#there is a sense of melancholy inside me

[miss-cydonian]

With every episode of The Last of Us, my mind still goes back to Bill and Frank's place. It has been months since the third episode... Did all the flowers withered? Did the raiders found their place again? Did the generator stopped working? I just keep thinking about these little details...

[steveyockey]

To be aware you might be trans but unwilling to do anything about it is to create endlessly bigger boxes within which to contain yourself. When you are a child, that box might encompass only yourself and your parents. By the time you are a gainfully employed adult, that box will contain multitudes, and the thought of disrupting it will grow ever more unthinkable. So you cease to think of yourself as a person on some level; you think not of what you want but what everybody expects from you. You do your best not to make waves, and you apologize, if only implicitly, for existing. You stop being real and start being a construct, and eventually, you decide the construct is just who you are, and you swaddle yourself up in it, and maybe you die there. There is still time until there isn’t.

This reading of TV Glow’s deliberately anticlimactic, noncathartic ending cuts against the transition narrative you typically see in movies and TV, in which a trans person self-accepts, transitions, and lives a happier life. Owen gets trapped in a space where he knows what he must do to live an authentic life but simply refuses to take those steps because, well, burying yourself alive is a terrifying thing to do. The transition narrative posits a trans existence as, effectively, a binary switch between “man” and “woman” that gets flipped one way or another, but to make our lives so binary is to miss how trans existences possess an inherent liminality.

Humans’ lives unfold in a constant state of becoming until death, but trans people are uniquely keyed in to what this means thanks to the simple fact of our identities. You can get lost in that liminality, too, forever trapped in a midnight realm of your own making, stuck between what you believe is true (I am a nice man with a good family and a good job, and I love my life) and what you know, deep in your most terrified heart of hearts, is real (I am a girl suffocating in a box).

And yet if you want to read the film as being about the dangerous allure of nostalgia, you’re not wrong. I Saw the TV Glow totally supports that interpretation, too! But in tempting you with that reading, the film creates a trap for cis viewers that will be all too familiar to trans viewers. Somewhere in the middle of Maddy’s story about The Pink Opaque being real, you will make a choice between “This kid has lost it!” and “No. Go with her, Owen,” and in asking you to make that choice, TV Glow is simulating the act of self-accepting a trans identity.

See, the grimmer read of the film’s ending truly is a nihilistic one. It leaves no hope, no potential for growth, no exit. Yet you must actively choose to read that ending as nihilistic. If you are cis and the end of I Saw the TV Glow left you with a gnawing sense of dissatisfaction, a weird but hard-to-pin-down feeling that something had broken, and a melancholy bordering on horror — congratulations, this movie gave you contact-high gender dysphoria.

In an infinite number of possible universes, there is at least one where I am still living “as a man,” embracing my fictionality, avoiding looking at how much more raw and real I feel when I “pretend” to be a woman. I think about that guy sometimes. I hope he’s okay.

Consider, then, my cis reader, that TV Glow is for both you and me, but it is maybe most of all for him. I hope he sees it. I hope he breaks down crying in the bathroom afterward. I hope he, after so many years locked inside himself, hears the promise of more life through the hiss of TV static.

Emily St. James, “I Saw the TV Glow’s Ending Is Full of Hope, If You Want It to Be,” Vulture. June 4, 2024.

[justabigassnerd]

Finally Safe

Pairing - Tim Bradford x reader

Word count - 6,179

Warnings - kidnapping, drugging, talks of malnourishment, sad Tim hours, angst, fluff, inaccurate medical scenes, swearing

Summary - after being missing for years, you and Tim are finally reunited

A/N - hey y'all! this was an idea suggested to me by @scarletstarrs so I hope I did your idea justice because I loved exploring this idea so much (and all the angst that came with it). anyways I won't ramble, as per y'all please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

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When Lucy entered the station, ready for the morning roll call, she was both shocked and confused to find Tim Bradford missing from the building. Other than being forced to take leave after being shot, Tim had always shown up to work no matter what.

“Hey, have you seen Tim?” Lucy asks, sitting down in between Jackson and Nolan who both shrug, shaking their heads. Before the three could begin theorising about where Lucy’s training officer had gone, Sergeant Grey stepped up to the podium and began to talk, detailing what was going to be happening during the day. Just before he sends everyone off to start the day, he addresses Lucy.

“Officer Chen, you’ll be riding with me today. Dismissed.” Grey says, his dismissal causing everyone to stand up and make their way out of the room to start their day. As Grey begins to exit, Lucy follows after him.

“Sergeant Grey, while it’s an honour to ride with you today. Where’s Officer Bradford?” Lucy asks, trying her best to sound respectful while enquiring about where Tim is.

“Officer Bradford is taking a personal day,” Grey replies simply, gesturing for Lucy to go and get the war bags to load the shop. At Grey’s gesture, Lucy began to make her way to get the bags, silently wondering to herself why Tim had taken a personal day and whether he was okay.

Across LA, Tim was sitting at home. He had barely had the energy to move out of bed when he woke up but he had managed to drag himself over to the sofa after making sure Kojo had his breakfast. Kojo, while not having lived with Tim long, had picked up on Tim’s melancholy mood and curled up next to him, whining softly as Tim studied a picture on his phone. Tim let out a soft sigh, tears filling his eyes as he studied the picture, a picture of him and you, his wife, on your wedding day. He was embracing you happily, lips pressed to yours.

“I miss you so much,” Tim whispers, unable to remove his gaze from the image of you. You had gone missing three years ago to the day, and Tim could never forgive himself for it. At Tim’s whisper, Kojo shuffled around, resting his head on Tim’s lap, sensing Tim’s pain. Kojo’s movement briefly pulled Tim’s attention away from his phone.

“I’m sorry buddy,” Tim says softly, stroking the top of Kojo’s head. Since you had been taken, Tim had consistently taken a personal day on the date you were taken with each passing year you remained missing. Most detectives involved in your case had told Tim that it was time to give up. The chances were high that whoever had taken you had killed you and had moved on. But Tim wouldn’t just give up on you. He couldn’t. Deep down he knew you were still out there somewhere, and he needed to find you. As Tim continued to swipe through the album of photos he had of you and him, Kojo began to paw at his leg slightly, as if trying to drag him out of his slump.

“I know. Come on, I’ll take you for a walk.” Tim says, knowing that keeping Kojo inside because of his upset would just not be worth it. Tim manages to get up from the sofa, shower and change before grabbing Kojo’s lead. As he left the house with Kojo trotting along by his side, he was silently grateful for the dog’s presence in his life. Before Kojo came around, Tim just wallowed in his house, hiding away from the world when he missed you too much. But now he had someone relying on him, and he couldn’t let Kojo down. After reaching the park, Tim let Kojo off the lead so he could explore while he sat on a bench. As he watched Kojo, he couldn’t help but imagine you sat by his side. You had always wanted to get a dog since long before marrying Tim and he had always put it off, claiming he wanted to wait. He felt so guilty for owning Kojo while you were missing but he knew that when he found you, you’d love Kojo and you’d so quickly become his new favourite person.

After a while, Tim whistled for Kojo to come back over so they could walk back home and as they made their way home, Tim’s phone buzzed, alerting him that he had a message but he opted to wait until he was home to see what it was. When he finally made it home, Tim collapsed onto the sofa and pulled out his phone to see a text from Angela.

‘How are you?’

That simple message was enough to bring the smallest of smiles to Tim’s face. Angela had been Tim’s entire support system since the day you went missing. She had checked in with him regularly and was someone to lean on during his bad days. When she had been promoted to detective, Angela had promised Tim she would do what she could to try and pick up any leads in your missing persons case. Tim had been so grateful for Angela’s support over the last few years, she was the person he needed to help him navigate your absence in his life.

‘Could be better.’

Tim could never lie to Angela. She had ways to see right through him, even over text so he knew there was no point even attempting to act like he was feeling okay on a day like this.

‘Do you want to come over? Have some company?’

Angela’s offer of company was not unusual, although the last few times Angela had asked if he wanted her to come over after her shift had finished, but now with her on maternity leave, both she and Tim had a whole day to console each other.

‘That would be nice. I’ll be over in a few.’ 

Tim types out and sends his response, once again forcing himself up from the sofa and petting Kojo, promising him he’d be back soon before grabbing the keys to his truck and making his way to Angela’s house.

When he arrived he barely even knocked on the door before Angela opened it, a soft gentle smile on her face as she took in Tim’s appearance. It was obvious to her that he hadn’t slept well the night before but she couldn’t blame him. If Wesley had gone missing she knows she’d be absolutely beside herself with worry and anticipatory grief.

“Come and sit down,” Angela says softly, resting a hand on Tim’s back and guiding him to the sofa, easing herself down alongside him, her gentle hand never leaving his back as she moves it up to rub his shoulder lightly. For a few minutes, the two of them sit in silence before Tim lets out a shuddering breath.

“I miss her so much.” Tim manages to say, his voice choking as tears begin to well in his eyes.

“I know, Tim,” Angela says sympathetically, her hand continuing to rub soothing circles on his shoulder in an attempt to keep his breathing steady.

“It hurts.” Tim manages to say, hand hovering near his heart, swearing he could feel his heart pounding louder and stronger with each second.

“I can’t imagine the pain. But I’m here for you. You’re not alone.” Angela says softly, feeling her heart break more and more at Tim’s broken state. She was the only person who got to see this side of Tim in these moments and it made her more and more determined to find you. After a few moments of comforting whispers from Angela and teary sniffles from Tim, he turned to face her, eyes still shining with unshed tears.

“Do you think we’ll even find her alive?” Tim asked, uncharacteristically pessimistic about your case, making Angela shocked.

“She’s got to be out there somewhere. And we’ll find her.” Angela says, pulling Tim into a careful hug.

“It’s my fault she’s gone,” Tim mutters against her shoulder, a confession no one had heard from him before.

“Don’t say that. You’re not to blame.” Angela says, pulling away slightly to look him in the eyes as he shakes his head.

“I am.” Tim insists, his right hand moving to fiddle with his wedding ring, a movement Angela didn’t miss. She knew he would take the ring off when he was on duty, but when he was off duty it would be restored to its rightful place and he’d often find himself twisting it around on his finger out of habit.

“Why do you say it’s your fault?” Angela asks tenderly, hoping she’d be able to help Tim realise that it wasn’t his fault.

“We had an argument that night. A stupid one at that, I can’t even remember what it was about, maybe about chores or something? But y/n got pissed at me and she said she needed to go on a walk to clear her head. I was pissed too and the moment she left I just decided to go to bed. I was too angry to do anything else. If I had gone after her none of this would’ve happened. She’d still be here with me.” Tim whispers, feeling like his throat is closing more tears welling in his eyes as he relives that night.

“Where are you going?” Tim asks, pausing his angry pacing to glare at you from across the room.

“For a walk. I can’t be around you right now.” You reply, your voice just as venomous as his as you grab your keys, reaching for the door handle.

“Fine.” Tim spits angrily, turning on his heel and stalking off again as you open the door, exiting and angrily closing the door behind you while Tim storms to the kitchen, grabbing himself a beer from the fridge.

After a couple of beers, Tim decided it wasn’t worth staying up waiting for you any longer. You had taken your keys and he knew you’d come back whenever you were ready to so he took himself to bed, practically passing out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The next morning, Tim woke up and found your side of the bed still empty, and when he reached across to search for any remaining body heat, he found that your side was still cold, like no one had slept in it all night. Figuring you had spent the night on the sofa, Tim sat up and got himself out of bed, all anger from the night before gone.

“Hey, Baby, I’m sorry about last night.” Tim enters the living room, rubbing his eyes as he enters, stopping in his tracks when he realises you’re not in the room, nor was there any evidence you had even slept on the sofa. At the sight of the empty room, and your keys still missing from the key bowl, Tim felt his stomach turning with anxiety. He just knew something bad had happened to you. You wouldn’t just go silent on him or not come home at all.

After trying to call your phone and getting no answers, Tim knew he had to file a missing persons case when he got to work. He wasn’t going to rest until he found you.

“Tim, listen to me. It is not your fault. You couldn’t have known. Neither of you could’ve known there would be a psycho out there. You can’t blame yourself for something you never could’ve anticipated.” Angela says softly, her voice shaking Tim from his thoughts. She could imagine the guilt Tim was feeling, but she knew it wasn’t his fault.

“It is. If I had just-”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there. There’s nothing you could’ve done. I know just as well as you that y/n is stubborn as anything, so if she wanted to go and get some air after your argument then she would’ve done it regardless. You can’t predict the future and y/n wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.” Angela says, her voice was soft yet firm so she can get her point across to Tim. She knew Tim had a habit of blaming himself for things out of his control but she had no idea that he had carried guilt from your disappearance silently and had been beating himself up about it for so long.

“I just need to find her. I need her safe and home with me. I didn’t even tell her I loved her the last time I saw her.” Tim says, fiercely wiping at his eyes to stop any tears from falling.

“I’m working with detectives to pick up the dead ends from y/n’s case. One of them will lead us somewhere I’m sure. Between you and me, working y/n’s case is the only work Wesley is okay with me doing while on maternity leave. He knows how important it is to us and he’s promised me that if we catch the asshole he’d ensure he spends the rest of his life behind bars.” Angela says reassuringly, wanting to help restore Tim’s faith in finding you.

“Thank you, Angela,” Tim says quietly with a nod. With the topic seeming to be at an end, Angela decides to change the subject and while Tim had always jokingly complained about helping Angela with wedding planning, he was more than happy to do so on this day. While he helped Angela plan various parts of her wedding, he couldn’t help but think about the time he had spent planning his wedding with you.

“Tim, we can’t seat my uncle next to your brother-in-law!” You exclaimed with a laugh, curling further into Tim’s side as he wrapped his arm around you, chuckling lightly to himself, both of you focusing on the seating chart Tim had drafted.

“Sure we can. It would be hilarious.” Tim says, squeezing you closer, his hand winding around your waist.

“You want our wedding to result in a fistfight?” You say, an amused tone to your voice as you raise an eyebrow.

 “Mmm, might not be the best idea then,” Tim murmurs, leaning close to press a kiss to your cheek.

“The best idea is to make sure they stay as far away from each other as possible.” You muse, unable to stop the smile covering your face as Tim continued to press kisses to your cheek.

“We’ll figure it out.”

By the end of the day, Tim had spent most of his time at Angela’s house and he had been beyond grateful for her company and her willingness to help him through a day like this. When Wesley got home, Tim decided that was when he should be heading home himself, knowing Kojo was probably waiting for him.

“I’ll see you around,” Tim says quietly, giving Angela a gentle hug, pulling away and giving Wesley a friendly nod before making his way out of their house, heading to his truck to head home. Unbeknownst to Tim, the moment he left, Angela’s phone buzzed and when she read the text she knew she had to step into work again. Whether Wesley liked it or not.

The next morning, Angela made her way to the hospital, meeting with other detectives once she got there before being led to a room that had a girl inside. Angela figured she couldn’t be any older than her early twenties. After getting a quick brief from the other detectives, Angela made her way into the room, smiling softly to let her know she wasn’t a threat.

“Hi, Bella. I’m Detective Lopez, but you can just call me Angela.” Angela introduces herself, easing herself down onto one of the hospital room chairs as Bella eyes her carefully. Angela could tell that the last thing Bella wanted was to be questioned but it was protocol, whether she liked it or not.

“I promise I’ll make this quick, just tell me what happened,” Angela assures, pulling out her notepad and pen.

“A few months ago, some guy grabbed me off the street while I was making my way home. He kept calling me ‘Samantha’ the whole time. No matter how many times I told him my name was Bella he just ignored it.” Bella explains, tears welling in her eyes as her arms wound around her middle.

“Can you describe this man? And where he was keeping you?” Angela asks carefully, making notes on her notepad as Bella nods.

“He looked like he was in his forties, his hair was greying and he had a huge burn scar on his right arm, like all up it. He was keeping us in the woods. It sounds really cliche now that I say it out loud. He’d moved us around a bit before he found this old abandoned cabin on the outskirts of the city. He managed to get power and water so he figured we could just stay out there, like some delusional family or something.” Bella says, and Angela immediately picks up on her choice of words.

“I’m sorry, you said ‘us’. Was there someone else?” Angela enquires, glancing up from her notebook.

“Yeah, there was another woman, she might’ve been in her thirties? The guy kept calling her ‘Vivian’ but I’m guessing that wasn’t her name.” Bella explains with a nod while Angela pulls her phone out of her pocket, hurriedly scrolling through it and finding a picture with you in.

“This other woman. Did she look like this?” Angela flips the phone around, showing Bella the picture, watching as her eyes widen in recognition.

“Yes! That’s her!” Bella exclaims, looking over at Angela.

“She’s alive,” Angela mutters to herself, unable to believe the news.

“Do you know her?” Bella asks, noticing Angela’s reaction and how hurriedly she was typing into her phone.

“She’s a friend of mine. She’s been missing for a while.” Angela says, tucking her phone away as she talks.

“She’s the one who helped me escape. She saw the opportunity and she encouraged me to go for it.” Bella says, watching Angela’s reaction carefully.

“That sounds like y/n. She always looked out for others.” Angela says with fondness, remembering how you had always put others above yourself.

“I want to help her,” Bella says, a strong, newfound determination in her voice.

“Can you recall where the cabin was? If you can that would help us track her down.” Angela asks, listening carefully as Bella explains all the details she can remember of her escape from that cabin. After getting as many details as Bella could remember, Angela excused herself, exiting the room and immediately calling Grey on her way out, informing him of everything and letting him know that he and the LAPD needed to act fast before you were moved again.

Back at the Mid-Wilshire police station, police officers were starting to prepare for an operation on the outskirts of Los Angeles just as Lucy and Tim entered, ushering their recent arrest to be processed. They quickly became aware of the atmosphere around them so while Lucy was processing the arrest, Tim stepped out to find Grey.

“What’s going on?” Tim asks after tracking down Grey.

“I’m getting some people together for an operation. But I need you and Officer Chen to stay on patrol.” Grey says, gathering his war bags and barely glancing Tim’s way.

“I want to help,” Tim says, confused as to why Grey isn’t letting him get involved with an operation, not when he had as much experience as he did.

“This isn’t a matter to discuss Officer Bradford. You’re one of my best patrol officers and I need you out on the streets with Officer Chen while we do this. Is that understood?” Grey asserts, facing Tim and staring him down as Tim straightens up.

“Understood, Sir,” Tim says, feeling his heart sink at not getting to be involved with an operation.

“You’ll get in on the next operation,” Grey says, clapping Tim on the shoulder quickly before making his way towards his shop, leaving Tim to head back to Lucy, finding her after she had just finished processing their arrest.

“Hey, did you find out what everyone’s doing?” Lucy asks, looking up at Tim curiously.

“There’s an operation going down. I don’t know what it’s for but Grey wants us on patrol.” Tim says with a shrug, beginning to turn on his heel and make his way towards their shop, annoyance evident in in his body language.

“Do they know this would be a great learning opportunity for me? I want to get as much experience in operations as possible. Why aren’t they letting us help?” Lucy asks, following behind Tim.

“I don’t know, Boot. But it’s not my place to challenge Sergeant Grey’s orders.” Tim says firmly, glancing over his shoulder at Lucy who nods, still obviously upset about not getting to help with an operation while she’s still in training.

“Come on, get in. We’ve got a patrol to finish.” Tim then says with a shrug, both of them reaching the shop and getting in, ready to continue their patrol.

After a couple of hours of patrolling, Tim and Lucy had stopped to grab some coffee and while they stood outside their shop, talking and sipping at their drinks, Tim’s phone rang, making his eyebrows furrow when he saw Angela’s name displayed across his screen.

“Angela.” Tim greets as the phone reaches his ear.

“Tim, you need to get your ass to the hospital right now,” Angela says, making Tim raise an eyebrow before he thinks of a reason why she’d be asking him to come to the hospital.

“Are you having the baby already?” Tim asks, a panicked expression crossing his face.

“What? No. Look, just come to Shaw Memorial as soon as you can.” Angela says, an urgency in her voice that Tim hasn’t heard in a while.

“Okay, I’ll head over now.” Tim concedes, bidding Angela goodbye before hanging up the phone and shoving it away in his pocket.

“We’re going to the hospital. And no Angela is not giving birth.” Tim says, able to predict what Lucy was about to ask from a single look.

“Then why are we going to the hospital?” Lucy then questions, both of them getting into their seats just before Tim starts the drive to the hospital.

“No idea. Maybe one of my C.I’s ended up in hospital and they wanted to talk to me.” Tim says, shrugging lightly, wondering to himself why it was Angela had summoned him to the hospital when she’s not supposed to be working. The closer they get to the hospital, the more Tim starts to suspect that it has something to do with you. Angela had assured him that the only case she was working while on maternity leave was yours. But as he parked in the car park for the hospital, he started to picture the worst possible case scenario as he bursts through the hospital, tracking down Angela within minutes, practically leaving Lucy behind.

“What’s happened?” Tim asks, studying Angela’s expression carefully as she grabs his wrist leading him to a nearby hospital room and letting him look through the window. At the sight, tears immediately began to well in his eyes, stepping forward slightly towards the door before Angela stopped him.

“The doctors are working on her now. They’ll get you when she’s stable. I just wanted to show you that we found her.” Angela explains softly, watching as Tim refuses to tear his gaze away from the window.

“She’s alive,” Tim whispers, tears in his eyes as he watches the doctors hooking you up to an IV drip and heart monitors.

“She is. We found her.” Angela says softly, carefully guiding Tim back to the waiting room and helping him ease himself into a chair just as Lucy finally found the pair.

“What the hell? Why did you leave me behind?” Lucy demands, approaching Tim who barely processes her words, his gaze locked on the floor in front of him as his knee bounces impatiently.

“Not now, Lucy,” Angela says, holding a hand out towards Lucy to silence her while her other hand rests on Tim’s shoulder, squeezing it softly.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Lucy then asks, noticing the unusual behaviour Tim was exhibiting and how Angela was protecting him fiercely.

“We’ll tell you later,” Angela says, knowing that with the state Tim was in, she shouldn’t go spilling his personal life.

After half an hour of waiting, a doctor approached Angela since they only recognised her but she made sure to bring Tim into the conversation as well as make sure the doctors knew he was your husband so that he would make any and all medical decisions that you couldn’t make.

“y/n had been drugged upon being found, I assume something that was something done so that the perpetrator could move her without the risk of her running away. She’s also showing clear signs of dehydration and malnourishment so we’ve got her on IVs to give her what her body needs. She’s still asleep but would you like to see her?” The doctor explains, glancing at the tablet in his hand before looking at Tim who nods. The doctor gestures for Tim to follow him to your room but before he leaves he turns to Angela.

“Message me if you need me,” Angela says softly, watching as he nods once more before following the doctor and being granted access to your room. As soon as he enters the room, he grabs a chair and pulls it up along your bedside, one hand taking your hand in his while his other hand runs through your hair.

“I’m here, Baby. I’m so sorry. I love you.” Tim says, repeating the three sentences like a mantra as he squeezes your hand softly. He felt more tears welling in his eyes as he took in your form. Your cheeks were hollowed and you had dark circles under your eyes. The more Tim watched you as you slept, the worse his guilt got. He couldn’t help but hate himself more and more for letting you leave the house that night. As the day progressed, Tim found himself uncharacteristically talkative with you, rambling about everything you had missed.

“I’ve got a new rookie. Her name’s Lucy Chen. You’d like her a lot actually. She reminds me of you in a way.” Tim says, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the back of your hand as he talks. He knew you and Lucy would get on well. After all, Lucy was someone who was unafraid to speak her mind around Tim and you’d admire her fire. By the time night fell, Tim was sure he’d covered everything that had happened since you had gone missing. He felt a yawn slip past his lips which made him attempt to shake the sleepiness off. He didn’t want to fall asleep and then risk waking up to find out that this had been a dream. He couldn’t bare to wake up to find you missing again. However, as the night progressed, Tim got more and more tired and he began to struggle to keep his eyes open so he laid his head down on your bed, making sure he was facing up at you, keeping your hand in his the whole time before letting his eyes slip closed, hoping this wasn’t all a dream.

You woke up slowly in the early hours of the morning and as you slowly open your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile tearily when you recognised the sleeping face of your husband. The face you had dreamed of seeing for years. You watched Tim quietly for a moment, admiring the man you loved so much before your need to talk to him overtook you and you squeezed his hand softly, rousing him almost instantly. His eyes blinked open and you felt a tear slip down your cheek.

“Hey, Tim.” You whisper softly, your voice slightly hoarse from lack of use. Tim couldn’t even bring himself to talk, he just squeezed your hand, tears welling in his own eyes.

“You’ve grown your hair out a bit.” You observe quietly, gently extracting your hand from his to run your hand through his hair, having been used to his shorter haircut for too long.

“You like it?” Tim asks with a teary laugh.

“I love it. I did always tell you it would look nicer if you grew it out a little.” You muse softly, enjoying the feeling of running your hand through his hair with the slight added length. As another tear rolls down your cheek, Tim reaches out and wipes it away, his touch as soft and as gentle as you remembered it.

“I’m so sorry, Baby. I let you down.” Tim apologises, his hand lingering on your cheek as you lean into his touch, desperately craving the love and comfort only Tim could provide you with.

“It’s not your fault. I’m the one who left that night.” You say, slowly retracting your hand from Tim’s hair, returning it to your lap as Tim shakes his head.

“I should’ve stopped you.” Tim argues, making you shake your head in response.

“You couldn’t have known, Tim. Look, let’s not argue. We haven’t seen each other in years I don’t want to ruin this by arguing. It’s no ones fault but the ass who took me.” You say, your voice soft yet firm as Tim nods lightly in understanding.

“I missed you so much.” Tim then whispers, his face displaying every emotion he was feeling in the moment.

“I missed you too.” You reply softly. Glad you were reunited with your husband again.

After a few days stay in hospital, you had finally been cleared to go home which you were excited for. Your days in the hospital were mostly spent talking to lawyers and detectives to get all the evidence needed for the case against your kidnapper. But Tim had all but refused to leave your side through it all, and some of your friends came to visit you after news had spread that you had been found. You even got to meet Tim’s newest rookie, Lucy, who like Tim predicted, you got on brilliantly with. And while you had appreciated people wanting to visit you, and that the detectives and lawyers wanted to get that guy behind bars as soon as possible. But you just wanted to go home, to spend some time with Tim in the comfort of your own house, as well as getting to know the family member you had missed the arrival of. When Tim had told you about Kojo, he had not missed the way your eyes lit up and he knew it was going to be love at first sight for both you and Kojo. After all the paperwork had been sorted and Tim had brought you a comfy change of clothes from home, you finally headed out to Tim’s truck, letting him help you into the vehicle and settling in to the passenger seat.

The drive back to yours and Tim’s shared house was relatively silent, you listened to what was on the radio and occasionally chatted with Tim until he pulled into the driveway. You waited upon Tim’s orders for him to round the truck and open the door for you, helping you out carefully before leading you to the front door.

“Are you ready?” Tim asks softly, hand interlocked with yours as you both stand in front of the door, staring it down before you nod lightly, giving Tim the sign he needed to unlock the front door, easing it open and ushering both you and him inside, quickly coming face to face with Kojo.

“Hey, you must be Kojo. Tim’s told me all about you. I’m y/n.” You introduce yourself to the dog, watching his reaction carefully as he approaches you, sniffing at your outstretched hand for a few seconds before gently licking your hand and allowing you to pet him.

“Oh, aren’t you the sweetest boy?” You praise, petting Kojo happily while Tim jokingly rolls his eyes.

“It took less than a minute for me to be replaced by the dog.” Tim jokes, making his way into the kitchen to grab some drinks and by the time he returned, you had curled up on the sofa with Kojo and Tim couldn’t help but smile at the sight of having you home again. After placing the drinks on the coffee table, Tim sat down on your other side and wrapped his arm around your middle, pulling you into him and pressing multiple kisses to the side of your head as you smile softly, cherishing the attention and love Tim was giving you.

By the time night fell, you were ready to crash and Tim knew it. He chose to carry you to the bedroom, sitting you down on the bed and finding one of his old police academy shirts he knew you loved to wear and a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms, handing them to you before turning around to get changed himself. When you were both ready for bed, you climbed under the covers while Kojo curled up at the foot of the bed. You instantly curled into Tim’s side, burying your face in his chest.

“I’ve missed this so much.” You mumbled, smiling to yourself when Tim tightens his grip around your waist.

“Me too. I love you so much.” Tim whispers, kissing the top of your head before you tipped your head up so Tim could press the softest of kisses upon your lips.

“I love you too.” You reply softly, eyes full of love as you look up at Tim before curling back into him, quickly falling asleep in his arms the way you had been dreaming off the past few years.

In the middle of the night, Tim stirred, aware of the way the two of you had shifted throughout the night. You were now lying with your back to Tim and his arm was wrapped around your middle but he quickly withdrew it when he noticed you twitching and crying in your sleep. He instantly knew you were having a nightmare so he flicked his bedside lamp on and reached out to gently rouse you, placing his hand on your shoulder and calling your name softly until you bolted upright, eyes wide open and tears staining your cheeks.

“y/n. Baby. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.” Tim says softly, his hand reaching down to hold yours, his actions only stopping when you practically curled into him instantly, changing his action from holding your hand to holding your sobbing, shaking form instead. Tim continued to reassure you and comfort you quietly, his hand rubbing up and down your back while Kojo rested his head on your leg, whining softly in his own way to comfort you. Tim then began to coach you through slowing your breathing, using techniques you had used when he suffered with nightmares and when you began to calm down, he began to wipe your tears away.

“I thought I was really back in that cabin.” You admit with a sniffle, making Tim hold you closer, taking your hand in his and placing it above his heart.

“You feel that? I’m here and so are you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you again.” Tim promises quietly as you focus on the steady thumping of his heartbeat while your other hand reached down to pet Kojo softly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” You apologise, pulling away with your eyes still shining with tears as Tim shakes his head.

“Don’t apologise. I’m going to be here for you when you need me to. I’m your husband and after what you went through I’d be a shit excuse of a husband if I did anything but look after you when you needed me. Don’t ever apologise for having a nightmare. I love you and I’m going to help you through this.” Tim says, pulling you back into his arms and feeling you settle your head perfectly above his heart so you could focus on his heartbeat once again.

“I love you too.” You mumble, soothed by Tim’s repeated action of running his hand up and down your back as well as his melodic heartbeat and soon your eyes slipped closed again. In the arms of the love of your life and feeling safe for the first time in years.

Tim watched you sleep peacefully for a few minutes, just to make sure no nightmares tried to attack you again as you slept but after not as much as a twitch, Tim switched his lamp off and cuddled you closer as he let himself drift off to sleep. You were finally back where you belonged. And Tim wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you again.

[ssahotchnerr]

how about hotch fluff with reader who's love language is acts of services?

a bit longer

oh to spoil and love on aaron 🥰 cw; fem!reader, established relationship, fluff <3

You'd do anything to make Aaron's life easier.

He worked tremendously hard, took on a lot - things, scenarios beyond your own comprehension, and still came home as the loving, extraordinary man he was, both as a partner and a father.

You wanted to help in any way you could. Even if that meant setting an alarm for far too early.

He's told you before, and it wasn't surprising either, he would wake up early while on a case, to iron his suit jacket as needed. And while it made perfect sense, you weren't afraid to admit it tugged at your heartstrings in a melancholy, endearing way.

Last night, Aaron had gotten home much later than he would have liked, missed seeing Jack altogether, as he was already asleep. He ate a quick dinner, and climbed into bed with you.

As a result, he hadn't been in the best mood going to sleep, especially considering he had to wake up early to iron the one suit he had at home - he defeatedly expressed as he got comfortable. The rest were at the cleaners, which was closed by the time he left the office. He even uttered the consideration of using the spare jacket he left at the office.

Aaron didn't get enough sleep to begin with. And unbeknownst to him, after he quickly drifted off, you sneakily shut off his alarm and turned yours on.

Six in the morning came fast. The second the tone rang, you shut it off, hoping it hadn't managed to awake Aaron. You laid there silently for a moment or two, just to ensure he hadn't stirred. He was either the world's heaviest sleeper, or the lightest, depending on the day.

When you were confident he hadn't, you slipped out of bed. Slowly. Lifting the arm slung over your waist and setting it gently aside, peeling back the blanket, or Aaron didn't subconsciously feel your weight leaving the comfort of bed. You exited the bedroom just as leisurely - heading towards the laundry room and hoping you didn't stub your toe in the dark hallway in the process.

His suit was already hung and waiting, right where he left it the night before. After blinking several times to adjust to the light, you clicked the iron on, yawning as you waited for it to warm up.

You turned his suit jacket inside out, preventing any potential damage to the material. In addition, you triple checked the heat setting, making sure it was the proper one. You started with the back: laying it flat on the board and gliding it along the surface in a steady motion.

The floor creaked behind you. Glancing behind your shoulder, you saw Aaron leaning against the doorframe, rubbing his eye.

"What're you doing up?" He asked, raspy.

You ignored his question, offering a gentle, lazy smile in return. "Go back to sleep."

His eyebrows furrowed over his eyes as he observed you. He was thoroughly - and adorably - more confused due to his sleep induced haze. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing you need to worry about. So go back to sleep." You insisted softly, resuming your task. But contrary to your words, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. It was all too easy to lean back into Aaron's embrace.

"Ironing my suit?" His voice was closer now, at level with your ear. The proximity enhanced his sexy, deep morning voice. "What time is it?"

"That's not important." You teased with a shrug, flipping his jacket to tackle the front next. Your following few words left you nonchalantly, as if it were no big deal. And it wasn't. "I changed yours, and set mine."

He blinked, still waking up and still trying to comprehend what was happening. "Why?"

"So you could get more sleep."

His hold on you loosened slightly, pleasantly surprised. "You didn't need to do that."

"I know." You simply put it, pressing down on the jacket's lapels. "I wanted to."

"I could've-"

"Honey, you don't get nearly enough sleep as it is. If me doing this," you shook the iron lightly for emphasis, "means you get an extra thirty minutes, I want you to get those thirty extra minutes. And besides, I wanna help. You come home stressed and your job is demanding and I want to make things easier on you. You do a lot for others, for me, and I want to repay the favor."

You hadn't meant to go off on a tangent, but it was true. You only wished you could give him the whole world (But if someone asked Aaron, you already had).

"Watch where you wave that thing." Aaron quipped, his tone a humorous deadpan. A smile tugged at the ends of his lips, his arms retightening around you, squeezing you lovingly. "You're sweet."

You blushed at the simple compliment, "And you work too hard."

"Then it's a good thing I have you to slow me down." He kissed your temple, and you could just feel the love radiating off him, he didn't need to verbally say it. "Thank you sweetheart. Seriously."

"You're welcome, now will you please go back to bed? Or do I need to threaten you with the iron again?"

Aaron laughed, a hand squeezing your hip affectionately. "Only if you join me. I could care less if my suit has one more, minor wrinkle if it means I get to lay with you a bit longer."

[pucksandpower]

Pequeña

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Fernando Alonso x Webber!Reader

Summary: a brutal breakup leads you right into the arms of one of your father's oldest friends (or in which being sooooo normal about Fernando Alonso runs in the Webber family)

Warnings: 18+ content, age gap, taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable state, breeding, and pregnancy

You sit hunched on your bed, knees pulled up to your chest as tears stream down your face. Your mobile vibrates again and you swipe away another message from your now ex-boyfriend without reading it. How could he do this to you? You thought what you had was real.

Your thoughts drift to home, to your family thousands of miles away in Australia. You long for your dad’s comforting embrace and your mum’s reassuring words. But they’re so far away. You feel painfully alone in this strange English city where you’ve come to attend university.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re dialing a familiar number. It rings three times before a warm voice picks up. “Hola pequeña! What’s wrong?”

“N-Nando ...” You sniffle, trying and failing to keep your voice from cracking. “He … he cheated on me.”

There’s a pause before Fernando responds, his Spanish lilt taking on a protective edge. “That little hijo de puta. I’ll kill him myself.”

You let out a watery laugh. “No, don’t do that. I … I just miss home. Miss my family.”

“Say no more, pequeña. You’re coming to stay with me for a bit, yeah? Can’t have you all alone like this.”

You hesitate, wiping at your tears. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose ...”

“Impose?” Fernando laughs. “My favorite girl? Never. I’m sending a car to get you right now.”

“No, no, I can drive myself-”

“You’ll do no such thing in this state,” he chides. “Driver’s on his way. Go pack a bag.”

You open your mouth to protest again but think better of it. Fernando can be extremely stubborn when he wants to be. “Okay, okay. Thank you, Nando. Really.”

“De nada, pequeña. I’ve got the guest room all ready for you. We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

His soothing Spanish accent is already making you feel infinitely better. You know Fernando has been close with your family for years, has watched you grow up into the young woman you are today. He’s always treated you like his own daughter.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, meaning it. Spending time with Fernando is guaranteed to lift your spirits. “Your place in Silverstone, right?��

“That’s the one. Get packing and don’t worry about a thing. I’ll see you very soon.”

You hang up and immediately start throwing clothes and essentials into an overnight bag with a renewed sense of hope. Fernando always knows just what to do to make you feel better.

Two hours later, you’re being ushered into the backseat of a sleek black sedan by a courteous driver in a pressed suit. He takes your bag and stows it in the trunk before sliding behind the wheel.

“Miss Webber? I’ll be taking you to Mr. Alonso’s residence now.”

You nod, suddenly exhausted from all the crying. The driver seems to sense your melancholy because he doesn’t try to make small talk.

The English countryside whips by in a blur of green fields and quaint villages. Before you know it, the sedan is pulling up to an impressive brick estate surrounded by beautifully manicured gardens.

The driver lets you out and leads you up to the front door, which swings open before you can knock. Fernando stands there in a soft white sweater and dark-washed jeans, arms open wide.

“Pequeña!” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he pulls you into a fierce hug. “Welcome, welcome.”

You breathe in his comforting scent of sandalwood and citrus as he rubs soothing circles on your back. “I’m glad you came,” he murmurs.

He ushers you inside and you can’t help but gape at the tasteful, modern interior decor. It’s bright and airy, with huge windows offering views of the impeccable gardens beyond.

“This place is incredible, Nando,” you say, trailing behind him as he leads you through the spacious living room towards what appears to be the kitchen.

“You like?” He grins over his shoulder. “I had it remodeled not too long ago. Here, have a seat.” He pulls out a barstool at the huge kitchen island.

You take a seat, settling your elbows on the cool granite surface as Fernando busies himself at the stove. “So,” he says without turning around. “Tell me everything, from the beginning. Don’t leave out a single detalle.”

You sigh, resting your chin in your hands as Fernando starts pulling ingredients from the fridge. “Well, it started a few weeks ago. ..”

You recount all the little things that, in hindsight, were red flags: the constant emailing and texting, the unusually long nights “studying” at the library, the bizarre excuses. Fernando listens intently, occasionally tossing in a sympathetic “maldito idiota” or an indignant shake of his head.

Finally, you get to the part where you finally confronted your now ex about his shady behavior … only to have him confess that he’d been cheating on you for months with some underclassman sociology major.

By the time you’ve finished, your voice is thick from holding back a fresh wave of tears. Fernando sets down the knife he was using to chop vegetables and comes around the island to pull you into another hug.

“Oh, pequeña,” he murmurs into your hair. “Lo siento mucho. You didn’t deserve any of that, you hear me?”

You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Fernando rubs your back again before pulling away, hands on your shoulders so he can look you square in the eyes.

“Listen. That boy?” A feisty glint enters his warm hazel eyes. “He’s a fool, a complete and total imbecile for hurting someone as incredible as you. You’re so brave, so strong, so full of life ...” He tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “And any man should consider himself the luckiest in the world to have you in his life, you understand?”

You manage a watery smile and nod again. Leave it to Fernando to know exactly what to say to begin mending your broken heart.

“Good.” He straightens up, clapping his hands together decisively. “Now dry those tears, pequeña. I’m making my famous seafood paella for dinner tonight and I’ll need my best assistant chef!”

You let out a surprised laugh, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “You know I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Nonsense!” Fernando waves a dismissive hand as he returns to the cutting board. “Everyone can learn with a little guidance from Chef Nano, no?”

The next couple of hours pass in a blur of cheerful chopping, stirring, and laughing as Fernando walks you through the steps, nudging you gently whenever you veer off course. It’s impossible to stay weighed down by your sadness when he’s cracking jokes in that irreverent way of his and peppering you with silly kitchen nicknames.

By the time you’ve portioned out the fragrant saffron rice studded with shrimp, mussels, and clams into bowls, you’re doubled over in a fit of giggles from Fernando’s dramatic retelling of his past Formula 1 antics.

“... And then this crazy Australian madman comes barreling into the pit and just starts laying into me!” He throws his hands up, eyes dancing with mirth. “If Charlie hadn’t stepped in, I think your old man really might’ve killed me that day!”

You shake your head, still laughing as you take your first bite of the paella. It’s absolute perfection, the flavors melding together in an incredible symphony on your tongue. “My dad really went after you?”

“Oh yeah,” Fernando chuckles, digging into his own bowl. “We were like two crazed animals back then whenever we were on the track together. Couldn’t stand each other.”

There’s a lull as you both focus on eating for a few minutes. When you’re pleasantly full and satiated, you sit back with a contented sigh.

“Nando, that was hands down the best paella I’ve ever had.”

“You flatter me too much.” He waves a hand, but you can tell he’s pleased. “Just wait until tomorrow, when Chef Nano teaches you how to make the perfect tortilla Española, eh?”

The idea of getting to spend more time with Nando and being cooked for brings a genuine, untroubled smile to your face for the first time in days. This is just what you needed to start healing from your recent heartbreak.

***

As you help Fernando clear the dishes, a comfortable silence settles between you. He pours you both generous glasses of his favorite Spanish rioja and you retire to the plush living room sofas.

Fernando settles into the overstuffed armchair across from you, stretching out his lean legs as he takes a sip of wine. “So, pequeña ...” He fixes you with that warm, piercing gaze. “What is it you really want? In a man, I mean.”

You pause, considering his question as you swirl the ruby liquid in your glass. “I … I’m not sure I know anymore, to be honest. I thought I had it all figured out with ...” You trail off, unable to even say your ex’s name without a pang of hurt lancing through you.

Fernando reaches over to pat your knee comfortingly. “Hey, no more tears, okay? That pendejo is in the past. I’m asking what your ideal partner would be like going forward. What do you want, need, deserve from a man?”

You take a fortifying sip of the bold, peppery wine before responding. “I think … more than anything, I just want to feel cherished. Valued. Like I’m the most important person in his world.”

Fernando’s expression softens. “Oh, pequeña. You have such a big, beautiful heart. Of course that’s what you want — to be adored and treated like the incredible woman you are.”

You duck your head, warmth blooming in your cheeks at his praise. “I don’t know, Nando. Maybe I’m just being naive or asking for too much ...”

“Claro que no!” He leans forward, pinning you with an intense look. “You’re allowed to want those things, pequeña. You’re allowed to be selfish when it comes to your heart and what you need to be truly, deeply happy.”

His words resonate somewhere deep within you and you find yourself nodding slowly. “You’re right. I am allowed to want someone who makes me their whole world and never takes me for granted, aren’t I?”

“Exactamente.” Fernando reaches over to grasp your hands, his calloused fingers engulfing yours. “And let me tell you — any man who doesn’t give you that is un verdadero idiota. You deserve to be cherished, worshipped, put up on a pedestal every single day.”

His dark eyes burn with conviction, lips pressed into a serious line. You find yourself unable to look away, mesmerized by the sheer intensity of his words and manner.

“You deserve everything, pequeña,” he continues in a low, gravelly tone. “A man who makes you his whole priority, who loves you with every fiber of his being. Someone who will lay the world at your feet.”

Fernando reaches up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheekbone reverently. The calloused pad of it sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“Someone who looks at you and can scarcely breathe for how lucky, how blessed they are to have you in their life ...”

His face is so close to yours now, his warm breath caressing your lips. You’re completely transfixed, body thrumming with barely restrained tension and … anticipation?

Fernando’s next words are barely more than a hoarse rumble. “I will cherish you, pequeña. Always. Allow me to show you how a real man adores the woman he loves.”

And then his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent and tasting of wine and desire. You gasp into the kiss, frozen for a split second before melting against him, kissing him back with equal fervor. Your hands slide up to tangle in the soft strands at the nape of his neck as he angles his head, deepening the heated exchange.

Fernando groans low in his throat, the vibrations shooting straight to your core. His large, nimble hands come up to frame your face, holding you in place as he takes his time thoroughly exploring your mouth, nibbling at your lips, stroking his talented tongue against yours in a way that has you whimpering into him.

He pulls away slightly and you chase his lips with a soft keen of protest. Fernando chuckles darkly, nosing along your jaw.

“Patience, pequeña,” he rumbles against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “As sweet as that gorgeous mouth is, there are so many other parts of you I’ve been longing to taste ...”

A full-body shudder wracks you at his words, at the sheer need and promise lacing his tone. Part of you is stunned by how quickly the atmosphere between you has shifted, how easily you fell into his passionate embrace.

But a much larger part — the part that has admired and idolized this man since you were knee-high — is utterly intoxicated. Delirious with the knowledge that the love you’ve secretly harbored for Fernando for years is, impossibly, reciprocated.

His mouth is trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the column of your throat and you tilt your head back with a wanton moan, reveling in the rasp of his day-old stubble against your sensitized skin.

“N-Nando ...” You try to put a protesting note in your voice, but it comes out a pleading whine instead. “Are you sure about this? I’m … I’m just a kid to you.”

He rears back to pin you with a look so full of naked want it makes you squirm. “You stopped being a kid a long time ago, pequeña,” he growls. “I’ve been watching you grow into this gorgeous, fiery woman and it’s taken everything in me not to take you into my arms like this until now.”

His hands roam down to palm your waist, fingers flexing possessively against the dip of your sides. You’re breathless, dizzy, wondering if you’ve stumbled into some incredible, wildly realistic dream.

Because surely this — with your longtime crush, the older man you’ve harbored forbidden fantasies about pulling you flush against his strong frame and lavishing kisses up the side of your neck — cannot be real. Can it?

“It’s real, pequeña. So, so real,” Fernando croons, as if reading your mind. He frames your face again, searing you with another passionate kiss that steals your breath and chases away any remaining doubts. “Feel how real it is,” he murmurs, guiding your hands down to the firm evidence of his arousal straining against the soft denim.

You whimper into his mouth, tentatively palming the thick bulge. Fernando hisses in a sharp breath through his teeth and breaks the kiss to press his forehead to yours. His eyes are tightly shut, long lashes fanning across sunkissed skin.

“F-fuck, pequeña,” he chokes out in a ragged voice. “Been dreaming of those little hands on me for years.”

Something inside you shifts at his confession, like a dam of long repressed want and need cracking open. You suddenly feel bolder, empowered by the effect you’re having on this man — this god among men who you’ve put on a pedestal for so long.

Maintaining heated eye contact, you slowly drag your hand up the length of his erection in one firm stroke that has Fernando’s hips jerking up as he curses vehemently in Spanish.

“Like this?” You rasp, a blatant challenge in your tone as you repeat the motion.

Fernando’s eyes flash hungrily and then he’s surging forward again, capturing your lips in another punishing kiss that leaves you lightheaded and alight with lust.

“Just like that, mi amor,” he growls when he releases your mouth with a final nip at your lower lip. “Now it’s my turn to cherish you ...”

With that, he loops an arm behind your knees and rises in one smooth, powerful motion, hoisting you up into a secure bridal carry. You yelp in surprise, hands flying up to cling to his broad shoulders.

“Nando! What are you, mmph-”

Your protest is cut off by his mouth slanting over yours in another heated kiss. Fernando maneuvers you easily as he starts carrying you towards the staircase, hiking your dainty linen dress up around your thighs.

“I’m making good on my promise, pequeña,” he murmurs hotly against your swollen lips. “Bedroom. Now. Going to lay you out and cherish every sweet inch of that gorgeous body, just like you deserve.”

Unbidden, a soft whine slips from your throat at his heated words. You tighten your grip on his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there as a fresh wave of arousal floods through you, hot and insistent.

Fernando chuckles darkly, adjusting his grip on you as he starts up the stairs. “That’s it, let me hear how much you want this too.”

You open your mouth to respond but only a needy whine escapes as Fernando hitches you higher in his arms, the movement causing delicious friction against your core.

“I want, ngh-” Your words dissolve into another needy noise as Fernando nips at the juncture of your neck and shoulder in reprimand.

“Use your words, pequeña,” he rumbles against your tingling skin. “Tell me what you want.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before he’s kicking open a door and striding into what must be the bedroom, depositing you gently onto the plush center of an enormous bed. Fernando looms over you, chest heaving as he rakes his heated gaze over your prone form in a way that makes you shudder.

“Nando, I … I want you,” you finally manage, fighting past your shyness to meet his burning stare. “Want you to cherish me, cherish every part of me, like you promised.”

Fernando’s eyes darken further at your words and he slowly, purposefully begins lifting his sweater, never looking away from you.

“Good girl,” he praises in that deep, gruff tone that has your thighs pressing together instinctively. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

He shrugs off the soft knit, revealing a toned, hair-dusted chest and abdominal muscles carved from years of intense athletic training. You can’t help but drink in the display of his powerful body as he reaches for the buckle of his belt.

Fernando doesn’t miss your frank appraisal, a cocky smirk tugging at his full lips. “Like what you see, pequeña?”

You bite your lip and give a small, shameless nod. His grin widens and with a few deft flicks of his wrist, Fernando’s belt is undone and sliding free of its loops. You watch, rapt, as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs in one smooth motion.

“Then no more teasing,” he promises in a low, heated rasp. “Tonight you’ll have as much of me as you can handle.”

With that, Fernando pushes his trousers and underwear down over his hips in one go, springing free in all his thick, flushed glory. Your eyes widen and you suck in a sharp breath at the sheer size of him, mouth going dry with naked want.

Fernando steps forward until he’s standing at the edge of the mattress, gloriously nude and incredibly aroused. He crouches down, bringing himself eye-level with your flushed face as he reaches out to gently take your hands in his calloused grip.

“Are you sure, pequeña?” He searches your gaze intently. “Because once I claim you, mark you as mine in every way … there’s no going back. I won’t ever let you go.”

His raw confession hangs in the heated air between you. You meet Fernando’s fiery gaze without faltering, threading your fingers through his in silent acceptance. His eyes blaze and then he’s surging up over you, capturing your mouth in another searing, all-consuming kiss as he slowly, reverently hikes your dress up and divests you of your last remaining garments.

You wind your arms around his thick neck, holding him close as Fernando settles between your splayed thighs with a low, guttural groan. He rears back just enough to pin you with another scorching look, stealing your breath.

“You’re mine now, pequeña,” he vows roughly, guiding his thick length to your slick entrance. “And I’m going to spend all night cherishing this sweet body, just like you deserve ...”

Fernando braces himself above you with one powerful forearm, using his free hand to grip your thigh and hitch your leg higher around his lean hips. You keen softly as the new angle allows him to sink even deeper, filling you up so deliciously.

He drops his forehead to yours, dark eyes locked on your parted lips as he starts rocking into you with slow, measured strokes. Each deliberate grind of his pelvis against yours has you whimpering, nails raking down the flexing planes of his back.

“That’s it, pequeña,” Fernando croons, punctuating his words with a sharp roll of his hips that has you crying out. “Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

You try to muffle your sounds against his broad shoulder, but Fernando isn’t having it. He slides the hand not braced on the mattress up to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head so your mouths are a hairsbreadth apart.

“No, no … I want to hear every gorgeous, needy little noise,” he rumbles, lips brushing yours with each scorching word. “Want to hear you begging for more of my cock, stretching you so perfectly ...”

A desperate whine slips free at his filthy words, your walls fluttering around his rigid length in defiant response. Fernando rewards you by capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his talented tongue teasing against yours as he picks up the pace of his thrusts.

You moan brokenly into his mouth, legs locking around his narrow waist as Fernando sets a rhythm of steady, pounding strokes. Each slick glide has you building higher and higher, pleasure bordering on overwhelming. It’s so much after so much time without, yet somehow not enough.

You tear your lips from his with a ragged gasp, throwing your head back against the pillows. “M-More, Nando! Please … ah!”

Fernando grunts in approval at your needy plea, hips snapping forward to bury himself deeper. “As you wish, pequeña ...”

He sits up further on his knees, using the new leverage to drive into you with increased force and intensity. The lewd noises of your joining fill the air — skin slapping against skin, your cries of pleasure mingling with Fernando’s low groans of exertion.

Part of you feels like you should be embarrassed by the wanton sounds spilling from your lips. But a much bigger part is just reveling in the indescribable feeling of being taken apart so thoroughly by this incredible man’s skilled body.

Fernando hooks an arm under one of your knees, nearly bending you in half as he leans down to mouth hot, openmouthed kisses from your collarbone up the slender column of your throat. You keen wildly, fingers spasming against the rippling muscles of his back.

“Do you want it harder, pequeña?” He growls the filthy words against the racing pulse point under your jaw. “Want Papi to fuck you just like the needy little girl you are?”

A choked whimper is all you can manage in response, rendered incoherent by his merciless onslaught against that sensitive cluster of nerves deep inside you.

Fernando’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk against the side of your neck and then he’s driving into you with renewed vigor, hips pistoning in short, brutally powerful snaps that quickly have you keening. Your nails leave stinging welts in their wake as they drag down Fernando’s glistening shoulders and back, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“That’s it, taking me so well,” he grits out through clenched teeth, each word punctuated by a nasty grind of his hips that has you crying out. “Such a good girl for Papi, con esas caderas tan estrechas ...”

His dirty Spanish murmurs nearly do you in, shooting white-hot sparks of pleasure-pain arcing across your nerve endings. You swear your vision nearly whites out entirely when his calloused fingers find your swollen bud, stroking firmly in tight, rapid circles that have you keening.

That familiar, coiling tension is rapidly becoming too much to bear. You can feel your orgasm fast approaching, building and building with each punishing thrust into your greedy little hole and stroke against that hypersensitive bundle of nerves.

“Nando, Nando,” you pant, clutching desperately at his flexing biceps as your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably. “I’m gonna, ah, fuck, I can’t-”

Fernando’s response is a series of harsh Spanish curses that would make a sailor blush. His mouth crashes against yours in a searing, messy kiss, swallowing your cries as he fucks you right through your release.

Wave after relentless wave of excruciating ecstasy crashes over you. You tremble and wail into Fernando’s mouth, pulled taut as a bowstring as he milks every last exquisite pulse from you with those sharp, unforgiving snaps of his hips.

Just when you think the pleasure searing along every nerve ending will break you into pieces, Fernando’s rhythm falters. He rears back, baring his teeth in a feral snarl that sends a fresh shock of desire arrowing straight to your core.

“Going to fill you up now, pequeña,” he grits out in a gravelly tone laced with strain. “Make you nice and, ah mierda, messy with Papi’s cum ...”

The sheer filth of his words, combined with his furious tempo draws animalistic whimpers from deep in your chest. You lock your ankles at the small of his back, taking him deeper as he starts to lose control.

“Please, Nando!” You beg shamelessly, reaching up to dig your fingers into the straining chords of muscle in his back and shoulders. “Please cum inside me, wanna be yours, wanna-”

Fernando cuts off your fervent cries with a harsh growl and then he’s slamming home one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills molten heat deep in your convulsing channel with a stream of strained Spanish curses.

You shudder and cry out at the incredible sensation of being filled so completely, holding him flush to you while he pulses and throbs. Fernando captures your lips in another searing kiss, fucking his tongue into your mouth in time with the shallow rolls of his hips as he spends himself.

Just when you think the incredible intensity of his release will never end, the shrill trill of a ringtone shatters the sweaty, panting silence of the bedroom.

Fernando goes rigid above you, finally breaking the fevered kiss with a curse that shoots straight to your over-sensitized core.

“Fucking hell, now?”

His tone is one of pure annoyance as his darkly tousled head whips towards the nightstand where his mobile is ringing incessantly. One large hand flexes against the sheets beside your head, ready to simply ignore the call.

Until, that is, he sees the caller ID and his entire demeanor shifts from one of irritation to something more sheepish. He immediately sits up on his haunches, the movement tugging at your overstuffed, abused entrance in the most delicious way and drawing a helpless whimper from you.

Fernando fixes you with a heated look, plush lower lip caught between his teeth as he drinks in your disheveled, satisfied state sprawled wantonly across his rumpled sheets. Only then does he make a sudden, aborted movement to grab the still-ringing phone, gaze flickering down to where you’re obscenely joined.

“Don’t you dare pull out,” you pant in warning, clenching down hard around him as he shifts to reach for the mobile. Fernando groans explosively at the vice-like grip, arm falling back to brace himself against the mattress.

“Insatiable,” he accuses with a dark chuckle. He somehow manages to snag the still-trilling phone without dislodging himself and you shamelessly squeeze down even tighter in petty retaliation. Fernando tosses you a smoldering glare that makes heat lick along your nerve endings before he finally answers.

“Hola?” His deep voice is rougher than usual, gravelly from the thoroughly ravished state you’ve put him in.

“Fernando! Mate, it’s me.” Your father’s crisp Aussie tone immediately filters through the speaker and you inadvertently clench down again in panic.

Fernando’s lips peel back in a mild wince before smoothing back into that trademark smug grin of his. He drops his free hand to splay possessively over your lower abdomen, thumb rubbing idle circles into the soft, oversensitized skin there as he regards you with dark, hooded eyes.

“Mark!” He greets your father with forced nonchalance, even as the pads of his calloused fingers dip dangerously close to where you’re still intimately joined. “What can I do for you?”

There’s a pregnant pause during which you can practically picture the slight frown creasing your dad’s brow at Fernando’s strange tone. “Er, sorry to bother you, Nando. I was just ringing to see if my daughter made it to you alright?”

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes going wide as Fernando’s lips quirk up in a devilish smirk. Instead of answering right away, he drags the tip of one finger agonizingly slowly through your damp curls in a wordless warning.

Biting your lip to stifle a moan, you obediently stop clenching your internal muscles, allowing Fernando to sink that few extra incredible inches back inside you with a roll of his hips. His eyes burn with smug satisfaction when you keen softly at the feeling of being so deliciously full.

“She arrived safe and sound,” Fernando finally replies, voice gone low and rough in a way that has your thighs trying to clench instinctively. He holds you open by digging the heel of his palm against your mound, lips twitching when you whimper. “I’m taking very … very good care of her. You don’t need to worry.”

Another pause from your father’s end, this one even longer. You can picture the perplexed furrow in his brow deepening as he tries to figure out the strange undercurrent in Fernando’s tone.

“Right … well, good then. I just wanted to check in and make sure she got there okay after that whole mess with her asshole of an ex.”

You shudder at the memory, hips shifting restlessly against Fernando’s calloused palm in a plea for friction, pressure, anything. He simply watches you squirm with darkly glittering eyes, lazily rubbing his thumb in soothing little circles just below your navel.

“Trust me,” Fernando finally rumbles, voice gone low and graveled in a way that sends a shiver of desire arcing down your spine. “Your little girl is being very well looked after, in every way.”

Your cheeks burn hot at the blatant innuendo lacing his words. Fernando’s smirk widens, like he enjoys seeing you so flustered, before he continues in a tone of exaggerated innocence. “She’s been … quite the handful, really, but I don’t mind.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you shoot him a betrayed look, clenching reflexively around the thick length still sheathed snugly inside you. Fernando arches one artfully sculpted brow as if in challenge, using his free hand to firmly grip one of your thighs and wrench your legs obscenely further apart in clear retaliation.

You muffle a whimper into the sheets as the new position allows him to grind deeper, that delicious friction quickly unraveling your will to stay quiet. You can already feel the coil of need building rapidly once more with each shallow roll of Fernando’s hips.

“What was that?” Your dad’s mildly bewildered voice suddenly crackles over the line, jarring you back to the reality of the situation.

Cheeks burning with a mixture of arousal and mortification, you blindly grasp for one of the pillows to muffle the series of pitiful noises now spilling past your lips as Fernando ups the intensity of his thrusts.

He leans in closer until the two of you are practically nose-to-nose, teeth sinking into that plush lower lip when you instinctively tighten around him like a velvet vise. Fernando’s eyes roll back briefly before fixing back on you, dark and fathomless as the depths of the Mediterranean.

“Nothing to worry about over here,” he pants through gritted teeth, one hand leaving its bruising grip on your thigh to curl around the back of your neck and pull you into a searing, filthy kiss designed to swallow any incriminating sounds. “Like I said. Just … taking very good care of your little girl.”

There’s one final confused little hum from your father before the line clicks off with a hollow beep. Fernando instantly drops the phone and slants his mouth hungrily over yours once more, all thoughts of the call instantly forgotten as he resumes fucking up into you with renewed vigor.

“My little girl, aren’t you pequeña?” He grates against your lips, punctuating each word with a scorching grind of his hips that has sparks bursting behind your eyelids. “Going to be a good girl and cum all over Papi’s cock again, sí?”

You can only nod wildly in agreement, nails raking down his broad back as that incredible tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. Fernando swallows your cries with his wicked, talented mouth, until finally you go rigid in his arms, back arched as your release rockets through you like a shockwave.

This time Fernando doesn’t even attempt to stifle your hoarse, animalistic keening, merely rearing back to watch in fascination as your complexion colors and your eyes roll back. He growls your name like a prayer, hips snapping erratically as he uses your convulsive flutters to chase his own high. Fernando’s chiseled features contort in pleasure, teeth sinking into his own lip hard enough to draw blood when you bear down with the vise-like strength of your release.

“F-Fuck … gonna … gonna fill you up again,” he grits out, thick cock jerking deep inside your molten depths. “Make you … gonna ah … make you mine forever this time, pequeña ...”

The gravelly promise in his tone somehow penetrates the sweaty, lust-hazed cocoon surrounding you. Your eyes fly open just in time to witness Fernando’s own clenched shut, jaw dropped in a growl as he buries himself to the hilt with one final, bruising grind of his pelvis.

You cry out at the incredible sensation of his release flooding your already stuffed channel with scorching ropes of thick seed. Fernando lets out a shuddering moan of pure gratification, hips working in short, shallow thrusts to pump every last pulse of his sticky essence into your greedy little womb.

When the last tremor of his climax has wrung through him, he drops bonelessly on top of you in a sweaty, panting tangle of sated limbs. You whimper quietly at the delicious feeling of his weight pinning you to the mattress, his softening length still lodged snugly inside as the two of you bask in the afterglow.

Fernando nuzzles into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pressing lazy, opened-mouthed kisses to your slick, overheated skin. His talented fingers trace abstract patterns up and down your sides, touch reverent as his gravelly voice rumbles against you.

“Going to get you nice and full, pequeña. Fill you up again and again until my baby takes ...”

A violent shudder wracks through you at the filthy promise in his words. Fernando chuckles darkly, gathering you closer against his sweat-slicked chest as his hand drifts down to cup your lower abdomen with tender possessiveness.

“That’s it, let it sink in,” he croons, fingertips rubbing in gentle circles. “My seed taking root deep inside this sweet little womb, putting a baby in your belly ...”

He punctuates the words with a firm press of his palm that has you gasping, walls fluttering greedily around the thick shaft still impaling you. Fernando makes a noise of deep approval low in his throat.

“Going to keep you just like this,” he vows in a tone that brooks no argument, hot and heavy against the sensitive shell of your ear. “Barefoot and pregnant in my bed, that gorgeous body swollen and glowing with my hijo ...”

You whimper at the image his words conjure up — your belly rounded and stretched taut with Fernando’s child, heavy breasts leaking as you cradle his son or daughter. Fernando husks out a laugh at your reaction, nosing along the line of your jaw until you meet his heated gaze.

“You like that idea, don’t you pequeña?” His eyes glitter with a mixture of desire and predatory satisfaction. “Being tied to me forever, in the most permanent way possible?”

You can only nod dumbly, suddenly rendered mute by the depths of your own yearning. Of course you want that — to carry this incredible man’s legacy inside you for all the world to see. To belong to him, completely.

Fernando rumbles his approval against your swollen lips, cupping the back of your head to angle your mouth for a tender, lingering kiss. When he finally breaks away, you try to chase his mouth with a breathless whimper of protest.

“Shh, patience, pequeña,” he murmurs indulgently, thumb stroking over your slick lower lip. His eyes are dancing with dark promise. “You’ll have plenty of time to take your fill of me in the coming months while I breed you over ...”

He kisses the words into the hollow of your throat, teeth grazing the rapid flutter of your pulse point.

“... and over ...” Fernando rolls you onto your back in one smoothly powerful motion, settling his weight over you as he lips trail a blazing path down your abdomen.

“... and over again.” His tongue dips briefly into your navel before he nuzzles lower, nose nudging through your damp curls until his warm breath ghosts over your overstimulated sex. You suck in a ragged gasp, thighs trembling with anticipation as Fernando glances up at you from under those ridiculously long lashes.

“Until it finally takes,” he finishes with a wicked grin before ducking down to swipe one firm lick through your folds. You nearly black out from the electric shock of pleasure-pain, broken cries echoing through the bedroom as Fernando sets to work thoroughly mapping every intimate inch of you with that devilishly skilled mouth and tongue.

True to his filthy promise, Fernando keeps you until the first rosy hints of dawn are just beginning to lighten the horizon outside, thoroughly ravishing your helpless body over and over again until you’re boneless and incoherent with satiation.

It’s only when the first few birds have begun to chirp their morning songs that he finally relents, blanketing you with his solid weight one last time. Fernando’s lips are kiss-swollen as they trail up the line of your throat to find yours in one more long, thorough kiss that leaves you totally plundered.

“Sleep now, pequeña,” he rumbles against your parted mouth, gathering you close as his hand drifts down to splay possessively over the slight tautness of your lower abdomen. “Let my release take nice and deep inside you ...”

You slip into unconsciousness to the sensation of Fernando’s calloused fingertips rubbing soothing circles over your skin and the imprinted promise of his low, sleep-roughened vows.

“I’m going to put a baby in you, pequeña. Going to breed you so full of my children until you’re round and glowing with them … that’s a promise.”

***

Six Months Later

Fernando can’t keep the swell of pride and possessiveness from blooming in his chest as he guides you through the paddock with a supportive hand on the small of your back. His dark gaze keeps flickering down to admire the swell of your belly peeking out beneath the flowing summer dress you’ve chosen for today.

He feels like a conquering king surveying his latest prize as you waddle adorably at his side, the golden sunlight caressing your features and lending a rosy flush to your glowing complexion. Fernando has never seen a more beautiful, ethereal sight than you in this moment — rounded with his child, your body transformed by the life blossoming within.

His hand subconsciously moves to cup the subtle curve of your belly as you pause to allow a team member to pass. Fernando feels a fresh surge of scorching desire and smug satisfaction race through his veins when you instinctively cover his hand with yours, cradling his palm against the taut swell.

“Easy there, pequeña,” he rumbles with a wolfish grin, leaning in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. “We’re in public, remember? Wouldn’t want to give these pendejos an eyeful of how insaciable my little girl has become since getting knocked up ...”

A delightful shiver visibly ripples through you at his words, those gorgeous eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments before fixed back on him blown wide and dark with rekindled want. Fernando lets out a low chuckle of approval, arm winding around your waist to pull you flush against his side.

Just then, a familiar figure comes striding around the corner, brows low and thunderous as they zero in on the embrace Fernando has you locked in. Mark Webber falters mid-step as he takes in the rather obvious changes to your body, chin dropping in a comical picture of dumbstruck shock.

Fernando can’t resist angling the two of you forward just enough to emphasize the prominent curve of your belly straining against the flowy fabric of your summer dress. He watches your father’s expression morph from surprise, to confusion, then slowly … realization as the pieces begin to click into place.

Within seconds, Mark’s eyes have narrowed to slits of rage, mouth curling back in a snarl of anger as he picks up his pace and stalks towards the pair of you. Fernando’s own smug expression slips, features settling into a hard mask as he angles his body slightly in front of yours on instinct.

“You motherfucking piece of shit-” Your father snarls, face taking on an alarming reddish hue as he rears back and swings at Fernando.

Fernando manages to sidestep the worst of the blow at the last second, feeling only a glancing impact against his left cheekbone before Mark closes in again with balled fists raised. Behind him, you let out a strangled cry of dismay, reaching out helplessly to grasp at the back of his shirt.

“Dad, no! Fernando, please-”

But Fernando is already sinking into a fighting stance, knees slightly bent and weight evenly distributed. He blocks another wild swing from Mark with ease, allowing the Australian’s momentum to carry him past so Fernando can land a swift, open-handed punch against the side of his head.

The sharp retaliatory crack has Mark stumbling sideways, snarling like an enraged animal. For one brief, wildly intense moment, the two former rivals simply square off — sizing one another up like they’ve done a hundred times before on various circuits when they were both still competing.

From anyone else, Fernando might have been able to laugh off this overreaction, shrug it aside as the misguided anger of a hotblooded father learning his young daughter is now expecting. But this is Mark Webber — a man who has proven himself as fiery and formidable an opponent as they come.

Fernando won’t admit it aloud, but a tiny thrill of excitement races through him at the prospect of a proper throwdown with his old nemesis turned friend. He throws you a quick glance over his shoulder, assessing if he needs to move you further away before the situation escalates.

You surprise him by shaking your head adamantly, those beautiful eyes blazing with protective fury of your own as you plant yourself squarely in between the two men.

“Fernando, don’t hurt him,” you plead, gaze flickering between him and the bristling Aussie now clambering back to his feet. “He’s just-”

“Being a bloody psychopathic bastard,” Mark spits, wiping a hand across his rapidly swelling lip. His hateful glare lands accusingly on the prominent swell of your middle. “Fucking hell , Nando. She’s just a kid-”

Fernando feels his own temper ratcheting up several notches at the venom and dismissal lacing the other man’s tone. He takes an aggressive step forward, forcing you back behind the shield of his powerful frame.

“Don’t talk about her like she isn’t here to defend herself,” Fernando growls, unconcerned that they’re rapidly drawing an audience from the swarm of crew personnel surrounding them.

He arches a challenging brow at your father’s scathing glower. “What’s wrong? Upset that while you were off galivanting around the globe, I was putting a baby in your daughter’s belly?”

Mark lets out an outraged roar, lurching forward to throw another wild haymaker that Fernando easily ducks under. You cry out in distress, hands coming up to grip at Fernando’s biceps from behind as you try to bodily pull him away from the furious Australian’s reach.

“Both of you, stop!” Your shrill voice cuts through the tense alleyway, causing both men to pause for a split-second and glance towards you. “Nando, don’t provoke him! And you-” You aim an accusatory finger at your seething father. “Lay one more hand on Fernando and I swear to god-”

Whatever heated threat you were preparing goes unvoiced as a sudden aura of pain visibly ripples across your features, brow furrowing and lips parting on a pained gasp. Your hands instinctively fly down to cradle your belly, entire body locking up with tension.

Fernando’s heart leaps into his throat as he recognizes the clear signs of distress from months spent doting upon your every subtle twinge and discomfort. Immediately, his previous temper fades into a dull, distant roar easily overshadowed by the all-consuming need to ensure your well-being.

“Pequeña?” He’s at your side in an instant, gripping your upper arms to steady you as a light sheen of perspiration blooms on your brow. “Breathe through it, mi amor … just breathe, okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” you manage in a tight voice. “Just a twinge. The excitement is probably too mu-ahh!”

You gasp again, nails digging punishingly into Fernando’s forearms as your knees threaten to buckle. All hints of masculine posturing flee his mind as Fernando smoothly sweeps you up into a secure bridal carry, heedless of the soft whimpers of discomfort now trickling past your parted lips.

He locks eyes with a stunned Mark over your bent crown, gaze impassive and steady. “You heard her. The excitement is too much. We’re leaving.”

Without waiting for a response, Fernando swivels on his heel and marches back the way you’d originally come with you cradled protectively against his chest. He keeps his strides measured and unhurried, but still manages to put a fair amount of distance between the pair of you and your father’s petulant anger in a matter of moments.

Once you’ve rounded a quiet corner alcove, Fernando gently lowers you to a relatively secluded stack of equipment crates, bracing your lower back and guiding you into a seated position.

“Wait here,” he murmurs against your hairline, dropping a fleeting kiss to the rapidly dampening strands stuck to your brow. Fernando’s fingers ghost down to cradle your belly once more, silently assessing for any areas of increased tension. “I’ll be back in just a moment with some water and a physio, alright?”

You nod weakly, squirming to rest back against the cool metal behind you as another pained grimace flits across your features. Fernando feels his heart clench at the wretched, lost expression clouding your eyes.

Cupping your cheek, he tilts your chin up until you meet his heated gaze. “Don’t look so afraid, pequeña. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

Fernando leans in until his nose brushes against yours, allowing the familiar closeness and the scent of his cedar and bergamot cologne to soothe you. “Our little one is just reminding us who’s boss, that’s all. But Papi’s here ��� I’ll take care of both of you, sí?”

You manage a weak smile at that, some of the tension bleeding from your delicate features as you nod against his palm. Fernando presses one more lingering kiss to your brow before reluctantly pulling away.

“I’ll be right back, mi vida. Just breathe deeply for me in the meantime.”

With one final reassuring caress to your belly, Fernando turns on his heel and strides back out into the bustling paddock area. His jaw is set in a tense line, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he mentally catalogs which team staff he needs to track down.

Rounding a corner, Fernando very nearly barrels straight into the rigid form of your father standing there with arms crossed, clearly waiting to waylay him. The Aussie’s expression is thunderous, eyes blazing with hurt and undisguised fury.

“So that’s it then?” Mark bites out in a tone of barely restrained aggression. “You’ve gone and knocked up my little girl. My own daughter, Nando ...”

Fernando holds up a dismissive hand, in no mood to allow your father’s misplaced anger to provoke another confrontation — not when you’re so clearly in distress. “Don’t start with me again.” His tone is low, brooking no argument. “Your daughter is safe and being well looked after, that’s all that matters right now.”

With that, he moves to sidestep around Mark, only to find his path blocked by the other man’s broad chest as he steps directly into Fernando’s space. The former World Champion narrows his eyes warningly, feeling his temper ratcheting back up in the face of such insolence.

“Look, you arrogant Spanish prick,” Mark growls, lips peeling back in a menacing sneer. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but-”

Fernando abruptly cuts him off with a harsh bark of humorless laughter, dark eyes glittering dangerously. “A game?” He shakes his head slowly, expression one of vaguely disbelieving contempt. “You really think that’s all this is to me? Getting one up on you by deflowering your little girl and leaving her pregnant, alone, and disgraced?”

The other man flinches almost imperceptibly at the crass words, clearly thrown by Fernando’s frank disdain. The Spaniard presses on relentlessly. “Any man who would treat a situation like this so flippantly doesn’t deserve to consider themselves a real man at all — let alone a father.”

Mark’s face has turned an alarming shade of puce, whether from shame or sheer unchecked rage Fernando neither knows nor cares. He simply crowds further into the Australian’s space, heedless of how their chests nearly brush with each harsh exhalation.

“Make no mistake, I love that woman and the child she carries more than life itself,” Fernando states with conviction, cadence low and gravelly. “If you’re asking whether I intend to be there for them both as a partner, as a father … my answer is simple.”

He pauses just long enough to allow the weight of his next words to truly sink in.

“For as long as your daughter and my children will have me, you couldn’t pry me away from their sides with a fucking crowbar.”

Fernando holds your father’s seething gaze for one final beat, satisfaction lancing through him at seeing the other man seemingly robbed of his righteous anger. With a curt nod, he finally moves to brush past the speechless Australian without another word —intent on fetching the physio like he had originally set out to do.

Because in the end, Mark Webber’s approval means less than nothing to Fernando. All that matters is rushing back to your side and ensuring your safety and comfort. You and the new life blossoming within you are his entire world now.

As if to reaffirm the point, you suddenly appear around the corner, one hand braced protectively under the swell of your abdomen.

“Nando,” you breathe in a tremulous voice, blindly reaching for him. “The little one misses you ...”

Fernando instantly abandons all thoughts of confronting Mark, or retrieving a physio, or anything else as he rushes to gather you up in his arms once more. He cradles you tenderly to his chest as your fingers twist almost convulsively in the fabric of his Hugo Boss shirt, dark eyes wide and pleading.

Fernando glances down at you cradled protectively in his arms, heart clenching at the distressed furrow of your brow and shallow, panting breaths.

Readjusting his grip, he dips his head to murmur a string of soothing Spanish endearments against your sweat-dampened hairline as he carries you through the winding labyrinth of the paddock. His strides are measured but purposeful, not rushing — he needs to get you somewhere quiet and comfortable to recover from the ordeal.

Finally, Fernando spots a secluded alcove tucked away behind a cluster of tires. He quickly guides you over and gently lowers you onto an emptied workbench, cocooning you against his broad chest.

“There, there, pequeña,” he croons, lips brushing your brow. “Just breathe nice and deep for Papi, just like we practiced ...”

You nod weakly, fingers reflexively flexing against the solid planes of Fernando’s abdomen as you struggle to pull in deep gulps of air. He deftly tugs the neckline of your summer dress aside to expose more of your flushed skin, using the hem to dab away the perspiration beading on your chest and throat.

“That’s it, mi vida,” he praises in that dark, soothing timbre. “Just like that, easy does it ...”

Slowly, the tension bleeds from your features as the worst of the discomfort subsides. Fernando doesn’t dare loosen his supportive embrace, nor does he tear his increasingly heated gaze away from your parted lips as each measured exhale puffs across his skin.

“Better now?” He murmurs, thumb tracing the delicate arch of your cheekbone reverently. A rosy blush stains your complexion when you nod meekly, lashes fanning across those glorious cheekbones.

“Good girl,” Fernando rumbles, helpless not to drink in the gorgeous picture you make — cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with lingering stardust. He grips your jaw in a firm caress, tilting your chin up until your gazes lock.

“Because I must admit,” he husks softly, gaze darkening to molten whiskey. “Seeing you like this, with my child safe inside you … has me feeling quite possessive, pequeña.”

You shudder visibly at his words, tongue darting out to wet those plump lips in a blatant show of want. Fernando doesn’t miss the subtle gesture, allowing his gaze to dip briefly to track the slick path your tongue carves before fixing back on your rapidly dilating pupils.

“Would you like that, hmm?” He lowers his voice to a sensual rumble, skimming his thumb across your lower lip in a wordless command for access. “Having Papi show you just how adored, how cherished you and our little one inside you truly are?”

A whimper catches in the back of your throat as you readily accept the gentle press of Fernando’s calloused digit between your parted lips. Your eyes flutter shut on a trembling exhale as he slowly begins to glide the thick pad of his thumb across that heavenly softness, careful not to scrape the sensitive skin with his nail.

“That’s it, pequeña,” he growls, a tad hoarse as desire visibly burns behind those long lashes. “Suckle for me, let me take care of you both nice and proper ...”

Fernando rocks forward ever so slightly, allowing the swollen curve of your belly to brush against his solid abs with each tiny shuddering breath you drag in through your nose. He keeps up the lazy, hypnotic strokes of his thumb until you’re completely transfixed — hips shifting restlessly against his thighs and soft, muffled mewls escaping past the seal of your swollen lips.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice pitched low enough to rasp straight through you and ignite every raw nerve ending. “So sweet and responsive for Papi … going to reward that gorgeous little mouth in just a moment, I promise.”

You whine wantonly around his thumb in response, eyes fluttering back open to reveal pupils blown wide with naked yearning. Fernando chuckles indulgently, thumb tracing the delicate bow of your lower lip one final time before retreating fully.

“So eager,” he tuts without any real admonishment. Leaning in close, he angles his head to brush kiss-swollen lips against the outer shell of your ear. “Don’t fret, pequeña. I’ll take such good care of both of you right here, right now ...”

Fernando drops a lingering series of kisses along the line of your jaw, letting his lush mouth trail lower and lower with each heated murmur.

“Will remind you exactly who you belong to … who made you … who put this child in your belly ...”

His final words are an exhale ghosting out across your thundering pulse. Fernando immediately latches on with his teeth, nipping and sucking a series of stinging, possessive marks into your sensitized flesh that has you arching against him with a strangled cry of pure bliss.

Out here, cloaked in the shadow of the paddock where anyone could stumble across the two of you — your father included — and discover just how thoroughly Fernando has claimed you. The taboo thrill of it all is utterly intoxicating.

As your trembling fingers find purchase in his clothes, dragging him nearer with insistence, Fernando feels that familiar molten lick of possessive pride unfurl deep in his core. You are his now, fully and completely — mind, body, and soon … family.

Just the way it was always meant to be.

[changbunnies]

Devourance (18+)

♡ Pairing: Dracula / Nosferatu!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: vampire au, dracula / nosferatu au, 1800s au, human / vampire relationship, horror themes, reincarnation, soulmates, smut

♡ Word Count: 3.9k

♡ Summary: Hyunjin has crossed oceans of time to find you– the one who's blood calls to him, who beckons for him in the dead of night, who yearns for his touch against all conceptions of what one must and must not desire. The ancient Vampyr has an appetite for you; an appetite that won't ever be sated.

♡ General Warnings: reader has depression (referred to as melancholy), reader is a lucid dreamer, usage of vampire abilities (invading dreams, shapeshifting, heightened senses), hyun's true form is very Creature Vampire so. still sexy if ur a monster fucker like me but some of y'all may not like that lmao

♡ Smut Warnings: does having sex with someone inside their dream count as somnophilia? idk !!, outdoor sex (kind of; it's a dream so they're not really outside lol), wet dreams, pet names (my love, my heart), referenced biting and blood drinking, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: originally, when i was planning my late kinktober fics, this was strictly a dracula au (as i love the 1992 movie and have a beautiful copy of the book sitting in my horror novel collection <3) but i saw the nosferatu remake in theaters and it rotted my fucking brain lmao so this became a blend of both ! i hope you enjoy it, cause i had a blast writing it <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

It starts as a dream; a waking one, so vivid and lucid that the line between conscious reality and imagination blurs, all perception of time and space bending and warping to what your subconscious mind feels most safe and familiar.

Your hands clasped together, a deep breath before you close your teary eyes, your souls desires laid out in a whispered prayer– "Come to me."

Who are you asking for? Who will heed your call? A friend you wish to have, but have yet to obtain? An imaginary prince charming who will right all the wrongs of your life with his presence alone? God himself? Death?

You do not know– all you know is that you are desperate for an escape from the melancholy that permeates your life, seeping its way into every crack of your porcelain heart, as thick and murky black as tar. It sticks to you, wraps itself around every cell, clinging to you in a loveless embrace.

Even in your dreams you cannot escape it; so often you hear tale of joyous dreams. Dreams in which you stand upon the altar, waiting to be wed to the love of your life, dreams in which you share a dinner with one you admire, or dreams in which you have coveted all that you desire.

You are regaled with recollections of dreams full of simple pleasures; warm and nostalgic, dreams of playing in the front yard as a child, with your mother's freshly baked bread wafting to you from the open window. Dreams of early school days, where one's only worry in the world was what they'd play when they got back home.

For some, dreams are entirely nonsensical; there is often no clear purpose, nor story, nor concrete feeling– but it is pleasant in its own right, and entertaining to recall the absurdities in which you found yourself in the middle of.

You do not experience such simple pleasures.

While for others, dreams are a pleasant escape from everyday life, a blissful end to an arduous day of work, your dreams are an extension of your reality. They offer no comfort, nor joy, nor escape from your bleak, mundane existence. You are ever as aware of yourself whilst asleep as you are while conscious, feeling every emotion just as strongly as you do in the light of day.

You wish you could say you have adapted to life with your melancholy, or learned to be at peace with it, or that you don't mind having no escape. But the truth of the matter is that your dreams being not a safe haven as they should be tolls on you, made worse by the fact that even in the sanctuary that should be your mind, you are utterly alone and miserable.

So there you stand in your waking dream, wishing for a change. A mirror of your reality, your status within your dream reflects the state you were in before falling to sleep. You are in your bedroom, as pitch dark as you left it when blowing out the candles, the only illumination coming from the moon shining through your balcony doors.

You stand in the middle of the room, hands clasped and eyes closed as you whisper your prayers, the same lily-white chemise you wore to bed draping your body. So perfect a recreation of your surroundings, that were it not for the fact that you so vividly remember adhering to your sleep routine and laying your head against the pillows, you might not even be able to say that this was a dream at all.

And though it is just the confines of your mind, and you are certain no one but God can hear you (if he will listen, and hasn't yet turned his back on you), you plead. 

"Come to me. A guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, a spirit of any celestial sphere– anyone, anything. Please, hear my call."

There is naught in the room but silence when you are finished; you are as alone with your thoughts as you ever are. You take a breath, blink away building tears, readying yourself to try again– and then, to your greatest surprise, there is a response.

For the first time in all your many dreams, a voice answers you– soft, an indistinct whisper akin to your own, but you hear it echo in the silence of your bedroom. Your eyes shoot open, a soft gasp leaving your parted lips as you look around the room.

Slowly, you lower your hands, taking an unconscious step forward, closer to where the voice calls to you from your balcony. You cannot yet discern what the voice is saying, nor can you see their figure, but you watch breathlessly as the lock on your balcony doors seems to unlatch itself, a sudden gust of wind pushing it open.

The air is cooler than you'd expect for a late spring's breeze, but you do not shiver or shrink away from the sudden chill; instead, you tentatively take another step, following the unfamiliar, beckoning voice. The voice becomes clearer the closer you step to the balcony, and though you see nothing out of the ordinary before you, you feel them.

No, to say you do not see them is not right– invisible in your mortal gaze, yes, but the moon casts their shadow on your wall, your curtains billowing with the steady breeze capturing their inhuman silhouette. And surely it is merely a trick of shadow that makes the figure appear so inhuman– because how else can you grapple with so foreign a creature standing before you?

You rationalize the impossibly tall silhouette as the moon elongating their shadow, the sharp and pointy length of their nails having simply become exaggerated, the unnatural point of their ears the result of a penumbra trick. Their figure vanishes with each fall of your curtains, reappearing with each rise; but their shadow ever lingers, eerie black against your ivory walls.

Their shadow serves as a reminder, you think– that even when you cannot see them, they will be there. Watching, beckoning, waiting; the voice, once so indistinct and otherworldly, is now crystal clear in your ears. Soft but luminous, it calls you as you take another cautious step closer.

"You," the voice starts, and though soft, it is an aching rasp– reminiscent, you think, of when one has fallen ill, or of times when one's throat has grown stiff from disuse. You have no further time to ponder if this is the man's– creature's?��� natural inflection; for in just a few more careful utterances, their tone smooths, the soft voice becoming silken.

"You," the male voice repeats, smooth as satin and utterly mesmerizing, "I have heard you. And I answer in turn– come to me."

The shadow moves along your wall then, creeping closer to you; it feels as if it envelops you, embracing you with a blissful warmth you've never before felt. It clings to you with each step, but it does not feel like the melancholic tar you are accustomed to; it is a gentle ribbon, guiding you further with promises of sweetness you have so long craved.

Holding now to the railing of your balcony, you look to the gardens below. There you see him, standing amongst the tall, twisting trees and blooming lilacs. He gazes up at you, eyes black as a void, and yet they still shine in the light of the moon.

And just as a void promises to, his look swallows you whole. You lose yourself in the dark, hypnotic pool of his eyes, stumbling forward almost blindly, with one simple thought– you must go to him.

You are before him in an instant, though you have no recollection or understanding as to how. Did you walk off the balcony and fall below? Did you turn back and trek through the house to make it to the gardens? Is this the absurdity of dreams that normally eludes you, or is a greater power at work?

The answer seems of little importance; bewitched by the man standing before you, you find that logic and rationality hold no value. He is here, perfection and beauty embodied wholly– the answer to your prayers; that is all you care to know.

Your hand trembles, your utmost desire now to reach out and feel him beneath your fingertips, to confirm that he is not just a figment of your dream– that there really was someone in this world who could hear you from beyond, and cared enough to respond to your call.

Hair as black as his eyes, a few long strands falling over his perfect cheekbones, while the rest is tucked behind his normal, and not at all pointed, ears. He has full, plush lips shaded in an enchanting, muted red, with a little mole under his left eye and utterly flawless, pristine skin.

He is ethereal, and radiant, and he is here for you– and while his eyes hold a darkness you have never before seen, his smile is impossibly tender. He takes your trembling hand in his own, and you can feel his nails poke your skin as he closes it around you.

They are long, yes, but not as long and pointed as his shadow would've led you to believe them to be. There is a part of you that decides you were correct to think his features were simply exaggerated and warped by shadow, though the deep recesses of your heart and mind know this isn't true.

Whatever he is, whoever he may be– he is not of this world, you know that for certain. For who else in the world could hear you? Who would have the power to meet you in your mind? A trickster, an angel, a devil? It matters not, you decide; for perhaps, in some ways, you are not of this world either.

Perhaps you have always felt melancholic, twisted, and odd, because your destiny did not reside with your fellow man– perhaps it lied here, with this creature who wears the mask of the beautiful sort of prince charming you've yearned for.

His shadow was the truth of his being, you innately know, and yet it gives you no fear. He squeezes your hand, a reassurance, while the other rises to cup your cheek in his palm, a tender rub of his thumb along the skin where he holds you. His gentle touch is ice cold, but it spreads warmth through your body regardless– because oh, how you've longed for the companionship of another.

"You are for me," he whispers as he inches closer, your noses on the precipice of touching, "and I, you. Do you believe in destiny?" He stares at you, observing you closely as he awaits your answer. You swallow, heart quickening as you hold his gaze.

"Yes," you utter softly; for in the depths of your soul, you feel it– the immutable pull that tells you this is where you must be. Beside him, in his arms, at his side for all eternity– and he will love you, this you know true; because even down to the very marrow of your bones, your body says it is so.

He has searched for you for an age; not someone like you, no. You. Only you. And his delight to finally have heard his beloved's call, and to answer– it is an unparalleled joy, one that he expects you to share. For even in your mortal life, your blood sings for him just the same as it did those many, long centuries ago.

You were promised to him then, as you are now– and he will have you, just as he did then. First in sleep, as you are now, but someday soon he will find you in the physical world once more. He will hold you in his arms, your reunion as joyous as it is profane. Rejoice, as you join him back to your true home; the castle, your castle, where every moment was spent in unholy exuberance.

"Do you remember?" he asks, voice honey-sweet, "remember how we once were?"

You do not, not really– your mind has no recollection of the man before you. But your soul remembers, has carried the weight of centuries of love and longing with it all this time, waiting for the moment all the feelings harbored within could finally be unearthed.

"I know you," you answer, truthfully; because while this is your first meeting in this life, you recognize him all the same. In the deepest recesses of your memory, he is there, gazing upon you with the same reverence he does now. He holds you close, kisses you tender, his touch along your skin slow and gentle, his name a whispered prayer on your lips.

Hyunjin.

His eyes light up when you call his name, a smile growing on his perfect lips. Hyunjin would know you anywhere, and there was never any doubt you were his love– but all the same, it is a great relief to hear his name fall from your lips again after so many years spent longing for it.

He kisses you then, doing his utmost to relay the depths of his passion, while also holding the carnality he feels for you at bay– the last thing he wishes to do is overwhelm you with his appetite too soon. You are his affliction, his every desire, he must have you; and he can only pray that you will not deny him, or yourself, the pleasure– but only when the time is right.

"You will be mine once more," he says; a statement, not a question, between kisses to your lips, "as I am eternally yours." Your nerves tingle, blood alight as you return his affections, meeting his lips with urgency.

"I will have you," he continues, almost breathless as his lips begin to trail down your neck, "Will you swear it? That again, we are for no one but each other?" His breath tickles your skin, the points of two sharp teeth touching the sensitive pulse point. You shiver as his fangs linger there, closing your eyes as your heart thunders in your chest.

Hyunjin can not truly drink from you here, not in the confines of your dream, but his teeth against your neck serve as a reminder– that your blood is his greatest temptation. Should you promise yourself to him once more, he won't be able to resist you– as there is no taste sweeter than the blood of his beloved.

"I swear," you whisper your promise; for you will never fear him, nor can you deny the ecstasy that comes when he drinks from you. “ever-eternally, I am yours.” 

He is a beast of nightmares, a plague set upon the world, a ruinous omen of death, your immortal Vampyr; and you are safe in his hold. For he loves you and needs you too greatly to cause you any harm– an affection that contradicts his nature, but what a welcome contradiction it is. 

When you meet his gaze once more, his eyes burn with desire; it has been an agony, truly, to have such carnal desire for you all these centuries. And he could do naught with his desires but wait– wait for the day you would return to this world, and pray that your body and soul would still sing for him the way it once had. 

Hyunjin could have taken concubines, could’ve shared his castle with any great number of men or women– but they would not have been you. None can sate him the way you can, none can spread such flames of passion through his icy veins, none can make his eternally still heart feel as if it beats. It is not a vain promise when he says you are the only one for him– he means it with every fiber of his immortal being.

Your heart and soul, now free from their sepulchre, burn with need. He can hear the erratic thump of your heart, the blood rushing through your veins, can smell the arousal pooling between your legs. You desire him, just as he desires you– and he decides then that the time is right; there is no need to be cautious and careful with his affections.

You want him, and he wants you– and you will have each other, now and forever.

Hyunjin kisses you once more, hungry and urgent. He pulls your body flush to his own, holds you tightly as the wind rolls quickly past you. You realize, when you pull away to catch a breath, that your surroundings have shifted. Now in the center of the estate’s hedge maze, he lies you down on the stone bench beneath the grand statue of Mnemosyne.

You shiver against the cold stone, but he warms you with another kiss. His tongue meets your lips as his hand dances around the bottom of your chemise, lifting it up just enough to expose your lower half. His hands find your thighs, the points of his nails digging at the soft flesh as he squeezes you in his palms. 

It elicits a needy sound from deep within, one that you almost don’t recognize as your own. You feel the sharp points of his teeth with your tongue, while he spreads your legs apart to make more room for himself between them. He tugs your panties away with haste, and there is no shyness to be had when he separates to look at the way you glisten under the moonlight for him. 

He takes a moment to stare, licks his lips before looking back up to meet your eyes. You hold his gaze as he frees his cock from his trousers, swallowing as you look down for just a moment, and then back up to him. You are both eager, it is clear– and he will have neither of you wait any longer; you have both waited long enough. 

“I will have you,” Hyunjin repeats as he grabs your hips, lifting your bottom up from the stone bench and aligning you with himself. His thighs support you, while his feet stay firmly planted on the grass and stone below. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he removes one of his hands from your hips, using it to find leverage on the stone as he leans over you. 

You can feel his cock pulsing against you, excitement and anticipation building exponentially in your gut. “Mine again,” he whispers as he captures your lips in another kiss, “You are mine, my love.” 

He presses inside you as slowly as he can manage to, and you gasp, hands reaching out to cling to his arms. Thick and full, you let out a shuddering moan when his cock is sheathed fully inside your wet heat. He moans with you, the centuries of building need finally melting into the pure bliss he’d been longing for. 

But he refuses to rush– his thrusts are slow and fluid, precise and calculated, searching for the spot he knows will bring you utmost euphoria. You let out a high-pitched moan, followed by a curse, when he succeeds; and he smiles before he grits his teeth, determined to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

“Hyunjin, oh, please–” you whimper, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeves as he picks up his pace. He wanted to drag it out longer, truly, he did; but the mind is a powerful thing, and even whilst in a dream, the pleasure that you both feel is entirely real. 

And how much longer can one who has held centuries of lust and yearning hold back? Especially when the object of his every desire is moaning and begging for him so sweetly?

He could never resist you– not then, and especially not now. And long has he craved to hear his name spill from your lips like this again; so much so that the sound of it sends him into a frenzy. 

“Again,” he utters, equal parts desperate plea and urgent demand, “call to me, say my name.” You oblige easily, his name falling from your lips in a tantalizing mantra; and you feel his cock throb violently with each salacious whimper, his every thrust laced with desire and urgency.

He releases his grip on your hip, moving his hand to your center and pressing his thumb on your clit. Your breath catches, eyes rolling back as he rubs your clit in steady, practiced circles.

“Cum for me, my love,” Hyunjin urges; he is on the precipice of release himself, and he needs you to fall apart with him– it is the only way he can truly be satisfied. Your thighs tremble, whimpers broken by harsh breaths; and you let go of his arms, reach up to his face and pull him down into a desperate, needy kiss. 

He moans, and if his flesh were mortal, he is sure that goosebumps would’ve risen over every inch of his body. His thrusts lose their fluidity, becoming quick and choppy as he chases the high your body promises him. You clench tighter, toes curling and body quivering as you finally cum, your every moan of pleasure captured by his lips. 

His hips still as his own high takes him, his cock fully pressed inside, his cum spurting in long, sticky spurts. Your kisses are breathless, impassioned, but no longer urgent– they are soft promises of love, of eternity together in bliss.

You smile at him when he pulls away, and he looks at you just as tenderly as he had before, stroking your cheek and indulging in the heat it offers his thumb. You’ve never felt so relaxed, happy and at peace– but just then, you feel a sudden jolt.

It is a sign that your consciousness is returning to reality, and you will soon find yourself back in your bed, with the morning light shining on you from your balcony. Hyunjin, an invader in your mind, feels himself being pushed out– for he can not stay by your side beyond the bounds of your dream just yet. 

There is fear and uncertainty that peaks within you as you fight to stay asleep just a moment longer– but he is quick to calm you, kissing you one last time before you the sun’s rays shine down on you.

“I will find you again in the waking world, my heart,” he says, squeezing your hand in his before he starts to fade once more into shadow, “this, I promise.”

You rise with a start, blinking rapidly and lingering, unshed tears falling from your eyes as you raise your hand to your heart. Just as expected, it is morning now– the late spring sun is bright and warm, and birds chirp in delight as they welcome the dawn of a new day.

You frown, feeling the erratic thumb of your heart beneath your fingertips as the melancholy claws its way back around you, reminding you that it has not left. Your inner thighs are sticky and wet, you realize a short moment later, and for the first time, you blush.

And then you giggle– and the melancholy, though ever present, now has a weaker grasp. You wonder, as you rise from the bed and prepare for your day, how long it will take for Hyunjin to find you. Days, weeks, months? 

You hope it is soon– but if it is not, you know what you will do. Every night, when you blow out the candles and fall asleep, you will call to him. You’ll invite him back into your mind, greet him with a soft kiss, and revel in his tender touch.

You will make love, you will smile, and you will talk of the future with greater enthusiasm than you have ever known– for he is your destiny, your truest love, your one and only immortal Vampyr. Ever-eternally.

[aemondloverr]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡

𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 • 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 • 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Upon your arrival, Cregan sees to it that you are comfortable in Winterfell and a deal is struck.

𝐂����𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: A sassy Jace and a Reader in denial of her feelings. Tiny bit of angst at the end

𝐰𝐜: 5.5k

𝐀/𝐍: I told yall I would drop again soonnn (had 4.3k words and decided to write 1.2k more smh.) And Ya'll. When you sign up for the taglist, PLEASE. PUT YOU USERNAME!! 😭 Some of you guys are just putting yes or no. I won't be able to tag you because I won't know how you are!!

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩: The entire family watches as you and Silverwing take flight, the dragon's wings beating strongly as you soar into the black sky.

A sense of melancholy hangs in the air, the weight of your absence already palpable among those left behind. Rhaenyra's expression is solemn as she watches you disappear into the distance, a silent prayer on her lips for your safe return.

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

As Silverwing flies through the night sky, you catch a glimpse of another dragon in the distance. You instantly recognize the familiar shape and color as none other than Vermax. He appears to be flying in the same direction as you and is rapidly catching up.

You signal Silverwing to land

Silverwing, sensing your command, begins to reduce her speed and descend towards the ground. She lands gracefully on the soft earth, her wings beating powerfully to ease the impact of touchdown. The moment you dismount, you see Jace jumping off Vermax and hurrying towards you.

“Jace what the fuck are you doing??”

Jace approaches you quickly, his expression serious as he stops in front of you. He takes a moment to catch his breath, running a hand through his messy hair

"What do you think I'm doing? You didn't seriously think I would let you go to Winterfell alone, did you?"

“Mother said-”

Jace cuts you off, his frustration clear in his voice "I know what mother said. But I'm not letting you go on this trip alone, especially not with...him there. I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not."

You roll your eyes at his stubbornness and he rolls his own right back.

"Don't give me that look. You know I'm right. You need me there, whether you want to admit it or not."

“Why do you have to be so difficult. Ugh.”

Jace gives you a cocky grin, his usual playful demeanor resurfacing.

"Because someone needs to be the voice of reason and it clearly won't be you given your emotional state at the moment."

You scoff and get back onto Silverwings’ saddle.

He lets out a huff of laughter, shaking his head becausehe knows he's annoyed you. He hops back onto Vermax, the dragon flapping his wings impatiently, eager to take flight again.

"Ready to keep going, hotheaded?" he yells and you reply with a warning

“Mother will skin you when we get back; I hope you know that!”

He laughs, unbothered by your threat

"I'm sure I'll survive. Besides, it'll be worth it when I get to say I told you so."

Silverwing begins to beat her wings, preparing to take off once again. Jace clearly enjoys the opportunity to rile you up, as brothers always do.

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

3 and a half days later

“DRAGONS!!” The guards bellow out a startled shout, prompting several other guards and castle folk to rush out into the courtyard to see what the commotion is.

As Silverwing and Vermax touch down on the cold, snowy landing outside Winterfell, you and Jace dismount, your breaths visible in the crisp, cold air. The castle looms above you, its massive walls and towers covered in a thick layer of snow. The sound of voices and activity can be heard from inside the castle, signaling the busy life of the northern capital.

The cold wind beats against you both, it’s chill uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

Approaching the wall, the townsfolk and guards murmur among themselves as you and Jace come into view, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. You can hear them whispering as they catch glimpses of the mighty dragons resting in the clearing behind you. The guards at the main gate watch you as you approach, their hands gripping their hilts of their swords tightly.

“This is the eldest Princess and Prince of the realm, children of Queen Rhaenyra. We are to meet with Lord Stark” you call out.

The guards exchange glances with one another, clearly uncertain how to respond. One of them steps forward, his gaze flicking nervously between you and the dragons behind you.

"You're here to meet with Lord Stark, you say?"

“Indeed. He had been made aware of our coming.”

The guard nods slowly, still appearing rather nervous in the presence of the dragons. He clears his throat and calls out to another guard standing further back

"Open the gates! The Princess and Prince are here!”

As the gates creek open, down comes Cregan Stark, marching towards you through the crowd of townspeople flanked on either side by a few of his trusted retainers. A cloak of wolf fur is draped over his shoulders, and his expression is stoic as ever. He stops about a few feet away from you, his grey eyes taking in the sight of the dragons behind you in the far clearing.

Your breath catches in your throat and your heart races. You thought you were ready to see him again but clearly, that was not the case.

Cregan's expression remains stoic as he gazes at you, his eyes searching your face intently. He takes in the sight of you standing there, a mixture of emotions flickering briefly in his steel grey eyes. For a moment, the two of you stand there, silently staring at one another, neither of you breaking the tense silence that has fallen over the courtyard.

You observe each other with looks of familiarity. You still remember quite clearly how he looked at 5 and 10 and it definitely wasn’t anything like now.

Before, he was the same height as you, short red-brown hair and soft features. He had the sweetest smile you’d ever seen. It was almost like you could feel the warmth of his happiness.

Now, there is no warmth. His expressions show very little emotion and he’s at least a foot taller than you. His hair has grown out to his shoulders and it still has that pretty red-brown color to it.

He continues to scrutinize you, his eyes roaming over your figure. He does not speak, but his gaze betrays his thoughts.

It's clear that he too is caught off guard by the encounter, memories of your childhood together flooding his mind.

You incline your head in recognition and respect.

“Lord stark.”

"Princess,"

He nods in return, his expression guarded but polite.

He briefly glances at Jace, then back at you, clearly noting the presence of your companion.

You tap Jaces hand to get him to be respectful.

Jace, who has been watching the exchange with annoyance, follows your unspoken order. He steps forward and gives a brief, stiff bow to Lord Stark.

"Lord Stark," he greets in a cool tone, his expression betraying his reluctance to show proper respect.

What a great start to an alliance. Good one Jace.

Cregan raises an eyebrow at Jace's impolite behavior, but he remains impassive as he regards him. He turns his attention back to you, his gaze flicking over your figure once more before he speaks.

"I trust you had a safe journey?"

“Aye. We did.”

He takes a step back, gesturing towards the entrance to Winterfell.

"You must be weary from the journey. I will have my men take you to your chambers for you to rest. We can converse when you have freshened up and settled in."

“Thank you.”

Cregan nods once more, then turns and gives a brief command to a few of the retainers standing nearby. The retainers step forward and begin to usher you and Jace towards the castle. Cregan falls in behind them, still observing you intently, his expression inscrutable as ever.

You speak to Jace in high Valyrian

Jace glances at you as you address him, his brow furrowing slightly. He responds in the same language, his voice low so only you can hear. "He's still as cold and stoic as ever. This should be fun."

“It was rude of you to do what you did, ignoring him like that.”

Jace rolls his eyes, a hint of irritation in his voice

"It wasn't rude. It was the truth. He acts like a block of ice, even towards royalty."

“Jacaerys.” You demand sternly

Jace holds his hands up defensively, his expression contrite. "Alright, alright, I'll stop. But you can't deny that you were practically fawning over Lord Stark."

“I was not. It was rude of you not to greet him like that after sneaking all this way with me. It would be a shame to send you home when you’ve only just arrived, wouldn’t it.” You threaten.

"Fine, I get it I get it I'll be polite. But only for you. Not for him."

“That’s not how this works-”

Jace cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll behave myself. I promise. Can you just stop nagging me for ten minutes now, please?"

“Shall I send raven to mother right now?”

"No, no, no. That won't be necessary. I said I'd behave. I'll be the perfect image of etiquette, I swear it."

“Good then.”

Jace sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He gives you a weary look, accepting that he has no choice but to play nice.

"I'll be on my best behavior. No more rude quips or comments. I'll treat Lord Stark like he's the most charming, most handsome man in all of Westeros. Happy now?"

You just scoff in response.

Jace rolls his eyes, clearly not pleased by your response "Gods, you're impossible to please. I make the grand gesture to accompany you all this way and you're still annoyed with me. I can't win, can I?"

Cregan, who has been quietly listening to the exchange between you and Jace, raises an eyebrow at your bickering. A hint of curiosity flickers in his eyes as he hears the rapid exchange of words in High Valyrian. It's clear that he's wondering what you're discussing that has you so riled up.

Jace has nothing more to say, pouting as you’re lead to where you’ll both stay.

At last, you reach the Great Keep and up a spiral staircase to the guest wing. They escort you to two adjacent rooms, each furnished with comfortable beds, warm furs, and a fireplace to keep away the winter chill. Servants are already inside the rooms, laying out towels and filling a tub of hot water for you to bathe.

“This is much appreciated, especially after our long journey.” You thank Cregan but Jace just goes straight to his room, shutting the door behind him.

He waits a moment, as if considering what to say, before finally speaking in his deep, gruff voice.

"Is your brother always so...irritable?"

“I’m sure you remember.”

A slight smile tugs at the corners of Cregan's lips as he hears your comment. He nods slowly, his eyes still locked onto yours.

There’s that warm smile of his

"Aye, I do remember. Though he seems to be even more ornery than I recall."

“He’s quite the trouble. The older he gets, the more impolite and out of line.”

His eyes widen as he nods in agreement, his expression taking on a slightly amused cast.

"It seems so. But he is certainly loyal, I'll give him that much."

“Well it's clear he never liked you, that's for sure.”

Cregan raises an eyebrow at your statement, his gaze flickering with curiosity. He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

"Oh? And why is that, pray tell?"

“Because you stole me away from him. I stopped playing with him everytime you visited King’s Landing.”

"Ah, so he's jealous, is he? I wondered if that was the cause of his animosity towards me."

“Speaking of Jace…I mean to talk with you quickly…”

You’d wanted to ask him if he could keep your brother in Winterfell but with the way Jace is behaving, he might just ruin it for himself.

The corners of Cregan's lips twitch into a smile at your words, his gaze still fixed on you. He nods, gesturing towards your chambers.

"Very well. Let us talk somewhere more private then, shall we?"

“No need.”

He raises an eyebrow at your response, his expression turning curious as he studies your face. He tilts his head slightly

"Oh? You wish to talk here? In the corridor? Are you not concerned about your brother and his listening in?"

“Well…I suppose you’re right.”

Cregan nods in agreement, a hint of a smirk on his face. He pushes himself off the wall and takes a step towards your chambers.

"Aye, I thought so. Come, then."

He gestures for you to lead the way into your room.

You push open the doors of your chambers. The room smells of your favorite flowers.

He remembered.

You smile silently but briefly to yourself at the flowers on the bedside as for him to not notice.

Cregan notices your brief smile anyways, but he does not comment on it. He walks over to the window, peering out into the snowy landscape outside. The moonlight in the darkening sky casts a silvery sheen upon the snow-covered ground, making everything look almost ethereal. He lets out a soft hum, his gaze still fixed on the outside before he speaks.

"It's a clear night tonight.”

You shiver, still cold although already inside. It was somehow colder in your chambers than the halls. Maybe it was because of the windows. You’d greatly underestimated the cold of Winterfell and now, you were suffering for it. “A-aye…”

Cregan notices the shiver that runs through you, his gaze lingering for a moment. He frowns slightly, concern evident in his eyes, even through his usual stoic demeanor.

"Are you cold? Here, come closer to the fire."

He gestures for you to come nearer to the fireplace and you step closer. He feeds the dying fire more wood in order to warm the room faster, moving to stand beside you, his figure casting a long shadow over yours as the firelight dances upon your features.

"Better?" he asks, voice soft and low.

You nod in response and he hums softly, eyes still fixed on you. He studies you for a moment, taking in your chattering teeth and trembling form.

"You're still shivering. Here, let me..."

Without warning, he reaches out and gently grabs hold of your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours.

“It would be a bother-“

He cuts you off with a shake of his head, hand tightening around yours. His voice is firm but gentle as he speaks.

"It's no bother at all. I won't have you freezing to death while you're under my roof."

He gently pulls you closer to him, guiding you to stand right in front of the fireplace. He keeps his hand wrapped around yours, his grip firm yet careful.

"Now, hold on.”

He takes a few moments to remove his cloak, which he drapes around your shoulders. The cloak is made of thick wool and lined with softer furs, making it warm and comfortable to wear. The garment is much too large for you, but it immediately envelops you, trapping the warmth of the fire between the layers of fabric. He stands silently next you, his hand still wrapped around yours, as if to ensure your body heat stays trapped within the cloak.

“I like this…This is nice.” The coat of course. Not his company. In any way. At all.

Cregan smiles slightly in response to your words, his grip on your hand tightening imperceptibly. He gazes down at you, studying your face as you huddle within the warmth of his cloak, a flicker of something warm passing through his grey eyes.

"Good. I'm glad.”

He rubs small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, his touch gentle and soothing as he keeps you close to the fire.

You can’t help but feel a flutter in your heart at the kind gestures and he can’t help but get butterflies, seeing you in his large furs.

Cregan continues to watch you silently, his gaze lingering on your slightly flushed cheeks and the way his cloak envelopes your body. With each passing moment, a sense of protectiveness and possessiveness begins to rise within him, though he keeps it well-hidden behind his stoic expression. His thumb continues to rub gentle circles on your hand, the gesture becoming almost subconscious at this point.

You pull your hand away and clear your throat. This is inappropriate. You shouldn’t be allowing him to get so close like this. Yet here you are.

He frowns slightly, feeling the loss of your warmth as you withdraw. He glances down at you with a hint of confusion in his eyes, wondering if he may have overstepped some invisible boundary. His gaze flickers down to his cloak, wrapped tightly around your shoulders, an unconscious reminder of his desire to keep you close and warm.

“Are you feeling warmer now?”

“Yes…Thank you”

A hint of relief crosses over Cregan's face at your answer, and he nods silently. Despite the return of the usual distance between you, there's a noticeable hint of reluctance in his gaze, as if he wishes to pull you closer again. He takes a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets, his voice is quiet as he speaks.

"You're always welcome."

The silence between you hangs heavy in the air, charged with unspoken words and lingering tension. Cregan stands facing you, his gaze fixed on your face. The dance of the fire casts shadows across his features, emphasizing the hard set of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates, seeming to think better of whatever he was about to say. The silence hangs between you for a beat longer before he finally does.

"You said you wished to talk, didn't you?"

“I need a favor. Well not so much a favor but…”

Cregan raises an eyebrow at your words, curiosity etched on his face.

"Go on,” he prompts.

“My mother will soon be sending a raven.”

"A...raven? What for…?"

“She'll want you to send Jace back to dragonstone”

Cregan lets out a scoff, his gaze flicking around the room before settling on you again.

"She wants me to send him back to Dragonstone? Why?”

“He wasn’t supposed to be here. Mother forbade him from coming with me so he decided to be a half wit and sneak out to ‘protect’ me” You roll your eyes just thinking back to his rebellious flee.

He shakes his head at Jace’s stubbornness and crosses his arms.

"He really never does like to listen to anyone, does he?"

“She’ll surely skin him”

She really might.

"Aye, I can imagine she would be quite displeased to find out he defied her orders. He's really dug himself a deep hole this time."

“Well that’s why I need you to ignore the message…”

"Ignore the message? Are you serious? You want me to ignore your mother's command to send your brother home?"

“Just… don’t worry about it. And if you get in trouble. I’ll vouch for you”

Cregan looks deeply conflicted, his brow creasing as he processes your request. He crosses his arms, his eyes studying your face intently.

"The Queen herself? And you think your word can protect me if it gets out that I disobeyed her?"

“I am her eldest. Besides, It’s nothing you haven’t done already.” You cross your arms, hinting about when you were children.

He rolls his eyes at your remark, clearly understanding the reference.

"Aye, fair point. I suppose I have disobeyed a few royal orders back then. But this is different. We aren't children anymore."

You didn’t want to have to resort to this but you’re almost begging.

"I know this but can't you just do it for my sake? As much as I hate to admit it, I need my brother here." You take his hand once again.

Cregan flinches slightly at the sudden contact of your hand in his, his gaze immediately looking down to where your fingers are intertwined together.

There's a momentary flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, his stoic expression faltering for a brief moment. Your words, spoken with such earnestness and conviction, tug at his heartstrings, and he can't deny the plea in your eyes.

He sighs deeply, a mixture of reluctance and resignation crossing his features. However, as his gaze falls upon your desperate expression, his will crumbles, and he nods.

"Fine…I’ll do it for you."

“Thank you..good. I'll swipe the message before it even reaches your solar. And if she asks you, you won't be lying because you’d not have received it and you’d not have even laid your eyes upon it”.

"Aye, but I have one condition."

Oh gods. It can never be straightforward with him can it?

“And what'll that be?…”

"Your brother will have to be respectful and obey my commands. No more of his sharp tongue or disobedience. I’ll not have him questioning my authority in my own castle. I don’t want any more unnecessary headaches because of that boy."

Cregan takes a step closer to you, his figure towering slightly over you, his gaze fixed solely on your face. His voice is low and quiet, a hint of warning.

Despite your doubts for Jace’s good behavior, you agree

“Easy. Done.”

You mean easier said than done?

Herein lies the problem. How is Jace to do that? He’ll never give up his snarky remarks. Sure maybe temporarily, but not forever. He can’t go long without saying something out of pocket.

Cregan nods in approval, a flicker of satisfaction in his grey eyes.

"and.."

Of course there's more.

"...you give me something in return” He finishes, his voice firm but gentle at the same time. His gaze bores into yours, searching for a hint of protest in your eyes but not letting go of your hand just yet. He continues to study you with intense eyes.

“Which is…?”

"Your company. Everyday."

Fuck.

“What?”

This is the last thing you’d expect and the last thing you wanted to happen. Getting over him does not include spending MORE time with him.

Cregan's gaze is steady on you, his voice still holding a slight gruffness.

"I want your company. I want you by my side. I want you to accompany me to my meetings, to dine with me, to walk with me, to simply…be with me.”

You chuckle nervously in disbelief “Everyday? It is a jest, surely? You cannot expect to-”

Cregan cuts you off, his voice a quiet but firm interruption. His gaze remains steady and intent, his expression serious as he responds.

“Not a jest. I expect you to keep me company. Not all your time, I’m not unreasonable, but a fair share of it. That is my price. Take it or leave it.”

“…And if I refuse?”

An unreadable expression crosses over Cregan’s face at your question. His grip on your hand tightens almost instinctively, like he’s afraid you might pull away. A hint of vulnerability flashes in his eyes, hidden behind a stoic mask, as he responds.

“You won’t refuse…but if you do…then the deal is off and your brother has to leave.”

Using blackmail to spend more time with you is low, even for him.

You ponder for a minute, weighing the decisions and he watches closely as he waits patiently for your response.

“So… blackmail is how you get what you want”

He sighs, letting go of your hand as he takes a step back, creating some distance between you.

"Not blackmail. Incentive." he grumbles in irritation. He crosses his arms, his gaze hardening as he responds.

"I’m not a liar or an oath breaker. You want me to do you a favor? Then I’ll do it. But I’m allowed to have something in return, aren’t I?"

“Fine.”

“Perfect. Then it’s settled. Tomorrow, you will spend the day with me.”

“Now” you sigh and turn your back “I’d like to take a bath now so if it please you…” you give a shooing motion.

Cregan nods, a slight hint of amusement in his eyes as he gazes at your back. He watches for a moment longer before relenting.

“Very well, you may bathe. I have matters to attend to anyway.”

He really doesn’t. He just wanted your company.

He turns towards the door, his hand on the handle as he glances back at you over his shoulder.

“I assume I will see you at supper tonight?”

“No you will not.”

He pauses at your statement, his hand dropping from the door handle. He turns back towards you, his expression slightly surprised by your adamant response.

“No? And may I ask why not?”

“I wish to retire after my bath so you may send for my supper. I will not come down. It’s been long since I slept well.”

He considers your words for a moment, his eyes studying your face intently, his tone slightly reluctant.

"Very well, I suppose you need to rest. But I expect to see you at breakfast on the morrow. We have a few matters to discuss.”

“Aye.”

Cregan gives you a small nod of agreement, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he finally turns to exit your your chambers, muttering something under his breath.

“Bloody stubborn girl.”

The door closes softly behind him.

“I heard that!!”

"Intended it to be heard!" he calls back from the hall, his voice tinged with playful sarcasm.

The room is quiet for a few moments after, the only sound coming from the crackling fire in the fireplace. The stillness is interrupted only by a soft knock on the door, followed by the voices of the servants as they bring in soaps, oils, and towels for the bath.

Every interaction with Cregan just melts at your resolve. You can’t avoid him. He’s made sure of that.

Despite your best efforts, you find yourself struggling to maintain that familiar disdain for him. Somewhere along the line, your feelings towards him have grown more complicated and nuanced.

You continue about your routine, undressing and slowly sinking into the warm water of the bath. As you relax into the tub, you let your mind wander once again, and the memories of your past with Cregan flood your mind. The old feelings of friendship and affection for him bubble to the surface, but you quickly push them down as you remind yourself of what he did.

The maids carefully and meticulously wash your hair, gently massaging the soap into the strands and rinsing it clean. Their touch is soothing as they work, their hands gliding through your locks with practiced ease. The warm water of the bath gently laps against your skin, providing a relaxing contrast to the maids' gentle touch.

You let yourself sink deeper into the tub, the warm water enveloping your body and easing the tension in your muscles. The heat of the water soothes your tired limbs, and the comforting scent of the bath oils swirl around you as they float on the surface. The maids gently massage a soft cloth over your skin, helping you clean and relax even further.

They tend to your arms, legs, and rest of your body, scrubbing all of the dirt and grime away.

After you are thoroughly rinsed, they help you stand and step out of the tub, warm water dripping down your body. One of the maids wraps a drying cloth around your hair, while the other sets out a soft and lightweight silken robe for you to slip into.

“Thank you for your assistance girls.”

The maids nod graciously at your appreciation, their work complete.

"You're welcome, Princess. Is there anything else you need before we take our leave?"

“What be your names?”

"I'm Martha." One says, the tall, brunette maid.

"And I'm Sara." The second maid replies, a soft-spoken blonde with an equally soft face.

“Goodnight, Martha and Sara”

The maids curtsy together as they reply.

"Good night, Princess."

With that, they gather their materials and exit your chambers, leaving you alone in the quiet room once again.

Once you’re done drying yourself off, you put on your silken robe, exiting the bathing room.

As if on cue, there is a knock at the door, followed by Cregan’s voice on the other side.

"Are you decent?"

“Just a moment.”

You cross the room to the bed, your steps quiet on the soft carpet. As you go through the wardrobe, you select a soft and lightweight night shift made of fine silk. You slip it over your head, the fabric feeling cool against your skin and falls just above your knees.

“You may enter.”

Cregan pushes open the door and enters, his eyes scanning the room, almost instinctively searching for your presence. A hint of surprise flickers across his face as he spots you, dressed in a simple nightgown with the fire burning bright behind you.

“I see you come bearing gifts.”

Cregan quirks a smile at your words, holding up a tray of food as he responds.

"As promised. I wanted to make sure you had something to eat before you retire.”

He walks over and sets the tray down on the table near the window, the dishes and cutlery clinking faintly as he places them down.

You do quickly to dismiss him. He’s been around you long enough today.

“Right…Thank you. Goodnight then.”

Cregan pauses, confusion and disappointment crossing his features as you promptly dismiss him. He stands there for a moment, shifting on his feet, as he stares across the room at your form.

"That’s it? I bring you dinner and just like that I’m dismissed?"

Well that backfired.

“What do you want, a piece of my bread?”

“No. I don’t want your bloody bread. I was just….”

he trails off, his expression clouding slightly, as if he suddenly can’t find the words he’s looking for to articulate his thoughts.

He takes a moment, gazing at you, taking in your form by the light of the fire. A hint of vulnerability seeps into his expression, his words suddenly turning quiet and unexpected.

"I was just trying to... spend some more time with you."

“You said that starts tomorrow. Not today.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, his eyes fixed on your face, his expression mingling with a hint of irritation and stubbornness.

"Aye, the deal we made says tomorrow. But I don’t see why I can’t spend some time with you right now. Why are you so adamant to get rid of me?"

“I’m just tired. And I don’t need this right now”

An excuse.

"You don’t need what? My company? Or is it something about my presence you find so intolerable, Princess?”

You raise you voice at him. “Just stop okay. Stop. I said I was tired and you're acting like a petulant child. I just- I want to be alone.”

The stubborn look in his eyes falters, replaced by a flicker of hurt that he tries to hide behind a stoic mask. But it’s ther for a brief moment. Your words hit a nerve, and he falters for just a second, before his expression hardens once again.

"Petulant? Just trying to spend some time with you, and you’re ready to kick me out as if I’m some lowly servant."

“That was not my intention. But now is not the time to spend time with me-” you try and defuse the situation by apologizing but to no avail.

Cregan lets out a scoff and wounded pride with a reluctant understanding flashes in his eyes.

"Then when is the time? Tomorrow? When do you feel like dealing with me?"

“Yes. Tomorrow. Because that’s when you said.”

He grits his teeth, his jaw tensing as he struggles to hold back a biting reply. Clearly, he’s not too happy about your decision to push him away.

"Fine. Tomorrow it is then." he mutters under his breath, the reluctance in his tone clear. He storms out, shutting the door loudly.

You distanced yourself, like you wanted…but at what cost? You can’t help but feel bad at your blunt words. You feel like you hurt him.

Despite his tough demeanor, Cregan's heart is soft and sensitive, and he's far more emotional than he lets on. Your harsh words, even if unintentionally, have obviously affected him, leaving him confused. He wants to understand why you're pushing him away, why you're being so distant with him.

You don't want to fall back into old patterns, let alone complicate your current situation. It hurt you to hurt him the way you did but you have to be strong...and yet, deep down, something inside you yearns for the familiarity of his presence, the warmth of his smile, the feel of his touch…

*****

You lift the lid of the food he brought and your eyes land on a small piece of paper tucked among the food. It's a note, penned in a neat and familiar handwriting. The ink is dark, the words written with a strong and decisive hand.

As you read the words, you can almost hear Cregan's voice in your mind, the deep timbre of his tone echoing in your ears.

It reads:

"I hope the food is to your liking. Sleep well, princess..."

C.

A note so kind yet you were so cruel.

Tonight was not a night you slept soundly, but rather, a night you pondered your words.

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

𝐀/𝐍

Bro why does it feel like I’m writing a whole lotta nothing…😭 Cregan barely does anything in this one but pt.4 gets good. I’m still cooking. And next chapter is gonna be deliciousss.

PS. YES. Their childhood will be in the story, probably pt.3 or 4. Still deciding which one because I don’t want the chapter to be more than 6k. (You guys should read the comments for some previews on the next chapter and sign up for the taglistt 😘)

@beebeechaos @iv-vee @aemondwhoresworld @obscure-beauty @cregansfourthwife @6ternalsun @msmarvelknight @melsunshine @littlebirdgot @kingdomzeldaquest @squidscottjeans

[lovelybluebirdie]

A sight to behold

Astarion x gn!Reader

Summary: Astarion is far more than his beauty, and you want him to know.

Word Count: 1,7k

fluff, comfort

[AO3]

“You should get some rest, love,” Astarion whispers against your hair. He holds you comfortably in his arms, your fingers loosely grasping the end of his collar while his hand strokes along your waist, caressing your battle-bruised skin. 

Usually sleep didn’t take long to claim you after an exhausting day of defeating vigorous creatures or learning another disturbing fact on the tadpole inside your brain, but tonight it seems to avoid you for some reason, leaving you tossing and turning within your bedroll until Astarion eventually pulled you into a loving embrace.

“I’m good,” you mutter as a deep yawn escapes your throat, smothering your last syllables.

Astarion cups your chin between his thumb and index finger, surveying your face. “You’re a weary little love if I ever saw one.” 

“Fine, you’ve got me,” you reply in a drowsy voice. “Maybe I am a little tired, but somehow I can't find any sleep.”

His brow furrows. “Is anything troubling you, my dear?” he asks sincerely, pondering if he might’ve done something wrong.

The unpleasant thought has no room to spread its hooks any further, as he's met with only fondness from your tired eyes, leaving his ribcage bursting with adoration.

“No need to worry about me, Astarion. I promise, everything’s alright,” you assure as you begin to massage his ears, causing them to twitch.

“You still need to get some sleep though,” he scolds with half-closed lids. It's more of a moan, as he’s unable to suppress his desire for your blissful fingers to go on. You seem to know exactly where he enjoys them most, he notices, when another quiet groan spills from his lips. 

You brush the pointy tip of his ear once more, cautiously not to overstimulate this sensitive part of him, before you rest your fingers on his neck and playfully raise an eyebrow.

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to indulge in your beauty a little longer before I find myself dozing off.”

A benign remark, and yet something inside Astarion shifts. Something he can’t fully fathom at first, a faint sense of melancholy starting to linger, despite the comfort of your touch.

He’s been called beautiful more times than he can remember, but he’ll never be able to judge for himself, being robbed of his reflection since Cazador turned him into a vampire spawn centuries ago – his own appearance remaining a dark shape from his past.

“Beauty you say?” he mumbles quietly. “Tell me then, what is it you see when looking at me?”

Your expression softens as you grasp for his hand and squeeze it lightly. It seems you’ve already caught his musings, as you often do, without him needing to vocalise that something’s on his mind.

“Well, your most outstanding features are probably your piercing eyes – crimson, like rubies,” you explain before resting a kiss on his cheek. 

Astarion listens attentively. His gaze must indeed be exceptionally sharp, he thinks, trying for a brief moment to recall the colour his eyes were before he was turned, but to no avail. A shiver runs down his spine as he wonders if you might think of him as a dangerous predator at times, uncertain whether this poses a pleasant or a frightening notion.

“Sometimes they’re full of anger, resembling freshly shed blood. And other times they’re… so soft. Reminding me of the cutest puppy eyes I’ve ever seen, almost competing with Scratch,” you giggle as you draw your thumb along his cheekbone, right where your lips parted from his skin.

Astarion stares at you in bewilderment. “What do you mean – puppy eyes?! I’m a century-old vampire spawn, not some gushing maiden.”

“You asked what I’d see when I’m looking at you, didn’t you?” You offer him a mischievous grin before blowing a strand of hair off his forehead. “Or do you prefer me to stop?” 

Astarion rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. “Fine, go on.” 

Although not particularly delighted by the comparison you draw, he can’t resist the urge to listen to you further describing him.

“There are also your beautiful white curls – so smooth that I often find myself wondering which soap you use for them to stay that way,” you say as you take one of said strands between your fingers. “Come to think of it, those are probably one of my favourite parts of you, my love.”

“Mhm, I certainly have the best hair in camp,” Astarion purrs approvingly, a smug grin playing around his lips, vanishing the furrow on his brow from your previous remark.

“Don’t let Shadowheart hear,” you joke before continuing. “Of course I also adore your smile – seeing those little wrinkles when you laugh.”

Astarion’s grin freezes as he quickly feels the spot beneath his temples.

“My sweet, you surely must’ve noticed by now that one of a vampire spawn’s rare perks is eternal youth, so I’m quite positive that there are no such things as wrinkles on my face.”

“If you say so,” you chuckle as you reach for his hands to press loving kisses on his fingertips. “This was supposed to be a compliment, you know.”

“Perhaps if I wasn’t your lover, but your doting grandmother,” he grumbles with pursed lips, but doesn’t pull away. 

“I sense you desire to listen to some of your less grandmotherly features, then?”

Astarion battles another grin but loses, his lips twisting to a wry smile. “Yes, please.” 

It's true, he doesn’t want you to stop, secretly enjoying how sincere you express your sentiments.

“Let’s see if I find some, though…” you tease, earning a gentle nudge to your hip before your eyes are glued to his face again. “Honestly, you're stunningly beautiful, Astarion – a goddamn sight to behold.” 

Astarion’s smile widens at your flattery. “Oh dear, that sounds far better than being described with the attributes of an old lady.”

“As I thought,” you reply, brushing one of his curls behind his ear. “But do you want to know what I adore about you most?”

Astarion's eyes grow round. “As humble as I am, I'm always thrilled to receive some more praise.”

He notices a flush to your cheeks as you let your finger slowly trace along the bridge of his nose, until it comes to a rest on his lips. 

You clear your throat, seeming in search of the right words. 

“You’re so much more than your beauty,” you begin, your fingertip still resting on his bottom lip. He presses a kiss, his curiosity roused.

“I love the way you make me laugh, like no one else can, despite all the madness we have to endure. Or watching you reading for hours, chuckling at little passages you like. Seeing how you squint when you take in the details while you embroider a piece of fabric.” 

You pause to cup his face in your hands and smother him with gentle kisses, starting at his jaw, moving up to his nose and then his eyes. Astarion remains silent, graciously relishing your warmth. 

Your words and touch are like a balm, and not for the first time he wonders how he came to deserve such kindness.

“Your skin is cold, yes, but no one has ever kept me this warm when being in their presence. You’re brave, and despite everything you had to endure, you turned into this wonderful man I came to love more than everything I ever held dear. You're most precious to me Astarion, and I never want to spend a day without knowing you by my side.”

It’s not often that Astarion finds himself speechless, and yet your genuine affection robs him of the ability to respond. He has to hold back tears that dwell behind his fluttering lashes.

Deprived of his ability to speak he can only press a kiss to your forehead, followed by another peck to the tip of your nose, before his lips crash into yours – hastily, in need of you.

Astarion can sense your pulse quickening as his tongue enters your mouth, a soft moan escaping your lips while your hand runs through his hair. 

He gently bites your lower lip, the initial rush of his kiss replaced by a sudden tenderness, a flutter spreading right where his dead heart once beat.

Astarion has never felt like this with anyone but you. Perhaps you've turned him into a love-struck maiden after all, he thinks with a smile as he kisses you once more, gentle and soft, before your lips part and he glances at your endearing eyes, finding his voice again.

“I love you too, you cheeky little thing. Even if you have the guts to describe me like a grandmother first, and then almost make me weep from your loving words,” he chuckles while grasping the fabric of your nightgown to pull you closer against his body.

Astarion is used to conceal his emotions behind his jesting shell, and yet when he’s with you, his façade naturally crumbles.

“Guilty as charged,” you reply fondly.

“But honestly… Thank you,” Astarion speaks softly. “For seeing me, like no one else does.” His words come out raw, honest. “You know I don't pray to any of the gods, but if I did, I'm sure I would've caught myself thanking them for bringing you into my life. You're a vision, and through the time I spend with you, it almost feels like my dead heart starts beating again.”

“You’d better stop with that loving talk yourself, before we'll both start to weep,” you laugh as you reach for the corner of your eye, a single wet streak glistening on your skin.

Astarion moves up to kiss it away. “As much as I like to revel in our mutual affection, I don't wish to see more of your tears.”

“Well, perhaps we should call it a night then. I’m certain I’ll find some rest soon,” you whisper as you shift closer in the crook of his arm. 

“You truly should, as I'm positive there’ll be more shenanigans awaiting us tomorrow,” Astarion replies and places a kiss on your hair. “Sleep well, my love.”

“You too, Astarion,” you hum, sounding slightly weary again. Maybe sleep has decided in your favour after all, he thinks as he notices your breath becoming more even.

When you finally doze off in the safety of his embrace, Astarion's chest is filled with warmth over the love he holds for you.

Masterlist

[citysuk]

echoes of us | anakin skywalker

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!reader

summary: anakin has spent the last four years away from you, consumed by his duties as a jedi, trying to move past the pain of your departure. although seeing you again wasn't something that he was expecting, the reunion leads to a tense confrontation, where anakin's deep-seated feelings clash with his lover's sense of duty, highlighting the tragic consequences of their forbidden relationship.

words: 7,1k words (oops)

warnings: please, you already know me so ANGST. kinda manipulative anakin¿ only a little bit. stubborn reader for the sake of the plot, i'm sorry (i'm not). a little bit of spicy hehehhe. no smut tho. no use of y/n but no oc neither. no proofread. i won't say a word about the finale so read to know what happens at the end 😤

notes: i just- (SATURATED SCREAMS). i'm on a star wars binge and i just couldn't help myself, i needed to write this. all i want in life is someone to love me like anakin loves her.

It's been four long years since you left, and Anakin Skywalker has tried to move on with his life. He throws himself into his duties as a Jedi, taking on more missions and responsibilities. He pushes himself to his limits and beyond, trying to forget about the pain of losing you. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to shake the memories. You're always there, lurking in the back of his mind, a constant reminder of what he lost. His heart still aches for you, and he still feels a sense of emptiness inside him.

As the years have passed, he has become more stoic, more reserved. He barely smiles anymore, and his laugh is rare. His fellow Jedi see these changes in him and wonder what has happened to make him so serious and cold. But Anakin keeps his emotions buried deep inside, never letting them surface, never letting anyone see the pain he's feeling. He's become a shadow of his former self, the bright-eyed and carefree Padawan replaced by a hardened and withdrawn Jedi Knight.

As the Clone Wars rage on, Anakin throws himself into battle, fighting with a ferocity and intensity that borders on feral. He's become a skilled and feared warrior, known for his bravery and skill, but also for his ruthless efficiency and lack of mercy towards his enemies. Even his fellow Jedi, the ones who are closest to him, cannot penetrate the shell he’s built around himself. He hides his emotions so well that it’s as if they don’t exist anymore, and no one suspects the depth of the pain he’s carrying inside him. He still feels your loss like a physical wound, and he fears that it will never heal. But he cannot let himself think of it, cannot allow himself to dwell on the past. He has a duty to the Jedi Order and the Republic, and longing can distract him from that.

So he goes through the motions of being a Jedi, fighting in the war, protecting the innocent, and doing his best to serve the greater good. But deep down, he knows that he'll never be truly happy again, that he'll carry his pain to the grave.

There are times, when he’s alone in the darkness of night, that he lets his guard down, that is when he allows his emotions to surface. And in those moments, he allows himself to think of you, to remember the happy times you had together, to ache for what might have been. But then, as the night ends and the morning comes, he pushes those thoughts away, locking them back up inside him, and he goes back to being the stoic and reserved Jedi Knight that everyone expects him to be.

And the cycle of pain and loneliness continues day after day, year after year. He keeps on living, fighting, and serving, but deep down, he knows that a part of him will always be empty, the part that you took when you left.

He wonders sometimes if you ever think of him and if you ever reflect on your time together with the same sense of melancholy and regret that he does. But he doesn’t allow himself to hope for that. It’s better to just keep pushing forward, to keep fighting the war and doing his duty.

That's until he hears the news that your father is coming to visit the Order. His heart skips a beat it's the first thing that he feels. He knows that since you went back to your planet your father never travels without you by his side, and this won't be the exception. His mind reels at the possibility of seeing you again. It’s been four years since you left to help your father in his political arrangements. Four long and lonely years. The thought of being in your presence again, even for a brief moment, fills him with a mix of emotions. Anticipation and dread, hope and fear.

He tries to keep his emotions in check, not wanting to get his hopes up too high. The idea of seeing you again after all this time is too good to be true. Besides, he knows that there is a small chance that you will not come to the temple, but he decides to embrace the possibility of at least seeing you.

When the masters of the Order confirmed that you would arrive with your father, he couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline running through his whole body. There's gotta be some sort of catch in this whole situation. But the more he thinks about it, the more he wants it and needs it.

As the day of your arrival approaches, he can't help but feel anxious. He doesn't know what to expect, how he'll react when he sees you. Will he be able to keep his emotions in check? Or will they surface in a wave of longing and regret? He tries to prepare himself, to steel himself for the moment. He tells himself it's just a visit, that it doesn't mean anything. But deep down, he knows that's not true. He's been waiting for this moment for years, and he can't deny the excitement and anticipation that's building inside him.

When the day finally arrives, he waits anxiously in the Temple, trying to remain calm. But his heart is racing, his palms are sweaty, and he can barely keep still. He's acutely aware of every passing moment, every second that brings him closer to seeing you again. His fellow Jedi notice his change in demeanor. He's usually so stoic and collected, but now he's jittery and restless, out of character for him. They wonder what could be causing this change, and they eye him with curious and sometimes amused glances. But Anakin ignores them, his thoughts solely focused on the moment ahead. He rehearses different scenarios in his head, trying to figure out how he’ll act when he sees you. But no matter how he imagines it, he can’t quite predict what will happen. The thought of facing you again after so long both thrills and terrifies him.

And then, finally, the moment arrives. He sees you walking through the Temple, in the company of your father and a few other dignitaries. The sight of you takes his breath away. You’ve grown, your features more mature and defined. But the sight of you holding the hand of another young politician he heard being called Kenth Cardas it's what makes him feel sick to the stomach. His heart clenches as he watches you, a sudden realization hitting him like a knife to the heart. You’re with someone else. Another man. And the pain that washes over him is sharper and more intense than any pain he’s ever felt before.

It takes all his willpower to keep his composure, to keep the expression of his face neutral. But inside, he’s seething with jealousy and hurt. He had been hoping, even expecting, for you to be single.

The thought of another man’s hands on you, another man’s eyes taking in your beauty, it’s almost too much for him to bear. He watches as you, your father, and your companion make your way through the Temple, greeting the Jedi and discussing diplomatic matters. Every step you take, every word you utter, it feels like the knife is being twisted in his heart. He wants to walk up to you, to pull you away from the other man and take you for himself. But he knows that’s not an option. You’re not his. You never were.

The scene is too abhorrent for him, he cannot bear another second of seeing you with another man that isn't him. With a lump in his throat and tears of frustration pricking at his eyes, Anakin turns and strides away from the scene, the sound of your laugh following him as he goes. He can’t stay there, can’t watch you pretending to be happy with someone else. It’s too painful, too agonizing. He needs to get away, to be alone, and try to process the torrent of emotions that threatens to overwhelm him. He heads to one of the quieter parts of the Temple, a place where he can be alone and try to get his emotions under control. He leans against the cold stone wall, his hands clenching into fists. He tries to push the image of you with another man out of his mind, but it’s burned into his memory, seared into his eyeballs. He’s never felt this level of jealousy and hurt before, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He feels like he’s unraveling like everything he’s worked to keep under control is suddenly slipping through his fingers. He punches the wall in impotent rage, the pain in his knuckles a welcome distraction from the pain in his heart. He wants to scream, to shout, to let out all the emotions that are boiling inside him. He stays still there for a few minutes which seems like hours, until he feels a presence behind him.

He turns, his heart racing as he senses who it is. And sure enough, there you are, standing a few feet away from him, looking at him with a mixture of concern and uncertainty. An uncomfortable silence settles between them as they stare at each other. The air is thick with emotion and tension, and Anakin feels his heart thudding in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say, or how to react.

He studies you as you stand there, his eyes roving over your face, taking in every detail. You’re even more beautiful than he remembers, but there’s a sense of sadness and resignation in your eyes that he doesn’t quite understand. He wants to say something, to break the silence that hangs between you like a thick fog. But the words stick in his throat, and he can’t force them out. Instead, he just stands there, staring at you like an idiot.

Taking a deep breath, you break the silence, your voice soft and hesitant. “Ani... Can I talk to you? For a moment.”

Anakin nods, barely able to speak. His heart is racing, his mind spinning. He can’t believe you’re really standing here in front of him, that he’s actually talking to you again after all this time. “Of course,” he manages to say, his voice rough and raspy.

You take another step closer, the distance between you feeling like an eternity. You look up at him, your eyes searching his face as if you’re looking for something. “It’s been a long time, you've grown,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods again, feeling a lump in his throat. He wants to tell you how much he’s missed you, how many nights he’s spent thinking of you, yearning for you. But the words won’t come. He’s scared, scared to show you the depth of his feelings, scared that you’ll reject him. “Yeah, it has,” he manages to reply, his voice flat and emotionless.

You notice his tone, the way he’s putting up his walls, trying to keep his emotions in check. You know him too well, you can sense how he was feeling, the storm of emotions raging inside him. But you also know how stubborn he can be, how he’s willing to suffer in silence rather than admit his true feelings. You take another step closer, closing the distance between you even further. You reach out to touch his arm, your hand tentative and gentle, like you’re handling a wild animal. He freezes at your touch, his breath catching in his throat. He can feel the heat of your hand through the fabric of his sleeve, the warmth of your touch seeping into his skin. He wants to reach out and pull you to him, bury his face in your hair, and breathe in your scent. But he stands still, frozen in the moment, unable to move. You can feel his tension, the way his body is coiled tight like a spring. But you can also see the flicker of emotions in his eyes, the way his walls are crumbling as he stares at you. You know that underneath the hard exterior, there’s a part of him that’s aching to be let out, yearning for affection and connection.

You move closer still, your hand still gently resting on his arm. You’re so close now that he can feel your breath on his skin, the warmth of your body almost touching his. He shivers involuntarily, overwhelmed by your proximity. He wants to pull you to him, to hold you tight, and never let you go. He looks down at you, his eyes roving over your face, taking in every detail. He notices the flecks of gold in your eyes, the slight blush on your cheeks, the curve of your lips. It’s all he can do to keep his composure, to keep his emotions in check. But seeing you this close to him, feeling your touch on his skin, it’s like a dam breaking inside him. He takes a shuddering breath, trying to steady himself. He wants to tell you how much he’s missed you, how much he’s still in love with you, and how much he’s been hurting since you left. But the words won’t come, stuck in his throat like they’re glued there.

He’s torn between the conflicting desires to push you away and to pull you closer. Part of him wants to protect himself from further hurt, but a greater part of him is desperate to have you close, to feel your touch, and to hear your voice. He stands there, caught in an agony of indecision, his heart and his mind warring with each other. He wants to do the right thing, the sensible thing. But when it comes to you, he’s never been able to do what’s smart or pragmatic. He’s always been guided by his emotions, and right now, his emotions are screaming at him to take what he wants, consequences be damned. He can feel his resolve weakening, the walls he’s built around his heart crumbling. He’s always been a man of action, but right now, he doesn't know what to do.

You look up at him, your heart racing in your chest. You can sense the turmoil inside him, the storm of emotions raging in his eyes. You know that he’s struggling to keep his composure, but you also know how much he’s hurting. You take a deep breath, summoning up the courage to say what you need to say. “Ani, I didn’t forget the time we spent together, the promises we made.”

His eyes widen at your words, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t expected you to say that, to admit that you’ve been thinking of him all this time. He feels a surge of hope and longing rise in his chest, his breath catching in his throat. You pressed on, your voice was soft but firm. “The friendship we maintained for so many years will always be marked in my mind, no matter where I am.”

He feels his heart skip a beat at your words. It’s what he’s wanted to hear for so long, the confirmation that you still think of him, that there’s still a chance for them.

He stands there, frozen in the moment, caught between the desire to pull you to him and the fear that if he does, it will only end in heartbreak. He doesn’t know what to say, or how to react. He feels like he’s in a dream like this isn’t happening.

He looks down at you, his eyes roving over your face. He sees the honesty and vulnerability you’re showing him. He wants to believe you, he wants to let himself hope. But he can’t shake the feeling that this is just a cruel trick, the vision of you holding that man's hand it's something that he can't shake off his head. He feels that he’s going to wake up any minute and find himself alone again.

He starts to pull away, his walls going up again. “I don’t believe you,” he says, his voice cold and distant.

Your eyes widen at his words, your heart sinking at the tone of his voice. You had expected some resistance, but you didn’t expect him to deny your feelings outright. "What I'm saying it's truthful, I never stopped thinking about you"

He shakes his head, his eyes hard and cold. He wants to push you away, to protect himself from the pain. “I don’t want to hear it,” he says gruffly. “It’s too late, it’s been four years. You made your choice when I asked you to stay but you left.”

You blink back tears at his words, the hurt and anger in his voice like a knife to your gut. You had hoped that he would understand, that he would see how much you still cared for him. “You know that what we were feeling exceeded friendliness and was wrong, the attachments are prohibited. This was for something bigger than you and me both,” you say, looking at him almost guilty.

He scoffs at your words, his anger rising. “Don’t talk to me about attachments. I know the Code, I know about the stupid rules. But don’t tell me that what we had meant anything to you since you come here now holding another man's hand.” Anakin is seething with jealousy now, his hands clenching into fists. The thought of you with another man, another man touching you and holding you, it’s more than he can bear. He wants to grab you and shake you, to make you understand how much the sight of you with someone else hurts him.

He takes a step closer, looming over you. He’s taller and stronger than you, and he towers above you, his presence intimidating. “Tell me the truth,” he growls. “Did you ever really love me, or was it all just a lie?”

Your heart is racing in your chest as he looms over you, his eyes flashing with anger and hurt. You can feel the tension in the air, the danger and volatility of the situation. “Of course I loved you,” you say, your voice shaking just a little. “I loved you with all my heart, and I still do.”

He sneers at your words, his face twisting into a cruel smile. He doesn’t believe you, doesn’t want to believe you. It’s easier to think that you’re lying, that you never really loved him at all. “Prove it,” he snaps. “Prove that you love me.”

You’re taken aback by his challenge, his demand. You didn’t expect him to ask you to prove your feelings, to put them to the test. “What… what do you mean, prove it?” you ask, your voice small and uncertain.

He takes another step closer, his body almost touching yours. He’s so close that you can feel the heat of his skin, the tension radiating off him in waves. “Kiss me,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Kiss me like you mean it. Show me that you’re not just playing with me.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the intensity of his gaze, and the heat of his body. You’re nervous and hesitant, but you also feel a pang of longing and desire. You want to prove to him that your feelings are real, that you’re not just toying with him. You can feel his breath on your lips, the heat of his mouth just inches away from yours. "I'm engaged." You blurt out.

His face darkens at your words, the mention of your engagement like a slap in the face. He feels a surge of irrational jealousy and anger, the idea of you marrying someone else infuriating him. “So what?” he snaps. “You’re engaged to someone else, but you’re still here, standing here in front of me, telling me that you love me. Kiss me. You said you still love me. Prove it.”

You're taken aback by his insistence, his refusal to listen to reason. "It's not that simple, Ani," you say, trying to maintain your composure. "I'm with another person now, and it wouldn't be right to-"

He cuts you off, grabbing you by the wrists and pulling you to him so that your bodies are pressed together. He’s breathing heavily, his chest heaving with emotion. He’s on the edge, barely holding it together. He can feel the warmth of your body pressed against his, the scent of your skin, the beat of your heart. “Damn the rules, damn the Code,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “I want to feel your lips on mine. I want to taste you, I want to hold you. I don’t care about anything else.”

You can see the desperation in his eyes, the hunger and need. You’re torn, part of you wants to give in to his demand, to give yourself over to the passion and desire that always existed between you. But another part of you is wary, knowing that this is dangerous, that indulging in this could lead to nothing but pain and heartache. "Ani, stop," you say, your voice gentle but firm. "We can't do this. We can't let ourselves go down this path."

He scoffs at your words, his grip on your wrists tightening. He can’t believe you’re still resisting him, still holding back when you’ve already admitted that you still love him. “Why not?” he asks, his voice a low growl. “What’s stopping us? You said you love me. You can’t deny that you want this. I can see it in your eyes.”

You feel your resolve weakening, the heat of his body and the intensity of his gaze making it hard to think straight. "I can't do this to Kenth," you say, trying to hold onto your reasoning. "I can't just throw away what I have with him. I can't hurt him like that. He's a good man."

He scoffs again, his jealousy flaring at the mention of your fiancé. To him, he's nothing more than a rival, a hindrance to what he wants. "A good man," he sneers. "What does he have that I don’t? What can he give you that I can’t?"

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his question. You know that your fiancé is a good person, kind and respectful, but you also know that he’s not the same as Ani. There’s something about your history with Anakin, something about the passion and intensity of your connection, that’s unique and special. “It’s not about what he has or what he can give me,” you say, your voice quiet but firm. "It's about the future and following the rules for the sake of everyone."

He feels a pang of jealousy and bitterness at your words, the idea of you building a life with someone else it's like his biggest nightmare turning into reality.

“You’re mine,” he says through clenched teeth. “You will always be mine. I don’t care about your fiancé, your future, or anything else. I only care about you. So stop thinking about what you should do, and what you shouldn’t do, and just feel. For once in your life, just let yourself feel what you know you want.”

His words strike a chord within you, the intensity and possessiveness of his declaration igniting a spark of desire deep inside you. You can feel yourself weakening, your resolve cracking under the weight of his words. “Ani, please,” you say, your voice little more than a whisper. “This isn’t fair.”His words send a shiver down your spine, the heat of his body and the strength of his grip making it impossible to resist him. You’re caught between reason and emotion, torn between your loyalty to your fiancé and the deep-seated love you still feel for him. “Please…” you whisper, your voice breaking. “You’re not thinking straight. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

He looks down at you, his eyes burning with intensity. “I know exactly what I’m doing,” he says, his voice fierce and determined. “I’m claiming what should have always been mine. I’m taking what I want. You.” He leans down, his mouth hovering mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. The tension between you is electric, the air thick with desire and need. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart racing in your chest. You can feel the heat and power radiating off of him, the primal force of his need and desire nearly overpowering your senses. You know that you should resist, that you should push him away and run before it’s too late. But you can’t bring yourself to do it. Your body is drawn to his, your mind consumed with the need to feel his lips on yours.

He can see the conflict in your eyes, the battle between your loyalty and your desires. He can tell that you’re close to breaking, close to giving in to what you both want. He leans in even closer, his lips practically touching yours. “Stop fighting it,” he whispers, his voice low and sultry. “Stop trying to be strong, and just let go. I know you want this. You’ve always wanted this.“ His words send a jolt of electricity through your body, the truth of them hitting you like a ton of bricks. You know that he’s right, that deep down you’ve always wanted this, always wanted him. You know that no matter how hard you try to deny it, there will be a part of you that will always belong to him. You can feel your resistance crumbling, your body and mind completely under his control.

He senses your surrender, the last of your resistance crumbling beneath the weight of his words and his touch. He can feel the heat and desire radiating off you, the air between you electric and charged. Without another word, he closes the tiny gap between you and captures your lips with his own. The moment his lips meet yours, it’s like a circuit is completed. The floodgates of long-suppressed desire burst open, and you kiss him back with a passion that takes your breath away. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, the intensity and heat of it like a storm, crashing over you and consuming you whole. You respond to the kiss with equal hunger and fervor, his hands moving to cup your face, to pull you closer to him. He wants to devour you, to possess you completely. He can feel the tension building between you, the passion and need threatening to overwhelm you both.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him towards you and molding your body against his. You can feel his strength, his power, the taut muscles of his back, and the heat of his skin beneath his robes. The kiss deepens, your mouths moving together in a dance of desire and need. Your hearts are racing, your bodies electrified by the heat of the kiss.

You feel the possessive urgency in his touch, the hunger and need in his every movement. You can feel the jealousy and the anger, the primal need to possess you completely. And despite yourself, you feel your body responding to his touch, igniting a fire deep within you that you thought was long extinguished.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes burning into yours, his body still pressing you against the wall. He’s panting, his breathing ragged and uneven, his body vibrating with need. “You’re mine,” he growls, his voice raw and hoarse. “No one else is ever going to touch you, no one else is going to have you. I want you to leave him.“

Your mind is hazy, your thoughts clouded by the heat and desire coursing through your body. You know that you should resist him, however, you want to tell him that he owns your body and soul completely. But your mind betrays you, your words coming out in little more than a breath. "I... I can't," you whisper, your voice trembling.

The words are like a cold bucket of water to his face, his eyes flashing with a mixture of hurt and anger. He pulls back from you slightly, his hands still on your hips, anchoring you to the wall. “Why not?” he bites out, his voice rough and sharp. “What’s stopping you?“

You try to find the words to explain, to tell him that it’s too much, that you’re still engaged to someone else. But before you can form the words, he’s leaning back in, his body pressing against yours once again. “Tell me,” he says, his voice a low growl in your ear. “Tell me why you can’t be mine. I want to hear you say it.“ The heat and desire that was coursing through you moments ago has faded, replaced by a sense of guilt and confusion. You know that you should put your foot down, that you should remind him of your engagement. But you’re finding it increasingly hard to think straight as he presses his body against yours, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear. “It's a political arrangement.” You manage to say, the words coming out in a shaky breath.

A low, possessive growl escapes his throat as he hears your words. "What do you mean, a 'political arrangement'?" he snaps, his hands tightening on your hips. "Explain."

You take a shaky breath, your body still pressed against the cool surface of the wall. The primal possessiveness of his touch sends a shiver down your spine. “My marriage. It’s an arrangement made by our families,” you explain, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s meant to strengthen our families’ political relationships.”

His jaw clenches at your words. The thought of you entering into a political arrangement with someone else, someone who didn’t deserve you, is enough to make his blood boil. He moves his body impossibly closer, his hands shifting to cup your face, his voice a low growl. “So your family basically sold you to someone else for political gain?”

Your heart sinks at the harsh truth of his words. In the back of your mind, you’ve always known that the engagement was more about politics than love. But the truth hurts, especially hearing it said out loud. You can feel the tension and possessive anger in his body, the way his body is pressed against yours like a cage. You know he’s not going to let this go easily. You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Essentially, yes.“

His mind reels at your admission, his anger and jealousy growing even stronger. He can’t believe that your family would treat you like a bargaining chip like a possession to be traded away for political gain. “And you agreed to this?” he practically spits out, his voice thick with anger. “You agreed to marry someone you don’t even love?“

Your heart twists at the anger and hurt in his voice, but you can’t deny the truth of his words. You did agree to marry someone you don’t love, all because of your family’s political aspirations. You nod again, your eyes downcast. You’re ashamed and embarrassed, and guilt washes over you like a wave. You know you’ve hurt him by agreeing to marry someone else, but you don’t know how to fix it.

He pulls back slightly, his hands falling from your face. He feels a mix of anger, hurt, and jealousy coursing through him, the primal possessiveness warring with the need to protect you. “So you’re going to marry him?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse. “You’re going to spend the rest of your life with someone you don’t even love? Are you gonna be happy with that?“

You find yourself unable to meet his gaze. You’ve never thought about it that way before, but there isn't much that you can do. You shake your head slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It's the best outcome for everyone. For my family, the Order, the Force... and for you.“

His jaw clamps shut at your words, a surge of anger and frustration coursing through him. The thought of you marrying someone else, settling for a life that is anything less than what you deserve, is unbearable to him. “Best outcome for everyone?” he grits out, his voice raw with emotion. “Except for you. What about what you want? What about your happiness?“ His words sting bitterly, the shame and guilt you feel growing stronger. You know that your happiness is not a priority in this arrangement, that it never has been. But the truth hurts, especially when it’s said out loud. You shake your head again, your voice trembling. “It doesn’t matter. I have a duty, the responsibility to see this through.“

His heart aches at your words, the fact that you’re willing to sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of duty is something he can’t understand. It goes against everything he believes in, against everything he fights for. “Duty and responsibility be damned,” he snaps, his voice edged with anger and frustration. “You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be with someone who loves you, who worships the ground you walk on. Not some political arrangement.“

Your heart clenches at his words, the mix of anger and desperation in his voice bringing tears to your eyes. You know he’s right, deep down you’ve always known that you deserve more than you’re settling for. But duty and responsibility have always been pounded into you, and the thought of going against them is terrifying. “It’s not that simple,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s not just about me. It’s about the Republic, the Jedi Order…”

He scoffs at your words, the anger and frustration growing stronger. The fact that you’re still focusing on what's expected of you, even after everything you’ve just shared, is frustrating for him. “None of that matters if you’re not happy. You’re not some pawn to be used in someone else’s game.“

Your heart aches more with every word he says, the truth of them echoing in your head. You know he’s right, you know that your happiness should come first, but the years of conditioning and expectations are hard to break. “I can’t just... abandon everything...” you say, your voice weak. “I can’t disappoint them.“

His eyes flash with anger and disbelief, his patience wearing thin. “You’re more worried about disappointing them than about your happiness? That’s a load of Bantha poodoo and you know it. They don’t deserve your loyalty.”

He's right, you know he is. You've been putting everyone else's needs above your own for so long that it's become second nature. You look up at him, tears streaming down your face. "But what about you?" you whisper, your voice trembling.

“What about me?” he echoes, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You’re choosing someone else over me. You’re choosing a life of political duty over our happiness, over what we could have together.“ He steps closer to you again, his body once again pinning you against the wall. His hands reach out to cup your face, his touch gentle despite the storm of emotion raging within him. “We could have a life together. We could be happy.“

Your heart clenches at his words, the weight of the decision you’re facing hitting you like a ton of durasteel. You know what you want, deep down you know that you’d give anything to be with him. But responsibility, a lifetime of conditioning, is still weighing heavily on you. You lean into his touch, your eyes falling closed. Your voice is a whisper, choked with emotion. “Is that possible?” He feels a pang of pain at your question, the doubt in your voice makes him want to just keep you in his arms until you understand what you mean to him. He’s never been more sure of anything in his life. “Yes,” he says, his voice steady and firm, despite the emotions churning inside him. “It’s possible. It’s more than possible. It’s what I want, what I’ve wanted since I met you.“ His hands tighten on your face, his touch gentle yet possessive. “Please, don’t marry him. Choose me.“

His words and touch cut through the fog of doubt and confusion surrounding you. The thought of choosing him, of having a life with him, fills you with a sense of longing and hope that you’ve never known before. For the first time, the thought of your future isn’t shrouded in obligations, it’s filled with love and happiness. You let out a ragged breath, your body tense. “I don’t want to marry Kenth.” You whisper.

His heart nearly leaps out of his chest at your words, a surge of triumph and relief coursing through him. He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you like a vise, pulling you flush against him. His body is taut with need and desire, the primal possessiveness in him raging stronger than ever. “Then don’t.” he whispers into your ear, his voice a low growl. “Be with me.“

Your body melds against him, your trembling hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. You feel a mix of relief and desire and fear coursing through you as you look into his eyes, your voice a whisper. “What if they find out? What if they try to... stop us? Or worse, haunt us?“

He pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes burning with a mix of passion and determination. The thought of anyone trying to stop or hurt you fills him with a fierce, protective rage. “They’ll try,” he says, his voice hard. “But I’ll never let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you, no matter what. And if anyone tries to stop us, they’ll have to go through me first.“

His words, full of certainty and strength, send a shiver down your spine. You’ve never felt so wanted, so desired, so protected. The thought of being with him, of having his love and loyalty, is both exhilarating and terrifying. You look into his eyes, searching for reassurance. “And what if it doesn’t work?” you ask hesitantly. “What if we can’t make it?“

He sees the doubt and fear in your eyes, and his heart clenches at the thought of losing you. He pulls you even closer, his body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you fiercely. “It will work,” he says, his voice firm and unwavering. “I’ll make sure it does. I won’t let anything come between us.“ He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low growl. “I love you. And I won’t let anyone or anything take you away from me.“

His words, spoken with such unwavering conviction, send a jolt of hope and love through you. You’ve never felt so safe, so cherished, so loved. You can feel the heat and strength of his body against yours, the possessiveness and determination radiating off him in waves. You close your eyes, leaning into him, his lips at your ear. “I love you too,“ you whisper, your voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve always loved you.“

Anakin for the first time in his life, feels complete, whole. He embraces you tightly, his hands roaming over your body, possessive and protective. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “And I’m yours. No one can keep us apart again. Not the Order, not the Republic, not the universe.“

You can feel the possessiveness in his touch, the way his hands roam over your body as though he owns it. And a part of you, a primal, feminine part of you, longs to be owned by him, to belong to him completely. You nod, your body molding against his, your voice a whisper. “I’m yours. Completely yours.“

His heart nearly bursts at your words, your surrender and acceptance igniting a primal, possessive need in him that nearly takes his breath away. He leans in, his lips against your neck, his voice a low, ragged growl. “Say it again. Say you’re mine.“

You tilt your head slightly, giving him better access to your neck, your body melting against his. You feel a shiver of desire run down your spine at his words, his possessive tone sending a wave of heat through you. You let out a shaky breath, your voice a ragged whisper. “I’m yours. I belong to you, completely and utterly.“

Anakin’s eyes lock onto yours, the intensity and determination in his gaze making your breath hitch. His hands coming up to cup your face, his touch achingly gentle. “There are so many words I want to say to you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Words that will never do justice to how I feel about you. You’re the air that I breathe, the thought that consumes me, the obsession that drives me to the brink of madness.“ He leans in closer, his forehead pressing against yours. "You’re the reason I feel alive, the reason I’ll do anything, give anything, to be with you.“ His hands move to your back, his body pressed against yours, the raw need and desire in him almost feral. “I’ve tried to fight it for years, to deny it, but I can't. I can't pretend anymore that I don't want you, that I don't need you. Because I do. I need you more than anything. I’m obsessed with you, completely and utterly obsessed. Living without you it's like not having a soul inside of my body.“

He pulls back slightly, his eyes burning into yours, the force of his emotions like a tidal wave washing over you. “I will do whatever it takes, I will risk everything, I will defy the universe itself, to keep you by my side. You’re mine, and I will never let you go. You’re my love, my every thought, my every dream, my entire existence.“

Your heart is pounding in your chest, the intensity and passion in his words, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. Your hands reach up, touching his face, your fingers tracing over his features gently. “Ani…“ You whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I… I don’t know what to say. You… you make me feel things I’ve never felt before. You make me feel loved, wanted, desired… worshipped.“

He leans into your touch, his eyes closing as he savors the feeling of your fingers on his skin. A small, vulnerable smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he looks at you. “Say you’ll be mine,” he whispers, his voice gruff with emotion. “Say you’ll stay with me, that you’ll be my everything. I need to hear it, I need to know that you want this as much as I do.“

His vulnerability in that moment, so different from the fierce and possessive man he usually is, makes your heart pound even harder. You look into his eyes, seeing the love, the fear, the need in them. You never knew he was capable of such emotion, such passion. “I’ll stay with you,” you murmur, your voice soft yet filled with conviction. “I’ll be yours, yours completely. For as long as you’ll have me.“

He lets out a ragged breath, his body visibly relaxing as your words sink in. The fear, the doubt, that had been lurking in his eyes vanishes, replaced by something wild and primal, something that nearly takes your breath away. “Forever,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and fierce. “I want you forever. I need you forever. You’re mine now, and I’m never letting you go. Together, we will defy the odds, we will fight fate, we will prove that love, true love, can conquer all."

His lips brush against yours, soft and gentle at first, but quickly turning hungry and demanding. His body presses against yours, the heat of his desire like a fever burning through you. The world around you falls away, leaving only you and him, lost in a moment of complete and utter obsession and love. You’re his and he's yours, and nothing else matters.

[izvmimi]

cw: post archon war, current time period. reader is a goddess. a little melancholy. mature but no overt smut.

“You’ve never taken a lover, have you, Morax?”

You mean your voice to be light, and it is, breathy with the levity conferred by a profoundly good fuck, a warm flush to your complexion still representative of your lingering affection for him. His eyes, lidded shut in quiet contemplation, open languidly and he turns, golden eyes on you and gleaming, quick to sense the playfulness in your voice.

“In this manner, do you mean to mock my technique?” he asks. His voice is low, accompanied by a gentle squeeze of your loosely interlaced fingers.

You shift, pressing your legs together, and turning in his direction to face him. Your foreheads barely touch, and your lips remain just inches apart, as if they hadn’t connected frequently over the course of the night. He looks at them not hungrily but with tempered greed, like another kiss would be an overindulgence.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He sighs, and chooses not to kiss you yet, but pulls you closer. You adjust, resting your head on his chest, your fingers untangling from each other so that you can gently tap them against his chest. A few moments pass, and then he’s quick to take your hand again in his palm, bringing the fingertips to his lips. 

“But you do dare. I do now have to admit, I’m worried, that somehow you may not be satisfied with our time together.”

His voice is steady still and if he’s truly hurt and not just playing along with your joke, you won’t catch it. But he’s still handling you tenderly, and your desire for closeness persists. Throwing your knee over his waist is not enough; even the sensation of his body inside yours, filling you deeply, is not enough. 

You’re not sure yet what you want.

“I enjoy our time together always.” Your reminder is sincere, sweetly delivered.

“I could enthuse you in other things,” Zhongli asks. His eyes are to the ceiling, while yours are on him. “There are many games I have yet to teach you, perhaps over wine or tea.”

The idea of losing a game that you don’t understand in a foreign land doesn’t particularly enthuse you quite at all, but of course, you are a guest. A well taken care of guest, in fact, and often you wonder how many friends he’s made to replace the ones he’s lost over the eons - even if you’ve remained a constant from back then, gods often struggle to keep close relationships whether it’s among themselves or with mortals. You consider that Zhongli at least appears to be well loved in this new era, even if he keeps an air of seriousness around him that may push others away.

You wonder if he’s doing this with anyone else.

“You’d have me taste osmanthus wine again?” you ask him. 

“Why not?”

In a swift roll, you move so that you’re on top of him, and his arms rest around the base of your waist. Squishing his cheeks gently, then reveling in how his generally stoic countenance softens at your playfulness, you smile.

“I’m flattered. It’s been over a thousand years.”

Zhongli lets out a chuckle, pulling the covers to shield you from the cold of the early morning, the windows having remained open a crack to let out the smell of the incense you burned last night to pray for the dearly departed. It’s a tradition you’ve had with him for quite a while now, if only because it’s within your particular expertise to do so - that, and whatever this is, serving each other physically most of the night into the early morning and idle chat in the daytime.

It’s supposedly good for you, to expel that excess energy and to help him expel his, but sometimes you wonder.

“Zhongli.”

You use his mortal name sparingly, and it often catches his attention more readily than when you call him by his other name.

“Yes?” He is quick to respond, glowing amber oh so charitable to your thoughts.

How silly it is to call for his attention when he is right in front of you. 

You take a deep breath, then blurt out, “I know you would call this divine cultivation but I have no desire for more power in any way, shape, or form. Plus, I am quite balanced spiritually at this stage of my existence.”

He pauses.

“I understand.” His hand finds its way to caress your cheek gently, and you try not to let it distract you from your next statement.

“And what if I suggested also, that potentially, you yourself, might have enough?” To this, he sighs, and lets his hand drop.

“You are not wrong.”

Your heart skips a beat and soon you can no longer look at him, pressing your head against his chest instead for this next question.

“So what do we call this?” You finally ask. You want him to call it love but you don’t ask for it, and you’re embarrassed to fish deeper, and yet…

Humans have sex - rather, make love - for pleasure. You would like to do the same, rather than pretend that there is some higher purpose to the way you make each other feel, some greater meaning to your cries and moans of pleasure.

You can feel the heave in his chest as he responds.

“Claiming a moment for myself… chasing a feeling does not end well for me.”

You look into his eyes again, let his words flow into you. 

“No sooner than I claim something as my own, would it find its way far from me.”

You rise.

“Morax…”

You’ve called him by his old name again, and he laughs, but you are not laughing. Your face is warm and your heart pounds.

“Are you telling me that you care about me or not?”

The timing must be right again, because soon you are flipped under him, and he presses his lips against yours again, his hand cupping your face.

“I don’t control fate the way I would like to. Not anymore.”

You pull in a breath sharply, then whisper:

“A decision you made and can easily overturn.”

He shakes his head.

“A contract.”

Your arms wrap around his neck again.

“Anything can be renegotiated,” you remind him. Your lips graze again, and another sigh escapes the both of you.

“Not death,” he reminds you. He has you there. Your lips pull into a sad smile automatically.

“And thus in calling you my lover-” Zhongli continues.

“I did not ask you to call me your lover, I simply asked-” you start, shame sending flame through your body. He smiles before he interjects again.

“I run the risk of adding you to the list of things that exist to me only in memory.”

Your blood runs cold suddenly, and he finally pulls back from you, rising out of bed to stand. 

“We should begin our day,” he states, matter-of-factly. His hair is tousled still, the long lengths contrasting sharply against pristine pale skin, and you watch him in naked form move across the room to close the windows, the simple action fulfilled with the fluidity and grace of someone who’s probably existed long before time itself. Still grand, still heavenly. While he is undoubtedly calm, your heart thumps in beat with the tempest of thoughts in your mind.

Zhongli loves you, and it’s obvious. To call you dear out loud to him is akin to marking you for loss. Are you comfortable being loved if it will only add to his pain? Must you claim more than just the moments shared between the two of you?

“Zhongli,” you start, as he is just about to walk out of the room. He stops abruptly, and turns in your direction. He doesn’t say a word, just waits for you to speak. 

“I will not die,” you say out loud. You’re sitting up and perhaps now, you are the opposite of strength, looking painfully vulnerable in the way you’ve gathered soft sheets to cover your bosom, in sharp contrast to Zhongli who bothers not to hide anything, uncontested power personified.

For a moment, you can tell that he’s surprised by your declaration, and yet you press on.

“I will stay. Perhaps, if I want to, I will exist even long past you do. But I will stay in this realm, and I can be yours for eternity.” 

You pause, so that your voice does not waver. 

“You are allowed to love me.”

…

The early morning remains cold, but the birds begin to chirp their good mornings, and Zhongli speaks your name with greater tenderness than he ever has, as he makes love to you once more.

[pseudowho]

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Thinking about being Higuruma Hiromi's workplace bestie.

Thinking about showing up to the office for work one morning, and seeing Hiromi's not there. Automatically, you know your day is going to be long, tedious, dull. Maybe you'll actually get some work done for once.

Still, you'll miss making faces at each other at the meeting which could have been an email. You'll miss his sardonic, snippy responses to courtroom drama. You'll miss the way he calls his wastepaper bin his 'suggestions box'. You'll miss the way he sits, legs crossed on your desk, jiggling his foot constantly as you review case files together.

"Husband not in, huh?" Your colleague teases gently, and you roll your eyes, calling back over your shoulder; "Bestie, not husband!"

You sigh, walking to the office kitchen; his turn to make coffee today, but it's now just coffee for one, sadly--

"No no no, out you go, my turn to make coffee today, you--"

"Hiromi!" You squeal, visibly wiggling with delight, and Hiromi turns around with the coffee pot in his hands, briefly joining in with your happy dance, wiggling too.

"I thought you weren't in, I was ready for such a boring day!" You state, dramatic, giving his upper arm an affectionate squeeze. Hiromi tuts, "As if I'd just leave you to the wolves like that," stirring your pair of office mugs ("Mr" and "Mrs", only semi-ironically gifted to you from your Secret Santa last year).

The rest of the morning is lost in bright colours, in-jokes, corny jokes, office gossip ("You know I don't do gossip," Hiromi chides, black brows furrowed, turning his back on you momentarily...before spinning back round, leaning in and whispering, "Just pulling your leg-- tell me everything, in excruciating detail."), and getting your work done at ruthlessly efficient speeds, so in-tune are you with each other.

The endless days and weeks of being too busy to talk properly, leaving each other goofy post-in notes in files, on desks, on coffee mugs, and gradually more eccentric places-- the inside bottom of his wastepaper bin, under the printer lid, Hiromi somehow manages to sneak one onto the bottom of your shoe.

Hiromi loses almost all of his cases-- you are used to consoling him through this. Every loss wounds him. But why do they start to wound you, too? Before you can think on it too deeply, Hiromi bangs into your office one day, and you gasp, slopping coffee over your paperwork. You look up, about to curse at him--

"...you didn't," you challenge, joy blooming on Hiromi's face, and you realise, jumping up with a cheer and a clap, "You did? Oh, you won, you clever thing you, oh Hiromi!"

Hiromi fizzes like sherbet for the rest of the day, his melancholy blown away by your celebration of him. His favourite work-person-bestie-wife. He could chat with you like this all night, if only you'd let him.

Days without each other become woefully empty. The colours wash out of the walls. You barely laugh. You go home without a sense of achievement, but with the sense of a day wasted in solitude and loneliness. All of your other colleagues notice, eyebrows raised, knowing sideways glances...but you and Hiromi do not. Just work besties.

You give each other affectionate jostles goodbye when you pass each other in the corridor, folders in arms, sometimes transferring them to each other, before jostling again; "love you, byeee" (ironically, of course), as you skip and he lopes away down the corridor.

Except, one day, Hiromi's eyes are dark and distant during the jostle, the handover of paperwork, distracted and lost in something bigger...and absentmindedly he leans in, kissing you on the lips right there in the corridor, "love you, byy-"

You touch your lips. Hiromi's tongue darts out to taste his. You are both stunned, perplexed, blushing and flustered--

-- just work besties.

[sincerelyyycece]

i'm letting go.

Y/N finally had enough of being James’s backburner

note: modern au, this is a part 2 of my “hey, are u still there? …good.” fic, inspired by niki’s song again but this time it’s “oceans and engines.”

tags: @dearmy-diary @moonteaxw @xcinnamonmalfoyx @box-of-kinderjoy @hisparentsgallerryy @alittlebirdswhisper @chi-ara (i can't seem to tag the last two accounts.)

sincerelyyycece © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

A symphony of heartbroken tears and quiet, mournful sniffles echoed throughout the room, rebounding off the cold, stark walls and filling the silence with their melancholy. "Here we go again," she mused to herself, a bitter chuckle escaping her lips as the painful reality of her situation hit her once more. Her gaze, heavy with unshed tears and the burden of heartbreak, fixed on the seemingly innocent photo of James and Lily, both ignorant of the emotional turmoil their image was causing.

As she studied their smiling faces, her heart, already fragile and wounded, sank even deeper into the abyss of disappointment. The realization that she had been cruelly sidelined for Lily once more was a blow she had not anticipated, a betrayal that echoed in the silent room. She could almost hear the sound of her heart shattering, each piece a testament to her unrequited love for James.

A nauseating wave of regret and self-reproach washed over her, threatening to drown her in its relentless current. As she pondered her own naivety, she wondered how she had allowed herself to fall into this trap.

What had she expected?

Did she truly believe that this time, against all odds, he would choose her?

How foolish she felt, how incredibly naïve she was for ever believing him!

Her eyes narrowed at James's enthusiastic grin, a stark reminder of the shared moments and whispered promises. She remembered how he had once smiled at her in the exact same way, his eyes twinkling with mischief and unspoken promises. How easily she had fallen for that smile, and how bitterly she regretted it now.

With a deep, shaky breath, she forced herself to look away from the picture, her hand moving to wipe away the stray tears that had begun to fall. She knew what she needed to do, as much as it hurt her. She had to let go. She had to let go of James, of her love for him, and of the hope she'd been foolishly clinging to.

She gazed at her phone, James's number illuminating the screen. Another shaky breath escaped her lips as she summoned the courage to press the call button. The room filled with the familiar sound of ringing as she anxiously awaited his response, her hands trembling with nerves. Thoughts raced through her mind as she contemplated the words she intended to speak to him.

Suddenly, a voice broke the silence, uttering a soft "Hello?" Her breath caught at the sound, her heart skipping a beat. Faint music played in the background as he called out her name, "Y/N." She swiftly composed herself, resisting the urge to melt at the sound of his voice. "Are you there, Angel?" he inquired, his tone gentle. Her throat felt parched as she struggled to form words, her mind urging her to speak, yet her voice failed her.

Frustration washed over her as she sensed the distant sounds of music and chatter, indicating his movement to another location. "Y/N, did you accidentally call me?" he teased, chuckling lightly. "Hey," she finally managed to utter. "Hey Angel, what's going on?" he responded, his voice tender. She blinks rapidly, searching for a way to conclude the conversation.

But then a familiar female voice interrupted from the other end, urging James to return inside for another round. Though faint, she recognized it immediately. James's affectionate response indicated his reluctance to end their conversation. Internally, she sighed, realizing it was time to let go. No more clinging to hope, no more waiting on the sidelines for him. It was time to move on.

She'd had enough; her heart was tired of playing second fiddle to Lily. She was tired of being the one he turned to when he was bored or lonely—the one who was there to fill his empty moments. "James," she started hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper, "I think we should stop seeing each other." There was silence on the other end of the line, and for a moment, she thought he had hung up. "What?" he finally asked, sounding utterly shocked. "Why?”

"I'm tired, James," she admitted, her voice wavering as she spoke. "I'm tired of waiting for you, of being your second choice. I deserve better than this. I deserve to be someone's first choice, not their backup plan." There was a pause as she took a deep breath, gathering her courage before adding, "I'm letting go.”

"But, Y/N," James started desperately, but she cut him off. "No, James. It's over. Goodbye." With that, she ended the call, her heart aching as she did so. Up until that moment, she had hoped that things might change and that James might come to see her as more than just a friend, more than just a backup plan. But it was clear now that that was never going to happen. She had to let him go, for her own sake.

It was a painful decision, but she knew it was the right one. She deserved to be more than someone's second choice. She deserved to be loved and cherished as much as she loved and cherished others. And maybe one day she will find that person. But for now, it was time for her to focus on herself. It was time to heal and move forward. It was time to let go.

[holywizardheart]

What type of artist/singer you would be?

Please remember these readings are created for fun and entertainment so don't take them too seriously

Pick one of the piles that you feel drawn to and scroll down to read the descriptions

If you enjoyed reading please don't forget to like and follow me ;)

Pile 1

Okay, Pile 1, I think the career of being a singer/artist or just being in a creative field can be a little tricky in some ways. I'm seeing some inner blockages and obstacles that can pause your journey and it can be connected to fears and distress. The public may view you as someone who is unique and has a distinct personality or perspective on life. Your songs can be deep and have hidden meanings behind them. There can be some sense of melancholy and sad vibe from your presence. Also, you may not show your true self that much like concealing your privacy and hiding information about yourself. But people are still going to be drawn to you and admire you, especially your quirky and unusual side. Honestly, this Pile is giving me a Lana del Rey and Mitski vibe.

Pile 2

This Pile is quite complicated to interpret, to be honest, but your career can face instability and unpredictability during your journey. I think you can face hate from your audience and could be involved in some crazy dramas and quarrels. I can see it might be from your past or childhood. Perhaps these people could accuse you of some false and made-up stuff because of their jealousy and envy. Also, the career itself could be exhausting due to the responsibilities and duties that will weigh on your shoulders. Your songs usually can be about heartbreak and break-up. also, I'm seeing some connection to the past. Maybe you could write songs about your past relationships. This pile reminds me of Jenny by Blackpink. As you know, her journey in K-pop was full of hate and jealousy from fans, and being an artist wasn't easy for her.

Pile 3

This pile is going to shock the world with their presence, especially when they just pop up at the scene. People are going to be surprised and astonished by your fiery vibe. One main thing is your career will rise steadily without ups and downs. Also, you could collaborate with other artists, especially with men, because I got King of Wands, so I kinda thought about it. Or maybe you can be involved with a specific man during your career. Your songs can be about your passion and the fire that is burning inside you. I'm guessing it can be rock or just songs with loud and mind-blowing beats. Kinda reminds me of Rihanna.

[slutforsjy]

“Can I be Layla’s Mom?”

Synopsis: You made Jake mad (?) and uncomfortable with your banner, so he invited you backstage to talk about it 😇

Genre: SMUT!

Pairing: Idol!Jake X Engene Fem!Reader

Warnings: Making out, blowjob, deepthroating, cum eating, spit kink, grinding, almost sex, pervert jake, nasty jake, dom jake, PURE FILTH!

Word Count: 3k +

a/n this is my first time writing pls bare with me 😭 also eng is not my first language so….rb and comment if you enjoy it 🥰

You and your friend, swept up in the pulsating energy of the crowd, singing along with your favorite group, etching memories that will forever linger in your mind. The venue is a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, with flashing lights illuminating the stage and electrifying the atmosphere.

Attending a concert had always been a dream, lured by the promise of electrifying vibes, enchanting ambiance, and the palpable connection with the performers, especially your favorite, Jake.

There were so many banners and signs around for enhypen to read and yours were the one that caught the attention of the members.

It says….

“JAKE! CAN I BE LAYLA’S MOM?” with a picture of him and Layla that he posted on twitter.

For the rest of the members they thought it was funny, but for Jake, it sparked a different reaction. The moment he saw you waving that banner, it was at first funny to him at least, until his gaze traveled from your face down to your tight ass dress pushing your breast out a little bit, his reaction shifted.

You tried to catch his attention more as you started jumping, shouting, singing, and dancing not knowing how your boobs wiggle in front of him. His jaw clenched at the sight and you didn’t miss the way he licked his lips. Of course, your fans around you went crazy duh 🙄 but for you? you can’t seem to read what was that expression.

As the concert drew to a close, with each member delivering their heartfelt messages to the crowd, your eyes remained fixated on Jake. When he finished speaking, you seized the opportunity to capture his attention once more, by showing him your banner. However, instead of amusement, you sensed a flicker of irritation in his demeanor. You saw him cock his head looking annoyed by your actions as he diverted his gaze over to the other side of the stage and started waving at the fans instead.

You got worried, fearing that your playful gesture may have crossed a line and maybe it’s not an inappropriate banner for you to show him in the first place. But you just shrugged it off as you put your banner inside your bag and just enjoy the rest of the concert.

Everything inside the venue happens so quickly, and clearly, you don’t want to go home especially that your bias is mad at you. During their encore, you never miss a time when jake steals a look from you. He would look at you with a sharp eyes and then look at somewhere else when you catch him looking directly at you.

At this point you are so worried maybe because you truly made him uncomfortable with that stupid banner.

You’re so stupid!

Consumed by guilt and disappointment, you didn’t enjoy the rest of the concert. You really feel like crying, wanting to apologize to Jake which makes it worse as the thought of never meeting him again hits you and you’re never gonna have a chance to tell him that you’re sorry.

Once they bid their final goodbye, a wave of melancholy washed over you watching how the stage slowly closes hiding the seven most precious human beings for you.

“Bitch what was going on with you and jake?” you were jolted by your friend’s sudden question

See? Your friend noticed it too!

“Right? I really don’t know what I did wrong” you screamed, the weight of uncertainty pressing upon you.

“Dude he stares at you like he’s going to kill you” she says jokingly, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Damn! maybe i made him uncomfortable with my banner” your friend nodded noting how you didn’t use your banner at the latter part of the concert.

For the record, it wasn’t your intention to make anyone uncomfortable especially Jake, you made it for fun! even you friends and the other members find it funny. How is it not funny for Jake too!

As the crowd dispersed, your friends lingered for a final photo, offering a brief distraction from your swirling thoughts. Lost in the digital snapshots of the evening, you were startled by an unexpected interruption.

“Excuse me” he says tapping your shoulder.

You thought it was another engene asking you to take a photo of them but to your surprise you saw what is written in his shirt.

‘STAFF’

“Uhm sorry we’re actually done taking photo, we’ll head out quickly after this” you smiled at him.

You are about the go out of the venue when he calls you again.

“Uhm actually someone wants to see you…… at the backstage” You are so shocked and confused.

“W-what? Why?” your asked nervously

“Just go there, he just wants to talk to you” he then walked away shooting you a smile afterwards

“He?” both of you exclaimed

“Girl what the fuck is goin~?!” you cut your friend off and went immediately to follow the staff

You left your friend there and just shouted to her to just meet you at the hotel.

You’re so nervous walking towards the staff in front of you as he pointed at the door telling you to go inside.

Stopping in front of the door, heart racing, thinking if you should go inside or not.

Just by looking at the door, you think it is a storage room or whatever. You spent few minutes guessing what or WHO could be inside this room.

Once you got the courage to open the door, you were so shocked from what you see.

There you saw Jake,

manspreading, both arms on the head rest of the couch, staring at you with a smirk on his face, eyeing you up and down while licking his lips.

Wearing his soundcheck outfit earlier!

Your knees started trembling, seeing those gaze he gave you earlier at the stage as you nervously averted your gaze to look around the small room.

But this isn’t the time to be nervous, and so you brushed off your own thoughts and say hi and tell him how he did well.

“Hi Jake, i really enjoyed the concert, i can’t believe you called me i~” you were cutted as you heard him speak by his deep voice with thick accent

“come here” he commands while tapping his thigh

You blinked for a while as you look at him confused

“i said come here” his tone is very commanding and scary

You slowly walk towards him and he immediately grabbed your wrist and draw circles on it using his thumb

“so…” he paused looking at you directly in the eye

“you wanna be layla’s mom” that devilish smirk perked up on his beautiful lips once again

You gulp nervously at the question you knew that this was about the banner

“look Jake im sorry i didn’t mean to make you~” he shush you

“you know how hard it was for me to hide a fucking boner?” he raised his eyebrows at you

“what?” you ask sincerely looking at his bulge

He took your hand once again and guided it to palm his hard cock through his pants.

“JAKE!!” you shouted his name and step back a little bit taken aback from what he did.

GOD IT’S HUGE 😭

He smirked again from your reaction as he let go of your hands and quickly removed his glasses and leather jacket leaving him only with tank top perfectly flexing his biceps and showing his toned chest through the tight material.

You tried not to look at his body but failed anyways

“So” he licked his lips and started placing both of his hands at the back of his head, spreading his legs even more to pull you closer to him.

Youur mouth waters from the sight alone and jake noticed it and smirked again for the hundredth time.

“To be layla’s mom, first you should know how to suck my dick” he looked up to you waiting for your response

Your eyes widened from what you heard.

“WHAT?!!” you’re so confused right now

“can you make me feel good” palming his hard cock through his pants, once again biting his lips, and winking at you. “I want someone who can take care of my cock too, you think you can do that?”

This is guy is so perv but you love it. It’s not all the time that you could suck a dick like jake’s 🤷‍♀️

You don’t know what’s going on with your mind as you nodded to him slowly kneeling down and you put both of your hands on either side of his thighs

“that’s a good girl” he said patting your head as he tucked your hair behind your ears

You can’t really talk right now. All you can think of is HIS cock and the taste of his cum.

Without any hesitation you immediately reached for his pants unzipping it in no time. He lifted his lower body so you could pull down his pants together with his boxers.

You gulped at the sight in front of you, it’s average in length but what shocked you the most is its thickness, it’s fat FAT!

You tried to scan his fat cock a little bit more as you also noticed how veiny it is. Well this isn’t so shocking for you because you see how veiny his hands are.

You can’t help but to lick your lips as you can’t really wait to savour his cock. You’re basically drooling over his cock. “you like what you see baby? why don’t you show me how you like it hmm?”

You wasted no time putting your pretty lips around the tip of his cock

You hummed as you try to please him with only the head

He leaned against the couch and put his hands at the back of his head

HE IS SO HOT! you were so turned on at the sight of him looking down at you with smile, biting his lips and his armpit on full display.

You try to taste every inch of his fat cock starting from the head, you started sucking it like your life depends on it. He guided your hands into his balls implying you to massage it.

He can’t help but buck his hips wanting to hit your throat immediately.

After a few minutes of sucking and licking just the tip you gave it a few more peck while looking at him still looking down at you with a smirk as he caress your cheeks

You tilt your head and work on the base of his cock this time. You gave it a long lick from his balls to the top of its head. You could literally feel in your tongue the bumps of his veins running through his cock. HE TASTES SO GOOD!

“baby i want more, please suck it more” he whined getting boring with your way of pleasuring him.

You got sad cuz you want to take your time, to WORSHIP his cock. But this isn’t about you, so upon hearing his words you’re eager to please him more, to SATISFY him.

You started by spitting on top of his cock as you locked eye contact with him. You saw him nodding at you flashing his eyebrows encouraging you to do more.

You worked your mouth down on his pretty cock reaching the back of your throat in one go earning a few cuss from his him.

“fuck that’s it, so fucking tight and warm ahh..” he grabbed the back of your head and pushed it down a little bit more.

He guided you as you bobbed your head up and down aggressively until you choked out loud, causing you to immediately pull his hands off of your head and let go of his cock for a second.

You looked at him with teary eyes, catching your breath, signaling for a pause.

“im sorry baby did i go too hard?” he asked while tracing your lips with the head of his cock STILL smirking.

“just a few more, i know you can take it” he leaned down to lick the corner of your lips where your saliva is dripping and asked “right baby?”

damn he’s so hot and nasty 😵‍💫 but you like it. You like how he’s being rough with you

“please” he says with puppy eyes

and who are you to ignore his cock?

“stick your tongue out for me please”

As the cock slut you are you stuck your tongue out as he placed his heavy cock on top of your tongue rubbing it slowly.

You both stayed like this for a while feeling the heaviness of his cock while he says a few reminders.

“when i cum down this mouth i want you to swallow all of it, understood?” you badly want to make this the best blowjob he will ever get, so you immediately lick the tip of his cock as a response while nodding

“fuck” he hissed at your actions and pulled you out of his cock by your hair and held your chin up

“you can’t wait huh? you really want my cum?” he says slapping his cock against your cheeks

All you can do is to nod at him, your eyes watching how he hits your face with his cock tapping it all over your face harder and harder spreading his pre-cum

He teases you like this for a few seconds as you go after his dick sniffing it and catching it with your mouth

He chuckles while looking at you so desperate looking like a dog going after its toy “Slut!” he slapped it one last time against your cheeks and started patting your head

“good girl, now open up i’ll go hard okay?” he stands up, forcefully gripping your jaw using his one hand and spat on your mouth which you gladly took and swallow like it’s yours.

“god you’re making me crazy” without a warning he shoved his cock all the way in to your throat. You looked at him with teary eyes while he harshly fuck your throat like there’s no tomorrow.

He pulls out for a second to give you a break as he pats your head and caress your cheeks “so good for me, taking me so well”

“please fuck my mouth jakey” you beg

“oh baby i will” you try your best not to choke as he picked up his pace this time. You gripped around his legs as a support as he uses your mouth like a flesh light with every hard thrust letting a sinful moans and grunts from him.

You keep sucking, using your tongue to rub the underside of his dick that's filling up your mouth. He pulls your hair again causing you to moan around his dick and you close your eyes, only to feel a slap on your cheek.

You open your eyes and look up at him to see him looking down at you with a frown, hand still on your jaw. " You're gonna keep looking at me got it?" He said, his thrusts never faltering. You hummed in agreement and his smirk returns.

“ughh fuck this mouth so good for me” he thrusts slowly but deeper this time angling his hips.

“you like this huh? such a good girl for me yeah?” he asked mouth wide open and eyes squinting as pleasure takes over his body.

You stay like that for a few more minutes, unmoving as Jake uses your mouth for his pleasure, swallowing saliva and precum, until you feel his grip in your hair get tighter and his thrusts gets deeper.

“Im close baby, remember what i told you?” he says as his speed increases, the sounds of you choking and gagging bringing his climax ever closer.

You felt him grabbed your head with both of his hands as his thrusts started to get sloppy and shallow indicating for him to reach his climax.

Hearing his sexy moans and gasps made your pussy clench around nothing. So you tried to reach for your pants and work your own orgasm.

Jake is too lost on his mind to even notice how youre trying to pleasure yourself. With that he just continues to punish your pretty little mouth mercilessly.

“ah fuck! fuck! fuck! im cumming, ah” he cried so loud enough for people outside the room to hear

With few more thrust he buried your head against his cock, the tip of your nose hitting his pelvis as he shoot his load to the back of your throat as you hollow your cheeks even more getting all the cum out of his cock.

You looked at him head thrown back, furrowed eyebrows, mouth wide open moaning out loud, body twitching, and gasping for air. His face says it all.

You felt his dick twitch one last time as he shots his 6th cumshot in to your throat, some spilling down your mouth.

He thrusts one last time to make sure all of his cum goes down your throat.

“fuck” he fell down the couch sweat all over his face looking at you proudly as you showed him how you eat and swallow all of his load~draining him.

“fuck i came a lot, didn’t I?” he moves closer to your face as he brought his thumb to wipe off the remaining of his cum on your chin and shove it back inside your mouth.

You hummed sucking his thumb while looking at him, your pussy is now forgotten as you came just from tasting his seeds.

“good girl” you’ve lost count on how many times did Jake called you that. It boosts your ego.

You started getting up on your knees, and grabbed your things, and the reality just hits you now. You can’t process what just happened “jake i have to go, thank y~”

You were cut off once again

“wait” you glanced over him as you see him get something from his bag

He walk over you still with his cock hanging between his legs and hand you a piece of paper~with his contact number written on it.

You find him cute on how he just stood there, smiling at you like a puppy as if he didn’t just choked your life out earlier.

He leaned closer to your ear as he grabbed the back of your neck and whispered something to you

“i still don’t know your name, pretty” he said in a flirty and sexy tone making you wet once again.

You were about to say your name when you felt him bit your ears.

“Jake uhmm wait” you tried to stop him as his mouth went its way down to your neck sucking it desperately.

“mhmm jake please” you cried tilting your head to give him more access to your neck

It took a while before jake got his senses back as he stared at the mark on your neck proudly with a smirk.

“so…how do you want me to call you baby” he looked at your eyes

“y/n” you said voice shaking

“what a sexy name” he says with a raspy voice squeezing your ass up pressing your clothed pussy on his once again hard cock

“feel that y/n?” you moaned as you feel his cock against you with your pants the only boundary. At this point, both of you are so hungry and desperate for each other. You follow the rhythm of his body, grinding against him.

He grabed you by your head and started lapping, eating, devouring, the entirety of your mouth almost licking all parts of your face. Making you gasp and open your lips for him. But he doesn’t gave you time to catch your breath as he pushed his tongue inside your mouth feeling him suck on your tongue harshly. You placed both of your hands on his shoulder as you try to kiss him back with the same intensity. You continued for a few more minutes exchanging salivas while still grinding against each other until you heard a knock from the door calling for Jake.

You pulled back from the kiss and saliva dripped down your lips but Jake is too quick to catch it with his own tongue. Licking your chin all the way up to the tip of your nose. He groaned, disappointment evident from his face.

“Damn baby you’re so hot, but i need to go” he said while putting his Calvin Klein underwear back on together with his pants.

“call me by the number i gave you…” he thrusts in to you one last time…

“Im going to MAKE you a mom” he whispers pecking your lips one last time

Leaving you dumb and speechless

Leaving your pussy dripping from your second orgasm

Leaving you wanting for more

Leaving you curious about his last words~

THE END

HI! OMG thank you for reading this! I hope you enjoy 🥹

[bluev0id]

~ What's coming your way? ~

I'm bored at my friend's graduation ceremony, so here's a little reading! Pick one of the four combinations of stones ♡

🌸 Check out my ETSY(link) where I sell jewelry made with these pendants 🌸

1. Green agate + iridescent seashells

If you've been feeling not like yourself or missing something in your life, you will experience a return of what was lost. Expect a wholesome time in nature or engaging in your cultural or family traditions. If you haven't had time for hobbies or enjoying time by yourself, it will be a wonderful period where you'll be able to create, daydream and have some relaxing self care time. Someone from the past might return and you'll be able to fix the broken. On the other side, if you've been experiencing injustice or a lack of order, this will be sorted out.

Keywords : bringing it back, the way it should be, sunshine, traditions, to belong

2. White seashell and opals

There's high expectations on you either from others or yourself. You will want to be on your grind, trying to have a breakthrough. I do sense that there will be a feeling of lack that will guide you through this experience, so make sure to exercise and let go that nagging feeling inside of you that's saying that you're not doing enough. Don't push yourself over the limit. You will be taking life seriously and desiring all the nice things. There might be a woman in your life who will play a major role during this time. Reflect on where your desires come from and what are the things in life that last and matter the most, because through that you’ll be able to reach the paradise you're seeking.

Keywords: lazy, not enough, money, status, a woman

3. Pearls

A period of melancholy is coming your way. You might find yourself crying over memories or enjoying late night walks, staring at the moon through the window before bed. But it's not sadness you'll feel. It's the knowing that life passes and you have to move on and that being alive, despite all the hardship, is beautiful. You will long for someone to be there for you is it a friend or a past/long distance lover, and I see them trying to support you as much as they can. You'll receive sudden kindness from strangers or close ones during this period of your life.

Keywords: love, goodbye, warmth, memories, church, mistakes

4. Red and white agate stones

Honestly, you are that bitch. And your friends love you. I see a period of confidence, support and power coming your way. Your friends or people around you will have your back if you're ready to stand up for them as well. You'll feel empowerment by realising your influence and won't be afraid to speak your mind. When you reply late, you'll have people wondering where you are and if everything is alright. Community and good communication. If you're currently lacking close relationships, then I sense a group of individuals entering your life and being on the same wave as you.

Keywords: shepherd, fuck the rest, parties, friends, pick me up when I'm down

🌸 MY ETSY 🌸

[gghostwriter]

fluff request

Spencer reid x bee holding hands and skipping around. Pls and Thanks!

Love ur work!

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Trope: Established Relationship; Fluff! Just fluff! wc: 1k A/N: Bear, so sorry it took a while but here is your request and its just pure loving fluff of Spencer falling deeper in love! Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗 Main masterlist

In the Ether. // Spencer Reid

It was a rarity for Spencer Reid to fly out of Virginia outside of work and for any other state than Las Vegas to visit his mother. It was even a rarer sight for him to be surrounded by green pastures until all the eyes could see and fading white picket fences that keep farm animals—cows, goats, and horses—safe from one another. He was a city boy through and through, after all. 

But here he was, experiencing the tranquility of living in a countryside with just the sounds of air rustling the trees and the harmonizing voices of all living animals found in the farm. It was how you grew up and you wanted him to meet your family while experiencing your quiet childhood in a small town, even just for a short weekend. 

“Well, what do you think?” You asked as you sat beside him on the rickety swing bench your father built on the front porch when you were ten years old. 

He smiled, grasping your hand into his before bringing it up to his lips for a kiss. “It’s beautiful and peaceful. I could see why you love it here.” 

“When I was a teenager, not so much—” you laughed at his incredulous expression. “—there’s really not much to do in a countryside town where everyone knows everyone, i promise—”

“So you dreamed of moving to a big city,” he added on. 

You nodded, watching the farm dogs herd a couple of sheep strays back to the flock. “Yup, so I applied to college in a big city and ended up missing the vast space and quiet after a few years. How cliché of me, don’t you think?”’

“No, not really. It made sense for you to miss what you once had,” his voice soft and soothing like a gentle, cooling breeze in an arid desert. He had a way of guiding your thoughts back to the light—a lighthouse that pierces through the grey fog guiding you boat back to shore. It was one of the qualities that made you grateful that he chose you the same way you’d choose him again and again if needed be. 

You stood up, shaking any melancholy. “Grab your book, Spence, let’s go visit my favorite tree up the hill.”

Laughing, he guided you inside to the guest room you both will occupy and proceeded to pull out an obscure Quantum Mechanics copy from his satchel.

You shook your head, only Spencer would decide to bring an academic book as a form of light reading.

With your chosen book on hand and a picnic blanket on the other, you shouted out loud your destination for anyone to hear around the house and proceeded to pull your boyfriend of one year outside the back door with a bounce in your step.

The excitement that seemed to vibrate out of you was so contagious that Spencer found himself skipping at your same beat. Hands together swinging between your bodies, he had never felt any more weightless and unfettered by the grim reality his cases had to offer. 

Halfway through, you could spot the colossal Sycamore tree that you called your own. It had been nicknamed as yours by the family ever since you fell asleep under it at a tender age of four. It had been your own space, your own solace when you wanted to be alone. It was such an extension of you that you wanted to share its existence to the one you hoped to share the rest of your life with.

You squeezed his hand, signaling him to a stop. 

“What is it, sweetheart?”

A mischievous twinkle in your eyes clued him in before any word was even uttered.

“Race you!” You bolted, the loose skirt of your cotton dress sticking to your legs as you picked up speed. 

Both your laughters echoing in the air, mixing with the chatter of the nearby ducks, as if you and him were still kids, free from responsibility and unabashed with glee—like everything was simple in life.

With a smile threatening to split his cheeks from happiness, he loved seeing you run across the vibrant green field, sneakers leaving imprints on the moist soil, and tendrils of your long hair trailing behind you. Everything about the moment was precious. Everything about you was ethereal. A forest nymph that had bewitched him body and soul. A woodland sprite coloring his barren wasteland of life in a multitude of colors he can never hope to name. A beloved that he wishes to cherish until the end of time.

You turned around with a smile on your face, having reached the destination first and as if the skies needed him to fall any deeper for you, a soft warm sunlight streamed through the leaves, giving you a golden halo like you were some kind of goddess here on Earth, meant just for him. 

Spencer went with instinct, untethered and uncaring for anyone to see. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, twirling you around with your giggles as the music before bringing you back down to Earth and leaning in to give you a slow, soft kiss. A motion so loving that had you melting in his arms, hands clutching his button down, afraid for the moment to end. 

He leaned back a sliver. Far enough for breeze to pass between your lips but close enough for your noses to still be touching.

Eyes staring into yours, warm and golden like the morning sun breaking from the horizon, he uttered the truth of his devotion.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!