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holdinggrudges · 6 months ago

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what's my flavor? - sam winchester

pairing: sam winchester x reader

content: EXPLICIT 18+, oral (fem!receiving), vampire!sam, blood drinking, bloodplay (surprisingly little though tbh), fem!reader (afab anatomy + the word girl used in reference like three times or so), feeding being explicitly referred to as similar to drugs/getting high, mentions of serious illness (made up for plot reasons but still)

word count: 10.5K

summary: Working your way through college, you find a secretary job with great pay and more than enough downtime on the clock to get your coursework done. The only downside is that it leaves you with no choice but to attend night classes. But it's not so bad, especially with Mysterious Hot Guy attending them as well. Oh, and there's been blood bags going missing, but you're pretty sure that's not going to be relevant to your life any time soon.

notes: this was supposed to be pwp. it was also supposed to be posted on halloween. clearly, neither of those things happened. but fuck it, we ball. @cafekitsune for dividers <3

crossposted on ao3

You don’t understand how anyone could get through college without a job. You hear about people surviving off scholarships all the time, and you try your first year, you really do. But, God, something has to change. You can’t imagine working your way through school could be any more stressful than the budgeting, and the skipping meals, and the cards declining at the grocery store.

So you get a job. A good one, too; a secretary job at an office ten minutes away from your apartment, and only twenty minutes away from campus. The job is easy, with plenty of downtime for you to work on your coursework, and the pay is good. Better than good, even. The only problem is the hours; 9-5 is great, generally, but not very convenient when setting up a college schedule. You’re relegated almost exclusively to night classes. Which is fine. Not ideal, but fine.

You take four classes, two a night, and it leaves your Fridays wide open after work. It would truly be a perfect schedule if it didn’t mean you were on campus until 11 o’clock most nights. But the classes are relatively empty and none of your professors are total hardasses, so it’s not so bad. Actually, you start to really enjoy it.

You make a little game out of studying the other students, trying to figure them out. The woman who sits in front of you in your statistics class is a stay-at-home mom, you think. The older man a few rows down in english is retired military. It’s interesting, and it gives you a reason to actually make it to class everyday. Well, that and Mysterious Hot Guy.

Mysterious Hot Guy (or MHG, for short) is in two of your classes: your 6 o’clock political science class on Mondays and Wednesdays sitting a row down from you, and sitting beside you in your 8:30 biology class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He first caught your eye because, frankly, he looks more like he should be on a movie set than night classes at a dinky community college. He’s drop dead gorgeous, and that’s putting it lightly. Even so, that’s not what has you so intrigued. Something about him is off somehow, strange in such a way that it has you completely captivated. Alluring in a way you can’t quite put your finger on, even outside his appearance.

MHG hardly ever speaks. You’re pretty sure he’s only said one word to you the entire four weeks of the semester so far, and he sits literally a foot away from you every other day. He’s also, apparently, a genius. He never takes notes, never writes a single thing down, he never asks questions and never answers them either, for that matter. Still, you happened to catch a glimpse of his grade on the test your biology professor handed back last week, and he got a perfect score.

He also doesn’t have a car. Or, rather, he doesn’t have a car of his own. Every Tuesday and Thursday as you’re walking back to your own car at almost 11 PM, he’s climbing into the passenger seat of an absolutely gorgeous vintage Chevrolet Impala that makes you simultaneously green with envy and desperate for him to push you up against the side of it. Or push you down against the backseat. Or the front seat, which you find out is a bench seat after some minor googling. Car like that, you’re not exactly gonna be picky about where.

Still, even after all your observing, you don’t learn a single useful piece of information about MHG until six weeks into the semester—two weeks out from midterms—when your biology professor announces that you will be choosing your partners for the midterm project. You barely even let the words leave his mouth before you’re turning to your right, pouncing with what you hope is a normal amount of enthusiasm, although you’re so damn intrigued by this guy that all you can do is pray you don’t come across as a total stalker. “Hey. Would you wanna partner up?”

MHG turns to you, his eyes wide in a way that leaves you a lot less hopeful about how normal your greeting was. “Uh. Me?” he asks, and his voice is…warm in a way you weren’t expecting. He could do audiobooks, or a podcast, or something—he has a nice voice is what you’re getting at.

You laugh. You’re almost a little starstruck—it makes sense; you’ve definitely turned this guy into your own personal celebrity. “Who else?” you respond, holding out your hand for him to shake. “I’m ____.”

He eyes you for a moment before he clasps your hand and gives it a shake. Jesus, this guy must have anemia or something because his hand is fucking freezing. “Sam. Uh, Winchester. Sam Winchester.” His touch lingers for a moment before he tugs his hand back. “And…yeah. Yeah, we can…partner up.”

Sam Winchester. Finally, a name to put to the face. No more thinking of him as Mysterious Hot Guy for you; you and MHG are on a first name basis now. “Awesome,” you say softly, and you really, desperately hope your smile looks less manic than it feels. “So. Sam. Would you mind giving me your number or something so we can set up a time and place to meet up?”

He hesitates, but he does scribble a number down on the corner of his empty notebook page. “I, uh. I can’t do…daytime,” he tells you as he slides it over.

Okay. Weird way to phrase that, but you assume he’s like you, he works during the day or something. So you shrug and take the proffered paper. “Me neither. I have work.” You pinch it between your fingers with a grin. “We’ll make it work.”

He smiles at you, a shy sort of thing that makes your chest ache to draw out more. “Yeah. Okay.”

You plug the number in your phone almost as soon as you get home, but it takes you almost an hour to actually text him. You go through probably a hundred different drafts before you finally land on: ‘hey!! it’s ____. does friday work for you? my only day without classes lol’

Once you press send, you figure you’ll probably have at least five minutes to freak out and overthink. Sam doesn’t really seem the type to be glued to his phone. Which is why, you suppose, that you nearly have a heart attack when your phone buzzes with a response no more than 30 seconds later. ‘Friday works. 7 at the library?’

‘see you then :)’ You debate over the smiley face for a solid minute and a half before finally sending it and then violently throwing your phone across the couch and screaming into your throw pillow.

When you do finally work up the courage to pick your phone up again, he’s sent two texts back. ‘See you then.’ And then another one, a small bubble containing two characters: ‘:)’ Embarrassingly, you giggle alone in your living room. Oh, this guy is going to be the death of you.

You spend the rest of the night googling Sam Winchester and coming up with absolutely nothing. He seems to have absolutely no social media presence at all, not even an old MySpace or a private Facebook account. The only reference you can find to his name at all has it listed as one of two sons of some random serial killer from, like, the 1800s, which is obviously useless.

You give up your fruitless search with a sigh, closing your laptop and shoving it aside. Your tv is playing on some local news station—doesn’t matter which one, they’ve all been reporting the same story for weeks. You click it off, 100% disinterested in hearing about the blood bags going missing from local clinics for the millionth time this month.

You go to bed and dream of brown hair and eyes that you just can’t quite place the color of, but you can swear you see them flash red.

Friday finds you at the library almost a full hour early. You’d agonized over your outfit all day yesterday, and for another half an hour after work to boot. In the end, you’d decided to go casual. After all, it is just a study date—and actually, not a date at all! A study meet-up. A study hangout, at best. The fact that you did your make-up and your hair for it is entirely irrelevant.

It’s 6:45 when a cough draws your attention up from your phone. Sam is standing in front of you with another one of those shy smiles, and two coffee cups in his hands. Coffee cups from your favorite cafe. He shoves one in your direction. “Uh. I’ve noticed that you have drinks from here pretty often. And- I hope you don’t mind, but I…I read one of the cups? So. This is for you.”

Your eyes flick over him, your heartbeat practically pounding out of your chest. So he’s been watching you too. Or—Jesus, not watching, that makes it sound creepy. Observing is a better word for it. He noticed a pattern in your coffee cups. He read one to find out what it was you were drinking. “Thanks,” you tell him, taking the cup from his hand. Turning it to read the writing, you find he’d gotten it right. Maybe you should find it creepy, actually. As it is, you’re sort of having a hard time not swooning. You beam at him. “I’ll…have to return the favor.”

For some reason, that makes Sam laugh as he sits down across from you. “Sure.” He opens his backpack and takes out his laptop. “So, this project.”

Sam, as it turns out, is a genius. Or at least exceptionally smart. A project that would’ve taken you hours on your own is done in record time with him, which leaves the two of you there at 7:30 with a fully completed midterm project and half-empty coffee cups. You don’t want to leave, and it seems Sam doesn’t either, as he closes his laptop and asks, “Why are you taking night classes?” like he’s really, genuinely curious.

So you tell him. You tell him about trying to get through college on your own, deciding you needed a full time job, how it’s probably the best job you’ve ever had. You ask him the same question, and he tells you about his brother, who is, apparently, the one who drives that fucking awesome car. He drops Sam off at classes, and pretty much anywhere else he needs to go.

The two of you chat for an hour and a half before Sam gets a text that says his brother is literally going to leave him there if he doesn’t shag ass and get in the car pronto. So Sam walks you out of the library.

“You know,” you blurt out before you can lose your nerve, “I feel like our classes would be a lot easier if we put our heads together like this. You know, regularly. Like, every Friday, maybe.”

He ducks his head, smiling that same shy smile he’d had when he gave you the coffee. “Sure. Every Friday. Sounds…helpful.”

You don’t realize until you get home that he never actually told you why he takes night classes. It turns out to be a pattern for him, as the two of you meet up week after week. You simultaneously feel like you know everything and nothing about him, and every week you like him more and more for it. Well, for that and the coffee that he gets you every time.

It takes a week before he moves seats in your political science class. The Monday after the second Friday you meet up with him, you almost sit in the wrong seat because you’re so used to him sitting two rows ahead of you. Of course, when you realize what’s happened, Sam’s staring at you with an amused grin on his face, like he’s trying really hard not to laugh at you. So, you decide, you are friends, at least. And as far as friends go, Sam’s a pretty good one.

You and Sam text, constantly. Despite seeming relatively unplugged, he responds to you instantly almost every time. You hate to get your hopes up, but by the time finals roll around, you’re starting to really like him. You’re starting to think he really likes you too.

He finishes his biology final on the last Thursday of classes long before you, but when you leave the classroom, you see him leaning against the wall, waiting. Again, you don’t want to get your hopes up, but when he lifts his head and sees you approaching him, you swear to God, you see his whole face light up. He looks a little pale, maybe. But it also might just be the fluorescent lights of the hallway.

“How do you think you did?” he asks, falling into step beside you.

And, you think, it’s now or never, now, isn’t it? Classes are over. You may never see Sam again (although, you like to think the two of you are close enough now that you would at least remain friends outside of having classes together, but still, the sentiment remains). So you change the subject and ask, “Would you wanna get dinner with me on Saturday?”

He pauses, freezes in place pretty much, and you stop to match him. “Dinner, like…dinner?” he asks, as if that question makes any sense.

You laugh, a little awkward, and adjust your backpack straps. “Uh, yeah. Like, dinner.” You don’t want to explicitly mention it being a date. You feel like he likes you, you really do, but if you’re wrong…that rejection is going to sting. So you don’t say it, not explicitly.

But still, Sam’s face lights up with a grin. “Yeah. I’d…really love to get dinner with you, actually. I’ll have to—I’ll text you. But…yes, yeah. I’d love to.”

You’re pretty sure the smile on your face matches his. “Okay. Then, I’ll see you on Saturday. And you’ll text me.”

“I’ll text you,” he agrees.

The two of you linger for a moment before parting, and you have never been more excited to say goodbye to someone in your entire fucking life.

When you get home, you have a text message. ‘I’ll pick you up. Does 7 work for you?’

You have to take a moment to squeal into your pillow before answering that yes, 7 does work for you, and you’re excited to see him then. And then, as an afterthought, your address.

God, you need to find something to wear.

Saturday comes around, and you’re fully ready by 6. Sam’s almost always shown up early, after all. Your TV plays news footage, stating that the clinics have taken to putting up extra security around their blood banks to no avail. You couldn’t care less, too giddy and girlishly excited to even think about the stolen blood bags.

6:45 rolls around. Sam isn’t there. That’s…fine. He’s not obligated to show up early. You set up a time to pick you up for a reason, right? There’s no reason for the sinking feeling in your gut.

7:00. No sign of Sam. But that’s no reason to worry. Maybe he got stuck in traffic. People are late sometimes, and you don’t need to panic just because Sam’s never been late before.

At 7:30, you shoot Sam a text. ‘are you okay? don’t tell me you forgot about me :( lol’ You don’t get a response.

You don’t change back into lounge clothes until 8, and you don’t take off your makeup until 8:30, and that’s only because you’re pretty sure you’re about to start crying and ruin it anyway.

The real kicker is that you thought Sam, at the very least, considered you a friend. Or at least friendly enough to let you down easy rather than agree to a date and then stand you up. Clearly, you severely misread the entire situation. You entirely misunderstood Sam in general, if he’s really the type of person to do this sort of thing.

Wiping hot tears off your face, you cork open your expensive bottle of wine. Desperate times, right?

Two hours and half a wine bottle later, you’ve swung from devastated to angry. How dare he stand you up? You’re a catch! You’re gorgeous, you’re funny, you’ve ignored all of his weird quirks and red flags, and for what? To cry into a glass or five of overpriced wine on a Saturday night? Screw that. You should call him and give him a piece of your mind.

Or…no, you’re pretty drunk, actually, so you probably shouldn’t call him. But you could text him. Yeah. You fumble for your phone, furiously typing out a text and hitting send without a second thought. ‘if u werent interested in me u cldve just said so. didnt have 2 ghost me’

Next thing you know, you’re opening your eyes the next morning with a killer headache, a damn near empty bottle of wine, and no response from Sam. While you’re curled over the toilet, the alcohol isn’t the only thing turning your stomach. There’s a worry brewing there too.

Because the more you think about it, the more that this really just doesn’t feel like Sam. Now that you’re further out from it, you can acknowledge that much. When you ask yourself if you truly believe that the guy who bought you your favorite drink every time you met up, the guy who remembered every single thing you ever told him, the guy whose face totally lit up when you asked him to dinner—when you ask yourself if that guy would stand you up, you truly, honestly don’t believe he would. So the real question is: why did he?

You fight through the worry until about halfway through your shift on Monday when you realize that with finals over, you have absolutely no idea when, or even if you’ll see Sam again. You call him. It rings all the way through until you get his voicemail, and you wish the sound of his voice could calm you, but it only reminds you that he’s not answering. You don’t leave a message, sending him a text instead. ‘seriously, are you okay? please at least let me know you’re not dead.’ You’re not surprised to find you haven’t gotten a response the next time you check your phone, walking to your car at the end of the day. Desperately, heart-clenchingly worried, but not surprised.

You open your laptop the second you get home, furiously searching anything you can think of. You search for his name again, hoping to find anything that could point you towards family or friends, to the brother he mentioned. You search local obituaries, John Does, anyone who might even bear the slightest resemblance to Sam, but there’s nothing. Nothing, until you accidentally click on one of the articles about the blood theft. There, in a blurry screenshot of footage from the new security cameras one of the blood banks had installed, you see it. You recognize his brother’s gorgeous fucking car.

Your eyes go wide. Holy shit, you’ve been flirting with a criminal. You scroll up through the article, reading furiously, but it doesn’t even mention the car, focusing instead on the blurry, shrouded figure entering the doors. Is this why Sam went missing? Laying low until he can be sure no one will connect the footage of the car to him or his brother? Why the fuck is he stealing blood bags in the first place? Needless to say, the discovery leaves you with more questions than it does answers.

The world, unfortunately, does not stop with this revelation. You go to bed. You get up, you go to work, you come home. You think about Sam. You have no idea what you’re supposed to do in this situation. Should you go to the police? It’s not like he’s killing people but…it’s still illegal to steal blood bags. Also morally wrong, probably. Plus, you now have information that could help forward an ongoing police investigation. You’re not entirely sure what counts as aiding and abetting, but you’re not exactly itching to find out where the line is.

On the other hand, Sam never seemed particularly…criminal-like to you. Strange, sure, but he was nice. Kind, even. You never in a million years would’ve pegged him as some sort of criminal mastermind. That’s got to count for something. Right? At the very least, you think it allows him the benefit of the doubt. So…late Tuesday night, you send him another text, the last one you’ll ever send him. Probably. ‘hey so keep ignoring me if im wrong but are you the one stealing blood from the clinics?’

He doesn’t text you back, and you pretend that means you’re wrong. That you can clear your conscience and go to sleep. That you can go to work and stop worrying about vintage cars in blurry security footage.

Then the sun goes down on Wednesday, and someone knocks on your door.

The man on the other side of it is unfamiliar to you. He’s wearing a leather jacket, an amulet hanging off his neck. There’s absolutely no reason you should recognize him as quickly as you do. Except that he has this quality about him, something unreal or maybe inhuman, and you’ve seen it before. You can’t quite tell what color his eyes are.

He smiles at you, and confirms it. “You’re ____, right? Sam’s told me all about you.” This is Sam’s brother, the one with the car. The car that you recognized in the blood bank footage. “I’m Dean. Can I come in?”

You keep your hand on the edge of the door, ready to slam it in his face if need be. “How’d you get my address?” you ask, instead of answering the question. This man could be dangerous. You trust Sam, mostly, but his brother…that’s a different story.

“Sammy had it. Remember? For your little date.” Dean says, taking a step towards the threshold. You take a step back. “Can I come in now?”

You ignore the fear raging down your spine, the urge to turn tail and run away. Sam carries himself differently than Dean, presents himself in such a way that instead of cowering away from him, you want to keep looking. His strangeness is intriguing, not off-putting. Dean, though, he takes those same qualities and twists them on their head. Dean looks at you, and your entire body screams Danger! Like he’s some sort of predator. “Why are you here?”

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” he snaps. He takes another step forward, but stays notably on the other side of the door. Just barely. “Sam needs help. Are you gonna invite me in, or not?”

He could be lying. He could be manipulating the affection you already have for his brother to get you to let him in so he can off you, maybe the only person who’s connected him to his crimes. But, if that was the case, why wouldn’t he have just forced his way in? And also, why the fuck would he go that far just to cover up some stolen blood bags? “What’s wrong with Sam?” you ask, stepping back from the door to allow him inside. When in Rome, right?

His lips press together, like he’s irritated, though you can’t imagine why. You’re letting him in, which is what he wanted. He stares at you for a moment before sighing, world weary, like he’s holding the weight of a hundred lifetimes of idiocy on his shoulders. Jesus, this guy’s dramatic. “You have to invite me,” he grits out.

Your confusion only grows, but you oblige anyway. “Okay…come in, then.”

Dean steps into the apartment almost as soon as you’ve said it, like you’ve only just now opened the door. You back up a few steps further.

“Just so you know,” you say, standing up taller and trying to act less terrified than you feel, “I have a gun. So don’t- don’t try anything ‘cause I’ll shoot you.” You’re completely bluffing, of course, but there’s no way Dean could know that.

“No, you don’t,” Dean says, like he definitely knows you were bluffing. Well, great. “Besides, I’m not here to hurt you. My brother needs help, you think I’m gonna kill the only person who can help him?”

He doesn’t look like he’s lying. Then again, you’re pretty sure this man is a criminal, so maybe he’s just a really good liar. “Yeah, you said that before. If he needs my help so bad, why didn’t he just tell me himself?” It’s not like you slammed the door in Sam’s face and told him to leave you alone. You’ve sent him four texts and a phone call since he dropped off the face of the earth last week. He’s had every opportunity to ask for your help.

“Cause he’s sick,” Dean tells you. He lifts his hands before he approaches you, like you’re some sort of wild animal that he doesn’t want to spook. Embarrassingly, it works. “Really sick.”

You shake your head, bemused. “I don’t understand—what does that have to do with me? If he’s sick, he needs a doctor. Not…a random college student.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, he would. But he’s got…it’s complicated.” He pauses in his approach and nods his head toward you. “Can I come closer, or are you gonna shoot me, tough girl?”

You roll your eyes, but gesture him closer. “Be my guest, so long as it means you’re gonna tell me something that actually makes sense.” You’re tired of the riddles, frankly. If he doesn’t give you real answers soon, you don’t care how terrifying he is, you’re gonna have to do something drastic.

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, I can see why Sam likes you,” he mutters, shaking his head. “See, me and Sam…we’re not exactly normal. If I took him to a doctor, not only would they not be able to fix him, they’d probably kill him.” He stops beside you, forcing you to look up at him as he speaks. He cuts an intimidating figure, even without the air of a predator about him. You really, really wish you actually owned a gun.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask, voice quiet in the face of this hunter. “That you’re not normal?”

He grins, big and sharp and toothy. And then his illusion drops. Your eyes seem to fail you, like someone’s dropped the floor out from under you and then told you the floor was never real in the first place. His eyes catch your attention first, blood red and striking. And then, of course, you see his teeth—no, his fangs. Two long, sharp, killer fangs where his canines used to be. “Welcome to the night of the living dead, sweetheart.”

Vampires are real. There’s a monster in your fucking living room. This is crazy. You should be screaming. You should shove this man out the door and lock it behind him and maybe never leave your apartment again. Instead, you blurt out, “So that’s why you were stealing blood bags.” Honestly, a lot of things are starting to make way more sense now. You’re almost embarrassed you didn’t think of it before.

Dean laughs. “Right on the money.” You flinch as he claps you on the shoulder, and he laughs at you again.

“So…I’m guessing Sam doesn’t just have a regular old stomach bug, then?” You really feel like you should be having a more extreme reaction to this situation. You just found out that not only are vampires real, but you’ve been actively flirting with one. You think maybe you’re in shock. “This is some sort of weird…vampire virus, or something?”

“Smart girl,” he says, pointing at you approvingly. “Though it’s not exactly a virus, more like…food poisoning. Actually, we call it blood poisoning. Comes from drinking stale blood—bagged blood, for example—rather than fresh from the source.”

You frown. “Why drink bagged blood, then, if it makes you sick?”

“Why do people go vegan even though they need protein?” Dean counters. “Harm reduction. Plus, it doesn’t always make us sick. It’s pretty rare, actually. More common now than, you know, the olden times, but it happened back then too. Storing blood in vials, bottles, anything can make blood go stale, but it means you don’t have to hurt as many people getting it. Some things are worth the risk.”

That much, at least, you can understand. “So this…this stale blood, whatever—it makes you sick,” you repeat, that same worry for Sam from before roiling in your stomach again. “How sick?”

Dean grimaces, so whatever it is is clearly not good news. “It can kill us. Pretty easily, too. I have to tell you, I don’t know exactly how it works. Sam’s way better at this sort of thing.” He taps his fingers against your coffee table. “But I do know how to fix it.”

It’s pretty easy to guess. Dean’s here, despite the fact his brother is apparently dying, and there’s really only one thing you have that they don’t. “He needs blood,” you say quietly, beating Dean to the punch. “Fresh blood.”

He nods and shoots you a stilted smile. “Quick on the draw, huh?” The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he sighs, shaking his head. “Sam hates what he is. Doesn’t matter that he’ll die without it, he won’t hurt anyone. He just won’t.”

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly uncomfortable with Dean’s intense stare, like he can see straight into your soul. “So- so, what am I supposed to do about it?” you ask, your shoulders shrugging helplessly. “I’m still a person. I can’t force him to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

Dean takes a step toward you, and this time you don’t step back or shrink away. He’s dangerous, sure, but not to you. Not as long as you’re the only thing standing between his brother and certain death. “Look, Sam really likes you. If he knew I was here right now, and he wasn’t on his deathbed, he’d kill me. But I just—I’ve tried. It’s been a week, and I’ve tried so hard—” He ducks his head as he cuts off, his jaw working over clenched teeth. “I know that you care about him, right? I mean, I saw the texts; I know—I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t desperate. I can’t just sit around and watch my little brother die. I had to try. I have to try.”

Seeing him now, you almost can’t believe you were afraid of him. He looks almost terrified himself. And despite the uncertainty you feel, the fear, well…there’s a clear answer here. Yes, there’s a chance Sam refuses to feed from you, but there’s also a chance to save him. You can’t just stand back and let him die because you’re scared. “Okay.”

Dean’s eyes snap to yours again. They sparkle with hope, and even though the illusion is dropped, even though his eyes are red and his teeth are viciously sharp, for the first time since you first saw him, he looks human. “Okay?”

“Take me to him,” you tell him, moving past him to grab your coat off the hanger by your door. “Let me try to save him.”

Dean gives you the key to the apartment and a wish good luck, but stays in the car (which, yes, is just as nice as you imagined, though you wish you’d gotten to experience it under different circumstances). He tells you as you climb out the passenger door, “If this goes the way I hope it does, you two aren’t gonna want me there. Trust me.”

Apprehension keeps you rooted outside the locked door, biting a hole through your bottom lip. There’s a lot of ways this could go. Quite a few of them could end up with you dead, and you’d be a fool not to acknowledge that. Then again, you’d also be a fool not to acknowledge what you know about Sam, what Dean’s told you about him today. Kind, gentle Sam, who is sick and dying, but apparently still refuses to hurt anyone. Who drinks from blood bags, despite the risk, simply because it means he can live without harming others. He doesn’t deserve to die.

You take a deep breath, and unlock the door.

The apartment is…Well, it’s a little dingy, but it’s cozy. Homey. There’s clutter and trinkets on every shelf, books that look so old that you fear they’d disintegrate if you touched them. It occurs to you, then, that you don’t know how old Sam actually is. A memory flashes in your mind of his name mentioned in records from the 1800s. Holy shit.

“Dean?” You recognize Sam’s voice, but it’s thin and croaky. Weak. Really sick, Dean had said. “Are you home?”

You follow the sound of his voice into a bedroom, and the stale smell of illness almost makes you stumble back from the doorway. It doesn’t smell bad, necessarily, so much as still and wrong. Sam’s been in this room, wallowing in sickness, for a week. Your heart aches for him. “Not Dean,” you say quietly, hoping not to spook him. You approach the bed, and only just keep from gasping at the state of the man curled up in it. Sam is pale and sunken, visibly weak and malnourished. He’s trembling, shaking all over with chills, maybe, or just tremors in general.

His face changes when he hears your voice, his brows furrowed in confusion. He opens his eyes and peers up at you over his cocoon of blankets. His eyes, like Dean’s, are red, but unlike Dean’s, they’re glassy and tired, his eyelids fluttering like he’s struggling to keep them open. “____? What…what’re you doing here?” He pushes himself up to sit, and you can see the effort it takes him to do even that, his arms shaking under his own weight.

You sit gingerly on the edge of the bed beside him. “Dean sent me,” you tell him, ratting Dean out immediately.

Sam groans, rubbing his hands over his eyes. The veins in his hands are standing out, ugly, mottled red under pale skin. As if the blood really had poisoned him. “I’m gonna kill him.” Wow, Dean hadn’t even exaggerated, huh?

“Not like this, you’re not,” you mutter, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “Jesus, Sam…” He’s ice cold to the touch like he’s been out in the snow for hours. You curl your hands around his, trying to warm him.

His gaze flicks to them, your hands barely covering his. “Sorry I missed our date,” he says, mournful like he really is repentant, like standing you up is the worst sin he could’ve possibly committed. “It…was a date, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it—I meant for it to be.” You huff out a laugh, sympathetic as you smile at him. “And, you know, somehow I can’t find it in myself to hold it against you.”

Sam laughs, and for the first time, you catch a glimpse of his fangs. They’re just as viciously sharp as Dean’s, but they somehow look less dangerous on Sam. You’d worry you’d been charmed or something (isn’t that supposed to be something vampires can do? You have to admit, you’re a little out of the loop of vampire lore), if you weren’t certain that Sam would never do something like that. No, not charmed, not in any sort of magical sense. “I’ll die happy then.”

Wow, you see the dramatics run in the family. “You’re not going to die,” you say firmly, releasing Sam’s hand to brush his bangs out of his face. He’s freezing all over. It makes you want to wrap him up in your arms, make sure he never goes cold again. You settle for pressing your palm against his cheek, your fingers cupping around his jaw.

“I am, though,” he shoots back, like he’s arguing about who’s answer on the homework is right, not about his actual, literal life. “I’m going to die. But that’s—it’s okay. It’s been a week, so I’ve sort of come to terms with it.”

“Screw that.” You turn more firmly towards him, pulling your legs under you to kneel on the bed. “Seriously, screw that. I can help you. If you think I’m just gonna- what, stand aside and let you die, then you really don’t know me at all.”

“Sure. And you’re just gonna fix me, huh?” He shakes his head, turning it away from you with a huff. “All sunshine and rainbows after that. Not like I’ll have to bleed you to get better, right? Oh, wait.” Oh, he’s such a fucking diva, even on his deathbed, apparently.

“Oh, my God—yeah! I sort of figured it wouldn’t exactly be pleasant.” You didn’t spend all that time hesitating at the door because you thought it would be a walk in the park. “But if the choice is between that and letting you die, there’s no contest. I don’t understand why you’re so set on it when I’m sitting here offering you a solution!”

“Maybe I don’t want to be saved!” His outburst silences you, especially because it seems to take a lot of energy from him to snap at you like that. He stares you down, red eyes meeting yours, and you…you don’t know what to say to that.

You can lead a horse to water, but… “Sam—”

He cuts you off with another shake of his head. “Dean…he used to tell me that what we are doesn't make us monsters, it’s what we do. And I really wish I believed that, but the thing is, I…am going to die if I don’t feed from someone, like- like a fucking parasite. What is that if not monstrous?”

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” you tell him. Slowly, cautiously, you reach for his face and replace your hand on his cheek, turning his gaze to meet yours. “I actually happen to think you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. I don’t know what kind of monster would’ve apologized for getting deathly ill and accidentally standing me up.”

His eyes flick over your face, like he’s searching for something. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” His voice, thin and mournful, is heartbreaking. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know—I’ve never been sick like this before. It’s possible I won’t have a lot of control if I feed on you like this.”

That’s sort of what you were afraid of. But that’s the benefit of him feeding from you, rather than some random person off the street, right? You know what’s going on. “I won’t let you go too far,” you assure him. “Sam, please. I want to do this for you. Let me…let me help you.”

His eyes meet yours, and he seems to find what he’s looking for. He lifts his hand and brushes your hair back off your neck. “If I do this—if—it’ll hurt, at first,” he tells you, placing his hand on your shoulder. Just resting there. It sends sparks down your spine all the same. “But not for long. It’ll start to feel good, kind of like getting high. But if I—I’m not going to bite you if I’m not sure you’ll be able to stop me if I take too much.”

“I’ll stop you. If I have to.” You trust him, mostly. But you’re also aware that he hasn’t fed in a week, so you’re prepared to have to at least alert him to your blood loss.

His fingers trail along your neck, goosebumps following in his wake. His eyes follow the path of his touch, and his hands may be hesitant, but you can see the hunger in his eyes. Maybe you can make the horse drink, after all. “Are you sure?” he asks, and his hand moves to the back of your head. Bracing.

“I told you—” you say, your voice coming out almost as quiet as a breath— “I want to do this for you.”

“Okay.” He leans forward until you can feel his breath on your neck. It’s almost cold, unnaturally so. “Tilt your head a little more, that way—there you go,” he instructs, and that tone in his voice is…yeah. You are definitely glad Dean didn’t come in with you. His lips brush your skin when he speaks next, “Ready?”

“Yes.” You’re not sure how you manage to get your voice to come out as stable as it does. You bring your hands up to brace on his shoulders, and your grip goes a bit tighter when you feel his fangs press, just barely, against your skin. “Yeah, I’m—go ahead.”

You’ve never been bitten by a vampire before. You have no frame of reference of whether this is what it’s like every time, or if it’s just a Sam thing. Or if it’s just a you and Sam thing. But the whole process is intensely intimate in a way you weren’t expecting. Even when he first sinks his fangs in and it stings, makes you draw in a sharp breath. He’s a little uncoordinated, you think, and maybe goes in at a weird angle, because he draws his teeth out to sink them in again, but not before his tongue flicks out to catch the blood that drips down the side of your neck. The gasp that escapes you this time is not just from the pain.

He was right, of course. It does hurt at first. But the pain is offset by his hand on your head, his fingers curling just so to grip your hair. You swear you can feel in real time as he gets his strength back. As your blood flushes the sickness out of him. You’re not sure there is anything more intimate than that.

You think maybe you expected a transition between pain and euphoria, but there is no slow fade. In between one blink and the next, the pain disappears, replaced with a floaty, echoing pleasure that has your fingers clutching at Sam’s shirt. Everything around you goes a little unfocused, fuzzy, except for everywhere Sam touches, where you swear your nerves are lighting up with sparks and ecstasy. You might be making noises. It’s a little hard to tell, your senses dampened as they are.

“Sam…” You shove a little at his shoulders when you notice your hands start to shake. He hums, and you feel it on your skin. You can see, now, why he likened this feeling to getting high, although you’re not sure it’s the feeding that you can see yourself getting addicted to. You shove him a little harder. “Gettin’ dizzy here.”

He pulls back from your neck, and your senses return to you in a rush of sound and a pinprick sort of ache where his teeth had sunk into your skin. You watch, full focused vision returned, as Sam wipes at his mouth and then drags his tongue over his hand, now free of mottled veins, to catch the blood that had, you assumed, spilled as he drank from you. Like he can’t bear to waste a single drop. You swallow thickly, your mouth suddenly very dry.

“You taste like…” He trails off, and then his mouth is on you again, but not biting. No, his tongue drags up your throat, and it occurs to you—vaguely, through the fog of earth-shattering, soul-bending lust that settles over you—that if blood had spilled down his mouth, then it stands to reason that it had made a mess of your neck as well. Not that you’re complaining, if this is the result of a little mess. He makes a soft noise against your skin, his breath hot now in a way it hadn’t been before. “Taste like…” His voice peters off again, distracted or just unable to find the words to describe it.

Yeah, screw this. “Let me find out for myself,” you murmur, your hands moving from his shoulders to his face—and his skin, too, is warmer now, almost the temperature you would generally expect it would be—until you can drag him into a kiss. The answer, as it turns out, is blood. You taste like blood, although you sort of assume it tastes different to him. Strangely, the flavor isn’t as off-putting as you would assume, especially not when he groans and uses his grip on your hair to tilt your head, kiss you deeper. You lick into his mouth, tasting your actual, literal blood on his tongue, and you…don’t have the words to describe how absurdly hot it is.

He’s not careful with his fangs, not really, lets them catch on your bottom lip and draw out pinpricks of blood that he soothes with his tongue. It makes the whole thing a little messy; he’s got blood smeared over his lips when you pull back to breathe. Your eyes track his tongue as he licks it up.

His hand, the one that’s not braced on the back of your head, brushes against the skin of your waist under the hem of your shirt. “Is this okay?” he asks quietly, still so close that you can feel the words on your lips.

Is this okay? You almost have to laugh at the question. As if you hadn’t wanted him since the first moment you saw him. “Yeah,” you tell him, a little smile tugging at your lips. “It is so absolutely more than okay.”

At your confirmation, he smiles too, and his hand rests more firmly on your waist, almost grounding. “Well, I didn’t buy you dinner first. Wouldn’t want you to think I was ungentlemanly,” he says, drawing a soft laugh from you.

“Aw, well. You did try.” You press forward, leaving a short kiss on his lips as your hand shifts from his face to tangle your fingers through his hair. “Plus, I mean…technically, I—”

Sam cuts you off with a kiss, but you can feel his grin against your mouth. “That does not count,” he protests.

“I dunno,” you say, a little sing-song in your voice as you grin at him. “I did quite literally just save your life. I think we might be a little past dinner.”

He scoffs, shaking his head at you. He’s not annoyed though. You can tell, because his fingers flex on your waist and then move, brushing up your side. “Uh-huh. Sounds to me like I’m slacking.” He ducks his head and presses two short, soft kisses to your neck, right on top of the pinprick aches. “I’ll have to repay you. You did just save my life, after all.”

Almost subconsciously, your fingers tighten in his hair. Anticipation settles in the small space between you, a space that grows even smaller when his hand presses against the small of your back and tugs your closer. “I did just save your life,” you repeat, your voice significantly breathier than it was before.

He laughs, a little puff of breath against your skin, and his lips drag down your throat in a line of open mouthed kisses until it lands at your pulse point. You swear to God, time slows down as he breathes in, slow and deep like he’s smelling your blood beneath your skin, and then presses his teeth to it until you can feel the points of them, precarious like water pooled on top of a penny. He doesn’t bite down, doesn’t break the skin, but fuck, you almost want him to. It seems like he wants to, too, as he closes his mouth with a snap. “Fuck…” He pulls back and lifts his eyes to yours. “Can I taste you? Please?”

It takes you a second to understand what, exactly, he means. He’d already tasted you; if he wanted more blood, he could’ve just bitten you again. Then, it clicks, and you…well, what are you supposed to say to that? Sam Winchester, all big, cow eyes and mouth smeared with your blood, so politely asking to eat you out, like you’d be giving him a gift. How could you possibly turn that down? “Yeah. Yeah, fuck, that’s—yeah.”

You only see his answering smile for half a second before his lips are on yours again, kissing, biting, while his hand caresses over the bare skin of your stomach. His kiss, his touch, is almost overwhelming, doesn’t leave you much room to think about anything else but him. Not that you really want to. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, pulls back just far enough from you to speak, and even then you can feel his lips move against yours as he asks, “Can I take this off?”

You really do laugh this time, drawing your hands down his neck and over his shoulders. “I appreciate the whole gentleman thing, I really do, but Sam, baby, I’ve wanted you since before I even knew your name. So let’s just assume that whatever you wanna do, I really fuckin’ want it, too.”

His eyes flick over your face, and you can literally feel the cocky ass grin he gets at that. It is, unfortunately, like everything else he does, ridiculously sexy. “That long, huh?” He’s such a dick. You want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your entire life. He tugs back and drags his gaze down your torso, his hand leaving your hair to join the other in toying with the hem of your shirt. “Guess I shouldn’t keep you waiting any longer, then.” His hands brush against the skin of your stomach as he pulls your shirt up and over your head before tossing it aside, not caring where it lands. You’ll find it later. Or you won’t.

His eyes lave over your newly bare skin, his hands following shortly behind. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing his palms flat against your stomach and dragging them up your ribs. “Can you lay back for me, darling?” he asks, even as his hands press you back against the mattress before you can respond.

You go easily, not in the least because the name knocks the breath out of you. “Darling?” you echo, shifting until you’re resting comfortably against the nest of pillows at the head of the bed.

Sam climbs over you, his knee nudging yours until you spread your legs to make room for his hips to settle between your thighs. “Is that alright?” he asks, ducking his head to press his lips to the hinge of your jaw.

More than alright, if the fluttering in your stomach is anything to go by. “It’s fine,” you say, playing it cool. Then, because his hands are rubbing up and down the bare skin of your sides and his teeth (the blunt ones, not the fangs, because he has much more self control than you do) are nipping at the skin of your neck, you play it decidedly uncool and continue, “Darling.”

You feel his answering smile against the skin of your collarbone as he and his kisses and his teeth travel down the line of your neck and chest, pausing at the edge of your bra. He lifts his eyes to meet yours through his lashes as his lips press the softest of kisses there. “‘M gonna take this off, now,” he tells you, his voice deep and rumbling. His hands move up your back, and you arch your spine to allow him room to do so. He undoes your bra clasp without removing his lips from your chest, tugs the garment down your arms and tosses it vaguely in the same direction as your shirt without a second thought.

“I thought about this, you know,” he says, softly, against the skin in the valley of your breasts. “Getting my mouth on you. How it would feel.” He shifts his attention, his lips closing over your nipple while his hand palms your other breast. It draws a soft gasp from your lips, your fingers twisting in his hair. “How you’d sound,” he continues, his voice a little cocky now.

“Sam…” His name falls from your lips on an exhale, like you’re breathing him in, like he’s pumping through your veins the same way you’re now pumping through his.

He smirks. If you thought he was cocky before… “Yeah, pretty much—” He presses that smirk against one nipple and brushes his thumb over the other, and while your head is dropping back onto the pillows with a moan, he laves his tongue over it to make you moan even louder— “just like that.” He's got you so distracted, you almost don't notice his free hand trailing down your stomach, brushing along the waistband of your jeans, not until his fingers undo the button with practiced ease.

“Oh, God, you are so unfairly hot.” You lift your head to watch as he kisses his way down your stomach until he finally reaches your waistband with his mouth, too, and leaves a nippy little bite there.

He laughs, glances up at you with that fucking smirk as he drags your jeans down your hips. “Unfair to who? You?” The two of you maneuver a bit until he can tug your pants off your ankles and toss them aside, another clothing casualty lost to the war on your sanity led by the swooping in your gut whenever Sam looks at you like that.

“Not me,” you elaborate, although it’s hard to do so when Sam’s hands are settling on your hips and his thumbs are rubbing slow circles on your skin and dipping just so under the elastic of your panties on every other pass. “But, like, every other guy. How is anyone supposed to compete with…this?”

This being Sam motherfucking Winchester, who had spent months shyly testing the waters and cautiously flirting so subtly that you were terrified you’d read him wrong, suddenly suave and confident and practically begging to eat you out. Oh, and also being, objectively, the hottest monster. This man has been terrorizing the dating pool for maybe centuries. You shudder to think how many women’s standards he has completely obliterated.

Continuing the streak of obliterating your standards, he ducks his head, that shy smile on his lips again. “I mean, I should hope no one is competing with me in this particular instance,” he says, voice hesitant as if there’s a chance on Earth you’d ever turn him down.

You shake your head, and honestly, you can’t help but laugh because a literal vampire is about to go down on you, and somehow the most unbelievable part of this situation is that he thinks he has an ounce of competition. “Are you actually asking me if I want to be exclusive right now?” you ask, drawing a hand up and through his hair, brushing his fringe off his forehead. “Because I feel like I made it so obvious how much I like you. Obviously, there is no competition.”

You have the honor of watching Sam blush for the first time, and knowing that you made it possible. Your blood flushes his cheeks, makes his face go the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen.

“Obviously,” he echoes, his words brushing against the skin just above your panties. His hands brush down your thighs, and he pulls one of your legs up and over his shoulder so your heel rests against his back. He turns his head, and with your thigh now bracketing his head, it’s easy for him to press an open-mouthed kiss there, and then another, and then another until he’s brought you back practically to panting again.

“‘M gonna make you see stars,” he tells you, his lips pressed against the crease where your thigh meets your hip. “And then, because I am a gentleman, I’m going to buy you dinner. And I’m gonna be thinking about this—” He nips at your skin, bares his fangs this time and draws a well of blood and a gasp from you simultaneously— “The way you taste; the way you feel—I’m gonna be thinking about it the whole time.” He draws his hands back up to your hips just to tuck his fingers under the elastic of your panties, lifting his eyes to yours as he tugs on it. “Can I take these off?”

You think you might die if he doesn’t. “Please.”

His fangs seem to glint in the light when he grins, but he ducks his head before you can look again, a sort of hyperfocus to his posture as he shifts your hips and legs until he can pull your underwear off your ankles, and finally, finally, leaves you bare to him. He doesn’t waste a second, his hands dragging up your thighs and then spreading them further, his eyes roving over you like you’re the most beautiful work of art he’s ever seen. “Gorgeous.” His voice, breathy and sweet, washing over you is the only warning you get before his lips press against you in a surprisingly gentle kiss.

Your lungs expand on a gasp, and then deflate on a moan as he laves his tongue between your folds, the muscle pressed flat and soft like a tease. Or a preview. You’re not totally sure you’re going to survive this actually. You might die with Sam’s tongue licking over your pussy, and honestly, what a fucking way to go.

“Taste so good all over, huh?” Oh, holy fuck, he’s still talking. His lips brush over your skin and make you whine, and you’re pretty sure you can feel the vibrations of his voice better than you can hear him. “Feel like I should thank you. Letting me feed from you, and now this?” He makes it sound like it’s some sacrifice to let him go down on you, like you’re not gripping his hair so tight you’re surprised you’re not pulling it out. “You’re perfect.”

“Oh, my God,” your voice comes out high and tight as he closes his lips over your clit and sucks. Your back arches off the bed, but as your hips shift to press up against his mouth, you find his hand pressed low on your stomach, pinning you down. “Sam—oh, my God.”

You can feel as much as hear the soft, contented hums he’s making, like he’s never wanted to be anywhere more than with his head between your legs and his tongue drawing circles over your clit. His fangs, sharp and dangerous, are almost artfully pressed against your skin, just barely enough to feel the points of them. His free hand, the one not pressing you down against the mattress, keeps trailing up and down the outside of your thigh, making you shiver and press your heel into his back. And it’s so obvious he’s loving this maybe even as much as you are, his whole body shifting as he grinds down against the mattress, and God, that feels almost as good as his mouth on your cunt does. He’s getting off on the taste of you, on making you squirm and whine and moan.

It’s over the second he presses his tongue against your entrance and his nose smushes against your clit—everything after that is a jumble of sensation. The feeling of his tongue fucking in and out, his nose rubbing against you with every movement of his mouth, his hand grabbing at your thigh and holding your legs open when your muscles go tense and tight and anticipatory.

He draws his tongue out of you with an obscene slurping sound that just has you hurtling even faster towards the edge, your hands grabbing at his hair for dear fucking life, white knuckled. “Are you gonna come?” he asks, his voice low and gruff and almost fucked out. You squeeze your eyes shut, nodding as if it wasn’t obvious from the constant stream of noises spilling from your lips. “Yeah? Go on, come on my tongue. Give it to me, darling, let me taste it.”

How could you resist that? His words and his stupidly talented mouth draw you over the edge, your pussy spasming as you do exactly as he asked and come on his tongue. True to his word, he does, in fact, make you see stars, lights sparking behind your eyelids. His mouth works you through it until you’re whining and using your grip on his hair to tug him away, oversensitive as you come down from an explosive fucking orgasm.

He presses kisses on your inner thigh as he shifts it off his shoulder, your body loose and pliant now. “There you go, good girl.” The words make your cunt give a valiant twitch, even as he draws himself up your body until he’s laying beside you and pressing kisses over your face. “Was that good?”

You peek one eye open to look at him, incredulous. “Was that good—you’re so ridiculous, c’mere.” You turn your head to draw him into a slow, lingering kiss. Much like the taste of your blood in his mouth, the taste of your pussy on his tongue is, frankly, life-changing. You’re addicted already.

He draws back with a soft laugh, his eyes traveling over your face with such obvious fondness that you have to press another quick kiss against his lips. “Okay, understood.” He brings his hand up to brush over your face, soft and gentle and such a contrast to the obscene pleasure he’d taken in going down on you that it makes your cheeks go warm. “So when can I buy you that dinner?”

The question gives you pauses, and your eyes flick down his body, curious. “Did you not want me to…”

You watch your blood, again, flood his cheeks as he laughs and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s not—I really like giving head,” he explains, as if that is not literally the hottest thing he could’ve possibly said.

Fuck dinner, you wanna go five rounds with him back to back right now. “Okay,” you say, because he’s very sweet and he wants to be a gentleman and who are you to take that from him? “You can take me to dinner, if you swear you’ll let me suck you off when we get back. Deal?”

The way his face lights up is worth having to wait. “Deal.”

“And,” you continue, your hand smoothing over his hair where your grip had mussed it up, “next time you need blood, let’s just skip the whole ‘I’m a monster’ thing. I am more than willing to supply you; I have a vested interest in keeping you around.”

He rolls his eyes, but the way he kisses you, fangs and all, tells you he gets it.

#sammy !!#grudges writes ;#sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #x reader #sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #vampire smut #sam munchester love of my life #smut #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 link #alternate universe #vampires

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alalnsted · 3 months ago

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seasononesam · 4 months ago

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2x20 // 6x15

Why is it our job to save everyone? Haven't we done enough? Yeah, but here, you got a pretty good life. I mean, back home, the hits have been coming since you were 6 months old.

#supernatural #spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #spnedit #supernaturaledit #*#spn episodes set in an alternate universe save me...

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hongjoongspoetry · 2 months ago

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A Second to Forever | Park Seonghwa

🍄 Summary: The countdown on your wrist was getting closer to its end and the jitters of finally meeting your soulmate were rendering you an anxious mess. It was a moment you had waited for your entire life — the chance to put a face and name to the person you were destined to meet — and it made you think of different ways to escape fate. After a series of comedic events where everything that could go wrong, did, you met your soulmate. In that instant, everything changed. The encounter was filled with sparks of attraction, warmth and genuine connection, leading to a tender first interaction that left you both feeling enchanted.

🍄 Pairing(s): Fairy!Seonghwa x Fairy!Reader, brief Fairy!Yeosang x Werewolf!Jongho

🍄 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, fantasy AU, fluff, humour

🍄 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), use of magic, water manipulation, flower manipulation, Wooyoung is a mood, petnames (bubbles, little one, jjong, love, darling), smooth talker!Hwa, flustered!MC, Seonghwa has some insecurities, brief mention of kidnapping and murder (literally just mentioned once in conversation), kissing and cuteness overload

🍄 Wordcount: 7.1K

🍄 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). Happy Friday everyone!!! I don't have a lot to say, except for enjoy hehehe. It was quite fun to write this one. I've never really done a fantasy/fairy au before so it was certainly a fun challenge! The fairies are sometimes referred to as little one / little fairy, not because of their physical appearance but because fairies are described as 'tiny' in tales even though they are human sized here!

This is all fiction and not meant to represent the idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains mature scenes, not sexual content but moments of intimacy. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!!!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard Event taglist

The beautiful pink petals of the cherry blossom trees littered the streets of Seoul. The flowers could be found in every corner and in every crevice, covering the ground in a pink blanket, much like the thick layer of snow in the winter season. Peering out of the window of Yeosang’s flower shop, you wonder about the story behind each passerby. A trio of young witches dressed in high school uniforms walked by with their arms looped and joyous laughs tumbling out of their mouths. A tall man triple checked his wristwatch, hair gelled back and one sharp tooth peeking out. The stress was evident on his pale face and your eyes flashed down to the fat blue ring resting atop his middle finger. The bright complexion and fang was a giveaway, yet the piece of jewelry confirmed your thoughts.

The vampire narrowly avoided colliding with another man nearly half of his height that appeared out of nowhere. You glanced down and noticed the lack of feet on the new person. Ghosts weren’t usually seen out in the open during daytime as the sun made them nearly impossible to see. The bright rays pierced through their translucent forms and turned them invisible to those who weren’t aware of their surroundings. It was good you could walk through them, a bit disrespectful, but at least they weren’t involved in a lot of traffic accidents.

As if on cue, a loud crash erupted behind you, and you were quick to turn around. The owner of the shop, the most beautiful garden fairy you had ever laid eyes on, stood with his legs in a wide stance and hands open, as if holding an invisible box. His eyes were trained on the mess of porcelain shards, a dozen red roses and a pool of water decorating the wooden flooring. The pair of see-through wings with a dash of green in them flickered fiercely, a sign of annoyance that he refused to express on his gorgeous face. Your own wings, thin and blue, fluttered as a smile overtook your features.

“You alright, Sang?”

“Mhm,” he hummed and crouched down to pick up the aftermath of his ditziness. “It’s the fourth vase this month…”

You grabbed the broom and dustpan from the corner while Yeosang separated the roses from the remains that couldn’t be reused. Before you got to sweeping, you placed your hand right above the puddle and wiggled your fingers. The water slowly separated from the floor and hovered in the air, taking on an oblong shape that bent at your will. You guided the water to the drain with a flick of your wrist and the only proof of there ever being an accident were the broken shards. Yeosang shot you a grateful look and you handed him the floor scoop in return as you gently swept the bits into the dustpan.

“You can’t blame yourself for the first two times, remember? It isn’t your fault the customer’s service dog accidentally knocked stuff down with his tail and it definitely isn’t your fault that some parents bring their kids in and have no control of the devil spawns playing tag in a flower shop!”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am!”

Yeosang ignored your cheery outburst and threw the collected pieces in the trash can behind the register. Overwhelmed by being in the center of attention, even if it was only him and you there, he reflected the light on you.

“How much time is there left?”

You slid your forearms across the counter with your palms facing the ceiling. The digital timer that was injected into your wrist seconds after you entered the world was currently showing 01:10:20 with the last numbers frequently changing. Seventy minutes. A little more than an hour left until you’d come face to face with your other half. The thought sent a pleasant spark down your spine and along the thin veins of your wings. Many nights were spent staying awake and wondering who they were and the times you managed to succumb to sleep, you were visited by the image of your soulmate, but the face was always hidden behind a blurry shield.

Just a little while longer and you’d be able to trace the outline of their features. Then there was the curiosity whether they were a fairy like you or another creature. It wasn’t unheard of or impossible to be paired with something other than your own kind. You knew fairies whose soulmates were everything from witches to werewolves, however your soulmate was yet to show themselves.

“That’s soon,” he replied, a dash of excitement lingering in his voice and a joyous glint twinkling in his eyes.

“Right… I don’t know whether it’s too soon or not soon enough.” You buried your face in the safety of your palms. “Oh, Yeosang, what am I going to do? It feels like my heart is going to burst out of my chest!”

A fresh and slightly musky aroma with a hint of fruity sweetness surrounded you, blossoming a comforting and warm feeling in your chest. The flower shop was filled with a variety of different scents, but this one stood out, as if the plant was right beneath your nose. A barely-there touch grazed the slightly exposed part of your cheek, right beside your ear, and you slowly raised your head only to be met with the lovely sight of a large jasmine bush protruding between the planks. Jasmines were known for their calming effect and you could practically feel the tension melting off your shoulders, back and jaw.

“Thank you, Sangie.”

“Anytime, bubbles. Now, I can see the cogs turning in your head. Go ahead and ask away.”

“What… How was it when you met Jongho?”

The garden fairy paused for a second and thought over his answer. For someone who had already met his soulmate, it was hard to put the experience into words. How was Yeosang supposed to explain the unfathomable feeling of the air shifting the moment he locked eyes with his soulmate?

“I don’t know how to explain it, but believe me when I say that all of my worries disappeared when I met Jongho. Nothing in the world mattered anymore. I could literally be on the brink of death and I wouldn’t even care because, well, he was there.” A blush the same hue of his heart-shaped birthmark rose to his cheeks and spread to the tips of his ears.

Yeosang and Jongho met in their first year of university, if you recalled correctly. That would be a mere five years ago. Yeosang was running late for his exam and was in such distress, he forgot about the countdown on his wrist. His thoughts were everywhere and nowhere. It would be a miracle if the fairy even remembered half of the material he revised in time for the evaluation. Yeosang quickly regretted his choice of taking the elevator instead of sprinting up the five flights of stairs. He didn’t even think of using his wings!

There were just a few more minutes until the doors would close, so when the elevator dinged and the doors just started parting, Yeosang slipped through the crack and collided with a sturdy chest. Everything he was holding — keys, pencil case, water bottle, notepad — fell to the ground along with an apology slipping out of his lips. The words didn’t get very far as Yeosang looked up and found the warmest pair of eyes staring right back at him. Yes, he missed the exam.

You sighed at the dreamy look on his face. “You’re just saying that because you love Jongho’s eyes.”

“Do not!” His glow intensified and took on the shade of the red roses behind him, a stark contrast to his green and black highlights. Yeosang eventually yielded as you raised your brows and tilted your head sideways. “Okay, I do love him, but it’s not because of his eyes!”

Joy stretched your lips into a genuine smile. You were happy for him. It was about time someone other than you brought the fairy out of his shell and Jongho, from the brief encounters you had with the werewolf, was just the man for the job. Your friendship with Yeosang blossomed in elementary school. The class consisted mostly of vampires, witches and werewolves, and hadn’t it been for you and Yeosang, the homeroom would’ve been vacant of fairies. The one thing you had in common — being of the same species — was the magnetic pull that brought you together — the garden fairy who wore his heart on his sleeve and the water fairy who, despite having a smile warm enough to melt blocks of ice, didn’t think twice before standing up for others. In other words, by drenching the pupils for making fun of the sweetest boy in class.

Though one was a garden fairy and the other a water fairy, your differences went beyond your magical abilities. Yeosang was quiet and you were loud. He liked to observe while you wanted to participate. The apples of his cheeks set ablaze at the merest crumb of attention while you didn’t shy away from the spotlight. Your differences didn’t hinder you from being friends, on the contrary actually. The different traits were perhaps the reason why you stayed friends for so long.

Having an unpredictable mind that changed course like the unruly waters of the sea, you couldn’t help but let your thoughts run down an unstoppable stream. If the universe paired Yeosang with someone that was an anchor — grounding and strong, giving him the opportunity to lean on his soulmate whenever — what would it give you? Would your soulmate be a vampire, cold and quiet, to balance your loud and bubbly personality? Or what if they were a controlling werewolf, an alpha ordering you around, trying to drown out your outgoing persona? But your soulmate wouldn’t hurt you, right?

The silence on your part alerted Yeosang and he was quick to notice your distant gaze. He slowly waved his hand in front of you, the motion eventually getting more frantic the longer your eyes stayed stuck on the same object, until you broke out of the bubble separating you from the rest of the world.

“Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” you replied without missing a beat and glanced down at your wrist.

00:50:35

Your eyes widened. The time was suddenly moving so fast. All those years of you wailing and complaining about there being an eternity until you’d meet your soulmate were taunting you now.

“What if I lock myself in the guest bathroom of the flower shop?”

“It’s impossible to defy the universe.”

“What will they do? Break the bathroom door?”

Yeosang paused for a moment and gave you a skeptic glance. “Maybe you forget to lock the door.”

"Impossible,” you countered and kept your eyes on the countdown. “I always check twice.”

“Maybe the lock breaks because you pull on the handle when checking.”

It was your turn to take a breath. He had a point and you hated it when he was onto something. “Okay, what if I hide in a river in a bubble of water?”

“Congrats, your soulmate is a merman or mermaid.”

“What if I take a trip to Jongho’s pack?”

The sudden call of your name snapped your eyes up to Yeosang’s. “Do you not want to meet your soulmate? Because you’re really acting like it…”

“It’s not that I don’t wanna meet them. I’m just… scared…”

There was no point in feeling embarrassed of your admission. Everyone you asked who had already met their soulmate told you the same story. How they were nervous, scared and excited about finding out who their other half was. You thought they were stupid at first. Who would be scared of meeting their soulmate? Now you felt stupid for secretly invalidating others’ feelings.

“There’s no reason to be afraid, bubbles. The person you’re destined to meet isn’t just created on a whim. A piece of your soul is taken to put in theirs and vice versa, whoever it is, you’re created to fit each other.”

“But–”

“No buts. You can’t cheat fate…” A quiet blanket settled over the almost empty flower shop. “Take a stroll and try to think of something else. Here.”

A vine covered in different sized leaves emerged from the ceiling at a single twitch of his fingers. Yeosang held his hand out and a leaf the length of your forearm fell off the branch right in his palm. He grabbed each end of the blade and beckoned you to hold out your wrist. The leaf was neatly tied around your timer, successfully covering the changing numbers.

“Now you can’t look at the timer and won’t worry about where you are or who you’re around.”

One corner of your mouth curved up in a gracious smile. “Thank you, flower.”

“I gotchu, now fly away and don’t come back unless you wanna show me your love for all eternity.”

With a new found confidence and a leaf on your wrist, you big Yeosang goodbye and left the flower shop per order. You didn’t know where to go. Any location you thought of was either too fancy or not fancy enough to meet your soulmate in. The idea to wait outside your front porch wasn’t too bad. If they turned out to be a complete weirdo you could just run and hide. The downside would be that they would know where you lived. Not wanting to waste anymore time, you decided to just walk in a straight line and let the path guide you to the person destiny chose for you.

It was a beautiful day. There wasn’t a single cloud in the blue sky, and the sun could freely share its warm rays with the planet. People made the most of the sunny weather and spent the day outdoors. Some took longer walks with their dogs, while others decided to enjoy the clear sky in the outdoor seating areas of coffee shops. As you passed a park, you caught sight of students in high school uniforms with blankets strewn beneath them and books lying open on their laps. The bright weather sent everyone in a good mood and you just hoped the atmosphere wouldn’t change when your timer ran out. Getting sidetracked was easier than you thought. A little further up ahead the road was a fairly new shop which had just opened a few months ago. You did visit it a handful of times to your mother’s requests of buying different ingredients for her and just like then, her gentle voice echoes in your head reminding you to stop by Jung’s Magic Shop on your way home for a bottle of moon petal essence.

The bell above the door jingled at your entry. A surge of intensity hit your nose the moment you stepped over the threshold that you thought blood would ooze out of your nostrils. One word to describe the store would be chaos. The space was the size of a shoe box and crowded due to the many unopened boxes, random piles of books that couldn’t fit in the bookshelves and random trinkets laying around. At first glance, the shop appeared to be empty, but as you reached the register and tapped the small bell with the sign ‘tap me’ attached to it, a man of short stature emerged from a cloud of smoke.

“Hello little fairy,” he greeted and leaned his elbow on the counter while resting his chin on his palm. “What can I help you with this fine evening?”

Jung Wooyoung, the youngest wizard of his family line, was most known for being the new addition in town and almost setting the whole building on fire on his first night there. He was a handsome wizard. Black hair that fell neatly over his nape and tickled the beginning of his shoulders. His equally dark eyes were obscured by a heart-shaped fringe. It was nearly impossible not to squirm beneath his gaze, but the tension would disappear with a quick flash of his bright smile. The most alluring feature of his face would be the mole right beneath his right eye, and if the viewer was extra observant, they would notice a subtle beauty mark on the center of his bottom lip.

“Hey Woo, do you perhaps have some of that moon petal essence?”

“Hmmmmm, I think they are all reserved for other customers.” The hopeful light faded from your eyes and he was quick to take back his words, lowering his tone and whispering behind his hand as if the place was bustling with customers. “But… I can just tell Mrs. Yang, I dropped her bottle.”

“Thank you.”

“No worries, little fairy. Take it as a gift for being my favorite customer.” His eyes jumped down to your wrist and a wrinkle appeared between the skin of his furrowed brows. “What’s wrong with your wrist?”

“Oh, this?” You raised your hand and gave him a better view of the leaf. “It’s nothing, I’m supposed to meet my soulmate soon and I couldn’t stop worrying, so Yeosang tied it to keep me from worrying.”

Wooyoung hummed as his hand reached out to play with the knot of the blade. “Yeosang is that little flower fairy, huh?” He dreamily sighed. “He is beautiful.”

“And happily taken by his soulmate,” you stated matter-of-factly.

“Oh, don’t remind me! Can’t a mind fantasize in peace?” Agile as a fox, he changed the course of the conversation, seemingly no longer interested in the ‘little flower fairy’ and his boyfriend. “Well how much time is there left until you meet the lucky one?”

“It showed less than an hour back at Yeosang’s shop.”

“And you walked all the way over here?” You nodded, a bit clueless at the sudden question. “That’s a thirty minute walk, little one and that’s if you walk at a brisk pace.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I think you need to get out of here unless you want to find the love of your life in this chaos.”

Your eyes widened and you quickly ushered him to get your moon petal essence.

“Jeez, woman. I’m going!”

As soon as Wooyoung handed you the essence trapped in a bottle the size of your pinky, you slipped it over your head and let it dangle around your neck, and dashed back out into the busy street. The door nearly hit you on the way out and you could’ve sworn you heard a cackle come from the inside, definitely Wooyoung pulling some strings to mess with you. A harsh gust of wind swooshed around the many bodies and you threw your hand up to shield your eyes from the flying dust and dirt. What you didn’t expect though was for your leaf to come undone and travel through the air.

“Oh no!” You gasped and quickly ran after it.

As if sensing your chasing figure, the wind picked up and pushed the leaf further away. Like a game of cat and mouse, the blade would land on the ground and then jump a few paces whenever you’d get too close. It was taunting you and that alone made you more determined to capture it again. The thought of Wooyoung casting a spell on it back in his shop didn’t sound too unbelievable. The more time you spent with the wizard, the more of his foxy personality broke through his innocent act.

“Come back here,” you hissed and chased the lively leaf while successfully avoiding collision with the other pedestrians. A brilliant idea flashed before your eyes and everyone watched in awe as your blue wings fluttered to life, and lifted your figure off the ground.

The leaf brushed off your command and continued its path further and further away from you. There was actually no point in retrieving it, but you realized you felt much better not having to look at your timer than when it was visible for everyone to see. Even now, as you were losing your mind trying to get it back, you didn’t think to glance down at your wrist. Entirely occupied by the stupid part of a random plant Yeosang summoned, you didn’t realize your timer was rapidly coming to an end. Your wings flapped rapidly, propelling you forward. Victory filled your veins as you inched closer and closer to the blade. The harsh wind stilled and the leaf fell limp on the ground just as you touched down with the soles of your feet. You ran the last stretch with your arm extended and fingers spread, ready to capture the green piece. A noise of triumph escaped your mouth as you grabbed the end of the blade.

“I got you!”

What you didn’t expect was for the leaf to be pinched between a thumb and forefinger, twice the size of yours, at the other end. You traced the path up the stranger’s arm and gazed into the most beautiful pair of brown eyes you could ever imagine — round and wide, akin to a surprised bunny. A bubble you weren’t aware of burst in your ears and all of your thousands thoughts stored in various chests scattered in the vast space of your mind were reduced to nothing. Your breath was trapped in your throat, yet you didn’t feel the need for air as long as you kept staring at the stranger. A soft breeze — nothing like before — brushed against your bodies and a rain of cherry blossoms followed. The petals landed in the stranger’s hair and blended with his baby pink strands. The man was breathtakingly beautiful and your heart squeezed in content of being the center of his attention.

“Hey,” he said and your insides nearly collapsed from the combination of his slight rasp and soft-spoken tone. His raspberry-colored lips curled upward and dethroned the sun as the warmest source of light in the galaxy. The fairy who couldn’t go a day without speaking was for once at a loss for words.

“Hi,” you squeaked out and hastily rose to your feet, letting go of the oh-so-important leaf.

The man chuckled and followed your lead. His long legs were trapped in a pair of khaki pants and the pine-colored vest was buttoned up, showcasing his sunkissed arms and collarbones, and even a sliver of his belly button adorned by a trail of bright pink hairs. A brown string was tied around his neck, with just enough space for a pinky to slip between his skin and the material, and the ends disappeared beneath his shirt. That wasn’t the only accessory on his beautiful body — a light watch, in the same hue as the necklace, sat snuggly around his left wrist. A pair of beige boots fit his outfit perfectly and perhaps even made him an inch or two taller.

The attire was very comforting as it reminded you of your relatives and the few fairy friends you had. It wasn’t something people wore around these parts as most residents weren’t of fairy descent and stuck to the more modern-day clothes. Before you could spiral into what-ifs, a motion behind him caught your attention and as you threw a glance over his shoulder, the prettiest pair of wings in fairy history came into view. They were much brighter than his hair and glowed with iridescence, shifting from shades of lavender to bubblegum pink beneath the sunlight. But that wasn’t all. A shimmering gold ran through the venations, starting thick and then thinning out as they neared the edge of his wings. The stranger belonged in a bedtime story based solely on his appearance, a tale deserving to be shared with the world.

“I’m Seonghwa.”

He tucked the leaf behind his ear and held out his hand, patiently waiting for you to reciprocate. The moment your palm touched his, he ran his thumb over your knuckles and gave it a soft shake. Gentle ripples erupted along the surface of the skin he touched and it brought a sense of serenity you only felt while being in a pool of water. Seonghwa gently and slowly turned your hand sideways, as if waiting for any attempts of resisting, but continued when you didn’t fight him on it. Multiple zeros glared up at him and a smile, broader than the one before, spread across his cheeks.

“And do tell, is my soulmate’s name as beautiful as her face?”

An embarrassing noise was born as the question struck you like a golden arrow launched from Cupid himself and lodged itself in the center of your heart. To make matters worse, Seonghwa pulled your hand up to his face and planted a chaste, but lingering kiss on your ring finger. If Yeosang knew that a mere kiss and some sugar coated words would leave your brain fried, he would’ve done it a long time ago. Through the haze of pink hearts and desire, you managed to give up your name, but not without stumbling over your tongue a few times first.

“I love being right,” he admitted and you were a second away from fainting in the arms of your soulmate.

“I–I, yo–you– I–I mean, what!?”

Seonghwa chuckled, clearly amused and endeared with your flustered behaviour. “You have a pretty name.”

“Your face is pretty!”

You didn’t mean for the compliment to slip out after not even five minutes of meeting your soulmate, but you were drunk on him and everyone knew a drunk mind spoke a sober truth. Nonetheless, you slapped your hand over your mouth as if it would take the confession back and erase his memory. Little did you know that Seonghwa had already stored it in a folder named ‘prettiest flower’ somewhere in the far back of his head with the intent to reminisce about the sacred first meeting every once in a while.

“Thank you, darling.”

A few people had gathered around you to witness the life changing moment of two strangers, but neither paid them any thought. Seonghwa scratched the back of his neck with his left hand — the other one still holding yours — and cleared his throat, slightly feeling the pressure of multiple eyes on him.

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

“Please.”

There was no step by step manual telling you what to do after meeting your soulmate. You wished though. Something like Soulmate 101 or The Soulmate Startup, it would certainly help you in times like these — you and Seonghwa sitting on a random park bench, a vacant seat between you and the March wind doing all the talking. The scenery was pretty though. An oblong pond stretched from one end of the park to the other as a long trail went around it. Years ago, probably an elderly garden fairy, planted a bunch of various trees along the path that had now grown into beautiful timbers of various sizes. You weren’t that skilled in flora, it was Yeosang’s specialty, but you managed to snag up a thing or two from the decade long friendship.

There was an array of oak, maple and pine trees that would look nothing short of magical during the harvest season, but it didn’t mean the different hues of green were any less pretty. The growing leaves just needed to emerge from their buds and the park would look lively again. The few cherry blossom trees were at least in full bloom and distracted the visitors from the otherwise naked park, and a couple of evergreen shrubs were blooming nicely. The few ducks and swans were a cute bonus too. You thought back to Yeosang and Jongho’s story. How the younger immediately introduced Yeosang to his family, to his pack, and they welcomed him with open arms or how the garden fairy wasted no time taking Jongho to his family owned — now, entirely written over on Yeosang’s name as both Mr. and Mrs. Kang retired — business.

“So… what kind of fairy are you?” Seonghwa’s voice snapped you back to the present.

Most people usually guessed what abilities you had based on the color of your wings. Blue could only represent so much and the element that was always tied to it was water. Either Seonghwa was really clueless or wanted to spark up a conversation… You had a feeling it was the latter.

“I’m a water fairy,” you replied and crossed your legs over each other, subconsciously leaning closer into Seonghwa who sat with his arm draped over the back of the bench. The heat emitting from his limb grazing your shoulders and neck. “But that’s obvious because of my wings… Your wings are beautiful though and like, I’ve never seen wings in that color before and I’m trying to understand what fairy you are, but it’s so hard!”

By that point, you were already rambling. The words trickled out of your mouth like a waterfall with no end in sight, but Seonghwa didn’t mind. On the contrary, he bashfully smiled, as if you had told him the stars belonged in his eyes — which wasn’t far from the truth. People, more often than not, praised him for his wings, calling them beautiful, breathtaking, magnificent — every flattering word you could think of. Seonghwa thought he had grown immune to the compliments. However, hearing it from you sent a heat to his cheeks challenging the pink peonies in Yeosang’s shop.

“Thank you…” He meekly replied and lowered his voice down to a whisper. “People try to guess, but no one’s gotten it right yet… I’m a garden fairy.”

You felt stupid for not thinking of that, but in your defence, most garden fairies you knew (just Yeosang’s family) had green wings and green or brown hair — the two main colors symbolizing earth and flora. Of course you wouldn’t assume Seonghwa was one too as he radiated the colors of strawberry ice cream and lavender skies.

“Are you like… royalty?”

Seonghwa couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling out of him and threw a hand over his mouth to keep his volume down so as to not disturb the other visitors. In all his years of living, he had never been mistaken for royalty. His cute pink blush intensified and was identical to the vibrant camellias on his left.

“N–No!” He said between the laughter and waved his other hand. “It’s not common, but fairies with parents who have different abilities can be born with… abnormal wings. My mom is a garden fairy and my dad a fire fairy.”

“Wow, that’s cool. I didn’t know that at all.”

“Not many do. I mean, I have yet to meet another fairy with a not-so-normal pair of wings.”

You chuckled. “If that’s why you came here, then you’ll be disappointed.”

“How come?”

“There’s only one other fairy family here and they are gardeners too, but not the flashy-kind like you.”

This time he didn’t cosplay a tomato or shy away from your kind advances. Seonghwa leaned in and the distance between you was reduced by half. You gulped at the sudden close proximity and your eyes darted down to his lips curving up in a smirk.

“I’m not disappointed.”

Snapping out of your trance, you found his eyes again. The round rabbit-like shape taking on that of a siren. “Huh?”

“You said if that’s why I came here then I’m going to be disappointed and well, I’m not. Wanna know why?”

You didn’t trust your usually loud and bubbly voice to be stable anymore, not when his scent of burned sugar and sunflower fields infiltrated all of your senses. Playing your cards safe, you nodded slowly.

“Because I found something better.”

The question of what lingered in your eyes and while Seonghwa could see the curiosity shimmering in them, he wanted to hear you ask. Perhaps the soulmate connection was stronger than both of you thought because a warm feeling spread through your abdomen, like an instinct telling you when danger was near or when you could feel someone staring at you from afar, and you decided to take a step from your unusually shy exterior.

“What?”

Seonghwa’s grin broadened. It wasn’t a matter of what, but of who. His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he leaned even closer to you. The three letter word rested on the gap of his teeth, just gauging your wide eyed expression. In a whisper, far more quiet than the calm ripple of waves or comforting sound of bubbles bursting he answered your question.

“You.”

“M– Me?”

He hummed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. More obvious than the grass being green and the sky blue. “Yes, you. My pretty water fairy. The prettiest water fairy.”

A rush of heat attacked your face and the urge to look away was almost bigger than the urge to run your fingers through his wavy hair. The looming fear of taking a step too far made you hold back and keep your hands glued to your sides. Seonghwa wasn’t having it though. With trembling hands, he gently hooked his pointer finger beneath your chin and rested his thumb in the center of your chin, the tip grazing your bottom lip, and directed you back to face him. Fierce bubbles reached the surface of the pond and the ducks quacked in panic at the sudden change in their peaceful environment.

“Don’t shy away from me, pretty. I’ve been waiting for years to finally meet you and I want to stare at you until I’ve memorized the most discreet feature of your beautiful face.”

“Seonghwa,” you whispered. Your heart was loud in your ears and the hot blood wouldn’t stop rushing to your head. If you were to check your temperature, the thermometer would break from the heat and you’d be rushed to the nearest hospital. Little would they know you weren’t suffering a severe fever, but of love sickness instead.

“May I…” he hesitated as well. The two-hour-long interaction, mostly spent sitting in front of the pond, made you feel as though you had known each other for two decades.

Sensing his caution, you wrapped your fingers around the wrist attached to your face. You gave him a soft squeeze of encouragement and whispered, “It’s okay.”

Seonghwa cleared his throat. “May I kiss you?”

“Please.”

A pair of soft and plush lips pressed against yours and a tidal wave whirled in your stomach, flipping all of your senses into overdrive. The hand that was originally cupping your chin maneuvered to cradle your cheek as his other hand fell on the cramped space between your and his thighs. Your own fingers reached the sides of his vest to not stray with the pink haze clouding your rational thoughts. It was nice to be taken care of and follow someone else’s lead every once in a while, and Seonghwa proved he could do just that. Eager and wanting more, you pushed against him and Seonghwa took it as a sign to gently swap his tongue against your bottom lip, practically begging to be let in and who were you to deny him entry? A rich, romantic and soothing fragrance surrounded you as the kiss deepened and your fingers slid up his sides, and gently wrapped around his neck. The need to run them through his hair grew alongside the desire bubbling in your abdomen, but you refused to mess up his neat waves.

As you parted to relieve your burning lungs, the sight surrounding the bench stole the breath right out of your throat. Multiple thorny stems protruded from the ground and created a curving wall around your bench, leaving a slim opening facing the pond. White, red, yellow and pink petals bloomed through the thousand green leaves shielding you from the outside world. It was magical, something you’d only see in movies or flower gardens where the caretakers would trim and bend the bushes until they fit their vision. You gingerly extended your hand and traced the outline of a pink rose. They were fully grown and unraveled, the kind people would kill to get their hands on for their partners on Valentine’s Day.

“Why…?”

You were so immersed in the flowers to notice Seonghwa shrinking into himself. Shoulders hunched up to his chin, fingers fiddling in his lap and bottom lip caught between his teeth. The powers of a fairy were both a blessing and a curse for different reasons. Garden fairies could manipulate greenery to create art deserving of a place in the Louvre. Until they were fully in control of those powers, their emotions dictated their actions, often leading to chaos like a cocoon of roses mirroring Seonghwa’s warm heart.

“Did you do this?”

Seonghwa was snapped out of his embarrassed trance and sheepishly smiled. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck despite not feeling an itch and then wiped it obnoxiously off his thigh. There was no point in hiding the truth. A bush didn’t just sprout overnight let alone in a matter of seconds, at least not without the help of a fairy. Seonghwa was still reluctant to admit the truth. What person would want to hear about their soulmate becoming overwhelmed by emotions to the point where they lose the reins of their powers? There was nothing attractive or admirable about that. Not at Seonghwa’s grown age!

As much as he wanted to play it off and play stupid. Answering with a simple shrug of his shoulders and feigning a look of surprise. Seonghwa was a worse liar than someone who couldn’t control their powers, the truth spilling out from him despite his best efforts. “...Maybe?”

The garden fairy had yet to gauge your reaction. He wished to spare the flustered image of you in his mind for just a little while longer before ruining it forever with the expected disappointment souring your features.

“Red for love and passion…” Your voice rang out like a wind chime and Seonghwa slowly looked up at you who had your eyes set on the beautiful flowers. “Yellow for warmth and friendship. Pink for joy and appreciation, and white for new beginnings.”

“You know the meaning behind them,” Seonghwa whispered in awe.

A soft smile spread across your face. “It would be embarrassing if I didn’t considering my best friend is a garden fairy.”

There was a mutual understanding not to prance over the obvious mishap and Seonghwa released a blow of relief as you didn’t laugh at him and the slip of control over his abilities. The silence returned with a comforting undertone, soft and steady, allowing space for peace to settle in. Neither you nor Seonghwa tensed or fidgeted at the lack of conversation and simply basked in each other’s presence. The fear and sheer anxiety of meeting your soulmate was for nothing as Seonghwa proved to be more tender than a flower. The flame burning inside of you flickered brighter with each gentle word he spoke and you hoped, with every ounce of your being, that he felt the same, that he too was drawn to this connection as deeply as you were.

“The flowers are for you.” Seonghwa was the first to interrupt the silence. Perhaps the soulmate connection ran deeper than a simple countdown leading up to the moment you met.

“Huh?”

“The roses. They are for you. It’s what I felt– What I feel when I’m with you.”

“Oh!”

He let out a sound something between a huff and chuckle at your sudden rigid position while you begged for your face to cool off.

“Would it be wrong of me to assume you feel the same?”

“Not at all.” You bit the inside of your lip and tapped your fingers along your thigh. “Would it be wrong of me to say I really like you?”

Seonghwa held your gaze. The warmth of his smile seeping into your bones and spreading throughout your already heated body. He gently dropped his hand on the wooden surface with the palm facing the clear sky. Cautious yet daring, your finger extended from your remaining fingers as if testing the waters. It grazed the soft skin of his palm and it was the brief contact you needed to slide your hand in his, fingers intertwining and giving each other comforting squeezes.

“Not at all,” he breathed out, his thumb running along the side of yours.

Bonus:

“No, Jongho, you don’t understand. I told her I didn’t want to see her if she wasn't coming back with her soulmate. It’s been hours since then! What if she’s been kidnapped? Or murdered? Or sold overseas?!”

In the time you were enjoying the company of your newfound soulmate — showing Seonghwa the town where bits and pieces of your childhood were sprinkled in the streets, coffee shops, book shops, restaurants, playgrounds — Yeosang was slowly losing his mind in the safety of his flower shop, prancing back and forth as his mind theorized a hundred different ways harm could come your way. Jongho helplessly watched his soulmate get his daily steps in. The werewolf, despite being younger than the fairy, was quite calm about the whole ordeal. It was more likely that your phone had died than for your soulmate to kidnap and take you to another country in a span of three hours.

“Yeosang, love, I need you to calm down–”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Jongho!”

The werewolf threw his hands up in surrender. It wasn’t everyday the calm and collected garden fairy who followed strangers home to see their puppies and kittens lashed out on others, especially not his own soulmate.

“Whoa, can we go back to using our inner voices, please?”

That seemed to snap Yeosang out of his frustrated stupor. He sighed and ran a hand through his multicolored hair. “Sorry, Jjong. I’m just worried for her.”

“I get that, but working yourself up over nothing won’t help. I mean, you haven’t even tried calling her…”

“That’s because I don’t want to interrupt if everything’s going alright! That would just be embarrassing for us both!”

As Jongho parted his lips to reassure his boyfriend that there was nothing embarrassing about checking on his best friend to see if she was alive, the door of the flower shop opened. The person Yeosang had been prematurely growing gray hairs over waltzed in with a bright smile on her face and a handsome man in tow. Yeosang’s jaw went slack and Jongho leaned back in shock, certainly not expecting you to heed Yeosang’s threat and bring your soulmate to his very shop.

You cleared your throat, “Yeosang, Jongho. This is Seonghwa, my soulmate. Seonghwa, this is my best friend Yeosang and his soulmate Jongho.”

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stev1esarch1ves · 4 months ago

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DC Head-Cannon Post #3

As a teen Jason ended up discovering AO3. He then proceeded to use his love for writing and literature to create a Pride and Prejudice themed fanfic where he posted multiple chapters and ended up with a relatively large fanbase. One day he just stopped posting, his readers were incredibly disappointed. It turns out he literally died.

After his resurrection he never opened that website ever again.

He has taken this information to the grave (twice).

#He also postes fanfic for other fanbases (Supernatural)#One of the bat-siblings has probably found and read at least one of his works (it was Tim)#His favorite kind of fanfic to write was Alternate Universe #jason todd #dcu #dc comics #dc headcanon #dc headcannons #batfamily #batfam #jabontobb #He made Self-Insert OCs to cope with life

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mostlymarvelgirl · 2 months ago

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A Winchester Kind Of Love

Pairing: Sam Winchester X AU!Reader

Summary: You never expected to wake up in the Supernatural universe. But after inexplicably appearing in the bunker, surrounded by the very people you once watched on screen, you have no choice but to adapt. While searching for a way back home, you form unexpected bonds—especially with Sam. But when emotions start to blur and reality becomes harder to face, you begin to wonder… do you truly belong here? And what happens when the lines between fiction and reality are no longer so clear?

Words: 3000 words smth (sorry)

Reader's Personality: The reader's personality is deeply introspective, independent, and emotionally guarded.

Warnings: Angst, emotional conflict, Themes of identity and belonging, Mild language, Slow-burn romance with mutual pining, Heartbreak but with maybe a hopeful ending.

The first time you saw Sam Winchester in real life, you thought you were hallucinating.

Or maybe, you were dead.

Because there was no way in hell you were standing inside the Men of Letters bunker, wearing the same clothes you went to bed in, while Sam Winchester—fictional, TV character Sam Winchester—stared at you like you were the world’s weirdest case.

The reactions were immediate.

Dean had burst into the room, gun drawn, shouting, “Who the hell are you, and how the hell did you get in here?”

You had barely been able to stammer out a response before Castiel appeared, blue eyes narrowing as he scanned you with his grace. “She is… human,” he said slowly. “But… she does not belong to this world.”

Dean had scoffed. “Yeah? No kidding. You don’t just *pop* into a locked-down bunker unless you’re packing some serious mojo.”

Sam had been quieter, more calculating. “Who are you?”

It took hours, a mild panic attack, and a lot of rapid questioning from both sides before you finally admitted the truth:

Back home, the Supernatural universe was nothing more than a TV show.

A stupid, heartbreaking, addictive TV show that you knew inside and out.

And now? Now, you were here. In it.

Dean had been the first to react. “Oh, great. Another alternate universe. Because that never goes wrong.”

Cas had tilted his head. “This is… highly unusual.”

And Sam? Sam had just stared at you, trying to figure out if you were real—or if the universe had just played its cruelest trick yet.

Months Later…

You were still here.

You helped with hunts (you were shocked that you even could). You researched cases with Sam, argued with Dean, even got on Castiel’s good side.

And yet… you still felt like an outsider.

You weren’t real here.

And Sam—God, Sam—was getting too close.

It started small. The way his eyes lingered a little longer when you laughed. How he always seemed to check in on you first after a hunt. The late-night talks over books and whiskey, where he’d tell you things he never told anyone else.

At first, it was fine because there was still a plan. Sam had been researching, looking for a way to send you back. He had promised, back in the beginning, that they’d find a way. You had clung to that—because it was easier than considering the alternative.

But then, the updates stopped coming. Every time you asked, Sam’s face would tighten, and he’d mumble something about dead ends and cosmic deadlocks.

And so, you stopped asking.

But the feeling in your gut told you the truth: Sam wasn’t looking anymore.

Not really.

It wasn’t supposed to come out. Not like this.

The motel room was quiet except for the scratching of Sam’s pen against his journal and the occasional rustling of paper. You sat on the bed, knees pulled up, carefully rubbing moisturizer into your skin. A small, mundane moment after a long day of chasing down leads.

Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “This case is a mess.”

You hummed in agreement, your attention half on your reflection in the motel mirror. “When is it not?”

He huffed a soft laugh, but when you glanced at him, he was already watching you again. That look. The one that made your stomach twist. You knew very well what that look meant.

And before you could stop yourself, before you could shove the words back where they belonged, you blurted it out.

“You don’t actually love me, you know.”

Silence.

Sam’s head tilted slightly, brow furrowing. “What?”

You swallowed hard, suddenly wishing you could take it back. But the words were already hanging in the air, so you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “You think you’re falling for me, but you’re not.” Your voice was softer now, but the weight of the words was just as heavy. “You just feel… safe with me. Because I know everything about you. And that’s not real.”

His face twisted, hurt flashing across it like a wound you’d just opened. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.” You turned back to the mirror, fiddling with the lotion bottle, unable to face him. “I don’t belong here. And you deserve better than someone who—who doesn’t even belong in your world.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. “Why do you keep saying that?”

You exhaled sharply. “Because it’s true! Because—” You hesitated, throat tightening. “Because you stopped looking, Sam.”

The room went dead silent.

You saw it in his face, the way his expression faltered for just a second. And that was all you needed.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “You stopped looking.”

Sam looked away, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t—” He sighed, voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t find anything.”

“That’s a lie.” Your voice cracked. “You just… didn’t want to find anything.”

His silence was all the answer you needed.

Dean found out about Sam stopping his search before he found you outside the bunker.

And he was furious.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Sam?” Dean had shouted, pacing the library while Sam sat, head in his hands. “You kept her trapped here? Lied to her? Jesus, man, she’s been alone this whole time—thinking she had no way home.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “The spell. The one Cas found. What happened to it?”

Sam let out a slow breath, not meeting his brother’s eyes. “I—burned it.”

The air in the room shifted.

Dean lunged, shoving Sam back. “You son of a—”

Before things could go further, Castiel stepped between them, voice calm but firm. “That’s enough.”

The hunt had been brutal.

You and Sam barely spoke as you drove back to the motel, exhaustion hanging in the air like a storm cloud. The weight of everything—of hunts, of lies, of feelings neither of you had the courage to name—pressed down between you both.

The motel room was small, the kind of run-down place you were used to by now. Sam immediately sat at the desk, flipping open his laptop, while you silently grabbed your toiletries and disappeared into the bathroom.

When you stepped out, wrapped in a robe, you caught Sam staring.

Not just looking—staring—like you were something fragile, something slipping through his fingers.

A week later, you finally sat across from Sam, the weight of everything between you impossible to ignore. You exhaled shakily before finally voicing what had been gnawing at you for months. “You know… I do love you, Sam.”

His eyes widened slightly, but you weren’t done. “I just… I’m not sure I’m good enough for you.” Your voice wavered as you admitted, “I’m not built for relationships. I forget little things, I zone out, I’m moody. I’d probably mess this up somehow, and you—” You swallowed. “You’re perfect.”

Sam watched you, his expression soft but serious. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he reached out, cradling your face in his large hands. His thumbs brushed gently over your cheekbones, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You’re not perfect,” he said, voice low. “And neither am I.” He hesitated before adding, “But I see you. Every part of you. And I still want this.”

Your eyes burned, the weight of his words settling deep into your chest.

And when he kissed you—slow, tender, filled with everything neither of you had been able to say—you realized, for the first time, that maybe… just maybe… you belonged here after all.

THE END.

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A/N: I don't really write. I just wrote this because idk I just got motivated for a really realistic version of me entering spn universe and how it would go. Closest possible thing. Feel free to give criticism cause I honestly don't really like this and I want to improve a lot. Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate it.

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EXTRA: ;)

Sam Winchester was the perfect boyfriend. And it was almost annoying.

He brought you (your favorite drink) just the way you liked it. He noticed your favorite songs and hummed them under his breath. He rubbed circles into your back when you were exhausted, memorized your quirks, and never once made you feel like you didn’t belong.

One night, as you lay curled up against his chest, you grinned and murmured, “You know, I was actually more of a Dean girl.”

Sam’s whole body tensed. “Excuse me?”

You giggled. “I used to write fanfics and everything.”

He groaned. “Oh, you are never living this down.”

You just laughed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. Because for once, you were exactly where you belonged.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

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aunnokokyuu · 2 years ago

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what if YOU were a poor little animation studio who kept straightifying the very homosexual moments between a tiger and a malnourished victorian child in order to make the anime more appealing to the general public. but THE MANGAKA HIMSELF said NO here’s a scene where said malnourished victorian child sensually bites the tiger’s neck while he’s transformed as a vampire and U HAVE TO ANIMATE IT THIS TIME BCS ITS IMPORTANT TO THE PLOT!!! now bones if you straightify that scene like you did to akutagawa telling atsushi to run you fool then you can trust that i’ll find you more than you trust in god

#not really sskk related but if YOU would like to read my soukoku fic where they get transported into an alternate world #and not only is dazai the port mafia boss in that universe but they’re also GIRLS #I JUST UPDATED IT LIKE YESTERDAY SO PLEASE IF UR INTERESTED im rosalyra on ao3 and the fic is titled #Local Man Goes On Supernatural Investigation With Unfairly Hot Ex #Hopes This Doesn’t Reawaken Anything In Him #ok now back to regularly scheduled tags #sskk #shin soukoku #Atsushi #Akutagawa #bsd chapter 110 spoilers #bungou stray dogs #bsd chapter 110 #bsd

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ghost-facess · 9 months ago

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inspired by @bitchface24-7 's post,

as I'm a "the boys" fan, I love Jensen's look in the show and now I've been introduced to supernatural I can't stop thinking about older man!dean and late teen!/young adult! sammy together

also dean having that hot american soldier boy voice cause I looove it

they go together so well mmmmmm

I just know he'd fuck sam so good

• last year of highschool sam who meets dean at a motel some friday nights where dean is just a romantic and then it devolves into hot, dirty sex

• OH OH sam egging him on - “you really fuck like an old man.” and dean fucking that brattiness out of him. “what was that bitch?” dean spits and grips sam's shaggy hair, not caring if it really hurt and speeds up his thrusts, sam focusing on heavy balls slapping against him, which turns him on even further.

• maybe dean letting go of his grasp in sam's hair and then just as sam rests his head down, he's suprised by dean wrapping his thick hand around sam's throat. squeezing and dean bends down, “now you listen to me, you whore.....”

• dean pays for the stay and asks to treat him to a fancy meal next weekend with which sam happily accepts.

#wincest #samdean #supernatural #supernatural tv show #age gap wincest #sam winchester #dean winchester #this dean would DEFINITELY call sam “baby boy”#alternate universe samdean #sam x dean #medium length hair bearded jensen ackles save me #I'M GOING CRAZY ABOUT THIS GGGGGRRRRRR

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strawlessandbraless · 2 years ago

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Sometimes I think about Dean meeting AU Cas, a hunter in his own world, and how that would go

But I think we know how it would go, Dean would immediately set phasers to fuck

UPDATE: For those looking for a fic with this concept, @alana-alana-alana just recommended

Those Who Favor Fire

dothraki_shieldmaiden, FriendofCarlotta

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #destiel #castiel #misha collins #deancas #jensen ackles #profound bond #alternate universe

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my-stories-vault · 3 months ago

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Love and War.

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Y/N Singer

Blurb: You must've read a lot of enemies-to-lovers, let me show how someone can be your lover and enemy . . .

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): language, gore, major and minor character deaths, break up, major angst, surprise ending, the Supernatural Wars (TSW) spoilers.

Song Inspiration: Love and War by Fleurie.

Prompt: "Nothing is fair in love and war."

Challenge: This is a flip POV challenge but can be read as a standalone one-shot! To read this same chapter from the reader's perspective, head on over here. Original plot credits of this first chapter go to my dear friend, Hepza on Wattpad. Go and show her some love 🥰.

{ Main Masterlist }

Love and War.

The metal hit the floor, clanging in the loud silence.

'You were never good with swords,' I bragged, shrugging with my free arm. Her formal cold smirk disarmed my heart just as much as I had disarmed her of all protection.

'That's why I brought reinforcement,' she smiled with a sinister nonchalance. Her backup emerged from the tree line: Charlie with an archery set, poised in a shoot-to-kill position.

As dread and agony pushed beyond the other emotions, a futile plea pressed past my lips. 'Princess—'

'No, you don't get to call me that,' she barked with such acid that it burned my heart.

'Y/N—'

'Put your sword down,' she cut me off once again.

I vanquished the control of the weapon. Charlie kicked it out of my reach and into my lover's hands.

A lover that had turned into my enemy.

'That's it?' my voice quieter than I'd like it to be. 'You are going to throw all that we had out the window – just like that?'

I should be more raged, more bitter, I should probably be yelling at her for what she did, for what she is doing – but I can't. I can't be mad at her without knowing why she did what she did. I just love her too much.

'Oh, no,' she calmly raised her head high, her expression of stark hate – the same eyes that couldn't not hold love when they used to look at me – the same face I've woken up to for as long as I can remember, the same girl whose love has consumed my every cell to the point that I won't know how to live without her anymore.

But she seemed to have no problem turning on me.

'You already did me that favor when you decided to hunt me down for your father, Your Highness,' she snarled.

'How did we get here?'

A few days before . . .

I was in the middle of a presentation, stating a common point, when the doors to the meeting hall were rudely opened to one of the most blunt, and annoying brats I'd ever set my eyes on: Y/N Singer.

'Your Highness,' the guards addressed, looking about nervously, probably worried about their job status after this – and if I knew Bobby any well, which I did – they were probably wondering if they were gonna survive the day.

But I could honestly not care less as my eyes drew to the rugrat of the girl His Majesty Robert Singer liked to call a daughter. She was amusingly in her nightly undergarments, unafraid of the stares and the jaws she dropped as she stepped into one of the most formal meetings, amongst the most esteemed kingdoms from around.

'Bullocks,' Bobby harshly mumbled under his breath.

'Your Majesty,' one of the two guards that seemed to have been chasing the princess breathed out, 'we tried to stop the Princess, but she . . .' he trailed away, unable to find proper words, also busy panting – he probably had had to run after her.

She'd do that to you. She was one of the better warriors I had met in my life while traveling the world. She was definitely fitter than the poor bodyguards that seemed to have been assigned to keep her away.

Stopping her is like stopping a tsunami dead in its tracks – it's impossible. That's one of the reasons why I love this annoying brat.

'I got this,' Bobby groused – he didn't, but okay. 'Now go and do your damn duty.' He turned to his daughter (this is going to be fun to watch), 'Y/N, what are you doing here in your . . . ' he tried to bring a polite statement into fruition, and was failing miserably.

'My undergarments,' she supplied, unabashedly. And I had to hide my proud smirk behind my hand as all the nobles began exchanging awkward and uncomfortable looks. Some of the ladies were jealous, and some of the men resisted to check my girl out.

Not that I minded – she was indeed a sight to look at.

'Let me see,' Y/N continued, 'I woke up and the first news I received was, Your Eminence has canceled our breakfast together. So, I was wondering what made you ditch our daddy-daughter date; and here you are, canoodling with your comrades.'

Her eyes swept over the table, her gaze tainted with slight resentment, and suddenly I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes till I could see my brain.

I knew how much she cherished the time she got to spend with her father, especially after what happened to her mother – Bobby was the only family she had. And I loved that she held onto that with everything she had. But her methods sometimes were slightly . . . crass, for the lack of a delicate word. She lacked the tact she needed to get things done her way.

Sometimes it was adorable, sometimes I just hated it.

It was a little bit of both right now. Even though it was adorable: her reckless courage and her flaunted beauty – I was in the middle of speaking about, as she calls it, "the damn Dam" – one of the most important projects our countries ever took up.

'Here, put this bloody robe on,' the King huffed, extracting himself from it and draping it over his daughter's modesty.

She slapped the robe off of her, crossing her arms and humphing with one of the cutest angry pouts I'd seen her sport – okay, maybe I was over the fact that she interrupted us and now I was enjoying this a little too much.

'Not until we sort this out.'

'Gentlemen, give us the room please,' Bobby intoned in a resigned manner.

Everyone, relieved, scraped their chairs across the floor, dragging themselves away from the room when Crowley stated: 'Well, I don't mind staying for the show.'

Y/N rolled her eyes, as mine own narrowed at the bastard. I mean, same, but come on!

'Not now, Crowley,' chastised the father, then turning his elderly stern gaze towards me, a silent order written in them to shoo the people away so that none could become prying ears.

After depositing them on the other side of the door, I stood back to eavesdrop myself.

'Listen, my dear, you can't walk into a royal meeting like this and demand we have a meal together.'

'And you can't ditch me like a prom date, then have a tea party with your friends.' She paused, composing her wits into reasoning, 'Never let anyone treat you like a damsel in distress, or anything less – you taught me that, Daddy.'

I smiled at her, even though she couldn't see me, and decided it was time I let my presence be known.

'Sometimes you make me wonder – did I make a mistake raising you like a boy?' he was saying just as I pushed the door in.

'For what it's worth, Your Majesty, I find the hubris of our Princess very gallant,' I found myself saying in a formal format, a smirk playing with my lips, as Y/N shoot me a "not-funny" look.

Oh, look who's talking.

'If only her future groom would agree to that,' the King tiredly said, a small smile on his face, one that I returned with a tight one on mine.

'Now, if you are done with this jibber-jabber, Your Majesty, I would like to know how you're making up to me for my loss,' she asked with authority.

Bobby smiled down at her fondly, 'I will make it up to you tonight, Princess. Promise.'

'I'll appreciate it if you keep to it,' she said.

'Of course,' he confirmed. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bunch of Royals to threaten for their lives in case they have any ideas of leaking what happened here.'

We both chuckled, and he shot me a look over her head – a silent warning that the threat applied to me too. I simply nodded.

'Dean, do you mind escorting my idjit daughter back to her room?' Bobby raised his brow at me.

'Dad, I can—'

But I cut the gorgeous e/c-colored Princess off, 'Not at all. It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty.' And my hand quickly gripped her arm before the protests I knew were begging to be told could leave her mouth.

I could feel her orbs boring into my back as I dragged her away, but if she was going to be stubborn – so was I.

Our rapid footsteps led us to her bedroom hallway, and as soon as I knew all the eyes were off us, I swiftly bent down to put her across my shoulders like a sack of potatoes, a grin tugging on my face as she squealed in surprise – her reaction the only reason why I did it in the first place. She was too nauseatingly cute when she was taken off guard.

'Put me down, Winchester!'

There were no signs of compliance until after we were inside her bedroom where I let her to her feet gently, speaking soon as our eyes met.

'Really?' I wondered incredulously, 'Ambushing a royal meeting by waltzing in your undergarments – you got some nerve, Princess.' I teased, the title meaning more than just that within the safe confines of her room.

It was the term that I used to refer to the fact that she had me wrapped around her little finger like the Princess she was. And I love her to bits for everything she is.

God, I'm screwed.

'I am a Singer, my love,' she goaded. 'It is in the blood.'

Fair enough.

I took her hand to twirl her around, letting her fingers go from mine so that she stumbled towards her wardrobe. 'Now get dressed,' I commanded in that voice she said did things to her.

She sifted through her clothes landing on one of the familiar morning gowns.

'No, not that,' I chided, 'you wear that too often.'

My eyes shifted to the mirror on the side; I started to fix my hair which seemed to have lost its lusture like I had lost my will to live after that goddamn meeting – sure, it was important, but dammit, if it didn't make me want to kill myself out of boredom.

'Fine,' she grumbled, putting it back for an alternative choice. 'How 'bout this?'

I glanced over, grinning for she had brought up another number she looked mighty fine in. 'Yellow suits you, sweetheart.'

She nodded before staring at me – a look that I took too long to realize than I'd like to admit – was ordering me to turn for some privacy. But then, perhaps, I wanted to ignore that look. But she refused to budge.

Oh, come on! I thought to myself, 'What, it's nothing I haven't seen before.'

She kept staring at me dryly till I gave up.

'Alright, alright!' I sighed internally, surrendering as I turned to instead gaze at the door. So much for that.

Anyways . . . 'So, daddy-daughter date. Really?' It wasn't the fact that she liked to do it, it was the fact that she actually chose to utter these words. If that didn't deserve a face, I don't know what did.

'Hey, it's a work in progress,' she protested, shuffling her limbs to get changed.

I scoffed, shaking my head, once again realizing how annoying she had been before, well. 'How I fell for you, escapes me, Princess. You are—'

'Enticing,' she suggested, with a smile in her tone.

I felt her tap on my shoulder. I turned to her, a smile on my face, as a chuckle left me. 'That's not the word I was looking for, but I won't complain,' I teased.

'Quit flirting and help me with this, De,' she reprimanded, turning about to display her unlaced corset.

My fingers pulled at the strings, but the smile never left me. 'Is it enough?'

'A little bit tighter,' she requested. I heeded. She said, 'So, how is the Dam Construction project?'

'Kicking our asses,' I murmured, working on tying off the loose ends.

'Yeah, I barely saw my father during the last couple of months, and of course, you . . . I feel like I forgot your face,' her tone is sad.

And I feel bad.

She is right. We'd had barely gotten time to ourselves these last few months and all because of this stupid project. Well, not stupid – but still. The disagreements just keep on piling and I just want is to get this over with – probably one of the reasons why I've been pushing to dedicate more of my time to this instead of other things.

For now, though, I'll settle for some humor. 'What are you talking about?' I try to sound playfully offended. 'You could never forget a face like mine.'

She ignored my clear self-appreciation, 'However, I do appreciate what you guys do.'

'Yeah, it's gonna help a lot of people. The river can replenish many monarchies. Kids don't have to walk miles to get water if this project is finished,' I end with a deep sigh. I really want this to work – helping people is what I'm passionate about, but the lack of enthusiasm my stick-in-the-ass colleagues share has been grating on my nerves.

'When you finish it,' she corrected me softly.

'Only if it's as easy as it sounds,' I complained.

'My love, you people are constructing a historical monument that is going to gather a primary waterfront and spread it across to regions that don't have access to it. It is obvious it is hard.'

'Not just the labor, sweetheart, some of the Kings are rebelling at the last minute: not to share water with the half-breed domains,' I huffed, now helping her with the gown.

'Some of them as in . . . '

'Gordon,' I finished for her, adjusting the wrinkles on her dress for her.

'Bingo,' she said as if she'd had that pegged.

She handed me the necklace I gifted her after I was done. It was my one-year anniversary present to her, and I loved that there wasn't a day that went by without it around her neck. I gathered her hair with one hand, brushed it away to the side, and then dangled the jewelry around her neck – the symbol of our secret relationship.

'You were never a fan of him,' I noted, clicking the lobster lock in place.

'He is a prick, Dean,' she ranted, 'No one should be a fan of him. He is self-obsessed and despises the small sub-kingdoms – top of it all, I don't like the way he sees me.'

A smile twitched on my lips as she turned.

'What?'

'You're so beautiful when you're angry,' I admitted, 'I couldn't get my eyes off you this morning.'

It was true – how could I look away when her eyes gleamed with the fight that inspires me to never give up?

'Shut up,' she blushed. She distracted herself by walking to the mirror to redress her hair for the day.

That's when I noticed it, 'You're wearing your Leaflet Crown?'

'Yes. Why do you ask?'

'You only wear this when you're going on hunts,' I managed as dismay clawed up its way into my consciousness, 'and last time I checked, your father forbade anyone from going into the dark forest.'

I know it was petty to bring up her father's warning in our conversations. But it wasn't like I could forbid her from doing something. She was a stubborn woman who got what she set her heart to. For the love of God, though, for once, I just wished she'd listen to Bobby or me. I worry, and I don't know how long before my worries turn into my day-mares.

'Oh, that,' she seemed not to notice my inner discord.

'Care to explain,' I pressed, picking up the Crown from her head.

'I was going to meet Charlie,' she assured, 'that's all, my love.'

'Ah, right,' I realized, 'Charollete, your Chief Musketeer. Her and her troop have been really helpful to us on the guarding duty at night. She's wonderful,' I end on the admission.

'I know,' she childishly booped my nose, making me smile again. She replaced the crown then marched off to the shoe rack, selecting one that matched.

Before she could slip them on, I plucked them out of her grasp. 'Here – let me.'

'Your wish is my command, My Prince Charming,' she teased, moving away nevertheless to plop down on her bed.

I would mind, but I'd honestly take any chance I'd get to touch her. I was so starved for her touch, practically a man in a desert. And I swear it'd kill me if she were a mirage.

I dipped down at her feet, taking her heels on my knees as I slipped the first shoe on her, and she initiated another conversation.

'How is Sam?'

'Sammy is happy, actually,' I said as if it was as much news to me as was to her. 'Away from all the castle drama – he got his gal, his hair is as long as ever – so, he's as good as he can ever be.'

'Same ol' Sam, huh?'

'Yeah, I would be lying if I didn't envy his guts to stand up to my father and give away his title for Jessica.'

'I fell for the wrong brother then,' she playfully offered.

'I don't know, Princess,' I smirked, taking the other shoe to her free leg. 'The shoe fits,' I winked, as her foot perfectly slid in.

She bit her lip to suppress the grin I knew was begging to burst on her face. Then, slowly, the corners of her lips turned down as she switched topics once more.

'Why did we decide to keep it a secret again?' she quirked her brow.

The unexpected turn made my face fall. I had an answer that I'd rather not give. But it wasn't one that she hadn't heard before. Something she gave me proof of, 'Oh, right. Your Dad.'

'He'd rather marry me off to the Harvells,' I declared.

'Wait, Joanna?'

I nodded.

'Wow,' she huffed, 'your Dad is shaking up the wrong tree on so many levels. Charlie is gonna be thrilled to hear this.'

Her undertone shocked me, 'Wait, Charlie and Jo?'

'Mhhmhmmmm,' she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

'Wow,' I was taken aback. Who knew Jo was gay?

With that, Y/N reverted back to her original point. 'I don't get it, Dean. What doesn't he see in me?'

Her defeated look hurt.

I climbed up next to her on the bed, facing her as my hands took up residence on both her cheeks and she leaned into them on reflex. 'It's not you, sweetheart. It's just—'

'The fact that we're not hunters, but scholars – I get it, love,' she brushed me off, scoffing, and pulling away from my touch as if it had burnt her. She put as much space as she could between us while still staying in the room.

I knew how frustrated she was getting by my defenses. At first, she'd hesitantly give in, and shrug the disappointment off, but as our relationship grew, she expected more. She had never expected this to be a secret for so long.

I hated that I couldn't give her my everything, I hated how much of a coward I was.

I should have called quits on this relationship long back – given that I couldn't provide her with what she wanted. She was everything that I could want – and yet, I barely had anything to offer to her. She deserves the world, and here I am, in fear of losing her, I held her back from everything that she could have.

And hell, if I wasn't going to try my hardest to keep her in my life, still. I honestly don't know what she saw me, but until she was going to have me, I was going to try my best to have her too.

I reached for her, gripping her by the arm and yanking her back till she was spinning on her heels and clashing against my chest, her hand twisted against her back to allow me leverage to hold her against myself with as little space as I could manage. I searched her face for any signs that this was the moment that she gave up on me.

Finding none, I finally spoke. 'You are it for me, Y/N.' Her eyes closed as a blush rose to her cheeks, ears, and neck, her head lowering as she basked in my commitment. 'You are my happy ending and always will be,' he whispered into her hair as my free hand came up to trace nonsense patterns against her cheek. An involuntary smile kicked my lips upwards as I could feel the honesty behind those words thrumming in every fiber of my body.

I waited for her to look at me again, using the opportunity of when she did to dip down and capture her lips prisoner against mine.

We both melted into the intimacy as I stole the breath from her lungs for as long as I could, feeling my heart accelerate, knowing that I could never want anything more than this, right here.

When the need for oxygen overpowered us, I let her lips go, not failing to hold her gaze in the promise of my words.

'I hate it when you shut me up like that,' she said half-heartedly.

I called her bluff with a cheeky smile, 'No, you don't.'

She shook her head with a smile she couldn't control herself.

'Mmm,' I grunt in discontent freeing her from my arms. 'I must go,' I sighed, 'because if I stay, we might not leave the room till moonrise. Don't wanna give your father and the committee any funny ideas,' I joked.

She shook her head in agreement once again.

I pressed a chaste kiss on her forehead one last time. 'Stay out of trouble,' I cautioned, as I walked backward towards the only exit of the room.

'No promises,' she smirked.

I rolled my eyes, God, this girl is gonna be the death of me.

The meeting ended and left me worse for wear. I antagonize everyone in the meeting for their role in irritating me, as I move to the stables to leave for the examination of the constructions being conducted for the damn Dam. Not to mention I was running low on men because the ones assigned by Bobby were late. By two hours.

It honestly pissed me off, but then I decided to simply screw it and take the men that I did have with me to gauge the progress of the work.

My soldiers flanked me on their horses as I lead the team down the winded roads and towards the riverside we were trying to stem and reap for our benefits when I received the message.

It was a fraction of musketeers under King Robert that had been assigned to me for guard duty returning from their camp where apparently the Princess had been safely taken to after the unexpected attack on her in the Black forest.

Safe to say, no longer did work matter as I quickly dismissed everyone, and hauled ass to the Camp following the piece of soldiers who retraced their steps to their tents.

They guided me down the beaten paths through the trees, rushing against the wind under my agitated orders to make haste.

As soon as the treeline cleared, the daylight blinded me as we spilled into the clearing. As my eyes were getting accustomed to the light, my glance swept over the place where all the clattering and clamoring of moving and training soldiers seemed rather unaffected by today's ordeals – a fact that estranged me considering I was about ready to burst from fear.

The team took my horse and one of the guys led me to the tent that housed the love of my life.

'In here, Prince Dean,' he saluted, leaving me alone.

I had started screaming even before I had entered, 'What were you thinking?!'

'De—' she jumped up to sit, her eyes widening at my outburst.

'I particularly told you not to go into the forest or anywhere near it!' I yelled, feeling rage eat me up, thinking of the thousands of possibilities of what could have gone wrong – of what could have happened.

She could have been dead. Dead!

'Is this some kind of joke to you!?' I exclaimed, my body running so hot that I could have a fever, my chest heaving under the relentless stream of anger that had built up in my heart, and the lump in my throat threatened to choke me. 'You could've died!' I shouted, feeling tears prick the back of my eyes.

I kept on venting and she took it silently, watching me, 'You just never listen to me! You have this incessant need to be brave, to do it all by yourself, to-to be a freaking warrior! Well, guess what? You're life just isn't yours! It's mine, too, alright?! You're my life, and if something happened to you, I-I-I . . . I won't . . .'

I looked up to see her staring at me with guilt glazing her eyes. I doubt she was even hearing what I said.

'Say something!' I snapped at her.

She flinched out of her thoughts, shock, and fear marring her breath-taking features. And I felt that my anger was unjustified toward her. I took a deep breath, composing myself as I let my rage flare out of my nostrils, paving the way for the overwhelming fear I had felt on my way over when my mind had been reeling with thoughts of desperation over losing her and the pain that would follow.

All I know is that I never want to feel that again.

So, I kneel in front of her.

As scary as it is to love someone as much as I love her, I need to calm myself and be there for her.

'I'm sorry,' my gruff voice told her. My apology was supported by my hands as they went to her knees, rubbing circles there and my gaze lowered to anywhere but her face – my head heavy with shame and guilt of having exploded on her.

'Me too,' she apologized, her hand going forward, probably unconsciously as she started stroking my hair. 'I should've been careful,' she muttered.

The pressure in the room melted off, leaving the reality of the situation to settle heavily over me. My shoulders slumped under their weight, 'I just . . . I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you,' I voiced my biggest fear.

There. It was out in the open.

It was as simple as birds chirping and insects buzzing – I'd lose it; I'd lose myself if I lost her.

Everything that I did, that I'm doing, and that I will do – that was for her. I did it knowing that when I was done, I'd be going back home to her. To the promise of a love that consumed me, that made me the happiest guy in the world, to the woman of my dreams, and to the keeper of my heart. I'd be destroyed without her, and that was nothing short of a fact.

And that thought petrified me – chilled me to my very bones.

I've never had to think much about it before. She's been reckless but never came been this close to death. She's been hurt – but this was much worse.

She's been with me for as long as I could remember – we were kids when we were friends, and ever since it only blossomed into more. So much so, that I could never again imagine my life, my future, without Y/N in it.

She let my head go, and grabbed my hand from her lap, squeezing it tightly. 'Dean, I'm here.'

The hot lump that had accumulated in my heart thawed, letting the sweet grasp of relief grip me. I took a deep breath cherishing her hand on mine.

I swallowed, pushing my tears back – unwilling to let them make an appearance. 'And I couldn't be more grateful for that fact. Don't ever scare me like that again,' I gritted out, looking up just in time to see her nodding.

That's when I noticed the injury above her eyebrow, on her forehead.

'What happened here?' My hand instinctively raised to its level, my thumb levitating above the wound – one that'd surely leave a mark, one that was temporarily covered with herbs that imposed medicinal properties and benefits.

'The stupid Phantoms,' she blurted.

My heart lurched in shock, and a tendril of fear fizzled down my spine.

'Phantoms?' I quizzed, eyes wide.

She rushed to explain, 'Yeah, I rode the outer banks to reach here soon. I swear, I didn't even cross the border or step foot into the forest! Yet, they attacked us. Poor Phillip took most of the hit . . . Do you know the fire-forged sword didn't do a darn tooting to them—?' she cut herself off, waiting for my reaction – perhaps expecting another outburst.

But I was out of those, and tired – we both had had a long day – so, I tried to lighten the atmosphere. 'You were never good with the swords,' I decided.

She relaxed before delivering a playful punch to my shoulder.

I breathed out, 'Thank God Charlie and her men made it on time.' I made a mental note to send her a fruit basket for saving my life.

'Yeah . . . I . . . Yeah . . . ' she cleared her throat, firing a question at me. 'How did you get here so fast?'

'I was already on my way to examine the constructions at the Dam when they informed me there had been an assault on the Princess – I lost it,' I licked my lips, shaking my head. 'I couldn't stay there for a minute,' or I would have suffocated, 'I left there and rushed here,' to find my breath, I completed in my mind.

It dawned on her, 'Wait, does that mean—?'

'No,' I replied, already knowing where her mind went, 'your father doesn't know. I specifically ordered the men involved in the construction and Charlie's troop not to tell. If they break it, they know the consequences.'

'My hero,' she mocked, placing a hand over her heart.

But I didn't have it in me to smile.

My thoughts wandered off as I bathed in her presence, consoling myself constantly that she was right here in front of me.

'I would be lost without you, Princess,' I revealed, without even realizing that I was speaking it. I looked up into her e/c orbs, waiting for her to say something.

'Dean, I'm here,' she repeated. 'Am not going anywhere, and I'll always come back to you,' she traced a hand over the shadow that had grown on my cheeks.

I leaned into her hand, a sigh involuntarily escaping me. 'I love you,' I confessed.

'I love you, too, My Prince,' she conveyed.

The admission made my lips stretch into a huge smile – the kind which starts to hurt your cheeks, and one that the woman I loved mirrored.

You would think that we must have said it pretty often but being Royals and all, saying it out loud was not a constant courtesy everyone was awarded with. It was freeing to finally be able to say it again. And it was equally as exhilarating, if not more, to hear her say it back.

She leaned down to press her lips against mine, our eyes fluttering shut as the intimacy of our words spread to our actions – a kiss that was slow, passionate, and full of happy promises. If love were an action to me, I'd describe it with this one kiss.

And if it were up to me, I'd never let her go.

But the tent was barged into and our moment was disrupted.

'Oh, sorry!' Charlie exclaimed, looking as flustered as I was probably feeling.

Red painted my cheeks and neck and slightly tinted my ears, as I struggled for a reasonable explanation to the Chief Musketeer who could potentially ruin my chance to be with Y/N.

'Dude, if the tent is rocking, don't come knocking,' Y/N reprimanded.

And once again, I was reminded of her reckless and straightforward personality.

'I'll . . . I'll come back later. You carry on, then.'

I jumped to the rescue, 'Oh, no. No. There is nothing to carry on. I was just . . . uh, I was helping Princess Y/N to practice breathing exercises.' I dumbly answered.

God, never let me be a spy.

'Huh,' Charlie nodded, biting her lip to keep away her smile at the blatant lie – something she won't point out simply out of respect for the Royal.

'My love, she knows,' the h/c-haired woman broke to me, barely able to suppress her own glee and amusement at my pathetic attempt to keep our secret hidden.

'She—what? You know?' I quizzed.

'Yup,' she gave me a mischievous grin. 'Who do you think gave her the suggestion to wear sexy lingeries to your little rendezvous.'

Well, that was information. Incriminating one, at that.

Y/N was the one blushing now, 'Okay, shoo, get out of my tent, Commander, I think you have pressing matters on hand.'

Charlie lingered, 'I have more embarrassing stories, My Liege – if you're interested – you know where to find me.' And she fled before my love could utter another word to save herself from any further embarrassment.

I had my up-to-no-good smile in place as Y/N looked down at me, already glaring. 'Don't even think about it,' she terrorized.

And I burst into peals of laughter – the full-body shake kind. I was having too much fun imagining what all I could find out about her.

'Okay, sweetheart,' I said in a final tone, 'I have to go check on something, too. You take good rest, alright? I'll come to check on you once I'm finished,' I promised.

'Till then,' she dramatically leaned back against the armrest of the couch she'd been lounging on, 'I'll be here,' she put her arm over her face, performing more theatrics, 'waiting.'

God, I'm in love with a dork. An annoying, reckless, kind, passionate, stubborn dork who's now the reason I live.

I shook my head, retracing my steps out of the place before my breath hitched and I just knew I had to do this – I retrieved my steps just so that I could scoop her curious and confused self into my arms and kiss the daylights out of her.

I kissed her senseless, I kissed her like there was no tomorrow, I kissed her with everything that I had, with every cell that loved her, and every thought that worshiped her.

When I pulled away, it was safe to say we were both dazed.

I smirked softly, winking at her, before at last, I made my exit.

True to my word, I ended my work as quickly as I could manage; I needed to see her. I headed back towards the palace - arranging a small care package to the best of my abilities before discovering Juliet and sending her on a mission - to find Y/N and deliver her to me.

The note attached was sober: Meet me at our place.

It was this blossom tree near the small creek. Almost as gorgeous as the woman who was going to meet there.

Hearing her feet approaching I got down from the tree I was waiting in, silently, wondering if she would notice me before I snuck up on her.

She didn't fail me, spinning on the balls of her feet, the arrow already notched with a fatal aim.

My lips tugged heavenward as I offered the white roses I carried in one hand, forgetting momentarily what I'd called her for. 'I come in peace. I gather Juliet delivered my message with success.'

'She's feisty to everyone else,' she mused. 'How you enticed her eludes me.'

I smirked, feeling my chest swell with pride, when: 'Kneel.'

I was on the ground before my mind could even process the command. My knees buckled at just the smile of this woman, I could give my life if she asked for it - surrendering to her was too small in comparison.

'Surrendering so soon, My Liege?' she mocked, drunk on power.

'I will always kneel for my Queen,' I loyally commented, making a cute laugh bubble out of her, a hot blush rendering her ears and neck red.

She lowered her weapon, and we reshuffled our positions into a more comfortable stance where we could sit under the tree, arms wrapped around each other.

The blossom leaves broke from their home to cherish the love we held, fingers entangling and detangling, the moon reflecting its eternal shine into the water beyond us, its lustrous shadow shimmering and thrumming with endless possibilities.

'I didn't find you in an occupied moment, did I?'

'Nah,' she casually denied. 'I was scaring away another noble my father brought in to meet with me.'

My chest tightened with anxiety before relaxing again. 'Just the usual then,' I tried to joke.

My mood turned pensive as I plucked one of the leaves from the ground. 'Do you remember the day we found this place?'

'Of course I do! How could I forget? We tried to climb up the tree, and I got this,' she rolled up her sleeve to flaunt the scar on her right elbow.

'We were so young and carefree,' I muttered. 'Good old times.'

'De . . . What is it?' she picked up on the shift.

'My Dad wants me to marry Jo,' I blurted out quietly. 'He's planned this whole engagement ceremony to announce it to the citizens tonight.'

'What?' A pause, 'What did you say!?'

'What did you want me to say Y/N?' I deflected.

'I don't know,' she said. 'Something between - "No, I don't want to marry Joanna", or "I am in love with the daughter of King Robert"?!'

'It's not that easy!' I suddenly got defensive.

She scoffed, 'Nothing was easy for us, ever, Dean.'

I shook my head, feeling the weight of the conversation slumping my shoulders - an action she subconsciously mirrored as the reality of the situation kicked in.

'We should tell them!' she exclaimed in desperation. 'Both of our fathers.'

'I can't!'

'What do you mean "you can't"?!'

'You know,' I struggled to gain a footing in this argument. 'I can't do that!'

'Why?' She ranted, 'Because we are from two entirely different nations who just depend on each other? Is it because we are not hunters? You, of all people, know that your kingdom cannot survive without our lore knowledge! You need our expertise as much as we need your men! That is the deal.'

'I know very well about the deal, Y/N,' I snapped. 'That is not the problem!'

'Now what,' she shoved me back in an accusatory tone, 'your father wants our resources and not the Princess!?'

'He wants to unite Harvelle's nation with ours,' I reasoned, 'It would be a resourceful arrangement for all our kingdoms.' But even as I said it, I felt my throat close up, my eyes prick, and my heart crumble a little in the agony under the light of the prison sentence I was putting on myself.

'You can't be serious,' she argued. 'You're honestly considering this offer!?'

'I am not! As a matter of fact, I have no idea what to do!' I breathed out, worried that if I didn't rush this confession, I'd break.

'Let's elope!'

I don't think I heard her correctly. 'What?'

'You heard me,' she confirmed.

'Are you out of your bloody mind?' I glared down at her - finally noticing that we two had stood up unknowingly, trying to win an argument by physical intimidation - a natural reflex.

'I am not the one thinking about marrying another girl,' her gruff voice threw the acid words in my face, betrayal and hurt making her tone shake.

'I can't,' I clenched out, ignoring the last statement because if I thought about it for even one second, I wouldn't be able to do this.

'You can't, or you won't?' she challenged.

'I won't,' I rose up to the bait. 'I am not going to disobey the King's commands.'

'For the love of everything on earth, Winchester - you're not just his perfect soldier!' she screamed with venom.

'I am neither a love-struck teen,' I yelled back. 'I am a Prince. I pledged to put my country and my people before my own desires.'

'And I didn't?'

'You wouldn't be talking about eloping if you cared for your people! Your Father should've knocked some sense into you instead of pampering you,' I gripped.

'And John is what, Father of the Year? He handed you a Silversword and told you to scare away the wolves you were mortified of when you ran to him for shelter!' she emotionally wagered in my face.

'He was teaching me to fight back,' I offered.

'You were eight years old, Dean,' she pointed out as if that was supposed to make me change my answer.

Anger ran white hot in my veins, making all logic rush out along with the steam coming out of my ears. 'At least he is not like Bobby!' I glared, frustration oozing out of me in waves. 'Do you know he was the reason behind the delay of the Dam Construction? He wanted to include all the small towns so no one could be left out, all half-breeds and special kinds included. It took me a month to convince all the other Nobles - and now the raw materials are exhausted! That's why we need the help of Harvelles'. If not for his soft-ass nature, we wouldn't be in this mess—!' I blamed.

My words took a hit when the sting of a slap echoed on my face. My head had turned with the force of it, but when I righted my gaze onto her - she was furious, and I was hurt by her action.

A profound silence descended, the water of the creek gently waving, coddling our tensions that kept on increasing with the increase in the misunderstandings we were spectacularly failing to resolve.

I looked at her as if she were a stranger, shocked that she would hit me. I never thought in a million years that she would hit me.

That's when I knew I had gone too far.

My hand was already inching towards the warmth on my left cheek - probably leaving a bruise in the shape of her palm there. 'Y/N . . . ?'

'Don't,' she raised her hand as if to physically stop me from speaking. She was recomposed in her demeanor. 'Seems like you've already made your mind, Your Highness. I have nothing else to say. Marry any girl your Father shoves his finger at, and be his little puppet. But don't you dare talk about my Father like that,' she ended, punctuating by abruptly and promptly exiting.

What had I done?

The engagement ceremony dragged on. My royal attire felt heavy against my bodice - like if all the weight of my emotions were cut into cloth, this is how it would feel.

Jo was nodding and smiling politely at the people coming up to congratulate us - a tightness around her eyes from stopping herself from crying.

And ironically, she was the only person here who probably understood me.

This felt wrong, and I wanted to cry.

Jo's hand was wrapped with mine, but we both were tense under each other's touch - that's not how love should feel.

Love is when you could feel all your worries evaporate as soon as you just see the other person enter a room. Love is when you feel like the happiest human alive to just feel them love you back. Love is when you feel invincible if they support you. Love is what breaks you when they leave you.

Love is Y/N.

And I just seemed to have lost her.

I blink my eyes rapidly even though there's no water to blink back. I don't cry very often, and today I really feel like I want to.

'Oh, honey, congratulations!' another royal smiled sweetly.

I nodded, barely returning a ghost of the same smile.

'When's the date?'

'As . . . soon as we can marry,' I gulped. 'King John doesn't want to waste any time.'

'That's lovely!' she cheered.

Jo cleared her throat, her eyes rimmed red, voice thick. 'Can't wait.'

'You two are so lucky to have each other. Your love is like no other,' she boasted.

'Thank you,' we both said in unison, mirroring the fake gratefulness, our shoulders slouching as soon as she left.

'I can't take this anymore,' Jo murmured. 'My Liege, can we take a walk?'

'Uh, yes, of course. Princess,' I add in courtesy, hating that I have to call her that.

Joanna dragged me away from the dull and pretentious party, functioning only because of the open bar, teeming with equally jealous and hateful nobles.

She took me to the serenity of the garden where the plants, closer to the dead than living, still seemed to understand better the need for calmness we both desired and shared.

Down, ways away from the dying function, nearing a pond, my mind wandered off to what I had just given up. The water, always soothing, now a staunch reminder of my greatest woe.

'Are we screwed or what?!' she burst out, derailing my train of thoughts.

That's when I noticed Jo was crying, silent tears descending down her rosy-with-anger red cheeks.

'Jo . . . ' I trailed off, failing to find words that would ease her.

Because nothing would. Neither of our happiness was gonna survive this marriage and that was a fact.

She sniffed. 'Charlie never wants to see my face. She told me it was too hard, that I don't know what it feels like to date a Royal. Well, she doesn't know what it feels like to be a Royal!'

I scoffed involuntarily, 'Oh, trust me, a Royal won't understand this either.'

She met my agitated gaze, 'Y/N freaked?'

I wasn't even surprised that she knew - Charlie must have told her. Charlie can't keep secrets when it's with people she loves.

My hand raised instinctively to my previously slapped cheek. 'Something like that,' I dropped my hand.

'What are we going to do, Dean?' she sobbed, 'I don't like you! Hell - I don't even like boys! I love Charlie, Dean, I love her, and I can't live without her.'

'I don't know,' I repeated from earlier that evening.

'What do you mean, "You don't know"?!' she started pacing. 'This isn't right! Our parents are forcing us—!'

'No one's forcing me,' I cut her off.

'Fine! But you can't tell me you're happy with this marriage. I mean, don't you love Y/N? I've seen how you look at her, how you treat her, how you talk about her when she's not there - she was your first!'

The pinch in my chest tightened. 'Sometimes you have to sacrifice—'

'For who? Our selfish parents!?'

'Jo!'

'No! Dean, our parents got what they wanted! They married for love!'

'And look how that ended,' I raised my tone to match hers. 'My Mom and your Dad are gone - they're dead! Leaving our parents to exist as shells!'

'They died in accidents, but you want us killed. This marriage will kill us, Dean; it will kill me!'

'Apparently,' a third voice interrupted. 'It will kill King John, too.'

We turned to Castiel holding up a bloody arrow, the crimson making me dread the answer to whose life it took - but what made my breath hitch was that the arrow was decorated with a Phoenix feather.

'Prince Dean,' he addressed. 'It seems your lover has declared a war against us.'

No, no, no! This cannot be happening. That's impossible, absolutely not. No!

Things went to the crapper hella quickly.

My mind raced as I tried to swallow that in the last twenty-four hours I had almost lost the love of my life before I broke up our years of relationship, gotten engaged with a lesbian, and almost had my father murdered by who everyone assumed was the woman I loved (forgive me if I didn't want to jump to conclusions), leading to our advisors issuing an order to enslave her by my hands - there was even a bounty and everything.

Our soldiers have been fighting with one of our closest allies come dawn - the only reason why they received the news they did: My mentor, my Uncle - Bobby was dead. That's what our soldiers told us.

What even is this?

As we rode the horses through the forbidden forest, I couldn't help but feel the pit in my stomach grow. Something was wrong, and by God I swear, if something happened to Y/N . . .

She was the only one unsafe right now. Dad and Sammy had been granted protection, but she was out there, alone, no doubt being hunted by whoever killed her Father and I was not losing two of the few people I cared the most about in one night.

On our way, I lost the assistance of Benny and Cas - separated, the former by the soldiers of the Singers, and the latter by the devils of the forest. I rode alone towards the location the Princess was last seen at - and jackpot!

Her sword was out and swinging before I could demand her attention, my reflexes making me move on my own, and soon our weapons were clanging - then, sooner, I had disarmed her.

Her sword clanged against the half-cut tree stump. 'Should've stuck with archery,' I taunted, the tip of my sword levelling with the heart that once belonged to me.

She raised her hands in surrender - but I couldn't tell if she was playing along or actually being sincere. 'Come home with me,' I said before I could stop the words from toppling out.

'Home?' she spat out. 'Mine is burnt to the ground in flames, love. There is no way home anymore!'

'Come with me,' I offered. 'To our country. I'll talk to Father—'

'You mean as a slave?' she challenged.

My mouth dropped slightly, the words dying in my mouth, unsure myself as to how that would work. I wondered why I would even say something like that to her - her arrow was found in my father's chest. What more could I need than that to acquit her?

But deep down, I knew this couldn't be it. She loved her father, she knew what it meant to be devoted to the last parent you had. How could she even do that?

And obviously, the attack on the Singer Palace was not her. What was the story behind that? Something was going on, and we needed to figure this out - together, whether we wanted to or not.

'What, cat got your tongue?' she quipped.

'I don't see the way around, sweetheart,' I informed. 'You are unarmed, and even if I let you battle me, I don't think it is gonna do you any good – you were never good with swords.'

'Yeah,' she shrugged smugly, 'that's why I brought reinforcements.' Her gaze flicked to the side to reveal Charlie with an archery set, a Phoenix arrow pinning me as its target.

I was so preoccupied on getting things straight with Y/N, I didn't even notice her lurking in the shadows. 'Not gonna lie,' I said, 'I'm impressed, sweetheart. You did get me.'

'Drop your weapon, My Liege, or I'll need to run an arrow into your leg,' warned Charlie.

'I would do what she says; as you know, she's a woman of her word.'

Unwilling to heed just yet, my eyes darted to my peripheries – wondering if my soldiers would ever show up.

As if reading my mind, 'Oh, don't worry,' Charlie snarled, 'they aren't gonna join us, Your Highness, your Knight Benjamin, and other soldiers have been taken care of by none other than our Captain of the Royal Guards.'

Captain Garth Fitzgerald, I thought in annoyance.

'Come on,' I stalled. 'A fight between my vampire knight and your werewolf bishop? Somehow I feel bad I have to miss it.'

'Kneel,' My Queen's order interrupted us.

And every rational thought flew out of my mind as I threw the towel in. My sword clattered out of my hand and the ground dug into my skin as I looked up at Y/N, surrender encompassing my every fiber when I looked at her regally towering over me.

Somehow, I always knew she would be the death of me – but what's more, is that she's that one person who made me feel most alive.

Charlie kicked my sword for her to grab.

I smirked, 'Come on, sweetheart,' I goaded. 'You aren't gonna hurt me – we both know that.'

Just to prove a point she slashed the metal across my left arm, crimson seeped out of the horizontal, somewhat deep, wound, making me hiss.

But it shouldn't sting as much as it did, right?

'I would reconsider that theory.'

She's bluffing. 'Princess—'

'NO! You don't get to call me that. That is allocated for the people I love.'

And Charlie might as well have shot the arrow into my heart. Unwillingly, my eyes welled up with hurt.

How could she even say that?

'That's it?!' I gritted out, practically shouting. Pants began to slowly heave my chest in strain, 'You're going to throw all we had out the window just like that?'

'Oh, no, you already did me that favor when you decided to hunt me down for your Father, Your Highness,' she made sure to highlight the emotional distance we had nurtured in just the last day with the formality and venom sugar-coating her every word in an acidic way that was meant to burn me from the inside out.

'That isn't fair,' I said in a low voice, close to a whisper, pissed off that she was lecturing me about how she doesn't love me anymore just because I'm hunting her down.

She tried to kill my father for God's sake! . . . I think.

A fog seemed to be collecting in my mind, stopping me from thinking straight.

But either way, was her love for me so fickle and weak?

'Nothing is fair in love and war, My Prince.'

'How did we get here?' I muttered, already exhausted.

'You killed my father, Dean,' she explained.

My head snapped up in shock. 'What!?' I spluttered. 'Are you insane? Y/N . . . where did you get that from?'

'You burned the man who practically raised from ashes,' she cried out, her eyes wild with grief.

'Y/N, I didn't kill King Robert!' Sweat beaded my forehead, and I felt my heart accelerated its beating.

'Then what was your locket doing there?' she brandished my amulet as proof . . . the amulet that when I'd gotten out of shower earlier, yesterday in the evening, had been missing.

I had thought I had misplaced it and would've searched for it later since I was getting late for my own engagement ceremony. A locket that made her think that I had the blood of her father on my hands.

I struggled to speak, 'I . . . uh . . . .'

'You never go anywhere without this,' she claimed, 'tell me where you were last night!'

I couldn't believe my ears, feeling a part of me shatter. 'You think that less of me?'

'That didn't answer my question.'

'Fine,' I felt my throat close up, 'yesterday, there was an assault on the King at the ceremony. I was busy finding the assaulter and putting them to rot in jail. Turns out, it was the woman whom I dreamt of spending the rest of my life with.'

'What?' she stepped back in the exclamation. 'That is crazy – I was at the camp with Charlie. Mopping in heartbreak because of you.'

'In the entirety of the seven regions – you are the only one who uses the Phoenix feathered arrows,' I told her, feeling black dots dancing in front of my eyes as a throbbing pain between my ears made me aware of the unnaturally strong headache.

'Dean, I didn't try to kill John . . . ?' it sounded more like a question than a statement.

'That'd explain the bounty on your head, Princess,' Charlie pitched in – helpful for once. 'Connect the dots – it's like the worst murder mystery cliché ever; someone's trying to turn both of you on each other.'

Of course, I realized. My body slightly swayed and trembled on my buckled knees. Something is seriously wrong.

'But the real question is who could do that—' Charlie's throat was slit in the middle of her speech. Her eyes were dead and closed before her body hit the ground in the pool of her own blood.

'Charlie!' I heard myself scream along with Y/N.

The voices were getting farther away from me, somehow. My limbs thrummed with heat as if my muscles and organs were liquefying in one big pile of goo, yet it felt like I was being weighed down under tons of lead.

'She's too smart for her own good,' a hated familiar voice answered, 'and to answer her question – that would be on me.' His troops littered the area behind, guarding the Alpha male I would like to do nothing more than gut.

'Gordon, you filthy animal!' Y/N yelled, lunging forward to attack.

The crew he brought surged to meet her but I forced myself on my feet: 'Make a move on her – you'd be dead before you hit the ground. Do I make myself clear?' I used the steeliest voice I could muster, making them halt.

'Why am I not surprised these were your shenanigans?' Y/N scoffed, her feet unconsciously gravitating to make her stand next to me.

'You know,' he said, 'I'm gonna take that as a compliment, Princess.'

My mouth went dry with the effort of simply standing and talking, 'Why are you doing this, Walker?'

'Why do you think – it was all because of that damn Dam!' he confessed.

'You were all in for that since day one,' I argued.

'No, Dean, you were all in. I am not. What was I supposed to do – stand up against all of the other big nations? Even I'm not that foolish. The river starts in our nation – it is ours. I'm not going to share it with the malodorous half-breeds.'

'You nasty racist—' I stopped Y/N before she could recklessly get herself killed.

'You better think twice before you do what you intended to do,' I threatened, 'because my—'

'Your rescue?' he scoffed with a laugh, 'Benjamin and Garth? Oh, they are on their way to reach where her Mother and Father went,' he pointed at Y/N to make her angrier. Translation: they're dead.

'Now,' he explained the climax of his diabolical plan just as my weight was beginning to get too much to keep on my feet. 'It is time for me to settle my tabs with you two love birds then I will tell your Father that she killed you, and boom! All that union crap and the Dam project will be closed.'

'Not gonna lie, I'm shocked your malevolent brain can plot like that – only if you had put that to good use. I always thought you had it in you. In fact, Gordon, I had my eye for you . . . for a long time,' Y/N stepped out of my reach, lying as she went.

But my brows furrowed when an ache seemed to start spreading from my heart and flowing through my blood to other organs. The taste of warm rusted metal soaked into my taste buds.

Oh, shit.

Y/N apparently hadn't noticed. 'Now you stand here, sounding all smart with your devilish grin – it's so intoxicating,' she stated in a sultry voice.

With the little adrenaline I had left, I caught the sword Y/N threw at me in time - a feat she managed to accomplish as she had neared them with her distracting flirting. I used the momentum I already was in to plunge the sword into the first guard who came at me.

The second one took longer – more prepared as we sparred in quick flicks of our wrists, dancing on our feet in the art of war. My vision was seemingly getting hazier and I knew not how much longer I could hold my ground – but I couldn't leave Y/N alone to fend off for herself.

With her as my motivation, I swiped the man's sword from his grip by using the hilt of my weapon to his wrist bone that cracked under the pressure. I, then, applied a left hook and proceeded to behead the man with another fatal blow.

Y/N had already taken care of the third guard. There were only three plus Gordon. If we killed him, she would be okay. She was going to be okay.

But in the meantime, Gordon had taken advantage of our distraction to point Y/N's own weapons against her - her bow and arrow.

'Nice try,' he appealed to our attentions.

A small, almost inaudible gasp left me as my heart beat inhumanly fast. More blood gargled up my throat, the acidic burn left in its wake. I felt my knees buckle – this time involuntarily, an action that I followed by purging blood from my system – silently gaging and choking, as my body was wrecked with painstaking seizures.

'You're not gonna win this fight, Gordon. It's two against one. Us against you!'

'Yeah, I won't worry about that,' he smirked in confidence.

'Y/N . . . ' my voice came out strained, wheezes escaping my body as I grappled for any kind of comfort I could find in what's probably and horrifically my last moments alive.

'Dean!' her voice broke through the ringing in my ears. What just happened?

My hands were shaking miserably, unable to hover me over the bloody vomit. So I leaned sideward, a motion that made me dizzy, and I would have struck my head harshly on the ground had it not been for her.

She turned me till she was propping me up against her folded legs, her arms holding most of my weight up. But that was honestly enough for me. I was safe again.

'Dean, look at me, love,' her panic-stained voice pierced my hearing, her dainty fingers slapped my cheek lightly – the opposite cheek she had slapped me on just yesterday.

Huh, well, I'm positively fucked, was all I could think.

My eyes were dry and stinging with tears all at the same time, claret dripped from the corner of my mouth still. I could barely keep my eyes open – but I had to.

I need to see her one last time.

Because God, she's gorgeous.

Her h/c h/l hair fell in waves around her frame, singling out the beautiful features that composed her face. The now glossy e/c eyes, the small adorable nose, the thin pink lips, and the ever-glowing s/c skin.

'What did you do?' she was yelling.

'Me?' he asked with hysteria and amusement. 'Oh, no, it's all you, Princess Y/N. Once I knew he was after you, all I did was paint a pinch of black widow venom on his sword. To kill you on the spot, of course. Because I knew your Romeo won't be able to do that. But fate had other plans. You are the one who marked his pretty skin, so don't pin this on me,' he shifted the blame.

She truly is the death of me, my dying brain thought it was funny to remind me.

'Y/N,' I whispered, wanting to tell her so much.

I wanted to let her know how much I loved her, how sorry I was for the fight the previous night, how much I want to marry her, how much I would have loved to settle down and have kids with her, how much I want her by my side to rule our kingdoms, how fortunate I think I am to have her as my lover, how she made me the happiest man on the planet to let me hold and have her.

But all that comes out is a repetition of her name, like a chant – a prayer that saved me, and will save me. I've worshipped her for as long as I can remember, why stop now when I was dying?

'Save him, please,' I heard her plea as sleep fought to take me under.

'Now, where's the fun in that?'

'Oh, my God,' she sobbed, looking down at me as water glittered on her cheeks. I wish I could raise my hand and wipe it off – I wanted to tease her for this, make her laugh one last time. But it was impossible to move; my nervous system and organs shut down one by one. 'Dean, my love, stay with me,' she begged me.

I could only grunt in pain.

Her hand squeezed mine.

'You did me a favor, Princess. Now it's my time to seize the chance and finish the job.'

My mind took too long to process this, only realizing what it meant when an arrowhead poked out of Y/N's right lung, gory with her blood, making her gasp. But she didn't budge from my side.

I opened my mouth to scream at her to leave – to run. To save herself, but my vocals failed me terribly.

'You will pay for this,' she promised, but she didn't move, looking down at me in her arms.

My helplessness finally overwhelmed me. The woman I had sworn to protect was going to die – and I could do nothing to save her.

Tear broke their barriers.

This was it.

'I . . . love you,' I choked with all the remaining energy I had.

'My love . . . I love you, too . . . .'

A/N: Me from the first time I tried the first-person POV - I've tried not to harass its originality, so all the mistakes and drama-queenness is mine 🙃.

Anyhow, if you're new to my page and you don't know, this one-shot is intrinsically linked to my series The Supernatural Wars, Purgatory Series, and another in the works. If you're interested in diving into a whole new world, do continue to Part 2!

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