy material. Your eyes travel up his body before finally meeting his gaze through your lashes but you are met with the same cold look from before. 

You take a step back to settle the belt on the table. You aren’t sure if you should approach him again. You expected him to kiss you, to touch you while you were so close but he didn't do either. He just watched you with a raised brow and gritted teeth.

You avert your gaze, focusing on the detailed carvings of the table ignoring the fact that you had seen it a million times before.

You hear his sandals brush against the marble floor, making you shiver. You weren't sure what to expect, he hasn't looked this displeased with you in a long while.

“Mae Columba” ‘My dove’ he says, his voice barely above a whisper but it still held the authority of an Emperor. “Do you know why you wear such lavish cloths?” He asks, not expecting you to answer before continuing, his voice dropping “Why do you smell as good as you smell? Why do golden jewels hang from your ears and wrap around your wrists? Why you aren't passed around my soldiers like a common whore?” 

He was right behind you now, his arms coming to cage you between him and the table. 

His harsh words forced tears to collect on your lash line. You took a deep breath but your voice still quivered as you spoke. “Because you're the Emperor…”

“Because I'm the Emperor.” He repeats softly against your ear, yet there is no softness in his tone. “Then why do you wish for me to become someone else?” 

“I don—” 

“Lies!” He shouts, making you flinch away.

You don't dare to face him, remaining turned to him as his hands start to wander down your sides. “I saw how you looked at those filthy commoners…you were entranced, my dove” 

“My Emperor I—” 

“Have I not done enough for you?” He whispered, but his quiet tone gave you no comfort. His hands moved to your clothed chest, squeezing your breasts mercilessly.

A small whine escapes your lips, your back arching against him. “You gave me everything, my Emperor.” You manage to say through rugged breaths.

He hums pleased. “Clearly not enough since you wish to see me between your legs like a filthy whore.” He murmurs against your ear.

“No!” You yelp, grabbing his forearms after he squeezes your breasts particularly hard. 

Your thighs meet in an attempt to soothe the aching between your legs. “I promise.”

“You promise?” He asks, his tone dripping with disbelief and mockery. 

“Yes! I promise.” You reply quickly, desperation seeping out of your words.

“On the bed.” he commands lowly and you comply without words.

The bed was thrice the size of the bed you used to sleep in, soft with satin sheets and numerous pillows. A bed that an emperor deserved. You weren't sure if you deserved it, yet here you were, lying on the Emperor's sheets like you did many other times.

He looms over your lying figure eyes rolling down every curve of your body like a wolf eyeing a little lamb. His favorite little lamb. 

The one that he never feasts upon but rather chases around until the poor thing is spent and exhausted and pliant for him to bite all he wants.

Geta’s hands find your ankles and he pulls you to him, earning a surprised yelp from you. He crawls to you, entrapping you between his arms once again.

He melts against your mouth, lips moving harshly against yours, refusing to give you a second to breathe. You cry loudly when his teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“My Emperor” you moan against his rough endeavors but he doesn’t stop, you aren’t sure if he even heard you. He was too busy squeezing your already bruising flesh, not even bothering to remove your tunic.

Red liquid escapes from the wound that Geta so eagerly opened. The metallic taste travels to your mouth but he doesn’t seem to mind, and as much as it scares you, neither do you. Instead, you claw at his back breathlessly repeating your words “My Emperor…Let me show you my devotion.”

Geta studies you, his big eyes making him look almost innocent under the dim candlelight.

His lips open to speak his mind, your spit and blood coating them but instead of speaking, he gently caresses your bottom lip with his thumb, smearing the blood.

What are these thoughts? These foolish ideas that plague his mind? His gaze couldn’t deter from your tearful eyes as he let his thumb run down your chin, the faint color of the blood following along.

You were so easy to break, to tear apart and carve as you pleased. He always did just that.

Yet you always came back.

You didn’t have a choice, he wasn’t foolish enough to forget that. But still, you looked at him with a particular dedication that Gate couldn’t quite comprehend. 

Basically, involuntarily he whispers, letting his palm rest on the side of your face “You’ve proven your devotion, corculum. You’ve been so good…” Geta leans closer, his nose pressing your cheek. He breathes in your scent, fighting the urge to squeeze your face with his fingers.

Your breath hitches when he pushes his thumb past your inviting lips and he feels a moan threaten to spill when you sucked on his digit immediately. He couldn’t uncover any thoughts behind your eyes, only lust. Lust for him. Just like he lusted you.

Why is his breath coming out so short, why is his heart threatening to jump from his chest and into your arms? He isn’t even inside you yet and he feels like he can’t think properly.

You weren’t quiet during your shared activities but Geta was always too focused on his own selfish pleasure, rarely caring about yours.

But right now he feels the inexplicable urge to make you scream his name, to make everyone in the palace know, everyone in Rome, the urge to get on his knees and worship you just to get the blessing of your sounds in return.

Oh, you were sent by Venus herself, there was no doubt. There was no other explanation for his crazed thoughts.

The whine that he brings from you when he pulls his hand away burns something deep in his chest. He quickly yanks at his clothes, uncovering his naked, toned body.

Your eyes don’t dare to travel down but you find yourself on your fours, crawling to him. You press your lips to his stomach, tracing his toned body with your lips and tongue softly, teasingly.

A low growl leaves Geta from deep within his throat as he runs his hand through your hair, nearly gently before he grips your locks. He pulls your head back forcing your eyes to meet his, the sudden harshness causing you to freeze.

“You are an enchantress, aren’t you? You have turned me into a madman.” He mutters softly, his tone almost despairing as his blunt nails massage your scalp.

Looking up at him through your lashes you blink, unsure of what to say. Was this an indictment? It sounded more like a statement.

“I wouldn’t do such a thing, my Emperor.” You say softly.

He hums quietly, eyes falling to your legs and he has to swallow hard.

He has seen you like this so many times, and yet you left him speechless every time. From the first time he had bed you, you had left him speechless. Put a spell on him the moment he pushed his cock inside your warm, dripping cunt.

His mind told him to pound you against the mattress as hard as he could, so that every time your core throbbed tomorrow you would remember how vile it was for you to imagine him, your Emperor, between your thighs.

But his body betrayed him. He leans in, his bottom lip grazing your inner thigh.

“I don’t think you realize what you’re doing to me, mae columba” He whispers, so quietly that you could miss it if your senses weren’t so heightened.

He released a quivering breath before pressing his lips on your skin. You gasp at the action, gripping the smooth sheets. The feeling of your flushed skin against his lips was exhilarating, it was the beginning of something that he wasn’t sure he could control. 

Without a second thought, his mouth starts to bruise your thighs fervently, his teeth plunging into your flesh like you were his last meal before the guillotine.

Your moans and cries fill the room and Geta’s heart as he continues to mark your thighs, his intensity matching a starved wolf.

He wanted more. He was insatiable, he was always insatiable.

With a swift movement, he flips the both of you. You yelp in surprise, as you land on his chest, your legs spread apart. 

His head finds the soft mattress but he wouldn’t care even if it was the hard floor. All he could focus on was your clothed core, inches away from his face.

“My Emperor!” You begin. You weren’t sure what to say, how are you even supposed to react to such a scene?

Rome’s Emperor gazing at you between your thighs, looking as famished as ever.

“Quiet.” He growls, his arms coming to wrap around your thighs. His hands slowly travel up your body, dragging your tunic with his fingers revealing more of your skin.

Your naked cunt was inches away from his face, his breath hitting your soaked folds sending a shiver down your spine.

His eyes couldn’t leave your core, mouth watering at the sight. Impatient, you peel off the dress, revealing your naked body.

It was a pattern whenever you were around him. But this time it didn’t make your cheeks burn about being so vulnerable before his ravenous gaze. On the contrary, it made your chest flutter with satisfaction as you lay on top of one of Rome’s brutal Emperors.

No warning was given to you before he harshly pulled you down to him. His tongue lays flat against your pussy, emitting a desperate sound from you. Soon enough he was lost in the feeling of your wetness.  There was no point in fighting your spell anymore, he was already hypnotized. 

Your eyes can’t leave his face. The way he loses himself so eagerly forces your breath to become shallow and desparate.

His tongue laps on your cunt sloppily, and your juices run down his chin though he never wavers, not even for a second. His mouth worked against your folds like he wanted to consume you whole, to drain you of your essence.

“Gods!” You moan loudly, throwing your head back. “My Emperor!” You cry out.

He whimpers against your pussy, he fucking whimpers. You aren’t sure if you can hold on much longer after that. It seems like any fear or shame you had abandoned your body because you start to rock your hips against his face, his nose brushing against clit with every move.

“I can’t take it anymore, my Emperor—” you gasp, your body trembling uncontrollably.

He grabs your waist, his nails digging into your skin possesively. He pulls you even closer to him, if that is even possible, his tongue running over your folds callously.

Your climax came to you like a violent wave, your body shakes violently after your release. Geta doesn’t stop though, his tongue collecting your fluids even if you jolted and whined.

He only stopped when he had nothing else to take. Like always.

You fall to the side, your mouth agape as you pant frenziedly. Geta isn’t looking any better, his slick-covered lips are parted slightly and his chest rises and falls rapidly.

“Gods…” You breathe out.

Geta finally finds his strength again, moving to position himself above you. His burning body pressed against your side, his lips brushing your temple. “Where the gods between your legs, corculum?”

“That’s what it felt like” You whisper and he fought the urge to smirk. 

“Turn around.” He orders lowly, the playfulness draining from his voice.

With all the strength left in you, you comply, turning around to lie on your chest. You gasp when the Emperor effortlessly lifts your thighs off the mattress. 

You whine at the feeling of his hard cock brushing against your dripping cunt. 

With one forceful push he’s inside your tight walls and you scream. Your nails rake at the satin sheets as he grunts at the warmness that envelops his cock. “You always feel so good, my dove. Like you were made for me” He groans, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“P-perhaps I was” You moan, the sound muffled by the sheets, your eyes nearly rolling back.

He sneers lowly. “Always know just what to say. How to bewitch me with your words…”

You yelp when you feel his hand clutch your jaw and pull you backward. Your back slams against his hard chest. He draws his hips back making you whine at the feeling of his dick slipping away before slamming it back inside. He did it again and again until you were crying and clawing at his hand.

“My Emperor!” You cry out and if it wasn’t for his strong hands you would’ve fallen forward.

His cock hits you so deep, so good you can’t help the tears that run down your flushed cheeks and the lewd cries that fall from your lips still they aren’t nearly as lewd as the wet, sloppy sounds that follow after every intense thrust.

His own grunts are so loud against your ear that you swear you can come from the sounds he’s making alone. It was never this intimate with Geta, so close. He usually pushes your head against the pillows and fucks you into the mattress like an animal. You rarely see his face or hear his sounds other than the harsh words he spews at you.

Your back arches at the harshness of his thrusts, and your head falls on his shoulder. His hand slides down to your core. You feel his smirk against your ear when he flicks your clit and you flinch.

“Geta!” You scream his name as you come for a second time for the night, your voice hoarse from all the screaming.

If your brain wasn't mushed from pleasure you would slap a hand over your mouth, bracing yourself for his palm landing on your cheek.

He grabs your face and turns your head to face him. The moment your eyes meet you know there won’t be any repercussions for your defiance. His pupils are so blown to the point where you couldn’t locate the light brown of his iris. He pulls you for a heated kiss and with one last, mind-numbing thurst he spills his seed deep inside you.

He falls forward and pulls you with him. You fall on all your fours, his chest falling flush on your back. You whimper when his cock moves inside your overstimulated pussy with the movement.

Geta’s breath was hot against your shoulder and his hands squeezed your waist occasionally, seemingly without noticing.

“My Emperor,” You breathed out. “Forgiv—”

“Quiet.” He rasped, silencing you immediately.

He threw the both of you to the side, pulling you closer to him by the waist.

That day Geta, with his dick deep inside you, realized two things. That you have probably enchanted him and that he didn’t care one bit. 

Because if being bewitched meant that he would spend his living days between your legs, getting drunk on you, then he would gladly do it.

[08luvmailz]

𓇼 ME MISS YOU . . ਏਓ !

summary 𓍯 which he followed you because he missed you ꒰ 🧾 ꒱ fluffy life with husband

The eerie silence and the harsh wind whispers weaving through the cool night air, though it's only 5:30 in the afternoon. Crouching low, I fisted my hands through my victim's hair and chopped his head off as my breath steadied, eyes locked on the faint rustle of the bushes���a promising sign of tonight's catch.

It's been almost a year of this endless cycle, by day cuddling and having a blissful life with Mr. Crawling as you give him endless affection, or he will whine to death, and by night- killing humans to feed him. As your eyes wandered through your vision toward the unmoving dead body, your mind wavered toward your husband even though you weren't married officially.

You two are together and bonded by our souls, obeying you and listening to you even though there is a gap in speaking, never ceases to stun you every day. He waits at home, is always patient, and is always trusting. The thought of his joy warms you as you tighten your grip on your crowbar and knife.

Back at the apartment, it feels unbearable still. Mr. Crawling gazes through the door—waiting for your return. His fingers relentlessly tapped the tatami board as it echoed through the room. It's been almost an hour since she left him, she always does every day for him.

He still remembered her voice firming when she told him to stay.

He watches her moving to gather her things, his legs tucked close to his body. He knows her too well—the same command she gives every time. Stay. He doesn't think about it but wants more of her touch, only about the moment before her absence, and he clung to her as his large frame wrapped around her waist. He chirped in a low tone, full of worry and protest. His grip tightened slightly, enough to make his point without holding her back.

He pressed his face into your legs, his arms curling towards your leg, "stay" he told her as he snuggled to her, not wanting to let go, “ you’re so stubborn” she murmured, stroking his head. The gesture was a silent reassurance for him to stop worrying though she knew it wouldn't stop him from worrying.

She turns to face him as his face is still smothered to her thighs, his cold lips puckering into her skin. He doesn’t need words to tell her how he feels; the way he clings to her, his body trembles faintly, caught between his instinct to obey and his need to protect her.

As her warm fingers tangled into his hair, brushing it calmly, she told him, " Me back soon; I find food. " she promised, her voice softer now. “You don’t have to worry.”

With a final sigh, she gently pries him off, his cold finger reluctant to let go. “Stay here,” she says, her tone firmer now, though her heart aches at the look he gives her. He didn't move and obeyed her, as she smiled one last time and crouched to his level to kiss his forehead, " I'll be back soon. I Promise," She said one last time to open and lock the door, leaving him in a trance with determination to follow her.

He was hesitant to disobey her requests and always did, lowering his head in submission. But now, in the suffocating silence, he feels the weight of her absence like a stone in his chest. He tried to wait, his attempts to distract himself with television, watching shows that helped him understand her language more, but as soon as his face glimmered when he saw the heroine with her lover cuddling in a scene. It was no use. missing her so dearly that his pull to follow her was too strong, an instinct older than obedience.

She is his world, his reason, and the thought of her out there alone, facing whatever dangers the night might bring, fills him with unease. Even though he knew she was capable of handling herself well, killing those people for him joyed him. He knew she loved him as much as he loved her.

Making his decision wasn't easy for him, he knew he would face the consequences of her ignoring him though he shook his head, he wanted to see her, he needed her now.

He moves swiftly to the door. His movements are precise and quiet, the art of going unnoticed. He knows where she has gone—he’s watched her enough times at the window to remember the path she takes. He follows her scent, a trail as familiar to him as the rhythm of his footsteps. With every step, he feels her grace like a taut thread, pulling him closer to her.

Its darkness yawned wide like the mouth of a beast. He hesitates for a moment, hearing her voice in his mind, Stay. Wait for me. But he presses on.

He moved carefully, his body blending into the dark foliage as his fingers gripped the pole lamp. He saw her gripping tightly to her crowbar and massively hitting her victim, he watched in awe as pride swelled in his chest at the sight of her—strong, capable, everything he admires.

Though he knows the facade she's been growing through back there in his world, he saw her unreality in a tick of time, and by the hanging thread of webs-he had been with her, and he knew she was close to insanity. Was she close? Or she's already been insane nevertheless, he will always be there with her.

She didn't notice him at first, focused on the task ahead. But then a chitter of a familiar voice captivates your attention as you whip your head, your coat shadowing your expression of bloodlust to confusion. There he is, his head tilted with his adoring smile. She shook her head with a giggle, he never listened to her as she pointed him to get closer to him.

He lowered his body as his smile creeped out to his ear, he skitters toward her, his movements quick but careful as he came faster to her and clung to her lower body as his face smothered to her bloodied coat "I miss you, I love you. " he said with a chitter as his cold hands hold her bloodied ones and directly placed into his head.

You sighed in intent and ruffled his hair as you looked down and cupped his face with our bloodied hands "You didn't listen to me, But I forgive you. " You crouched to his level as his hands wandered to your body and cupped your face and smothered a messy kiss on your lips, his cold lips puckering your bottom lip leaving a chitter from him. "Me love you, " he told you as he came closer to your body, his large frame almost hugging your smaller ones. You giggled to him as you corrected his grammar, always forgetting the "I", " I love you, too. "

He chirps, leaning into her touch, his body vibrating with relief, he clung to her like a baby as his face looked at the bloodied streets. "Food?" He questioned her, as his hands never left hers. "Yeah, food for you. " As she pointed to the dead body beside them.

As she stands up to place the chopped meat in a plastic bag with blood, "Let's go home." her hands directing him to hold her, he stands up, his towering silhouette blending with the shadows of the city. His mind is clear, his resolve unshakable. He is with her, the love of his life, and with every consequence they will face, he knows she will be there with him as she is with him.

[sunflowerwinds]

nobody but you | v.a

summary: you lost everyone close to you, including your best friend (and childhood crush) when you were fourteen years old and had to grow up on your own. seven years later, a ghost reappears, igniting those same feelings from all those years ago to come bubbling back up. bed-confessions lead to what you’ve wanted for years.

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: reader is described to wear skirts and have longer curly hair, reader’s nickname is star, mature language, mentions of vi and reader being each other’s first kiss, caitlyn being a third wheel (i’m so sorry :/), mature content: dry humping & hickies (vi!receiving)

a/n: …. hey. arcane is a new fixation and i HAD to write for her. inbox is open for more vi ideas! (modern or not) <33 4 DAYS until arcane🙂‍↕️!!!

That night that the explosion happened, you were a wreck. You had lost so many people that you held near to your heart; Vander, Claggor, Mylo, and Vi. As much as you hated to admit to yourself but losing her had the most impact on you.

Her body wasn’t found so everyone, including yourself, assumed that she was dead.

Powder, god, you couldn’t get to her before Silco did. When you arrived at the aftermath of the scene, she was gone and all that was left was a piece of a bomb that was undeniably Powder’s creation. Guilt settled within you at the rumors that spread of who Powder had become; Jinx.

It took years for you to become somewhat okay, falling into a new routine. With Silco running Zaun and dowsing the streets with shimmer, you had to watch people you knew become addicted and lose their minds over it.

You were alone.

It was a last resort but you took up a job at The Last Drop; as a barkeep. It was shitty pay but at least you had enough for food. It, of course, was nothing like when Vander owned the place. There was no family feeling or sense of comfort and unity.

You had accepted from that point on that this is how things were going to be. You live in the space above Benzo’s souvenir shop, making it your own home. Since his death, the space had been unoccupied. You took it upon yourself to make it yours.

It was decorated with remembrance of your late friends and knick-knacks you’ve collected from around the Lanes.

You had gotten off of your afternoon shift at the Last Drop, making your way back to the broken-down place you called home. You were ready to sit back and make dinner for yourself, sitting with your thoughts and silence. However as you approached the door to the shop, a weird sense settled into your gut.

The front door was open ever so slightly, barely noticeable at first glance. You usually would’ve dismissed it as a mistake on your part.

But this incident mixed with the weird feeling in your gut told you that this wasn’t just forgetting to close the door all the way. You hovered your hand over your leather holster that held your coins and a few ninja stars that you had been holding on to since you could hold one.

It was also helpful to hold up your extra layer of skirt.

Carefully, you peeked into the shop to see if you could see something or someone inside. From the small crevice, your sight was limited so you couldn’t confirm anything just yet. Lifting your left boot, you push the door open with the toe of your foot. You look into the shaded areas of the building, waiting for some form of movement.

Once you carefully step into the abandoned shop, you reach behind you to grab the doorknob to shut it closed. Your eyes flicker around the room, squinting in concentration as you continue to walk across the wooden floors.

A second passes and that’s when you hear a creak come from behind you. Reacting quickly, you grab a ninja star from the pocket of your belt and launch it into the darkness. The sound of the blade splitting into the wood and a grunt relax your worries somewhat.

Reaching for another star, you raise a hand to turn on the light to see who exactly made their way into the shop. Your face hardened as you lifted your arm once more, preparing to defend yourself.

The intruder stood against the shut door, eyes locked on the weapon in your hand.

“Star?”

They question you, stepping forward into the light.

You grip onto the ninja star tighter, confused as to how they know who you are. You suck in a deep breath, tilting your head as the strangers' features reveal themselves in the light. You squint for a moment before letting out a soft gasp, letting the bladed weapon slip from your fingers and onto the ground.

It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

Were you hallucinating? Have you finally reached your breaking point?

The hair, the bandaged arms, the same slope of her nose.

“Vi?” You breathe out, your eyes welling up with tears.

The pink-haired girl nodded, letting out a shaky breath herself. She took a few more careful steps towards you. You take the same amount of steps to meet her in the middle, throwing your arms around her neck with desperation. You let out a sob as you bury your face into the crook of her neck.

“It’s me, sweetheart. It’s me,” her voice was gentle in your ear, one of her bandaged palms cradling the back of your head while the other held you close by your torso.

Your eyes squint shut as you take in the fact that this is really happening. Vi was here; alive and so different. You pull away from her now-inked neck, brows furrowed from the questions rattling through your head.

“You… Where have you been?” You ask her softly.

“I got arrested and I’ve been in Stillwater since that night,” she explained carefully, one of her palms cradling your elbow.

“How are you here now? How did you get out?” Your eyes flicker to the ink on her cheek and the nose ring.

“I got released earlier today. I—I just had to see you. To make sure you were even…” Vi trailed off as she brushed a flyaway out of your face so she could really look at you.

The way you looked both so different and the same; how much you still look like that same girl that used to cut your fingers on your ninja stars. She remembers how you would try to hide the little slits on the tips of your fingers from her until you would physically wince from the cuts, forcing Vi to tend to the wounds.

You, unknowingly, did the same.

Too distracted just like how you would be all those years ago. Two teenage girls just trying to survive every day, secretly meeting up on the rooftops to snuggle dangerously close when everyone was asleep.

“When you said we were making a quick stop, I did assume it would be quick,” a posh English accent emerges from behind Vi, causing you to pull away from her comforting touch.

Vi let out a sigh before turning her head to peer at the tall woman standing in the doorway. You immediately recognize the attire underneath the small coat she was wearing and raise your hand to aim a ninja star at her. She was an enforcer.

Vi had an enforcer… get her out of prison?

“Who are you?” You snip, eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” The dark blue-haired woman quipped back.

You hold back the scoff bubbling in your throat before Vi reaches forward to gently push your hand down. You hesitantly did so, still gripping onto the weapon between your fingers.

“I was thinking that maybe we could lay low here for a bit. Get some rest,” Vi attempts to ease your obvious tense figure.

“We?” You glance over at the woman watching her face soften.

“Yes. Just until tomorrow. Then we’ll be out of your hair to go to Babette’s.”

Voice still calm and gentle, Vi explained the situation at the moment. It turns out the tall woman’s name is Caitlyn, they’re looking for Powder Jinx because they believe she’s involved with an explosion that happened in Piltover.

You could see the desperation in Vi’s eyes when talking about her sister and your heart broke for her.

“Okay. I’m up top so,” you nod towards the door more into the shop that leads upstairs.

“Lead the way, Star,” Vi grinned, shoving her bandaged hands into her pockets.

You look over at Caitlyn who is standing right behind Vi, towering a bit over you both. You lead the pair to your living space, flicking on the light to reveal the new made up home. Vi whistled as she walked around the familiar space now made into more than just an attic.

“You did all of this?” She questioned with a smile as she walked over to the shelf of books and trinkets.

“Uh, yeah,” you feel a bit vulnerable knowing that both a stranger and past best friend who you thought was dead are in your home. “No rent, no roommates, just me.”

Your childhood friend traces the hanging lights from your ceiling, grinning for a moment when they make a soft twinkling noise. Being as nosy as she was, she made her way over to where you slept. Her eyes locked on the beaten-down table next to your table, focusing on the small ceramic bowl full of trinkets.

“Shit, you kept this?” Vi grabbed an item off the bedside table that was next to your bed that made your eyes widen with embarrassment.

It was a star ring that Vi had gotten (swiped from an antique shop) when you were thirteen. That day she gave it to you was also the day you brought up the idea of being each other’s first kiss to get it out of the way. Dating wasn’t a worry but you both agreed that you might as well ‘prepare for that day when you’d need to.’

It wasn’t the most amazing kiss, of course as you were preteens but you still became flustered the second you two made eye contact as you pulled away. You remember twiddling with the star ring after and how much you felt so cared for by someone.

���Oh yeah. It was to remember you by,” you sheepishly reply.

Vi hummed at your response, her smile creeping onto her lips as she set it down.

“I don’t mean to interrupt but is there someplace where I can rest?” Caitlyn questioned from behind you, seeming to be standing carefully near the door.

You glance over at Vi who had laid back on your bed, shutting her eyes with a sigh. One of her bandaged arms draped over her lower stomach while the other rested above her head on your flattened pillows.

“You can rest over here.”

You motioned for the tall woman to follow you. You walk around the wall, pushing back a curtain to a secret space where you usually allow some acquaintances from work or people in need to sleep, turning to Caitlyn with a friendlier grin.

“Thank you,” Caitlyn called after you as she sucked in a deep breath, looking around the small room. “For allowing me in your home.

“Thanks for bringing her back to me,” you nod.

Caitlyn nods in return, a small smile on her lips as she lowers herself on the dingy mattress.

“I know it’s not the ivory walls you’re used to but make yourself at home,” you notice the small, barely noticeable gap in between her front teeth as she smiles at you.

“It’s lovely,” her posh accent makes you chuckle.

You simply shake your head and shut the curtain to give Caitlyn some privacy. You recollect yourself as you think about Vi who is currently lying down on your bed. Vi perked up as she heard footsteps walking towards the bed, making eye contact with you as you rounded the bed to the other side.

“Hi,” you mutter as you lower yourself down on the opposite side of the bed, knee first.

“Hi,” Vi replied, her lips twitching into a small smile.

You can’t even hide the smitten smile on your face as you lay yourself down next to her, back on the mattress as well. Your palms rest above your navel as you try to act as normal as possible.

A tense silence filled the open room; the both of you not knowing what to say to one another. You could hear the shouting and loud music of the streets coming from your open window but all you could focus on was your own nervous breathing.

“I thought about you every day,” Vi’s the first to break the silence. “Every fucking day there, I thought about what it would be like coming back to you. I hoped you’d be here, Star. I don’t know what I’d do if you were gone too.” Vi admitted as she shook her head, snuggling into your bed.

Your eyes bore into her side profile, admiring the slope of her nose and the ink etched into her cheek. You turn the rest of your body to match your head.

“You would’ve been okay,” you joke, weakly chuckling.

Vi blinks and looks over at you with a soft and meaningful gaze. She’s silent for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts before she speaks.

“Do you remember when we would go up to the roof of the Last Drop and talk about what we would do if we ever got out of here?” Vi questions gently, facing you so that you are face to face.

“Yeah,” you mutter, not knowing where she was going with it.

“Every scenario we talked about whether it was taking over the streets or getting bucket loads of cash to build a new life there, I never imagined what it would be like without you by my side. You were always… right here.” Vi breathed out, her gaze avoiding your own. “Now that I know what it’s like to have that reality, I don’t want it to happen ever again.”

“Vi,” you whisper with tears in your eyes.

Her eyes carefully lifted to meet yours, pupils dilated with vulnerability.

“I was so… scared you were gone too,” Vi whispered, hesitantly reaching for you but her hand retracted quickly.

You took the reins and carefully hooked your finger onto one of hers, sighing in relief at the touch. Vi stared at the courteous touch and wrapped her palm over your own, running her thumb over the back of your hand.

“Do you remember what happened after you gave me that ring?” You ask softly, using your free hand to brush a piece of her hair out of her face.

Vi wasn’t stupid. She knew you meant that kiss that put a pep in her step for a few weeks after; the girl that she had been crushing over since before she could remember. Not wanting to confront it head-on, she quickly stumbled out a little joke.

“I think I thought about doing that for months. Mylo wouldn’t stop giving me shit for it every time you came around, blowing kisses at me when you had your back turned.” Vi chuckled as she shook her head.

You smile at the mention of Mylo, not doubting it for a second. You, in a similar fashion, turned to Ekko for your little crush on Vi.

“You know, come to think of it,” you pretend to recall, “I remember you asking me an important question too.”

Vi wanted to punch herself in the jaw as you brought up another rather embarrassing moment. She could see it now; two teens sitting on a rooftop, shoulder to shoulder after sharing a quick peck and avoiding each other’s eyeline.

“We could be each other’s… back up when we get older, you know.” A fidgety thirteen-year-old Vi had proposed.

You remember glancing down at bright-colored streets and clouds that intoxicated the air of Zaun. Vi glanced over at you to see if you had even heard her as you had gone completely silent.

“Back up?” You questioned, your voice still going through the ups of puberty.

“Yeah, well, when we’re old, like, forty or something and have no one else, we could be each other’s.”

Vi didn’t really explain what that meant at the time but you agreed with ease. You knew how much you would do for Vi; maybe it was a little obsessive and unhealthy but she had a grip on you that you hoped never left.

Neither of you were near forty yet but there was a sliver of hope you could enact that pact today.

Something took over you after that confession and you scoot your body closer to hers. You reach your hand up to brush your hair out of her face, cupping the side of her face. Vi held onto your wrist as you began to lean into her.

Before you could even comprehend it, Vi pressed her lips to yours. Your eyes widen at the sudden movement, releasing her face in shock. Her hand was still gripping onto your wrist as her lips moved against your own.

After the initial surprise of the kiss, you follow her rhythm. You place your hand back onto her cheek as you suck in a deep breath, letting yourself enjoy what you have been craving to redo after seven years.

The soft smack of your kisses and you and Violet humming against each other's lips silently drove you insane.

“I missed you so much,” Vi mutters against your lips.

You sigh at the confession, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Never thought I'd get to do this,” you confess. “To be with you like this, Vi.”

Vi’s palms move down your body, rubbing down your sides carefully like you were going to disappear at any moment. Years of confinement and getting into fights with inmates led her to this very moment; the only person in her life that was really here for her.

“And now that you are doing it?” Vi questions, her big rounded eyes boring into your own.

“I don’t want it to stop.”

Vi beams at that and you dive back into her lips, humming against the gentle touch of her lips. This second time around was more hungry, eager for one another. There was nothing that could compare to the feeling of her bandaged arms wrapped around your waist as you kissed like you needed her; craved her.

Oh, how needy you were at that moment: selfishly grabbing onto her like she could disappear at any moment. She wasn’t; at least you hoped not.

“I still can’t believe you’re really here,” you sighed out, tears welling up in your eyes.

Vi immediately notices your mood drop and shakes her head, leaning in to kiss your cheek and placing a few more gentle touches on your neck and jaw.

“I’m here. Right here, sweetheart,” she murmured against your skin as she continued to carefully kiss your skin.

You suck in a deep breath as you cup either side of her face to pull her away from your flustered skin. Vi’s chest was heaving up and down from her own hunger for you becoming overwhelming.

“I want to make you feel good, Vi,” you admit, whispering just below normal speaking volume.

Vi stares and blinks, her breathing slowing down.

“Me?” She questions as if she misheard you.

“Yes, you. Please.”

You couldn’t even feel an ounce of embarrassment from your begging as you meant it more than anything. Vi, with not much more needed convincing, nodded frantically as she allowed you to take the reigns.

You pull away to sit upright and straddle her lap, your skirt lifting up your legs to rest on the highest part of your thigh. Vi’s eyes widened for a second at your position in your lap, her bandaged hands resting on the flat pillows as she stared up at your figure. Her eyes were rounded with admiration and lust.

“Is this okay?” You question, tucking some of your hair behind your ears.

“Yes. Yes, you’re… good.” Vi reassures you as you smittenly smile down at her.

She matches your smile as you lean down to reattach your lips, placing your hands on her collarbone. Vi’s hands grip gently at your upper thighs, frantically pulling you in closer to her. The strap of your shirt was slipping down your shoulder, resting on your triceps.

You allow yourself to be there in the moment with her. You had the tendency to think about the worst outcomes of every situation but right now as Vi’s palms move more up to your hips, you just feel her.

Not afraid, not depressed; just her.

Her touch was electric on your skin. Vi sits upright from her laid-back position, humming as you run one of your hands up the back of her head into her hair. Feeling her body running hot, she removes her hands from your body to shrug off her red jacket from her body.

You pull away to help her remove the jacket, throwing it to the side and hearing it hit the ground. You look down at her now-revealed arms and eyebrows raise up at the sight of her toned upper body.

You were gawking; you knew you were.

“What were you doing in there?” You shamelessly ran your hands down her firm biceps.

Vi lets you feel her up, watching your hungry eyes follow your hands on her body. She doesn’t answer your question but she does place her palms back at their rightful place on your hips.

You snap out of your daze as her hands squeeze your hips. Your cheeks lit aflame before focusing on the task at hand. Did you 100% know what you were doing? No, but you figured if you just do what you do to yourself to her, it was bound to make her feel good.

So you slowly began to grind your hips down onto her own. Vi sucks in a sharp breath at the unfamiliar feeling, letting out a shaky breath.

That only fueled your keep your hips moving against her. Vi’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, tilting her head back to huff out a soft moan. You let out your own noise at the feeling, leaning forward to attach your lips to the length of your neck.

Vi moaned your name at the feeling of you kissing the sensitive spot on her neck. Her grip only becomes tighter on your waist as you begin to suck and lick, creating a dark spot on her pale skin. You pull away after a few seconds to brush your finger over the mark, feeling disgustingly proud of yourself.

“What are you doing to me?” Vi whispered, groaning under her breath.

“I could say the same,” you quip with a cheeky smile, grinding down hard once.

The motion tugs out a moan from the both of you. The thinnest layer of sweat began to form on your neck and crevice of your hip and legs. Vi leans forward, panting into the crook of your neck. She attempts to hide her needy whimpers against your skin but you can’t miss the desperate sounds.

You were growing wetter by the second, aching to get her off.

“Vi—“ You gasp as her palms rest on your hips, helping you grind down onto her clothed crotch.

Your hands rest on the broad on her shoulders, feeling over the tight muscle. She was panting softly as she took in the sound of you asking for her; needing her like this. Her blue eyes admire the way your jaw was left open as you pant and whimper from the friction.

“So beautiful, sweetheart,” she praises, a low moan leaving her own hips.

You almost shake your head at her words but you knew it would be a huge mistake to do so. You allow yourself to take in the words, not wanting to seem like you didn’t believe her. She drew the beautiful inside to the surface with ease.

Your hips stuttered, wondering if you were going to cum like this. It wouldn’t be the first time as you’ve shamefully done the same to your mattress.

“You’re perfect,” you tell her honestly, a shaky breath leaving your lips.

Vi wanted to tell you you were far from correct but you were persistent on the fact.

“You are. You are, Vi,” you cup her face as you weakly grind your crotch on hers.

Vi nods to show you she is listening, one of the few whimpers she’s made throughout the night bubbling in her throat. You place a few kisses over her face before placing the final one on her awaiting lips.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna—“

“Me too. Cum for me, please,” you encourage the pink-haired girl.

You watch as her muscles tighten, a vein popping out of the side of her neck. It beautifully highlighted the mark you’ve made on her.

With your grinds becoming sloppier and weaker, Vi assisted you by practically doing all the work. Your hips and inner thighs were growing more and more tired out by the second. Your will to make sure Vi came was the only thing keeping you going.

Your mouths were hovering over one another, whining and moaning onto each other’s lips. Your core tightened as you felt your orgasm approaching. Vi’s whispers of praise only drew you closer.

“Just like that,” you whine.

“Yeah?” Vi whines right back, kissing right above your chest near your collarbone.

You nod with a whimper, muttering ‘please’ and ‘right there’. The mix of your panting and hot moans drove you both to cumming against one another.

You were shaking at that point, arms now wrapping around her neck for stabilization. Vi, mimicking you, wrapped her arms around your torso, burying her face into your chest as she tried to catch her breath.

Your hair was now frizzy, your whole body aflame from the orgasm that tore through you. Vi’s lips were dragging on your heated skin causing you to shut your eyes as you, too, attempted to calm down.

The two of you sat there, matching each other's breathing patterns as you both came down from your highs. Your eyes before you knew it grew heavy with exhaustion. Vi noticed how slumped you were and cradled your body to maneuver you to lay back down. Your arms were still locked around her neck, refusing to let her go.

“Are you okay?” Vi asks after a few minutes of silence, licking her swollen lips.

You chuckle softly at her question, resting your forehead on her shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m perfect.” You mutter before placing a loving kiss to her bare shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Vi nods at your words, rubbing her hands down your back. She traces the length of your spine, lulling you into the sleep that your body was asking for.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll wake you up before I leave.” Vi encourages when she notices you fighting your tired eyes.

Your heart sank at the word ‘leave’, brows knitting with betrayal. Your exhaustion left your body for a moment at her words.

“Leave?” You delicately whisper.

“No, no, not for good. I’m not doing that to you again,” Vi was quick to reassure your worries. “I just—I have to find Powder. I don’t know how long it will take but I will be back for you.”

You swallow your doubts that Vi will be able to change Jinx back into the girl she once was. You knew you wouldn’t be able to convince Vi into staying, especially with Caitlyn tagging along with her.

“Be careful, okay? I can’t lose you again,” you cup her face, running your thumb over the ink on her cheek. “You’re my backup, remember?”

Vi manages to chuckle at your words, shaking her head.

“I never should’ve asked you that. You were never going to be just a backup, Star,” Vi told you softly. “You were always going to be first for me.”

Your eyes rounded with admiration at her confession.

“We were kids when you asked me that, Vi. I’m glad you did. I’ve never wanted anyone but you,” you tell her with a smitten grin on your lips.

Vi presses a deep kiss onto your awaiting lips, nearing knocking your teeth against one another from her own smile. You lazily kissed her back until you physically couldn’t anymore. Sleep overtook you as you rested your head on her bicep that was acting as your pillow for the night. You felt one last kiss on your temple before you knocked out.

The next morning you awoke to the feeling of the bed shifting next to you. You slowly peek through squinted eyes to see Vi’s blurred figure sitting on the opposite side of the bed, quietly speaking with Caitlyn’s undeniable taller figure.

“I’m just pointing out how you completely disregarded the fact that I was in the room opposite of you. I had a curtain as a door,” Caitlyn quietly scolds the pink haired girl.

You try not to show any reaction but you were embarrassed that you had completely forgotten about Caitlyn resting just 10-15 feet away from you two.

“I’m not sorry for what I did but sorry you heard,” Vi snips, no doubt in your mind with raised brows.

Caitlyn sighed rather loudly before shaking her head, holding her hand up to Vi.

“Let’s just… get going, please. We haven’t got much time.”

Silence from Vi.

“Okay. Just give me two minutes. You can wait outside the door.”

You quickly shut your eyes and pretend to sleep once again, listening for the receding footsteps. Vi spoke with care as she gently tapped your shoulder.

“Star, sweetheart?” She hummed, brushing your flyaways from your face.

“Hmmm?” You open your eyes, stretching one of your arms up.

“Hey. I’m gonna head out, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Vi traces the apple of your cheeks as she talks to you.

“Be careful. I mean it, Vi.”

The blue eyed girl nods at you, giving you one last meaningful kiss onto your lips.

“I will. In fact,” Vi pulls away to reach by the bedside table, grabbing the star ring she gave you. She slid it onto her middle finger, showing you the jewelry. “I’ll be back to give you this. It’ll be my good luck charm.”

There was a beat of silence before you let out a soft laugh at her ridiculousness. You adored her more than anything and anyone.

“I’ll be waiting, Violet.”

TAGLIST: @kylorey25 @evermorewest @breezy-sapphic @auraclus @ichig0nn4 @thesevi0lentdelights @vincinnamontoast @onesockcat @sc0ttstre3ted @seolarsistem @kissyslut @pinkdaisys4u

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 38: Shattered

Summary: Things aren't okay. They never will be again.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,520 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, medical stuff, injuries, brief description of a possible death, language, mention of weight loss due to medical stuff, emotionally heavy chapter (again), slightly graphic imagery, illness, so much crying

A/N: I just want to make something very clear here since there's a scene in this chapter that might be interpreted this way, but 'mega is NOT suicidal. That's not something that's going to be in this fic, and neither is self-harm. It would have been well warned in advance if that was going to be something coming up in this fic. She's struggling a lot, but she's not suicidal, she's not going to become suicidal, nor will she self-harm even off screen. So don't worry. That's not what's happening. It won't be happening.

Okay, just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy the suffering!

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

The scream slices through the silence seconds before chaos erupts. 

John is on his feet and out the door before Kyle is even fully awake. Simon is on his heels down the stairs, the two of them nearly colliding in their rush. His heart thuds in his chest as he sees your door open, the overhead light on. It’s bad. It must be bad if the overhead light is on. You hate the overhead light. 

He barrels in like a bull, ready to fight. The screaming has stopped, but it still rings in his ears. The fear, the panic. Something has happened. Someone got in. He should have made you take the room upstairs. He should have put a barrier between you and the door. That window. Someone could break that easily and grab you before they even noticed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

The screaming has stopped, but gut-wrenching sobs have taken its place. He takes a moment to scan the room. Nothing is misplaced. The window isn’t broken, there’s no bodies, no one that shouldn’t be in there. 

“You’re okay.” Christine soothes you as you sob. “It was just a nightmare.” 

The bright fluorescent overhead light burns his eyes as he stands there, staring at the bed. Christine is right there, having beaten them across the living room, or perhaps she had already been in there, having heard you in your distress before they could. You're tucked in her arms, your face against her shoulder as she holds you. 

Nightmare. 

The safety and security the cottage promised has faded, leaving you at the mercy of the horrors your mind can conjure up in your sleep. Something twists deep in John’s stomach as he turns, motioning for the others to back up and give you some space. You won’t want them there, and things will only get worse if you notice them. 

His heart is still thudding in his chest as he stands there, the sharp sound of your scream still ringing in his ears despite his confirmation of your safety. The other three look just as startled as he feels, standing there tensely in the dark living room. He brings himself to move, turning his back on them for a moment to try and gather his thoughts as he flips on the lamp in the corner. It casts a warm light across the living room, far too warm for how he’s feeling. He’s trying not to panic, trying not to be sick on the floor from the worry. His heart is in his throat, trying to choke him. He’s trying so hard to be strong, not just for him, but for his pack, for you. 

He sinks down on one of the couches, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been so sure something had happened, that their safe little bubble had been breached and someone knew about their whereabouts. He had been so sure someone was trying to hurt you with a scream like that. 

Maybe someone was, but not in reality. 

What is it you dream about now? Your nightmares about your father and your traumatic presentation must seem like nothing now compared to what must haunt your mind. Do you dream of Graves and his torture? Do you dream of them leaving you behind? Do you dream of dying because of their failures? 

A hand settles on his shoulder, a body sinking onto the couch next to him. Arms are wrapping around him, easing him against a solid chest. 

He’s crying. 

He didn’t even realize the tears had started flowing. 

He can hear the reverberating voice in his head, yelling at him, telling him not to show such weakness in front of his pack, in front of his team. He’s supposed to be the strong one, he’s supposed to be the stable one keeping the pack afloat and steady. Yet here he is, breaking down in front of them. 

“It’s okay.” 

Kyle. 

His sweet Kyle. 

How he’s been neglecting his sweet beta, and yet, how willing Kyle still is to reach out and comfort him in such a time of visible distress. That’s what betas are supposed to do. Mediate and balance the emotions of the pack. How have they been coping with all of this? How have Kyle and Johnny been managing in such a time of disarray and upheaval? Have they been managing it? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know the state of his pack, of the members of his team. 

What a failure he is. 

He lets himself lean against Kyle, something filling his chest as Kyle’s soft scent seeps into his senses. He’s projecting it, not just for John but also for the whole room. Johnny is crying too, soft sobs tearing from his chest as he sits on the other couch. Simon is on his knees in front of him, trying to get him calmed and breathing. 

They’ve been ignoring and denying each other for days, fraying the bonds further while trying so hard not to. The pain they’ve been causing in their emotional constipation and intentional neglect is almost worse than the pain caused by their infighting. At least fighting they were feeling something. At least fighting they weren’t cutting each other off so willingly. 

“We can’t do this anymore.” He says, his voice thick and shaky from his tears. “Cutting each other off. It’s not helping anything.” He doesn’t move from where he’s tucked against Kyle’s chest, letting the comfort wash over him for the first time in a week and a half. 

How he’s missed this. 

“It’s not doing any good for any of us.” Simon says, shifting onto the couch next to Johnny. 

“Especially not our omega.” Kyle says, voicing the thought flashing through all of their minds. 

“We may not be able to do much to help her right now, but we can focus on each other. That is something we can do.” John swallows thickly, his alpha starting to come back to life, his instincts aware again as he stares at Johnny and Simon. “Doing nothing isn’t good for any of us. We need to have something to focus on, something tangible we can do. Denying each other comfort isn’t going to help anyone.” 

“I full-heartedly agree.” 

John whips around, Christine standing in front of your closed door. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room, hadn’t sensed her standing behind them. Johnny and Simon are the only two that don’t look startled, but they must have seen her come out from their position facing your door. 

“Sorry.” The corner of her lip twitches up in a smirk. “Thought you would have noticed.” 

John clears his throat. “How is she?” 

“Settled again.” Christine says, moving over to the chair. 

“How long has she been having nightmares?” Kyle asks. 

“Since that first day in the med center in Dallas.” She says, sinking into the chair. How heavy this must all be on her shoulders. “I’d almost call them more sleep hallucinations. Mostly of Graves. Seeing him in the room, being attacked by him.” 

“Is there anything that can be done to help?” John asks. 

“For these kinds of nightmares? Not really.” Christine folds her hands in her lap. “Her brain is trying to process what happened. Until she feels safe enough to truly begin working on processing the trauma, it’s likely the nightmares will continue.” 

“Is there anything we can do to help her feel safe?” Kyle says. 

Christine’s lips purse as she looks between the four of them. “I’m not sure any of you could do anything right now directly, at least. She’s not open to that yet. Working on your bonds with each other, though, could help her omega finally settle and allow her emotions to even out again. That can help her feel safer, remove that instability and the fear of losing control again.” 

All of them share looks, John and Simon staring at one another. They hadn’t even thought about that. Well, at least he hadn’t. Christine had told him months ago that omegas need their alpha when they distress, when their omega takes over. They can come back from it with the help of an alpha...their alpha. Without one, the chances of survival were slim. Yet here you are, trying to do it all on your own. Having to do it all on your own. 

That ache in his chest starts again as he stares at Simon. He sent Simon after you, he made Simon go through that process of seeing you in that state and scruffing you. He made Simon be the one to help you through that. He made Simon be there when you needed an alpha most because he couldn’t face the fact that he abandoned you, he left you behind like you were nothing but another faceless soldier. 

He wipes his face as the tears start falling again. He truly is a failure of an alpha. 

Despite Christine’s reassurances, John can’t help the automatic reaction to your screams. On his feet instantly, his heart pounding in his chest ready to fight bare handed whatever might be causing such a reaction. Whoever might be causing such a reaction. He can’t fight the demons in your head, though, and he’s always greeted by the sight of Christine by your side, comforting you as best she can. 

He wants to hate her, wants to be angry at her for taking his place, doing what he should be doing. His alpha scratches at his mind every time he sees her by your side, giving you comforts he should be giving, but it’s his fault. It’s his fault she’s the one there with you. It’s his fault you’re suffering so much. Those thoughts send his alpha crawling back into its cage with its tail between its legs. 

It doesn’t matter the time of day, whether it was a nap or the middle of the night, your screams have a pain throbbing deep in his chest. His heart is constantly racing, waiting for that rush of adrenaline at the sound of your terrified scream, at that rush of instinct to protect and fight. He’s not sure how much his heart can take. 

He might have a heart attack by the end of their stay at the cottage. 

That’s something he’s been trying not to think about. 

They can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he knows you’ll want to, how much the others will want to. Eventually they’ll begin to go stir-crazy, itching for something to do. They still have jobs, and Kate can only keep them off the radar for so long, and can only give so many excuses. Eventually they’ll have to go back. Eventually they’ll have to make that decision of what comes next. 

He’s going to delay that as much as he possibly can. 

They can’t go back while Shepherd is still out there. They can’t trust that anywhere is safe while he’s still skulking around, while he still has contacts that could put them all in danger. That could put you in danger. 

That’s not a risk he’s willing to take again. 

But what comes next? 

What will they decide to do? Can they go back, knowing what the inevitable will be? Can they take that risk of having to leave you again, put you through that constant fear and worry that they might not come back? What if they all leave again? Could you survive the fear that something might happen while they’re away again? Not to them, but to you? 

Could they leave you alone again? 

Those are thoughts for another day when they’re inevitably faced with the fact they have to return to society and their lives and jobs. 

They have time. 

He has to make sure you’re okay first. 

You’re not okay.

You’re so very far from okay. 

The bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow around the room. 

There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. 

It’s one of the rare times you’ve woken before you can react, before you can scream and alert everyone in the house that you’ve had a nightmare. They’ll all come running. All of them. 

You hate it. 

You hate the nightmares, you hate the fear, you hate the constant pain and worry and the constant knowledge that your pack is right there. They want to go back to how things were, they want things to go back to normal, but they can’t. They expect you to forgive them, to go back to loving them, but how can you after everything? 

They left you. 

They let this happen to you and they just want you to pretend like nothing happened. That’s what they would do. Go back to normal life after being tortured and forget it all happened because that’s what they do. 

You’re not them. 

You don’t want to be like them. 

Cold. Heartless. Uncaring. Unwilling to put anyone but themselves first. 

Fuck them. 

The only thing keeping you here is the fact you’re bonded to them. That, and you’re an omega. You’d get picked up off the street and brought right back here to your owner. Or, worse, you’d get picked up by someone looking for a cute little omega to add to their collection. 

Or worse. 

You’d get picked up by someone else. 

Graves. Shepherd. 

If you’re lucky, they’d kill you instantly. Leave your body on the front porch for the others to find. You won’t care anymore. You’ll be dead. 

You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks, wiggling yourself back until you’re leaning against the headboard. Your shoulder doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore. It still throbs, still aches, still occasionally almost puts you on the floor when you try to reach over your head with it. Your throat is healing too. Soup isn’t quite as horrible as it was a few days ago. Solid food makes you ache, but at least you can get it down without feeling like you’re swallowing glass. 

You still haven’t spoken to them, though. 

You can hardly stand to look at them. 

Fuck them. 

Just the thought of them makes you want to scream. 

Dr. Keller says it's normal, being angry. ‘It’s all part of the process.’ The anger, the fear, the pain, the depression. It’s all normal. It’s all part of the process. It’s all necessary. You won’t get better holding it all in. You won’t get better numbing yourself. You won’t get better if you don’t allow yourself to feel everything. 

You hate it. 

Why should you have to go through all these feelings, all this pain? Why should you be the one suffering because of their decisions? It’s not fair. They should be suffering. They should be in pain. They should be the ones on the brink of insanity because of the fear and the pain and the suffering and their omega constantly screaming at them. 

It makes you want to scream. 

Screaming will only draw them in, force them closer. Screaming will alert them all, make them all come running. You don’t want any of them near. You don’t want to have to see them again. 

Fuck them. 

You let out a huff before wiggling back down the bed until your head hits the pillow. You won’t go back to sleep. You never do. At least you have the pain and exhaustion and tumultuous emotions and your very nature to excuse your constant naps, constant sleeping during the day. They don’t need to know you’re not sleeping at night. They won’t care. They don’t care. None of them do. 

Fuck. Them. 

You want your phone, you want something to keep you occupied. It’s probably lying somewhere on the side of the road shattered beyond repair. That, or it’s back in the barracks. The barracks. Fuck that place. You’ll rip your hair out strand by strand if you have to go back there. It’s not safe, it’s not happy. There’s nothing good about that place anymore. 

It’s just a place of pain. You might as well have been tortured by Phil there. 

You were tortured there. 

It wasn’t a physical torture, but a mental one. The entire experiment was just torture for you. No one thought of you, no one cared about you. 

Dr. Keller cares. 

It’s her job to care. 

Still, you can’t hate her entirely. She’s the only one that understands. She’s the only one that can help. She’s the only one that’s been helping. Not just now, but back then. She cared, she fought for you, she did her best with what she had. Sure, she made mistakes, but so did you. She’s the only one you can forgive. 

She’s the only one you want to forgive. 

Fuck the others. Fuck your pack. Fuck those fucking soldiers who were never going to care about anyone but themselves, who were never going to care about anything but their jobs and their duties and the good of the world. 

You should have been their world. 

They couldn’t put you first. They wouldn’t put you first. They didn’t want to put you first. 

They won’t change. They can’t change. There’s no hope for change. 

You’ll just go back to the way things were before and be forced to pretend everything's okay and that you’re happy and fine and content. Were you ever really content or were you just trying to make the best of the situation? Were you deluding yourself into believing you loved them and cared about them and that they loved you and cared about you to numb the fact you knew deep down that they never would, that they never could. Were you deluding yourself into thinking everything was fine and dandy to hide the constant pain from the knowledge that you would never come first? 

The pain begins to burn in your chest again. It’s hot like acid, rising in your chest to your throat, threatening to choke you. It’s a deep pain, one nestled right in against your soul. Tears leak out of your eyes again as you squeeze them shut, pushing your right hand against your chest in an attempt to get it to pass. 

You thought you were dying the first time. 

You could only be so lucky. 

The bond. 

It’s trying to break, trying to sever itself, trying to free you from the constant pain, but it can’t. 

Maybe because deep down you don’t want it to. Maybe deep down you want to forgive them and move past all of this. Maybe you want things to go back to normal, even if normal means pain and distress and fear. Maybe you want to believe them that they’re finally going to put you first. 

‘Maybe’ is only a doorway to disappointment and pain. 

Fuck yourself. 

Fuck your omega. 

Fuck your pack. 

Hell, fuck Dr. Keller for not fighting harder, for not doing more. 

Fuck Graves and his haunting of your nightmares.

Fuck Kate for choosing you.

Fuck Shepherd for creating the initiative in the first place to try and cover his own ass. 

Fuck them all. 

You tug the blanket higher around yourself, rolling onto your right side. 

Fuck. Them. All. 

You don’t want him here. 

He does it now, usually in the mornings. 

You hate it. 

You like it. It’s nice. He’s the only one making an effort. 

He never says anything, surprisingly enough. It’s silent as he sits there, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Always coffee, never tea. He won’t sink that low. He brings you a cup, but you can never bring yourself to touch it. You feel like a mental patient stuck in a straight jacket. You could free yourself, but that would bring too much awareness, too many questions, too much pain. 

You don’t want to. 

So instead you sit there in silence, staring out at the sea. It’s so far away still, yet it’s right there. You can hear it and smell it and see it. 

The sea. 

They brought you to the sea. 

John remembered. He did it for you. 

The thought has something stirring in your chest, and it’s not pain or anger. 

You hate it. 

Johnny leans back in the chair, his eyes on the horizon like yours. He sits there in that chair every chance he gets, usually in the mornings when Dr. Keller takes time for herself and leaves one of them watching you through the sliding glass door. You do feel guilty for forcing so much on Dr. Keller’s shoulders, yet you need her. 

You’re not ready for the others yet, no matter how loudly your omega screams at you. 

You don’t want them. 

Fuck, you desperately need them. 

Your eyelids flutter frantically as you try to keep the tears at bay. You can’t cry. You can’t let him know how close you are to breaking down. You can’t. 

You can’t reach out. 

You can’t take his hand. 

How desperately you want to. 

You nearly breathe a sigh of relief when the sliding door opens, Dr. Keller’s soft footsteps crossing the wood planks of the porch. 

“Ready to go inside now?” She asks, pressing the back of her hand against your cheek. You don’t say anything, don’t react, frozen in fear of everything coming tumbling out in front of Johnny. “You’re getting cold.” 

Johnny glances your way and you immediately turn to look at Dr. Keller, scared to look him in the face. That desperate hold you have on the gaping wound in your abdomen will open and your guts will come spilling out like some gory scene in a horror movie. 

Disembowelment thanks to your own weakness. 

Dr. Keller holds the crutch out for you as you push yourself to stand. Your legs are strong enough you could probably walk without it, but it’s still nice to have it in case you get tired. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

It’s the weakness from your liquid diet over the past week and a half. The weakness of being unable to eat solid foods, to properly nourish. You’ve lost weight, your clothes hanging from your body in a way they never did before. You’ve lost the softness that marks you as an omega, but it feels fitting. You don’t feel like an omega anymore. 

You don’t feel like anything anymore. 

You’re fighting your instincts out of pain and suffering and stubbornness. You keep taping your omega’s mouth shut despite how loudly she screams at you. You don’t want your instincts. You don’t want that need. Eventually it has to go away. Eventually it has to recede and your omega has to go back into her cage and sleep. Eventually you can numb yourself to it and force it away forever. 

That will certainly make things easier. 

But will it make things better? 

No. Probably not. 

It’ll make things worse. 

But if it allows you to keep your distance, allows you to avoid them, you’ll risk it. You’d take numbness over anything right now. 

How you miss those long days of depression while they were away. How you took those days for granted. 

Who knew those hours spent worrying about them and their distance and what might happen to them would be for nothing? 

What you wouldn’t give for all of them to disappear right now. 

How badly it would destroy you. 

“She’s at war with herself. That instinctual need is screaming at her, but that emotional pain is keeping her shut away. If anyone is going to get through to her, it will probably be you.” 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his jaw as he stares at Christine. As much as he wants to hate the doctor and her ability to see straight through him, he can’t deny how necessary her presence has been. She’s the only one you tolerate, the only one you’ll let close. Without her you’d probably be rotting in bed, stuck and unable to do anything out of stubbornness. You won’t let them close, yet you need them close. 

You’re going to rip yourself in half, metaphorically and possibly even literally. 

He shakes that mental image from his mind. The horrifying images his mind has conjured up over the last few days have his stomach churning. Even his tea no longer looks appetizing. 

He put milk in it this time. Almost how he likes it. Almost how he wants it. 

“Johnny’s the one actually trying.” Simon says, staring across at her. She doesn’t shy from his gaze, doesn't even flinch. “You should talk to him.” 

“While I agree, reintroducing a beta from the pack is the first step, eventually she’s going to need an alpha.” Christine says. 

“She needs her alpha.” He argues. 

“She doesn’t want her alpha.” Christine counters. “He’s going to be the last she lets close, but she’s going to need some kind of stability.” 

“I can’t give her that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his hand around his mug, his knuckles going white. She’s infuriating, yet he can’t be mad at her. Not completely. The good she’s doing for you, for the pack, far outweighs his annoyance with the doctor. She’s right. He knows it deep down, but he can’t. He can’t do that, he can’t put you through that. He’s already done enough. He did his part, he faced his fears, he saved your life. That’s enough for him. It’s up to John now. 

John has to do the work to fix it. He broke it, it’s no one else’s job to fix it. 

“Maybe both.” Simon finally says, pushing himself up to stand. “It’s not my job to fix this.” 

He leaves his mug behind as he stalks out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. He can’t stand being in the house any longer, cooped up with the same five people. Four people and a ghost. 

He shakes his head, jogging down the steps into the gravel. He should go for a jog. A long jog. He could jog to town and back. That will clear his head. 

That’s a long jog.

If something happens while he’s away, he won’t get back in time. It’ll be his fault because he took the time to do something selfish. He can picture it, coming back to find five bodies laying in pools of blood, dead because he wasn’t there to help, because he wasn’t there to fight. 

It’s a ridiculous thought. There’s three other highly trained soldiers in the house. If anyone tried anything, they wouldn’t make it past the door. He can see it now, Price’s alpha coming out in a rage because someone dared try to enter and hurt his vulnerable omega. He’d probably win in a fight ten to one if that happened, and he has Kyle and Johnny to back him up. Christine would take you and run the first chance she could. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not again. 

Still, he can’t shake that fear. If he can’t sprint back, then it's too far. If it will leave the pack too vulnerable, he can’t. 

To the beach and back, then. 

She’s like an angel. 

The soft sunlight streaming through the clouds makes her glow. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was shining just for her, sending down a beam just to illuminate just how ethereal she is. 

The Garrick beauty is genetic. 

Kyle is beautiful in terms of a man. He shares the same ethereal glow as his sister, but Ashley? You don’t feel worthy of looking upon her. 

“Kyle never mentioned an omega, but then again, he never says much about his job.” She gives another dazzling smile, your heart rate picking up just slightly. “Can’t, I should say. You haven’t been with them long, huh.” 

“About nine months.” You say, your voice still a bit hoarse. It’s not quite healed yet. It might be that way forever. 

“Such a short amount of time to go through so much.” She says, giving you a soft, sympathetic look. You don’t know how much she knows, though it’s still fairly obvious you’ve been through hell. That you’re still going through hell. “Christine told me a bit about what happened. I don’t blame you one bit for being upset at them. I would have left them, but I know. In a perfect world, right?” 

You make a quiet sound. Indeed in a perfect world where omegas have rights and can make their own decisions and could leave and have support in doing so. You’d leave with Dr. Keller or even Ashley, even though you’ve only known her for ten minutes. She has the same magnetic energy as Kyle, so much so you don’t mind the way the scent blockers burn your nose. She probably smells like something warm and soft, something comforting. 

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” She says, settling in the chair. It’s cool outside, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it one bit. 

You scramble for something, anything. What is it you like to do? What are your hobbies? You’re drawing a blank, your mind searching through its filing cabinets to find where you shoved all the things you like to do. 

“I like to read.” You finally say, remembering the stack of untouched books on the dresser across from the bed. 

“Oh? What do you like to read?” She asks. 

What do you like to read? What is a genre? What are books? 

“Oh, I read anything, as long as it’s interesting.” Is that the truth? You’re not quite sure. 

“I see, I see. Well, there’s quite the collection on those shelves inside. I’m a reader too. Read through those entire shelves over the years.” She grins at you. “We could do a little book club, if you’d like. Read some books and talk about them over some tea. We could get Christine in on it too. Have a little thing just for us girls.” 

You nod, staring at her in awe. This is the first time someone outside of your little circle has offered to do anything with you, for you. 

You want to do it. 

You want to spend time with someone who isn’t your pack, who isn’t Dr. Keller. 

“Okay.” You say, still staring at her in awe. 

“I could come over on the weekends, or we could do a call if you’re not up to seeing anyone.” She continues, and you’re not sure if she made this plan before she came, or if she’s coming up with it on the spot. Regardless, you're still impressed by her and her dedication to a complete stranger. 

“Would...would that be too much?” You ask, your brain starting to wake up again, the wires connecting once more. 

“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I live and work in Exeter, so I’m not too terribly far away.” 

You’re not sure where Exeter is off the top of your head. Your mental map isn’t even sure how far away London is...or even where you are on a map of England. Are you even in England right now? 

“What do you do for work?” You ask, realizing you’ve been silent for an awkward amount of time. 

“I’m a finance lawyer.” She says. “Mum used to say ‘you love to argue so much, you should become a lawyer.’” She laughs. “So I did.” 

“You must make a lot of money.” You say. You don’t know how much lawyers make in England relative to the US. 

“I make enough to be comfortable.” She says. Enough to travel back and forth every weekend. “Seriously, though, if you need or want anything, let me know. I’m more than happy to come sit with you and give you a break from those stinky men.” 

You’re not quite sure what happens to your face. It contorts, muscles shaking off the dust and starting to move before you even realize it. Your lips are tilting upwards instead of downwards. Something is happening. Something that feels good, something that you’ve been missing. 

You’re smiling. 

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long time. Weeks. Not since the cameras. Not since your pack left. You haven’t felt like smiling in so long you’re certain you forgot how to. But yet, here you are, smiling at Ashley. It’s not a genuine smile, one that crinkles your eyes and shows joy, but it’s a smile. It almost hurts your face after so long. 

She’s funny too. 

Stinky men. 

They are that. 

Your smile falls as soon as the sliding glass door opens, your head whipping around to look. Ashley turns to look too, perhaps out of instinct at your sudden movement. 

You’re half expecting it to be one of the guys, maybe Kyle out to ruin the moment, but it’s only Dr. Keller. 

“How are things going?” She asks, stepping up beside you. 

“Good.” Ashley says. “We’re planning a book club.” 

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises a brow, looking between you. “I think that would be fantastic.” 

“You’re welcome to join in if you’d like,” Ashley says, giving Dr. Keller a smile. 

You stare up at Dr. Keller, watching the way her lips turn up a smile, her eyes shining with...something. Her hands open and close, tugging at her pants almost nervously. Your brows raise as you look back up at her face. She almost looks...flustered. 

Oh. 

Another grin forms on your face as you stare between them, Ashley still smiling and Dr. Keller still looking a bit flustered. 

Oh. 

“You could join us if you want.” You say slowly, still looking up at Dr. Keller. 

She seems to snap out of her daze, her gaze darting down to you. She gives you a soft smile, back to her composed, professional self. “If that’s what you’d like.” 

You nod. Even though you see her constantly every day, you’re not tired of her existence yet. She’s the only one whose existence in the house doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out, the only one you want to talk to, to see, to have around. If you had the choice, you’d be here alone with her. 

That’s not possible. You know it’s not. 

“A thing for just us girls.” Ashley says. “On the weekends. No pressure whatsoever.” 

“I think that would be fantastic.” Dr. Keller says. “A nice little distraction.” 

“A nice break from those stinky men.” You say. 

Both Dr. Keller and Ashley erupt in laughter. 

Another smile tugs at your lips. 

You don’t want to be here. You can feel him staring at you from behind. He hasn’t moved since Dr. Keller left, still just standing there like he’s not sure he can approach you or not. You hope he doesn’t. You want him to. 

You don’t say anything, still staring out at the ocean, but you can see him reflected in the glass, obscuring your view of the horizon. Hatred burns inside of you as you have no choice but to stare at him, even when you’re trying not to. He’s like a ghost, always haunting you. He always will be. 

“I didn’t want to try to rush into this.” He finally says, knowing you’re not going to say anything. You won’t greet him, welcome him into your space. It already feels like an intrusion into your safety, him being here. 

Is this becoming a safe space? A nest? No, not that far. It’s becoming sacred to you, though, and having him in it without invitation feels wrong. It makes you uncomfortable. 

You hate it. 

“But I just wanted you to know that we’re all feeling the weight of what we did, I’m feeling the weight of what I decided to do. We all feel guilty for putting you through that, for forcing you to endure things you never should have.” 

He swallows thickly, falling silent for a moment. You almost feel like laughing at his attempt at an apology, another attempt at an apology. Why is he even bothering? He knows you won’t forgive him. He’s probably doing it for himself again, to make himself feel better. 

“I know it’s not an ideal situation, being forced in such a small space together, but we all wanted you to know that you’re the one setting the boundaries. If you don’t want us to be somewhere or do something, then you can tell us, or have Christine tell us. If you don’t want to see us at all, we can make our best attempts at that.” 

“That would be ideal.” You say, breaking the silence you’ve held for days. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the hospital, since his first sad attempt at an apology. 

It shocks him to stillness and silence. 

The words hurt, burning your throat like acid as you stare at his reflection in the glass. You hate it, how pathetic he looks standing there. Where’s the big, tough alpha? Where’s the strong protector? Where’s the person that’s supposed to take care of you and care about you? 

He never existed. 

He left you behind. 

He never cared. 

Anger begins to bubble within you. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, his voice shaking. “I never meant for this to happen-”

“You think your sad attempts at apologies are going to work?” You hiss at him through your teeth. You push yourself to stand, turning to face him. “You left me. You fucking left me there knowing full well what was going to happen!” You’re shouting now. All the quiet movements on the other side of the wall in the main area stop. 

They’re all listening. 

It’s not like you’re giving them much of a choice not to. 

Fuck them.

“I know,” He says, his eyes wide as he stares at you. 

“Do you? Do you know?” Your voice is wavering, your throat starting to ache but you can’t stop. Not now. It’s all coming out and there’s no stopping it. “You. Left. Me. You willingly turned your back on me time and time again even when I was being tortured! You leaving was torture enough and you still chose me second. I’ve always been second. I’ve never mattered enough for you to even question anything!” 

You let out a sob, the sound cracking in your throat. It hurts, but it will always hurt. You’ll always carry this hurt with you, so you want him to hurt too. 

“I asked you once if you would ever leave for me. You said if things got dangerous, if my life were ever at risk because of you, you’d leave in a heartbeat.” The tears are falling, streaming down your face. “Was that a lie?” 

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at you. Does he even remember that conversation? 

“Was that a lie?” You shout, making him jump. 

His eyes drop to the floor, his scent souring. Good, you think. Let it hurt. 

“Answer me.” You say, pushing him to give some response to your question. You need to know. You need him to say it. 

“I didn’t intend for it to be.” He says quietly. 

“You didn’t intend for it to be.” You say, bitterness coating your tone. “What the fuck does that mean? You said you wouldn’t let me go even if the initiative failed. Was that a lie too? Was it all a lie to keep me happy and complacent? ‘The job always comes first,’ even when my life is in danger, right? The job always comes first over everything, even me. You lied to me.” You swallow the sob threatening to come up. “I want to hear you say it.” 

He stands there, tears brimming in his eyes. He hasn’t moved hardly a muscle, still frozen like a statue. 

“Say it!” You scream at him, your throat tearing around the words. You’re surprised you’re not tasting blood yet from how raw it feels. 

“I lied.” He says, swallowing thickly. “I lied to you and I couldn’t keep my promise. And I’m sorry-” 

“Don’t apologize.” You cut him off starting to pace as the anger burns hot in you. “Don’t you fucking apologize to me, you don’t deserve to apologize. You don’t deserve the chance at forgiveness. You’re a shitty alpha and you always have been!” 

You let out a sob, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. There’s a tear sliding down his cheek, and it brings you some sort of relief deep down. So he can feel things after all. 

“I don’t know what I expected, though.” You let out a sardonic laugh. “You military men are all the same. It’s always about the job and the image and the ‘greater good’ and making sacrifices, even if that means sacrificing your pack. You’re just like my dad. You never wanted an omega, you never wanted me. You cast me out and let me suffer when I needed you most.” 

The anger burns hot in you again, shooting through your veins until it’s choking you as you stare at him standing there pathetically. He thought he could apologize, he thought his groveling would mean anything to you. Fuck him. Fuck them all. 

“You left me.” You grit out, your hands starting to shake. “You left me! You abandoned me, you let me get hurt! You didn’t care, you never cared about me!” You storm over to him. “Fuck you!” You scream, hitting his chest. “I fucking hate you!” You shove him back, sending him stumbling. “Get out!” You shove him again, pushing him back towards the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again!” 

He stumbles back out of the door and you slam it in his face so hard it shakes on its hinges. You click the lock as you sob in pain, pain both physical and emotional. Your chest aches, a tearing feeling burning through it. 

The bond. 

You don’t care. You don’t give a fuck anymore. You hate him, you hate them all. 

The tears and sobs threaten to choke you but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You don’t care about anything anymore except the anger burning hot through you, making your hands shake. Your legs give out and you slide to the floor against the door, sliding until you’re laying down on your back on the hardwood. It’s cold against your skin but you don’t care. You can’t care anymore. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

John stares at the wood in shock. The slam of the door still echoes in his ears as he stands there, frozen. He knew the chance of a negative reaction was high, but something like that? Something to that magnitude? 

Your words cut into him like a knife, searing his skin and leaving blisters behind. 

Hands push him out of the way. He stumbles to the side, his brain still catching up to his body. 

“Sweetie, I need you to open the door.” 

The words are muffled from the ringing in his ears, the ringing of your screams as you cursed his very being. 

Liar. 

His legs are shaking as he turns, his body moving automatically towards the door. The other three members of his pack are frozen, watching him as he crosses the living room, as he wraps his fingers around the handle of the sliding glass door, as he pushes it open just wide enough to slip through. 

The thud of it closing feels like a seal being stamped. He’s cut himself off, fraying that bond forever. 

Your words still ring in his head as he stands in the middle of the porch numbly. 

Liar. 

He is a liar. He made a lot of promises that he couldn’t keep, promises that he broke because of his decisions. He should have made you feel comfortable enough to reveal those cameras right away. He should have gotten you off base as soon as you revealed them. He should have never trusted Shepherd, or even Kate in that moment. He should have fought harder, he should have sent you away from base as soon as he made that decision to leave. 

So many things he should have done differently. 

You can’t change the past. 

Liar. 

He left you when you needed him most. He proved time and time again that he’d always choose the job over you, no matter what he promised. You’re not a soldier. No matter how much he tried to prepare you, train you, you’d never be able to fight like them. 

Not without taking drastic measures. 

He saw the blood. He saw the bodies. He saw the proof of an omega pushed too far, an omega forced into its primordial state. 

You did it because they left you. 

You did it because you thought the abandoned you. 

Those words ring out the loudest in his mind. Above all the others those words linger, replaying over and over again. 

‘You let me be tortured.’

Christ. 

He runs a hand over his face, the realization shocking him as a cold chill settles under his skin. There’s a weight dropping in his stomach, threatening to sink him straight through the planks of the porch and into the ground below. 

You think they left you. 

He turns on his heel, shocked to find Simon standing behind him. He can’t read his face, hidden behind the mask that hasn’t come off since they arrived at the cottage. He doesn’t need to see his face to read the giant alpha. He’s known Simon long enough to be able to read him just based on his body language. 

He’s angry, frustrated. John half expects him to start yelling too, but that’s never been Simon’s style. He only gets loud when he needs to. Instead he’ll stew and glare and darken the room with his rage. The target of his anger will feel it and know, and that’s almost worse than if he’d express that anger through words. 

Despite the cold chill of Simon’s stare, John’s mind is reeling too much to care. It all makes sense now. Your distance, your turmoil, your own anger. 

“She thinks we left her.” The words come tumbling out before he can stop them. 

“We did.” Simon says, the words short and sharp. 

“No, no,” John shakes his head. “She thinks we left her with Graves.” 

Simon shifts on his feet, the planks of the porch creaking under his weight. 

“Of course Graves would fuck with her head, make her feel like she had been abandoned. It was never about following orders for him. He would have tortured her no matter what.” Anger burns hot in John, at himself, at Graves. Of course you’d assume the worst, of course you’d believe Graves because he was playing on your own doubts. 

They left you so easily at the barracks, of course they’d leave you to be tortured. 

“She’ll never believe you.” Simon says. The squaring of his shoulders has deflated a bit. 

“No, she won’t.” John shifts on his feet, staring straight at Simon. “But I’m not going to be the one to tell her.” 

Her hand presses against your forehead, wiping some of the sweat beading on your skin. Despite your shivers, you’re burning hot. A fever. You worked yourself up too much earlier in your outburst. She had been proud of you for finally releasing some of it and showing some emotion, but she knew the consequences of getting so worked up would be high. Your omega is still unstable, on top of still trying to physically recover. You hurt yourself doing that, even if it was necessary. 

She shushes you as you whine, fingers grasping at the blanket clumsily. She pulls it higher over you, your body shuddering underneath the pile already stacked on top of you. She’d put every blanket she could find over you, and yet you still shiver. Worry floods her again as she stares down at you, your eyes pinched closed. You must be aching, your show of anger taking its toll. 

It was necessary, but at what cost? 

If your temperature continues to spike, the risk of distress heightens. You can’t handle distress in your current state, which would mean your omega would come out, finally be freed again from the unprotected cage it's been pushed back into. If your omega comes out, that will require John to help, which may only drive you further into distress. 

She needs to try and stop this before the situation continues to deteriorate. 

But how? 

How can she move you past this without the help of your pack? She can’t give you the comfort you need. Medicine or any therapeutic methods can help solve the issue at its core. Sure she can try and lower your fever with medicine, but you need your pack. You need that comfort and stability that only they can offer. 

You need someone, and it can’t be her. 

If your omega comes back out, they might never be able to get it back in. It’ll be the end of you. All of your recovery, the fight you’ve put up against your body and your instincts and your mind will have been for nothing. 

You need someone. 

An idea begins to form in her head, her hand resting against your forehead. It’s hot under her hand, your skin burning. You might hate her later for this. It’s risky, but sometimes risks have to be taken in dire situations. Sometimes those risks pan out in the end. What will happen if it fails? The inevitable that’s going to happen if she doesn’t try. It’s a lose-lose situation, but if it works, it could be a win-win. 

She can’t help you, but maybe she has someone who can. 

She tucks the blankets around you, cocooning you in an attempt to keep you warm and still while she steps away. She won’t be gone long.  

She leaves your door cracked open just in case, even though she doubts you’ll be moving much while she’s away. 

Just in case. 

One can never be too careful. 

She heads up the stairs quietly, going slow to avoid startling any of them. She’s intruding on the safe space they’ve made in their solitude. It feels like invading sacred grounds, but it's a necessary invasion. Their omega is in danger. They’ll forgive her. 

The bathroom door is closed at the end of the short hallway, a light on inside. The lights are on in both rooms too, glowing beneath both doors, and she takes a gamble. Based on the heaviness of the footsteps above the kitchen she can guess the room on the right is the one Simon and Johnny are staying in. If she’s wrong, she’ll have some explaining to do before she’s ready, and she knows John will have his thoughts about this. Though, with what happened earlier, perhaps he’ll agree. You won’t see him, but maybe...just maybe... 

She lets out a deep breath before knocking firmly, waiting a breath before she calls out.  

“Johnny, I need your help.”

She just hopes you don’t hate her too much later. 

NEXT ->

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[unboundprompts]

hi! i wanted to ask how could i write a scene of a band performing and make it flow smoothly? Reactions to it and inner dialogue of the leader singer while performing?

I hope that makes sense!

Thank you :)

How to Write a Band Performance

Set the Atmosphere with Sound and Sensory Details

Use sensory language to capture the energy of the music, the movement on stage, and the audience’s reaction. Think about the sounds of instruments, the lights, the thrum of bass vibrating through the floor, or how the crowd looks.

Example: The drums kicked in, a thunderous heartbeat that pulsed through the packed venue. Strings followed, filling the air with an electric charge, and the lights dimmed just enough for the crowd to lean in, hungry for the next note.

Anchor the Lead Singer’s Focus

The lead singer might catch moments in the crowd, like a fan mouthing every lyric, someone laughing, or even seeing familiar faces in the sea of people. These little connections add a human touch and make the performance feel alive.

Example: He spotted a girl in the front row, eyes closed, every word leaving her lips like a prayer. She knew each lyric by heart, maybe better than he did. That look kept him grounded—kept him singing.

Use Inner Dialogue to Show Nerves, Confidence, or Distraction

Let the lead singer’s mind wander a bit, but keep it tethered to the music. They might think of something unrelated that they suppress to stay focused, or maybe they reflect on what this song means to them, especially if it’s deeply personal or symbolic.

Example: Here we go. Breathe. Just like rehearsal. But it was never just like rehearsal. Each word brought him back to the night he wrote it—a night he barely survived. He shook off the thought. No. Tonight, it’s just for them.

Describe Body Movements and How They Connect to Emotion

Physical sensations can be as telling as dialogue. The lead singer might feel the warmth of the spotlight, the stickiness of sweat on their skin, or the way their voice feels strong, raw, or strained.

Example: He gripped the mic stand, fingers tight, and leaned forward. His voice cracked on a high note, but he let it, gave it to the crowd raw. They wanted his truth, his realness. That was all he had to give.

Show the Crowd’s Reaction

Describe reactions like a wave, where energy ebbs and flows. The crowd might sway during slower parts, roar during the chorus, or go silent in the song’s more intimate moments. This back-and-forth dance adds rhythm to the scene.

Example: As the first chorus hit, the crowd became a sea of outstretched hands, fingers clawing for a piece of the music. A roar rose, then softened as they sang with him, their voices tangling with his own, something fragile and fierce all at once.

Balance Between Action and Inner Thoughts

To keep the scene flowing, alternate between what the singer does (interacting with the mic, moving on stage) and what they think. Too much inner dialogue could slow down the scene, so give action and reaction space to keep the reader engaged.

Example: He took a step back, holding the last note, letting it resonate through the space. He stole a glance at his bandmates. They were lost in the music too, faces set, eyes closed. It felt like the old days—a secret between them, shared with everyone.

End with a Climactic Moment or a Release of Tension

End the scene with a dramatic finish, like a powerful note, a burst of applause, or even silence if it’s an emotional song. The lead singer could feel relieved, drained, or exhilarated by the end.

Example: As the last chord faded, a brief silence hung over the crowd—a pause, a heartbeat—before it shattered with applause. He closed his eyes, letting it wash over him, knowing that for now, the song was enough.

[shuafiles]

poison [l.dh]

MDNI, 18+

SUMMARY | you and haechan have a love for drama, so when things start feeling too predictable, you both devise a plan to keep the spark alive. but as real emotions creep in, you start wondering if you’ve taken it too far.

PAIRING | boyfriend!haechan x afab!reader

CONTENT | smut with no plot, mean girl reader, billionaire haechan, some degrading insults, haechan is a loser for reader, dirty talk, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, fluff! honestly just reader getting lowk insecure and haechan getting mad that she thinks he wud replace her when he's so sickeningly in love with her

WORDS | 3.9k

A/N | inspired by blaire and chuck from gossip girl !!! not totally but kinda.

spotted. lee haechan’s eyes scanning the crowd for his next target. the loud music almost deafening. sweaty bodies on the dance floor. the smell of liquor filling the air. he leaned against the bar, swirling the ice around his drink, when he locked eyes with the woman standing across from him, clad in a tight red dress that caught his attention. she seemed to have been looking at him for a while because once he finally caught her eye, her lips formed a smile, slyly sending him a wave. this was perfect.

haechan raised his glass with a slight nod, making her presence known to him. with hips swaying in confidence, she strolled over to him. she leaned against the bar, yelling out her drink order to the bartender—as if she didn’t come here for one reason only. he nearly missed how she fixed her hair as she looked at him from the corner of her eye. this was all part of her game. good thing haechan loved to play.

haechan smirked, turning his body to face her. “put her drink on my tab.” haechan spoke, loud enough for the bartender to hear, nodding at his request as he continued making her drink.

“you didn’t have to.” the woman said, tucking her hair behind her ear. she gave haechan her name, but he was too disinterested to ask her to repeat it, nodding to her words.

“haechan.” he tilted his head towards her, his eyes dancing over her frame long enough to reel her in.

“i know you.” she giggled, sliding close to him, arms nearly brushing one another. “think everyone in this room does.”

of course, they would. who wouldn't? haechan was the youngest billionaire in the city, the type of man people dreamed of being or fucking. he knew she wasn’t the first person to be drawn by his reputation, and she definitely wouldn’t be the last.

“so, you’re just here… alone?” she asked, placing a hand on haechan’s arm. a bold move. biting her lips as an invitation.

haechan raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a knowing smirk. it was almost too easy. he inched closer to her, the gap between them being dangerously close, enough to keep her hooked. “depends,” his voice low, gaze dropping to her lips. “who’s asking?”

she leaned closer, eyes flickering to his lips, sending him an invitation to take things further. “what if we went somewhere more private?” her voice low and sultry, breath fanning against his skin, her body language insinuating that she wanted more than just small conversations.

“what if i have a girlfriend?” haechan teased.

she let out a laugh as if to brush off his words. “lee haechan doesn’t do girlfriends.” she replied, a playful look on her face. her fingers sliding up his arm. tilting her head until she was close enough to his lips.

just when her lips were mere inches away from his, a loud and commanding voice sliced through the air.

“what the fuck!” there you stood, arms crossed with fire in your eyes as you stared at the scene in front of you. the woman pulled back from the sudden voice. haechan leaned back against the bar with amusement in his eyes. the game was about to get even better.

the women froze, eyes blinking. her expression shifting from flirtation to confusion. “is… something wrong?” she asked, throat dry as you marched towards them.

“yes, actually.” you spat, voice sharp but controlled, the perfect volume to make her squirm. “care to explain why your nasty hands are all over my boyfriend?”

blood drained from her face, her body stepped away from haechan. face flooding with embarrassment as she looked between you and haechan. “wait–i…i didn’t know!” she stammered, voice faltering as she tried to gather herself.

haechan, playing the part perfectly, put his hands up. “baby, i tried to tell her i have a girlfriend. i was just being polite, and she came over to me.” he said, a pleading look on his face that barely concealed his grin. you could see him trying to suppress his laughter, but you kept your angry expression, not wanting to break character.

“i’m so sorry! oh my god, i didn’t– i wouldn't have–” she stuttered, 

“next time, maybe check if he’s single before you start whoring yourself at him.” you shot her a pity look; lips twitching into a sarcastic smile. you watched as her face turned crimson, bowing her head in apology. you tsked at her. “well? get your cheap perfume-smelling ass out of here!” waving your hand in exasperation.

she muttered an embarrassed apology before backing away and hastily disappearing into the crowd. the moment she was out of sight, haechan wrapped his arms around your waist, laughter escaping his lips.

“hi.” you greeted him by placing your hands on his chest, a flirty smile plastered on your face.

“hi, baby.” haechan kissed your temple. “you are way too good at this.” he murmured, eyes filled with amusement as he pulled you close.

“oh, please.” you slid your hands up to his shoulders, leaning into him. “you were practically begging for me to come and save you.”

haechan chuckled, his fingers tracing small circles on your back–a small habit of his. “maybe. but admit it, you enjoyed every second of it.”

you rolled your eyes, but the smile on your lips gave your expression away. “fine. but next time, maybe don’t let them get too close.” you tilted your head. sending him a warning glare.

haechan leaned forward, lips brushing against one another.. “don’t worry, princess. you know i only want you.” his voice dropped to a low, teasing whisper. his words sending sparks to your stomach. you love it when he’s like this, so loyal and so needy for you.

this game was your very own taste of poison—a mix of jealousy, excitement, and danger. it was intoxicating, the way it made your heart race, the thrill of testing each other’s limits. but along with the thrill, there was lingering pain every time you saw haechan in the arms of another woman. but you decided to shake it off, after all, it was you who he was coming home to.

you closed the gap between your lips, savoring his taste. he reciprocated your eagerness, his grip on your waist tightening as his leg went in between your thighs. your dress nearly hiking up from the contact.

“what do you say, let’s get out of here?” haechan mumbled against your lips, his hand reaching for the hem of your dress to pull it down and avoid exposing you to the crowd. you were his, after all. no one else’s.

-

“hi, princess.” haechan greeted you with a quick, soft peck on the lips as you entered his penthouse. his cologne filled the air, blending with the subtle scent of leather and warm spices that filled the room. it had been a few days since you saw him, and something about the way he looked now—so comfy and domesticated—made your heart flutter, even after all this time.

“so,” haechan started as you both settled down on the couch. “there’s this new lounge downtown that opened up, i hear it's pretty popular. want to check it out? have some fun?” his lips curled into a smirk, brows wiggling slightly as his arms rested on the couch behind your back.

you tried to fight off the way your eyes nearly rolled behind your head. right. the game. it’s not like you hated it, in fact, you were the one who suggested it at first. before you met haechan he had this playboy image attached to him, a reputation for never settling down, always chasing after a girl. you heard the gossip, the way people talked about him like he was some forbidden fruit that you taste once and never again. the games, in some sick twisted way, were a way to keep him off his feet while reminding him that he belonged to you.

deep down, you couldn’t help but feel that he’ll never be satisfied with just you.

“baby?” haechan pulled you out of your trance, watching you with worried eyes. “are you okay? do you not want to?” his hand reached for the ones in your lap, caressing the skin lightly.

you tried to force a smile, shaking your head. “it’s not that.” chewing on your bottom lips as you tried to think of the words. “sometimes i just wonder… if these games are all we have.” you admitted, head low as you avoided his gaze.

haechan’s eyebrows furrowed, gaze sharpening as he watched you.  “what do you mean?” his voice softened.

you took a deep breath, looking down at your intertwined hands. “i only suggested this because… because i was scared?”

“what are you scared of, princess?” with his free hand, he grasped your chin with his thumb and index finger, tilting your head to face him. his eyes flickering all over your face. cheeks burning from his intense gaze.

you stayed silent for a second, pondering of what to say. “i was scared you’d get bored of me. you had this reputation, haechan.” you started, his expression turning sour from your confession. “i-i didn’t know if i was enough to keep you interested, and i thought if we kept things exciting, you wouldn't go back to that life.”

something shifted in haechan as soon as you finished talking. his soft, warm look had vanished and got replaced by something sharp, something angry. he dropped his hand from your face, his jaw tightening as he stood up, turning away from you. you heart dropped at this state, worried you offended him.

“are you serious?” haechan ran his hands through his hair. “you think i’m only interested in you because of… because of these games?” he turned to face you.

you swallowed, a wave of regret washing over you. “i didn’t mean–“ you stood up, facing him. his frame towering over you.

“do you think that low of me?” haechan’s jaw clenched, he couldn’t believe the words that came out of your mouth “do you think i’d get bored and… leave you for someone else?”

“haechan, that’s not what i mean.” you reached for his hand, but his body was stiff, still, he let you hold his hand. “it’s just– i don’t know… you never really settled down before. i thought you needed something to keep things interesting.”

“after everything we’ve been through, you still think i’d leave you the second things get a little… normal?” his voice raw, the hurt evident in his tone. you have never seen him this upset, so vulnerable. you felt like shit.

haechan has never once shown you anything to make you doubt his love. it was rooted in your insecurity that you think he’d get up and leave.

“i just,” you paused, carefully studying his expression. his forehead creased from the way his eyebrows were furrowed. your thumb drew circles on the back of his hand. “didn’t want to lose you.”

“i know you’re worried because of my… past.” his voice grew softer, his other hand reaching for yours. “you know that’s not who i am anymore, y/n. you changed that. do you even realize that?” his gaze burned into you, his frustration turning into assurance. “if you think i need some damn game to stay interested, then i guess i have to remind you.”

“remind me what?” you questioned, his fingers tugging you close to him.

“of how much i love you.” haechan leaned down, his body’s warmth engulfing you. “of how you’re the only girl for me.” his lips crashed into yours. you gasped at the sudden movement before shutting your eyes and feeling him against you.

his hands grasped your hips, pulling your body close to him. his leg in between your thighs, and you were thankful you decided to wear a skirt today. his grip on your hips tightened as you moaned against his lips once he slipped his tongue past your mouth, making sure to cover every corner. you couldn’t help but grind your hips against his thigh, needing some sort of friction. he noticed you were getting needy, so he pulled away, smirking at your flustered state before grabbing you by the hand and guiding you to his bedroom.

haechan wasted no time pushing your body down on the soft mattress, yelping when he suddenly stripped your skirt and underwear off of your body in one swift motion. your bottom half completely bare as he shamelessly stared at your dripping pussy.

“hyuck!” you whined. you were half-naked, yet he was still fully clothed. he let out a chuckle before grabbing you by the thighs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. his fingers grabbed the hem of your top before sliding it off you. leaving you bare and ready for him.

haechan pressed a quick kiss to your lips before he sunk to his knees, his face right in front of your glistening core. he leaned forward, taking a whiff of your scent, letting out a groan once the smell hit his nostrils. “can’t believe you think i’d exchange this for anything.” he wrapped his arms around and over your thighs, holding you steady as you squirmed underneath his touch. “guess i have to show you how much i need you, princess.” he murmured before attaching his lips to your clit.

haechan sucked on the bundle of nerves, lapping his tongue around your folds. your hand gripping his hair, pulling him close to you. he had you planned out like a map, knew all the tips and tricks to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head. he darted his tongue out to your entrance, making you buck your hips upward.

“o-oh god.” you cried out, back arching against the mattress. you needed him. craved for him.

haechan hummed against your pussy, his cock growing harder with every moan you released. he loved it when you were weak from his touch—in this case, tongue. he pulled away from your cunt, a string of saliva forming. he retracted one arm from your thigh, bringing his fingers up to your clit. your legs twitching once you felt his long fingers gliding along your folds, feeling your slick mixed with his saliva. without warning, he sunk two digits into your wet hole. lewd sounds escaping your lips as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

“how could i–” haechan curled his fingers, making your legs close from pleasure, but his grip prevented you from doing so. “ever get bored–” he inserted another finger, relentlessly fucking your hole, stretching you out in the process. “of my sweet sweet slut–” he increased his pace, making you cry out of pleasure. “when you take my fingers this good?”

you trembled against him, stomach contracting from the immense pleasure he was giving you. he knew you were close once he felt you clench around his fingers. he took this as a sign to return his lips to your clit, sucking harshly on the bud. matching the movement of his tongue with his fingers. your grip on his hair tightened, your hips pushing down to meet his touch. his fingers effortlessly sliding in and out of your core, curling it with every thrust.

“h-hyuck, so close, please.” you moaned, your head lifting to face him. his eyes meeting yours, smirking once he saw your face twisting into pleasure. his ego growing once he saw how hungry you were for him.

“you taste so good, baby.” haechan grunted, pressing his tongue flat on your clit. desperate to bring you to your climax, he increased his pace. the sound of your pussy squelching reached your ears. “come on, baby. cum on my fingers.” with his encouragement, you came hard on his fingers. a string of curse words escaping your lips, hand gripping the sheets beneath you as you threw your head back against the bed.

haechan’s movements halted, pulling his tongue away from your clit. reclaiming his fingers that were buried in you, each digit covered in your cum. he wasted no time cleaning his fingers with his tongue, tasting your sweetness till it was no more.

he pulled his body away from you, making you frown as you tried to catch your breath. he stripped himself out of his pants and shirt, discarding them somewhere in the room. you kept your gaze on him, his tip red and angry, slapped against his stomach. you propped yourself up by your elbows, climbing higher on the bed to give him some space. he flashed you a sweet smile, climbing in between your legs. his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss, getting a taste of your cum from his tongue.

“on your stomach.” he mumbled against your lips. you pulled away, your face burning with anticipation. you twisted your body, laying flat on your stomach. he grabbed one of his pillows, prompting the soft material beneath you. your ass on full display for him, making him groan. he wrapped his fingers around his cock, pumping his length while his free hand took a handful of your ass, squeezing the skin, pushing your hips against his hand. “my good girl.”

haechan leaned down, pressing soft wet kisses on your back, legs straddling the back of your thighs. “stick your ass up a bit for me, baby.” following his instructions, you hiked your ass up for him. “god, you’re too perfect.” he gripped his cock with one hand, lining himself up to your entrance before sinking inside you. he hissed as your pussy perfectly swallowed him like you were made for him. “jesus–how are you still so tight for me?” he shifted his hands to the swell of your ass, gripping on it.

“fuck, hyuck.” you moaned as you adjusted to his size. you seemed to always forget how big and thick his cock was. “you’re so big, baby.” your walls were burning, but soon enough, the discomfort slowly turned into pleasure as you felt every inch of his cock.

haechan almost growled, desperate to move. you turned your head to the side, catching his eye. you gave him a slight nod, signaling him to move, which he does gladly. he started to move his hips against you. “god, baby, you take my cock so fucking well.” his hands flat on your ass as he started to increase the pace of his thrusts. you lifted your hips to meet his thrusts, making him grunt. his hands moving to grip your shoulders, steadying himself as he buried his cock deep into you. you couldn't help the moans that slips past your lips as the tip of his cock repeatedly kissed your cervix. “your pussy was made for me.”

haechan’s hand moved to collect your hair into a makeshift ponytail, tugging on it with every thrust of his hips. your breath came out in short gasps, tears welling your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure.

“f-faster, hyuckie.” you managed to gasp out. stars clouding your vision as he increased his speed. you arched your back, pushing your hips down on his cock. his hand moving down to your throat, pulling your body flush against him.

“i’m all yours, baby.” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “never doubt my love for you again.” you grew weak at his words, legs shaking as he continued slamming his hips against yours. “lay on your back.” he pulled out of you, nearly feeling lonely from the empty feeling. following his instructions, you laid on your back—secretly loving the way he bosses you around.

he positioned himself between your legs, leaning down to attach his lips to yours. you moaned into the kiss, arms flying around his neck to pull you close to him. he aligns his cock back to your entrance, easily slipping it in. your face scrunching in pleasure as his thrusts gradually increased pace. his lips detaching from yours before trailing kisses down to your chest.

haechan’s mouth met your breast, entrapping the bud around his lips before sucking it. his hand giving your other breast all the attention by circling the sensitive nub with his fingers. your back arching from the sensation, pushing your breast further to his face. his cock pounded deeper into you as he felt you clench around him, your orgasm forming at the pit of your stomach. he released your nipple, making a popping sound in the process. “is this what you wanted?” he smirked, watching you writhe beneath him. “to remind you that you’re the only girl that gets to feel my cock?” his hand sliding down to your clit, pinching it, making you gasp. “to fuck you dumb til you can’t speak?” your mind was getting hazy, you merely nodded at his words, lips parting as he fills you up perfectly. “look at me, baby.” he commanded, your gaze meeting his. his eyes dark, filled with hunger as he stared you down. “i love you.”

the familiar knot formed in your abdomen as his fingers continued to circle your clit while simultaneously slamming his hips into yours. his thrusts in perfect rhythm as you neared your climax. he continued whispering the nastiest things in your ear, making sure to get it into your head that he belonged to you, and you only.

“i-i’m gonna cum, please, hyuckie.” you managed to whine out, tears forming your eyes.

the consistency of his thrusts getting sloppy as his orgasm starts to catch up. “does my pretty little slut want me to be filled with my cum, hm?”

“yes, please.” your nails digging into his shoulders. “want your cum in me.”

haechan leaned down to kiss you once more. your release washing over you with a few more thrusts. your body trembling as you came all over his cock. your walls contracting triggering his own orgasm, his cum releasing inside you. his body collapsing on top of you as he pulled his cock from you. his cum trickling down your pussy.

your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, sweat sticking to your bodies. haechan detached himself from you, landing on the spot next to you. he turned to face you, eyes searching yours. “this isn’t just some passing thrill for me, y/n.” he reminded you, hand reaching out to caress your cheek as you faced him with soft eyes. “you’re the person i want to build something real with. i belong to you, you belong to me.”

you could see how much he meant his words, how deeply he felt for you.

“i love you, haechan.” you whispered, leaning into his touch. he pulled your body close to him, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head.

“i love you, too. no more games, okay? just you and me.”

just the two of you, raw and real, was more than enough.

[comatosebunny09]

misunderstanding | sylus

summary: it was all because the shopkeep got a little handsy. a little too comfortable, purring his name like that. he shrugged her off; did you not see that part? genre(s): romance, angst warning(s): alcohol, drunk reader, self-esteem issues, insecurities, language, short and sweet notes: inspired by that one scene from fifty shades of grey.

Imagine calling Sylus while you’re drunk off your ass.

When you’ve thrown back one too many long islands, and while your friends are all inside, shacked up with their significant others and happy. You toddle outside for some fresh air and a break from your own head.

His voice breaks through the static, all heavy with sleep. But he answers so quickly because you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. Been brief with your texts, ignoring his phone calls, and going out of your way to avoid running into him. He’s given you your space—minus Mephisto perched outside your window each night, watching you like a hawk.

“Hello?” Sylus husks, bed sheets rustling in the background as he maneuvers himself to sit up.

Somewhere far off, you feel bad for waking him. He already sleeps like shit. But you have liquid encouragement on your side, so you shove that guilt down, down, down in favor of poking the proverbial bear.

Your words are all blurred together, and you can barely keep your eyes open as you prop yourself up on a safety bollard, holding your phone to your ear with two hands.

“Why don’t you like me?”

“I—What?”

You swallow thick. Feel the world swirling and your body teetering, but you press on.

“Why don’t you like me, Sylus? Am I not your type? Is it ‘cause I’m not rich? Not skinny?”

He laughs, all incredulous on the other end. You imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose in the stillness of his bedroom, disbelieving of the shit spilling from your mouth. And so early in the evening, too.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Me. I mean, am I annoying?  I kinda am. I talk a lot. But that lady—the one from before. That shopkeeper chick. She was really hot. Like, supermodel hot.”

Your name comes out in an exasperated sigh. “That’s what this is about?”

You confirmed his suspicions. Why you’ve been playing keep-away. Ever since you accompanied him a few weeks back to gather some intel from a verified source, you’ve been acting distant. All because the shopkeep got a little handsy. A little too comfortable, purring his name like that. He shrugged her off. Wordlessly put her in her place. Did you not see that part?

Sylus doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“No, no, wait. Lemme finish. She seemed more your type. Like the kinda chick you’d be into, ya know? You two’d be like Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

He groans, and this time, you picture him hanging his head low. His long fingers splayed over his face in exhaustion.

“Where are you? Have you been drinking?”

“Mind your business,” you say around a hiccup.

And you’re catching yourself on the bollard, giggling stupidly at how pathetic you must look. Trying to catch your footing like a baby fawn.

“Only had one or two. Maybe three or six. I’m a big girl. A big, un-pretty girl, according to Mr. Sylus.”

A car honks in the distance. You barely stir from it, eyes shuttering as your head falls onto your arm roosted on the bollard.

“Where are you?” Sylus prods again.

There’s a little more urgency this time. A little more concern lurking beneath the tenor of his voice, and the sleep’s almost completely vanished from it.

“Out.”

You burn hot. Sway as the alcohol thickens in your veins. Something of a smile twitches your lips. For a second, you’re convinced he actually gives a shit about you.

“Sweetie, please. I don’t have the patience to entertain your mind games today. And stop putting words into my mouth. Not once have I ever referred to you as ‘un-pretty.’”

You snort. Stumble away from the bollard to lean against a brick wall. It’s cold and raw against your bare back. The world’s a pretty bokeh of light around. Maybe you did have a little too much to drink.

His voice drops an octave. Skates between sincerity and something dulcet; doting.

“You’re anything but. You’re gorgeous. Breathtaking. Incredibly resourceful and infuriatingly kind. You’re tough. And you don’t talk too much. In fact, I wish you would spend more time talking about yourself.”

Your lips crook with a smile. Your eyes begin to water. Your cheeks are warmer now, and you’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the words spuming so effortlessly from the other end of your phone.

You hear fabric rustling. Hear his mattress creaking and things being jostled about in the background. Drawers. Clothes. Shoes clicking against marbled tiles.

“Tell me where you are,” he asserts. “I’m coming to get you.”

“No, no, no!”

You wave your hand dismissively like he can see. You feel bad enough having dragged him down with you. Having dredged up your insecurities and projected them onto him like that. No reason to make him leave the sanctity of his bed to entertain your foolishness.

“It’s cool, Syl. I’ll catch a cab.”

“I’m not asking,” he clips in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

You swallow, suddenly feeling cold sobriety creep in. Metal jangles through the static. Keys. Car keys. A door shuts, followed by an engine stuttering and drawing a breath in. He taps a few buttons on his console. Releases a sigh.

“I’m on my way. Stay where you are. Don’t go running off with any strangers, alright, sweetheart?”

Something warm spills into your tummy. You slide down the wall onto your ass, holding your head in your hands with your phone propped to your ear using your shoulder.

“Sylus, really. You don’t have to do that. I’ll be good—”

“I want to,” he insists. Already peeling out of his driveway and zooming through the streets of the N109 Zone. “Stay on the line. Don’t hang up. I’ll be there soon. Promise.”

You sigh at your own stupidity. At your own pitifulness. Making him come play knight in shining armor like that. All because you couldn’t hold your liquor. Your tongue. Though, you can’t stifle the tiny ping of hope resounding in your head.

“Okay. I’ll wait. But can we get ice cream when you get here?”

He chuckles, the sound of it brassy yet comforting through the drunken slurry of your brain.

“Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

masterlist

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Do you love me?

Pairings - Rafe x reader

Summary - you catch Rafe watching porn. Based on this ask

Warnings - masturbation, porn, reader being sad, language, unprotected sex. (18+)

A/n- always have the conversation with your partner about porn, some people don’t care but others do so please don’t leave any rude comments.

When you had gone looking for your boyfriend around 11pm you had expected to find him asleep on the couch, credits to the movie the two of you had tried watching running in the background. White noise helped him sleep. What you hadn’t expected to find was your boyfriend watching porn, on the big screen. His cock between his hand as he tugged himself, soft moans and grunts spewing from his lips as he watched the scene in front of him.

A perfect curved blonde bounced on a thick cock, her pussy was immaculate. No hair or razor burn to be seen, just complete bareness. She was everything you weren’t, even the noises she made was better.

You had been so naive to think he didn’t watch porn, to believe you were enough to satisfy his needs. Of course you weren’t, you didn’t look like the girl on the screen. Your curves weren’t perfect, your hair didn’t look like that and you definitely didn’t sound or act the way she did which apparently had Rafe beating his cock harder.

Stepping away from the door you creeped back to the bedroom, the tears fell before you even made it under the blanket. Your body shaking against the mattress in sadness, this shouldn’t have such an affect on you. Everyone watches porn, you’ve watched porn but that was before Rafe. Before you had his perfect body at your disposal.

Pressing the palms of your hands into your face to ease the tears, taking deep breaths to stop the noises. The sound of the living room door closing has you burrowing under the blanket, hiding your face so he can’t see you.

It feels like hours go by before he steps into the room, moving around quietly as he strips his clothes off. He always slept naked, a sight you’d never get over. You feel his side of the bed dip and the ruffle of the blanket, you don’t expect his arm to pull you against his chest. “You're awake” he whispers, the thump of your heart giving you away. His hand pressed firmly just above your breast, you stay quiet though. Hoping he just lets you go to sleep but of course he doesn’t, he’s spinning your body like a rag doll. “Why’s your heart beating so fast?”.

The room is pitch black, he’s unable to see your bloodshot eyes. His fingers dance up and down your spine waiting for your answer. “Not sure” your voice is raspy, a tell tale sign something’s wrong. His hand is hitting the bedside lamp within seconds, towering over your small frame. Fingers cupping your cheek softly, his eyes search your face and a deep frown settle between his eyebrows. “Why have you been crying?”.

You push at his chest, turning until your back is to him. Embarrassment settles in your chest, a sudden wave of nausea rushes through you. “Babe, don’t do that. Tell me why you’ve been crying?”

With all the confidence you can muster you turn slightly, looking him directly in the eyes. “Do you still love me?”

The deep chuckle vibrates his chest and he pulls himself to sit, your cheeks tinted red in anger and embarrassment you press your face into the pillow. “Oh hey hey babe no. Of course I love you. Why would you ask me that?”

His grabby hands prod you in the side, pulling at your waist so he can see your face. You slap his hands away when they reach for your face again, moving yourself until you say against the headboard. Knees pressed firmly to your chest, arms wrapped tight around you. “Are you attracted to me?” Tears start falling before you can catch them, bottom lip wobbling as you stare at him. The sobs come hard and fast, he’s holding your face firmly.

This time he stares at you, it's intense and you feel shy under his gaze. “Of course I am… your fucking perfect”

Your eyes rolled hard, no you weren’t. The tears keep coming but the attitude fights it way through. “Don’t roll your eyes” he grasps your wrists, yanking you until you straddle his lap. “No I'm not.. I don’t look like those girls”

Confusion evident on his face as he waits for you to explain, so unsure on what has made you feel this way. “Those girls” you whispered, too shy to explain you had caught him masterbsting to porn earlier. “Your going to need to explain baby”

“The girls in porn” you blurt, the corner of his lips turning up. A lightbulb going off above his head, he realises you must have seen him earlier. “I went to find you… I thought you’d fallen asleep, I didn’t mean to see you- you’know”.

Gripping your chin with his forefinger and thumb he angles your face up at him, placing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You think I don’t love you because of the girls in porn?”

You nod your head in embarrassment, you know you shouldn’t be feeling these things. “I was right here.. why didn’t you ask me to help?”

“Oh baby… your fucking perfect, those girls aren’t what I want. You are what I want… I watch porn when I don’t want to annoy you”

“Your not annoying me”

“Your pussy is fantastic, the best fucking pussy I’ve ever had. I can’t get enough of it, I can’t get enough of fucking you… I love fucking you”

“Sweet girl, my sex drive is insane. I’m constantly horny, I can’t expect you to be willing and waiting for me every second of the day”

“Yes you can Rafe… if I’m around then use me, I understand if I’m not around. Of course porn would be your go to but I’m right here, I want you just as much as you want me and if it’s not sex you want, I’ll get on my knees for you”

He grins Cheshire Cat like, pupils blown to the max. His lips attack yours in one swift swoop, tongue slipping between your lips. It’s messy and full of heat, his grabby hands caress the skin of your exposed thighs.

Grinding you down onto his crotch, you can feel him hardening under you. You had forgotten he was naked for a brief moment, reaching down to grasp his cock. With just a few small tugs he was completely hard, throbbing in your palm. “Fuck baby… I hope you mean what your saying, I’m going to fuck this pussy until it’s a weeping mess every day… multiple times of the day” he states, kissing down the length of your neck.

He’s pulling your shorts to the side, pressing the head of his cock to your opening. Without warning you push down on him, his cock stretching you wide. “Shit… baby girl, I just about came. You feel so fucking good” he growls, he scoops your breasts out of the loose tank top. Sucking your nipples into his mouth harshly, your hips roll and bounce above him. “Not so fast, I want to show you how much I love fucking you” he breaths, wrapping his arm around your back he places you onto the bed.

Your legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts into you, it's deep and slow. Your walls spasm around him each time he nudges your clit, his lips suck deep purple bruises into your neck. “Oh yes Rafe… I can’t- I need you to go faster” you breath, your orgasm was fluttering.

Pressing the heels of your feet into his lower back, he shook his head moving his lips across your jaw onto your lips. His pace quickened only by a fraction, not enough to bring you over the edge. “Going slow baby.. want you to understand how much I love you and how much I love this body, you are the only person I want”

You nod your head, understanding his words. You had over reacted to what you had seen, completely understanding why he used porn at certain times. “Yes baby.. I understand. Please”

He loved hearing you beg, he knew you were close by the way your cunt sucked him deeper. He reached between you, pressing his fingers to your aching clit. “Yes yes yes”

This was enough to have you crying out under him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him in close. Fingernails racking up the length of his back as your orgasm washed over you, he was quick to follow, still sensitive from his previous abuse on his cock.

“I love you baby… not porn okay”

“I know, but I was serious… use me okay. I’m here whenever you want me”

“Your going to regret that”

🏷️ Tag list- @laylasbunbunny @maybankslover @h34rtsformilli @lydiasxxsworld @hallecarey1 @mountloverr @outerbankspov @cameronmedia @crunchy-leaves77 @vigilanteshitposting @pedrisgatorade @phoenixssugarbaby @rafemotherfuckingcameron @s-we-e-t-t-ea @rafesthroatbaby @alltoomay @moremaybank @drewstarkeysbae @mrssturnioloo @darleneslane @tierra-0604 @eliana772 @gabys-gabs @applelovesposts @starkey-zegras @definitelynotholly-blog @renmpsworld @delicatepiratecloud @hdhdhsy @speedycomputerfury @tiacordelia02 @bbycowboi @teresalesbian @imnotpretzelsstuff @its-ria-07 @jscameron @rafegirly @drudyslut @drewstarkeyslut @loverofdrewstarkey @ijustwanttoreadlols @sierraluvzz @sunny1616 @spookyscaryspoon @slvttedoutmars @ailee-celeste @ashpeace888 @xo-hayleyy-xo @exhaustedbutrelated @ethereal0810 @tayygriffith @pankowperfection @loopylemonpops @oceandriveab

[jjslaybank]

mine - rafe cameron

warnings: porn WITH plot, use of degrading language to describe reader ("fucktoy," "slut," "bitch"), unprotected sex

i recommend listening to "it's no good" by depeche mode or "come undone" by duran duran while reading :)

omg this has been in my drafts for probably a MONTH atp 😭 hope you guys like it <3 OH and imagine s2!rafe while reading

please read till the end for a few more notes from yours truly 🥰

🏷list: @slut-4-gojo @booklover-6665 @amel1ee @riaras-everthroner

ward is going to kill him.

fuck it, rafe thinks to himself as he enters a strip club. he clutches the money his father had given him to escape the outer banks tightly to his chest as he surveys the scene in front of him.

he squints his eyes, adjusting to the dim lighting of the room. the whole place smells heavily of sweat and cigarettes. he believes it's the perfect place to find a little fucktoy to help him forget the intense pressure he's currently under.

it was then that he spots you — dancing and humping and grinding against the pole as men throw you money.

"holy shit," rafe mumbles softly to himself, his feet carrying him near to the pole you're dancing with before he even knew what his body was doing. a few men shoot him dirty looks. he never noticed them — his eyes are solely on you.

you're wearing your favorite pair — black, lacy underwear and a matching black pushup bra which pushed your tits higher than normal, deepening your cleavage.

as you notice rafe staring, you give him a wink. his eyes darken.

he needs you.

and he's willing to do whatever was necessary to have his way with you.

"hey, asshole!"

he turns to face one of the men who had rudely greeted him.

"eyes off my damn property."

"what?" rafe asks, squinting at the man. "what do you mean? she's like... like your girlfriend or something?"

the man scoffs. "hell no. just my property for the night."

he holds up a keychain with a singular key attached and a small, white jade stone.

the man nods his head to where you were dancing, oblivious to the conversation. "jade's my little slut for tonight, so i better not see your lousy ass around her. got that?"

rafe growls. no way in hell was he losing this pretty girl to an asshole like him.

"hell no."

the man stands up, slamming his fist down on the table to emphasize the motion. others look on at the commotion.

"i think you oughta learn some manners, boy."

"how much did you pay?" rafe asks, sighing and rolling his eyes as he rubs the bridge of his nose. he had been in too many fights recently. the poor guy just wants to empty his balls into some willing, pretty slut.

"more than you can comprehend."

rafe raises an eyebrow, squeezing the wad of bills ward had given him.

"number."

the man tilts his head, confused. "what?"

"give me a number."

"more than 1k."

"1k," rafe echoes to himself as he shakes his head, the tone in his voice almost mocking. "i have so, so much more than that... that lousy amount you're paying her. hey jade!"

you turn towards him, responding to your stripper name.

"if i pay you more, will you let me fuck you instead of him?"

"depends on the amount," you reply, batting your eyelashes at him as you continue dancing around the pole.

you can barely see his face as you converse, but you can make out the curtain bangs, hunched back, and the furrow of his eyebrows as he flips through his stack of bills.

"5k," rafe says.

your eyes light up and you shrug at the other man who had "bought" you for the night.

"sorry, i'm going with this fine young gentleman tonight." you gesture at rafe.

"you made a deal, bitch!" the man yells. rafe's eyes flash with anger. he grabs the man by his shirt collar.

"she said she's going with me! back the fuck off!"

rafe pushes the man down and he collides with a nearby table. he then frantically fishes a sizable stack of bills from his stash. as he hands it to you and you take it from him, his fingers reach to grab yours - effectively sandwiching the money between your hand and his.

he begins to run but you pause, picking up the key the other man was holding earlier. rafe takes the key from you and heads to the back of the club with you in tow.

the back is a hallway with doors - somewhat like what you'd see at a hotel. names of available women were attached at the top of each door.

"jade," he murmurs, looking at the names of the doors.

"jade," you repeat as an agreement. a good look at the man reveals to you his set jaw and conflicted eyes. you can feel something brewing beneath the surface, but you push it aside. you were told not to be nosy. you were lying if you said you didn't find hin sexy. in fact, to say he was attractive was an understatement.

you pull him to the door marked with your name. you grab the key from his hand as he lets you go and open the door.

the room inside is lit by a single small lamp perched atop a dresser. a bed sits in the middle, taking up most of the small room's space.

"shit," rafe sighs, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "just wanted to empty my balls, dammit. no confrontations, no fights..."

he begins to pace around the room. "everyone's fucking after me. like... like everyone wants me gone or dead – or just out of their life. i'm not doing good, man. just gotta... just gotta push it aside and focus on the now, though. like... you know? just gotta man up!"

"hey," you begin calmly. "it's all good. i'm yours for tonight, 'kay?"

rafe sits down at the edge of the bed. you follow suit.

"calm down. i'm here. thanks for the money."

he nods, trying to calm himself. you take his hand. he looks into your eyes with what you think is a hint of vulnerability, but it immediately gets replaced with hunger. his eyes darken, and you liken it to a predator about to pounce on its prey.

rafe grabs your shoulders and lifts you, throwing you face down into the bed. your makeup stains the white sheets.

he paces around the bed, a low hum sounding from his lips. "don't fucking move, jade. you understand?"

"y-yes..." you reply meekly, feeling your panties dampen. being manhandled was something that turned you on more than you realized.

"just be good for me, okay?" rafe asks, his voice trembling slightly as he undos his pants. "such a pretty fucking ass."

you jolt as he slaps the meaty flesh. rafe chuckles lowly.

"i did everything i could to have you, and now you're here. and i'm about to fuck you."

you hear the soft clink of his belt buckle as it hits the floor. your heart skips a beat, your anticipation at its peak.

"but i'm gonna be nice about it," he mutters more to himself than to you. "gonna prep this tight fucking hole."

your bottoms come off with one swift tug, and rafe inhales them deeply, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

"fuuuuccckk," he gasps shakily, his nostrils full of your scent.

he puts his middle finger into his mouth and wets it before slowly sliding it into your wet hole. his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head as he feels your hot, warm walls envelop his finger.

"oh, fuck," you moan, your back arching. the fact that you couldn't see what he was doing turned you on even more.

"give it to me, baby," rafe says, pumping his finger in and out of you faster.

he adds another finger and you gasp.

"that's it," rafe coaxes. "so fucking tight and wet, you slut."

he removes his fingers and positions his cock near your stretched hole, hissing at the contact.

"shit." rafe groans. "fuck, it's gonna feel so good filling this tight cunt up."

he takes a deep breath as he removes his finger and enters you. your eyes roll to the back of your head as you moan loudly.

"fucking hell," rafe growls. "shit, you're so fucking tight!"

he rocks into you, his cock filling you up completely.

"such a pretty fuckin' cunt," he murmurs, leaning down to bite the shell of your ear.

"this cunt," he continues, accentuating his words with harsh thrusts, "is all mine for tonight."

he pants, speeding up his thrusts. "i hope you're on the pill because i'm cumming inside this greedy fuckin' cunt."

you nod, your mind hazy with lust. "mhm, i'm clean and take the pill."

"good girl. see how she fucking sucks in my fat cock, she was made for me. fuckin' cunt was made for me," he mutters through clenched teeth.

suddenly he slips out of you. you cry out.

"fucking turn around. lemme see that pretty face as i fuck you."

you obey immediately. he lands a gentle slap on your ass as encouragment.

"pretty fuckin' girl," he compliments, leaning down to kiss your lips. you kiss him back, savoring the taste of sweat and marijuana on his lips.

as he pulls back, he re-enters you. you both hiss at the feeling.

"i'll never get enough of this fucking cunt, jade," he groans as you feel his balls slapping against you.

"mm," you whimper, about to moan out his name when you realize he never told you what it was. "wh-what's your name?"

"rafe," he answers, accentuating the one syllable with a deep thrust, making you see stars.

the name falls from your lips as a high-pitched moan. it sounds almost natural. he groans at the sound of his name and he thrusts into you faster, feeling his balls tighten.

"fuck, i'm gonna cum, you slut," he hisses through clenched teeth, the words coming out clipped as he revels in the feel of your pussy.

"cum!" you repeat, your brain going blank as you feel the knot in your stomach close to snap. "cum inside my greedy cunt!"

at that rafe thrusts forward, groaning in ecstasy as his cum shoots deep into your pussy. you cry out as you spasm around his cock, milking it for every last drop.

"fuck," he mutters breathlessly, slowly pulling out to marvel at the mess he made. "would you look at that - a properly bred fucktoy."

you're gasping for breath as you come down from your high.

"fucking shit," you mutter, your thighs soaked with rafe's cum as it slides down from your pussy.

"pretty good, eh?" rafe asks, a low chuckle leaving his lips. "i like it messier, though."

"me too," you admit with a small smile, moving your messy hair out of your face.

"i like you," rafe says, lying down beside you. "maybe i should keep you around. what do you think about coming to wilmington with me?"

charm's notes:

first of all, tysm for reading! <3 i've been working on this for so long lmao. anyways, i have this thing on my blog called "horny hours" where you can hope into my inbox (anon is on, dw) and send me horny thoughts you may have about any of the obx boys! feel free to add links to pics/vids/whatever too! don't forget to read my request rules tho to know what i vibe with. lastly if you want to read more of my work, you can check out my masterlist for my previous works as well as others i'm working on.

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