#So the only shirt I own that *might* be able to be worn with my skirt happens to be my Scotland top

[the-busy-ghost]

Not me genuinely considering trying to wrangle tickets for rugby internationals because at least then I would have an excuse to wear my new skirt

[freelancearsonist]

every breath you take

➔ (no outbreak) Joel Miller x f!Reader

➔ 5.3k words

➔ Your dad is getting married to his soulmate and you have every intention of making it the perfect day. The only kink in your plan is your unexpected feelings for your soon-to-be stepdad’s best man.

➔ Rated MA // BILL X FRANK SUPREMACY. LONG LIVE BILL X FRANK. no outbreak, age gap (reader is early 20s, Joel is 45), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, fingering (reader receiving), references to masturbation (reader), pussy pronouns, pet names // reader has female anatomy (no body description but is generally able-bodied) and uses feminine pronouns, is Frank’s adopted daughter (written for all skin tones), wears makeup and a dress, has hair (unspecified length)

➔ Big big thank you to @sugarcoated-lame and @sunlightmurdock for this idea and letting me run with it (sorry it took 5 months 😂) this is psuedo-inspired by my own current activities as my best friend's moh which is why i haven't been super active in the past month or so, thank you to everyone for being so patient with me <33

June, 2013.

After months of planning—stress, sweat, and tears abounding—the big night is here. Well, almost here. The actual wedding is tomorrow, but tonight is the rehearsal dinner; and as your adoptive dad has spent the entire preparatory period impressing upon you, the rehearsal might be even more important than the wedding itself.

With that in mind, you arrive at the venue a few hours early to assist with the set up. Seeing the unassembled pieces and parts of the event brings a smile to your face and a determination to your soul–you want this to be perfect. 

Someone else shares your determination, too.

You would’ve sworn, when you first met him, that an elaborate wedding would be the very last thing Bill would want. And yet this has been as much his planning as it has been your dad’s. It brings so much joy to your heart that your dad has found someone who matches him so completely. You couldn’t be happier for them; and at the same time, you couldn’t be more frustrated for yourself. Because, as dedicated as you are to making this day perfect for them, Bill’s best man and long-time friend is maybe even more dedicated. He’s been turning this wedding into a ‘friendly’ competition between the two of you, trying to one-up you at every opportunity he gets. It’s infuriating—especially when he wears that smug grin that’s become his signature expression around you. It’s torture, too, because all you want to do is kiss that stupid smirk right off his handsome face.

It’s unintentional on his part, you’re sure, but the tension is palpable enough to slice with a butter knife nonetheless. Today is no exception—he’s dressed for labor in worn jeans that are just a little too tight around his thighs and a faded Iron Maiden shirt that hugs his strong biceps. His hair is ruffled like he’s been tugging and running his hands through it, and it puts all kinds of indecent thoughts into your brain.

It’s wrong. The guy’s old enough to be your dad, and that’s aside from the fact that he’s your soon-to-be-stepdad’s best man. No self-respecting young woman should be looking at a guy who’s old enough to remember the Nixon administration the way you are right now. And yet…

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he says in that drawl of his which makes you want to throw your sanity out the window and fall at his feet to worship the very ground he walks on.

You’ve never hated Joel Miller more than you do right now. 

Regardless, you greet him with the sweetest smile you can muster. “Good morning. I didn’t know you’d be here this early.”

“Well, rehearsal’s as important as the weddin’ itself,” he dutifully repeats the line that you’ve heard from your dad a million times over. “And this barn ain’t gonna decorate itself.”

“Well, that’s kinda my job,” you remind him, hoping your tone sounds more annoyed to him than it does to you. 

He flashes that boyish smile that no middle-aged man should be able to master, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “Can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

You want to grumble about it. You want to be annoyed by this goofy-ass forty-five year old man and his stupid competitive streak. Instead, your mouth betrays you by smiling. “I appreciate the help.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” He punctuates it with a wink, and you consider just falling onto the ground and perishing. Instead, you roll up your shirt sleeves and get to work.

The fruits of your labor are well worth the effort they take. You feel a heady sense of pride when you look around at all the decor–as long as this barn has been a wedding venue, you’re certain no one’s ever made it look this good before.

The tables are arranged neatly in rows, draped with luxurious white tablecloths and topped with neat arrangements of greenery in the centers. The seating chart that Bill and Frank worked so meticulously on is put into effect with hand-written placards designating each chair to an occupant. Strings of white globe lights hang from the rafters and cast a hazy, reverent glow over the entire barn. Everything is the perfect mix of modern and rustic.

Outside on the lawn, rows of neatly arranged chairs line a petal-scattered aisle. Everything leads to the focal point–an eight-foot high arch wrapped generously in green vines and white blossoms. It’s definitely the highlight of the entire thing, which irks you just the slightest bit–it was solely Joel’s vision. Apparently, he’s a lot more artistic than you’ve ever given him credit for. It tracks, you suppose; construction is an artform if you really think about it. He uses his hands to create just like a sculptor, but to a larger scale. And those hands are capable; you’ve seen exactly how much they can move or carry and you wonder if they could–

You shake off that train of thought before it can go any further. If you can’t get yourself under control you’re going to start wearing a rubberband on your wrist that you can snap every time your thoughts about Joel stray into the ‘things you shouldn’t be thinking about a middle-aged man’ category.

He certainly has aged like fine wine for a forty-five-year-old man, though…

Snap.

With a sigh, you give your head a shake in hopes of clearing your mind and take a look down at your watch. You’ve finished with perfect timing–you’ve got about two hours to go home and get cleaned up before you have to be back for the rehearsal dinner.

You look for Joel for a few moments before leaving, but he’s nowhere to be found. It puzzles you a little bit that he wouldn’t at least say goodbye before leaving, but then again he really doesn’t have to answer to you. It’s a well-needed wake up call, a reminder that your feelings–can whatever you’re going through really be called that?–your attraction, is one-sided. He’s here for Bill and Frank, not for you. You’re his best friend’s daughter and nothing more, and the realization washes over you like a bucket of ice water.

You hate the way it sends you spiraling on the drive home. You hate the way you care so much about what he might think of you. You hate the way that you have to look at yourself in the mirror and give yourself a stern talking-to about needing to let this whole stupid crush go. You hate the way that you can’t even pretend the extra layer of mascara you apply isn’t for him.

You avoid Joel the entire night, which isn’t easy to do. You have to walk down the aisle next to him during the ceremony rehearsal but you avoid his eye contact, taking a twisted little satisfaction in the way he frowns when all of your replies to his chit chat are short and clipped. Dinner is easier–both Frank and Bill sit between you and Joel, so there’s no attempted conversation to deflect from him. But you could almost swear you feel his eyes on you, as if he’s looking right through your dad and soon-to-be-stepdad.

Joel is puzzled, to put it simply. One second, he’s got you in the palm of his hand. Then a moment later, you’re looking at him like you might look at a bug you stepped on and got stuck to your shoe.

He puts it out of mind as much as he can. He’s not supposed to be looking at you like that, after all. He’s not supposed to be admiring the perfectly kissable curve of your shoulder or the biteable expanse of your neck. He’s definitely not supposed to be wondering what you’re wearing under that adorable dress of yours. You’re his best friend’s daughter, for god’s sake. You’re so far off limits that he shouldn’t even be looking in your general direction.

But he is. He’s looking, and he can’t stop looking. And most of all, he can’t stop wondering if you feel it too.

Evidently you don’t, because you won’t even take his arm as you practice walking up the aisle in preparation for the big day tomorrow. You’ve probably figured out how much he’s been thinking about you and the kinds of things he’s been thinking, and you’re disgusted. He’s just a dirty old man to you, surely.

Little does Joel know that you come on your fingers moaning his name practically as soon as you’re through the door of your hotel room that night. You fall asleep before you can feel too ashamed about it–blissfully unaware that Joel’s doing the same exact thing just a few doors down.

You wake up in the morning with much more clarity than you usually have, especially at 9AM.

No matter what, today is about Bill and Frank. You get to be part of a true love story, the kind that your dad used to read about to you in bedtime stories when you were a little girl. That knowledge steadies your mind more than anything else ever could.

You jump into the shower and try your best to tame your unruly hair before shuffling down to the dining area on the ground floor of the hotel. 

Bill and Frank really spared no expense on this place. All the food is fresh and hot, replenished every few minutes. It smells incredible–there’s overlapping waves of pastries, sausages, eggs, and fruits. It’s almost overwhelming; there’s way too many options.

After you pile up a plate with as much as your stomach can comfortably handle, you make your way over to the table your father occupies by himself.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” he says through a mouthful of cantaloupe.

“Decided to sleep in a little,” you explain. “Where’s Bill?”

“He already had breakfast, he’s getting ready,” Frank explains. “Joel made out a whole schedule for us, put us on different shifts so we don’t see each other before the wedding. It’s bad luck, after all.”

You snort through a bite of biscuits and gravy, because that’s such a characteristically Joel thing to do. From what you know of him, he thrives with routine and function–you’re surprised he doesn’t have you working off of a schedule, too.

A small, annoying part of your brain thinks it’s really adorable that Joel plays into that whole superstition. Another, more sensible part tells you that nothing Joel does is adorable and you’ve really got to stop thinking about him so much.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask, looking up at your dad through a bite of blueberry muffin.

“Relieved, honestly,” he admits with a chuckle and a twinkle in his eye. “I finally get to marry my best friend today, with my other best friend by my side.”

You hide the way the comment makes you choke up behind another bite of your breakfast.

There have been a lot of times where you’ve gone unwanted in your life; starting right at birth, continuing with unrequited crushes and lost friendships. But one person has always wanted you and been there for you through thick and thin. Frank picks you up every time no matter how hard you fall, and you feel so unbelievably lucky to be in his life. 

If anyone deserves a fairytale ending, it’s Frank. He always puts the people he cares about first, and now it’s his turn to shine. You’re not letting anything get in the way of that–especially not stupid, unrequited feelings for the best man.

With a little more resolve in your mind, it’s easier to get ready for the main event.

Every step of your preparation has been immaculately planned over the course of months. From your dress to your make-up, to your hair, not one detail has been overlooked. It takes you more than an hour to get ready–but when you’re ready, you’re a vision. Even though you’re not normally the type to enjoy looking into the mirror, you have to admit to yourself that you look stunning. 

Your traitorous brain wonders if Joel will think the same. 

With a heavy sigh, you grab your bag and your car keys. You really wish you had a way to shut those intruding little wishful thoughts off–they’re doing more harm than good at this point. 

You take a deep breath, shove as much as you can down, and resolve to have a good time celebrating your dads–then you open the door and set out towards an unforgettable night.

Whatever kind of shock and awe you were hoping to inspire in Joel, it’s surely nothing compared to the rush you feel as you find him in the bridal party lounge.

You’ve never seen him quite so put together. He’s normally a bit undone–a symptom of being a long-time bachelor–but today, he’s perfectly styled. The hair he’s been growing out is slicked back into gorgeous curls, his black tuxedo pants hug his hips like a dream. He’s in the process of fastening the last two buttons on his impeccable white dress shirt and every bone in your body screams to stop him–to keep that peek of his tanned chest on display for your hungry eyes.

You have a fearful moment of thinking you actually made the request aloud, because he does stop in his tracks when his eyes land on you. His lips part in shock and his pupils dilate and he freezes. Fingers that were once absentmindedly completing their task drop to his sides as he murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like “wow.”

“Need help?” You offer before you can think better of it.

There’s a long moment of tense silence, and then he nods silently.

Your mouth is dry as you approach him, trying desperately to keep your cool. Your clammy palms are definitely not the most qualified to complete this task for him, but you can’t back down now. With a deep breath–you’re so close now that it fills your nose with the spicy, intoxicating scent of his cologne–you will your hands to stay steady and reach for his shirt buttons.

His lead tongue finally remembers how to work as you fasten the first button. “You look… incredible.”

“So do you,” you whisper. Just when you think you’re out of the woods, ready to step back and breathe properly again, his hand comes up to offer you a bow tie.

“This too?” His warm brown eyes search yours–how could he ever expect you to say no?

“Y-yeah. Sure.” You turn the collar of his shirt up, then carefully fasten the tie around his neck. The band is perfectly configured to his neck, the bow already tied–all you have to do is secure a hook through a loop. He could’ve easily done this himself; and yet he didn’t. He wanted you to do this, and that particular bit of knowledge sends a rush of heat burning through your veins. 

Maybe this whole song and dance isn’t quite as unrequited as you originally thought.

Your fingers brush his warm skin as you smooth his shirt collar back down over the band of the tie and it’s like an electric shock that shoots through every inch of your body. You’ve stuck a fork in an outlet and you want to do it again.

You’re done with your task, yet you can’t bring yourself to step away. He doesn’t either–for seconds that feel like hours, you look into those dark eyes and feel his breath against your face and you finally have the courage to do something about it. You’re going to kiss him, just lean in a little further and–

The sound of the lounge door opening makes your body jolt with the force of an actual fork in an outlet.

“There you are!” Frank’s got an untamable smile on his face–his hair is impeccably gelled back, his white tuxedo tailored to fit like a glove. The sight of him, so close to everything he’s ever wanted, brings tears to your eyes. “Wow, you two look amazing.”

“Hey. Thanks.” You’re fighting with all your strength to keep your voice even and calm despite the compliment. The reality of your father’s happily ever after comes crashing in and you’ve never felt so proud. “First look time?”

“Yeah,” he confirms with a nod. “Is Bill–?”

“Dressin’,” Joel answers after clearing his throat. “I’ll bring ’im out when he’s done.”

“Perfect, thank you.” Frank takes your hand to lead you outside, but not before you look over your shoulder at Joel. He looks thoroughly disheveled despite his sharp appearance–you’ve gotten under his skin. Good.

Thank god for waterproof make-up because you nearly lose your whole face during the first look. Not that you’re wearing much, but it’s enough that it’s jeopardized by the tears your treacherous eyes shed despite trying in vain to will them away.

You’ve never been so happy for two people before. You’ve never seen two people more in love. In their matching white tuxes, with their matching watery eyes, as they turn to greet each other for the first time today, you know that Bill and Frank are a forever thing. It brings you a sense of peace that you never knew was possible.

At some point, you become conscious of the fact that you’re holding Joel’s hand. You know you probably shouldn’t, that you could get both of you in serious trouble–but he’s not pulling away, so neither do you.

The true test of your mascara comes during the ceremony–it passes the test with flying colors, which is truly impressive considering the tsunami it has to hold up against. You’ve never really been a wedding cryer, although you suppose no one would blame you for this one. You’re hardly the only person walking away with tissues to their eyes. Bill and Frank have loved so hard and fought for so long in order to obtain this day–it’s nothing short of incredible to see them finally seal their union with vows.

Before the reception, you pop into the bridal lounge to make sure you’re still presentable. A couple tissues later and you’re good to go, but the sound of the door opening and the lock clicking into place stops you in your tracks.

Joel’s standing there, looking like a dream. Curls slightly disheveled from the wind, top two buttons of his shirt undone with his bowtie hanging out of his jacket pocket. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, albeit not as bad as yours.

His breath seems to catch when he sees you–he clears his throat before whispering, “Hey.”

For a long moment, your tongue is too heavy to speak. Every ounce of desire from earlier comes rushing back in a flash flood of emotion. It’s just you and him and tension so palpable you could grab ahold of it.

“H-hey,” you breathe. Earlier, you were ready to do something drastic. Now, all the familiar doubts come crashing back in. Are all these feelings one-sided? Were you just seeing what you wanted to see? The feeling of his hand in yours is burned into your palm. Does he feel it too?

“I think it went pretty well,” he hums. His hands are tucked into his pockets, thumbs twitching unconsciously as if he’s nervous.

“It was perfect,” you agree.

For a moment that seems to last a lifetime, you both stand toeing the line. It’s right there, unseen but waiting to be crossed. You don’t know if either of you have the courage it takes to step over it.

And then he moves; he breaks the tenuous balance of platonic and something more by closing the distance between you.

“You really do look amazin’,” he breathes, hands clenching indecisively at his sides. “I mean, you always do, but–”

You grab him before he can finish his sentence. ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ is blaring on the outdoor speakers as your lips finally meet his. It’s been weeks, maybe even months, of dreaming about this moment. It’s better than you ever could’ve imagined.

The world fades away as his breath becomes yours. There’s nothing but the feeling of his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip and his hands gripping your waist and his curls tickling your forehead. Nothing but the sound of his deep groan and the desperate thrum of his heartbeat underneath your palm as it slides up his chest. Nothing but finally feeling complete.

“W-we shouldn’t…” he murmurs, but he doesn’t dare pull away. His steps sound like cannonfire as he backs you up against the wall, a march towards something deliciously irreversible as his tight grip on your waist bunches the fabric of your dress up. Nothing has ever felt as right as his entire body surrounding and swallowing you this way.

“I want to,” you breathe against his lips. “Do you?”

“God, yes.”

Your arms come up to wrap around his neck and tug him closer, desperately wanting every inch of his body pressed up against you. Just as he’s starting to pull the skirt of your dress up, the song outside changes to ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’, strangely apt but also a reminder that you don’t have time. You made this playlist yourself–you know that there’s only three more songs after this one before you’re supposed to be ready for the bridal party entrance to the reception.

“Joel…” you moan out. “Joel, we have to be quick.”

“How quick?” He questions between searing kisses down the length of your neck.

“Ten minutes at the very most.”

“Shit,” he grumbles. He doesn’t pull away though–if anything, he pushes you back harder against the wall. “You still wanna do this?”

As much as you want to say yes, as much as you want to say fuck the reception, you can’t do that to Frank and Bill. “You think ten minutes is enough time?”

“If I can’t make you come in ten minutes I’ll eat my own fist.”

It makes you shiver in conjunction with the way his hand slides feather-light up your thigh.

Even the ghosting touch of his calloused fingertips on your sensitive skin has you aching for more. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna drive me crazy.”

The cocky bastard has the audacity to actually wink at you. “That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

You drag his lips back to yours with a renewed sense of desperation, relishing the gentle scratch of his trimmed beard against your chin and under your palms. “It’s definitely working.”

“Good.”

You know this is territory that you probably shouldn’t be crossing into, not when he’s twenty years older than you and he’s your new step-dad's best friend, but you can’t be brought to care when those deliciously rough fingertips are slipping under the hem of your panties.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he grumbles against your lips. “She’s soakin’ for me.”

“A-always is,” you gasp out. 

His fingers sweep through your folds, gathering as much slick as he can to swirl around your sensitive clit. He smirks at the way your hands tighten on him even at the lightest of touches.

“That how you like it, sweetheart? Nice and gentle?” He presses a little firmer and a grin spreads over his face at the gasp you let out. “Oh, that’s it.”

“Joel, please…” Your hands move to his arms, squeezing tighter than you probably should but you can’t help it when he’s touching you like this. It’s exactly what you need and he knows it–he watches your face for every little indication that he’s doing a good job.

“Please what?” He purrs quietly. “What do you need?”

You could go on like this for hours, you’re sure–and you’re sure he’d be more than willing. You could stay here in his arms forever and let him work you over until there’s nothing left in your head but his name.

The song outside changes again, and you know forever will have to wait.

“Fuck me,” you plead. “Need you.”

“It’s gonna be tight, sweetheart.” You’d think he was being overly confident if you couldn’t feel the size of the bulge pressing against your thigh.

“That’s okay. Please.”

“Alright, sweetheart.” In a flash he’s got his belt undone and your greedy hands are more than happy to assist in shoving those perfectly pressed pants down his sturdy thighs.

You can’t help the gasp that bubbles out with the sight of him. He’s big. There’s no debate. The flushed tip of him is peeking through mouth-watering foreskin, red and flushed as if angry it’s not inside you already. You’re devastated you don’t have time to take that thick length into your mouth, to make him shudder and shake until he’s begging to fill you.

Later, you remind yourself.

“Still sure about this?” He asks, tone no longer brimming with the urgency and arrogance from just a few moments prior. He searches your eyes intimately for any hint of hesitation–the last thing he wants to do is to push you.

You’ve never wanted anyone more.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Joel.”

“Easy, honey. I’ve gotcha.” The hand between your thighs moves to coat him in your slick–for a moment, you’re mesmerized at the sight of his big hand working over his cock. “Gotta tell me if anythin’ doesn’t feel good, ‘kay?”

“I will, I swear, just please–”

The rest of your sentence gets lost in a breathless moan with the first gentle thrust of his hips. Even just the tip is a stretch–one that has your nails digging into his shirt-clad back and your thighs tightening around his waist.

“Shit, sweetie,” he purrs, voice liquid gold. “Gotta relax, gotta lemme in–”

You manage to loosen your thighs a little and it gives him the space he needs to press all the way in to the hilt–the feeling of him filling you completely is nothing but breathtaking. A broken groan tumbles from his lips–you can feel the way his breath hitches from how his forehead is pressed against yours. It’s nothing short of heady, to know that you have such a profound effect on a man you thought might be immune to you.

“Good?” He questions in a whisper. One of his hands is hooked under your left knee to keep your leg up around his waist; the other strokes absentminded patterns over your right hip, as if unconsciously soothing you.

You give him a shaky nod in response. “Good.”

The pace he sets is the most delicious kind of torture. You both know you’re in a time crunch, so Joel is more than happy to employ the most toe-curlingly relentless speed. Every slick thrust of his cock makes your eyes flutter–little breathy moans escape your lips with fervor as he pounds deep. He's hitting every single spot all at once and then some. All the while his lips trace around your neck and jaw, careful not to leave marks but whining quietly as if he’s tempted. As if he wants nothing more than to claim you in a way that everyone can see.

You moan out his name and the hand on your waist comes to help, settling between your bodies and finding that perfect rhythm from before. You’re finding out that he’s a very intuitive and quick learner–you would certainly praise him for it if you could find the breath to do so. 

The way his hips work–driving him deeper than anyone’s ever been; the way his fingers swirl–bringing you to the brink in mere minutes with the most thigh-shaking friction; the way his mouth works, sucking just light enough on the sweet spot behind your ear so as not to leave a mark… it all builds and builds and builds, leaving you breathless and trembling and teetering on the edge of pure oblivion.

“Y’feel like fuckin’ heaven,” he gasps out against your cheek. “Never gonna get enough.”

The words alone send white-hot pleasure shooting down your spine–you’ve wanted him so badly for so long, and now you know he’s wanted you too. It feels even better with that satisfaction, with the fact of winning the prize you’ve been coveting so deeply.

“Joel…” You want to tell him the million thoughts that are rushing through your head, but your lungs aren’t cooperating. 

“I know baby,” he murmurs with a particularly devastating thrust. “I know. S’okay.”

It’s too much and simultaneously not enough. You dig your nails into his shirt to tug him closer, a silent plea to get him working against that spot again. He complies without words, hitching your leg a little higher around his waist and angling his hips in a way that makes you cry out his name again.

“I’m gonna–”

“Yeah, go ‘head,” he purrs breathlessly. “Lemme feel it, come all over my cock.”

His fingers press a little firmer against your clit and that’s all you need for the knot in your stomach to unravel with blinding force. It travels through every nerve like some delicious form of spontaneous combustion, making your body shiver with the energy of it. It’s the best you’ve ever felt–you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it, either.

“That’s it honey, holy shit…” He murmurs before finally meeting your lips again for a breathless and panting kiss. “W-where?”

For a moment, you have no clue what he could possibly be talking about. His thrusts are losing rhythm with each moment, as if he’s about to–

“Inside,” you whine out after your moment of clarity. “Please–”

“Shit,” he spits even as he drives himself impossibly deeper. “Y’sure?”

You’re not even conscious of nodding your head–all you know is that you need him completely. “It’s safe. Promise.”

“Atta girl,” he whispers. “Gonna leave you fuckin’ drippin’, won’t be able to stop feelin’ it all night–”

His head tips back as the first wave crashes over him, eyes squeezed shut and mouth dropped open as his hips grind into yours. There’s nothing short of pure ecstasy on his face with the first few ropes of cum that fill you. You’ve never seen anything quite as beautiful as the pleasure washing over this gorgeous man’s gorgeous face. Knowing that you’re the cause of all this nearly sends you over the edge all over again.

He grunts as he shoves himself a little deeper, eager to feel every inch of you as he unwinds. “Christ, honey… squeezin’ me so goddamn tight.”

“Not my fault you’re huge.”

He chuckles at that, staying seated deep within your walls for a moment longer so he can kiss you again. It’s lost its edge of desperation, but it makes up for it with an overwhelming note of sweetness. His hand cups your jaw to guide the angle and once again you’re struck by that overwhelming sense of rightness. It’s like you were meant to be here, meant to take everything he gives you and more, meant to love him.

The song outside changes to ‘Every Breath You Take’, the song before the entrance song, and you spring to action.

“Shit, Joel, we’ve got to go.”

He pulls out with an overdramatic groan, as if it hurts him to be separated now that he knows what it feels like to be joined. You can feel the drip start even before his hand comes to fix your panties, but there’s hardly enough time to worry about that.

“How’s my make-up?”

“Perfect, darlin’. Not a thing outta place.”

“Thank god for waterproof,” you chuckle as you straighten your dress.

His dark eyes meet yours as your hands smooth out his rumpled shirt–there’s still so much swirling behind them, so much promise of things to come.

“We’ve gotta go,” you repeat when he halts by the door.

“Just a sec,” he murmurs. And then he pulls you in for one final, saccharine sweet kiss. “Come to my room w’me tonight.”

“Okay,” you promise–you’re surprised you can keep your voice even when just the question makes your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you.” It’s genuine, earnest. It makes your heart skip another beat.

He takes your hand before unlocking and opening the door, and he doesn’t let it go until he absolutely has to.

➔ beta: @schnarfer and @futuraa-free thank you my darlings <3 ; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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[goldenstring6123]

Hiii, my request is an ABC nsfw from each of the LaDS men, because I've been following you since the beginning and I ended up being curious about how you think they act during sex (If you could do Zayne's first I would be very grateful 🙏) I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS!!! (Sorry for any grammatical errors, English is not my first language)

Zayne: NSFW alphabet

Warning: 18+ only, MDNI!, Fem!reader, Full of sex related stuff: Toys, Kinks, Positions, preferences, etc. Read at your own risk!

Author's note: This is really fun to make but it's really long so I'll do individual posts. I was wondering what nsfw abc is and boy am I sooooo— heheh anyways, thank u for making this request pookie! #nsfweds

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Zayne will alternate between bathing you or simply wiping you down with a damp cloth. in order for Zayne to bathe you, you must be awake, or at least half awake, but this is a bit of a risky situation because things might also become 'steamy' in the bathroom.

If he has worn you out or had knocked you out cold, he would wipe you down with a cloth and move you to the other bedroom, then change the sheets in yours and move you back. Zayne would always make sure you rest with at least your underwear and a shirt on because he doesn't want you catching a cold.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Their favorite body part of you is your breasts and chest area. When you're on his lap, straddling him, he likes to bury his face in between your cleavage. Being close to your heart is something he likes to do physically, and when you orgasm, he likes feeling your pussy pulse at the same time as your heart.

Their favorite body part is their own hands. His hands may have scars, but that adds to the beauty of it. His fingers are long, and he keeps his nails neat, and because of this, he's able to reach places where you couldn't when you finger yourself. Plus, you like sucking on his fingers and intertwining it with yours when you're so lost in your mind.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

His cum alternates between opaque and thick to a bit thin and watery, depending on if he's managed to masturbate within the week. When Zayne wears a condom, he cums inside of you quite fearlessly, and you can feel his dick twitch while it spurts out the semen. When he doesn't wear a condom or when he decides to take it off, he likes spurting it on your lower abdomen and stomach. To which he'll use it to lubricate his dick again and pound into you. He's the type of guy whose body twitches when he ejaculates. He thrusts roughly and buries himself in you, only to tremble while he savors his high.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Zayne likes to see you squirt like a fountain. He likes how you write under his grasp while he keeps your legs still. He likes it when you cry that you can't stop cumming when he continues to lap your pussy, or when he continues to push through your orgasm. When you thrust your hip up, and your fluids spray on the bed—Zayne's mind is in a trance.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Fairly inexperienced, a virgin even—he knows what he needs to know through 'research', but a little guide from you would go a long way. He's a fast learner and a bit experimental (surprisingly), so he gets the hang of it in no time. You almost forgot that he's a newbie in just three months in.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Zayne likes two positions. First is the butterfly position, where one or both of your legs are over Zayne's shoulders. This position allows him to go deep while still being able to see your full body and touch you elsewhere. Moreover, he likes that he can seamlessly transition to a mating press if he wants to go rougher on you.

The second position that he likes is when you simply straddle his lap and move to satisfy yourself. He won't tell you this for some reason, but he likes it because you get to do the work while his hands can grope and knead your ass while kissing each other deeply.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It's always serious when it's Zayne. Passionate, intimate, and caught in the moment are words that describe what it's like to make love. Although he genuinely admires your sense of humor, Zayne's in charge of making you happy in the bedroom.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The carpets match the drapes, and Zayne has hair but not by a lot. He grooms them well, but at weeks when he can't afford to take care of himself, sometimes, you can see the hair creep up to his belly button, which is absolutely hot.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Very intimate. Almost all moments of Sex with Zayne will be intimate as you both want it and desire each other to the fullest, even just sex on regular days. That being said, there is an exception, which is when you're both hot-headed or frustrated: then you just use each other like a sex toy until you're both worn out, to which you'll make love intimately soon after.

J = Jack off (masturbation head-canon)

Contrary to what one may expect, he always finds a way to jack off; he needs to, especially with you so easily flaunting your body in his house or even just by sending him too sexy of pictures of you in his old college long coat. Half of the time, he distracts himself from the growing and throbbing hard on but the rest of the time, he'd excuse himself to the toilet or go on a quick shower run to jack off until he gets everything out of his system.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Secret Kink:

Alcohol kink - Zayne doesn't like to do things to you when you're inebriated because, to him, it's improper to touch a lady when they're not in their right mind. but when it's the other way around, he gets off of it. He gets tipsy for sure, but it amplifies his senses, and he can't focus on anything but the woman who's riding him to their own pleasure.

Well known kink:

Power play - It doesn't matter who takes the lead. Zayne would like it if you pushed him against the wall and rubbed yourself up all over him while you gave him orders not to touch you. It breaks his rational thinking when you yank on his tie and speak to him as if you're his superior. He's willing to follow your every whim and command. On his more erotic days, Zayne gives the orders, and you must oblige without fail because he's quite harsh and doesn't hesitate to give you consequences while cooing at you, be it by edging, orgasm denial, or breaking your orgasm.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The bedroom. Because it's intimate, your body will be less sore in the bedroom because the mattress is soft and has many pillows to support your back. but of course, if neither of you can hold back, Zayne can do you anywhere as long as it's secluded. It could be his office, the hospital bathroom, or a hotel room with a full city view.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Zayne is turned on when you're acting all innocent and coy while rubbing against him "accidentally" and showing your assets in front of him, and somehow choosing the most revealing combination of house clothing and coincidentally wearing matching lingerie underneath your uniform.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Dislikes asphyxiation. He simply can't imagine choking you in bed, and the mere thought of you even fainting sends his stomach churning in the wrong direction. The bruises that one could get on their neck were even more appalling in his eyes. He knows it's a play, but he genuinely cannot allow himself to do it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

A perfect balance of both. When you're stressed out, he likes to eat you out before having sex. When he's the one who's stressed out, you give him a handjob or blowjob but you never finish as he'd personally prefer cumming using your pussy.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It varies on the mood, situation, and both of your conditions.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies happen a lot before you go to work. Who wouldn't be tempted when their partner looks all so dapper and composed while you still bask in the high of last night's memory? A small kiss won't hurt, right? maybe add a blowjob while you're at it? Oh, who's the both of you kidding? Of course, you'll both end up on the couch with Zayne being 30 minutes in his early arrival.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He plays safe, but if he loses a bet or you manage to convince him through some special means, then he will play along as long as whatever you are doing is safe and doesn't cost his dignity too much.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

On days when he's stressed, he needs to ejaculate quickly, and this could happen within 10 to 15 minutes. If he's more relaxed and wants to take his time with you, he could go for around 25 minutes before cumming and needing a break. By then, you would've orgasmed twice or thrice, depending on if Zayne is aiming for the right spots.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Zayne has a tenga cup which he used even before you got together. When you get together, he rarely uses it, but when you accidentally find it tucked under the bed, you would sometimes greet his morning boner by using the toy on him. When you're mad at him and bind him to the bed, you'd also torture him with it by edging him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Your lover doesn't like to tease. He gets straight to the point.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

His breaths are very audible. You can hear him losing his breath in the middle of thrusts, and you can hear him let out a groan when you squeeze your insides on purpose. When you just feel too good, and he's really sensitive, he will let out a long moan while looking up into the ceiling, basking in the sensation.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

As much as he advocates for safe sex, he doesn't like using condoms, but he still does. To him, you were tight and warm, which is good and all but with even that .001 thin condom, he really just can't feel all of you

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Well, chiseled abs, a prominent v line, and a back full of claw marks.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

When you got together, you would think that he's the type to be low-key with his sex drive, but you were proven wrong when you get pounded every other night. He lasts longer than you, too, and can make you orgasm beyond the number of fingers you have in one hand.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Zayne never falls alseep before you. You don't know where he pulls the energy from especially during seasons where the hospital is extremely busy. Sometimes, you manage to stay half awake to see him take care of you, but there are also times when you just drift off mid-sex after a toe-curling orgasm.

Author's footnotes: Hehe I like doing stuff like these, it allows me to get into the nitty gritty details of the character~ will be updating this post with the oink to the other characters once I upload them.

Layout by me using canva premium | Do not repost

[jolapeno]

when his eyes open

joel miller x f!reader | masterlist

summary: joel wakes and admires you and the morning.

wordcount: <600 warnings: joeticness, a little angst, a little twisty. an: dedicated to @joelscruff, who told me this was one of her favourite gifs when i asked for inspo for my first ever giflet. for info on giflet's, see @morallyinept's list here. gif credit to the wonderful, amazing @perotovar.

Before, the routine had been to simply make it through.

To survive another day in a place where crimson clings to clotted wounds, where weeds choke signs as rot consumes all that once lived. 

There are names that linger on his lips. Indelibly stained, carved deep inside him. Never forgotten, each a raw wound with grief around them that throbbed incessantly. Each woven into the very fabric of his soul.

When his eyes close, a horror movie plays on repeat. Blood-soaked shirts and the crack in his voice when he shouts. The snarl in his throat when skulls shatter and bodies break. In these brutal moments, he found himself living again, in a way that's both savage and necessary, the violence a perverse affirmation of his existence.

Plagued—tormented.

Then he wakes, and the truth crashes down—it’s not a movie, but his life. A routine he trudged through for so long until he found this place. A place where sunrise doesn’t mean pack up and move. Where golden light caresses the room he’s been given, kisses the guitar that has built callouses instead of his gun. Light falls softly on things he’s crafted with his hands, hands that once only knew how to take and destroy.

Joel wakes in a room, inside of a home, that’s now his.

A younger him might have given more for the kindness shown to him. The sacrifices he made would have felt meaningful, the blood spilt a necessary price. But now, the weight of his sins, the lives he’s shattered, and the innocence long lost have left him hollow. Acts of kindness feel like a cruel jest, an echo from a life he can barely remember, a life he feels he no longer deserves. In this quiet dawn, amidst the gentle light, he is haunted by the shadows of what he’s become.

But he's tired, worn. The face that greets him in the mirror is now aged, beaten down, and scorched by the relentless elements. Not that you seem to care.

You, who, as his lashes lift and focus, he finds reading for the second time this week. Twisted away from him, the book tilted to catch the sunlight so you don’t strain your eyes. You’d traded for it, your thumb lifting the corner of the page before dragging it to the opposite side—so loud in the quiet.

Joel doesn’t need to steal a moment, but he does all the same. He’s so used to taking, after all. 

He admires how the years have been a little kinder to you than they have to him. How you are a rare sweetness in a world that knows only bitterness. A thing that would have been coveted before and is now more than cherished. He appreciates you when his body doesn’t betray him, when age doesn’t force his eyes closed as his spine meets the bed. But when he can, when he’s able, he leaves marks that’ll last for days—a prickly burn on your inner thighs as you weave your fingers into the hair he’s not allowed to cut. When he holds you so tightly atop him, he knows you can trace the bruises he’s left.

You leave your own marks too. One of them from simply looking at him, showing him that smile—the one that could stop a younger man's heart.

He waits for another page to turn, eyes closing and reopening before he slides his palm over your knee.

Morning, you say.

Morning, he replies.

A new routine, one he doesn’t hate, yet it haunts him with its simplicity and its promise of a fragile peace.

[marino6hughes]

IF SHE WANTS A COWBOY

ׂ╰┈➤ luke hughes x reader

summary: in which luke hughes wants to be your cowboy.

note: this is really short and my first time writting! enjoy.

warnings: fluff, childhood best friends to lovers.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Ever since you were little, you and Luke have been inseparable. Moving next door to the Hughes family meant spending countless afternoons out on the lake or out playing hockey on their drive way. Your friendship was the kind that weathered through all seasons. Over the years, the bond you shared only deepened, rooted in a shared history and an unspoken understanding that, no matter how hard you tried to deny it, you loved each other.

Luke's feelings for his childhood best friend had grown into something deeper, something he kept close to his heart. His love was silent but strong. He told no one about it. Not even his brothers. His love for you could be clearly seen and everyone knew was there even when nothing was told. He'd go to any lengths to make you smile, which was exactly what he was doing now. If you wanted to go line dancing with him he would be your dam cowboy.

She wants a cowboy, so I just might

Find me some boots that fit me right

You looked at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes, enthusiasm as contagious as your smile. "Come on, it'll be a fun!" you insisted, tugging at his arm gently. He raised an eyebrow, skeptical about the whole line dancing idea. Noticing his hesitation, you playfully rolled your eyes and promised, "I'll teach you all the steps, and if you really hate it, we can leave, no questions asked." with a reluctant chuckle, he agreed. "Alright, but only because it's you asking," he said, and you beamed, wholly satisfied with your small victory. You were so in love with this boy.

I ain't never rode a horse

Or worn a cowboy hat

But I find me one that fits my head

Your boots clattered against the brick steps as you walked up to the bars entrance. The sound of music and people talking, and the sound of boots dancing could be heard as you approached the two large doors. It was a warm summer night in Michigan.

You pushed open the door, instantly being greeted with the smell of whiskey and a sight of a whole lot of cowboy hats.

“Will a drink ease your nerves?” You turned to Luke a cowboy hat perched on his head. His brown curls peaking out from underneath it.

He smiles, softly. “I think it might- it’ll at least get me on the dance floor, right?”

“That it will do” You laugh slightly claiming two chairs at the bar top.

He takes a seat beside you, his shoulders brushing against yours for a brief moment as he settles into his chair. He stares at you for a moment as the dimly lit bar makes your skin glow, long brown hair pushed away from your face with two braids. You looked fucking beautiful to him.

“Can’t get you too drunk cowboy or you really wont be able to dance.” You laugh nudging his shoulder.

A roguish smirk forms at the corner of his lips as he leans in slightly. His lips brushing against your ear "Don't worry about me. I can handle my alcohol," He reassures you with a cocky tone, his voice lowering. "It's my dancing skills that might need the extra practice," He admits half-jokingly.

Seeing him in denim jeans with brown cowboy boots that fit perfect on his long legs, a white shirt that looks almost made for him as it stretches around his biceps and a cowboy hat. It was too much for you. Any second your heart would tell you to act on your desires.

As the lively country music filled the air, Luke and you stepped onto the dance floor with a mix of excitement and nerves. You were already moving with a natural rhythm as you’ve done this before, your steps confident as your boots hit the wood floor. Luke, on the other hand, was a bit more hesitant, his movements awkward as he tried to keep up. occasionally tripping over his own feet while muttering hushed curses. His cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and amusement as he glanced at you. You flashed him a reassuring smile and reached out to guide his hands to the right positions. "Just follow my lead," you laughed, pulling him into the dance. Step by step, he began to catch on, your laughter blending with the music as you slowly found rhythm together. It was a new experience for Luke, but with you by his side, he felt like he could eventually master any dance. And he would for you.

And I learned to two step so I can spin her

Off her pretty little country feet

If she wants a cowboy then I'll be as cowboy

As the song picked up pace, Luke felt a surge of confidence. With a cheeky grin, he took your hand and spun you around gracefully. you laughed, lose strands of your hair flying out of from your braids as you twirled under his arm. For a moment, Luke felt like as if you were the only two people in the world. As you came back into his arms, your eyes sparkled with amusement, and you both couldn't help but laugh, caught up in the joy and exhilaration of the dance.

In the midst of your laughter and twirling, You could tell Luke was caught up in the moment and feeling bolder than usual, he blurted out, "I want to be your cowboy!" His words hung in the air, a playful yet sincere declaration that seemed to make the music pause for a second. You paused mid-step, surprise quickly melting into a warm smile. It was Luke's spontaneous confession that made you pause dancing, “You wanna be my cowboy?”

Find me a horse that I can cover

Find me some stars to sleep under

Find me a train, I'll hop out west

If she wants a cowboy, I'll cowboy the best

“Fuck.” He breathed. “I do, I want all of you.” He confessed looking down at you.

What the fuck. You thought.

His fingers grazed over your blush pink cheeks as he held your face, “I need you.”

You looked up at him, his 6’2 body towering over you. You searched his eyes looking for a sign, anything. His brown eyes tinted a light green seemed to carry a desire and by the way they stared back at you. You could tell he was slightly nervous.

As the song neared its end, Luke leaned in closer, his eyes locking with yours in a moment filled with anticipation. The playful energy that had surrounded you all night seemed to quiet down, replaced by a tender vulnerability. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair that had fallen from your face, his touch light but filled with intent, his fingers then grazed your cheekbone. Then, slowly, he leaned down to your level, “Can i kiss you?”. He whispered, you nodded as he connected your lips. You kissed him back. It was a soft, careful kiss, as he savored the moment with you. It held a promise of something more profound. The bar you were currently in seemed to fade away, and in the moment it was just the two of you lips connected by a kiss that spoke louder than words.

If you wanted a cowboy, he would be yours.

[abilouwrites]

I KNOW YOURE WORN AND EXHAUSTED

THIS IS ALL, THIS IS LOST ON YOU

(Aged up!!) I’ve been cooking this up for so looonngg

I love my life, I have a husband who loves me, a toddler who seems to be developing faster than might be good for her and a job that keeps me on my toes and pays me well. But it’s a job that keeps me away, a job I wasn’t willing to give up when I got pregnant. Katsuki had the option, paid maternity leave for a whole two years.

A thing I encouraged him to take, and though I believed he wished I was the one to stay and become a house wife but my career as a neurosurgeon doesn’t wait. There is no waiting while my tools are in the brain of another living breathing human.

“I just don’t understand why you can’t take more time at home? Is that too hard to ask?” He questions, it’s two in the morning. A reckless drive home under my exhausted worn eyes, “I come home when I need to. Why is it so hard for you”

“Because I’m saving the lives of people! People you can’t protect. Y’know today. I saved the life of a five year old girl who was going blind because of a tumor pressed against her optic nerve. That’s what I did today” I toss my purse onto the table and slip off my shoes.

“Suki took her first steps today. You wanna know what you missed? You missed our baby walking. That’s what you missed today.” He announces, “you don’t know how to quit. You can’t give in. You’re so obsessed with being the best you’ve given up everything that should be important to you”

His remark makes me laugh, “you realize that’s who you were when we first met. You were so power hungry for number one you pushed me aside. You forgot my birthday. Twice because you were so driven for that spot” I chastise, pushing my arms out of my jacket and dumping it on the couch.

His expression softens before he murmurs, “I will never understand you” so quiet I can barely hear it, so soft I only see his lips part slightly. But I know the words. I’ve heard them so often in my life I’ve grown accustomed to it.

It hurts my heart, but I feel the same as I did in my anatomy classes. Alone with a scalpel. Slowly opening a chest. I feel so alone, the one person I felt like I should’ve been able to talk to. Doesn’t understand what I do.

He doesn’t utter me a quick and heartless apology as he usually does when I go to bed. The bed is cold when I’m out of the shower, no body. No soul stuffed into our king sized bed.

I wear my own baggy shirts to bed, not my husbands, not anymore. He doesn’t even feel like my husband anymore. All I want is to talk about my day with him and have him understand that I love my job and my family and that I want to do both. All I’ve desired at the end of the day is to curl into bed with him, wrap my arms around him and kiss him and tell him that I saved a life today. To have him praise and appreciate me. There is no more of the sweetful bliss we used to share.

“Are you going to bed?” He asks, pulling the tucked covers and slowly sliding in.

I hum a little, staring at his back. Littered with scars and divots where skin was ripped and stitched back together. I want to talk to him, talk about everything, “did Suki go down well?” I ask as he rolls over to face me.

“Yeah. She misses you” he’s sorrowful and a little mournful when he confesses, “I miss you. I miss us”

Guilt doesn’t subside as his hands reach for my hips, a habit we’ve never broken. Throughout our fights and bickers we end our nights in a sweet embrace.

I want to apologize, but I can’t. I cant bring myself to apologize for something I love, “let’s just sleep” I can’t bring myself to face the situation I think I’ve caused myself. I close my eyes and I wonder if maybe I could’ve been happy being a housewife. If in maybe another life I wouldn’t stay in this marriage that sucks the life out of me.

“Oh. Ok, goodnight, I love you”

“I know”

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

hiiii, omg i would absolutely adore more of vampire rhysand fics, especially from that universe you created with them all vampires, will there be more? maybe when reader is turned, she can finally take both azriel and rhysand👀👀👀 or maybe to explore rhysand's relationship with her maybe nesta or someone from her family sneak in to the ball to steal reader back but rhysand is like nu uh tf

those are just some of the ideas that popped into my head, i love your writing and your smut💖

You must be psychic because I had literally just opened up a Word Document to try and write another Vamp!Rhys fic but couldn't figure out where to start!

I've got some ideas, and was thinking about doing some Monster Themed Fics for Spooky Season (More Vamp!Rhys + Bat Boys, maybe a Werewolf or Demon AU) if I can get my thoughts in order enough. Until then, pls enjoy a possessive!vamp!Rhys ;)

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

Mine

Content Warnings: Slight SMUT, Possessive!Rhys, Blood and Gore

---------

“I’m bored,” Rhysand says by way of greeting, as he throws his lythe body onto the chase across from where you sit, curled up in a reading chair in the library.

 The sun sets behind you, the golden rays peeking in through the blackout curtains that usually remain closed during the day. Most of the horde sleeps through the day, meaning, if you let your body’s natural rhythm guide you, you have the entire manor to yourself. And of course, you use most of that time to peruse the thousand year old vampire’s massive collection of books. There’s so many organized on the floor to ceiling shelves you’re not even sure you’re promised immortality will give you enough time to read all of them--that doesn’t stop you from trying, however.

The vampire lord remains in the shadows of the library, the crack of sunlight just far enough away to not burn his otherwise unbreakable skin. Sometimes you think it’s a shame he can only go out at night, while it’s true he looks his best under moonlight, the golden hue of the fading sun makes his bronze skin glow like a god. You’re tempted to set down the book in your hands and climb into his lap, unbutton the already half open shirt and run your tongue over every golden inch of him. Time has not dulled the need you feel for him, even after all these months, he’s still as tempting as he was the first time you laid eyes on him. 

“There are a number of things you can do in this manor,” you say, ignoring your instincts and going back to the fantasy romance you’ve been devouring for the last hour. In truth, the smut on the page before you might also play into why your mouth is practically watering at the sight of him. You’re right at the good part, and your mind is torn between finishing the chapter and indulging your own fantasies with the very real, and very eager, vampire before you.

“Not entertaining enough,” he whines. 

Your eyes still on the page as you try and think of something to offer him. He hasn’t been able to throw another ball in nearly a month, not after a group of vampire hunters had come rolling into town. Their presence had been tiresome and even Azriel, for all his talents had not been able to figure out who’d tipped them off and brought them around. Rhys had initiated an indoor ban on the whole horde just to keep everybody safe. That meant for the most part, everyone had been living off of sheep’s blood and well, you. Mostly the sheep’s blood though. Rhys had threatened to keep you locked in his room, for only his enjoyment if Azriel didn’t stop leaving so many bite marks in your thighs--his favorite place to feed from you apparently. There were more than enough bite marks across your throat to give the others pause before they tried to drink from you these days. And it hadn’t helped that Cass had snuck out and nearly been caught, drinking from a barmaid in an alley three nights ago. Everyone was on edge. 

You glance up at him over the top of the worn pages in your hands. He keeps an arm thrown over his eyes, as if, even the little bit of sunlight filtering passed is enough to hurt him. Aside from that, he lays with one long leg tossed over the back of the couch, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned, the swirl of ink across his chest on full display. His dark hair is tousled, falling messily over his forehead. He had to have come directly here from his bedroom.

You look back down at the paragraph you were reading, the spicy scene practically leaping off the page at you, then back up to him as you bite your lower lip in thought. It’s usually him that initiates your interactions, him that dictates how and where  you take him. You don’t mind. Truth be told, you love being able to let go of everything and let him dominate you in whatever way he sees fit. It is the height of your pleasure, knowing he could so easily break you, and yet he doesn’t. You think meeting him might actually have put some pieces of your soul back together, rather than shatter them further and you love him all the more for it. And now, in that freedom, you can’t help but wonder if there are still other things to explore?

“We could play a game?” You suggest, voice softer than you mean it to be. Neither of you have ever talked about switching things up. Why mess with a good thing, right? But he’s here, asking, and the idea is literally in your hands as you speak, like fate prompting you to try something new and exciting. It can’t hurt to ask, right? He’s never denied you anything before.

Rhys spreads two fingers over his face, so you catch a glimpse of one, gleaming, violet eye. A grin spreads across his handsome features, fangs glinting in the scarce few rays of sunlight left. There will be nothing but starlight here soon, the plain of existence made solely for him. The others may live in the dark, but it is Rhys who thrives in it. “I’m listening.”

You draw a shaky breath. It’s just a question. No harm can come from a question. But how exactly do you suggest… this? You glance down at the pages again, trying to see if they even gave it a name for you to offer him, but there’s nothing but the promise of pleasure blurring across the pages.

Gathering your courage, you unfurl your legs from beneath you and cross the distance so you can climb onto his lap. Those thighs might have been made just for you, muscle shifting to let you get comfortable as his hands settle on your hips. He sighs contentedly, like this is something he’s been missing as you settle your weight against him.

“I was reading this book and these characters are…” you scrunch your face, trying to explain without sounding crass and failing. A blush works its way up your cheeks as you shove the open book into his hands. “Maybe you should just read it.”

He takes his time, tongue slipping out to wet his full lips as he reads. You count every breath he takes in the silence, watching his face with rapt attention to try and gauge what he’s thinking about it. He’s a master of schooled expressions, always collected and together, but after all these months, you like to think you know his tells. Yet, as he reads, there is no gleam in his eye, no obvious indication of arousal from where you sit over his hips. There is nothing but careful calculation as he reads--and maybe rereads, judging by the time it takes him--the pages.

Finally he closes the book and sets it down on the floor. “You’re suggesting we do that?” 

It’s hard to identify if that is amusement or irritation in his voice and you find your heartbeat quickening regardless of which it is. “I-if you want.”

“That’s not what I asked, Little One,” he tuts, hands resuming their rightful place on your hips. His thumbs stroke gentle circles into your skin, a move that can turn either teasing or cruel at a moment's notice. 

“I don’t know, you said you were bored. I thought maybe, you know, since we haven’t had a ball in awhile you might want to…” the word sticks in your throat and you swallow as the intensity of his gaze pins you in place. “You know… hunt.”

His eyes light up at the word. “And you want me to hunt you?”

Your thighs clench involuntarily at the thought, a move that doesn’t go unnoticed in the slightest. He grins wolfishly, gaze pinned to where your hips rest over his. He could have you right here, like this and he knows it. All it would take is a couple rocking motions of his hips, a slide of his fingertips beneath the thin silk of your top, teasing up bare skin until he can play with your breasts and you’d surrender. He could drink his fill and take you just as you are, right here and now. But there’s no challenge in it, no fun to be had, and he wants you to tell him you want it. Want him like that.

You’d be a liar if you said you’d never thought about what he would feel like if he let loose his control and showed you just how much a monster he was capable of being. You knew that even if he lost his usual composure, he would never hurt you. Even his basest instincts would balk at the thought of causing you pain. If you said you wanted it, he would make sure that you enjoyed every minute of it.

“Yes,” you say softly.

He sits up, swinging his legs onto the floor, moving you with him. His hands slide over your hips to your ass, squeezing playfully as you squeal in surprise over the sudden shift in position. “What are the rules to this game then?”

Your heartbeat quickens in your chest. You’re actually going to do this.

“I want a ten minute head start,” you say slowly, mind spinning. 

He hums as he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Done. What else?”

“No going past the gardens.” There is enough yard between the manor and the perimeter walls that you could still feel like you were outside without risking an encounter with a hunter. 

“Agreed,” he kisses the opposite corner of your mouth.

“If you catch me-”

“When I catch you,” he says, lips pressing to my chin.

“If you catch me before the end of the hour,” that gives him a total of thirty minutes before the clock chimes, “then…” It’s not like you’ve never talked dirty before, but still, your cheeks are a deep set of red as you say, “then I am yours to do with what you wish.”

His eyes gleam, fangs glinting as he leans back and grins like he’s already won. “And if I say I want to be so deep inside you that every sorry hunter for miles will know your mine regardless of where I find you?”

You clench your thighs again, or attempt to, this new position in his lap doesn’t give you a lot of room to do so. “If you can find me.”

He slides you effortlessly off his lap, but you find, given the nature of the way he’s looking at you, that your legs feel weak already. “You should get going. You’ve only got ten minutes, Darling.”

You waste precious time leaning down to capture his lips in a quick kiss, but you don’t care. Every kiss, every touch is worth the lost time. He is a promise of endless time, of boundless freedom and new adventures, time is never wasted with Rhys.

He pulls away with some difficulty. “I’m still counting,” he warns.

You grin as you turn and sprint out the library, leaving the doors wide open as you run. It occurs to you now that you’ve never actually seen him hunt outside a ballroom. There’s a lot of strategy to those hunts, as you’ve observed, but he’s never had to chase anything. He’s like a spider, waiting patiently for his prey to get caught and stuck in his web for him to devour. You don’t actually know how fast or strong he is. He certainly has a heightened sense of smell, but how heightened?

You know you want to make it outside, just to let him feel like he’s getting out of the house, but going straight out the back door would be too easy. You run up the stairs to the second floor instead, then into one of the many empty rooms and unlatch the window. This might waste more of your precious time, but still, you’re curious to know if he’ll save time and run right out the door, or if he can actually follow your scent. 

Carefully, you climb onto the roof and pick your way across the slanting tiles, until you reach the side of the manor where tree branches reach for you. The gardens outside the estate are massive, their own little forest, and with the gates closed, the gardeners haven’t been around to trim the trees. Branches that would normally be clipped to keep the leaves from collecting on the roof have been allowed to blossom and you find a sturdy one and nimbly walk across it like a balance beam. He may be the expert hunter here, but you spent years outside the Spring Estate, back when your parents were still alive, exploring the massive gardens and climbing the trees. Until your Governess had dragged you back by the ear, yelling about your ripped skirts and scraped knees. Hardly the lifestyle of a lady, they’d said. You couldn’t care less now as you climb, hand over hand through the dense leaves, moving from tree to tree. This is familiar yet different, you are far more free here than you had ever been back home.

Anticipation sits hot and heavy in your lower belly as you move. It’s hard to tell how much time you have left and you need to decide if the plan is to just keep moving or to hunker down and hide in wait. 

When the trees start to thin, you finally clamber down onto the damp floor below and take a good look around. There are certainly plenty of bushes to hide under, but that feels… boring. 

You glance over your shoulder, the trees blocking out the moonlight that has now replaced the earlier sun. Shadows cling to the trees providing ample cover, for both you and the predator you know is coming. 

You bite your lip. You want it to be a challenge. So you keep moving, ears straining for any little sound that might indicate your ten minutes is up. Every rustle of leaves makes a shiver run up your spine, heart thundering beneath your ribs. It’s a heady sort of rush that makes you laugh as you break into a full on sprint, wind tearing at your loose hair. 

This is freedom. Unbridled and unrestrained, there are no limits on what you can do or want, and right now, you want exactly what he promised you.

You slow to catch your breath, the trees thinning as you come closer to the hedge maze on the far side of the property. There’s usually a whole slew of string lights bobbing overhead, so partygoers can see past the towering hedges full of roses and attempt to find the bubbling water fountain at the center of the maze. It’s a showstopper when lit, but right now, it is dark and unyielding and you inch your way towards it with more than a little trepidation. It would be a good place to make him walk through to get to you, but some of the hedges are so thick and overgrown it blocks out the light, and you do not have the night vision of vampires, not yet.

A twig snaps behind you and you jump with a hand clamped over your mouth to keep from screaming as you turn to face the noise. There’s enough moonlight to see by out here, but there is no familiar shape stalking towards you. There’s nothing there at all but the trees and the maze at your back.

You give yourself a little shake to calm your nerves as you inch backwards towards the opening of the maze, still anticipating Rhys’s sudden arrival. One step back, then another, until you can almost feel the shadow of the hedges against your back. It’s a degree colder within it than outside of it.

The first bit of darkness covers your entrance.

And it covered the hiding place too, because you hadn’t seen anyone or anything within the maze until a firm hand clamps over your mouth. Surprise makes you scream, the noise muffled beneath the weathered palm as a strong arm wraps around your waist. 

How the hell had he gotten behind you?!

Hot breath fans your ear as he puts his lips to your ear. “Scream, and you’re dead.”

That’s not Rhys’s voice at all!

Panic grips you and you have just enough presence of mind to fight, digging your elbow into the stranger’s soft gut, throwing your head back into his shoulder. You twist and claw and bite down on the hand covering your mouth so hard you taste blood.

“You little bitch!” The stranger snarls, his hand slipping off your mouth.

You don’t have time to spit out the blood as you scream, “RHYS!!!” As loud as you can.

The stranger grabs your hair and spins you, face scraping over a cluster of thorny roses that cuts open your cheek as you fight to keep your footing. You stumble, but before you can hit the ground, another rough set of hands grabs your arm and yanks, pulling you deeper into the darkness of the maze. 

“Get off me!” You shout, your game forgotten. There is nothing but wild panic in your blood as you claw and punch at the hands that pull you deeper and deeper into the maze. 

Rhys can find you in here, right? He knows this isn’t part of the game?

Blood trickles down the wound in your cheek, following a trail down your neck and chest as your head whips around to try and get a good look at your attacker. He’s not much taller than you, but he’s twice as large, his arms made of thick, corded muscle. A spiderweb of scars travels up the bare expanse of his right arm, but he has no other defining features you can see in the darkness.

The second remains in the dark as they drag you through the maze. They must have been here awhile, if they know their way through it. In no time at all, you find yourself at the maze’s heart, the fountain that’s usually so dazzling at parties remains full of stagnant water and dead leaves. Sitting on the lip of it are another two men, one carrying a sword and another wearing a bandolier full of wooden stakes. Hunters.

Your mouth dries, heart skipping a beat. No no no! This can’t be happening! How’d they get past the gate? Rhys had it made by some local witches, it was supposed to be spelled to keep hunters out!

“Y/N?”

The world narrows in to the sound of that voice, as the body attached rounds the fountain. The sliver of moonlight cuts through the overgrown shrubs, highlighting the swatch of blonde hair, carefully tied back from a face that looks so similar to your own. 

Though you have no fangs of your own, you pull your lips back in a snarl as Tamlin draws nearer. “You did this?” You hiss at your brother.

He looks older, tired. Emerald eyes framed by dark circles. It’s been months since you’ve seen him. Months since he sent someone to tell you not to bother coming home since you’d ruined yourself with Rhys. Based on the stories you’d heard, he’d trashed the manor in a fit of rage when he’d found out he could no longer auction you off like a mare to be wed and bred by some stuffy, old baron or count.

He takes you in, nose crinkling as he spots the hickeys littering your throat. You’re not wearing anything more than a pair of lounge shorts and a silk top, an outfit that had felt appropriate a moment ago but now, based on the judgment and leering of the hunters, feels poorly out of place.

It’s an effort not to try and cover yourself, to stand there, blood still dripping from your cheek and keep your chin up.

“Where is he?” Tamlin demands. 

Shit. Shit. Shit! Of course he’s not here for you, he’d made it clear you were as wanted as a wadded up gum wrapper. He--they--are all here for Rhys. 

“Who?” You play dumb, trying to buy time. Rhys is walking right into a trap and if you don’t think of something quick…

“Don’t play dumb!” Tamlin snarls. “I know you’ve been whoring yourself out to that blood sucker!”

He can’t know that Rhys is the town’s vampire, there’s no way. Every person that leaves the manor is compelled to forget everything they saw. The whole horde is meticulous, Az has even followed people home to ensure the protection of the den. 

When you don’t respond, he says, a little gentler this time, “Tell me where he is, Y/N, and I will consider this whole mess a compulsion on his part and not hold it against you. We’ll go home and find somewhere safe for you to live. There’s a temple that will take in ruined women…”

You’re seeing red. “Nobody fucking ruined me! It is my body! What I do with it is none of your business!”

He frowns. “Nesta thought you might have been compelled, I didn’t want to believe that you were so weak minded that it could happen to you, but now that I see you…”

Nesta. Your stomach twists itself into knots. She was supposed to be your best friend, and yet she had gone to Tamlin and he’d called the hunters. She must have seen Rhys drinking from you that first night after all. In her rush, she’d pissed off Cass, who had been so distracted with her leaving he’d distracted Az from following her home. She’d gotten out of the den knowing what they all were and Tamlin had spent all this time summoning these hunters. 

The betrayal stings worse than the cut on your cheek, your eyes burning despite your attempts to keep it all bottled up. You can’t cry here! Not in front of them. The four hunters hover near the exits, blocking your escape, but keeping watch for Rhys all the same. They all have stakes. They’re all clearly fighting men, all capable of taking on an unsuspecting vampire. 

“Don’t do this, Tam,” you whisper. If anything happens to Rhys… If they get their hands on him because you suggested going outside the manor, you’re never going to forgive yourself.

“You forced my hand!” Tamlin snarls, advancing a step towards you. “You went and made a mess of things as always! If mom were still alive she would have keeled over and had a heart attack from the strain of having you for a daughter.”

The words hit like a slap. He’d always been good at that; when he couldn’t use his size and strength, his words were just as sharp as a blade, and he’d used them to keep you in line for years. Even now, the freedom you had so desperately craved feels like it’s slipping through your fingers. You feel your shoulders hunch, chin dipping towards your chest. He’s always been so terribly good at making you feel small and useless and so terribly unwanted. Even now, your own flesh and blood isn’t here to make sure you’re alright, he’s here to prove himself a hero by killing a vampire. Your vampire.

Figures, as soon as you’d found something to love, Tamlin found another way to rip it from you.

Seeing a weakness, Tamlin stalks towards you, his footfalls heavy in the damp earth. He reaches out a hand to grab you, but before he can so much as brush a fingertip over your arm, his body flies backwards like it’s been tossed by an invisible hand. He hits the statue guarding the water fountain so hard the old angel’s head falls from it’s stone shoulders. 

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Rhys snarls so loud the ground shakes. He’d come in silently, stealthy as a cat. The power that radiates off him is nothing like the demure courtier you see in the ballroom, there is nothing subtle or charming about this Rhys. There is only cold, unyielding rage as he moves around you faster than your eyes can track. You don’t even have time to warn him about what the hunters are armed with before he uses his teeth to rip the throat out of the first man. Blood splatters across his face as the hunter falls. Another blink at the second falls, his heart still beating from where Rhys holds it in his fist.

The third hunter has just enough time to slide a stake out of its sheath and lunge, but Rhys is so much faster and stronger, there is no contest. He snags the hunter’s wrist, snapping the bone so hard his wrist twists backwards, the stake now aimed at the hunter’s heart. His own momentum keeps him moving forward, even as he screams in terror, and he impales himself on his own stake. Rhys hurls the body into the thorny hedges, leaving it to bleed out as he turns to face the fourth and final hunter. 

It's the one that had grabbed you initially, his thin lips pulled back in a sneer as he flips two stakes around in his large hands. 

“You think you can waltz into my domain,” Rhys seethes. There’s an eerie calm to his steps now, blood dripping from his fingers, splattering the trampled grass. “And try and take what is mine?”

Rationally, you know you should be terrified of him like this--this is who he really is, not the courtly mask and disarming smiles you know, this is a full-fledged vampire in all his glory--but you’re not. Not even a little bit. If anything, the sight of him makes you feel like you can breathe again. 

“I’ve killed worse things than you,” the hunter spits. “You won’t even be a challenge.”

Rhys cocks his head like he’s thinking, a grin spreading across his face. His fangs are longer than you’ve ever seen them, poking into his lower lip, where the first hunter’s blood still lingers. “Is that so?”

He takes a small step forward, and though the hunter’s fingers twitch around the stakes, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink. He stands still as a statue, his chest barely rising and falling. Almost like he can’t move at all.

Rhys reaches out and plucks the stakes from the hunter’s hands like he’s taking a toy from a belligerent child. The hunter doesn’t move; doesn’t speak in his own defense. 

Rhys lifts the stake to get a better look at it in the moonlight. “These are poorly made,” he tuts, right before he jams it between the hunter’s eyes. The man falls, still completely immobile.

“You’re a fucking monster,” Tamlin hisses from where he’s still struggling to get back to his feet. 

Rhys slides the hand not dripping blood into his pocket, appearing bored as he puts a boot on Tamlin’s shoulder and pushes him back down into the mud. “Humans are so very dull.”

“Yet you keep my sister like a fucking pet!” Tamlin snarls, trying to rise again and losing the battle as Rhys’s heel pushes down against his shoulder until the bone snaps. “You compelled her into being with you and have been keeping her here against her will.”

You stare at the two of them. Rhys is holding back now, toying with Tamlin--the brother that had locked you up, had insisted your Governess cut your meals in half to keep you thin and desirable for a suitor; the brother who had ignored your wishes your whole life and had stolen almost every bit of happiness you had tried to carve out for yourself. Only one of them is the monster here.

“Nobody compelled me into staying,” you hiss. “Nobody compelled me into doing anything! I chose it.”

Tamlin tilts his head to look at you, despite the pain flashing across his face. “He just used his powers to freeze a man in place, you’re too stupid to know if he used them on you.”

Rhys moves his boot from Tamlin’s shoulder to his wrist, heel crushing down until the bone splinters, the resounding crack echoing through the maze. “Try that again,” he dares. 

Tamlin’s howls of pain have somehow not drawn everybody else outside, but you are relieved to see it. As much as you want him out of your life forever, you’re not up for watching them all devour him like a turkey at a Sunday roast. 

You pick your way around the mess of bodies until you can grab Rhys’s hand, the blood now cold and sticky over his palm. You do not balk from it. This is still your Rhys. He is still what you would choose, if you could go back to that first night on the dancefloor. Bargain or no bargain, you would have come back time and time again, to be with him and this family you have made for yourself here. This is the life you want, messy and full of monsters.

Rhys glances down at your joined hands, yours so small and delicate against the mess of his own.

You intertwine your fingers. “Please don’t kill him.”

He reaches out with his free hand to run a thumb over your ruined cheek, checking how deep the cuts are. “Why not?”

“Can he be compelled to forget about all of us? Can you make it so that we never existed?”

“Y/N!” Tamlin screams. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“I could,” Rhys admits. “Is that what you want?”

“I want to be with you,” you say confidently. “As a human or a vampire.”

Tamlin tries to move out from under Rhys’s boot but gets nowhere.

“I want him to no longer have control of my life. I want to be free to choose where I go and who comes with me. I am angry at him. I’ve been angry at him my whole life. But… but I don’t want him dead.”

Rhys nods, then brushes a tender kiss over your forehead. “It’ll be done then.”

Azriel appears from the shadows then, as if he’d been hovering somewhere in the maze just in case. That intense hazel gaze sweeps over you, taking stock of your injuries before he hauls Tamlin to his feet. 

Your brother still tries to fight it, but his right arm hangs limp and twisted at his side, and even if he was whole, he’s no match for either of them. 

Rhys takes Tamlin’s chin between his forefinger and thumb, holding him in place with just those two fingers alone. “Any last words, Darling?”

You flash your middle finger at Tamlin, “If you come back through these gates, I’ll hunt you down myself.”

“Vicious,” Azriel praises, tongue running over his lower lip in appreciation to this new side of you. 

Rhys keeps his attention pinned to Tamlin. “You’ll return home. You’ll forget this vampire business. You went out and got drunk and got your ass handed to you by the barmaid.”

Azriel snickers at that. 

You’ve seen that barmaid, she very well could hand Tamlin his ass, the story will be convincing. 

“If anyone asks about your sister, you’ll tell them she ran away to be with the people that love her. There is no need to look for her. She is happy.”

And you are. Your chest warms at the words. You are happy here. You will always be happy here, with this new family you’ve found. 

Tamlin repeats the words in monotone, like they’re being forced out of his head.

“You’ll have to find and compel Nesta too,” you say softly. “She saw us that first night.”

“Leave it to Cass to put us in this mess,” Azriel grumbles. “I should make him compel her for the trouble.”

“He’d just turn her for shits and giggles and then we’d be in bigger trouble,” Rhys responds as he releases his grip on Tamlin. Your brother’s head sags to his chest, unconscious, and Azriel drags him out through the back gate.

“It’s done?” You ask, watching them leave.

“It’s done,” Rhys confirms. 

You turn to face him again and stretch up on your toes to kiss him gently on the lips, despite the blood. “Thank you.”

When you try to pull away, he slides a hand into your hair and pulls you back for another, ravenous kiss. “Are you all right?”

“A little shaken,” you confess, reaching up a hand to brush a tendril of dark hair off his head. “But alright. Are you?”

He slides his arms beneath you and picks you up like you weigh nothing. “Let’s get you cleaned up and I’ll feel better.” 

In no time at all, you’re back safe inside the house, perched on top of the counter in the bathroom attached to his room. Candlelight flickers to give him a better view of the gash across your cheek, now forming a bruise beneath the split skin. 

“It doesn’t hurt too bad,” you assure. “Just stings a little.”

He frowns as he pokes at it, then brings his wrist up to his mouth and sinks his fangs into a vein. “Drink,” he orders, bringing it to your lips. “My blood will heal you.”

You stare at him for a moment. It has become an easy thing to accept that he likes to drink from you. He needs blood to live and you want him to keep on living, it is an easy exchange--and one that always ends pleasurably for you at that--but this is different. It’s not necessity. He’s offering because he wants to. Because he cares about you.

“Please,” he says gently, pushing his wrist a little closer. “Let me take care of you.”

You wrap your hand around his arm as you bring his wrist to your mouth, unsure of how to go about this. He holds you steady, pressing his wrist to your lips, guiding you through it like he has everything this far. His blood is a coppery tang in your mouth as you run your tongue over the two puncture marks in his wrist and swallow it down. 

By the time he pulls away, the stinging in your cheek has subsided. 

“It’ll taste better once you're one of us,” he explains as he grabs a towel and cleans the remaining blood off your skin.

You watch the slow pace in which he moves now, all that rage and strength once again contained within the confines of courtly manners, but there is a stiffness to those usually graceful motions. You can almost taste the unease coming off him as he uses the same towel to clean the blood off his own face and hands.

“You’re not changing your mind about turning me after this mess, are you?” 

He tosses the towel in the hamper near the door and comes to stand between your legs. You have to tilt your head back to look at him as he cups your face in his large hands. “Never.” The finality in his tone leaves no room for doubt. “I never wish to be parted from you again.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. This bargain between you is fun and exciting, and truth be told you are more fond of him than you’d ever dare say out loud, but you had always assumed those budding feelings were one sided. This was a game and a bargain at the end of the day, what was one human in the span of eternity to a thousand year old vampire? Daring to believe that you meant more to him was not a luxury you had let yourself indulge in.

“And I thought…” he shakes his head and kisses you gently at first, grounding himself in the reality that you are safe and in his arms, but it turns rough and desperate as he considers what he’s saying. “I thought I might lose you.”

You run your fingers through the silky strands of his hair, knocking a few loose leaves that had gotten caught when he’d come running after you. 

“If anything were to happen to you, I don’t…” he shutters as he slides his hands beneath you and lifts you off the counter, carrying you towards his large bed with ease despite the shakiness of his breathing.

 “I’ve killed thousands of hunters. I have drained entire covens of witches and packs of werewolves.” He lays you down in the center of the black silk sheets, body propped up against a dozen pillows someone who is undead doesn’t really need, his large frame kneeling over yours as he kisses you again. “I have fought and won hundreds of battles and taken down an army of other vampires. Bloodshed is in my nature. It is woven into the lifeblood of creatures like me. I am used to the killing, but I have never enjoyed it. I avoid it if I can, but tonight, when I saw those hunters around you…”

He steals another kiss, tongue sliding behind your teeth to try and claim your very breath as his weight settles between your legs. “I wanted to take my time. I wanted to make them pay for putting their hands on you. I enjoyed making them suffer. And I’d do it again.”

Perhaps the long lasting effects of being locked up has altered your brain chemistry, because such outright aggression should be a warning sign to run, but it makes heat flare in your chest instead. This is a dangerous amount of possessiveness and yet, you enjoy it. It is nice to be looked after so deeply.

“And I know that I should turn you,” he continues. “You have more than fulfilled your part of the bargain and after seeing those hunters today, I should give you an edge over them, just in case, but…” Another kiss, his hands slipping beneath your top to skim your sides. “But to turn you I have to… You have to die to become a vampire. How am I supposed to do that, knowing that it’ll hurt, even for a moment? Knowing that I will have to be the one to do it?”

Your fingers drift to the buttons of his shirt, slowly popping them open so you can touch him. “It doesn’t have to be today. We never set a time.”

“I saw that scratch on you and almost went out of my mind,” he says as he leans back enough to let you push the shirt off his shoulders, but as soon as the article is off he’s right back on top of you again, kissing you like he won’t ever get enough. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips. “I have never loved a human before. I have never been so conflicted before. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I’m just not ready to turn you yet either.”

Your hands skim up his tattooed torso, tracing every curve of ink up his chest and shoulders until you can cup his cheek. “You’re not going to lose me. Like I said, I choose you. I want to be here with you. Like this or otherwise. I am in no rush.”

He tilts his head and kisses your palm. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” you assure, using your free hand to grab him behind the neck and pull him down for another kiss. “I trust you. When the time is right to turn me, we’ll know. It’ll feel right.”

His lips pull away from yours just long enough to catch your breath before he starts trailing kisses along your jaw and neck. You let yourself relax beneath his ministrations, eyes drifting shut. It no longer feels strange that this has become the place you feel safest; this is right.  

“I love you,” you say softly.

He all but purrs into your throat, the kiss he was placing there more forceful than the last. “Careful, that’s a dangerous thing to say to an immortal.”

“You said it first,” you counter, hands sliding off him to reach for the hem of your shirt. You want it off, no clothes between your bodies, the warmth of him like this seeping into your skin. There is no telling how different it’ll feel once you’re no longer human, you want to relish every experience you have while you still have it.

He nips teasingly at your throat, fangs just barely scraping your skin. Not enough to feed, but just enough to remind you they’re there. “What power you wield over me, Little Human.”

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head,” you reply.

He laughs at that, the sound rich and deep, and you think you might do just about anything to hear it again and again. “Be careful how you wield it, I would do anything you asked.”

“Anything?” You ask with a grin, a few things coming to mind. 

He nips at your throat hard enough to leave a bruise this time. “No questions asked.”

“So if I have other scenes in my books I want to try out…” 

“What a dirty little mind you have,” he tuts. “And when we didn’t even get to finish the first one.”

“That really is a shame,” you muse. “I was looking forward to it too.”

“Another night then,” he promises, his voice low and dangerous in your ear. “Tonight I want to take my time with you.”

And how can you say no to those kinds of promises?

[hauntedestheart]

Borrowing From His Roommate (Male Bodyswap)

"Oh, sweet, my new shirt came!" Kamil exclaimed. "What do you think?"

Sagar glanced up from his book and looked over at the shirt his roommate was holding- a ridiculous thing made of blue lace that he wouldn't be caught dead in. He winced.

"It's very..." Sagar eyed the blue thing dispassionately- as a rather simple guy, he'd never understand his roommate's fashion sense. "Ostentatious?"

"You're just too straight to see the vision," Kamil rolled his eyes, and Sagar scoffed. "This is gonna look great."

Kamil held the shirt up in front of his body, twisting side to side as he pretended to model the garment, and Sagar's eyebrow raised. The shirt was clearly several sizes too large- his twinky friend was already dwarfed by it and he hadn't even put it on yet.

"Isn't that way too big?" He asked. "You'll be swimming in that."

"Oh yeah," Kamil gave Sagar a wink. "Switcheroo!"

Sagar blinked and found himself staring at his own face. Glancing down, he saw two slender hands clutching a blue shirt, and a second later his own body snatched it away from him.

"I should never have let you talk me into trying that body swapping spell with you," Sagar groaned, twisting to stretch his back as he tried to acclimated to his newer, more slender form.

Kamil, in Sagar's body, wasted no time stripping off the t-shirt Sagar had put on earlier and slipping on the new top instead. The blue top was perfectly fitted to Sagar's form, though Kamil left several of the top buttons undone so the shirt hung loosely open and to reveal the light dusting of hair on Sagar's chest- which was somewhat pointless as the barely there lace that made of the rest of the shirt was see through put the rest of his borrowed musculature on easy display. Preening, he shook his body in a little dance just so how off how good he looked.

"See? I told you it would fit," Kamil said triumphantly, ignoring the unimpressed look Sagar gave him in response. "Anyways, sorry Sagar, I'm gonna have to borrow the body today."

"Borrow the body today" was, unfortunately, not an uncommon phrase in the Sagar/Kamil household. Weeks ago, a friend had returned from an overseas trip with a souvenir book full of "magic spells" and Sagar had been stupid enough to agree to try one with his roommate Kamil- he'd only done it to shut his friends up, he hadn't considered the possibility that it would actually work!

The spell had exchanged their bodies and Sagar had found the experience incredibly disorienting- Kamil was much shorter and skinnier than him and being so slender reminded him of being a kid again. Kamil, on the other hand, had gotten a lot more enjoyment out of the swap. Sagar was built like a tank, and Kamil was thrilled to be the one behind the wheel of such a powerful vehicle.

"Holy shit Sagar, I can touch the ceiling!" "Holy shit Sagar, I've got chest hair!" "Holy shit Sagar, I can lift the couch by myself!" "Holy shit Sagar, how do you walk with this thing?"

The spell had worn off after a few hours (though Sagar had not been able to prevent Kamil from locking himself in the bathroom for most of it) but it could be reactivated any time one of them said "Switcheroo..." something Kamil took full advantage of.

The twink looked for any excuse to swap with Sagar and enjoy the fruits of being, as he so lovingly put it, "a hunk," and in a weird sort of way Sagar had grown used to it. The two of them had been friends since they were very young so despite everything, Sagar still trusted his friend.

Mostly.

"So what is it this time?" Sagar sighed and rubbed a hand down his baby smooth face- Kamil had never been able to grow any facial hair. He knew by this point that it was better not to argue with his roommate, so he might as well just figure out what he was in for.

"I'm going out to see this guy and he's expecting this face," Kamil ran a finger over his new lantern jawline, then did a jaunty little dance side to side, rocking Sagar's hips like they'd never been rocked before. "Well, really this body, since that's what most of the pictures have been of."

"Did you catfish someone?" Sagar frowned disapprovingly. Borrowing his body without asking was one thing, but Sagar didn't like the idea of Kamil leading someone on.

"It's not catfishing if I show up looking like the photos!" Kamil protested, placing his hands and heaving his mighty chest for emphasis. "I promised him he'd get to play with these muscle tits and I'm delivering. Besides, the first thing this dude asked for was pictures so he wouldn't be talking to me if he didn't like what he saw."

"If this guy is only interested in my body, is he really worth your time?" Sagar questioned, and Kamil just shrugged and resumed groping Sagar's body. Sagar shook his head and sighed at how shallow his friend could be sometimes. "And delete any photos you have of my body by the way, I don't want those out there."

"You're right," Kamil agreed, his eyes still fixated on Sagar's body. He poked at his bicep "We're due for some updated shots- hey, have you been working out?"

Kamil grabbed a random object from nearby and began pumping it like a weight, admiring the way that the workout made his toned biceps flex. The sleeves of Kamil's new shirt grew tight as hard muscle strained against them, but Kamil didn't mind. He wanted it that way.

"Yeah, I have." Sagar puffed his (Kamil's?) chest up slightly- despite the circumstances, he was enjoying the opportunity to see the hard work he put into his body from another angle.

"Well it's nice," Kamil grinned, his famously charming smile looking incredible with Sagar's handsome face. "Keep up the good work buddy. Been hitting the squats too?"

Kamil leaned down into a lunge, twisting his hips as he experimented with moving Sagar's colossal ass around. The tight black pants Sagar had thrown on that morning clung to his thighs and really emphasized the round globes of his backside, and Sagar took advantage of the rare chance to observe his body from the outside and examined his own ass for a moment- his routine was hitting right it seemed. He'd have to do something about those pants though, he hadn't realized how tight they were.

"You know this spell only lasts a few hours," Sagar pointed out, interrupting his friend's stretching routine. "How are you going to cram a whole date into that period?"

Kamil leaned down and tweaked his own nose. "It's so cute that you think we're going to go on a date."

Sagar groaned and covered his eyes. "Kamil, not another hookup!"

"Yes another hookup!" Kamil sang. He spanked his ass a few times, playing the cheeks like bongo drums, and the little thwacks echoed through the garden. "You should be thanking me Sagar, if I wasn't taking this thing out for a spin every now and then it would be covered in cobwebs."

"I don't see why you can't do these dates in your own body," Sagar whined, and he gestured up and down at Kamil's slender form. "You're a handsome guy Kamil! Any guy would be lucky to get a chance with you, you don't have to hide behind my face."

"Aw, Sagar, that's so sweet of you to say," Kamil smiled, but then he shook his head and drew Sagar's body up to its full height and grabbed a handful of his crotch. "But no, this isn't an insecurity thing. This is a 'I feel like demolishing someone's ass tonight and your piledriver dick is more up for the task' kind of thing."

Sagar was about to argue, but then he just sighed and picked his book back up again. He supposed he saw the logic in what Kamil was saying- he could read just as well in any body, but his friend needed a body like Sagar's for his hookup.

"Okay, one date," Sagar agreed, and watched a huge smile break out over his own face. "And you use a condom, and you agree to wash all my dishes for this month."

"Thank you thank you thank you!" Kamil squealed, blowing Sagar a little kiss. Sagar rolled his eyes, but smiled. "And I'll tell you what, after this, I'll let you borrow this shirt whenever you want."

Sagar glanced up from his book and looked his body up and down- honestly, the shirt looked good on him. He winced, loath to admit that Kamil was wearing his body better than he had been.

"I might take you up on that."

[freesia-writes]

Ch 25: Surrender and Dread

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.4k

Song: Eleanor Collides - Lifeboats (Official Lyric Video) (youtube.com)

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The water crashed over the rocks with a steady, soothing roar as Luci reclined beside the river, lifting her water bottle to her lips before tossing it aside and stretching out luxuriously where they’d strewn their towels over the flat stones on the bank. Hunter gazed at the waters, swirling in blue and green hues, then allowed his eyes to drift over her. She folded her arms over her face to block the sun, peeking out at him with one squinty eye.

“It’s not fair that you can get into shape so fast,” she said with a smile, letting out a low whistle as Hunter took his shirt off and rested with his hands behind him. “I mean, are you kidding me? Look at you.” He glanced down, noticing that his soldier physique had indeed returned at a rapid rate, although this was no surprise to him, considering his engineering. The various workouts that they had enjoyed together had challenged him in new ways, allowing him to develop not only his strength and stamina, but his agility, flexibility, and stability as well. It helped that they were always outdoors, too, so his rich brown skin was a deeper tone than it ever had been during the years spent wearing blacks every waking moment. 

“Sorry,” he said, as unapologetically as he could. She laughed, shaking her head and burying it further beneath her arms. “It’s all your fault anyway,” he continued, grinning as she swatted blindly at him. 

“I regret nothing,” she grumbled, lifting one toned leg and flexing her foot back and forth. She’d worn nothing but a swimsuit for their hike, leaving him speechless at her free-spirited comfort in virtually any situation. “But I also have earned a good, solid ‘I told you so’ about the dancing. It took, what, like six lessons and you’ve got all kinds of lustful eyes on you now?” Hunter groaned, rolling his eyes in thorough disbelief, but she continued with a mockingly insistent look on her face, “You might not see it, but I do. But don’t worry, I’ll fight em off. I told you I was scrappy.”

“Thank you.” His sincerity was laced with sarcasm, and she loved every minute of it, lowering her leg back down and touching his foot with hers on the way. 

“You gonna help me with the next series of dance classes?”

“It didn’t sound like you needed a partner for those…” Hunter said, voice constricting a little. 

“Not at the studio,” she said with a smirk. “But maybe I can practice on you at home so I can get the best choreography for the students… Somethin real spicy.” 

“You didn’t get enough practice in your traveling dance troupe? That sounded… similar…”

“Oh it was,” Luci agreed, biting her lip at the thought. “You wouldn’t believe some of the politicians I entertained… It’s amazing how so many people, all wildly different on the outside, can be reduced to most of the same basic urges.”

“You love toying with people, don’t you…”

“Not toying with them,” she corrected quickly, a tinge of indignation in her soft, light voice. “That sounds mean. I love people in all their shapes and sizes. It’s just fun that, at the simplest level, we’re pretty much all the same.” She paused, considering her own philosophy. “But the differences add all the color and flavor! So being able to see both in each person – the common humanity as well as the amazing diversity – makes life a really interesting ride! No pun intended,” she added with a wink. “But yeah, my… insight… did get me a lot of tips and repeat customers. So everyone was happy.”

“Well that’s good.”

“Did I tell you about my Holonet correspondent job?” she asked, sitting up to face him more fully and adjusting her swimsuit top. 

“I don’t think so…” he murmured, furrowing his brow. She’d told him a lot, to be honest, and there were so many stories of random career endeavors and impulsive adventures that he was starting to feel lost in it all. She had a number of tattoos, each with its own tale of meaning (or debauchery), and she’d been across the galaxy almost as much as he had, it seemed, although under very different circumstances. There were more people in her life than he could remember, all referred to with fondness and specific names that he promptly forgot. And she seemed to have more luck than the average individual, having skirted some very precarious situations a number of times. It was getting to the point where he was fairly certain he couldn’t be surprised by anything from her anymore, and somehow that was comforting in itself.

“Okay, so I’m a journalist for the Galactic News Network, based out of Coruscant… I actually still have my apartment there, because it’s such a fun place to visit, and I might take that up again someday cause it was crazy money and lots of weird, awesome people. Anyway, I’m covering this underground Sabacc ring that was increasingly connected with a few crime lords in the area, and I have to go in disguise to try to get chummy with the right people. I get all set with a hidden recorder, some tracking beacons, and a killer outfit, and there I am, in the middle of it all. I thought I was pretty decent at Sabacc… until then… So I lost all my credits immediately, which was how I was supposed to get to the right table… But I had to pivot and use my people skills instead.” She leaned back on her hands, mimicking his position and turning her chin toward the sun, closing her eyes to soak up its warm beams as she continued a colorful tale of flirtation, deception, and drunken confessions that blew up into an entire scandal. “...and I got to write it all!” she finished cheerily. “So that was a fun one. But anyway – we’ve been sitting far too long. Dare you to jump?”

Hunter followed her pointed finger to the waterfall, which was not terribly high but poured into a churning pool below. He couldn’t decide if he felt lazy or just content, but when he caught the inquisitive sparkle in her eye, he was surprised at how willing he felt all of a sudden. Next thing they knew, they were standing on a relatively thin ledge, pressed up against the face of the rock wall with the water tumbling down beside them, and Luci reached a hand out to him, entwining her fingers with his before leaping into the water below and pulling him along. 

They crashed into the pool, tumbling beneath the sheer force of water cascading from above, and after a few strong strokes, they each burst out of the water, gasping for air. Hunter flung his hair back from his forehead, although some tousled chunks still fell across his eyes in the most gloriously attractive and viscerally satisfying manner, and Luci giggled as she swam to where he had waded into a waist-deep eddy where the water was much calmer. He rubbed his face with both hands, turning to smile at her as she stood up beside him, repositioning her swimsuit and dipping in the water one more time to make her hair lay perfectly smooth down her back. 

“Let’s try a flip next time,” she snickered, teasing the water droplets across his chest with a few playful fingers. 

“I think I’m good,” Hunter shook his head, looping an arm around her waist with seemingly lighthearted ease, but his heart was pounding in his chest. She sidled a little closer, straightening the dainty gold chains around her neck before resting her hands on his chest again. Her body pressed against his, wet and warm, and the sensation had a disproportionate impact on him as he pulled her close. 

“You are good,” Luci teased, nestling into his embrace and studying his face with soft eyes. She slowly lifted a hand, cupping the side of his face and brushing a thumb along the curve of his tattooed cheekbone, then lowered her gaze to his lips, flickering back up to his eyes with an unspoken question. Tingles raced through his veins, combined with an exhilaration that goaded him on, and he tilted his head slightly, watching her closely. She touched the tip of his nose with her own, cheeks curving into that disarming smile he’d come to enjoy so much, and then she leaned in a little closer, pressing her lips to his with a feather-light care that made his knees weak. 

How long had it been since he’d been kissed? He had no idea. Cadet shenanigans at 79s, probably. It felt like a different life. And yet here he was, arms wrapped around a beautiful, smart, fun woman whose mouth was gently caressing his own as her long lashes closed in blissful surrender. He could feel every inch of her melted against him as her hand slowly wove its way up the back of his neck, and his eyes fluttered shut as she sighed quietly against his lips. She pulled away for a moment, looking at him with the same delight and surprise that he had on his own face, then she came back for more, tipping her own head to kiss him more passionately this time. 

His nose pressed into her cheek, his fingers splayed across the middle of her back as his arms flexed around her, and his breaths were shallow and irregular as their lips met again and again. A fire was growing in his core, spreading out to his limbs, and as she idly slid one hand down his ribs and stomach, it burst into a full flame. When they finally separated, Hunter had to gasp for air, earning a giggle from Luci as she pinched his cheek fondly. She opened her mouth with a snarky remark, but then closed it, shaking her head minutely to herself and instead beaming at his flushed face. The myriad of emotions in his dark eyes were impossible to sort through, but she forgot them all when he suddenly moved forward more confidently now, cupping her face in both hands and doing his best to avoid being sloppy despite the wave of hunger that washed over him. 

His lips fit around hers, pressing together and coming apart with quiet sounds as her fingernails raked up his back. He pulled back for a breath, then carefully kissed her cheek, her jaw, beneath her ear, the side of her neck. Her skin was so soft, flecked with a few remaining water droplets, and the hint of her perfume was so sweet that his mind was reeling. His heart flipped in his chest, relishing the feeling of her pulse against his lips. She leaned her head to the side, exhaling in utter contentment, and he stopped himself suddenly with a ragged gasp, catching her attention as she looked at him quizzically. 

“Sorry,” he said, his voice far more husky than he’d have hoped as he dropped his hands to his sides and took a step back. “I didn’t mean to–” She put a finger on his lips, a starstruck smile on her face, and shook her head. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, except for stopping,” she said playfully, then surprised him by turning to slowly walk out of the river, flashing a glance back at him over her swaying hips. “But I’m gonna give you a minute to cool off; you look like you need it,” she winked, climbing to their towels with a giggle. 

Hunter stood in the water for a moment longer, rubbing his face again before folding both hands atop his head, staring into the distance in a dreamlike state. He took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly through pursed lips, then followed after her. 

The hike back to town was punctuated with lighthearted conversation and playfulness, and Hunter felt as though he were walking on a cloud. He could still feel her soft, full lips and the curve of her body against his own. It was utterly distracting, causing him to trip a few times, earning gleeful snickers from Luci. When it came time to part ways, she grabbed his hand again, pulling him in close and melting him with those large green eyes that were absolutely full of adoration. His heart leapt into his chest as she gave him a farewell kiss, lingering just a moment longer to give his stomach time to join the internal acrobatics. Then, with a wave and a wink, she was gone.

He continued walking home slowly, taking in the scenery as though seeing it anew. The birds were singing as they dipped and soared on the gentle breeze that rustled through the trees. The salty air carried rich scents of cooking and agriculture from the cozy homes and farms nearby. The soft grass beneath his feet carried on across the swells of the meadows until they gave way to the lush forest, and the walls of his cabin appearing in the clearing ahead was a welcome sight.

Only when he dropped his bag on the table in the entryway, causing a few of the contents to tumble out, did he notice the flashing light on his comm. 

Freezing in his tracks, he felt an icy grip in his chest, followed immediately by waves of anger, confusion, and indignation that washed away the blissful warmth he’d been floating in.

He picked it up and clicked a single button, watching the small light flash a certain pattern of colors, and he didn’t realize he’d clenched his jaw until his teeth ground together, sending a shiver down his spine.

It could just be an animal… Or a friend… But the indoor sensors had been triggered as well… So unless it was the first occasion of breaking and entering that the island had ever seen…

He sighed, dropping the device back to the table as though it were repulsive to him, then headed for his room, fists tight at his sides.

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[acourtofthought]

242 Reasons Why Lucien is the GOAT of the ACOTAR Series

“I’m Lucien. Courtier and emissary.” He gestured to me with a flourish. “Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.”

Lucien smirked. “Apologies, Feyre.”

I finally found Lucien astride a black gelding, grinning down at me with too-white teeth.

“I admire your balls, Feyre—I really do. Or maybe it’s stupidity

“A valiant effort,” Lucien said with a smirk.

Lucien snorted but didn’t say anything else

“I might die of surprise,” Lucien said behind me. “You made a joke, Feyre.”

A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle’s contents and chuckling with a muttered “Brushed.”

Lucien remained sitting on the blanket and lifted the bottle of wine in salute. He took a slug from it as he sprawled on his back and gazed at the green canopy.

He sighed, looking skyward before he studied me warily, that metal eye narrowing with unnerving focus.

I wondered—wondered if being emissary also meant being spymaster.

“I didn’t keep my mouth shut when I should have, and was punished for it.”

“Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn’t. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day.”

He winced. “Shit, Feyre—I’m not that old.”

Lucien huffed a laugh. “Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons.”

“Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

Lucien sighed as he looked me over. “Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?”. “Do you ever stop being such a prick?” I snapped back. But Lucien grinned at me. “Much better.”

The face of Tamlin’s emissary—more court-trained and calculating than I’d seen him yet.

In lieu of a pretty breakfast table by the window, a worn worktable dominated the space, covered in various weapons.

It was there he sat, wearing only a white shirt and trousers, his red hair unbound and gleaming like liquid fire. Tamlin’s court-trained emissary, but a warrior in his own right.

“I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border—official emissary business,” he said, setting down the hunting knife he’d been cleaning, a long, vicious blade.

Lucien leaned back in his chair, smiling with feline delight.

Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—

he’d already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people.

Lucien told her to go back to the shit-hole she’d crawled out of. She took his eye as punishment.

The metal eye narrowed on me while the other remained wary, unimpressed. “Yes?”

The look he gave me was more contemplative than any he’d given me before. “I know far too many High Fae and lesser faeries who wouldn’t have seen it that way—or bothered.”

He reached for something at his side and tossed it to me. I had to fight to stay in the saddle as I fumbled for it—a jeweled hunting knife. / I’d never held one so finely crafted, so perfectly balanced.

“Burn in Hell,” Lucien replied for Tamlin.

“Idiot!” he yelled at me, then glanced behind him toward where the other faeries stared. “Useless human fool.” Without further word, he slung me over his shoulder as if I were a sack of potatoes.

I found that he was running—fast. Faster than anything should be able to move.

I could have sworn that Lucien was sleeping upright, fork in hand.

Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright.

“Faerie pig!” I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair.

“Well, I’m late for something incredibly important,” Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.

Lucien, claiming that he had miserable emissary business to attend to,

Lucien, mercifully, appeared like Lucien. I didn’t ask whether that was because Tamlin had informed him to put up a better glamour or because he didn’t bother trying to be something he wasn’t.

“I see,” I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it

He used the dagger to clean his nails. “I’ve been busy. So have you, I take it.”

Lucien climbed the statue to remove the head.

“Cauldron boil me,” Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. “She looks positively Fae.”

“Unfortunately for you and your neck,” Lucien countered, “tonight’s just a party.” “Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?” Lucien winked at me.

“So there’s singing and dancing and excessive drinking,” Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. “And dallying,” he added with a wicked grin.

“Remember the last time you ignored my warning?” He poked me in the neck, and I batted his hand away.

“I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless, and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself,” I said, recalling the afternoon from a few weeks ago. I’d had hallucinations for hours afterward, and Lucien had laughed himself sick—enough so that Tamlin had chucked him into the reflection pool.

His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge.

“Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered,

“Idiot,” he said when he looked at my face. “Drunken idiot.”

I wanted his broad hands running over my bare skin, wanted his teeth scraping against my neck, wanted his mouth all over me. “I’m trying to eat,” Lucien said

Lucien lead me to the window, where he pushed me against the velvet drapes. / The tang of magic shoved itself up my nostrils. Though his sword was pointed at the floor, Lucien’s grip tightened on it until his knuckles turned white. Magic—a glamour. To conceal me, to make me a part of Lucien—invisible, hidden by the faerie’s magic and scent.

Lucien pointed his sword at Rhysand. “Watch your filthy mouth.”

Lucien spat at Rhysand’s feet and shoved his sword between us.

“You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you’ll learn how quickly Amarantha’s whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady.” The color leeched from Lucien’s face, but he held his ground.

Lucien stared him down for a moment, spat on the ground, and stormed up the stairs.

“Well, at least we don’t have to lie to you anymore. Let’s clean you up a bit.”

“Fixed—as pert and pretty as before.” He smirked at me.

“Her name, Emissary?” Amarantha asked of Lucien. But Lucien only glanced at Tamlin before closing his eyes and squaring his shoulders.

“I thought you would have learned your lesson, Lucien. Though this time your silence will damn you as much as your tongue.” Lucien kept his eyes shut. Ready—he was ready for Rhysand to wipe out everything he was, to turn his mind, his self, into dust.

Then, shattering the silence like a shooting star, a voice—Lucien’s—bellowed across the chamber. “TO YOUR LEFT!”

She listened, of course—but only after she made Tamlin bestow Lucien’s punishment. Twenty lashes.”

He unclasped his cloak and set it around my shoulders.

“It’s why I couldn’t come sooner,” he said, his throat bobbing. “She used her—used our powers to keep my back from healing. I haven’t been able to move until today.”

The brutally scarred face beneath was still handsome—his features sharp and elegant.

“Tam!” Lucien cried over the chaos. A sword hurtled through the air, a shooting star of steel.

Lucien hunted down five naga yesterday.”

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

Last week, I’d finally asked him if she’d set her sights on him, and Lucien had merely given me a look, snarling softly, before stalking off

the right hand of a High Lord and another High Lord’s son.

“I didn’t lie,” Lucien said tightly. “I technically did fall off my horse.” He patted his mount’s flank. “After one of them tackled me off her.”

I am the first one the others look to—I set the example.

“I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”

“Please,” Lucien said, bowing his head gracefully. “The effort to rebuild is our burden to share. It would be our honor.”

He assured me that he hated the gatherings as much as I did, and that Lucien was the only one who really enjoyed himself,

Lucien intervened calmly, “I already have my sources looking into it.”

Lucien sighed a bit and said to Tamlin, “If we perhaps trained her in secret—”

Lucien muttered something that sounded like a plea to the Cauldron.

Lucien took a deep breath that sounded a lot like: “Here we go.”

Lucien cleared his throat. “She meant no harm, Tam.”/ Lucien held his gaze. “Worse things have happened, worse things can happen. Just relax.”

Thoughts slammed into me, images and memories, a pattern of thinking and feeling that was old, and clever, and sad, so endlessly sad and guilt-ridden, hopeless—

“How long have the claws been appearing?” he said softly. "There's only so much I can do,” he said hoarsely. “But I’ll ask him tonight. About the training. The powers will manifest whether we train you or not, no matter who is around. I’ll ask him tonight,” he repeated.

They will hunt her, and kill her, Ianthe had hissed at Lucien. Lucien had growled back, They’ll do it anyway, so what’s the difference?

We are not assassins, Lucien had cut in. Rhys is what he is, but who would take his place—. Lucien had gone on, his tone pleading, Tamlin. Tam. Just let her train, let her master this—if the other High Lords do come for her, let her stand a chance...

His red hair was tied back, and there wasn’t a hint of finery on him: just armored leather, swords, knives

Lucien, beside Tamlin, again put a hand on his sword. “Stop this.”

“That is enough.” Lucien surged for Elain, for the Cauldron.

Lucien snarled at the king over the bite of the magic at his throat, “Don’t just leave her on the damned floor—” There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints.

As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain.

“She is no such thing,” she said, and shoved him again. Lucien didn’t move an inch.

Perhaps you’ll get a handsome Fae lord as your mate, too.”

Lucien’s answering growl was nothing short of feral.

Lucien spun toward me, and that metal eye whirred and narrowed. Centuries of cultivated reason clicked into place.

But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.

His gaze on me. Face hard. As if he’d seen through every lie. As if he knew of the second tattoo beneath my glove, and the glamour I now kept on it. As if he knew that they had let a fox into a chicken coop—and he could do nothing. Not unless he never wanted to see his mate—Elain—again.

It was Lucien who answered, studying my painting as if it held the proof I knew he was searching for.

Lucien remained leaning against the door across from mine. His room. I didn’t doubt he’d ensured I now stayed across from him. Didn’t doubt that the metal eye he possessed was always turned toward my own chambers, even while he slept.

“She’s going to spin a story that you’ll want to hear,” Lucien warned. / Lucien halted me with a hand around my elbow. “You’re smarter than that.” I studied the broad, tan hand wrapped around my elbow.

Lucien breathed, “Where is he keeping her?” / “Tell me anyway. List all of them.”. “You’ll die the moment you set foot in his territory.” “I survived well enough when I found you.”

Lucien only nodded. But I felt his gaze on my back, fixed right on my spine, as I headed downstairs

Lucien answered, “If you expect our gratitude, you’ll be waiting a while, Ianthe.”

Lucien seemed to be trying very, very hard not to roll his eyes.

I could practically feel the snide remark simmering in Lucien.

“My emissary knows the wall as well as any sentry.”

“I have an old friend at the Dawn Court. She’s skilled at tinkering—blending magic and machinery. Tamlin got her to craft it for me at great risk.”

I was fairly certain that only centuries of training kept Lucien from leaping over the table to rip out Jurian’s throat.

“The gap in the wall is right up here,” Lucien was saying, sounding about as thrilled as me to be in such company.

Brannagh studied how closely I stood to Lucien; how he shifted slightly to shield me, too.

Lucien sat against a nearby tree, folding one booted ankle over another. “Whatever you’re planning, it’ll land us knee-deep in shit.”

“I would have been a part of the human-Fae alliance.”

“I did it for you, too, you know.” Cold, hard words. “I went with him to get you back.”

But the only trace of you was that ring, melted between the stones of the parlor. I got rid of it a moment before Tam arrived home to see it.”

“This situation is terrible,” I said, and it was the truth. A low snort.

And despite Jurian, despite the sneering royals, a corner of Lucien’s mouth tugged upward.

I gave Lucien a subtle, pleading look, and he barely hid his smirk as he sauntered over to me. Our dispersing party watched as he braced my waist in his broad hands and easily hefted me off the horse.

Ever the courtier, he bowed back.

He flat-out refused to participate. I replaced him in the Rite, but …” I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court.

I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it. Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.

I kept close to Lucien, who was inclined to indulge me.

Lucien answered on the second knock. “I heard you—what’s wrong.” He scanned me, russet eye wide as he noted my disheveled hair, my sweaty nightgown. / I swallowed, a silent question on my face, and he nodded, retreating into the room to let me inside. Bare from the waist up, he’d managed to haul on a pair of pants before opening the door, and hastily buttoned them as I strode past.

“What did you dream of tonight?” he asked quietly./ Lucien rose, stalking to me. / Lucien paused half a foot from me. He didn’t so much as object as I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face against his warm, bare chest. / Lucien loosed a heavy sigh and slid an arm around my waist, the other threading through my hair to cradle my head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.” He held me, stroking soothing lines down my back

His red hair gleamed in the faint firelight.

His silence was heavy—sad. I hated the lie, hated it for how filthy it felt to wield it. “I’m sorry,” he said

It’s why we avoid bargains unless it’s necessary: even the scholars at the Day Court don’t know how it works. Believe me, I’ve asked.” “For me—you asked them for me.”. “Yes. I went last winter to inquire about breaking your bargain with Rhys.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I—we didn’t want to give you false hope. And we didn’t dare let Rhysand get wind of what we were doing, in case he found a way to interfere. To stop it.”

“You didn’t stop him.” “I tried. I begged him for mercy. He didn’t listen. He couldn’t listen.”

“Even if they’re now our allies,” I mumbled, “I still hate them.” A snort. “Me too.”

“Autumn Court males have fire in their blood—and they fuck like it, too.”

Then at us, their eyes widening further as they noted Lucien’s cruel beauty.

Lucien stared him down. “We accept no tribute from the human lands. Least of all children.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, well aware that Lucien carefully watched from the shade of a nearby oak.

Lucien had gone to the stream to get more water

Lucien woke me the next morning with a hand over my mouth, warning gleaming in his russet eye. I smelled it a moment later: the coppery tang of blood. / Lucien slid from the tent, limbs loose and ready to shift into a defensive position. He’d been trained, he once told me—at the Autumn Court and at this one. Like Rhys, he usually opted for words to win his battles, but I’d seen him and Tamlin in the practice ring. He knew how to handle a weapon. How to kill, if need be.

Lucien laid his own cloak across the remains of the two young women.

“They are our allies,” he growled at me, at Lucien, both of us seated in armchairs flanking the mantel. / “And you should have left it alone for me to deal with.” Tamlin heaved a jagged breath. “Not retaliated like children.” He threw a glare in Lucien’s direction. “I expected better from you.” / “You sent the Bogge after them!” Tamlin roared. /Lucien had tracked it down—and we’d lured it, carefully, over hours, back to that camp. Right to where Dagdan and Brannagh had been gloating over their kill. / Lucien cleared his throat. Stood as well. “Tam—those humans were barely more than children. Feyre gave the royals an order to stand down. They ignored it. If we let Hybern walk all over us, we stand to lose more than their alliance. The Bogge reminded them that we aren’t without our claws, too.”

He exploded. Furniture splintered and went flying, windows cracked and shattered. / My knees slammed into the carpeted floor, and Tamlin was instantly in front of me, hands shaking— The doors burst open. “What have you done,” Lucien breathed, and Tamlin’s face was the picture of devastation as Lucien shoved him aside. He let Lucien shove him aside and help me stand. / “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Lucien said, an arm around my shoulders as he eased me from the room.

the broad panes of his chest, his stomach.

But Lucien was there. Her focus wholly on me, on taking from me the beauty I’d burned from her, Brannagh did not see him winnow until it was too late. Until Lucien’s sword refracted the light of the sun leaking through the canopy. And then met flesh and bone.

“I’m going with you,” he said again, face splattered with blood as bright as his hair. “I’m getting my mate back.”

“I know a place,” Lucien said, walking toward the cave that would take us to his home.

I let Lucien lead the way,

“It doesn’t lead anywhere. It curves away in the back—it’ll keep us out of sight.” I let him go inside first nonetheless.

Flint struck, and I found myself gazing at a makeshift camp of sorts. The candle Lucien had ignited sat on a natural stone ledge, and on the floor nearby lay three bedrolls and old blankets, crusted with leaves and cobwebs. A little fire pit lay in the sloped center of the space, the ceiling above it charred. No one had been here in months. Years. “I used to stay here while hunting. Before—I left,” he said,

“It’s too risky to eat,” I admitted, evading his question. Lucien was having none of it. “I knew. I knew you were lying the moment you unleashed that light in Hybern. My friend at the Dawn Court has the same power—her light is identical. And it does not do whatever horseshit you lied about it doing.”

His eye seemed to simmer. As if being in his own lands set that molten ore inside him rising to the surface, even with the damper on his power. “Glad to see the mask is off, at least.”

“You have the gall to question my priorities regarding Elain—yet what was your motive where I was concerned? Did you plan to spare me from your path of destruction because of any genuine friendship, or simply for fear of what it might do to her?”

His woods, by blood and law. He was a son of this forest, and here … He looked crafted from it. For it. Even that gold eye.

he waded into the stream, boots off and pants rolled to his knees, and caught one with his bare hands. He’d tied his hair up, a few strands of it falling into his face as he swooped down again and threw a second trout onto the sandy bank where I’d been trying to find a substitute for fishing twine. / Lucien picked them up by their tails, as if he’d done it a thousand times. He might very well have, right here in this stream. “I’ll clean them while you start the fire.” I

“As the youngest of seven sons, I wasn’t particularly needed or wanted. Perhaps it was a good thing. I was able to study for longer than my father allowed my brothers before shoving them out the door to rule over some territory within our lands, and I could train for as long as I liked, since no one believed I’d be dumb enough to kill my way up the long list of heirs. And when I grew bored with studying and fighting … I learned what I could of the land from its people. Learned about the people, too.” He eased to his feet with a groan, his unbound hair glimmering as the midday sun overhead set the blood and wine hues aglow. “I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.” A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

of all the sounds that Lucien so carefully sorted through while he kept watch.

he removed his cloak and added it over my blanket.

“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.” “We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.

he saw the sweat beading on my temple, my upper lip, as my blood heated. A slight bob of his chin was his only sign of understanding.

“Run,” I gasped out, but Lucien was already at my side, a steadying hand under my arm as I burned that flame hotter and hotter. It wouldn’t keep them contained for long, and I could indeed feel someone’s power rising to challenge mine. But there was another force to wield. Lucien understood the same moment I did. Sweat simmered on Lucien’s brow as a pulse of flame-licked power slammed into the stones just above us. Dust and debris rained down. I threw any trickle of magic into Lucien’s next blow. His next. / Lucien and I brought down the cave ceiling.

I’d been wearing my cloak, but … he’d indeed given me his. He shivered against the cold as we dragged and clawed our way up the mountain slope, and did not dare stop.

“Tell me about her—about Elain,” Lucien said quietly.

“And then I’ll ask your mate how he survived it—knowing you were engaged to someone else. Sharing another male’s bed.”

“You left us.” Us. Not Tamlin. Us. The words echoed into the dark,

"You fit into the Spring Court as little as I did, Lucien. You enjoyed its pleasures and diversions. But don’t pretend you weren’t made for something more than that.”

“Run,” Lucien breathed. / “Faster,” Lucien ordered. “Don’t look!” he barked as I began to turn my head to see if they’d followed. He lashed out a hand to grip my elbow, steadying me before I could even register that I’d stumbled. / “Zag,” Lucien panted. “We need to—” He shoved me aside, and I staggered, arms wheeling. Just as an arrow ricocheted off the ice where I’d been standing. “Faster,” Lucien snapped, and I didn’t hesitate.

Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two.

I think Lucien shouted my name.

“Which one?” I asked carefully. Mor swept her attention over Lucien once more. I almost pitied Lucien for the weight in her gaze, the utter judgment. The stare of the Morrigan—whose gift was pure truth. Whatever she beheld in Lucien was enough for her to say, “The town house. You have someone waiting there for you.”

Lucien survey our surroundings.

But their watchful silence was indication enough: let him decide his own fate. At last, Lucien looked at me. At us. He said, “There are children laughing in the streets.” I blinked. He said it with such … quiet surprise. As if he hadn’t heard the sound in a long, long time.

“I see you brought home a new pet,” she said, nose crinkling with distaste. / Before I could introduce him, Lucien bowed at the waist. Deeply / Amren smiled slightly. “Already trained, I see.”

Lucien, to his credit, didn’t back away a step. From Rhys, or me, or the Illyrians. The Clever Fox Stares Down Winged Death. The painting flashed into my mind.

Lucien only shifted on his feet. Wary. Considering. I counted the heartbeats, debating how much I’d interfere if he said something truly stupid, when he at last murmured, “There is a longer story to be told, it seems.” Smart answer.

Lucien weighed my offer—and the three males monitoring his every blink and breath. He only nodded. Another wise decision.

“And you love him. And he—he truly does love you.” Lucien dragged a hand through his red hair. “And all these people I have spent my centuries hating, even fearing … They are your family.”

And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”

But Lucien was standing in the doorway. And from the devastation on his face, I knew he’d heard every word. Seen and heard and felt the hollowness and despair radiating from her.

“I would never hurt her.” A bleak sort of honesty in his words.

We were almost to the door, Cassian already in the hall, when Lucien said to me, “Thank you.” I didn’t dare ask him for what.

"set up the handsome one as High Lord of Autumn"

“What did you do with yourself this afternoon?” “Slept,” he said. “Washed. Sat on my ass.”

His face was indeed controlled, but—a hint of surprise twinkled there. Wariness, too, but … surprise.

Lucien, standing near the windows and watching the sun set over Velaris, was wearing a fine green jacket embroidered with gold, his cream-colored pants showing off muscled thighs, and his knee-high black boots polished enough that the chandeliers of faelight reflected off them. He’d always had a casual grace about him, but here, tonight, with his hair tied back and jacket buttoned to his neck, he truly looked the part of a High Lord’s son. Handsome, powerful, a bit rakish—but well-mannered and elegant.

Lucien considered. “Can I offer my unsolicited advice?” / Lucien studied my mate, then me. “I assume Feyre is going.” / “Are you planning to hide her powers?” / Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.” / Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows—if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”

Rhys swirled his wine once, set it down, and said to Lucien, “You and Azriel should talk. Tomorrow.” Lucien glanced toward the shadowsinger—who only nodded at him. “I’m at your disposal.”

He added to Lucien, who did not balk from those writhing shadows, “After lunch, we’ll meet.

“You trust Lucien.” Rhys angled his head at the not-quite question. “I trust in the fact that we currently have possession of the one thing he wants above all else. And as long as that remains, he’ll try to stay on our good side. But if that changes … His talent was wasted in the Spring Court. There was a reason he had that fox mask, you know.”

“He’s not a bad person—he’s not evil.” “He certainly isn’t.”

Too thin. She must not be eating at all. How can she even stand? The thoughts flowed through his head, one after another. His heart was a raging, thunderous beat, and he didn’t dare move from his position a mere five feet away. She hadn’t yet turned toward him, but the ravages of her fasting were evident enough. Touch her, smell her, taste her— The instincts were a running river. He fisted his hands at his sides.

Azriel seemed like a decent enough male

He tried to sound casual—comfortable. Even as his heart raced and raced, so swift he thought he might vomit on the very expensive, very old carpet. From Sangravah, if the patterns and rich dyes were any indication. Rhysand was many things, but he certainly had good taste. This entire place had been decorated with thought and elegance, with a penchant for comfort over stuffiness.

An ache like a blow to the chest went through him, but he crossed the rug. Forced his hands to be steady while he poured himself a cup of tea and sat in the chair opposite Nesta’s vacated one. “There’s a plate of biscuits. Would you like one?”

he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

Her eyes were the brown of a fawn’s coat.

“I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” And a whole lot of nothing. He’d told the shadowsinger all he knew—of his surviving brothers, of his father. His mother … he’d kept some details, irrelevant and utterly personal, to himself. Everything else—his father’s closest allies, the most conniving courtiers and lords … He’d handed it over. Granted, it was dated by a few centuries, but in his time as emissary, from the information he’d gathered, not much had changed. They’d all acted the same Under the Mountain, anyway. And after what had happened with his brothers a few days ago … There was no tinge of guilt when he told Azriel what he knew. None of what he felt when he looked toward the south—toward both of the courts he’d called home.

He fought against the bristling rage, the irrational urge to find the male who’d claimed her and shred him apart. The words were a rasp as he instead said, “I know. I’m sorry.”

He paused right between them and said to me, to Nesta, “She needs fresh air.” / “We’ll judge what she needs.” I could have sworn his ruby hair gleamed like molten metal as his temper rose. But it faded, his russet eye fixing on me. “Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two.” Then he walked away.

“Mother above,” Lucien said, dragging a hand through his hair.

Lucien had offered to make himself useful while we were gone by reading through some of the texts now piled on the tables throughout the sitting room.

But I will say that Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.”

It wasn’t just about what he thought—it was the … feeling. I sensed no ill will, no conniving. Only concern for her. And … sorrow. Longing

Cassian had come off the roof at some point to join Lucien in the sitting room, the books from the wall spread on the low-lying table between them

It felt like days ago. I rested my head against the embroidered back of the chair and watched Lucien take a seat on the rolled arm of the nearest couch. “Long day?” I grunted my response.

He weighed my tone, and crossed his arms. “Let me do something. About Elain. I heard—from my room. Everything that happened just now. It wouldn’t hurt to have a healer look her over. Externally and internally.” I was tired enough that I could barely summon the breath to ask, “Do you think the Cauldron made her insane?” “I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.”

“Please tell me,” Lucien said when I crossed the threshold into the foyer. “What the healer says. And if—if you need me for anything.”

Madja didn’t deign to answer Nesta until we were at the bottom of the steps. Lucien was already waiting in the sitting room, Mor still lingering in the dining room. Both of them rose to their feet.

Lucien muttered something about not needing to be monitored, and we all looked at him with raised brows. He just lifted his hands, claimed he wanted to freshen up, and headed down the hall.

The sound seemed to startle Elain, who swiftly set down her teacup. She rose to her feet, and Lucien shot to his. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “What—what was that?” “It—it was a tug. On the bond.” / Then Nesta was standing in the threshold. “What did you do.” The words were as sharp as a blade. Lucien looked to her, then over to me. A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.” Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. “It felt … strange,” Elain breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry.”

“And I got to Elain’s end of it when she ran off.” “Did you sense anything?” “No—I didn’t have time. I felt her, but …” A blush stained his cheek.

Lucien’s attention slid behind me, to the various letters on different styles and makes of paper. That golden eye narrowed. As Tamlin’s emissary, he no doubt recognized them. “Let me guess: they said yes, but picking the location is now going to be the headache.” Mor frowned. “Any suggestions?” Lucien tied back his hair with a strap of brown leather. “Do you have a map?”

Lucien had indeed given us an initial location, and several more when those were struck down. But that was to be expected, Lucien had said, as if he’d arranged such things countless times. Rhys had only nodded in agreement—and approval.

Especially since Lucien had left before breakfast for a library across the city to look up anything in regard to fixing the wall, a task I’d been more than willing to hand over. I might have felt guilty for never giving him a proper tour of Velaris, but … he seemed eager. More than eager—he seemed to be itching to head into the city on his own.

Lucien, stationed by the front window, turned from watching the street. Monitoring it. A sword and dagger hung from his belt. No humor, no warmth graced his face—only fierce, grim determination.

“I’ll go.” Lucien was staring at Elain as he spoke. We all looked at him. Lucien shifted his focus to Rhys, to me. “I’ll go,” he repeated, rising to his feet. “To find this sixth queen.” / “What makes you think you could find her?” Rhys asked. Not rudely, but—from a commander’s perspective. Sizing up the skills Lucien offered against the risks, the potential benefits. “This eye …” Lucien gestured to the metal contraption. “It can see things that others … can’t. Spells, glamours … Perhaps it can help me find her. And break her curse.” He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap. “I’m not needed here. I’ll fight if you need me to, but …” He offered me a grim smile. “I do not belong in the Autumn Court. And I’m willing to bet I’m no longer welcome at h—the Spring Court.” Home, he had almost said. “But I cannot sit here and do nothing. Those queens with their armies—there is a threat in that regard, too. So use me. Send me. I will find Vassa, see if she can … bring help.” / “You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—” “I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.” My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.” A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.”

Lucien had indeed been studying all those maps lately. Perhaps at the quiet behest of whatever force had guided us all. My mate added, “Thank you.” Lucien shrugged. And it was that gesture alone that made me say at last, “Are you sure?” He only glanced at Elain, whose face was again a calm void while she traced a finger over the embroidery on the couch cushions. “Yes. Let me help in whatever way I can.”

I asked Lucien, “When do you want to leave?” “Tomorrow.” I hadn’t heard him sound so assertive in … a long time. “I’ll prepare for the rest of today, and leave after breakfast tomorrow morning.” He added to Rhys, “If that works for you.”

Cassian had given him free rein yesterday afternoon to loot his personal cache of weapons, though my friend had been economical about which ones he’d selected. The blade, plus a short sword, plus an assortment of daggers. A quiver of arrows and an unstrung bow were tied to his pack.

“You know precisely where you want Rhys to take you?” I asked at last. Lucien nodded, glancing to where my mate now waited by the front door. He’d bring Lucien to the edge of the human continent—to wherever Lucien had decided would be the best landing spot. No farther, Azriel had insisted. His reports indicated it was too watched, too dangerous. Even for one of our own. Even for the most powerful High Lord in history.

“It was time,” Lucien said quietly, giving me a squeeze. “For me to do something.”

Rhys extended a hand to Lucien. Lucien studied it—then my mate’s face. I could nearly see all the hateful words they’d spoken. Dangling between them, between that outstretched hand and Lucien’s own. But Lucien took Rhys’s hand. That silent offer of not only transportation.

Their gazes locked and held. / Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye—the longing and sadness.

“I—heard the rumors and assumed Lucien Vanserra would be residing there after … what happened.” She still didn’t look at Tamlin, who remained silent and brooding. “I managed to contact him a few days ago—asked him to send samples. He did—and did not tell you,” she added quickly to Rhysand, “because he did not want to raise your hopes. Not until I’d found a solution.” No wonder he’d been so eager to head alone into Velaris that day he’d gone to help us research. I shot a look at Rhys. Seems like Lucien can still play the fox. Rhys didn’t look at me, though his lips twitched as he replied, Indeed.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

His power is flame, though. They’ve mused Beron’s title could go to him. His mother’s family is strong—that was why Beron wanted a bride from their line. The gift could be hers.

Other than the fact that Lucien might be Helion’s sole heir.

“Lucien,” I breathed. “Who?” Drakon’s brows narrowed. “Oh, the male with the eye. No. He met up with them later on—told them where to go. To come now, actually. So pushy, you Prythian males.

Lucien, haggard and bloody, panting for breath. As if he’d run from the shore. His gaze settled on Elain, and he sagged a little.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, coming toward us. Spying the blood speckling Elain’s hands.

“Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but … yes, I’m in one piece.” A faint smile bloomed on Elain’s lips. But Lucien noticed that scorched patch of grass behind us and said, “I heard—what happened. I’m sorry for your loss. All of you.”

“I’ve got one hell of a story to tell you,” he said, squeezing me tightly. “And don’t be surprised if Vassa corners you as soon as the ships are sorted. And the sun sets.” “Is she really—” “Yes. But your father, ever the negotiator …” / “The human queens are still out there,” I said. Maybe I’d hunt them down. “Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.” “You sound like an acolyte.” Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.” I nudged him in the ribs. But Lucien again looked at that singed grass, and his blood-splattered face turned solemn. “He was a good man,” he said. “He loved you all very much.”

Elain fell into step beside me, peering at Lucien. He noticed it. “I heard you made the killing blow,” he said.

I said to him, “So where now? Off with Vassa?” I wondered if he’d heard of Tamlin’s role—the help he’d given us. A look at my friend showed me he had. Someone, perhaps my mate, had informed him. Lucien shrugged. “First—here. To help. Then …” Another glance at Elain. “Who knows?” I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, “You could come to Velaris.” He saw all of it, but nodded graciously. “It would be my pleasure.”

Tamlin just shook his head, loathing simmering in his green eyes, and walked past. Not a word. I looked at Lucien in time to see the guilt, the devastation, flicker in that russet eye.

But Lucien remained standing with us as Tamlin found his place in the sitting room to our right. Did not glance at his friend even once. Lucien wasn’t foolish enough to beg for forgiveness.

I didn’t dare look through the ruined doorway to where Lucien now stood in the sitting room, close to Elain’s side

Lucien had remained behind to help with any of the human wounded still needing Fae healing

Another tidbit that Lucien had told us.

Send Lucien then. As our human emissary.

"Where's our dear friend Lucien?" "Off hunting for dinner."

"You brought presents". "It's Solstice tradition here, but isn't it?"

An uncontrollable instinct - for a male to eliminate any threat. But he remained sitting. Even as his fingers dug into the arms of his chair

Somehow in living with Jurian and Vassa in the manor, he'd run into Elain's former betrothed. And managed to leave the human lord breathing.

The corded muscle of his forearm shifted beneath the fine silk of his sapphire jacket.

"He is a good male", I repeated.

He raised his fist to the door, but the wooden slab pulled away before he could touch it. Lucien’s scarred, handsome face appeared, his golden eye whirring. “I thought I sensed someone else arriving.”

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

He had to give Lucien credit: the male was somehow able to move between his three roles—an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin—and still dress immaculately.

“Easy,” Lucien said. Cassian snarled. “Easy,” Lucien repeated, and flame sizzled in his russet eye. The flame, the surprising dominance within it, hit Cassian like a stone to the head, knocking him from his need to kill and kill and kill whatever might threaten—

“No. But we need to summon Lucien,” Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn’t like it one bit. “We need to tell him the news, and permanently station him at the Spring Court to contain any damage and to be our eyes and ears.”

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

3AM

Prompt Day 14: Angst with a Happy Ending | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | Tags: Post-S4, Self-Sabotage, Post Break-Up, Hurt/Comfort, Making Up, Eddie POV

it's all gonna end, and it might as well be my fault

Eddie can't sleep. Hasn't been able to in weeks. Not since Steve's been gone. Eddie ran him off for good this time, he's pretty sure. You can only push someone away so hard, for so long, before they actually listen and stay gone.

Steve has stayed away this time. And Eddie's been too stubborn to just call him, and say he's sorry. That he didn't mean it. That, of course, this thing between them is something real. The look on Steve's face when Eddie'd argued that this was just fumbling hands and mouths, just fucking, just bullshit, is seared into Eddie's mind. He can't see anything else but that look on Steve's face. That hurt.

That hurt, he caused. 

Just because he was scared. He pushed Steve away before Steve had the chance to leave on his own. Jesus H. Christ, he's a goddamn idiot. 

He rolls over onto his other side, and decides that's not any better, and rolls back again. He looks at the clock, and it's three a.m. It's useless. He climbs out of bed, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter. He walks out onto the porch, and lights one up. Inhaling deeply.

He looks down the street, and sees a familiar car parked along the curb. 

Eddie's barely dressed, just a t-shirt and his boxers, but he heads down the sidewalk. He leans down to look inside the car, and Steve is looking back at him. 

Eddie flicks his cigarette away, knowing he can't smoke in Steve's car, and slides inside. 

"What are you doing out here?" Eddie asks. 

"Couldn't sleep," Steve says quietly, leaning his head back against the headrest. 

"Same," Eddie says.

"Sorry for lurking," Steve says, eyes closed.

Eddie just hums in acknowledgement that he heard Steve. 

"Is this ever gonna get better? Between us?" Steve asks. 

"There is no us," Eddie says. And it's mean. Too mean. He's just tired.

"Yeah, trust me. I'm aware you don't want me around. That's a signal I actually read loud and clear." 

"Steve." 

"I know. Don't bother. I'm bullshit." 

"You're not bullshit. Stop saying that," Eddie says, cutting a look his way. 

"Then why don't you love me? Why doesn't anyone ever want me to love them?" 

All Eddie wants is for Steve to love him.

"Steve, this has nothing to do with you." 

Steve laughs, low and dry. It's cynical. 

"Yeah. It's not me. Right. It's never me." 

Eddie reaches over and touches Steve's thigh, "It's not. It's me. You're too good for me. You're going places." 

Steve laughs, a little unhinged. "I'm not going anywhere." 

"But you could. You should. Run. Flee. Get out of this town and never look back." 

"Well, that's not happening. So, I guess I'll just stay here and be miserable. And you can stay and be miserable, and we'll both just be miserable."

Eddie hates to hear Steve sound this weary.

"You don't want me," Eddie says.

"You're all I want! How do you not know that?" Steve yells in the confined space, scrubbing his hand over his face, pinching his nose. He's worn out. Exhausted. Eddie can tell, and he hates it.

"Steve, I don't-"

"No, it's fine. I shouldn't have been out here. You don't have to talk to me. You don't have to do anything with me," Steve says, turning the key over, bringing the engine of his car to life.

It's Eddie's cue to go. Eddie knows that, but he can't seem to make himself budge. He thinks if he does, that this might be the last time he ever sees Steve Harrington.

And as much as Eddie doesn't want to drag Steve down with him, he can't seem to let him go. Not again.

"Steve," Eddie tries again, and Steve's put the car in drive and has pulled up the few feet to the little house they moved into after the trailer collapsed into that split in the earth.

"We're at your stop," Steve says, eyes forward, not looking at him.

"I just want-"

"Either get out now, or I'm leaving and you're coming home with me."

Eddie crosses his arms, not reaching for the door handle, and true to his word Steve pulls away from the curb. 

It's a quiet ride back to his big, empty house. When Eddie gets out, he's acutely aware he's in his underwear and has no shoes. But he follows Steve into the house, and straight up the carpeted staircase. 

Steve pushes open the door to his bedroom, and starts undressing. Stripping down to his underwear, crawling in bed. 

That's when he finally looks at Eddie, and stretches his arm out. An open invitation. 

Eddie takes it.

He slides into bed with Steve, and buries his face in Steve's chest. Steve wraps both arms around him, and holds him close. Resting his chin on the top of Eddie's head.

"Are you done being an idiot?" Steve finally asks. Soft and quiet in the darkness.

"Yeah," Eddie says, because he is.

Eddie's quiet for a few seconds, then laughs, "You kidnapped me."

"Guess you shouldn't get into cars with strangers, then," Steve says, teasing, pulling him closer, "See you in the morning."

And Eddie knows it's Steve's way of saying Eddie better be right here when he wakes up. Eddie understands that fully, and he will be. He's done running. He loves him too much. Even if deep down, Eddie thinks Steve would be better off without him.

Eddie's eyes are heavy, the lack of sleep hitting him hard. He closes his eyes, and that's it.

The sun is streaming through the windows, and right into Eddie's eyes. He whines, and rolls over, cuddling against Steve who is still sleeping through the onslaught of sunlight ushering in the brand new day.

They have a lot of things to work out, Eddie knows that, but he is also certain that he never wants to run from Steve Harrington.

Notes: Title and lyric at the top is from Matchbox Twenty's song 3AM. Thank you Spotify for feeding this to me when I didn't have an idea for this prompt, lol.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[gaysindistress]

When Night Comes - Sixteen

Summary: Who would win in a staring contest? New York’s resident mob boss and master of the side eye Bucky Barnes or the daycare teacher who really wants to go home and smoke?

pairing: Mob!Vampire!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: cursing, smutty times but I like my porn with plot, talks of sex/sexual things, Vamp!Bucky loses his cool,

Word count: 3.9k

a/n: My husband left me home alone last weekend with his card and now that I'm done with school, it only made sense to watch every vampire movie in existence. Bucky might be a tad Dracula-coded this time around so you can thank Dracula (1992) and The Invitation (2022) for that.

Fifteen | masterlist

tag list: @cakesandtom @elizacusi-blog @unaxv @hidden-treasures21 @buckybarnessimpp @vonalyn @thebuckybarnesvault

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

“Shit,” Y/N breaths as she slides across the floor and nearly falls before catching herself on the wall. She pushes off it and keeps running towards her room. Two stairs at a time, she climbs as fast as she can while Bucky casually stalks her. There’s no need to chase her or even threaten it because they both know he’d be upon her in seconds. So instead he stopped running when she disappeared into the house and opted to stroll to her room.  

Of course it’s not that simple. 

“Dragă,” that honey voice calls out quietly, “Dragă”

The sweet sound grips into her with its claws of promise and she barely clears the top step in her distracted moment. 

“My gorgeous Dragă,” it gets closer as his shoes collide with the stairs, “are you going to be a good girl for me?”

Y/N finally makes it to her door and scrambles inside, locking it as quickly as she can before shoving ant and all furniture  in front of it. She can hear his dark and deep chuckle at the feeble attempt to keep him out. She doesn’t really want that though. 

She wants him to come in. 

She wants him to break the door down and move the dresser like it’s nothing. 

She wants him to be disappointed that she tried so hard but failed. 

She wants him to prove his desire for her. 

She wants him. 

“Dragă, did you really push your dresser in front of your door? You know that can’t keep me out,” he mocks her from the other side, “did you do that to make me mad? Because if you did, Dragă, I suggest you move it before I have to. You won’t like my methods.”

Y/N searches her room for anything at all to define herself if worse comes to worse. A rosary on her nightstand catches her eye and she snatches up the back and gold chain. 

“Open the door, Dragă,” his voice is starting to grow more and more impatient the longer she takes to respond, “I’m not asking again.”

“No,” she finds her voice albeit shaky. 

The air shifts, tensing and it’s as if a fog overcomes the room. Cold air wraps around her scorching body and the deep breaths he’s letting out seem to shorten her own breathing pattern. 

“No?”

She confirms and climbs onto her bed, pulling her clothes off as she does so. The rosary finds a place around her neck while she starts to take her sweatpants off but not before the door handle starts to rattle. Her body tenses but something urges her to keep going and despite her anxiety, she starts to peel her shirt off too. The rattling starts to intensify. His patience has worn down to absolutely nothing and it’s evident in the way the rattle suddenly stops. 

Y/N takes relief in this false sense of security and leans back into her bed, her hand slipping down her body at the same time. Lost in her own head and desire, she doesn’t immediately hear the rattle of another door knob, this time closer than before. 

“Dragă,” the lack of control drips from his saccharine voice but she ignores it, “I can smell you. Let me in. Now.”

A precautionary measure is how he justified putting her in a room that had an adjoining door to his. 

“I need to be able to get to her quickly if something happens,” is what he told himself but he knew it would be for this moment and this moment alone. 

It still might be a precautionary measure even now because the absolutely ungodly urge to burn the house around him to get to her has consumed him. 

One hand on the handle and the other on the door, Bucky leans his head against the wood to calm himself. The first time they had sex it was about the desire to feel safe and express the trust that had just bloomed between them but this time, it’s the work of an entirely new beast. 

This time it’s about raw attraction and pure devotion in the most biblical way imaginable. 

Well as biblical as a Strigoi and doppelgänger witch can be.

A moan rips him back to her and he thrusts the door open, almost sending it flying off the hinges. Aside from the heavenly sight of Y/N touching herself, the first thing that he notices is the shimmer of the gold rosary in the amber lights from the fireplace. 

A deep growl rips through his chest and he kicks himself for telling her Strgoi's worst enemy: religious objects. The black beads would prevent him from biting her, a threat that has him more enraged than he’s been since…. 

“Bucky,” leaves her mouth in a breathless moan and he’s quick to join her on the bed. 

Feeling the mattress dip, she opens her eyes to see the black veins seizing his face and she smiles when he roughly yanks at her wrist to pull her closer to him. 

“Bucky,” she calls to him again as he tears away at her remaining clothes and his own, “Please.”

Her last plea is met with him sinking into her in one shift thrust. They both let sounds that would make a nun blush and a priest curse. He starts a brutal pace leaving her bruised and aching in the morning but neither of them care. His grunts are matched with her sobs of pleasure and he’s almost satisfied with the way their bodies are joined. The only thing that is stopping him from claiming her body and soul once again is that damned rosary around her neck. 

Bucky leans down over her as he demands that she take it off. Too lost in herself, the words don’t immediately register with Y/N which infuriates him even more. He demands again and drives his point into her via sharp snaps on his hips. Her hands paw at the chain and rip it away, sending those black beads and crucifix flying around them. A sinister laugh threatens to release itself from his throat but one particularly loud moan from him stills it. 

Doing what he intended, he bites her neck and drinks from her as he had done that night. 

The demands of his Strigoi side are not often met because the control needed to execute them properly is easy to lose. Bucky had been this creature for many years and human long before that so he knew how to exercise that control, in theory at least. Only when he had been first turned and met Celeste did he struggle but now? 

Now proved to be a temptation that he’d never prepared for, a fight he had not seen coming. Lost in the throws of carnal desire, blood lust, and a bond created by whatever Gods that rule this earth, Bucky finds himself fighting to not completely consume Y/N. 

“Bucky, en…enough.”

“Bucky… stop… stop…stop.”

The sun shines behind the heavy velvet curtains however only slivers of its light can sneak through the cracks. That light lays upon her bed and warms their bodies through the thin sheets. She stirs uncomfortably from the weight of Bucky’s body draped over her own and an ache that went straight to her soul. Turning to move him is pointless as that ache pulses with every move and she’s too weak regardless. The sleeping giant of a man wrinkles his nose at her efforts and grips onto her tighter, nuzzling his head into her neck where the ache seems to originate from. 

Pain bursts through her when he does that and she yelps, shoving him as hard as she can. Bucky wakes immediately and goes into full alert, black veins flooding his face as he searches for the yelp’s source. His eyes soften and the veins disappear when he sees Y/N holding a hand to her neck and tears trickling down her cheeks. Guilt overtakes him and he’s quick to try and comfort her. Offering her blood from his wrist, he helps her to sit up and encourages her to drink. 

“What happened?” she asks, her voice hoarse and quiet. 

His face hardens at her question, self loathing becoming his new best friend as he stays quiet. She asks again and his eyes snap to catch hers. 

“It was my fault.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Pulling himself away from her, he sits on the edge of the bed with his back facing her. He drops his head into his hands so he doesn’t have to look at her, “I…went too far. I know better than to drink from you, anyone when I’m like THAT but it couldn’t stop myself.”

Y/N sits behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and rests her cheek against the plains of his back. 

“I won’t do that again, I promise. I won’t drink from you again.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

He scoffs at her foolish words and tries to pull away but she squeezes him tighter.

“I trust you with my life.”

“Well you shouldn’t.” “I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were my mother,” she says sarcastically, still holding him against her. She stands on her knees and leans over his shoulder so she can look at him, “My trust in you comes as easy as breathing. You’ve protected me this far and one mishap like last night’s isn’t enough to sway that.”

“You say that like I didn’t almost kill you.”

She shrugs, “It won’t be the last time either of us tries to kill the other.”

“You can’t hurt me,” he says with a small smile and a matching one grows on her face. 

“I’m sure I could if I really put my mind to it,” she shoots back while her eyes go to his necklace, “What’s the ring for?”

His smile drops for a moment, “It’s a protection ring. Anyone who wears it is safe from harm.”

She misses that drop and picks it up to inspect it. It matches his, however smaller and more feminine; an onyx gem bordered with silver floral detailing and a flower in the middle of the stone.

Bucky takes it from her and breaks the chain so that the ring may be free. Its weight sits heavy in his palm before he grabs her hand and slides it on her index finger. 

“Now you’ll be protected even when I’m not around,” he tells her as he kisses it. 

Y/N’s eyes widened at the gesture, “I can’t take this.”

He stops her from trying to take it off, “Yes you can now stop.”

“Are…are you sure?”

Gripping her chin, he confirms what he’s just said, “It belongs to you. Wear it and never take it off, understand?”

After she nods, he gives her a breathtaking kiss. 

The ring hums in joy as it takes comfort in finally being with its rightful owner once again.

Anxiety and worry have become the cooks new best friends as she wanders around the garden in search of anything to distract her. Carrots, onions, and potatoes had already suffered her nervous rapture however there are still plenty of other vegetables to be reaped. 

“Ana Cristina,” a voice startles her and the cucumbers in her apron tumble to the ground as she drops them. Spinning around with a breath caught in her throat, she visibly relaxes when it’s Yelena who spoke. 

“Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she apologizes and helps Ana Cristina pick up the fallen cucumbers. 

Ana Cristina waves off the apology and excuses her jumpy behavior with the situation that brought Yelena here. After all it had been years since Lycan and Strigoi had been in Romania so anyone with a heart would be fearful. Yelena offers a smile and shifts uncomfortably under the eye of the witch and the weight of Bucky’s gun tucked into her waist. 

Sensing there is an ulterior motive to Yelena’s visit, Ana Cristina goes back to her garden tending and asks her what she needs. Yelena hesitates but the look from over the witch’s  shoulder forces the words out as if it is a truth spell, “I know about Peggy and Alix and I know that Peggy  wants you to help her but you and Luca said no but I’m working with Juliette to double cross Alix and we need your help reversing a hex Peggy had on Bucky’s gun.”

Ana Cristina chuckles as she brushes her hands on her apron, “Breath child. Start again and say it slowly. My ears are old.” 

“Juliette came to me and wanted me to help her get rid of Alix. She told me everything about Peggy and how she’s been helping Alix this whole time. She also told me that Peggy’s been trying to get your coven involved but you and Luca are refusing,” Yelena confesses and pulls the gun out, “she said that Peggy had someone hex Bucky’s gun and that you could reverse it, a return to sender kind of thing.” 

Ana Cristina takes the gun and turns it over in her hands, “out with the rest. What else do you need?” 

“You need to tell Peggy that you and Luca will help. Juliette and I can’t take on Alix ourselves.” 

 “Do Steve or Bucky know?”

 “No but….”

“No ‘but’s. They can’t know. It puts them, Wyatt, and the girl in danger,” she warns, “We’ll help and reverse the hex but you do know Peggy will die, are you prepared to take on that burden.”

Yelena drops her gaze to the ground, “She’s put us in danger and didn’t think twice.”

“I’m not asking if it’s justified, I’m asking if you can handle the weight of knowing that you’re going to kill someone you care about.”

“I stopped caring for her when I found out she led Alix right to Y/N.”

“Good,” Ana Cristina places the gun in her basket of garden rewards, “Tell Juliette to be ready for my call. We’re going to need to move fast and without fault. Any mistake will ruin our chances but I trust that you can do it.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work,” Luca whispers to Ana Cristina while they work to reverse the hex, “Thor and Loki will know that something is off.”

“No they won’t. We are the elders, they will do well to listen to us without question.”

Luca lets out a huff of air and frowns, “They’re not going to believe that a spell would require the people it’s protecting to be in the home of those it’s protecting them from.”

“The spell needs Alix to be near our doppelgänger to be effective and the doppelgänger won’t leave the estate. Not to mention that the doppelgänger is who she is after so yes she would be stupid enough to believe that and do what we ask. As for the boys, they’re not skilled enough to do a spell of this caliber let alone do they know how to speak Romanian. They’re not going to know so stop your worrying. It makes you smell like onions.”

“Onions!?” Luca shrieks. 

Ana Cristina sighs and turns her full attention to him, “Onions is what you took from that?”

“Yes! No one has ever told me that I smell when I get worried!” 

She levels an annoyed look at him and he makes an equally annoyed noise. 

“Please just be quiet when they get here. Let me talk to them and you just sit there.”

He nods and takes the gun from her after she holds it out to him. He puts it into a box which gets hidden in the floorboards and returns to her side as Thor, Loki, and Peggy come in through the backdoor. Peggy gives Luca a suspicious look when she sniffs the air but Ana Cristina is quick to throw another log into the fire, the smoke covering anything hit by his anxiety sweat. 

“Finally come to your senses?” Loki mocks the elders. Thor attempts to lecture him but Peggy holds up her hand for the both of them to stop talking. 

“There’s a way to get rid of Bucky,” Ana Cristina says while still cleaning the vegetables from earlier.

“Did this happen or…?” says Loki but Peggy sends him a nasty look before asking the same. 

“No?”

Peggy asks her to elaborate and she pretends to be reluctant before telling them about the spell that’s been “passed down” if this situation ever occured. It would require Strogoi blood from his bloodline,, the cleasning of the doppelgänger, , various herbs, and the power of 4 witches. Thor giggles like a child at the mention of the cleasning of the doppelgänger and Loki takes the opportunity to lecture him with his mechancing stare. 

“Well that’s not going to work. Bucky didn’t turn me,” Peggy tries to cast doubts on their plan. 

“I wasn’t talking about you. Yelena has agreed to give us hers.” “You told her?”

“No of course not. I told her that the spell would reestablish the ban the coven did for Celeste.”

Peggy wrinkles her nose at the mention of the former lady of the house, “Did you get Y/N to agree?”

“Not yet but like you said, she trusts me and she’s starting to care about Bucky  so it won’t be hard for me to get her to do it.”

“I’ll let Alix know. In the mean time, don’t breath another word of this and make Luca take a shower. Bucky or my husband are going to know that something is up if he reeks of onions all of the time,” she hisses at them before she spins on her heel and stomps out of the kitchen. Luca visbibly deflats as soon as she’s gone and the entire time, Ana Cristina hadn’t stopped her work on the vegtetables. Thor and Loki her silence as their cue to leave without another word. 

“We’re going to die aren’t we?” Luca asks with his head in his hands.

“It would be stupid to think otherwise.”

[dannystattoo]

I Like Shiny Things but I'd Marry You With Paper Rings

Pairing: Danny Wagner x Female Reader

Warnings: None

We love a drunk Vegas Wedding 🥰

“This might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever suggested,” you rolled your eyes at your boyfriend as you stumbled through the streets of Vegas, both more than a little intoxicated.

“Did you say no?” Danny asked you, lacing his fingers between yours and swinging your arms. 

“Well…no” you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling as you approached the gaudy Elvis themed chapel you’d found on Yelp. 

“What’s so funny?” You were both laughing now. 

“We’re gonna be such a cliche, oh my god,” the words came out slightly slurred. “We got drunk and ran away from our friends to get married in Vegas?” 

“We didn’t run away from them, they wanted to go back to the hotel. They’re kinda boring, aren’t they?”

“Probably smarter than us. The drive to the show tomorrow is gonna fucking suck.”

“As long as I’m good to perform tomorrow and you’re good to come and watch,” Danny shrugged. 

“Can I pass out on you in the bus tomorrow then?” 

“Of course”

“Perfect. So…are we doing this?” You’d been standing outside the chapel for a few minutes now and had yet to go in.

“Ready if you are, babe” 

“Danny we…we fucked up” you slurred slightly.

“What’dyou mean, honey?”

“We need witnesses, our friends left” 

“Shit. Ok, what if we just grab a couple people, I’m sure we can convince someone into witnessing a wedding in Vegas.” Danny, being the charismatic motherfucker he was, found a couple who was more than willing to follow you into he chapel and witness the ceremony. You promised them you’d be in and out as quick as you could, knowing you only needed a couple minutes.

As you both spoke with the Elvis impersonator out front, you took a minute to thank your past self for choosing something cute to wear tonight. It wasn’t a white wedding dress (not that you’d wanted a white one anyway), but you had chosen a flowy black romper that you thought fit the part well enough. Danny had worn his typical outfit for nights out, jeans and a button-up shirt (which was currently about half unbuttoned), but he could have worn anything and looked perfect to you. 

“Whatever service gets us out of here quickest. We promised these fine people we wouldn’t keep them for more than a few minutes.” 

You followed the Elvis-minister back into the chapel, which was as tacky as you’d expected. 

“So will you be doing your own vows, or would you like the traditional ones?”

“Ummm, traditional I guess, seeing as we don’t write any?”

“We’ll do our own,” Danny said at the same time.  

“What, babe, do you have secret vows written or something?”

“No, but you’re absolutely not vowing to honor and obey me.” You nodded, not really able to argue with that point. You remembered when the topic of marriage had come up previously, you’d mentioned how much you hated traditional, antiquated vows and insisted you needed to write your own. 

“You first, then” 

“Ok,” Danny sat for a second, tongue dancing across his lips as he thought. You were about to give him shit for being so confident about pulling vows out of his ass, but you thought better of it. 

“I’m not gonna come up with anything groundbreaking, but y/n, when I tell you meeting you was the best thing to ever happen to me. I promise you’re stuck with me forever, I’m not going anywhere. I’m always gonna support you in the same way you have for me with music, no matter what. I promise we’ll go to so many concerts togther, I’m gonna take you all over the world - some day, I swear I’ll be touring and you can just travel all over with me…if you want, that is. I promise I’ll always try to be home on Halloween, I have to spend your favorite day with you, I could keep going, but really I'm just gonna do everything to give you the best life I can. I love you so much, y/n” 

Maybe it was the alcohol, as you weren’t usually an emotional person, but you caught tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. God, you didn’t know what you’d done to deserve someone like Danny.

“Well now I’m crying, you asshole,” you laughed. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to top that. I love you.” You suddenly realized you were most certainly still tipsy and you couldn’t think of a single other thing to say. Holding Danny’s hands, you leaned forward into his chest and started giggling. 

“Danny, I wonder every single day what I did to deserve you because you’re too good for me. I promise to you’re stuck with me forever too, through literally anything. I’m always going to your band’s biggest supporter, I’ll never get mad at you for having to spend time in the studio or on the road, and I’ll be at every single one of your shows I possibly can. I’ll always watch your sports with you, even if I don’t always know what’s going on. I might even consider learning how to golf so I can do more than sit in the cart and look cute. I'll be up for any new adventure, and we’re gonna live life to the fullest, I promise. I don’t have words for how much I love you, how much you mean to me, and I’m never gonna stop showing you that.”

The ceremony finished a few minutes later, with Danny quite literally sweeping you off your feet when he could finally kiss you. 

“Now what,” you asked once you’d left the chapel. It was the middle of the night, but being Vegas, you could have gone anywhere. 

“Back to the hotel?” Danny looked at you with a smirk. 

“Consumate the marriage?” you dished it right back. 

“Wait, babe, we need rings.”

“What?” you were so caught up in the moment you didn’t even process what he was talking about.

“We never got rings. We need rings. Well, actually, I have a ring for you when we get home, but we need ones now.”

“Baby, no we don’t, we can always get them later. We’re legal, we don’t need rings. I will need you to back up though, what do you mean there’s a ring at home?” 

“I was actually planning to propose to you sometime soon, I wasn’t exactly sure when, but I’ve known I wanted to marry you for a while. So there is a ring in my drawer, I just wasn’t sure when I wanted to do it. But then tonight I decided I didn’t wanna wait. I know I want to be with you forever, why put it off?” 

“Babe, what the fuck.” You were absolutely speechless hearing how much this man loved you. You grabbed his hand and nuzzled your face into his chest.

“We don’t need a ring, but we can get one somehwere if you want. You need one too. You know what, we can get them when we’re home, I think it would be fun to keep this our little secret for a while.” 

“You sure?”

“If you’re ok with that?” You immediately worried he thought you were ashamed that you’d eloped, or that you regretted it. 

“Oh yeah, if you are. We don’t need to tell anyone til we’re both ready. I know nobody was expecting us to get married, we weren’t even engaged.” 

You caught an Uber back to your hotel, you curling into Danny’s side the entire drive back. It was apparent you were sobering up, and the inevitable crash was coming. When you arrived at the hotel, Danny insisted on carrying you bridal style of to the room. You insisted right back that you could walk up, you were almost completely sober now, just exhausted, but he said it was part of the experience, there was no way he was going to make his bride walk up to the room herself. 

The whole ride up the elevator, you were both ready to start going at each other, but sadly, someone else got on with you all the way up to your room on the top floor. The second the door was closed and locked, Danny threw you on to the bed and you reached up to pull him on top of you. Just as he’d settled his knees between your legs and practically attached his mouth to your neck, his phone started buzzing on the other side of the room, a call clearly coming through. However, neither of you registered it. Not even a minute later, your phone started vibrating and the only reason you noticed it was because you’d forgotten it was still in your pocket. You reached down, but didn’t bother to see who it was, throwing it on the nightstand. At this point you heard Danny’s phone go off again, and you both realized at the same time someone was definitely trying to get a hold of you. 

“Go see who it is, make sure it’s not an emergancy.,” you sighed, letting go of his shirt you had been trying to finish unbuttoning. 

“Hey man, what’s up, is everything ok?…you’ve got to be fucking kidding me, I’m kinda busy…ok, ok, fine, I’ll be to your room in five, you owe me.”

“Who was that?” 

“Sam. Apparently he brought that girl he met earlier back to his room and the dumbass didn’t think to bring any condoms.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your mouth upon hearing this. 

“Go help him out, I’ll be here waiting, maybe get changed into something else for you.” 

“Don’t, I wanna take you out of that myself,” he called from the bathroom. “Ok, I’ll be right back. Keep that on, Mrs.Wagner.” 

“I love the sound of that, get your ass back here soon baby.”  Oh, that man was going to run to Sam’s room and back. 

Somehow, all of your rooms had gotten completely separated and Sam just happened to be multiple floors below you on the opposite side of the hotel, so it would probably be about ten minutes until Danny returned. Of course, the second he was gone, you were hit the same exhaustion you’d felt in the Uber and you decided to get comfortable for a few minutes. You’d wake up the second Danny was back, you knew it. Of course, you’d underestimated how tired you were and within minutes you’d passed out. 

“Babe, I’m back, sorry about the -“ Danny found you curled up in bed, arms wrapped around the pillow and fast asleep. He smiled to himself, taking in how adorable you looked and thinking about the fact that he was going to get to come to bed with you every night for the rest of your lives. He striped down to his boxers, not caring about putting on anything else.

“Babe….baby…y/n?” 

“Hmmm?” you answered, half concious. 

“Let’s get your PJs on, huh?”

“No, I’m good,” you said, rolling further into the bed.

“You sure? You couldn’t stop complaining about having to wear a strapless bra all night.”

“Fine, you’re right.” You slowly, begrudingly, sat up, and let him help you get your romper off and change into one of his t-shirts. 

“Not what I had in mind when I said I wanted to get you out of that,” Danny laughed. 

“Sorry,” you said, already feeling yourself falling asleep again.

“It’s ok, bug, we have literally our entire lives.” He laid down next to you, pulling you right against him. You curled up right against him, tangling your legs in his and tucking your head into his chest. 

“I’ve said it so much tonight, but I love you so much,” you said, slurring your words now to to sleepiness rather than drunkeness.

“I love you too, Mrs. Wagner…god, I’m never gonna get tired of saying that. 

“I’m never gonna get tired of hearing it.” That was the last thing you said before you fell asleep, happie than ever about your drunk, impulsive decisions. 

[neoncowgirlposts]

Ohhhkay so I saw @bigtreefest post earlier about cevans characters in pickup trucks (yum) and had a long winded thought that became basically a one shot. 😭😭 This was super rushed and is my first time posting anything I’ve written so be nice please! ☺️ Love you besties!!!🩷🩷🫶🫶🫶🥰🥰🥰

Ari Levinson x reader | No minors pls! 💓 | I’m 99% sure this is gn!reader and racially ambiguous BUT if not PLEASE let me know and I will edit it. ❤️

You and Ari were on a recon mission that was only supposed to last a few days, but for some reason had dragged out to a week. It’s pushing two in the morning as he drives down the highway through the wooded, monotonous landscape. Not that it matters; it’s too dark to see outside anyways, and the headlights are too old to help much.

You knew Ari well enough to know he wouldn’t replace them until they truly gave out on him. That was how everything was with him. ‘Til the wheels fell off. Not that you minded. It was sort of comforting that he was so stuck in his ways, rejecting anything new in favor of his worn t-shirts and jeans, books with creased spines that he’s read a dozen times, and his dark blue, crew cab pickup truck.

Your line of work lacked routine, predictability, and most of the time, safety. In spite of that, Ari was always there, consistent as ever, grounding you, a gentle reminder of reality. Yeah, he could be reckless, but at the very least he was consistent.

Driving along, running your fingers lightly over the cracked beige leather of the passenger’s seat, you wondered if his sentimentality regarding his belongings served the same purpose for him. Comfort. Reminding him of his life and identity throughout all the chaos. You guessed so.

He had owned the damn truck longer than he had known you; a transitional object throughout the tumultuous seasons of his life. Almost like a child’s blankie, you thought with the breathiest little giggle.

He stirred next to you.

“Thought you were asleep,” he said gruffly, breaking you from your thoughts in the no-longer silent cab.

“No, um, I was just looking out the window. I woke up a few minutes ago. I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” you replied softly. He was exhausted, his eyes puffy and breathing slow. You both hadn’t slept for almost 36 hours when you had finally made it back to his truck. Though you had offered to drive, he refused and told you that you needed to rest.

“You didn’t disturb me. Not at all. I just want you to be able to sleep.”

”You need to sleep, too, Ari. You’ve been up almost two days.”

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” letting the endearment slip in his groggy state. “Don’t worry about me.”

He was okay. He would be okay. He could always endure more and suffer longer if it meant he could absolve you from having to do the same.

“Ari,” you said a bit more firmly. “Switch me. You need to sleep. The nearest town is 90 minutes away. I don’t want you to have to drive that far.”

”It’s okay. I told you it was fine. Go back to sleep.” His hands gripped more tightly at the spots they had worn into the steering wheel over time. Your gentle care and consideration of him had always made him feel some type of way, but his fondness for you and your comfort outweighed the blush licking up his neck at your thoughtful demand.

“No. Let me drive.”

“I’ll drive a little longer until we can find a motel to check into. Just drop it.”

”Ari get out of the—“

”AH, Shit!!” He yelled as he abruptly stopped his truck, startling you.

Ari breathed out a sigh as you trembled slightly at his sudden outburst, thinking it might be at you. He faced away from you as he inspected the dash, leaving you uncertain with tears brimming in your eyes and a quivering lip. Things had been hard lately. You felt like you couldn’t catch a break; your life was wild and you felt out of your control to a point of discomfort.

You whimpered quietly, tired, overwhelmed, and unaccustomed to him yelling at you. Registering the noise, he was torn out of contemplation and met with your watery eyes and ruddy cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he rushed, concerned at your state as he put the truck in park. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not upset with you, okay? I didn’t mean to yell or scare you. The gas light turned on and we don’t have enough fuel to get us to the next town and check into a motel. I’m just frustrated in general, I’m not mad at you. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

His large, calloused hands had reached out to you slowly and began rubbing up and down your arms. You sniffled and nodded at him, tears leaking out of your eyes as you snuggled further into his baggy hoodie he had let you wear.

“I-I-I’m sorry, Ari,” you wiped furiously at your eyes, trying to calm down. “I’m sorry for crying I’m just o-overwhelmed with everything and we’re b-both exhausted and-and I—“

”Shhh, it’s okay. I know, it’s okay. Fuck, I know this sucks. I’m just gonna pull in to the shoulder of the highway, just a bit behind those trees. We’ll sleep in the truck.”

You nodded silently and closed your eyes, breathing deeply as his warm palm slid across your thigh. He shifted the truck into drive and expertly pulled behind a few of the larger trees, under the canopy but still in view of the road. You felt him shift again just as quickly into park and remove the keys from the ignition.

“I’m gonna grab a few things from the bed of the truck, okay? Why don’t you hop out with me and take a few breaths of fresh air and then I’ll make up a bed for you in the backseat.”

“I- Ari, what? Where are you going to sleep?”

He chose not to answer, hopping out and walking ‘round back. Choosing to trust him instead of argue this time, you nod and hop out of the passenger’s seat, yawning and stretching your arms above your head while he rummaged through the back. He comes back a few moments later with a rolled-up sleeping bag and thick, flannel blanket.

He gestures you to follow to the drivers’ side of the truck, and you wander after him obediently. You’re so used to being on guard all the time that it almost feels nice to have him be in charge, ordering you around. If you were any more lucid, you probably wouldn’t admit that to yourself, though.

He pulls open the door the backseat and reaches inside, wedging the sleeping bag against the back right window of his pickup. He hops out again and faces you.

“What are you doing?” You question. He only saunters to your shivering form and wraps you in the thick blanket and effortlessly scoops you up bridal style and walks back towards the open door.

Your stomach flips at his ability to manhandle you, but you try to shove the feeling down in an effort to avoid facing the other conflicting emotions you might feel towards Ari.

He gets up into the backseat of the pickup and lays you down so your head falls on top of the sleeping bag. He begins to tuck you in but you turn to stop him.

“What about you?” You ask softly, the concern in your sweet face pulling at his heartstrings.

“I’ll sleep outside. Keep watch. Don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Shooting up at his response, his chest tightens, waiting for you to argue back. He liked that about you. You didn’t ever back down from him. You were firey, but sweet and kind all the same. But tonight, he just wanted you to rest and be comfortable. Ari knew how hard you had been pushing yourself and just wanted to grant you some relief.

You took a deep breath and faced him. “Ari, listen to me, please,” you spoke earnestly. It threw the man who had just been waiting for a scolding.

“I just want you to be comfortable, okay? You’re the most selfless man I know. You always try to put me and everyone else before you. I appreciate it so much. More than you know. But please,” you looked at him from under your lashes and reached to caress his cheek. “Don’t go sleep on the hard ground. I want you next to me. To lay with me. Please.”

A stunned look graced his beautiful features. He almost always knew what to say, but hearing you plead for him to lay next to you shocked him. Ari brought his big hand up to yours which still rested on his cheek and grabbed it. You looked directly at each other as he ran his thumb over the back of your hand and leaned down to kiss your palm.

“Do you think there’s room?” He finally said softly, making you snort.

“Just get over here, you big dork,” you said through a smile.

You pulled him flat on his back while you both kicked your shoes off. His head landed against the makeshift pillow while you closed the door. His knees were bent and you smiled awkwardly down at him as you locked the doors.

“There’s a nine millimeter under the-“

“Oh my God,” you laughed, snuggling on top of him and into his warm chest.

“Just in case,” he smiled down at you. You adjusted the blanket so it fit over the both of you and wrapped your arms up around his neck. Ari held your waist with one hand and the back of your head with the other, petting your head and lulling you to sleep.

“I’m sorry for snapping earlier,” he said into the dark, but you shushed him before he could continue.

“It’s ok, we’ll figure everything out in the morning. I just wanted you to hold me.”

[fablesrose]

Ch 6 - The Order 23 Job

Series Rewrite Masterlist 

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader

Description: The team messes with a dirty financial planner's mind by stealing a hospital and convincing him of a disease.

Words: 2355

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

Our next job kept us in Massachusetts, where a finance guy had stolen money from his clients. Many had relied on him, only to leave them penniless. This was an interesting job, however, as he had already been charged for his crimes, in fact, we had shown up for his sentencing. The money he stole, though, was still missing. 

We gathered in the courtroom, discussing the situation. Eddie, the mark, was going to a glorified prison in Florida that sounded more like a country club for only 18 months before he could come back and collect the nearly $400,000 he stashed before his trial. 

“Alright, if this guy’s not afraid of prison,” Sophie started, “then what incentive does he have to tell us where the cash is?”

Nate didn’t have an answer. 

“Nate, hate to rush you, but Eddie goes to prison in an hour so…” Parker probed. 

“Yeah, yeah yeah…” 

“Did you guys notice how much hand sanitizer that guy was using? Seems like a germaphobe on top of being a jerk. Makes me like him even less” I commented, mostly to myself. 

“Did you like him at all?” Eliot asked me.

“No.”

Nate turned to us, “What are you more afraid of than prison?”

“Death?” Sophie guessed.

“And what are you more afraid of than death?” Nate raised the hand sanitizer Eddie had and looked at me, “Exactly.”

Nate quickly came up with a plan, Parker would sneakily drug Eddie’s water with some spy type vent menuevers. Nate would then pose as a doctor to keep Eddie in the area, even getting him to a hospital so we could have an even greater control over him. Once we stole the hospital of course. 

Once we arrived Hardison and Parker set up equipment on an abandoned floor. Sound systems, cameras, anything you could think of to be able to convince Eddie that he was in an operational floor of the hospital. Nate sent me to grab some things with a list. Once everything was set up we met in one room which would be our makeshift HQ.

“Hey, are you sure there are no patients on this floor,” I asked after I had gathered all the stuff.

“No, they use this place for storage. We own it,” Hardison answered. 

I nodded, setting the duffel I had down. “Alright, well here’s the stuff from the van, plus almost everything from the list. And by the way, nurses haven’t worn skirts with white stockings since the 70s.” I didn’t fail to catch the slight smirk that came from Hardison and Eliot when I said that. 

“Guys listen up,” Nate caught our attention, “Eddie is here for an MRI, that gives us two hours. Don’t need to tell ya that’s not a lot of time. You might be playing multiple parts on this one.”

“Even me?” I asked, I hadn’t had a large role in a job yet, or any role at all for that matter. 

“Yeah, even you,” Nate answered. “Parker, y/n, and I will be the medical team. Sophie, next door to the patient.”

Eliot and Hardison were bickering over shirts.

“Guys, just keep an eye on the Marshalls alright? We’ve got two hours starting now. Go.”

We split up with Eliot giving Hardison some last splitting words before walking off. Parker went down to the lobby to prepare and retrieve Eddie for the con. Nate went down in his doctor persona to meet them. Eliot and Hardison were down there dressed as cops to distract the marshals. I couldn’t help myself from taking a second look at Eliot in uniform before shaking my head to snap out of it. I was actually going to do something in this job, I had to prepare for it. 

Sophie and I stayed on our floor, waiting for them to come back up. Sophie posed as a patient in the same room and chatted up Eddie when he got there. 

“How’s this supposed to work?” Parker asked in our HQ room, “I barely dosed him with Rohypnol, I mean, it must’ve worn off by now. Especially with the rash.”

“Yeah, well look at him. I mean, he’s totally fine.” Nate answered. He handed me a script, “This thing, I need you to read on the…”

“PA?” I asked.

“PA thing, yeah.”

“Want me to make announcements?”

“Yeah, could you?”

“Yeah, you’re really selling the whole hospital experience.”

“No, that’s not what I’m selling.”

He didn’t explain further so I went to make the announcements he told me to. “Dr. Burns, please report to the cardiac ward. Dr. Burns, to the cardiac ward. Infectious disease unit, please pick up line 23. Infectious disease, pick up 23.”

When I came back Nate started to explain to the both of us, “See, you tell someone they have a bunch of symptoms, and the information gets processed in the executive center of the brain, right? Its job is to question assumptions, start an argument. But, if you suggest symptoms, you can bypass all that.”

“Like subliminal advertising?” Parker asked, asking my own question.

“It’s actually neuro linguistic programming. You know the gateway to the amygdala and… Which is the fear center of the brain,” Nate explained, “you asked what we’re selling, that’s what we’re selling.”

“So we’re selling fear?” Parker asked

“Yeah, we’re selling fear.”

“Lovely,” I commented, mostly to myself. The plans he comes up with are both amazing and somewhat frightening. I found it interesting I didn’t see as much of this growing up. It was like seeing a whole different side of him, and while he was still my uncle, I don’t think he was the same man anymore.

We watched on the cameras as Eddie became more paranoid with a fake special report on the TV and different recordings talking about contagions coming from the hallway. It all seemed to be going smoothly until the marshals discovered that Eddie was missing. Luckily Eliot convinced them to not call it in yet, but this was not ideal. 

“So much for having two hours,” Parker said. 

“We’re gonna stick to the original plan. We’re just gonna move things up. Eliot, lose the uniform, Sophie, it’s time,” Nate directed. 

Sophie started to act disoriented and distressed, “I don’t feel good!”

The four of us, Nate, Parker, Eliot, and I all stormed the room with medical supplies. I pulled the curtain, and we all acted like we were doing things behind the curtain, giving Eddie shadows to look at while Nate barked orders. We simulated cpr and defibrillators before Eliot called time of death.

We all acted distressed at losing a patient as we rolled Sophie out on a gurney, leaving Eddie by himself. 

 Eliot went back downstairs to help Hardison stall the marshals.

“What do we do now?” Parker asked.

“Now, we wait. This is the stall. It’s no different than any other con.”

I took a mental note of that fact as I watched Eddie on the cameras. “Wait, his nose…” I pointed out, “Is that real blood?”

Eddie started screaming that he was bleeding.

“Yes, yes it is…” Nate replied. 

“Did you just give a guy a nosebleed with the power of your mind?” Parker asked.

“Amygdala mania,” Nate said, “The almond tonsils…” He walked away quickly. 

Parker turned to me, “did you know he could do that?”

I shook my head quickly.

“But you’re his niece!”

“I may be Nate’s niece, but…” I trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence. 

Parker then looked at Sophie who entered the room in her normal clothes, “Is it just me or has Nate gotten a little sadistic since he quit drinking?”

“Is it just me or does that make him even more attractive?” Sophie responded before snapping her eyes to me as if just remembering I was there.

I just shrugged at her with my hands raised, “I’m not gonna comment.”

We continued to watch Eddie and listen to Hardison as he investigated the marshals a little bit when a guard came up to our floor. Nate told Sophie to take care of him, which she did in the form of an intimidating hazmat suit. 

Hardison, on the other hand, had found some interesting things about one of the marshals in his car, namely that he wasn’t a marshal at all. He was a hitman sent to kill Eddie. Eliot was supposed to meet up with him, but Hardison couldn’t get him on comms. He took a somewhat drastic measure of speaking in code over the intercom of the hospital.

We had our own hands full playing with Eddie’s mind a bit more. Nate went in to him and explained a little bit about this virus that has been infecting people before collapsing. Me and Parker rushed in, trying to help him, all in character of course. We hauled him into the bed next to Eddie, where Sophie was before. 

“I’m fine, you know. The rash is localized,” Nate said drowsily, “I just need an anti-inflammatory nurse. What, what are you doing?”

Parker handcuffed Nate to the bed, “I’m sorry, Order 23.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Eddie asked, “You can’t just leave me here!’

“Please, nurses!”

I tied a mask around my face and made a show of pulling Parker out of the room.

“Let me talk to CDC Atlanta,” Nate called.

Parker pulled back to answer him, “I can’t, they’re coming.”

“Who’s coming,” Eddie yelled, “wait! What is Order 23? Is it to leave us here to die?”

I made another act of pulling Parker away, “Come on, we’ve got to go now!”

“Please, get me out of here. I am not sick,” Eddie pleaded. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Nate said, “Variant U cannot be released into the general population.”

“You heard him, I’m leaving right now!” I told Parker, “I’m not waiting for you anymore.” I dashed off down the hallway.

“It’s not my decision!” Parker told Eddie.

“Is it for $400,000?” Eddie asked. “Is it your decision then? I have it. Near here. And I’ll take you there, all you have to do is let me go, please!”

I smiled from my chair in our little HQ, we got him. 

Nate cried no from his bed, begging Parker not to do it, but she released Eddie and led him out of the room. 

Nate dashed from the room quickly after and joined me so we could clean up quickly to avoid the marshal that was reaching our floor. It wasn’t too long before the Marshal called it in that Eddie had escaped causing the whole hospital to be flooded by cops. We made our escape, Parker sticking with Eddie after he thought he tased her, the rest of us close behind. 

Eddie led us right to the cash, which was hidden in the court house, ironically enough. Parker took the money after she punched him in the face, “Deal’s a deal.”

“So what happened, Eddie, huh?” Nate asked him. “You got a little bored during your trial, started looking around and you thought, ‘now what’s the last place someone would look for stolen money in this town?’”

Eddie looked from Eliot to Hardison who were holding him up to Nate before he started laughing. 

“What’s so funny Eddie?” Eliot asked. 

“I’m just thinking about all the crimes you committed today,” he pulled himself loose, “burglary, assault, kidnapping. I’m going to prison for eighteen months. But you, every one of you is looking at 25 to life.” He panted, backing away from us, “I know your faces. I know all your faces. I am really good with faces.You’re gonna pay for what you did to me. Right now!” He dashed off down the hallway as we heard sirens outside. 

I rolled my eyes and moved my hands in a talking motion, mocking him, “ho, ho ho, I’m a jerk, AND an idiot!”

Eliot huffed a laugh before turning to Nate, wordlessly asking if we should follow.

Nate shook his head no. 

We watched from a distance as Eddie got arrested, yelling like a maniac about us.

Nate exited the courthouse first, “So, here’s everything you need to know about criminal law. Every crime has two elements: Actus reus, the act itself, and mens rea, literally the guilty mind.”

“Wait, now you’re a doctor and a lawyer?” Hardison asked.

“Yes,” Nate answered without missing a beat, “Now, for the escape, the prisoner has to both break out of custody and show intent of escape.”

“Wait,” Sophie interjected, “So, if, let’s say, a prisoner was taken hostage during a jailbreak, then he wouldn’t be guilty of escape.”

“That’s a perfect example,” Nate praised. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I commented. 

“Which brings us back to our friend Eddie,” Nate continued, not acknowledging me, “and how the brain reacts to fear. In the heat of the moment, Eddie didn’t ask himself one simple question, who would doubt his guilty mind?”

I leaned over to Eliot, “I wouldn’t have asked myself that.”

He just nodded at me. 

There were a few loose ends that still needed to be cleaned up. We split up again, Eliot and Hardison had to go back to the hospital to take care of the fake marshal. I kept my comm in, just to listen and make sure everything went smoothly. What I wasn’t quite prepared for though, was Eliot’s request of the marshal.

When he came back, there was a moment with just the two of us.

“I heard what you asked that marshal to do. To help that kid…” I looked to see him ticking his jaw, “that was really good of you. I’m glad he had you to look out for him.”

He glanced at me for only a moment, “Yeah well…” He gave me a tight smile, but didn’t finish his thought. He looked at the time, gave me a curt nod, and left.

I looked at the time myself and thought it was time to head home, I quickly said my goodbyes to everyone else before heading back to my apartment, wondering if I said something wrong.

Tags: @isoldeahlstrom @kniselle

[sidgeno-ficrecs]

game plan by @thehoyden

sidgeno (2013, explicit, 10.3k)

Unlike Nealsy, Evgeni can cook his own food when he has it. He’s perfectly capable of making breakfast. His kitchen is well-equipped, and he’s got some good basic cooking skills down. In short, he is not going to starve to death if left to his own devices. None of this seems to matter to Sid.

Sid opens the door off the garage with a spatula in one hand. He’s already wearing what Evgeni recognizes as Sid’s lying-around-the-house clothes, a t-shirt that’s thin and well-worn and a pair of plaid pajama pants with a hole in one hem. His hair is fluffy and a little wild in its ungelled state, making it look soft and sort of pettable.

Evgeni is halfway to — tangling his fingers in Sid’s hair? — before he drops his hand and then awkwardly covers it with hug, which starts off kind of weird because they’re not on the ice, and Sid is still holding a spatula and they’re both stupid with half a night of terrible sleep. But then Sid relaxes into it, and goes butter-soft pliant in Evgeni’s arms, and, well, if you can’t hug your captain and friend when he’s making you breakfast after a long road trip, when can you?

i love the idea of a comfort fic. i think we all have them, right? the fic or fics that we know we'll enjoy no matter what mood we're in, no matter what tropes or whatever we might be craving. the fic that can help you relax after a bad day enough to calm down. it's the perfect length—not so long that you lose an entire day (or more!) to it, but not so short that you finish the story before you had a chance to really get settled in.

this one is mine.

there's a certain charm to fics from 2013. the characterizations are by and large vastly different from current trends, and while not all of them are to my taste all the time, it's like entering a time machine and getting a glimpse back into a world where sid and geno had only won one cup, and the OG crew was still intact, and everyone was so young and had so much potential ahead of them still. the concussion years were also fresh, in a way that i think it might be hard for newer fans to understand and honestly for older fans to really remember, and that really comes through in a lot of stories.

and of course, no matter the plot, the trope, or the characterization choice, a brilliant author is a brilliant author, and i think we all know that @thehoyden is a brilliant author.

this fic is simply delightful. geno's clear fondness for sid shines through, and sid's returned feelings for geno take a bit longer to surface, but we as the audience realize them at the same pace that geno does, and it's really just lovely and comforting to immerse yourself in. sid's gentle pushiness about geno coming over to eat, the care with which he prepares their meals, and their physical comfort with each other—yum yum.

speaking of. this fic is gonna make you hungry. this fic is gonna make you want brunch. it will be something you think about until you're able to spend too much money on eggs benedict. i'm not sorry because this morsel is absolutely worth it.

read it here on ao3!

and please don't forget to leave a comment, on this and any fic you read to completion—comments make authors write more, and i personally love leaving them because i know i made someone's day! comments and kudos keep fandom alive :)