#you’ll just want to be on guard for anyone who seems to be trying to ingratiate themselves as a means of getting something or | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

togenabi · 1 year

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things I won't tell you

vinsmoke sanji (opla) x princess!reader

♡—the new royal chef doesn't seem to recognize you without your crown. who's going to tell him? . . . certainly not you.

word count♡— 7.3k (cries)

genre♡— fluff, royal chef x princess au

content notes♡— opla sanji, afab!reader is a princess, reader wears dresses, reader has siblings (oc's), sanji made me google fancy food, mentions of zeff, sanji gets jealous if you squint, no use of y/n, proofread (but only a little)

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is detached from any canon, its basically just a big chunk of sanji fluff. please enjoy!

You've never really dreamed for yourself. You had always just let life fall into place around you.

The kingdom is prospering, entering a new age of commerce. Artists, craftsmen, and inventors sail seas just to be part of it.

Your sister Chrysanth is a wise queen, as you always knew she would be. She’s fair and just, always knowing what’s best for her people.

On the other hand, your brother August is Captain of the Royal Guard. He’s an excellent swordsman, who has yet to be beaten ever since he took command.

As for you, the youngest of the three, you have no idea what you’re doing.

The most likely outcome would be for you to be married off to settle some political arrangement. Unpleasant as it sounds, you would have agreed to it for the sake of the kingdom.

But the moment you said so, Chrysanth gave you a look unbecoming of a queen and immediately shut it down.

“Look,” She gestured to the view outside. “Does that seem like a kingdom who needs help to you? I work my butt off precisely so that we won’t have to depend on anyone else.”

“Besides,” She adds, “if anyone wants your hand, they should fight to the death for it.”

And so, for now, you work for your sister. Helping manage general affairs and the kingdom’s business agreements—even though she could easily hire someone else.

“I love that you insist on working,” Your brother told you once. “You could have been a socialite, but you’re here with us, serving the people.”

Of course you are. Because even though you didn’t necessarily plan it, you are proud and committed to your work. You’re happy with your own, mundane accomplishments.

Or at least that’s what you try to remember when you glance at the tall pile of documents on your desk. You’ll relish the satisfaction that will come when it’s gone.

The candle beside you burns low, flame becoming dimmer and dimmer as the hour grows late. You should probably replace that. Pulling open your drawer, your eyes scan its contents for a candle.

You’re fresh out of the tall ones that fit in the candleholder, but you have one sculpted like a cinnamon bun—a gift from August a few birthdays ago. It’s not exactly the best for illuminating your work, but something makes you strike a match and light it still.

It smells like freshly baked cinnamon rolls, you can’t help but inhale the decadent scent deeply.

The aroma triggers an embarrassing grumble from your stomach. You feel your ears burn despite the fact that no one else is around to have heard it. Perhaps a midnight snack is in order.

Unexpectedly, light seeps through the gap beneath the large wooden double doors to the kitchen. In all your years, you’ve never encountered anyone in the kitchen at two in the morning.

Normally, you wouldn’t want to disturb them. Knowing the chefs, they would likely fuss over you and put whatever they were doing on hold.

But you fear that your stomach will disagree with that, so you decide to knock and enter the kitchen anyway.

There’s only one chef inside—a tall, blond man with his back to you. You don’t think you recognize him. He must be one of the new hires.

When he hears your footsteps on the stone tiles, he turns around.

His expression, at first, is curious. But after a beat, his mouth curves into a charming grin that catches you completely off guard.

“Hello there, miss.” He nods in greeting, eyes alight with a look that no one usually dares when it comes to you.

“I’d be happy to fix up something for you if there’s anything you’re… craving.”

When you expected the chef to fuss over you, this isn’t what you meant.

Your first instinct is to look at his surroundings for alcohol. Perhaps he’s intoxicated and not in his right mind?

But the (sober) chef seems to have mistaken your silence for bashfulness, because he presses you further, “Trust me. I may be new around here, but I know my stuff.”

Unsure how to respond to his blatant (or insolent, your sister would say) behavior, you try to gently decline his offer.

“It’s alright,” You say, still uncertain about him. “I was only going to make a sandwich and be on my way.”

“Nonsense!” He insists. “If you’re hungry at this hour, it means you’ve been busy working too hard.”

He approaches the pantry, retrieving one too many things for a mere sandwich. Your concern grows when he grabs garlic, several leafy vegetables, and a lemon.

“You, my dear,” He points at you with, is that a cucumber? “—deserve a proper treat.”

You sigh, it looks like he doesn’t intend to back down. Maybe you should just let him do what he wants and see if he can back up all the talk. Pulling one of the chairs from beneath the kitchen island, you take a seat as you observe the flirtatious chef.

At least he seems to be enjoying himself. His hands work with the kind of precision that only comes from years of experience; and he smiles proudly when he sees you watching.

“I meant what I said, I’m a damn good cook.” He’s begun chopping the vegetables. “My name’s Sanji, by the way.”

The question now is whether or not you properly introduce yourself. It's difficult to deny that you enjoy his attention. The casual and relaxed manner he addresses you with is… a nice kind of different. When else are you going to experience that if you let this go?

Alright. For tonight, you're not a princess. You're someone who stumbled upon a chef—a handsome one, it dawns on you. This is a chance encounter in the palace kitchens. And, you glance over at the dressing and ingredients he prepared, why should you turn down good food?

You decide to only give him your name. It feels strange introducing yourself without your title, but you don't tell him that.

“It makes sense that your name is as captivating as you are.” Sanji's voice is smooth, easygoing as he moves around the kitchen.

Nothing about his demeanor changes. Either he really doesn't know anything about this country's royalty, or he's skillfully controlled his reaction and is hiding that he knows.

There's also a third possibility: that you look so haggard and tired that you simply do not appear royal anymore.

Subconsciously, you look at your typical office clothes… Maybe you should go on that fitting the royal stylist has been pestering you about.

On the topic of style, however, your companion has unusual attire for a chef. He’s wearing a buttoned shirt with a necktie. His black slacks match the suit jacket draped over one of the chairs.

Your attention is diverted when Sanji begins rolling up his sleeves. He juices the lemon he had sliced in half, arms flexing as he twists the fruit.

Clearing your throat, you ask him a question to distract yourself. “What are you making?”

He smiles as if he’s glad you asked. “A dish that suits a beauty like you, of course.”

Several minutes later, he presents you with a sandwich. The slices of bread are whole wheat; the layers of ingredients between them are all in varying shades of green.

“A green goddess sandwich, made with care for the goddess in front of me.” Sanji pushes the plate towards you.

It's easy to stay composed despite the flattery because your hunger makes you focus on the food. “It really does look excellent.” You compliment earnestly.

He gestures to the plate before placing his hands in his pockets. “Tastes excellent too, try it.” Shaking your head at how confident he’s being, you pick up the sandwich.

It might just be the best sandwich you’ve ever had in your life. The flavors are fresh, and you catch the hints of lemon blending with the dressing. The bread is soft, contrasting with the crunch of the cucumbers and sprouts.

You're completely surprised, and it must be obvious based on how Sanji reacts. He lets out an adorable, pleased laugh that makes you want to hear it again.

“I knew you’d like it, ma chèrie.” Sanji reaches a hand towards your face. Your heart just about stops when he brushes his thumb to wipe at the corner of your mouth. His eyes look so intense, like you'll drown in them if you stare too much.

It feels as if your face could burst into flames at any second, so you turn away to hide your flush.

As Sanji grabs you a glass of water, you ask him if he’s eaten. “I did, but it’s nice that you’re worried about me.” He answers. You almost choke on your drink.

Once you've finished your meal, you stand then grab your empty plate and glass. But Sanji mirrors you, blocking the way to the sink. Why must a chef have such broad shoulders?

He shakes his head, trying to get the dishes from you. “Can’t let you do that, love.”

“Why not?” You frown, pulling your arms back so he doesn’t reach them.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be working any more—”

“But you’re allowed to?” You look up at him defiantly.

Sanji stares at you. You stare back. There's a few seconds of silence before you sprint the other way, running around the kitchen island to get to a different sink.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Sanji yells after you.

You’re almost there, but Sanji catches up to you easily. Before you know it, he’s blocking the way again and you curse, remembering his long legs.

“Sanji, let me do the dishes.” You plead, but he’s as stubborn as it gets.

“The knives I used need to be washed anyway, and I’m not about to let your pretty hands do that.” Sanji winks, and you give up. He pries the dishes from your hands.

Seeing your shoulders slump disappointedly, he offers you a compromise. “If you really want, you could throw the rubbish in the bin and wipe down the counters.” Okay, you can do that.

“Are you sure this is the only way I can repay you?” You ask, grabbing a washcloth to begin cleaning up.

“That’s plenty of help, my dear.” Sanji answers.

But after a moment, he seems to have gotten an idea. Your brows raise in curiosity as you question him, “What?”

“...I was just wondering,” He begins, looking at you with that flirtatious glint in his eye. “Since we had such a wonderful time tonight, would you be willing to join me again?”

“That depends,” You press your lips together to suppress the smile blooming on your lips. “Will you cook for me again?”

Sanji laughs, throwing his head back. “Darling, that’s a given.”

He gazes at you while he dries his hands. There’s a grin on his face as he asks, like he already knows your answer. He probably does. He’s probably right.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Even though you got back to your chambers at an ungodly hour in the morning, you woke up feeling the most refreshed you’ve ever been. There’s a spring in your step as you get ready for the day, and you pick clothes that are slightly more dressy than your usual attire. Sanji shouldn’t be able to notice that you dressed up for him, right?

But your sister does.

Seated at the head of the table, Chrysanth stops eating to analyze your clothes the instant you show up to the dining hall for breakfast.

You could practically hear the gears in her head turning. Avoiding her gaze, you bow to greet her before taking your seat, “Good morning.”

The queen only smiles at you knowingly, eyes still flickering over you with enraptured excitement. Very much unlike a queen, however, she kicks your shin underneath the table.

“Ow!” You yelp.

“So…” She lets the syllable drag on. “Who’s the guy?”

You focus on piling food onto your plate, choosing to ignore her. “What guy?”

“Your guy.” She says, giddy. “Is he your guy yet?”

“Hm?” Is your only response. Breakfast looks lovely. Should you ask for coffee or tea today?

Chrysanth kicks you again.

“Hey!” You rub the skin to dull the pain. “Stop that!”

“Stop avoiding the question!” She persists, waving a hand to gesture at your clothes. “You only wear that skirt when you want to impress someone.”

Mentally cursing her for knowing you too well, you continue to act nonchalant.

“Really, it’s nothing.” You try to clarify. “I just thought that it would be a nice change.”

She doesn't believe it. Not one bit of it. Thankfully though, she drops the topic. Your shoulders relax as the discussion switches to work-related ones. She’s telling you about her plans to approve a restaurant in the museum when your brother joins you for breakfast.

Once he’s seated, August takes one look at you before tilting his head. “Who’s the guy?”

Chrysanth looks far too smug and triumphant than you’d like. You bury your face in your hands. Would Sanji also tease you if he knew?

The rest of the day is uneventful, the only change to your typical work day being that you avoid your siblings like the plague. You have lunch brought to your office and skip on dinner.

Sanji had already started cooking by the time you got to the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind,” He says. Of course you don’t, whatever it is smells amazing. “I thought I’d start early so you wouldn’t have to wait too long.”

“Thank you for going through the trouble.” You say, glancing at the ingredients he had laid out: there are crushed tomatoes on the counter. Pasta simmers in a pot on the stove. You recognize the tubed shapes with ridges surrounding them.

“Rigatoni?” You ask, turning to the chef.

Sanji nods, “With a simple, creamy tomato sauce. Nothing too extravagant, but still specially made for you.”

He puts the pasta into two bowls, grating parmesan cheese on top. Your mouth waters.

“Here you are, darling.” It pleases you more than you thought it would when Sanji sits across from you to eat as well.

There’s something homey and yet luscious about the taste. He really outdid himself. “It’s delicious, Sanji.”

“I live to please.” Sanji says before standing to retrieve two wine glasses and a bottle of red. “Zweigelt.” He says as he pours for you both. “Juicy and fresh, with just the right amount of acidity.”

You almost swoon at the rasp in his voice. You never realized someone could be so attractive when talking about wine.

As he clinks his glass with yours, you think to yourself that this might be your favorite dish from him. However, true to his word, he surpasses your expectations every time.

After a few weeks, on your sixth (or is it seventh?) time meeting Sanji past midnight, you've reached the point where you're able to open up to each other beyond the pleasantries that come with the food.

He tells you about his dream of traveling the seas in search for the best ingredients the world has to offer. You admit how you sometimes feel like life is just taking you along with the current—that you’ve never had a burning, passionate dream to aspire to.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Sanji hums contemplatively. “There aren’t any deadlines when it comes to finding dreams.”

“I do worry that you’re working yourself to the bone, though.” He adds, and for once, his smile looks different somehow. It’s a fond, gentle smile that’s sweeter than the macarons he made for you.

“What do you mean?” You take a sip of water.

“While I'm flattered you enjoy my food so well, do you eat properly? Shouldn't the palace be treating you better?” This time, you actually choke on your drink.

Could it get more embarrassing than this? Your ears burn as you cough, trying to clear your throat and settle your heart.

“Breathe, love." Sanji, ever the gentleman, is next to you in a flash of a second. He pats your back gently and supportively. “I'm sorry if I startled you.”

“It's alright—and, I do eat,” Your voice comes out raspy. “It's just that I don't usually have an appetite for dinner.”

“But that leaves you hungry for a midnight snack?” Sanji asks, a knowing expression on his face as he refills your glass.

“Exactly.” You smile. Thankfully, your throat has calmed down. Picking up a vanilla-flavored macaron, you savor the taste that melts sweetly on your tongue. Returning to his chair across from you, Sanji watches you eat happily.

“I take pride in my desserts, but that chocolatier in Belltower street… The sweets are just—out of this world, I tell you.” He looks so excited as he talks, eyes aglow and gestures animated. “The chocolates are handmade and everything. I'm sure you've heard of it?”

“Um…” Hesitating, you certainly remember issuing a business permit for a chocolatier; but you can’t say you’ve gone there yourself.

Sanji’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Surely you’re pulling my leg. You haven’t been?”

“...”

He observes you quietly, like he's considering what to do next. There have been instances when Sanji stays quiet, doesn't eat, and only watches you chew. The times where he insists that he's content with seeing you eating well. Those were awkward at first, but you learned that was just part of spending time with him. Your reaction was a reward on its own.

But this isn't like that. Something feels oddly different in the way he seems to be gathering his composure. The silence almost worries you, but thankfully he breaks it first.

“You’ve saved me the trouble of thinking of a place to take you to.” Laughing, Sanji practically glows in elation. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

You had a peculiar sense that you would’ve loved going anywhere, as long as you were with him.

Feeling bold, you suggest, “I’m free this Saturday if that’s good for you?”

He gives you that soft, enamoured look again. Something makes you hold your breath, your fingers tingle and the entire rest of the world slows down. You’re almost certain you’re giving him the same look.

“Even if I wasn’t, love, I would have gone to you anyway.”

The next day, a Thursday, your brother unexpectedly knocks on your office door.

“Hey,” You smile. “Is something wrong?”

It’s rare for August to look for you in the middle of the day. If either of you need to speak, it’s usually you who heads into the training grounds to talk to him. The other way around occurring is curious.

“I wanted to invite you to watch the knights train this Saturday.” He says coolly. “It would boost their morale if you spoke a few words.”

The commander goes on to speak, not catching that you’ve short circuited somewhat, trying to rack your brain for a valid excuse to decline him.

“And maybe, you could pick out a personal knight like I’ve been telling you.” August prompts. “You really should—”

When he pauses, squinting his eyes at you suspiciously, you suddenly recall why you stopped trying to hide anything from him.

“You already have plans.” He says, face carefully blank.

“Yes.” Thank goodness he understood. But wait, his eyes are widening. Why is he making that face? Why is he looking at you like he just figured out—

“You have a date.” Darn it all.

August is bewildered, not knowing what to do with the information he put together. He awkwardly brushes his fingers through his hair.

“...Is he a good guy, at least?” He settles with, asking carefully in that concerned way he does when he looks out for you.

Biting your lip, you nod. “He seems to be, so far.”

“Okay.” August responds. “Does Chrysanth know?”

“It’s nothing serious.” Yet. Yet? Do you want it to be? “You’re the first I’ve told.”

A worrying thought suddenly pops in your mind. Your turn to him, distressed. “Please don’t tell her yet, August.”

“Why?” His frown deepens, like he’s about to ask more questions. Unfortunately for him, you decide you’ve had enough talking about Sanji to your brother for today.

“Aren’t you busy?” You grab his arm, guiding him out of your office. “Don’t you have training to get to?”

“I do, but—why can't Chrysanth know?” You open the door for him and try to push him out, but August plants his feet; still trying to figure you out. He doesn’t budge an inch.

But then he makes that face again. That annoying ‘aha!’ face.

“You really need to go, good luck with training! Tell the knights I said hi—” You manage to shove him out with all your strength, but at the last second before you close the door, August turns around again.

“He’s a commoner, isn’t he?” You slam the door at his face.

It doesn't matter. Sanji's status will never matter to you. Not when he's holding your hand so sweetly while he guides you through the winding streets of the city. You recognize some shops by name, knowing who owns what and when they established their business. But Sanji knows these streets, and he's more than happy to show you.

“Ah, one moment, my dear.” Sanji pulls you towards a quaint little cart overflowing with flowers. He flicks a coin to the vendor, eyes scanning all the vibrant colors and bursting petals.

Somehow, without you needing to tell him, he picks one in your favorite color. You're starting to feel like that's just part of being with Sanji—that he knows what you want, and knows what you need before you do.

The flower is soon tucked into your hair, behind your ear. His fingers linger on the side of your face—and normally, you'd break eye contact and shy away. Maybe let out a halfhearted excuse that you should continue on your way. But you don't.

You smile back at him, not bothering to hide the genuine happiness you feel. And when Sanji pulls back, you're already holding out your hand before he reaches for it. There’s something in his eyes. Something that makes you feel like you're walking on air when he tugs you along again.

As planned, Sanji takes you to the chocolatier he told you about. The building is small, tucked between larger shops in the middle of a busy street, but there’s no doubting the quality of their confections.

The elderly chef behind the counter greets Sanji like a grandson she hasn’t seen in forever. She ushers him in, enthusiastically pointing to this and that, saying she moved some furniture around as he suggested.

“It looks perfect, grand-mère.” Sanji smiles, taking in the beautiful glass display. Chocolates of every flavor cover the shelves from end to end.

Grand-mère’s eyes light up when she sees you. She casts an approving look at Sanji, “I like this one. She might even be too good for you.”

“That’s because she is.” Sanji laughs, and you pretend to browse the menu while they talk.

“No need for that, ma chèrie.” The menu is plucked from your hands. Sanji sets it aside, pointing instead to where grand-mère is behind the counter. She's wrapping up a box of chocolates that she hands to you.

“No need to pay, dear.” She smiles, patting your hand. “If he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”

Sanji whisks you away through the streets again. You've never been this far into the city before. Looking back at the path you've taken and not recognizing any of it, you know you’d be absolutely lost without Sanji by your side.

“Almost there.” He tells you, pointing to a cobbled path that inclines upwards.

What meets you at the top of the path is a small clearing. A stunning tree with blossoms on its branches stands at the center. Flowers and petals flutter away and fall onto the iron bench beneath it.

“Sanji, this is lovely...” You trail off, letting go of his hand to catch a flower into your palms. The flower twirls delicately between your fingers before you turn back to Sanji, tucking the blossom into the pocket of his suit.

Sanji takes your hand before you can pull away, bending down to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“Not nearly as lovely as you.”

The two of you spent hours under that tree, sharing chocolates and stories—feeling like this is how things are supposed to be. Not necessarily the flowers, or the chocolates, or even the sun setting beautifully in so many warm colors.

Just Sanji. With you, next to you.

All at once, it sinks in that he could be the dream you've been waiting for. But you don't tell him that.

Being enlightened on your feelings for Sanji becomes a second thought, however, when you’re swamped with work the following week.

“Don’t these people ever get tired?” Chrysanth groans, leaning back on her chair. “Why is planning a festival so hard?”

You approach her desk and place another stack of documents onto it. The numerous piles are getting concerning.

She scowls at the papers, then scowls at you. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Of course I do.” You tap a stack of documents to her left. “The guest list for the ball needs to be approved by tonight so we can send invitations out.” She groans again, but picks up the list anyway.

You’re unable to see Sanji as often as you’d like, but you both promised to meet once a week. Even if it’s only for a few short heartbeats together.

You dearly miss him. You think about him as you hand Chrysanth menu plans for the ball. If he saw it, he’d say that he could come up with something better.

She glances at the menu, studying it. Or at least, that’s what you thought she was doing—until her next words proved you wrong.

“So, how are you and that chef doing?”

Your heart isn’t in your chest anymore. It sank down, deep into the depths of the earth. It also must have taken all the air in the room along with it. How did she—

“August?” You blurt out.

Chrysanth shakes her head, “Zeff.” Oh no. Sanji’s boss knows? Does Sanji know that you’re—

“According to Zeff,” She proceeds, cutting off your thoughts. “One of his subordinates has been cooking a lot of personal meals over the last few weeks.”

“I can explain—” But your sister holds up a hand. Your mouth snaps shut.

She calls your name, and then you realize how serious her tone is. “Are you familiar with the kitchen’s rules when it comes to using ingredients and supplies for personal use?”

“...I’m afraid I'm not.” You didn’t know the kitchen had any such rules… but surely Sanji does. Your voice stutters, “I, did—is he in trouble?”

“He isn’t.” She answers, though her expression is still grave. “But I think that you should be aware of how much he’s doing for you.”

Chrysanth opens a drawer to retrieve a list of kitchen rules. Reading it over, everything is standard and straight to the point. You find the answer to your confusion towards the end, a small, nondescript bullet that reads:

All staff must reimburse the cost of all ingredients used for any reason outside of official duties.

“He must know who I am, then.” You say, feeling relieved that he didn’t break some sort of impossible rule. “He wouldn’t have done so much for me if he didn’t.”

Your sister purses her lips, letting the silence linger for a second before responding, “He doesn’t know, love.” She hands you another document. “He’s been paying back every cent out of pocket.”

Tracing over the timestamps and the different ingredients listed, you stare at an outline of your time with Sanji. It’s nice to reminisce, but you can’t help but wince whenever you spot something particularly pricey. What on earth are you to do with this man?

“Zeff recognized your name when he asked Sanji who he was cooking for.” Chrysanth explains. “He didn’t tell him, but he came to me and requested for Sanji to be repaid.”

“Since anything served to me counts as official duties of a royal chef.” You piece together.

“Exactly.” Chrysanth nods. “However, doing that would expose your title to him. Which is why I wanted to speak to you about this first… You should tell him.”

“I know.” Letting out a deep sigh, you agree. Sanji deserves to know more than anything. Nevertheless, the thought of him changing how he treats you—or worse, leaving—because of your status, frightens you to your core.

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” You say, but your sister’s expression slowly changes. What did she plan this time?

“Or maybe, you could put the kitchen dates on pause and tell him in a few weeks.” Surprisingly, she hands you an invitation to the ball.

“I can’t bring Sanji as my date.” No matter how much you wish you could.

“Are you sure about that?” Chrysanth is unable to contain her grin. “Open it!”

‘…you are cordially invited to the spring masquerade ball.’

You gasp, “You turned it into a masquerade?”

“Yes, I did. You won’t believe how much convincing it took for the ministers to agree.” She rolls her eyes, but then her smile returns. “Don’t waste my hard work and have fun with your man, littlest sister.”

You laugh, not expecting this outcome after all that. “I love you, even if you made me go through so much emotional turmoil for fun.” She cackles.

“Of course I had to make you sweat after what you put me through.” Chrysanth scoffs, “I can’t believe I had to hear about your love life from Zeff, of all people.”

“Ah,” She says, remembering something. “Speaking of, why’d you guess August first earlier?”

“...”

“...Did you tell him before me?” She gasps. “How could you! Give that invite back!”

“I didn’t think you’d approve.” You admit shyly. “He’s a commoner.”

“If he treats you well—which, he obviously does—I could care less about all that.” Chrysanth reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Only those stuck up ministers will react negatively, I’m sure. We can deal with them easily enough.”

When she lets you go, she abruptly adds, “He better be cute though.”

That sends you laughing again. “Oh, Chrysanth, he’s the cutest!”

He certainly is. Especially when he sees you and grins, opening his arms wide in expectation. You fall into his embrace when you’re near enough.

Sanji takes your hand and places it on his arm, leading you away from the kitchens.

“Some of the others are still in there planning for the ball.” He explains. “It seems preparations are keeping us both busy.”

Sanji takes you to the greenhouse, which you’ve never seen at night before. Various patches of vegetables and shrubs line the space. There are trees and flowers towards the back too. It feels like a secret hideout, being here with Sanji.

“I miss spending more time with you, love.” He whispers.

“Me too.” Your heart melts thinking about how much he gave for you. You wish you had the courage to tell him the truth now, while he’s looking at you like you put up the stars in the sky, but you can’t. You’re not ready yet.

Reaching your hands up, you caress his face gently, brushing your thumb across his cheek. He places his hands over yours, keeping them there.

Sanji closes his eyes to savor the moment, and you let him. You two stay like that, your hands becoming enveloped in so much of Sanji you feel like you could recognize him with your eyes closed, with a single touch.

There’s a certain familiarity to him at this point. You would probably have some difficulty adjusting back to life without him in it. He’s so familiar that you could probably draw him. He makes you want to try.

“...I was just wondering,” You say with a knowing glint in your eye. Does he remember those words when he said them to you that first night? “We’ve been working hard for this ball, wouldn’t it be a shame not to enjoy it together?”

You give him the invitation, and he throws his head back laughing. You send him a confused look, but it all becomes clear when he pulls out an identical invitation from his jacket.

“Ah, how brilliant you are, mamour.” Sanji embraces you again, and you bask in how perfect it feels to tuck your head into the curve of his neck.

“It will be easy to find you even with a mask.” You murmur into his skin. He shivers. “You’re so goddamn tall it’s not fair.”

“I’m not too worried about you finding you, either.” Sanji begins to sway slowly with you still in his arms. It makes your heart skip a beat. You can’t wait to dance with him.

“Are you confident you’ll find me first, then?” You ask, adjusting your hold around his middle to snuggle in better.

“I’m not sure about being first,” He ponders. “But I’ll be sure it’s you when I find you.”

The greenhouse became your new meeting place while the palace was buzzing to prepare for the ball. You could only meet for a few minutes, but you treasured the time you shared just the same.

Once, Sanji tried to feed you one of the expensive fruits growing there, but you declined, making up an excuse that you were allergic. He had looked at you strangely, but didn’t press you further.

You couldn’t find the time to see Sanji the week of the ball at all. Your time was spent welcoming foreign dignitaries, discussing business and trade. You and your sister had a marvelous time shutting down a marriage proposal from some duke from the north.

It amazes you how much you’ve changed since meeting Sanji. Had the duke asked before you met him, you probably would have considered it seriously. Whereas now, your standard is far too high. The man you choose must be able to get to your heart by cooking you the best food in the kingdom and all the seas.

You’re glowing by the time you finish getting ready for the masquerade. The dress you chose is in your favorite color, with the skirt twirling dreamily when you turn.

Chrysanth permitted you to enter the ballroom a few minutes late to avoid a royal entrance. You use the time to compose what you want to say to Sanji when you tell him the truth.

‘I’m a princess, and I think I might love you’, is that a lot to say? You sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress.

The clock on the wall chimes. It’s been fifteen minutes since the ball officially started. You put on your mask, tying the ribbon behind your head to secure it.

After one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you head to the ballroom—looking much more collected than you actually feel.

Maybe you shouldn’t have bragged to Sanji that you would find him easily, because you don’t.

You were mistaken when you thought all you’d had to do was look for a tall, blond man with a blue mask. (Sanji’s mask is surely going to be blue. He wouldn’t consider any other color. You bet your foot on it.) It’s unnerving how many people fit that description tonight.

You even find your brother before you find Sanji. August is dressed in surprisingly simple, all black attire. He looks more like a gentleman than a commander, lacking all those sparkly medals he’s usually required to wear at events.

“Where’s your date?” August asks, ducking his head slightly so that you can hear him over the crowd. “Chrysanth bragged about setting you two up.”

“I haven’t found him yet.” You answer dispiritedly. “I thought it would be easy.”

August looks around, and you know that if he knew what Sanji looked like, he would be able to track him down in a flash. You’re about to ask what you should do when August suddenly bows, extending a hand to you.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” He asks in a fake pretentious accent that instantly makes you laugh.

It would be nice to say yes, but you desperately want Sanji to be your first dance. August would understand.

But you aren’t able to decline, someone else beats you to it.

“I’m afraid her first dance is spoken for.” Sanji’s voice reaches your ears and suddenly the room is brighter than it was.

You almost gasp, elated that he found you. Were it not for that frown on his face, you would have voiced out your joy.

August and Sanji stare each other down. Neither of them say anything, but it’s clear that their first impressions of each other aren’t the most pleasant. Not liking the hostility you’re sensing is building, you tug at Sanji’s hand.

Your brother’s eyes soften at that, and he bows again, this time to say goodbye. “I’ll see you later then.”

You watch August go, and Sanji grumbles something you don’t catch under his breath. You'll have to properly introduce them at some point, but worrying about their relationship can wait. You really must cheer up this grump who thought he was going to miss your first dance.

“Dance with me, stranger?” Intertwining your fingers together, you smile and take in how handsome he looks. His suit is still black, but there are several accents in dark blue—the same color as his mask.

The deep navy color makes his eyes look almost crystalline, and you recognize why you love him so immensely when he smiles.

“I would be honored.”

Sanji is more graceful than you expected. His movements are controlled and precise, never moving too fast and always making sure you’re falling into step beside him.

He’s proven, once again, that he can surpass your every expectation. Sanji spins you around, catching you by your waist and grinning before sweeping you off your feet again.

By the end of it, you’re left breathless due to far too many reasons, and they all involve him.

You had tried bringing Sanji to a romantic spot; maybe a balcony, or somewhere by a fountain in the gardens—but it seems that a lot of other people had the same idea.

Everywhere was crowded, but you suppose where you ended up is romantic in its own way. With the sky being cloudless tonight, you could see every star twinkling away through the greenhouse’s glass roof.

Let the stars bear witness to you pouring out your heart to this man.

“Sanji…” You start, mentally preparing yourself.

“Yes, ma chèrie?” Sanji tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, you have his complete attention.

“There are things I must tell you.” You swallow the lump in your throat, not brave enough to look him in the eye yet; though you grip his hands tightly in yours.

Sanji waits. He doesn’t complain that you might be holding onto him too tightly, or nag at you for taking too long to put your words together.

When you finally look up to meet his eyes, you find the strength to breathe it out, “...I’m a princess.”

There’s this moment again, when you hold your breath and wait for his reaction; like when you first told him your name. Suddenly, it feels like you’re in the kitchen eating sandwiches with him again.

And, just as it did back then, his reaction surprises you.

His expression barely changes, the only difference being the barely-there furrow of his brows in concern.

“I know, love.” He says.

“What?!” You drop his hands in shock. “Since when?”

Sanji blinks. “Since the moment we met.”

“But, I—why did you pay everything back? Why didn’t you ever mention it?”

His eyes widen, “Ah, is that why you wouldn’t eat anything from me these past few weeks? I knew you couldn’t be allergic to pineberries.”

“Sanji, answer the question.” You pout, and he rubs your arms in an attempt to soothe you.

It’s Sanji’s turn to compose himself, you notice. He looks like he wants for your time together to stay lighthearted, when the thoughts in his mind are far from it.

“You didn’t want to talk about your duties, so I never asked.” Sanji shrugs, but you can see him getting nervous.

“As for reimbursing the ingredients, I suppose I was worried that… you wouldn’t think of our time together dearly if I was just another chef on your staff.”

Your heart shudders when he lets out a shaky breath. Oh Sanji.

“But that’s the truth isn’t it? I am, and yet I—” He pauses, eyes searching yours desperately. “If I didn’t pay for it, I would be admitting that a chef was all I’d ever be to you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “I don’t regret it. I would make the same choice if I had to.” Through the mask, you can see his resolve, but his hands shake as he holds you.

“I didn’t expect to feel this strongly about you.” Sanji continues, “You’re just so lovely, making me feel like I could take on the world for you.”

With your hands quivering the slightest bit, you pull at the ribbon behind your head. Your mask clatters to the floor. Raising your hands towards him, you push his mask up until it’s off, revealing the face of the man who has completely enamoured you; body and soul and all.

You think back to how the colors lit him up beautifully, that one sunset you shared under that blossoming tree. And now, he’s still just as beautiful, in this greenhouse under the moon and the stars.

You love him all the same as you did then and every moment before. With the weight from keeping secrets gone from your chest, you finally let yourself admit it out loud.

“I love you, Sanji.” You confess. “I’ll go with you, if you’ll take on the world.” You try to say it calmly, but tears build up in your eyes. “You mean so much to me. You’re my dream.”

Sanji inches you closer, wrapping one arm around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head. “I love you too. More than you could possibly imagine.”

You quip back at him while wrapping your arms around his neck, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Sanji leans in the same moment you do, lips meeting in a passionate kiss that sends sparks running through every inch of your being. He pulls you impossibly tighter against him, strong hands caressing your back and holding firm at your waist. Your fingers rake through his hair, touching him to make sure he’s real. He’s here. He loves you. He knew. He always knew.

That night, you realized that your favorite taste from Sanji is his lips on yours. But, once again, he won’t hear you tell him that.

…

Sanji first saw you when a ceremony was held to welcome the new palace staff.

Everyone’s attention had been on your sister, the queen. Understandably so, but his eyes always strayed back to you. You looked gorgeous, wearing a stunning dress perfect for a princess as yourself. A cape draped tastefully down your back. And your crown sparkled brightly under the sun; but try as it might, it couldn’t be as dazzling as you.

Sanji was drawn to you instantly, and he thought he would go on with his life never understanding why.

That is, until you walked into the kitchen at two in the morning to make a sandwich.

It would have been impossible for him to not recognize you. Regular office clothes or not, something was different in the way you carried yourself. It was difficult to miss.

Other people would have thought you appeared mundane. And yet, Sanji found you the most beautiful then.

Because you let yourself smile more when you don't wear your crown.

But he won’t tell you that.

tags: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @ay0nha @watercolorskyy @holymusicalmothman @appalost

author's note (yes, again)♡— sooo, what do we think about sworn knight!zoro x princess!reader ? 👀

2K notes · View notes

kentopedia · 10 months

Text

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ HOTEL ROOM — levi ackerman x f!reader x nanami kento

summary. what’s a wedding for if not to make your boyfriends a little jealous?

contents. threesome, wedding guests, best friend satoru, teensy bit of jealousy, nsfw, aot/jjk crossover universe, teasing, cunnilingus, blowjob, piv, sub reader, slight degradation, brat taming, pet names, praise, teasing, unprotected sex — 5.5k

notes. welcome to the most self indulgent and filthy thing i have ever written ! this is for me & the two men i have been in love with for two years but i guess everyone else can read it too <3

“your boyfriend looks pissed,” satoru says, peering over your shoulder. there’s a grin on his face as his bright irises flash, and he hands you a glass of champagne, bubbles rising to the surface.

you take it from him, spilling a quarter of the alcohol down your throat before craning your neck to glance at the other side of the room.

behind you, levi is talking to hange in a hushed voice, his expression, though not unchanged from his normal one, is thoroughly unamused. his face is pinched tighter than usual, a harsh set to his jaw. levi’s blue eyes, darkened with irritation, slide over to kento, who rests his hip against the counter, taking a long sip of whiskey.

though levi isn’t looking at you, kento is, and you smile at him sweetly, taunting him with a little wave.

you don’t wait to see kento’s response, and focus your attention back on satoru. “which one?” you ask, hiding your sly smile as you follow satoru out to the dance floor. a man takes your near-empty champagne glass, whisking it onto a tray with the other lipstick-stained cups.

satoru smirks, taking your hand in his own to spin you in a circle, following the steps of the other couples around you. although you and satoru have been friends—and only friends—for years, you know a part of kento can’t help but be jealous, especially since you’d once had a crush on satoru as a teenager.

even though that had long since died, kento doesn’t bother to hide his antagonism for the older man. levi, on the other hand, will never admit to his possessiveness… but he hates seeing you in the arms of anyone that isn't him.

“so,” satoru hums, shaking his head as you nearly bump into a blonde couple beside you. “i take it you’re trying to be an instigator?”

you make a face. “what do you mean? i’m just dancing with my good friend satoru.”

“right.” satoru laughs, pulling you closer to his chest. something changes in him, for a brief moment, and you can see why everyone wants him. he lays the charm on a little thicker, smiles a little wider—you’re starting to wonder if he actually wants to seduce you. “if you want to make them jealous, at least do it the right way,” he says, putting on his prettiest blue eyes, batting them softly at you.

“that’s not—” you start, but satoru offers you a knowing grin in return. you’ve been close friends for far too long, and he knows you far too well. any objections you have quickly die out on your tongue, and you sigh, leaning in closer. “fine. whatever.”

you glance over at levi, and a part of you can’t even feel guilty, not when he’s watching you with icy eyes, wondering if there’s a moment he’d be able to catch satoru off-guard.

he's a little possessive, a bit hotheaded. can you really be blamed for enjoying the irritation that rolls into kento’s normally calm eyes, the way levi’s jaw clenches tighter and tighter, until you can hear his teeth cracking together?

it’s almost amusing, really. they should know they have nothing to worry about.

“seems i’ve taught you well,” satoru begins, his cologne overwhelming your senses as he bows to your height. “i mean, you can always come back to my hotel room. this is a wedding, after all. the perfect time to spice things up.”

you roll your eyes at him, snorting. “don’t push your luck, gojo. i’m sure you’ll manage to find someone else to keep your bed warm tonight.”

satoru sighs, pressing a hand to his heart like you’d fatally wounded him. “hm. i’ll get you to fuck me one of these days.” though, for once, he sounds a little too serious, like he’s actually imaging that playing out. “if you can keep the two of them around, then you must—”

the song comes to an end, and you pull away from your old friend, stopping whatever lewd comment he was about to make. “that’s enough of that, satoru.” you say, ignoring his protests, his faux innocence when he pretends not to know what he said.

but gojo’s attention is taken up a few seconds later by shoko, and you leave them, heading towards a table with small desserts and drinks. as you pick up a plate, jean kirstein approaches, his eyebrows knit together as he fiddles with the bottom of his shirt.

you smile at him, but jean doesn’t smile back. “is… something wrong?” you ask, uncertain if he even wanted you to question him.

jean opens his mouths, shuts it, then sniffs. “do you think you could manage to stop pissing off levi?” he finally says, picking up a plate next to you, following your actions as he sifts through the desserts. “he’s going to take it all out on us at training tomorrow.”

you open your mouth to respond, but you don’t get the chance to let the words spill from your lips.

behind you, kento says your name, and you turn, facing him with the pile of small desserts still in your hand. jean freezes awkwardly next to you, glancing between the blonde man and yourself.

“everything okay, ken?”

“i’m just going back to the room,” kento says, putting his hands in his pocket, looking at you pointedly. his dark eyes shift over to jean, before fixating back on you. “just wanted to let you know.”

you smile at him sweetly, nod once. “okay,” you say, offering him a treat from the plate. “want one before you go?”

kento relaxes, but he shakes his head. “i’m fine." he shifts to his other foot. “so. you’re going to stay here?”

though kento is too polite to ask you to come with him, especially in front of jean, you can sense his underlying irritation. half of the guests had already gone home, and it was well after midnight... much later than either of you intended to stay out.

still, you smile, cheeks flushed from all of the alcohol, dancing, and the heat of your boyfriend’s gaze. “yeah, i’ll come up in a bit. i still haven’t danced with jean!”

kento raises an eyebrow, glancing over at the younger man once more, who stares back at him like a deer in headlights.

“oh, um—” jean laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as you sigh, taking a bite of one of the desserts.

kento blinks, but ignores jean’s rambling, and fishes his wallet out of his pocket. “fine,” he says, pulling a white, plastic room key out of it. “let me know if you need anything, sweetheart.”

you smile widely and kiss him once on the cheek. though the irritation is still evident in his dark irises, your lips ease him a bit, and he lets a small smile lift on his face. as kento leaves, you glance at the other corner of the room, and note that levi is already gone.

your expression sours; he didn’t even bother to tell you, and there aren’t any messages from him on your phone.

“why’d you have to drag me into it?” jean mumbles, drawing you out of your thoughts.

a heavy exhale leaves you—you might as well enjoy the rest of the night, even if you’re not sure how angry levi is going to be when you get back.

“well, you just seem pretty miserable,” you admit to jean, clearing all thoughts of kento and levi from your mind. that's a problem for the future you to endure. “thought i could at least keep you some company.”

he smiles, but its half-hearted.

truly, you’re not sure how jean can stand to see the woman he loves get married to another.

you’re sweaty by the time you retreat to your room, skin hot from the dancing, and feet sore from the heels you’d worn for the entirety of the day.

not many people were left in the ballroom when you’d left. there were just a few close friends of eren and mikasa’s, and you’d stayed as well, flitting in between each of the couples to chat, feeling more lively with the buzz of alcohol in your veins.

the hotel hallway is quiet when you approach, and you press the key into the door, waiting for the light to turn green. it lets you into the room, and quietly, you shut it behind you, not wanting to wake levi and kento if they're already asleep.

though, when the door clicks, you notice that the room isn’t completely dark; there are still lamps on throughout the suite, and you can hear the soft patter of shower water running. the bathroom light is on, and there’s shuffling on the other side of the door.

you slip your heels off and walk towards the bedroom, ignoring the pain that lingers in the balls of your feet. “levi?” you say, in nothing above a whisper, announcing your presence before opening the door.

the bedroom is darker, but on the other side of the threshold, you can still make out the shape of the dark-haired man. levi has his back turned, the pale expanse of his skin exposed to you as he slips off his shirt.

though you know he’s annoyed at you, you can’t stop yourself from staring at the muscles that flex and recoil as levi folds his shirt up.

he looks over his shoulder, blue eyes flashing as he places his t-shirt shirt back with his other clothes. “so you finally decided to come back,” levi quips, his voice hard and low as he turns, facing you from just a few feet away. “are you done playing your silly little game now?”

he says it calmly, but you can heart the danger that lies beneath it as his eyes trace over your body, lingering on the swell of your breasts under your form-fitting dress.

levi’s severe gaze leaves you swallowing nervously, something twisting in your stomach as you watch the harsh set of his jaw. you’re not afraid to push levi’s button’s, but you’ve never gotten used to the passion and adoration that pierces his normally serious irises.

still, you can tell he’s irritated now, and though he’s usually more serious than even kento, he’s not as good at hiding his anger.

“what game?” you ask innocently as levi backs you into a corner, his scowl deepening. he smells nice, freshly showered, and his hair is soft as it falls across his forehead. levi’s strong hand comes against the wall beside your head, palm spread next to your ear. “i just wanted to have fun with my friends.”

levi lets out a laugh, but it’s low, sarcastic, without any sense of real humor. “and you can’t even spare a dance for me?” he says, pinning you with his gaze. your back hits the wall, and you stare at him, lips parting as a small breath leaves you. although you are trying hard not to let your eyes drift down to his chest, you are distracted, heart fluttering in your ribcage.

“you hate dancing, levi,” you say, a breath of air.

levi glares, tracing his fingers softly across your jaw. “not with you.”

though you were trying to taunt him for a moment longer, the admission has you softening, and you lean forward, your lips parting to kiss him. but you don’t get far; levi steps away, leaving you in the corner, desperate for his mouth on your own as he stalks towards the other side of the bed.

“levi,” you whine, following after him with a deep frown. your hands instinctively reach out for him as he makes his way across the room, shoulders tense when you sensuously run your fingers over his bare spine. “i want—”

the rest of your sentence is lost to air as levi turns, his eyes narrowed harshly before yanking you forward.

you stumble over your feet, closer to him, and he pushes you onto the bed, his movements much faster and smoother than anticipated. a gasp leaves you as you fall onto the mattress, your back sinking into it with a thump.

“you spend all evening on the arm of other men, and now you’re trying to tell me what you want,” levi says, pinning your wrists to the bed as he climbs over your. his dark hair falls, nearly into your face as you blink up at him, arousal spiking deep in your stomach.

levi isn’t as tall as kento, but he’s just as strong, manhandling you easily onto your back so he can tower over you. your face grows warm, and you watch him with wide eyes, shy under the weight of his heavy gaze.

“levi—” you say again, his name leaving your lips with a small whisper.

“what’s the matter?” he slowly drags his lips across your chest as you squirm. “earlier, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. flirting with every man at eren’s fucking wedding. and now—”

levi drags his hands down to your hips slowly, pressing you into the bed as his fingers curl into the bone. your eyes flutter shut, the feeling of his graceful fingers on your stomach close to tantalizing, so slender, but so rough.

“they’re my friends,” you breathe, licking your lips. “i wasn’t flirting, i was just talking.”

really, that tiny detail doesn’t matter anymore. you just want levi’s mouth on your own.

“didn’t look like it to me,” he says pointedly, unamused. “you were practically begging everyone in that room to fuck you.” levi’s hand tightens around your hips, not allowing you any space to move. “a pathetic attempt at trying to make us jealous.”

you stare up at him from under your lashes, a lazy smile pulling onto your lips. “from where i’m standing, i’d say it worked pretty well.”

levi’s jaw clenches tighter, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to respond. the door opens once more, and kento comes in, wearing nothing but a towel, his hair still damp, falling onto his head in loose strands.

you take one look at him, the drops of water that run over the planes of his chest, and salivate. his skin is still tan from your vacation, blond hair light from the sun. he’s beautiful, so beautiful—but a frown pollutes his face as he enters the room.

he takes a look between you, eyes narrowing at levi. “i said to wait until i got out of the shower.”

“i’m impatient,” levi retorts in a gruff voice, sitting up slightly, even as he keeps you pinned on the bed with his thighs.

“that’s obvious.” kento snorts, sliding his gaze over to you. “already starting without me.” he’s upon you quickly, two slow strides to the bed as he carefully observes the atmosphere. a sigh leaves him, and he brushes a heavy hand over your forehead, soothingly. “what are we going to do with you, sweetheart?”

you swallow, eyes wide as you stare back at him.

kento drops the towel from his waist, exposing his thick, muscular thighs and his cock, resting limply between them. with levi’s hands all over your body, you’re already getting wet.

“i didn’t do anything—” you begin, but as you try to squeeze your legs together, levi stops you, knowing exactly the kind of relief you are searching for.

“nope,” he snaps, prying your thighs back apart, his eyes narrowing. “if you’re going to act like a fucking brat, then we’ll just have to treat you like one, hmm?” levi tugs you forward harshly, bringing your knees around his waist. “don’t try to act coy.”

his fingertips dig into your thighs, and you sit up on your forearms, glancing back at kento, trying your best to bat your pretty eyes in the way you know he likes. “but i didn’t mean, it, ken,” you say as levi hikes your dress up, revealing the smooth skin of your thighs. “i’m sorry—”

kento shakes his head, and slips behind you, climbing onto the bed, forcing you sit up completely. “a little too late for that,” he says, resting your back against his chest. he kisses your shoulder softly, much more gentle than the way that levi is grabbing at your skin. kento’s large palms rest on your stomach, and you reach for them, squeeze at his hands as he smiles against your neck. “you’re supposed to be a good girl for us, aren’t you?”

his voice is husky, tired, and you nod, seeking a kiss from the blonde man that you love so dearly. but even kento, who is always so much sweeter with you than levi, refuses that.

“clearly, she needs to be taught a lesson,” levi snorts, dragging a finger up your panties, humming when finds your arousal already gathered there. “can’t have you forgetting who you belong too, can we?” he asks, blue eyes sharp as he pushes your panties to the side.

you squirm when his finger parts your folds, grazing your clit as he gathers the slick around it. a spark ignites in your chest, and then, levi slips a finger into you, slowly, tauntingly. you lean back into kento, who holds you still, interlocking one of your hands with his own.

“can’t be happy with just the two of us, can you?” kento asks, kissing the underside of you jaw. your head tips back, eyes fluttering shut as levi adds a second finger, your walls stretched as he draws in and out of you. “would you rather have satoru? maybe you’d trade both of us for just one of him—”

“n-no,” you say, reveling in the feeling of kento’s lips on your neck, levi’s delicate fingers deep inside you. “i promise, i don’t want him—”

you squelch around levi, the sounds of your cunt growing louder in the dim room, and he tugs at your knees, spreading your legs wider. your pussy is on full display to him, lacy black panties doing little to hide the fact that you're dripping.

“didn’t seem that way to us." levi's voice is deep and rough as he glares at you. “seemed like you wanted everyone to think we can’t take of our girl.”

sinful noises leave you as his hand moves faster, drags against your soaked walls, clit untouched and desperate for attention.

“levi,” you gasp, swallowing down your pride. “please—”

“not letting you off the hook that easily, sweetheart,” kento says, pushing the loose straps of your wine colored dress down, letting it fall. it slips easily off your breasts, revealing the lacy, black strapless bra that matches your panties.

though, that doesn’t remain for much longer; kento groans deeply in your ear, your breasts bouncing softly as he tugs the undergarment off.

“such pretty tits,” kento says, a large, warm palm coming to cup one of them. his finger grazes across your nipple, squeezing once, and you throw your head back against his shoulder, whimpering as levi forces his another finger down to the knuckle. “fuck, the sounds you make—”

“you’re too fucking nice to her, kento.” levi is on the verge of rolling his eyes as he lowers his head to your thighs. for a moment, you think he might kiss your leg, reveal the love that he is hiding from you—but he thinks better of it and forces your legs further apart. his tongue drags against your pussy, gathering your slick before he sucks at your clit.

you moan, grabbing at kento’s thighs that are woven around your hips, digging your nails into his flexed muscles. tiny crescent marks are left there, but kento barely notices, too busy biting a bruise into your neck as he plays with your tits.

“i don’t have to be an ass like you to teach her a lesson,” kento breathes against your neck, and you shudder, eyes fluttering closed, unable to do anything but writhe under their strong holds. “besides, she’s so perfect—”

you can’t focus on the rest of kento’s words, not when levi’s tongue is flicking in and out of you, lapping up the juices that are spilling out of your cunt. your stomach vibrates with need, and you can feel yourself close to release, exhales leaving your chest as you attempt to shift yourself forward.

“don’t even try it,” levi glares at you, his gaze even more menacing under the mound of dark hair, lips glistening from your cunt.

“wanna cum levi,” you cry out, not sure how much longer you’ll last with kento pinching at you, squeezing your tits with his warm palms. “please, i’m so close—”

“who said you were going to cum, brat?” levi snaps, stilling his movements for a moment as you whine, missing the feeling of his fingers deep inside you, his lips sucking at your clit. you clench around nothing, throbbing as he stares down at you empty pussy. “don’t think you deserve that.”

“just let her cum so i can fuck her, levi,” kento says, a shiver radiating through your entire body as he traces his hands down your stomach, rubbing at your clit. his fingers are thicker than levi’s, his hands bigger, and you know it won't be long before you reach your orgasm.

“kento.” you whine, turning your cheek to face him, reveling in the small little smile that rests on his lips. “so close—”

though, your moment of relief is taken from you as levi swats kento’s hand away, going down on you again, twice as fast. “hey,” levi grabs your attention once more, slipping his fingers back inside your cunt. “eyes on me. i’m the one with my fingers in your pussy.”

you gasp, writhing as kento kisses you, runs his hands all over your skin. “feels s’ good, levi." though you are vibrating between them, you obey, keeping your eyes focused on levi’s, too intimidated by the heat of his gaze.

“promise to behave now, angel?” kento says, humming into your neck, a hand caressing your stomach lovingly. “you’re our sweet girl, right?”

your mind short circuits as levi puts his mouth on you once more, and you cum, your body shaking from your orgasm, clenching tight around levi’s fingers. “levi, levi.” his name leaves your lips over and over, mumbled bliss as he works you through it, your sensitive cunt aching.

you feel mushy, shaky as kento shifts behind you, places his hand on your hips. there is no time for you to recover, to indulge in the blissfulness that comes with release. kento pushes your hips forward, encouraging you to move.

“get on all fours for me,” he says, and though his voice is soft, sweet, there is still a sense of a command there.

you comply, but your mind is hazy from your orgasm, still focused on the feeling of kento behind you, levi in front of you. they both eye you with a culmination of lust and love, and you feel sick with it, shifting for kento so that your dripping cunt is on perfect display for him.

kento hums, sitting up along with you, so that his cock is positioned near your entrance. without warning, he dips a finger into your walls, smiling when you softly whine, sensitive already. kento gathers up your slick, rubbing you only for a moment before retreating, withdrawing his soaked fingers. “you get so wet for us, sweetheart. such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” kento teases, running his tongue over his fingers as you watch over your shoulder.

you wonder if maybe you could cum again, on the spot, just from that; the sight of kento licking your arousal from his hands as you clench around nothing. “kento, need your cock,” you blabber, barely holding yourself upright—you feel weak, arms and legs like jelly.

kento lets out a laugh, his tip teasing your entrance. without thinking, you sink your hips back, try to push him inside of you, but he stops you, stilling your movements. “thought you said you’d be good now?” he asks, kissing your spine gently.

“i promise, kento, please, please,” you say, desperate for him to touch you. but kento doesn’t move, waits until levi has slipped his sweatpants off, thrown them over the edge of the bed.

“sound so pretty when you beg.” kento’s voice is soft, loving, gentle as he kneads the skin of you ass.

levi, though, doesn’t let the attention stay on the other man for much longer. he strokes his cock, but he is already painfully hard, leaking at the tip as he glowers over you. “she sounds impatient,” he counters, his voice deep, rough, and authoritative. you meet his eyes from under thick lashes, mouth watering at the sight of his pretty cock just inches from your face. “maybe she’ll stop running her mouth with my dick in it.” levi runs his finger over your lips, parting them with his thumb. as if on instinct, you let your jaw fall open, your cunt aching and soaked, too desperate for release to care about how debauched you look.

“wanna taste you, levi,” you say, whimpering as kento edges his tip into your dripping hole. your hands shake on the bed, and you blink rapidly as your sensitive pussy throbs and aches, pulsing around your blonde lover.

“tch, ‘course you do. you’re so fucking hungry for my cock.” levi seems annoyed, but he still runs a delicate hand through your hair before he pushes against your lips.

at the same time, kento sinks into you, a deep groan leaving him. “fuck, sweetheart, just slipped right into you. pretty pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it?”

you moan as you taste the saltiness of the precum leaking from levi, taking as much of him as you can into your mouth. he’s not as thick as kento, but he’s just as long, pretty and veiny as you run your tongue along the length of him.

kento leans over your back, his strong hands curling around your sides as he drags himself in and out of you, fingers digging into your hips. your eyes flutter shut from the stretch, and you moan around levi’s mouth, distracted by his hands, rough in your hair.

for a moment, you pause, breathing as you clench around kento, but levi doesn’t give you enough time to think; he drags your mouth back down his cock, his pretty fingers tight against your scalp. “levi—” you start, but his names falls on a loose breath as you gasp, your cheeks hot when you smoothly catch the dark look in his irises.

“don’t cum until we tell you to, brat,” levi says, scowling, though there is a breathlessness starting in his words, a hint of affection as you bob your head up and down his length. as mean as levi tries to be sometimes, he can't seem to get rid of the love that seeps into his voice when he’s inside you.

you nod an affirmation as best you can before sinking back down on him, breathing heavier through your nose.

kento pushes into your fluttering walls deeper, faster, his cock stretching you more than levi’s fingers had before. “look so pretty like this, angel. always take us both so well,” kento says, squeezing the soft skin of your sides gently as he forces himself further, until he’s inside of you completely, the burn deliciously painful.

you try to whimper, feeling your own juices trickle, smear between the inside of your thighs, but your mouth is too full of levi for any sounds to come out.

“focus on what you’re doing." levi's attempt at snapping fizzles out. his tone has lost its bite. his eyes are getting hazier, eyelids fluttering with each drag of your tongue, your mouth so much smaller around his cock. “not letting you cum until i do.”

you balance on one hand, the other reaching up to fondle levi’s balls as you drag your tongue slowly along the vein on the underside of his cock. levi inhales deeply, digging his fingers into your hair, his nails scratching against your scalp. his cheeks, the bridge of his nose are dusted pink, eyes a deep navy.

you bat your dazed eyes at him. levi is so beautiful, and you’re so deeply in love with him, desperate to see the flush of his face, the way his lips part in ecstasy when he finally reaches his orgasm.

a hand drifts across your stomach as kento hum, his chest vibrating. “being such a good girl for us,” he whispers, and though you can’t see him, you know he is smiling, his eyes always so gentle, even when you spent the entire night trying to rile him up.

you can feel yourself getting closer, kento hitting the spot deep within you, levi’s taste so intoxicating that you’re blind to your surroundings.

“just like that, my love." drunk on the feeling of your mouth, levi's dark eyes finally soften as you run your tongue along his tip. “aren’t you pretty?” his thumb traces your cheek softly, and the normal affection is back on his face. it fuels you to drag your mouth up his length faster.

levi's praise is much more fleeting then kento’s, but it’s genuine, always coming when he’s desperately close to finishing. a moan, deep and muffled, reverberates in his chest as he thrusts his hips forward, fucking your face.

“she’s close,” kento groans, reaching around your stomach to dip his finger between your thighs. “i can feel it. she's squeezing me so fucking tight.”

“mouth feels so good," levi rasps, his breathing uneven, chest rising erratically. “fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum” he lets a string of curses leave him, his lips parting beautifully, flushed and red. “better swallow every last fucking drop."

“don’t think that’ll be an issue,” kento hums, and his fingertips graze your clit, causing you to gush around him. “she always wants our cum so bad.” teasingly, he leans down to whisper, more to you than levi. “i don’t think i even have to ask if she wants me to cum inside.”

“shit,” levi breaths, sputters, and then he spills into your mouth, warm ropes of cum shooting into your throat.

you swallow as much as you can, trying not to gag as it dribbles out of the corner of your mouth, milking levi through his orgasm. but you’re too focused on the feeling of kento, and your eyes flutter shut as you force your hips back, your brain glossed over, nothing but need there.

that moment is short-lived.

levi pinches your cheeks, forces you to open your eyes and look at him. though his fingers dig into your skin, right below the bone, his eyes are soft as he leans down.

“cum." the word is whispered against your mouth, the sharp tone he uses as a captain. then, levi kisses you, licks across your lips to taste himself there.

you whimper into his mouth, falling forward into him as you clench hard around kento, the knot inside of you releasing. your orgasm hits you hard, blurs the room around you, narrowed down to nothing but the man in front of you and the one behind.

“mm,” kento hums, but his voice is low, raspy. “god, made such a mess all over me, fuck, love you so much, sweetheart—”

kento lasts only a few moments more, spilling into your cunt, his cum filling you up, coating your walls white.

you breathe heavily, whining into levi's neck as he holds you, lets kento pump the last bit of cum from his cock, heavy pants escaping his chest.

“look at you,” levi says, tracing his fingers over your face, smoothing the hair away from your sweaty forehead. "so fucking pretty all filled up with our cum."

kento, slowly, drags himself out of you, makes another sound, already missing the feeling of your pussy clenching around him. you feel empty, blinking as levi gathers your up in his arms, kisses your forehead.

"mmm." levi hums, because, really, he can't help the fact that you soften him up, make him a little bit sick with affection. "i love you."

you smile. "love you both," you say, closing your eyes as kento smatters kisses across your back, levi's touch gentle as he caresses your sides. "'m sorry."

kento laughs, brushing your hair off to one shoulder, kissing between your shoulder blades. "no you're not." he nuzzles your back, resting his cheek against your spine. two strong arms wrap around your waist.

"we're not idiots," levi continues, a snort leaving him. "i'm sure you spent the whole evening plotting with satoru. nice try though."

you smile, dopey and blissful. "well, it worked, didn't it? i did make you jealous."

neither of them respond.

anyway.

tehehe thank you for reading !! reblogs appreciated !

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lady-ashfade · 8 months

Text

Sunglasses

Day 8 of celebration marathon

Yandere camp half-blood x Aphrodite’s kid!reader

-£ ask: what about yandere camp halfblood with daughter of Aphrodite reader who has like hypnotic eyes and has to wear sunglasses or else you’ll wanna look at them forever lol srry ik it’s crappy

-£ warning: really short, yandere behavior, overprotective, overbearing, yandere tendencies, mentation of violence.

When you first arrived at camp people thought you were somehow a child of ares with the sunglasses thing. you never showed your eyes and pushed people away when they asked or tried to take them off.

But your beauty reminded them of the kids in cabin 10. You were beautiful, a kind smile and had way about you that drew people in.

It didn’t take long when you were learning about the camp and everything in it when you were calmed by your mother. It wasn’t a big shock but some were confused.

many asked why you wear sunglasses to cover your eyes, if there was something wrong with them? They all wanted to know desperately.

“Just tell me?” Percy practically was begging on his knees with that pout at his lips, “i wouldn’t tell anyone!” he swore. you groaned and leaned against the tree.

“It’s a curse Percy,” you shout defensively. you were so sick of people drowning you with the same question about something you didn’t want to share out loud. not after everything.

“I will never be able to be looked at in my eyes, truly. My eyes hypnotize people into wanting to look at me forever, similar Medusas curse, even freezing them as they want to stare at me forever.” your arms crossed over your body as a relief of comfort.

“They don’t get back their life, never the same again. Can’t break the trance— they just stand their like lifeless dolls with a smile on their face.” your voice cracks as memories flood back into your mind. a teacher had been rude about your eyewear and snatched them off your face. he was the first victim.

Percy shuffled next to you and leaned his shoulder against yours, “sorry I asked, just was curious.”

after that the news spread fast but you didn’t care anymore now that people didn’t try and take your glasses away from you now. But there was a turn in the air at camp that seemed to revolve around you.

they all treated you differently as if you were a helpless child in need of saving. Carrying your lunch, walking with you from place to place, offering anything they could.

it was strange that they all treated you like someone to be worshipped and cared after. Even ares kids did their part in protecting you, which is why clarisse stood behind you like a guard dog ready to bite anyone that approached you.

you did make fast friends with everyone, a givin, as non of them made fun of you. But the question were still annoying but it was better to answer them.

at night you always feel the stares of your siblings but never could tell if they were looking at you. they tucked you in at night and wished to get a goodnight from you, all of them.

you never could be alone even when you thought you were. there was always someone following you, watching you and keeping you safe.

some of the kids had even started wars against others for your attention. You never knew about the fights that went down when you slept peacefully in your bed at night.

maybe the curse ran farther then your eyes.

taglist: @itzmeme @ravenmedows @maria699669 @purplerose291

#Percy Jackson x reader #platonic percy jackson x reader #yandere percy jackson #yandere percy jackson x reader #yandere camp half-blood #percy jackson books x reader #yandere

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not-neverland06 · 4 months

Text

How About A Nuke?

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII

Series Masterlist

The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: I see a lot of comments talking about how you guys wished they would just communicate. They are communicating its just that neither of them know what they want. Summary: All you want is to just be clean. He offers to show you a nice little spot where you can finally scrape the grime off of you. What could go wrong?

“So,” you shifted your bag further up your arm. You were favoring the left today on account of the giant gap he had left in your right bicep. You were still pretty pissed off about that. “Do you ever, you know, bathe?”

He looked over his shoulder at you, he seemed caught off guard by the question. “Bathe?” He repeated, face raised in surprise.

You rolled your eyes and nodded, “Yeah, bathe. I’ve been out here over a week. I’ve got about twenty layers of blood and sand stuck in every crevice.” Your skin crawled thinking about the different types of bodily fluid you’d been sprayed with since coming out of the cryo pod.

There was a lot of blood, of course, but Hollywood doesn’t show everything that gets excreted in death. You were itching for a good shower. You know that’s out of the question, but there’s got to be something.

He laughed and ripped off a piece of jerky. He offered you some, grinning when you shook your head. “Buckle up, sweetheart, you’re in for a rude awakening. You can always use the water, but that’s a waste of Radaway if you ask me.” You should have known. It’s not like anyone you’d encountered seemed particularly gung ho about personal hygiene, but you had hoped there would be something.

You reached down, digging your nails into your arm and scratching off flakes of blood and who knows what else. You shouldn’t have bothered, though, it only made the rest of you feel a hundred times worse. You looked crazy, scratching at yourself like a dog but you couldn’t help it.

“Alright, damn, I’ll give you some of my Radaway, you look half rabid.”

You stopped with your scratching and stared at him in shock. “You’ll give me some of your Radaway?”

He rolled his eyes, stopping only when he noticed you’d quit walking. “Is that not what I said?”

You crossed your arms and glared at him, “You’re not exactly known for your generosity. What’s the catch?”

He frowned and clutched at his chest like you’d actually done damage, “Now, that hurts darling. I’m just trying to help you out.” He turned around, walking to the right now, further towards greenery and away from the desert. “Plus, it’ll get rid of that fucking smell.”

You kept your mouth shut but he was one to talk. He hadn’t exactly tasted wonderful when he’d kissed you. Nor did he smell amazing. Still, he had made your heart race and it wasn’t from pure terror for once. Though, any positive feelings he’d caused within you had been negated the second he dropped you to the dirt like a used up toy.

You knew better than to try and bring it up to him, but it had stung. Attacked that vulnerable part of you that made you want to put up walls so high even the sun couldn’t get through.

With no other choice you sped up and caught up to him. Your hip was still bothering you, but it wasn’t dragging behind you as much as it was a few days ago. The only thing really bugging you now was your throbbing arm. He’d assured you that it couldn’t rot, he’d dealt with that, but that didn’t stop it from hurting like a bitch.

“Through here is a lake you can use.” He pointed towards the area where the trees started to thin out.

You looked at him skeptically, “You’re really letting me do this?”

He scoffed and glared at you, “The fuck did I tell you?” You don’t know if he’s talking about his new rule to stop questioning him or about giving you the Radaway, but you keep your mouth shut anyway. He hasn’t been as much of a dick today and you’d rather keep it that way.

“Here,” he motions through the trees and you stumble into an abandoned neighborhood. It’s been submerged in water, you can spot some old apartment buildings peeking up through the top.

Briefly, you wonder if you’ve ever passed your old home and just never realized it. You dismiss the thought as quickly as it comes, not willing to let your mind linger on thoughts like that today.

You slowly make your way to the water, still not entirely trusting of his intentions. He’s made it clear he’s keeping you around for the long haul, but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped tormenting you. “You’re really gonna let me use your Radaway?” You call over your shoulder.

He sighs and leans against the trunk of a tree. “Get your ass in the water, I won’t wait around all day.

You’re not dumb enough to fully submerge yourself in radiated water. You just rip a piece of your shirt off and dunk it into the startlingly blue lake. You use it to scrub yourself down, rubbing your arms until they’re raw and feel clean enough.

You shuffle closer to the water, trying to bend over enough to scrub your face a bit. But when you gaze down into the water you find something gazing back up at you. You scream, scrambling back just as that thing leaps out of the water and towards you.

Something pink and wet slams into your chest and knocks the air out of your lungs. You grope blindly in the mud for your gun as it opens its mouth. Horror and disgust fill you when you see what’s in its mouth, human fingers dangle like disgusting uvulas. It darts forward, jaw posed to clamp around your whole face.

A loud bang echoes through the lake. The thing goes flying back and causes ripples to drift across the surface of the water. You clutch your chest, trying to get your breath back and scoot closer to get a better look at whatever attacked you. It’s the size of your torso and looks startling like some deformed axolotl. He’s left a large bullet hole in the middle of it’s head deformed head.

“What the fuck?” You whisper, shakily getting to your feet and groaning when you realize whatever you’d manage to clean off had been replaced by a thick layer of mud.

You turn around, hoping for some sort of explanation from him, but he’s just bent over laughing, gun still smoking. You grab your bag out of the muck with a huff and glare at him. “Really?”

He straightens up, still grinning and shakes his head. “You should have seen your face, you were petrified.”

”Well, I’m glad someone enjoyed that.” You glare down at the corpse, eyes wide with horror, “It’s got fucking fingers in it’s throat. Human fingers!” He saunters over to you, entirely too pleased with himself. He grabs his inhaler out of his bag and loads it with Radaway. He tosses it over to you and you catch it with your good arm. “You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?” You press down and take in a deep breath, ignoring how bitter the juice tastes.

“Never trust anything, rule number one of the Wastelands darling. Can’t even trust the water.” There was a loud roar off towards the middle of the lake and he nodded his head back towards the tree line. “Come on, that one was just a baby Gulper. Momma’s gonna be by soon and I can’t imagine she’ll be real happy.” He walks off without you and you’re stuck staring at the dead mutant.

“That was a fucking baby?” He laughs at you again and when you catch up with him, you can't help but laugh a little yourself. You probably looked ridiculous, wrestling in the mud with what, apparently, was only an infant.

He grins at you, “You got a lot to learn.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, I know.”

He’s kneeled down beside you, fingers prodding at the reddened area around your wound. It feels a bit better now, more like touching a fresh bruise rather than raw nerves. He poured some water from his canteen over the area and retied the bandage. He stood up and moved away from you while you dug around in your bag for another ration bar.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You’ve got the bar positioned between your knees, and you’re trying, hopelessly, to open it up with one hand. Your fingers, now dusted with dried mud, slip uselessly against the packaging.

He looks up at you and lets out a loud sigh. “Give it here.”

”I’ve got it-”

“Give. It. Here.” You huff but toss the bar over to him. He rips it open in one smooth move and throws it back to you. You catch it with your good hand and take a large chunk out of it. It feels like rubber and tastes oddly like dried out meatloaf. You’re not exactly sure what flavor it’s supposed to be replicating, but you figure it’s so old it doesn’t really matter as long as it fills you up.

He pours some water from his canteen onto a ripped piece of cloth and tosses it at you. You’re unprepared, bar in hand and midchew, it slaps against your face and you scowl under the fabric. “Really?” You mutter, mouth half full. You yank it off your face and give him a questioning look.

“Just clean yourself up.”

You drag it across your face and arms, trying to get off as much residual mud as you can. Your clothes are a stained, lost cause, but this will do for now. Not like you’re going to get much better without going up against some mutant monster.

“You’re being nice today?” It comes out like a question more than anything. Probably because you’re having trouble trusting him, especially after the Gulper incident. You wished you could say you can’t believe he would do something like that, but you’re pretty sure he’d been hoping the mom would get you, not the baby.

He shrugged and leaned back against a fallen log. “Feelin’ chivalrous.”

You hummed but didn’t push. You forced down another lump of your ration and reached for your water. “Where are we heading anyway? Been walking for a long time but we haven’t seem to have gotten anywhere.”

“There’s a compound I took a bounty for. We’re on our way to deliver it.”

You tilted your head as far back as you could, tongue out and hoping to catch the remaining drops of your water. “Shit,” you tossed the canteen back in your bag, already knowing it was hopeless.

“Ah, hell,” you glanced up and saw Cooper rifling through his supply box.

“How are you on Radaway?”

He sighed and chucked the box back into his bag. “Got two vials left.” He ran his tongue along his teeth, a pensive expression on his face.

You sighed and rubbed idly at some mud left on your fingers. “You’re gonna need more soon.”

He cut you off with a sharp laugh. “Faster than soon, this is the diluted shit.” He rubbed at his chest and you wondered if he was already starting to feel the effects of being so low on the medicine. You can’t believe he gave you a vial of his own with so few left.

Bastard must’ve really wanted to see you get jumped by a gulper. Your face twisted up in distaste and any twinge of sympathy you’d felt for him dissapeared. You wished he would cough so hard he’d choke on his tongue, at least then you wouldn’t have to listen to his bullshit anymore.

He looked over at you and then your bag. “Got any of that purified water left?” You shook your head, crumpling the wrapper of your bar up and tossing it somewhere behind you,

“Just ran out, not sure where I’m gonna find more.”

He chuckled and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I do,” you stood up and grabbed your own bag, following behind him.

Loud laughter and rowdy conversation drifts into the night air. You sit perched behind a large boulder, staring into the building across from you. It’s an old supermarket, refurbished to fit the Wastelanders' needs. “They’ll have what we need?”

He doesn’t look at you, his sight is dead set on the men milling about in front of you. They’re clearly guards, switching positions every couple of minutes and loaded to the teeth with weapons. Cooper silently tracks them, eyes darting between them as they switch positions yet again.

“Yep,” he lifts up into a squat and watches as one of the men turns his back to lace up his boot. “Now!” He grabs you by the sleeve of your jacket and drags you along as he weaves between the guards. He throws you in front of him, practically tossing you inside the store.

You hold back your gasp of shock and duck behind a waist-high shelf. There are only seven or eight men walking around inside. They’ve got a fire burning in the middle of the store, the empty shelves pushed back against the walls. Behind them is about the largest pile of supplies you’ve seen since being up here. They could give Ma June a run for her money.

You peek your head over the shelf and try to get a look at just how many weapons they have. You hear the familiar sound of spurs walking behind you and twist immediately to see Cooper walking calmly towards the group with his hands raised in surrender. He catches your eye and winks before he fully addresses them.

“Gentlemen!” You sigh and sink back against the shelf, an irritated look on your face. The shelf screeched forward slightly and you scrambled off it, you caught Cooper twitch a little in irritation but he didn’t say anything. He’s been fully noticed at this point, the others all glaring at him with their guns raised.

He had a full view of all eight men from his perspective. What he couldn’t see, which you could, was a ninth man sneaking up behind him with a knife. He had it poised, aiming to strike right through the back of Cooper’s neck.

Without thinking too much on it, you leapt out of your hiding spot and used your good arm to point your gun in the man’s face. He came to a stop almost cartoonishly, eyes wide and the knife in his hands trembling when you popped out.

Cooper barely gave you a glance out of the side of his eye and you figured he knew all about the ninth man. He must have been testing you, see if you really had his back. “Hey!”

“Who the fuck is she!”

“What are you doing here?”

You ignored the sounds of their voices, you kept the gun trained on the boy and motioned him towards the left of the room. He followed, letting you guide him backwards until he was scrambling to hide behind his friends. It’s then that you finally got a good look at just how many guns were trained on you.

One of them pumped their shotgun and you pulled back the hammer of your gun. Cooper’s guns were still tucked away in their holster, it was just you and however much firepower they could cram between ten pairs of hands.

“Now, I suggest that you gentlemen put those guns down or my friend here is gonna get a little too friendly with her trigger.”

One of them scoffed, gesturing with the barrel of their pistol towards your right arm hanging limply by your side. “She got a bad arm and a shaking hand.”

“Maybe,” you call out, “but I got a working finger. I only need one of ‘em to kill you.”

Before he can respond there’s another one stepping forward. “She can get real friendly with me.” He’s got a lecherous grin on his face and a look in his eyes that makes your skin crawl. You sigh, sick of the men up here being so predictable, and turn your gun on him. His eyes widen, like he hadn’t seen you pointing it at his friends, and you pull the trigger.

Your aim is a little off and the recoil is harder to handle with only one hand available to you, but you’ve got a sawed off shotgun in your hand, don’t have to have a great aim to kill a man with that. His twitching body has barely hit the ground before you’re diving to the right and ducking behind a shelving unit.

Cooper goes to the left, eyes wide in the same astonishment as those men. Bullets started flying the second their friend was on the ground. They were shouting all sorts of insults and threats at you but it was hard to make out over all the shooting.

“You shot him!” Cooper shouted over the hail fire of bullets.

You rolled your eyes and did your best to reload the gun with your wobbly hand. “He pissed me off,” you shouted back at him. You leveled the gun over the top of the shelves and fired blindly. There was a loud yelp and then another Bitch shouted at you, so you must have hit something.

“You know, I was trying to handle this civilly,” Cooper jumped to his knees and turned around quickly. He fired off a quick succession of shots, four bodies dropped as he did. The rate of gunfire slowed a bit as more men fell. He ducked down and ran across the room, throwing himself down next to you. He tossed his guns at you and tugged yours out of your hand. “Reload me,” you nodded and tugged some bullets out of his bandolier while he used your gun to shoot at them.

“I’m sure you handling it civilly would have ended the exact same fucking way.”

He grinned and sat back next to you, “Well,” he shrugged, “maybe. Maybe not, doesn’t matter now.” You handed him his reloaded guns and he dropped yours in your lap. “Only a few left, use the shelves as cover and circle around behind ‘em.” He didn’t stay to make sure you understood his plan, he immediately set off, drawing the fire away from you and making a run for it.

“Shit,” you hissed, struggling to your feet and following his instructions. With only a few of them left it should have been quick work to get rid of the last few stragglers, but the guards from outside had heard the scuffle and were rushing in. Cooper shot most of them but one got close enough to snatch his gun from his hands and throw it to the floor.

Cooper struggled against the man, his towering form easily overpowering Cooper. Though, your friend didn’t seem particularly worried, if anything it looked like he was letting the man live to draw out the fight, like he was enjoying it.

You were going to just leave him to it when you saw the same bastard from before with the knife sneaking up behind him again. You rush forward, scooping up Cooper’s gun as you go and shove the man backwards.

He grunts at the impact but he refused to be deterred. He charges at you, eyes red with rage and blackened mouth frothing like a rabid dog. You try and keep your guard up but you’ve got a gimp leg and a useless arm, it’s not a fight you’re going to win.

He wraps an arm around your waist and yanks you into him. You grunt, breathing out slowly as you feel his knife slide into your gut. You glance down at the rusted blade and shove your gun under his chin. His eyes widen when you draw the hammer back but you don’t flinch when you pull the trigger, not even when chunks of skull and hair start raining down on you.

Cooper must have finally noticed the tussle happening behind him because he draws his second gun out from under his coat and ends his little fight with the last of them. You must be in shock, you still haven’t fully experienced the pain that you should.

There’s a knife sunk past the handle slammed into your gut, you should be feeling something shouldn’t you? You’re sure it’s the adrenaline still pumping through you. Your body is warm from how fast your blood is pumping, your ears ringing from all the gunshots and head spinning from the amount of blood steadily leaking out of the wound.

“Hey,” you turn around to face him and his eyes widen ever so slightly. You lose your footing and he darts forward, quick arms grab you and draw you into his chest. You clutch onto the sleeve of his jacket, letting all of your weight rest on him while you try and get your panicked breathing under control.

You’ve had worse injuries than this. As hard as it is to believe, in your time up here, you’ve survived a lot worse than some measly stab wound.

So why does this feel so fucking bad?

“Oh,” you moan in pain, nearly doubling over. A feeling like a million exposed nerves being set on fire stops you from falling to the floor, instead you push off Cooper and struggle to your feet.

“Alright, come on,” he grabs your arm again and you have the ridiculous urge to just shove him off you. Your head is swimming, you feel like you could float away. You look down at the knife again and finally realize just how large it is. One of those hunting ones that was about the width of your hand curled into a fist.

Well, fuck.

“Hey,” he snaps when you stumble away from him again. “Sit your stubborn ass down, you need help.” He yanks on the straps of your shirt, holding you up and dragging you to a chair, you don’t have much choice as he forces you to sit. Though, the motion causes a wave of excruciating pain to flare through you.

He kneels in front of you and rips your shirt open, you’re in too much pain to complain about it right now. He hums low in the back of his throat as he takes in the wound. With no warning whatsoever he grabs the knife by the handle and yanks it out like he’s ripping off a fucking bandaid.

You nearly scream, lurching forward and shoving him away from you. The sudden shock of pain has left you half blind and panting like an animal. “What the fuck was that?” You force out through gritted teeth. He plants a hand on your shoulder and presses you firmly against the back of the chair.

“Need to get you a Stimpak.” He takes your hand in his and presses it against the wound. Where blood was once oozing, it’s now gushing. You hadn’t realized just how much keeping the knife in had kept the blood at bay. With how rapidly it’s leaving you now you’re afraid.

You’re afraid that you might not be able to make it back from the edge with just a Stimpak. You can already feel your fingers going cold, pretty soon you won’t be able to flex them and then you’d lose feeling in your arms too.

“Hey,” he uses the grip he has on your hand to press down on the wound. You groan but he keeps the pressure steady. His eyes bore into your dazed ones, some odd expression in them. “You don’t get to give up. Keep pressure on this, understand me?” Your head flops forward in a lazy nod.

He could have been gone for a minute or an hour, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Your head is foggy, coherent thoughts replaced by loopy ones. You’re struggling to remember where you are or what you’re supposed to be doing.

Just as your hand slips from the wound, he comes back. He grabs your hand and places it back, holding it there with his own. You appreciate the way he warms your fingers back up, but the rest of you is freezing too. Maybe he’d share his jacket.

The thought of him sharing anything makes you laugh and he gives you a frustrated look. “Don’t go losing it on me. Not yet at least.”

You lean forward, face nearly pressed against his and grin. “You know, I haven’t heard a thank you yet.”

He scoffed, opening the Stimpak with one hand and preparing the injector. “Yeah, for what?”

“Saving your life, dick.”

You’re caught off guard when he slams the needle into your stomach, your lips part with a silent gasp and you wince at the cool rush of medicine. He grins at you, “Well, thank you for being the only dumbass to get herself stabbed in a gun fight.”

The medicine works fast, you learned that from when he’d shot you. You can already start to feel the pulse of blood slowing and your head clearing up slightly. “Asshole,” you hiss, leaning away from him. But his eyes stay trained on you, on both of your blood covered hands and where they still rest, linked together, on your stomach.

You find yourself taking advantage of his distraction to really look at him. It bothers you, how after everything, his eyes are still so pretty. It’s the first thing that drew your attention when you were younger. Those eyes of his had you swooning from the first time you saw him on the big screen.

He catches you but you can’t find it in yourself to care. There’s something odd in the air, a lingering tension from the kiss you’d never discussed. From the silent partnership you’d never voiced. You’d nearly gotten yourself killed for him tonight, the thought finally seemed to be dawning on him.

His eyes drop to your lips and he leans in. He doesn’t get very far, lips just barely brushing yours before you’re jerking back in surprise. You’re bleeding out in his hands and he kisses you? Your hand is up and cracking across his cheek before you can think about it.

His head whips to the side with a satisfying crack. He lets out a breathy chuckle, using his free hand to soothe the area you’d hit. He stretches the tension out of his jaw and shakes his head before he looks at you again.

Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed you. You definitely shouldn’t be further entertaining his ideas that he holds any sort of possession for you, but you’d just realized what that look in his eyes had been earlier. He had been worried about you.

Cooper has always been the one who protected you. Not the other way around. And as twisted as he’d become, it still relatively remained the same dynamic today. You’d caught him off guard earlier, putting yourself in danger like that for him. And he had been worried about you.

You grab him by the collar of his jacket and drag him forward before he can decide what to do with the fact that you slapped him. Your lips meet again and he hovers over you on your chair. The hand on your stomach pushes harder against you, deepening the pressure and making you groan into his mouth.

He doesn’t waste time, deepening the kiss and letting his other bloodied hand drift into your hair. His fingers curl around the strands and he yanks your neck back, manipulating you how he wants and bending you to his desires. You melt into it, into the complete control you allow him to momentarily wield over you.

You let your mind go blank and just focus on him. You can pretend, for now, that you’re in his old house. You’re coming back after a date at one of those fancy restaurants that he hates, but he takes you there anyway so you can have an excuse to dress up.

He’ll whisper I love you and drag you to the couch. You’ll start there, his kisses traveling lower until he’s dragging you back to his bedroom. You’ll feel valued, cherished, loved. Cooper will take care of you.

He parts slowly from you, still keeping a firm grip on your hair. It takes a moment for your eyes to flutter open again. You’re sure you look like a mess, staring up at him with glossy eyes and swollen lips, completely drenched in your own blood.

“Don’t think about him when I’m the one kissing you, darling.” Your eyes widen and he lets you go. He shoves back from you and paces towards his bag. Any warmth in his eyes, any care, was gone.

You want to say something to drag him back but the moment has passed. It’s not like he was wrong, you were pretending he was someone completely different to make yourself feel better.

But you couldn’t make yourself feel guilty when you remembered half the reason you needed the comfort was because of who he was now. He comes back with a needle and thread. He lets the needle hover over the men’s fire for a moment before he approaches you with it. “Stimpak will only do so much, need to sew you up.”

You nodded and looked away as he knelt down and pressed the needle into your skin. You barely felt it, could barely pay attention to him when your thoughts were on what it was like before. What he was like before. Sometimes it makes you sick to your stomach to look at him.

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout x reader #fallout tv series

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girlboypersonthingy · 6 months

Note

Hiiii I wanted to request hazbin boys x injured male reader? Reader gets into a scuffle, gets roughed up quite a bit and comes home not looking too well (I wanna see em fuss over the reader lol)

Mmph, yes yes, I love boys fussing over their injured darling. Too fuckin cute! I have so many great requests for Hazbin and Helluva, I’m so excited 🫨 thanks for the request and enjoy anon 💟

Notes: gn!reader bc anyone can get into a scuffle so why not, mostly fluff with a sprinkle of angst

TW: blood, bruises, fighting, cussing, of course it’s suggestive during Angel’s part 😉

Includes Lucifer, Angel Dust, Husk, Sir Pentious, Vox and Alastor

Hazbin boys x reader- Bruises 🖤

You’re not sure who roughed you up, you barely got a look at the dudes before you were laid out on the dirty sidewalk getting punched and trying to push one of the perpetrators off you. Whoever he was, he was strong and brutal and must’ve really had a problem with you because damn, you were fucked up. Not that you couldn’t hold your own, but there was more than one of them and they really caught you off guard. You had suffered several blows to the face and a few kicks to the stomach and back. Seemed like the group showed just a bit of mercy tho- they could’ve broken your legs or straight up killed you. Luckily, you limped away with only minor injuries but a huge blow to your psyche. While it could’ve been worse, it was horrific and traumatizing regardless.

It’s hard trying to stay tough and take care of yourself because you’re scared, feeling like you’ll have to look over your shoulder from now on when you’re out on the streets. It was also a bit embarrassing considering Husk and Angel offered to tag along with you to keep you safe but your dumb ass insisted you were fine alone.

It was late now, around the time everyone went to bed at the hotel so you were expecting to silently creep inside, hobble to your room and take care of yourself in secret. And if anyone asked about the marks or bruises the next day, you’d just blame it on a wild night of partying. To your surprise, as you walk in the door the entirety of the hotel’s staff and residents were sitting on the floor and couches in the front room, drinking and talking by the fireplace. Of course, Charlie had everyone doing some bonding bullshit late at night. The sound of the door clicking open has everyone’s eyes looking towards you now. “Ah, shit…” Leaves your swollen lips as the crowd gasps and one by one, they all stand and approach your damaged figure. Finally, the one person you really didn’t want to see you like this comes rushing forward to get a good look at you.

Lucifer 🍎

“Oh, Satan! (Y/N), are you okay? What happened? Ohhh, my poor angel!”

Proceeds to fuss and worry over you while wearing the saddest expression :,( his poor bb

Might actually cry a little…just hurts him to see his darling all banged up.

It’s not just the physical pain he senses, it’s the emotional pain you feel too- the fear and the trauma and the stress of it all

His hands just hover all around the most damaged parts of you- fingers almost touching your eye which was now swollen shut, his thumb ghosting over your busted bottom lip

Whisks you away to his room and runs you a bath. Gets you all clean and is probably still whining and crying over you as he watches the bath water turn red with all the blood washing off you and gets you ready for bed.

He’s an emotional man, okay?

He also feels extremely guilty for not being there to protect you. Even if you bluntly told him you don’t need his protection, he feels like it’s still his fault at least a little bit.

Miiiiiiight start a silly little argument over you never leaving the hotel or his side ever again lol

“I just want to protect you, my love. Please! Stop being stubborn.”

He’ll really really baby you tho.

Like even if your legs are working fine, NOPE! Don’t move an inch. Luci will carry you anywhere you desire.

“Lucifer, I just have a black eye and some scrapes. I can walk just fine, babe.”

And he’ll just ignore you and continue to coddle you and do everything for you

For sure this man peppers very gentle, very soft and slow kisses on your tender face once you’re cleaned up and finally resting in his bed

And he for sure cries again in the morning when he wakes up and your face looks even worse

Probably even panics a bit like-

“IM TAKING YOU TO A HOSPITAL OH MY SATAN!!! MY POOR BABY WWAAAA!”

“It’s just some bruises! Luci, they always look worse before they look better, I’m fine.”

Just calm him down with some kisses and words of love

Angel Dust 🕸️

“Holy shit! What happened, babe? Oh no…this is bad. This is sooo bad! This is why we wanted to go with ya.”

Also gets very dramatic and concerned, looks so sad over your battle wounds

But of course he’s a flirt even under tough circumstances and can make a dirty joke even in the most dire situations

He’d definitely tell you you look hot asf and that you’re soooo brave~

Tries to lighten the mood a bit

“(Y/N), I wanna be the only one who gets to rough you up.” *pouts but also winks at you*

Angel has had his fair share of beatings courtesy of Valentino so he’s very good at first aid and knows tons of tricks to help with bruising, cuts, scrapes, preventing scars, relieving the pain.

He’s great at the clean up part but even better at the comfort part

Brings out all six arms to wrap you up in while you lay in his bed, cuddling up to you while offering soft kisses to the parts of you that aren’t so sore.

Angel is always down to fuck so if you’re feeling up to it, he’ll offer you some great sexual healing while being oh so careful of all your wounds and all the painful spots.

Will let you take control too, he hopes it’ll make you feel better and maybe return some of the confidence you lost from this scuffle.

He can spot a bruised ego from a mile away and he’ll do anything to get you feeling happy and secure again.

Also argues with you about never letting you go anywhere alone ever again lol he just loves you too much. If you’re gonna get jumped, he’s either gonna be there to help you out of it or he’s gonna be taking half the beating right next to you.

Reminds me of a song…

“I wanna walk with you, wherever you go to. I wanna hurt with you. Whatever you go through, I do too.” -sour switchblade by Elita

Yeah that’s Angel, just wants to be beside you no matter the circumstances

Husk 🃏

“Oh, you dummy! This is why we wanted to go with you. Oh, doll face. Who did this? You alright?”

Yeah, he’s mean sometimes so he’s gonna scold you for going out alone before the comforting starts.

Ultimately, he doesn’t pull you away to get you cleaned up or anything. Lets you decide what to do next, where to go. He just follows you and keeps a hand on you somewhere to let you know he’s here for you.

Will whip up any drink you ask for in hopes of it relieving the pain a bit

But he’s sneaky, he’s gonna ask you tons of questions about what happened, who did it, where you were, how many of them there was. Won’t give you your drink until you answer him.

Husk is plottin and schemin, wanting to get back at the assholes who did this to you. Hes thinking about all the cool, little weapons he has and what he can do with them to teach those jerks a lesson.

In the end tho, he does get more sentimental and soft spoken later while cuddled up to you in bed.

He’ll purr softly in your ear while letting his hands gently roam your body, tracing comforting circles all over your bruised skin

Will def wrap you up in his silky wings and then proceed to pour out his entire heart to you.

“I love you. I’m so glad you’re okay. You need to listen to me. I know better than you, I’ve been down here a long time. You have to be more careful. I dunno what I’d do if I lost ya, doll. You gotta stick with me, I’ll always protect ya.”

Once you fall asleep, he wanders out to the lobby to find Angel at the bar and there they talk about teaming up to get revenge on the assholes who dared to touch Husk’s little babe

The next morning, of course they’re still talking about it. You’ll have to tell these idiots to stop and just let it go bc omg they sound crazy rn they’re gonna make a mess if you let this continue

Buuuut if you kinda like them fussing over you this much, then by all means let them do their thing as you sit back and enjoy the attention

Ooooh, Husky is getting maadddd. Kinda cute when he lets a protective growl slip out while talking to Angel. Aww he loves you~

Sir Pentious 🐍

Immediate tears and full blown panic attack at the sight of your battered face.

“OH MY GOODNESSSSSS!!! My baby! My darling! Ohhhhhh, you poor thing, come here! I’ll take care of you.”

Doesn’t care that the entirety of the hotel residents are crowded around watching you two- Pentious holds you like a baby in his arms and carefully sinks to the ground with you, holding you so tight it actually kinda hurts due to all your bruises.

Cries for a while like this- goes back and forth between examining your bruises and cuts and bloody nose with his watery eyes to then burying his face in your neck as he weeps for you.

“Pen, I’m okay. Just a little banged up. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I CAN’T HANDLE IT!!! You’re too pretty to be beaten up like thisssss. Aawwwww.” And he’s crying even harder now.

And this goes on for a while until you finally decide to get up and go to your room with him to get cleaned up.

Babies the absolute fuck out of you- brings you food in bed and tries to feed it to you, gets you in the bath and refuses to let you touch anything while insisting he do all the work for you, carries you everywhere.

It’s actually so nice tho- he washes your hair for you real slow and firm as he scrubs your scalp, very carefully washes the dirt and dry blood from your skin only to reveal more bruises he hadn’t seen before, carefully applies ointment to your bloody cuts and scrapes

Listen…this man is not gonna stop crying until you are 100% healed up. Even the next morning, you wake up beside him to see his face wet with tears as he sniffles.

At least you know he really truly deeply cares for you and loves you 💚

“Oh, it’s okay, babe. I’m felling so much better today, especially since I get to start my morning in bed with you.”

And now he decides he’s gonna keep you in bed all day and continue to baby and pamper you

Keeps his tail and most of his body wrapped around you loosely all day as you watch movies and relax. Cant stop staring at your face and focusing on each blue and black bruise you wear, eyeing every cut and scrape and the split skin on your lip.

You took a beating and he thinks it’s only fair that you and him stay in bed until you’re truly feeling well enough to resume your normal daily tasks.

Of course, he has to stay with you in case you need something! Can’t leave his injured partner alone, wouldn’t dream of it!

Vox 🖥️

(I know he’s not at the hotel, pretend you just walked into V Tower instead, k?)

REVENGE REVENGE REVENGE

“WHAT. THE. FUCK?! Who? Where? When? HOW FUCKING HOW DARE THEY-“

You’ll have to cut him off or he’ll go on an entire raging tangent about revenge and eventually short circuit lol

“Voxy, I’m okay. Don’t worry about it. I just wanna get clean and go to bed.”

He slowly cools off and begins to focus more on you and your injuries, asking if you’re okay or if there’s anything he can do. Now behind closed doors, his entire attitude changes.

He’s following you into every room, watching you with an expression of intense sadness and concern, wishing he could take all your pain and give it to himself instead. He’d suffer for you if it meant seeing you happy and healthy

Sits in the bathroom in silence but keeps you company while you wash up. He might ask if you need help but also wants to give you space and make sure you feel safe

Assists you in getting dressed while making it very romantic and being very attentive. Vox will so slowly slip your pajamas onto you while letting his claws ghost over all your bruises.

Will lean in and kiss your busted lips right as your head pops through the top of your shirt, followed by a smile and probably more kisses

Listen, most of these boys are gonna become way more over protective after this incident okay? Vox is most definitely not an exception

Insists that either He’s gonna be with you every where you go from now on or he’s gonna send security with you every where you go from now on.

And no matter who is with you when you’re out in the streets, his cameras will also be watching over you.

Oh yeah, and he goes back in the cam footage and has a perfect view of the whole incident. He watches it over a few times before ordering a hit on every sinner who dared to mess with his lover.

You’ll never have to worry or look over your shoulder or worry again 😘

Alastor 🩸

Doesn’t say much or even stay long to worry about you at first.

He’s more angry and bent on revenge than anything. He’s worried about you too but he knows you’re strong and can take care of yourself.

He slips off to do some exploring and investigating to find out who did this to you

Spends maybe an hour figuring it out and then promptly goes on a murder spree to take care of all those pesky sinners who dared to lay a finger on his beloved

Okay, now that that’s out of his system, he can come back and take care of you.

Isn’t as cuddly and romantic as the others but he still babies you and refuses to let you do anything for yourself.

“Now now, darling. Just relax. I’ll have you cleaned up and feeling better in no time.”

Bathes you, dresses you, tucks you into bed all while humming slow tunes to you

Doesn’t cuddle you but sits on the bed beside you and gives your head some gentle pets

“You won’t have to worry any longer, my dove. I took care of those degenerates and I’ll never let you wander the streets of hell alone ever again.”

Will place a gentle kiss on your throbbing head before leaving you to rest.

He’s serious tho, anywhere you go he goes too. You’re never leaving his sight again ❤️‍🩹

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prentissluvr · 3 months

Text

my boy only breaks his favorite toys — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : angst ➖⟢ cw : canon typical violence, injuries, knives, non-sexual partial nudity, guilty sam, rejection, talk of death/dying, sort of a case fic at first, mentions of stitches, lots of feelings, poorly edited & my first(?) attempt at a full angst fic lol (no happy ending!), set in season 5, so some spoilers! ➖⟢ wc : 10.6K ➖⟢ listen to : my boy only breaks his favorite toys by taylor swift. requested ! summary : you get injured and sam realizes he's more scared of getting you hurt than he is of anything else, even losing you and your love.

to be in love is the strangest experience. to be in love for a long time, for years on end with little to no reciprocation is even stranger.

somehow, you can watch him fall in love with someone else, kiss somebody new, romance another girl, and be blindsided by a fourth. jess you could never be mad at. she seemed too sweet and good for sam, for you to dislike. madison never did anything wrong either, but you did hate how much she unintentionally hurt him. sarah, too, was sweet and brave and helpful and she made him smile. that, of course, didn’t stop you from wanting to be that person instead, but you didn’t feel like you could complain.

ruby, you still feel rightfully angry with sometimes. for sam’s sake, you wanted her help to be real and true, but it felt clear to you from the beginning that not everything was right. now you’re dealing with the apocalypse and sam’s guilt that you alternate between wanting him to let go of and wanting him to feel it just a little bit longer.

besides, jess and madison are dead, so it’s unkind to be too jealous of them, and you’re sure that sam hasn’t spoken to sarah in years. and ruby’s dead too, so she doesn’t pose a threat any longer.

it’s all been so strange, because you’ve seen sam go through it all, kiss them all, love them all in some way or another, and you’re pretty sure all it’s done is make you love him more. at this point, you’re sure that you’ll never love anyone the way that you love sam. unceasingly, ardently, passionately, and for now, quietly.

but after the knowledge of the looming apocalypse has come the strangest part of it all. having loved sam since he was seventeen and secretly doing everything in his power to get away from this all, you know him and each of his mircroexpressions and tones of voice all too well. and these days, sam looks at you in ways that you’ve never noticed before. these days, sam looks at you like he’s trying to figure out if he’s in love with you.

it’s not as if you’d given up hope completely, because no one who’s as in love as you are ever will, but you’ve learned how to live with unrequited love. the pain can be stabbing and all-consuming sometimes, but it’s survivable so long as he doesn’t stop smiling at you or letting you rest in his lap or being the only one to call you a special nickname. even if you’re not the love of his life like he is yours, you’ll always mean something to him as his closest friend.

so now, it catches you off guard when sam looks at you as if he’s considering the possibility that you’re the one who hung the stars up in the sky or talks to you with this gentle joy that’s just somehow different from before. those moments are rare, but incredible to have when you consider the looming apocalypse that sam is blaming himself for. he’s battling the fact that he’s supposed to be the vessel to the devil himself, but he still finds the time to hold your pinky finger for a fleeting moment and not say a word about it. and now, sam does that thing where you say something and it makes him smile, and instead of casually holding your gaze like he used you, his gaze will falter and he’ll tilt his chin down and lick his lips as if he’s suddenly shy around you.

last night, dean was out and you and sam were researching for the case you’re working on. you ended up sitting side by side on your shared bed, trying to get comfy as the hours dragged on and the moon moved higher through the sky. completely unprompted, sam had lifted his arm up and around your shoulders, using his gentle hand to cup the side of your head and bring it to rest on his wide shoulder.

your heart soared and you did your best to keep researching, but the lull of his breathing and the clacking of the keyboard as he typed one handed sang you to sleep right then and there, tucked all cozy into his side.

you waking up in his arms certainly set the tone for today. this case is ugly and there was another victim last night, but sam has this sweet, touchy air about him. as you walk to the crime scene his hand lingers unprofessionally close to the small of your back, and from the tightness to his lips, you’re guessing that he’s holding back from saying something he knows will make you laugh.

you resist the urge to give him a secret smile, soft and loving because you’re selfish enough to try and get him to see that you want him like this. you want him to see that you already love him back, and all he has to do is let himself fall. but you don’t want to overwhelm him, so you go about assessing the crime scene and interviewing the witness like he’s your fbi partner and not the person you love most in this world.

the witness’s statement along with the security camera footage that dean saw at the police station confirms that you’re up against a shapeshifter. much like the first one the three of you hunted together in ‘05 it seems to be disguising itself as a loved one before killing its victims.

“this thing can shapeshift to look like literally anybody, but it can’t come up with something original?” dean jokes.

sam shrugs in his usual sam way. “well, it is an effective method,” sam reasons, despite knowing that dean’s just making fun. sam’s not even looking at dean; his eyes alternate from checking his computer screen where he scouts out city plumbing maps to find the best places in the sewer to look for the shifter, to letting his eyes roam over your features. you wonder if you’ll have to get used to sam staring at you as much as you do him. though, you can’t say that that’s a bad thing by any stretch. maybe he’ll finally notice the way that you look at him and maybe he’ll finally realize that it might be you who he’s been loving this whole time.

sam stands from his spot across from you, grabbing a map of the city from the bedside table. instead of returning to his original spot, he slots himself right next to you to lay the map out on the table. he runs a hand along the length of it, crossing your chest and brushing your nose with the fabric of his flannel before moving his hand back to rest right beside yours on the table top. he leans over the map and you tilt youu head to look up at him as he points out the most likely spots that the shifter could be hiding out at. you only pay half attention as he speaks, more able to take in the sight of his lips moving than the actual words that they’re forming. you’re not uncareful, you just know that sam will make sure you and dean remember the most important things when you get in the car.

—

“are you sure splitting up is a good idea?” sam stresses from the passenger seat of the impala.

“we know how to test for the shifter and we all can take care of ourselves,” dean says, repeating just about the same thing that he said before.

you lean forward in your seat. “we’ll be fine, sam. i agree, it’s not ideal, but there’s a lot of ground to cover and we can’t let the shifter get to anyone else,” you reason.

“i know,” he huffs, still unconvinced due to the possible dangers. but, there’s always danger, and if you’re siding with dean, he knows he doesn’t stand much of a chance of winning the argument anyway.

—

the sewers are dark, damp, and smell like shit. they grow even darker as the sun begins to set above ground and you’re grateful for the bright flashlight that you have on hand. you’ve been tramping through the dark and sewer waste for over an hour and heard nothing helpful from the boys.

you keep your silver knife at the ready, in case you run into anything or anyone. you all agreed that if you see each other, the very first order of business is to test yourself with your own knife to be sure. when you hear footsteps, you immediately press yourself against the wall, doing your best to stay hidden until you can see what’s heading your way. the second you see a person’s frame, you immediately recognize it as sam. he told you that you’d probably run into each other at some point, so you relax a touch. even so, you keep your knife in front of you as you step into the pathway.

“sam?” you call out, stopping a good length away from him.

“hey. yeah, it’s me,” he says, holding out his hand and knife to show you as he slices a thin line across his forearm. you sigh in relief, then quickly repeat the action to confirm to him that you’re you as well.

“you heard from dean?” you ask, closing the space between the two of you. sam meets you halfway, shaking his head.

“nothing,” he sighs, turning back where he came from.

“damn. an hour in the sewers and we’ve got jack,” you frown. “exactly how i like to spend my friday nights.”

“course it is, it’s the perfect date spot,” he jokes back, leading you left, down a new path you assume he skipped on his way over to you.

“mmm, does that mean we’re on a date, winchester?” you flirt. he takes the quip with composure as you step back into a main hallway, wide enough to walk side by side. he waits for you to be next to him before he continues. he didn’t even laugh a little awkwardly at your comment like he normally might. he must be in a flirty mood.

“if that’s what you want,” he flirts back, flashing you his gorgeous grin. the passage is still sort of tight, so his knuckles continually brush against the back of your hand, and the fabric of his jacket rustles against yours.

“being a flirt today, are we?” you tease, maybe pushing the limits a little.

“just for you,” he fires back, and that just about stuns you into silence. he’s in an awfully good mood for someone stuck hunting a killer in the sewers under an unfamiliar city. you nudge him playfully with your elbow, not even sure how to respond with words. so with that, you fall into a comfortable, familiar silence, the only sounds being the echo of your sloshing footsteps through the sewer.

out of boredom, sam teases you with his pinky finger, sticking it out and poking your hand with it. you push back gently, playing along. he escalates the game by poking your side. you giggle a little, swatting at his big hand.

“stop that!” you whisper-shout. “what if the shapeshifter comes along and we’re too distracted because you’re tickling me?” his proximity, his flirting, and his goddamn smile are already distracting enough.

“i wasn’t tickling you, just poking,” he teases, but doesn’t do it again since you’re right enough.

“yeah, you said that last week after you did that. it tickles, which means you’re tickling me,” you retort before letting the silence fall over you again.

you head down a narrow path, forcing sam to walk behind you. even then, you can feel his closeness. a minute later, you step out into a wider area where a grate lets in a stream of moonlight. sam comes out after you, stopping by your side. the moonlight casts a glow on his face and, like you always do, you can’t help but think about how pretty he looks, even after a long hour and counting of traipsing around in a sewer. continually, even in the more open space, he stays right by your side, close enough for your elbows to brush.

“think we should call dean?” he suggests, “regroup, maybe call it a night?”

you tilt your head to the side in acknowledgment. “tempting,” you respond, “i’m getting hungry. let’s at least call him, then go from there.” you step further into the space in fron of you, trying to escape the chilly draft coming from the narrow pathway you came in from. but the floor in here is slicker than you realize, and you slip embarrassingly hard, completely losing your footing and letting out a short gasp as you fall.

sam’s instincts are impeccable as always, and a strong arm wraps around your waist before you can fall too far. once you’re steady, sam doesn’t move to pull you all the way up and onto your own feet. he just keeps you dependant on his hold to stay off the slippery floor and brings his other hand to meet the one wrapped around your side. he looks down at you, half of his face illuminated by moonlight, the other half fallen into shadow. you stare right back up at him, flustered but too happy for any sort of such purposeful physical contact with him to care about that.

it feels like a movie with you in his arms like this, willingly stuck there by the both of you. then he leans down closer to you and your eyes widen. in the partial darkness, he looks at you like he’s no longer just wondering if he loves you, more like he knows it for sure. he looks at you with such unabashed love, so overwhelming in a way that you hadn’t expected from him for a long while, if ever. you think that for sure he’s going to kiss you, and you know even better that you’d let him without a second thought.

this certainly isn’t how you imagined it’d be at all. not this soon and not in the middle of a sewer system, surrounded by awful smells and an unpleasant humidity. you suppose that the moonlight filtering down is nice enough, and that you’d never expected anything grandiose or overly romantic with him anyway.

then you hear footsteps, and a split second later, your name being called in sam’s voice. only it wasn’t the sam holding you who said it, it was someone behind you. it only takes a millisecond for everything to click. this sam, the one holding you close, cut himself with a knife you recognized. that’s why you didn’t bat an eye, but you failed to remember that that particular knife of sam’s isn’t made of silver, just a weaker and ineffective metal alloy.

before you can process it, that exact knife is being plunged into your gut. you let out a strangled cry of pain.

sam, the real sam, shouts your name again and you think you hear his running footsteps until he stops dead in his tracks when the shifter yanks the knife from your stomach and puts it to your throat. you cry out again, choking a little on your own breath as you stretch your neck, trying to see your sam.

but the shifter presses the knife down, drawing a line of blood on your neck and growls, “look at me. you’re going to watch your precious little sammy as he slices your throat.”

you can imagine sam putting his hands in the air, mouth open and ready to talk the shifter out of it when you hear two loud gunshots, and you’re dropped to the floor, too shaken up to break your own fall. your head hits the ground hard, and the next thing you can register is sam again. you get his voice and his hands, one sliding under your neck to cup the back of your head and the other pressing hard against your wound. he winces when you grunt in pain at that, but keeps his hand in place.

“hey, hey. stay with me. look at me, c’mon.” his words are followed by your name, said in a sweet and desperate sort of way. you’re still dazed, but your head begins to clear up a bit. above you, sam’s face is pinched in worry, so much more worry than you’d expect him to express because of something as easily fixed as a measly stab wound.

it’s not completely inconsequential and it’s bleeding a whole lot more than you’d like, but you’ve dealt with this sort of thing and worse before. sam will stitch you up and you’ll be as good as new in a few days. even better, cas might come around soon and he’ll fix it right up for you.

“‘m fine, sam,” you grumble as dean drops down by your other side.

“shifter’s dead. we should go,” he says, more to sam than you since he’s clearly the most worried out of you all. dean places his hands on your arm, ready to help you up, but sam just pulls you into his arms and up against his chest. he stands and you wince from the pain of the movement, but relax a little seconds later. you expected to limp out of this nasty place, one arm slung around each of the boys as they do the heavy lifting but keep you on your feet. it seems sam won’t risk even that; he needs you closer, more protected, and in less pain.

dean leads the way to an exit, climbing up the ladder first and opening the heavy grate. only when you urge him to does sam let you down. he knows that he can’t carry you up, but he sure would have liked to. instead, he has to settle for lifting you as best as he can, his strong hands never straying from you until they’re on your ankles and dean’s got you, pulling you up the rest of the way and letting you lean on him until sam reappears.

the fresh air is amazing to breathe in and to feel on your skin, but what you’d most like is to be laying in bed after a long, hot shower. and to not be in quite as much pain. you sigh into dean’s jacket, and just a second later he’s shifting you back into sam’s waiting arms. he doesn’t sweep you up this time, but he keeps you steady while dean jogs off to get the impala and bring it to you. with strong hands, sam eases you to the curb on the side of the road and wraps his arms around you, keeping a wide palm pressed against your wound to staunch the bleeding.

as you wait, sam is silent, and not in the soft and comfortable way he often is around you. you’re sure that he’s got a million things to say, not all of them 100% fair to you and all of them completely worried.

and there’s just so much to say that he can’t choose, and he thinks that, for your sake, he should hold back. sam knows he can get a little too angry sometimes, and you’re bleeding badly with your face smushed unattractively against his shoulder and he knows that this isn’t the time. he shouldn’t yet interrogate you about what happened or tell you aloud that he’s overly worried about you because suddenly he’s feeling things for you that he didn’t realize he was feeling before.

you let him brood in silence, and though this is just about the closest physically that you’ve been with him today, he feels sort of distant and unreachable. it pains you.

when dean arrives, sam loads you into the car, piling into the back seat after you to give you a shoulder to lean on. you can feel dean’s eyes on you as he glances back through the rearview mirror, and you’re sure that he too wants to ask what happened, how the shifter managed to trick you despite the rules you’d set.

“dean, we should head to the hospital,” sam says, his voice cutting into the tense silence of the car. you shake your head weakly.

“no, sam. i’m fine, seriously.”

“no,” he counters, “you’re bleeding a lot. we’re going to the hospital to get you some real stitches.

“your stitches work just fine,” you argue, your words half lost in the fabric of his coat.

“and what if you need more than just stitches? we can’t risk that,” he presses, and you know he’s not going to give up.

“sammy’s right,” dean piles on, and you sigh, then wince in pain. you don’t even grumble out an annoyed, “fine,” and instead just like the silence take over again as a begrudging relentment.

When all the doctors do is give you a few stitches and an iv and let you out just an hour later, you resist the urge to say “i told you so.” but really, you’re glad for the professional help, knowing that, though you still feel like shit, you’re far better off than you would’ve been if you’d gone straight back to the motel. the car ride is quiet, but you know that you’re due for a bit of an interrogation when you get back.

tonight, dean starts it, because sam is practically brooding in the corner.

“so, you gonna let us in on what the hell you were thinking back there?” he asks, sounding ready to just about throw his hands up in the air. “did you really not follow the single rule we set? it almost got you killed.”

“i know, and i did,” you sigh, “but it tricked me. it had one of sam’s knives and it cut itself and i wasn’t paying enough attention to realize it wasn’t one of sam’s silver knives. it was a damn good actor too,” you explain. dean clenches his jaw, probably looking for some other point to make. these winchesters never know when to stop arguing. “we’ve all been tricked by shifters before. it happens, i messed up, you saved my ass. that’s all.”

you guess dean’s not in as much of a fighting mood as you thought, because he just shrugs. “you’re damn right about the ass saving part.”

you crack a wry smile, “guess it’s my turn to save your ass then.”

“only thing i need saving from now is that sewer stench. so i will call first dibs on the shower.” he leaves no room for argument on that front as he disappears into the bathroom. only then do you glance at sam, wondering if he’ll say something. his expression has got so many emotions swirling around that it’s almost unreadable. but you’re you, and you know him and love him in a way that nobody else does, so you can decipher it all pretty well. there’s anger, like always, probably targeted at the shifter and a bit misplaced in you for getting yourself hurt. then there’s guilt, because, in classic sam fashion, he likely thinks that it’s his fault.

you’d put the pieces together a bit ago in the hospital. the red marks above sam’s eyebrow and around his wrists and the shifter having sam’s knife and appearance tells you that the shifter got the jump on sam. it probably hit him over the head, tied him up, and stole his knife after stealing his appearance and accessing his memories. and though you can know that it’s clearly not sam’s fault the shifter got to you, he’ll still think so.

he’s thinking that because the shifter got the drop on him, you got hurt. he’s thinking about how trusting you were because it looked like him, about the position he found you in, and though he couldn’t see it, he knows the look you were giving his lookalike. he’s sure that it was that syrup-sweet, honey-dripping-from-your-eyes look that he’s been all too aware of and all too fond of these days. and because of that, it must be his fault.

on top of that, he feels like he was the one to do it. you got hurt by something with his face. you were almost killed and the last thing you would have seen would have been a cold, dark smirk on his face as he killed you. that thought pained him more than anything he could express.

you, of course, don’t yet understand the full depth of his guilt, but it bothers you anyways. you wish that sam could stop blaming himself for everything bad that’s ever happened when all he’s ever done is try to be good. while in the midst of wondering if you should speak first, interrupt his self-destructive thoughts and tell him it’s not his fault, he beats you to it.

“you should’ve been more careful.” his voice is unexpectedly hard and cold, devoid of his usual guilt and gentleness. tonight, he’s more focused on his anger. and of course, you know it’s because of that guilt that he lashes out, but it hurts nonetheless. even so, you want to soften him and get him to open up, so you apply the opposite tactic as him.

when you speak, you let your voice be full of emotion, of sincerity and gentleness and understanding. “i know, sam. i’ll pay more attention next time, i promise. but i’m okay.”

this catches him off guard a bit. normally, when he targets misplaced anger at you, you fire back and tell him how stupid it is that he’s trying to blame you. he already knows it’s stupid, and your soft eyes make him even more guilty. it’s not as if he’s being just as silly this time, but your approach works, a little.

sam does soften a bit; you can see the slight change in the way that he holds his shoulders, but it’s not enough to get him to admit that he’s just worried and blaming himself. all you get is pursed lips and a tight brow. he just can’t get over the image of himself plunging a knife into you, can’t get over your cry of pain or the feel of your hot and sticky blood seeping through the cracks of his fingers.

sam’s realizing that, for all the countless times you’ve come close to death, this is the first time since he’s started to think that he’s most likely in love with you. and that, more than anything else in the world, not the literal devil or the apocalypse or whatever, is the scariest thing that sam’s had to realize and endure in a long time.

now, sam can’t run from being lucifer’s vessel. even if he never gives in, he has to confront it and fix it somehow. he certainly can’t run from the apocalypse, or the world will end. he can’t have that, not when the world is you. it’s his responsibility. sam can’t run from those things, but he sure as hell can run from the way he feels about you. and he’d do that because he can’t afford to be in love with you. you can’t afford for him to be in love with you or for you to be in love with him because it seems like that’s already gotten you stabbed by a hand that looks just like his own. and all that’s happened between the two of you is playful flirting, sidelong glances, and shared smiles, so he can’t imagine what might happen if things go an inch further than they already have.

he got jess killed, he hurt you bad with ruby, and though sarah’s still alive as far as he knows, he attributes that to the fact that she’s far, far away from him. not to mention the people he loved like family who are dead because of him too. that’s another horrifying thought because even if sam didn’t love you the way that he does, he’d surely still love you some other way.

so, sam’s going to run, sam’s not going to let you any closer, sam is going to keep you at an arm’s length. he’ll stop looking at you like he wants you, he’ll stop hovering so near, he’ll quit his goal of making you smile or laugh at least three times a day, and he’ll do everything he can to make sure you don’t love him too much. he can’t let you tell him you love him, he can’t let you confess because he’ll be too far gone if he hears that come out of your mouth. he’s gonna run because he’s decided with horror and glory all at once that yes, he does love you, and that’s the worst thing he could do to you other than slit your throat with his own two shaking hands.

from where you sit, just feet apart, you can see sam grow more and more distant by the second. you can’t figure out what’s going through his head, but you’re sure you wouldn’t like it if you heard him say it aloud. you open your mouth to say something to him, get him to say something back, but you can’t find the words. anything you come up with gets stuck in the back of your throat before you can even make a sound.

sam looks at you, just for a fleeting moment that’s too fast and slippery for you to grab hold of it. his eyes hold regret, like he’s done something that he can’t take back, and he doesn’t like what he’ll have to do next in order to keep the consequences at bay.

then his eyes are gone from yours, along with that strange look, and you’re suddenly at a loss of how to reach out to him. it hurts because you know that what it will really take is time and patience, maybe more than he deserves.

you barely notice the time passing, but you watch sam take dean’s place in the bathroom and you can feel dean’s eyes on your back. you’re sure he can feel the shift in the air. when sam returns from the shower, you realize just how badly you want to get clean. you walk to the bathroom and feel a little lucky when you find a small plastic tub to fill with soapy water. you can’t take a real shower for the sake of keeping your stitches dry, but you’ll be damned if you can’t get that sewer stench off of yourself. when you bend to place the tub at the bottom of the bathtub, you grunt audibly in pain due to the movement. you sort of expect sam to come running to help like he always does, already surprised that he didn’t offer from the start when you told the boys you were going to wash up.

apparently, dean had expected the same; while he’s more than happy to be the one to help you, sam almost always beats him to that sort of thing before he can even try. you glance through the open door and see dean looking from you to sam, back to you before he stands from his bed in a rush.

“hey, hey, whatcha doin’ all that by yourself for? can’t have you busting any stitches, we paid for those,” he jokes, already in the bathroom with you by the time he’s finishes talking.

“pfft, yeah with stolen credit cards,” you retort, without actually resisting his aid. he takes your place by the faucet, nudging the bucket under it and turning on the hot water. you’re lucky that the shower doubles as a small bath, meaning you can easily sit in it alongside the bucket and just wipe yourself down without getting the floor wet.

you sit on the closed toilet seat as dean fills up the bucket, adds some soap, and mixes it around a little.

“want me to help you in?” he offers.

“mm, are you trying to see me naked?” you poke fun.

“and if i said yes?” he jokes back.

“then you’d never see the light of day again,” you threaten, already moving to slide off your jeans, with a bit of a struggle. dean’s strong hand immediately finds your elbow, holding you steady. you’re not worried about either brother seeing you in just your underwear. with the life you live, stuck in motels, or getting hurt in less than ideal spots, they’ve seen you that way plenty. and while dean can’t hold back from a lewd comment or two, he completely respects you and views you like another sibling. he helps you with your shirt too, as lifting your arms up proves even more painful than you’d thought.

dean kindly sets a folded towel down on the bottom of the shower bed for you to sit more comfortably, then helps you ease in. then he’s grabbing two clean wash rags, dunking one in the water and handing the other to you.

“try and keep those stitches as dry as you can,” he instructs, and you oblige by placing the dry rag over your covered wound. “we’ll change the bandages when you’re done.”

“mhmm,” you nod, “thank you, dean.”

“‘course, kid. you want me to get your back? or i can send sammy in to help instead,” he offers, saying that last part loud enough for sam to hear. you glance out the open bathroom door only to catch sight of sam’s back as he heads for the outside door. he moves out of your line of sight, but you can hear the door being open and shut behind him. you sigh in disappointment and a bit of hurt. dean curses lightly under his breath and you suddenly feel awkward and ashamed for no practical reason. but dean knows that sam isn’t being as good to you as he should, so he’s being extra nice instead.

“if you– if you could do it that would be nice. thanks,” you frown, then try to fix it with a strained smile. when dean is done, he hands the damp cloth to you, and you thank him again quietly.

“just holler if you need anything else,” he reminds you before walking out, leaving the door open by just a sliver.

you carefully wipe down the rest of your body, relishing in the heat of the water and the feeling of being just a little cleaner. you’re slow about it, letting yourself savor the alone time and telling yourself that you won’t worry about the events of the day until tomorrow. during the time that you clean yourself, you hear the outside door open and close twice more, and you assume sam’s come back and left again. by the time you’re done with the soapy water, it’s gone lukewarm, but you’re successfully feeling much more relaxed.

“dean!” you call out, hoping he’ll come and change the water for you so that you can get rid of any extra soap suds still lingering on your skin. there’s no reply for a long moment. “dean?” you call again. “can you help me again?”

without a word in response, you hear footsteps, then the creak of the bathroom door. instead of dean, you find sam poking his head into the room.

he clears his throat awkwardly. “dean left to get some more food. i can, uh– i can help.”

“oh, okay,” you smile at him a little, then feel sort of pathetic because of the hope that rises in your chest. you force your voice into nuetrality. “thanks, sam. i, uh, i just need to dump this out and get some new water. it’s just sort of heavy.”

“right, yeah. of course.” sam enters the room fully, filling up the small space with his tall, broad frame. when he gets close, you extend a hand, silently asking him to help you stand first, despite the fact that you could do it yourself with the help of the wall. but sam can’t very well deny you, so he obliges by grabbing your hand and placing the other around your bicep to hoist you up. his strong hands and arms pull you up easily, and help you back onto the tile floor. you feel the tickle of a rivulet of water run down your right leg, then a few more on your left. sam dutifully pulls the towel you were sitting on out and hands it to you before he dumps out the soapy water and turns on the faucet, checking the temperature before letting it splash into the bucket

you stand there in silence, watching him work, watching him keep his eyes averted from your almost naked form, watching him struggle with being so close to you.

“there,” he says simply when he’s done, grabbing the towel from you and placing it back on the bottom of the tub. once he’s eased you back down to sitting in the shower, he straightens and takes a step backwards towards the door. but he can’t just leave, not like that. “is there anything else you need?”

you think you’re allowed to be a little selfish sometimes, so you say yes. “uh, yeah. could you, uhm, could you just wipe down my back? i can’t tell if there’s still soap on it.” sam almost tells you that there isn’t and just walks away, but he caves to you and the look in your eyes.

he looks like he’s not sure if he wants to stiffen and close himself off and do it in silence, or soften and open himself up to being gentle with you. it seems he’s unable to treat you too coldly, no matter what sort of fear or silent commitments to staying clear of you he’s made.

“‘f course,” he agrees after a moment, getting down on his knees, pressed right up against the wall of the bathtub as he takes the wet rag from you and dips into the newly hot water. he keeps his eyes trained on the skin of your back, and you keep yours to the plain white surface of the tile wall in front of you. his hand is as gentle, warm, and encompassing as you know it to be. of course, he’s trying not to touch you directly, keeping most of his hand covered by up the cloth. but the motel rag isn’t a generous size, and his hands are, so the base of his palm or the pads of his fingertips keep brushing against your cool skin. he’s hot in comparison to you, as per usual.

the task doesn’t have to take long at all, but sam must be having trouble parting from you now that he’s back and so, so close. so, he takes the rag across the whole expanse of your back more than once, applying a gentle pressure that soothes and relaxes your still tense muscles. only once he’s heard a sigh of satisfaction leave your lips does he bring his hand away from you.

there’s a few more moments of quiet, only punctuated by the sounds of lightly sloshing water as he dips the rag back into the water, then squeezes it out so that it’s not too soaked for your next use. he hands it to you and asks, “anything else?” without getting up or even glancing at the door like he wants to escape. he lets himself look at your face for a moment, before tearing his gaze away once more.

you shake your head lightly. “that’s all. thanks.”

“mhmm,” he nods, “tell me if you need me.” that’s not how he meant to say things, but it’s how it came out anyways. and oh how you wish to tell him, i need you. he wants to hear you say it too, until he remembers himself and the fact that he’d cave if he did. and he can’t cave, not ever, not even if you told him that you need him. these days he feels like he needs you.

“okay.” you wait for him to leave before you put your attention back on yourself. when he closes the door behind himself, you heave out a deep sigh, then yawn, suddenly hit with a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. you make quick work of wiping off the rest of your body and brace yourself on the wall to stand. you’re not sure you can bear being stuck with sam in such close proximity again tonight, so you dress yourself with just a bit of trouble and leave the tub of water alone for one of the boys to take care of tomorrow.

when you leave the bathroom, dean’s still gone and sam’s laying on his bed. you almost tear up at the sight of him, tucked tightly into one half of the space and his back so purposefully facing your side of the bed. upset with this small cruelty, you climb into dean’s bed instead and fall asleep on your back before you can even change your bandages.

—

last night you caught sam reaching for your hand. he was motioning with the hand further from you, distracted as he complained about something dean said earlier. you glanced down for no particular reason and a movement caught your eye. his unoccupied hand had drifted closer to you, reaching out seemingly on instinct, as if walking next to you should mean holding hands with you. quickly, you looked away, and you never felt his hand even brush past yours. but you heard the rustle of his jacket as he moved, the pause in his words, and the shift in tone when he finally continued to speak. you don’t think he knows that you noticed.

and the day before that, he gave you this dazzling smile and didn’t even think twice about it. sometimes he’ll smile at you wide, and the pretty look on his face will be ripped away as if he’s had some horrible realization that smiling at you is somehow a sin. but this last time, the smile faded naturally, untouched by the overbearing hesitancy he seems to have kept clutched in his hands for the past few weeks since that night with the shapeshifter.

there’s this constant push and pull coming from him that you can’t quite wrap your head or heart around. many days, he’s distant and that’s it. all you get is talk of cases or how to stop the goddamn apolcalypse. other days he’s able to be decently normal; he’ll joke and chat a little and you’ll get a glimpse of your sam. and some days he just can’t stay away, like there’s this tug pulling him to you that’s too strong to resist. it calls his hand towards yours, his eyes all over your face, and his body to stand right by you. those days he can’t cover up any sort of longing gaze and he’s stuck staring right at you and missing you more than he ever imagined he’d have to.

you suppose you prefer the in between days, because they’re the closest to the sam that you’ve had by your side for so long. they’re closest to the sam that’s your best friend, the sam who didn’t know he loved you yet. those are the days you can most easily pretend that something isn’t wildly off about you and him, because dealing with unrequited love has sort of become your norm. and while the days he can’t hide that he feels more for you are a desirable confirmation that there’s some part of him that can’t resist you, they’re also a painful reminder that it’s not quite enough to keep him from distancing himself.

and lord, it just hurts so much when one of those sweet days turns sour. you’ll feel at ease, hopeful and glad for the day's luck, when suddenly the good day has turned too good or one of you has laughed too sweet and loud because of the other. at that, sam will instantly pull away as if it’s dangerous to be happy together. you can see his eyes change from content because of you to tortured because of you and all you want to do is take him by the shoulders and shake him hard. then mostly likely kiss him hard too, if you can get him to come to his senses.

of course, there’s that never ending love. you really don’t think you could stop loving him if you tried with all of your might. but there’s certainly anger. each day that passes by, you become angrier and angrier with him, so frustrated with him and his stupid decisions. with too much time to think about him and his odd behavior, you feel nearly sure that he’s just plain old afraid. of losing you or hurting you or some other classic, stupid reason and frankly, it’s completely unromantic. it’s making you feel like you’re losing your mind.

so when sam takes today, a half-normal day where you don’t feel the weight of his hesitance bearing down on you, and he snatches that away with a simple, closed-off expression, you feel far too fed up to just let it go.

dean’s off at some bar and though his support in your argument might help—because you’re almost positive that dean is on your side and is getting nearly as frustrated as you—you need to confront sam alone first.

you let silence reign in the motel room until sam’s done showering and about to settle into doing a bit of extra research before heading to bed.

“sam,” you start, already cursing to yourself when he looks at you without any of his usual eagerness to hear you talk. you’re sure he can already tell that you’re displeased from the way you said his name. “we have to talk.”

his jaw clenches and he glances down at the closed laptop in front of him. he contemplates how to answer for a moment. “i should really check for any signs of lucifer. we haven’t gotten anything new in weeks, we’re bound to catch wind of something soon.”

your anger flares, but you tamp it down in favor of keeping this conversation as civil as possible. an angry you plus an angry sam never ends well, and you’re determined to make yourself heard before either of you walk away in frustration.

“no, sam. don’t ignore me. i know that you checked during lunch today, so it can wait until tomorrow,” you counter.

“this is important, you know that.” his voice is so flat and emotionless and stubborn and so unlike him that it hurts.

“it is,” you agree, “but you already checked today, so i’m asking you not to make excuses and listen to me, sam. it’s not that hard.” you bite your tongue, almost wishing you hadn’t made that last biting comment because you know it’ll just antagonize him. but you also know that your anger is warranted.

you can see sam realizing he can’t get out of this conversation in the way that he purses his lips in frustration.

“i– y’know, i’ve really tried to give you time.” you don’t wait for him to really look at you to start. “we all need time sometimes, but it’s not fixing anything. you’re not… you’re not trying to fix anything, it feels like.”

he won’t even look at you when he talks. “what do you want me to fix?”

“the way you’re treating me!” you say, indignant and raising your voice a little, unable to hold back. “you– i don’t know, you’re acting so strange! like– like one second you’re normal. normal sam, my best friend sam. and then you act like you don’t want me around. like you’d rather be stuck in the car and motel rooms with anyone else in the world but me.” only once you start talking do you realize just how much you have to say. it’s not just stop acting this way, or let’s talk about it, it’s so much more. so much that you need him to hear and to understand.

your voice quiets again. “you know, once, you told me that i was a god-send. that, that you can put up with all this shit because we get to do it together. it’s always been you and me! of course, it’s always been you and dean, but sam! we’re best friends,” you say it more like a plea than a statement. “you used to say that. then it got to the point where it felt like we didn’t even have to say anything at all. we just were. it used to feel like you’d do anything for me, just like i’d do for you. i never even questioned that, not once until ruby came along. even then, i knew it wasn’t you. not an excuse, but i knew, once she was gone, you’d figure it out again. just like always. we always figure it out. so why, why for the love of god are you not even trying?” your own words hit you like a wall of bricks. when things happen, when things go wrong, or you don’t understand something, you’ve always figured it out together. what you’re supposed to do is voice your concerns to the other and usually without saying the words, ask for help. this time, sam won’t share the burden with you, won’t attempt to figure it out with you even when it so clearly involves you.

sam opens his mouth to speak, and at least he’s looking at you now, but you won’t let him say a word yet. he’ll shut you down, and you can’t have that.

“why do i suddenly feel so stuck? i feel like there’s nothing i can do, like you’re slipping away, right through my fingertips! and that’s just the strangest feeling when, for the longest time, i was convinced that you’d be the one constant in my life. i really, really thought that way, sam. and i get that i’m biased and blinded by my own feelings, i just never imagined that you’d do anything like this, pull away so suddenly and quickly and adamantly like it’s your life’s mission to put a bulletproof wall in between us. so, i guess at the very least, i’d like a bit of an explanation as to why you don’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

your question hangs in the air, heavier and more smothering than a water-soaked wool blanket. you suppose you could keep talking; you’re not anywhere near out of things to say, but you need him to respond. he’s the one letting the silence take over, not you. he takes a deep breath, like he’s known he’d have to explain eventually, but would never be the one to willingly bring it up.

he answers plainly, almost honest. “it’s safer this way. it’s dangerous for you to be close to me.” you want to scream because you were right. you would’ve loved to have been wrong, for him to have magically had some good reason for all this. but in the end, it has come down to the evils of the world pressing down on a good man and that good man caving to believe what the evils tell him he is. you want to scream because sam is wrong. being close to him feels like saving grace.

he’s not cursed, he’s not the cause of all the pain and death that rains down on the people he loves. and what about him? what about all the pain and death that rains upon him? where does he get reprieve, an apology for being singled out and tossed through all of these horrors by unexplainable forces? why can’t he blame god? why can’t he see that it’s not his fault?

“that’s not true,” you beg, “and it’s not an excuse to treat me like shit.” he looks away, a physical manifestation of the fact that he doesn’t want to admit that you’re right about at least that.

“i’m not trying to… to hurt you.” sam face just falls. he looks devastated. he wasn’t trying to hurt you, in fact, he was trying to do just the opposite, but it happened anyway. “see?” he pleads, desperate for you to understand, “no matter what i do, being around me is hurting you. i can’t keep putting people through that.”

“so what? you’re gonna pretend to hate dean too?” you counter.

sam looks hurt. “i wasn’t pretending to hate you. i’d never even pretend to feel that way about you, i–” he stops himself before he can say the words and clears his throat, not trying to be subtle when he changes the subject. “dean’s different. he’s involved in all this shit too. he doesn’t have a choice but to be around me, but you? you could be safe somewhere else.”

“and you think i want that? you think i’d make the choice to leave you, just to be a little safer?” you want to keep going, but he interrupts you.

“no, that’s exactly it. you’d never leave us, and i know that. but if– if we stay at a distance, you might be safer.” he’s doing everything he can not to make it sound like he wants you to go. he just can’t explain that the issue is that he loves you, that he thinks the solution is to stop loving each other.

“that’s bullshit,” you shake your head. “sam, i know that you think you’re cursed or some shit like that, but it’s not true. none of this is your fault.”

��how? how is it not my fault? the people i love die because of me, and no other reason. how is that not my fault?” he argues, desperately believing himself.

“because you’re not the one who killed them! you didn’t make that choice. those things happened to you too, sam. how much grief and loss have you had to go through because of things you couldn’t control? it was never your fault, sam.”

“and yet, if they weren’t around me, they never would have died. it doesn’t matter what choices i made, it was the simple act of being close to me that’s gotten so many people killed. and i can’t lose you, too. i just can’t and it’s just too possible that it’ll be because of me. i can’t live with that. i can’t let you get hurt.” this is the most raw his voice has been in weeks, months maybe even. you can see just how completely, irrationally terrified he is that he’ll get you killed and you’re starting to think that he’s too far gone for you to reel back to reality, to hope and perseverance and closeness. but you can’t seem to give up, still full of things to say.

“that’s not how this works!” you refute. “this is my life, it’s your life, our life. and whether or not i’m around you or close to you, i’ll still get hurt! it’s not like i’m just going to quit hunting so you don’t have to worry. so sam, you could hurt me on purpose; pull away, refuse me when you have to know damn well how i feel about you. it’s not like i’ve ever really been that subtle, you were just never looking for it until now. or– or you could do your best and if i get hurt, it's an accident, right?” you practically beg for him to agree, for him to see that treating you this way is so much worse than anything else that could happen to you because of him.

he curses under his breath. you’re getting so close to saying the sort of words that will make his resolve snap, one way or another. he says nothing and you’re still waiting for him to understand you. so, you hit him with something even more solid and irrevocable than your logic: your love.

“you can’t seriously think that i’m going to just let things go on like this, can you? is this really your plan? to pretend we don’t care about each other? to throw over a decade of friendship out the window because you think somehow it’ll keep me safe?” you make sure that he’s looking you straight in the eyes as you continue, voice thick with emotion, “sam, there’s nothing, nothing that could keep me from loving you. i’ve loved you since you were seventeen, at least. i was watching you study, realizing that you really were gonna go to college. damn, i was so happy for you and i was ready to do anything to help you get there. then i started thinking about how much i was gonna miss you. wondering if maybe i could get away too. if we could get away together. the next week my dad dragged me away on another hunt and i didn’t see you for a year. we saw each other nearly right before you left and i considered asking if i could run away with you. but i didn’t want you to have to drag any remnants of the life with you, and i was exactly that. i wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway.

“and you know, the saying that absence makes the heart go fonder, it’s not psychologically true. the more time you spend with someone, the more you get to love them. but i really felt like it was sort of true because i missed you so bad that it made me love you all the more. i tried to talk dean out of asking you to come back to look for your dad, but when i saw you again i gave up on that. i didn’t care that you had had jess or that you liked madison or sarah, and sure, ruby hurt a little more than them, but no matter what, i just liked being close to you. when i saw you again, i swore i couldn’t look away. and i was content loving you through looks and longing and letting you be.

“but sam,” your voice cracks as you say his name and you try to swallow your tears, “this is just cruel. there’s not even anyone else, but you feel so much farther than you’ve ever been. you’d really refuse me after you dare to give me hope that you might actually love me back? i spend far too much time looking at you to miss the way you look at me. and i love listening to your voice so much that i could never miss the way your voice has changed when you talk to me as of late. you gave me hope for just a few weeks, and now you’re asking me to– to what?” you shake your head, not even sure what he’s trying to change or fix and how.

“you want me to let you go? and what, that’s it? do you want me to stick around but pretend i don’t love you? or– or do you want me to just stop loving you and you think that’ll somehow fix things? because that sure as hell isn’t possible,” you look at him so carefully, so deeply as you search for an answer in his eyes. “or do you just want me to go?”

you didn’t mean that question, but sam truly considers it. at first you desperately wish that you could take it back. you don’t want to go, you don’t think you can be apart from him like that.

but he goes and does the worst thing that he could and he tells you, “yes. you should go.” he can’t even look you in the eye when he says it and you know that you with certainty that you can’t stay. you can’t do that to yourself, to your pride, to your peace of mind. because with those four words he’s told you that he loves you, but not enough to try.

or too much, perhaps. he loves you too much to try, because it’s him who will really be worse off if something he does gets you killed. sure, you’d be dead, but sam… sam would be alive and stuck with far too much guilt and loneliness and loss and greif to deal with. but if you go, then sam can’t be responsible for you. he can’t curse you with his love that way, so sam may want you closer to him than he’s ever wanted anybody, but he wants even more for you to go.

you want to say something awful back. i hate you crosses your mind, but it’s so far from the truth that you couldn’t even say it out loud. if you did, it would still mean i love you.

you’re horrible, sam, is the next thing that falls into your mouth, but you clamp your jaw shut before those words can fall out. you don’t swallow though, you let the words sit on your tongue and you taste them and consider them. because in a way, they’re true. sam’s being horrible to you. but you’re naive, and, oh right, hopelessly in love with him, which means you want to spare him. it means that you don’t want to convince him further that he can never be good enough for you, because he is. he is when he isn’t being like this, and if he can figure it out, maybe he’ll beg on bended knee for you to come back, say he’ll do anything to make it up to you, tell you he still loves you so much and he can’t be apart from you if you’ll let him come close again.

but you’re so fucking angry at him. you’re almost blinded with love, but not quite because you already know that those hopes of yours are ridiculous moments after you think of them. he’s burned any possibility of you and him to the ground. you know this and you know that he knows it too. you hope it haunts him forever and you don’t care if that’s cruel.

“go ahead, sam,” you laugh humorlessly, bitterly. the sound makes him look up from the guilty hole he’s burning into the table top with his eyes. “add me to your list of ghosts before i’m even dead, and know, without a doubt, that this time it really was you who did it. you lit the match, sam. you pulled the trigger.” he looks at you, dumbfounded as if he finally understands what you’ve been trying to say this whole time but knows that he’s gone too far. once a trigger’s been pulled, it can’t be undone and he knows that. that knowledge is a sort of pain that rings in his ears and swirls violently in his stomach.

you grab your coat from the hanger on the wall beside you.

“wait,” he chokes out, tears shining in his eyes. you shoot him a harsh look and he shuts his mouth. he doesn’t get to say that word.

“i’ll call if i figure out how to stop the fucking apocalypse. otherwise, tell dean not to call, ‘cause i’m not coming back.” you grab your bag from the floor by the bed and walk past him to take all the cash from his wallet. you feel his eyes follow you until you reach the door.

hand on the door knob, you turn back to him and you stare him square in the eye to be sure he can see your tears, to show him he made you cry. you won’t tell him he’s horrible, so you’ll settle for a simple, “you’re wrong, sam. you’re wrong about this.”

then you walk out the door, cursing yourself for hating the sound of him crying more than anything in the world.

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anniebeemine · 1 month

Text

too drunk to drive- s.r. x reader

based off of my favorite hey, nothing song

warnings: alcohol consumption, reader and Spencer are disgustingly in love, like get a room fr

Laughter and music filled the air, glasses clinked in cheers, and the warm light of the bar cast a golden glow over everyone. Despite your usual preference to avoid noisy parties, you had decided to join in the festivities. After all, this was a special occasion, and you weren’t about to miss it.

You sat at a high-top table with the rest of the team, your chair pulled close to Spencer’s. The two of you had been inseparable since the moment you met, your friendship deepening over time into something that others often speculated was more than just platonic. But whenever anyone asked, you both laughed it off and insisted that you were just friends. And you believed it—most of the time.

The bar was crowded, with people scattered around in groups, nursing beers and sharing stories. You, however, had never acquired a taste for beer, so instead, you were doing shots with a few of the others. It started with a toast, then another, and before you knew it, you were a few shots deep and feeling the pleasant buzz of alcohol warming your veins.

Spencer, who was more of a wine and cocktail person, was two drinks behind you. He wasn’t a big drinker, but he was enjoying himself, his usual reserve melting away as he laughed and talked with you. The noise and chaos of the bar seemed to fade into the background, leaving the two of you in your own little world.

You leaned closer to him, your elbows resting on the table, and nudged him with a playful grin. “You’re falling behind, genius. At this rate, you’re going to have to carry me out of here.”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you always found endearing. “I think I’m okay with that. Someone has to make sure you don’t try to start an impromptu dance-off again. You were limping for weeks.”

“Hey, I’m an excellent dancer,” you shot back, laughing. “Besides, I learned my lesson. You, on the other hand…”

“I’m a perfectly adequate dancer,” he defended, lifting his glass in mock seriousness.

“Adequate,” you repeated, shaking your head. “Maybe after another drink or two, you’ll be brave enough to show me.”

“Only if you promise not to judge too harshly,” Spencer teased, his smile widening.

The playful banter flowed easily between you, the kind that came from knowing each other so well. It was like the rest of the bar didn’t exist; all that mattered was the conversation, the laughter, the way you felt completely at ease in each other’s presence. Despite the room full of people, you were entirely focused on each other, lost in your own little world.

At some point, someone at the table raised another toast, and you both joined in, clinking your glasses together with a shared smile. As you drank, you couldn’t help but notice the way Spencer’s gaze lingered on you, a warmth in his eyes that matched the one in your chest.

“You’re so pretty,” he said softly, barely audible of the cheers as two men arm wrestled at another table.

The soft confession caught you off guard, especially in the middle of the lively bar, with the clamor of cheers and arm wrestling happening nearby. Spencer’s words, barely audible over the noise, sent a warm rush to your cheeks. You blushed deeply, feeling your heart skip a beat. Without thinking, you placed your hand over his.

Spencer’s face flushed almost immediately, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t quite intended to say that out loud. He glanced down at your hand covering his, then back up to meet your gaze, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something more. But the words didn’t come out.

The moment lingered, sounds fading as you kept contact. Your eyes locked and you fought everything in your body to lean over and kiss him. Penelope’s hand landed on your shoulder, calling you away for another shot.

Eventually, you both realized how late it had gotten, the noise around you growing more chaotic as the night wore on. With a shared look and a mutual understanding, you decided it was time to tap out. You both stood, a bit unsteady on your feet, and started making your way toward the door.

Outside, the cool night air hit you, a welcome relief from the warmth of the bar. You stumbled slightly as you walked, laughing at yourself, and Spencer was right there beside you, steadying you with a gentle hand on your arm. “I’m definitely far too drunk to drive,” you joked, your words slurring just a little.

Spencer chuckled, his own steps a bit wobbly as he tried to walk in a straight line. “I’m also out,” he admitted, giggling at the realization. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

You laughed, the sound echoing down the quiet street. “We really are.”

Your apartment was just a few blocks away, and you both decided to walk it off, enjoying the cool night air as it cleared your heads a little. The city was quiet at this hour, the streets nearly empty, the distant hum of traffic the only sound besides your own voices.

As you walked, the conversation came easily, as it always did between the two of you. You joked about the night, about how ridiculous the arm wrestling contest had been, and about how you’d never seen Spencer drink so much before. Each laugh seemed to bring you closer, your shoulders brushing occasionally as you walked side by side.

When you finally reached your apartment building, you stopped in front of the entrance, both of you swaying slightly on your feet. Spencer looked at you with that same soft gaze from earlier, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you again. Spencer smiled tightly, breaking into a fit of laughter as he stared at you. You laughed with him, pulling him into a hug by his shirt. You wrapped your arms around him, nuzzling into his shoulder. He let his head fall into the crook of your neck.

The movement was natural, easy, as if you’d done it a thousand times before. Spencer didn’t hesitate, his arms wrapping around you in return, holding you close. The world around you faded even more.

Spencer’s gaze locked onto yours. The alcohol had stripped away the usual hesitations, leaving behind only honesty and the raw truth of what had been simmering between you for far too long.

He chuckled softly, the sound tinged with a mix of nervousness and affection, his eyes shining under the dim streetlights. “You know,” he began, his voice a little shaky but resolute, “I don’t want to spend another minute, another second without you.”

The words hung in the air between you, their meaning sinking in slowly, like a realization you had been avoiding for longer than you could remember. The vulnerability in his voice struck a chord deep within you, and you felt your breath catch in your throat, the weight of what he was saying hitting you all at once.

You giggled, the sound light but tinged with disbelief, trying to process that this was really happening. “Spence… are we really doing this?” you asked, your voice soft but filled with hope.

Spencer nodded, his cheeks flushed, whether from the alcohol or the emotion, you couldn’t tell. “I think we are,” he replied, his tone laced with a giddy sort of relief. “And honestly, I’ve wanted to say that for a while now… I just didn’t know how.”

You felt your heart swell at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. “I guess… I’ve been feeling the same way,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment. “I didn’t realize it until now, but… I don’t want to be without you either.”

Spencer’s face lit up with a smile that was equal parts joyful and incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You mean it?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his. “I do. I really do.”

There was a beat of silence as you both let the gravity of your admissions settle in. Then, almost simultaneously, you both burst into laughter, the sound bubbling up from the joy and relief of finally being honest with each other.

“This is crazy,” Spencer said between giggles, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always made your heart skip a beat. “We’ve been in love this whole time and didn’t even know it.”

“I know, right?” you replied, still laughing, the absurdity of the situation hitting you full force. “How did we miss that?”

Spencer shook his head, still smiling, his hand finding yours as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I don’t know,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But I’m really glad we figured it out.”

You squeezed his hand in return, your heart fluttering in your chest as you looked up at him, feeling more connected to him than ever before. “Me too, Spence. Me too.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reidx reader #spencer reid fluff #fanfic #spencer reid x you

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thehighladywrites · 8 months

Text

- “if it is so wrong, why does it feel so good?”

pairing: stalker/perv!azriel x reader, nesta, elain and feyre mentioned

summary: stalking and perving is azriel’s favorite activities. What happens when you finally drop the oblivious mask and confront him

warnings: dark content, stalking, perving (on literally everyone), breaking and entering, stealing panties, az having a darker side, getting turned on by your fear, az eating you out, reader being bold and hot as fuck omg,

amara’s note: okay this is very short bc it’s my first time writing a dark fic. Also i hope you like it and pls read the warnings.

Azriel knows he is some sort of sick freak. He knows he should resist his sinful glances at Feyre when she's cozied up on Rhysand's lap. He flexes a little extra just to spark Nesta's desires, fully aware of her fantasies. And as for Elain, well, let's just say he's playing a forbidden game of spying while she bends over to plant her greens.

Azriel's is extremely aware he shouldn't be harboring forbidden desires or indulging in the secret pleasure of stalking someone as seemingly innocent as yourself.

Azriel, the ultimate mastermind, keeps everyone guessing. Who would suspect the quiet, brooding and publicly respected spymaster to be a closeted perv and sick stalker? It's his most guarded secret hidden beneath the intimidating exterior.

Little does Azriel know, you're fully aware of his perverse behavior—his wandering eyes and spying shadows. It surprises you that no one has figured him out yet; after all, it seems quite apparent, doesn't it?

You don’t miss his lurking shadows following you around for hours. A regular fae would’ve missed it but not you. You’ve grown accustomed to him and his ways. You know him better than anyone else and you definitely know of his stalker tendencies.

Azriel believes he's smooth, avoiding outright ogling. Instead, he strategically glances at you during training with Cassian and while sharpening his weapons, subtly appreciating the way your body moves.

Pervert azriel walks up to you, complimenting your form, claiming while it’s good there’s something you need to fix. You don’t mind if he needs to grab your waist while fixing your pose right? And of course you’ll excuse him if he accidentally brushes against your boobs and ass. I mean he just wants to help you perfect your form!

He watches you walking through Velaris from the shadows, always hiding one of his shadows with you. He tells himself that he does it for your safety. Who knows, you might be attacked and he needs to be ready.

He absolutely doesn’t want to hear how much of a hypocrite he is for also stalking you in the safety of your home aswell.

Azriel steals your panties, silently breaking into your room as he looks through your drawers, skimming through the collection of panties. He promises himself it’s the last time, though he’s made the same pledge seven times before.

Azriel's stalking tendencies lead him to roam through your belongings, touching everything to become familiar with your world. He goes to your vanity, picking up your perfumes, and indulges in the forbidden pleasure of smelling the one thing he desires most—you.

Lying in your bed, his head on your pillow, he starts shifting in the sheets, inhaling more of your scent. He revels in the trespass and wrongness of being in your bed, knowing that you might catch a hint of his own scent lingering there, a twisted thought crossing his mind that it could confuse, frighten, or even arouse you.

His cock swells at the thought of you scared, heart beating fast, trying to place who the scent belongs to.

He looks around and finds one of your shirts on the bed and picks it up to his nose.

Then he does the one thing he swore he would never stoop to. He pulls out his already hard cock and strokes it while inhaling your scent from the shirt.

—

He has timed you and learned your schedule hence why he now knows that you’ll be in the shower for the next twenty minutes, giving him the perfect opportunity for his perverse activities. He’ll pick up the laciest most intricate pair, keeping it in his room as some sort of trophy with the other stuff he has taken from you. No one can enter into his room anyways, it’s safe…

Pervert Azriel looks through the little crack in your door as you stand there posing infront of a mirror while wearing pretty much nothing. A lacy little lingerie set as you touch your body, hands traveling all over your tits, waist, ass then up through your hair as you spin around, admiring yourself.

You know Azriel is standing at your door, he isn’t really all that subtle with his hand down his pants as he jerks off at the sight of you.

It’s almost enough to make your eyes roll back into the back of your head, fucking gods, he’s pathetic.

You wanted to fuck him for the longest time. He could just ask you to fuck and you’d say yes yet here he is thinking he’s slick as he pervs on you. Even with all that in mind, there’s a sick, twisted adrenaline rush spreading through your body at the thought of the esteemed and highly respected spymaster doing something so dark and wrong like this.

“I know you're there, Az. Come out,” you say, a wicked smile forming on your face as you plot to utterly humiliate him.

His entire body freezes and Azriel cautiously emerges from the shadows, realizing he's been caught. You maintain that mischievous grin, ready to unleash your plan. The air thickens with anticipation as the confrontation unfolds.

“Az?”

He looks like he’s about to jump out of the nearest window as he looks at you through the mirror.

“Yes?”

“Why are you such a disgusting little pervert? Here I am trying on some clothes and you’re just perving on me. How do you think that makes me feel? I mean I could be super afraid and you wouldn’t have any remorse? Who does something like that?”

Azriel's face heats up at the mocking question, flushing as he tries to respond.

“Az, I asked you a question,” you assert, walking over to him. His embarrassment is palpable as he apologizes, rambling about not knowing what came over him, begging you not to tell anyone.

You already know the answer, and a knowing smile plays on your lips as he seeks forgiveness.

“You’ve done a very bad thing, Azriel. Bad people deserve to be punished. You of all people understand that, right?”

Pushing him back onto one of the sofas in your room, you creep closer, leaning over to whisper. Looking down at him, you place your hand on his cheek, letting your nails dig in a little.

“I think you deserved to be punished.”

Azriel's heart raced, fearing exposure for his hidden activities. Was this it? Would you punish him by revealing his actions to everyone?

Before he could plead for forgiveness, you stood up, walking back to your bed and beckoning him over with two fingers.

As he approached, ready to sit, you extended your leg, placing your foot on his stomach, halting him in his tracks..

“Not so fast,” you assert, a wicked smile playing on your lips. “The bed is reserved for me. You can kneel on the floor.”

Azriel complies, gracefully sinking to his knees. His gaze meets yours, his beautiful eyes revealing a mixture of submission and desire.

“You’re going to eat my pussy. If you manage to make me cum, I won’t tell anyone about your disgusting behavior, understand?”

He couldn't believe what was unfolding. Was he really about to taste you? About to experience the fantasy he'd daydreamed about every single day? He nods, but a disapproving tsk follows.

“I need more than a nod, Azriel. Do you understand?”

A quick, “Yes, I understand,” escapes his lips.

You can't help but smile at the swiftness of his compliance.

“That’s good. Now, I’ll be taking off my bra and panties and they’re very expensive and new so they better not go missing.”

Azriel affirms his understanding and then proceeds to drool over the way you slowly strip infront of him before you spread your legs and tell him to start.

He grabs your thighs and pulls you closer to the edge as he dips his head down to run his tounge up and down your slit, tasting you before playing with your clit.

You gasp in pleasure, letting out moans as your hands find their way to his hair, urging him to keep going.

Azriel’s hands dig into your thighs that are currently smushing his head. He decides to let you continue, telling himself that if he dies like this, he'd go down as the happiest person in history.

“T-that’s it, right there.”

A breathy moan escapes your lips as you feel two of his fingers enter you. Your hands grab his dark soft hair as he started pumping his fingers, relishing at the way your soaking cunt is squelching and squeezing him.

You whimper at the way his thick fingers strecth you out then curl against that secret spot, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You start to slowly fuck yourself on them, eager for more of him.

“You taste even better than I imagined, fuck.”

His desperate voice only spurred you on.

It doesn’t take much longer for that feeling to build up in your stomach, the tight cord eventually snapping. You squeeze and throb around his fingers as you cum hard, letting out whines and mumbles.

Azriel helps you ride out your high, memorizing every facial expression in case this is the last time you ever let him this close again.

He pulls out his fingers and lick them clean then goes back and licks your pussy clean.

You let out a giggle at the sight before you, casting him a look of fake sympathy as you pull yourself together.

“Well, look at that. Seems like I’ll be keeping your secret after all. I mean, what a shame to loose such a good little pussy eater, right? I might just keep you around.”

You beckon him to rise, tossing your underwear onto the sofa before heading to the bathroom to clean up.

Glancing back at his flushed face and heavy breathing, you offer a secret smile.

“Who knows, next time I might even let you fuck me.”

Turning around, you leave him to his thoughts as the shower starts.

Azriel stands there for a moment, his desire evident. Unable to resist, he takes your panties and bra, always craving something of yours.

He promises to himself that he won't do it for an eighth time before hurrying back to his room, to finally help himself

🏷️ taglist: @stasiereads @clairebear08 @daycourtofficial @historiaxvanserra @rowaelinsdaughter @acourtofladydeath @acourtofwhatthefuck @redbleedingrose @danikamariewrites @readychilledwine @nocasdatsgay

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dystopyx-blog · 9 days

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Bro I think so hard about being in TWST without meds but specifically with Floyd. The way he just, doesn't care. You're tired? Awww how sad, he wants to play with his favorite shrimpy. You think he doesn't care at all until you hurt yourself and suddenly he's shackled to your side.

I just got like brain blasted by the SH post due to my own spiraling and like tjis idea alone has given me so much comfort

bro Floyd comfort…. I mean he is literally a comfort character for me, if it isn’t obvious lol. I’m really really glad I could give you some comfort! Genuinely, that gives ME comfort. Especially since my yandere twst posts are also meant to give me comfort, so the fact they do the same for others warms my heart.

It’s so surprising the first time Floyd comforts you. He approaches you, going “hey hey hey, what’s the matter with shrimpy? :(“ and you try to tell him it’s nothing. “Ain’t nothin’ if it got shrimpy sad. Tell me what’s wrong.” And to your surprise he sits and listens. And he’s a good listener, at least for you in that specific moment. He doesn’t interrupt, he doesn’t make fun of you, he sits there and hums to let you know he’s listening. You find yourself spilling everything to him, it’s surprisingly easy to. Maybe you shouldn’t have, maybe he’ll just use it all against you in the future, who fucking cares, this is what you need right now. For a second you wonder if this is actually Jade using Shock the Heart on you somehow. But no, it’s Floyd. A seemingly very out of character Floyd? After pouring your heart out to him, he hits you with a sympathetic stare. “Damn, shrimpy,” he says, “that really sucks…”

Then he gets up and you assume, that’s it, he’s gonna leave me here now. But he offers you a hand and a grin. “C’mon Shrimpy, I’m gonna cheer you up.” ‘And he will try his damndest to do just that, taking you all over campus to find something to lift your spirits. But really, the very process of hanging out with him and watching him try to find something to do with you is enough to have you smiling. You end up in the Mostro Lounge, Floyd promising to get ya whatever you want. Unfortunately, Jade is the one to take your order, which means, of course, you’re subject to his needling. But then Floyd shoos him away. And later, when Azul himself appears at your table, hoping to get his suckers on useful information, Floyd glares at him and tells him to leave you alone. “Great Seven, why can’t anyone just leave us alone? Cant they see I’m tryna spend time with my shrimpy?” And maybe you don’t realize it at the time, still so caught off guard from what seemed to be a total flip in personality, but he meant it when he called you his shrimpy. If you were anyone else, he wouldn’t have given a fuck, it’s only because you were you that Floyd was at all invested in your feelings. Cuz everything about his shrimpy is interesting and entertaining. That’s why they’re his. You notice Floyd hangs out with you a lot more after that, stuck to your side like glue. He’s awful for ADD considering his sudden swings in mood. You get distracted, but it’s even worse with him because once he’s in the mood to do something he just does it. So you’ll be trying to focus on work, and he’ll be there because he’s basically always with you at this point, and he suddenly decides you two have to go do this random thing right now. It’s the same when you’re in depressions, too, he’ll drag you along. It’s surprisingly helpful, though. It’s hard to be bored with Floyd, which makes sense considering how much he hates being bored. So even without your antidepressants… well, at least you have Floyd Leech??

#yandere #yandere rambles #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #floyd leech #yandere asks #yandere twst asks #yandere floyd leech x reader #yandere floyd leech #my floyd addiction strikes again

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yan-lorkai · 29 days

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Y!Leona x tiger!reader. [gn]

oh boy. the hatred that fuels them. a tiger and a lion in one room? fatal combat.

[y] can be described as a “hot-headed” person.

anger issues.

always carries a weapon. [usually a sword.]

somewhat a nerd, straight 100% and 90%.

Bad at hiding their emotions.

..actually very blunt about their feelings. why bother hiding them?

Easily provoked.

Extroverted.

Gets carries away easily.

impatient.

Bite first then bark.

knowing how they are; they were assigned the Savanclaw dorm. ohh, how amusing things will be!

Hcs.. scenarios.. do whatever u want :) thank you.

sorry, is this too much? too specific? not much information? my apologies, if so, you may delete this if you don’t feel like doing it due to it.

ty !!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: This have been sitting on my drafts for awhile now, it was super detailed and I sort of blue screemed the first time I read it but I kind like the result. So hopefully you like as well, darling hehe. I did some hcs btw.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Leona, being the proud and territorial lion he is, initially views you, a tiger, as a threat to his dominance. He has the entire Savanaclaw following his very order and he doesn't like the thought of you messing things up. The very first time you cross paths, there’s an intense standoff where both of you silently try to assert your power over each other, as you are very blunt and doesn't think much about what you're talking. He finds later, when alone in his room, that he kind of likes your honesty, it's a bit endearing, even if it gives him a headache.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ His gaze is sharp, filled with a mix of feelings, overall, curiosity about you. Sometimes he send Ruggie to watch over you so he can learn about your routine, likes and dislikes, and what kind of person you are. And sometimes he come find you himself to annoy you, since you are so reckless and easily provoked, and he think you're funny when you act without thinking about the consequences. Truly, he is fascinated by your strength and beauty, seeing you as a perfect mate, and he’s determined to make you his by any means necessary.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Unexpectedly but he likes how intelligent you are. The two of you, after overcoming your differences, can be found having long conversations that no one else seems to follow - just further proof of how perfect you can be, of how you were made to be his.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Leona’s possessive tendencies manifest in his overly protective behavior. Despite your own strength and independence, being capable of fighting with a sword and with your own powers, he’s constantly shadowing you, ensuring no one else comes near his “territory”. If anyone, friend or foe, tiger or not, dares to approach you, Leona’s wrath is immediate and fierce.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He justifies his actions by telling you that it’s for your safety, though it’s clear that his possessiveness knows no bounds. He’ll keep you close, often initiating fights just to remind you who the dominant one is - not liking how sociable you can be with other beastmen, yet his gaze softens only for you and his touch is just as soft, his possessive obsession a twisted form of love, since he doesn't know any better, growing up being hated by everyone he knew.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ While Leona’s initial approach is aggressive and domineering, he eventually realizes that to truly claim you, he must respect you, for you too are too similar, too hot headed and stubborn. He allows you some space in his humble abode but always makes it clear that it’s still his domain. However, this submission is a calculated move; he knows that by giving you a semblance of freedom, you’ll let your guard down, making it easier for him to manipulate you into staying by his side permanently.

#twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere leona #yandere leona x mc #yandere leona kingscholar x reader #yandere leona x reader #yandere leona x yuu #yandere leona kingscholar #yandere leona kingscholar x mc #yandere leona kingscholar x yuu #leona x mc #twst leona #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #leona x yuu #tw yandere #male yandere

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san8ny · 1 month

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Thinking about Abby Anderson being your cellmate..

you’re new to the prison system, probably in there on charges that weren’t even your fault, all wide-eyed as the other female prisoners bang against their cell doors to shaken you up while the scruffy guard pushes you down the cold halls

When you’re finally in your own cell, you meet Abby who barely even spares you a glance, just scoffing and muttering something under her breath about ‘fresh meat’, but after an almost violent altercation between you and some other prisoners, she’s taking you with her practically everywhere: the mess-hall, the courtyard, hell, even the showers, all because she doesn’t want anyone punking you

you both get gradually closer too, eventually learning to hold your own down in the times Abby’s on lunch duty or something— it’s the sweetest thing ever, that is before you’re cruely ripped away from her with the announcement you’ll be getting out early.

She’s definitely sad about it and you know it, but knowing Abby, she won’t make it known, simply shrugging when you break the news to her that same night

She’s avoiding you like the plague for the next remainder of your stay, only ever seeing you during bedtime. Will you talk to her when you leave? Probably not, her subconscious says,

And on the day of your dismissal, you’re hoping she’ll meet you by the gated walls separating the inmates from the outside world, heart heavy and just waiting for her to give you something to hold onto in the meantime, but with the impatient taxi driver outside waiting for you and his meter running, she never does.

You’re on the brim of tears, utterly defeated when you opt to walk away and enter the vehicle.

in the following months, you try reaching out and even visiting by to no avail, she keeps declining, but when you seem like you’ve given up, and cease further contacting, Abby’s in crisis mode, wondering why your pretty decorated envelopes have stopped arriving underneath her door.

She’s an idiot, isn’t she?

When she, herself, is finally released, she’s immediately looking around your town to apologize for her crude actions; at the time, she didn’t know whether she envied you for getting out early, or wanted you romantically, but it’s definitely been proven to be the ladder now she’s out too, and, fuck, does she utterly regret how she ghosted you, picturing how hurt you must’ve been to have stopped talking to her

After some time, she finds little ‘ol you around a pottery shop and she feels her heart swell up when you both lock eyes. You still look the same, but she hopes you mainly feel the same too.

Some time later and MUCH convincing from you, she’s taking you back to her new place, whispering sweet things about things she wished she could tell you back then, murmuring against your soft skin how many times she’s kicked herself about almost losing you to her own self-sabotage tendencies and how you always understood :(

Even as she unbuttons your top in a heated makeout session, she’s apologizing. In between your plush legs, she still is, and even when she’s making you cum multiple times that night, she ends it with a short,

“ ‘m really sorry, baby..”

she has it bad for her cell-mate.

#abby anderson x f!reader #abby anderson blurb #abby anderson #tlou #tlou 2 #the last of us #wlw #san8ny

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atlasofthestaars · 11 months

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I can’t tell if your requests are open or not, so i’m sorry if they aren’t and just disregard this <3 Can I request ANYTHING with MK1 Bi-han, i’m down ASTRONOMICAL for him. if you want me to get specific something where he’s learning how to be affectionate and (ironically) less cold with you 😭 to me it seems like he’d be more of a physical touch/actions kind of person, even though that may be few and far between especially at first. also can i just say you’re the best mk writer i’ve seen ♥️

NOTE: They are! I just struggle with writing them sometimes, so I’m MUCH slower at making them than my New Era chapters, but they are!

<3 Thank you for requesting and being so lovely <3 Sorry for how long the wait was! I kinda treated this like a character study + my headcanons for the man.

Also I couldn’t tell if this was s/o or not so I just defaulted to crush?

The fic is set to be kinda ? told in his POV, but in second still. You’ll see! Also I kindaa got carried away at the end so maybe ??? a bit ooc. I just like writing people pining.

FOR YOU [SUB ZERO X READER]

Doing small things for others' convenience was not something Bi-Han was used to doing, nor was he known for doing these things.

“Get up.” Bi-Han stood over you, from where he had swept you and sent you tumbling to the floor. There were a few moments of silence as he watched you hesitate, staring up to him bewildered. Why were you confused? The command was simple enough. You stared at his hand, seeming lost in thought. He rolled his eyes.

How was this the person who could go toe to toe with him?

“Are you deaf?” He asked you, his stare turning into an icy glare.

Why did you look so lost?

Sure, he had never helped you off the ground before, Bi-Han could give you that. The reasons behind this was simple, he was just simply tired of hearing his brothers nag him for leaving you on the floor. It’s not like he helped any others up during sparring. They were capable of getting up themselves, they did not need their grandmaster to coddle them.

Just because he’s known you for a while, why should you be the exception?

Still, their complaints were tiring and bothersome, so he decided to try to help you up for once. Maybe that would settle their complaints. They were always pushing him to be a little less…icy. Plus, out of anyone, he supposed doing this for you would not be the worst. Sure, you tried to hang around him constantly, but your company wasn’t unpleasant he supposed.

Bi-Han growled as he watched you still lay on the ground, staring at his hand. With a huff, he lunged forward, grabbing your hand for himself. He was going to help you up one way or another, dammit. You were not going to be the person to deny his kindness. Hoisting you up, he was caught off guard as you collided with his chest.

Did he hit you so hard during training that you were acting dumb all of a sudden?

With a grunt, he steadied you, holding you by your waist. His hands settled quite nicely there, and his hands instinctively squeezed. Your hands were on his chest, as you righted yourself properly. He sent you another glare, this one more instinctual than intentional. You seemed caught off guard, confused, and so many things all at once.

You were confusing.

What was even more confusing was the fact that his mind seemed to want to capture this moment, wanting to sear the memory of you being in his arms permanently in his head. His hands twitched, and his lips pursed at the thoughts that invaded his head. He pushed them away, shooing them away like annoying flies.

A grandmaster should not be plagued by such…odd thoughts.

He sighed as he let go of your waist once you seemed steady enough. You shot him that sunny grin of yours, and commented on how his heart was finally defrosting. It seemed that you finally had your senses back. In return, Sub Zero frowned as he crossed his arms. You always had a knack for trying to make puns out of his powers. Still, despite the disapproving looks he always sent you, you never stopped.

Bi-Han wasn’t sure to think of you as brave for not caring for his warning glares, or stupid for ignoring them. He was inclined to think of the latter. Would you so brazenly ignore a wolf staring you down with predatory eyes? And yet, a small voice in his head told him otherwise.

He didn’t quite like nor agree with the voice. Honestly, he didn’t even know what to make of the voice in the first place.

“Satisfactory job for today.” Bi-Han said, and he felt a strange sense of satisfaction as you beamed at his words. You were always too eager to accept any positive words from him. You gave his shoulder a pat and scampered off, probably to eat since it was around dinner time now.

He stood there for a bit longer, watching you disappear, and watching the place you last were before you turned the corner. He frowned as he realized he had been staring. How ridiculous, why had he been staring? With a grunt, he turned around and stalked off to his office.

He couldn’t get the feel of your hand out of his head, no matter how hard he tried.

Bi-Han was not known for little acts of kindness.

“You need to eat.” Bi-Han scolded you, shoving a bowl full of food in your hands. Your fingers brushed, and he pursed his lips, not knowing what to make of the tingle it left on his skin. He’s been more oddly aware of his skin whenever he was around you lately, and he wasn’t quite sure why.

He watched as that stupid confused look overcame your face again as you took it. It always happened whenever he did things like this, but never with anyone else. He felt a bit offended every time. It wasn’t as if he was incapable of kindness. It didn’t sit right with him the idea that you thought he was incapable of it. You looked at him, opening your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“You didn’t eat breakfast this morning.” He mentioned, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Which it was. Anyone, if they were paying even a smidge of attention to you, would notice how you failed to eat this morning. It actually has been a few days since you’ve eaten breakfast, leading to you complaining and being famished by lunchtime. It had begun to bother him.

Was it just him who noticed these things about you? You even seemed surprised by the information he told you.

How foolish.

“Did you make this?” You asked, peering at the food as you prodded the rice congee with the spoon. Bi-Han nodded, and he felt a strange fluttery feeling in his chest as you took a bite and hummed in delight. You were too pleased by this simple cooking, this was a meal that a child was capable of making. He didn’t like how he craved more of your approval. “This is really good! Thanks Bi-Han!”

Your praise made him feel content. Much to his chagrin, Bi-Han felt his mind churn out some ideas. How would you react if he made you something special instead of this simple breakfast? Certainly you would be more impressed, why shouldn’t you be? His cooking was sufficient. Maybe you’d even praise him more.

Maybe he should make you some more food, sometime.

“You should be eating breakfast, it’s stupid to skip meals.” The cyromancer continued to berate you with a frown. He didn’t like the idea of you skipping meals, it felt…wrong. He watched as you, through a mouthful of food, tried to excuse yourself. He sent you a glare. “There are no excuses. Even a child knows not to skip a meal.”

“But-”

“I just said no excuses.” Bi-Han said, shutting you down with a tone of finality. You sent him a sheepish look, one that told him that you were honestly, and truly sorry. You didn’t have any malice behind your actions, at least. He sighed, leaning forward to meet your gaze. “Just so you don’t go running around without at least some food in your stomach, I’ll make you breakfast.”

“Really?” You said. You blinked in surprise, and he nodded. You smiled at him, and he closed his eyes, ignoring how his mind wanted to save that imagery. “I’d like that a lot Bi-Han, thank you.” He nodded, opening his eyes to send you a small glare as he ignored the flutter in his chest.

“You need to wake up earlier though, so you have time to eat.”

“That’s worth it.”

Bi-Han was not known for letting others close to him.

“Hold still!”

You swatted his shoulder, huffing as you glared at him. Your confidence around the grandmaster was almost astounding to the rest of the Lin Kuei. Not many would not even think of glaring at the man, let alone swat his shoulder in annoyance. And yet, here you were, doing just that. The oddest part of it all was that Bi-Han was letting you.

Well, more like tolerating you.

Your efforts were not without some push back from Bi-Han. You received your fair share of glares, huffs, and scoffs. And yet, you ignored all of those. The glares he sent your way were deflected, as if they were mere stares. His huffs and scoffs were like entertainment to you. He watched as your grin grew whenever he did these.

When did you stop fearing his intimidating presence?

Did you ever fear him in the first place?

Bi-Han was left brooding as you tended to his wounds. He felt like a sheltered, pampered dog with a person who fussed far too much over him. His lips pulled into a frown as you pulled his arm into place, making sure to grip it tightly so he could not move and mess up your delicate work.

“I’m trying to stay still.” Bi-Han grumbled, his voice sounded resigned as he let the arm you worked on go limp. He had learned well enough from your previous efforts that resistance was futile. You would probably chase him down to the ends of the earth to dress his wounds. The thought alone seemed ridiculous.

Then again, it was you. And he wasn’t sure when he stopped minding it when it was you.

“Well, try harder!” You sassed, rolling your eyes. The grandmaster kept his eyes on yours, finding them more interesting than anything else in the room. No, he was not fawning over your eyes. Such a notion was unfounded. He simply didn’t think anything else was interesting.

That’s it. That’s all.

Your eyes were simply just more interesting than the same old training rooms he’s known since he could remember. Honestly, most things were. But your eyes were especially a standout. They held a certain quality to them. A warmth that could not be replicated, not even by his younger brother’s pyromancy. No, it was unique. Something he couldn’t quite place.

Bi-Han felt his breath catch as your eyes, the ones he definitely did not find fascinating, met his own eyes. You certainly had to have some sort of magic within your blood. It was impossible that you didn’t in some capacity. After all, why would he be unable to look away if that wasn’t the case?

“What?” Bi-Han asked, his voice rumbling as he continued to look at those strange eyes of yours. He watched as they narrowed once again at him, like he did something wrong. He couldn’t have, though, all he did was stare at you. And you never once complained about it.

“Did you even hear what I said?” You nagged. Realization trickled in, and Bi-Han’s first instinct was to frown. He most certainly did not hear what you said. It wasn’t his fault though. He was far more focused on trying to figure out your eyes than to hear whatever you had been going on about.

Not that he disliked your voice. It was nowhere near ear splitting and headache inducing. He’d never admit it, but it was the complete opposite of that. And by complete opposite, he meant it was tolerable. Nothing more, nothing less.

Seriously.

“No.” Bi-Han bluntly replied, knowing that you’d chew him out if he even bothered to lie. You seemed to read him better than he could read you. It was a bit frustrating. He wasn’t exactly an open book, yet you made him feel like one. Meanwhile, you were open with almost everything and almost everyone. So why could he not figure you out?

“I said you need to be more careful.” You repeated, an exhausted tone in your voice. He frowned, both at your insistence and your condition. Have you been skipping out on sleep again? After searching your face, he determined that no, you were just exhausted by him.

“I am careful.” He retaliated, dropping his gaze to look down at his hands. They were clasped together as he hunched over. He detested the way his mind started to drift back to thoughts of you again. How would your hand fit in his? Were your hands soft and gentle? Or were they rough and calloused like his? Were they warm? Cold?

Why did he always think of you?

“Clearly, you’re not careful enough.” You nagged. For emphasis, you tightened the bandage you were wrapping around his bicep. He should not like the fact that you were concerned over him. He didn’t need you to be concerned over him. “Honestly, for being grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, I thought you’d be more careful.” You muttered.

Bi-Han sent a half hearted glare your way, being met with one of the same intensity. He couldn’t even muster up a retort to send your way. It was just because he knew you wouldn’t care whatever harsh comment he had. That’s it.

His mind fixated on the gentle way you smoothed out the bandages. Your fingers tracing over his muscles such care that was foreign to the cryomancer. It felt…domestic. His heart skipped a beat at the idea of a domestic life.

Since when did he crave for those kinds of things?

“Someday I might not be here to patch up your wounds.” You threatened, but both he and you knew it was a half hearted lie. You would always be there to bother Bi-Han. Whether it be to nag him, make stupid jokes, or just to…be there.

He’s grown soft, he realized, if he’s actually grown to tolerate you and your presence without too much thought. Looking back, the man realized that, he’s actually grown to be used to you being with him for a while now. This realization would have made the man angry or terrified long ago.

Now he was just…okay with it.

And so Bi-Han sat there, with the overwhelming realization that he’s grown to trust you.

Bi-Han was not known for being vulnerable.

The grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, as much as he would never admit it, is very much human.

He had dreams. Dreams of ascending to higher things than just being a member of a clan that listened to a god to a drop of a hat. He had aspirations of growing stronger and better than he was now. He had flaws, much like any other person. He was ambitious to a fault and was too harsh and blunt, even to his own kin.

But most of all, Bi-Han felt weaknesses.

It wasn’t often, but he sometimes thought of his parents.

Bi-Han’s relationship with his father was strained. To be the firstborn of a clan that was so revered meant he had a lot of expectations on him since he was born. He had to command respect without being harsh. He had to be confident, but not cocky. He had to give up who he was, or wanted to be, for the clan. Because Bi-han was now the clan’s life blood.

The cyromancer never asked for such a destiny. But who was he to deny a path to power since birth? He supposed it was only worthy of him, as he rose to the challenge when he knew many would crumble under the immense pressure. He alone withstood the harshness of his father’s teachings when others did not see that side of him.

No one else had to see the sheer disappointment in his father’s eyes everytime he did not live up to his expectations.

It was suffice to say his father expected much of him. Bi-Han, after all, was going to inherit a lot of power and responsibility. It was only fair. Still, bitterly, the cyromancer remembered how much easier his brothers’ expectations were. But it was fine. It was not as if they were trained to be the next grandmaster of a clan.

It was probably for the better, for now he was a man who could hold his own.

Still, sometimes he wished, deep down, that he had a father instead of a teacher.

Bi-Han’s relationship with his mother was better. Where his father surmounted a lot of pressure upon his son to forge him into a diamond, his mother took care and time to polish him. The man was ever thankful for and adored his mother.

When father had been harsh, she had always been there to provide guiding words to help quell his fears. She gave him compassion and kindness in his times of need. His mother had always been proud of him, even when he felt as if he fell short.

Bi-Han had been hit the hardest by his mother’s death.

Tonight was one of those nights where his weaknesses managed to snag their claws into him and tear at his chest. Lying down on his bed, he stared up towards the ceiling. It was dark in his room. He preferred it that way. But the cover of darkness did not help his mind as he looked into the inky black darkness.

Though he did not feel the chill of his own powers, he knew that the temperature in his room was dropping quickly due to his lack of self control. He should have better control than this. The old man would despise this as much as he despised him.

He needed water. Water would help him get back into the right mindset.

Bi-Han trudged towards the kitchen, a layer of frost following in his wake. Thoughts of the parents he no longer had filled his mind as he went, trying to drag him down. Shards of ice born from his irritation grew on his forearms.

Why were the dead haunting him so much?

It was irrational for him to allow them to have such a chokehold on his thoughts, even after all this time. The cyromancer owed them nothing. He had no need for them to whisper into his mind, telling him how he needed to be more than he was now. How Bi-Han was still not enough,

The knob on the kitchen grew icy as he gripped it. Fragile shards dropped as he turned, shattering like glass on the floor. His steps felt like molasses as he walked towards the sink. The glass he grabbed immediately grew cold, almost threatening to shatter in his hands.

He glared at the sink as it refused to relinquish the water he desperately needed. Bi-Han felt his frustration grow, and he clenched his fists. He trembled and shook from anger. He was the grandmaster, dammit! He should not be struggling with any of this.

The glass shattered in his hand.

“Bi-Han?” A voice rang out amongst the whispers in his head. He froze, the ice on his hands sticking to the sink like his father’s teachings stuck to him. Like a cornered animal, Sub Zero’s head whipped around and he glared instinctively at the intruder.

It was you.

You stood in the doorway, eyes wide as you looked at the mess that was Bi-Han. He cringed inwardly, detesting how you saw him at his lowest. Slowly, you stepped into the room, looking at the shards of ice and the frost that had overtaken the room.

“Are you okay?” You asked, now in front of Bi-Han. Instead of the fear he had imagined in your eyes, you only showed concern. Slowly, you reached out a hand to cradle his now bleeding hand. You examined his hands, taking out the bandages you seemed to always carry for his sake and began to patch him just like you always did.

The words Bi-Han wanted to say caught in his throat as he stared at you. He was bewildered. Why were you not running? Why were you still here? It was illogical for you to be staying here when he was like…this.

“I saw all the ice.” You said, your voice gentle and soft. It soothed the pain. It silenced the whispers in his head. “I was worried for you.” You murmured, your gaze focused on his hand that you held so carefully, as if it would break if you breathed too hard.

Normally, he hated being treated lesser than he was. But he knew with you, that wasn’t the case here.

“Sorry if I’m overstepping but…” You said. You paused, uncertain over something. Then, slowly you wrapped your arms around him, giving him a warm gentle embrace. For a moment, Bi-Han stood there stiffly, not knowing what to do. This type of affection was lost to him.

Slowly, though, he wrapped his arms around you too.

And he sobbed into your shoulder.

Bi-Han, most of all, was not known for being soft.

Standing outside in the garden, you stood by his side. You always seemed to find your way there. Bi-Han could not think of a better place he would rather you be. It only felt right that you were there, after everything you’ve been through with him.

The cyromancer glanced at you, letting out a breath as he saw the frost nip at your nose and cheeks making them flush. Bi-Han, in that moment, was jealous of the gentle snow and cold and how it brought the color to your cheeks.

It should be him.

If he made a light snowstorm like the one surrounding you both, would you look at him with even a fraction of the admiration he held for you? If he made an ice sculpture dedicated for you, would you swoon for him and fall into his arms?

No, none of those felt right.

He watched silently with thinly veiled admiration as you spread out your arms, embracing the cold weather. A large smile pulled at your lips, and it also pulled at his heart. The joy on your face was nearly infectious, and he had to fight to keep his lips from quirking up. And yet, if you were to open your eyes and look over, you would see the ghost of a smile on his lips.

No person should have this amount of control over another over a damned smile, and yet here you were. You were able to make the icy grandmaster smile without lifting a finger. All you had to do was to have to smile. By the Netherrealm, you could just look at him at this point and his heart would be jumping for joy.

You had him wrapped around your finger, did you know that?

No. Of course not. You were too oblivious to his feelings. If you did, you would and should be trying to hug him, and not the snowflakes that surrounded the both of you. So instead, Bi-Han just admired your all too perfect face, trying to commit the sight to memory.

By the elder gods, he really wanted to kiss you.

“Isn’t the snowfall just wonderful?” You asked, peeking open an eye to look at him. Bi-Han, snapping out of his stupor, crossed his arms like he guarded his heart. He paused, trying to think of something, anything.

What should he do? Should he try to flirt? No, knowing you, you’d probably laugh at his attempt and think he was trying to make a joke. That, and flirting wasn’t really his style anyways. That was something the arrogant actor would do, and he wanted you to fall for him, Bi-Han. Not Johnny Cage.

So instead he just nodded.

It seemed a sufficient enough answer for you. Your smile grew, and Bi-Han wondered for a moment if you were the embodiment of the sun. No, of course not. You were far more radiant than that stupid star, if anything, the universe should revolve around you.

His world already did, anyways.

“It’s nice to have something gentle for once, it’s usually a blizzard out here!” You exclaimed, and Bi-Han’s mind couldn’t help but to run in circles over your words. Did you prefer a gentleman? The ghost of a smile on his lips disappeared, replaced with his usual frown.

He wasn’t exactly a shining definition of a gentleman.

“Aw, you stopped smiling.” You pointed out, and Bi-Han’s heart skipped a beat. So you weren’t as oblivious as you seemed. You noticed his smile, and even seemed to mourn the loss of it. Did you like it? If he were better at it, he’d smile just for you. His lips pursed, and he suddenly wishes he could smile on command. He’s never wanted that before.

Bi-Han’s eyes wander, and they look towards you hair and the snowflakes that decorate it. You looked absolutely ethereal. It was like the universe was trying to set him up for failure. How could the universe decorate you just so…perfectly?

“Man, I should have brought gloves.” You complain. You bring up your hands, which were trembling slightly from the cold. You exhaled into them before rubbing them together to try and bring back some warmth into your body.

“Here.” Bi-Han said, and his body worked faster than his mind as he grabbed your hands. For a moment, he was pleased with himself. Then, in the next, he felt foolish. His hands were probably cold, what was he thinking? He stared at you, trying to gauge your reaction to his impulsive actions.

At first, it was shock. Then, that melted away into something that felt…bashful? Bi-Han’s heart skipped a beat, and he forced himself to engrave the look on your face into his brain. He never knew someone could look so breathtaking.

“Oh, thank you.” You said, your face becoming ever more flushed. The grandmaster’s heart swelled with pride and joy. He made you feel this way. Certainly that had to mean something, right? You bit your lip, and he couldn’t help but be entranced. How could someone have such kissable looking lips? “I…um…I need help with something else too…” You trailed off, swallowing as you nervously looked away.

“Hm?” Bi-han hummed, entranced by the usual shyness. He leaned ever closer, eyes searching your face. Whatever it is you wanted, he would give.

“My lips are cold too.” You managed to mumble out, before giving him the most hopeful smile he’s ever seen. Bi-Han’s lips grew into a soft smile as his stomach did backflips. He leaned forward, until his lips hovered just a breath away from yours.

“I can help with that.”

Then, he gave you a kiss.

Bi-Han was not known for doing small things for others, nor for his kindness. He never was known for letting others in or for vulnerability. And most of all, he was not known for his softness.

And yet, he’d be all of that and more, if it was for you.

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