#and for the briefest of moments they meet in the middle

[mycological-mariner]

Big fan of character dynamics where character A has lived as much life as they’re able and can contain no more while character B still has so much left life left to burn through and they meet in the middle, one life coming to and end while the other is just beginning. A death (spiritual or physical) and a birth. Falling into the same old routine, carving new paths.

[ekkothroughtime]

staring problem | ekko x reader

Word Count: 2,000 Notes: Not particularly sexual, but MDNI, AFAB!Reader. Body (boob?) worship, tight-fitting clothing (no sizes mentioned), fluff, couch cuddling, the briefest food mention of all time. Ekko might have an oral fixation. The prompt for this warmup was literally just Ekko loving on your boobs, do with that what you will. No description of breast size.

Looking back on it, you absolutely knew what would happen when you squeezed into this tiny little black top.

In your defense, though, you had only been curious if it would even fit, pleasantly surprised to find that the soft material was designed to stretch and hug your frame like a second skin.

And it was just so warm that you couldn't bring yourself to peel it back off, not when the first wisps of winter are already twisting through the air. Niping at your nose, frosting the ground, and squeezing through the cracks in your front door, desperate to terrorize you and your already cold feet.

If anything, it's Ekko's fault for bringing it to you.

Some little thing he found while sorting through the new batch of clothes collected for the Firelights. But for someone so intelligent, he sure looks shocked the moment he looks up and sees you standing in the middle of the base.

You're pretending that you notice the way his eyes go wide, feigning ignorance, as you hang these new decorative lights. Using a hoverboard would have made this easier, wouldn't have had to reach so far overhead, but there's an ulterior motive here. Shamelessly twisting your body. Blissfully unaware of the familiar gaze that drinks in your frame, like a man who has just found a glass of water in the desert.

"Please be careful," Ekko's gloved hand presses into your lower back, and you don't need to look to know that the other is in front of you. Ready to catch you the moment you slip.

But try as he might, he can't keep his attention focused on what you're doing. Distracted by something that isn't your diligent hands, securing the string of lights to the wall.

Even after you've finished with them, and Scar calls Ekko over to come look at the engine they're repairing, you can't help but feel as if you're being stared at.

It's one thing to feel the other Firelights looking you over. With so many newcomers these days, all with varying estimations of how long it's socially acceptable to stare at someone, it's bound to happen, but this is different. The script has flipped.

For once, it's Ekko staring at you.

He thinks he's being subtle about it. Looking over his shoulder every time you walk past, going out of his way to ask you questions that he definitely knows the answer to. He's up on the balcony, head swiveling to keep up with you as you walk around the tree. Just so happens to think there's an issue with his hoverboard, one that requires him to fly past you half a dozen times.

You've got a fairly good idea of what could possibly have him so distracted, but it's only confirmed later in the afternoon when you're all huddled around for a meeting. It's another one of Scar's debates about capacity issues, and this time, it sounds like they're actually making progress on it, but...oh, what the hell. You're not listening.

You can't.

Not when Ekko is sitting eight feet across from you, hands clasped in front of his face, staring dead at your chest without the slightest hint of awareness of what he's doing. As if one quick glance won't reveal that he's more focused on the shape of your breasts than the overwhelming topic of where to put everyone. No bra to alter their shape into something modest, and with the way this shirt hugs every single inch...

You cross your arms, letting the motion squish your boobs into a new position.

Ekko's eyes dart up to your face. Caught red-handed.

"Ekko, you got any ideas?" Scar tilts his head, briefly looking toward you, then back to Ekko. Seems he caught on to what was happening a long time ago.

For once in his life, Ekko doesn't have a single clever suggestion to offer. A crucial mistake that keeps him at the meeting long after it ends; the capacity issue won't solve itself, and ideas don't grow on trees.

You're settled into the patchwork couch when Ekko finally pushes through the door. Face paint smeared across his forehead, some of it mysteriously staining his cheek, as if he's wiped his head with his hand and then rested his face in it. One of these days, he'll figure out how to get the consistency right with these new materials, but until then...

"Did the kids get you with a paintbrush again?" You giggle, aimlessly reaching out for him despite how far away he is.

Every muscle in his body seems to relax at the very sight of you, tension melting away like metal under one of his blowtorches. "I smeared it all over my face again, didn't I?" His voice has already lost its usual confidence, resigned to something much quieter.

Any other day, you would chide him for walking out of his shoes, leaving them scattered across the floor to be tripped over later, but you don't think he even has the energy to carry them over to their designated place by the door. All lazy smiles and half-lidded eyes, collapsing into you the moment he's deemed himself close enough.

"And here I thought I would have an easy day," Ekko grumbles right into your collar, groggy voice vibrating through your bones.

"An easy day for the leader of the Firelights?" You tease, running your hand up the back of his neck, nails tracing against his skin. "Never."

His whine cuts through the air, long and drawn out, as if being reminded of his status is the worst thing he could possibly hear right now.

"I'm sorry," laughing, you press a kiss to his forehead, where you're certain you'll get the least amount of paint on your lips.

All he has the strength to do is groan again, tilting his head until he's fully buried his face into your chest. Maybe if he snuggles close enough, nobody will be able to come ask for another favor that he'll inevitably say yes to.

"I should have never given you this shirt," Ekko still isn't lifting his head. Content to stay here with his face smashed into nondescript fabric for the rest of his life.

"What, you don't think it looks good on me?" Feigning hurt.

"It looks gorgeous on you," it comes out a little too fast. Seems he's been sitting on that thought for a while now. "That's the problem."

"I can tell," you have to momentarily pause with that thought, preoccupied with sorting his hair back into place. "You spent half of the afternoon and the entirety of the meeting staring at my chest. I'm shocked Scar didn't call you out on it."

"Oh, he's never gonna let me live it down," Ekko's tired chuckle is the prettiest thing you've heard all day. You can only imagine what went on the moment you left.

But one can only lie next to one's favorite temptation for so long. It's only a matter of minutes before he begins to wander, using the tip of his nose as a guide, wandering across your chest until he brushes over the soft swell of your breast.

A vague, warm pressure greets you. There and gone in a matter of milliseconds, leaving behind a coolness that wasn't there before.

And he does it again, a little bit slower this time. Easier for you to catch. The swift dart of his tongue, wetting the material of your shirt, and maybe he's misplaced his concepts of shame because there's no trace of it to be found today. Content to mouth over your breast, no real end goal to be found. Doing it just for the hell of it.

"What could you possibly be doing?"

No answer.

You're making no move to stop him. It's comparable to a feather-light massage, diligently working over you, leaving no space unattended to. He'd make this his full-time job if circumstances would allow it.

The left half of your shirt is almost entirely damp, your nipple gradually hardening from the cold, poking through the fabric, only to be greeted with his burning mouth. Tongue flicking over it, the faintest pressure of his teeth sending it off.

But the right side can only be neglected for so long, stealing his attention away from your left. Marking it in much of the same way while his hand rises to cover the wet mess he's made of you, warding off the chill before it can grow uncomfortable.

"How long." Kiss. "Will you." Kiss. "Let me do this for?"

You trace the outline of his jaw with the tips of your fingers, humming. "I haven't thought that far yet."

Forever, or until you can't stand it anymore. Whichever comes first.

Enabling him is the worst thing you can do in this situation. You've only got so much time before the dinner bell rings. Even less to change shirts and scurry across the hideout before everything grows cold, but you just can't bring yourself to deny him...whatever this is.

Even if you did want to, it's so hard to find your voice when he peeks up at you. Gentle brown eyes peering through thick lashes, drinking in your expression as he mouths at your breast, drool spilling off his tongue like you're the best thing he's ever tasted.

His hand appears at the hem of your shirt, pushing it upward. Past your belly and over the stunning swell of your chest, and fuck, those eyes sparkle at the sight that greets him.

That mouth of his wobbles. Opening and closing, visibly searching for words that he doesn't have the capacity to conjure up right now. Doesn't find them until after he's pressed a kiss into the underside of your boob. "Has anyone ever told you that you're breathtaking?"

"You," deadpanning. "Every day since the day I met you."

Ekko looks away from you, suddenly very, very interested in the stitching of the couch. As if he's ever cared about the odd green square that covers up the burn mark one of his inventions left behind.

It's remarkably easy to slip your hand beneath his chin, delicately turning him back to look at you. His eyes are a tad reluctant to meet with yours, still bracing for the impact of you expressing some kind of irritation with him that has never, ever been there.

"And I love every second of it." Whispering. A secret meant solely for the two of you to share.

Oh, he just lights up at the sound of that. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He's still just as slow as he was the first time. Diligently kissing at your soft skin, loving on every little inch. Hot, wet tongue tracing shapes and his fingers smearing the saliva left behind. The other hand works carefully at the side he's not playing with yet, massaging loose circles into it. His callouses are just the right amount of friction, enough to create a slight drag that you can't possibly ignore.

"And you don't mind me doin' this?" He shouldn't be talking with his lips half wrapped around your nipple, but ugh, the vibration of his voice...

You're not sure when your hand made its way to the back of his neck, but its there, stroking up and down in a manner that always makes him melt. "I would have told you if it bothered me."

If you had known that something as simple as a new, form-fitting shirt would have ended in this, you would have invested in one sooner. Scratch that, an entire clothing business. Maybe you can find a shirt that'll fit him, too. Give yourself an excuse to kiss and suck on those lovely, bulging biceps that you so often find yourself staring at.

A yawn takes over his handsome face. Contagious. Passing on to you like a bad cold. And just like that, it wanders back to him, running its course through him one, two, three more times until his eyes have watered to the point of tears streaming down his cheeks.

Your thumb swipes out, stroking them away and smearing even more of the paint across his face. Oops. "You still have time for a nap if that's what you need."

"Here?" There's that glint in his eye again. Hopeful.

The bed would be so much more comfortable, but... "I don't see why not."

And as he helps to pull your shirt back down and snuggles down into his favorite spot on your chest, you can't help but get the feeling that you've unintentionally created his new favorite thing to do with you.

...not that you're complaining.

[eddies-ashtray]

♡ falling asleep on eddie’s bed in the middle of the day & the sweet things that ensue after. (cw: g!n reader, eddie calls reader ‘pretty’ once).

Eyes still closed, you smile lazily as you tune into the rattling and whir of the yellowed fan. Basically all it does is push around warm air, but its gentle gust brushing your bare shoulders pleases you nonetheless. Sometime in the early afternoon when you’d first dozed off atop Eddie’s covers it stood, unplugged, on his side of the bed.

You know he’s next to you before you’ve fully woken from your brief slumber. The dip in the mattress, the quiet scratching of a pencil on paper. These signs not only alert you of his presence but encourage you to blink your eyes open as you draw in a deep breath.

Your gaze settles at his hip. The curled edges of Eddie’s cut up band tee rest just below his waist, exposing a sliver of pale skin.

“Mmh,” you grumble, squinting up at him as the sunshine casts a glow across the bed. “What time is it?”

Eddie’s eyes, appearing much lighter as they soak up the glowing rays, crinkle in the corners as they meet yours, a smile playing at his lips. “Hey, sleepy.”

“Dopey,” you greet in jest.

He smiles bigger, squeezing his eyes shut as a quick breath escapes his nose.

“Very original.” Eddie’s deadpan tone does not match the delight kissing his features.

You shrug with some difficulty (only one shoulder lifts as the other is pressed into the bed), as if to say ‘What did you expect? It was right there.’

Rolling over onto your back, you stretch out like a cat, your whole body lengthening as your arms reach above your head, and release an involuntary groan of pleasure feeling as your muscles stretch.

Outside, trees rustle in the breeze and children shout and laugh as they play in the summer sun. They’re such nostalgic sounds they make your heart ache for the briefest of moments, like they’d evoked a sweet childhood memory which melted away before it could fully resurface.

Sensing his eyes on you, you peek back up at Eddie as your right hand comes to rest on your stomach, the left one falling palm-up by your side.

“You look pretty when you first wake up,” he expresses, all warmth and love.

“No way.” No one does. He just loves you.

“Yes way,” He mocks lightly as he stares down at you, his hand coming to settle over your forearm as he rubs his thumb into your skin.

You concede because you know you could both go back and forth like that forever. And because you’re too warm and feel too much like jelly to argue.

Instead, you sigh contentedly before pushing yourself up so you’re shoulder-to-shoulder with Eddie.

Lolling your head onto his shoulder, you whisper, “Time?”

So apparently taken by your slightly puffy face, he’d likely forgotten you’d even asked.

Immediately, he extends his left arm out to you so you can read the watch settled on his wrist.

2:22pm.

Tugging his arm gently to your face, you press a quick kiss to his hand, “Thanks.”

He hums as you place your head back on his shoulder, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. Despite the warmth in the room the sound gives you chills.

“Watcha drawin’?” You sing-song, though you can see his sketchbook from this angle.

“Watcha think?”

You almost jest, say, feet, before you realize, “Are those my hands?”

They must be. You know it not because of how detailed the drawing is. It’s more of a sketch so far. You know it because of the ring on the middle finger.

Eddie had found it while thrifting and gifted it to you one day. It wasn’t a birthday or anniversary or holiday. Just a normal day in March. It was a particularly frigid day, all grey skies and icy window sills. You’d arrived at the trailer after your shift about 20 minutes before Eddie. But when he did arrive, he went straight to you, and he said, I got ya somethin’ with that charming smile of his, all fidgety and excited like he was about to open presents on Christmas day. And then presented you with that beautiful ring he’s so carefully sketching onto your graphite hands.

“Mhm. You’ve got nice ones,” he says, taking hold of one of yours and softly tracing the ridges of your knuckles before thumbing the silver ring. It never comes off.

Your heart aches in the best way. You feel so content being here with him. Napping on his bed and waking up to him drawing you, caring for you, loving you. You squeeze his hand in yours before tilting upwards to press a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Keep drawing, please?”

You can’t believe you get to sit here next to him in the middle of a balmy summer’s day while he presses pencil to paper with that rickety old fan sitting on your side of the bed.

[crashandlivewrites]

I Need Your Discipline

My participation in @glitterypirateduck's SoapItUp event! I was initially gunning for Captain MacTavish but it wasn't coming together. Maybe I can get a second one out before the deadline.

Pairing: Soap x fem!reader

Summary: Soap 'accidentally' sends you a dick pic. You decide to teach him how to take nicer photos. Using prompt 29: "Was this your plan the entire time?"

CW: MDNI 18+ content, NSFW, cunnilingus, fingering (f receiving), unsolicited dick pic, consensual sending of nudes, coming in underwear

Word Count: 3.6k (it really got away from me whoops)

Captain Price had your attention all the way up until your phone buzzed in your pocket. Frowning, you took it out. You hadn’t been expecting a message from anyone and usually during meetings, you flicked it to only allow messages from fellow army personnel. Maybe you’d forgotten this time. 

One glance at the screen told you that Soap had messaged, which wasn’t surprising. He often got bored and liked to pick jokes during Price’s long debriefs. However, when you snuck a glance at him, he wasn’t paying any attention to you like he usually would be while waiting for a reaction. Frowning, you opened his message. 

It was his dick. Holy shit, Soap had sent you a picture of his penis. Suppressing a snort and shutting off your phone, you jerked your head up in confusion, trying to catch his attention, but he was acting completely engrossed with your Captain’s words. Sure, he’d always been light-hearted and playful, rubbing shoulders flirtatiously and throwing an arm around you any chance he got, but you’d also seen him out at the pub when he was actually trying to get in someone’s pants. And it had never seemed that way when he was taking to you, as much as you wanted it. Until now. 

Glancing back down at the message, you realised there was another message after it. 

> Just got back. Ready to hit pound town?

This time, you only just managed to cover your snort with a cough, earning the briefest of glances from Kyle sitting to your right. Quickly, you type a reply. 

< Not the welcome home present I was expecting from you, MacTavish

Soap reached into his pocket a few moments later, pulling out his phone with a smirk on his face to read the message. His face then morphed into confusion before his eyes visibly widened and snapped up to meet yours. Raising your eyebrows, you tilted your head questioningly at him. His fingers flew over the keys. 

> Fuck. That wasn’t for ye. I’m really fucking sorry

< Ouch. Nice to know I’m not good enough for your dick pics 

> Shoulda told me ye were feelin left out. Coulda sent one to ye earlier. Would that make ye feel better? 

< Nah. Received too many dick pics in my time. There are nicer ways to take nudes 

Soap lifted his head, brow creasing and lips pouting as though insulted at your statement. You grinned back at him, shrugging as you waited for him to reply. 

> My dick is pretty, thanks. Plenty of girls have liked it 

< Didn’t say that. Just saying there’s nicer ways to take hot pics than just a straight up dick shot 

> Oh yeah? Like what?

Biting your lip, you wondered if you really wanted to do this. You watch Price momentarily as you thought through the pros and cons of sending your teammate a nude of your own. 

Pro: you’re sending a hot picture of yourself to the guy you’ve been crushing on

Con: he may not be interested in you

Pro: if things go south, you also have his dick pic to hold ransom

Con: he’s less likely to be embarrassed by his dick getting passed around base. Especially when it looked like THAT.

You could feel his eyes boring into the side of your head, waiting for your response. sucking in a deep breath, you scroll through your private photos, selecting one of your favourites. The picture accentuated your body as you were leaning against a wall wearing a pretty thong with one hand draped across your chest to squeeze your tits together and cover them over the middle. Grinning to yourself, you sent it to him. 

You knew he’d received the image when a choked off cough sounded from his side of the room. Glancing over, you could see Ghost thump him over the back as Soap sheepishly held up a bottle of water. 

“Sorry. Down the wrong pipe.” He wheezed; cheeks tinged pink as he met your eyes before returning to his phone. 

> What the fuck

> Warn a man before ye send shite like that

> Is that really you?

> Fuck me I ken ye were bonnie but darlin

> Ye got me bricked rn

A warm rush of arousal surged through you, knowing that one little photo had sent him into a spiral. Smirking, and refusing to meet his heavy gaze, you focused on Price for the remainder of the meeting, ignoring the fact your phone was buzzing incessantly. 

When Price finally dismissed the team, you didn’t even have time to push yourself up before the loud scrape of Soap’s chair filled the room and he marched over to you, nudging you out the door. His grip was like a vice on your arm as he steers you until he found an empty hallway. He pushed your back against the wall. 

“We gonna talk about what that was?” He holds up his phone and waves it in your face. Shrugging, you leaned back against the wall, arms folding across your chest. 

“You sent it first. Was just showing you what a good picture looks like.” 

“My pictures look nice.” His tone was indignant as he frowned, glancing down the hall to check no one was coming towards you.  

“Sure, because you’re decently attractive. That’s the only reason they’re passable.” 

“Decently attractive…” He huffs, looking haughty as he crossed his arms. 

“Why did you find my photo hot?” 

“I never said that.” Clearing your throat dramatically, you pulled out your phone and began to read in a mockery of his accent. 

“What the fuck? Warn a man before you send shite like that. Is that really you—”

“Haud yer wheesht! Fine, it was fucking hot.” 

“Why was it hot, MacTavish?” He chewed the inside of his cheek and glanced at the floor as he rocked back on his heels. 

“It was… sexy, without showing too much. Teasing and… fucking shite- fine! It made me want tae come over there and rip yer bloody kit off.” The corners of your lip twitched upwards, and you couldn’t fight the smirk that spread across your face. 

“You wanna see another?” 

The way his face lit up was almost comedic, before he frowned again. 

“Yer fucking having me on, aren’t ye?” He scowled. 

Pushing yourself off the wall, you slid your hands into your pockets, tilting your head as you stared at him coaxingly. He met your gaze, eyes squinting as he seemingly tried to read your expression before he sighed, head dipping for a moment before lifting back up again. 

“I’d like fer ye tae send me another.” He asked begrudgingly, fingers toying with his phone. “Please.”

Biting your lip to prevent him from seeing your sly grin, you picked out another. This one was taken from over your shoulder, the curve of your ass framed by a pretty black thong. His phone buzzed and his attention immediately snapped to it before he groaned. 

“Steamin’ hell, yer… shite, I cannae do this here.” He growls, eyes flashing dark with lust as they looked up at you. Blinking at him innocently only made his lip curl. “What’re ye playing at, darlin’?” 

“Just showing you how to really rile someone up.” 

“I’ll show ye riled up in a mo—”

“Would you like me to teach you, John?” You queried, seeing the interest immediately perk in his eyes. He paused in mid stride towards you, lips pursing. 

“Ye wanna teach me how tae take photos like that? I appreciate the effort, hen, but I’m not as bonnie as ye are. Ain’t got the tits fer that.”

“You got tits aplenty, MacTavish. Look at them.” Reaching out, you squeeze his pecs with a teasing grin, and he bats your hand away playfully. “You’re hot, Johnny. Lemme just help you… accentuate it.”

“Yer boostin mah ego there, lass.” He titters, eyes sharp as they trail down your body. “Ye sure yer willing?” 

“You sure you’re happy to miss out on your booty call for an impromptu photo shoot with your teammate?” You snark back, stepped forward to meet him halfway, boots tapping against his. Soap chuckled, finger tracing along your jaw as he leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. 

“After ye sent me these?” He scoffs, waving his phone in front of your face. “I’ve got all the time in the world fer ye.” The look on his face was smug as he leaned back. Your face matched his as you gripped the front of his shirt. 

“Come with me then.”

As you shut your door behind you, you turned around to see Soap already tugging off his uniform. 

“Why are you taking your clothes off already?” You growled at him; eyes sharp as you shook your head. Soap’s brows furrowed, halfway between shrugging his shirt off. 

“Are we not takin’ nudes?” He asked bluntly, head tilting to the side. Letting out a breathy laugh, you locked your door and walked over to him, ruffling his mohawk causing him to squawk in protest. 

“Nudes aren’t just about being naked, idiot.” 

“Aye, they are. Is that not the whole point?” Rolling your eyes, you push him into a chair and wheel him in front of a mirror and standing behind him. 

“When you take photos of yourself at the gym— don’t lie, I know you do.” You frowned down at him as he opened his mouth, about to process. “When you take photos of yourself at the gym, what do you look for?” 

His face pinched in thought. “Making myself look good, I guess.” He shrugged. “Gettin’ my good angles.” 

“Taking nudes is much the same. You’re a fit guy. Work your body into the shots too.” 

“Aye, but I’m still fully clothed.” He points out, raising his brow as he looks at you in the mirror. Clicking your tongue, you leaned down, hands sliding down his firm chest as you plucked open his buttons, one by one. 

“It’s the uniform, MacTavish. Use it.” You purred into his ear, pressing a kiss to the shell of it. He groaned softly; eyes fluttering closed as his breathing deepened. “See?” You pushed open his shirt revealing his toned chest. His eyes were fixed on you in the mirror, watching your every move with focused intent. 

“Now lean back slightly, spread your legs, roll your sleeves up, and tuck your thumb into your belt.” He did as you said, and you helped adjust the final touches, ruffling his hair once more before stepping out of sight. “Now take a few. You can change positions a little. Feel yourself, you know? Take what looks good.” 

You let him sit there for a few minutes, watching him closely as you leaned against the wall out of shot, feeling your body react to him. He was a natural taking pictures, adjusting his positioning slightly as he got into the feel of it. Finally, when he was satisfied, he turned his head to look at you, seeking your approval. Smiling, you stepped towards him, cupping his head as he blinked up at you expectantly. Resting your chin on his shoulder, he flicked through the photos for you. 

“Look at you. Don’t you look hot?” 

“Ye really think so?” His voice was soft as he turned his head slightly towards you. His long lashes cast slightly shadows over his cheeks, and you found yourself drawn into him. Blinking and breaking the trance, you didn’t answer, instead choosing to chuckle and raise your brow, standing back up. 

“Shirt off, next. Belt too but leave your pants on.” Soap nodded under your instruction, face flushing pink as he quickly rid himself of the items you’d specified, leaving him in his combat boots and pants. “Same kinda thing. Move around, pose. Flex a little. Especially your forearms and hands.” 

Again, you stepped back, this time admiring him more closely as he got more comfortable, turning around and playing with different angles. Your eyes drifted along the lines of back, tracing down his body as you felt the tension building in the room. 

Stepping forward, you came in behind him, hands sliding down his sides until you got to the buttons of his pants, undoing them with practiced ease. His cock pulsed with interest, and you could feel him thickening as you slid your hand down his front, rewarded with a soft groan. 

“Fuckin’ hell, hen. Ye’ve nae idea what ye do tae me.” 

“I have somewhat of a feeling.” You grinned over his shoulder, tucking his boxer briefs down so the base of his cock was evident in the mirror. “Take a picture of that.” You whispered, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades before stepping back once more. 

Soap cursed, head turning to look at you with longing as you stepped back, but you pointed to the mirror, and he diligently turned. His hand slid down the toned planes of his body, thumb hooking in the waistband of his underwear and tugging them down to expose the thick base of his cock, hair trimmed, but on the longer side. 

Instead of looking at the camera, or at himself in the mirror, his eyes were on you, heady and lustful. The corners of your lips twitched upwards, and you began to slowly remove your own clothing until you were in nothing but your bra and underwear. Swearing under his breath, Soap roamed every inch of your exposed body, palm pressing into his groin as his hips jutted forwards. 

“Ye gonna fuckin’ ruin me, doll.” 

“Take off your pants and get on the bed, MacTavish.” 

“Aye, ma’am.” He said, eagerly moving to kick off his boots and pants before rolling onto the bed. Eagerly following behind him, you shuffled up the bed on your knees, straddling his thighs as your hands slid up to cup his semi-hard erection. 

“See how we’re not even naked and you’re already swelling in your boxers?” He groaned, head tipping back against the headboard as your hand pressed against him, working him up to full hardness. 

“It’s all you, hen. Fuck yer makin’ me ache.” He whined, eyebrows tilting upwards as he pleaded for more. Shaking your head, you took your hands off him to unclasp your bra and throw it aside. 

“One more. Want you to hold your cock and press it up against the fabric, so we can see the outline of the head.” 

He swore again but did as you asked. Gripping his cock tightly, he slapped it a few times against his leg as he stared at your breasts, swallowing thickly before turning his attention to the camera and taking a few shots. But it didn’t last long. 

Releasing his cock and throwing his phone aside, Soap wrapped his arms around you, flipping you over on the bed. As you lay sprawled, slightly surprised by the sudden change in position, Soap loomed above you, smirk evident on his face. 

“Yer in fer it now, dollie. Been teasin’ me this whole time. Getting tae touch me like that, tell me how to hold my own damn cock. Nah… I’m gonna touch you now.” He purred, eyes predatory as his hands squeezed your tits, thumbs flicking over your nipples, making you moan softly, arching your back. 

Soap titters, sliding further down your body to push your legs apart and settle himself between them. Humming to himself, he ran a finger down your covered centre, circling your clit lightly before prodding at your soaked entrance. 

“All this just from seein’ me take a few pics?” His eyes were gleaming in excitement as he hooked a finger underneath the material of your thong and pulled it aside. “Jesus, hen… ye look like a god damn dream.” 

Perching yourself up onto your elbows, you looked down at him between your legs, watching his expression as he tugged your underwear to the side and lowered his mouth to blow air over the wet, sensitive skin. 

“What’s this? Cannae stand a wee bit of teasing, bonnie lass?” You whined at his cocky tone, lifting your hips up slightly and he cooed, sliding your underwear down your legs and tossing it onto his pants. “I’m keeping that, just so you know.” 

Before you even had the chance to protest, his hands ran up the backs of your legs, spreading them out and holding them down as he sucked kissed along your inner thighs, nipping slightly as he went. 

“John…” Rolling your hips, you gripped the sheets in frustration. “Stop being an ass and put your mouth on me.” 

“God, yer pure gaggin’ fer it, ain’t ye?” His grin was feral as he dragged the lip of his tongue ever so lightly against the hood of your clit. “Admit this was what ye wanted as soon as ye got that snap of my cock.” 

In the dizzy haze of arousal, his words sparked something, and you stared down at him, eyes narrowed. 

“Was this your plan all along? Was there ever another girl you were meant to send that photo to?” He shrugged, lapping at your cunt and making your toes curl with pleasure as he chuckled against you, the vibrations sending shivers through your body. 

“That’s my secret tae ken, dollie. ‘Sides, ye really gonna complain when it’s yer bed I’m in and yer legs I’m between?” His smug expression made you want to bite back some sarcastic reply, but you just couldn’t find the words. “Didnae think so.” 

His mouth lowered onto your throbbing cunt, one hand moving to spread you open so his tongue could press in, tasting you. He groaned deeply, fingers digging into your leg as the thumb on his other hand flicked over your clit. His hips ground into the bed as he did so, making him moan again. 

Pulling back, you could see the sticky wetness of your arousal already covering his bottom lip and chin. As if he could tell where you were looking, he stuck out his tongue and dragged it along his lower lip, grinning as he watched you. 

“Cannae believe ye been holdin’ out on me. Could sit here between these legs and eat this cunt out for hours. Tastes so fucking good.” He dove back in, wrapping his lips and sucking on your clit as his fingers pressed into you. 

You gasped at the stretch, back arching off the bed as his fingers began to move, scissoring and spreading your cunt wider for him. He continued to suck your clit, tongue dragging over it as you cried out, gripping the sheets tightly as your pussy clenched around his fingers. 

“Fuck— Johnny please. God, you’re so fucking good.” You moaned breathlessly, panting as sweat beaded on your forehead. Soap let out a rumbling laugh as he kept his face pressed into your cunt, desperately trying to bring you over the edge. 

Lifting your head to look at him, you saw his hips driving desperately into the bed where the sheets had bundled up underneath his crotch. You managed to find your voice. 

“I taste that good huh? You gonna come just from eating me out?” He nodded eagerly, fingers curling and pumping into you with renewed intensity, heat curling viciously in your gut. 

“So fucking good. So fucking good fer me.” He mumbled; eyes boring into yours. “Please… I’m so fucking close. Need you tae come fer me, aye?” 

You nodded, panting, watching him as he focused his attention solely on you, humming softly as you felt your cunt throb with intense need, the feeling in your belly growing. 

“Johnny— oh fuck, please. Please!” Your legs twitched as your hips hitched upward and, with a cry of his name, you let yourself go, pussy spasming around his fingers as he groaned into your cunt, happily lapping at your juices as you climaxed. 

As you calmed down, body sagging into the bed, you looked down at Soap who was resting his head against your thigh, eyes glazed as he grinned up at you smugly. 

“Enjoy yerself there?” 

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it too.” You bit back, wiping your brow as you grinned lazily down at him. “I can see the mess in your underwear.” 

Soap simply shrugged, rolling onto his back to remove his underwear, wiping the remnants of his cum from his dick before sliding himself up the bed to settle next to you. 

“I said ye tasted fucking divine.” 

“Shut up, Johnny.” You pushed him slightly and he laughed, wrapping his arm around you. 

“We should keep this going.” He murmurs softly, glancing up at you. Blinking in surprise, you look over at him. 

“Thought you didn’t do relationships, MacTavish.” You warned, mostly for your own sake. He simply shrugged. 

“Wouldnae mind having ye ‘round to take some more photos with.” He said simply, nestling into the crook of your neck. “And I wouldnae mind eating that cunt every mornin’.” 

You rolled your eyes, but threaded your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly as he cuddled in close. 

“So those pictures we took are going to waste then, since you’re keeping me around?” You tease, poking his nose. He sniffs. 

“Gonna send them tae you instead. Make ye think about naught but my steamin’ hot body every meeting.” 

You smacked him over the head as you laughed, shaking your head at him. 

“Price’ll kill you if he finds out.” 

“Worth it.” He mumbles once more, squeezing you closer as he pressed a kiss to the base of your neck. 

[pedroscowgirl]

Between control and desire

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

part 2

Warnings!: Minors DNI, contains smut infidelity (reader has something with spencer), edging, p in v (wrap it up), creampie, squirting, power dynamics, oral!f receiving, fingering (lmk if i forgot something)

masterlist

Summary : You finally share your first kiss with Spencer, the man you've adored for ages. But what happens when Hotch catches you in the act? As feelings shift and boundaries blur, you're caught between two men, Spencer’s sweet affection and Hotch’s intense control. The line between desire and duty has never felt so fragile. Wc:7,9k

A/n: I've been rewatching criminal minds and i would never cheat on my sweet nerd but Hotch is just so fine y'all...so enjoy!

This case was different. Normally, your assignments involved profiling and analyzing, not dressing up and mingling with the elite. But the unsub had been targeting wealthy women at high-end galas, and the BAU’s intel pointed to his next appearance at an exclusive charity event downtown. You’d be going undercover to draw him out.

In theory, it was simple: show up, blend in, and hope the unsub took the bait. In practice? It was the most uncomfortable mission you’d ever prepared for.

Garcia had handpicked the dress for you, and when she’d shown it to you earlier that morning, you were sure she had made a mistake.

“Uh, Penelope,” you had stammered, holding up the scarlet, body-hugging dress with wide eyes. “You sure this isn’t for one of the donors?”

“Nope,” she’d chirped, looking proud of her choice. “That dress is for you, my dear. And trust me, when you walk into that gala tonight, no unsub in their right mind will be able to resist.”

That didn’t ease your nerves. Sure, you’d gone undercover before, but never in an outfit like this. The red fabric clung to you like a second skin, accentuating every curve. It was sleeveless with a deep, tasteful neckline, a slit on one side that allowed for movement, necessary, since you still had to wear a concealed weapon.

Now, hours later, you stood in front of the full-length mirror in the FBI’s makeshift dressing room, smoothing the fabric nervously. You barely recognized yourself.

“Alright,” Hotch’s voice came through the door, causing your pulse to quicken. “We’re ready for the final briefing.”

You took one last look at yourself, squared your shoulders, and opened the door. The instant you stepped into the hall, all conversation stopped. The team, usually focused and professional, looked up one by one and openly stared.

JJ gave you a supportive smile. “You look amazing. You’re going to fit right in with the crowd tonight.”

“Yeah,” Rossi chimed in, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “If we didn’t know better, I’d say you belong at one of those events.”

You blushed, but before you could respond, you caught sight of Hotch. He was standing at the head of the room, briefing file in hand, but his usual moderate expression had softened. His dark eyes scanned over you from head to toe, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw him swallow hard, his jaw tensing.

“You look ready,” he said, his voice calm and professional, but there was a slight tremor in it that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Thank you,” you replied, unable to meet his gaze for too long. You shifted again, tugging slightly at the hem of the dress. “I don’t know how I feel about all this.”

“You look great,” Hotch said, his voice quieter now. “Just be careful. Stay close to the team, and if you feel anything’s off, get out of there.”

You nodded, grateful for his concern. You’d worked with Hotch long enough to know that he wasn’t one for overt displays of emotion, but the way he lingered on you, the unspoken admiration in his eyes—it made your heart race.

The rest of the team began gathering their gear, but Spencer Reid was still standing in the middle of the room, staring at you in open awe. His wide, hazel eyes were locked on you, and he seemed completely frozen.

“Spence?” you asked, smiling softly at him, trying to break the tension.

“Woa,” he whispered, almost too quietly to be heard, but the way his voice stretched out the word made you blush even deeper. Reid was brilliant in every way, and his innocence was one of his most endearing traits. The fact that he was clearly impressed by you, of all people, made you feel more self-conscious than ever.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “You okay there, genius?”

Reid blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, his cheeks flushing. “Yeah, sorry. You just... look really different. Not bad, just... really good.” His stammered compliment made the heat in your cheeks intensify.

You smiled warmly at him. “Thanks, Spencer. That means a lot.”

Hotch cleared his throat then, effectively pulling everyone back into focus. “Alright, we’ve got our game plan,” he said, gesturing to the screen behind him that displayed photos of the gala venue. “Once we’re inside, we’ll stay in communication. Rossi, JJ, and I will be positioned around the perimeter, while Reid and Morgan will be circulating inside. We’ll all have eyes on you.” He looked at you when he said that last part, his gaze firm, protective.

You nodded, stepping into your role as an undercover agent. The butterflies in your stomach had settled, replaced by the steady focus of a professional ready for the mission. “Got it.”

As you moved to gather your small clutch—outfitted with a tiny earpiece and tracker—Hotch called your name softly. You turned back toward him, and for a moment, it was just the two of you.

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours in a way that made your heart skip. “You really do look... incredible tonight,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His eyes flickered down to the dress, then back up, and you caught something in his expression that you hadn’t seen before, something unguarded.

“Thank you, Hotch,” you replied, feeling the warmth in your chest spread. “I’ll be careful. Promise.”

As you left the briefing room, you could still feel Hotch’s eyes on you, lingering even as you made your way toward the exit. There was something about tonight, about the way he had looked at you, that felt different. Maybe it was just the undercover role, the dress, or the high stakes of the case, but something told you that after tonight, things between you and Hotch might never be quite the same.

And as for Spencer? The memory of his innocent “wauw” would stick with you, making you smile even in the midst of the danger you were about to face.

The mission had been a success. You and the team had caught the unsub, and he was now sitting in an interrogation room, handcuffed, awaiting processing. The gala had gone off without a hitch, and thanks to the meticulous work of the team, the unsub had been identified and neutralized before he could strike again.

You stood in front of your locker at the BAU headquarters, slipping out of your dress and back into your familiar black jeans and a t-shirt. The adrenaline from the night had worn off, and now you were left with the exhaustion that came after every case. But this time, there was something different, a lingering thought that had nothing to do with the unsub.

The look Hotch had given you earlier had stayed with you. The intensity in his eyes when he said you looked incredible, the way his voice had softened, it was unlike anything you had ever experienced with him before. You weren’t sure what to make of it. You had always admired him, respected him, but you’d never considered there could be... more. Not until tonight.

And then there was Spencer. You and Reid had been dancing around each other for months now, exchanging glances, spending extra time together after cases, but neither of you had ever crossed that unspoken line. It was as if you were both waiting for something, but you didn’t know what.

As you closed your locker, the room felt quieter than usual. Most of the team had already left, their shifts officially over, and the bullpen was nearly empty. You exhaled, the tension in your shoulders starting to melt away as you grabbed your bag.

Just as you were about to head toward the exit, you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Hey, wait up.”

You turned around to see Spencer Reid standing by the door. His hair was a little tousled, and he was still in his work clothes, his tie slightly loosened. He had that sheepish look on his face that you always found adorable.

“Spence,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips. “I thought you’d already left.”

“I was going to, but I saw you were still here.” He stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay after everything tonight. I know going undercover isn’t exactly your favorite thing.”

You laughed softly, your heart warming at his concern. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just glad it’s over.”

Spencer nodded, but there was something more in his eyes, something unsaid. He stepped closer again, this time breaching your personal space in a way he never had before. You felt the heat from his body as he stopped just in front of you, his hand coming to rest gently on your arm.

Your breath caught in your throat. You and Spencer had always had this connection, something unspoken that simmered just beneath the surface. You’d shared looks, lingering touches, and moments that felt like they were on the edge of something more, but you had never crossed that line. Until now.

Your pulse quickened as your gaze flickered to his lips, then back to his eyes. The tension in the air between you was palpable. And then, before you could say anything else, Spencer leaned in and kissed you. It was soft at first, almost tentative, like he was testing the waters. But the moment your lips met his, it felt like everything fell into place.

You responded immediately, your hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. His arms slid around your waist, and he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. His fingers grazed your hips, anchoring you to him as the world seemed to blur around you.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. Spencer smiled down at you, his eyes bright and full of warmth. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” he admitted, his voice soft.

You couldn’t help but grin, your heart racing. “Me too.”

For a moment, it was just the two of you, standing in the empty bullpen, wrapped up in each other. But then, the sound of a sharp intake of breath from behind you shattered the moment.

You turned, startled, and froze when you saw him.

Hotch.

He stood in the doorway, his expression carefully controlled, but you could see the flicker of something darker beneath the surface. His eyes were locked on you and Spencer, and in that moment, you realized he had seen everything.

The air in the room shifted. You felt your heart sink, your stomach twisting into knots. Hotch’s jaw was clenched, his fists at his sides, the tension radiating off him in waves. He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes.

“Hotch,” you started, taking a step forward, but the words caught in your throat. What could you even say?

Hotch’s eyes flickered from you to Spencer, then back again. His expression remained stoic, but there was no mistaking the flash of anger, or maybe it was jealousy that crossed his face. He took a deep breath, his gaze hardening.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said finally, his voice tight, though controlled. “I’ll... leave you two to it.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the room as quickly as he had appeared.

You stood there, frozen, your mind racing. Had Hotch been... jealous? The thought seemed impossible, but you couldn’t shake the way he had looked at you, like he had lost something.

Spencer’s hand was still resting on your hip, but you barely felt it now. Your thoughts were consumed with Hotch. The way his fist had clenched, the way his voice had wavered ever so slightly. He had seen the kiss, and he wasn’t okay with it.

You let out a shaky breath, turning to look at Spencer. His expression had shifted too, his brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know he was there.”

Spencer nodded, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “Do you... care?”

Did you? You weren’t sure. All you knew was that something had changed. Something you hadn’t anticipated. You had been so focused on your budding relationship with Spencer, but now Hotch—Hotch—was a factor you hadn’t even considered.

Spencer’s hand moved from your hip to your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

You gave him a small smile, grateful for his understanding. “Thanks, Spence. I just need a minute.”

He nodded and stepped back, giving you space as you tried to process everything.

Hotch was gone, but the weight of his presence still lingered. The kiss with Spencer had felt right—perfect, even—but now there was something unspoken between you and Hotch, something that had been brewing beneath the surface without you realizing it.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. This wasn’t how you had expected the night to end. You had thought the biggest challenge was going undercover to catch a killer, but now it seemed like your personal life was even more complicated than the case.

The next morning felt heavier than usual. The BAU bullpen was busy with agents moving about, but you couldn’t shake the tension from last night. Your mind kept replaying the kiss with Spencer, how natural it had felt, the way he had smiled at you afterward—and then the look in Hotch’s eyes when he’d caught you both.

You arrived early, hoping to avoid the awkwardness that was bound to follow. As you walked into the bullpen, your heart raced at the thought of facing Hotch. Would he bring it up? Would he ignore it? You honestly weren’t sure what would be worse.

Sitting at your desk, you tried to focus on the case reports in front of you, but the words blurred together. You were so absorbed in your thoughts that you didn’t notice someone approaching until you heard his voice.

“Morning.”

You looked up to see Hotch standing beside your desk, his expression as unreadable as ever. He was in his usual suit, clipboard in hand, but there was something different in his posture, something tense, though he was trying to hide it.

“Morning,” you replied, your voice quieter than usual. You waited for him to say something about last night, but he didn’t. He stood there, the silence stretching between you like a wall.

For a few seconds, neither of you said anything, and you couldn’t tell if that was because of him, or because you weren’t sure what to say. The look in his eyes wasn’t like last night, he seemed determined to keep it all buried beneath his calm, professional demeanor today.

“I was reviewing the case reports from last night’s mission,” Hotch said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was controlled, businesslike, but there was an edge to it. “You did well. I wanted to tell you that.”

His praise should have felt good, but something about his tone made your chest tighten. The words were meant to sound professional, but you could tell there was more he wasn’t saying.

“Thanks, Hotch,” you replied, keeping your own tone neutral. “I’m glad everything went smoothly.”

He nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “We’ll have the debriefing in an hour,” he said, his voice tight. “Make sure you’re ready.”

Before you could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving you sitting at your desk with a sinking feeling in your stomach. The conversation had been painfully formal, and it was clear that neither of you was addressing the real issue. Hotch was a master at hiding his emotions, but after working with him for so long, you knew when something was bothering him.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Spencer approached your desk, his usual nervous energy replaced with a softness that made your heart ache a little. He smiled at you, that familiar, boyish grin that always made you feel warm.

“Hey,” he said, leaning on the edge of your desk. “You okay? You seemed a little off this morning.”

You glanced around the bullpen, trying to avoid Hotch’s line of sight. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired, I guess.”

Spencer nodded, though his eyes searched yours for the truth. “Last night was really fun.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like he was testing the waters to see if you were on the same page.

You smiled at him, feeling a little more relaxed in his presence. “It was,” you agreed, your mind flashing back to the kiss. You were about to say more when you caught movement out of the corner of your eye—Hotch, standing in his office, watching.

Your breath hitched slightly. Hotch’s eyes were locked on you and Spencer, his jaw clenched. He wasn’t hiding it well this time—the tension, the frustration. He looked like he was barely holding himself together, and the realization that you were the cause of it made your stomach twist with guilt.

Spencer noticed your shift in mood and followed your gaze to Hotch’s office. His face fell slightly when he saw the way Hotch was looking at you. “Does he know?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, glancing down at your hands. “Well he saw us last night, so…”

Spencer exhaled, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck nervously. “That’s… complicated.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, your voice tight. “It is.”

The weight of the situation started pressing down on you. You cared about Spencer, you had for a long time, but now that Hotch was involved, everything felt more complicated. You hadn’t even realized there was something between you and Hotch until last night. His reaction, the way he’d looked at you and Spencer, had been like a punch to the gut.

“What do we do?” Spencer asked, his voice soft but steady.

You sighed, looking at him with a mix of affection and uncertainty. “I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Spencer gave you a small smile, understanding in his eyes. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever happens.”

You nodded, grateful for his support. But as you looked over at Hotch again, still watching from his office, you couldn’t help but wonder if “figuring it out” was even possible.

Later that morning, during the team debriefing, the tension was palpable. Hotch kept his focus on the case, addressing the team with his usual authority, but there was an undeniable edge to his words whenever he spoke to you. His eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, and the undercurrent of frustration in his tone didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team.

Morgan raised an eyebrow at you at one point, silently asking if something was up, but you just gave him a small shake of your head, unwilling to explain the complicated mess you were in.

By the time the meeting was over, you felt like you could barely breathe. You needed to talk to Hotch—clear the air, somehow. You couldn’t let things stay like this.

When the others filed out of the room, you hesitated for a moment before standing up, catching Hotch’s attention. “Hotch, can I talk to you for a minute?”

He looked up from his papers and after a long pause, he nodded. “Close the door.”

You did as he asked, your heart pounding in your chest. When you turned back to face him, Hotch was watching you closely, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You wanted to talk,” he said, his voice low, but there was a tension there, like he was holding something back.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his gaze. “I just… I didn’t want what happened last night to affect our work. I know you saw me and Spencer, and I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening slightly. “You’re right. It shouldn’t affect our work.”

You swallowed hard, sensing that he wasn’t saying everything. “But it does, doesn’t it?”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze steady and intense. When he spoke, his voice was calm but edged with something you hadn’t heard from him before, something raw. “What you do with Reid is your business. But… if I’m being honest, it’s hard to ignore the fact that it bothers me.”

Your heart raced, unsure of what to say. You had expected him to be upset, but hearing him admit it out loud made everything more real.

“I didn’t think it would bother me either,” he continued, his voice growing quieter. “But it does. And I think… I need to figure out why.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy and charged with emotion. You had never seen him like this before, vulnerable, open in a way that made your chest tighten.

You stared at him, at a loss for words. You’d always respected him, admired him as a leader, but now you were seeing him in a different light. A light you hadn’t expected. And now, with Spencer in the picture, everything felt impossibly complicated.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” you whispered, unsure of what else to say.

“I know,” Hotch said, his voice softening slightly. He looked down for a moment, then met your eyes again. “But it did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken emotions. You didn’t know what would happen next, between you and Spencer, or between you and Hotch, but one thing was certain: nothing would ever be the same again

----

Weeks passed, and the intensity of your relationship with Spencer grew. Late-night talks turned into stolen kisses, and eventually, those kisses became something more. But despite the connection you shared, neither of you had made it official. It was as if you were both too scared to label what you had—both afraid of what it could mean if you did.

You spent countless nights together in the quiet of your apartment, wrapped in each other's arms, but as the days went on, you couldn’t help but notice that something was shifting. The tension with Hotch never fully dissipated after that night. He had become more distant, colder, but his gaze still lingered on you longer than it should. The weight of it was suffocating, pulling you in two directions, toward the warmth and comfort of Spencer, and the burning intensity of Hotch.

One late evening, you found yourself alone at the office. The team had been working a gruelling case, and everyone had left for the night to grab some much-needed rest. You had stayed behind, your mind too wired to sleep, going over the case files at your desk. The bullpen was eerily quiet, the fluorescent lights casting long shadows over the room.

You hadn’t heard him come in, but suddenly, Hotch was standing behind you.

“You’re still here.”

His deep voice startled you, and you looked up to see him looming over your desk, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were intense—darker than usual.

“Yeah,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. “Couldn’t sleep. Just thought I’d go over the case again.”

Hotch said nothing for a moment, his eyes flicking down to the file on your desk, but you could tell he wasn’t really looking at it. His gaze moved back to you, and there was something different in the way he was standing, closer than usual, like the professional distance between you had finally worn thin.

“You’ve been distant lately,” he said, his voice quieter now, but there was a rough edge to it. “Not just with me. With everyone.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words. It was true. Ever since that kiss with Spencer, everything had felt out of balance. You had been caught in this strange in-between space, unsure of where you stood with anyone.

“I’ve just been… dealing with some things,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he stepped closer, leaning against the side of your desk. His presence was overwhelming, commanding, as always—but now there was something else in his gaze. Something you had seen glimpses of before, but never fully understood.

“And what about you and Reid?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, his eyes boring into yours.

Your heart raced at the mention of Spencer. You hadn’t expected Hotch to bring him up, not like this. You could feel the tension building, thickening the air between you.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice shaky. “We’re… we’re not official. It’s complicated.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched at that, and for a moment, you thought he might back off, but instead, he leaned in closer, his hand coming to rest on the edge of your desk, trapping you in place. His proximity made your pulse quicken, and suddenly, the room felt much smaller.

“Complicated,” he repeated, his voice barely above a growl. “You think this isn’t complicated for me?”

You blinked, taken aback by the raw emotion in his words. Hotch wasn’t one to wear his feelings on his sleeve, but right now, there was no mistaking the fire in his eyes.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

For a moment, Hotch didn’t respond. He just stood there, staring at you, his gaze intense and heated. Then, in a move that took you completely by surprise, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you up from your chair. You gasped as your body collided with his, and before you could say anything, his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was rough, demanding—nothing like the gentle, tentative kisses you had shared with Spencer. Hotch’s hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips moved with a fierce intensity that made your head spin. It was like all the tension between you had finally snapped, and now there was nothing holding him back.

Your hands instinctively found their way to his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his suit jacket. Your mind was racing, trying to process what was happening, but your body responded on its own, melting into him as the kiss deepened. Hotch’s hands roamed over your body, one sliding down to your hip while the other tangled in your hair, keeping you firmly in place.

You barely had time to think as he pushed you back against your desk, his mouth never leaving yours. The papers scattered across the surface crinkled beneath you as he lifted you onto the desk, positioning himself between your legs. The kiss grew more frantic, more desperate, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body as he pressed against you.

“Hotch,” you breathed, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. They were dark, filled with desire.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his voice rough, his forehead resting against yours.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. You knew you should stop. This was wrong, wasn’t it? You were still involved with Spencer—sort of—but the pull between you and Hotch was undeniable. It had been simmering for weeks, maybe even longer, and now that the floodgates had opened, there was no going back.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your breath hitching.

At that, Hotch’s lips were on yours again, his hands sliding up your thighs as he lifted your shirt. The rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop, to think about Spencer, but all of that was drowned out by the overwhelming desire coursing through you.

Hotch’s kisses trailed down your neck, and you arched against him, your fingers gripping the edge of your desk for support. You felt the cold surface beneath you, a sharp contrast to the heat between your bodies.

His hands moved with a firm, steady confidence, fingers brushing against your waist as he unbuttoned your pants. His eyes never left yours, dark, intense, and filled with an unmistakable hunger. He lifted you effortlessly, sliding the fabric down your legs with deliberate care, his gaze locked on you as if nothing else existed in that moment.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the anticipation building as he ran a hand along your thigh, his touch sending sparks of heat through your entire body. When his fingers grazed over the thin material of your underwear, you gasped softly, instinctively pressing closer to him. His lips curled into a smirk, his eyes flashing with something almost predatory.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his breath hot against your ear. “Does Spencer make you wet like this?”

His question caught you off guard. His tone was possessive, commanding, so different from the calm, controlled leader you had known. The edge in his voice made your pulse quicken, and despite the shock of his words, you found yourself craving more.

Hotch’s smirk deepened at your response, and before you could react, his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, brushing against your bare skin. The sudden contact with your sensitive flesh made your entire body tense, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped you. “Fuck no, he doesn’t,” you blurted out, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. His fingers teased you, moving with an expert precision that made you tremble in his grasp.

He pulled your underwear to the side, his eyes darkening even further as he felt just how ready you were. “You’re a mess for me,” he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Look at you…”

Your breath came in shallow gasps as he tugged your panties off completely, discarding them without a second thought. His hand returned to you, fingers finding your most sensitive spot with a precision that made your knees weak. The pressure of his touch sent waves of pleasure through you, and you clutched onto him, your grip tight, needing something to hold onto as the intensity of his touch overwhelmed you.

Hotch’s fingers moved with purpose, each stroke deliberate, drawing soft whimpers from you as your body responded to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. His free hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer, holding you steady as he worked you over, his expression one of absolute control.

“Is this what you need?” he asked, his voice low, but there was a dangerous edge to it, like he was testing you, seeing how far you would go. “Tell me.”

You couldn’t form words. Your body was reacting on instinct, arching into his touch, your mind fogged by the intensity of it all. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and all you could do was hold onto him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the tension between you reached its peak.

Hotch’s fingers moved harder, faster, pushing you to the edge. The world around you blurred, the only thing that mattered was him, the feel of his hands on your body, the way he was guiding you, taking control, making you fall apart.

Your grip on his shoulders tightened, your nails digging into his skin as the pressure built inside you, your body responding to his touch in ways you hadn’t imagined. You came hard on his fingers after one last touch to your sweet spot. Falling apart on his fingers made Hotch even harder than he already was.

As you slowly came down from the high, your breathing still heavy, Hotch moved with the same calculated precision that you had always admired in him. His hands gripped your thighs with a firm, commanding hold, putting your legs on his shoulders as he knelt in front of you. The sudden change in his demeanour, this side of him that you had never seen before, left you breathless.

You gasped as his lips pressed against you, his tongue moving in ways that made your whole body react, a rush of heat flooding through you again. It was overwhelming, the intensity of it, the way he was so completely focused on you, as if everything else had disappeared. Your head fell back, your eyes fluttering shut, as you surrendered to the moment, to him.

Hotch was methodical, but passionate. His experience, his confidence, was palpable in every touch, every movement. You couldn’t hold back the sounds escaping your lips, the way your body responded to him as though he had unlocked something deep inside you.

Your thoughts scattered, lost in the sensations. You had never imagined anything like this—never expected your best pussy eating experience would happen here, in the very place where you had spent countless hours working side by side with him. The professionalism that had always defined your relationship was long gone, replaced by something far more primal, far more dangerous.

“Oh, fuck, sir… that feels so good,” you gasped, your voice shaky with pleasure.

At your words, Hotch paused for just a moment, a low chuckle escaping him. The sound vibrated through you, and you felt him smile against you, the warmth of his breath adding to the overwhelming sensations. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the intensity in them making your pulse race even faster.

“So hot that you’re calling me ‘sir’ while I’m doing this,” he murmured, his voice rough, low, filled with satisfaction.

The deep vibrations of his voice against you were almost too much, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. You bit your lip, stifling the whimper that rose in your throat, your fingers gripping the edge of the desk as if it were the only thing tethering you to reality. The way he spoke, how controlled, how in command he remained even in this intimate moment, only heightened the intensity between you.

Hotch wasn’t just any man. He was your boss, the stoic leader who carried the weight of the team on his shoulders. And yet, here he was, unravelling you piece by piece, making you feel things you had never felt before. The forbidden nature of it, the fact that you were breaking so many unspoken rules, only added to the electricity in the air.

As his tongue continued its relentless pursuit, the pressure built inside you once again, threatening to overwhelm you. Every movement, every flick of his tongue, was pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension coiling tightly in your core, ready to snap at any moment.

Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions—desire, guilt, confusion—all swirling together in a chaotic mix. But in this moment, none of it mattered. The only thing that existed was the way he made you feel, the way he controlled every part of your body with ease, driving you toward that inevitable release.

The intensity of what he was doing overwhelmed your senses, a rush of heat coursing through you, bringing you to the brink. And then, just as you were about to tip over the edge, everything stopped.

Hotch pulled back, his hands still firmly gripping your thighs, but his touch gone, the warmth of his breath no longer sending shivers across your skin. The sudden absence of him left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest, the tension inside you teetering dangerously close to snapping.

"Hotch," you cried out, his name escaping your lips in a desperate plea, your body aching for the release he had so cruelly denied. Your eyes flew open, seeking him, and when your gaze locked with his, you saw the faintest smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Please,” you begged, your voice shaky, desperate. “Please, let me cum.”

For a moment, Hotch said nothing, his eyes scanning your face, taking in the flush of your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell with each labored breath. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, his silence driving you to the edge of madness. And then, without warning, his hand moved, reaching up to cup your face, his fingers firm as they tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his thumb brushing over your lower lip in a way that made your breath catch in your throat. “Begging.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your pulse quickening, the power dynamic between you only making you crave him more. There was something intoxicating about the way he held you,his control, his dominance. You wanted to surrender to him, to let him take whatever he wanted from you.

Hotch’s grip on your face tightened just slightly, his thumb slipping down to brush against your jawline. His dark eyes flicked down to your lips, lingering there for a moment before returning to meet your gaze.

“Say it again,” he ordered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, the need in your body almost unbearable. “Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please, sir, let me cum.”

The way you called him “sir” seemed to ignite something in him, a flicker of pride and desire flashing in his eyes. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath hot against your skin.

“You think you deserve it?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, his hand still gripping your face as he held you there, completely at his mercy.

You nodded, your heart racing, your whole body aching with the need for him to touch you again. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. “I need it.”

Hotch’s lips curved into a smirk. He was drawing this out, savouring the control he had over you, watching as you trembled beneath him, completely undone by his touch.

“Not yet,” he whispered, his voice a dangerous mix of command and seduction.

His words sent a rush of heat through you, your entire body on edge, the tension building with every passing moment. You whimpered softly, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his suit jacket as you tried to steady yourself, the need for release almost unbearable.

Hotch’s hand slid down from your face, trailing along the curve of your neck, his fingers brushing over your collarbone as he slowly made his way down your body. His touch was light, almost teasing, as if he were testing your resolve, seeing just how much you could take.

Hotch’s hands moved to his belt with a deliberate, steady motion, the sound of the buckle undoing echoing through the room. Your breath hitched as he removed his pants and underwear, the sudden intimacy of the moment making your pulse race. When your eyes met his again, they were wide, overwhelmed by the reality of the situation, yet a spark of desire remained unmistakable.

He noticed your reaction, his lips curving into a smirk as he reached out, gently taking a lock of your hair and tucking it behind your ear. His touch was surprisingly tender given the intensity of the situation, and his eyes softened as he looked at you.

“You’re so cute,” he murmured, his voice low, almost affectionate.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but before you could process it, Hotch’s hands were on your hips, his grip firm and commanding as he positioned you. The moment he entered you, the fullness of him made you gasp, a moan slipping from your lips despite yourself. The sensation was overwhelming, and for a brief second, the reality of what was happening hit you all at once. This wasn’t just any encounter; this was real, and the intensity of it was almost too much to bear.

But as Hotch began to move, any lingering doubts faded, replaced by the undeniable pleasure that coursed through your body. He was deliberate, every thrust calculated, driving you to the edge with each motion. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the sounds threatening to escape you, but Hotch noticed.

“Don’t hold your moans back,” he commanded, his voice stern but laced with something deeper, a desire to hear you fully surrender to him.

His words had an effect on you, and you let go of the restraint you had been clinging to, your moans escaping freely now as the pleasure built with every movement. Hotch’s pace quickened, the intensity between you growing as he drove you further and further toward the brink. You couldn’t hold back the way your body responded to him, the way every thrust pushed you closer to losing control.

Your head fell back, the sensations overwhelming as he took you rough and unrelenting, his control never wavering. The desk beneath you creaked with the force of it, but none of that mattered. All you could focus on was him, the way he filled you, the way he commanded every part of you in that moment.

And then it happened, your body trembled violently as the release washed over you, the force of it so intense that you couldn’t stop it. You cried out, your entire body shaking as you felt yourself let go completely. It was overwhelming, and before you could even process what had happened, you realized you had just squirted on him.

“Oh, fuck,” you yelled, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Embarrassment flooded through you immediately, and you stammered an apology, your cheeks flushing with heat. “I’m sorry… I don’t normally do that.”

You looked up at Hotch and his expression was one of pure awe. There was pride in his eyes, as if what had just happened only added to his satisfaction. He let out a low, almost primal growl of approval, his hands tightening on your hips as he continued to move inside of you, driving you both toward the inevitable.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured, his voice rough with pleasure. “That was incredible.”

As he chased his own release, his pace grew more erratic, the intensity between you building once more. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his movements relentless as he pushed both of you toward the edge. The pleasure was overwhelming, and you could feel him lose control, his own release approaching.

When he finally reached his climax, Hotch buried himself inside of you with a low groan, the sound filled with raw need. You felt him spill into you, the heat of it mixing with your own, and the sensation sent another wave of pleasure through you. He kept moving, riding out his orgasm, his hands gripping your hips as if he needed to hold onto something, anything, to stay grounded in the moment.

The room felt heavy with the aftermath of the intensity you had both shared. The air was thick, the only sound the soft hum of the ventilation system and the slow, labored breaths you both took as you tried to come down from the overwhelming sensations coursing through your bodies. Hotch’s hands lingered on your hips, his touch softer now but still possessive, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

You sat up slowly, your body still trembling from the force of your release. Hotch pulled back just enough to give you space, but his gaze never left yours.

You took a deep breath, your mind racing to catch up with what had just happened. Your heart raced as you glanced at him, unsure of what to say. The vulnerability in his gaze surprised you, for all his confidence and control, there was a softness in his eyes now, a quiet tenderness that spoke volumes. His hand, still resting on your hip, squeezed gently as if to reassure you, to let you know that everything was okay.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Hotch said quietly, his voice rough from exertion but filled with warmth. “That was...”

He trailed off, but the way he looked at you, like he was still processing everything that had just happened, said more than words ever could. You bit your lip, the weight of his gaze making your heart flutter. He was right, there was no reason to apologize. What had happened between you was raw and intense, but it was also real, and that was something neither of you could take back.

Finally, he pulled away just enough to help you up, his hands steady and sure as he guided you to your feet. You wobbled slightly, your legs still weak from the intensity of your release, but Hotch was there, his arms strong and supportive as he steadied you. The tenderness in his touch was a stark contrast to the rough, commanding way he had taken you moments ago, and it left you feeling even more connected to him.

As you stood there, face to face, the reality of the situation began to sink in. You had just crossed a line—one you hadn’t expected to cross—and now, there was no going back.

But what did it mean? What would happen now?

Hotch seemed to sense your uncertainty, his eyes softening as he reached out, cupping your cheek in his hand

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.

You nodded, your throat tight as you tried to find the words to express how you were feeling. “I’m okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just… I didn’t expect this.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened slightly, a flicker of something, regret? uncertainty?crossing his features. “Neither did I,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “But… I don’t regret it.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You didn’t regret it either, but that didn’t mean things weren’t complicated now. There was still so much left unsaid, so much you didn’t know how to process. You had crossed a line with your boss, a man you had always respected and admired, and you felt like you betrayed Spencer, now you weren’t sure what the future held.

He leaned in slightly, his forehead resting against yours in a gesture that was both intimate and comforting. His breath was warm against your skin, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself bask in the closeness, the quiet moment of peace that had settled over you.

“We’ll figure this out,” Hotch murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Whatever this is… we’ll figure it out.”

Slowly, Hotch pulled back, his hand slipping from your cheek as he straightened up. His expression was serious, but there was a softness in his eyes that reassured you, a quiet promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“You should probably get dressed,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You blushed, suddenly acutely aware of your dishevelled state, and gathered your clothes. Hotch watched you with a quiet amusement, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the desk. There was something comforting about the way he looked at you, as if he found your flustered state endearing rather than awkward.

Once you were both dressed, Hotch pushed himself off the desk and stepped toward you, his expression more serious now. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“We’ll talk,” he said, his voice low and filled with promise. “Soon.”

[thyras]

→ your shadow

PAIRING → halbrand (sauron) x f!númenórean!reader

WORD COUNT → 2.3k words

WARNINGS → pining (mainly our dark lord), stalking, flirting, secrets, manipulating dreams, obsession, sinful thoughts 🤭

SUMMARY → the dark lord begins his quest to turn you to the darkness, he uses every tactic he can think of but for some reason the darkness doesn’t consume you like the others.

AUTHORS NOTE → this is turning out to be a pretty long series so I'll start linking the previous parts. i wanted to also thank you all for the lovely comments and love for this series. it is my first time branching out to another fandom so thank you so much for welcoming me with open arms, it means the world to me 🩵

also massive warning; i am not versed in the lore as I am still new to this obviously none of what happens in here will be canonical as readers secret is probably not in the slightest possible.

FIC MASTERLIST → NEXT PART

He could not help himself. In the days following your meeting in the jail, his mind had followed you, reaching out when you slept just so he could taste the sweet thoughts and manipulate those dreams to aid in his corruption of you. He needed more than just a touch; he required a bond—one only solidified by the mixing of blood.

Like with Galadriel, you started as a cog in the master plan. Something to corrupt, a means to an end. But as he spends more and more time watching you from the shadows, he realizes that you have become more. More than a simple pawn on the board to play in this game of healing Middle-Earth.

He grew to admire your strength and resilience toward his meddling. Now, as he watched from the shadows of the darkened alley, he could not help but try to pull on that little invisible thread starting to show itself to him. However, something surprised him: a bright shimmer seemed to encompass you this time, like a shield protecting you from his onslaught.

Your laughter was so pure and sinful to his ears that it, for even the briefest moment, caused a faint shimmer of light to return to his dark soul. But the light was fleeting, and he returned to the darkness to leave you to mingle and converse with your fellow maidens until he would find you in your dreams again.

"Lord Halbrand," you called, causing him to stop his stride away from the tavern once you caught a glimpse of him probably leaving. He spun around to look at you, a thin smile on his lips. "Come sit with us," you waved him over, though slightly drunken by the ale you had been drinking if your shaky hand was any tell to him. The other maidens looked at you and spoke inaudible words. Ones they clearly aimed at him if their alarmed minds were any tell.

"Ladies," he bowed slightly as you smiled up at him. His eyes swept over the other maidens, who looked less than pleased to see the rugged man standing there.

"I see you escaped your cage," you say with a hint of amusement. "A pity for us then," he chuckled as the words spilled out your lips.

A pity indeed.

He thought mildly as he took his seat next to you. You waved for someone to bring another thing of ale before turning to him and motioning to the guild emblem on his tunic.

"I see you have been busy since we last spoke," He looked down at where you were pointing, and another thin smile rose on his lips.

"I guess," He paused. "I have your queen to thank,"

"The she-elf, to be exact," one of the other maidens said from the rim of her mug before taking a nervous sip as he turned his dark eyes on her. She's been adamant about getting you both to Middle-Earth," you kicked the fellow maiden from underneath the table. She winced and reached down to rub it soothingly.

He knew that he had Galadriel eating right out of the palm of his hand, but he wished to have you doing more than eating out of the palm of his hand. As he looked down at you, that light aura reappeared as he tried to twist the darkness against you.

Still protecting your mind from any deeper manipulation.

A woman sat a mug in front of him, and he took a sip before stating his opinion on the maiden's statement. It was not like he needed the liquid, but the deception was required to continue until it was the right time.

"The she-elf and I do not have aligned motives, and I have no wish to return to where I came from." It seemed to make your eyes sparkle at the mention of him not wanting to leave. The aura dropped just in the slightest, allowing him to manipulate the dark thread a little.

He watched as your face changed slightly before you took a nervous sip of your drink. If he could show that dark, nebulous smile, he would have. Watching you fall just that little deeper into the darkness was a joy, even if it was becoming a challenge.

But he liked challenges, and to break the sweet, innocent woman you were would be even lovelier than the rest.

His desire for you to be his was ever palpable in his mind. No mere mortal had ever caught his attention like you had. He had never been blinded by manly desires or instinctual needs; there was no need for it when you were a Maia. But he began succumbing to these desires the more he lived in this form and understood why Men, Elves, and even Dwarves fought wars over the feelings now burning intensely in his mind.

Though you were not some mere mortal. He had sensed it, as had Galadriel. But it was not his place to reveal the secret, only yours.

"So you wish to stay then?" you asked with a drunken smile.

"Like I said, I wish for a peaceful life—one away from the turmoil of war and death." He said with measured precision as if he had been practicing it for hours.

"So you would just stand idly by while your people are murdered?" His eyes narrowed at you before sitting up straighter against your gaze.

"It is not my place to intervene."

"But you are their king," You said a little too boldly for his liking. Sure, the illusion of his kingly hood was a mere construction of the she-elf's imagination. He was surprised that you even believed it.

"I am not, my lady," his voice lowered before taking a sip. He stared off into the distance until he felt the warm touch of your delicate hand against his bicep. The feeling sent an electric sensation down his arm as the darkness seemed to surface against your touch, covering his body in a dark encasing as your light seemed to glow even more.

"Then why can't you be?" You asked slowly with a raised brow.

"I've done evil," He breathed. "Things I care not to burden your delicate ears with." A warmth filled your face as he spoke the words.

"We've all done evil things, Lord Halbrand, things we are not proud of, things we hold onto in the deepest swells of our minds, locking them away in hopes we never see them again." This surprised him. Her statement had genuinely surprised him. What evil could a fair maiden like yourself have done for you to push it away from your mind?

Sure, when he touched your dreams, he found darkness—hollow darkness, regret, and hatred for yourself. This is what he latched onto when trying to manipulate you. But nothing had ever come of it. Not even an image presented itself.

What demon walked beneath your beautiful eyes that you would utter such a statement?

He craved to find out even more now. Milk it for everything it was worth, hoping it would sway you to his cause.

"I doubt the evil you have done compares." You snorted.

"You would be surprised, my lord," Your eyes grew distant momentarily as overwhelming sadness and regret filled your heart. The aura dropped even more, and he took that chance to wind another dark thread against your shimmering one, drawing even more of that darkness you carried to the surface.

"We must leave you," one of the other maidens said as they both stood and laid coins on the wooden table. "We need to rise early; do not stay out too late, " she said to you with a small smile before they both made their way back down the road towards the palace.

"I should probably be getting back as well," You tried standing but almost tripped over the bench in your drunken state. He grabbed you and tried steading you.

"I hardly think it is wise for you to walk back alone," He paused, a smile touching his lips as his dark green eyes met yours. "You never know what may follow you in the dark."

"I am perfectly capable of protecting myself," He chuckled and shook his head.

"Not in this state, little one," Your face warmed, and your core twisted as the words fell out of his lips. You liked it when that silvery tongue spoke words like that. It was intoxicating against your drunken mind and almost made you drop the innocent facade you clung so profoundly to.

"You would be surprised,"

The streets were familiar to you, and you knew how to get back in your drunken state, but you wished to talk to Halbrand for longer. So, instead of taking the usual route, you made a few other turns until you walked up towards one of the many courtyards surrounding the palace.

His grip on you was light as he steadied you, carefully taking each step as you ascended the marble stairs. "Can we take a moment? I wish to pick your brain a little more, Lord Halbrand,"

"Of course," he said as you motioned to one of the sitting areas. You took a seat and smoothed your hands over the fabric of your dress as he sat next to you. Your eyes looked up at the stars that were on display tonight. They seemed even brighter than usual. "What would you like to know?"

"Why do you shake under your responsibility?" You say, not taking your eyes off the heavens.

"My responsibility has always been to myself, no one else." You turn to him, touching his stubbled cheek, rubbing your thumb across the cool skin. Eyes locked as you pondered the following words to exit your mouth. He looked almost shocked by your touch.

"I doubt that," you breathed. "You have seen evil, done evil, and still your eyes tell me you wish for vengeance against those who have wronged you." He took your hand off his cheek and lowered it to your lap.

"You know nothing of what you speak of, my lady, just the workings of your drunken state." You moved to grip his wrist, and to his surprise, the darkness rose in you. It was not his, but yours. He watched as your eyes darkened and pulled him in.

"But I do," You breathed in the darkened night. "I know the pain you carry. The revenge you seek." You paused and moved to pick at the stitching in your gown. "It eats at me like some demon that craves flesh and blood to sate its sadistic tendencies."

Halbrand could not help but smile at the cruel irony of it all. You believed herself a demon when the very thing you spoke of was sitting right next to you, listening and praying on this darkness like some leech.

"When I was younger, I was a wild soul and seemed to always be drawn towards the sea like it called out to me. My mother was a Númenórean from a house unknown to anyone. I never bothered to ask." You shrugged but continued. "I never knew my father. Mama had said he was long gone before she whisked me away to Middle-Earth. We settled in a seaside village with other pilgrims, and life seemed picturesque."

You swallow hard against the next revelation. The next part you had never uttered to another soul, sworn to secrecy by your mother, and you had carried it for a few hundred years. "Then came the war; our village was ravaged by Morgoth's forces. In a desperate attempt to save my village and my mother, I pulled on my usage of the magicks that resided in me, flooding the village and wiping out every living soul there, including my mother." Tears formed on your cheeks as the screams filled your ears once more, drawing out the darkness you had pulled on at that moment to protect the people you cared for. "I later found her after the waters receded; she still clung to life. There, she told me of my father, a fair man with white shimmering hair and icy blue eyes whom she met while sailing the shores. They fell in love and had me; he told her he was a Valar and showed her things. Then he gave her this." You produced a necklace from underneath your gown.

The beautiful blue jewel sparkled in the light as Halbrand's eyes grew. The shimmer of protection gleamed against the stone, and now he understood the aura surrounding you, making it even more of a challenge.

This revelation only complicated things more. But he could not hold back his surprise in the slightest as he gazed upon the daughter of a fucking Valar. One as powerful as any witch or even Maia like himself. If he could turn you, there would be no stopping him or even you on your joined conquest of healing Middle-Earth.

You thumbed the jewel, trying to calm your nerves slightly before continuing. "He told her he would always protect her and me in our darkest moments. But he was not there even after we begged him to free us from Morgoth's forces. So I turned to the dark and brought havoc, smiting him and all the other Valar for standing idly by. I have never touched that part of myself since then."

Before you could continue, his pillowy lips met yours in soothing calmness. You melted into him and let your drunken thoughts run wild as his fingers traveled to grasp your chin. Those tears that once fell on your cheeks were now wiped clean by the fiery man engulfing you. Your fingers moved wind into his loose, brown waves as he fought your lips for dominance.

A whimper fell from your lips as he pulled away, leaving you breathless and even more dizzy than before. "Your secret is safe with me." He breathed against your lips.

Now he had an in.

And now the real work would begin.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 5

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Medical blood draw, allusions to abortion, poorly written smut

A/N: Even after figuring out where I wanted to go with it, this chapter feels weak to me. I’m sorry.

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

You looked over Daryl’s shoulder and squinted at the light before the man moved, wrapping a curiously gentle hand around your bicep to urge you into the building. 

“Daryl, you cover the back.” Shane ordered quietly. 

The lobby was eerily quiet, no immediate answer to Rick’s calls. You looked around for a moment and then tracked Daryl while he kept a keen eye out for walkers. A small hand squeezed your shoulder, startling you. When you turned, Carol was already pulling you closer to herself and her daughter. They were keeping the women and children in the middle, protecting them. 

You wanted to balk at the idea. You could very well handle yourself if they would give you a weapon but apparently that was still out of the question. 

There was the echo of a gun cocking, all eyes falling on the lone man at the end of the corridor, a rifle in his hands. “Anybody infected?” He asked, warily eyeing each member of the group. 

“One of our group was.” Rick answered solemnly. You could sense the collective shift in the atmosphere, now heavy with grief. “He didn’t make it.”

The stranger didn't hesitate. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

“A chance.” Rick countered immediately. 

“That’s asking an awful lot these days.”

“I know.”

There was a moment of contemplation, the gentleman once again scanning over each and every individual. “You all submit to a blood test. That’s the price of admission.”

Rick’s relief was evident in the tone of his reply. “We can do that.”

Weapons were lowered, the stranger nodding toward the doors. “You got stuff to bring in, you do it now. Once this door closes, it stays closed.” 

There was a sudden burst of movement, bags and people shuffling about. Your own bag was pushed into your hands, Daryl’s eyes meeting yours for a moment before he jerked his chin to indicate you should follow the others into a rather large elevator. It was a squeeze but everyone managed to fit. Even if it did mean you were pressed tightly against the redneck. 

“VI, seal the main entrance. Kill the power up here.” 

There were beeps and rattles as the elevator closed. Introductions were being made, information shared but you could only focus on the heat radiating from the man nearly pressed flush against your back. With a careful step, you shifted closer to Carol. 

Everyone filed out once the doors opened but remained behind Dr. Jenner, listening to him explain the facility and what had been happening within the government sectors since the turn. Your thoughts, however, were running circles around the blood test he would be doing. Maybe you could manage to be the last draw and ask him in private to run the extra test if it wasn’t already on his agenda to do so. You could only assume that his priority was to ensure no one was infected. 

“Hey.”

Your head snapped up to find Daryl watching you with a narrowed, cautious gaze. 

“Keep up.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” You mock saluted, hurrying by him. He muttered something as you passed that you figured was probably nothing you cared to hear. 

Straight to business, Jenner began drawing blood samples. Chewing on your lip, you began to creep back toward the wall, ensuring everyone was in front of you until—

“The hell ya doin’?” Daryl drawled right beside your ear. You hadn’t realized he was still behind you. Snatching your arm from his grasp, you glared up at him. 

“Just getting in line.” You sneered, side-stepping around him just as Jenner announced he was ready for the next person. Only you and Daryl remained. For the briefest moment, you pondered if his thoughts were aligning with your own, his blue eyes locked on you even as his blood was pulled into the tube. 

You glanced around to find everyone else chattering about the facility and the things they had been informed of, not really concerned with the testing going on. 

Except Rick and Daryl. 

Fuck. 

You plopped down on the chair and presented your arm, wracking your brain for a way of asking for him to run a pregnancy test without alerting Rick to your plight. As you glanced up, you found the man in question saying something to Daryl but the redneck wasn’t listening, his eyes burning into your own. You felt your stomach churn, an uncomfortable tingling sensation prickling at your hands and feet. Your ears began to ring just as Dr. Jenner announced he was done. With a minute nod, you stood, albeit slowly but it wasn’t enough. The world tilted, littered with black dots. The wavering image of the floor was coming up to meet you. 

“None of us have eaten in days. She’s new so she could have gone longer than us without.” 

Consciousness was prodding at the edges of your mind, sounds and voices coming back all at once. As you peeled your eyes open, you waited for the pain from hitting the floor but it never came. In fact, you weren’t on the floor at all. No one was looking down at you. 

“There she is.” Jacqui smiled, patting your hand that was carefully held between her own. You offered the smallest of smiles back, your eyes flickering over to where your knees dangled off of something. 

A hand. 

You turned your head to find none other than Daryl looking down at you with an unreadable expression. 

“Um, thanks.” You mumbled, pressing your hand to your stomach. You still felt nauseous but the dizziness was ebbing away. “You can put me down now.”

“I gotcha.” He replied. His voice was low, almost soft. 

“No, really. I’m good.” You looked around, now extremely uncomfortable with all the concerned stares and hushed voices. “Please.” You added, just low enough for only him to hear. Daryl didn’t say anything but carefully lowered your feet to the floor, his arm remaining across the small of your back while you gathered your bearings. “Thank you.”

He merely hummed. While he was no longer touching you, you couldn’t help but notice that his hand was still hovering. 

“I think some food would be the next logical course of action.” Dr. Jenner gave a tight smile and led the way from the room. 

You followed on unsteady legs, but Daryl stayed close. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. 

You decided to forego the table, standing at the small counter in the kitchen area to pick at your pasta dish while everyone laughed and celebrated at the table. Even Daryl seemed to be in good spirits, choosing Glenn as the subject of his pestering. Everyone seemed so carefree in that moment, your thoughts wandered to your own family. How your father would have looked smiling brightly at that table and enjoying a good, hot meal in relative safety. 

You brushed away the tear that had escaped and began to poke at your food with your fork. Feeling eyes on you, a glance showed Daryl watching you with a bottle just in front of his lips. Heat began to burn in your cheeks and you looked away, forcing yourself to take a bite that you didn’t even really want, hungry as you were. When you dared to look again, he was smiling and partaking in the toasts to Jenner. 

“Here’s to you, doc. Booyah!” He shouted before taking a generous swig straight from the bottle. Glasses clinked and similar praises were given. You raised your water glass when the quiet doctor’s eyes drifted over to you. 

You could only hope that from where you stood, no one noticed you weren’t drinking. You could always blame it on the nausea but that might only fuel more suspicion. Lucky for you, Shane decided to steer the mood into the opposite direction and all celebrations died down quickly. 

The meal was finished in relative silence. Even Daryl was leaned back against the counter with the bottle still in his hand, his expression grim. 

Jenner showed everyone to the rest of the living area. Some rooms had beds while others had couches. There were two words, though, that seemed to halt everyone in their tracks: hot water. It was almost comical to watch the bodies scatter but you remained still, letting them go until only you remained in the hall. You could shower later. You needed a moment alone with the doctor. 

You found him at one of the control panels, a centrifuge with tubes of blood sitting inside. You were wringing your hands as you approached, steps so quiet that he didn’t seem to notice you. Now that you had the opportunity to speak with him, you were petrified. He could say one word that would change your life forever. 

“Hi, Dr. Jenner.”

The man was obviously startled, spinning in the chair to regard you with wide eyes. “Oh! Y/N, right?” You nodded, feeling your legs begin to tremble. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. A little. I guess.” You stumbled over words, twisting one hand within the other until it hurt. “That’s why—why I’m here, actually.”

“I thought as much.” He sighed, laying down his pen on a notepad with more care than necessary. 

You felt your stomach sink. “You—did?” He nodded, expression almost sympathetic. “If you know why I’m here, then that means—” Your knees all but buckled, hands steadying yourself against the console before the doctor stood and offered his chair. 

“I take it this wasn’t planned.” You shook your head, gaze as vacant as your mind felt in that moment. Dr. Jenner pulled up another chair and sat down in front of you. “May I ask, the father, is he alive?” You nodded absently. “Will you tell him?”

That gave you pause, cogs and wheels turning in overdrive  to make your brain function. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s my opinion,” Jenner tapped on the desk as if just trying to do anything other than focus too hard on the conversation, “these are the end times. It goes without saying that there are no blessings anymore. Nothing real to hope for anymore.” Words were failing you as you struggled to entertain his thoughts. “I can help you.”

You stopped breathing. Was he suggesting—No. No, you couldn’t possibly make a decision of that magnitude without Daryl. Regardless of how it came to be, the baby was just as much his as it was yours. He had to know. “I, um—thank you, Dr. Jenner. Really.” You stood, tripping over the chair when you stepped back. Jenner did rise from his seat to ensure you didn’t fall but promptly returned once you were able to remain upright. “I just—he has to know. I have to tell him.” You blurted another ‘thank you’ as you jogged from the room, miraculously making it to the final empty room before you allowed yourself to break down. 

Sliding down the wall, you let one hand rest on your stomach, now certain there was a little life there. The halls were quiet; anyone could hear. Your other hand covered your mouth, stifling your harsh sobs. 

You were pregnant. 

You were scared. 

You wanted your father. His advice, his embrace. You would have even taken his scolding just to have him there. What a cruel twist of fate, losing your family only to be gifted with a new one. 

And then there was Daryl. Rude, angry, impulsive. What were you thinking? Well, you weren’t thinking of babies, that was for sure. 

You needed to get yourself together, figure out what to do next. Deep breath through the nose, count to five. Out through the mouth, count to five. You continued, pushing yourself to your feet so you could start pacing the room. 

You knew you had to tell Daryl. But when? If you waited, anything could happen. You could be injured or you could lose the baby. Fuck, or both. If he didn’t know and found out that way, he’d be furious. You hadn’t experienced the full scope of his anger and truly hoped not to, especially when it came to anything regarding the baby. 

You couldn’t wait. You had to tell him. 

“Like a bandaid. Just rip it off.” You told yourself when you opened the door and stepped into the hall. Quickly, you realized that you didn’t know what room he was in. “Fuck.”

“Wha’re ya doin’?” 

Of course. You looked over your shoulder first, finding him leaning against the wall outside an open door. “Looking for you, actually.”

“Why?”

“Can we talk?” The smell of alcohol wafted into your nostrils within several feet of him. Distantly, you wondered if it was too early for your pregnancy to be responsible. His eyes drifted down your body and back up before he flattened against the wall to let you by. 

Daryl had chosen one of the rooms with a couch, leaving you instantly feeling guilty for having a bed in your own. You didn’t choose the room, it just happened to be the only one open when you came back from meeting with Jenner. Maybe you could offer it to him to smooth things over after you had talked. 

“Look, Daryl—” You spun to find him standing mere inches away, that unreadable expression firmly in place. “First of all, are you drunk?” You rubbed your lips together before pulling the bottom one between your teeth. You weren’t doing this if he was drunk.

“Nah. Take more than wine for that.”

Your eyes flitted over to the bottle of whiskey on the end table. “You mean, like that?” You pointed, raising an eyebrow when he actually turned to look. 

“Ain’t had any.” He sniffed and crossed his arms. “Yet. Whaddaya need?”

“Daryl, I went to—well, when I—” The food from earlier began threatening to make a reappearance, worsening as his eyes continued to narrow. “I need to sit down.” The hard look faded and gave way to concern, something you hadn’t seen him openly convey. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his hand on your back, urging you toward the couch. “I’m sorry.” Like a bandaid. Like a bandaid. Your brain chanted at you, even as you doubled over to put your head on your knees. 

“Jesus, woman. It ain’t that big’a deal.” His flippant tone made you yearn to smack him upside the head with one of the couch’s cushions until you sat up with something particularly snarky on the tip of your tongue, only to be met with him unbuckling his belt. Your mouth agape, you did little more than blink at him. “Finally,” he drawled, leaning down to cage you against the back of the couch with an arm on either side, “didn’t think ya’d ever shut up.”

You should have stopped him. You knew that. But the moment his mouth was on yours, you were a lost cause. All you could focus on was the warmth beneath your hands. Daryl ran hot, never failing to leave your blood boiling beneath your skin. In a world gone cold with death, it was a relief to feel something so alive. 

“Saw ya in the truck.” He all but purred, pressing open-mouthed kisses across your jaw. “Would’a handled it for ya if ya’d asked.” He used his knee to force your legs apart, leaving it pressed into the couch just in front of your center. 

“Didn’t—wanna do this again.” You breathed, arching up with your head back to grant him access to the full expanse of your throat. 

“Yeah, ya did.” Daryl grinned against your flesh, his warm breath causing you to shiver. “S’a itch ya need scratched, same as me.”

Goddamnit, he was right. At first, it was all about the pleasure. The man excelled at making you feel good. Soon enough, it had gone beyond that. It was a connection with another person. You’d begun to crave being touched, being wanted. You lusted for the rush of making him feel good. You could die at any given moment and had wanted to live while you could. 

You needed to tell him about the baby—and you would—but first, you needed this. You could revel in the feel of him without the looming dangers of being vulnerable in the outside world. 

Your hand splayed open against his chest, pushing him back enough to enable you to pull your shirt over your head. Your slender fingers began undoing the button of your jeans while his mouth danced across the newly exposed skin. Lifting your hips, you slid down your pants and used your feet to rid yourself of them completely before you desperately pushed his trousers down his legs. 

It was the first time you’d seen so much of his bare skin, wondering if he’d finally allow you to touch him without the barrier of clothing. “I want you.” The admission left your mouth in a breathless plea. Daryl kicked his pants away from his feet, never ceasing his onslaught against the swell of your breasts above your bra. 

“Yeah?” He teased while a large hand slid across your ribs and around to your back, skilled fingers snapping open the clasp of your bra. You shed the article without care and tossed it. His mouth and hands were on you instantly. Lips and tongue taunted one nipple while he palmed your other breast. The calloused skin over your sensitive peak had you arching into him, breathy moans escaping your parted lips with abandon. “Thought I’s a asshole?”

You whimpered when you felt the light graze of his teeth. “You’re still an asshole.” Knowledgeable fingers slid your panties aside to massage your clit with just the right amount of pressure. “But I still want you to fuck me. Like now.” Pushing him away, you rose to your feet and shed your last article of clothing, nearly groaning when he allowed you to push his underwear down his legs. He was kicking them aside when you pulled up on the bottom of his shirt. 

“No!” He barked, batting your hand away. You reeled back, caught off guard in the moment, eyes wide. While his expression was tense, shame and sadness overflowed from that beautiful blue. 

“Okay.” You whispered, stepping hesitantly back into his space. He flinched when you placed your hands on his sides, on top of his shirt. There was a story there, a deep wound that he wasn’t going to reveal anytime soon. It wasn’t a subject to be pushed right then. Your mouth hovered in front of his, the wine on his breath tempting you to slowly dip your tongue between his lips. It passed across his own and withdrew, enough to spur him onward. 

He kissed you hard, a dance of tongues and teeth. He was stepping backward while you walked him until the backs of his legs hit the couch. He fell onto it almost clumsily but his hands found your hips with ease as you climbed onto his lap. 

Your slick coated his cock with a drag of your hips, pulling a moan from him that you eagerly swallowed. “I fucking hate this.” You growled, repeating the action. 

“Think your pussy says somethin’ diff’rent.” He nipped at your bottom lip, his large hands roaming your torso, up up up to squeeze your breasts. You hissed at the hint of pain, grinding your hips down harder. “Grab a rubber from my bag.”

“Pull out.” You dismissed him quickly. If he objected, he didn’t voice it. What he did do was slide a hand down to your mound to circle your swollen clit with his thumb. “Damn you.” You tugged on his hair, earning a groan and a buck of his hips. Sliding your hips forward while lifting yourself slightly, the tip of him caught your entrance. Embarrassingly aroused, you were able to slide right down until your ass met his thighs. “Fuck, why does that have to feel so good?” The perfect stretch of accommodation had your cunt fluttering around him. 

“Cause s’mine, remember?” Daryl growled, pushing his hips up with a satisfied hiss. You did remember. That tight feeling in your chest stirred to life, but you shoved it down, rolling your body over him to allow pleasure to swallow you. You couldn’t think about his words, the deeper meaning that you subconsciously wished they held. You couldn’t think of the baby inside you that he didn’t know about yet. 

You shook your head and threw it back, riding him in earnest. Each bounce resulted in a slap of slick skin on skin, his cock hitting every nerve inside of you that had your toes curling within moments. When you looked at him, he was watching you with dark eyes, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth in an attempt to stay quiet beyond the occasional grunt. His hands had traveled back to your hips to help lift and lower you, successfully spearing you onto him. 

Your own hands slid down his clothed chest before you leaned back and braced yourself on his thighs. The new feel of his skin had the pleasure knot twisting hard in your belly. 

“Goddamn.” You heard him growl, one hand abandoning your waist to splay open between your breasts. “Slow down, woman.” 

But you didn’t. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on the good you were feeling. Your chest was growing tighter and tighter until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. With strangled moans and gasps that felt futile, you leaned forward and fisted your hands in his shirt. Your eager bounces melted into a desperate grind against him. 

You just wanted to feel good. 

“Y/N, stop!”

And you did. You fell forward and all but wailed against his chest, any pleasurable sensation dissipating entirely. Everything came crashing down all at once, leaving you cold and scared and alone, even with Daryl still very much inside of you. Your sobs continued, any thought of moving quickly dismissed. 

“I’m—sorry.” You finally managed through the tears, your voice small to even your own ears. Daryl had yet to move and now, you were terrified to, fearing the look he was sure to be sporting. Still, there was only so long you could remain that way. When your sobs quieted to hiccups, you began to pull away from him only for his arm to encircle your back. 

Daryl was careful and quiet when he slipped out of you, keeping you pressed against him even as he rose slightly. He caught you beneath your legs to keep you from falling when he twisted to lay you across the couch. You stayed as he had placed you, watching him grab up his pack and head into the bathroom without a word. The shower turned on a moment later. 

You waited a moment more and then sat up, testing your legs before starting to gather up your clothing. You had really fucked this up, once again letting carnal desires outweigh any form of logic. How could you even face him after that, let alone tell him you were pregnant? 

“Damnit.” You whispered, finishing up getting dressed before you reached for the doorknob. You hesitated, taking a step toward the bathroom before ultimately turning around and leaving the room. 

[wonusite]

Sweet Dreams

❝ You dream about a beautiful man nearly every time you fall asleep. After getting to know him and everything about him, you see him outside of your dreams—in a museum painting. ❞

PAIRING: joshua hong x female reader

GENRE: vampire au, reincarnation au, angst, smut

WORD COUNT: 10.1k

WARNINGS: vampire!joshua, human!reader, lucid dreaming, reincarnation, so much yearning, mentions of death, joshua is a brooding mess, protective!minghao, unprotected sex, blood play, biting, creampies

A/N: this has been long overdue, and i hope you guys like it! loosely based off this ask. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Fate.

A simple word that holds more power and venerability than any ruler of the middle kingdom. It’s a mystifying concept that follows no rules and simply is; something that can actively be changed but not avoided. Joshua learns this late in his long life—a derailment of his own making. The lesson comes to him in the form of a fiery witch running from her death.

As a creature that’s lived in solitude since he became immortal, it’s not in his nature to be helpful. It’s why he has no interest in saving the witch from the demons that are hunting her. This, however, doesn’t stop the insolent little witch from forcing herself into his sanctuary. He fights her on it, baring his fangs while saying the most despicable and bone chilling threats to her. The young witch isn’t fazed and makes it clear that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

In the end, he concedes. Not because she’s powerful enough to make him obey her, but because she reminds Joshua of himself when he was desperately clinging to his own survival. Perhaps that’s the reason he becomes inexplicably drawn to her. Josh almost feels like she’s bewitched him, and the most unusual part of it all is that he doesn’t care even if that is the case.

He seeks her out after he helps her despite knowing that it can’t possibly end well. Their kinds don’t mix, and it’s doubtful that two abominations can share something as sacred and beautiful as love. Fate has never allowed it before, but Joshua is foolish enough to try to defy destiny.

Courting the witch isn’t easy. Then again, anything that involves her never is. The witch is a firm believer in being reverent to the same fates that gave her the powers she wields while Joshua couldn’t care less about the fates that turned him into a monstrosity. This creates a disconnect between them because the witch is firm that she could never love such an irreverent creature.

This hardly deters him. Joshua is relentless in his chase, and after the longest decade of his life he’s finally able to win the witch’s thorn-covered heart.

And so, even just for the briefest moments, they’re allowed to create their own destiny with each other.

Loving someone, loving her, is the most addicting feeling he’s ever felt. The love he feels for the witch surpasses even that of his first love who he was convinced he’d never forget. Being with her is the happiest Joshua has ever felt, and he naively thinks it’ll last forever.

This all comes to an abrupt end when the witch finds out that it’s his fault the demons eradicated her coven. Yes, it was before Josh had met and fell in love with her, but that doesn’t change anything. It was still him who had put her on the brink of death and gotten her family and friends killed. Twisted as it is, he doesn’t regret his actions nor would he change them if he had an opportunity to do so.

And so, the love of his life becomes his most dangerous enemy.

It hurts. More so because she discards him and his love like they never meant anything in the first place.

The witch is cutthroat in her hatred. It’s not long before the children of the moon find his sanctuary and nearly send him to meet his maker. Her hexes nearly incapacitate him, but even all her acts of revenge aren’t enough to satiate the vengeance she seeks.

Slowly, the love they grew to feel for each other becomes wilted and corroded beyond repair.

Years pass, yet the feud never dies. Joshua is almost impressed by her determination to destroy him the same way he almost destroyed her.

Hatred has replaced love by now, and it’s almost impossible for him to believe he ever loved the witch in the first place. A decade passes, then two and three until eventually an entire century goes by with the two of them feeling this burning loathing. Their detrimental feelings and behavior push both Joshua and the witch to make a vow never to love again.

But fate has other plans for them.

As time goes on, they find themselves backed into a corner—together this time. Death has returned for them in the form of faes. Neither one of them is willing to relent and give up their land to the insignificant creatures who claimed to have it first. And so, they help each other one last time.

Fighting against inferior creatures together has always been like dancing for them, and it’s easy to fall back into a love language they created. By the end of their battle, they come out victorious. The two are grateful to each other even if neither of them say it outright.

Joshua feels a familiar ache in his chest the longer he stares at the witch who was once his. Feelings he thought were long gone rush back to the surface as if they’d never left in the first place. Perhaps they never really had. He’s never been one to go against his own desires, and so he reaches out for her, craving her skin against his if even for the last time.

Their embrace is sweet, but the kiss that follows is full of passion, longing, and ardent love that seems to have been buried deep within them the entire time. It’s almost like a dream to have her like this again, and now Joshua doesn’t plan on letting her go.

But once again, fate doesn’t leave him with a choice.

Humans grow more wary of the creatures they share the world with. Many go into hiding, but Joshua makes the mistake of thinking he can blend in with his prey. A hunter of his kind has found him, and as a vampire with no coven, he’s left vulnerable. It’s even worse when the hunter and his clan discover his lover and what she is.

It was a peaceful night when they’re attacked. Escaping death doesn’t seem possible, but as always the witch assured him that she has a solution. His love makes him a promise as she casts a spell that will hide his presence. A promise that she’ll find him and reunite with him in every lifetime. He’s confused by her words, but has no time to question her as the spell takes over and dulls his senses until he’s unconscious.

If he’d known his love was going to sacrifice herself for him, he would’ve taken a million wooden stakes to the heart rather than continue existing in a world without her.

Centuries later, he’s never been able to forget her or what her presence had done to his life. Joshua is left alone in a world that now seems intolerable without his witch in it. Cruel irony reminds him that the solitude he once basked in feels suffocating now. All he’s left with is a gaping hole that constantly reminds him of how he lost his one true love.

Joshua eventually joins a coven, but they offer little comfort. At this point in his immortality, he only sticks around them out of habit. It’s not that he isn’t fond of them—he is, most of the time—but it’s not the same as having his lover by his side.

After going through the eternal test of time, Joshua still yearns for her; craves her as much as the blood that he feeds on. It’s the reason he’s spent the last two centuries looking for the one person who filled his heart with so much love.

And he’ll stop at nothing until he finds her.

The first time it happened, you thought it was nothing more than a dream.

Which it was, but it felt different—it was different. Never in your life had you dreamt such a beautiful dream that felt so real and almost indistinguishable from reality. The most memorable part was the euphoric feeling it evoked from you.

Well, that’s not exactly right. There was one single element that had left you unable to forget the lucid dream. One that you believed was responsible for your subconscious forcing you into those dreams every time you fell asleep.

Unhealthy as it is, you chase the lucid dreams. Every night, you look forward to your sleep with the hope of once again being wrapped up in one of those lovely dreams. Any free time you’re left with is used to sleep just so you can escape to the ethereal dreamland your mind has created.

The dreams have ensnared you and make you crave and long for them as if you’re under some sort of spell. It’s become a bit of an obsession because even when you’re with other people it’s all you can think about. And yet you’re unable to let go of your obsession in spite of how unhealthy and irrational it is.

The scene in front of you is familiar, but you can’t place where you’ve seen the old castle that looks like it’s straight out of the medieval times. You step forward, feet moving on their own as you walk past the large doors. Servants run along with their head down, and you’re not sure why it makes you feel satisfied that they seem to be terrified of you.

“Y/N.”

You turn at the sound of a mellifluous voice. Once again, it’s the beautiful man who’d been visiting you in your dreams.

“Shua.” You call affectionately, running to him as he opens his arms for you.

As always, he catches you easily. You wrap your arms around his neck, softly giggling into his hair as he spins you around. “Where have you brought me this time?”

“This is where I live.” He tells you as you pull back to look at his face. “Do you like it?”

You look around again. The feeling of familiarity doesn’t go away as you inspect your surroundings. Joshua gently puts you down, but doesn’t release you from his embrace. His stare is gentle and observant, curious on how you’re going to react to what he’s showing you.

“This is really where you live?” You wonder in awe. “Are you a king or something?”

His pretty laugh makes you look back at him. Your heart leaps up into your throat when you see the fond look he’s giving you. It’s been months of being on the receiving end of his affectionate stare, but you’re not sure you’ll stop feeling bashful when you catch it.

“I am not. Does that disappoint you?”

You shake your head. “No, but it does make me wonder how old you actually are. Older than Dracula?”

All Josh can do is laugh and laugh. You’re not sure what he finds so funny, but as usual you do not get the chance to ask. The familiar pressure on your bones gets more intense with every passing moment. It’s how you know you’re on the verge of being pulled out of your blissful dream. You can’t even open your mouth to say goodbye because you’re abruptly yanked out of your subconscious before you can.

It’s always hard to keep going on with your day normally after you dream about Josh. You can never really function afterwards, not how you usually would.

“—even listening to me?”

You snap back into reality, realizing that Jeonghan has been talking to you this entire time. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes and gives you an accusatory look that confuses you. His eyebrows are raised as he leans forward. “I was saying that Soonyoung thinks you’re fucking someone.”

“What?” You splutter, suddenly feeling extremely flustered.

“I told him there’s no way that’s true because lately you’ve been holed up in your room sleeping every chance you get!”

You manage to not choke on your spit and give your friend an indignant glare. “Both you and Soonyoung need to worry about your own sex lives.”

The gleam in his eye changes, and you realize too late that you’ve made a mistake. “Wait. Are you actually fucking someone?”

“You know I’m not!” You hiss, starting to feel embarrassed.

Clearly, Jeonghan doesn’t believe you. He stares at you before something seems to click in his head. Your nervous stare and angry pout are telltale signs of deceit. His jaw drops a bit as he lets out an affronted squeak.

“No way. That’s why you’ve been in such a good mood lately!” He says with a conniving laugh. “And here I thought that night cream I recommended is the reason you’ve been glowing lately.”

Maybe the most embarrassing part about this is not that he’s trying to discuss your sex life (or lack thereof) at the local cafe and not wine night, but the fact that this alleged glow has nothing to do with a man—not a real one, anyway. But Jeonghan doesn’t need to know that.

“You would’ve heard me if that was true.”

Jeonghan’s ears slowly turn red as he pouts in disappointment. He really hoped you’d managed to break your three month long dry spell, and he also wanted to be right. It’s almost suspicious that he isn’t because he usually is. You’ve been a little too smiley lately like you have some hidden lover.

“If you say so.” He mutters bitterly.

This would be the point where you’d usually panic since Yoon Jeonghan can never be one to let anything go if he feels like he’s right. You feel at ease though because there’s no way he could ever find out about Josh.

“By the way… you’re definitely going to be gone this weekend, right?” Jeonghan suddenly asks in a tone you recognize all too well.

You try not to gag as you nod. “Yes. I already bought the tickets and Hao is in the city setting up his apartment so I have a place to stay while I’m up there.”

Jeonghan smirks victoriously. He nods, not even trying to hide how pleased he is as he pulls out his phone. Suddenly, he’s very grateful that you and Minghao have such an interest in history. When he’s done sending a message you would definitely call sleazy, he just laughs at your disgusted expression.

“Don’t give me that look. Not all of us have to practice celibacy like you.”

“Whatever.” You scoff with a roll of your eyes. “Just keep it in your room this time. I better not find any stains on the couch when I get back.”

He only laughs at you with a promise that you can’t think of as sincere.

“Are you playing with your food again?”

The voice sounds distant as Joshua is gently pulled out of the trance he’s used to being in now. He slow blinks, remnants of the beautiful vision still clear in his mind. Junhui’s words don’t bother him like they usually would’ve. Not when he finally feels alive for the first time in centuries. Still, he can’t control the annoyance he feels that his brother thinks this subject is something that can be joked and talked about lightly.

“You and Soonyoung are the only heathens who play with food.” Joshua’s tone is clipped, bordering on that murderous one that pops up any time someone mentions his latest obsession.

Junhui only laughs, head cocking to the side in interest. “I’m curious. Did you really find the grand love of your life, or is it just some girl who happens to look like her?”

“His obsession wouldn’t be so profound if it was a girl who merely looks like her.” Comes a voice from the top of the grand stairs.

They look up to see the oldest and the youngest of the coven coming down the stairs. Soonyoung doesn’t bother to hide his amused smirk while Minghao wears the same impassive expression he had when Joshua met him. His lack of reaction is the reason why he’s often the voice of reason in the coven, but his callous way of speaking never offers any comfort.

“Our brother is looking for the soul of his beloved—a soul that cannot be replicated nor imitated. Even if he’s to find her doppelgänger, he will not love her completely or sincerely.” Minghao says he takes a seat near the burning fireplace.

Soonyoung sits on the other end of the couch before he raises an eyebrow at Josh. He lets out a mocking snicker. “It’s giving stalker.”

As the most recently turned, their youngest has developed a proclivity for imitating the current slang. Joshua understands it (to an extent), but finds it folly. Then again, he doesn’t think its ridiculous when that person uses it.

But of course, that’s different.

Josh doesn’t bother to sneer at him for his snide remark. As a creature who hasn’t found a mate in the entire century he’s been alive, Soonyoung couldn’t possibly understand the ardent need to be close to the person chosen to be your mate.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Junhui points out, sounding almost bored now. “Have you found her? Your one true love?”

When Joshua smiles, it’s so pretty that even Minghao can’t help but stare. “I have.”

“Are you going to turn her?”

Soonyoung’s question hangs in the air, and as much as Josh wants to hiss at him to mind his own business, he sees how Junhui and Minghao are also looking at him. Turning someone isn’t as simple as it used to be—if it could ever be considered simple. Now there were too many factors and too many risks involved.

“I have to find her physically before I can think of anything else.” Josh sighs deeply.

“Brother.” Minghao says in his serious tone. “Think of your next moves carefully. You’ve found her reincarnation, but she doesn’t remember you, and there’s no guarantee that she ever will.”

For once, the younger ones don’t say anything teasing or goading. They look at him just as solemnly as Minghao is. It’s a harsh truth that Joshua had acknowledged long ago but not fully accepted.

His love doesn’t remember him. This is a fact.

But even if she never does, he doesn’t plan on letting her go. Not again.

“You’re unhappy.”

The observation is astute, and even though it’s been months, you can’t get used to how easily Josh can see through you. It shouldn’t have the affect on you that it does, but there’s just something about having someone know you so well that makes your heart jerk with emotion. Part of you feels insane for feeling this way because this man is just a figment of your imagination created by your subconscious.

Josh smiles placatingly when he sees your pout. He’s sure that you’re not aware that you do it, which makes it all the more cute in his eyes.

“Work hasn’t been great lately.” You say honestly, only hesitating a moment before telling him the rest. “Also... Jeonghan set me up on this blind date. Which wouldn’t be a big deal, but I haven’t been on a date in forever.”

You’re not sure why it feels like you’re saying something absolutely heart wrenching. If you had to describe it, it’s almost like you’re admitting to cheating or something similar which is fucking insane since Josh isn’t your boyfriend—or real, for that matter.

There’s a shift in his kind eyes. A cold rage settles in the depths of his dark irises that makes you feel like you’re staring an evil creature in the face. Before you can ponder it, the expression is is gone so fast that you almost think you imagined it.

“You don’t have to go.” He finally says, and you wonder if he actually sounds like he’s pleading or if it’s just something your subconscious is hoping for.

A teasing smile stretches your lips. “Yeah? Should I just stay here with you, instead?”

Joshua wishes he could say yes. Stay with me and never leave my side again. The words are on the tip of his tongue, and even though he’s dying to say them, he knows he shouldn’t. In this lifetime and your previous one, he had to be patient when courting you. Clearly some things never changed.

“Don’t look so excited.” You joke when you see him hesitate.

His laugh is pretty and soft. You’re not sure why the sound comforts you in a way that almost feels familiar. As if that’s the one sound that could take away any horrible feeling you’ve ever experienced. The longer you listen to the dulcet sound, the more it makes your heart ache for a reason you can’t understand. It’s a type of yearning that feels deeper than the normalcy of seeing him every day.

“I wish you weren’t a dream.”

Joshua’s laughter dies down and the smile slips off his face at hearing your words. You almost regret saying them, but it’s too late to take them back. Not that you would since they’re the absolute truth. He knows you better than most of your friends do, and it’s hard not to feel this intense affection for him. The crazy part of it all is that you can literally feel how much he adores you too.

“Maybe you’re my dream.” Josh’s smile is full of longing and sadness.

Before you can respond, you’re abruptly pulled out of the dream by the blaring sound of a car horn. You startle awake, bleary vision belatedly registering that you’re now in the city. Minghao looks at you with wide eyes, a startled laugh slipping past his lips. “Are you okay?”

You nod wearily, taking a moment to shake of the intense emotions your dream had left you with. It’s clear that Minghao doesn’t fully believe you, but he doesn’t press the subject and keeps driving toward museum.

Being at the museum doesn’t help you as much as you hope. The artifacts and paintings are intriguing, but your irritating mind only keeps associating everything with Josh. He’s always talked like someone from another time so looking at ancient items and old paintings naturally makes you keep picturing his face.

“For someone who kept begging me to clear my schedule so we could come here, you don’t look very excited.”

You give Minghao a guilty look because you know how busy he is. “Sorry. I’m just kind of distracted.”

“And why is that?”

It’s not that you don’t trust Minghao. You do, but you can’t tell him that you’re infatuated with a man who shows up in your dreams.

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Your friend raises an eyebrow at you. As usual Minghao sees right through your half-truth. “You’ve been having nightmares?”

“Not exactly.” You say. The resolve to keep your secret quickly dissolved when Minghao gives you a look that somehow always compels you to do what he wants. “I can’t sleep because I keep dreaming of a guy.”

“A guy?” Minghao raises his eyebrows in a way that reminds you of Jeonghan.

“It’s not like that.” You say, skin heating up in embarrassment. “I don’t even think he’s real. He just keeps appearing in my dreams, and I feel crazy every time I think about him.”

Minghao doesn’t laugh or tell you you’re crazy. Instead he looks at you with a sharpened gaze that looks like it holds a certain amount of concern and something else you can’t discern. If his heart was capable of beating, his heart rate would’ve spiked at the information you told him.

You’re vague in your description (which was impressive because his gift is powerful enough to get people to admit to murder), but it’s enough to have his mind reeling. Is it possible that you’d fallen into the clutches of an incubus? Minghao isn’t overly fond of humans, but you’re different. He can’t let you become the prey of such a lascivious creature.

“I have some tea that’s good for sleeping." He says as normally as he can as you two walk along the museum. “When we get back to my place, I’ll give you some.”

You nod silently, not entirely sure if his teas will help with your lucid dreaming. Even if they did, it’s not like you want to stop seeing this imaginary man that makes you feel more loved than you ever had. But there’s a part of you that knows you can’t keep sleeping with the hopes of seeing Josh again.

The inner turmoil you’re feeling is interrupted when Minghao pulls you to the section he’d been dying to see from the beginning. His laughter immediately makes you come back down to earth. It’s not like your friend never laughs, but this one is full and louder than you’ve ever heard it. You’re not sure why he finds the painting of a duke so funny. Just as you’re about to question him, you see the painting and feel the world around you come to a stop.

It feels like your heart stopped beating and dropped down to your stomach. Your usually quiet mind is reeling, trying to fathom what you’re seeing. There’s no way.

The painting is of a man, but not just any man.

It’s Josh.

Your Josh.

You keep blinking as if another face will appear in the very old painting. If you felt crazy before, the feeling worsens the longer you stare at the oils that form the face you’ve come to memorize and love. The description of the painting says the man born in 1714 was a famous duke notorious for starting a rebellion against the crown.

“So this is the only painting of the Hong Jisoo?” Your friend cackles, but you’re not sure what’s so funny.

It’s good that he’s so distracted by whatever it is he finds so funny because you’re about two seconds away from breaking down. How is it possible that some duke from centuries ago was appearing in your dreams? Is it possible that you’d somehow seen his image before and projected it into your dreams? You don’t remember even reading about him, and it only makes you feel more crazy.

Back at Minghao’s luxury apartment, you can’t stop thinking about that stupid painting of Hong Jisoo. How is it possible for you to dream about a person that was alive centuries ago? It doesn’t make sense, and the more you think about it, the more freaked out you feel.

“Here.” Hao says as he hands you a warm mug of tea. “Drink it to see if it helps. I’ll give you some to take home if you like it.”

You thank him, really hoping this puts an end to your unhealthy dreams.

“It’s not working!” Josh growls angrily. “There’s something blocking me from seeing her. I’m sure of it.”

Soonyoung and Junhui roll their eyes. Josh has been complaining about not being able to transcend into his true love’s subconscious for the last three hours, and it’s starting to drive them insane. It’s not that they’re not sympathetic, but it was quite literally the only thing the older vampire could talk about. Not to mention the fact that after months of visiting his mate every day, he did nothing to figure out where she was—a total waste in their opinion.

Before Josh can keep repeating the same frustrated things he’s been griping about all morning, they hear the door open and the familiar sound of boots clacking against the marble floor.

“Minghao!” Soonyoung cries when the oldest of the coven walks into the living room. “Finally, you’re back! Jisoo hasn’t stopped whining about his mate since you left! You need to put a stop to him!”

Minghao sets down his suitcases with an exhausted sigh. “What’s going on?”

“He claims there’s a barrier preventing him from entering his mate’s subconscious.” Junhui explains, sending a skeptical look Joshua’s way. “Which is impossible because a mere human isn’t capable of blocking his gift.”

While that is true, there are certain things humans have done for centuries to ward off creatures of the night. However, it is strange that there’s a sudden block to his mate’s subconscious after being left vulnerable for so many months.

“Perhaps your mate has realized that you’re a nefarious creature and not just a figment of her imagination.” Minghao muses as he goes to sit at his usual place by the fire. “If that’s the case, she may have sought out a witch to block her psyche from unsavory visitors.”

The dark look Josh sends his way is amusing to the rest. Maybe it’s cruel to disregard the anguish his brother clearly feels, but being empathetic has never been one of Minghao’s character traits. Even so, some of the humanity he once had still lingers within him.

“However, if you truly wish to find her I can contact Jihoon—”

“No.” Josh snaps immediately. The growl in his voice is menacing as his eyes darken. “I’ll find her on my own.”

The silence that follows is tense until Soonyoung breaks it by insisting on seeing pictures from Minghao’s trip. As always, he obliges to the youngest’s request, tossing his phone over without taking his eyes off Josh.

“If that were possible you would have already found her.”

It’s a frustrating truth. He hadn’t been able to figure out anything that would help him find you because he didn’t want to scare you off. Now he regrets playing the part of a gentleman because it feels like he’s lost you all over again.

“Is this the human you’re always talking about?”

Usually, Josh doesn’t take any interest in humans aside from his meals, but the way Minghao’s sharp gaze switches to an almost fond one intrigues him enough to look at the screen Soonyoung is holding out toward them.

It’s like his heartbeat comes back to life when he sees a video of a beautiful girl staring at one of his old swords.

“Yes. That’s—”

“Y/N.”

Minghao looks at Josh in surprise. He’s incredulous, but it’s soon replaced by horror when he realizes why his brother is looking at the phone with a predatory gaze.

“You…” Minghao’s icy tone makes the younger ones still. They recognize the murderous intent behind that tone instantly. “You’re the one who’s been invading her dreams.”

Josh snarls at his oldest friend. “You’re the one responsible for the barrier.”

It’s like watching two animals raising their hackles at one another. Except both of them are capable of destroying each other and everything around them without caring.

Junhui is quick to step in, holding a firm hand to Minghao’s chest. “She’s his mate.”

It’s meant to make him see reason, but all it does is anger Minghao.

“A mate that he betrayed time and time again!” His words make them all flinch. “You’re the reason those hunters found her and burned her alive!”

Never has a silence so thick and tense surrounded them before. It’s a low blow to bring up Josh’s greatest pain in such a way, but Minghao is beyond seeing reason at this point.

“Both of you need to calm down.” Soonyoung says as he stands in the middle.

“Do you have feelings for her?” Josh demands, not understanding why the person who had helped him search for his mate’s reincarnation for centuries was suddenly acting this way.

“She’s a pure soul.” Minghao says, sounding a little defeated. “One that doesn’t deserve to become a monster like us.”

It’s tense and silent again, but this time the air feels different. All four of them knew how painful and awful it was to turn. Back then, they had been the unlucky ones to survive an attack when they were meant to be someone’s food. Minghao wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all you.

“Let her decide.” Soonyoung breaks the silence, being reasonable for the first time in a long time. He looks to Josh, gaze as serious as ever. “If you really love her, tell her the truth and let her decide what to do.”

Minghao has always been an enigma. He’s private to the point where you sometimes feel like you don’t know him at all. It’s why you’re so surprised when he invites you over to his main house which is basically synonymous with prohibited. He never invites anyone there, not even Jeonghan who’s known him longer than you have.

Your friend’s home is expectedly opulent and beautiful, but there’s also this ominous air surrounding it. Minghao remains silent as he leads you to the entrance. His somber attitude isn’t exactly uncharacteristic. He’s naturally quiet and serious, but right now he almost seems angry. You can tell his mind is far away, light years away even.

Before you can think to question him, he leads you to the living room and sits you down on one of the couches. His cold hands don’t move from your shoulders even after you’re seated. You look up at him in curiosity because he seems to be contemplating something.

“Don’t be angry with me.” His tone is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and you have to wonder what he’s done for him to plead with you like this. (Xu Minghao does not beg.)

Hands fall from your shoulders as Minghao side steps out of the way. Everything goes in slow motion from then on. He’s stepped out of the way to reveal a man who you recognize very well. Your heart jumps and starts to beat erratically as you take in his ethereal features.

What’s happening feels like a more intense version of what happened at the museum. Minghao’s friend(?) looks exactly like Josh. He even looks at you like Josh does.

“Y/N.”

The organ in your chest throbs at the sound because it’s so soft and pretty, just like it is in your dreams. He sounds so similar to Josh that you feel insane for wanting to run into this man’s arms like you always do with Josh in your dreams.

Your mind is a beat behind, and it’s only after this stranger called your name that you realize Minghao had apologized to you before he appeared. When you look over to your friend, he’s observing you carefully in a way you can’t understand.

“What’s going on? What is this?” You ask, feeling like you’ve been set up.

There’s a thick silence, and just when you contemplate on getting up to leave, the unknown guy falls to his knees in front of you.

“Please forgive me.”

Your eyes practically pop out of your head at the unsolicited apology. “I– What?”

The silence is uncomfortable, and you can only look back to Minghao for an explanation.

“You’ve seen Jisoo before—in your dreams.” Minghao says slowly as if it pains him to tell you.

Jisoo?

“When you told me that a man kept reappearing in your dreams, I thought you were being preyed on by an incubus.” Minghao chuckles bitterly. “But I was a fool not to see that the truth was much worse.”

“Incubus?” You whisper incredulously. “You mean those demons that fuck people while they’re asleep?”

Neither men react to your crude words. They’re looking at you solemnly as if Minghao didn’t just say something completely insane. None of it makes sense nor does it provide you with the explanation you demanded.

“You can’t be serious! Incubuses—“

“Incubi.” Minghao corrects you. He regrets it as soon as he sees the dark look on your face.

“—don’t exist.” You finish through gritted teeth.

“They’re not the only demons running rampant on this earth.” Minghao says as he shares a look with the man who is still kneeling in front of you. “Just look at the monster in front of you and you’ll know what I’m saying is true.”

This Jisoo guy looks nothing like a monster. Not even as he’s giving your friend the most withering glare you’ve ever seen.

“Don’t give me that look. I brought her here so she can know the truth.”

At this point, you don’t know if they’re friends or enemies with the way they’re glowering at each other. And you still don’t know what truth they’re talking about, either.

“Jisoo has been trying to find you for centuries.” Minghao finally says, eyes softening just the tiniest bit when he looks back at you.

You don’t say anything because it all sounds like some crazy lie. Minghao isn’t the type to pull pranks, but there’s no other logical explanation for what’s happening. And yet, it also isn’t possible that he could know what the man from your dreams looked like and somehow find someone who looks exactly like him for his prank.

“We’re vampires.” Jisoo says, voice soft and comforting. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

“Prove it.”

Your words come out before you can stop them. It’s not what you meant to say (not right away, anyway), but you don’t try to backtrack. On the off chance that they’re not pulling some elaborate prank, you need to know that you’re not crazy for kind of believing what they’re saying.

Minghao and Jisoo are looking at you with wide eyes, but the challenging look on your face doesn’t waver. They both know you enough to realize you aren’t going to believe them until they prove that they’re not lying.

Jisoo grins, but it seems bitter in a way. “Okay. Just… don’t be scared.”

You raise an eyebrow when his smile stretches further. It’s not until you see four of his teeth elongating into literal fangs that you feel your pulse start to race. His eyes have darkened into an inhuman shade of black that reminds you of a demon. Now you understood what Minghao meant when he called Jisoo a monster.

But that also means…

In a panic, you look to your friend. Much to your horror, he too is bearing those monstrous characteristics now. Dark eyes and fangs that make them look like the monsters they claim to be. It feels like you’re in one of your lucid dreams, and in the back of your mind you hope that’s what this is.

“Did you bring me here to kill me?” You’re surprised that your voice comes out as calm as it does, and even though you’re terrified, you can’t react how you know you should be.

“We would never hurt you.” Jisoo says, features slowly reverting back to normal. “No matter what, I won’t let anyone or anything bring you harm.”

It’s crazy that he’s promising you this with what feels like genuine sincerity, and it’s even crazier that it makes your chest warm with affection. You press your lips together, trying to make sense of how any of this is actually possible.

“You’re the reincarnation of Jisoo’s true love.” Minghao breaks the heavy silence. “He’s been searching for your soul since your untimely death.”

“That’s why you came into my dreams.” You whisper, not sure how to feel about this alleged truth.

“Yes.” Jisoo says, voice soft as ever. “I called myself Josh since it’s a modern name. You can still call me that if you wish.”

You stay silent, trying to deal with the onslaught of emotions you’re feeling without revealing any on your face. It’s hard, but you manage as you look back at your friend. “And you knew about this the entire time?”

“I didn’t know he’d been invading your dreams.” Minghao says honestly. “If I had—”

Minghao cuts his sentence short, and you can tell he’s trying his best to keep his emotions in check. It’s clear that he doesn’t like the idea of you being the reincarnation of Josh’s true love. You don’t understand why he brought you to meet him if that’s the case.

“Minghao.” Josh’s tone takes a threatening tone that you never thought him capable of emitting.

“Tell her.” Minghao says, clearly unfazed by Joshua’s sudden malicious attitude. “She has a right to know the truth before you think you can spend the rest of eternity with her.”

It’s silent for a moment before you see Josh’s shoulders slump. He looks slightly defeated and nervous. Seeing him in distress makes you uncomfortable, and you have to wonder if these are your actual feelings or something beyond your control.

“I first met you five years after I was first turned.” He starts, eyes begging for understanding. “You were running from a clan of demons who murdered your coven.”

The air is tense. You can feel your heart start to throb with hurt that you can’t place. A familiar burning sensation starts to poke at the back of your eyes, but you can’t understand why. “You saved me?”

Minghao clears his throat, eyes threatening.

“Unwillingly.” He admits, head hanging a little lower. “I was content in my solitude, and helping a witch didn’t sound appealing to me.”

“He also didn’t want to help a witch that belonged to the coven he helped exterminate.”

Minghao’s blunt statement makes your blood run cold. There’s a strange feeling that manifests itself in your chest. It’s an odd mixture of resentment, anger, and heartbreak. The feelings are familiar yet foreign. You feel the tears fall from your eyes before you can even think to hold them back. It’s all new information, but something in your bones recognizes the hurt and devastation.

“You killed my family.” The words aren’t yours, but in a strange way it feels like they are. “You almost killed me.”

“It was before I fell in love with you.” Josh sounds defeated. “Back then I was only concerned with my own survival, and I was a fool to let it get in the way of my love for you.”

Again, the air becomes tense. It makes Minghao almost regret doing this, but you ultimately have to know the truth. All of it.

“Tell her how you got her killed.”

More tears keep spilling from your eyes, and you can’t fathom the fact that they don’t feel like yours. A gentle hand wipes them away. Through blurry vision you can see Josh looking pained as he gently cradles your face in his large hand.

“I refused to go into hiding after the humans started to become more wary of our existence. Because of that, you and I were attacked by a group of hunters.” Josh feels a pain he hasn’t in centuries just talking about this to you of all people. “You protected me with your magic. I don’t know why you saved a wicked creature like me instead of yourself, but I really wish you hadn’t.”

The tears have stopped now, but Josh’s thumb is still gently caressing your face. His touch is cold yet comforting. You let out a shaky sigh, not sure what to do with all the information you’ve been given.

“This is why Minghao feels that I don’t deserve you, and maybe he’s right. But I’ve always been a selfish creature which is why I can’t give you up. Not in this lifetime or any other.”

Josh says it tenderly, but somehow you feel like you’ve become his prey.

Sometimes you wonder if letting Josh get so close to you is a mistake. Minghao seems to think it is even if he doesn’t tell you outright. Still, at least he’s supportive of your decision (as much as he can be, anyway). In spite of the fact that you now know the man of your dreams is a dangerous predator, you don’t feel unsafe when you’re with him. There’s also the fact that you can literally see the love he has for you every time you look at him.

Giving into him is the easiest thing you’ve ever done. It feels natural and right, especially since he’s so sweet to you. You feel yourself fall harder every time you’re with him. He knows you better than anyone and treats you like you’re his everything.

Your relationship feels completely surreal and fast paced, but in an odd way it also feels like it’s not fast enough. The feeling has something to do with your past life you’re sure. After all, Josh had been waiting centuries for you to reincarnate.

He must’ve been so lonely.

You suck in a quiet breath as the thought comes to you, one that feels like it came from deep in your subconscious and is not entirely yours. Josh’s eyes snap open at the sound. He’s looking straight at you from where he has his head in your lap.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

Unlike Minghao, Josh doesn’t have the power of coercion, but you’re still unable to lie to him. (Unwilling is a better term, but, details.)

“Did you really not have another lover after I died?” Your question isn’t accusatory, and part of you hopes he says yes. “Like you never even hooked up with someone else in three centuries?”

Josh’s airy laughter makes your chest warm. He brings your intertwined hands to his lips, placing a tender kiss on the back of yours. “If you do not believe me, I shall bring Minghao and have him use his gift on me.”

He’s teasing you, but you also know he’s dead serious. It shouldn’t thrill you so much that he’s willing to do just about anything for you—even subject himself to Minghao who still harbors a bit of a grudge towards him.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, I just…” You let out a quiet sigh. “You must’ve been really lonely.”

The way you look heartbroken and guilty isn’t satisfying, but it is alleviating somehow. You truly haven’t changed. The beautiful, kind soul he fell in love with remains intact, and he can’t be more grateful for that.

“At first I was. Then I met Minghao and joined his coven. They made it more bearable.”

You bring the hand that’s not attached to Josh’s to his head and run a gentle hand through his hair. “It must’ve been hard.”

Josh only offers you a hum. He can’t deny that it was, but he also doesn’t want to keep making you feel bad with all the details. That would have to be for another time.

“How many dreams did you invade before you finally found me?” You suddenly ask, wondering just how many psyches he had to go through over the course of 300 years.

“None.” His smile is a little bitter. “I’m not a incubus, so I can only enter your subconscious.”

The confused look on your face makes him let out a quiet laugh. It’s so innocent that it’s hilarious. Especially because you don’t remember that the restriction to his gift was your doing.

“Every time I tried to use my gift, I couldn’t. That’s how I knew you hadn’t been reincarnated yet. As soon as you were born I was able to tell, but I still couldn’t get into your psyche until you were ready to let me in—this is all curtesy of you, of course.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” He laughs. “Because I can’t dream, you bestowed this gift on me so I would be able to experience a dreamlike state again. Since you didn’t want the bloodthirsty heathen that I was back then to invade the minds of unsuspecting humans, you put all these limitations on my gift.”

His laugh is cute as he reminisces. It makes you smile too until you think of something.

The other day, Josh had mentioned he used to feed off of you in his past life because it tasted different and apparently it was like a kink for both of you. It freaked you out at first, but lately you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Honestly, the more the image plagued your mind, the harder it was not to feel turned on by it. You wonder if it would hurt and if you would like the hurt.

“Do you want to feed on me?”

If Josh’s heart was capable of beating, he has no doubt it would’ve been harshly pounding against his rib cage. He slowly gets up, feeling his cock throb and his throat itch.

“Darling—”

“You’ve never done it, and I was wondering if it was something you want to do.”

Of course he wanted to do it. Your scent is mouthwatering, and he just knows you taste divine. Up until now he hadn’t brought it up because he didn’t want you to think that’s all he wanted. All you two have done this past month is share some kisses, and that was perfectly fine. If that’s all you were willing to give him he’s gladly take it so long as you let him be part of your life.

Josh swallows thickly as he contemplates his answer. While it sort of sounds like you’re offering, he can’t assume anything. Plus he doesn’t want to seem like the monster Minghao told you he is.

When you see him hesitate, you make a decision that really isn’t all that hard for you. With an enticing smile, you tilt your head the slightest bit and offer your neck to him. “Bite me.”

In a split second, Josh pulls you on his lap so you’re straddling him. You gasp quietly when he sits you directly on his hardening cock. His eyes are dark like on the day he revealed himself to you. In the back of your mind, you know this is a dangerous game you’re playing, but you don’t feel one shred of regret or fear.

“I’ll be gentle.” He promises, voice breathy and needy.

Josh trails gentle kisses up and down your neck with patience that you find impressive. His fangs tease the tender skin as he opens his mouth slightly, and it’s almost like you can feel it throb in anticipation. With one last sweet kiss, Joshua sinks his teeth into your skin until you can feel a stabbing pain.

You gasp out a moan at the feeling. The pain lasts a second before you feel it rapidly fade. It’s replaced by images that invade the forefront of your mind. Memories that you don’t remember rush forward as if they were aching to be freed from the depths of your mind. There’s so many, and in spite of the fact that they pass through your mind quickly, you see every one of them.

When you come back down to reality, Josh is still drinking from you. He groans into your skin, reluctantly pulling away and licking the puncture wound he’s left behind. Josh continues to press kisses along your skin and whispered praises that you can’t help but melt into him.

“Jisoo.” You breathe out softly.

Joshua freezes when he hears what you’ve called him. He pulls back, eyes wide as he takes in the way you’re looking at him. Your gaze has always been full of affection, but now it’s full of ardent love that reminds him of the way you looked at him all those centuries ago.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Y/N…” Josh sounds breathless as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to remember.” You murmur as your bring a hand up to caress his cool cheek. “But I guess it’s only fair since you left me first.”

“It’s my biggest regret.” Josh says honestly, grip tightening on you.

You hum, trailing your thumb over his lips. He opens his mouth the slightest bit so you can touch his fangs just like you used to do once upon a time. Goosebumps cover your skin at the familiarity of it all. The feelings in your chest deepen impossibly as you replay all the memories that slowly keep coming to mind. You thought it would be impossible to love Josh any more than you already did, but once again you were proven wrong.

You let out a shocked squeak when he pulls you closer to him. His face is shoved into the side of your neck that he didn’t bite, breathing in your addicting scent. “I was so afraid that you wouldn’t remember.”

“If you wouldn’t have been such a gentleman and bitten me sooner it wouldn’t have taken me so long.” You laugh, hugging him tighter.

The two of you stay like that until you shift and realize you’re still sitting on his hard cock. In a flash, the hot memory of Josh ravishing you back then goes straight to your cunt. You lick your lips and decide that you both have been waiting long enough to be with each other again.

“I’m impressed you kept your chastity just for me.” You purr into his ear, gently grinding down on his cock. “Such a loyal lover until the end.”

Josh doesn’t hesitate to take you to bed, cock aching to be inside you once again. He’s gentle when he finally gets you naked, eyes full of desire and love. “So fucking pretty.”

A breathy moan escapes you when his cold hands start to caress your body. His lips trails your neck, gently teasing you with his sharp teeth. Your skin heats up at the attention, and you feel like your floating by the time Josh gets his dick out to finally give you what you’ve been wanting.

“I missed you so much.” He groans as his throbbing cock slowly eases past your wet folds.

You moan along with him, hands finding his to lace your fingers together. “Missed you too, my love.”

Josh’s cock twitches inside you when he hears the pet name come out of your pretty little mouth. His leaking tip brushes against your cervix as your legs wrap around his hips. His pace is slow at first, trying to savor the feeling of your hot, tight cunt wrapped around him. He buries his face into your neck, licking and biting at the skin as his thrusts start to get tougher and deeper.

Your moaning is loud, and you’re amazed that he still knows which angels to hit after so much time. It’s like you’re seeing stars when Josh gently bites at your skin. He does it teasingly until you’re begging him to bite you again.

“Stop teasing.” You whine wantonly, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts.

His chuckle is low and has your pussy clamping down on his cock, drenching it in your arousal. You can’t remember the last time you were so turned on. It hasn’t been long, but it already feels like you’re about to come.

“Seeing you fall apart like this is my favorite thing.” You can feel his sinister smirk against your neck. “It’s been too long since I last saw it.”

Josh lets go of one of your hands to bring a thumb to your clit. He starts to rub slow circles on the sensitive nub as his thrusts grow more ravenous. You cry out in pleasure when his thick cock hits your sweet spot roughly. Your back arches in pleasure as you feel your juices start to coat his heavy balls.

“Never letting you go again.” Joshua growls lowly, more to himself than you. “All mine.”

With his possessive declaration, he sinks his fangs into your neck for a second time. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you violently come all over his big cock.

“Fuck!” You cry out, hips moving against his arms he continues to fuck you through your high.

He’s licking at your open would now, sharp thrusts angled just right to have you on the cusp of another orgasm. Joshua pulls back, pink lips painted scarlet with your blood. He looks ravenous, and you think you might actually come again from how hot he looks.

“That’s it, darling.” Josh sounds insatiable. “Cream all over me.”

It’s not long before the sight of you completely fucked out triggers his own orgasm. Thick ropes of cum shoot inside your pulsing walls, painting them white with his seed. His moans are as pretty as you remember, and they mix in with your perfectly as he fucks his cum deeper inside you.

“Fuck me again.” You pant out, still longing for the second orgasm he was coaxing out of you.

Josh’s smirks as he flips you over on your front. “Still as insatiable as ever, darling.”

You look back at him with a laugh. “Like you’re any better. So hurry and fill me up again.”

You’ll never get sick of the feeling of his cold skin on yours as he grips your ass. Josh’s large hands rub and squeeze before you feel his throbbing cock tease your messy cunt. You let out a needy whine, tilting your hips up more to offer yourself to him.

“Such a needy little thing.” Joshua murmurs in that mean but sweet tone only he was capable of having.

“Only for you, my love.” You mewl, pussy throbbing at the thought of him splitting you open again.

As is his style, Josh slowly pushes his fat cock into your hot cunt, making you feel every inch of him. Then, in a split second he shoves the rest in like he can’t wait to be inside you any longer. The jolt of pleasure and slight sting of the stretch was enough to tip you over the edge for a second time.

You muffle your cry of pleasure in the sheets, fingers clinging to the soft cotton as your pussy clenches down on Josh’s cock, making him feel even bigger inside you. He groans from behind you, loving how your juices coat his cock as if you’re claiming it as yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Can you do that for me one more time?”

It’s more of a rhetorical question because in the next second his fingers are digging into your hips as he pulls his cock all the way out before shoving it back into your needy pussy with a sharp thrust. You can feel your body tremble as your pussy grips his cock like a vise.

“So fucking tight.” He groans, voice dripping with lust.

“Fuck me!” You moan, pushing back on his cock with insatiable need.

At your desperate demand, Josh sera a brutal pace. He fuck you hard and rough, leaking tip hitting your sweet spot over and over again until all he can hear is lewd squelching and skin slapping. His hips slam against your ass, obsessed with the way your sweet crema coats his cock. You cry out his name as his heavy balls slap against your throbbing clit.

Josh is pounding you into the mattress, cock splitting you open deliciously. You’re so addicted to the feeling that you can’t help but spur him on. “Don’t stop!”

You cry out in ecstasy when he does exactly as you ask. He pounds his cock against the spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Your fingers grips the sheets as you bounce your ass back to meet his thrusts desperately.

“You’re close again, right, baby?” Josh’s voice is teasing. He doesn’t need to ask, though. He knows you are because he knows your body.

You’re moaning and shaking with overwhelming pleasure. All you can do is nod as you bring your hand down between your bodies to rub your aching clit. With all the stimulation from your fingers and his cock, you fall over the edge once again. Your body tenses as you moan out Josh’s name with ecstasy. The excess of your orgasm drips down Josh’s cock, staining it and marking it as yours.

With one last thrust, he shoots his hot cum inside you, moaning your name like a mantra. He sloppily fuck it back into you before pulling you flush against his chest. You two collapse back on the bed with Josh holding you closely as if he thinks you might disappear.

Slowly, you turn around with his cock still inside you. Joshua’s eyes are sparkling as he looks at you. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing.” You breathe out blissfully. “And not just because you’ve stuffed me full.”

His cock twitches inside of you, and you can’t help but let out an endeared laugh. Your chest is warm as he hugs you closer to him, lips gently skimming over your puncture wound.

“Jisoo.”

He hums against your neck, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

“I was so afraid when I first died.” You confess, feeling him tense. You’re quick to pull him closer and caress his cheek. “Afraid that I’d be reborn and you wouldn’t be there when I was.”

Josh swallows thickly and comes to cup the hand that’s still brushing over his cheek. “I’ll never leave you alone again.”

“I know. Once you turn me, we’ll have the rest of eternity together.”

It all feels too good to be true, but you know that this is reality and not just another one of your sweet dreams.

taglist: @duolingofanaccount @felix-3002 @junhui-recs @asjkdk @dani41 @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @ohwonwoo

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (the king is dead)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: driftmark

- Next part: the war

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The sound of Tyland's hurried footsteps broke the serene stillness of chambers as he approached your side of the bed. Before you could stir fully from sleep, his hand was on your shoulder, shaking you gently but insistently.

“Y/N, wake up,” he urged, his voice low but filled with an urgency that immediately pulled you from your slumber. “You need to get up. Now.”

You blinked groggily, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “Tyland? What’s—what’s going on? It’s the middle of the night.”

“There’s no time to explain,” he said, already moving to the wardrobe and pulling out one of your traveling dresses. “Get dressed, quickly. Gather your cloak. I’ll wake the children.”

His words sent a ripple of unease through you, and you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, heart pounding. “What do you mean, there’s no time? Tyland, tell me what’s happening!”

He paused briefly, turning to face you, his expression tense. “Viserys is dead.”

The weight of those words crashed over you, stealing the breath from your lungs. “Dead? How—when?”

“Tonight,” Tyland replied grimly, running a hand through his hair. “Word hasn’t spread yet, but it will. And when it does, this place will become a battlefield. We’re leaving for Casterly Rock. I need you to trust me and move quickly.”

You stared at him, the enormity of his words sinking in. The fear that had been rippling in the Red Keep for years was about to boil over, and you could see the determination in Tyland’s eyes—he was doing everything he could to shield you and the children from the storm.

“What about Rhaenyra?” you asked, your voice trembling. “And the rest of the family?”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, his gaze steady but filled with unspoken concern. “Rhaenyra has Daemon and her sons. She’ll fight her battle. But I will not risk our children or you in the chaos that’s coming. Please, Y/N—hurry.”

His urgency snapped you into motion, and you quickly dressed, your hands trembling as you fastened your cloak. The soft patter of Tyland’s boots echoed as he disappeared into the adjoining chambers to wake the children. Moments later, you heard muffled voices—Loren and Rhaelle’s sleepy protests, Kevan’s louder confusion, and Alysanne’s soft, frightened whimper.

When Tyland returned with the children in tow, their faces were a mixture of sleepiness and alarm. Loren, now a young man with the confident stance of his father, carried Alysanne in his arms while Rhaelle clutched Kevan’s hand tightly. Your youngest, barely three years old and still drowsy, was perched on Tyland’s hip.

“Papa, what’s happening?” Loren asked, his voice laced with concern. “Why are we leaving?”

Tyland set the youngest, a boy named Jaeryn, onto his feet and crouched to meet Loren’s gaze. “The King has passed, Loren,” he said carefully, his tone firm but calm. “Things are about to change in ways that could put our family in danger. We’re going to Casterly Rock to ensure your safety.”

“But why can’t we stay?” Rhaelle asked, her violet eyes wide with confusion. “This is our home.”

Tyland placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression softening. “Your home is where your family is, and right now, that’s Casterly Rock. This isn’t a decision I’ve made lightly, Rhaelle. Please trust me.”

You knelt beside Alysanne, brushing a tear from her cheek as you whispered soothingly. “We’ll be safe, my love. We just need to listen to your father and move quickly.”

Kevan, ever inquisitive, frowned. “Will we come back?”

Tyland hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. “One day. But first, we need to leave.”

You stood, gathering Alysanne in your arms as Tyland ushered the children toward the door. His hand brushed yours briefly, a reassuring touch amidst the chaos.

“Do you have everything?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over you.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt. “Where do we go now?”

“There’s a carriage waiting in the lower courtyard,” Tyland said, taking Jaeryn’s hand as he guided the group through the dimly lit hallways. “We’ll leave quietly before dawn. By the time the court wakes, we’ll be long gone.”

As you hurried through the silent corridors, the reality of the situation settled heavily over you. The death of Viserys was more than the loss of a king—it was the end of an era, the tipping point for a conflict that had been brewing for years. You glanced at Tyland, his jaw set and his pace unyielding, and silently vowed to trust him, no matter what lay ahead.

For now, your family’s safety was all that mattered. The rest could wait.

The carriage rattled over the uneven road as it moved away from the Red Keep, the faint glow of the capital's lights fading behind them. Inside, the air was charged. You sat close to Tyland, holding Jaeryn in your lap while Alysanne leaned against your side, her small hand clutching yours tightly. Loren and Rhaelle sat opposite, their faces pale but composed, while Kevan fidgeted nervously beside them.

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady clatter of the carriage wheels and the muffled rustle of the wind. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice low but firm. “Tyland, how did Otto and Alicent allow us to leave? Surely they wouldn’t want us far from the court now.”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, and he didn’t meet your gaze immediately. Instead, he glanced out the window, the faint glow of the moon casting shadows on his features. “They didn’t,” he admitted finally, his voice calm but clipped. “They have no idea we’re gone. By the time they notice, we’ll be far beyond their reach.”

You stiffened, your heart quickening. “Tyland, do you realize what they’ll do when they find out? Leaving the capital without permission—it’s practically treason in their eyes.”

He turned to you then, his eyes sharp but filled with determination. “Let them think what they will. My priority is our family, not Otto Hightower’s ambitions. I won’t let our children become tools in their schemes.”

Before you could respond, Rhaelle’s voice broke in, trembling with a mix of fear and anger. “And what about our dragons?” she demanded, her violet eyes shining in the dim light. “We’re not leaving them behind! We can’t just abandon them in the Dragonpit!”

Loren nodded in agreement, his expression resolute. “They’re part of us. How could we leave without them?”

Tyland hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line, but before he could answer, a piercing shriek echoed from above, followed by a thunderous roar that shook the air. The carriage jolted as the sound reverberated around you, and the children gasped in unison, their eyes wide with shock.

You leaned toward the window, pulling the curtain aside, and your breath caught in your throat. Above the carriage, several massive shapes loomed against the moonlit sky, their scales gleaming like jewels in the darkness.

“Belerix,” you whispered, recognizing your own dragon instantly. His massive, sapphire body shimmered faintly, his amber eyes glowing as he circled above, his wings spread wide and powerful. Beside him flew Valtyr and Aelirys, the twins’ dragons, their cries echoing as they soared gracefully through the air. Behind them, two smaller dragons flapped their wings, their roars lighter but no less fierce—Kevan’s flame-orange Orerion and Alysanne’s pearl-white Sylverith.

The children gasped in delight, their fear momentarily forgotten as they pressed against the windows to catch a better glimpse. “They came!” Rhaelle exclaimed, her voice trembling with relief. “They found us!”

“How?” you asked, turning to Tyland, your voice a mixture of astonishment and disbelief. “They were chained in the Dragonpit. How are they here?”

Tyland’s lips curved into a faint smirk, though his expression remained serious. “I bribed a servant,” he admitted, leaning back against the seat. “I sent a message to the Dragonkeepers before we left, instructing them to unchain the dragons. I knew they would follow us if they were freed.”

Loren stared at him, his awe turning into a grin. “You bribed the Dragonkeepers? That’s brilliant, Father!”

“It wasn’t without risk,” Tyland replied, his tone measured. “But I wasn’t about to leave your dragons behind. They’re part of our family.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the tension in your chest easing slightly as you glanced out the window again. “Jason is going to be ecstatic when he sees all these dragons landing at Casterly Rock,” you said dryly, imagining your brother-in-law’s reaction.

Tyland chuckled, shaking his head. “He’ll have to get used to it. The dragons are ours, and they’ll go where we go.”

From above, Belerix let out a low, rumbling growl, as if in agreement. The sound seemed to calm the children, who leaned back into their seats with wide smiles, their earlier fear replaced by a sense of wonder and excitement.

As the carriage continued down the road, the dragons flew above, their presence a reassuring reminder of the strength and unity that bound your family together.

The carriage rattled to a halt at the base of Casterly Rock as dawn broke over the horizon. The towering cliffs of the ancestral seat of House Lannister rose before you, their golden hues catching the morning light, making the fortress appear almost otherworldly. The gates were wide open, and the sounds of a bustling courtyard echoed beyond—raised voices, the clatter of boots, and the unmistakable shrill cries of dragons.

You glanced at Tyland as the carriage door opened, his expression calm but with a flicker of apprehension in his eyes. “It seems word of our dragons reached the Rock before we did,” you murmured wryly, stepping out with his help.

He chuckled softly, though his gaze scanned the commotion ahead. “Jason will be beside himself.”

The children spilled out after you, their excitement barely contained as they craned their necks to catch a glimpse of their dragons perched on the cliffs surrounding the Rock. Loren’s chest swelled with pride as he pointed to Valtyr, whose green-and-gold scales glimmered in the sunlight. Rhaelle clutched your arm, her eyes sparkling as she spotted Aelirys, perched daintily on a ledge with her silver-blue wings tucked in.

“They’re here,” Loren said, his voice filled with awe. “They followed us all this way.”

“They always will,” Tyland said, his tone firm but warm. “Dragons are bonded to their riders. They’ll protect you as fiercely as you protect them.”

The scene in the courtyard was chaos. Jason Lannister stood in the center, his arms crossed and his face red with irritation as he barked orders at the men around him. Soldiers scrambled, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror as they glanced toward the cliffs. One dragon gave a particularly loud shriek, causing a young stable boy to drop his bucket and bolt for the safety of the stables.

Jason caught sight of you and Tyland and strode over, his golden cloak billowing behind him. “Tyland!” he exclaimed, his voice exasperated. “What in the Seven Hells have you brought to my doorstep?”

Tyland’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Our family, Jason. Along with their dragons.”

Jason gestured wildly toward the cliffs. “Dragons, Tyland. Plural. Do you realize the commotion they’ve caused? My men are terrified, and the villagers are already spreading tales of fire and blood.”

You stepped forward, your tone calm but pointed. “Perhaps if your men were better acquainted with dragons, they wouldn’t scare so easily.”

Jason turned to you, his expression softening slightly, though his frustration remained. “Sister-in-law, I mean no disrespect, but this is Casterly Rock, not Dragonstone. We don’t deal with dragons on a daily basis.”

“Perhaps it’s time you did,” you said, lifting an eyebrow. “Our dragons are part of this family. They’re not going anywhere.”

Before Jason could respond, one of the dragons—a gleaming pearl-white creature you recognized as Sylverith, Alysanne’s dragon—let out a playful roar, sending a gust of wind through the courtyard. The soldiers scrambled further back, muttering among themselves.

Jason threw his hands up. “Seven save me,” he muttered. “I’ll need more wine for this.”

Tyland clapped a hand on his twin’s shoulder, his smirk widening. “You’ll adjust, brother. Besides, think of the stories you can tell—Jason Lannister, host to dragons.”

Jason groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I’m sure the bards will sing songs of my bravery while I tried not to wet myself.”

The children giggled at his theatrics, and you couldn’t help but smile as well. Despite the chaos, the sight of your family safe and together brought a sense of relief you hadn’t felt in days.

“Let’s get inside,” Tyland said, his voice returning to its usual calm authority. “We have much to discuss.”

Jason sighed but nodded, waving a hand toward the castle. “Fine. But if one of those beasts starts breathing fire, you’re cleaning up the mess.”

As you followed Tyland and Jason into the halls of Casterly Rock, the children lingered for a moment, casting one last glance at their dragons before hurrying to catch up.

The heavy stone walls muffled the noise of the bustling castle beyond, leaving only the sound of the flames and the occasional clink of a goblet as Jason Lannister poured himself wine. He sat across from you and Tyland, his sharp green eyes studying both of you with a mixture of curiosity and frustration.

“Well,” Jason began, swirling the wine in his goblet. “You’ve barely been here a day, and already you’ve brought chaos to my doorstep. Dragons, Tyland? Really?”

Tyland leaned back in his chair, his expression calm but resolute. “I did what was necessary to protect my family.”

Jason’s brows arched as he set his goblet down. “Protect them? From what? Or should I say, from whom? The raven arrived before you, Tyland. I know Viserys is dead. And I know Otto Hightower sent a message asking where House Lannister stands. If we declare for Aegon, all will be forgiven. Including your… insubordination.”

Your stomach tightened at Jason’s words, and you glanced at Tyland, whose jaw clenched imperceptibly. He met Jason’s gaze steadily, his voice calm but edged with steel. “Forgiveness comes at a price, brother. Otto’s mercy isn’t freely given—it’s a leash, one he expects to tighten around our necks.”

Jason sighed heavily, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “You took my men, my resources, and now you bring a storm to my gates. Explain to me, Tyland, why House Lannister should risk everything for this decision of yours.”

Tyland’s expression hardened, his golden eyes flashing. “Because Otto Hightower ordered my family placed under house arrest. That’s not an offer of forgiveness, Jason—it’s a threat. He wanted us to submit by force, to make an example of us if we didn’t bend the knee. I won’t stand for it. Not for me, not for my wife, and not for my children.”

Jason leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “And where does that leave me? Where does that leave Casterly Rock, Tyland? You’ve put me in the center of a storm, and now I’m the one who has to decide how we weather it.”

You spoke then, your voice calm but firm, cutting through the tension. “Jason, I understand the position this puts you in. But I will not stand against my sister. Rhaenyra is the named heir. My father’s wish was clear. Supporting Aegon would be treason against the crown—and against the bonds of family.”

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line as he regarded you. “And you think Otto cares about treason? About bonds of family? He cares about power, Y/N. And you know as well as I do that once the crown rests on Aegon’s head, his rule will be legitimized.”

“That’s the problem,” Tyland interjected sharply. “He’s using force and fear to make it so. If we bow to him now, it sets a precedent. House Lannister becomes a pawn in his game—a tool to secure his power. Is that what you want for our House, Jason? To be remembered as a family of opportunists who turned their backs on honor?”

Jason’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he leaned forward. “Don’t speak to me of honor, Tyland. I’ve upheld our House’s honor through every battle, every political game. And now you ask me to risk all of that for your ideals?”

“Not for my ideals,” Tyland countered, his voice rising slightly. “For our family. For our children. Otto Hightower threatened us, Jason. If we bend now, what happens when his demands grow? When he uses that leash to drag us further into his schemes?”

Jason let out a frustrated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “And if we declare for Rhaenyra? What then? We’ll be at war, Tyland. War with the Hightowers, war with Aegon, and possibly war with the Reach and the Crownlands. You’ve brought dragons, yes, but dragons alone won’t win this fight.”

You leaned forward then, your voice low but resolute. “Rhaenyra is not without allies, Jason. The Velaryons, the North, the Vale—they will stand with her. This isn’t just about dragons. It’s about what is right.”

Jason stared at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and admiration. Finally, he let out a long sigh, reaching for his goblet. “You always were the stubborn one, weren’t you?”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “And you always cared about doing what’s best for our House.”

Jason drained his wine in one long gulp before setting the goblet down with a clink. “Very well. But understand this, Tyland—if I stand with you, with Rhaenyra, we are committing ourselves to a war that could destroy us. You’d best be ready for what comes.”

Tyland nodded, his expression grim but determined. “I wouldn’t have come to you if I wasn’t.”

Jason pushed back his chair, rising to his feet. “Then let us prepare. If war is coming, House Lannister will not be caught unprepared.” He turned to you, his gaze softening slightly. “You’d better hope your dragons are as fearsome as they seem, sister-in-law. We’ll need them.”

As he left the room, the tension lingered like smoke in the air. Tyland reached for your hand, his grip firm but reassuring. “We’ve taken the first step,” he said quietly. “Now we see where it leads.”

The warm glow of the hearth in your chambers at Casterly Rock offered little comfort against the weight of the conversation you and Tyland had just shared with Jason. The sprawling fortress, so grand and impenetrable, felt smaller under the looming shadow of war. You sat by the window, gazing out at the cliffs where the dragons had settled, their faint silhouettes outlined by the pale light of the moon. The children were finally asleep, their soft breaths filling the nursery down the hall, but your mind was restless.

Tyland stood nearby, removing his doublet and laying it neatly over the back of a chair. His movements were deliberate, but his shoulders were tense, the weight of the day pressing down on him. When he finally turned to you, his eyes softened, and he crossed the room to sit beside you.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said gently, taking your hand in his. His thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles, a comforting gesture that steadied you even in the storm of your thoughts.

You sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It’s hard to find words for everything I’m feeling. The thought of war, of our family being drawn into it…” Your voice faltered, and you turned your gaze back to the window. “I can’t help but think about our children. What kind of world are we leaving for them, Tyland?”

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “It’s a question I’ve asked myself countless times, Y/N. But we’re doing what we must to protect them. That’s all we can do.”

“Is it enough?” you murmured, your voice heavy with doubt. “Loren and Rhaelle—they’re old enough to understand what’s happening. They’ll want to fight, to protect the family. And the younger ones… Kevan’s so curious, always asking questions. Alysanne is so sensitive, and Jaeryn is just a baby. How do we keep them safe from all of this?”

Tyland pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment. “We teach them strength,” he said softly. “We show them how to stand tall, even when the world feels like it’s falling apart. And we remind them, every day, that they are loved.”

You closed your eyes, taking solace in his words. “I wish they didn’t have to learn strength like this. I wish we could give them a childhood free of fear.”

“So do I,” he admitted, his voice tinged with sadness. “But the world doesn’t always give us what we wish for. It gives us what we can endure.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. The flickering firelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the lines of worry etched into his features. “Do you ever regret marrying me, Tyland? Choosing to stand with my family, even knowing it would lead to this?”

He frowned, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Not for a moment,” he said firmly. “You are my wife, my love, the mother of my children. My loyalty is to you and to the family we’ve built. Whatever comes, I will never regret standing by your side.”

His words brought a lump to your throat, and you leaned into his touch, finding strength in his unwavering devotion. “Thank you,” you whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’d manage. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the warmth of his embrace grounding you as the fire crackled softly in the background. But the heaviness in your chest remained, the knowledge that this peace was fleeting, that the world outside your chambers was changing irrevocably.

“Do you think we made the right choice?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Tyland didn’t answer immediately. He gazed into the fire, his expression thoughtful. “We made the only choice we could,” he said finally. “Otto Hightower threatened our family. Rhaenyra is your sister, the rightful heir. And our children—our legacy—deserve a future free of fear. If standing with her is what it takes to secure that, then yes, it was the right choice.”

You nodded, though the ache in your heart didn’t lessen. “I just hope our children understand one day.”

“They will,” Tyland said firmly. “Because they’ll see it in us—in how we stand together, in how we fight for them. They’ll know it was always for them.”

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For a moment, you allowed yourself to believe his words, to cling to the hope that your family would endure the trials ahead. But deep down, you knew that the road would only grow more perilous. And as you sat together in the quiet of your chambers, the shadows of war loomed ever closer, threatening to upend everything you held dear.

[wildlife4life]

Fuck-It Friday Coda

Tagged by the amazing @hippolotamus @jesuisici33 @wikiangela and @tizniz (who dropped a whole new fic!) Thank you so much! Hope you all are just as hyped for bi-buck as I am!!!!!!! Not much to say than what's being said everywhere for 7x04. Here is my coda this historic episode and it can be read on ao3 as well. Enjoy!

It’s never really a surprise anymore whenever Buck runs into Tommy at the 118’s favorite hook and ladder bar. Hell, before they broke up, Tommy took him to this bar on a couple dates. Awkward dates but dates all the same.

Buck is waiting for the latest rounds of drinks at the bar when a familiar hand lands on his shoulder, “Hey Evan.”

He whirls around and comes face to face with the very man that opened Buck up to whole new world. “H-h-hey Tommy.” He greets nervously, gaze flickering over to where his team, Maddie, Athena, and some friends from dispatch sat.

Tommy catches it and smirks, “Here with the entire crew huh? What’s the cause for this meet up? Didn’t see or hear about any big Buckley heroics over the radio waves.”

Buck finally catches Eddie attention, and his partner stiffens slightly at the sight of Tommy. They were all still friends, mostly, but after the pilot ended things with Buck, sides were taken… in more ways than one.

“You lied back then. In your loft, before I kissed you.” Tommy stated, staring out the hanger doors, hands shoved deep into his flight suit’s pockets.

Wretchedness gripped Buck’s throat tightly. He knew where this was headed, and for just the briefest moment he wanted to fight it. Fight for what he and Tommy had. “I didn’t lie. I wanted to get to know you, I thought-I still think you are cool, and I just wanted you see that.” His voice was high and tight with the brittle lie.

Tommy shook his head and Buck caught his grimacing smile, “Buck you need to stop lying to yourself and open your damn eyes. I have and you want to know what I saw?” His voice cracked with anguish.

Buck’s lower lip trembled, and he could feel the prickle of tears. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to face it. Because if he opened his eyes to what Tommy is seeing, the despair would be 10 times worse than what he’s facing at the time.

Always the bravest of two of them, Tommy scoffed at Buck’s silence and pushed on, “You weren’t vying for my attention. You never have. Evan you never did any sort of chasing in this relationship, I did. I so was blinded by how endearing and open you were about your best friend, that I failed to see you misplacing you’re confused emotions onto the nearest person showing you affection. Me.”

The tears began to flow when Buck shook his head, “No Tommy. I liked you; I just didn’t know about that part of myself until you showed it to me.”  He tried defending.

His boyfriend snorted, “Liked. Past. Not present.”

And Buck’s heart dropped into his gut.

Finally, Tommy looked at him and everything in his stomach becomes rancid at the utter heartbreak on the older man’s face, “I’m glad I could help you embrace your bisexuality. Truly I am. I know how freeing it can be.  But Evan, those feelings you’ve have for men, for that one special man have always been there and instead of facing them, you took the easy way out with me. And fuck man, it hurts. It really does.”

“Tommy…” Buck started, but Tommy’s hand gripping his wrist silenced him.

“Evan-Buck. Its-well it’s not entirely okay, but you didn’t know or see and neither did I. At least not until you came back from Chim’s bachelor party. You two couldn’t even look each other in the eye and you’ve been off since.”

That’s because he and Eddie got into the biggest fight of their lives during Chimney’s bachelor weekend.  Because Eddie had been acting off since Buck came out, even though he promised nothing would change. Because Buck once again became enviously green when Eddie kept his attention on the private bar tender. Because Eddie looked Buck in the eye and asked, ‘Why does he get that part of you?’ in the middle of their screaming match that Buck still has no idea how it started but ended there. Because they both walked away, too scared to confront any of those feelings. Because Buck knew deep down, he wanted to give everything he was giving to Tommy, to Eddie and so much more.

“You are such a wonderful man Buck and I know it was never your intention to hurt anyone. But us being together, it’s destroying me and you and...” Tommy sucked in a sharp breath, “And Eddie.”

And there it was. Everything that Buck has been denying since Tommy confronted him in his loft.  The person who was really behind Buck’s complex and confused emotions those few months ago. It was time Buck accepted it. It was time to open his eyes. It was time to let Tommy go.

Buck let out a sob and tugged Tommy into a tight embrace, “I’m sorry, I really am.”

Tommy sniffled, “You have nothing to apologize for Evan.” He pulled back and put Buck at arm’s length, giving him a wet smile, “I was more than honored to be your queer awakening and guru.”

Buck barked out a soggy laugh, “You turned my entire world on its axis man, but in the best way possible.”

“You’re a special one Evan and Eddie… god what you two have and what it can be.” Tommy shook his head chuckling, “I can’t stand in the way of that anymore.”

The younger firefighter stuttered out a breath, “I think that’s more on me than you.” And gets a hum of agreement from his now ex-boyfriend. He stuck a hand out, “Friends?”

Tommy didn’t even hesitate and slapped his own hand into Buck’s, squeezing tight, “Absolutely. Just give me some time, and yourself as well.”

Buck took two days after the break-up to mourn what had been his best relationship to date, to wallow in his unknown carelessness, and to confront those mixed emotions that drew him to Tommy in the first place. Then he packed his duffle and went to work.

Chimney was the first to confront him since Tommy turned down a night out at the karaoke bar and explained that he and Buck broke up. Hen followed because those two paramedics tell each other everything. Bobby reminded Buck that he was willing to listen before giving his shoulder a squeeze. Ravi seemed, relieved, but sympathetic. And Eddie pulled him into the tightest embrace asking, “Why?”

Buck didn’t give him the entire answer. Simply stated, “It wasn’t working.”

Months later Buck gave him the entire truth by taking a page out Tommy’s book and kissing Eddie senseless with a firm grip on his chin.  Eddie, who was babbling away in his kitchen about not seeing what was in front of him and desperate to know if Buck is willing to give Eddie every part of himself, kissed Buck back with ferocity. When they pulled apart Buck finally told him why Tommy ended things, “He saw what we were all too scared to look at.”

That was almost a month ago and Buck is deliriously happy with his life, with his boyfriend, with Eddie. He doesn’t need to be weird or nervous around the man that helped lead him here.  So, he winks at Eddie, telling him it’s all good, and gives his attention to Tommy. “No big newsworthy rescues. Though Chimney did rescue his 100th cat.”

Tommy shakes his head laughing, “An almost impossible feat.”

“Very much so.” Buck comments, “We’re here to celebrate Maddie’s promotion at dispatch. Officially a supervisor.”

“Hey good for her!” Tommy exclaims, “Honestly surprised it took this long. Her voice seems to be on all the major calls lately.”

Buck nods, “Yea. Would have been a different ending for all of us after the bridge collapse last year if it weren’t for my sister.”

“Man, you Buckley’s and your heroism.”

Buck blushes, Tommy Kinnard always the charmer. The other man smirks, knowing the effect he has on him still. “You look good Buck. Happy. Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain firefighter that’s all over your Instagram lately? Hm?”

As if summoned by Tommy’s mere mention of him, a red Henley covered arm snakes its away around Buck’s waist and warmth lines up along his back. “Hey Tommy, good to see yuh man.” Eddie greets smoothly before nuzzling close to Buck’s ear, “Get that drink order in yet babe?” He asks just loud enough to be overheard by certain people close by.

The pilot’s smirk broadens, but gives a friendly slap to Eddie’s back, “Good to see yuh too Diaz. Been a minute.”

Eddie nods and his nose moves along Buck’s jaw at the movement, making him tremble, “It has. Maybe we can meet up to spar sometime.”

Before his bisexual awakening and the admittance of his true feelings, hearing his boyfriend make plans with another man would have sent him on a downward spiral. Now, thanks in part to Tommy, Eddie, his sister, and the entirety of the 118, but mostly himself, Buck is secure and at peace with his place in their lives, in Eddie’s life.

But that still doesn’t stop his big hearted, ever thoughtful boyfriend from asking, “I know I’ve only taught you the basics, but you could join Evan.”

Buck leans back into Eddie’s embrace and brushes his lips against his partner’s cheek, “Hmm. I’d rather go for the title on more equal grounds, and I really want to save myself the embarrassment of Tommy seeing my ass get kicked.”

His ex snorts out a laugh, while Eddie’s cheeks pinken at Buck’s innuendo of the actual kind of sweaty, half naked situation they want to be in. “Still shameless as ever huh Evan?” Tommy comments.

Buck shrugs, “Nothing to be ashamed of. My boyfriend is hot and I prefer to have my ass handed to me in more intimate ways. But you two can kick, spin, and punch your little hearts out. I’ll enjoy some time with Christopher, maybe even take him to a field and play the much superior sport, football.”

“God you really do not like basketball huh?” Tommy retorts with a shake of his head, probably remembering the first and last time they played, ending with Buck almost breaking Eddie’s ankle in a confused jealous rage.

“I won’t let him near anything orange and spherical.” Eddie jokes giving Buck a tight squeeze. “But if you are up to it, I would love to come over and go a few rounds. You do have a pretty sweet set up.”

The LAFD piolet grins, “Bring the Chevelle too, we can give it a once over.”

Buck makes a mental reminder to give the back seat of said car a good cleaning because the last time he and Eddie drove it out, Buck took Eddie apart in back seat and a t-shirt wipe down definitely did not suffice as ‘clean up’.

Eddie clears his throat, and his blush deepens. Yea, he’s thinking the same. “Sounds good. I’ll shoot you text and set up a time.”

Knowing the conversation is coming to an end, Buck flags down the bar tender before looking over at Tommy, “You should join us. Drinks are on,” He pauses trying to remember who lost the credit card roulette and laughs when it comes to him, “Drinks are on Josh.”

Tommy softens at the invitation, “Drinks with the 118, haven’t done that in a while. I’m in. Miller lite to start.”

Buck laughs, “Yea I know. Go join the others, Eddie and I got this.”

“Yea, I know you do. BuckandEddie, the dream team. Happy for you both, truly.” Tommy kindly states, then gives a shoulder pat to the two of them before strolling away to join the 118 and dispatchers. They faintly hear loud cheers and greetings when he gets close, their friends and family always happy to see the man who put his life and career on the line for them.

Buck places their drink order and when the bar tender slides away, Eddie pulls him back into his chest and growls into his ear, “You may not be green with envy anymore, but I sort of am.”

A shiver runs down Buck’s spine at his boyfriend’s possessive tone and knew all too well that their time at the bar was going to be short lived…unless.

“It’s no Chevelle, but the jeep is parked pretty close.” Buck breathlessly tells him.

Eddie gives him a wicked grin, “You want to take me in the jeep?”

“Wanna go for another title?”

I put in so many references from the episode and previous episodes too, as mini celebration to the 100th episode. Hope you all enjoyed! If you want to know when I drop coda fic go interact with my pinned post. Tagging (no pressure): @try-set-me-on-fire @devirnis @bi-buckrights @exhuastedpigeon @cal-daisies-and-briars @bidisasterbuckdiaz @rainbow-nerdss @daffi-990 @dangerpronebuddie @theotherbuckley @watchyourbuck @perfectlysunny02 @aroeddiediaz @loserdiaz @diazsdimples @fortheloveofbuddie @rogerzsteven @lemonzestywrites @evanbegins @bi-buck-coded @glorious-spoon @thekristen999 @spotsandsocks @sunshinediaz @lover-of-mine @hoodie-buck @elvensorceress @bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck @goforkinard @bekkachaos @thewolvesof1998 @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @bibuckbuckley @honestlydarkprincess @doublecheekeddiaz @prosperdemeter2 @transboybuckley @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @bigfootsmom @911onabc @911-on-abc @homerforsure

[shokosmokes]

﹒◌﹒hockey au﹒✧﹒

m.list

pt.5 ^_−☆ this bit is angsty aahh but i was curling my toes writing it so i hope you like it hehe

———————————————————————————————————

tags: angst, smut

itadori x reader x fushiguro

You and Yuji had become inseparable over the past few weeks, to the point where it felt natural to text him the second you woke up or crash at his place after a long day. His laugh was infectious, always booming and bright, filling up the space around you until you forgot about everything else. He’d wrap you up in hugs that felt too brief, make silly faces just to get you to laugh, and constantly challenge you to little play fights that left you breathless and laughing on the floor.

There were moments, though—small, fleeting ones—when your cheeks would flush pink, and you'd wonder if Yuji ever noticed. If he could feel the way your heart raced when he pulled you close for one of those playful wrestling matches, or when he hugged you goodbye, holding you just a second longer than necessary. The hope for something more was always there, tucked away in the back of your mind. But you never pushed it. Being with him, just having him near, felt like enough… most of the time.

Still, the ache of Megumi’s absence never fully left you. Even when you were with Yuji, laughing so hard your stomach hurt, that hollow space where Megumi used to be would creep in and gnaw at you. It was like a shadow you couldn’t shake, lingering no matter how hard you tried to bury it.

---

The night before the big game, you stood in front of your mirror, turning to look at the jersey you had on. The name "Itadori" was emblazoned on the back in bold letters, Yuji’s number beneath it. It felt a little silly, but when Yuji had casually mentioned how much it would mean to him if you wore it, you couldn’t say no. His excitement had been contagious, and now, looking at yourself, you smiled. It wasn’t just for him—it made you feel like you were a part of something bigger.

But when you got to the arena and saw Megumi on the ice, something felt off immediately. He was moving differently, more aggressively, his face hard and his temper visibly fraying with each shift in the game. He kept barking orders at his teammates, his frustration bleeding into every movement. The opposing team was playing dirty, their team constantly fumbling the puck, and Megumi was getting angrier by the second. He wouldn’t even look your way, not once, though you were sure he knew you were there.

Your eyes drifted between Yuji and Megumi, the gnawing feeling in your stomach worsening as the game dragged on. Every time Megumi shoved another player, yelled something sharp to his teammates, or nearly got into it with the opposing team, you felt a pang of worry. This wasn’t like him.

And then, in the middle of a tense standoff, Megumi finally let his gaze flick toward you. Your eyes locked for the briefest of moments—and then he saw it. The jersey. Yuji’s jersey.

Something in his face twisted, anger flashing so suddenly that it took your breath away.

In the next moment, Megumi snapped.

---

Fights breaking out on the ice at hockey games isn’t abnormal. But when it’s two players on the same team, two that are notoriously known as best friends, you can’t help the nauseous twist in your stomach at the sight of Megumi’s fist meeting Yuji’s jaw.

It all happened so fast. One second, Yuji and Megumi were skating side by side, and the next, Megumi lunged at him, fists flying. Yuji barely had time to defend himself before they were on the ice, wrestling in a brutal fight. It wasn’t just rough hockey. It was ugly. Megumi was furious, practically seeing red as he landed punches, Yuji trying to push him off but refusing to retaliate with the same intensity.

The arena erupted into chaos. Whistles were blowing, the crowd gasping, and the other players rushing in to pull them apart. But the damage was done. Megumi had snapped, and everyone saw it.

By the time the refs managed to bench him, Megumi stormed off the ice, disappearing into the locker room without a second glance back. Yuji was still on the ice, shaking his head in disbelief, bruised but mostly fine. You didn’t know what to do—your heart was torn in too many directions at once. You wanted to check on Yuji, but Megumi…

Without thinking, you found yourself following Megumi.

---

The locker room was eerily quiet when you walked in, the only sound being Megumi’s labored breathing as he sat hunched on the bench, blood dripping from his nose. His knuckles were bruised, and his eyes were dark, almost wild.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and concern. “You attacked Yuji. Your best friend!”

He didn’t look at you, just wiped at his bloody nose, his jaw clenched tight. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand what? You’ve been ghosting me for weeks, and now this? You’re acting like I don’t even exist anymore!” Your voice cracked, frustration boiling over. “And then you hurt Yuji? For what?”

His head snapped up at that, finally meeting your eyes. His gaze was blazing, raw with something you couldn’t quite place. “For what?” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you even see yourself? Walking in here wearing his name on your back like it’s nothing?”

You blinked, taken aback. “Megumi, it’s just a jersey—”

“No, it’s not,” he growled, standing abruptly. He stepped closer, his hands gripping the fabric of the jersey at your shoulders, twisting it in his fists. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for me? Watching you two, seeing how happy you are with him?”

Your heart raced, confusion and hurt flooding your chest. “I—what are you talking about?”

Megumi’s voice broke, his breath shaky as he tightened his hold on the jersey, pulling you closer. “I’m in love with you, okay? I thought I could bite it down, push it away, seeing how close you and Yuji have gotten. But I can’t anymore.”

His confession hit you like a tidal wave. Before you could process it, before you could say anything, Megumi’s hands cupped your face roughly, his thumb brushing your cheek as his eyes searched yours.

Then, without warning, he kissed you.

It was fierce, filled with all the pent-up emotions he had been holding back, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Your heart pounded in your chest as you melted into it, his lips pressing hard against yours. All the confusion, the hurt, the longing—it all faded, leaving only the heat of the moment.

Megumi pulled back, his breathing heavy, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Without thinking, without a single word, you grabbed the collar of Megumi’s jersey and yanked him down to you, crashing your lips against his. It was desperate, full of all the longing and frustration that had been building for so long. Your hands slid into his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, and you kissed him deeper, your tongue running along his bottom lip, silently asking for more.

Megumi groaned softly, his hands quickly finding their way under your thighs. In one swift motion, he lifted you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he held you against him. His grip was firm, almost possessive, and your breath hitched as he backed you into the wall, pressing you there with his body.

The kiss intensified, growing hotter, more urgent. His lips moved with your in perfect rhythm, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that sent sparks flying through you. The roughness of his movements, the heat between you - it was overwhelming. Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him even closer as his hands gripped the flesh of your thighs tighter, holding you up as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

Every inch of you was burning, the weight of him pressed you, the feel of his lips devouring yours - it was everything you hadn’t known you were aching for. His breath hot against your skin as he kissed down your jawline, nipping lightly at your neck, and you let out a soft gasp, your hands trailing down his shoulders gripping him tightly.

“I’ve wanted you for so long.” He murmurs against your neck.

An ache in the pit of your stomach that you didn’t realize was gnawing at you this entire time, twisting at his words. The feeling almost overwhelming to the point where you can only let out a gasp of his name.

“God, Megumi…”

He rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily as he tries to recover and pull himself together after the intense kiss. His lips brush against yours every few seconds, like he’s struggling to keep away from you.

"Every single time... I saw you there... I wanted you so bad... but every damn time Yuji was around, and I lost my courage..."

Stunned from the whirlwind of emotions, the suddenness of it all, the pang of guilt erupting in your chest mixed with the longing ache to kiss him again leaving you dumbfounded and speechless, spiraling in thought.

But you’re abruptly broken out of your spiral as you feel his breath, hot against your neck suddenly, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin making you yelp his name.

“God I want you…” he murmurs against your skin, the growl of his voice sending electricity down your spine, straight to your core, and a moan past your lips. The sound of it causing his grip on your thighs to tighten, his hips mindlessly buck against yours as he continues to suck at the oh so sensitive skin of your neck.

“Shhh”, he coos, as his tongue laps over the fresh marks across your skin, only causing more noises to escape your lips.

He shoves his two digits into your mouth to stifle the sounds escaping your lips. Your mind blanking, going hazy with desire. The tuft of his hair tickles your skin as he peers his head up to meet his eyes with yours. You watch his eyes glaze over with lust, his mouth agap, almost mesmerized as he watches you roll your tongue around his fingers and suckle on them.

“Fuck you like that don’t you…” he eyes your mouth, panting like a dog as his hips grow more eager.

He slowly pulls his wet fingers from your mouth, using them to trace your bottom lip before slipping it back into his own mouth to suck off your taste. "Then... maybe I should give you something else to suck on..." He murmurs, his hands softly dropping you to move his hands to his belt. "Open..."

You’re stunned. Megumi’s freaky…

“Wait!”, you grab at his arm to halt his hands that are seconds away from dropping his pants. Your eyes widen at the scene. “Here? Right… now?”

“What? You worried your little *boyfriend* is gonna catch you sucking me off?” He scoffs, playing with the hem of your jersey that brands the other boy’s name.

“I’m not his...”

“Then who’s are you” he cuts you off, almost snarling. You can see his jaw tense as he eyes you waiting for an answer, his thumb longingly tracing the skin of your cheek bone, and it’s faint but you can just barely register the hurt in his eyes.

Megumi’s grip on the jersey tightens, his fingers curling around the fabric like he’s trying to hold onto something that’s slipping through his fingers. His breathing is ragged, and his usually calm, collected demeanor has completely unraveled. His words echo in your ears—“Who’s are you?”—and you feel a surge of panic rise in your chest.

You’ve never seen Megumi like this—his face twisted in frustration, his body trembling slightly with anger and something deeper, something more desperate. It’s overwhelming, the intensity of his feelings crashing into you all at once, and you’re not ready for it. You weren’t prepared to be confronted, not like this.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammer, the words barely escaping your lips as your thoughts race. Your heart is pounding, and your palms feel clammy as the weight of his question presses down on you. How can he ask you this now? After everything that’s been building between the three of you, after weeks of subtle glances, quiet moments, and confusing feelings, how are you supposed to have an answer?

Megumi’s eyes bore into yours, searching for something—an answer, a sign, anything to ease the turmoil inside him. But you can’t give him that. Not now. Not like this.

“I’m so confused, Megumi,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the pressure. “I care about you. And I care about Yuji. But I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do.”

His jaw tightens, and you see a flash of hurt in his eyes, quickly replaced by anger. He releases the jersey, his hands falling to his sides, clenched into fists. The air between you feels thick, charged with tension, and you can feel the weight of his disappointment, of his frustration.

“You don’t know what to say?” he snaps, his voice sharp and cutting. “How can you not know? After everything we’ve been through, after all this time… you don’t know?”

You flinch at his words, guilt twisting in your gut. You do care about him. You do. But how can you explain that your feelings are tangled, that you’re caught between him and Yuji, between two people who mean so much to you in different ways?

“I—I didn’t ask for this,” you say, your voice shaky. “I didn’t ask to be put in the middle of this. I care about both of you. I don’t know how to choose.”

Megumi’s eyes narrow, and you can see the muscles in his jaw working, his frustration mounting with every word you say. His hands move to his sides, fingers digging into the skin of his palms as if he’s trying to hold himself back, to contain the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

“You think I don’t know that?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I wanted to fall for you when I knew damn well Itadori felt the same way? But I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t stand seeing you with him, laughing, smiling like he’s the only one who makes you feel like that.”

His voice rises, and the raw emotion in it is enough to make your heart ache. He’s always been so controlled, so guarded, but now all that control is gone, and it’s like you’re seeing the real Megumi for the first time—the one who’s been hiding behind his stoic exterior, afraid to let his feelings show.

“You’re all I think about,” he admits, his voice hoarse. “Every time I see you with Yuji, it tears me apart. I thought I could just… bite it down. That I could let you be happy with him, but…” His voice cracks, and he takes a step back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to ease the tension, but the words won’t come. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed in a vice, torn between Megumi’s raw confession and the lingering memories of Yuji’s warmth and laughter. How can you choose? How can you hurt one of them when you know you’ll hurt yourself just as much?

Megumi steps closer again, his eyes dark and stormy, his voice tight with emotion. “If you’re so confused, let me make it easy for you,” he says, his tone biting, anger laced through his words. Without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and yanks his gear from his locker, his movements sharp and aggressive. He slams the door shut with such force that the sound echoes through the empty room, making you jump.

The sight of him unraveling like this makes your stomach churn with anxiety. This isn’t the calm, composed Megumi you’re used to. He’s raw and exposed, and it’s because of you. Because he’s in love with you. Because you couldn’t give him the answer he needed.

You stand there, frozen, as he shoves his equipment into his bag, the fury in his movements growing with every second. His breaths come in harsh, shallow bursts, his jaw clenched so tightly you can see the muscles twitch beneath his skin. The pain in his eyes as he looks at you one last time is almost unbearable.

“This isn’t fair,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You’re asking me to choose, but it’s not that simple, Megumi. You can’t just—”

“Fair?” he cuts you off, his voice a harsh snarl. “You think this is about fairness? I don’t care about what’s fair anymore.” He slings his bag over his shoulder, his eyes burning into yours. “I’ve been holding back for you, for him, for everyone. But if you can’t figure out what you want, then I’m done. I can’t stand here and watch you be with him.”

He turns and starts toward the door, and panic rises in your chest. You feel the urge to stop him, to reach out, to say something, but the words won’t come. All you can do is watch as he pulls open the door, his back rigid with anger and frustration, and steps into the hallway without another word.

The door slams shut behind him, the echo ringing in your ears as you stand there, alone in the aftermath of his storm, your heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

—————————————————

sorry this update took so long i was pacing debating if i should wrap it up here or try and push it further but ending it here seemed so lazy lolol and i had an itch for angst so （＾ω＾）thanks 4 the read hope u liked it

[lupine-trees]

a cup of kindness yet

[ the boys hope for a happy new year. *✧･ﾟ:* ]

drarry | word count: ~1,068 | rating: t

( title from “auld lang syne” — wishing you all an easy end to 2024 & a very happy 2025 to come. ♡ )

_ _ _

The grand iron clock in the park strikes eleven, and Harry is so unbelievably late.

He’s laden with a peace offering, his grocery tote heavy on his shoulder— a loaf of the crusty bread he knows a certain someone is fond of, a top shelf Pinot noir, some sliced salami and aged pecorino, a couple cuts of the cheaper-but-tastier tiramisu. It’s paltry, a bit, but he needed a quick turnaround, couldn’t bear the thought of showing up late and empty-handed.

His footfalls echo heavily through the park as he makes his way from the shops to the nearest Apparition point.

Of course, as he rounds the corner, the dull thrum of magic that regularly emanates from the points is distinctly absent, and a crowd is building. He catches a trademark glimpse of Auror red, hears whispers hush through the huddled mass, fireworks and Firewhiskey and Muggle bystanders and Obliviate, and Harry absolutely does not have time for this.

He does a quick 180, thinking on his feet, but of course the next nearest jump-point in this part of London is another 30-minute walk the direction he just came from. He could try to track down a public Floo, but on high-volume holidays, the heavy-use networks could get a bit tetchy, and tetchy was not on the agenda.

“Christ on a broomstick,” he murmurs under his breath, turning to make his way to the underground. Muggle public transit rivaled Wizard in terms of (un)reliability, but the convenience under the circumstances made it the premier choice. Scanning his card and clipping quickly across the platform, Harry steps onto the next train just as the doors snick shut behind him.

The fluorescents are doing him no favors at this hour of night, the soft screeching sound of the hydraulics and the sway of each stop helping build the muzzy headache behind his eyes. He keeps upright, his mind fixed on his destination.

_ _ _

By the time he steps back into the street, aboveground, his patience has been spent. He breaks into a jog, heading for the narrow townhouse where his friends are undoubtedly waiting.

Sure, he’d cast off a quick Patronus at the end of his St. Mungo’s shift, but that had been nearly two hours ago now.

The pretty two-story brick rises before him, unshrouding itself of its wards, and he takes the briefest moment to catch his breath on the pavement before bounding up the steps.

He crosses the threshold, and the sound of the party within is a welcome one, warm and enveloping. It’s not so big as to be overwhelming, maintaining a sort of intimacy, but their nearest and dearest form a full house nonetheless.

Ron catches his eye from across the sitting room, and he gives a small shout and a smile before shaking his head and nodding towards the kitchen.

Harry crosses the foyer and slings his coat up in the hall haphazard, keeping his grocery bag at his side.

“You’re in such trouble,” Ginny sing-songs at him as Millicent tows her by the hand quickly around a corner.

“Piss off,” Harry offers, tossing a smile her way in spite of the nerves bubbling in his middle.

She blows him a kiss before disappearing after Millie.

In the kitchen, Luna is ladling a steaming purple drink into Hermione’s cup.

Hermione, bless her, tosses the drink back without fanfare before she glances down at her wristwatch and up again. She meets Harry’s eyes on a double-take, and something relieved settles in her brow, her shoulders un-stringing.

He crosses to her, giving a quick hug in greeting.

“Nice to see you’re still with us,” she says with a tired grin, a pat on his shoulder.

“Where—”

“He’s been in the pantry looking for a jar of olives for fifteen minutes.”

“Olives?” Harry asks.

She shoves him pantry-ward, exasperated. “Obviously there are no olives. Please let him know you’re here before he conjures some through a wall.”

Harry begins to pull open the pantry door before meeting resistance.

“Cho, I’ll be just another moment, I’m certain they’re—”

“I’m here,” Harry says, gentling through the spell on the door.

“Ah,” Draco says, bright eyes snapping up as he unfolds his legs and lifts himself from his seat on the floor. “Hello. I could’ve sworn—”

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Harry cuts in, carefully handing over the tote. “I come bearing gifts. No olives though.”

Draco makes a disgruntled noise, placing the bag on a shelf. “No olives,” he muses, sifting through the goods, gaze shifting down. “Honestly, Potter, tardiness is forgivable, but no olives?”

Harry smiles and steps toward him. “I’ll bring olives next time. I brought the cheap tiramisu.”

“Ah, yes,” Draco answers drily, hiding his grin behind the bottle of wine, which he’s lifted for inspection. “We’ll pop some tiramisu in the martinis.”

“Draco,” he hums, low, placing a tender hand at the base of his spine, leaning in to slot his chin over his shoulder. “I really— I meant to be here so much sooner.”

“Hm,” Draco responds, considering. “You said you’ll bring olives next time?”

Harry wraps his arms around him. “As many as you like.”

Draco turns to him, shifting in his embrace, arms looping easily over his shoulders. “You don’t even like olives.”

Harry shakes his head. “Can’t stand them.”

Draco can’t help smiling at him. “Uncultured.”

“I brought the good bread,” Harry offers. “And I took the train.”

“No wonder you’re late,” Draco mutters, prodding, smile wry.

“Let me make it up to you,” he says, fingers trailing.

Draco leans into his space further, gaze heated. “And how do you intend to do that?”

Outside, they can hear that the crowd has shifted, gathering around the Magi-telly in the living room, the countdown beginning.

Ten! Nine! Eight!

“I have some ideas,” he answers, holding Draco firmly, crowding him back against the shelves.

Seven! Six! Five! Four!

Before the clock strikes midnight, Harry is already kissing him soundly, Draco pressing flush to him with a satisfied hum, fingers tangling in curls, Harry’s hands a sure and steady pressure on his hips.

Three! Two! One!

The year rolls over, and they find themselves entangled at the crossover: past, future.

By the time the house guests have finished their shouts of Happy New Year!, Harry is well into making good on his promise— (which is a start to a very happy new year indeed).

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XVII

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds /

Elain gasped, the air pulled from her lungs, sudden and unexpected. She clutched desperately onto the bed sheets, knuckles white against the fabric, her other hand pulling Lucien towards her.  

Elain arched her back, tilted her hips up, hardly recognising herself, but she was unashamed of her actions. Like puzzle pieces falling into place, Elain felt a certain surety as she pressed against her mate. She could have blushed at the breathless moan that fell from her lips, but Lucien’s approval trickled down the bond and she dug her nails into the skin of his back. 

Unfair, it was unfair that she was still wearing her night clothes, Elain thought as Lucien’s strong fingers pressed against her thigh. Her mate seemed to agree as he moved his hand to pull at the gown, tracing kisses along her jaw, effortlessly undoing the laces at her throat.  

Lucien stopped kissing her only to bite the bare skin of her shoulder, his sharp teeth sending shivers up Elain’s spine. He moved lower and Elain took the opportunity to twine her fingers in his hair, soft as silk, just as she had thought. 

Lucien pressed his lips to Elain’s collarbone, resting his hand on her waist, and Elain burned with desire. 

“Please,” she begged, not knowing for what, hoping at the very least he would not stop. She hooked a foot around his leg, shifting against him, her body searching for any form of relief. 

Lucien hummed in response, only looking up to meet Elain’s eyes when she roughly pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck. 

You are mine.

The same thought seemed to be reflected in his gaze. 

“Lucien, please,” Elain said once more, pulling him closer still, impossibly so.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Lucien murmured, russet eye flashing gold, sunbright, just as she shut hers. He was going to kiss her, she knew it in her bones, wished he would stop taking his time and simply do as she needed. 

Elain whispered his name, and they shared the same breath as Lucien hovered just above her, a phantom touch. 

Elain woke up with a jolt, shaking the entire bed with her sudden movement. 

Lucien was exactly where she had asked him to be before sleep had swiftly taken her. He was alarmingly close to the edge of the mattress, facing her, full lips parted slightly and hair messily falling over his forehead. 

Elain felt herself blushing at the realisation that she had been the one to move towards Lucien in the middle of the night. She had somehow managed to wrap a leg around his, her face resting against the arm he had comfortably stretched along the pillows, her hand holding the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. 

Elain was horrified, and yet she did not move. She stayed in place, telling herself that if she moved too quickly, Lucien would wake up and find her in what she would have considered a compromising position. 

Elain took a deep breath, finding comfort in Lucien’s scent and working up the nerve to move away from him. She silently prayed to the Mother, hoping he would stay asleep and she would not have to face him with the memory of his kisses still so fresh in her mind. 

Elain was grateful when Lucien did not stir, he even looked peaceful for the first time since their arrival to Autumn, as though it had been a while since he had had a good night’s sleep. Elain tried her best not to make a sound as she clumsily rolled off the bed and untangled herself from the sheets, wanting him to rest. Her entire body felt like a roaring flame, and she bit her lip to shake the dream from her thoughts. 

Elain kept her eyes on Lucien, watched the rise and fall of his back with every breath, as she slowly inched further away from him. She was very aware of their bond, in that moment, at the beat of his heart matching her own. 

Elain needed fresh air, she decided. She needed some space and some distance and time to calm down, which was how she found herself in the main courtyard of the Forest House, Cora at her side. 

“That’s why you’re so flustered?” Cora laughed, tossing her dark braid over her shoulder as they walked along a stone path, leaves dancing with each step they took. “Lucien kissed you in a dream and now you can’t think straight?”

“Clearly, it’s the bed-sharing,” Elain added. She would never admit out loud that she had had similar dreams before, although they had never felt quite as real. She tried to focus on the unfamiliar flowers and bushes within the courtyard, but was failing miserably. “Tell me something interesting, quick,” Elain said, fanning herself with a hand as she remembered the way Lucien had kissed her throat. 

“I saw Ronan and Eris arguing yesterday,” Cora seemed pleased to be sharing the information, and Elain raised a brow as she continued. “Made for quite a spectacle, right in front of the throne room, too.”

“They were yelling?” 

Cora shook her head. “No yelling, voices were a bit raised and then I saw Ronan shove Eris.” 

“They don’t get along,” Elain reminded her, considering Lucien’s words from a few days before. “Did you hear what they were saying?”

“Had to do with some soldiers near Spring’s border,” Cora shrugged, “Eris looked absolutely murderous.” 

“I think that’s just the way he always looks.” Cora snorted in agreement and they continued to stroll down the stone path, a companionable silence falling over them. 

Elain recognised only some of the flowers planted in the yard, and she wondered if Lucien could tell her about the ones she had never seen before. At the thought, she was once again reminded of her dream, so she turned her attention to Cora. 

“You’re from the Hewn City?” Elain asked, wanting to learn more about her closest ally in Autumn and her newest friend. 

Cora nodded, “Been there the last few centuries, it’s…it can be a nice place to live if everyone leaves you alone.”

Elain was less surprised by the fact that Cora rather seemed to like the dark and dreary city than she was by the other woman’s age. “Centuries?” She felt her jaw drop as her mind tried to wrap around the new knowledge. “Gods, how old are you?”

Cora seemed to sense some of her shock and patted her with a few friendly taps on the back. “Most of us stop keeping count after the first couple hundred years.” Elain heard herself make a high pitched hum in response, and Cora chuckled. “I’m a bit younger than the High Lord of the Night Court, don’t ask me to give you an exact number, I wouldn’t be able to.” 

“Right,” Elain responded, as if that was not going to be her next question. “And have you ever left the Hewn City?” Elain asked instead, very curious to hear her answer. She had simply assumed Cora and her were close in age, that the other woman had never really travelled between the courts. 

Cora’s footsteps slowed and Elain matched her pace. There was a long pause in their conversation before Cora spoke again. “I was born in Illyria.” The tone of her voice suggested she was finished talking about herself, offering honesty but setting a clear boundary. 

Elain ignored the whisper in her mind urging her to ask more, smiling at the other woman and accepting the information she had been given. “I’m glad, then, that it’s not just my first time in the Autumn Court.” 

Cora’s shoulders sagged in relief, the tension around her mouth no longer there as she flashed a crooked grin in return. “Much lovelier than I was made to believe.” 

“I am pleased my court has surpassed expectations.” 

The voice came from around a bend in the path and Elain recognised it instantly. The unexpected words had both her and Cora freezing in their place, chills going up Elain’s spine in warning before she saw the High Lord. 

Beron Vanserra was dressed casually, at least in comparison to the last few times she had seen him. His brown pants were tucked into high leather boots, matching perfectly with his cream coloured shirt and brocade vest. There was no crown on his head, although he wore golden rings on his fingers and countless diamonds flashed along his ears in the morning light. The High Lord held a rose in his hand, its petals the colour of fresh blood. 

Elain curtsied as he walked closer, Cora doing the same. 

“Elain Archeron,” he said, his accent curled around each of the consonants in her name, similar to the way Lucien pronounced it. She had to stop herself from frowning in distaste at the wrongness of it. “I hope you have found yourself wanting for nothing within the walls of my home.” 

Beron ignored Cora entirely, and while Elain was annoyed with the way he did not spare the other woman a glance, she was glad that his attention was not on her friend. Elain smiled pleasantly. “Everything has been perfect, High Lord, thank you.” 

He tilted his chin in an elegant nod. “Very good to hear.” He paused to bring the rose up to his handsome face, breathing in before he frowned. “Last night, I thought perhaps something got through the wards.” He raised a dark eyebrow and Elain’s features twisted into a look of confusion she hoped was sincere. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Lady Archeron?” There was a threat lining his carefully worded question, an accusation clear in his tone. 

Elain would have replied, although she could not have guaranteed a steady and confident response, had Lucien not winnowed into the courtyard and saved her from having to speak. She felt him as he appeared right behind her, and so she took a step back, pressed herself against him. 

“Good morning, father,” Lucien bowed his head, unaware of what had been implied before his arrival. She would be eternally glad that she had written him a note before she had left their shared chambers, claiming to be searching for the gardens.

“Indeed.” Beron looked amused as he turned his attention to his son, embers flashing in his brown eyes. “Slept well, child?”

“I did,” Lucien answered, putting a protective hand on Elain’s shoulder. “Still come to the courtyard every morning?” 

“Someone has to prune the roses,” the High Lord said with a shrug. He walked towards them, and Elain felt Lucien tense. 

When Beron reached out, Elain surprised herself by remaining in the same spot, her back straight, chin up. He was handing her the rose, Elain realised, swallowing as she mirrored the High Lord. She said nothing as she took the flower, keeping her gaze on the dead plant. “I’ll see you both at dinner,” he added before he winnowed from the courtyard, sparks falling to the stones in the space he had just been standing. 

Elain could not help but rest against Lucien’s much larger frame, and he let her, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly before he moved his hand to his side. 

“I forgot,” Lucien explained, “I would have warned you to stay away from here, Beron likes coming to the gardens, but I forgot.” 

Elain shook her head, turning to look up at her mate, to tell him not to worry in an effort to settle the rapid beating of his heart, but Cora spoke first.

“He scares me,” she said softly. 

Lucien’s mouth turned down at the corners as he nodded in agreement. 

The High Lord of Autumn scared Elain as well, and she found herself struggling to think of a way out of the marriage she had promised his son. Beron would never allow her to go back on her word, she concluded. 

Elain was pulled from her thoughts at the sharp pain in her hand, and she realised she had been clutching the rose tightly between her fingers. Elain winced as she noticed that the thorns had split the skin of her palm, a drop of blood cutting a path to her wrist, the colour a perfect match to the rose’s petals.

[dangraccoon]

Earn It

Day 8 ~ touch starved ~ Wolffe x GN!Reader

Word Count: 783 Content: non-gendered reader, baker reader, mandalorian reader, break up, ghosting

Mando'a Guide: sarad - flower, blossom mesh'la - beautiful hutyc - cowardly *There is also two full sentences of mando'a within the fic which have been translated within the text*

You could hear the doorbell of your small shop buzzing. You knew someone was trying to get your attention but you were practically elbow-deep in the dough you were kneading. And besides, it was 4:30 in the morning, you weren’t under any obligation to answer the door.

After three or four normal buzzes with short, impatient intervals in between, it became more incessant, the buzzes becoming longer and louder. However, you were fairly certain the latter was just in your imagination.

You huffed as you worked your hands back out of the dough, holding them aloft as you walked briskly to the door. You hit the button to open it with your hip.

“What in the Sith Hells could you possibly–”

As your eyes finally processed what they were seeing, your irritated interrogation stopped immediately.

“Hey sarad,” Wolffe smirked. He was in regular clothes, a bag thrown over his shoulder. He must’ve just arrived on-world. “Can I come in?”

“W-Wolffe,” you breathed, stepping to the side.

“Echo said you’d turned this place into a bakery,” he hummed as he looked around. “I mean, it was pretty much already one but I guess now it’s official.”

“Yeah,” you said again, cursing your apparent inability to say anything else.

“Still got that spare room upstairs?” he continued. The question seemed innocent, but the way his gaze landed on you sent your heartbeat racing.

“I- um, well, not exactly,” you stumbled. “Since I opened up the downstairs to be the bakery, my living room and kitchenette are now in that spare room.”

Wolffe nodded, though his eyes never left you.

You could feel yourself shying away from that intense, mismatched gaze, so you quickly returned to your kitchen, and back to working the large mound of dough.

Wolffe had followed you, leaning against the entryway to watch you work.

“That looks like a lot,” he hummed.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged.

“I-I could help,” he said. “If you want.”

You barked a laugh as you left the dough to wash your hands. “Yeah, Mister I-Can-and-Have-Burnt-Water,” you smirked. “Like I’m gonna let you in my professional kitchen.”

“I’m not that bad,” he scowled, though the hint of a smile tugging at his lips told you he wasn’t actually offended.

“Why are you here, Wolffe?” you asked abruptly, pointing your bench scraper at him. “You and I both know Echo already told you about how I rearranged my house.”

Wolffe scratched at the back of his neck. “Yeah, he did.”

“What do you want from me?”

Wolffe went silent, not meeting your eye. You sighed and went back to cutting and shaping small balls from the mass of dough.

“A second chance,” he finally murmured, moving closer to you until he stood at the other side of your workbench. “I-I was an idiot, sarad. I got scared and–”

“You got scared,” you repeated, setting your work aside and wiping your hands on your apron. “You disappeared. You went off on a mission with Rex and then had Gregor tell me you weren’t coming back.”

“Sarad–”

“Don’t ‘sarad’ me, Wolffe!” you growled, stepping around the table to get in his face. “You just show up one day and sweep me off my feet, calling me ‘sarad’ and ‘mesh’la’, taking me out on dates. Maker, you spent a year romancing me, and then when I say you could move out of Hunter’s house and into mine, you disappear in the middle of the night? And now, two years later, you want back in?”

He stood silent, never dropping his eyes from your fiery gaze, but his hand lifted, slowly and gently coming up to brush away some errant flour from your cheek. That briefest moment of contact sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t quite recall the last time anyone had touched you with such soft intent.

“Meh ni reta’naa’vaabir bic an,” he whispered, his hand still resting softly against your cheek. “Ibac cuy an ni reta’vercopaanir bah vaabir.” [If I could undo it all, that is all I could hope to do.]

Your breath was taken for a moment, but you quickly regained your senses and pushed his hand away. “Tion’jor ne’ret gar rejorhaa’ir ni ru gar ru’ba’slanar?” you hissed back in your native tongue. [Why couldn’t you tell me before you left?]

Wolffe turned away. “I have no excuses,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left at all and I never should have sent someone else to tell you. I was hutyc.”

“You hurt me, Wolffe,” you said, wrapping your arms around yourself. “You broke my heart.”

“I don’t expect you to ever forgive me or trust me again,” he continued. “But I’ll never stop trying to earn it.”

« Previous Day Next Day »

Thanks for reading! - River

12 Days of Christmas Master List DangRaccoon Master List Tag List Form Read on AO3

Tag List: @nekotaetae @lokigirlszendaya @get-wr3ckered @jediknightjana @idoubleswearimawriter @lucyysthings @unstable-kiwi @6oceansofmoons @l3xi3luv @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @winter-phoenix1995 @nomercyforthewarrior @padawancat97 @wishyouthetest @orangez3st @flowered-bicycles @error6gendernotfound @techs-goggles9902

[melisnonstop]

Closing Walls And Ticking Clocks

⏱️⏱️⏱️⏱️⏱️⏱️⏱️⏱️⏱️⏱️⏱️⏱️⏱️⏱️⏱️

Alex’s watch had always been stuck. 00:00:00.

Since he was a kid, he would stare at the sleek black numbers, watching, waiting, hoping that one day something—anything—would change. But it never did. For years, the unchanging clock on his wrist became background noise, an annoyance he eventually learned to live with.

Everyone else’s soulmate watch worked. June’s timer started ticking down in Milwaukee, in the middle of an event during the campaign as Nora stood by her side, lingering on her every word.

But Alex? Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

And now, at 23, Alex had long since decided that it was broken. The watch, the system, the idea that fate had someone waiting out there for him—it was a fairytale meant for people who weren’t trapped in the public eye, expected to be everything for everyone.

He didn’t have time for soulmates.

Which is why when his watch finally started moving, he nearly choked on his coffee.

It happened on the third day of his diplomatic trip to London. He had been reviewing talking points with his team, trying not to seem nervous about the upcoming meeting with the Royal Family (a very big deal, even if Alex pretended it wasn’t). The First Son of the United States didn’t get jittery about anything, especially not royal protocol.

But when Henry—Prince Henry, with his perfect bone structure and irritatingly flawless charm aimed at anyone but Alex—walked into the room for the first time, something strange happened.

It wasn’t immediate, not like the stories people tell about meeting their soulmate in some grand moment of eye contact. No, for Alex, it was a slow burn. Henry shook his hand, polite but cold, the same way he had during every other formal event they’d attended together. And then they both sat down, an ocean of space between them as the conversation drifted to the usual diplomatic pleasantries.

Nothing was out of the ordinary.

Until Alex felt the familiar pressure of Henry’s hand brush against his under the table. It was just a momentary accident, their fingers grazing each other for the briefest of seconds.

And suddenly—finally—Alex’s watch flashed to life.

The numbers blinked to 00:00:01 and then, impossibly, started counting down.

Alex froze. His body went cold, heart thudding in his chest as the seconds slipped away on his wrist. For the first time in his life, his watch was moving, and it was counting down from a number so low it made his stomach twist.

Next to him, Henry stiffened too. His eyes flicked down to his own wrist, and Alex saw the moment the realization hit.

Henry’s watch, normally hidden beneath the cuff of his suit jacket, was glowing with the same numbers.

00:00:00.

Time’s up.

Alex’s heart dropped into his stomach. Was this how it was supposed to feel? Wasn’t it supposed to be a moment of joy, not dread? Not panic?

“What the hell?” Alex muttered under his breath, hoping no one else in the room noticed the growing tension between him and Henry.

Henry, on the other hand, looked pale. He was staring at his watch with a mixture of disbelief and something else—something darker, like fear. When he finally lifted his gaze to meet Alex’s, it wasn’t the usual cool, collected mask he always wore. There was something raw there, something vulnerable.

“We need to talk,” Henry whispered, voice tight.

Alex swallowed, nodding once before standing abruptly, mumbling some excuse about needing air. He could feel Henry right behind him as they slipped out of the conference room, the buzz of diplomatic chatter fading as the door closed behind them.

They stood in the hallway, both of them breathing hard, the weight of the moment settling heavily between them.

“What’s happening?” Alex demanded, holding up his wrist where the countdown continued to tick away. It was down to minutes now, and the sight made his throat tighten. “Why is my watch moving now? Why the hell is it counting down?”

Henry let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair, his eyes never leaving the floor. “I don’t know.”

Alex let out a frustrated laugh. “Of course you don't. You’re telling me the universe just decided to give us some bullshit soulmate timer now and it’s counting backwards?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said again, softer this time, his shoulders slumping as he finally met his gaze head on. “I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

Alex stared at him, chest heaving, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on him. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. He had never asked for a soulmate, never wanted to be a part of this ridiculous system.

But now, standing here in this quiet hallway, watching the minutes of his life slip away, the time he was supposed to have with the one person meant for him,he felt something else creeping in—something that wasn’t just panic.

It was fear.

Fear of what this countdown meant. Fear of what would happen after. Fear that for the first time in his life, he had found something that was slipping away before he even had a chance to hold onto it.

And Henry—Prince Henry—stood in front of him, staring at the same ticking clock, looking just as lost, just as scared.

“What do we do?” Henry whispered, his voice raw.

HIs breath caught in his throat as Henry’s hand reached out, hesitating for only a moment before his fingers brushed against Alex’s wrist, the softest of touches, but it sent a spark through him, something electric.

Alex looked at him, his eyes softening. “We live.” He blinked, surprised by the simplicity of it, how the words made their way out so naturally. Alex was scared and unsure of everything, but this? This felt right.

“We don't waste time. We don't let anyone get in the way. We do this together.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning.

For a long moment, they stood there, caught in a moment that felt impossibly fragile, like something too delicate to hold onto. Alex could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, the reality of what this meant settling into his bones.

But there, in the quiet of that hallway, with Henry’s hand gently resting on his wrist, he made a decision.

Fuck fate.

He wasn’t going to waste this. Not a single second.

Henry nodded, a beautiful smile lighting up his features. “We live.”

[grapehyasynth]

I am tired, but I am yours

He means to wait up for Wille, who’s been in emergency meetings since the Jubilee happenings ended, but then he’s blinking groggily awake as his bedroom door opens and a sliver of light from the hallway stretches across the room. 

“Wille?” he mumbles, though he recognizes the briefest outline of Wille’s profile against the light before the door snicks shut again. 

“Sorry,” Wille whispers into the darkness. “I wanted to be here hours ago.”

I wanted you to be here months ago , Simon thinks, listening to the rustle of Wille removing his shirt and trousers. 

“S’okay.” Simon had fallen asleep on top of the blankets, so he scoots over until he can get under the top one and lifts it, waiting to feel Wille climb in next to him. Wille runs into the edge of the bed in the darkness, curses, reaches with searching hands for the sound of Simon laughing at him. 

Wille curls around Simon’s back, an arm underneath so he can properly hold Simon. Simon feels the breadth of his chest as they breathe in tandem, Wille’s socked toes finding the bare skin of Simon’s ankles. 

“How long can you stay?” Simon asks, tilting his head back a bit to rub his ear against Wille’s cheek. 

“I should be back before dawn,” Wille sighs. “The Crown may have to accept me visiting you, but it’s still against Hillerska rules.” He nuzzles the back of Simon’s neck, sighing deeply. “Tempted to tell them to shove it, too. Think your mom would let me live here if I transferred to Marieberg?” 

Simon chuckles, but the laugh catches in the middle of his chest; there’s a knot there that hadn’t been just a moment ago. His first thought is to throw off the blanket, make an excuse, flee to the bathroom until this passes, but Wiile’s twining their fingers together over Simon’s heart and he reminds himself that it’s not so much that Wille makes him want to cry but rather that having Wille here lets him cry. 

Read the rest on AO3.