#readerinsertfanfic

You wore the crimson lace as a dare—Klaus’ gift, Elijah’s undoing. For a man built on centuries of restraint, jealousy becomes a quiet apocalypse. He says nothing when he sees you, only circles like a predator in fine silk. Every glance is an accusation, every touch a punishment, and beneath each subtle movement, you feel the ache of something deeper—like a piano wire pulled taut between your ribs, vibrating with tension you’re too afraid to name, and every breath between you is a rope wound tighter with tension.

He watches you move through the parlor like a relic he hasn’t decided to claim—yet. The lace clings to you, barely concealing skin he’s committed to memory in quieter times. It’s not just the lingerie. It’s the implication: Klaus gave it to you. You wore it in Elijah’s house. You stood, back arched, glass in hand, and smiled.

Elijah says nothing. He doesn’t need to.

When he speaks, it’s later. Alone. In the quiet room where the music doesn’t reach and the fireplace crackles low. You don’t hear his footsteps—you feel them, like thunder beneath marble floors.

He closes the door behind you both.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?” he asks, voice low, patient, precise. A blade sheathed in velvet.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes.

His eyes rake over your body, not hungrily—meticulously. As if each thread of lace is another offense to catalog. “My brother gave you that?” he asks, finally stepping close enough that your perfume warps beneath the weight of his.

You nod. “It was a joke. He thought—”

Elijah’s hand lifts. A single finger pressed to your lips.

“I’m not interested in what Klaus thought.”

He steps back. You think he’s going to leave.

Instead, he opens a narrow door behind the bookshelf and gestures for you to follow.

What lies behind the bookshelf isn’t a closet—it’s a chamber, narrow and suffocating in its intimacy. The walls are smooth stone, the air thick with warmth and wax. Shadows flicker with the pulse of dozens of low candles, their flames casting the illusion of movement even when you’re standing still.

And in the center: a mannequin. Draped in crimson lace. Your exact size. Your shape. The lingerie on it is identical to what you wear.

And it smells like you.

“Elijah—” you whisper, heart fluttering with something that isn’t quite fear.

“I had it commissioned,” he says simply. “After the first time you wore it.”

You stare at him. “That was months ago.”

“I remember,” he says, and for a moment, something in him fractures—just behind the eyes.

He steps forward again. Reaches for the mannequin. Runs his hands down its sides. “She’s never spoken back to me. But I’ve said so many things to her. Things I could never say to you.”

You feel breathless. Powerless. But you step toward him anyway. He doesn’t stop you. Just watches.

“You’ve been using—”

He turns then. Sharp. Predatory. “Don’t finish that sentence unless you’re prepared for the answer.”

Your heart hammers.

Then he’s in front of you. The mannequin to your side. His fingers hook the edge of your panties and snap them against your skin—not roughly. Deliberately.

“You want me to lose control,” he murmurs. “You want me to hurt.”

His voice dips lower, and his fingers tighten at your hip, grounding you, making sure you can’t step away. A flicker of heat pulses through you, sharp and instant, clashing with the defiance rising in your chest.

“I want you to feel,” you snap back, and your hand finds his chest, pushing—not to escape, but to challenge. The air between you shifts, heavy, electric. A single breath and everything changes.

That breaks him.

Elijah pushes you back against the mannequin. The lace scratches your spine as his hands lift you. He pins you there, eye to eye with your own ghost in silk. He doesn’t kiss you. Not yet.

He turns your head to face it.

“This is who I touched when I couldn’t have you.”

Then he kisses your neck. Bites. The pain is soft, meant to linger. You cry out, but he only pushes harder. His hand slides up your ribcage, thumb brushing under the swell of your breast, teasing but never kind. The lace scrapes with every movement, taut and tingling.

When he finally takes you—right there, standing, pinned—it’s punishing. Slow. Intimate. His mouth never leaves your throat, lips dragging over your skin with every thrust like a benediction and a curse. His hand stays locked on the small of your back, pressing you against her—you—the whole time, forcing you to feel the lace imprint into your spine, a mirror to the one straining and damp against your skin.

The way he moves is deliberate, devastating. His cock stretches you full and aching, each grind of his hips a controlled burn, a sermon in dominance. He withdraws nearly to the tip before slamming back in, each movement laced with withheld fury, with years of restraint unraveling.

The room smells of wax, silk, and sex—his scent woven into the air like a vice. The heat is stifling, clinging to your skin in waves, every breath heavy as if the atmosphere itself is saturated with his presence. scent overtaking everything. You moan and writhe but the grip on your hip holds you still, grounded, trembling beneath his control. He hisses when your pussy clenches around him, voice rasping into your skin.

“You were mine before you even knew it.”

He says nothing else. Just breathes harder. Faster. Until you’re clawing at his back, nails raking over his shirt, voice broken into gasps that barely form his name. You choke on it—on the worship, the punishment, the unbearable want.

You break before he does.

Your orgasm hits like confession—tears spilling, voice choking as your walls clamp around him, desperate and spent. He doesn't let up. Not until you’re limp, shuddering, begging in fractured syllables. He fucks you through it, relentless, murmuring low against your ear—not comfort, but possession.

Only then, only then, does he still inside you. And it’s not softness—it’s reverence. A kiss against your temple. Possessive. Eternal. As if to mark you.

He doesn’t pull out immediately. He lingers, rooted deep inside you like a warning, like a vow not yet spoken aloud. Each breath he takes drags across your neck, and you can feel the tension still humming beneath his skin, not sated—just postponed. Possession pulses in the silence between your bodies, and you know: this isn’t the end. It’s only the pause before the next lesson.. Keeps you impaled on his cock, lets you feel every throb of him pulsing inside you while the mannequin’s lace digs into your back.

“You wore it for him,” Elijah whispers finally, “but you’ll never forget who made you feel it.”

Jealousy isn’t beneath Elijah Mikaelson.

Zuko raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“A snowman,” you repeat, crouching to scoop up a handful of snow. “You’ve seriously never built one?”

“No,” he replies flatly. “And I don’t see why we should start now.”

“Because it’s fun,” you say, tossing the snow lightly into the air and catching it. “When’s the last time you did something just for fun?”

Zuko exhales sharply, his brow furrowing. “This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease, stepping closer. “What would Aang say if he saw you refusing to enjoy the snow? He’d probably call it a crime against nature or something.”

That earns you a dry glare, but after a moment, Zuko sighs. “Fine. But if this is some elaborate scheme to make me look stupid…”

“Too late,” you quip, grabbing a handful of snow and starting to roll it into a ball. Zuko mutters something under his breath but crouches beside you.

At first, he watches as you roll the snowball across the ground, the base growing larger with each pass. “You’re just rolling it?” he asks, his tone skeptical.

“That’s how you start,” you say, grinning. “Then you pack it tight.”

Zuko hesitates before scooping up a handful of snow. His movements are stiff and cautious, as if he’s handling something explosive. “Like this?”

“Yeah, but more pressure,” you instruct. “It’s snow, not glass.”

He huffs and presses his hands into the snow, his brow furrowed in concentration. For someone who regularly wields fire, he’s surprisingly meticulous about packing the snow. It’s kind of endearing.

After a while, the two of you manage to stack three uneven snowballs atop one another. Zuko steps back, frowning critically. “It’s… lopsided.”

“It’s perfect,” you counter, brushing snow off your gloves. “Now it just needs a face.”

You gather pebbles for eyes and a crooked twig for a nose, then start sticking them onto the snowman. Zuko watches with his arms crossed again, his skepticism palpable. “This is what people do for fun?”

“Yep,” you say, sticking on the snowman’s mouth with a flourish. “And now… it needs something extra.”

You step back, tilting your head as you study your creation. The curved base, the round body—it reminds you of something. Or someone.

“It looks like Appa,” you declare, grinning.

Zuko snorts softly. “Appa? Really?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t see it.” You point to the snowman’s round shape. “All it needs are some horns and a tail.”

Zuko mutters something about wasting time but crouches to help anyway. He shapes a stubby tail at the back while you add twigs for horns. His hands are sure and steady, and you’re struck by how much effort he’s putting into something so simple.

When you’re done, you step back together to admire your work. The snowman—Appa, you’ve decided—looks ridiculous but lovable, with its lopsided body and crooked grin.

“It’s not terrible,” Zuko admits grudgingly, his golden eyes scanning the snowman. “For a snow bison.”

You grin and nudge his arm. “See? You’ve got a hidden creative side.”

“I don’t have a creative side,” he replies, though the faintest smirk tugs at his lips. “I just followed your instructions.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, laughing. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Your Majesty of Snow Sculpting.”

He huffs, but his ears turn red—not from the cold, you’re certain. The two of you stand in companionable silence for a moment, watching as snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, catching on your snowman’s horns.

When you glance at Zuko, his gaze isn’t on the snowman anymore—it’s on you. The usual intensity in his eyes has softened, replaced by something warmer, quieter. It makes your chest feel lighter, like maybe, just maybe, you’re chipping away at his icy exterior.

“Thanks,” you say softly, nudging his arm again. “For helping.”

Zuko shrugs, but the corner of his mouth lifts in that almost smile you’re starting to recognize. “It wasn’t terrible.”

Alchemy makes a lot of things possible. Want to repair what's broken? Turn water into wine? Craft a grand structure straight from the earth itself? Alchemy is the answer. Edward Elric was very skilled in this craft. People recognized him for that. Respected him for that. He wanted you to feel the same way about him. To look at him in awe, admire him. Yet...your eyes were focused on someone else. Someone he would have been happier for you to ignore. It would have been far easier that way. Alphonse. His little brother Al... Yes, they were brothers, sure. But everyone had their limits... If only alchemy could have easily solved that problem too... Then again. Perhaps it could.

…

“I can't believe you turned me down...and all so you could be with this walking hunk of garbage!” “B-brother!?” “Ed...” you breathed out in shock. The short blonde had called you both down to his alchemy lab in the middle of the night, and you'd foolishly assumed he was up to something noble in this candlelit place. Yet the dimness only gave way to furious golden eyes when you both arrived, piercing through you like finely crafted spears. The 'Full Metal Alchemist' as he was dubbed had his gloved hands clenched tight by his sides, teeth grit and grinding. It wasn't that unusual to see him get angry (especially when people made note of his height) but for him to be turning so cruelly on Al was...unheard of. You'd only ever seen them as loving brothers, conflict rarely happened between them. For Edward to call him a name like that, knowing the pain it caused him to be trapped as a suit of talking armor...that was only a clear sign that something wasn't right. “A-are you tired Ed? I think you should get some rest, you're agitated.” you tried to reason with him, not wanting him to go any further with the vitriol and end up regretting it once his head cleared. Yet somehow you got the feeling he wouldn't be changing his mind... “Brother, why did you-?” “Call you that? Heh...” Ed cut him off easily and let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head and closing his eyes with a furrowed brow. His tense expression twitched. “What, do you think you don't deserve it after all you've done?” “What did I do!?” Al stepped forth with a heavy clank, half-shielding you with his large body, and Ed's eyes only flashed open again as he snapped: “What did you do!? You took [Y/N] from me, that's what you did!!!” Before either of you could protest he suddenly slammed his palms together, filling the room with blue light as he then let them plummet against the ground. “[Y/N] look out!” Al gasped and quickly stepped in-front of you completely, yet the surge hadn't taken either of you for a target. Rather it shot behind you both and hit the wall with a boom. Once there was a door there, the only door in and out of this basement room. Yet it suddenly vanished and simply became brick. When you saw this you panicked and quickly ran up to the now solid surface, slapping your palms against it in confusion. “What!?” “Brother what are you-- AHH!” Al's scream made you turn quickly again and you gasped with shock when you saw what was happening. Ed was...attacking him. His own brother. He made vicious swipes with his sharpened metal arm and Al clumsily tried to dodge. All the while Ed yelled and screamed at him in anger: “Thought you could take her away from me!? Butter her up nicely by spending all that time with her!?” “Brother no!! Stop this!!!” Ed ignored him, murderous. “How could she fall in love with someone who doesn't even have a body!?” “B-Brother-” The air turned so thick you could have choked. Hearing Ed say those things...it was sickening. Like he wasn't even the same person anymore. “I'LL TURN YOU INTO SCRAP METAL!” Ed really intended to. He lunged for Al, not caring how thick that armor was. He'd beat him down until there was nothing left. That was his plan at least, until you stepped in at the last second, the shock finally passing enough to let you rush forth and step between them. “STOP! ED!!!” He did. Just in time before that sharp blade met your neck. Ed's eyes went even wider, pupils somehow getting even smaller still. “...What are you...doing?” “Stopping you! He's your brother, how could you treat him this way!?” Slowly, Ed's posture began to relax, and pain bled into his expression. He lowered his metal arm until it hung limply by his side, reverting back to its usual state. His eyes stared ahead at you, but they didn't look so menacing now. Just hurt. “I...I don't know what came over me...” he slowly started sinking until he was on his haunches, eyes drifting to the ground. “I was so...angry...” Behind you Al finally managed to steady himself using the wall, clearly startled. Even if Ed might not have succeeded in hurting him, it had still been horribly painful. For you too. You looked down at the boy sorrowfully and slowly lowered yourself to his level. Something odd was going on here, you had to understand it. “Ed...what happened? Why are you so angry with Al?” you asked him in a soft tone, as if he were some frightened animal you didn't want to scare off. He certainly looked traumatized. “I...I don't know...” his eyes remained fixated on the ground, “I wanted us to spend more time together...you and me, but...seemed like you always wanted to be with him instead...” You swallowed thickly and glanced aside. It wasn't entirely untrue. Despite his current state, you were able to see past it. Al was so gentle and kind in his ways, not nearly as temperamental as his elder brother. It was something that drew you to him given that you had a similar nature. That wasn't to say you didn't like Ed...it was just that...your feelings for Al were different. “...Ed...I'm really sorry. I never intended to hurt you or push you this far, I didn't even realize you felt this way.” you told him, bowing your head a little. Yet he only shook his: “No-” he looked up at you again, “-I'm the one who should be apologizing. It's because of me, my own jealousy, it's all my fault! Please-” his hands clasped together firmly in a praying gesture, “-forgive me! [Y/N], Al!” “I-I forgive you brother...just please don't...don't attack me again.” Al spoke weakly in the background, stepping a little closer now that the coast seemed clear. You nodded too. “Of course. We can just move on from this. It's alright Ed.” “Great.” He grinned at you both, and he really looked like his old self again. Cheerful, chipper little Ed. Yet suddenly that grin became a little too wide, and those eyes stopped squinting to reveal that the gold had practically vanished into the white. Eyes that looked up at you both and never blinked. A furious gaze again. Followed by a furious gesture, as Ed's palms came apart and slammed on the ground before him. The whole room shook and cracked. You recoiled as the blue blinded you, and you only heard one thing as you were sent tumbling backwards. “AAHHHHH!!!” It was Al. Screaming.

…

“Hmm hmm hmm~ Oh! This'll be useful...” “Mmn...?” “I could probably grind this piece up and mix it into something...yeah...” Your head was throbbing a bit, but not to the extent that you couldn't force your eyes open. The real world greeted you again after what felt like a slumber far too long. Blinking a few times, you attempted to focus your vision, while simultaneously trying hard to recall what had happened. Ed... Al... A fight... Surely that had been a dream, right? After all, why would Ed ever hurt his brother? He cared about him more than anything else in the world, didn't he? Slowly you sat up, pressing your hands to the bench beneath you and looking over. The first thing that surprised you was your surroundings. The flickering candles on the stone walls, tables piled high with books and supplies, every surface painted in crimson, white and black transmutation circles. Wait...so you actually were in the basement? Had that not all been a dream? “...two of these...three...” “...Ed?” you could hear his voice, and when you looked over you could see him busying himself with something at one of the tables. Hunched over in his red cloak, gloved hands fidgeting and working away. Tentatively you got up off the bench you'd been left lying on and approached him with still shaky and weakened legs. Surely the rest of it had been something you'd only imagined, right? If only that were the case. You soon realized it wasn't when you reached the table. At first it seemed like Ed was working away on something normal. Just a few pieces of metal and such, nothing strange about that, right? ...If only indeed. A hollow helmet stared back at you. The one part of Al's body that Ed hadn't set to work deconstructing yet, though his torso was coming along nicely. The seal of crusted blood inside was long buffed away. Lacking the energy to scream, you could only clamp your hands to your mouth and let out a horrified squeal. That was enough to alert him though, and Ed suddenly spun halfway in his chair to look around at you. “Oh! [Y/N], I didn't realize you were awake. Sorry...” There it was again. That heinous grin. “Guess I got distracted.” Stumbling backwards, you only shook your head repeatedly, hardly able to comprehend what you were seeing, what was actually happening here. All you truly knew was that you had to get out before you ended up dismantled on that table too...or worse. You looked frantically for the door. There wasn't one. Then...it had really all happened after all. “[Y/N], you're not thinking of leaving are you?” Ed gradually rose from his chair and started coming towards you, reaching out with one hand. It was covered in oil but it might as well have been blood. “Don't be silly. Come here.” “No, GET AWAY FROM ME!” you suddenly screeched and shoved him back hard in the chest before he could get too close. He stumbled, and you took your chance to try and run, somewhere, try and grab, anything, try and do, something. Agony made you stop. Your neck suddenly seized and broke out in a burning flush of searing pain, making you scream and stumble until you dropped straight upon the ground. Falling over your own feet, your knees were grazed by the stone as you smacked down against it, lying limply and twitching. “...I guess I should have mentioned it's not possible...” Ed's voice spoke calmly, and you picked up on his footsteps echoing across the floor towards you. “Even if I brought the door back you still wouldn't get very far with that collar on your neck.” Eyes widening, you at least managed to lift a trembling hand and touch it. Sure enough, you found metal there in place of skin, just below your chin. Tears welled. “It was pretty handy having so much metal to work with. Didn't take me long to make that for you.” ...Al... “Of course I added my own little alchemist's touch to make sure it had a kick to it.” ...I can't... “Don't worry! It won't kill you. Just a little shock, that's not so bad is it?” I have to get out of here! Everything seemed so futile now but you still tried to pull yourself along the floor, reaching out with weakened hands and digging your nails into the dirty cracks between the stone slabs. You didn't get far before something suddenly slammed down on your spine though, making you wheeze and freeze up. Ed stepped on you firmly and eyed you like a bug. “Now come on [Y/N]. Play fair or I'll get mad.” “...Y...You killed him! Your own brother!” you finally spoke up through a sob, and Ed let out a heavy sigh. The sole of his boot forced you over on your back, and you lay there weakly beneath it, looking up into his cold yellow eyes. “You say that like it's a bad thing...” Ed smirked twistedly and tilted his head a little too far towards his shoulder. “Come on [Y/N], think about it! He was a sentient suit of armor, he wasn't even human anymore. Sure, he could talk and think like one, but let's be real here. Falling in love with someone like that is pointless...” While you were still stunned he slowly started to lower himself, still seeming bigger than you even when he came to a stop. You whimpered and turned your head when he slipped off his dirtied glove and reached down for you with his mechanical hand. His metallic fingers only pinched your cheeks tightly and forced your eyes upon him again. “Can't you feel this, [Y/N]?” he questioned and felt you shudder beneath his touch as his cold metal thumb ran over your warm lower lip. “It's not comfortable, is it? It doesn't feel loving, does it?” None of this feels loving! “That's all you'd ever get with him...” Ed spoke in an almost melancholy manner, and his eyes became hooded as his other hand approached. You whimpered softly as his bare, soft palm caressed your other cheek, and his human-skinned digit graced your mouth instead. “But with me it's different. With me you'll get exactly what you need. That's why you should have chosen me all along.” Both hands grasped your cheeks tightly now, and his lips came down and met your own, plusher than anything Al could have ever provided. You squirmed and moaned into his mouth as he forced that kiss upon you, and it only made him do it deeper, spurring him on. Ed's knee came slipping between your legs and you squeaked in a muffled tone, writhing harder. He pressed his chest flush enough with yours that you could have choked, his red cloak falling over the both of you like some kind of tent, shielding you from the world. Only trapping you further together. His breath came out shaky when he pulled away, sickening expression rising into the lamplight again as he licked his lips. His hands slipped from your cheeks to your arms and pinned you by them, not that you could get up anyway. Thanks to that collar, you wouldn't be doing anything he didn't approve of. Ed looked down at you in delirium. Your tears. Your perfect, pretty face. The way you whimpered and trembled when he touched you and spoke to you in such a low, callous tone. The knowledge that your complete and utter obedience to him and his undying love would come soon enough. Not even alchemy could create something so perfect.

Darkness hummed before dawn in Mystic Falls, where monsters and hunters bled in equal measure, and trust was rarer than mercy.

It begins with a scream.

You’d heard plenty of them before—they were part of your work. But this one was different. This one came from someone you thought untouchable.

The alley behind the Grill was slick with rain and blood when you found him. Elijah Mikaelson, the ever-composed Original, was slumped against the wall, his once-perfect suit torn and darkened with crimson. His eyes flicked up to you, even as he clutched his side where a white oak dagger had nearly found its mark.

“Y/N,” he rasped, voice steady despite the pain. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You knelt, pressing a hand to his wound before you could think better of it. “And let you bleed out? Tempting, but I still need answers.”

He gave a faint smirk. “How delightfully human of you.”

“And how typically arrogant of you to think I’m helping you out of kindness.”

You hated how close you were. How his breath ghosted against your cheek. How even now, bruised and bloodied, he carried that same damnable composure that made your heart tighten with something dangerously close to respect.

You tore a strip of fabric from your jacket and pressed it to his wound. He winced, and you whispered, almost mockingly, “Who did this to you, Mikaelson?”

His eyes darkened, something old and furious flashing there. “Someone who will regret it.”

Thunder cracked through the night, as if the heavens themselves answered his rage. For a brief moment, you both just stayed there—your hand against his chest, feeling the unnatural heartbeat of a man who had lived a thousand years. You should have walked away. But you didn’t.

The next few days blurred into a strange alliance—filled with sharp arguments and quieter moments where suspicion gave way to uneasy trust. One night, while patching a map together, you teased, “You’re not as insufferable when you’re quiet,” earning a rare smirk from him. The truce began to feel less like tolerance and more like reluctant respect.

You told yourself it was temporary—that you only worked with him to uncover whoever had dared attack an Original. But the more time you spent around him, the less you believed that. Elijah moved like poetry written in blood—controlled, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.

You watched him handle ancient texts in the dim light of his study, each gesture precise. His jaw tensed whenever you ran into danger; his voice softened when he spoke your name. And yet, he was infuriating—lecturing on morality and honor, even as he slaughtered without hesitation when provoked.

Another night, while studying the map together, your fingers brushed his. The contact was fleeting, accidental, yet the way his gaze locked with yours made the air electric.

“You should rest,” he said quietly.

“I’ll rest when the bastard who came after you is ash,” you replied.

“Your loyalty is… unexpected.” His tone carried a weight you couldn’t name.

“Don’t mistake it for loyalty. I just want this over with.”

He smiled faintly. “Of course you do.”

By the end of the week, you often caught yourself reflecting on how strange the partnership had become—two enemies moving in rhythm. Between clashes, there were lingering glances, words unspoken, and a dawning sense that something irreversible was happening.

You had saved each other’s lives twice. Once, when a witch ambushed you in the woods—Elijah took the hit meant for you, his hand closing around your wrist as he muttered, “Run.” The second time, you returned the favor, driving a stake into a vampire’s heart before it could pierce his.

He stared afterward, something unspoken burning in his eyes. “You could have let it hurt me.”

“I could have,” you said simply. “But I didn’t.”

A quiet tension grew between you after that—charged, dangerous. You’d catch him looking at you from across the room, expression unreadable. When you finally confronted him, he only said, “I’m trying to decide if you’re my salvation or my ruin.”

“You’re assuming I can’t be both,” you shot back.

The night you finally snapped, the tension between you had stretched thin as a blade. Every glance, every argument, every unspoken word crackled in the air like lightning before a storm. You could feel your pulse in your throat—anger tangled with something dangerously close to longing. The rain outside mirrored the chaos inside the Mikaelson mansion.

“You think you’re better than everyone else,” you hissed, stepping close enough that your breath brushed his collar. “That you’re untouchable. But you’re just a monster dressed in manners.”

He moved faster than you could blink, pinning you against the wall. His breath was warm against your ear. “And you,” he whispered, voice low and dangerous, “are a liar. Because if you truly hated me, you wouldn’t look at me the way you do.”

Your pulse betrayed you. You should have shoved him away. You didn’t.

“Elijah—”

He leaned in, lips almost brushing yours. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I will stop.”

But you couldn’t. The words died on your tongue. You closed the distance instead.

The kiss was fire meeting storm—violent, inevitable. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there as though afraid you’d vanish. You tasted blood and rain and centuries of restrained hunger. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours for regret. There was none.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you breathed.

“Then don’t give me a reason to,” he murmured.

The battle erupted without warning, chaos tearing through the night like shattering glass. Heat, smoke, and the metallic scent of blood filled the air, every sound sharp and disorienting. The coven responsible for the attacks had surfaced, and the fight was brutal. Spells cracked, fire licked through the trees, and exhaustion clawed at your bones.

When one of them got the jump on you, Elijah tore through the chaos, ripping the witch away before she could finish her curse.

He caught you as you fell, blood staining his hands again. “Stay with me,” Elijah commanded, voice breaking as he pressed a hand over your wound. “You do not get to die on me, do you hear?”

You smiled weakly. “And here I thought you didn’t care.”

His eyes burned red for a moment before softening into something heartbreakingly human. “I have never cared for anyone more.”

You reached up, brushing his cheek with trembling fingers. “You’re supposed to be the noble one, remember?”

He gave a strangled laugh that wasn’t quite humor. “Then let me be selfish this once.”

Your vision blurred, but you reached for him anyway. The same man you swore you’d never trust. The same monster who had somehow become your home.

“Then don’t let go,” you whispered.

He didn’t.

Later, when the dust settled, he stood at your bedside, his hands still trembling though he’d deny it. “You risked your life for me again,” he said softly.

“I guess I’m a slow learner.”

He smiled, faint and fleeting. “Or perhaps you’ve learned faster than you think.”

“Meaning?”

“That hatred, when tested long enough, becomes something far more binding.”

You looked up at him, exhaustion fading under the weight of what lingered between you. “Then what are we now, Elijah?”

Sam chuckles, setting the box on the coffee table in front of you. “I figured we could use a break. And hey, it’s festive.” You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Alright, Winchester. Let’s do this.”

The table is soon transformed into a sugary battleground. The kit includes walls, a roof, frosting in a plastic bag, and an assortment of candies that look slightly questionable but smell undeniably sweet. Sam carefully arranges everything with the precision of someone who has built a thousand IKEA bookshelves while you eye the frosting like a hawk–already scheming. “Okay, we start with the base,” Sam says, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pipes a line of frosting along the edge of the cookie walls. His big hands are surprisingly steady, and you can’t help but admire his focus.

“That’s cute,” you tease, picking up your own piping bag. “But my side is going to blow yours out of the water.”

“Oh, we’re making this a competition now?” Sam raises an eyebrow, his grin growing. “I thought this was supposed to be a team effort.”

“Teamwork is overrated,” you reply, nudging his elbow just enough to make his line of frosting wobble.

“Hey!” he protests, laughing. “You’re going to regret that.”

It starts innocently enough. You’re both diligently working on your respective sides of the gingerbread house, each stealing glances at the other’s progress. Sam’s side is neat, with perfectly aligned gumdrops and a roof that could be in a magazine. Yours… well, it has personality. “Why do you have all the gumdrops?” you ask, narrowing your eyes as Sam sneaks yet another piece of candy onto his side.

“Because I got here first,” he says, popping one into his mouth for good measure.

“That’s cheating,” you declare, grabbing the frosting bag and aiming it at him. Without thinking, you swipe a dollop of frosting across the bridge of his nose. The look of pure shock on his face makes you burst out laughing.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that,” Sam warns, his voice low and teasing. Before you can react, he dips his finger into the frosting and smears it across your cheek. You gasp, feigning outrage as you grab a handful of flour from the nearby bowl and toss it at him. It’s chaos after that—frosting, flour, and candy flying in every direction. Sam’s laugh is loud and carefree, the kind of sound you don’t hear often enough from him, and it fills the small room like sunlight.

By the time the battle subsides, the table is a disaster. Flour dusts the air, and bits of candy stick to your fingers. The gingerbread house stands in the center, a wobbly, candy-laden masterpiece that looks like it barely survived a storm. You’re both out of breath, sitting side by side on the couch and surveying the mess. “Well,” you say, brushing a streak of frosting from your arm. “It’s not winning any awards, but it’s ours.”

Sam leans forward, inspecting the lopsided roof with a critical eye. “It’s got character,” he agrees, his voice soft. You glance at him, your heart skipping a beat, when you notice the frosting still smeared on his nose. Without thinking, you reach out and wipe it away with your thumb. His green eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly quiet.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. Before you can respond, he leans in, closing the space between you. His lips are warm and soft against yours, the kiss slow and sweet, like the moment itself. When he pulls back, his hand lingers on your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray bit of flour.

The air between you shifts, charged with something deeper, something you’ve both been skirting around for weeks. His eyes darken, flicking down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he admits, his voice husky.

Your breath hitches, and before you can think, you’re tugging him closer, kissing him with a fervor that surprises even you. His hands find your waist, pulling you onto his lap as the kiss deepens, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and he groans softly against your mouth, the sound making your pulse race.

Sam’s hands slide under your sweater, his touch warm against your skin as he trails his fingers up your back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips moving to your neck, kissing and nibbling along your jawline until you’re squirming in his lap.

You tug at his flannel shirt, pushing it off his shoulders to reveal the toned muscles underneath. He’s breathtaking, all broad shoulders and lean strength, and the way he’s looking at you makes your knees weak. “Sam,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as he shifts, laying you down on the couch and settling between your thighs.

He pauses, his hand cupping your cheek as he searches your eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice gentle despite the tension in his body.

“Yes,” you breathe, pulling him down for another kiss.

Sam’s lips trail fire down your neck as his hands caress your sides, the warmth of his touch chasing away every thought but him. He shifts his weight, pressing his body against yours, and the heat of him sears through your clothes. Your hands slide over the planes of his shoulders, gripping him as his mouth moves lower, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

The soft glow of the fire bathes the room in flickering light, casting shadows across Sam’s face as he pulls back to look at you. His hair falls slightly into his eyes, his lips swollen, and his chest heaving. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “I don’t think I can take my time with you.”

Your fingers skim over his jaw, your thumb tracing the edge of his lips. “Who says I want you to?” you tease, your voice breathy. The words light a spark in him, and he leans down, claiming your lips with renewed intensity.

In one fluid motion, he sits back, lifting you into his arms as though you weigh nothing. You let out a soft laugh of surprise, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours as he settles over you. The tension between you hums like a live wire, the weight of his body grounding you in the moment.

His hands are sure as they slide beneath your sweater, pushing it up and over your head. You shiver as the cool air brushes your skin, but Sam’s touch is quick to warm you. He leans down, his lips brushing across your shoulder, then lower, kissing along the curve of your breast. Your back arches as his hands explore, every touch sending sparks skittering down your spine.

You tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He obliges, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Your hands roam over his chest, marveling at the heat and strength of him, the way his muscles flex beneath your touch. Sam groans softly as your fingers trace the lines of his abdomen, his hips pressing against yours in response.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again. His kiss is fierce, all-consuming, and you lose yourself in the sensation of him. His hands trail down your sides, hooking into the waistband of your pants and tugging them down. You help him, shimmying out of them as he follows with his own, leaving you both bare and vulnerable in the firelight.

Sam pauses, his gaze raking over you as though committing every detail to memory. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, his voice reverent. His words make your heart flutter, but there’s no time to dwell on them as he leans down, his lips brushing over your ear. “Let me show you.”

What follows is a blur of sensation—his lips and hands exploring every inch of you, the way he whispers your name like a prayer, the way his body moves with yours in perfect rhythm. The fire crackles in the hearth, the snow falls softly outside, and the world narrows to the heat between you, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters.

Time seems to stand still as you reach the peak together, his name spilling from your lips as he groans yours into your neck. He holds you close, his body trembling slightly as the moment washes over you both. The room is silent except for the sound of your breathing, the fire casting a warm glow over the two of you.

Sam rolls onto his side, pulling you into his arms. His hand brushes your hair back from your face, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I think we make a damn good team,” he murmurs, his voice low and content.

You smile, resting your head against his chest. “Only when you don’t steal all the gumdrops,” you reply, your tone teasing but affectionate.

He chuckles, his laugh rumbling against your cheek. “Fair enough. Next time, I’ll share.” His arms tighten around you, and you let yourself relax into his embrace, the warmth of him and the fire lulling you into a blissful haze.

The snow continues to fall outside, blanketing the world in quiet, but inside the inn, the earlier chaos has given way to something softer, deeper, and undeniably real. For now, the case and the danger can wait. Tonight, it’s just you and Sam, and that’s more than enough.