Competitive Part 1

[x] IMAGINE STEALING KAZ'S CLOTHES AND HE PRETENDS NOT TO NOTICE.

requested by anon

---

It had begun when you had been alone at Kaz's office and felt cold. You had been feeling lazy, so you had thought to borrow Kaz's shirt this one time. But you had ended up stealing that shirt. And a few more pieces of clothing after that.

You couldn't help it, you just found so much comfort from his clothes. And especially if they had a faint scent of him. You didn't put his shirt on every day, but when you missed him when he was away, it was a cold day or when you just wanted to have physical comfort from him, you put his shirt on and it kind of felt like he was holding you, even though you couldn't know how it would really feel like.

Today, it was a particulary chilly day and your regular attire didn't feel like enough. You glanced at the drawer where you had hidden some of Kaz's shirts - you knew they wouldn't warm you up any more than your own clothes would, and Kaz was present, so there was a greater risk that he'd catch you. But it was still tempting. You knew he wouldn't lash out on you about that, you still feared that it would feel embarassing for him.

But if you'd hide it well enough, he'd never know. So you slipped Kaz's shirt on, buttoning it up before putting your jacket on and ensuring that the shirt won't show up too much under it. Then you left your room, ready for the new day.

The day went on normally, Kaz was his brooding himself who snapped at Jesper and Nina whenever they made teasing remarks on how his tone of voice changed slightly with you or how his face softened just a bit when he looked at you. Kaz had tried to keep your relationship as a secret from the Crows too at first, but it didn't take long from them to figure it out.

And today, it was the first time you were wearing Kaz's shirt when he wasn't away. You thought you had succeeded in being subtle, that he didn't know, but he knew. Oh, he knew. He had known it since he first saw it when he returned earlier than expected from one of his heists, and suspected it already when three of his shirts were missing. And secretly, he loved it, seeing his shirt under your jacket. For him, it meant that you were fully comfortable around him. And until he would hopefully be better with touch, he was happy that you found physical comfort from his clothes when he couldn't provide it to you yet.

One day, he hoped he'd be able to hold you, but until then... his clothes would do it for him.

A/N: To the requester, thank you for your compliments ❤ And I know you requested a "fic" and probably waited for a longer piece but as much as I love Kaz, I can't keep breaking my own rules to make all my Kaz pieces long when the request is gif imagine-sized because otherwise I could burn myself out with Kaz because people would always assume long pieces even from the vaguest of requests and that would eventually also mirror itself on other characters I don't crush on. I'm sorry if I've disappointed you by not providing a oneshot.

Tags: @musicallisto @take-me-to-ny @mindofasupernova @lxncelot @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @vintagebitc @fandomstuffff @montsepliego @number-0-iz @just-a-new-start @kaqua @readingslumpfanfic @dancingwith-sunflowers @shadowhuntyi @rika90 @imma-too-many-fandoms @the-abyss-gazed-back @thereagles @kiwijulia @beatitlikeabongodrum @louweasleymalfoy @aliiiyyaaah @malfoys-demigod @aleksanderwh0r3 @gallysonegoodlung @maybe-potato @dustyjjumpwings @whatiswrongwithpeople @thegirlwiththeimpala @periwinklemax @lazyotakujen @bookfrog242 @mrs-brekker15 @notplutos @brekkersbane @subjecta13-thefangirl @hinagiku0 @brekker-zenik @brekkers-desigirl @statsvitenskap @janesofia7 @heyitsaloy @rqmanoff @mentallynotstableghost @katherinepetrovawife @scandalous-chaos @nyx2021 @lala2sstuff

 Cherry Bomb | Billy Hargrove x reader

The reader gives Billy a run for his money

Aka you’re loud and tough and have a cool car and for Billy that means love at first sight. I might have written him too sweet here but idc, this was supposed to just be a short little thing and then it took on a life of its own and here we are. Sorta follows the start of season 2 but then does its own thing lol

Masterlist

Requests are open!

(Will do a part 2 soon bc I like this reader lol)

Warnings: mentions of abuse, drinking, f slur/homophobia (thanks neil)

Tags: @smenny @infinitelyforgotten

Billy Hargrove hated this fucking town.

He hadn’t even been at the new house for a full week yet, and he hated it and everything around it. Hawkins was a little shithole, as far as he was concerned, full of hicks who couldn’t tell their left asscheek from their right. And the worst part? It was October, and it didn’t even look cool outside.

God, he wanted to go back to California. At least it was sunny there. At least he had the beach. This place was just gloomy and beige, the townspeople all boring and normal. Nice, conservative families, who dressed in nice, conservative clothes, and drove nice, conservative cars.

That really wasn’t Billy’s scene.

At all.

Keep reading

Scared to Love you - I

Pairing: Hangman x Reader

Warnings: Passing out, Swearing

Request: yes! by a lovely anon, find it here

Word Count: 7.9k 

Synopsis: Due to some grueling training and the extreme heat, you find yourself passing out from heat exhaustion. Luckily, Hangman is there to catch you. 

A/n: first Hangman fic lets goooo ! love this guy and it was such a pleasure writing for him :)

GIF by @unicornships

Keep reading

come on back to me - nikolai lantsov

summary: five times you save nikolai and one time he saves you.

a/n: if you've seen my thoughts as i read through siege and storm and ruin and rising then you know that i am deeply in love with nikolai lantsov and since ive finally finished the trilogy i finally feel qualified to write about him lmao. i actually don’t think i’ve written a 5+1 which is crazy so here you go. i wrote this in like 2 days in a spurt of inspiration and im absolutely in love with it, so i hope you all are too!!

title from you’re the one by greta van fleet

wc: 7.3k

warning(s): fem!reader, canon typical violence, siege and storm & ruin and rising book spoilers (i have not watched the show), medical inaccuracies, nikolai's volcra era, hurt/comfort and a happy ending (as usual)

Os Alta

It all happened rather quickly. 

One moment, you were in the infirmary mending a poor soldier’s broken arm. The next, screams were erupting everywhere. 

You and the soldier locked eyes, and you did a final bit of healing on his arm before you nodded at each other and darted off. 

The soldier grabbed his gun and went further into the palace, no doubt to find the royal family, and you adjusted the collar of your kefta before you ran out into the fray. 

Nichevo’ya had surrounded everything, attacking anyone they could find, and their shadowy bodies were like a void’s blight on the land. You knew the sight would be forever burned into your mind.

You knew the Darkling was going to march on Os Alta, that he would have to do it directly to use his shadow soldiers, but this was so much earlier, so much worse than you’d expected. Enforcements were meant to come from Poliznaya. You guessed that was off the table. 

You were fine at fighting—alright with a pistol and better with a dagger—but you were a Healer. You spent more time dealing with the aftermaths of battles, more skilled at setting broken bones and mending bullet wounds than inflicting them. 

Times like these were the ones when you normally questioned your decision to not hone your abilities into a Heartrender, but now you would at least be a dead man either way. Nichevo’ya didn’t exactly have hearts to stop and organs to manipulate. 

You had to get to the other Grisha. You had to make sure the Sun Summoner made it through this attack, even if it meant you wouldn’t. 

You broke into a sprint, trying your best to ignore the crippled and broken bodies in the carnage. Your instincts tugged against you, but you knew there was nothing to be done. If you stopped to help a dead man, you would soon join them. 

You nearly battered into a group of people from your speed and lack of attention, and you reeled to the side seconds before a head-on collision. When you looked up, drawing in ragged breaths in the one second of rest you’d gotten, your eyes widened. 

You were face to face with the royal family. The King, the Queen, and Nikolai Lantsov. The absence was glaring. 

“Grisha,” Nikolai breathed, and he grabbed onto your shoulders like a madman as his fingers ran over the embroidery. He might as well have been one, the way wildfire flickered in his eyes. “You’re a Healer? One of Alina’s?”  

You nodded rapidly. “Are you—” 

“I’m getting them to safety on the Kingfisher,” he cut off, “and she wants me to get that old woman as well.”

“Baghra—?”

“You’re a Healer?” the King interrupted harshly. Your heart stuttered—you’d never been directly addressed by the King, but you supposed circumstances like these called for different standards. 

“Yes,” you nodded. “Are you hurt?” 

“My wife,” he said, and your attention turned to the Queen. Genya’s absence had taken a toll on her, and the shards of glass sticking out of her side weren’t doing her pallid frame any favors. 

“Madraya,” Nikolai whispered, his eyes wide, “I didn’t even notice.” 

“Alexander—” her voice was ragged, her entire appearance pallid— “we’ve much bigger concerns.” 

“Nonsense.” The King’s gaze bore into you. “We have time. Heal her.” 

You screwed your eyes shut, your hands closing into fists for a moment before both opened and you nodded. “Keep an eye out, moi tsarevich,” you huffed, and you moved to the Queen’s side. Nikolai’s head perked up for a moment at your words, but it disappeared just as quickly as he adjusted his grip on his pistol. 

“Of course,” he said wryly. “Not that I don’t trust your work, and not that I don’t trust my abilities, but it would be grand if you could do this quickly.” 

“Working as fast as I can,” you muttered, ignoring the noises the Queen made as you pulled the shards of glass out with little care. Your mentors would be rolling in their graves if they could see you. 

“Vasily is dead, by the way,” Nikolai said, attention focused on the nichevo’ya all around. Thankfully, you’d run into each other in a spot relatively hidden from view. Hopefully it extended to shadow creatures. “I know you were wondering.” 

Your hands faltered for a moment, but it was hardly noticeable as you continued to work. He wasn’t wrong. “I’m so sorry.” 

The Queen choked back a sob, and the King’s face betrayed the slightest bit of emotion. 

“An awful way to go,” Nikolai muttered, more to himself than anything. “But fitting that he brought about his own end.” 

His parents said nothing to your surprise, but you stood up from your knees and nodded at the King and Queen. “She’s healed enough. No internal bleeding, at least.” 

“Healed enough?” the King repeated. “That is not—” 

“It’s the best we can hope for,” Nikolai interrupted sharply. “We’ve already wasted too much time out here.” 

He then nodded, grasping your hands with fierce desperation. “The crown thanks you, darling.” You’d never seen him like this—you’d never seen him fear anything. The Darkling and his creations were a good start. “I thank you, truly.” 

“Just doing my duty,” you assured, and you pulled a small container out of the pocket of your kefta, leftover from your work in the infirmary before it all went to hell, and pressed it into his hand. “She should be alright, but I’ve been slightly rushed. Rub this salve on her wounds when you’re out of danger just to be sure.” 

Nikolai nodded again, slipping it into his own pocket. “Keep our Sun Summoner safe,” he said. “Or else this’ll have all been for nothing.” 

You nodded. “With my life.” 

Nikolai’s eyes met yours, and something unsaid passed between you. Then his hands slipped off of yours, and he continued to herd his parents away from the chaos. You muttered a quick prayer to any Saints that would listen for their safety, and then you head off on your own way. 

2. The Pelican 

You thought either the bones in your hands or the wood was going to crack with how tight you were holding onto the side of the ship. Your heart was still hammering away in your chest—the adrenaline from the battle and Nikolai Lantsov’s sudden appearance and being shot at a thousand different times by a thousand different militiamen still had you quite shaken. 

You knew the sort of chaos you were in for when you made the decision to travel with Alina Starkov rather than stay in the White Cathedral, but you think you hated being in the air like this even more than you hated being trapped underground with those zealots. 

Someone called your name, and you turned to see Adrik a while away with wide eyes. You huffed a sigh as you reluctantly let go and hastened your pace to catch up with him. If he was sent to fetch you, then someone needed healing, and you couldn’t exactly hold off on the one thing you were good at. 

Adrik led you over to a corner of the Pelican where a large portion of your group of Grisha were gathered. Tamar was kneeling next to whoever was injured, one hand splayed above their chest, and you took a deep breath as you forced calmness to wash over your mind. 

“What are we dealing with?” you asked Tamar, but it was clear enough when he spoke up. 

“I’m telling you, it’s fine,” he insisted. “Just a flesh wound.” 

“He was shot,” Tamar said dryly, “and he refuses to accept its severity.” 

“So we meet again,” you said placidly. 

Nikolai seemed to perk up when he saw you, any prior frustration absent from his face as he grinned at you and said your name. “If you’re the Healer here, then I guess I’m not so fine.” 

“Am I ever going to be around you when you’re doing important princely things,” you said as you crouched on the other side of him, Tamar continuing to keep his heart rate steady, “or only when you’re injured?” 

“This is a very important princely thing,” Nikolai said. “I’m showing my soon to be subjects that I’m just like them.” 

“You were shot and you thought you were fine?” You let out a loose sigh and shook your head—it wasn’t worth getting into it. “Keep it steady, Tamar.” 

She nodded, and you reached out to begin unbuttoning his outer coat. He wouldn’t stop shifting around, and it made it infinitely harder. 

“Will you sit still?” you snapped. 

“I am,” Nikolai said. 

“You are not,” you asserted, and you undid the final button on his coat after a struggle, “and you are making this much more difficult.” 

“My apologies,” he said. “Usually women that are taking off my clothes aren’t this angry with me.” 

You scowled, only making his smile grow. 

“You do it yourself if you want to be like that,” you said, letting your hands fall back to your side. “I’m sure the rest of your soldiers will listen to a Healer.” 

“Ah, but none of them bravely threw themselves into danger for you,” Nikolai remarked. “I’m sure that earns me a few points.” 

“Points that you’ve immediately lost by being this difficult with me.” You crossed your arms. “And you did not throw yourself into danger for me—you were in the battle and you got shot.” 

“We came to save you all, and you are a part of it,” Nikolai said. “I’d say I definitely threw myself into danger for you.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Will you not even allow a dying man some honor?”

“You are not dying,” you said, “but you will be if you continue talking. Now take off your clothes and stop being so difficult so I can fix this up before you do die.” 

He tutted as he shed his jacket and worked on the rest of his clothing. Princes were apparently fond of multiple layers. “For a Healer, your bedside manner is remarkably poor.”

“Don’t worry,” Nadia piped in, “she’s always been like this.” 

“I have very fond memories of you healing my broken ribs,” Alina said dryly. 

“All of you are still alive,” you said tartly with a glance back at your fellow Grisha, “aren’t you?” 

“I think you made me wish I wasn’t,” Harshaw mused. 

You scowled again and Nikolai laughed. “That bodes very well for me, considering how much I seem to irritate you.” 

“You’re going to be fine,” you grumbled. When you turned back to him, he’d gotten down to his undershirt and unbuttoned it. Blood had spread across the white fabric, but apart from being shot, the wound wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. It’d had the chance to fester for a bit, but with Tamar’s aid it hopefully wouldn’t be a problem.  

You took a deep breath as you placed your hands on his chest—lucky as always, you could sense the bullet missed all his major organs—but Nikolai grimaced before you could even do anything. 

“Are you alright?”

“Your hands are very cold,” he said and you just shook your head. 

“How no one has wrung you by the neck is beyond me.” 

“Many have tried.” He flashed that smile again. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add your name to the list.” 

You ignored him, taking another deep breath before you closed your eyes. You felt your power within you, the tug you’d grown accustomed to over the years, and you focused it into a single point. 

You slowly worked on healing Nikolai, making sure you went from the inside out to stop any internal bleeding before you carefully wedged the bullet out with your knife. Surprisingly, he managed to keep his mouth shut for the most part. He watched you the entire time though, wholly unyielding, and it was unnerving. 

Nikolai covered up his pain remarkably well, but you still caught the slightest grimace when you practically stuck a dagger inside him.

“Do you always try to injure your patients more when you’re healing them?” he asked innocently. 

“You typically don’t make fun of the person fixing you up,” you said, and you held up the knife, “or the one holding the blade.”

“Surely you could’ve used David to get it out,” Zoya offered lazily. “Better than practically stabbing the King of Ravka.”

“I’m not the king,” Nikolai said. “Not yet, at least.” 

“And I’m not stabbing him.” You held up the bullet with your other hand, then let it fall to the floor. “I just didn’t feel like digging around inside him.” 

Nikolai picked up the bullet, and you frowned in question. He just shrugged. “To hold onto the fond memories of this battle and the kindest, prettiest Healer I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

Someone snickered behind you, and you turned to see all of them just standing around—Zoya, Harshaw with Oncat perched on his shoulder, Adrik ignoring his sister to watch, even Alina and Mal were still there. At least Tamar had enough sense to stay quiet while she helped you. 

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you snapped. “It’s hard to focus with you all watching me.”

Alina blinked, seeming to come back to her senses. You almost didn’t blame her—she had so much on her shoulders, it made sense to just want to stand and stare for a minute.

“Right,” she nodded, and she gestured at Zoya and the Squaller siblings as she started walking across the ship, “Adrik, Nadia, I need you all over…”

Alina's words trailed off as she got farther away, and the small crowd dissipated to find duties to carry out without their Sun Summoner to indulge their whims. 

“Thank you for your help, Tamar,” you mumbled. “I can take it from here.” 

She nodded and went off to join the others—the controlled state Nikolai had been in dissolved as she let go of the hold she had on his heart, and the slight daze in his eye went away. 

“Are you always this mean?” Nikolai asked. You turned back to find him with that same unshakable confidence, same lazy smile even in the face of it all. It was no wonder noble and commoner girls alike tripped over themselves when he returned to Ravka. 

It was no wonder Alina fell for his charms despite the tracker by her side—he always knew the right thing to say to make you feel like everything would be okay, and in the midst of Ravka’s endless war, that was a valuable quality indeed.

“I save it for irritating princes,” you remarked. With a final flourish, his wound was sewed up, and Nikolai raised his eyebrows as he touched the newly healed skin.

There was another slight wince, but he still smiled up at you. “Excellent job.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Grisha handiwork,” Nikolai said as he pulled himself up from the side of the ship. “Especially the healing kind.”

“It would do you good not to get used to it,” you said. “You may not be king yet, but Zoya is right. I’d appreciate it if you tried to stay out of my infirmary.”

“Do you not enjoy my company?” he asked. 

“I don’t enjoy bringing Ravka’s only heir back from the brink after every battle,” you corrected. “You’ve got a lot more weight on your shoulders now, moi tsarevich.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly at your Ravkan. “Say that again.”

You frowned, wondering if you’d heard him correctly. Nikolai continued staring at you, so you sighed. “Moi tsarevich?”

He laughed, and that only soured your mood further. “What are you laughing about?” 

“I recognized it back during the attack but I didn’t fully think about it,” he said. “It comes out the most with your R’s. You’re not Ravkan, are you?”

You paused at his sudden subject change. “You were focusing on my accent when everyone was dying around us?” 

“Answer the question.” 

Your frown deepened. “I am in most senses of the word.”

Nikolai’s eyes narrowed. “You’re Kerch.”

Your lips twitched. “Yes, but I don’t—”

“You still haven’t lost the accent somehow,” he continued. “At least, in how you speak certain Ravkan words. Is it Ketterdam?”

“Don’t you have better things to do than quiz your Healer on her childhood?”

“Perhaps,” Nikolai said, eyes twinkling, “but if you’re really my Healer, as you said yourself, I’m surely allowed to ask as many questions as my heart desires.”

“Your heart desires no more,” you said wryly. “I have other injured to attend to. Call if you find yourself actively dying.”

To his credit, he didn’t try to fight it. Just offered that same smile that weakened knees from the Kaelish to the Shu. “I’ll be sure to ring before I’m dead and buried.”

“Put your clothes back on before you do,” you said.

“Ah, but isn’t this your reward for putting up with the irritating prince?” Nikolai asked with a slight gesture at his chest. “I’d imagine you’d want to keep an eye on your handiwork.”

That sparked a rare smile of your own, and you bowed your head. “Moi tsarevich,” you said before you walked off.

You felt Nikolai’s eyes on you even as you approached an injured First Army soldier, and after the first few preliminary questions you couldn’t help but look back. 

When you did, he was gone. 

3. Monastery of Sankt Demyan

You sat on the Spinning Wheel, off to the corner so you wouldn’t be disturbing anyone, staring at your hands as you tried to ignore the thousands of things bumping around in your mind. You’d been on the run with the Sun Summoner and a smattering of other Grisha for longer than you would have liked, but you had to accept that this was what life would be like until the Darkling was either defeated or destroyed you all. 

It was a damning sort of fate, knowing what awaited you unless the impossible was done. At least it would be quick if the nichevo’ya tore you apart. 

You grimaced. That was one thought that would do you no good—if you’d made it this far, from Os Alta under the Darkling’s control to Os Alta under Lantsov control to the White Cathedral and now to Fjerda of all places, what was one more piece of the puzzle? 

A very big piece of the puzzle, of course, and there was still the intrinsic distrust that some soldiers—and even Alina at moments, flickers of it you could see in her eyes against her will—had towards you. You, like the rest of the Grisha here that hailed from the Second Army, served the Darkling until you’d switched sides. You wanted nothing more than to see the Darkling to his grave, for Ravka to be restored and for all of this to be over. 

But you had switched sides in the first place, and you knew enough from the looks of those soldiers—they still believed that if you could betray the Darkling, you could always still betray the Sun Summoner if given enough cause. 

You didn’t try to dissuade their views through words; it wouldn’t do any good. You just hoped the long hours you spent holed up in the infirmary healing the injured would. You missed Maxim if only so you wouldn’t have to do it all alone. 

“Vlachka for your thoughts?” 

You looked up, surprised to see Nikolai Lantsov of all people. You hadn’t held a true conversation with him since you healed him after his bullet wound. He’d been busy with princely things like banishing his parents and saving Genya’s livelihood. 

You were thankful for that, at least. She’d suffered too much at the hands of the Darkling and the King. 

“You’d need a lot more than that,” you said. 

He smiled. “I’ve got quite a bit. Have you seen this place?” 

You chuckled and shrugged. “Just thinking. About our next move, about the Darkling, about what will be after this.” 

“You certainly aren’t the only one,” Nikolai said. “Lately it seems to be all anyone can think about.”

“I’m sure you’d much rather have them thinking of you,” you said wryly. 

“Oh, there’s plenty of that going on as well.” Nikolai smiled. “An even balance, I’d say.”

You chuckled again. “What brings you here, Nikolai?” 

He shrugged. “I wanted to get to know my Healer.” 

You huffed a sigh and looked away. “Why do you call me that?” 

He was awfully good at feigning innocence. “Call you what?” 

“My Healer,” you repeated. “Your Healer. I don’t understand it.” 

“I like the sound of it,” he said. “I’ll stop if you don’t like it.” 

You felt your cheeks heat and you felt his eyes on you. “It’s not that. It’s just—” 

“Because I can,” he continued. “Would you prefer lapushka? Milaya? Perhaps babya.”

You scowled as you turned back to him, and you hit him lightly on the shoulder. “You should stick to the seas and the throne, moi tsarevich. Comedy is not your strong suit.” 

“I like it when you call me that,” he mused. “I like your accent, your voice.” He sat down next to you, mildly unexpected, and you hoped you did better at hiding your surprise than it felt. “There’s something soothing about it.” 

“I am from Ketterdam,” you said after a moment. “You guessed right. Born and raised. When my abilities started showing, my parents put me on a ship to Ravka with a map, some vlachki, and the clothes on my back. I made my way to the Little Palace, pleaded my case to the Darkling, and I haven’t seen them since.”

Nikolai was silent, and you fully turned to look at him. “You wanted to know more about me. That’s who I am. A girl from Ketterdam in over her head.”

“Give yourself some credit,” Nikolai said. “You’re a woman from Ketterdam in over your head.” 

You huffed a laugh, and Nikolai’s expression softened a bit. “Why did they send you away? If that’s alright to ask, of course.” 

You shrugged. “Being a young girl in the Barrel is bad enough. If anyone figured out I was Grisha, I would either be dead in the streets, indentured before I could blink, or worse.”  

“They thought it would be safer in Ravka,” he guessed. “In the Second Army.” 

You nodded. “They couldn’t have known any of this would happen,” you said dryly. 

“Do you miss your parents?” he asked. 

“Every day,” you said quietly. “We sent letters when we could, but it was never enough. And those stopped after Alina left the Little Palace, obviously.” 

You didn’t need to recount the months of the Darkling’s madness as he searched for his Sun Summoner. Nikolai might have been Sturmhond at the time, but you didn’t doubt that he had contacts in the Little Palace. You didn’t exactly want to remember it either. 

“How about this?” Nikolai adjusted his position so he could look right at you, those smart hazel eyes enough to get lost in. You forced yourself not to. “On the slim chance that we make it through these next few weeks, when the dust has settled and I’m officially King, I’ll charter a ship for you back to Ketterdam.” 

Your head whirled back to look at him, eyes widening. There was no sign in his eyes of a false promise, only that soft smile, charming as ever. You had the sudden, misplaced urge to wind your fingers into those blonde curls and kiss him. 

“You’d do that for me?” 

He nodded. “Of course. Only the best for my Healer, right?” 

That got a laugh out of you, but the heat rose to your cheeks all the same. “That would be incredible, Nikolai. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

He looked—gazed— at you for a touch longer than usual before he spoke again. 

“There’s going to be a meteor shower later tonight,” Nikolai said. “One of my crew figured it out—he’s very fond of the sky, and he told me it would be… quite the sight.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. Was he—

“I’d like to watch it with you,” Nikolai continued. “Of course, I have to put on a display with Alina, but after that,” he looked over at you, hazel eyes gleaming, “I’d like to spend the night with you.” 

It took a moment for your brain to fully process his words. “Moi tsarevich, are… you asking me on a— a date?” 

“Just Nikolai, please,” he said with a grin. “And yes, I am.” 

It seemed so trivial in the scheme of things. You were leading an impossible battle against the Darkling, and as a traitor to his throne, you would end up dead or worse if he caught you. The near entirety of the Second Army was dead, friends you’d grown up and honed your power alongside with ripped apart by nichevo’ya. Your chances for victory relied on the firebird, and no one knew a damn thing about it. 

It was trivial. It was frankly ridiculous, for the prince— the King of Ravka—to be asking you on a date, especially when it was imperative for him to present a certain image with Alina. 

But for all the triviality and ridiculousness and idiocy, you found that you’d never wanted to accept something so badly. 

So you did. You nodded, smiled, brighter than usual. Nikolai seemed to have that effect on you. 

“I’d love to.” 

“Wonderful.” Somehow, impossibly, his grin grew bigger. Nikolai took your hand and pressed a delicate kiss to it before he stood back up—you’d never been so thankful for his confidence, because you found yourself at a loss for words. “I’ll see you tonight, darling. Try not to get into too much trouble without me.” 

You nodded again, and you knew you looked like a dazed idiot. The better half of a decade spent training as a Grisha and all it took was a kiss to your hand for your brain to stop working. You really had been at war for far too long. 

Nikolai could tell every thought—or lack thereof—in your head by the overly pleased expression he wore as he walked away, and your entire face burned as you bit back your smile. 

He knew exactly what he did to you. 

4. The Bittern 

Sergei sold you out. 

That son of bitch had betrayed you all to the Darkling the first chance he got, and he’d been rewarded with a quicker death than any of you would get. 

You’d been left fighting for your lives against the Darkling’s oprichniki, Grisha, and nichevo’ya alike, and as usual, you were hopelessly outnumbered. You knelt over Adrik as Zoya, Nadia, Harshaw, and David kept the crowd of enemies back, doing your damnedest to keep him from bleeding out from his nichevo’ya bite. 

His arm hung at a bizarre angle, and you didn’t know how you would tell him and his sister you didn’t think you could save it. You were sure Genya’s whispered words were the only thing keeping him even slightly calm.

By the time the Bittern was in the air, precarious but afloat, you were about ready to collapse. It had all been too damn much, with the Darkling and Baghra and Nevsky, and now the poor schoolboy lying beneath you with an arm you couldn’t save. 

“He’ll be okay,” you murmured to nobody but yourself, wiping beads of sweat from your forehead as you laid against the side of the ship. As okay as any boy who lost his arm to a shadow monster and went through what he just did. 

Thank the Saints for Tolya keeping both Adrik’s and your heart steady during that ordeal, because you were sure your panic would have won over. 

Everyone in your motley crew was injured in some way or another, and you were the only Healer. Soon you were back on your feet, pushing the horrors of the night out of your mind as you mended lacerations and fixed up bullet wounds. 

Every so often, your eyes would drift over to Adrik. You’d healed him the best you could, but it wasn’t enough. 

And then your mind went to Nikolai. 

Nikolai. 

In the chaos of the battle and the subsequent healing haze, you hadn’t even realized he wasn’t with your group. The Pelican had taken off before you all got to the Bittern, but Nikolai wouldn’t have left Alina on her own after all he’d done to ensure her safety. 

You were almost too scared to ask, but you did anyway. 

“Alina,” you asked, slightly surprised at the sound of your voice in the silence of the night, “where’s Nikolai?” 

Her eyes were unfocused, arms crossed around her midsection for warmth despite the light that glowed beneath her skin. “The Darkling,” she murmured. 

“Wh— what did he do to him?” you continued. “What in the Saints’ name happened to him, Alina?” 

“He ruined him,” she whispered. “He turned him into a monster.” The look on Alina’s face broke you into even smaller pieces. “He turned him into a monster all because Nikolai dared to stand against him. He’s gone.” 

Your grip tightened on the side of the ship as she explained what she had to watch, and your knees threatened to buckle. 

Maybe it was stupid, but you hadn’t even realized you cared this much about the prince. The king, you had to keep reminding yourself. But the thought of him hurt—a hurt that you couldn’t heal—it tore your heart to shreds. 

Only last night you were laying on a blanket next to him, staring up at the meteor shower through the glass dome. He’d never looked more beautiful than he did then, with the streaks of light illuminating his handsome features and those hazel eyes you’d grown to appreciate. 

Few words had passed between the two of you, but once Nikolai had taken your hand in his, neither of you let go for the remainder of the night. That urge to kiss him came back in spades, but you never acted on it. 

Saints, you wished you had. 

“Do you think you can heal him?” Your voice sounded oddly foreign, but you didn’t even feel like you were in your body. Like you were watching it all happen from above, because this couldn’t have been happening. Not to Nikolai— to your Nikolai. 

You were his Healer, and he was your Nikolai. That was how it was supposed to be. 

“I don’t know,” Alina admitted, her tone strained. “My light might be able to help, but… but whenever I’ve used it against the nichevo’ya, against the volcra, I— it kills them.” 

Her voice broke on the last few words, and you wanted to hug her. Alina didn’t love him, you knew that much, but anyone could tell she’d grown close to Nikolai over the months. She was hurting just as much as you. 

You didn’t. You found that you couldn’t do much but stare into the night sky.

He was all alone. Forced into a monster, and now he was all alone. 

It felt like ages before the Bittern finally landed, everyone’s teeth stained rust-orange and bones run deep with exhaustion. Everyone was still alive when you woke up the next morning, and after another check-up on Adrik, you went off into the woods under the guise of searching for kindling. 

Really, you needed some time to yourself. After what had happened—Sergei’s betrayal, losing even more Grisha when you had little to start with, Baghra’s sacrifice, Adrik and his arm, and— and Nikolai—

It was too much. It was just too damn much. 

You’d never gotten close like this to anyone before, never moved further than some useless flirtations and a few stolen kisses with various Grisha when you were bored back at the Little Palace, and when you finally did, with the damned future King of Ravka, this is what happened. 

Guilt tore away at you as you plodded through the woods, and you let the tears you’d been holding back all night fall. You wished you’d been there for him. You wished you’d kissed him. You wished you were strong enough to take the Darkling down on your own for what he’d done. 

The hairs stood up on the back of your neck, and you heard the rustling of branches. You whirled around to the source of the sound, taking a few steps to peer through the trees, and that was when you saw it. 

Your eyes widened and your heart cracked all at once. 

“Nikolai,” you whispered. 

You’d have recognized him anywhere. Despite the shadowy veins splintering across his chest, the wings furled behind his back, claws and fangs in place of fingers and teeth—he was still your Nikolai. His blonde curls remained, his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw, even his clever eyes—even if they were black instead of hazel. 

The smear of blood around his mouth was a sharp contrast to it all. You wondered what—or who—had become his unlucky victim when he could no longer control his hunger. 

Nikolai didn’t move as you stepped closer. His dark gaze was unreadable and you wanted to sob for what the Darkling had done to him. 

“It’s me.” You continued to speak softly as you moved closer, saying your name in hopes of even a spark of recognition. “Your Healer.” 

His eyes followed your movements, his gaze falling down to your hands. He pointed at them with a clawed talon.

You held them up. “My hands?” 

You realized the blood around his mouth wasn’t the only bit of it on his body as your eyes trailed across his bare chest. There were cuts all across his arms and chest, most small but some deeper. He pointed at a thin scar near his abdomen, the only sign of the bullet wound you’d stitched up. 

He wanted you to heal him. He knew who you were. 

This time, a small sob escaped you, and your hand flew up almost on instinct to cover it. You brushed the tears brimming in your eyes as you moved closer to him, and you gently placed your hand on his arm. You felt his limb stiffen for a moment before they relaxed, and you couldn’t help your small smile. Your Nikolai was still there. 

The thin cut vanished as you healed it, and you continued to do the same for the myriad of other injuries on his body. You felt his gaze on you the entire time, and some part of it was comforting. Nikolai was still there—his humanity was still there. This was the least you could do to make him feel the part. 

Once you’d healed up the last of his wounds, you felt the glow of Grisha power inside of you. Nikolai grabbed onto your hand the moment you’d finished, and you looked up into his dark eyes as your fingers clasped around his talons.

“We’ll figure this out, Nikolai,” you whispered. “I promise.”

The corner of his lips curled up ever so slightly, the barest sign of the old smile you’d grown to love.

And then he let go of your hand, and he shot up into the air. It took only seconds for him to disappear, but your gaze remained stuck in place. 

All you could think of was Nikolai’s dark eyes and the shattered shadows beneath his skin, the feel of his taloned hand in yours.  

You would find a way to bring him back. You knew that much. 

5. The Shadow Fold 

“For Saint’s sake— catch him, Zoya!” 

“You screeching at me isn’t helping,” she snarled, her hands held out above her as she summoned wind to break Nikolai’s fall. 

It was almost laughable, how Alina ended it all with a bit of stabbing. First Mal, then the Darkling—now Soldat Sol and oprichniki alike were glowing like human lamps around the Fold. The nichevo’ya dissolved with the Darkling’s power, the same thing that created Nikolai’s monster—you screamed in general when you first saw him falling, and then you screamed at Zoya. It was a credit to her growth that she didn’t slap you first. 

Thankfully, the updraft did its job, and he only landed in the sand at concerning speeds rather than very concerning. 

You ran for him without thinking, not even feeling the jolt in your ankles as you lept from the skiff onto the sands. You no longer had to fear the Fold—the various Sun Soldiers that had gotten Alina’s powers had done away with the remainder in no time—and even if you did, you would brave a thousand volcra for Nikolai. 

He looked so small, so vulnerable laying there in the sand, only clad in torn pants and a myriad of bruises. The last of the shadows receded when you finally reached him, and you didn’t try to stop the tears as they flowed freely down your cheeks. 

“Nikolai,” you whispered, falling to your knees in the sand next to him, “Nikolai, can you hear me?” 

You cradled his head in your hands, tears splattering in the sand around you, and then his eyes opened. 

His beautiful hazel eyes opened and looked right at you, his lips tugging into a smirk as he said your name. 

“Would you say this is an important princely thing?” His voice was husky, damaged from whatever dark thing that had taken a hold of him, but the usual lilt was there. “Or just another injury?” 

You broke into full on sobs, unabashedly and unashamed as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a hug. You felt his arms around you as well, and he rubbed circles on your back. 

“I had time to think,” Nikolai murmured, “and I think I’ll settle on lapushka.” 

Darling. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, and you moved away from him just so you could look at him, gaze at him, never forget his beautiful features. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

“I knew I would be,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I had you looking out for me.” 

“Stop,” you said, your voice watery. “I can’t keep crying in front of you.” 

“I think you’ve more than earned it, lapushka.” 

You laughed again as you shook your head. “How do you feel? Can you still move all your limbs?” 

Nikolai took his hand in yours, fingers intertwining with yours. His gaze didn’t move from you. “Limbs are fine.” 

You let your smile shine unabashed as you squeezed his hand, thankful for the lack of talons. “Can you sit up?” 

Nikolai visibly winced at the effort, but he managed with your help. “My chest hurts quite a bit.” 

“You’ve definitely broken some ribs,” you murmured, “but it’s nothing I can’t fix up.” 

“There’s nothing you can’t fix,” Nikolai said. 

“Careful with all the praise. I might get used to it.” 

“Good.” 

You glanced over to see Tolya and Zoya moving across the sand towards you and you looked back at Nikolai. 

“We’re going to get you back on the skiff, Nikolai,” you said. “I’ll get you healed up and then we’ll get you some clothes. Alright?” 

“I told you,” Nikolai said, “this is your reward for putting up with the irritating prince.” 

“That was for the prince,” you said, running a hand through his blonde curls to untangle them. “My reward for putting up with irritating kings is to make sure they’re clothed and healed.” 

His smile shone brighter than anything Alina could conjure up. 

The Darkling’s Skiff 

You ended up below deck with Nikolai, Tolya, an unconscious Alina and Mal, and the Darkling’s body. It normally wouldn’t have been a cheery atmosphere, but you were just thankful to be alive after all you’d done. Thankful that Nikolai was alive and himself and that the Darkling was dead. 

A First Army uniform was folded next to Nikolai’s makeshift cot where you sat next to him, and Tolya’s companionable silence was appreciated as he stayed by Alina and Mal to ensure they stayed alive. 

“You broke a few ribs in your fall,” you murmured, your hands placed on his chest, “but overall, I’d say you made out pretty well.” 

“Yes,” Nikolai said wryly, looking at his hands. Faint black lines ran across each of his fingers, where claws had torn through his skin. Though the other shadowy marks had faded, these appeared to be permanent. “Pretty well.” 

“You know what I mean, Nikolai.” You moved your hand over his ribs and focused your power—by the slight grimace on his face, the itch that came along with Grisha healing, you knew they were mending back together. “You’re still alive. You’re you again. That means everything.” 

“And your hands are still freakishly cold,” he mused. You smiled. 

A moment passed before he spoke again. 

“You know,” Nikolai said, and you felt his eyes on you again, “I remember everything. Everything that I did when I was that… that thing.” 

Your throat bobbed, but you nodded, encouraging him on. 

“I went to you,” he said, “and… you helped me. You weren’t afraid—you understood what I meant, and you healed me.” 

“Of course I did,” you said softly. A smile tugged at your lips. “I am your Healer, after all.” 

Nikolai placed his hand over one of yours, and your power wavered for a moment as your heart stuttered. 

“One of your ribs is still broken, Nikolai,” you said. “I have to—” 

“I love you,” he interrupted. Your eyes snapped to him, and you thought you misheard him. 

“What?” 

“I love you,” he repeated, as if it came as easily to him as breathing. “Forgive me for the lack of ballads and sonnets on how to express it—I plan to remedy that as soon as we’re back in Os Alta. But I love you, and it’s the one thing I’m sure of at this moment.” 

You continued to stare at him, as if you’d suddenly forgotten how to speak. Nikolai was no Corporalnik, but you were sure he could hear how loudly your heart was beating. 

“It’s alright if you don’t feel the same,” Nikolai said, “or if you’re not ready. I’m a very patient man.” 

It was like your limbs had suddenly regained the ability to move, because something clicked in your mind. You took his face in your hands and you kissed him with a brazen fierceness you didn’t even know you had. 

For a man with two bruised ribs and one broken one, he kissed you back with the same intensity, if not more. You poured all your fear, all your anxiety, all your worries about him into the kiss, reveling in the warmth of his lips and his hands and—

Tolya cleared his throat. “We’re nearly out of the Fold.” 

You pulled away as quickly as it had started, Nikolai looking very pleased with himself as you fixed the collar of your kefta and looked over at him with eyes that were surely more pupil than iris. 

“Thank you, Tolya,” you said, and you cleared your throat as well. Good of him to ignore the two of you. Embarrassing of you to nearly forget about your surroundings when you looked at Nikolai. 

“Yes,” Nikolai said, mirth in his voice, “thank you, Tolya.”

You rolled your eyes as you turned back to him, your lips still burning from his kiss, and you settled your hands back on Nikolai’s chest. 

“No more interruptions,” you said. “I’ve got to get you healed and dressed before we’re off the sand.” 

His eyes twinkled. “Whatever you say, lapushka.” 

You had no idea what was next. The Sun Summoner died on the Fold, the Darkling’s reign of terror was finally over, and Nikolai was to be King. You didn’t know where you would fit in, though you were sure he would find a place. 

But you loved Nikolai, and by the Saints, Nikolai loved you. 

And for now, that was more than enough. 

“Stop wiggling around, I’m trying to sleep! Wait… what’s tha… oh!”

Forced proximity with best friend Bob?

A chance to do friends to lovers with Bob? Say no more!

"Remind me to never let Javy book the Air B&B again."

Bob chuckled at your comment, despite agreeing, "Well at least we have an actual bed. Reuben and Mickey have bunk beds."

"So all the single people have to suffer?" You scoffed, continuing to shuffle through your luggage.

The annual lake trip was going well, until the room arrangements were revealed. It wasn't that you minded sharing a room with Bob.

It was the lack of a second bed.

Twenty years ago, when you were both eight, this wouldn't have been a problem. But then puberty, high school, and base camp occurred, which brought to light the crush you had been harboring on your best friend.

"We'll make it work. And if it's that bad, I can take the floor," he offered, always the considerate one. It was one of the many traits you adored about Bob.

"Robert James Floyd, absolutely not!" You scolded, eliciting a chuckle out of him. It was deep and low, just like his voice and you didn't want to admit how it made your knees nearly shake.

"I've slept in barracks before, it's the same thing."

The comment would have gotten a laugh out of you. In fact, you would have even made a remark back, probably about how you've also slept in truck beds and underneath a wide open sky.

But then Bob Floyd took his shirt off.

It wasn't even your first time seeing him shirtless, far from it. But now he had filled out, with muscle and a dusting of hair that trailed down from his chest, past his stomach.

God, was he always this hot? Had to be and somehow you just didn't notice it until later. Perhaps that was the worst part; you fell for him because of who he was. It wasn't as if he had some type of glowup over summer break, like you'd see so often in those stupid teen movies you'd watch to feel better about yourself. No, Bob Floyd was always a beautiful soul, inside and out.

And he wasn't yours. Couldn't be. The risk of him not reciprocating was too high. Plus, your family was friends with his'. That meant Thanksgiving, Christmas, Fourth of July, hell, even fucking Memorial Day gatherings would be tainted. All thanks to you.

The pressure was too high, the risk was too great.

But you could look, right?

"Sunshine?"

Bob's childhood now turned adult nickname for you broke the spell. Your wide eyes met his oceanic's. His hair, which had gotten darker over the years and now had threads of early greys, was mussed from taking off his shirt, some curls over the front of his forehead, others to the side. White shirt in hand, highlighting how massive they were when clutching the alabaster fabric. Brow's knitted together, combined with his narrow eyes and titled head created a downright adorable look of confusion.

"You,,,," he briefly turned around, to see if there was something on the wall behind him and that's why you wouldn't look at him, "You okay?"

You nodded eagerly, probably too eagerly, "Yeah sorry....I uh spaced out. Probably thinking of ways to get back at Javy."

Bob smiled, despite it never reaching his eyes when he nodded. You had turned around so quickly, unable to make such an observation.

"I'm going to go take a shower," grabbing the top and bottom you could find the quickest in your suitcase. You avoided eye contact with him, too busy feeling shame for getting caught doing something so lewd.

Rushing, you turned the water on in the showers. Focusing on ensuring you grabbed the correct products. Get the water to the perfect temperature and pressure, it exists, it has to exist because if it doesn't then you'll think about the dark body hair that went past the waistband of his jeans.

For about twenty minutes, it worked. You did your skincare routine, brushed your teeth for nearly two minutes, even blow dried your hair. Applied a lip mask, that stupid lash and brow serum the worker at Sephora conned you into buying. Moisturize every inch of your body, even though it was the dead of summer and you would sweat it all off before sunrise. That stupid reusable eye mask that you got because it was on clearance. Have you done the Wordle today, you should do the Wordle. You should do anything other than thinking about sharing a bed with your shirtless best friend.

It worked. Even put on some music, not too loud, just enough to hear and hum along.

It worked. For a while. But then you had used nearly every product in your cosmetics bag and it was time to get dressed.

Fuck.

You could never match a pair of socks, not even if your life depended on it. But tonight, fucking tonight of all nights, you had to grab a whole matching set.

The pale pink lace trimmed cami, paired with joggers. An oversized T-shirt that went further down than the pair of matching satin shorts.

You had brought the set when you were talking to a guy and thought you would be able to move on from the wonder that is Bob Floyd. What a fucking joke.

Maybe you could wear them, run back out to grab something else and run back in to change. No, why would anyone do that? If anything, it'll just make it more obvious that you didn't want to wear it in front of him. But what if you didn't change and Bob thought you had worn essentially casual lingerie on purpose? What if he found that weird? What if-

"You okay in there Sunny?" His voice always calmed you, always able to break you out of whatever self inflicted spiral you were on.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded despite Bob being unable to see you, "Yeah, I'm good. Just developed a more extensive skincare routine."

A short burst of laughter was released on the other side of the door, "You don't need all that. Already pretty."

"Bob Floyd, you are....." Charming. Amazing. Too good to be true. The love of my life,

"....too kind."

"Just telling the truth," his feet audibly stepped away. The butterflies in your chest were still exploding from his words. He made you feel safe, that this was Bob you were talking about. He'd never think you'd do something lewd or negative on purpose. Bob knew your intentions to be good. After all, he was your Bobby.

Just not in the way you want.

Your head cleared long enough to walk out the door, into the well lit bedroom. When he first made eye contact with you, you didn't even falter, simply smiling at him.

But Bob didn't say anything at first. Usually he'd make a teasing but well meaning comment about you taking so long. His thin pink lips parted, yet no words came through.

"Are you okay Bobby?"

The concern in your voice broke the trance. His features soften, his lips quirking into a half smile, "Yeah, I'm good. Just gonna shower and then head to bed."

Tension had left the room. Flopping down onto the bed, you scrolled through social media, watching all the videos and photos the squad had posted today.

"Uh, Sunshine?" You turned and lost your breath. Bob's hair was freshly washed, ends beginning to curl. A white shirt that was barely translucent and grey sweatpants that hung low on his lithe hips.

Bob Floyd had downright slutty hips.

"I don't think the bed is big enough for both of us to lay down."

Your brow crumpled in confusion, "Javy said this was a queen."

"Javy thinks anything that isn't a single is a Queen." Bob explained, not phased at all by this mistake.

Clearly it wasn't the first time. But you were still going to kill Javy Machado tomorrow morning.

"Here, if we both sleep on our sides, it'll be good."

"Like spooning?"

"Uh yeah," a hand came up to rub the back of his neck, "That's one way to think about it."

You supposed it was better than feeling his ass against yours, "Alright, well....come on in, the water's fine."

It took some time to figure out the arrangement. What was one supposed to do with their other hand? The final agreement consisted of your hips flushed against Bob's, his arm slung over your waist.

Zero awkwardness in the air. It felt....natural.

"Night Bobby."

"Night Sunshine."

Things were looking up. There was no way this would change your friendship or threaten to reveal your well kept secret. Sleep was well within your reach.

Then Bob moved. And kept moving. Due to his closeness, you felt every maneuver, no matter how subtle.

"Floyd, do you mind?"

His movements continued, as if he was trying to avoid your body while somehow simultaneously hang onto it.

A loud huff left your lips, "Stop wiggling around, I'm trying to sleep! Wait, what's that...."

Oh.

Your hips were flushed against his, your ass perfectly fitting the space formed by his thigh meeting his hip. Right against his hardened groin.

The sweatpants were thin. He didn't have anything underneath. Thanks to the flimsy fabric of your shorts, you could feel him greatly.

You were in bed with Bob Floyd. Bob Floyd was in bed with you, rocking an erection. You were being held by Bob Floyd, in bed. Bob Floyd had a huge cock, a grower.

Silence filled the room, tension thick enough to be cut with a butter knife. Neither one wanting to move, for fear of making it worse.

He let out a shaky breath. He developed a rhythm, almost imitating one sleeping.

You shifted, just enough for your thigh to rise, but subtle enough to play off as nothing.

His breath hitched.

Inch by inch, your hips began to gyrate, rubbing against his clothed cock.

"B-Bobby," you were panting, as if having run a marathon. His fingers sank into your hips, gripping the plush flesh as he flipped you onto your back, towering over you.

You moved to sit on your elbows, to raise yourself up to argue. From years of play fighting, he was fast as lightning, pinning your hands above your head.

Bob slowly lowered himself down until his nose brushed against your, his soft hair brushing your forehead.

"Twelve years." Was all he said, gritting through his teeth, squeezing your hands in hopes it would tethered him to Earth.

All that came out of your mouth was a hum of confusion. In the moonlit light, you searched for his eyes, trying to read them.

"Stuart Hendricks asked you to prom. You had been hoping all month he would ask you. Hell, I even helped him. Told him your favorite musical and which song to sing. I was excited for ya. And then you said yes to him and I wanted to punch him. I never had thought about fighting someone until then. Took me a week to realize why I was so angry."

Oh my God.

"Eight to ten years ago," you confessed. It was Bob's turn to knit his eyebrows together.

"Eight to ten?" He repeated, "Why is there a range?"

"I remember feeling....funny when you came back from boot camp. You had filled out a bit and had on those adorable military issued glasses. But it took me some time to accept what I was feeling," you explained.

How you found those glasses endearing was beyond Bob's understanding. But it didn't agitate him, it was just one of the many things he loved about you.

"That's a lot of time lost," his voice was barely a whisper.

You nodded, "Can we.....can we start making up for it?"

"Yes," he nodded, dropping his head lower, "one hundred percent yes."

His lips were like heaven. He molded his body to yours, chests flushed together, limbs tangled within one another. A hand that spanned the entirety of his neck, his thumb guiding your chin upwards so he could deeper explore your mouth.

"Heard you singing....and it just felt....felt like we were living together," he confessed in between kisses, "felt so right, like that's what it's supposed to be like."

Nodding feverishly, your hands found purchase in his thick hair. Tugging on the sun kissed locks, earning a groan from Bob that made your thighs clench.

"Can....can I touch you?" Always the gentlemen, your Bobby.

"As long as you don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it sunshine," his mouth latched onto your neck, leaving open mouth kisses along the side, teeth gently grazing your sensitive skin. A hand grabbed your leg, hitching it to wrap around his waist.

Bob Floyd was fucking heaven.

No cause that scene with Kaz and inej had me watching with my jaw open!! Giggling nd kicking my feet.

Soulbound Ch 4

In The Beginning: (Y/N)'s Version

3rd Person POV:

(Y/N) and Dean are asleep in the motel room, Dean on one bed while (Y/N) is asleep on the other. Sam was supposed to be asleep on the floor, the Winchester boys usually taking turns so (Y/N) could always have the bed. But Sam, tonight, was awake and dressed. He grabs his coat and looks at his brother and surrogate sister before leaving the room. 

Sam walks outside as Ruby pulls up in an old Camaro. He gets in the passenger side and looks at her. "Ready?" She asks him.

"Definitely."

~~~~~~~

1st Person POV:

"It's all your fault!" My mother screamed, kicking me again as I cry out in pain. "It's all because of you."

I try to get to my hands and knees, only for her foot to make contact with my side, rolling me onto my back. She kneels next to me as I try to back away, but her hand grabs my neck, nails digging into the skin. My hands grab her wrist, trying to pry it off with no avail. She sinks her other hand into my chest, squeezing my heart as hard as she can, making me gag and gurgle on my own blood.

"I wish I never had you..."

I gasp and sit up on the bed, an aching feeling in my chest. I pant heavily and let out a yelp, seeing a figure at the foot of my bed. Calming down as I see the familiar trenchcoat. 

"Hello (Y/N). What were you dreaming about?" The gravelly voice of Castiel reaches my ears.

"Don't worry about it." I mumble, looking over to see Dean's bed empty and Sam not on the floor. "Where are the boys?"

The angel ignores my question, "Listen to me. You have to stop it."

"Stop what?"

Castiel doesn't say anything, only putting two fingers to my forehead.

~~~~~~~

"Move it lady, you can't sleep here." I hear a voice say, and feeling a nudge on my shoulder. I jump slightly and open my eyes, a police officer standing over me. 

I nod quietly and sit up as the police officer walks away. I look at the bench I'm sitting on, seeing an advertisement for a lawyer, the phone number has a Sioux Falls area code. I look at the surrounding buildings, recognizing some of them from when Bobby and I would go into town. 

I see Katherine's Diner, where Bobby would take me when my report cards showed good grades at school. The post office was next to it, then the grocery store. But the buildings and the details looked, newer? Less worn with age.

I take my phone out of my pocket and dial Bobby's number but I have no signal. "Fuck..." I mumble, getting up and going into the diner, seeing a newspaper on a rack by the door. 'Continental Airlines Crashes: Killing 28' is the headline. The date reads November 20, 1987. 

My eyes widen in shock, this is three days before the demon kills my family. Two and a half months after I was born. 

"Be careful now, (D/N), ya hear?" I turn around, seeing a waitress talking to a man with (H/C) and (E/C). Is that...my dad? My eyebrows furrow as I decide to follow him out of the diner, keeping a distance. I turn a corner around a laundromat, bumping into someone. "Shit- sorry.." I tail off, seeing Castiel, his hands on my shoulders to steady me. "Castiel? What is this?"

The angel tilts his head slightly, removing his hands, "What does it look like?"

"Is it real?" It barely comes out in a whisper, looking up at him with sad eyes.

"Very."

"S-So angels got their hands on a TARDIS? How did I get here?" I stutter.

"Time is fluid, (Y/N). It's not easy but we can bend it on occasion," Castiel says, looking at the street then back at me.

"Then bend it back! Or tell me what the hell I'm doing here!" My voice raises slightly.

His blue eyes bore into my (E/C) ones, "I told you. You have to stop it."

"Stop what? That demon from possessing my mom?" As soon as I get the question out, a car horn blares loudly, making me turn my head. When I look back at Castiel, I see he's gone. "Oh come on!"

~~~~~~~

After catching up to my dad again, I followed him as he walked home. To the house where my mom and my baby self were. Neither of my biological parents were hunters as far as I'm aware, so I'm sure he didn't notice. Their house was a quaint little two-story building, white with light blue trim around the windows and door, much farther inside town than Bobby's. 

From a distance I can see my parents getting in their car, my dad holding a baby carrier. I take a moment to break into the car belonging to the neighbors four or five houses down while my dad secures the baby carrier in the backseat. I quickly get inside the car and hotwire it like Bobby showed me. I usually didn't have to do this part, Dean usually stole the cars.

I follow them to the diner again, parking on the otherside of the parking lot from them. I watch as they go inside, looking for any sign that my mom is already possessed. I go around to the side of the building as they get seated at a booth. My dad is still carrying baby-me in the carrier.

I watch from the window, honestly feeling like a grade-A creep. I hear the flap of wings that's getting all too familiar. "Can you at least tell me if she's possessed yet?" I don't even look at him, keeping my eyes on my mother.

"No, no she's not." Castiel's gravelly voice speaks up from a couple feet behind me.

"Why am I here to stop this? Demons will just keep coming for me," I finally look back at him.

His stoicism breaks for a second, looking a little guilty. "I can explain more in due time."

"Does Sam and Dean even know where I am? Does my dad?" My eyebrows furrow as I cross my arms over my chest.

"No. Sam is...off. Dean is preoccupied with his own business. As for your father, he's researching more seals."

"Take me back, I don't want to watch my parents die," my voice breaks a little, much to my dismay, but it's almost easy to feel vulnerable with Castiel. Stupid soulbond.

His guilty look deepens, "I can't. I'm sorry. I.." he sighs, "I have to go, watch out." With another flutter of wings, he disappears.

"Watch out? Watch out for what?" I call back, only to be met with silence. A pair of arms wrap around my middle, holding my tightly as I struggle. I grunt as I try to pry the arms off before swinging my elbow back and feeling it collide with the side of someone's head. The arms let go and I turn around. My dad clutches the side of his head, glaring at me. 

"Why're you following us?" He asks angrily.

"Are you crazy?" I retort, making the man swing at me. His hit lands, connecting with my cheekbone. I grunt, he swings again, but this time I grab his arm and swing him into the side of the building. I could feel my cheekbone swell and bruise. I hold my dad against the wall, his front against the brick. 

"You've been trailing us since my house!" He yells, pushing off the wall and grabbing the collar of my shirt. He pins me where he just was, my hands grabbing his wrist.

"I don't know what you're talking about-" I start before he interrupts me.

"Really?" 

I try to pry him off of me, but he only drags me forward then slams me against the brick. The back of my head collides with the wall, making me grit my teeth, my vision darkening around the edges a little. "O-Okay how about we talk about this, are you a hunter?" 

"Hunter? Like camo and a rifle? No, what the hell?" My dad looks at me with crinkled eyebrows. He looks conflicted, almost like there's familiarity behind his eyes. He lets go of my shirt and I slide down the wall as my head pounds. "I better not ever see you again. If you so much as look at my wife or daughter, I'll kill you." He threatens, walking away, presumably back to my mom who's still inside. 

I reach around, clutching the back of my head. Bringing my hand back out in front of me I don't see any blood, that's a good sign. But I would bet money on a minor concussion. "Well, you just injured your daughter ya fuck," I grumble, slowly standing up and regaining my barings. 

~~~~~~~

I down my third cup of gas station coffee, trying to stay awake as I sit in the stolen car in front of my parents house. Partially to keep watch and partially to not fall asleep, which is dangerous with a head injury. 

The lights are off and it's quiet. Not eerily quiet, but it's...safe. It seems like a peaceful neighborhood, ya know, where kids are out playing in the yards with other neighborhood kids. The school bus stop on the corner and moms calling to their kids to not forget their lunches. Family life. The apple pie life as Dean would put it. Something I was screwed out of.

"Do I even want to stop it?" I ask myself quietly. If I did, Bobby wouldn't adopt me. I never would meet Sam and Dean Winchester. I wouldn't know monsters exist. I wouldn't know how to fight, or maybe I would based on how my dad kicked my ass. I did a little digging, learning my dad was in the military. He's only been home for a year. Which tracks with my birth. That explains how he could fight so fluidly.

I sigh to myself, honestly still conflicted on if I should even save them. And it makes me feel like shit. I mean, they're my parents, and it's my job to protect people from monsters. But at the same time, I don't know these people. And I don't want to not have the life I have now. I can't imagine not sitting in a little diner with Sam and Dean every other day. I can't imagine not helping Bobby with research or drinking beers with him and the boys. 

Bobby and I placed the last few bricks down, dusting off our hands. 

"Ready, kid?" He asked fourteen-year-old me.

I nod, a little giddy as I go and grab some lawn chairs and circling them around the newly built firepit. I called and asked Sam and Dean if they'd come over and decided they were gonna come up from their finished case in Louisiana, and they'd be here anytime. Bobby pours ice into a cooler nearby, putting several cases worth of beers in it as well. I knew he was gonna let me have a couple before making me switch to water.

He slams the cooler shut as the rumbling of the Impala pulls up in front of the house. It's sunset, or right about. Bobby asked them to bring a couple pizzas with them too, and not to worry about beer, he obviously had that covered. Bobby and I walk around to the front of the house, seeing Sam holding the pizzas. Sam was eighteen, Dean was twenty-two. It was right before Sam took off for college. 

I smile widely, running up and hugging Dean first, happy to see the two men I would consider my brothers. I let go of Dean and hug Sam from the side so I don't make him drop the pizzas. "It's good to see you boys, where's your dad?" Bobby asks, clapping Dean on the shoulder.

"He, uh, went on another case." Sam said, his voice full of tension. And both boys probably fought with their father to get here.

"Forget John okay? We made something for you guys!" I basically bounce with excitement, pulling Sam by his wrist, Dean and Bobby following. All three of them were smiling, the tension slowly forgotten as we round the corner.

"Ta-da!" I grin, gesturing to the firepit in the middle of the dirt. 

The Winchester boys grin as Bobby lights the fire. We all sit around the flames, drinking beer, eating pizza, and relaxing. A night I will never forget.

Yeah, I can't imagine my life without that.

~~~~~~~

Deciding I needed advice, I went to the best hunter I knew. I drove to the outskirts of town, seeing the all too familiar 'Singer's Salvage Yard' sign as I pull into the dirt driveway. Getting out of the car, it honestly doesn't look like it's changed too much. I walk up the stairs to the porch and knock on the door.

Bobby answers the door after a couple minutes, albeit twenty-two years younger, "what do you want?"

"Hi- uh, Bobby Singer?" I ask.

"Who's asking?" He grumbles.

I fidget nervously, "look, I don't know if you'll believe me, but I need advice, hunter to hunter."

Bobby reluctantly lets me inside, but not before splashing me with holy water. I sigh in irritation, pulling the collar of my shirt aside so he can see my anti-possession tattoo. "Not a demon." For good measure, I walk over to the bookshelf I know he hides a silver knife in. I hold out my arm, using the silver blade to cut just below my elbow as I grit my teeth. "Not a shapeshifter."

Bobby nods in apprehensive acceptance. "alright out with it kid. Why are you here?"

"My name is (Y/N). Like I said, I don't know if you'll believe me. But in about a day and a half, a demon is going to kill my family, and you exorcise it. And you take me in." I huff.

"Yeah you're right I don't believe you. Get the fuck out of my house." Bobby's eyebrows furrow as he gets angry. 

"N-No Bobby it's true! You're aware there's a demon in town aren't you?" I stutter.

"Of course I am! The same bastard killed my wife!" He yelled. Shit. 

His wife died less than two weeks before I was born. Bobby always had a hard time around my birthday, but he never made it a problem, always making sure to celebrate it with me anyway. 

"Bobby I...I know about Karen, you wouldn't tell me until I was a teenager. You told me that when you found me, you had to protect me from the demons, because you had failed to protect Karen from them." My voice almost comes out in a whisper, getting emotional. I gesture to myself, "and obviously you do a damn good job." Bobby stays silent, I can tell he's also a little emotional. 

I walk up to him, holding my hand out for him to shake, "my name is (Y/N) Singer. I'm your daughter."

~~~~~~~

Bobby sits in stunned silence after I explain everything. I told him about the demon, my parents, Sam and Dean. "So the demon, it comes after you tomorrow night?" 

I nod, "I'm not sure why yet." I lie. "I'm assuming that's why I'm here, twenty-two years in the past."

"How'd you get here?" 

"Hitched a ride from an angel." I look over some newspapers on Bobby's desk, several articles on demonic omens.

"Excuse me? An angel?" 

"Yep, angels are real. Blew my mind too." I glance up at him with a chuckle, deciding to leave out the part that I'm bound to one.

"So-uh, what do you need to know kid?" Bobby asks, seemingly still in shock about what's happening.

"I just- I was sent here to prevent my parents from getting killed. But if that happens, you wouldn't adopt me. I wouldn't meet Sam and Dean. I mean, because they died when I was so young I don't know if I want to lose you and the Winchesters." I sigh, taking a seat at Bobby's dining table as he slides a beer my way.

I open it and take a sip, Bobby sits across from me with his own beer, "That's a hell of a conflict, kid. If you were specifically brought here to save them, maybe you should. No one deserves to die that way."

I nod in understanding, looking down at the beer bottle in my hand. "But I won't ever meet you, or the boys."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I'll introduce myself to your folks, be a family friend." He tries to comfort weakly. 

"Better than nothing, I suppose."

~~~~~~~

That night, Bobby let me crash on his couch. I was thankful for a place to sleep that wasn't a stolen car. That night and into the next morning were uneventful, save for Bobby and I prepping to fight a demon. It's all a blur of holy water, salt, and weapons.

Once we were ready we went out to Bobby's car, saying he will scrap the stolen one for me after I'm transported back to my time. We loaded up the car and got in, heading back to my parents' house. 

By the time we were prepared, leaving Bobby's house and got to my parents' house, it was evening. We waited in the car outside their house for about 10 minutes before my mother got home from wherever she was. After she goes inside, we get out of the car. 

Coming up to the front door, we can hear yelling, making Bobby kick the door in. We quickly make our way up the stairs, hearing my dad yelling and my baby-self crying. I bust open my parents' bedroom door, my mother whips her head around to look at us, eyes black. My dad stands on the otherside of her, back against the wall. Baby-me is hysterically crying on the bed, knowing something is wrong. Mom's possessed and pissed. She quickly waves her wrist, sending Bobby flying back into the hallway. 

With another wrist wave I'm pulled towards her, her fist clutching the collar of my shirt, "Well, well, well. I didn't know Singers could time travel, still got that angel wrapped around your finger in the future?" She chuckles. The bedroom door slams, separating me from Bobby.

My hands grip her wrist as I fling my head forward. The top of my forehead collides with my mom's nose, making her let me go. I stumble back as my dad takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around my mother's neck, making her choke. I get my knife out of my pocket as she flicks her wrist again, sending it out of my hands and clattering to the floor. I could hear Bobby trying to break down the door, with little success. 

My mom breaks out of my dad's hold, sending him to the floor. I advance again, but instead she waves her hand again, pushing my parents' dresser. The piece of furniture pins me to the wall, I grunt trying to push it away. My mom picks up my knife with a sadistic grin, while my dad is on the floor, she stabs him in the stomach.

"No!" I scream, trying harder to push the dresser off of me, tears clouding my vision. I don't even know why, I hardly know these people, but he's my dad. My mom stabs him again...again...and again. Blood pools out of my dad's abdomen, his hand gripping the hilt of the blade while the other struggles to push her away in his weakened state.

Bobby finally bursts the door open, splashing holy water on my mother. She screeches at her skin burns, the sound fading out along with the sound of baby-me crying. 

~~~~~~~

I gasp and wake up in the motel bed, looking around frantically. Castiel stands at the foot of the bed as I sit up, holding a hand to my head. He looks sad almost, looking at the tear streaks on my cheeks.

A couple more tears fall as I speak up first, "I-I couldn't stop any of it. She still got possessed."

Castiel moves around the bed to sit in front of me, "Don't be too hard on yourself. You couldn't have stopped it."

"What?"

He reaches up slowly, gently wiping a stray tear off my cheek, "Destiny can't be changed, (Y/N). All roads lead to the same destination." He lets his hand drop back down.

"Then why'd you send me back?" I ask, my eyebrows crinkling.

"For the truth. Now you know why your mother got possessed." The angel looks down at his lap, as if he's ashamed that he put me in this situation.

I look around, seeing the bed next to mine completely undisturbed, meaning Sam never slept in it. I move my gaze to the floor seeing Dean is gone as well. "Where's Sam and Dean?"

"We know what Azazel did to Sam. What we don't know is why- what the endgame is. He went to great lengths to cover that up." 

"Okay- where's Sam and Dean?" I ask more insistently, not wanting to sound so dismissive but they wouldn't just leave me here like this.

"425 Waterman." Castiel says, "Dean took his car. I can fly you." He stands up, grabbing my jacket off the dining table nearby and handing it to me. I nod signaling that I'm ready. The angel puts his hand on my shoulder, I blink and next thing I know we are at the address.

Castiel turns, looking down at me with serious eyes, "Sam is headed down a dangerous road, (Y/N), and we're not sure where it leads. So stop it. Or we will."

(A/N): So I hope this chapter made sense with (Y/N)'s backstory and stuff. I already know when (Y/N) and Cas's first kiss is gonna be so hopefully I can throw in some cute moments up until then that aren't completely out of character for Castiel. If something doesn't make sense in this part please tell me so I can fix it.

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