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willsdreamgirl · 1 year ago

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“morning mr. shelby.” — tommy shelby x reader ⋆｡˚

tommy shelby x fem!reader

you meet tommy as a nurse during the war, but happens when he realizes that he’s known you all along? (loosely based around some s1 plot points, but all set before the war)

18+ minors dni please! angst, fluff and smut

cw: mentions of war, shooting, stabbing, suturing, ptsd, friends to lovers, eventual smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), slight breeding kink

word count: 5.4k+ (sorry lmao)

a/n: ahh first fic alert!! i’m so excited for you guys to read this! don’t be a ghost reader and lmk if you want to be added to my tag list for future tommy/cillian stuff!! 💌

you met tommy shelby during the war. he was a soldier, you were a wartime nurse. before the war, you had obviously heard of him. tommy shelby, leader of the fucking peaky blinders. arrogant bastards.

you lived in small heath, and everyday you’d pass him on the street. and everyday, you’d smile and say, “morning, mr. shelby.” and everyday, he would barely look up at you. you were sure he wasn’t even aware of your existence. prick.

your parents had always told you to stay away from the shelby boys. your dad would say that “they’re dangerous and make whores out of innocent girls” and your mum would make some comment about “the shelby men and their stupid cocks and their stupid judgements”.

they were the most intimidating people in all of small heath, possibly in all of birmingham. truth be told, there was a certain charm to them that you couldn’t shake off. well, to one of them. tommy shelby. you couldn’t tell if it was because he was your age, or because he was powerful and strong, or simply because he was strictly off limits. or because of his piercing blue eyes.

everyone in small heath knew tommy. but you knew tommy. he didn’t know you, though. you could tell if was him by the way he exhaled or by the sound of his footsteps or by the way he held a cigarette in his hand, the peaked cap on his head, a hand in his coat pocket. you despised tommy shelby, but god, was he fucking irresistible.

when men were drafted for the war in france, it was common sense that they’d need someone to tend to their cuts and bruises. you’d decided to volunteer, and after a couple weeks of training, you were right there, in the field. practicing on dolls and bags of rice and flour was nothing compared to what you saw. what you heard.

your first day in france was… eventful, to say the least. some commander had led you to the medical tent, and you were welcomed by the screams of hurt soldiers, blood and panic. you were immediately assigned to a patient, who’d been shot in the chest. you tried your best, did everything you could have, but ultimately, he had just lost too much blood. you didn’t sleep that night, haunted by the bloodshed, by the pleas of the soldier to keep him alive, by the feeling of someone else’s blood on your hands. over time, however, you grew accustomed to having your pristine white uniform soiled with blood and mud.

a month or so after you’d started, you heard shouts outside the tent. “help! someone HELP, for FUCK’s SAKE!” this was a regular occurrence, but the voice the shouts came from didn’t sound wounded. you felt an instinctual need to go see what it was.

what you saw, though, was something you never expected to see. tommy shelby, with a comrade’s head in his lap, putting pressure on a wound in his shoulder. without hesitating, you helped tommy drag the soldier to a vacant bed in the tent. “what happened?” you asked, hurriedly. tommy was visibly panicked. “i- he- um, he got st-stabbed by… one of the germans… his name’s danny- daniel.” you looked in tommy’s eyes, trying to give him some semblance of comfort. “he’ll be okay.” you applied pressure on the wound, and luckily, the blood stopped flowing soon. you cleaned the wound up and looked to tommy. “i’m gonna have to disinfect the wound with alcohol, you might want to hold daniel down for this.” daniel was still delirious from the blood loss, but the pain would be excruciating. tommy braced himself. his hands firmly holding down daniel’s. you nodded before tipping the bottle over on the wound. danny thrashed around on the bed, screaming and cursing, struggling against tommy’s hold. you heard his voice over danny’s. “you’re alright, lad! y’er gonna be fine!”

tommy sat by his friend’s bedside as he came to. you tended to other patients in the meantime but eventually went over to talk to him. “i want to keep him here for the night, mr. shelby. make sure there’s no infection.” he looked at you, surprised you knew him. “you know who i am?” “of course i do, all of small heath knows you. what i didn’t expect was to have a run-in with you, here in france.” he scoffed at his own misery and spoke. “you don’t belong here. you should be home.” you rolled your eyes, even in his state, he managed to be cocky. “if i wasn’t here today, mr. shelby, who would save danny?” that seemed to shut him up. he was about to speak, before you heard your name from the other side of the tent. “y/n, we need you!” after having helped a soldier who looked like he had been mauled, you looked out to see it was nightfall, and tommy had left.

a couple days later, at about noon, john shelby, the youngest of the shelby brothers walked in, clutching his arm tightly. “do you need help, mr. shelby?” you called out. “yes, i-i’ve been shot.” he all but whispered. you rushed over with a tray of distilled alcohol, forceps and bandages. after an afternoon of agony and pain, you had finally managed to pull out the bullet form his arm, john’s face a clear representation of his relief. “oh my god love, if we were home, i’d marry you right now.” you laughed at the proposition. “mr. shelby, i think you’re still a bit delirious from the anaesthesia. besides, i’m your brother’s age.” he looked shocked. “what, you’re arthur’s age? really?? you look nothing like that old prick.” you couldn’t help but laugh yet again. “i’m not that old, jesus. i’m tommy’s age.” he sighed. “marry him then. lord knows he needs a girl.” you giggled as you gathered your things and walked away. “you amuse me far too much, mr. shelby.”

it felt like ages had passed before you saw tommy again. your back was towards the tent entrance but you knew who had walked in. his breath trembled and his footsteps felt a bit unsteady, but it was undoubtedly him. you waited to turn until he called out your name. “y/n, is it?” you turned around, to find his face and shirt covered in blood. “mr. shelby! what happened?” you rushed over to him, taking his hand and sitting his down on a bed. “i- i… killed a man today, y/n.” he looked down, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. you didn’t respond, simply got up and grabbed a stitching kit and a bowl of warm water. “is all this blood yours?” was your first question. “no. most of it is his.” you sighed and searched his face to find a cut on his cheekbone, the source of his own bleeding. “i’m wiping away the blood now, okay?” tommy gulped and nodded, his eyes still trained on the ground. “mr. shelby, i want you to look at me.” it was as if he didn’t hear you. you spoke again, softer yet more authoritative this time. “tommy. look at me.” he finally brought himself to look into your eyes. in his eyes, you saw guilt, regret and fear. in yours, he saw compassion, love and a warmth that could engulf all his pain. “good.” you whispered. you wrung out a washcloth and began wiping the blood away from his face, using your other hand to hold his chin in place. his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist, in an attempt to ground himself. you didn’t say anything, but your eyes told him that you didn’t mind. in that moment, you saw a different version of tommy shelby. you didn’t see ‘tommy, the criminal’, ‘tommy, the gangster’ or ‘tommy, the womanizer’. you saw tommy, a good man, an honest man. you felt his arms tighten around your waist as you pulled your hands away from his face, as if he was afraid you would dissipate into thin air. “tommy.” you whispered. “i’m gonna have to stich that wound up. it might hurt.” but he didn’t mind pain, not if you were the one inflicting it. “okay.” he spoke, his voice deep. he rubbed circles into your skin with his thumbs, the pain making him hum. “sorry, almost done.” you finished the last stitch. “there. you’re all fixed.” tommy held you like that, his hands around your waist, icy blue eyes staring into yours. your arms rested on his shoulders and you leaned down to whisper to him. “tommy. people are staring.” “so? let them.” eventually, he reluctantly pulled away from you. “it’s time for dinner, and then lights out.” he smiled as he spoke, and slowly exited the tent, catching a glimpse of you as he left.

needless to say, you only grew closer over the next few weeks. you were inseparable. whenever tommy had free time, he’d make his way to the familiar tent, and talk to you. it was wartime. you were left hurt and traumatized and so was he, but you both found solace in each other’s company. you told him how you knew him, and how you’d wish him good morning every day, only to receive complete silence from him each time. he chuckled and apologized. he told you about the peaky blinders, what they did, how they ran their business. you bonded over your shared hunger for knowledge and stories. you told him everything you knew about art, history and literature; and he told you stories of fighting gangs in the streets and stealing contraband. his stories were always more thrilling than yours. you’d try to set each other up with people for fun. you’d introduce him to every nurse, telling them how he was fighting for his country, and of course, they fell prey to his charming eyes and dashing smile. they’d ask what he did back home, and as soon as you said the words ‘gangster’, they’d run in the opposite direction. he’d done the same for you. introduced you to other soldiers, and when you spoke to them, about art and literature, they’d call you ‘unladylike’ or ‘too ambitious for a man’. you both secretly liked it this way, it was like you were his and he was yours.

when he became sergeant major, you both celebrated together. he’d brought you a bottle of whiskey, and you spent the night, talking and giggling drunkenly. but soon, he was assigned to be a sapper and dig tunnels. you both knew that the germans were going to dig their own tunnels, and at some unfortunate point, the tunnels would converge. both of you realized the danger it held, but he had to do it. you tried to talk him out of it, though. “tommy, please!” “y/n, calm down.” “goddamn it tommy, think! you’re gonna get yourself killed! what the fuck are you doing?” “i’ll be alright.” “no, you won’t! what if you get hurt? what if they shoot at you, huh? i won’t be there underground to make sure you’re okay!” “y/n, i have to serve my country. i have to do this.” “tommy. i’m begging you, don’t do this.” he simply sighed and kissed your forehead and held your face in his hands. you held tightly onto his wrists as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. “shhh, i’ll be alright. in fact, i’ll write you.” you seemed to calm down at the idea of him writing you. at least you’d be updated on his condition.

the morning he went down to the tunnels, he came to see you. you were sorting gauze and bandages when you felt his presence near you. you turned around and ran to hug him. he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in. you could feel tears brimming your eyes. neither of you knew why you felt like this. you were just friends, right? “tommy michael shelby, i swear to god if you die, i’ll kill you myself.” you heard him chuckle. he took a step back and caressed your cheek. “you take care, darling.” you wished he wouldn’t leave, but in your heart, you knew he had to. a few hours after, you found a letter tucked under a book on your desk. you curiously pulled it out and opened it.

dearest y/n,

i know how much you hate that i’m going to be a sapper now. i want you to know, no matter what happens down there, i care for you, and i love you, unconditionally. i’ve loved you since the day i first met you. i can’t believe i was looking for love in whores and prostitutes when the love of my fucking life was saying the sweetest good morning to me every morning. i’ll protect myself, and i want you to protect yourself too since i can’t do that for the time being. if we survive this wretched war, i want to take you home, ask your father for your hand and marry you, sweetheart. you take care of yourself, alright?

all my love,

tommy shelby.

you couldn’t help but gasp at what you read. he loved you. tommy shelby loved you. the same tommy shelby that was too arrogant to say a word to you, the same tommy shelby that your parents told you to stay away from, the same tommy shelby was head over heels for you. you immediately looked for a piece of paper, a pen and some ink. you wrote a letter back and sent it with one of the workers heading down to the tunnels. you didn’t know what it was like down there, but you hoped your letters would keep him sane. meanwhile, tommy received your letter and opened it with the same enthusiasm you showed his letter. however, he was also filled with nervous energy. he had confessed his love for you, which was so incredibly out of character for him, but with shaky hands, he proceeded to open the letter.

dearest tommy,

to say that your letter was shocking would be an understatement. i never knew you felt this way for me. like i’ve told you on several occasions, my parents always told me to stay away from ‘your kind’ and as a good catholic girl, i obeyed them. but tommy, in these few months, i’ve seen a side of you i can’t ever forget. i love you too tommy, the real you. the honest, raw, genuine tommy that i get to see on late nights and in random moments on busy days. i’d love to marry you, just make it out alive of that damn tunnel, you prick.

only yours,

y/n.

tommy felt his eyes welling up as he read the words you had penned on the paper. it had been so long since he’d seen you, or heard your voice. he wanted you. he needed you. to keep him stable and sane. as the days passed, your and tommy’s letter exchange became more and more frequent, and you felt like even if you were in this goddamned lawless land of blood and chaos, you had tommy. and he was all you needed.

that was, until the letters slowed down. you kept writing him, but to no avail. he hadn’t sent you a letter in days, or weeks, you weren’t sure anymore. you’d almost lost hope, and spent entire nights grieving him. trying to remember the sound of his voice, the feeling of his hands on your waist, the smell of his cologne. you hadn’t heard his breath or felt his footsteps in a long time. the pain was almost unbearable, and some days felt like decades. but the only thought that kept you going was that you saw tommy in all the wounded soldiers you treated. they were someone’s tommy. and they needed to get home alive.

4 months. 4 whole months since you heard from tommy. you were convinced he was dead now. you spent your days bandaging and stitching wounds, yet you could never fix the wound tommy left in your heart. it was one of the hottest afternoons, the french sun blazing unmercifully. you were insanely busy with patients today, the war was almost ending, and the soldiers needed to be fixed up before they could go home. yet, no sign of tommy. you sighed, cursing yourself for holding out hope now for someone who would not return.

“can i have a nurse here?” you could recognize that damn voice anywhere. the deep voice that filled your ears, smooth like honey, you’d recognize that voice at the end of the world. you turned around. tommy. “hi, love.” he smiled. but his smile quickly changed into a frown when he saw your sobs. you took him to a quieter corner of the tent. you stepped closer to him. he went to put his arms around you. you slapped him across the face. “where. the FUCK were you, thomas michael shelby?!” he was incredibly confused. “l- love, what?” “i thought YOU DIED, YOU BASTARD. where were you?” the time you spent apart had changed you, and from his response, you could tell it clearly changed him. “i was TRYING to fucking STAY ALIVE for YOU.” he raised his voice at you. he never raised his voice. neither of you spoke for a while and tension filled the air between the two of you. “i should leave.” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. he left, and you let him.

after a few weeks, news broke that britain had won the war, and everyone went home. five years had passed since you last saw the familiar streets of small heath, and you were no longer a girl, but a woman. a woman who needed to get a job to survive in this city. you walked around and saw a flyer on the doors of the garrison. ‘BARMAID NEEDED.’ you walked in to find harry. he looked up pleasantly surprised. “y/n! haven’t seen you in a while, eh? what can i do you for?” “i’m here to get the barmaid job, harry.” he sighed.” y/n, this job isn’t suitable for a girl like you. these men, they’ve just come back from war, they haven’t seen a girl, let alone a pretty one like yourself, in ages. they’ll have you up against a wall within the first hour of your shift.” you looked at him desperately. “harry, please. i need this job, otherwise i’ll be out on the streets, which are surely worse than this pub. i was a nurse in france, i’ve dealt with these men. please?” he sighed again before nodding. ��alright then, you start tomorrow.”

your first shift consisted of the usual alcoholics, men with ptsd, everything that was to be expected after a war. you hear the bells at the door ring as the familiar footsteps walk closer to the bar. without turning around, you ask, “what do you want?” he replies, “whiskey, scotc- y/n?” you finally turn around at the sound of your name falling from his lips. “yes, mr. shelby. so, scotch? on the house right?” he leans over so that just the two of you can hear. “don’t mr. shelby me. come on, love, talk to me.” “i have nothing to talk to you about.” as you poured him a glass of whiskey, he held your wrist assertively. “y/n. come.” you rolled your eyes and went to the shelby’s private booth. “what is it that you want, tommy?” “what the fuck do you mean ‘what do i want’? you, i want YOU. i need you. did ya lose your fucking mind in france like danny whiz-bang?” you felt your bottom lip trembling and your throat choking up. “i… i thought y- you were fucking dead. i mourned you. for MONTHS. i grieved over the death of the love of my life. of my future husband. of my future children that i’d have with him. and then, just as i’m making my peace with it, YOU have the fucking audacity to show up? you have some bloody nerve, tommy shelby.” the look in his eyes softened as he took a step closer to you. “no. don’t you dare come any closer to me, tommy, i’ll kill you.” you said, holding up the bottle of whiskey as a weapon. he embraced you, holding you tightly, his fingers stroking your hair. you resisted the hug and tried to push him away, only to find his grip on you getting tighter. “g- get away… from me, p- please… i- just” your voice came out muffled between sobs. tommy felt hot tears rolling down his own cheeks. “shhh, sweetheart. i’m okay, eh? i’m fine. i’m here, with you.” you dropped the bottle you were holding and it shattered into a million pieces on the ground. you stood there in his arms, crying for what felt like an eternity. you finally pulled away from him, and he wiped your tears with his thumbs. you laughed, but then lightly slapped his arm. “you scare me like that again, tommy, i swear i’ll kill ya.” “i’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead, and you rested your forehead against his. he tentatively closed the gap between your lips and his, and you pulled him by the collar and kissed him with enough force to make him trip and fall. he managed to stay steady and kissed you back with equal fervour. he spoke between kisses. “i *kiss* spent *kiss* every *kiss* second *kiss* thinking *kiss* of you.” you giggled. “i missed you too, tommy.”

he told harry that you’d be leaving the bar early that day, and dragged you out the bar while holding your hand, a smile on his face for the first time in a long time. “the great thomas shelby isn’t embarrassed to have a barmaid as his girlfriend?” you giggled. “never. and those who think i should be embarrassed can suck me cock.” he spoke proudly. he opened the car door for you, and you sat inside and waited for him to turn the ignition on. “where are we going, tommy?” “i want you to meet my family, love.” during the countless hours you spent together chatting, he told you about his family’s idiosyncrasies and stories about them. how arthur needed to be protected the most during fights because he was just as likely to hurt himself as he was to hurt someone else, how aunty pol’s instincts about love were never wrong, how john once fell in love with a prostitute and everyone laughed at him, how ada was the most rebellious and married a communist (who happened to be in of his best mates), and how finn always pretended to act like tommy, doing whatever his big brother did. you were excited to meet them of course, but anxious. they would be your family one day too.

he held your hand as he brought you in, everyone sitting around a table waiting for him. “does everyone just sit together like this?” you asked. “uh, no i called a family meeting for 3 pm.” tommy replied simply. “how did you know you’d be able to have me here by 3?” he winked at you. “i have my ways. and i know how much you love me.” he spoke in a singsong voice. you rolled your eyes at his schoolboy behaviour and waited for him to speak. “shelby’s, this is my girlfriend and soon to be fiancé, y/n.” he held his arm around your waist proudly, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek. you recognized arthur and john immediately from your time in the war. you assumed that the older woman was aunt polly, and the younger with the baby in her arms would be ada, leaving the youngest member of the family, finn. john came up to talk to you first, while tommy spoke with polly. “you know i didn’t really mean the ‘marry tommy’ thing?” you laughed as you replied, “i didn’t either, but fate works in weird ways, eh?” he agreed with you before talking to tommy. arthur was the next one to see you. “you and tommy, eh? if it wasn’t for the war, you two would probably never have met. i s’pose war isn’t all bad then.” “perhaps you’re right. i did find your brother to be arrogant before the war.” “that he is, y/n. that he is.” both of you looked over at him, engaged in conversation with everyone else. you fussed over the baby in ada’s arms. “awww, he’s precious! what’s his name?” “karl, after karl marx.” you shot her a look. “it’s unconventional, i know. but freddie really wanted it.” “it’s lovely.” finn rushed over to you and kissed your hand. you gushed exaggeratedly. “what a gentleman you are, finn!” “if tommy wasn’t here, you’d be my girlfriend, miss y/n.” you laughed at his childishness and ruffled his hair. “sure i would, finn.” the only person you hadn’t spoken to yet was aunt polly, arguably the most intimidating person of the family. “i have one question for you, y/n. how you answer it will determine if you’re fit for being a shelby. how do you think i kept this business up and running during the war?” you felt put on the spot but tried your best to answer. “um, well, to be quite frank, i’ve believed that women are better at business anyway. we know how to settle deals with whiskey and not fists or guns. and you seem like twice the man than most men i know anyway.” her lips twitched up into a smile as she looked to tommy. “oh, i like her already.” he held your hand in hers, and addressed tommy. “she seems like a lovely girl, do not fuck this up tommy.” tommy shook his head and laughed. “i’ll try, pol. i’ll try.”

you ate dinner with the shelby’s before you headed up to his house. “you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” he asked for the hundredth time that night. “no tommy, i’m perfectly content spending the night with you. unless you’d like me to leave?” you questioned. “no no, stay, please!” he said, almost pleadingly. you looked around his bedroom when you reached his home. it was obviously a house, but it didn’t feel like a home. you frowned at your observation. “what’s wrong, y/n?” “this house isn’t a home yet, tommy.” “that’s because i want my first home to be with you. with our children. and as far as i’m concerned, you are my home.”

“care to dance?” he asked, holding out his hand. you looked at the gramophone in the corner. “that doesn’t look like it works, love.” you placed your hand in his. “so what? we can dance without music.” he said, holding your waist close to him, your hand on his shoulder. you leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you dancing in the silence, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. “kiss me, tommy.” you whispered. he obeyed probably for the first time in his life and kissed your soft lips.

things escalated and you were now on tommy’s bed, tracing the sun tattoo on his chest, with him on top of you. “fuck me, tommy, please.” “your cunt wants this cock?” he growled. you moaned in his ear. “fuck, yes tommy, make me yours.” he stretched you out in the most blissful way. of course, you had used your fingers before, but nothing could replace the feeling of his cock. “god, please!” you moaned out, words slowly turning into incoherent sounds. tommy chuckled. “god can’t hear you now, sweetheart. not here.” he pistoned his hips into you just right and it wasn’t long before he found the spot inside you that made you scream. “t- tommy fuck! right there, please don’t stop!” “i wouldn’t dream of stopping, darling. my girl, so pretty all spread out for me. take it, love. take that cock.” the feeling of your impending orgasm coursed through your entire body, making you writhe in pleasure. “god, i’m so close tommy!” “good fucking girl.” his hand reached down to rub circles on your clit while he fucked you so good. “oh god, tommy, i’m not gonna be able to walk tomorrow…” “that’s the plan, sweetheart.” he spoke as he kissed hickeys on your neck, matching the ones you’d given him earlier. “come on love, make a mess on my cock.” as soon as he said that, you felt yourself falling apart, the tight band in your stomach snapping, uncontrollable moans of his name falling from your lips. “thank you tommy, thank you so much.” you moaned, drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you. “such an angel. who do you belong to, sweets?” he said, still pounding your cunt. “y- you, tommy. i belong to you!” “that’s right, sweetheart.” he whispered in your ear, “i love you, darling.” you moaned as you felt your second orgasm approaching. “tommy, fuck! i- i love you too!” “god i’m gonna cum inside you! you’d like that, eh? me getting you pregnant, all nice and round with my baby?” you felt your orgasm pulsing through you at his words. “yes, tommy! fill my womb up, please! i need it!” you heard tommy’s loud moans as he came inside you. “oh, such a good girl. took my cock so well, love.” tommy stayed on top of you for a while, his cock still inside you. “i’ve wanted to do that for five fucking years.” he spoke, voice muffled since his head was buried between your tits. you laughed, but the laughs quickly turned to moans as your sensitive cunt felt friction from tommy’s cock rubbing up against its walls. he pulled out of you slowly, watching his seed spill out of you. he eventually got up to get a warm washcloth and a glass of water for you. you drank the water as he cleaned you and himself up and pulled you into his chest. you pulled the covers over both of you, feeling your body flush against his. “that was amazing tommy, thank you.” “the pleasure is all mine, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead.

ever since tommy came back from france, he had these recurring nightmares every night. of his time in the tunnels. the germans. his comrades. how he had to kill people with his bare hands. he could still hear the shovels digging the tunnels when he closed his eyes. when he was with you though, he could finally fall asleep. or so he thought.

you were awoken in the middle of the night by the sounds of a gasping tommy, suddenly sitting up. you felt groggy for a moment, having just woken up, but quickly sprung into action. you sat next to him, rubbing his back. “tommy, what’s wrong?” he didn’t speak. but he didn’t need to. you’d seen enough cases of ptsd from your time in the war to know what was happening to him. “you still see it, eh?” he only nodded. you laid back down and pulled him into your chest. he protested. “what are y-” “shut up.” you could tell, he was still a bit frantic, his breath still heavy. you spoke to him in a soft tone and you played with his fingers, his head on your chest. “listen to me. listen to the sound of my voice. feel my body against yours. you are home. you are safe. the war is over. the nightmares are just parts of your mind trying to scare you. but you’re stronger than that, eh? i’m here with you, and you don’t need to be scared. alright? i’m here with you, always.” he hummed, heavy eyelids slowly closing shut. being able to smell the scent of your perfume helped ground him. “good job, tommy. now sleep. i’ll be here with you when you wake up.” you managed to get him to go to sleep, but somehow convinced your mind to let you sleep light enough that if tommy were to have another nightmare, you’d be up immediately. fortunately, he didn’t wake up during the night.

he woke up to the sight of a sleeping you, the sun rays hitting you just right. he swore he could look at you forever. you felt his gaze on you and slowly opened your eyes. “how’d you sleep?” you asked. “like i hadn’t slept in years.” he replied.

“morning, mr. shelby.” you wished him, as you did, every day before the war. except this time, you were in his arms, in his bed. you kissed his lips softly. except this time, he finally wished you back.

“mornin’, sweetheart.”

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babyfoxflower · 1 month ago

Text

The One That Outsmarted Him

Human! Alastor x Fem! Reader Oneshot

Warnings: 18+, MNDI, Yandere! Alastor, Murder, Blood, Kidnapping, Groping, Implied Noncon

You.

You were the only person to ever escape Alastor ‘the Bayou Butcher’ Hartfelt. It was honestly slightly humiliating that the one to outsmart him was a silly girl. A petite woman who he could have easily overpowered and slit her throat. What a pretty little throat yours was.

Once the humiliation wore off though. Alastor started having different feelings about you. Admiration, respect, and strangely, for him, infatuation. In other words, he was in love with you. You were going to be his. Whether you wanted to or not. He’d track you down, chain you up so you couldn’t escape, and love you for the rest of his life. Even if you managed to escape, he’ll just hunt you down again.

Alastor hummed as he opened his trunk, in there laid a brown sack that squirmed around and made muffled panic noises.

“Someone wake up from their nap? Don’t worry, ma Cherie. You’ll be out soon,” he cooed as he stroked his large hand over the outline of a human body.

He hoisted the sack over his shoulder before closing the trunk. He carried it all the way down to his basement, where there was a comfy queen sized bed with a chain ready for his darling.

He gently dropped the bag onto the bed, causing a little bounce. He opened it up and there you were, looking so adorable and confused.

“There she is,” he chuckled as he pulled you out of the sack.

Your hands and feet were bond and there was a gag keeping you from speaking. As soon as you saw who your captor was, fear consumed you and you started to fight the best you could in your state.

“Now, now, I’ll untie you. Just let me get the chain.”

Alastor picked up the chain that was attached to the wall and placed it as gently as he could on your neck before clamping it closed. It had enough room for you to breathe but was still sturdy enough to make sure you weren’t going anywhere.

He then untied your wrists and ankles before removing the gag.

“Please, don’t kill me! I didn’t tell anyone about that night!” You cried out.

“Shhh,” Alastor placed his finger to your lips, “It’s alright, my love, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Then why did you bring me here?”

Memories flashed back of you coming in the station after hours to get something you left behind. You heard something in the recording room. Curiosity got the better of you and you entered only to see the famous radio host who happened to also be your employer stabbing a man to death.

The smile, the horrid smile that was on his face as he carved into the unknown man. Just the pure ecstasy Alastor was clearly experiencing from such an atrocious act. It was so terrifying that you nearly fainted. However, all you could do was stand there motionless, face twisted in terror.

Once the man was dead, Alastor laughed, “Thank you for the entertainment, ol’ chum.”

He began cleaning his glasses with his handkerchief, his face still covered with the crimson liquid. When he put them back on, he turned and saw you.

“Oh dear, looks like we have a little witness. Y/n, you just had to show up at the wrong time,” He tsked.

“Please, Mister Hartfelt…” was all you could manage to say.

“I try not to make it a habit of killing women, but I guess in this case I have no choice. Sorry, Sweetheart. But, hey, I’ll make it quick. You’ll barely feel a thing,” he said as he approached you.

Tears started streaming down your cheeks, “Please, don’t kill me. I won’t tell anyone.”

“A real shame, you were such a hardworker and quite a charming lady,” he raised his knife.

Out of desperation, you did the one thing you could think of in that moment, you kissed him. Alastor took a step back, shocked. Out of surprise, he dropped his knife. You seized the opportunity and ran away. You escaped with your life.

Now what could he possibly want with you? It was true that you didn’t tell anyone about that encounter. You only quit by letter and never went back to that radio station again.

“I brought you here, ma Cherie, because I love you,” Alastor pressed his lips against yours.

“What!?” You said into the forced kiss.

He reluctantly pulled away, “I love you and I’m going to keep you forever.”

“What!?”

“I assure you that you will be safe and provided for, my love,” he smiled tenderly as he brushed a piece of hair behind your ear.

The look on his face was of a smitten schoolboy. Pupils dilated, face flushed.

“How can you love me? You hardly know me. I worked for you but it’s not like we ever talked much. Not mentioning that you tried to KILL ME!”

“I know, but that was in the past. Let’s focus on the future instead,” he wiped your remaining tears away, “I love you and will never hurt you now or ever. That’s a promise.”

Suddenly, he lifted you up and laid you down so that your head was on the pillows. You let out a squeak that he found absolutely adorable. He took off his leather gloves and let his hands explore your body.

“What are you doing?”

“I apologize, I just couldn’t resist getting to touch my bride,” he said before cupping your breasts in each hand.

“Bride!?”

Alastor ignored your outburst and forced you into another kiss. His hands massaged your chest. He moaned at the feel of you underneath him, how soft you were. The fact that you were all his now, oh, he was going to savior this moment.

He held you down as you kept trying to push him away. How cute, you were playing hard to get. He continued to kiss you until you eventually kissed him back, you didn’t want to but it seemed like he wasn’t going to stop until you did.

A string of saliva formed at the bottom of each of your lips as he pulled away, “Let’s get these clothes off, shall we?”

“Wait, I’m a…”

“A what, my love?”

“A virgin.”

You regretted saying that as it only seemed to make him even more aroused. He licked his lips even. A hunger rose from deep inside of him.

“Oh. Isn’t that lovely? I get to be the first and only man to make love to you,” he smiled a slightly psychotic smile.

“Wait!” You pleaded as he began removing your dress.

He suddenly stroked that special place between your legs which led you to moan uncontrollably. Your body betrayed you.

“Don’t worry, ma Cherie. I will be gentle. I promise,” he gave you a reassuring kiss before unbuckling his belt.

#tw: noncon #alastor x reader #alastor x female reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor smut #human alastor x reader #human alastor x female reader #human alastor x y/n #human alastor x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x female reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut

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neckromantics · 10 months ago

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You find that now Astarion’s able to feed regularly on “quality” blood, the stronger he becomes, and with that strength comes certain abilities he didn’t know he could possess.

In 5e, vampire spawn are supposed to be pretty strong and fast. (As well as possessing regenerative powers, and spider climb among a few other things.) So, what if Astarion’s lack of super strength and other such things is due to the way he was kept weakened under Cazador’s control?

Like maybe he’s recently fed and he feels especially great this time. Neither of you really think much of it. (You’re just happy he feels good. Happy to see the flush of pink at the tips of his ears and apples of his cheeks.) Maybe you’re in the middle of a fight and you get careless. You hear the swish of a blade at your back, but never feel an impact. You turn to see that Astarion’s saved your ass the only way vampire instinct knew how in that moment, which was to just reach out and grab your attacker’s sword before it could spill any of your precious blood. By the blade.

If he wasn’t wearing those special armored gloves you’d found a few days before he’d probably have lost a few fingers. The steel bends back in his grip as if it’s made of rubber, and there’s a very comical split second where your heads snap toward one another to share matching looks of “what the fuck??” Before the fighting continues.

MAYBE one day you watch the guy get stabbed. Like, impaled in a way that should have meant Withers is about to be dragged out here by his dusty ass robes to perform some quick resurrecting or else. It takes longer than you’d like to get free enough to make a break for him, but when you do you nearly knock poor Shadowheart on her ass in your hurry to pass. Every millisecond feels like an hour. Your heart pounds in your ears so loudly that you can’t hear the scream of the creature before him as you take it down with a single blow.

In hindsight, you must have looked ridiculous. Overdramatic, even, considering you don’t have time to fuss over him as he lie bleeding like you assumed he would be. Your hands tremble in front of you as you watch him stand up from his crouched position. His pretty face is screwed up in a way that you first assumed meant great pain, but now you realize he’s just ? Surprised? Well, that makes two of you at least.

Astarion’s leather armor hits the dirt with a dull thud. With pursed lips and a bit of a hum, he’s lifting up the hem of his bloodied tunic. Pale fingers swipe thick crimson away from his belly to reveal the soft, unmarred skin that lay beneath. You nearly faint right then and there, and that asshole just laughs. Positively elated.

After a moment, a long moment, you start to laugh alongside him. It’s shaky with relief. Disbelief.

He plants a quick, cheeky kiss to the side of your head for your heroic efforts, anyway. You just learn to roll with it.

Maybe one day you walk into your room at the Elfsong, and nearly jump out of your skin when you find him sitting cross-legged on the ceiling. Just full on chilling, looking pleased as punch to have found something else he didn’t know was possible for him. You obviously just stand there and stare at him like ??? for a while. It’s endearing how happy he looks with that smug little smirk, pale curls wild and clothes sitting odd on his frame from the change in gravity.

When you ask, all he can really say is that it just kind of happened? That he very suddenly felt like being up, and logically that meant he should try crawling up the wall to satisfy that craving. He’d been up there for a couple hours before you showed up- even took a little bit of a rest to pass the time. You wish you were there to see his face when he found out- to hear the mad little giggles that spilled from his lips when he stood up from his scuttling and just hung upside down in disbelief because why in the hells didn’t he find out about this one sooner?

(Maybe if you ask nicely, he’ll bring you up there with him on his back just so you can see how strange everything looks from high up on the ceiling. Maybe you’ll use it as an opportunity to scare the ((figurative)) pants off of Gale when he eventually comes looking for you. Endless entertainment.)

Anyway, you feed the guy regular enough and I imagine there is so much to discover about him that the two of you will be entertained for years to come. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll wake up to a fluffy white bat flying circles around the ceiling of your bedroom, and at that point it won’t even be a real surprise to you.

#bg3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion headcanons #bg3 tav #astarion blurb #astarion fluff #astarion fic

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gay-dorito-dust · 3 months ago

Note

After request the kiss on the cheek and gotmany likes, its too joyful for me. Im craving angst

Stans brothers reaction when Bill told them that y/n will and always died in every universe and dimensions like stuck forever as zombie/wood statue/etc, which y/n will die in their own dimension too in matter of time or months, time is ticking, they can’t change destiny (can they?)

Ford

Didn’t like those odds at all.

He and bill had history and who’s to say that this wasn’t just Bill trying another method to get inside his head once more by using you, his beloved, as a cheap tactic to do so.

‘I thought a being would have more tact than this Bill.’ Ford would say as the dream demon only chuckled.

‘Oh Stanford, do you really think I’d bluff about this? You should know me better by now that I do not bluff, I’ll show you instead seeing as how stubborn you are into believing me nowadays.’ Bill said as he then showed Ford of all the infinite ways you died throughout the multiverse:

Drowned

Stabbed

Possessed

Lost in the multiverse

Body snatched

Turned to stone

Went through a curse doorway unknowingly and never returned, etc, etc.

Bill took immense pleasure in the horrified look upon Ford’s face as he gingerly traced your face as though you turned into porcelain and not stone.

‘Sucks doesn’t it knowing they your loved one is bound to die in every single timeline, it’s enough to suck the joy out of everything.’ Bill said as Ford only glares at him. You don’t deserve these fates, none of your alternate selves did and he could only imagine what you could’ve possibly felt before dying alone.

‘Oh and your beloved y/n is on route to die in like five months.’ Bill casually mentions and Ford immediately looks to him again.

‘What do you mean by that? How do they die! How can I stop it!’ Ford exclaimed as he felt his heart race and his blood run cold at the sheer helplessness he felt in the moment, but it only proved to humour bill all the more. ‘Oh you can’t prevent this one Stanford Pines, they’ll die regardless of what you do to try and prevent it they’ll die regardless and you’ll have to live with it.’ Bill says before leaving Ford alone with his rampaging thoughts.

He could send you away to Dimension 52 to stay with Jheselbraum for the time being, just until he figured something out, but what if Bill foresees this move being made and goes after you himself? Ford didn’t know what he could do to protect you and it was driving him mad with Bill’s vague nonsense not helping him in the slightest. He’ll become paranoid of every little thing you did from that point onward to the point that even if you got a paper cut Ford was expecting something unfortunate to happen, but it never did.

Shit like this kept him awake at night as he holds you tightly against his chest, staring at the ceiling as though daring it to try and take you from him, which it didn’t but Ford grew skeptical of everyone you came across in case they were the catalyst for your death and kept himself near you at all times, hand on his gun in the instance he need to use it to keep you safe.

Ford would busy himself down in his lab to the point of exhaustion looking and theorising methods on how he could prevent your death, so much so that you’d have to come down and practically dragging him out because he was worrying you and the rest of the family. But Ford was stubborn as stubborn could be when it came to you and your safety that he tends to drown out your concerns for him, much to your dismay.

Ford believed that Bill was tempting him into making a deal to keep you safe but he knew that even as powerful as Bill was, even he couldn’t prevent something that he himself and told him happened across the entirety of the Multiverse. So Ford stuck to his guns and buried himself in work to keep you safe because he couldn’t and wouldn’t loose you if he could help it.

Stan

Doesn’t believe a thing Bill is saying in the slightest and thinks it’s all a pile of horseshit, up until the triangle demon shows him of all the infinite universes of which you did indeed die did Stan actually start to believe that Bill was actually telling the truth for once.

Zombies made you one of them.

Got turned to stone by a gorgon like creature and wasn’t saved in time.

Possessed by bill and had multiple stab wounds, bruises, scratches and lacerations from his misuse.

Submerged in amber/tree sap, face permanently stuck in horror.

Eaten by the Summerween Trickster.

Replaced by the shapeshifter after you were killed for being the imposter.

So many timelines where you’ve died cruelly or unfairly and it broke Stan’s heart knowing that in all of these universes his other selves might’ve been either too late, or made the wrong choices that he probably regrets as he downs each and every bottle of the hardest liquor in hopes he’d numb the pain.

He was destined to loose you no matter what and things weren’t made any better when Bill tells him that you were on route to die really soon, taunting him with the fact that there was nothing he, Ford or even the Pine Twins and their stupid pet pig could do to stop it; you’re death was an inevitability across the entire multiverse.

Stan hated being told that there was nothing he could do to prevent you from dying, he hated being told what he can’t do in general! So he’ll much rather take his odds with trying any and everything in his power to keep you safe and sound, even if it means dying himself he’ll do it gladly knowing you were okay.

He was already protective of you to begin with but with the added fact that you were bound to die sooner or later had Stan become even more protective of you. So much so that he doesn’t leave the shack without a crossbow or even his brass knuckles to fight off whoever or whatever was going to try and take you from him; hell he might even teach you how to fight should you get into trouble and he’s not there to protect you.

He keeps you by his side almost 24/7 at this point and would shower you in affection as though he was going to run out of time to do so, even going so far as to keep you away from walking under any ladders, tripping over anything and or crossing the street when you shouldn’t. However it got concerning to the point where you’d have to sit him down and ask what was wrong. Stan isn’t one to talk about his emotions nor how he felt about certain things but this was something he knew he had to share with you sooner or later, regardless of whether you believed him or not.

Stan still thought Bill was full of shit and even acted like he didn’t believe him about you dying and everything, but deep down Stan was scared that his best attempts to keep you safe wouldn’t be enough and that you’ll be taken away, regardless of how hard he fought back but Stan wasn’t one to easily give up not when his loved ones are involved.

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #stanford pines x you #stanley pines imagines #stanford pines imagines #stanford pines imagine #stanley pines imagine #stan pines imagines #stan pines imagine #stanford pines x reader #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x reader #ford pines x you #ford pines imagines #ford pines imagine #ford pines x reader

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mizading · 1 year ago

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Upper Moon Yandere Headcanons

Characters: Douma, Akaza, Aizetsu, Kokushibo.

Description: If I’m being honest, I suppose this is how some of the upper moons would express their love normally, but a lot of it is unhealthy. For that sake, I’ll classify this as yandere headcanons for the upper moons with a female reader.

Warnings: Verbal abuse, death, forced affection, unstable behavior, paranoia, etc.

Douma..

Once Douma declares something his, it belongs to him until he says otherwise.

Douma’s love is sincere but expressed in a twisted way.

As a cult leader does, Douma provides a facade of a perfect life with him if you stick by his side.

The lack of love and nurturing from Doumas parents causes an insatiable desire for the foreign feelings within him.

Douma uses you to replace the love he never received as a child.

His affection begins in a controlled manner. Consisting of little things such as random hugs, quick kisses, or asking you to hold him for a little while.

Over time, Douma would get a bit possessive. You were lucky if you managed to go more than five minutes without Douma forcing you into hour-long cuddle sessions.

One of his favorite things to do is cling to your body and nuzzle his head into your chest.

The feeling of your body's warmth is the only thing that calms his nerves.

Denying Douma’s love is like stabbing him in the heart from his perspective.

"You don’t really love me, do you..? You're just like my parents."

Denying Douma only makes your situation worse.

In Douma’s world, if he forces enough of his affection on you, you’ll eventually love him.

There are periods when Douma is severely mentally unstable.

During these periods, Douma made it clear that you could not and would not leave his side.

You're extra careful when he’s unstable. Any wrong move, and Douma’s threatening to end everyone close to you.

It’s hard for Douma to understand human emotion. Due to his lack of feelings, he can’t possibly understand why you would want to ever leave his side after he’s provided you with a perfect life.

Regardless of how you feel, Douma needs you too much to ever let you go.

Over time, Douma may possibly turn you into a demon to trap you with him for eternity.

He can’t risk losing something that he may never find again. Your love.

Akaza..

Akaza would kill for you in a heartbeat if it came to it.

The word love itself isn’t nearly enough to convey how much he loves you.

He would love to buy you little things, such as hair pins, just to see your face light up a bit.

Every time you leave, Akaza must be accompanying you.

Akaza always keeps at least one hand on you.

He wouldn’t mind if you didn’t have much physical strength; that’s what he’s there for.

Akaza would rather die than ever see you hurt.

He has a tendency to hurt anyone who causes you just the slightest bit of inconvenience.

Nobody should ever dare gaze upon you with any ill intent.

The other upper moons avoid interacting with you; they know how Akaza can get when it comes to you.

You're sacred in Akaza’s eyes; he’s practically on his knees for you.

Akaza can become delusional about your love for him. If you don’t hold the same feelings for him, he’ll convince himself otherwise.

Akaza will literally spend hours kissing every inch of your body to prove himself to you.

With night comes Akaza’s paranoia.

There's much more danger for you once the sun sets.

He won’t leave your side for a single second.

In bed, you're always in Akaza’s arms; he’ll refuse to sleep any other way.

Once the sun rises once more, his nerves calm just a bit.

He simply can’t bear the thought of a life without you.

Akaza will pursue your love until the end of time.

Aizetsu..

Aizetsu is pretty sensitive. Please don’t be too harsh on him.

He craves your affection constantly; it’s the one thing he needs to keep going.

Aizetsu can get aggressive when you refuse to show affection.

He won’t hurt you, but he might get verbally abusive.

Once he’s calmed down, he’ll cry at your feet, wrapping his arms around your waist begging for forgiveness.

He always regrets his behavior once he’s rational again.

Aizetsu sees the world as a depressing place, and you are the only light in his dull life.

One of his many nicknames for you is Sun.

When Aizetsu gets deeply depressed, he tends to get distant.

He’s running back into your arms soon enough.

His favorite thing to do is hug you from behind and follow you around.

Aizetsu is excessively clingy on a normal day.

If he is not all over you, something is wrong.

He’ll ask you to hold him when his anxiety gets hard to bear; you're the only one who can get him to calm down.

He struggles immensely with his mental health.

You happen to be the one to handle Aizetsu when he’s at his lowest.

A lot of it is taken out on you, and he hates himself for it.

A few hours of being in your arms is usually enough for him to be able to function again.

Aizetsu will always do anything he can to make it up to you the next day, starting off with flowers in the morning.

If you don’t forgive him immediately, he’s on his knees once again choking on his own sobs.

He can’t sleep without you next to him, helping him keep his depressive thoughts away.

At night, he’ll often rest his head in your lap and ask for you to play with his hair.

The feeling of your hands touching his scalp takes his mind off of the billions of things running through his head.

Aizetsu depends on you, don't fail him.

Kokushibo..

Kokushibo is always lurking in a corner, watching your every move.

He prefers to watch you in silence rather than interact with you.

Kokushibo is aware of his unhealthy attraction to you.

Small gifts, such as earrings or handwritten notes, would be left by Kokushibo on most mornings.

He manages to find something to give you each time he goes out.

Kokushibo secretly has a soft spot for you; you're the only one who knows this, of course.

Any affection coming from you stays on his mind for at least a day or two.

Don't upset him. Kokushibo is quick to completely disappear for a few days to teach you a lesson.

Leaving without Kokushibo by your side is forbidden. Once night falls, you can’t leave at all.

His rules may be harsh, but they're for your own good.

On nights that he’s feeling extra stressed, he may ask you to play with his hair.

There's not too much physical contact between you and Kokushibo, despite his hidden obsession.

He has to have a lot going on within himself to flat-out ask for your touch.

Kokushibo will die protecting you. He vowed to keep you protected, always.

You’ll be kept secret from everyone except Muzan. He won’t have you around the upper moons, especially Douma.

If you're feeling particularly stressed, Kokushibo will sit you down and tell you stories from all throughout his 480 years of living.

Kokushibo deeply appreciates your simple presence since he’s been alone for so long. Knowing that you're there is enough for him.

He spends hours watching you sleep at night; he doesn’t sleep much at all himself.

It brings him a sense of peace to watch your sleeping face, knowing that you're at ease.

Kokushibo can live in some type of peace knowing that you're safe and his.

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gojonanami · 5 months ago

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❝ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐎 (𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄) ❞

c/w: spoilers for 261, angst, possible happy ending? i'm so sorry lmao.

Body and soul — many in jujutsu had spent millennia contemplating the connection between these two — were they two separate entities co-existing, or were they always one, until they parted in death? And even if they were to part — does the soul still linger?

You didn’t know — and you didn’t care.

“What do you mean you don’t care what happens to your body?” Satoru wiped the blood from his hands, before brushing past you to wash it in the sink, diluted scarlet swirling down the drain just as your stomach had upon hearing what he said.

You only knew that your heart belonged to one man. And he would take it with him with his death. Even as he left his body behind. But your heart wasn’t your concern, no, his body was.

“Sweetheart—“

“No, don’t,” you already know what he’s going to say — a quick witted joke that you have no faith in him, empty reassurance that he’ll win — anything but an answer to your question, “I don’t know how people call you uncaring, the only person you don’t care for is yourself,”

The Strongest. The Six Eyes User. The Gojo Clan Leader. Anything — anything but calling him who he is — Satoru Gojo.

He’s shaking his head. “I’m not going to lose, so it’s a pointless—“

“Satoru,” and you grit your teeth, wondering if your words were a curse themselves, and that you dare not utter them, but you do anyway, “you don’t know that. Not for sure,” your words are a whisper, one you think wouldn’t be heard and manifested by a higher power — because you know that jujutsu is too cruel not to.

“What is a dead body? I’ll be gone,” his back still faces you, wiping his hands off, and you’re shaking your head, “the body and soul—“

“They are one, in far too many ways—“ your eyes burn with tears as you hear his sigh, “so Geto’s body deserves a burial, but yours doesn’t?”

You stab at a nerve — it’s a low blow, but one you had to deal, if only to get through that damned infinity of his — the wall he had kept up, even with you. Close, but never close enough.

“Don’t—“ he cuts you off, gentle but hard, sword hitting shield, sparks fly as the metal meets, “it’s different—“

“How?”

“I gave my consent, for one,” he says, his hands leaning against sink, head hanging, “and my body isn’t being used for a cheap trick,” and the bitterness still lingers on his tongue, and you know the moment flashes before his eyes, again and again — if he hadn’t hesitated, if he hadn’t let the past hold him, if he didn’t been such a fool— “they need me—“

You need him.

“I know, I know they need you,” you swallow the bile rising in your throat, but you spit acid all the same, “but do they have to take your dead body too?”

And he finally turns, skies softening when they see the drops slipping down your cheeks, and his steps echo in the silence of the bunker, hollow just as this conversation was, “Y’know I have to,”

“I know that, I know Yuta is making the right choice, it’s for the good of everyone,” except you, except us, “but it doesn’t make it any less difficult,”

And his arms wind their way around you, pressing you against him, his fingers winding through your hair, “I’m going to come back to you,” hands sliding down your sides, “I always will,”

“It’s not just this,” your fingers cup his cheek, his face leaning into your touch, “you’re not alone, Toru. I’m here.”

“You’re here, huh?” he murmurs, more to himself than you, “if I die, you have my full permission to kick my ass,”

“And I will be,” you kiss him, fingers sliding to the nape of his neck, brushing against his undercut, “I don’t care about the strongest,” your lips brush soft kisses against your cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead, before finally finding his lips, “I only care about Satoru Gojo, I just need you, only you,”

He presses his forehead to yours, nose brushing his, “You have me,” but you didn’t know for how long, how long you could touch his cheek like this and not feel cold rigid skin underneath your fingertips, how long you could kiss his lips and have him kiss back, and how long it would be until you could hold his hand again, “and you have my heart,” and he gives a small chuckle, “maybe not the part everyone wants—“

“It’s the one I want,” you cut him off with a soft kiss, “I want all of you, every inch, but your heart? That already is mine,” your head pressed against his chest, feeling the muscle contract underneath, as if it would reassure you that it would keep doing that.

But it didn’t.

“I’ll stay,” Shoko furrows her brow, “he would want me to,” Satoru Gojo’s body laid on a slab of cold metal, cold as his skin was now — and cold as your heart was now, without the warmth of his love to dwell in. Ugly stitches marred his stomach, right where Sukuna had sliced through him — you watched it, you couldn’t look away, and you watched the smile on his lips until it fell slack.

Just like the rest of him.

“He would understand why you couldn’t—“

“It really did upset him that you didn’t object,” and Shoko’s mouth opens and closes, her eyes shutting, “but I know that’s only because you had faith he would win,” and you add, “and he knew that too — he was just pouting, what he does best,” and your fingers trace over his lips — Shoko had done a good job cleaning the blood from his face, “did best,” and Shoko frowns again.

“You don’t—“

“I’m his wife,” you say, “for better or worse, it’s my duty to stay with him, it’s the least he deserves,” your fingers skin over his forehead, before pressing a sweet kiss to the rigid skin, knowing that the smooth skin would be overwritten with jagged stitches — the thread pulled from the fabric of your own life that laid before you, leaving you in pieces, “because he may be a monster, but all of us are the real devils — for letting him bear it alone,” and you shake your head, a tear slipping down your cheek, “I won’t make that mistake again,”

You miss who you you used to be without this weight around your neck, desd bodies piled on top of your back, back broken under the grief, and yet you still walked on. Because you know it’s what he would have wanted, as his ghost whispers in your ear.

Body and soul — if it was one, you wondered if he could feel your touch, sense your presence, and hear your words. And you hoped he could — but you know he was listening somewhere either way, so you whispered the only words you meant with your entire heart and soul—

“I love you," you murmur, before turning away — you don't see the way his fingers twitch for you.

Those words were still a curse all the same.

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo angst #satoru gojo fanfiction #gojo satoru fanfiction #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #jjk angst

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mintymarabell · 6 months ago

Text

Platonic yandere elder yautja.

An elder whose strong and powerful in status but not fertile, his seed never taking so he never had children of his own.

He would beat himself up over it all the time, thinking he was not good enough.

He’ll be on earth just wondering around aimlessly when he sees you, a teenager who was crying in the woods.

He would watch curiously, wondering what you were doing alone.

When you get up and leave after composing yourself he’ll follow after you, when you lead him to a house that has two ooman pairs having a yelling match inside he somewhat connects the dots.

He will watch over you over the months, noticing the neglect in the household. He’s so jealous, your parents barely pay you any mind or even care for you and yet he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Maybe one time you’re in your room curled up in bed trying to sleep through your parents continuous arguing when your window slowly slides open, you don’t notice until there’s a big thump and suddenly something is in your room.

You go to scream but a large hand is cupped over your mouth to quiet the sound.

When you wake up again you’re in a different room, one much bigger than your previous one the bed huge and comfortable with alien soft sheets and silk pillows.

A small tray of breakfast sat on the nightstand to your left still warm.

He won’t reveal his scary appearance to you, living as a ghost in his own home as he provided for you better than your parents ever had.

Maybe one day, after a few months of living in the strange very futuristic like house you explore, walking around the grand halls, looking into the various bedrooms, some being children others being for an adult, you simply marveled at the design.

Maybe you walk outside to see the scenery and notice the different colors of the sky, the amber atmosphere.

You wander farther from the house, towards the pristine gates and walk out of them as you look at this ‘new world’ in hopes of feeding your growing curiosity.

Maybe you venture too far, finding you had zoned out and was now in the woods with faint growling and the once twin suns now settling into a dark sky.

Your breathing hitched as you looked around frantically trying to remember where it is you came from, then suddenly something hops from the tree, it is some beast, clearly not from earth.

The beast stalking towards you as it readied itself to attack and then it lunged, you closed your eyes and waited but it never came.

Instead a loud crash could be heard as something ran into the beast, you opened your eyes and seen the beast but nothing else.

It was as if the beast was fighting its imaginary friend, though in this case enemy.

The beast had brawled with the other invisible being, at some point in the fight the beast had landed a hit, the sound of flesh tearing and electric sparks then its invisible cloak was unveiled.

You had been inching back this whole time, slowly but surely won the race right? Though as you inched back, you noticed the humanoid was beginning to slack. Noticing a healing wound on its shoulder blade being the issue of its delay.

You had decided it was clearly on your side so you picked up a size ably sharp stick. Beginning to walk back toward the fight just as the beast had pinned the your possible new friend; you stabbed it right through the throat.

The humanoid pushed off the now dead carcass, standing up slowly. This had given you a moment to look at him truly. He had four mandibles with sharp fangs on the end, along with long dread like hair that was graying. After the awkward pause he had ruffled your hair and pushed you back in the direction of the house you had stayed at.

It had been a few months, your new father now walking around with no invisible cloak. He was in short terms, protective. If you had went out he went along and never let you go far. It appeared he lived alone, in a massive home.

You could get used to it, though you hoped it wasn’t forever it’d be like this.

#yautja #elder yautja #monster #yautja x reader #monster boyfriend #so cute #yautja boyfriend #old man yautja #yautja stuff #yautja yes

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clockwayswrites · 8 months ago

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Rumors of a Prince

“You could always ask Jason to pay her a visit,” Dick said from where he was lounging, mostly upside down, on the couch in Bruce’s study.

Bruce frowned at him. “I am not going to have Jason kill Vickie Vale.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said kill!” Dick held his hands up or, rather, given his position, down. “I just meant puts some fear into her. Maybe kidnap her for a few days so that she can’t write any more libel.”

Bruce found himself smiling, slightly and against his better judgment. It faded away when he looked back at his laptop. “At least in this case, it wouldn’t do much good. The stories is already out there and, unfortunately, Vale’s take on it has captured the public’s attention.”

“Tim knows I bet… and Babs.”

“Undoubtedly by now.”

“And if those two know, Steph knows. If Steph knows, she’s ranted to Cass.”

“Yes.” This family was impossible to keep things secret in.

“Welp,” Dick said and swung himself to be sitting up normally— or as normally as Dick ever sat. “Then I guess we better tell the others. How do you want to divide this?”

Bruce was grateful that Dick was willing to be his partner in this. “You would be best to take Jason. I’ll speak with Damian. Either of us can catch Duke when he returns from his patrol.”

Dick nodded. “And Tom?”

“I think perhaps it would be best to have as much of the family in the manor as possible,” Bruce said after a moment. “If he destabilizes, I want him to know that we are around and that he is still safe.”

“Alright.” Dick slapped his knees once and stood. “I’ll drag Jason back then. You know he’ll come if it’s for Tom.”

“Make sure he reads the article before he comes over.”

Dick grimaced. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be best. I’m going to bring some food too over with me. Good luck convincing Dami that he can’t go and stab Vickie Vale.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dick chirped as he left for his task.

Bruce dropped his hand.

‘Gotham’s Pale Prince’ stared back at him from the screen.

“Seriously?!” Jason burst in through the kitchen door. “Have you read this swill?”

“Yes chum, of course I have,” Bruce said. He shot Dick, who trailing behind Jason’s fury, a look. Dick was supposed to get Jason to read the article before coming over.

Dick just shrugged helplessly and motioned in a way that conveyed Jason had read it and was still clearly quite upset.

“One of the biggest questions is,” Jason said, clearly reading now from the article with the air of Bristol accent he had put on, “perhaps, why the newest Wayne is not in school. Bruce has proven himself to be a champion of the educational system. This is despite the man himself being a college drop out’ like what the fuck?”

“To be fair, I am,” Bruce said.

Jason rolled his eyes and continued. “His oldest ward’— Dick is fucking adopted now, bitch!”

“Boo!” Steph echoed and tossed popcorn at the tablet Jason was holding.

(Bruce was neither sure when Stephanie had arrived nor where she got the popcorn.)

“Never going to college,” Jason said with a jab of his free hand, “and the second oldest never completing high school.’ I was dead you narrow minded shew!”

“Well, I mean, all she knows is that you were supposedly kidnapped by terrorists and tortured for years,” Dick said. He had moved over to help himself to Stephanie’s popcorn and paused raising the next handful to his face. “Okay, no, that’s actually worse.”

“And you are clear on your line that I cannot stab this woman for the dishonor she implies about the family?” Damian asked, again, as he joined them in the kitchen.

“Unfortunately we have to handle this the proper way, with a press conference,” Bruce said. Stabbing was looking increasingly appealing though.

Jason dropped into one of the open chairs. “I’d call it a battle of the wits, but I don’t think Vale has any left with this trash she’s writing!”

“Alright,” Tim said as he entered the kitchen with almost as much fury as Jason, just more contained. Cass followed in his wake. “I am sure that B has already run through no killing, no stabbing, no maiming, no poisoning—”

“No poisoning Vickie Vale,” Bruce said, feeling so tired.

“Way to go, Timbit, now we can’t poison her,” Jason groused.

Tim sighed, “Fair, I shouldn’t have assumed. I really thought someone else would have brought it up already.”

“People went for more bloody options,” Dick explained.

“Also fair,” Tim said, pointing at him. “Anyways, since we can’t do all that, can I ruin her reputation?”

“Tim,” Bruce sighed.

“Now come on old man, let’s here Timtam out,” Jason said, holding out his arm. “You said yourself we had to handle the proper way and I’m sure that our little socialite here knows just how to ruin her through something like a press conference.”

“You I can stab,” Tim said with a shark sharp smile towards Jason.

Jason returned it with a smile like broken glass. “You can try.”

“Oh, if you keep calling me a socialite I will try and I will manage.”

“Boys, please.”

“Are people threatening blood and violence again?”

Every head in the room swiveled towards the door to the hall.

Tom almost recoiled at the sudden attention of all of the family, taking a half step back and looking a little wide eyed.

Cass walked forward and wrapped her arm around Tom’s. “Tim is. To Jason.”

It took a moment for Tom to tear his eyes away from the family to look at his sister. “Of course. What’s… it about this time?”

“Jason is reminding Tim that he’s a rich society brat and Tim hates to be reminded about that even though it’s true because Tim is also a little freak and the upper crust would be applaud if they knew even a fraction of it,” Steph said before she stuffed his mouth full of more popcorn.

Everyone in the room paused for a moment.

“No, yep, I think that’s pretty much spot on,” Dick said. He wasn’t even pretending not to laugh.

The laughter was infectious and almost everyone was either snickering or outright laughing. Bruce even quirked up a little smile. Tom still looked mostly confused but at least less nervous.

“Come sit by me, little shadow,” Dick said with a smile.

When Thomas settled next to Dick, who immediately wrapped an arm around him, the room settled again into that slightly somber mood.

“What is going on?” Tom asked, voice small. There were times when he still seemed unsure if he could be a presence in a room or consternation. It was something that they were still working on as a family.

Bruce sighed. “A reporter found out about you and wrote an article with mostly speculation. Unfortunately, because of who I am in the city and my existing tendency to adopt, it’s getting attention.”

Tom chewed on his lip and Bruce just hoped he wouldn’t worry it so much it bled. “Bad?”

“Not bad towards you, but unkind. She made a lot of guesses and fact reasons about why the public hasn’t seen you,” Bruce explained.

“Oh. Am I…?”

The dropping of words wasn’t the best sign. Dick pulled Tom into his lap.

“No. Most of the children didn’t attend the press conference announcing them and you don’t have to either. But I will need to make one simply to clear up some of rumors. I wont say anything that you don’t want me to say.”

“Bruce and I can plan it out,” Tim said, “and then run it by you if you want to look over it.”

“Can… will… if anyone wants to help…”

“Of course!” Dick said cheerfully. “We can make a lunch of it or something. It will be the best press conference yet.”

“Yeah. And you don’t even have to watch it,” Jason said. “We’ll plan something fun for that day. The old man can go and do the hard work and we’ll enjoy ourselves.”

“Thank you, Jason,” Bruce said dryly, pretending he wasn’t warmed still whenever Jason refereed to him as anything approaching father.

“It’s what you deserve,” Jason said and tossed his tablet, cleared of the article, on the table. “Come on, let’s plan what we’re going to do.”

“The zoo is always enjoyable,” Damian said.

“You always say zoo,” Cass pointed out as she perched next to Jason.

“What about the park?” Steph suggested. She joined the others at the table and passed around her popcorn.

“Nah, Ivy has a new variety of tulips. I’m worried some of them might turn man eating again,” Dick said.

“We could head out of Gotham I guess,” Jason pointed out and pulled up the map.

Bruce slipped quietly out of the room with Tim on his heels.

“You can stay with them and help them plan,” Bruce offered. Tim was always too grownup, had been since before he came to Bruce.

Tim just shook his head. “I’m never the best distraction. I’ll be more use to you. Besides, I have some plans to run by you that doesn’t need the blood thirsty contingency hearing about.”

“Of course you do,” Bruce said with both a sigh and a smile.

“Nothing physical,” Tim defended himself. “I can ruin her legally.”

“That I have no doubt of.”

No matter what, Bruce had absolutely no doubt that the family would be there for Tom. They were a family, after all.

---

AN: Vickie Vale won't know what hit her. Esp after what she wrote.

Don't know if this will become a full sequel or not, but it was fun to revisit this universe and see how they've progressed!

#dp x dc #shadow of a bat #rumors of a prince #batpham #phanTOM is Danny #and now Thomas Wayne

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prentissluvr · 4 months ago

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my boy only breaks his favorite toys — sam winchester

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

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no, sam. i’m fine, seriously.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“want me to help you in?” he offers.

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

“and if i said yes?” he jokes back.

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

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

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

“mhmm,” you nod, “thank you, dean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“why do i suddenly feel so stuck? i feel like there’s nothing i can do, like you’re slipping away, right through my fingertips! and that’s just the strangest feeling when, for the longest time, i was convinced that you’d be the one constant in my life. i really, really thought that way, sam. and i get that i’m biased and blinded by my own feelings, i just never imagined that you’d do anything like this, pull away so suddenly and quickly and adamantly like it’s your life’s mission to put a bulletproof wall in between us. so, i guess at the very least, i’d like a bit of an explanation as to why you don’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

your question hangs in the air, heavier and more smothering than a water-soaked wool blanket. you suppose you could keep talking; you’re not anywhere near out of things to say, but you need him to respond. he’s the one letting the silence take over, not you. he takes a deep breath, like he’s known he’d have to explain eventually, but would never be the one to willingly bring it up.

he answers plainly, almost honest. “it’s safer this way. it’s dangerous for you to be close to me.” you want to scream because you were right. you would’ve loved to have been wrong, for him to have magically had some good reason for all this. but in the end, it has come down to the evils of the world pressing down on a good man and that good man caving to believe what the evils tell him he is. you want to scream because sam is wrong. being close to him feels like saving grace.

he’s not cursed, he’s not the cause of all the pain and death that rains down on the people he loves. and what about him? what about all the pain and death that rains upon him? where does he get reprieve, an apology for being singled out and tossed through all of these horrors by unexplainable forces? why can’t he blame god? why can’t he see that it’s not his fault?

“that’s not true,” you beg, “and it’s not an excuse to treat me like shit.” he looks away, a physical manifestation of the fact that he doesn’t want to admit that you’re right about at least that.

“i’m not trying to… to hurt you.” sam face just falls. he looks devastated. he wasn’t trying to hurt you, in fact, he was trying to do just the opposite, but it happened anyway. “see?” he pleads, desperate for you to understand, “no matter what i do, being around me is hurting you. i can’t keep putting people through that.”

“so what? you’re gonna pretend to hate dean too?” you counter.

sam looks hurt. “i wasn’t pretending to hate you. i’d never even pretend to feel that way about you, i–” he stops himself before he can say the words and clears his throat, not trying to be subtle when he changes the subject. “dean’s different. he’s involved in all this shit too. he doesn’t have a choice but to be around me, but you? you could be safe somewhere else.”

“and you think i want that? you think i’d make the choice to leave you, just to be a little safer?” you want to keep going, but he interrupts you.

“no, that’s exactly it. you’d never leave us, and i know that. but if– if we stay at a distance, you might be safer.” he’s doing everything he can not to make it sound like he wants you to go. he just can’t explain that the issue is that he loves you, that he thinks the solution is to stop loving each other.

“that’s bullshit,” you shake your head. “sam, i know that you think you’re cursed or some shit like that, but it’s not true. none of this is your fault.”

“how? how is it not my fault? the people i love die because of me, and no other reason. how is that not my fault?” he argues, desperately believing himself.

“because you’re not the one who killed them! you didn’t make that choice. those things happened to you too, sam. how much grief and loss have you had to go through because of things you couldn’t control? it was never your fault, sam.”

“and yet, if they weren’t around me, they never would have died. it doesn’t matter what choices i made, it was the simple act of being close to me that’s gotten so many people killed. and i can’t lose you, too. i just can’t and it’s just too possible that it’ll be because of me. i can’t live with that. i can’t let you get hurt.” this is the most raw his voice has been in weeks, months maybe even. you can see just how completely, irrationally terrified he is that he’ll get you killed and you’re starting to think that he’s too far gone for you to reel back to reality, to hope and perseverance and closeness. but you can’t seem to give up, still full of things to say.

“that’s not how this works!” you refute. “this is my life, it’s your life, our life. and whether or not i’m around you or close to you, i’ll still get hurt! it’s not like i’m just going to quit hunting so you don’t have to worry. so sam, you could hurt me on purpose; pull away, refuse me when you have to know damn well how i feel about you. it’s not like i’ve ever really been that subtle, you were just never looking for it until now. or– or you could do your best and if i get hurt, it's an accident, right?” you practically beg for him to agree, for him to see that treating you this way is so much worse than anything else that could happen to you because of him.

he curses under his breath. you’re getting so close to saying the sort of words that will make his resolve snap, one way or another. he says nothing and you’re still waiting for him to understand you. so, you hit him with something even more solid and irrevocable than your logic: your love.

“you can’t seriously think that i’m going to just let things go on like this, can you? is this really your plan? to pretend we don’t care about each other? to throw over a decade of friendship out the window because you think somehow it’ll keep me safe?” you make sure that he’s looking you straight in the eyes as you continue, voice thick with emotion, “sam, there’s nothing, nothing that could keep me from loving you. i’ve loved you since you were seventeen, at least. i was watching you study, realizing that you really were gonna go to college. damn, i was so happy for you and i was ready to do anything to help you get there. then i started thinking about how much i was gonna miss you. wondering if maybe i could get away too. if we could get away together. the next week my dad dragged me away on another hunt and i didn’t see you for a year. we saw each other nearly right before you left and i considered asking if i could run away with you. but i didn’t want you to have to drag any remnants of the life with you, and i was exactly that. i wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway.

“and you know, the saying that absence makes the heart go fonder, it’s not psychologically true. the more time you spend with someone, the more you get to love them. but i really felt like it was sort of true because i missed you so bad that it made me love you all the more. i tried to talk dean out of asking you to come back to look for your dad, but when i saw you again i gave up on that. i didn’t care that you had had jess or that you liked madison or sarah, and sure, ruby hurt a little more than them, but no matter what, i just liked being close to you. when i saw you again, i swore i couldn’t look away. and i was content loving you through looks and longing and letting you be.

“but sam,” your voice cracks as you say his name and you try to swallow your tears, “this is just cruel. there’s not even anyone else, but you feel so much farther than you’ve ever been. you’d really refuse me after you dare to give me hope that you might actually love me back? i spend far too much time looking at you to miss the way you look at me. and i love listening to your voice so much that i could never miss the way your voice has changed when you talk to me as of late. you gave me hope for just a few weeks, and now you’re asking me to– to what?” you shake your head, not even sure what he’s trying to change or fix and how.

“you want me to let you go? and what, that’s it? do you want me to stick around but pretend i don’t love you? or– or do you want me to just stop loving you and you think that’ll somehow fix things? because that sure as hell isn’t possible,” you look at him so carefully, so deeply as you search for an answer in his eyes. “or do you just want me to go?”

you didn’t mean that question, but sam truly considers it. at first you desperately wish that you could take it back. you don’t want to go, you don’t think you can be apart from him like that.

but he goes and does the worst thing that he could and he tells you, “yes. you should go.” he can’t even look you in the eye when he says it and you know that you with certainty that you can’t stay. you can’t do that to yourself, to your pride, to your peace of mind. because with those four words he’s told you that he loves you, but not enough to try.

or too much, perhaps. he loves you too much to try, because it’s him who will really be worse off if something he does gets you killed. sure, you’d be dead, but sam… sam would be alive and stuck with far too much guilt and loneliness and loss and greif to deal with. but if you go, then sam can’t be responsible for you. he can’t curse you with his love that way, so sam may want you closer to him than he’s ever wanted anybody, but he wants even more for you to go.

you want to say something awful back. i hate you crosses your mind, but it’s so far from the truth that you couldn’t even say it out loud. if you did, it would still mean i love you.

you’re horrible, sam, is the next thing that falls into your mouth, but you clamp your jaw shut before those words can fall out. you don’t swallow though, you let the words sit on your tongue and you taste them and consider them. because in a way, they’re true. sam’s being horrible to you. but you’re naive, and, oh right, hopelessly in love with him, which means you want to spare him. it means that you don’t want to convince him further that he can never be good enough for you, because he is. he is when he isn’t being like this, and if he can figure it out, maybe he’ll beg on bended knee for you to come back, say he’ll do anything to make it up to you, tell you he still loves you so much and he can’t be apart from you if you’ll let him come close again.

but you’re so fucking angry at him. you’re almost blinded with love, but not quite because you already know that those hopes of yours are ridiculous moments after you think of them. he’s burned any possibility of you and him to the ground. you know this and you know that he knows it too. you hope it haunts him forever and you don’t care if that’s cruel.

“go ahead, sam,” you laugh humorlessly, bitterly. the sound makes him look up from the guilty hole he’s burning into the table top with his eyes. “add me to your list of ghosts before i’m even dead, and know, without a doubt, that this time it really was you who did it. you lit the match, sam. you pulled the trigger.” he looks at you, dumbfounded as if he finally understands what you’ve been trying to say this whole time but knows that he’s gone too far. once a trigger’s been pulled, it can’t be undone and he knows that. that knowledge is a sort of pain that rings in his ears and swirls violently in his stomach.

you grab your coat from the hanger on the wall beside you.

“wait,” he chokes out, tears shining in his eyes. you shoot him a harsh look and he shuts his mouth. he doesn’t get to say that word.

“i’ll call if i figure out how to stop the fucking apocalypse. otherwise, tell dean not to call, ‘cause i’m not coming back.” you grab your bag from the floor by the bed and walk past him to take all the cash from his wallet. you feel his eyes follow you until you reach the door.

hand on the door knob, you turn back to him and you stare him square in the eye to be sure he can see your tears, to show him he made you cry. you won’t tell him he’s horrible, so you’ll settle for a simple, “you’re wrong, sam. you’re wrong about this.”

then you walk out the door, cursing yourself for hating the sound of him crying more than anything in the world.

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sp1der-wid0w · 2 months ago

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⛧°。 ⋆༺living dead girl༻⋆。 °⛧

﹒⌗﹒characters with a vampire s/o﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧

.⋆♱ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐬. ✮: hobie brown, jennifer check, maddy perez, billy loomis, johnny cage

.⋆♱ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. ✮: saw my girl meg, and couldn’t get over miguel and damon soo.. enjoy these small drabbles of my baes meeting their vampire hottie 😘

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟhobie brown ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟhe honestly is ok with the fact that you’re a vampire. he thinks that’s it hardcore and such an anachronist move. whenever you feel a bit thirsty and needs your patch of blood, he’ll simply web you down to the local streets of london, and let you have it at criminals and bad guys. of course, the sex is ten times more intense, with you wanting to bite him, but choosing not to. but he insists, telling you to let your inner rebel out, and let the fangs reign over him. you promised him that you’re the only man that you won’t bite or kill, and you also agreed with him that you want hurt any of his friends (miles, pav, peter b, miguel..) you’re so happy that you’re dating such a supercool and awesome spiderman, and he’s so against the rules. and he’s so happy that he’s dating such a hot ass vampire chick, that eats whoever she wants, and doesn’t care of what comes in her way. you two are such a perfect match <3.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟjennifer check ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟjennifer thinks you’re hot. she thinks that she found her perfect match, with her being a succubus, and she wants you to and join her on her killing spree sometimes. it’s so fun seeing two girlfriends kill unsuspecting boys using their fangs and super strength. she’ll take you back to her place, whenever you both are done, and things escalate from there. even if you can do this, she’ll always try and protect you from any harm that comes your way. she already lost herself, she doesn’t want to love another thing that she loves in her life. arguments over who’s the better supernatural tend to happen, and it often ends with one of you sleeping on the couch, but she’s quick to make amends and ask for cuddles. you both go for midnight flys, chasing after each other in the clouds, and playing hide and seek. you also talk about your traumas on how you died, and then reassure each other that you’re loved and here for one another, and jennifer promises you that she’ll never leave you.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟmaddy perez ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟmaddy is lowkey terrified of you, but she still tries to manage with you anyways. move over nate, you’re the person that’s worth defending from anybody. but you’re not letting her be your pushover, you vowed to protect maddy from any toxic ex boyfriends, back stabbing best friends, harsh and strict mothers, and just anyone that tries to do her the wrong way. even thought dating a vampire has its advantages, you two do get into arguments. she doesn’t want you coming to parties, because she’s scared that you might go after her friends, especially you trying to go after cassie or rue. and, she’s also afraid for your wellbeing if you get a hangover. she believe the whole vampire myth of sunlight, and tries to keep you away from any alcohol as possible. you also get mad her, telling her that she’s not your mom, and often leave her place in the middle of the night. but you came crawling back and beg for her forgiveness. she forgives you<3

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟbilly loomis ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟhe thinks you’re a dream come true. he was quick to believe the whole vampire myths about sunlight, garlic, and steaks and stuff. but you just tell him that you’re not dracula or from twilight, and tell him the realities of being a vampire. billy is so sweet with you, whenever you’re feeling hungry, he goes out as ghostface and lures them to you, basically bringing you a midnight snack <33 you both go out your way to make anyone deadmeat, if they try and talk bad about each of you. he tells stu about you, and stu is always making a vampire type of pun, even in front of people, almost blowing your cover. billy had to smack him a few times for that. billy’s blood kink with you, goes a thousand times higher up in bed. always telling you to dig your fangs deeper, so deep.. so deep that it’ll cause some blood. he knows you like blood. he’ll go out his way to gut anyone like a fish for you, just so you can have blood.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟjohnny cage ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟjohnny cage lives in a world, where can throw hands with the ruler of the sun, and flirt with the beautiful yet equally terrifying nitara. if you not being a vampire isn’t any different, then he’s not sure what else is. he’s your golden retriever type of boyfriend, always wanting your attention, even when you’re out for a snack. you just deadass look at this man, trying to flex his muscles and wiggle his eyebrows at you, when your face is literally covered in an innocent person’s blood. he’s also being so affectionate with you, suffocating you with hugs and kisses, posting you on his social media the minute you breathe, and always talking about you to his friends. sure, he may be suffocating and annoying, but deep down you love your movie star boyfriend. but of course, you wear the pants in this relationship. the second he steps out of line, you bring the fangs and scary eyes out, and he backs up and apologizes immediately.

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sleepingelvhen · 9 months ago

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The Bat Boys 🦇

A Court of Thorns and Roses NSFW Headcanons [Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian] Minors DO NOT Interact Masterlist

RHYSAND

As the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand has been feared as long as he can remember. Lord of nightmares, Amarantha’s whore, Death Incarnate…he’s heard it all and he’s learned just as well to ignore the daggers the words stabbed into him. His inner circle are the only people he trusts, finding it easier to mask himself with the cold cruelty the world expects. But what if someone sees through that mask? When you look into his hardened gaze and see the kindness beneath – it’s enough to break even him.

SFW

His lips will press into your neck, arms wrapped around your body to keep you held against his chest. It’s impossible to step away, not when he desperately needs to touch you in some way, to keep reminding you that he loves you because he will not dare risk you forgetting. Try to pull away and you’ll find him giggling into your neck, leaving trails upon trails of soft kisses along your neck, your cheek, and into your hair until he tells you no and holds you tighter.

When I tell you this man loves physical affection, I mean you're being cuddled tightly in his sleep, your arm is always hooked into his own, you’re sitting on his lap when he has business to attend to, and every time he sees you, he leaves you with many kisses.

You’re always lavish with gifts. Jewelry placed upon your bed in the morning, chocolates and other snacks always appearing in the kitchen wrapped with ribbons for you. He likes to feed you these snacks, hold you on his lap and press one of the little chocolate truffles into your mouth. He looks so innocent, smiling as he does so. He just wants you to like his gifts, that’s all.

It’s scary to see his face turn cold when the two of you are in public, far away from Velaris. Rhys will keep his arm around your shoulder, body radiating danger to any who approach. One would see a possessive and violent male, keeping his mate so close they could never get away if they tried. But you know it's all an act. Indeed, he’d rather die than let you feel trapped or hurt. It was simply something he had to pull off, keep those within his court afraid and obedient. They respected his strength and coldness, and as such they respected you.

Sometimes it gets a bit too scary. Even you can get caught off guard at the command in his voice, especially when it turns on you. Your playfulness is not fully tolerated, especially when it pushes his cold mask. And with a stern voice telling you to stop, you can’t help but feel a little hurt. He will make it up to you as soon as he can, flying as fast as possible to Velaris, whispering so many apologies and kissing every part of your face so you can forgive him. He promises he’ll make it up to you. He promises.

NSFW

Rhysand loves seeing your face as he rolls his hips, rutting himself inside of you. You can see his face wrought in pleasure, as he stares into your eyes, moving slowly at first, letting you get used to his size. He wanted so much more but he was far from cruel. He coos softly, murmuring gentle praises about how gorgeous you look beneath him, how good you’re doing, taking him so well. But he wants to hear your voice, he wants you to moan and whimper, the sweet honey of your voice would hypnotize him.

He is the dominant one here, loving to be on top, loving to take control. He adores seeing you mewl beneath him, loves how he can grab you and move you around to his heart’s content. He will tease you through the whole way, touching you without reaching the parts you need to be pressed into, licking and kissing you but never letting you have what you want. It brings a cruel smile to his face, as you become putty in his hand.

Make him go completely weak and feral by wearing clothes that barely cover you. Teasing him with how he can nearly see everything, but not enough, the one spot he wants to see is covered with cloth, so tight against your skin. He’s drooling at the sight, and desperate to get you in bed as soon as possible.

Be careful when turning him on. He is unafraid to take you whenever and wherever. In fact, he gets off when people are watching as he’s stroking and rubbing and licking you. Your embarrassment would fuel him even more, loving the pink fluster upon your face, the way your lips tremble as you try not to let your body twitch and shake as he works you into the next orgasm.

And, of course, he will take you in the sky. Focused on flying but seeing you in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist. You're irresistible, so much so that he can’t help but lose control and take you right there. Who cares who sees? Who cares who hears how loud he’s going to make you? All that matters is getting his cock sheathed in you and allowing the canted movement of his wings to carry the two of you through the air as he desperately breeds you.

He’s unafraid to please you, he wants to please you. It doesn’t matter if he gets off or not, he wants his face between your legs, sucking at every sensitive bit, his tongue reaching places that make you scream. Fingers digging into the plush of your thighs, keeping you spread as he slurps up everything he can get. It’s like a fine wine to him, and he can’t get enough.

AZRIEL

Decorated in blue siphon and cloaked in shadow; Azriel is one of the most feared Illyrians in the land. Hidden and quiet within the dark, all the information his to know and no one’s to discover. It’s an understatement to say he’s intimidating, brooding in the corner of almost any room, listening to any gossip he can hear, and gaining even more information from the whispering shadows that coil around his feet, licking at his calves. And yet, as intimidating as he is, you can see the kindness behind his eyes. The desperation for someone to understand who he really was.

SFW

His eyes are always on you, watching over you as often as possible. Protective is an understatement, but he wouldn’t provoke…no, a cold gaze was often enough to ward away anyone who approached you with ill intent. But having him brooding in the corner wouldn’t do. You’d bring out the playfulness in him, grabbing his hands and dragging him into the party. People were uncomfortable but you…he could focus on you. A shadow of a smile was all you needed to know he was okay.

Azriel would be nervous of physical affection at first, worried he’d make you feel uncomfortable, afraid to push you away by moving too fast or coming off as too needy. Even after you’ve shown you’re okay with it, the most you get in public is him standing close in your space, his hand on your shoulder when guiding you or talking to you, or his hand planted on the small of your back, thumb rubbing circles in comfort.

He likes giving you little gifts as well. Almost like a crow, he’ll come up to you with a pretty little gem or stone he found or bought, looking to the side as you accept it. Maybe he’d buy some jewelry for you but he enjoys making you things, little crafting projects that make him think of you. It would be adorable if you taught him how to make cheesy friendship bracelets, the colorful cheap braided creations something he would find joy in making for you.

Do you have a lot to do today? He will offer his help immediately. If he’s not busy, he’s helping you with chores, or even silently doing something he knew you were gonna ‘get to later’. How did he know? Well…he’s a spymaster for a reason and the shadows aren’t just for show.

He loves just spending time with you. You don’t have to do anything together, but being in the same room as you, reading or cuddling, he doesn’t mind. As long as you’re there and you’re together, he’s happy.

Speaking of his little shadows – they adore you. They don’t just act as his little spies, they also show a bit of his own emotions and where he is a little on the edge about showing affection, they are swirling around your ankles, poking your face or curling around your wrist. Like little animals, swaying side to side once they see you, singing a melody only the two of you can hear.

NSFW

When I say this man is the kinkiest fucker. He’s needy and desperate and can’t keep his hands off of you. Squeezing your sides, pulling you roughly beneath him as he straddles you. Breathing in your scent and moaning into your ear, hands groping and stroking any part of you he can find. The way he will lick your inner thigh before searching for more with his mouth, ready to make you moan and writhe beneath him, desiring more than anything to hear your sweet sounds. He’s going in with one goal: to make you forget how to think.

Here’s hoping you are into the same things he’s into. He wants to tie you up, gag you, choke you, pull your hair, leave bite marks all over you, and spank you. And that’s not even all of it. Azriel is taking you in multiple positions, moaning obscenities into your ear, praising you for being such a ‘good slut’, because you take him so fucking well. One large hand wrapped around your throat while the other digs into your hips, crescent shaped marks left in your skin.

Lingerie really fucks with his man. Wearing any lacey, silky, article of clothing makes his mind instantly fog up and there will be no escaping him as he grabs your hand and pulls you towards the bed. He’ll make you keep it on while he pulls it to the side to slot himself in, growling as he fits so perfectly into you, his wings shuddering in pleasure. Grab his wings if the opportunity presents itself, rub them and scratch them, and you’ll hear the loudest moan you’ve ever heard from him.

As quiet as this man is, he has the dirtiest mouth imaginable. He’s insulting you, praising you, telling you what he’s gonna do to you to make you scream, and if it isn’t the hottest thing in the world. Go ahead and struggle, he loves it when you struggle against him, fighting futilely as he drives himself in deeper, holding you down with a grin.

He knows he’s done well when you start crying from overstimulation or pain. Azriel is licking up your tears, mocking you as he goes harder and faster, laughing darkly into your neck while sucking on the bruises he already made there.

You know his shadows are playing too. Wrapped around your wrists and ankles, pushing into you like separate appendages. Wherever he isn’t touching, they’re making up for it, and it’s so strange but amazing how they rub against you and push between your lips. Blanketing both of you in the heat of the moment in a cascade of shadows.

Azriel calms down a bit after multiple rounds of this, holding you close and whispering in your ear praises and apologies, worried he hurt you or that you hate him. Run your fingers through his hair and hold him close. You both will need a long bath afterwards, one you will end up sharing, cleaning one another.

CASSIAN

One of the most playful of the bat boys, Cassian is all cocky grins and flirtatious phrases. It’s a mask of sorts, hiding the negativity within him as best as he can. Many are intimidated by him and his strength, being the commander of The Night Court’s armies. Where others may cower from his shining gaze, you don’t see his strength as a trait to hide from. You can see the genuine kindness in his eyes, and the pain he hides below. And as someone he feels he can trust, he is unafraid to be vulnerable.

SFW

With a wide, cocky smile, Cassian will take you everywhere with him. It doesn’t even have to be work-related, and most often has nothing to do with it. You said you want to go see the stars? He’s flying you to the best vantage point, strong arms holding you close to his chest. You wonder what the other courts look like? Guess you’re going on a vacation. And he’s by your side every step of the way.

He loves holding your hand. As mundane as it seems, he loves seeing your small hand captured in his. He’ll be comparing your hand sizes, making fun of you for how small you are compared to him, and kissing your forehead while he keeps your hand entwined with his.

Joking around is his favorite way to show how comfortable the two of you are. He makes fun of you, and you make fun of him. He avoids any topics that would make you uncomfortable, and teases you in only the ways you find funny. He likes to poke your sides, sneak up on you and pick you up, and throw food at you.

If Cassian’s jokes do go too far, you just have to say so, and you’ll be met with apologies upon apologies. He’ll be sure to avoid whatever hurts your feelings in the future. Jokes and playfulness are meant to be all in good fun, and if you are feeling hurt then he knows he did something wrong.

Now, he may not be overly possessive, but if someone is flirting with you or making you uncomfortable, he is striding up, his arm wrapping around your shoulders while he glares daggers at whoever is even trying. The smile stays on, teeth glinting in a threatening kindness. You can complain and poke fun at him all you want, but he’s not letting anyone think they have a chance with you, not while he’s alive.

Expect long mornings laying in bed, his arm trapping you to his chest as he snores, his nose nuzzling your neck. He likes sleeping in as much as he enjoys training with his brothers. And his love of sleep only increases when you’re involved. “Five more minutes,” he's huffing into your ear, one of his hands covering your eyes. “Go back to sleep.” Any chance of leaving this situation disappears when he drapes his wings over your body like a second blanket, his arms wrapping around your stomach, and he throws his leg over your own.

NSFW

Sleepy morning sex. You’re just waking up, still hazy, and you’re finding yourself trapped in a tight cuddle. And as you struggle to get up for the day, he’s groaning and kissing your neck, slowly waking up. But he starts to press his hardened cock against your ass, his husky voice greeting you with a lust-filled, “good morning,” and you don’t know why you thought you’d be leaving the bed.

Cassian likes to move a bit slowly at first, hands caressing you, his hips rubbing against your body – teasing you in every spot you want him. Maybe he’s being lazy, or maybe he wants to hear you actually beg for it. Because, oh, when you beg for him, he’s smirking and shoving his hand into your bottoms, thick fingers rubbing you in all the right places, hooking inside of you to feel every inch.

And when you moan, he’s chuckling in that deep voice, praising you for your sounds. “Such a pretty noise,” he groans out. “Do that again.” And the more noises you make, the more impatient he gets. Soon enough, he’s pressing you into the mattress, your clothes half pulled off as he’s rolling his hips into you, moaning out in delight as your body wraps around him.

Cassian loves the little noises you make as he fucks you, and they get even more delectable when he pulls your hair. He can’t help how his hips stutter, his body shivering in delight as you gasp out, his hands tugging at the strands of your hair. He swears you tightened around him just then, and he plans to test out if that’s true.

Cassian certainly has a high sex drive, and one that can flare up at any time, often at inopportune times as well. You’re cooking in the kitchen? He’s wondering how you’d look bent over the counter. You’re talking with his brothers? His mind is going wild wondering how you’d feel if he just started touching you in front of them. And don’t think he wouldn’t do it, him and the bat boys have done some things around each other, and he’d be lying if he said the thought of being watched didn’t turn him on.

You want him to go crazy? To lose his mind? Ask him to breed you. Tell him you want to have his babies, and the next surface is where you're being pressed into for the next hour or so. Legs over his shoulders, arms wrapped around your waist, all while he’s rutting himself into you with reckless abandon. He just wants to fill you up and the thought of seeing you pregnant…well, now he needs another round.

Don’t worry about being exhausted afterwards, he’s immediately carrying you to a bath to clean you up. You need warmth for your muscles, and he needs to watch you covered in soap and tease you about what just happened. After your lovely little bath session, your back to cuddling, and falling asleep with him never once letting you go.

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