#Talk to Stop and Shop Survey | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leashybebes · 3 months ago

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i was yapping at @sazzynatural about my hurdle headcanon and then my hand slipped and now here we are, i guess!

tweaked a little and posted on ao3 [here]. thanks, y'all!

"Hey, Evan?"

"Yeah?" Buck calls, from where he's checking through his cupboards, making a shopping list. Tommy doesn't respond immediately and he turns back from where he's surveying the spice rack to look at him. "What's up?"

Tommy has that fond look on his face that, as far as Buck is concerned, might as well just be what his face looks like. The way that Tommy looks at him lights him up inside. He doesn't think anyone has ever looked at him that way, the way that he catches Tommy looking, so soft and endeared, like just looking at Buck makes him happy. It's -

"I love you."

Buck's heartbeat roars in his ears.

"Y-you - um. What? No, wait, I mean. I heard you. Tommy, that's - "

"Evan." He still looks fond, and that should be impossible, because Buck is screwing up, he has ring-side seats to this, is actively watching himself screw up, and Tommy's still looking at him like - like that. "Stop spiraling. You don't need to say it back, I just wanted you to - "

"No, no, it's not - uh - I, uh. I said I'd meet Maddie for coffee during her shift and if I don't leave now I'm gonna be late, so I, um. C-can we talk about this later? O-over dinner, maybe?"

Tommy's shoulders slump a little at that. "Uh. Sure. If you like."

"Uh-huh, yeah, that'd be great, I'll be back, don't uh - don't go anywhere, I won't be long, I just really - really need to get that coffee with Maddie, I can't be late but uh - that's - that's great, Tommy."

He sees Tommy's eyebrows go up, sees him mouth great, and then he's out the door.

Oh, shit.

***

The drive to dispatch goes in a blur, and he must look pretty freaked out because as soon as Maddie sees him, she quickly finishes her call and drags him into the breakroom.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"I - I thought we could get coffee," Buck says lamely, and she gives him the big sister eyebrows. "Really," Buck says a bit frantically. "Can - can we have coffee?"

Maddie rolls her eyes, but she pours them both a coffee and hands him his, putting the table between them and leaning against it.

"I have fifteen minutes. Talk."

"Tommy said he loves me," Buck blurts.

"Buck, wow. That's amazing." Maddie's eyes widen at him over her coffee cup. "Wait. Not amazing?"

"I didn't - uh. I didn't say it back?" Buck says, and feels his heart sink.

"Wait, you didn't?" Maddie tilts her head, looks honestly baffled. Which - fair. Buck is a little obsessed. "Do you - not?"

Of course I do, Buck thinks. How could I not?

"I - I'm being intentional," Buck says, and it sounds hollow already. "I don't wanna rush it and I had like - a timeline."

"Did - did you tell him about the timeline?"

"N-not in so many words," Buck admits.

"Evan! Please tell me you didn't just run out on the poor guy," Maddie pleads, over the sound of the breakroom door opening again. Buck doesn't even care about a potential audience, he's so suddenly miserable at the way he left Tommy at the loft.

"I - I didn't run," he says although - it was probably a close thing. "I…I told him I had to get coffee with you and we'd talk about it later," he admits, his voice getting smaller with every word.

Maddie's face does the thing - the scrunched up pout like she's holding back on telling him that he's a damn moron. Buck scrubs his hands over his face.

"Is this Buck's hot pilot?" Josh asks from where he's pouring coffee.

Buck hears Maddie's mm-hm.

"He said he loves me," he says, still hiding behind his hands.

"Con…gratulations?" Josh says dubiously. "Or, how awful for you? I'm really not clear on the desired response here."

"He thinks it's too soon," Maddie says. "He had a timeline. Which he did not share."

"We were taking it slow!"

"I hate to break it to you, but the way that man looks at you is not slow," Josh says.

"He's not wrong," Maddie says, and Buck hangs his head. Because they're right. They're both right.

"Look, you know me. I stumble into things, I end up too serious too fast and it blows up in my face. I - I really didn't want it to blow up in my face. And then he just goes and - and looks at me like that, and says that, and I don't - guys, I think I really screwed up."

Maddie gives him a sympathetic look.

Josh gives him a deeply, deeply unsympathetic one. "Oh, I have totally dated a Tommy."

"I'm sorry, what?" Buck glares at Josh who looks supremely unimpressed.

"Calm down, ankles," he tuts, and Buck is absolutely going to kill Eddie. Or Chim. He's going to kill someone. How does everyone know about that? "I said I dated a Tommy, your man's virtue is safe."

"What does that mean, you dated a Tommy?"

"Look, not everyone knows when they're five like me, and not everyone goes from adorably clueless to out and proud as fast as you. Sometimes, and I know this might be a little revolutionary for you, Buck, but sometimes the queer experience? Fucking miserable for a really long time. So sometimes you just want to grab happiness where you can find it, as soon as you find it."

Buck thinks about the things he's learned about Tommy over the months they've been seeing each other, each one a little treasure to be hoarded, a part of the puzzle that makes up the man that he already can't imagine life without - the asshole father, the dead mom, the army, the closet, the loneliness - and he wants to slap himself.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, his heart sinking further at the message Tommy's sent.

Do you want me to cancel the reservation?

Buck turns his phone to show Maddie and Josh the message.

"What reservation?" Maddie asks

"Dinner," Buck says miserably. "Date night."

"Okay," Josh says. "Some of us are supposed to be working and don't have time for your little baby bi crisis. Evan Buckley, are you actually going to fumble that man? Before you answer, be aware that two thirds of the population of WeHo will get a hard-on the moment he's back on the market even if they won't know why."

"He's not going back on the market," Buck snaps. "I just - I just need to talk to him."

"There we go," Josh says, rolling his eyes and disappearing with his mug of coffee, and an idiot called back over his shoulder.

Maddie's a little kinder, hugging him quickly. "Tell him how you feel, Buck. Talk it out."

***

By the time Buck gets back to the loft, he has another message from Tommy.

Hey, I headed back to my place. Let me know if you want to talk, or if you want dinner. I'm sorry if that was too much. It doesn't have to change anything.

"Goddamnit," Buck grumbles, throwing the Jeep back into gear. The drive to Tommy's has never felt so long, and he sits outside for long enough that the neighbor across the street is just openly staring through the blinds. It's enough to propel him out of the car and up to the door.

It takes Tommy a minute to answer when Buck knocks and he looks - surprised to see him, honestly. Buck feels a horrible twist of guilt.

"Can I come in?"

"Evan. Of course. You want a coffee or something?"

"No," Buck says, trailing Tommy into the kitchen. "I - I did have one with Maddie, I'm kinda…vibrating out of my skin enough as it is."

"I'm sorry. That's not what I was aiming for."

"Y-you don't need to be - Tommy, I - "

"Hey, look, it's fine," Tommy says, and it looks like he really believes it. Like it really is completely fine that he told Buck he loves him and Buck's response was to buffer internally for a minute and then run out of his own damn apartment like his ass was on fire. Tommy taps his knuckles on the table between them in what Buck recognises as a nervous gesture. "I know that I'm not - I'm not the forever guy, and that's okay. I didn't say it to make you say it back. I said it because it's true and I wanted you to know."

"What are you talking about?"

"That I - " Tommy honestly looks a little puzzled. "What I said, this morning. It wasn't - there weren't any strings attached."

"You're not the forever guy? What the hell does that mean?"

"Just that - that I know I'm not exactly a…long-term prospect, and that's okay."

Okay? It's so far from okay. It's the worst thing Buck has ever heard.

"How are you not a long-term prospect? That's - that's the dumbest thing I ever heard, take that back."

"Evan. I used the L word and you couldn't get out of there fast enough. It's okay. You don't have to try to make me feel better. It's fine."

"It's not fine," Buck snaps, rounding the table to get closer to Tommy, catching hold of his wrist. "I'm not - look, I had a timeline, which, Maddie pointed out I didn't actually tell you about that, so that's my bad. But it was a timeline for me, to stop me going too fast and falling too hard and - and going full Buck. I didn't expect that you would - "

"Stomp all over this mysterious timeline?" Tommy asks, his eyebrows going up.

"And I'm now realizing how stupid that was. Did - did you mean it?"

"Evan. Of course I meant it." He glances down at where Buck is still squeezing his wrist, not quite holding his hand "I - honestly, I didn't think it would come as a surprise, I'm not exactly - "

"I love you."

Tommy blinks. "Evan - "

"Please believe me. Tommy. God, I screwed this up so bad, but - I do. I do love you. You are the forever guy. You're my forever guy. I promise. I just - I was just scared. But about me, not about you. Never about you. Tommy, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I - "

"Evan. Say it again."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Buck lets himself sway forward, lets his forehead meet Tommy's shoulder. "Not the forever guy. You're a goddamn idiot is what you are."

"I'm your idiot," Tommy promises, and Buck laughs shakily.

They love each other. They love each other.

#911 fic #bucktommy #episode 6 spec #except not really i don't actually think this will be the thing #i think the thing will be something weirder than i can possibly imagine #but i do love the idea that tommy's visible from space hearteyes might cause a bit of consternation

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acmeangel · 3 days ago

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♡ Levi visits your tea shop, and over time, your relationship turns from strangers to having your own little family. But, will the war tear him away from you?...

♡ NSFW, minors DNI ♡ Canon!Levi x Female!Reader ♡ Also features Postwar!Levi ♡ One shot, a mix of fluffy & angsty ♡ Word count: 8,061 ♡ Summary: Levi had been visiting your tea shop for a while, and while he didn't say much, your young son idolized Humanity's Strongest Soldier. You were a single mom, a widow, and it made your happy to see your son so excited. Over time, Levi began to talk to you more and more, until a romance sparked. He'd grown to love you and your son, but after marriage and another baby, the situation within Eldia grows darker, the Rumbling on the horizon. During the chaos, you don't know where Levi has gone -- will you two ever reunite?

Levi had always been quiet when he stopped by your tea shop in Trost. It wasn't often that he paid a visit — his focus was usually fused to the Survey Corps — but he couldn't resist the specific blend of black tea leaves that your shop carried. He'd muttered dryly before that yours was the only cup of black tea that didn't "taste like it'd been diluted in sewer water."

His visits had become predictable. He’d slip into the shop with soundless steps, order his tea with the fewest amount of words possible, toss some coins onto the counter (always including a tip), then sit at a table by the window and sip his tea, his gaze drawn to some far-off distance outside. When he'd leave, he'd always bring his tea cup back to the counter with a dull clink and leave his table as clean as it was when he'd arrived, the chair pushed into it. And that would be that.

You never disturbed his quiet — you figured that with him being a Captain in the Survey Corps, surely he'd come to your shop craving a scarce brief moment of peace and solace.

Your small, six-year-old son, however, had taken on his dad's exuberant and excitable nature, rather than your reserved one. It was one of the things you adored most about your son; it felt, to you, like the spirit of your late husband had planted a little seed within your son, like a small blossom that was finally beginning to bloom.

The way your son laughed with his head thrown back and eyes shut, the way his eyes widened and sparkled when he'd ramble on about whatever new hobby he was interested in (much like his father, he could never settle on just one thing), the way his small hands would fly through the air when he spoke — it was all him, your first and only true love.

It was four years ago, now, that your husband had passed unexpectedly. Your son was only two years old at the time, and as the years went on, you could tell that he was remembering less and less about his father. The weight on your shoulders grew heavier as it felt like it was up to you, solely, to keep his memory alive and treasured.

Even though you were still young, you’d sworn yourself to a life devoid of romantic love. You couldn’t fathom ever falling for someone new; nor could you imagine someone else ever understanding you or loving you the way that he had. A life of just you and your son, together, was all you’d ever need.

So, when Levi would stop by your tea shop, your son would act just as lively and uninhibited as your husband would have.

"Mommy, mommy." His little, pudgy hand would tug on the sleeve of your shirt as he looked up at you with big saucers for eyes. "It's Humanity's Strongest Soldier. He's back, he's back!"

"I know, darling," you'd coo, your hand stroking your son's hair to try and calm him as Levi walked through the door. "Be polite. Don't disturb him."

Trying to wrangle your son's enthusiasm always proved impossible. He’d climb up onto the counter — which you'd told him countless times not to do — so that he could get a better view of the fearless Captain.

"Captain Levi." He'd smile widely, revealing missing front teeth, as he beamed at Levi. "Did you just come back from a mission? What was it? How many Titans did you kill?"

Levi would always frown at this — not because he didn't like your son, but because he didn't like being idolized for being violent. His life was one he wouldn't wish upon anyone, and he didn't want the kids in town to look up to him, or anyone else in the Scouts.

"Hey." You'd shoot your son a stern look. "Enough questions, don't be rude."

"Don't worry about it," Levi would say, dryly, his tired eyes drifting from your son back to you. "Black tea. The usual kind."

"Sure." You'd nod and smile softly, your eyes catching his for a brief, but lingering moment, stuck in their depths — those eyes that always reminded you of the night sky during a storm, swirling and tumultuous.

You'd make Levi his tea and hand it to him, which would earn the faintest "Thanks, Y/N" before he'd take his seat by the window. Occasionally, your son would sneak over to him and ask him question after question, his small hands gripped onto the edge of the table, until you'd notice and lift him up, carrying him away with an apologetic look toward Levi.

Once Levi would leave, your son would blabber to you for the next day or so about how "strong" and "brave" Levi is, to which you'd nod along, appeasing him, your lips tugging into a smile now and then, happy to see your son so excited.

That was how Levi's visits to your shop had always gone, for months on end; it was a predictable routine.

That was, until one day, as he was ordering his usual black tea, you'd interrupted him. Usually, you’d be too busy trying to reign in your son to really talk to Levi, but Levi had visited earlier than usual that day, and your son was still at school.

"I actually just got a shipment of a new tea," you'd said, your eyes meeting his, a flicker of curiosity in your gaze. "It's rooibos tea. Similar to black tea. You might like it?"

A crease formed between his brow as he studied your face for a moment, taken aback by both your offering and your consideration of his tastes.

"Fine," he nodded, curtly. "I'll try it."

Your lips turned upward with slight surprise before forming a full smile, as you began brewing his tea. You handed it to him moments later, in an ornate ceramic teacup painted with simple lines and wavy vines, which he grabbed from you by the rim.

He took a sip from it while still standing at the counter, not waiting to sit down, as if wanting to test it before committing the next half-hour or so to sipping it. As he took his long, slow sip, his eyes didn’t leave your face once, his narrowed, somewhat unenthused gaze piercing into you.

“It’s good,” he said, finally, lowering the cup from his lips. “Thanks, Y/N.” He fished around his pocket for a few coins, which he placed down on the counter as always.

He turned away to head for his table by the window, but paused for a moment, his lips pressing together slightly as he examined the teacup more closely.

“Where’d you get this set?” he asked, the tone of his voice revealing nothing, as he turned to face you again.

“Oh,” you tilted your head as you tried to remember, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t remember exactly, but most of the tea sets are from a shop just down the street.”

“Hm.” He nodded slowly, his eyes still fixated on the teacup, his fingers gently tracing over the designs. “It just reminds me of one from when I was a kid.”

With that, he shook his head as if ridding his mind of the memory, and made his way to sit at the table, his head turned out the window. You couldn’t help but stare for a moment, noticing the way his fingers tapped the rim of the teacup, how the afternoon light settled onto his face, making his pale complexion look warmer, more amiable. A silence settled into the tea shop, only interrupted by the occasional bubbling of boiling water and the clanging of teapots and cups.

“It was my mother’s tea set,” he stated, plainly, seemingly out of nowhere. The sound of his voice drew your attention, but when you looked over at him, he was still staring out the window; only the curve of his cheek and the angle of his jawline were visible to you.

You approached him, slowly, lingering by the table, your hands clasped behind your back.

“Your mother?” you inquired, your tone gentle and inviting, as you moved a bit closer. “Are you close with her, then?”

“No,” his voice dropped low, scarcely above a whisper. “She’s dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you offered, which earned only a subtle nod from Levi. You paused for a beat before continuing. “It seems like your mother and my husband have similar tastes. He’s the one who picked that set out. He liked the vines.”

His head turned toward you, a raise to his eyebrow as he looked up at you, warily. “Husband, huh? What, he doesn’t help you out around here?”

“He used to,” you sighed softly, before adding, “he passed a few years ago.”

His eyes flickered with a brief awareness before meeting your gaze, a look of mutual understanding passing between you two.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said, echoing your sentiment.

“Thanks,” you said, and decided to sit down in the chair across from him at the table. “That’s actually the last teacup still fully intact from that set. I dropped the box it was in during a move a couple years ago.”

“Oh, yeah?” He glanced down at the teacup, turning it in his hand.

“Mmm.” You nodded. “But, have you heard of this concept called kintsugi?”

He shook his head, bringing his eyes back up to yours, waiting for you to explain.

“It’s this art form,” you began, “where you take broken pottery or ceramics and repair them by putting the pieces back together using gold lacquer. So you can still tell that the item is broken, and it doesn’t look the same as it originally did, but it doesn’t matter. Because now, it’s this new, exquisite golden thing, even though its brokenness is obvious. Anyway, that’s how I repaired the other pieces from the set.”

You nodded toward a shelf behind the counter, which held the rest of the tea set; teacups and a teapot, repaired with gold shimmering in the cracks between all of the broken pieces.

“Hm,” he nodded slowly with approval, the sides of his mouth slowly moving upward into a small smile.

Your relationship with Levi had truly started there — with a shared understanding of loss, brokenness, and grief. Each time he visited your tea shop, which had become more frequent, he’d share a little bit more about himself and his past. It usually wasn’t much, and you’d often have to fill in the blanks and read between the lines, but you could tell that he actually trusted you with this information and, at least, felt assured that you’d understand him.

Over time, the conversations would last a little bit longer and expand into topics outside of your shared losses; you’d tell him about your son, stories about interesting customers who had stopped by, memories about your childhood and your family. He’d share, too, usually anecdotes about his life in the Survey Corps, telling you about the “brats” he spent his days with, griping about their individual personalities with a fond sort of annoyance.

The romantic aspect of your relationship trickled in slowly — it began with the time Levi had reached across the table and placed his hand onto yours without a word or a change in his expression. And from there, it evolved into these subdued touches here and there; a hand on the small of your back, him fixing an out-of-place strand of hair when you’d wear it pulled back, his leg brushing against yours under the table and not pulling away.

The first time he’d kissed you, he’d been staring at your lips for almost the entire time you had been talking that day, as if magnetized to them.

“Levi,” you’d said, finally, a slight exasperation in your voice. “Either stop staring at my lips or do something about it.”

His expression faltered and an actual blush rose to his cheeks, as if he didn’t realize you’d actually be able to notice his staring. But, it was just the push he needed, because he then leaned over the table, cupped his hand onto the side of your face, and planted a soft, but firm, kiss onto your lips.

“Is that what you had in mind?” he asked, pulling back slightly, his lips still almost touching yours as he searched your eyes.

“Yes,” you whispered, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his once again. That kiss was all it took; from there, you were in. And he was, too.

As your relationship continued to flourish, he’d started visiting you at home, not just at the tea shop. He’d sit with you on your couch, running his fingers through your hair as the two of you caught up with each other. He’d help you out with all of the tasks that he knew were a burden on your shoulders with all you juggled, between raising your son and running the tea shop. He’d even started to warm up to your son and made an effort to talk to him, albeit somewhat awkwardly at first. Your son, however, didn’t notice any discomfort from Levi — he was just thrilled to have Humanity’s Strongest Soldier in his house.

When Levi had actually gone with you and your son to visit your husband’s grave on his birthday — a supportive, nonintrusive gesture — and had placed a simple bundle of flowers on his gravestone, you knew that there was something different about him. Something worth keeping around in your life for a long time. He understood you and all of the complexities and brokenness that came with you; he had his fair share of his own. You realized that, together, maybe you could become whole again.

Levi was nothing like how your husband was; and, in turn, the love you experienced with him was completely different. It was slower, softer, subtler. It was exactly what you didn't realize you'd needed — something tender and gentle to begin mending your once-broken heart. Levi, without even trying, had put the pieces of you back together in a way that was completely new. You'd been changed forever, and for once, it didn't feel like such a bad thing.

So, when he asked you to marry him, he did it in a way that was just as soft and subtle. You were sitting on the floor of your living room — a humble, but cozy space — playing with your son, who always had a way of coming up with the most elaborate pretend plots.

Levi followed along the best he could, occasionally asking a clarifying question to your son, his brows pressed together in serious contemplation. Your son would provide an equally as serious answer, explaining, in depth, the inner workings and rules of his pretend world.

During a moment of quiet, while your son rummaged around a chest for different toys to play with, Levi had simply looked at you, his usual armor cracking to reveal an honest vulnerability, and said, "I could get used to a life like this. With you. Both of you."

Your lips curved up into a smile and you tilted your head, your expression melting at his words. "I think that can be arranged."

"Think you'd consider marrying someone like me, Y/N?" The corners of his lips twitched, the smallest, self-deprecating smile on his face.

"Yes," you'd said, quickly, without even having to think about it. It was one of the easiest decisions of your life. "I won't just consider it. I'll do it. Happily."

Your son interrupted the tender moment, handing new toys to you and Levi, explaining the new, complicated rules of the next game you were about to play together. Levi listened intently, but his gaze caught yours for a moment, a knowing, affectionate glance exchanged between the two of you.

Your wedding was a simple one. You knew that Levi didn't care much for having a ceremony at all to begin with — if it were entirely up to him, you'd have forgone the whole ordeal. But, for you, he was willing to do just about anything (though he drew the line at dancing).

Between your collective eagerness to get married and Levi's unpredictable and hectic life with the Scouts, you didn't spend too much time or energy planning the wedding; fussing over the details and frills didn't matter much to either of you, as long as you got to be together by the end of it.

You'd invited only your closest family and friends, and kept the ceremony brief, exchanging simple vows. The only thing you'd cared about was the look on Levi's face when he saw you, in your simple, elegant white dress, carrying a bouquet of wildflowers, walking down the aisle toward him; he smiled a soft smile, his jaw clenching with emotion, his eyes focused on you with such intense reverence, it was as if nothing in the universe existed apart from you.

For most of the reception, Levi had sat at your table, observing as you laughed and talked with all of the guests; he was content just from seeing you glowing with happiness.

You'd convinced him, halfway through the night, to dance with you to a slower song; begrudgingly, and unable to say no to you, he obliged. You could sense the discomfort on his face as his eyes darted around the room as the two of you swayed to the music, feeling the eyes of the guests burning into him.

"Levi," you whispered, low enough so only he could hear. "Close your eyes. Pretend it's just you and me."

He nodded, and closed his eyes, his head resting onto your shoulder as his movements became smoother, more fluid. He sighed softly, holding you close, lost in your touch.

By the end of the night, your son had crashed after eating too much cake; he was curled up, asleep, with one of his grandparents. Fortunately for you and Levi, they'd offered to watch your son for the night to give you and Levi the alone time you'd so desperately been wanting.

You and Levi were sitting at your table, watching your guests move around the dance floor, your head rested on his shoulder while you absently scraped the frosting off of your plate.

"What do you say we get out of here?" Levi asked you, his lips pressed to your hair, with the slight raise of an eyebrow. "Don't think anyone will miss us too much. They're having too good of a time without us."

You giggled, rolling your eyes affectionately. "I knew you'd want to leave early," you whispered softly, knowingly. "But lucky for you, so do I."

Levi practically whisked you away the moment you finished your sentence. By the time you'd returned to your house, you were cradled into his arms as he kicked open your bedroom door, the room shrouded in the ethereal glow of moonlight.

"Levi," you laughed, as he hastily moved toward the bed, gently laying you down onto it, "slow down, relax."

"I can't," he replied, as he stood next to the bed, looking down at you, in awe at the sight of you in your wedding dress, your hair cascaded onto the bed below you, your delicate face becoming angelic in the pale purple moonlight. You were officially his forever. He released a quiet, adoring sigh as your hand trailed up his forearm, pulling him down onto you. His body settled onto yours, fitting together perfectly, his eyes taking in every inch of your face before his head dipped to the crook of your neck.

"Hey," he whispered, his lips brushing up your neck to your ear, his hands moving up your thighs under your dress, his touch worshipping your skin. "I didn't want to say my real vows in front of everyone. They didn't need to hear that. It's just for you. So, Y/N, here's what I promise you. I promise that I will love you until my last breath, and I'll protect you, no matter what it takes. Nothing will ever happen to you as long as I'm alive. I promise to always come back to you, no matter where duty takes me. I promise to love your son as if he were my own. You're it, Y/N. You're the light in my darkness, the only thing I'm sure of, the reason I've even still got a heart left at all. Don't ever forget that."

Your throat constricted as he spoke, trapping all of the words you wanted to say back to him, your mind lost between his loving whispers and the feel of his hands pressing against your skin.

"Levi," you managed to whisper, the word coming out as a shallow, wanting breath.

His lips pressed onto your neck, kissing and nipping at your tender, sensitive skin.

"You don't need to say anything," he whispered, low and husky, the words muffled against your neck. "Just be with me."

It was all he ever asked for, really — these moments alone with you. And because they happened more seldom than he'd wanted, he savored every second. He’d committed every detail of you to his memory, etched into his mind permanently: the individual flecks of colors in your eyes, the varying sounds and tones of your voice, each and every one of your idiosyncrasies and mannerisms.

His hands moved further up your thighs, his thumbs tracing over the scalloped edges of your soft lace panties. Your breath hitched, your hips instinctively pushing upward into his touch. His hands slid away, not quite to tease you, but because he was in no rush.

He lifted his head from your neck to look at you, his gaze attentive as it moved from your eyes to the curve of your cheek, to your lips and down the slope of your neck and shoulder. His hands moved out from under your dress to your shoulders, slowly pulling down the sleeves of your wedding dress.

"I love you," you whispered — you couldn't help it. You'd have said it a thousand times in that one moment, if you could've.

His hands paused their movements for a moment, his eyes crawling back up to yours, all of the tension in his face completely released.

"I love you too, Y/N," he whispered back, his voice barely audible over the sound of your beating hearts, as his lips lowered down onto yours.

He kissed you like he needed you as much as he needed air to breathe. His lips molded perfectly to yours, his teeth gently tugging onto your bottom lip before diving in deeper, his tongue sweeping out to taste yours.

His hands continued sliding off your dress, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he did, leaving sparks in their wake; once the dress fell softly to the floor by the bed, his hands worked their way across every inch of your body, showering attention onto every curve.

His kiss became hungrier, strands of his hair brushing against your forehead as a groan formed in the back of his throat.

Your hands rose to his shoulders, pushing off the jacket of his tuxedo before working to unbutton his shirt, tossing it to the side. Your hands traced over his muscles as they moved and flexed; your fingers affectionately grazed over the familiar scars and bruises that decorated his body.

A subtle gasp fell from his lips, captured by yours, as his hands trailed down your waist to your hips, once again resting on the soft fabric of your panties.

"God," he murmured, breaking the kiss for a brief moment, just to tilt his head down and look at your body beneath his, "you're so fucking beautiful."

His fingers tugged at the hem of your panties before sliding them underneath, between your folds, feeling the warmth and wetness that met him there.

Your head tilted back slightly and you bit your lower lip, breathing out sharply from your nose. His eyes snapped back up to your face as his fingers began to tease your slit, running up and down it before circling your clit with a gentle pressure.

You gasped softly, a low moan building within you, your eyes shutting with pleasure. You weren't sure how he did it, but even the simplest touch from him made you fall apart.

"Good," he whispered, reveling in how eagerly you responded to his touch. He increased his pressure on your nub, his thumb circling it as two of his fingers slipped inside of you with ease, earning a loud whimper from you.

His fingers pumped in and out of you, curling up against your most sensitive spot, his thumb remaining pressed against your clit as he coaxed pleasured moans from you. As your thighs began to shake, a familiar spark building up within your core, his free hand grasped onto your hip, steadying you, as he increased the pace and intensity of his fingers.

Your hands reached out, grasping for his shoulders as your body began to tense, the release building intensely within you, on the verge of exploding.

"Come undone for me," he whispered, his fingers pumping into you with untethered force, your juices coating and squelching against his hand. And you did — your walls clenched around his fingers as you poured out pleasure. Your back arched upward, your legs shook uncontrollably, and your fingers dug into his shoulders as you cried out, a ragged, gasping whimper, too strained with pleasure to make a real sound.

His fingers remained buried within you as you rode through the waves of release, only pulling out of you once your back settled back onto the bed. Before you could open your mouth to say a word, his hands had already pulled his own pants off, his hardened length springing free, pretty and pink.

"C'mere," he muttered, his hands sliding under your waist to gently pull you upright. He hoisted you onto his lap, your bare chest pressed to his, the warmth of your skin emanating into each other. His hands crawled up your back then gently around your neck, his thumb rubbing gently across your throat, then up to your lips.

"Levi," you whispered, muffled under the pressure of his thumb, your eyes locking onto his, strands of your hair stuck to your forehead with sweat. "Show me how much you love me. As your wife."

"My wife," he echoed, as if the words were the most decadent thing that had ever been on his tongue. His hands moved down to grip onto your hips, bringing your legs around him as you sat in his lap.

He lifted your hips up, pausing for a moment to meet your gaze before slowly lowering you down onto his cock, a soft groan parting his lips.

Your head tilted to the side as he filled you up, stretching out your walls completely. His head dipped to your chest, kissing your skin as he began to thrust, slowly and sensually, your hips moving in perfect harmony with his.

His fingers sprawled across your hips as he guided your motions as you rode him, his tongue and lips devouring your skin, moving between your nipples, sucking and tugging on them. Your hands gripped into his hair, causing him to growl faintly.

His eyes closed and he panted softly as he pushed your hips down onto his with increasing intensity, your clit pressing down onto his skin with each thrust, causing you to moan and writhe against him.

"Fuck," he panted, his grip on your hips tightening as he picked up the pace, practically slamming your hips down onto him, the muscles in his arms tense and rippling.

"L-Levi, I'm- I'm," you moaned, swallowing as your body began to reach its second climax, still sensitive from the first one, your hands slipping from his hair to wrap tightly around his back as your legs began to shake again.

He groaned, a low, primal sound, as he held your hips in place and pounded up into you with unrelenting movements, sending you spiraling over the edge. Your head collapsed into his neck, your moans and cries quieted against his skin, your teeth grazing his skin.

"Y/N," he moaned, a strained sound as he thrust into you one final time, his knuckles turning white as they held onto your hips, as he poured out deep inside of you.

He collapsed back onto the bed, bringing you gently down with him. One of his hands cradled the back of your head as you rested it on his chest, the other tracing patterns across your back, his touch soothing.

"My wife," he murmured, satisfied, his chest heaving with exertion and his body glimmering with little beads of sweat that looked like stars under the moonlight.

For the following year, that was how you'd spent most of your nights with Levi, when he had the chance to come see you between missions and duties.

He'd spend the first part of evenings with you and your son, listening intently to whatever new hobby or interest your son wanted to talk about, and playing with him on the living room floor or out in the yard. Levi would lean against the doorway as you'd tuck your son into bed, listening in with a tender expression as you read a bedtime story.

It didn't take long for your son to grow attached to Levi, and not just as Humanity's Strongest Soldier. The first time he'd asked Levi to read his bedtime story instead of you, Levi had stood frozen for a moment, blinking as he processed the question.

He'd cleared his throat slightly and nodded, his movements a little stiff as he pushed off the doorway and took the storybook from you, sitting down on the edge of your son's bed. He'd studied the page of the book for a moment before beginning to read, your son's eyes watching him with wonder and adoration. As Levi continued reading, he became more relaxed, the crease between his brow fading away, the words flowing more smoothly.

About halfway through the story, your son had drifted asleep, the sign of a job well done. Levi's lips curved into a small smile, and he nodded, contentedly. From then on, your son requested bedtime stories from Levi every time he visited.

And after your son was fast asleep each night, Levi would wrap his arm around your waist and pull you to your bedroom to show you just how much he loved his wife.

It wasn't much of a surprise, really, when you'd found out you were pregnant shortly after. When you'd told Levi during his next visit, you weren't sure how he'd react — he was away often and you hadn't exactly planned for a baby yet. You also knew that he'd had a troubled childhood and had never had a real father figure; he never seemed sure that he was doing the right thing when it came to your son. The danger and uncertainty of the world around you and his position as Captain only added to his inner doubts about whether he'd make a capable father or be any good, or worthy, at being a proper role model for anyone, let alone a child.

But as he'd spent more and more time with your son, he'd grown used to the idea of having a kid around — and actually even it. As he became more comfortable in his role in your son's life, he'd begun telling your son more stories about his life, trying to guide him and teach him lessons to keep him on the right track (and prevent him from a life of fighting and violence).

So, when you told him that you were pregnant, it was like you saw a spark of life ignite within his eyes as he scooped you up into his arms and buried his face into your neck. He didn't have to say it — he was happy.

Throughout your pregnancy, Levi tried to visit you more often to take care of you; he hated the thought of you doing absolutely anything alone while you were carrying your baby. When he was around, he barely let you so much as stand on your own.

He'd handle all the caretaking when it came to your son, he'd deep clean your house so you wouldn't have to worry about it, and he'd bring you endless cups of tea. He'd forced you to hire someone else to take over your tea shop temporarily, practically begging you when it came down to it, insisting that standing on your feet all day wasn't good for you or the baby.

After nine months of Levi sternly doting on you, your baby finally arrived. Levi made sure that he didn't miss this moment, shirking his duties and obligations for the first time since you'd known him.

"If they can't function without me for a day, those brats are more pathetic than I thought," he'd grumbled as he held your hand while you laid on the bed, after you'd asked him for the hundredth time if it was okay for him to be there, sweat sticking to your skin after coming down from your latest contraction.

"Now stop asking," he'd added, "None of that is important. This is all that matters." He squeezed your hand, reassuringly.

When the baby finally came, and the doctor announced that it was a little girl, Levi's shoulders tensed slightly, as if he hadn't considered the possibility of having a daughter. When the doctor wrapped her into a tiny bundle and handed her to Levi, he took her into his arms with a hold so hesitant and delicate, like he thought he might break her if he held on even a little bit too tight.

"Oh," he whispered, his eyes darting all over her face, taking in her pouty lips, scrunched nose, full cheeks, and barely-opened blue-gray eyes. His jaw clenched and unclenched over and over, the vein in his forehead becoming visible as his eyes welled with tears. He blinked repeatedly, causing the tears to stream down his face.

"What the hell?" he whispered, a subtle tone of disbelief in his voice as he glanced down at you, blinking repeatedly, seemingly bewildered by the tears on his cheeks. "Is this normal?"

You laughed affectionately, nodding gently. "Yes, Levi. It's normal."

"Ah," he nodded, swallowing, his misty eyes returning down to his baby daughter, fixating on her little face so intensely, you weren't sure if he was ever going to look away again. His hand, with the slowest movement possible, reached up to her face, his finger brushing against her soft, delicate cheek. You were sure in that moment that nothing, nothing would ever come between Levi and his baby girl.

The first year after your daughter was born were as blissful as they could have been. Levi had continued making sure to spend more time away from the Scouts, as much as he possibly could, to be with you, your son, and his brand new baby girl.

When Levi couldn’t be around, you weren’t entirely alone to take care of the baby. Your son, who now claimed to be grown up at the age of seven, claimed that he was the “second in command” man of the house. He’d mimic Levi in the way he walked around the house, the specific way he would hold his little sister, and even in the way he’d hold a bottle or spoon while feeding her. Most recently, your son had even insisted on getting the same haircut as Levi (though he hadn’t yet gotten used to having strands of hair falling in front of his eyes).

And when Levi was there, he’d practically never let his daughter out of his grasp. At every meal, he’d prop her onto his lap and feed her little bites of food that she could eat (he figured it had to taste better than the baby food he called “mushed crap”). When he’d unwind on the couch with a cup of tea or a book, he’d have her held to his shoulder, her little head tucked against his neck. Overnight, when she’d cry, he’d always jump out of bed first to go tend to her — and he’d stay with her long after she was settled back to sleep, simply holding her or watching over her crib. He’d even willingly handle her most rancid of diapers — he claimed that he’d spent so much time around horse shit and Titan carnage that it didn’t bother him, and his need for cleanliness always left her perfectly spotless and cared for.

Even with his overprotective, doting behavior with his daughter, it was never like he neglected you or your son when he was around. When the baby would be napping, or when you’d finally take her for a change, he’d spend every other moment either sitting by you and holding your hand, or playing with your son.

Your little family had just fallen into this quasi-routine when Levi’s visits started to become more infrequent — the situation within the Survey Corps had grown more dire, and though Levi spared you of the details to not worry you, you knew that something terrible was waiting on the horizon. He’d become a bit more tense and distant with each of his visits, though you could tell he was trying to suppress it for the sake of you and the children.

Eventually, once it had been weeks since Levi had last visited, you began to worry, bordering on panic. You’d tried to calm yourself, reminding yourself that Levi was busy and that his missions were unpredictable — you’d tell yourself that he was likely just on a mission that was taking longer than usual.

When your son would ask you when Levi was coming home next, or your toddler daughter would babble about wanting “Dada,” you’d field their questions with reassuring platitudes about Levi’s importance as Captain and his strength and resilience. But as the weeks continued to stretch on without so much as a letter from Levi, there was nothing you could say anymore to soothe their worries or yours.

You’d tuck each of the children into bed at night, soothing them to sleep with gentle words, promising them that Levi would surely be home soon, even though you knew that your son, at least, was beginning to not believe you. Your daughter was easier to manage in terms of worries, but you feared that if Levi stayed away too long, she’d begin to forget him.

Once the children were safe and sound in bed, you’d stay awake, standing at your bedroom window, staring into the night as if you would bring Levi back to your doorstep with sheer need and willpower. But, he never returned. When the thought that Levi might actually be dead entered your mind, you pushed it away immediately; you couldn’t bear to think that way for even a second, let alone say the words out loud. You knew that Levi’s work was dangerous, and you knew that ever since Marley came into the picture, things for him had become more complicated and precarious than ever. You knew about what Eren had done to Marley, and you knew about the Jaegerists, and you knew that Levi was mixed up in all of it. Still, you refused to acknowledge that something deadly could really have happened to him.

As the weeks stretched into months, you’d forced yourself to maintain a calm face and strong exterior for the sake of the children. They’d both crawl up into your lap each night, looking up at you, as if your eyes would reveal answers as to where Levi had gone and why he wasn’t coming back.

You’d look down into the big, sparkling eyes of your children, a look that both warmed and broke your heart; you saw both of your loves, your first and Levi, looking back up at you.

You thought to yourself, as your heart shattered in your chest, Is this my life? Destined to carry the hearts and spirits of people I love, without ever getting to truly be with them?

When The Rumbling began, you couldn’t believe that it was actually happening — that all of humanity, aside from Eldia, could be wiped out, the world flattened. You tried your best to steel yourself from the fear and devastation that coursed through your veins and consumed your every thought, trying to protect the children from the cruel reality and danger that loomed outside. You’d forced them to stay inside the house with you the entire time, and you held them close, trying to distract them in any way that you could, while your mind drifted to thoughts of Levi.

You knew that if Levi was out there, somewhere, he’d surely be in the frontlines of this impossible battle to stop The Rumbling; you knew that he was in grave danger, more than ever before, more than you’d ever thought was possible. The situation was grim and futile, but you knew that Levi wasn’t one to give up or back down — he’d lost too many comrades, seen too many sacrifices to quit at the final moment and let all of their deaths have been in vain. You knew he’d sacrifice his own life if it came down to it, and that thought terrified you more than anything else.

When The Rumbling had eventually ended, it wasn’t clear what, exactly, had happened — you’d heard too many conflicting rumors and theories about who was there and who had survived, that you didn’t want to believe anything too quickly. As Eldia, hesitantly, became safe again, you waited, still, for Levi to come home, but he still hadn’t. You forced yourself to continue being patient, to not give up hope; most of the other Scouts still hadn’t returned yet, you reminded yourself.

As the weeks continued to pass, Eldia began to return, bit by bit, to a state resembling normalcy; far from recovered, but relieved that the war was finally, officially over.

“Does this mean Levi is coming home now?” your son had asked you, his eyes filling with hope, a smile daring to form on his face.

You swallowed, hard, trying to maintain composure. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” you admitted, bringing your son into a tight hug. “I hope so. We’ll see, okay?”

Weeks later, when there was a knock at your door and you opened it to reveal a man you’d never seen before, wearing a plain black suit, you weren’t sure what to expect. You cracked the door open, just barely, as your kids scurried up behind you to see who was there, your son hovering behind you and your toddler clinging onto your leg.

“Uh, hi,” you greeted him, a look of uncertainty on your face. “Can I help you?”

“You’re Y/N, right?” he asked, his voice soft and kind as he double-checked the address of your house and glanced down at the children hiding behind you. “I’m Onyankopon. I’m a pilot, and I’ve been helping out with the Scouts for a while.”

Your eyes widened at the mention of the Scouts, your heart racing in your chest as you prepared yourself for anything — good news or bad.

“Yes,” you answered hastily, “I’m Y/N. Is it Levi? What happened? Is he okay?”

Onyankopon held his hands up, palms facing you in a soothing gesture. “Levi’s fine. He’s alive, Y/N.”

You gasped, your hand flying up to your mouth in shock as your body began to tremble slightly, unable to process the emotions that swirled through your mind and the intense relief that threatened to pour from your eyes.

“He- He’s alive? L-Levi’s okay? Really?” you asked, your voice struggling to get the words out, your vision blurring with tears.

“Where is he?” your son asked, urgently, his head poking forward to look up at Onyankopon.

“He’s in Marley,” Onyankopon said slowly and calmly, trying not to overload you with information. “That’s why I’m here, actually. He sent me here to come and get you. He…,” he paused for a moment, contemplating how much to reveal, “needed my help with it.”

You didn’t waste any time; the prospect of seeing Levi again, finally, after all the time and uncertainty, was enough to set you into motion immediately. You gathered the few belongings that you and your kids needed, and you were out the door immediately, hurriedly following behind Onyankopon.

A short journey later, you’d arrived in Marley — you were too focused on the thought of Levi to gawk and stare at the unfamiliar sights of the city that normally would’ve left you awestruck, even through the destruction and rubble surrounding you. Your gaze remained intently fixated on Onyankopon as he guided you through the hectic streets, before you approached a somewhat damaged building. Onyankopon led you down the winding hallways, before opening the doors to one of the rooms and stepping aside, revealing Levi inside, his back turned to the door.

“Levi,” Onyankopon said, “we’re here.”

Levi’s head snapped around, and your eyes widened as you saw the state of him, wondering what injuries he had endured — the wheelchair, his glazed-over white eye, the fresh scars on his face, the missing fingers — but you didn’t care. He was there, he was alive, he didn’t seem to be in any pain, and he was just as beautiful as you’d remembered him. Nothing else mattered in that moment; everything else could wait until later.

Before you could manage to get a word out, or shake off the shock of seeing him, your son ran over to him first, propelled by urgent eagerness and relief.

“I missed you, Dad,” your son said, his eyes shutting as he wrapped his arms around Levi — it was the first time he’d ever referred to Levi as ‘Dad.’ Levi’s eyes snapped up to you, misty and glistening, his throat tightening slightly. You nodded, a tender, encouraging motion as you walked over with your daughter in your arms, your heart swelling with warmth and affection.

“I missed you too, son,” Levi said, his voice rough with feeling as he returned your son’s hug, his arms trembling faintly, his hand ruffling his hair. As your son released Levi, Levi kept an arm on his back, a subtle, reassuring touch.

Your daughter extended her arms out to Levi as you got closer, babbling, as you set her down into Levi’s lap. Her tiny hands gripped onto his shirt and she looked up at him, smiling and giggling.

“She’s not… scared… to see me like this,” he whispered with disbelief, his expression softening even further as he gazed into his daughter’s eyes, seeing nothing but love and affection looking back at him.

As your daughter nuzzled her head into his neck, as she always did, you knelt down next to him, your lips and hands trembling slightly as you took a long, close look at him.

“Levi,” you choked out, your hands rising to his face, cradling it gently, your fingers gently resting on his new scars. Your eyes locked into each other, filled with unspoken emotion and relief.

“Y/N,” he echoed, his head tilting into your touch, his brows twitching involuntarily as he became overwhelmed at the sight of you and the feeling of your soft, warm hands touching him. Your thumbs swept under his eyes, absorbing the few tears that had broken free from his eyes.

You leaned in and kissed him softly and gently, your lips returning to where they were meant to be — against his. He released a shuddering breath that melted against your lips, the fear and worry that had consumed you both for so long dissipating into the air.

“Thank God you’re all alright,” he whispered as he broke the kiss, his voice fraught with emotion as he extended his arms out and pulled the three of you close to him. “My family.”

As you buried your face into Levi’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin at last, your mind, inexplicably, went to the broken tea set on the shelf in your tea shop — the tea set that had ignited your entire relationship with Levi, all that time ago. You thought of it as you looked at your family; broken, yes, but healing and more beautiful than ever before.

Masterlist

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Requested by @alebrasil0101

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sammyluvr · 1 month ago

Text

✶ . ၄၃ . to leave him with love — sam winchester part two of my boy only breaks his favorite toys

cw : gn!reader, angst, guilty sam, trials!sam, sort of a sicfic in a way, talk of death/dying/injury, food mentions/eating, closure but not necessarily a "happy" ending, post-cage sam memory fuckery, swearing, poorly edited, set in season 8 so spoilers, 8K words. requested !

summary : three years after sam told you to go, you run into him while stopping for gas in a town called lebanon, kansas. you stay the night with him.

you’ve stopped by for gas, that’s all. you’re hungry too, but the gas station’s store is tiny and has a very poor selection of snacks. it’s clear to you that you’d be better off at the nearest grocery store or diner. a quick survey of the area brings a shop across the road to your attention. it looks bigger than this place, and you’d really rather not have to go any farther or take any longer than necessary. you have a job interview in the morning, and you want to be well rested and well prepared. the plain looking mart will have to do.

you jog across the street; it’s a pretty quiet town and there are no cars. the shop is quiet too, and already better than the gas station store as you enter. there’s just the cashier at the front, and a glimpse of brown hair in the back corner. you pay neither any attention as you browse the second row for something that will satisfy your hunger until you get to your hotel. the sound of crinkling plastic as you debate what to eat seems extra loud amidst the hush of the store. there’s no words until you reach the register, just footsteps and the indication of gathered groceries in the other customer’s shopping basket.

neither you nor the cashier bother to make any conversation outside of the necessary exchanges to get you checked out and on your way. it’s a still day, with flat grey skies and autumn well on its way. some might call it gloomy, and they wouldn’t necessarily be wrong, but you don’t mind it much. there’s nothing wrong with quiet, sometimes. that’s how it feels—the grey, the barren trees whose leaves had fallen early in the season, and the almost empty store—just quiet.

as you walk back towards the exit, the clatter of hard plastic on the ground is completely jarring, so much so that you physically startle, your head whipping around to the source of the noise. the single other customer’s basket has slipped from his hand to the loud tile. he looks unsteady, crouched to the ground and head bowed as hands that look like they should be strong skitter over the floor, collecting fallen grocery items. for a moment, you stare at those hands in a sort of wonder. they look so familiar, it makes your chest ache. they look like hands you’d once longed to hold, over and over again.

it takes eye contact with the man for you to realize they are indeed those hands. the thought that it could be him had certainly crossed your mind the instant you saw that exact shade of brown hair in the corner of the store. but it had crossed your mind so many times in the last three years that you never pay it any mind. it’s always a trick of the eye. a trick of the heart, maybe.

but there’s no mistaking those eyes. green sometimes, a dull grey in this lighting. some days, blue. other days like sunflowers. every day, an object of your love. he looks so tired, is the first thing you think, which feels sort of silly considering… well, considering everything.

before, you’d always thought that movies tend to drag on momentous seconds of stunned eye contact for far too long, but this moment feels like forever. three years ago feels like forever ago. and you remember it like you walked out of that motel room door just this morning. there’s so much hurt. you’ve moved on. you love him still, but not quite as much. that’s another thing that’s forever, no matter what. you loving him.

you whisper his name and your feet carry you to him like you have no choice in the matter. he looks frozen. he looks like a deer in headlights. if you had your way three years ago, or ever, he’d be your dear in headlights. then you remember he’s not yours, never was, and never will be. but frankly, you don’t care too much about that right now. you sink to your knees in front of him and put his almond butter and pre-sliced multigrain loaf of bread back into the basket. you push it away and sit back on your heels and just look at him. you don’t give a damn that the cashier is staring.

for a moment, you wonder if this is some cruel joke, if he’s not real. just a figment of your imagination, or perhaps another shifter who’s come to trick you and use that shamelessly unending love of yours to lure you to your final demise. you could test him with the little silver knife tucked into your boot, but you don’t think you will, and you don’t think it’s needed. his shocked face blurs for a moment as you grow teary eyed, but you blink until you can see him clearly again.

“you look like hell,” you whisper, your expression an odd mix of a sad smile, adoring eyes, and your worried brow. he flinches at your words and it almost makes you physically recoil too. you’ve clearly said something wrong. he seems sort of broken, and you honestly think it could kill you. “i like your hair like this,” you say instead of sorry. it’s not said as an apology, though. you mean it. maybe you sound stupid to him, but you don’t really mind anymore.

you’re looking at the man who broke your heart, and somehow all you want is to take him in your arms and ask him why he looks so sick.

“sorry,” you murmur as your soft smile fades and a sick-with-worry frown takes its place.

“don’t say sorry to me,” he shakes his head, breaking his silence. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” he sounds so weary, and certainly very sorry too.

truthfully, sam doesn’t remember the details of the day you left. he remembers very few details from pretty much anything in his life that happened before the cage. but he remembers the feeling. he still feels it. the guilt, the love, the realization of how much he hurt you. the realization of how vastly and how long you loved him. even now, you look at him with love and he feels entirely undeserving of it.

“i know you are, sam,” you breathe out. it hurts to look at him, really. the anger lingers, but it’s had three years to mellow. goodness, you had always been content to love him quietly, just like today’s sleepy hush. it wasn’t until he loved you back that you couldn’t bear it, because he was intentionally denying you what he could finally give, should he choose to. for a few weeks, you were foolish enough to think that he might make all your dreams come true. then, you were foolish enough to think you could change his mind when he started to pull away. he did not choose to give you his love, but instead to tell you to go. nothing hurt more than him telling you to go, you think.

sam doesn’t know what to do. does he ask you back to the bunker? does he just apologize over and over again while standing by his car in the chilly parking lot? does he tell you he has trouble with his memory these days, ask if you remember what he said so he can know exactly how he hurt you and say sorry for it? and probably torture himself with it for years to come.

you stand, picking up his shopping basket. the contents don’t make much sense to you. it’s all the sort of thing you’d take home, not to some motel you’ll only be in for as little as a day or two. but you ignore that for now, holding out a hand to help him up. “c’mon. you look like you should be in bed with a hot bowl of soup.” those words don’t make him flinch, so you hope they’re okay.

he takes your hand and stands on unsteady legs. his touch is like fire, maybe. his hands are very warm, like they always have been. but you think they’re hotter with fever. there’s no way he isn’t running a temperature right now. of course, there’s that sort of heat, and then there’s the burning sting of skin to skin contact with him. your chest tightens and you could mistake the feeling for heartburn if you didn’t know it was a sheer physical reaction to touching him after all these years.

you want to scream at him, cry about how horridly he broke your heart. make him feel guilty about how lost you were for almost a whole year after. how angry you were, how depressed, how reckless and teary and lonely.

his shoulders look like they hold the weight of worlds, and you’re tired. your hand slips from his and you return to the cash register with his basket. the cashier who probably doesn’t get paid enough says nothing about the highly strange encounter they just witnessed. they just scan the items as sam follows you like a sad, sick puppy. he pays with a card you doubt is real. you carry his bags for him, and when he tries to take them from you, you shoot him a withering look that gets him to back down. right outside the door, one of his clumsy hands takes hold of the bags in your right hand and tugs them away with enough force that you just let it happen. you nearly roll your eyes.

you give a huff of breath. “you’re in no state to drive. i don’t even know how you made it here in the first place,” your eyes scan the little lot for the impala, but it’s not there. “let me drive you to where you’re staying.” you don’t actually say it as a request, and he doesn’t think he could deny you either way. so you wait for a singular car to pass before crossing the road again. he sees your car parked at the gas station and remembers it’s the same one you had before. he couldn’t recall the make and model until seeing it again.

to your surprise, sam doesn’t give you directions to the nearest motel. you pull into a driveway a bit aways from a large, nondescript building. you can easily guess that it mostly lays underground. he guides you inside, and you look out from the top of the stairs.

“what is this place?” you ask, almost in awe. already from here it looks like a hunter’s heaven. he gives you a slight smile as he leans against the railing.

“sort of a long story,” he says, sounding tired.

you remember his state and wave your hand to dismiss the thought. “you can tell me later,” you say absentmindedly. you weren’t really thinking much because you’re not so sure he’ll really get the chance; you won’t be here long. “you should sit down.”

he starts down the stairs. “we’ll put the groceries away first.” you shake your head at his usual stubbornness and follow him into a kitchen, watching as he puts the few bags of food away. there doesn’t seem to be a lot of other food, nor a clear system to where things go, but to you it seems that he and dean must’ve been staying here for at least some time now.

it’s strange. in all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him like this; so unmistakably and oddly domestic. it’s such a simple thing, to be putting groceries away in one’s own kitchen. you think you could cry. you’ve imagined this before—putting groceries away in a kitchen of your own, with him.

you’ve imagined a lot of things with him before, and it was never anything like where you really ended up. maybe that’s what hurts the most about this all; you never imagined that you wouldn’t have him around. that he wouldn’t have you around.

“where’s dean?” you ask.

“out on a case. he left yesterday,” sam answers simply. he’s probably bothered that dean made him stay back because he’s sick. at least, that’s just what you assume to have happened.

you just give him a nod. now that you’re here with him, you have no idea what to do with yourself. do you talk about what happened that day? you sort of said everything you needed to back then. of course, you’re not the same person anymore, but honestly, you’re just still hurt. the ache is duller now, but you used to think up whole futures with him. you used to think of him as a given, or at least his friendship. in your mind, there was never the risk of losing him like you did. he could’ve prevented that, and he didn’t. he thought he was protecting you. that’s part of the anger.

then you look at him, hands trembling a bit, bags under his eyes, and a weight so heavy and unbearable that you can practically feel it too, hanging over him. and you look at yourself; the same sort of jeans you’d wear on a hunt, but slightly less practical shoes and a shirt you actually like the way it looks on yourself. there’s still that knife tucked into your left boot, but it’s only there for worst case scenarios, not because you’re always in danger. you used it to peel a fruit once.

that day, you told him you wouldn’t leave hunting just so he wouldn’t worry. that you’d still be in danger, regardless if you’re around him or not, regardless of whether or not he loves you.

for a year, those things were true. you were so lost, so you threw yourself into hunting. you knew the signs of the apocalypse and ran straight towards them. even if it wasn’t to help sam—that’s what you told yourself—you still had a responsibility to try and protect the rest of the world. you have the foresight now to know that it was for sam, even then. you thought that if you could lift some of his burden, he’d come looking for you, and you’d shut him down so that you could break his heart back.

maybe tonight you’ll tell him you nearly died because of it. you nearly bled out on a cold, hard floor. but you made it out, stitched yourself back up, and told yourself, fuck this shit. before sam and dean, you were tied to hunting for other reasons. you had your own personal chip in the game, just like pretty much every other hunter out there. but by the time sam told you to go, you’d let go of those reasons, and you never realized such until that night you almost died. by then, it was just sam. he’s what kept you there, and you didn’t have him anymore, so it felt quite stupid to get yourself killed just to prove him wrong. he might not even ever have known. there’s a chance no one would have even found your body.

it really took you eleven and a half months and a near death experience to get you to start truly moving on. to start actually trying to move on. it was just so much easier to be ruined by his rejection. you deserved to act out, surely. the pain of it and the anger was more than you could handle at that time. and then you were just so tired. the exhaustion reached your bones, sunk in and dragged you down. you left hunting.

you’d wanted to prove him wrong so badly. you still believe wholeheartedly that this isn’t the way things should’ve gone, but maybe he was right, in a way. things are starting to look up for you these days. you’ve still got a lot of moving on to do, but you’ve started, at least.

you war between telling him you’re doing better now, that you got out, or telling him that you don’t care if you would’ve been beaten down and torn apart like he looks he has been because you would’ve been with him. you’d bear anything if it meant being with him. or you would have. it sort of hurts your heart because you don’t think that’s true anymore. and you suppose that’s a good thing,

but somehow there was something easier about loving him blindly and unceasingly to the point of willingness to bear through hell. you don’t know it, but if you had stayed, it would’ve been a hell of sorts for you. it was much more hellish for him, in a way you’ll never know, but your suffering would’ve been horrible in its own right.

“i got out,” you whisper. he looks up at you in surprise. you’re not looking at him. he sits across from you at the little kitchen table. then, you meet his gaze. “i was just stopping by for gas. the gas station here has shitty snacks. i’m on the way to a job interview a couple of hours away from here. at eleven, tomorrow morning.”

his face is one of unbridled hope and relief. he smiles a bit and reaches for your hands resting on the table. you have to look away from him when they make contact and he notices, pulling away.

“i’m so happy for you. i’m so glad,” he says softly. he almost said he’s proud, but he realizes it’s not his place to say so. “and i’m sorry. i know i hurt you.” but he still just sounds mostly relieved. it means everything to him that you got away from it all and he’s scared that just running into you will throw you off this path.

you inhale sharply, then let it out slowly. “you did. more than i’d ever been hurt before,” you admit. “it tore me apart, sam. i loved you so much.”

his face falls again. he wonders what he said to you. what made you leave. and there’s a bit of hope. loved, you’ve just said. if you don’t love him anymore, that must be a good thing, he thinks. you still speak to him softly.

“i still love you,” you confess. you look him in the eyes, “very much, and i always will, i think. but not so much anymore. i had to move on or i’d get myself killed. i almost did. that first year, i put myself in so much danger just to try and prove you wrong. but i didn’t want to die, i just wanted you to have me back. it was so hard to rip myself away from it all because it felt like i was proving you right.” you can’t help but tear up as you speak. you missed him so dearly and so violently. you sort of feel like making bad decisions and throwing your progress out the window and kissing him and sticking around. that wouldn’t be healthy at all, and you don’t think he’d let you. you’ve grown enough restraint to know you won’t really do that to yourself either.

“but it wouldn’t be fair to myself to come back to you after you told me i should go. i think it's the cruelest thing anyone’s ever said to me. when i think of your voice, the first thing i hear is how gently you used to talk to me. and then i hear your voice—it was so cold and even trying to be a bit harsh—saying ‘yes. you should go.’ and i still can’t understand how you could say that to me.” you have to pause to collect yourself, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

so he told you to go. that’s what he did, he told you to go. he feels wretched.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers again. “i– i shouldn’t have said that to you.” he doesn’t say that he regrets the way things have turned out. he most certainly regrets hurting you like that. he regrets that you nearly died because of it. he wonders if you were alone. he’s terrified by the thought.

but after you left, he jumped into the cage with lucifer. his soul was stuck there for over one hundred years. his body came back, and soulless, he never could have loved you right. he wouldn’t have cared about you, and it would have hurt you so horribly. he would’ve hurt you so horribly. and then he came back, but he couldn’t remember anything. his memories came back next and he fell apart, understandably so. but not even all his memories remained intact. he forgot a lot about his life before the cage, about you. and he wouldn’t be able to bear your love. touch is still difficult for him. he’d have nothing to give you, plagued by hallucinations of the devil and haunted by the cruelest of hands. and now, he’s dying and you probably just think he’s running a bad fever.

“you shouldn’t have,” you agree. you sound more tired than angry, to him. he wishes he could remember what your voice sounds like when you’re happy, when you’re sleepy and smiley at the same time, when you get excited. hearing your voice at all brings some of it back. the tired and the sad and upset and angry and resigned come back quicker, though.

you sigh. “i missed you.”

he missed you too, so he says, “i’m sorry.”

“it’s been so long,” you say. he nods, his pinky brushes against yours. you have no idea.

“so long. i missed you, too,” he risks saying, because he thinks from the way you’re looking at him that you want to hear him say it. your eyes look a little glossier, and you give a little sigh of relief. indeed, you did want to hear it.

there’s something in his voice when he echoes so long, as if it’s been a lifetime. it has been for him, but not you. he won’t tell you that, though. he’s decided to pretend like everything’s fine. that’s what he does all the time, but for a moment he had been considering telling you everything.

maybe so you can know the extent of horrors you would’ve had to endure. and maybe to tell someone who will be thoroughly and unfailingly empathetic and kind and sorry about it. you’d most certainly hug him, even if you’re still angry at him. but the key is that you’d be sorry about it and he doesn’t want you to be sorry about anything at all. and if you hug him and stroke his hair and tell him you’re sorry he had to go through that all, he’s not sure he can come back from that. he’ll need you and he can’t afford that. he wouldn’t do that to you.

and regardless of how foggy his memory is, he knows without a doubt that you’re too good for your own good. too sweet and feeling and he’s sure you’d feel guilty about not being there for him. he doesn’t want you to feel that way. so, he won’t say a thing. but he’d love to hear about everything from you, if you’re willing.

you cross your pinkies over his on the table, nothing else. “would you lay down in bed if i asked you to? i’m sure you haven’t been taking care of yourself. you look so sick, it’s a miracle you didn’t collapse in that grocery store.”

he doesn’t want to do that exactly, but he’ll do quite literally anything you ask him to. “aren’t you hungry?” he says. he remembers the snacks you bought, somehow even that you usually get hungry this time of day because of your eating habits. you must be extra hungry since you’ve been on the road.

you purse your lips like you wish he hadn’t evaded your question.

“yes, i’ll lay down. after you eat,” he relents.

“you should eat too. i’ll make us some sandwiches,” you say. that’s the deal, and he knows it. you’ll eat so long as he does it with you. that’s alright. he doesn’t have much of an appetite, but he likes the thought of eating something you make for him. he holds back a frown when your hands lift from his, even if the contact was so little before.

he rests his face in the palm of one of his hands, watching as you move through his kitchen, taking some of the groceries back out from where he put them away. to him, it looks like you're floating. you move slowly and softly and even though you bear the weight of seeing him again and having it all rush back to you after two years of trying to move on, your shoulders seem light. he watches you with so much love. now it’s his turn to imagine domesticity with you.

you can feel his gaze, but you don’t look at him.

the sandwiches are eaten in silence. he watches you still. it’s not uncomfortable though. it’s sort of nice to know he wants to just see you, in any way at all.

maybe today is a day for ignoring most everything. for giving into it, for taking what you want and suffering the consequences later. holding his hand might plague you for weeks. and holding him close? likely much longer than just that. but it would make you feel better right now. to have him just for tonight. to get him to sleep, to leave him with love rather than anything else. that, at least, would make you feel better for longer than just the passing of today’s sun and moon.

you dump your plates and any other used dishes in the sink. you plan to clean them before you leave. in the morning, hopefully. you’ll still make it to your interview if you leave early enough.

then, you stand, hold out your hand, and wait for him to take it. the size of your hand in comparison to his doesn’t really matter. the way he reaches up and curls your fingers into his makes you feel like his hand is swallowing yours up in the softest way it ever could. he stands when you give the gentlest of tugs and leads you to his room just like he knows you want. he doesn’t let go of your hand because you don’t let go of his.

it feels silly to him to waste time laying down in bed while your here. he’s not sure he’ll ever see you again. that makes him want to cry. so he sits on the edge of his bed and guides you down to sit with him.

you don’t protest physically. “i wanted you to lay down,” you murmur, your hand finally falling from his.

“i’ll lay down when i go to sleep for the night,” he shakes his head softly.

“you said you’d lay down after eating,” you frown.

“laying down right now feels like a waste,” he answers, honest for once.”i’d rather sit with you.” you think you’re having heart palpitations. you rub your palms over your clothed knees. you’re feeling a little sweaty.

“you look so different,” you tell him, “you know, besides looking sick. how’d you get to look so ill?” you ask but don’t wait for an answer. “i meant it when i said I liked your hair like this, by the way. it’s looks nice long.” his cheeks heat up a bit and you can see his blush when you glance at him. it’s subtle and soft, but more obvious because of his pale, poorly complexion.

“thank you. you look great, really,” he tells you, quite earnest as he says it too. he thinks you look amazing. twenty six year old sam would go crazy like a school boy if he saw you know. he thinks he was twenty six back then. present time sam—he’s not sure how old he’s to be considered, probably twenty nine or thirty to you—still feels like he’s going crazy too, just not in the good old fashioned crush type of way. just in the way that you’re stunning, even though you’re tired and bedraggled from what he can guess has been a long and dreary drive. just in the way that he already knows he doesn’t have you.

“thanks, sam.” you can hear and see how much he means it. you reach a hand up and rest it on his forehead. you could already feel his body heat radiating from just being seated at his side. “you’re burning,” you inform him, “i don’t get how you’re sitting up straight right now.” he just gives a soft sigh.

“there’s a bathroom across the hall?” you ask, recalling the glimpse you saw on the way here. he hums a yes and lets you leave. you come back with two cool washcloths. one for his head and the other for the back of his neck. you hand him the first and he looks at it with a small smile. then he stills, barely breathing as you place the other on the back of his neck, brushing his hair out of the way. your fingertips in his hair and the cold cause him to shiver.

“have you taken any tylenol or anything today?” you ask. he shakes his head.

“it’s no use,” he says, but he doesn’t explain why. you furrow your brow.

“that’s silly. what, you don’t believe in modern medicine anymore?” your voice is just soft, not even teasing.

he purses his lips. “i do. tylenol won’t help, though.”

“i suppose you won’t tell me why?”

“i’ll have a dose. there’s a bottle in the bathroom,” he relents in answer. no, he won’t tell you why, that means. if he won’t tell you, that probably means it’s something bad. he’s probably not just suffering from a simple flu. even an untreated flu can be very dangerous, but his sickness is probably something worse. but he wants to pretend, and you sort of do too.

“okay,” you whisper. “you sure it won’t help?”

“i’ve been sick a while now. it doesn’t help,” he admits. you’re sure he won’t say anything more, but it most certainly makes you quite concerned to hear that.

you’re afraid to ask. “will you be alright?” it’s very hard to forget that you still love him. impossible, like this. so close to him, feeling the heat of his feverish skin and hearing the sound of his voice.

he doesn’t answer for a long moment, unsure what to tell you. “everything will be alright,” he decides. he knows that’s not what you asked. but he’s resigned to his fate whatever it is, so to him, everything will be alright. in a way. sort of, maybe. hopefully for you, at the very least.

you’ll have to settle for that answer because it’s the best one he can give you. you grab his hand that rests on his knee, palm up and still loosely holding that damn cloth you gave him.

“okay. hold that to your head. you might feel a little better, even if it’s just for now,” you say, guiding his hand up until he holds the washcloth over his forehead like you asked. you gently pull out the strands of hair trapped under it, tucking the stray pieces neatly away.

now, he honestly feels a bit cold. you tug over a folded blanket from the foot of his bed and drape it over his shoulders, hoping to keep any chills away. then you flip the cool rag on his neck to the other side, the side first in contact with his skin already grown warm. you settle next to him and sigh a bit.

you observe his room and he observes you. it’s very barren, hardly lived in. it must be strange for him to have somewhere much more long term than a motel, you think.

your face is melancholy, he thinks.

“you’ve never actually said you love me,” you whisper. “or loved, or whatever. it’s okay if it’s loved. did you?”

“i do,” he breathes out. you nearly start crying, right then and there. your chest is tight and the breath you let out is shuddering. “i do love you, and i’m sorry.” he watches as you blink back tears. you nod a bit, feeling sort of pitiful. you don’t like the way you feel, but you’ve longed to hear it. you needed to hear it.

“no more saying sorry, please,” you request quietly. you’ve decided that he’s said it enough. not enough to make up for things, of course, but enough that you don’t want to hear it anymore.

he almost says sorry again, for saying sorry too much. “okay,” he agrees softly. you drop your head to his shoulder and he tenses. you nearly pull right away with an apology on your lips when you’re worried he’s uncomfortable with it, but his hand slips from underneath the blanket you gave him and wraps around your shoulders. you sit there for a long while, very quiet. eventually he dares to rest his head on yours.

his clammy warmth makes you sweat too, but you don’t care. you’re soaking it all up because you know you’ll never have it again. this will have to be enough.

you break the silence. “sam,” you sigh, sounding a bit defeated, very tired. “how did we get here?”

he sighs too. “you know how,” he sounds more defeated, more exhausted, more guilty. but he can’t say sorry again, because you asked him not to. you reach over and play with his free hand. he’d stopped holding the washcloth to his head a bit ago. your fingertip trails down each of his long fingers, drawing circles around his knuckles.

“you’ll miss me?” you ask, a hint of vulnerability slipping through the cracks of your calm.

he pulls you imperceptibly closer. you feel it. his heart aches and aches and aches. “i will,” he says, all sure and steady and reassuring, “very much. you’re the kind of person that’s very hard not to miss.” i’m sorry i’m not good enough for you, he thinks, since he can’t say it aloud.

“i’ll miss you too. i miss you every day,” you breathe out. he wishes you wouldn’t. he wishes you’d never have to ache for him at all, but you do. you have for so long, maybe it’s a part of you now. aching is certainly a part of him.

“please don’t miss me too much,” he murmurs, wondering if he’s allowed to ask that of you.

“i’ve been learning how,” you tell him. “some days i barely miss you at all. some days i even forget that i miss you until i’m reminded of you. which is often, unfortunately. i spent years coming up with ways to associate just about everything in the world with you. just because you were everything in my world.” you’re tired. your eyes fall closed. “not anymore, though.”

“well… someday i hope i’m something very small and manageable,” he whispers.

“i don’t,” you refute on instinct. you sigh and deflate. “i do. you’re just very tall.” he has to bite back a bark of surprised laughter. he grins instead, since you can’t see his face. he’s just glad you haven’t held back from saying something funny. you huff out a laugh, eyes drifting back open.

“i’m hungry,” you decide, “i’m going to make some dinner.”

you eat alone in the kitchen. once you were left to your own devices to cook, you realized you needed to breathe. you couldn’t do so very well around him. so, you selfishly eat first—it’s not really selfish at all, as sam still has no appetite and couldn’t ever blame you for doing so—and bring back a plate of food for him. he’s sitting at his desk pouring over a book, it’s small text likely giving him an awful headache. you set the plate down next to him and sit on his bed again. you watch as he manages to eat some of it, but he doesn’t finish the portion.

you seem content just watching him, so he pushes the plate aside with a very sincere thank you and a cut-off apology for not finishing it. he continues reading his book, just for a bit. he’s hunched over the old thing, shoulders somehow slumped and tense all at once. you stand quietly and softly, hesitantly slide your hands over his shoulders. he stiffens, then relaxes.

nimble fingers pull the blanket wrapped around him back a bit. “can i unbutton your shirt?” you whisper, only because you can see a grey undershirt peeking out from the flannel’s collar.

“don’t,” he shakes his head, “don’t take care of me. you don’t have to keep doing that. it’s not fair.”

“i won’t if you really don’t want me to. but.. won’t you let me have this? just this once?” you ask, telling him that you want to.

“you don’t have to,” he says, softer. but you can, is the part left unsaid.

your hands slip down, undoing the buttons until it brings you too close to him to bear. he takes over for you, sensing your hesitation to move any closer once your breath hits his neck, unbuttoning the last three and shrugging the shirt off.

you start with simple, soothing rubs over his shoulders, trying to get him to actually relax. he finds that your roaming hands are easily bearable, welcome, even. he worried that he’d flinch or cringe away, especially as you opened up his shirt. but his hands fall into his lap and his chin begins to dip lower and lower. you watch in satisfaction and slowly work out the tension in his muscles. you think that, since you’re here, you need your time with him to be lovely and gentle. maybe you shouldn’t have the memory of what it might’ve been like to have him. maybe this will slow your moving on, slow your feet to a trudge.

the war in your chest tells you that you’re toeing the line between healing and harmful by being here, by indulging in what you feel was taken from you. but you know it never would’ve been this simple all the time. life is easier away from him, in some ways. away from the things that being with him brings along. so you’ll steal this now and bury it in your flesh and then walk out the door. this will be the last of him face to face, hopefully the worst of the torture.

oddly enough, you think you’ll survive it. you just are starting to wish that you could kiss the back of his neck as you brush the hair from it. you won’t. you won’t kiss him anywhere, not ever. except for the time you kissed him on the cheek the first time you’d seen him after he came back to hunting. you meant it as a friendly one, and that’s certainly how he took it back then.

you stand there massaging his shoulders until your legs grow tired and knees a bit bothered, then a little longer after that. tender hands lay still there, thumbs barely edging past his t-shirt to rest on his skin as you twist your head and take a peek at his face. his eyes are satisfyingly closed.

your thumbs give a gentle back and forth movement, pushing a little at the hem of his shirt. “to bed,” you whisper, patting his shoulder lightly. his eyes drift back open and he lets out a long breath. you step away, hand trailing down his arm as you head to the bed. his hand catches yours before it loses contact and he follows you without another word. he just lets you do as you like. he owes you that much, and more, for telling you to go.

when you pull back the covers, he climbs in and you follow after him. he opens his arms to you, despite being a bit surprised. he tucks you into his chest and his eyes sting with tears for a moment before he’s able to blink them away.

and then you talk and talk because you don’t want to hear whatever happened while you were gone. you’re sure that sort of thing would weigh you down much more than you deserve. so you tell him everything, to get it all off your chest. you still feel closer to him than anyone else you’ve met in these last few years. and it’s not as if you can tell the full truth to anybody in your new life. your voice is quiet and gentle and lulling, and even when his eyes close, he listens with rapt attention.

his fever makes him even warmer than he usually is, so you eventually have to escape from his hold. you don’t part, but you shift up and tuck his head into your chest instead. that way you’re not as smothered in his heat.

“...and you know, i forgave you a while ago. there was no use holding a grudge,” you murmur. his brow creases. he doesn’t feel as though he should be forgiven. “i am doing better. away from it all. you were sort of right. you were wrong, but right. i guess it doesn’t really matter who was right, though, because we can’t really change anything now.”

“you’re allowed to be mad about it,” he says. he’s still so glad that you feel like you’re doing better, though. so glad.

“i was. so angry. still am, sometimes. but being mad never really got me anywhere. it was just something i needed to feel until i could start moving on,” you explain. you’d already told him just ten minute about how angry you had been. about how it made you bitter and a plain old hot mess for some time. “think about it, sam,” you urge him, “isn’t it a good thing that i still love you? even if it hurts sometimes and even after i was so mad. isn’t it good that that’s what’s leftover? i’d rather love you than be angry at you, because– well, because i don’t like being angry. this feels better. it doesn’t hurt as much, and i’m learning how to live with it. anger isn’t quite so liveable. if it helps, it’s for me. i– everything used to be for you. but it’s not anymore.”

that does help, but he doesn’t know how to not feel sorry for everything. “i can hear you hurting,” he whispers. “i can hear it in your voice.”

“yeah,” you breathe back, “but it’s more like an ache, sam, and it’ll go away. it’ll go away, and it would make me feel better if you wouldn’t feel so sorry anymore. give yourself this much. to know that i’ll end up just fine and that i’ll always love you. you worry so much, so don’t worry about me. as a favor.”

there’s a long silence. for a moment, you think that your voice has finally put him to sleep.

“i’ll try,” he says, just for you.

you let a new silence fall. that will have to be enough, so you let him be. he falls asleep, and it’s easy to tell just how deeply he rests. with his sickness and constant bone-deep exhaustion, it’s completely unsurprising.

as for you, you stare at the darkened ceiling after switching off the bedside lamp and run your fingers through his hair, over and over again. you’ve always loved his hair, and you love the length, but you sort of miss when it was boyish.

you start to cry and even when your chest shudders with uneven, tear-filled breath, he doesn’t wake. you shake and sniffle and wet his pillow and his hair with your tears. he hardly stirs, which you’re infinitely glad for. you couldn’t bear to receive his comfort were he to wake.

you cry yourself to sleep, sweaty and snoring with your whole arm going numb from the position you’re in.

one would think sam would sleep long and heavy. but these days, while he’s not a light sleeper, he’s been a restless one. most nights he wakes in feverish discomfort every couple of hours. he supposes that your presence has kept him asleep for longer than usual tonight, but not until the morning.

he wakes to the dark and one of your still hands in his hair. the other has fallen limply onto the sheets. he shifts slowly and carefully so he can tilt his head up to look at your face. his eyes adjust to the darkness quickly. sam reaches up with a tired hand, brushing his thumb over your cheek. he’s met with the slightest resistance. your tears haven’t fully dried, and he realizes that he’s wiping at teartracks. you might’ve even been crying in your sleep.

and since you can’t hear him, he whispers, “i’m sorry.” he wants to lay awake, feeling the rise and fall of your chest, hearing your little snores in tandem, and seeing you for as long as he can. but sleep drags him under once again, his hand falling from your cheek to rest on your neck.

you wake early, knowing exactly where you are before you open your eyes. the weight of sam’s body, halfway on top of yours, is hard to miss. the memory of his nearness is the sort that floods through you the second you can think of anything at all. you know what you have to do, but it hurts more now that the time has come. there’s no more pretending left to do, no more sand at the top of the hour glass. your time with him has run out for good.

you reach up and gently hold his hand that lays over your neck. you’ll make your interview in time if you lay here for just a few more minutes. then you slide out from under him, careful with his sleeping body, cupping the side of his head to be sure it gets to the pillow as gently as possible. he rolls onto his stomach, just how he always does when he’s not sharing the bed. you used to tease him for it, but he looks so soft and peaceful that it just makes you even more endeared with him.

it’s not very possible to resist from brushing a strand of his mussed hair away from his face. his cheek is squished against the pillow, lips slightly parted, and face still looking sickly. he looks weak in his sleep, vulnerable. his hulking frame seems small, his matured features worn tired with much more than age. he’s still young, really.

“oh, you really know how to just tear someone’s self restraint to shreds, don’t you?” you mumble, shaking your head at him. he doesn’t stir when you speak, just as you expected. you swoop down, not at all graceful, and press the softest of kisses to his cheek. since you’ve kissed him there before all those years ago, you tell yourself it’s alright. it’s nothing new. just that you’ve kissed his left cheek this time. the first, it was his right. how or why you remember that, you’ll ignore.

then you tuck him in properly and erase the room of all signs that you were ever there. you grab the plate of food you brought him last night, and steal one last glance of him before shutting the door quietly behind yourself. “bye, sam,” you whisper to the closed door. “be careful, please.”

you wash all the dishes from yesterday, put them right back where they were, and ensure the kitchen is exactly how it was when you entered for the first time. not really as a favor. you don’t clean anything else but the dishes, nor do you organize the mess that the fridge is.

the only traces of you that remain are the ache in the air, the missing slices of bread from the new loaf on the counter, and the folded flannel shirt that will greet him on his desk when he wakes. but you will be gone, once again and for the last time.

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 5 months ago

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Not really a request, at least not a super detailed one but, anything with Rosa Diaz x autistic reader would be amazing!!

Maybe R drops off some lunch or something for rosa and meets the rest of the squad or smth?

In general i am in love with your autistic!reader fics. Im currently in the process of being diagnosed with autism, and its just really rather comforting to see myself in a reader insert

-Ara

Hey, Ara! 🥰 So glad you enjoy the autistic!reader fics! They are some of my favorites to write. I was just diagnosed about a year ago, so it's still new-ish for me, but I also find a lot of comfort in the autistic reader inserts. Hope this is what you're looking for, and best of luck with your diagnosis process! Feel free to reach out if you need a fellow autistic pal to talk through stuff with! 💕 –illdowhatiwantthanks

A Little Lunch

Rosa Diaz x autistic!fem!reader Warnings: explicit language, overstimulation (the autism kind), established relationship (let me know if I missed anything!) Word count: 1.4k

Summary: People aren't your forte, but you told your girlfriend you'd have lunch with her at the precinct, and so you will. And it goes... surprisingly better than expected.

You took a few deep breaths outside the precinct door, sandwiches from Rosa’s favorite shop in hand. You’d never visited her at work before, never met her coworkers. People weren’t your strong suit. But Rosa had asked you. She didn’t ask you for much. She liked to keep her work life separate from her personal life, for the most part. And the fact that she wanted you to meet her squad? Well, you couldn’t let her down. You wouldn’t.

The overhead lights were bright, and the general office noise was overwhelming when you stepped inside. You lurked in a corner, trying to acclimate yourself, trying to survey the room and find Rosa and calm yourself down so you could have a nice, normal lunch with your girlfriend.

You jumped a bit as a woman in a rolling chair slid in front of you, hands pressed together over her waist.

“Is that my Panera?” she said, staring at the bag in your hands.

“Uh… no.”

The woman stared at you for a moment, and you shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze and felt the need to provide a reason for your presence.

“I’m, uh… I’m here to see Rosa. Diaz. She's a detective. Do you know where she is?”

The woman’s face lit up. “Ohhhh… interesting. Did she order Panera, too? Great minds.” She held out your hand for you to shake, so you did. “Gina Linetti,” she told you. “Dancer, secretary, genius.”

“Gina, stop tormenting my girlfriend!”

You’d know that voice anywhere. You visibly relaxed as Rosa walked into the squad room, placing a strong, protective hand at the small of your back.

Gina held up her hands, as if in defense. “Sorry, Rosa. I thought she was Panera.”

“She’s not Panera,” Rosa growled. “She’s my girlfriend, and we’re eating lunch, and you’re leaving us alone.”

Rosa took your hand and led you through the precinct, into a break room scattered with tables where, alone and away from prying eyes, she planted a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

You nodded and held up the bag of food. Rosa gestured toward the table and went to grab napkins and, for neither the first nor the last time, you were grateful that you often didn’t need words with Rosa. You were comfortable in one another’s silence and, for you, this was life-changing. Your words were one of the first things to go when you got overstimulated, but Rosa never seemed to mind. For this, and for many other reasons, you loved her.

But you’d barely started on your lunch before people started trickling into the break room: Jake, Amy, Charles. All ostensibly eating lunch, too, even if they’d already taken lunch, even if all they had was a bag of chips from the vending machine, as Jake did.

“So, Y/N,” Amy started. “How did you and Rosa meet?”

Rosa jumped in before you forced yourself to say anything. “Hey,” she spat at the group crowding the table next to yours. “When I told Y/N she could meet me for lunch, I meant me. Not me and half the squad. Scram, losers.”

You gave a little half wave as they slunk out of the room, smiling a little as Charles mouthed off to you behind Rosa’s back: “We’ll catch up later!”

“Sorry,” Rosa said a few minutes later. “I know they can be a bit much.”

You shook your head and squeezed her hand, able to find your voice again. “It’s okay. They seem nice.”

“If by nice, you mean fucking crazy, then yes.”

A knock on the doorframe. At first, Rosa seemed annoyed by the interruption, but when she saw that it was Captain Holt she looked almost… proud?

“Captain,” she said, rising from her seat and nodding at him. She gestured toward you. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, Captain Holt.”

You moved to stand and shake his hand, but Holt stopped you. “Oh, no, please.” He sat down next to you, and Rosa seemed comfortable with him, so you decided that Captain Holt was someone you would like. “It’s lovely to meet you,” he said.

“You too,” you replied, trying not to let your voice shake too much. You tried to think of something to say, tried to think of a topic of conversation, but you were floundering. Your voice was hard for you on a regular day, even sometimes with people you loved, like Rosa. You just couldn’t manage to force anything out. You felt your cheeks growing red. You hoped you weren’t embarrassing Rosa.

You couldn’t have said all this to Rosa even if you’d wanted to, but Rosa always seemed to get it anyway.

“Y/N, Captain Holt and his husband are going to the symphony tonight. I told him that was one of your favorites, too.”

You lit up. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Rosa, you thought. You loved the symphony. She was right; it was one of your favorites. Despite Rosa’s general indifference toward classical music, she’d gotten you both season passes for your birthday. She didn’t love the music, but she loved the way your eyes shone when you listened, the way you perched on the edge of your seat like a child. She loved that when she held your hand during the performances, she could tell when you were particularly moved because you’d get goosebumps and the hair on your skin would stand up.

“Oh, it’s John William Weischselbraun tonight, right? Bach’s Oboe Sonata? That should be excellent!”

Holt looked about as excited as Rosa had ever seen him.

“You’re a fan of the oboe, are you?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, yes, sir.” You nodded enthusiastically. “I played oboe in my high school orchestra. It’s a severely underrated instrument.”

Rosa beamed at you as Holt reached out to shake your hand. “Diaz....” he said, shaking a finger at her. “She’s a keeper.”

“Yes, sir,” Rosa nodded.

He stared at her reproachfully. “I hope you take this fine lady to the symphony and not just to your rock concerts.”

“She does, sir,” you assured him. “We even have season passes.” And then you had what you thought was maybe one of your more brilliant ideas. “Maybe we could all go together, sometime? Me and Rosa and you and your husband?”

Rosa and Captain Holt stared at each other for a moment, and you were afraid you’d misread the situation terribly. You’d always thought that Rosa liked Captain Holt, at least from the way she talked about him. You thought they were friendly with one another. Maybe you’d been wrong.

You tried to backtrack. “Or maybe not,” you blurted. “Just a thought.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how quickly both Rosa and Captain Holt jumped to reassure you. So quickly that their voices overlapped.

“That’d be great, babe.”

“Now, doesn’t that sound nice?”

Gina rolled in front of the door to the break room. “Captain, you have a phone call,” she yelled out as her chair rolled by.

“Excuse me,” Holt said, standing. He stood, pressed his hand over yours and said, “Truly nice to meet you, Y/N. I look forward to our mutual date.”

When he’d gone, Rosa stared at you. She was smiling. Really smiling.

“What?” you asked, your face reddening.

She leaned forward and kissed you quickly, her hand gently grasping your chin.

“What was that for?”

She tucked your hair behind your ear. “You did really good today,” she whispered. “I know you were nervous. Thanks for lunch.”

You turned an even deeper shade of red. “Anytime. Or, well, sometimes.”

She smirked and kissed you one more time, pulling away quickly as Jake wolf-whistled from the doorway.

“Shut your mouth, Peralta, or I’ll shut it for you,” she growled.

It was always so funny to you to see Rosa with others. So rough, so intimidating. When she turned back to you, she was soft. She was always soft with you.

“I’ll see you tonight?” she asked, squeezing your hand.

You nodded, as you stood to leave, perching on tiptoes to kiss her on the cheek. Your voice had slipped back inside of you for the time being, so you simply squeezed her hand back and let her walk you out of the precinct.

Rosa watched you go, swinging your arms a bit as you walked down the sidewalk, and her heart ached. She loved you so much. Your quiet voice, that was always a gift to hear. Your swinging, fidgety arms. The fact that you loved her so much, so purely. She only hoped she could show you just as much love in return.

#rosa diaz #rosa diaz x reader #rosa diaz x fem!reader #rosa diaz x autistic!reader #x autistic!reader #rosa diaz fanfic #brooklyn 99 #brooklyn 99 fanfic

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prythiansprincess · 7 months ago

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PROLOGUE

home | chapters | playlist

🤍 pairing: theodore nott x reader.

🤍 song inspiration: cruel summer by taylor swift.

🤍 author’s note: this series has been a year in the making and i'm so glad to finally share it with you. as always, replies, reblogs, and comments are appreciated. I love hearing what you guys think.

Seventh Year, Great Hall

Pansy Parkinson leaned against the stone wall and surveyed the occupants of the Great Hall over the top of her champagne flute. Seven years she had sat in this very room, during the span of her formative years, holding court at the head of the Slytherin table with her friends. The Sacred Seven, they called themselves. Pansy, Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, Enzo, Theo and Y/N.

Since the moment Pansy walked off the Hogwarts Express, she knew that she and her friends would run this school. From their infamous common room parties to their shopping sprees in Hogsmeade and late night skinny dipping at the Black Lake, there had never been a dull moment amongst her group of friends. Now they were all graduating.

It was truly the end of an era.

In a rare display of emotion, Pansy found herself smiling as she spotted her friends from across the room. Blaise chatting — or flirting, you could never really tell with Zabini — with Padma Patil. Mattheo and Enzo chucking grapes into each other’s mouths. Idiots, she thought fondly. Lastly, her gaze fell to Theo and Y/N sitting at the far end corner of the Great Hall, talking like they were the only people in the world.

Some things never changed.

For as long as Pansy had known them, those two gravitated towards each other like magnets. Theo and Y/N were a package deal. You could never have one without the other. Best friends since birth, they had known each other longer than anyone else in the group. During their time at Hogwarts, Pansy watched her closest friends pathetically teeter between will they or won’t they territory. She thought that tonight might finally be the night that they crossed that proverbial line, but it wasn’t looking promising thus far.

In the past thirty minutes alone, she counted at least six opportunities for either one of them to make a move.

Yet nothing happened.

Theo had that stupid lovestruck expression on his face as he listened to Y/N talk, chuckling softly as she picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on his lapel. For Salazar’s sake, anyone with an ounce of common sense could see that they were meant to be together.

Pansy exhaled a long suffering sigh. Those two smitten idiots would never get together unless she did something about it. She truly had to do everything around here, didn’t she?

“Don’t,” warned a familiar voice. Draco slipped in beside her, cradling his own drink as he pinned her with a serious gaze.

Pansy bristled slightly, causing the sharp edge of her sleek bob to graze her jaw. “I don’t know what you mean by that, Malfoy.”

Draco sighed. “I’ve known you long enough to recognize that look in your eyes. Whatever you’re planning, I want absolutely nothing to do with it. This has the makings of another Pansy Parkinson scheme.”

She raised a perfectly arched brow. “Need I remind you that you’re only with Granger thanks to one of my infamous schemes?”

As if summoned by their conversation, Hermione sidled up next to her boyfriend. “What’s this about Granger?”

Pansy grinned, looping her arm around the Gryffindor. “Granger is going to tell her meddlesome boyfriend to mind his own business, while I actively plot against my closest and dearest friends.”

Hermione only shook her head. Though she hadn’t known Pansy as long as the others, the girl had welcomed her into their friend group with open arms, often roping her into chaotic situations. She had learned the hard way that there was no stopping the force of nature that was Pansy Parkinson.

“You Slytherins and your schemes,” Hermione teased. “Why not just let this one play out, Pans? They might surprise you.”

Pansy scoffed. “Please. I’ve watched those two bumbling idiots pine over each other for seven years. They had their chance.” She took a long swig of champagne. “Now it’s my turn.”

If there was one thing that people should know about Pansy, it was that she always got what she wanted. Pansy Parkinson never failed and neither would this plan of hers.

Seven days. Seven friends. Seven steps. Throw in a stunning villa in the Italian countryside and it was the perfect recipe for a whirlwind romance.

Someone was going to fall in love this summer.

A Cheshire grin curved its way across Pansy’s lips. “Let the games begin.”

#summer theo is going to hit i promise you #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott smut #theo nott fluff #theo nott fic #theodore nott #theodore nott x you #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n

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darkintothedawn · 10 days ago

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THE SIGNING || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Gender Neutral reader

Summary — Setting the scene for 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE'. Stiles sits you down and convinces you to sign his collection of rules. Little does he know you've already decided that they're not worth following.

Memo— Don't ask about the ending, I have no idea what that is. You can find the rest of the 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE' here.

Word Count — 3052

Warnings — Suggestive content. Some explicit language (mentions of being hard). Mostly fluff.

"Alright, this is ridiculous," you say, sitting cross-legged on Stiles' bed. There's an unreasonably long piece of parchment spread out before you and the quill you're holding is wobbling slightly from the early tremors of a laugh. The parchment looks like it's been stolen right from a centuries old book that was probably stored in an underground vault during medieval times. It's complete with singed edges that you can tell he's artificially put there if you look hard enough and a heading written in surprisingly elaborate, swooping calligraphy. The Boyfriend Code.

"Who even has parchment anymore? Did you have to order this online?"

Stiles momentarily stops his pacing, hands clasped behind his back like a general before he starts to pace again. His eyes are locked onto your with the intensity of a general surveying his troops but the tell-tale signs of a grin are present on his face. "It's authentic parchment, thank you very much. And the quill? Hand-dipped, by yours truly, in ink from an antique shop. Do you know how much time I spent on this?"

The laugh nearly forces its way out but you stop it with a deep breath, trying to deadpan a "too much" but the smile tugging at your lips fails that attempt. "And a quill, Stiles? Are we signing a medieval peace treaty? Is this a sort of marriage? Are you trying to join our houses, Stilinski? Is that what this is?"

Stiles freezes mid-step, his face immediately going red—not just a faint blush but almost full on Stilinski Red™, blooming all the way down his neck. His mouth closes and opens a few times in quick succession before he manages to sputter, "Wha—no! I mean, that's—ugh, you just—you've ruined my whole thing now!"

You just raise an eyebrow, biting back your laugh that's threatening to come back at full force this time. "Your whole thing? You mean this elaborate parchment contract slash wedding vows situation?"

"It is not a wedding vow!" He practically squawks, but he won't quite meet your eyes now, focusing instead on gesturing wildly at the parchment in an attempt to look less lost than he is. "This is serious business! This is about rules and… and structure and a code of conduct and—ugh, you're, you're. You're you!"

He pouts, is bottom lip sticking out just enough to make you want to laugh despite how much you know he'd hate it. But, the flush creeping down his neck and across his slightly visible collar is more than enough of a tell for you to figure out there's something else going on here. You know Stiles wee enough to realise he's definitely spiralling—not because you embarrassed him, no, he'd never spiral over that, it's because now the idea's firmly planted in is mind, and he's really thinking about it. Hard.

And based on the way he keeps fidgeting with his hands, flannel, waistband, and keeps darting glances at you, it's clear that he wants it. The thought of you eventually being… more… is more than enough to completely throw him off his game, though you know he won't admit it any time soon.

You're about to tease him further when he throws his arms up dramatically, clearly trying to recover. "This isn't just any treaty," he says, stomping back into his role like an actor reclaiming the stolen spotlight as he stars to pace again. You can tell he's trying to cope with his racing mind.

He gestures at the parchment again, finally deeming himself confident to talk. He speaks as if the parchment is a royal decree, "The treaty. This is the cornerstone of our relationship. The guide to happiness, the sacred rules of boyfriend-dom. You do want this to work, right? Want us to thrive?"

And just like that, his speech has solidified his role once again. Well, sort of. His ears are still far too red, and his voice cracked a little at "thrive," but he's clearly committed. You let him have his moment, clearing your throat as you quickly glance at it yourself.

"You're serious right now?

"As a werewolf attack," he replies, aiming for solemn and unbothered but it's clear your growing grin is ruining that.

You tilt your head up at him, flicking to the list as you glanced over a few of them. "And what happens if I refuse to sign this treaty?"

"You don't want to know," he says ominously, narrowing his eyes. "But, as a fair warning, let's just say it involves a dramatic monologue, a fake but emotional breakup, and me dramatically leaving you to live a life of isolation in the woods. Maybe Scott visits occasionally. And you. I wouldn't turn you away because I could never stay mad at you but you'd never see me again. I'm miserable, obviously. And so are you. No one wins."

You can't help it—the laugh finally breaks free, the quill clattering onto the bed. "You're unbelievable.

"I prefer 'visionary', 'genius' even." He picks up the quill, carefully placing it back into your hand with a lingering touch as he gently wraps your fingers around it. "Now sign. Or it's the woods for me." He leans a little closer at that, his character breaking for a moment, "You know I don't do well with the woods, I mean, especially not after the whole werewolf thing with Scott. What if you come to find me and I'm there all fangs and snarls."

You just place your hands on his chest and gently shove him away, rolling your eyes with an amused smile as you dip the quill in the inkwell. You scrawl your name at the bottom, trying your best to match his calligraphy. Stiles watches over you with a look of absolute triumph, as if he's not only conquered a small kingdom but also successfully convinced the kingdom's sweetheart into marriage.

"There," you say, dropping the quill back into his hands. "Happy?

"Thrilled," is all you get out of him before he's snatching the parchment away before you can change your mind. He holds it up to the light, inspecting it. "It's beautiful. Frame-worthy, honestly. Plated gold maybe."

"Do not frame that."

"Oh, it's going on the wall," he says, grinning at you with a look too giddy for you be annoyed any longer. "Right next to Roscoe's registration. I mean, they're equally important."

You groan, flopping back onto the bed and shuffling up to the headboard. You can't help the grin tugging on your lips as you watch him fawn over it like a kid meeting Santa for the first time. Stiles places the parchment onto is desk with a grace you rarely ever see from him. He's already flopping down beside you, propping himself up on an elbow and placing his chin on your stomach. "So," he says, his voice softer now. "You really signed it."

"Of course I signed it," you reply, rolling your eyes again but letting your hand rest against his cheek. "How could I not? You worked so hard on it."

"I'm glad you recognise my effort," he says, grinning. "You're stuck with me now, you know."

"Like I wasn't before, Stilinski."

He tilts his head to place a quick kiss on the thinnest part of your top, smile widening at the warmth of your skin through it. "This is why you're my favourite."

"Your favourite?" You echo, feigning offense. "Out of who? Scott? Your dad? Lydia?"

He laughs, moving up to lying beside you and pulling you closer. "Out of everyone. Always."

You lean into him, resting your head against his chest as he rambles on about how sacred the code is and how he'll be keeping not a laminated copy in his glove compartment of Roscoe. It's a family heirloom now.

The moment feels soft and domestic. Too soft.

Because as much as you adore him, as much as you love that stupid grin and his way-too-specific quirks, you know something he doesn't: you're going to break every single rule. Not out of malice. Not out of spite. But because it'll drive him insane in the funniest way possible.

And after that you can write another list, together. If Stiles wants a list then he can have a list, but your having your fun with it fist.

You're going to steal the last curly fry. You're going to give Scott better cuddles, you're going to hide sticky notes around his room that say things like, I'm watching you and Do you smell that? in the most ominous handwriting you can muster. You'll use him as a human shield, tickle him during road trips, and oh, the music in the Jeep is definitely going to be changed without a vote.

You glance at the parchment resting on his desk, your lips twitching into a sly smile as you mentally check off each rules. You're already planning on how to break them.

"Why are you smiling like that?" He asks you suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

You look up at him with your best wide-eyed, innocent expression. "Like what?"

"Like you're plotting something. You signed the code. You're legally bound, you know. No take-backs."

"Legally bound, huh? Got it."

He narrows his eyes a little more, but the suspicions fades quickly. You tilt your head up, pulling him into a kiss before he can analyse your expression any further.

The kiss is soft at first, your lips brushing over his like a feather. He lets out a pleased sigh, his body relaxing under yours. But when you don't stop—when you deepen the kiss, your teeth catching his lower lip gently—he shivers, his hand instinctively tightening around your waist.

You tilt your head, angling the kiss more firmly now, letting him feel the heat of your mouth against his. Stiles groans low in his throat, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as though he's trying to ground himself. "Okay," he breathes between kisses, his voice already shaky, "This—this is nice."

"Just nice?" You murmur, already bringing your lips to his again. Grazing, teasing.

"Very nice," he amends quickly, a slight whine slipping out of him as you pull back for just a moment too long. He tries to follow you, lifting his head towards you and bringing his hands up your sides, but you just place a hand on his chest and gently push him back onto the bed.

"Stay," you say softly, and the flush on his cheeks darkens.

His lips are slightly swollen now, his hair mussed from where your fingers have started threading through it. "You're so—" He cuts himself off with a breathy groan as you kiss him again, your tongue slipping past his lips just enough to tease him before pulling back again.

"Mm? You hum against is mouth, dragging your teeth lightly along his jaw before kissing your way back to his lips.

"You're killing me," he whispers, his voice a little desperate now. His hips shift under you, and you feel the unmistakable press of him against your thigh. His body's already reacting to you, hard and needy, but you pretend not to notice.

Instead, you keep the kisses slow and deliberate, your lips moving against his with infuriating precision. You tilt your hips just slightly, brushing against him enough to make him gasp, but not enough to give him what he clearly wants. Needs.

"God," he groans, his hands sliding up under your shirt, his fingers warm against your skin. "You're—you're teasing me on purpose. "

"Am I?" You ask innocently, punctuating the question with a kiss to the corner of his mouth followed by another to his nose.

"Yes," he whimpers, his voice cracking slightly. "You are, and it's—holy—" He cuts himself off again when your lips move to his neck, your teeth scraping gently over the sensitive skin there. His breathing picks up, uneven now, and he grips your hips tightly.

"Poor Stiles," you murmur against his neck, your voice low and teasing. "You're so sensitive," you continue against his skin, enamoured by the way his hair rises at your warm breath.

"Stop," he whines, though the way he tilts his head back to give you better access completely contradicts him. "Stop teasing me."

You pull back slightly to look at him, and the sight is not only enough to make your breath hitch but for the familiar warmth of arousal to start spreading through your skin. His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted and kiss-bruised, his eyes dark and glassy as they lock onto yours. He looks wrecked already, and you've barely done anything.

"Please," he whispers, his voice low and raw. "Please, I—"

You cut him off with, yet again, another kiss, this one deeper and hungrier, fuelled by the heat tingling through you and the pure need on his face, swallowing his next whine. He responds instantly, his hands sliding up your back, one resting on your nape and the other across your back to your shoulder. He's pulling you closer as his hips start to buck against you.

But just as he starts to lose himself in the kiss, you pull back again, leaving him panting and breathless beneath you. "What—why?" He stammers, looking up at you like you've committed an actual, heinous, crime.

"Because I can," you reply with a grin, leaning down to press one last teasing kiss to his lips.

His head falls back against the pillow with a frustrated groan. "You're evil," he says, his voice thick with want and need.

You smile, brushing is hair back from his forehead as you lean down to whisper against his ear, "You love me anyway."

"Unfortunately," he breathes, his voice laced with exasperation and desire, "Yes. God help me, yes."

You laugh softly, pressing another teasing kiss to his lips before settling against him, your head finding it's familiar spot on his chest. His heart is racing beneath your ear, and his arms wrap around you instinctively, holding you close. The steady beat of his heat lulling you into a sense of complacency and comfort.

He huffs a soft sigh, still squirming slightly beneath you as he tries to calm down. "This is a cruel and unusual punishment, you know."

"Consider it a preview,," you tease, smirking up at him as you trail your fingers lazily over his chest and biceps.

"A preview?" He repeats, his voice hopefully and layered with emotion.

"Maybe. If you're good."

Stiles groans again, burying his face in your hair. "You're the worst."

You smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his collarbone. "And yet, here you are."

"Yeah," he mutters, his voice softening. "Here I am."

He groans dramatically, arms tightening around your waist. He's still hard against you, his hips shifting involuntarily, and the faint whimper that escapes his lips makes you bite back a laugh.

"You know," you begin, trying to keep a straight face as you look up at him, "If it's really that bad, you could always go handle it by yourself. I wouldn't mind waiting."

His head snaps downward, just barely missing an attack on your head by his chin. His eyes are wide and scandalised, though his lips twitch like he's trying not laugh himself. "Excuse me?"

"I'm serious," you tease, shrugging as though it's the most reasonable suggestion in the world. "I means, if you're that desperate—"

"I am not—" He stops himself, flushing even deeper, his hands leaving you to cover his face. "Oh my God, you're the worst. You know that right?"

You laugh softly, moving to gently pry his hands away from his face. "What? I'm just saying, if you really can't—"

"I can," he cuts in quickly, his voice rising in pitch. Then, softer, "I can. I'm fine."

You tilt your head, pretending to consider. "You sure? I mean, you're looking pretty—"

"Stop," he groans, his voice muffled as he buries his face into your hair. But even as he says it, his hands intertwine with yours, holding you tight.

For a moment it's quiet, just the sound of his slightly unsteady breathing and the warmth of his body pressed against yours. Then, in a much softer voice, he murmurs, "I wouldn't. Not without you anyway."

You blink, pulling back just enough to look at him. His cheeks are still red, but his eyes are soft and sincere, locking onto yours with a kind of vulnerable intensity that makes your heart stutter.

"Stiles…"

“I mean it,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not saying it’s not tempting—because, oh my God, you have no idea—but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Not when…” He swallows hard, his eyes darting away before he looks back at you. “Not when it’s you. You’re kind of… it for me.”

For a moment, you’re stunned into silence. It’s not the first time he’s said something so achingly sweet, but the weight of his words settles over you like a warm blanket.

And then, slowly, you realise something that makes your cheeks heat.

“…You too?” you ask, your voice quiet.

“What?” he says, his brow furrowing slightly.

You bite your lip, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “You’re not the only one. I—whenever I…” You clear your throat, your voice dropping slightly. “It’s always been you, ever since we got together. It’s only been you.”

His eyes widen, his lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something, but no words come out. Instead, he stares at you like you’ve just told him the most important secret in the universe.

“Stiles?”

“I—yeah,” he breathes, his voice shaky as a slow, crooked smile spreads across his face. “Yeah, okay, this is… Wow.”

“Wow?” you echo, laughing softly despite the heat in your cheeks.

“Yeah,” he says again, pulling you closer until your foreheads are pressed together. His voice drops to a whisper, soft and reverent. “We’re a mess, huh?”

“Completely,” you agree, your own smile tugging at your lips.

But it’s not a bad thing—not even close. Because even in the teasing, in the heated moments and the chaos you bring into each other’s lives, there’s this unshakable certainty between you.

You’re his. And he’s yours. In every possible way.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #gender neutral reader #stiles stilinski fluff #stiles stilinski x reader fluff #the boyfriend code

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soobinologisttt · 9 months ago

Text

eternal hearts - hwang intak

pairing ☆ intak x f. reader

warnings ☆ !zombie apocalypse au, !death of parents, !borderline depression, !weapons, !zombie encounter, !sick member, !many mentions of death, !nightmares, !smut, !dry humping, !unprotected sex, !dirty talk, !semi praise,

word count ☆ 5k

a/n: i think this is all! lmk if i missed something. im super proud of this!!

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

alone.

afriad.

these are daily feelings. the dread of knowing that you'll go to sleep alone and wake up alone.

that you'll probably never feel safe again, no matter how long you might live.

it has been two months since the outbreak.

you were at home while your parents were out grocery shopping.

you were so sucked into your text show, you didn't even notice your phone ringing at first.

but you were pulled back into reality when you picked it up.

it was your mom calling. you answered quickly, assuming that she wants to know if you have something in the kitchen or if she should buy it.

you remember the chills you got as you heard the screams of people around your mother. they still give you nightly nightmares, often waking up in a panic and a pile of sweat.

"what is happening mom? are you okay?" you panic and stand up quickly, getting ready to put your shoes on.

"y/n, do not leave the house. lock the doors, cover them with something, mattress, dressers, anything heavy." you hear her get out in one breathe, a warning that would stick with you.

"mom? what is happening?" you sobbed, fearing the worst.

"just know, your dad and i love you. i love you so so much and you're one of the greatest things that happened to me. which is why you have to keep fighting. for me" her voice cracked as she started to sob with you.

"mommy, please, tell me what is happeni-" you could barely get the words out as you cry.

before she could answer, the phone went slient.

your worst fear had came true at this moment. you were alone.

this was the first time you felt utterly alone but it wasn't the last.

this is the feeling that is currently washing over you as survey the empty cabinets of the house that you are currently living in.

you had to get out of your childhood home. too many memories haunt that place. it only made you feel more alone than you already do.

so after everything calmed down, you packed up your stuff, tooth brush, first aid, water, clothes, towels, anything you might need to live, and stuffed it into the car parked in your garage. driving a few towns over, you found a house primarily close to a supermarket.

a two story house with an abundance of food.

although you tried your best to ration, it wasn't enough.

after about two month, you needed more food.

you dreaded the day you had to exit a house again but it was unavoidable.

and today was the day.

it's a sunny day with a cool breeze. like a nice summer day, one where one might go to the beach or maybe a park.

as much as you wish you could do that, you can't.

the zombies on the street would turn into into a bloodbath with you. having a picnic with you.

you can only imagine the way they would eat you. would they start with your heart or brains?

these thoughts help to clear all thoughts and hopes of sunshine and picnics out of your head.

you remind yourself that you need food, unless you want to go out a lame way and starve to death.

you finally stop staring into the empty cabinets like something will appear and make your way to the living room.

your weapons are on display on the coffee table facing the boarded up window.

you look over the assortment of weapons. a machete, a hand gun, bat with nails, and a crowbar.

never in a million years did you think you'd have to own a gun. swearing that you wouldn't dare touch a gun.

but things have changed and now you own.

you pick up the hand gun and holster it on your waist, making sure it's secure but easy to grab if needed.

you grab the black backpack that is only carrying a bottle of water and swing it onto your back.

you double check to make sure you didn't miss anything that you might need, then you swifty pick up the machete.

you open the door quietly to peek your head out. and when you see it's all clear, you make your way to your car. hoping to load it up.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

you absolutly love your car. it was so silent, due to additions onto a car that make it quieter. you made sure to search it up before everything went offline. securing these parts in missions, working on your car in the garage at your old house.

it wasn't long until your car as silent as a mouse, starting up without a sound, stopping, and turning off without a sound. it was something that you were grateful to do.

you stop your car at the door of the supermarket. stick your head out the window to peek. once you saw it was all clear you exit the car, grabbing your machete from off the passenger seat

you silently enter the slight ajar sliding door. making sure to check your blind spots every second or so.

once you're in the store, you raise you cleaver up to keep your distance from anything that might pop up.

you quickly walk to the canned good isle and slide the bag off your back. you put your weapon down for one second to start packing away the food when you hear it.

it was too late, it was already so close to you. you slowly put down the bag before reaching over to the shelf to find the weapon you so desperately need right now. your eyes were kept on the undead body moving towards you.

you could only scold yourself for not looking around first. a rookie mistake that might cost you your life. in your head, you're beating yourself up. but outside, you are calm and confident. you won't let this take you out.

you observe the moving monster in front of you. it's clothes are all dirty and ripped. you can barely make out the color the shirt once was due to all the dirt and their jeans are shredded. to top that, it looks like it's decaying from he outside in. seeing their intestines draging along, makes you neary throw up.

you are still feeling around when you hit a can on the shelf. listening to it fall and roll, the zombie lunges at you.

the air in your lungs dissipates as you go into survival mood.

you turn your body to look for the weapon but instead you freeze. squeezing you eyes to brace for the bite that is coming. but it doesn't come. you grab the machete and turn around in one motion.

holding it to the stranger.

standing there is a boy and the zombie is on the ground. head a few feet away from its body.

approximately 5'11, with slighly bronze skin, brown eyes bright with life, chestnut brown hair, and a serious face.

his hands are both up in the air, as if he was surrending to police. sword still in one hand.

then in a low, husky voice, he speaks, "are you okay?"

he is quite literally ignoring the fact that you have a machete pointed at him.

"yes. who are you? is there more?" you rapidly spit out questions.

"yes, they're two here and three back at the house we sleeping in tonight.

"you aren't going to hurt me. i have weapons and i am not afraid to use them." you stand tall in an attempt to intimate him.

he smiles at you, "i wouldn't dream of it."

you were on the verge of responding when two boys walk into the isle.

they are laughing, "intak," one of the boys laughs out, nearly falling to the ground. meanwhile, the other one is holding back his laugh.

"they are idiots. we aren't gonna hurt you. we are just looking for a little food and medicine." intak tells you.

"yeah," the laughing one stops, "one of our youngest is sick. we can't lose him."

suddenly you remember the phone call. remembering and knowing the pain of losing someone.

you slowly put down your weapon.

"okay, well. let's make a deal. help me load this food into my car and i will help you find a drug store."

without hestation the boy that was holding back his laugh talks, "deal."

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

you and the three boys climb into your car around the time the sun began to set. it was still light outside but you know it's gonna get dark fast.

"you said you were living around here?" you ask intak, who is sitting in the passenger seat.

"yeah, just ahead." he points at the house you've been staying in.

"no, that's where i've been staying," you look at him.

"well that makes sense. we saw weapons on the table and got confused. we assumed it was empty sine there was no sign of human life." one of the boys in the back seat explain.

"did you not go upstairs? my stuff is everywhere." you ask back in a what the fuck attitude.

"no, we just laid our little brother down and left to get food." intak shyly smiles.

"well, it's almost night now. so you guys can stay. but you have to help me move the groceries into the house." you try to give a smile back, remembering that they were only there to help their little brother.

"we will get them all," a boy from the back seat tells you, "intak, you should walk in with her so the boys don't get scared." he continues.

as you pull into the driveway, intak nods and you turn off the car.

you both exit the car. you give your keys to one of the guys, making sure to tell them to lock up. adding the fact that it won't make a noise and not to be worried about drawing attention.

you both slowly shut the car doors, trying not to make a sound that would awake the few zombies that are lingering around.

you both walk in long strides quickly and make it inside, leaving the other two boys to get the food.

when you enter your eyes quickly make their way to three boys in your living room.

one is laying flat on his back on the couch. barely moving, one is sitting next to him on the floor, and the other is sleeping on the floor near them.

intak leans in, "the sick one is jongseob, the one watching him is theo, and the one sleeping is soul. we have been taking turns watching him. in fear that he might stop breathing when sleeping."

you can feel the pain in his voice.

"and the boys in the car?" you question as you never got their name.

"the giggly one is keeho and the semi-quiet one is jiung." he whispers to me.

it's like on que when keeho and jiung come crashing into the door with food hung in bag on thier arms.

"did you lock my car?" you ask as keeho hands you the keys.

"i did. where do you want these?" he pants.

"kitchen table." you nod towards the dining room.

they both nod at you before heading there.

you go to check the locks on the door, making sure to move the large dresser infront of it.

intak follows and help you.

"i do this every night. just makes me feel safe." you shrug.

"i get it. it's like us watching jongseob. it makes us feel better."

"yeah, what happened with him?" you ask as you both walk to the living room.

"we think he might of contracted some type of bug but since it was left untreated, he just got worse. we are looking for antibiotics or something."

"hmm, i can check the medicine cabinet and my first aid kit. i haven't been sick or hurt so i have no idea what is there."

he just gives you a little nod. obviously, trying not to get his hopes up.

"come on." you pull him upstairs, feeling just a little more safe with hm than the other boys.

maybe that's because he saved you or because how vulnerable he is being. you couldn't tell. but there is something there.

you lead him to the bathroom where the both of you start look for anything that might help.

you are on the ground looking in the first aid kits you've acquired over the months while intak is rummaging through the medicine cabinet above the sink.

"how long have you been alone?" intak asks not taking his eye off of the medicine he found.

"if i tell you, do you promise not to murder me or let them murder me?" you chuckle.

"we didn't plan on it, um by the way, i still don't know your name."

"y/n. and i've been alone since the start. my parents were out grocerying shopping when everything happened. my mom called to warn me and now i'm here. how about you, how long have you guys been together?"

"well as you can tell, we aren't biolgical brothers. we all grew up together and were at keeho's playing video games when it went down."

he gives a small smile, but you could see right through it.

"what about your parents?"

"we have no idea. no one contacted us. we just stayed together. that is one reason we can't lose jongseob. we are all we have." intak explans, while looking at label after label of medicine bottles.

you nod your head even though you know he can't see it.

you wanted to know what it felt like. to have someone during this time. people to lean on and cry with.

feeling the tears, you put your head down. still looking through the first aid kit even through you know the only thing in there that might help is tylenol.

"i found some!" intak opens the bottle to find five pills.

you look up quickly and then back down.

"well now we have five days to find a pharmacy or drug store." your voice came out wobbly.

intak quickly put the pills in the bottle and drops to his knees in front of you.

"y/n? did i say something?" he pulls you head up to look worriedly into your eyes.

"no, no, it's just been so long since i've been around people. and hearing your story made me wish I had people around me." you wipe your tears.

"i can't imagine what you've been through, y/n. you are so strong and do no need anyone. but i'm sure we would stay if you wanted us to." he gives you a small smile.

"thank you intak. let's go eat and give jongseob these meds." you push to get up at the same time as him. bumping him back against the counter behind you two.

you push back in a hurry, a shock of warmth spreading through you, "i am so sorry."

"don't worry about it y/n." the way your name rolls off his tongue turns you into a blushing mess as you turn and exit the bathroom.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

when you got downstairs, the smell of spaghetti filled your nostrils.

you immediately question intak, forgetting all about what just happened.

"you guys can cook food? like warm food?" you ask with wide eyes.

"yes, keeho invested in this portable stove thing. i don't know how it works but it's truly a blessing."

as soon as he stops talking you decide to run down the stairs and to the smell.

you couldn't even remember the last time you had a hot meal.

you run around the corner into the kitchen to see keeho and soul.

"soul, please stop making minecraft noises,"

"psh," you try not to laugh but let out a small chuckle.

"oh hi, umm, what's your name?" keeho smiles.

before you could respond intak does, "y/n. also we found antibiotics for five days. we need jongseob to eat and soon."

"i can speak for myself," you roll your eyes, "also is it almost done?" you look at the spaghetti like you haven't eaten in years.

it might be canned spaghetti but it is warm and that's all that matters.

"almost. are you super hunger? we made sure to get a couple of easy snacks." keeho goes full mom mode on you, pointing to the cabinet next to you.

"no, i just haven't had a warm meal in months." you smile.

"well you're in for a treat then."

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

that night you ate toasted bread and spaghetti. you ate so fast that you nearly threw up. they all watched you in amazement. after you were done you sat there on the living room floor with the rest of the guys. they all learned your name and keeho feed jongseob. they gave him his first antibiotic and planning to taking turns to keep him hydrated.

it was late when you all decided to call it a night. they all had designated shifts to watch jongseob each night. tonight it was keeho's and jiung's. so the rest of us went upstairs.

soul, theo, and intak all walked to your room, seeing it to be the biggest. you didn't mind.

"uh, guys, that is my room but i don't mind sleeping in a different room so you can sleep with each other." you tell them.

"are you sure?" theo asks.

"yeah, i don't mind." you smile at him.

you all enter your room and you show them around. there wasn't much to show but you also decided to show them your stash of water and things.

you took a couple things and headed to the bedroom next door.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

"mom." you cry out.

"mom?" you shout louder.

it's a black void that you are standing in. nothing for miles, and all you can do is call out. you want to see your mom again.

you spin and spin. still not seeing anything for miles. you run in a straight line for what feels like forever.

"mom! please mom! please come back." you fall to your knees, shaking and crying.

then you feel a slight shake.

you jump up in fear of your life.

"y/n?" intak says in the darkness of the room.

after realizing it's just him, you bawl. tears pouring out creating wet spots on your shirt.

that's when he pulls you into his arms. his strong arms holding you like you might slip away. like you might drown in your own tears.

"it's okay. i'm here. we are here." he whispers into your hair.

you latch onto him, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer.

intak strokes your hair until the tears stop. you feel your eyes ge heavy and slump against him. falling into a peaceful, nonfearful, sleep.

you don't notice that intak is still holding you until he tries to move.

laying you down softly, intak moves to get up. but instead, you grab his arm and do the unthinkable.

"will you please sleep in here with me?" you mumble, half asleep.

"are you sure? i dont want t-"

"please intak." you beg.

he complies and slips in besides you. rubbing your hair as you cuddle into him.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

it was the early morning when you woke up. the sun was barely up. you felt more refreshed than ever.

you turn to see intak sneaking out of bed.

"oh i'm sorry. i didn't want the boys to wake up and see me gone." he smiles sweetly.

"it's okay." you smile back, "um this might sound weird but you smell really good. can i perhaps have your t-shirt. it helped me sleep. i am hoping to get a few more hours." you blush and look down at the white blankets around you.

"all you have to do is ask, y/n." intak smirks before pulling his shirt off with one hand.

you felt something you haven't in a long time, butterflies. not pure horniness, but actual butterflies.

sure you were horny at times but nothing would compare to the feel intak just gave you.

he hands you the shirt and you quickly change out of your shirt into his.

not caring if he saw your body. pure emotions (and horniness) are coursing through your body.

"i would say goodnight," he chuckles, "but it's morning now."

you sit there in his shirt, waiting for his next words.

"so i will say, sweet dreams y/n." he comes over and kisses your forehead.

you lay down as he exits. he turns to look at you as you repeat his words back to him.

"sweet dreams intak." you yawn.

he shuts the door and pick up the pillow he was laying on, cudding it as you fall asleep.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

it's been two weeks since you met the boys. and you can say that you already trust them with your whole heart.

you even let jiung and keeho take the car to find more medicine for jongseob. and after about a week and a half, jongseob began to look better. finally being able to sit up on his own and eat by himself.

they all still take turns looking after him despite his plee's that he is okay.

you have even started taking shifts. you take them with intak because being near him is the only way you can sleep.

he often sneaks into your room to help you sleep. cuddling you during the late hours of the night and sneaking back in the early morning.

besides that, you and intak have been getting super close. talking at all hours of the night and stealing sneaky glances (and touches) during the day.

he was a secret that you kept close to you. it was nice to finally have someone there for you. but also something that terrifies you.

because you knew, if you lost him, you would never be the same.

but all of those thoughts left your brain during one of the late night talks. where things strayed off into new territory.

"when was the last time you came y/n?" intak says, laying on his side, looking at you.

you stutter as you try to get out an answer.

in your brain you have two options.

you could lie to him and tell him that it has been awhile or you could tell the truth.

that you came all over your hand one morning after he left. smelling the pilliow he is currently laying on.

"come on y/n." he smirks, "i won't judge."

"umm, the other morning." you blush.

filling with embarrassment you turn to move.

you don't want him to see the red surfacing on your face.

beore you could move, he grabs ahold of you. with one arm, he pulls you close to him. you're face to face. and just as you thought he was going to kiss you, he pull you on top of him.

he is now laying on his back, looking up at you.

"woah, intak what are you doing?" you freak, it's been so long since you have had any action with a guy.

you don't know how to feel, but you do know that you don't want him to stop.

"you think i didn't hear those little moans? my name? you weren't exactly quiet."

you blush even harder and look up at the wall. wanting to look anywhere but the handsome boy under you.

"eyes down here y/n." he demands.

you comply and look down at him.

his eyes are hazy with lust and his dick throbbing under you.

you slowly grind over his hardening lenth. needing to get the release you all so need.

this causes intak to gasp in surprise.

you watch as his eyes roll to the back of his head when you start to speed up.

"fuck y/n. you're gonna drive me crazy." he looks up at you with dark eyes, causing you to shiver.

you use those words as fuel to keep going. rubbing your clothed cunt against hard shaft.

you feel the room become heavy as he reaches for the bottom of your shirt and helps you to pull it over your head.

he throws it off to the side, out of sight.

"holy shit, you're so pretty." he stares up at you, taking your left breast into his hand. rolling his index and thumb over your hardening bud.

you throw your head back at his touch. feeling the heat rush to your aching womanhood.

when he comes up and places his mouth on your nipple, you lose it.

pulling his face up, you kiss him feverishly.

teeth clashing as you forceful push your tongue into his mouth.

intak takes this time to move his hands to your hair, pulling lightly at the end.

the sounds of your mouth clashing and your tiny moans have you both wanting more.

but you're the one to break first, still grinding down onto him.

"fuck intak. can we please?" you beg.

"are you sure? i don't want you to regret this." intak looks at you with his big brown eyes. you know in that moment.

"i'm sure. I really like you intak. fuck i might even love you."

he flips you two. him staring down into your eyes.

"i think i might love you too y/n." he places sweet kisses onto your neck.

"please. please. fuck me." you whine.

"as you wish baby." he pulls down your pajama shorts and throws them across the room, next folllowing your panties.

you help him untie his pajama pants in a flash and pull off his boxers.

"well someone is needy." he chuckles before running his hand down to your wet heat, "damn y/n, you're so wet for me babe."

"intak, please." you can't take it anymore, reaching down to guide his dick into you.

"fuck," he slides in slowly as you wince at the feeling.

"you're so tight." he groans out as he slides deeper and deeper.

you claw at his back and wrap your legs around him, allowing him a different angle to go deeper.

"intak, intak, intak." you chant his name.

"shhh, we don't want to wake up the other guys." intak shushes you.

just then do you remember that through the thin wall are two guys you trust with your life. you don't want to wake them.

you give him slient nod as you bite your lip to keep the noises from falling out.

"i'm gonna speed up baby. can you be quiet?" intak leans down to whisper into your ear.

his husky voice causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

you nod as you bite down harder on your lip, drawing blood.

intak speeds up slowly before placing his hand on your mouth.

pounding into you at a speed that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head and toes curling.

"you like that baby?" he spits.

you nod harshly.

"hmm, take it like the good girl you are." intak orders.

all you can do is moan into his hand as your body shakes with the pleasure he is giving you.

you never want it to stop.

when you feel the twitch of his cock, it sends you tumble over the edge.

sensing your orgasm, he removes his hand from your mouth to reach between you two, finding you clit in a hurry.

"intak, i'm coming. fuck. fuck." you mumble, coming out incoherent between the sounds of him fucking you into oblivion.

"come for me baby."

you come hard for the first in so long. nails dragging across his back, most likely leaving marks.

"mhm, you feel so good y/n," he takes a sharp breath in, "i'm getting so close."

he slows down a little bit. helping you to rideout your high. not wanting to overstimulate you.

you snap back into reality when intak questions you, "shit y/n," he growls, "i'm getting close. where do you want me to cum?"

you take a slight pause, formualting your thoughts while still being filled to the hilt.

"inside me please." you decide.

you didn't care if you get pregnant. you know he would be here throughout everything. you have your people and know they would help through everything.

"fuck y/n. you truly are perfect." he groans a he comes.

filling you to the brim as he spills his seed into you.

his cum overflows out of you and onto his cock.

he lets out a sexy moan before lightly collapsing on you.

"you're amazing y/n." he whispers.

"i'm so glad to have met you." you whisper back, eyes feeling heavy.

he notices your breath start to become shallow and pulls his softened lenth out of you.

the last thing you remember is the feeling of the soft cloth cleaning you off as you fall asleep.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

when you wake up, intak is still with you.

your eyes widen as you hear jiung through the door, "has anyone seen intak?"

you shot up and turn to the sleeping boy next to you.

you shake intak lightly and as he wakes up you lift a finger to your lips, signaling him to be quiet.

then, if things couldn't get worse, you hear a knock on your door.

"hey y/n, have you seen intak?" you hear keeho on the other side of the door.

you and intak look at each other with smiles on your faces. trying not to laugh you confess. it was a spilt decision but you know you want to be with intak. there is not point in hiding it.

"he's in here with me."

intak sits up with wide eyes as you tell keeho what you've been hiding.

he gives you a 'why would you say that' look before you hear keeho chuckle.

"i knew it!"

intak finally lets out the breath he has been holding since you told keeho the truth.

you let out a soft chuckle.

"well i made pancakes. they are downstairs when y'all are ready."

"okay thank you." intak calls back, presumably to let them know he is alive.

as keeho walks away you hear him tell someone, "i told you."

you let out a laugh which causes intak to laugh.

you lean in to him and give him a quick peck, before pulling back.

"let's get dressed and eat. i'm starving." you smile widely at him.

"let's go y/n."

and for the first time in a long time, you weren't alone.

#hwang intak #hwang intak x reader #intak imagines #intak fluff #intak smut #intak hard hours #p1harmony x reader #p1harmony imagines #p1harmony fluff #p1harmony angst #p1harmony smut #kpop x reader #kpop #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #zombie #zombie au #p1harmony

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w2sology · 1 year ago

Note

Harry Lewis period comfort!!

by the book, harry lewis.

summary: how harry helps you through the unbearable butden to women that is periods.

warnings: shouldn't really be a warning but periods, language, moody reader, that's all!

the first time it happened, harry was completely puzzled

as in when he got the please buy me pads from the shops :( text, he had zero idea on what to do

frantically calling his mum for help bc he felt like asking his sister was a bit too odd

but his mum came to his rescue as she always did

told him what he should do and what to avoid doing

that day harry learnt a lot about you

like what foods made you mad and what foods made the pain more bearable for you

and ever since, he makes sure that he's stocked up on pads whenever you're staying over at his

as you grew older and your body started to mature, you started to change as well

you went from craving ice cream and stuff to craving iced coffee and fruit

but harry didn't mind, he'd go to the shops at 2am just for you because he knew that there was a whole day's worth of cuddles waiting ahead for him

the cuddles were the absolute best

as in we're talking legs tangled together, sheets all messy around you two, his arms on your stomach to help ease the pain or help hold the hot water bottle, and your head resting on his chest as you watch whatever's on the telly

you would hate how harry cancelled plans just to stay and look after you, even though he claimed that he was "surveying what it's like to be a homebody"

kissed and kisses and kisses

anything can be healed with a kiss, or at least that's what harry believes. so he gives you a pass for unlimited kisses.

unfortunately he's also the type to make you laugh until you start cramping, which leads to you getting pissed off at him

"harry— fucking stop, my stomach!"

"no one told you to laugh that hard!"

"get off me, bitch"

him taking photos of you sprawled out which he shows you later, ignoring how you cringe and shrink at yourself knocked out in pain

if there was ever to be an accident on the bedsheets, harry would be an abode sweetheart

waking you up gently and telling you that he ran a bath for you, and whilst you're in the bath he changes the sheets, gets you some fresh clothes and makes sure you have all the things you need for the next week

everyone expects him to be the least experienced when it comes to this stuff but after helping you out through these painful days every month, he seems to have a good understanding of it

"so is it like... can you feel it right now?"

"harry, i won't feel it unless i'm in an uncomfortable position or if i sneeze or something."

"... can you sneeze then?"

defo the type to jokingly ask if you want to have sex, only to stop the joke immediately after seeing your dead straight face.

overall, he's a human heater, a great blanket, and a good cuddle buddy all in one

#wroetoshaw #wroetoshaw x reader #sidemen #sidemen x reader #wroetoshaw imagine #wroetoshaw imagines #harry lewis #harry lewis x reader

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 1 year ago

Note

Might I request caring for Bruce when he has no spoons left after a patrol? Cleaning his cuts, rubbing bruise cream on his bruises. Wiping his eye makeup off and holding him while he finally falls asleep? I need a little reverse comfort

"For heaven's sakes."

"Hn."

"Don't grouse at me. No one told you to cosplay and get beaten up all night," you sigh. Bruce was sprawled in his chair in front of his computers and looked like a mess. Proof positive that Alfred could never go on vacation again.

"I'm fine-"

"Let me guess," you hum wryly, inspecting the scratches, "Selina is back in town?"

"Don't wanna talk about it."

"Fair," you answer, "Do I have to get the trauma sheers or can you stop wallowing long enough to get your armor off yourself?"

Bruce gave you a sour look but, evidently decided that it was a better choice to comply to get rid of you so he could sulk in peace. So he stripped the pieces off and waited while you surveyed the damage and the first aid kit.

"You'll have to still with concealer and spray tan until this heals if you're going to go shirtless," you muse, setting out cleaning things.

"Didn't you have a date?" Bruce snapped.

"I don't know what gave you that idea. I was in the shop."

"You should go out more-"

"You go out enough for both of us," you snort. "And you wear enough eyeliner for both of us."

"Hn."

"These don't look too bad," you tell him. "Either you got faster or she pulled back."

"I don't want to-"

"Didn't ask."

Bruce felt his frown deepen. But- he was glad it was you, and not Alfred. For all that you weren't fond of Selena, Alfred couldn't stand her.

"Wipe your face," you tell him. "You shouldn't sleep in makeup."

"It's not-"

"Yeah yeah," you sigh, "eye black. Super manly. No one cares." You hand him a make up remover wipe and then think better of it and just hand him the pack.

He took them and watched you throw discarded medical supplies away.

"After this, shower. I'll reheat a plate."

"Thanks," he murmured.

"Want a drink?"

"Please."

"Double. Got it."

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #weird kid!bruce

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crying-mybest · 29 days ago

Text

Star Thief (Part 1)

TW: Violence and Death

Masterlist Part 2

Word Count - 1,700

Background- Reader is a young woman around 24 is slightly force sensitive but nothing extraordinary. She trained with Asoka for 5 years (age 5-10) only to be abandoned/forgotten. She then tried to find other masters, all of which denied or abandoned her. At 15 she gave up on explaining her knowledge of the force and attempted to train herself while traveling throughout the galaxy, by hitchhiking and stowing away on ships. This story takes place before the force awakens.

Prelude- 3 years prior to the main plot she was caught on board a freighter and was dumped on Jakku, effectively stranding her in the middle of nowhere.

Jakku is a prison I would not wish upon anyone, most try to leave but shuttles are expensive and you have to starve yourself to make enough, most jobs don’t pay in credits they pay in food and water. I worked because I had to, they would kill me if i didn't. It was just my luck. While working I noticed a ship preparing to land. I left my post at the shop front and overheard the pilot talking. They needed fuel and quick resupply. I knew this was my moment to get out. Unfortunately, the crew were a bunch of resistance fighters that were on the run from the first order.

My position under the floor panel wasn't discovered yet, but as stormtroopers began to board and engage the crew I wouldn't be hidden for long. From the sound of it 3 crew members of the original 10 were taken prisoner the rest were killed. I remained in the underfloor compartment, but as the primary search came to an end my time was running out. If they found me in the secondary sweep I’d be dead, if I kept my cover the First Order would discard the ship and I would most likely die where I was. I had to move without being seen.

Anxiety filled me as I lured one of the stormtroopers to the floor panel. A swift boot to the chest and he was dead. I took the uniform for myself. But now my time is ticking. I had to discard the uniform and find a hiding place before they noticed the dead or missing trooper. I fell in line behind one platoon moving away from the hanger, then I scoped out a janitorial closet and quietly slipped away.

The closet was cramped, but my luck was turning around as I spotted a vent in the corner. I quickly removed the uniform and neatly arranged it on the top shelf in the hope that the obscure position would buy me time. If the body is discovered, the sector would be put on lockdown, and if they found the uniform, they would suspect I was in the vent system.

As I crawled into the vent, I took the time to screw it back into place using the force. It was the moment of truth now as I crawled through the endless caverns of vents. My only goal is to get as far away from the area as possible. After crawling for what felt like hours and miles, I eventually stopped in a corner to rest and survey. The vent slats were hard to see through but it was dark and quiet. I was safe for now and took a moment to rest, eventually drifting to sleep.

I woke to screaming, a man screaming. Quickly working to find where it was coming from, listening intently peeking through cracks. I realized It was the captain of the resistance ship. He was being interrogated, an officer was asking him who the 11th crew member was and where they were. They had found the body and maybe even the uniform, yet somehow they didn’t realize I was in the vent, they were more incompetent than I thought. The captain responded with genuine confusion to his knowledge there were only 10, the officer grew tired of the line of questioning and asked where they were going and if they knew about the map. The pilot was now lying, denying everything and claiming his crew were going to Coruscant and coming from Geonosis. He claimed that the crew and ship were not Resistants and instead, simply freighters getting back from a pit stop on Jakku. He was not only lying, but doing a terrible job, if this officer was at all competent he would know that. Shortly after, The officer left with the captain still strapped to the irrigation chair. But as I began working myself back to my hiding spot, someone else walked into the chamber.

My view was obstructed by the dim lighting but his heavy footsteps and the energy shift made it clear the leading commander of the First Order Kylo Ren was now here. My heart jumped into my throat and suddenly I was just as much of a prisoner as the pilot was.

He could sense me, I knew he could. His eyes scanned the room, his senses were elevated and so were mine. I dare not move or breathe for fear that the smallest moment would draw his attention. He began to interrogate the pilot this time only asking about the map, he could see right through him. The pilot begged and screamed and for half a second I thought the screams could cover the sound of my movements, so I attempted to crawl a nudge forward. But a small squeak was heard, Kylo Ren's focus immediately shifted to the vent, the pilot fell silent and the energy in the room became electric. I quickly froze in place, guarded my mind, and prayed that he would think it was a random noise. He spoke not to the pilot but to me,

"Follow the red arrows, meet me in sector 5 at the end of the hall. I have a proposal for you". With that, he turned and the room fell still my heart was pounding and all life had left, the vent felt more sterile than it used to.

I had no plan of escape. The finalizer never lands unless maintenance is needed and even then the on-board maintenance crew can handle most damage. If they landed the odds weren't much better; it would still be a First Order base that would take lots of energy for me to maneuver and escape to a neutral outpost if such a thing were even possible. I knew he could have killed me a second ago, if he wanted to he could have tried harder to get me out of the vent- he could have ripped the vent open and torched me on site if he wanted the sadistic pleasure of it. There were few options; I risked death in everyone. Following the grand commander's orders seemed the best odds.

I obeyed his instructions all the while telling myself how stupid it was until I came to a set of 5 vents labeled with faded red lettering. I followed the 5th vent which opened up more than I was expecting. I peered into each room mapping out the floor plan before at the very end of the cavern I came to a large room. It has a tall ceiling and what appeared to be a large window. This must be it, but I would remain in the vent unit proven right. I assumed that this sector was personal offices or quarters for high-ranking officers. Eventually, I grew tired of waiting for him but didn't dare emerge from cover. I momentarily thought I had misheard him as I continued to search the force but Ren was not close and if he was he was well hidden. Finally, an hour later a familiar sound came; it was as if it was heading right for me. With a single set of heavy footsteps and dark aura, he was here.

I sat very still as Kylo Ren approached the door hesitantly stopping for a moment before entering the air, vibrating as he walked into the chamber his senses scanned the dark room, and before taking a breath he knew I was there.

"You're still hiding?" he said sternly.

"You've given me no reason to trust you" I responded hesitantly.

"Not entirely true, but to further entice you," he looked at the door and placed his saber on a table "I want to talk,".

"I can speak perfectly fine from here,"

"As you wish. you're one of the Resistance Fighters are you not? One of the crew from that pathetic ship,".

"No, I'm not, I was a stowaway, I wouldn't have bothered if I knew,".

"Interesting" he squatted down to observe the vent better. "You are strong with the force, I could feel it when you were spying in the cell" his voice was biting and full of restless annoyance.

I did not waver and remained silent.

"I could train you," he extended his hand towards the vent I was hiding in, "join me, I can give you that place you’ve always wanted, a place of purpose, and acceptance, all you have to do is take my hand,".

"Take the mask off." I bit my tongue as the words came out hoping the demand was not seen as overly hostile. The last thing I needed was to anger him.

He sighed, annoyed. There was a moment of silence then a sharp mechanical hiss then a loud bang, his mask was off.

I took a moment to think before letting out an aggravated whisper "Are you sure?". Master Tano was the only one to ever offer to train me, most rejected my offers; those who accepted regret it, I remembered the pain of rejection and abandonment far too well.

"Without question." His voice was softer without the mask but still determined and impatient.

Perhaps I was naive or blinded by hope but against my better judgment, I slowly unscrewed the vent cover and emerged from hiding. He extended his hand to help me, but I didn't take it, instead standing myself up and taking in the grand office. A large window with a desk in the center of the room. The view was incredible, the window was large and the only thing illuminating the room, it looked out over a large green planet. For all my time spent on ships, I rarely got a view of space, I moved toward the window mesmerized by the stars. The silence was broken by Kylo Ren's voice.

“Is that a yes?” he sounded more impatient than before

My gaze did not move from the window, giving him a simple whispered “Yes”.

“The refresher is the second door to your right, I’ll send clothes up. You cannot be seen in such rags. I will return later, for now I have business to attend to.” he quickly collected his things and left.

#kylo ren x reader #star wars #star wars fandom #starwars fanfic #kylo ren #kylo x reader #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #kylo ren x y/n #slow burn #kylo fanfic #enimies to friends to lovers #star wars fic

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apomaro-mellow · 3 months ago

Text

Two in the Bush 6

Part 5

Eddie was pretty gung-ho about the shower preparations while Billy seemed mostly ambivalent to it, which was expected. Eddie was really excitable while it was rare to see Billy get pumped for anything outside of the typical alpha stuff. Belatedly, Steve realized he should have put that on his list of things for Billy to work on and wondered how he could get him to do it.

“We gotta get this!”, Eddie came from a rack of clothes and held up a black onesie with a flaming guitar on it.

“Where did you even find that?”, Steve asked, stopping the cart.

“From the super badass baby section”, Eddie said as he tossed it into the cart.

There was no way in hell Steve was letting his baby wear that. Babies should wear soft things in bright colors with cute characters. But at least Eddie was thinking about what his future pup would wear. A stark contrast to Billy, who looked like a kid being dragged around, glowering, arms crossed.

“Isn’t the point of a baby shower that people buy this stuff for us?”

“They will, but we should get a few things ourselves”, Steve said.

“Yeah and no one’s gonna buy this for us!”, Eddie held up a little baby beanie with soft felt horns on top.

“Seriously, where are you finding this stuff?”, Steve asked, shaking his head but unable to hide the smile on his face.

Billy watched the two of them go back and forth over what a pup should and shouldn’t wear and despite it being an argument, neither seemed particularly upset or frustrated with the other. They almost seemed like they were having fun. Billy had been stuck on it for the rest of the shopping. They brought it back to Steve’s place and for now, kept the clothes in what would eventually be the nursery.

“Yeah, I can see my vision now”, Eddie said, hands on his hips as he looked around. “We’ll put the mural on this wall, I’m thinking a dragon in flight over a village. Over there’s where we’ll have the speakers and tape deck. Nothin’ puts a baby to sleep like some Megadeth.”

“I know you’re joking. But it’s still a no”, Steve deadpanned. “I’m gonna order a pizza. Maybe between the two of you, you guys can figure out some real nursery decor.”

He walked out, leaving the two alphas alone. Eddie continued to survey the room. So far, it only had a dresser. The crib was still in Steve’s room for now.

“How do you do that?”, Billy asked, although it sounded like he did so through gritted teeth.

“Hm? Do what?”, Eddie asked back.

“You disagree with him, argue with him but it’s never-you never escalate or blow up at each other. Are you just playing a game? Is that foreplay to you guys?”

Eddie chuckled and shook his head. “If you think that’s foreplay, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hey, hey, sorry dude, look, that was a legit question, right?” Eddie held his hands up. “It’s not really arguing it’s like…bickering, you know?”

“No I don’t.” Billy crossed his arms, prompting Eddie to elaborate.

Eddie leaned against the dresser. “It’s like, I’ll say things that I know will annoy him, but not make him mad. And it’s fun to watch him get worked up, isn’t it?”

It was fun to get Steve worked up. Made the sex good too. But Billy had never argued just for the fun of it. How was Eddie able to do it so easily? Eddie could see something warring inside of Billy and decided to throw him a bone.

“Look, it’s not hard. The next time something comes up, just neg him a little”, Eddie suggested.

“Hey, you guys want breadsticks with the pizza?”, Steve called out.

“Breadsticks fucking suck”, Billy replied.

Eddie’s face fell into his palms. He might need to write out instructions for this guy.

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

Billy got another chance when he was to tag along with Steve for his next appointment. It would have been all three of them, but Eddie had cars to work on. He and Billy had talked beforehand and Billy had written down Eddie’s points on a napkin to keep himself straight.

Don’t attack him directly

Annoy, not anger

Have fun with it

“Why are there all these rules?”, Billy questioned.

“They’re unspoken, but important”, Eddie had said.

He’d never felt this nervous when it came to Steve before. He was easy. Get him riled up a bit, fuck, rinse and repeat. But a pup was potential to be something new. And he didn’t want to lose Steve just because he couldn’t get with the program and evolve.

“Are you okay?”, Steve asked as they entered the clinic.

Billy had gotten pretty good at hiding his scent thanks to his childhood, so he must have slipped for Steve to be able to tell he was bothered by something. He shrugged before remembering him being emotionally stunted was a sticking point for Steve.

“Just wondering how you plan to let down Munson when we found out it’s not his.”

Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day after all.

Steve rolled his eyes. “So sure it’s yours, huh?”

Eddie’s words echoed in Billy’s head. “Sometimes, he’ll give you a real easy in. Something like a challenge. Go ahead and take it.”

Was that it? Was that an in? Should he take it? What should he say? Billy wondered if he could take the napkin out of his pocket without Steve noticing. Had it been too long for him to respond? It felt like he’d spaced out for too long. Steve’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to say something else, Billy inwardly panicking, when a nurse called Steve’s name.

They stood and Billy only felt half saved. Steve definitely noticed his pause. And the fact that Billy had yet to answer. They got set up in the room and the doctor did most of the talking, checking in on Steve’s health. Steve was just barely two months in, so they weren’t doing an ultrasound just yet.

Steve replied to all the doctor’s questions and Billy felt completely useless and out of his depth. He kept his mouth shut for the duration of the appointment, even as they left and got back into his car. But Steve couldn’t keep up with the odd silent treatment anymore.

“Look, are you upset about what I said earlier?”

“What?”

“Because I know it’s probably a sore spot for an alpha to have some other guy ‘challenging his claim’”, Steve used air quotes and rolled his eyes but pressed on. “But I didn’t mean it like-well, we don’t know for sure whose it is, but I shouldn’t throw it in your face like that.”

Well, it wasn’t quite an in, but it was kind of an out, wasn’t it? It was better than admitting what was really on his mind anyway. So he took the easiest escape route.

“I was kinda serious. If it’s mine, how are you gonna tell Eddie?”

Steve sighed and looked out the window. “I won’t know what I’m going to say until we find out.”

Billy wanted to press for more. It felt like there was more that Steve wanted to say. But meeting up with Max reminded Billy that one of his problems was pushing too hard and too far. If Steve wanted to play it close to the chest for now, he’d let him. Their little nugget was barely a pile of beans right now. Besides, it gave Billy some time to think about how little he knew going into the clinic today.

After dropping Steve off and getting back home, he called up Eddie.

“You’ve reached the Munson residence, home of a future baby daddy.”

“You’re answering the phone like that?”, Billy snorted.

“Hargrove! I trust the visit went well?”

“Yeah, I guess.” The doctor and Steve seemed happy enough about it. But that reminded him of the idea he got on the drive home and what he could do about how he’d felt today. Something that both he and Eddie had to do.

“How much do you know about pregnancy?”, Billy asked, leaning against the wall next to his phone.

“Uh, peen goes in hole and pup pops out? Swollen ankles and weird late night cravings? ….Tender titties!”

“We’re going to the library”, Billy decided.

Part 7

#apo writes #stranger things #harringroveson #a/b/o #omegaverse

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the-travelling-witch · 2 years ago

Text

𝐀𝐂𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄

summary: when the mysterious guy coming into the coffee shop asks you to join him for a concert, you hardly believe your eyes when you meet him there

pairing: idol! childe x student! barista! gn! reader

warnings: suggestive at the end, otherwise fluffy

modern au series || genshin impact masterlist

Working part-time in a coffee shop wasn’t half bad. Sure, as with every job in the service sector, some people just didn’t know how to behave themselves but there were also just as sweet interactions. Your co-worker also made stressful situations a whole lot more bearable, always ready to help you out if needed and handling even the grumpiest customers with ease. Besides all of that, as a college student basically running on caffeine, getting some insight into the business was an added plus as well.

As you got ready for your morning shift on a Wednesday like every other, you greeted your colleague and surveyed the almost empty shop. A few people were typing away at their laptops, others were reading and a steady amount of customers with to-go orders came in. Nothing out of the ordinary, really.

About half an hour in, you were asked to take care of the register while your co-worker went to restock some stuff and things were going well, no fumbling with cash or mistyping any orders. The only note-worthy event of the shift was when a guy dressed in baggy clothes, a bucket hat, a mask and sunglasses came in. If you had to guess he was about your age but it was hard to say with his entire face obscured. Not thinking too much about it, you concluded you had seen weirder characters before.

Until you met him again on your Friday night shift right before closing time. This time again in an all black outfit, shaded glasses on even at that time of the day. Same thing on Wednesday as well. But when you asked if that guy was a regular you had never met before, you learnt that he’d only started showing up recently and that nobody knew much about him except for that he talked the bare minimum while being polite and leaving a generous tip from time to time. He also never showed up during rush hours, only when the shop was relatively empty.

Friday, like clock-work, he was back and when he ordered you couldn’t suppress the cheeky “One iced Americano for the mystery man” that slipped past your lips a little too quickly. The first few heartbeats after, you were terrified you had offended him, that he’d ask to talk to your manager and you’d get in big trouble for being out of line.

But then he started chuckling and pulled his mask down as he leant forward onto the counter. Hooking his pointer finger around one temple of his sunglasses, he slipped them partially down his nose and your first thought was what a shame it was to hide a face like that. Eyes as blue as the ocean and teeth as white as pearls, he looked like someone straight out of a novel, who should not exist in real life. And without his mask muffling it, his voice was smooth and melodic and it made you want to hear more of it.

“The mystery man thanks his cute barista,” he mused, lips curled into a playful grin. And then, this guy had the audacity to wink at you before sliding his accessories back into place, taking his coffee and sauntering out the door as if nothing happened. Meanwhile you were still blinking at the glass he just disappeared through.

It was just one sentence yet it was enough to pull your thoughts back to the beautiful stranger. Sure, he might not have meant anything serious by it but he called you cute for crying out loud! On more than one occasion, it had you burying your face in your hands at the memory.

So, much to your delight, the next times he stopped by, when he came up to the counter to see you working there, he always pulled his sunglasses down and generally talked more, not necessarily about himself though. It was your co-worker that informed you the guy only did that when you were working the counter, never with anyone else, and that statement had no right to give you as many butterflies as it did.

“So,” blue eyes sparkled down on you as you handed him his change, “I’ve been thinking. And I realised I hardly know anything about the pretty face behind the counter. Quite the shame, don’t you think?”

“Well, uh…” you awkwardly laughed. Pointing to your name tag, you said, “I guess you know my name already… I really don’t know what else to share.”

“Aw c’mon, don’t sell yourself short,” he smiled. “I’m sure there’s plenty of interesting things about you. Okay, let me help you out… Do you like idols by chance?”

“Uhm, I do I guess,” you tried stringing together an answer. Not really the question you expected to be honest. “There were a few groups I followed more closely but lately I’ve not been keeping up much. I’m pretty interested in music in general though.”

“I see, I see.” Leaning forward again and lowering his voice, prompting you to do the same, he continued as if he was sharing a secret. “The thing is, I have concert tickets for an idol group next weekend and I don’t feel like going alone. Care to join me?”

“Did you really spark this whole round-about conversation just to ask that?”

The guy laughed. “Maybe~ So, what do you say?”

“I-” Were you really about to take him up on the offer? No… Were you really about to reject a date with this guy? If you planned to meet at the concert hall, there’d also be a crowd around. “Sure, I’d love to go.”

“Great,” he beamed, shooting back up with energy to rival a golden retriever. “You’ll be here on Wednesday, right? I’ll give you the ticket then!”

“I can hardly wait,” you laughed, his enthusiasm contagious. “How much do I owe you?”

“Owe me? Oh please, it’s free of charge.” Before you could protest, he already held up his hand to shush you. “I have the ticket already anyway and you’re doing me the honour of your company. Really, don’t worry about it.”

That was how you found yourself trading a coffee for a ticket the following week, a sticky note with a phone number attached, the name Ajax scribbled underneath. Luckily, it was close to the end of your shift because you felt like you could explode from excitement. Walking out of the coffee shop, reality started to sink in; you were going to a concert, with a cute guy, that same weekend… You pulled out your phone and quickly scrolled through your recent calls and barely waited for the other person to greet you.

“Kaveh, I need your help with an outfit.”

Three days and a very stressful outfit and make-up session later, your entire closet had been uprooted and strewn across your room and you still had no idea who “Vizion”, the group you were going to see, was. You really wanted to check them out before the concert but, as it tended to do, life got in the way and the only info you had was that the four members were a fairly new rookie group with some sought-after trainees and a lot of potential, signed under the reputable Lapis Dei Entertainment. But that was about it.

Taking a deep breath, you checked once again if you had the ticket when the concert hall came into view. The venue wasn’t all that big, understandably so for a group still trying to grow their fanbase, and you had relatively little trouble finding the meeting place you and Ajax had agreed upon. As you waited for him to show, more and more people started filling the open space and their excited chatter and laughter was contagious, helping you calm down a little. Just when you went to check the time again, a message came in.

Ajax: I’m so sorry, I’m running late!

Ajax: Please go in without me, I’ll catch up with you later!

Ajax: Again, so so sorry!!

Okay, no need to panic. You could navigate this venue on your own and totally weren’t banking on Ajax’s expertise; this was a walk in the park, right? Yeah, except for the fact you were already struggling to make out where you had to go after passing the general entrance. Apparently a group of fans saw you staring down on your ticket in confusion and decided to take pity on you.

“Heya there!” A guy with two braids framing his face greeted you. “No offence but you’re looking a little lost. First time at a concert?”

“Uh, yeah actually,” you sheepishly replied. “To be honest, I have to idea how to get to my spot.”

“Let me take a look at your ticket,” he beamed and as you handed it to him, a blond and an auburn haired guy peeked over his shoulder as well, while their white-haired friend stood to the side giving you a friendly smile. “Oh hey, what a coincidence! We’re headed to the same area! If you want you can tag along!”

“Thanks, that’d be a great help.”

“You must have really looked forward to seeing Vizion if you’re willing to go to your first concert on your own,” the blond smiled. “That takes some courage.”

“Oh, I was actually meeting with a friend,” you said as the group started moving. “He said he’s running late though. It was his idea to come here, so I don’t actually know too much about the group performing tonight. Are you guys fans of them?”

“I guess you could say that,” Heizou, as he had introduced himself, hummed. “Actually, we know some of the members from before they debuted, so we’re here to show our support or something like that.”

“Wow, that’s so nice of you,” you smiled. “They must be happy to have their friends here.”

“Well, we’ve not been in very close contact for a while,” Kazuha corrected. “Plus, they don’t quite know we’re attending. Thoma would probably freak if he did.”

Sooner than you expected, you found yourself surrounded by other people, some of whom carried signs or wore shirts with names printed on them. You recognised the name of the friend Venti and his group had been talking about; for the others you drew a blank. To your surprise, you ended up a lot closer to the stage than expected; hopefully Ajax would find you here. After all, you mainly came out to spend time with him, not to see Vizion; although going to a concert was a nice bonus.

Passing time by chatting with your new acquaintances, you found out they ran a piercing and tattoo studio not far from the coffee shop together with two more guys. Now that they mentioned it, you did seem to recall your favourite co-worker mentioning something along those lines.

Before you knew it, the lights on stage shifted and the crowd went wild, making you jump out of your skin with surprise. Then, your attention was drawn by the four figures appearing on stage. As a man with blond hair and chartreuse green eyes stepped forward, the men next to you started hollering and cheering like crazy, giving you a hunch as to who he was. Due to the rather small venue for an idol group, he could probably hear them too, making it a point to interact with the other side of the audience while his fellow members covered this one.

And then, fluffy ginger hair and azure eyes captured your attention.

There was no mistaking him. It was the mysterious guy from the coffee shop, who you’d gotten to know as Ajax, making fans scream as he winked in your general direction, a cocky grin decorating his handsome face.Waving into the crowd some more and playing along with the people gathered in the arena, it was clear he was a natural at working the crowd and capitalising on their excitement. Gathering at the centre of the stage, they formed a line.

“Look ahead! Hello, we are,” Thoma started before the rest chimed in, “Vizion! Thank you to all our Fates who are here tonight!”

The crowd broke into wild applause and shouts as they bowed, one or the other shriek of a name piercing through the noise. One by one, the members were introduced; starting by Thoma, the leader of the group, to Chongyun, the icy-haired dance prodigy and Yanqing, the long-haired wonderchild, the youngest of the group. When Thoma lifted his mic, there was only one person left to be introduced and it would be a lie if you said you weren’t brimming with curiosity.

“Last but not least, please let me introduce our ace, Childe,” the blond announced, waiting for the ruckus to die down before continuing. “Whether it’s rap, vocals or dancing, our oldest will be sure to pull you in with his siren-like voice and visuals.”

“Not to mention that he’s as loud and obnoxious as a siren too,” the guy next to Thoma quipped into his own mic, earning him a few chuckles.

Although you thought at first Thoma was exaggerating when it came to Ajax’s -or rather Childe’s- abilities, you were very quickly proven wrong. Whether it was the fast-paced lines of a verse or the moving high notes of a ballad, you were hanging onto his every word, emotions stirring in your chest and the music flowing through you. Suddenly you understood why sailors jumped overboard after hearing a siren’s song; no wonder you couldn’t get enough of his magnetic voice the first time you heard it.

Time flew without you noticing it. What felt like minutes ended up being hours of you giving a certain someone on stage your undivided attention as you couldn’t physically tear your eyes away from his smooth and fluid movements. Despite not knowing the songs, the energy surrounding you had you jumping with everyone else and picking up on the fan chant as well.

Maybe it was your imagination, but you could’ve sworn Childe was coming over to your side of the venue more often than elsewhere, winking and blowing kisses to fans around you who melted at the attention. There was a spark in his eyes as he stood on stage, as if performing had him coming truly alive and, perhaps for just a second, you envied his passion. But most of all, you were happy for him.

The absolute kicker of the show, in your opinion anyway, was when Childe disappeared backstage just to come back holding an electric guitar. Playing a few chords to tease the beginning of a song, he soaked up the crowd’s reaction before getting serious. And stars above, he was better than good. Moving across the stage past Chongyun on the drums, leaning in to share a mic with Thoma, his fingers dancing skillfully over the strings as sweat rolled down his temple, toned arms on full display, the image ingrained itself into your brain. You genuinely wondered if there was something he couldn’t do.

Sadly, every good thing had to come to an end, so eventually the artists said their final goodbyes, thanking everybody for coming out to support them, and disappeared under the stage while being showered in thunderous applause. Even as you drifted outside in the sea of people exiting the venue, your heartbeat still wouldn’t slow down as you finally had time to sort out your thoughts. The guy you planned to meet was an idol! That realisation hit you like a ton of bricks and your brain flashed you a slideshow of every possible embarrassing moment in his presence. Very helpful, much appreciated.

“Too bad your friend never showed, huh,” Venti threw out as you finally were under open skies again. “He did miss out on not only spending time with you but also on a good show.”

“Oh he’s here actually.” Not technically a lie, you guessed. Holding up your phone you added, “He just never made it to where we were but I’m hoping I can find him somewhere now.”

“You sure?” Kazuha asked, head tilted to the side. “Should we wait with you? Do you have a way to get home?”

“Oh, I’m fine really. I appreciate the concern though,” you smiled. “Thanks for everything tonight. I really would’ve been lost without you guys.”

“No problem! As long as you had fun,” Aether chimed before waving as they took their leave. “It was nice meeting you!”

“Yeah and if you ever think about getting a tattoo or a piercing, think of us!” That was definitely Heizou shouting. What a bunch of dorks.

Waiting a few more minutes so you could be sure you wouldn’t run into them again and would have to explain yourself, you got ready to leave. Despite what you said, you were well aware there was absolutely no way you could meet Ajax right now. The way home was uneventful, yet it did nothing to quell the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Everytime you closed your eyes you saw an ocean blue gaze and a pearly smile. Damn it, were you really crushing on an idol? Well, technically you had been before you knew he was an idol… Shaking your head, you hoped to derail that train of thought before it could even leave the station.

Plopping down on your bed, you stared at your phone trying to figure out what to do now. What did you say in a situation like this? Where would you go from here? With a groan, you discarded your phone somewhere on your mattress and let your back hit your bed before whirling around at the sound of your ringtone. Glaring at you in the dimly lit room was the caller info of the one person your thoughts were racing around.

“Hi there~” An amused voice greeted you right as you swiped the green icon to the right. “I hope you had fun today.”

“Bold move for someone who never showed up,” you tried to tease, hoping to downplay the nerves thumping up your throat. “You’re putting in quite the effort just to get people to attend your concerts, you know. I don’t think it’s an effective marketing tactic, Childe.”

On the other end of the line you could hear chuckling. “Listen, I really am sorry for pulling that stunt on you, but I didn’t want to ruin the element of surprise of it all. I’ll think of a way to make it up to you; can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“Hmm,” you pretended to think. “Maybe… But in all seriousness, I did have fun tonight and you did a great job. I think I’m gonna be hoarse from all the screaming tomorrow.”

The second the words left your mouth, you wanted to pull them back in. But hearing Ajax’ s smug voice confirmed it was too late as you could basically see his shit-eating grin through the phone.

“Oh really?~” Ajax drawled. “I’ll have to hear you do that again for me, perhaps with less people around.”

“You are the absolute worst.”

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