#Exhaust Hood Cleaning Near Me. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

letorip · 4 months ago

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casual [iii]

"i hate that i let this drag on so long, now i hate myself, hate that i let this drag on so long, you can go to hell"

===+++===

pairing: natalie scatorccio x reader

summary: you're not just going to let her go, this time. after long enough, you arrive at the very obvious conclusion that you're in love, and there's very little else to be done about that

warnings: mentions of sex, cuss words, a bit of angst but i promise a happy ending :)

word count: 7.2k

A/N: all good things must come to an end. trust, i'll write for nat again. also i stayed in that airport so fucking long it was like purgatory, and i'm so sorry it took longer than i thought, i've had an exhausting past two weeks and just needed to stop and breathe for a minute

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THAT ONE ANON I FEEL BAD I'M LATE

===+++===

===+++===

"Please tell me you didn't do it on my sheets," Lottie groaned, lip curled in disgust and eyes hidden by her sunglasses.

"Sorry," you said back from behind your own pair, without looking away from the crystal blue of her pool water. You both were splayed out on her sun-bleached deck chairs, with matching hangovers (and bathrobes) that made the bright, beaming sunlight a whole new level of awful.

Her house was in disarray around you both, with crushed beer cans and overturned chairs all across the pool deck. Some cigarette butts floated in the water and you were certain the sprinklers in her garden were misting a pile of vomit and washing it down the front of her lawn, but neither of you made a move to get up and deal with it yet.

At the far end of the Matthews' pool, there was a statue of a mermaid that doubled as a fountain, spitting water in a gentle stream. Someone had put a snapback that said 'I <3 BOOBIES' on her and a bit of lipstick around the area that water shot out, and though usually you would have laughed, you instead were a bit annoyed by how it was taking you out of what would've been a nice scene.

There was just something about waking up and seeing Nat had gone without any sort of indication, that sparked the sudden urge within you to reconnect with nature. So you were reconnecting— more like brooding— on Lottie's pool deck in a peaceful silence.

After what felt like thirty minutes but was probably more like five, she turned to you. "Do you wanna—”

“—Talk about it?” you finished, raising your eyebrows. You shook your head. “No.”

She pouted. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to make pancakes.”

“Oh… then yes.”

You both lazily trudged into her equally wrecked kitchen, with even more cans and spilled liquids thrown over her marble counters. There was a burnt bag of popcorn sitting in the sink and the garbage can underneath it was overflowing with paper towels, but Lottie's kitchen was big enough where you could ignore it entirely, jumping up to sit on the clean countertop near her massive range cooker.

When Lottie said 'make pancakes,' she really meant she would be the one cooking and you would be there for moral support, if anything. You were gifted in many things but cooking or anything of the sort had never been one of them. Instead you leaned your head against the massive stone hood, and watched her from the pair of sunglasses you still wore.

Nat had laughed at you, when you said you didn't know how to cook. Not an omelette, not mac and cheese, and barely a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Of course, you assumed the last one wouldn't be hard to figure out, but you hadn't ever made one before, and it made her laugh into your chest, where her head had been resting. It hurt a bit now, but you had the sunglasses to shield your eyes while you stared off into space.

"Chocolate chips?" Lottie asked, running a hand through her dark hair and combing out a few knots with her fingers. You nodded, and she turned back to the pan in front of her, grabbing a fancy looking bag from a stack of supplies nearby. "My dad brought fresh chocolate back with him from when he was in the Caribbean a few weeks ago," she said to you, sprinkling it into the pan and flipping it over.

"Is he going to be pissed you're using it for pancakes?" you mumbled, feeling your headache return.

"No more pissed than he'll be when he sees that Jeff and his friends cut off the leg on one of his horse-shaped hedges." You winced, hopping down from the counter and feeling your back still scraped raw from, well, Nat. Lottie shot you a look. "That heated, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, heading towards the kitchen island and grabbing some of the beer cans to toss in the rubbish. "She's made her decision clear. I'm honestly done with it. I don't care anymore."

Lottie didn't say anything, turning back to the pancakes and sliding them on a plate as you slid into the barstool at the other end of her island and rested your head on your elbows. "I mean, she called me selfish, Lottie, and then said she loved me multiple times, minutes later. Who the hell does that?"

"Mhm," she hummed, sticking her spatula and the pan in the sink and then moving to the walk in pantry to grab syrup and powdered sugar.

You watched her go, calling after her. "She disappears for days after she gets mad about me talking to people, and then I see her immediately with Bobby Farleigh of all people, and they're cuddling up! I'm done with it all."

"Okay," Lottie said, reappearing with her arms full and tossing them down on the kitchen island. She clambered up into the seat next to you and stole some of the plain ones for herself, before covering them in syrup.

"And," you continued, remembering something else as you began cutting up the pancakes and smothering them in powdered sugar, "she egged my fucking house! How could I even forget about that? I mean, what was I thinking? I don't want to talk about her."

"Oh yeah," Lottie snorted. "You really don't want to talk about her."

You shot her a glare, stuffing your mouth with an angry fork. "I'm serious, Lottie."

"You wish," she scoffed. "If you were serious— and I'm not trying to be mean— but if you were serious, you wouldn't be ranting all about her. I know you keep saying it's impossible and it can't happen with her, but you sure as hell seem like you want it to happen with her."

You frowned, taking a forkful and stuffing it into your mouth. Right as you did, a couple sheepishly walked down the hall and towards the front door, clothes obviously messed up. They sent you an awkward wave and Lottie gave a quick nod in their direction, turning back to her plate. "Then why'd she leave?" you asked, when the door was shut behind them.

She shrugged. "Why the hell would I know? If anyone here would be the Natalie-whisperer, it would be you."

"Yeah well, apparently not," you huffed, shoving more pancakes into your mouth.

"I mean, it's not like you guys were on glowing terms before you... y'know. Wasn't gonna magically all be fixed, after." You groaned, leaning your forehead down onto the cool marble countertops. It actually felt nice, against your raging headache, but you still felt like crap.

"Would've at least been nice for her to wait until I woke up to go. No 'goodbye,' no 'we should talk,' nothing. When we were just hooking up and stuff, I at least always waited to say goodbye."

"So it's not just hooking up, anymore?"

"I don’t know what it is, Lottie. You tell me, because apparently everyone knows but me." She shrugged, finishing her plate and pushing it away from herself.

"I have an answer, but you're not gonna like it."

"...No, I'm not in love with her."

"You absolutely are."

"I'm done with this!"

"You keep saying that."

"'Cause I am."

"Okay."

"I'm done," you frowned, attempting finality in your tone and coming far short.

"Right," she snorted, and then she stood to grab your now-finished plate too. "Can you help me?”

It took around three hours, to get the Matthews house back to its usual formality. You sprayed burnt and disturbed bushes with the hose, threw out bag upon bag of party rubbish, and vacuumed cigarette butts off the carpet of her living room, silently working while Lottie played some records on her grandfather's old gramophone.

Her dad usually put jazz records on it or snooty classical music, whenever you were over, but Lottie had Dancing Queen blasting throughout her house and was hopping around as she snatched stuff off the mantle and shoved it into bags, turning to you and yelling a lyric from time to time, along to the music.

This wasn't your idea of fun by a long shot, but you could appreciate Lottie trying to make it fun.

"So, how much convincing did you have to do, to get Laura Lee here at a party? I mean, with the alcohol," you asked with a snort, grabbing an almost empty bag of crisps and tossing yourself down in her father's leather armchair to finish them off.

Lottie flushed. "A really embarrassing amount," she admitted. "I kind of glazed over that part."

"I'll bet she was surprised?" you asked with an amused crunch.

"It wasn't even that— this guy from my third period started going at it with this girl right in front her. I had to literally stop her from going over there to talk to them about waiting until marriage."

You shrugged. "I mean, she seems to like you a whole lot."

"She does," Lottie nodded. "She's so sweet to me, and she has the best hand to hold, like, ever."

"Honestly, I'm surprised, but happy for you. You're in a big ol' throuple with Jesus Christ."

"Ha ha," Lottie rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at you. "At least whatever we have is holy. I don't even want to think about you and—"

But whatever dig she would've said was cut off by her doorbell ringing. You sighed, letting your feet down from where you had propped them up on the side table and wiping the crumbs on your bathrobe.

"I'll get it," you grumbled, leaving Lottie to clean. When you opened the door there was absolutely no way you could've prepared to see her so soon.

Nat stood awkwardly in the entryway, looking just as surprised to see you as you were to see her. She wore a pair of blue shorts she practiced and slept in, and staring right back at you was the shirt you thought had gone missing weeks ago, barely hidden behind the ratty zip up hoodie she had over it.

Her eyeliner was still smudged from the night before in places, and you stared at her blankly, waiting for her to say something— anything, really.

"I forgot my damn lighter," she said, casting her eyes to the floor after a moment.

"Oh," you replied, feeling a bit stupid suddenly, in your bathrobe and sunglasses, with your flip flops for shoes. You looked like you were mid-spa day, or like someone's drunk uncle on a cruise. Then, before you could stop yourself, you felt an annoyance twinge in your gut, and said "Is that all you've got to say?"

Her eyes shot up, looking challengingly at you, in what was a clear frustration. "What do you want me to say?" But the answer went unsaid, even as much as you didn't like it. That you came back for me.

"I don't know..."

"Great," Nat scoffed. She looked over your shoulder into Lottie's house, as if her lighter would appear behind you and jump right into her hand, and she would just be able to leave. "Can I just have my—"

"—Why did you egg my house?" you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to block the door a bit more. She raised her eyebrows at you, confused.

"What?"

"You egged my house, after our argument," you repeated, slower, feeling the tips of your ears burning.

"No the hell I didn't."

"Yes the hell you did," you argued back, leaning forward with your hands on your hips. "You're the only one with the gate code. I get it, you were mad, but—"

"—Fucking Christ, I didn't!"

"You wrote a giant 'fuck you' on my house. No one else would."

Nat glared. "I didn't invent it. Is it such an impossible thing for you to consider that maybe not everyone is Team (Y/n)? I don't mean to break your brain, but for once somebody might actually dislike you."

You rolled your eyes. "You're the only one with a history of breaking rules and doing shit."

"So, what, you think I would do that to you?"

"Maybe you would. Maybe you don't care about me at all. That's why you ran off, wasn't it?"

She narrowed her eyes at you. "I had to go, before my dad caught me out."

You shook your head. "Bullshit. You've stayed out, before."

"Oh, so now you're mad that I'm not cuddling up to you?"

"That's not cuddling, that's having me stick my fingers in you and then you run off. You were pissed at me a few days before, Nat, for literally the same thing."

"It's almost like it's confusing, (Y/n), when you get mixed signals. And no, I got pissed at you because you went shopping for girlfriends— which, I'm assuming because you're being an oblivious, self-righteous asshole, you're still doing."

"Yep, still looking," you glared at her. She glared right back, just as steely.

"Great."

"Great," you replied. It was annoying, how good she looked when she was frustrated. She was great at looking mad, and even better at looking good when she was mad. The furrowing of her eyebrows, wrinkling of her nose in anger; she had the face you wanted to kiss away. It was impossible not to wonder, if doing so would uncurl her fists and smooth out the lines on her forehead.

Then you stopped. Holy shit. Everything seemed awful, like a massive case of vertigo had just washed over you. You had had hangovers before, but this somehow seemed infinitely worse. See, a thought had finally self-realised itself within your little peanut brain.

I'm in love with Nat.

It made the ceiling feel like the floor, and Nat sent you a concerned glance and seemed about to question your change in expression, when Lottie came from behind you.

"Hey, Nat," she said with an awkward smile, brushing past you with a look and then handing her the lighter quickly. "Excited for nationals?”

"Yeah," Nat nodded, but her eyes were still glaring at you. She cleared her throat, finally looking off. "Thanks, Lot. Great party."

"Mhm," Lottie nodded, trying her best to seem at ease and not at all like she was walking in on a code-red situation. "Have a great weekend! Bye now! Get home safe! See you!" She rushed, tugging you from beyond the doorway and giving a wave, before shutting the door.

The moment the door was closed, she gave you an unappreciative stare, but your eyes were wide and your cheeks flushed.

"What?" asked Lottie, her eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"I...I think I'm in love with her."

===+++===

Your home was just as empty as it was when you had left the night before. Reginald wasn't even due to come in, since your mother and father weren't home and it was a Saturday. Even the groundskeeper and maid had the day off, and the groan you let out at finally returning home and falling onto the warm rug on your living room floor echoed against the walls of your empty house.

In your hand was the letter you found in your mailbox. A cool black and Princeton-orange colour. You already knew what it said, without even looking into it. Your father and mother went there. His father and mother, too. For years and years and years. And now, if you followed the rules set out in front of you, you too.

It was impossible not to wonder, when the fog of privilege would slowly cloud your brain. Would it be the law degree from a private school, or legacy admissions? The more frightening thing was that maybe Nat was right: it had already set in, and you unaware. You at least felt different than the rest of them. That made you different, right? You and Lottie?

The image of Nat seemed ever-prevalent. Glowering at you, like she had been in the doorway. In your shirt. With that frown. The frown that you wanted to kiss away, but would never be able to. A Scatorccio, of all people. Of all people, you had to be in love with the one person you couldn't have.

It felt simultaneously like life had resolved into something more clear and understandable, and something more depressing and doomed. You wanted to forget the realisation, and the acceptance as well. Maybe it was truly better when you were promising your friends that you felt nothing of the sort.

Your eyes flitted from where they stared at the ceiling over to the giant brown bookcase in the corner, stacked high with thick volumes of what your dad had once said were family records, but you had never grabbed one off yourself. The one that stuck out against the brown leather-bound books was a more sleek, grey memoir with your grandfather’s name printed onto the hard cover casing.

That one you had read— your father had made you read it, when you were fourteen, and your parents gave up on trying for another kid. It wasn’t as dreadfully boring as you thought it would be, but it was still a memoir about a stuffy stockbroker from the 80s, with all the parts involving cocaine conveniently edited out, but not your grandfather’s insane escapades with women.

Your father was in the process of writing his own edition, and had thereby implied that he expected you to write one for yourself. You didn't know what you could possibly write about, but then again there was the expectation you write about it anyway. You weren't a guy on Wall Street, you weren't an international businessperson. You didn't even know what you were going to school for, yet.

Next to the bookshelf in equal intimidation was a painting of your family that your father had commissioned years ago. It was back when you still had braces and acne, but thankfully the artist had removed both. You hadn't been allowed to smile for it, though that's what child-you thought you did for pictures. Instead, you and your parents' mouths were drawn into disapproving lines and hardened expressions, and the golden plaque at the bottom wore your surname in proud, powerful letters.

You sighed, sitting up onto the palms of your hands and then standing slowly, still a bit uncoordinated. You sent the painting a final glance before you wandered to the phone, grabbing the thing and checking your watch while you did it. You slumped down into the seat at the end of your dining room table, where your father usually sat, and pulled the antenna from the top, punching in the numbers absentmindedly as you stared out the window onto the garden and the pool.

The number was for your father's Monaco residence, and you waited with a jumping knee and wry expression while it rang. Eventually, though, your mother picked up. "Hello?"

"Hello, mother."

(Y/n), darling, is something wrong? You know to call Reginald first, in case of emer—"

"—No, nothing is wrong, mother. Look, I actually wanted to ask you a question."

"Well, go on then. We're about to go out to dinner."

"...Mother, do you have Julie Roosevelt's number?"

Silence on the end of the line. "Absolutely!" You didn't need to be there with her to hear the smile in her voice. "What for?"

You swallowed. "I think I'll try to take her out tonight."

"Well! Darling, that's just wonderful!" You nodded into the receiver, not like she could see it. "Make sure to wear your nice shirt, we don't want to upset the Roosevelts! I hope you know, I'm proud of you for this, really." You almost mentioned getting accepted into Princeton. Almost. But you decided not to mention it. It wasn't like you wanted to think about it anyways.

From the far wall, you could see the painting of the woman with the blue eyes staring at you.

===+++===

The local mini golf was always busy, but Saturdays were absolutely the busiest. There were couples upon couples who had the exact same idea, and were wandering around with their hands together and beaming at one another like they were living in a rom-com in the real life.

And yet you stood there with your hand in Julie Roosevelt's, and a massive frown on your face. It wasn't one that you'd let Julie see— every time she glanced in your direction, you'd quickly replace it with your best smile, showing her your teeth— but it was one that you knew you wore when she turned away.

"Sorry about the late notice," you said. You dropped her hand and went to grab a putter from the front, handing it to her and then grabbing one for yourself.

"It's okay, I was wondering if you were ever going to talk to me again," Julie laughed, a bit awkward. You winced. It's not like you could be honest, and say that you didn't intend to. The truth was, that while Julie was a bit shallow, she was also a bit too nice to deserve this one-sided thing.

Of course, there was the hope that you grew the love your mother spoke of. Maybe it would hit you, and alleviate you from Nat, who seemed to haunt your thoughts even more now, that you were aware she had captured your heart.

"I was just busy, this past week," you shrugged. "It's kind of a big deal for the Yellowjackets, and both of the teams are practicing and stuff...so."

"Wow. I guess you really like the Yellowjackets then, huh?"

"Uh...something like that, yeah. It's a big deal." She hummed, then took her things out onto the first green.

You let her go, standing behind her and watching with a grin and the scorecard in your pocket. Mini golf was something you took pride in being good at. But, then, of course, Julie let the ball drop, took a second, and gently hit the ball around the bend with a near perfect curve, and right into the hole.

"Yay!" she cheered, jumping up and down in celebration.

"Wha—"

Julie put her hands on her hips with a teasing grin. "Captain of the golf team, remember?" You hadn't.

"Right..."

You played a terrible game, for the most part. You stood at the end of the second-to-last hole with the scorecard in your hand and a whole bunch of big numbers on your side of the table. Julie was beaming from ear to ear, though you weren't exactly sure why.

It had been pretty much silent, with the two of you failing over and over again to find an interesting thing to talk about. It wasn't the calm, pleasant silence like it was with... well, it didn't matter now. You filled in a four, two shots over the par, and made your way over to where Julie was crouching down, to get a better view of the final hole.

"Actually wait, there's a special way you have to play this one," you called out to her, and she turned to you with a puzzled expression.

"What do you mean?"

"It's kind of local tradition here," you shrugged. You weren't even sure if that was true, you just knew that it was what Nat had called it, when she taught you. "You have to swing really, really hard, and to win, you've gotta get it over the fence," you pointed, "and right into the back of that neighbourhood."

She blinked at you for a moment, and then Julie frowned, looking down to the ground. "That's mean, though. What if you hit someone's house? Or a window?"

"Bonus points," you shrugged. "I don't know, you can't really see where they go, once they're over the fence. It's fun."

Julie raised her eyebrows. "Don't you think it's a little immature? Why would I do that if I'm going to win for real?"

You opened your mouth to reply, then firmly closed it. "I guess you're right," you mumbled. It hadn't felt stupid when you suggested it, but Julie's disdain at the suggestion made you feel improper.

She did win, by a massive landslide, and you let her keep the scorecard with little protest. She was still beaming though, brightly at you like she had just had the best date of her life. Your stomach felt like it was tied up in a bunch of knots, but you smiled back at her nonetheless.

If love was something to be worked towards, you really hoped it would start working soon.

===+++===

You had only been home for about twenty minutes, when your phone started ringing. Off the hook. Over and over again. You knew who it was just from the ring, but that didn't mean you wanted to pick up.

After the disaster that was dropping Julie off at her house, you wanted to continue to staring at the ceiling. But after the sixth call back, it seemed Jackie wasn't giving up.

You picked the phone up with a frown, rolling over and smushing your chin into the bed. "Hello—"

"—OH MY GOD, YOU AND JULIE?!"

You groaned. "Jackie I dropped her off like thirty minutes ago, how do you already know about this?"

"So it's true?! You're dating?"

You sat up. "What? No, we just went on one date."

"Really? Cause Julie told Margie who told Randy who told Jeff, who told me that you kissed her and you're going out!"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I didn't kiss her, she kissed me. And it wasn't even like an actual kiss, she like, pecked me, and then scrambled out of my car and up her driveway."

"Well, she's saying you're going steady."

"'Going steady?' The 40s called, they wanted their slang back."

"Ha ha," Jackie said back, and you could hear the eye roll. She went silent. "...I bet your mom is happy."

"Probably..."

"Are you happy? You're probably a shoe-in for prom court, especially since I'll be out of town. Your mom won't let you go to nationals, will she?"

"No. She'll want me and Julie to go to prom together."

"Well, I mean, at least you'll win, right? That's gotta be exciting?"

You looked over to your nightstand, where you had a polaroid of you and Nat that sat taped to the side. "Thrilled."

"(Y/n)? You okay, hubby?"

You took a sharp swallow. "Yeah, I'm fine. Julie's great."

"Right...," she paused again, "does Nat...does she know?"

"I don't think so... It's only been like, thirty minutes."

"She will soon, though. Monday."

"Yeah...I guess she will soon."

===+++===

Monday was terrible. It seemed Julie had taken the awkward attempt at kissing you as the sign that you were together. She was there at your car when you first arrived, grinning again while you and Lottie got your things for school out of the second row. Then, the moment you had locked your car, you were tugged along by a hand grabbing yours.

You didn't exactly have a good reason to be grossed out. Julie was beautiful, and if you had felt the same way for her, you would have been thrilled with the enthusiasm. Hell, if it were... well. So, you mostly let her drag you wherever she wanted.

There was about a week, to run for prom court. Your mother had promptly called you that morning to insist on prom, and insist on shopping for prom, when she returned home on Wednesday, from Monaco. It was all Julie would talk about, and you were starting to wonder how much of this was a political move for her too, rather than one of genuine interest in you.

You first saw Nat coming down one of the halls, and you hesitated a bit the moment you saw that she noticed you. Or, that she noticed you and Julie together. It was the walk of shame, frankly. You didn't belong to her, in any formal sense. But your heart did, and that was enough for it to hurt. Badly.

It seemed to hurt her too. She immediately frowned, tugging on Kevyn's sleeve and walking in the opposite direction. You wanted to run after her, but Julie had an iron grip on your hand and a smile so bright.

It was awkward enough at lunch, with Julie insisting to sit next to you and to bring her golf friends. A few of them were nice, and Jackie managed to chat them up well enough to make even more friends than before, but Lottie had a frown the entire time, and Shauna looked less than happy.

Nat wasn't staring at you at lunch anymore. It was a startling realisation, that you wanted her to be looking at you. If anything, you were looking more at her. You kept turning around, trying to seem like you were just scanning the cafeteria, but Nat was firmly looking down at her food, at the same table as always.

You felt like a runaway dog that had temporarily shrugged off its collar, trying to find home with a tail between its legs. Julie was nice, and smart, and talented. But she wasn't the one. Your one.

===+++===

"Hey, you ready?" you asked Lottie, finding her out in the hallway in front of the locker rooms. it was Friday, and you both had your soccer bags slung over your shoulder, and were about to head out to practice, but Lottie seemed transfixed on a poster on the wall. "Hey now, you've got nationals tomorrow, no distractions," you tried.

"Is she seriously trying to make it seem like you two are soulmates?" Lottie said with a grimace. It was one of the ones Julie had made in two days, and was now putting all over the school to really earn you both the win. There was a drawing of you and her on it, with a heart in the middle, and 'VOTE JULIE & (Y/N) FOR PROM COURT 1996.' It was an objectively good design, but Lottie didn't like Julie very much— or at least had started to hate her, the longer you and her were together.

"I think it's because she has a crush on you," Julie said once with a pout, after Lottie had been less than welcoming to her on a ride home.

"No she doesn't," you shook your head.

"She definitely does. You shouldn't hang out with her as much, or people will think you and her are a thing. I mean, I did at first."

The whole conversation had only made Lottie more and more annoyed with her, and that was saying a lot, with how Lottie was usually nice to most people.

"Come on," you said, gesturing with your head out towards the pitch. "Last practice before nationals."

Lottie still had a frown on her face, but she followed you out there with her arms crossed. It was still relatively early, only a few people were out. Coach Martinez's son Travis was up in the bleachers, watching, while you could see Trevor and Misty talking next to the water cooler and Jeremy and Mari passing a ball back and forth to each other.

"Hey (Y/n)," a voice called from behind you, and you could feel a similar annoyance to Lottie's washing over you. You turned to see Carter Avery, back from his suspension, with a cheeky smirk on his face. "Miss me?"

"Not even close," you scowled. He brushed past you and Lottie, pausing for a moment when he was directly in front of you staring down in an attempt at intimidation. He kept walking though, until he paused, right at the edge of the pitch.

"Oh, and (Y/n)?"

"What."

"I think I need to borrow some eggs. You got any for me?" Your eyes widened. "What about toilet paper, then?"

It was intended to create anger in you. You knew he wanted you to charge at him or something, or to scowl, but all you did was stand there, in a stunned silence. You had thought that Nat would do that. That Nat could do that to you. Of course it wasn't Nat. You felt stupid and you felt guilty, and you felt even worse that you couldn't do much about either of those things. You could try, though. And maybe that would be enough.

Lottie sent you a knowing look, but all you wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die. Maybe you could try to talk to her, after practice? It was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

The Yellowjackets' moods were infectious, and it was impossible to not have a great time, at that practice. Their emotions were high, along with their excitement, and you started to feel a little bit better, the more you ran and the more you felt the wind in your hair.

Of course, that's when everything decided to go wrong. A single slide tackle from Taissa, right into Allie's leg, and everyone was panicking and yelling. You could see the bone sticking out from it, and Misty was bolting in your direction, hovering over her and attempting to right it.

"Can I get two people to carry her?" She shouted at both teams, and you immediately raised your hand, stepping forwards while Allie began to cry. You didn't even see who was grabbing her other arm until you had made it into the locker room, and Allie was still crying with Misty following behind and a very clueless looking Coach Ben behind her.

You should've known, it was her. She was selfless like that, even though she'd rather die than admit it herself. And yet, there Nat was, on the other side of Allie, laying her down on one of the locker room benches and raising her leg up. Misty ushered you both out into the hall, and suddenly both you and Nat were regretting volunteering.

You had to wait until she came out, so you would be able to carry her to the front, where the ambulance could arrive to take her to hospital, but until then it just meant you and Nat were forced to stand there in awkward silence.

It stayed that way, until you tried to speak. "So...nationals, hu—"

"Don't even," Nat snapped, shutting you up. She was twitching a little bit, in discomfort, and you knew right now that if it were outside, or if she were to have her bag, she would be pulling out a cigarette.

"...I know it wasn't you who egged my house. It was Carter... I'm...sorry."

"Real genius, aren't you."

"Allegedly. Not in practice, apparently," you admitted, sliding to the tiled floor in wait. She eyed you cautiously, but did the same, sliding down.

"Man, if I had a nickel, for every time we've been in this hallway with a serious injury... I'd have, what, two nickels?" You hummed, leaning your head back against the wall.

"That's not a lot," Nat said, rolling her eyes.

"No," you nodded in agreement, "but it's weird that it happened twice."

She thought for a minute, then shrugged. "I guess." You both could hear the whistle being blown outside, to end the final scrimmage and indicate that it was time to circle up.

"Don't you want to go hear that? Y'know, for tomorrow?"

Nat shook her head. "I'd rather be here for Allie. Though she's kind of an asshole."

You snorted. "She's a total fucking bitch."

"...Just so you know, I really did have to leave, after Lottie's party... I, uh, kissed your forehead, before I left... I guess you couldn't feel it though. You were asleep."

You shook your head. "I didn't know that..."

"...Yeah... my dad was being an asshole... it was a whole thing." You knew it hurt more than she was saying, right now, and you so desperately wanted to scoot closer, like you would've before things had gotten so messed up. Back when you were on the cusp of happiness.

"I'm sorry, Nat."

She shrugged again, like it didn't hurt, but you knew all too well. "For what?"

You would've said for being scared. For being weak. For not realising sooner. Anything. But instead you were interrupted by the sound of shoes on the tile.

Of course, there Julie had to be. She took a single look at Nat who was covered in sweat and a bit red from practice, and grimaced, before coming up to you and standing right over you, expectantly.

"Is practice over?" she asked, checking her watch. "I finished my club meeting. We have to go dress shopping— I want you there to colour match— and I need you to drop Margie off at her house, cause I said you would yesterday."

You blinked. "I mean... It kind of is? I should probably stay a bit—" you looked to Nat to see what she would say, but she was already standing up and walking off, taking the not so secret hint that Julie was telling her to get lost.

Julie watched her go, scowling behind her back and then spinning to you the moment the door clicked shut behind her. "What did she want with you?" she asked.

"We were just talking, Allie needed help."

"Well she's no good. She's one of those kids, y'know." You narrowed your eyes, getting up to your feet and wiping your hands on your shorts.

"What are you talking about?"

Julie tilted her head to the side, like she was confused by your confusion. "You must not have a lot of them, around here, but we had them all OVER, in Massachusetts. The town bicycles. Everyone wants a ride, if you know what I mean."

It was your turn to cross your arms. "No the hell I do not, Julie."

"Oh come on," she said, throwing up her hands. "She's trailer trash, at best. The delusional kind who thinks we'd look at her, like, ever. I mean, what's her body count, like over a hundred?"

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," you snapped at her, glowering.

"Okay, I know she's on the Yellowjackets, and she's clearly trying to get in your pants, but cmon. I'm your girlfriend, we can laugh about this kind of—"

"No, the hell you aren't. You're not my girlfriend, Julie, and you barely ever fucking were. That girl you just insulted is the best fucking person I know. She's selfless, she's kind, she makes me laugh—"

"Well then go sleep with her then!" Julie yelled, stomping her foot.

"Y'know what, I already have! And I fucking love her. So there!" And you turned right around and stomped back out onto the pitch.

===+++===

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you rolled your eyes, trudging down the stairs and calling out into the foyer. It wasn’t like whoever it was would actually be able to hear you, through the thickness of your door, if anything it was more to air your grievance with having to get up so fucking late. Your mom was once more distraught, now that you had kept the "perfect" girl for a single week and then promptly dumped her. Another vacation was in order.

Rain was still pounding on the roof from above, and it filled the emptiness of your house with a faint white noise, that was immediately shattered by the person pressing the button again. You rolled your eyes, deciding to walk even slower to the door out of nothing but spite.

When you actually opened the door, though, you had to blink a couple times, seeing a figure retreating already, down your drive. However long you had took had made them rethink why they were here, and you would've been all too happy to let the door close. That was, until you narrowed your eyes into the rain, just barely making out the shape of a familiar leather jacket.

"Nat?" You called into the storm, loud enough that there was no way she couldn't have heard you. You crossed your arms, thinking about how she had been earlier that day. "I know it's you, Natalie. Why the fuck are you here? You have nationals tomorrow."

She stopped in her tracks, just standing in it. She gently turned, shoulders rising and falling and it was clear she was breathing heavily. Her mascara was running in massive streaks down her face and dripping in small, grey droplets, and her eyes were sensitive and red, as if she had been crying and rubbed them raw. You swallowed what felt like a lump in your throat.

"This— all of this, with you— I— I can't," she stumbled, looking like a sad, wet dog in the rain.

"What?" you furrowed your eyebrows at her, walking out further onto your large, covered doorstep.

"I can't see you with her, (Y/n), I— I just can't."

"With Julie?"

Natalie threw up her arms in frustration. "Yes, Julie. I know she's perfect, or whatever, but— I— you can't be with her—"

"—Nat," you tried, stepping forward again.

"—Because I love you," she continued. You stopped in your tracks. It felt as if the air had been sucked right out of your lungs, even in the freshness brought by the storm. "I know we argue," her voice shook, "and I know we fight, and I know I smoke, and I curse, and I get bad grades, and my dad's a shithead, and I'm kind of an asshole sometimes— but I fucking love you, (Y/n). You.... I—"

"—Shut up," you said, shaking your head and rushing forward, out into the pouring storm. You collided with her, cupping her face in your cheeks and kissing her like the world would end in ten minutes. It would have, if you hadn't done it, and you had no idea how you had survived so long without doing it.

You kissed her once, and then you kissed her again, and then, when she was crying harder, and you were crying too, and she was holding onto your arms like you would fall away, you kissed her forehead, and held her tight in a hug.

"I'm selfish, and I'm a mess, and I'm never good enough for my stupid fucking parents," you said, over the rain and just for Nat, "and I don't realise that I hurt people 'cause that's not what my family does, and for that, I'm really, really fucking sorry."

She nodded in her tears, looking up at you as you both got rained on together. "But, I agree," you said, voice shaking, "we're not casual. I'm really, really fucking sorry, but I also really, really fucking love you, Nat. And I'm sorry I was too scared and too stupid, and," you raised your voice, as if to the sky, "I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING GO TO PRINCETON—" this time it was Nat who shut you up.

It was another kiss, but it was far more gentle than the first. It was a gentle press, and it took your breath away. When you pulled apart, you let your forehead fall against Natalie's. Even though the droplets were cold, you felt so warm.

After what felt like forever, but still wasn't long enough, Nat murmured to you, "should we go inside?" She still smelled like cigarettes and her perfume, just as she had in her trailer, and you intended to let the scent linger.

You shook your head. "Just stay out here a little longer with me. Please? Just let time pass."

She nodded, then smirked as she looked past you at the car on your driveway. "Fuckin' rich people."

===+++===

AAAAAND THAT'S CASUAL BABYYYYY! Finished at like 2 am. anyways, i'm tired and a little bit sleepy

#nat scatorccio x you #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x y/n #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio #yellowjackets

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in-som-niyah · 1 year ago

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"Come on princess, don't be like that. Give Red what he deserves..."

You are Red Hood's relief. Nothing more. Nothing Less.

Your bedside alarm clock displayed an ungodly time in the morning.

It was a cold night in Gotham, your apartment filled with a chill accompanied by a familiar emptiness. It was just you, after all, and you didn't really have anyone over.

This changed, however, when a certain masked vigilante came to you for help when he was bleeding. Knowing you were a medical professional, he decided to swing by for a stitch or two. Who were you to deny him?

How could you refuse the six foot something, broad shouldered, panting, limping man barely making it across your living room?

You decided to indulge your curiosity, because let's be honest here: If he wanted you dead, he would have made it so a long time ago.

One night became two, then three, then a month and now a few times a week.

You were always welcoming him with a fresh roll of gauze and a chilled bottle of spirits for the pain, since he refused to take anything else.

But it was more than just medical attention. It was the way his chest heaved, back muscles flexed and forearms tightened when you hit a particularly tender spot. It made another certain tender spot on you wet.

Scandalously so.

You tried to hide it by wearing dark underwear and pants to bed, but it didn't help; he had you squirming and squeezing your thighs together in no time.

And there was nothing you could do about it.

He unknowingly infiltrated your senses, his scent of sweat and musky body wash making you dizzy, his vice grip on your bedsheets when you cleaned his wounds making your knees weak.

You wanted him.

You wanted him bad.

On this particular chilly Gotham night, you might just get what you want.

A loud pair of feet landed on the hardwoods near your windowsill. Heavy, irregular, yet determined footsteps proceed into your bedroom, where you've prepared your ensuite for a battered and bleeding Hood.

"Quickly, in here." you rasped having been torn from a restless sleep.

"I'm comin' sugar. Someone's eager to see me huh?" the familiar teasing tone of his voice modulator replied.

"You're only allowed to make jokes when you're not bleeding on my floor, Hood" you shot back, followed by a playful scoff and a silent eyeroll.

However, that eyeroll might not have been so silent.

As Red Hood approached the bathroom doorframe, he caught a glimpse of your feigned annoyance in the mirror.

He sat down with a thud on your toilet, exhaustion invading his bones.

You made quick, wordless work of his belt and jacket, revealing his toned exterior and the scars littering it. You never mentioned his scars, for fear of making him uncomfortable but more so because you couldn't bear the thought of someone hurting him so much that it left such a vicious mark.

"Sweet girls like you shouldn't roll their eyes, it's rude" he huffs between pained groans.

You briefly still your hand, look up at him and quirk your brow as if to challenge him. Then, you roll your eyes right in his face. You have no idea what prompted this pettiness, but your thoughts were hazy and disorganized as you looked back down to continue cleaning and stitching his wounds.

Red Hood chuckled darkly and sighed as he felt you get back to patching him up after your little stunt.

He lolls his head to the side, as if to emphasize his astonishment at your smart comeback. He didn't take you for a fiesty one.

"Really doll?" he prompts.

You say nothing and continue with your bandaging.

"Hey. Look at me." He tries again, this time with a gentler tone.

Still, you ignore him and repackage the unused gauze for another guaranteed visit from him in the future.

You go to get up, but his hand presses your shoulder down and you stop, entirely oblivious to his intentions.

Finally, your eyes meet his mask.

Red can tell you're both making eye contact, which lasts an unusually long time. You both bask in the absence of awkwardness as you indulge in this tender moment.

Slowly, you move closer to him and reach a hand up to caress his helmet. You know he can't feel it, but it feels intimate and personal nonetheless. It is only until your fingers roam lower, toward the base of his helmet and lift, that one of his hands flies up to stop your own.

"Nuh-uh babydoll, the mask stays on" he spits sharply.

The vigilante shifts in his seat, and it's only then do you realize the growing tent in his pants.

Your eyes flick back up to his helmet and it is only now, that you realize you weren't alone in your inappropriate arousal.

Hood maintains the eye contact and brings his hands to your hips, as if asking for permission before taking the plunge.

Carefully, you move your hands down his naked torso, noting how his sore muscles twitch at your light contact.

"Fuck baby-"

A hiss escapes his concealed mouth when your hands ghost over his bulge. You knew this was wrong. You knew he should be gone to wherever he should be by now. Were there people looking for him? For Christ's sake was he a criminal?

Too many questions for a mind too far gone. You weren't thinking anything beyond how sticky the bottom of your panties had become, how puffy your lips had become from constant chewing, and the cool air ghosting over your sensitive nipples.

There's no going back.

While looking at him for confirmation, you begin to unzip his fly, then massage his length from his boxers instead.

A drawn out, desperate moan is exaggerated by his modulator as hood grinds his hips into your hand involuntarily.

"Don't tease me darling, you know what I want" he orders.

Normally, you would have slapped anyone that told you what to do, but here, it only made your sopping cunt beg for relief.

Mesmerized by his boldness and not wanting to keep him waiting, you pull him out of his boxers and kiss the tip. You're met with another whine and roll of his hips.

You begin to stroke him a few times, working him up just to give him his relief.

Just as he was about to speak again, you swallowed him from tip to hilt, making his words die on his tongue.

His body tensed and relaxed with every moan and heave as you began to bob your head up and down, taking him in full each time.

His hand flew in your braided ponytail to guide your head down his shaft the way he liked it, your tongue licking at his balls every time you went down.

"Shit- Want you to touch yourself pretty thing. Show me how those dainty fingers make you feel good"

Warmth shot straight to your core at that, but you were embarrassed to pull down your shorts and panties, and show him just how bad you wanted this.

You hesitated for a moment and pulled off his length. Stroking him with one hand and licking stripes up his shaft with your tongue, you managed to smile sheepishly in a weak attempt to refuse.

Though the heat between your legs was almost unbearable, your potential embarrassment was stronger.

Red Hood cocks his head and tuts in disproval.

"Come on princess, don't be like that. Give Red what he deserves..."

You looked up at him with glassy and desperate eyes, as if to ask if he really wanted to.

The strong hand in your braids comes down to cup your cheek and rub at the side of your mouth.

"Don't keep me waiting pretty girl, I ain't asking a third time" he rasps sternly. You knew better than to disobey.

Slowly, your removed your hands, earning a groan from him. You stood up and hooked your thumbs in between your panties and supple skin and began to pull down.

Embarrassment still clear on your features, the vigilante outstretched his hands and placed them on your plush hips, rubbing circles in your skin.

This silent encouragement prompted you to continue, until you felt the cool air brush against your exposed, puffy clit.

"So pretty" Red mumbles under his breath as the hands on your hips apply gentle pressure to get you back on your knees.

This is his turn to stand up, doing so with his angry red and leaking cock in his hand.

He held it out in silent offering to you, which you took gratefully, and resumed your earlier routine.

Subconsciously, your hand made its way down to your core and your fingers found purpose in rubbing tight circles on your clit. You moaned on his length at the contact, eliciting a pleasurable hiss from him.

You could tell his eyes were trained on the target between your legs even from behind the mask.

"That's it sugar...make yourself feel good for me...good fucking girl"

Your eyes rolled again at that as you increased your pace and suction. He wasn't going to last much longer.

Though you would have no way of knowing, Red was a true gentleman despite his nighttime activities. As a gentleman, he wanted you to cum before him.

"Faster pretty girl, come on, you can do that for me fuck-"

You gave a small nod and increased the speed between your legs. You began to focus on the feeling of your fingertips sending sparks throughout your body, but you weren't close enough.

As if a psychic, he pulled himself from your mouth and sat back down. Confused, the hand between your legs stilled, and your face beginning to pout.

Before you could protest his hands again found your hips and pulled them toward him. Your hands moved to find the back of his neck as the hooded man pulled you onto him to straddle his lap.

When his hands retreated, you whined in frustration at the lack of contact.

"Shhh pretty baby you'll get it" he cooed.

You began to rock your hips against him impatiently, but his strong hands stopped your movement. Before you could complain, his right thumb began to press circles into your core with full intent of making you cum.

"Ah-ah Red please-" you cried out, unable to take the sudden pressure and pleasure at the same time. You gripped his wrist, a weak attempt to get him to slow down.

"You can take it, yes you can princess" he replies. The cheeky bastard knows just how to make your pussy throb.

"Fuck- I'm gonna-... pleasepleaseplease" you blabber desperately nearing your peak. The pressure in your tummy growing and tightening, just waiting to snap.

The Red Hood pressed his shielded forehead to yours and whispered in a deep, modulated voice.

"'M right here pretty girl, cum for me. I know you need to. Let go."

The coil snapped with ferocity and left you screaming his name. Surely the old woman next door wouldn't appreciate it, but you didn't care. Not while he was here, making you forget about the world.

You gushed on his fingers, and he took this opportunity to pump himself to completion with your juices smeared over his shaft. He came with a low grunt and short pants.

After you came down from your high, you slowly and carefully eased yourself off of him, minding his bruises and sore muscles which he appreciated.

It was still ungodly early, your eyes beginning to close with sleep as you washed your hands in the sink.

He will never admit to you that he's never been more in love with you.

Instead, he stuffs himself back into his pants and brings you back to your bed.

Once you're situated under your duvet, you reach for his hand and weakly grasp his fingers.

"Stay?" You slur, barely holding onto your awake state.

He chuckles fondly, and you can almost see a blush under his helmet.

"Maybe another time doll."

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shhhsupertopsecret · 3 months ago

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Orestes - Jason Todd

Prompt: “It’s rotten work.” “Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

an: While I can appreciate fanon Jason, I prefer emotionally and romantically stunted canon Jason. Canon typical violence

WC: 1079

The left side living room window was always unlocked. Slightly dangerous game in Gotham, but sacrifices had to be made. For him, you would take the gamble. It had been a few days without any sight of him. While this was not uncommon, the twisting in your gut followed his absence every single time. It was a persistent reminder of the ever-present danger he was in. So, the window remains unlocked. So, you pine. And you wait.

You lay half-conscious on your couch, the TV bathing the living room in a faint blue light. Perfectly fitting of your melancholia. Then you had quite a startle. There was a gentle knock at the window. That was the sign that Jason couldn’t get in on his own. You jumped up, your heart jumping with you. You all but ran to the window to pull Jason inside. He swayed on his feet, his face obscured by that stupid helmet.

The extensive first aid kit already lay prepped on the coffee table. You could run a medical clinic from your one-bedroom apartment. You got Jason to the couch as gently as possible, as gently as you could move a six-foot-200-pound man. He was almost completely dead-weight.

With gentle hands, you moved to the sides of his helmet, pushing the release buttons and pulling it off. Jason’s face was ashen, his eyes glassy and unfocused—was it exhaustion or pain? You couldn’t tell.

“Hey, Jay.” You cradled his face, thumbs gently swiping the tops of his cheekbones, as you took in his damage. Multiple lacerations marred his skin and a bullet wound had torn open the flesh of his side. He closed his eyes and leaned into the point of connection. A black left eye too.

“I’m sorry.” He was always sorry. Jason could never accept help without guilt. To you, it was an honor to be the one who he trusted, a fragile gift. Jason Todd’s trust was a rare commodity. You would give anything to make him quit, but he wasn’t him without the Red Hood. So you loved both of them.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” With a pace so slow you appeared to be still, you peeled what remained of the blood-stained shirt off of Jason’s body. Your hand grazed the litany of puckered scars from previous gunshot wounds. Your eyes were always drawn to the y-shaped autopsy scar that ran down his chest. The scar in a crude letter J that lived near his clavicle. It wasn’t that Jason was fragile, far from it. How much could one person take? You did everything you could to take some of it from him - to carry it for him.

You started the familiar process. Examine, clean, stitch. You pull the jagged edges of skin together with secure knots. If you didn’t have an iron will before, you do now. All the while, he clings to consciousness. You can finally breathe after the last suture is knotted and snipped.

“Why do you do this for me?” Jason’s words disrupt the silence.

“Am I supposed to leave you on the sidewalk?”

“Maybe.” You knew he believed that. He doesn’t believe in affection without strings. He had never known a healthy relationship model. You tried not to let it offend you when he waited for the other shoe to drop.

“I hate when you say shit like that. I do this because I can and I want to. I really want to. I’ll take care of you for as long as you’ll let me - might force you to endure it longer than that.” Jason did let his lips curl into a small smile at that.

“Bed or couch?”

“Bed.” His voice cracked, his words more of a croak.

This time, Jason was a bit sturdier on his feet and hobbled beside you to the bedroom. You slide into bed and turn over the sheet on his side. He slides into bed as gracefully as he can manage. His skin was painted an alarming purple against the stark white sheets. You remain a respectful distance away. Would you ever tell him you love him? Was it just one more thing for him to carry? You would like to think that your overwhelmingly fond demeanor had told him all he needed to know. So was his silence hesitance or rejection?

It was faint at first, you could barely feel it. Sure enough, a pinkie interlocked with yours. You braved a look at Jason’s face.

“Thank you.” His sincerity burned your skin.

“Of course, any time.”

“That’s not what I meant. Thank you for everything. It’s hard for me to be…open. But, you meet me where I am at. You care.” His eye contact made you nervous. Jason is not world-renowned for his emotional honesty. His eyes continued to peer at you, waiting for your response.

“I-Undoubtedly, I care. You find that hard to believe sometimes. But I do.” Jason turned on his (non-injured) side. He interlocked his fingers with yours, bringing both your hands to rest on the pillow in between your heads. He stared somewhere behind your head, losing what little bravado he had.

“I think I love you. I think I do. I love you.” Jason blundered through his sentence while maintaining eye contact with the wall. His palm was sweaty. You could swear your heart was going to come out of your throat.

With bravery you did not know you possessed, you put your hands to his face and brought his eyes to meet yours. It was moments like these that reminded you what Jason had lost. He looked like that 15-year-old boy, looking for validation in a foreign warehouse. And you adored him.

“I love you, Jason. I know I do.” You both sat in the weight of your words.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Absolutely. Totally. Entirely.”

“It’s rotten work.” You wish he could quantify his self-worth. You don’t understand how someone you loved so utterly could loathe themselves. You would remind him, every day, if he let you.

“Not to me, not if it’s you.” Jason bridged the gap between you, throwing his arm over your middle and pulling you close.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” Embarrassment lingered in the red of his cheeks. You could feel the weight and warmth that radiated from his arm. It felt safe.

“Of course.” You let the man you loved hold you until you both fell asleep.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #dc #batfamily #batfamily x reader #dc x reader

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afyrian · 3 months ago

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midnight movie iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader (fluff) wc: 870 | halloween event: day two

"i’ve always been here, bitch!” a cloaked figure stands in front of you, shadowing you from the setting sun.

as he holds up a knife, your hands raise, forearms resting in front of your face. swinging his hand down, the knife collides with the side of your forearm, blood squirting out of your flannel shirt. “you see me now?” the figure screams out, raising the knife once more, only to quickly bring it down against your chest.

blood seeps out of the pocket square on the shirt, splashing up onto your face as you let out a final scream. bloodcurdling and terrifying, your hands clench into fists against his shirt, your eyes slowly closing. laying there, you wait a moment before a loud voice booms over the set, “cut! oikawa, could you get your vocal coach? maybe work on getting you to a lower octave, it just doesn’t sound right.”

peeking open an eye, you see oikawa rolling his eyes. getting up from where he was kneeling over you, his head shakes slightly below the hood, “fine, but you should start giving y/n some pointers too. i mean the screams nice but eh her acting’s a bit off.”

“oh fuck off,” both of your eyes finally open, your hand slapping against his knee, “you’re just jealous that my voice is deeper than yours, maybe i should be the murderer and you can be the final girl.”

oikawa laughs to himself, “good luck trying to propose that to the studio,” stepping over you to look for his vocal coach and likely the craft services.

smiling to yourself, you can feel the corn syrup mixture resting on your face. laying down on the grass, the fake lighting carries through the late night darkness. it’s nearing midnight and exhaustion is starting to coarse through you. the long days, the long nights filming, getting to lay there for a second and stare up to the stars is the only thing keeping you going.

“you okay down there?” iwaizumi questions, standing over you.

a notebook rests in his hand, a backwards ball cap pushed down on his head. you recognize the red thread along the edges, remembering a bloody knife embroidered into the front of the cap. it was a gift from you when filming started. “just taking a second before the crew has to clean me off again,” you meet his gaze, his eyes gorgeous as ever.

“mind if i join you?” his voice is softer than when he addresses everyone, hands flipping the notebook closed.

“sure, it’s actually pretty comfortable when you get past the whole ‘laying on dirt’ thing,” one of your hands pats the spot next to you, the grass poking your fingers.

iwaizumi slowly makes his way down to the grass, starting up at the dark sky. it all seems larger when he looks at it from the ground, like he’s an ant seeing the world for the first time. tilting his head to look at you, his gaze softens as a smile twitches on the sides of his lips. “thanks for helping with this project, you didn’t have to,” he murmurs, watching as you turn to look at him.

one of your eyebrows raise, the other furrowing, “i absolutely did. it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. this grant could make both of our careers, iwa.”

“yeah, but it could also break both of our careers. it’s a cliché horror film, everyone’s seen something similar to this before,” he looks back up at the sky, hands resting on top of each other on his stomach.

pursing your lips, you lightly nod. you know he’s not only right, but also so unbelievably wrong. this film, albeit harboring cliché tropes, was like nothing you’d ever seen before. it was iwaizumi’s creation, and watching him tear himself up for not discovering something more original kills you.

“this movie is going to be amazing, iwa. you can’t doubt yourself, especially when so many people believe in you and this script. it’s a masterpiece,” you look back up at the stars as well, not noticing when he turns to look back at you.

you also don’t notice the solemn look on his face. the way his gaze grabs ahold of you in an attempt to not let go. ever since you auditioned for the film, iwaizumi has been intrigued by you. drawn to your unique ideas and the smile that always seems to make its way to your face. yet he’s forced to look away when he considers the power balance between actor and director.

a part of him wants to tell you that you look beautiful, blood and all. but all he can do is stare. “thank you y/n. i hope if this does work out for you, making you a famous actor, you’ll still audition for my next role,” iwaizumi noticed the makeup crew walking towards the set, torn between conveying his deepest desires or pushing it even father down.

“how about we go celebrate after this movie’s release before we start talking about a professional future together,” you joke, hoping he’ll catch the humor in you practically asking him out to dinner, “i’ve always enjoyed a nice boudreaux.”

taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@bae-ashlynn @puffychu6781

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #hq #haikyuu fanfic #hq x reader #hq fanfic #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hajime iwaizumi #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #hq iwaizumi #iwaizumi fluff #☆ halloween event

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brokenpieces-72 · 3 months ago

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Railed

Navigation

TW: Character death, exhaustion and some grief, let me know if there is more.

Task Force 141's journey into the island wasn’t one they were unused to, coming in via a rowboat though was a little different. That and wearing bullet-proof vests under more civilian attire. Price was wearing his beanie, with a brown jacket, a sweater underneath. Soap had his dark jacket on, zipped up all the way, room only at the collar. Gaz had on his coat and a grey shirt. Ghost had his hood up, wearing both a hoodie and coat, along with his balaclava. Each of them had basic hunting rifles and packs with standard gear inside. John had been under prepared before but never felt like it. They were going in with minimal knowledge and a guide or two somewhere on the island. This was more blind than any of them wanted. But it was all they had… time to clean up this disaster.

Once they reached the shore the boat was hauled on to the land, and hidden with what they could find. The boat was the only way back, and if it came down to it, they would need someway of getting back and hopefully getting proper evacuation measures. For now though too much commotion would lead to national involvement. Find the girl or the old man, eliminate the threat, and let the rest carry out. That was their mission.

“Where do we start?” Kyle asked his captain.

“Right now we’re four men on a hunting trip. We ask around for the girl.” Price said. If only it could have been that easy.

“Steaming Jesus.” Johnny breathed looking at the old man’s body. He had been taking them to find the girl when they’d witnessed Charles first hand. The monster was a thing of twisted nightmares. Despite their efforts to rid themselves of the thing then and there, taking pot shots and firing with the mounted weapon. Didn’t stop the thing from getting a hold of the man, Eugene and taking a bite before scurrying off to Satan knows where. If any of them had any doubts, they were gone now. The men had reached him as he breathed his last words, telling them to find the eggs, find his son and the girl.

Kyle crouched next to him and shut Eugene’s eyes. The hole in the body was huge. Simon got down on the other side getting Eugene’s arm around his shoulder. “Kyle.”

No more instruction was needed as Kyle assisted the lieutenant with moving Eugene off the tracks. Price and Johnny both keep an eye out weapons posted, ready for the monster if it decided to come storming back for another mouthful. Branches and leaves covered the dead man.

“Laswell’s intel was spot on.” Price said, sounding almost disappointed. “Right let’s go find the girl.”

The men followed their captain back to the train, and surprisingly it still ran. Simon took the controls, moving the train forward. Kyle stuck near the gun at the back with Soap close by and Price sitting on a small bench inside. The reality, if you could even call it that, was sinking in. A reality that shouldn't even be a reality. The question that remained was whether to contact Laswell to get evacuation ready or to try and kill the damn thing. The girl had already sent it to a number of big names, ones that wouldn't hesitate to come in with heavy fire power. Laswell was trying to reduce the damage that could be done.

The four men continue moving in silence, while Simon periodically checks the map to ensure they're headed where Eugene was taking them. The old man had been glad to see them, almost excited. Finally some help had come, and he was more than willing to tell them everything they needed to know, answer their questions, give them names that would help them on the island. Walked and talked like he was a veteran monster hunter or something. Showed them respect. When Charles attacked, he was calling shots.

Death was something the 141 were familiar with but the monster… that fucking monster. It was a death that would stick with them.

They made it to the train shed, stopping it just outside the shut door. There was an old house nearby likely where someone lived. Price got out and pounded on the door of the shed. There was a bit of rustling inside. Probably you, reaching for a weapon. The rest of his men stayed back, hovering around the train. John overheard a gun reloading as he was looking to his men for a moment. He tensed and had his hand on the trigger of his own gun. Then he heard your voice

“Steven King.” He heard you say through the door.

“Dark Tower?” Price replied. It sounded almost like a question. There was quiet, and then the creaking of the door opening a crack. It was chained up on the other side, leaving only a couple inches for him to see some young eyes peering through.

“…who are you?” You asked.

“Captain John Price, SAS.” John answered. The door shut and the chains were removed on the other side while his men came a little closer. The door opened slowly and Price looked down to see a teenager with bandages on her arms and a rifle… pointed at him. Seeing his men behind him, you pointed the rifle towards them, eyes looking startled. Price stepped back out, arms out from his sides. You looked between him and his men. No, you was looking for something, someone.

“Stand down.” He called back. The men lowered their own weapons and you followed suit. After a long breath dropping the gun, you shouldered the rifle. Likely been holding your breath that whole time.

“They sent help.” You said, looking at Price and then the rest of the 141, then back at Price. “Come in.”

The all four filed in, their clothes dotted with rain. The pattering of drops could be heard above them on the old roof. Inside was another train engine, but it was in a repaired state. You shut the door looping the chain around it, but leaving it unlocked. On one of the walls was another series of photos, notes and rough drawings. You came over to them, ready to get started.

“Can’t believe it worked. Won’t lie, it’s was like a 10% chance someone might actually check the videos. Even Eugene wasn’t sure, he wanted to contact an archivist on the mainland. He should be on his way here soon.” You said, the men went very quiet. You had been through some shit, under those long pants they expected was the cause of your limp, and who knows what else.

“He’s dead.” Simon stated. Not an emotional man but there was sympathy in his voice.

“What…” your face plummeted. Never an easy part of the job. Their silence confirmed their truth. You started to wander around the room, as if you might find a different answer. Your fingers picked at your bandages and nails, even your hair. “How?”

“That fuckin nightmare.” Johnny said. There was a hard “fuck” heard from you. You paused and looked between the four men. You wiped your nose with your arm. You straightened your back to attention, focusing on the objective.

“Right. I’m just finishing repairs on this one, you have the one from Eugene, there’s parts and pieces around the islands but unfortunately I’m public enemy number two, so in order to get them it requires running errands. Sorry to say. Uh… some of them may have weapons we could also use, and there is a final plan but it’s flawed so…yeah that’s all I got.” You said ending with a shrug.

“What’s the plan?” Simon asked. You gestured to map on the wall.

“There’s a wooden bridge, I’ve gone over it more than once but Charles never follows, he runs off. He knows it won’t hold his weight, and below is… a tiger trap.”

“Tiger trap?” Kyle asked. This was certainly primitive.

“Yeah like in the most dangerous game, but instead of sticks its broken rails, rocks and some other debris. The plan is to try and get him on the bridge, detonate it, blowing him sky high and let gravity do the rest.” You explained. “The only problem is getting him across. We… I think if we get the eggs and put them in this sort of altar temple thing it might get him enraged and pursue anything moving across that bridge… getting the eggs is a whole other story.”

The sound of your voice wasn’t positive. It sounded defeated throughout the plan. Even with the extra help there were limitations, limitations they were intent on overcoming. But you. You were tired and had lost your friend. By the sounds of it everyone on the island knew how to avoid Charles. That gave them time and less to worry about. There the masked mob but that could be dealt with later. It was pouring and you needed to finish up some repairs.

“How long will the rest of those repairs take?” Price asked.

“…an hour, maybe.” you replied. “If you need somewhere to rest or… something my place is up the way, it’s not locked. I’ll be along shortly.”

“And your name?” He asked.

“Everyone calls me brat…” you answered. Seeing the unwavering expressions of the men you cleared your throat. “Y/N. Call me Y/N.”

Taglist @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving

#john soap mactavish #task force 141 x reader #captain john price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #cod au #cod crossover #choo choo charles #angst #younger reader #teenage reader #choo choo charles eugene #cod x choo choo charles #monster hunting

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lessi-lovers · 1 year ago

Note

ILYSM- maybe when reader is feeling a bit down and viv makes sure she feels supported and loved? love you!!

you understand me II v.miedema x reader

summary: you have a panic attack but your girlfriend is there for you. ★ you understand me II v.miedema x reader

the grass glistened under the floodlights, raindrops blending with beads of sweat, as they traced the curves of exhaustion etched into every player's face.

but there was one face amongst both teams that shone with a fierce focus, a resilience that the torrents of the weather couldn't dampen, - vivianne miedema arsenal's star striker, or better known to you, your girlfriend.

the final whistle blew, signalling another hard-earned victory, another night where your team would travel home scraping out yet another difficult win, another night in which you and your girlfriend would fall into bed with sore muscles, tired eyes, but hearts full. you barely noticed the weight of the rain soaking your kit; the thrill of the tough win lingering heavily on your mind.

you pushed through the stadium's corridors, the sound of your boots against the concrete creating a steady rhythm in your ears, as your head began to space out.

reaching your locker room, you immediately stripped yourself of your rain soaked clothes, immersing yourself in the warmth of the shower. you scrubbed your body clean, a few nasty tackles had resulted in a lot of grass stains, and a few small cuts that you knew your girlfriend would fret over, much to your displeasure.

drying yourself, you dressed yourself in your girlfriends, your plain cream shorts, and an arsenal hoodie you had been gifted by Steph, for secret santa. you brushed your wet hair, neatly braiding it into a plait, before packing away your belongings and heading out of the stadium.

walking out, you were met with a dizzying amount of photographers shouting your name, and yelling out questions. your mind raced, the pounding in your ears unwavering. you pushed your way past begrudgingly, your usually patient persona completely left behind.

as you neared the bus, you pulled your hood over your head, there was only one person you wanted to see right now.

you knew Viv would be waiting for you at the end of the bus, her arms open widely, with a comforting smile adorned on her face, and with the exact words you needed to hear.

walking past the girls seated on the bus, you could feel a swell of emotions cloud your head. the chatter and laughter of your teammates became a distant hum, as you felt tears brim in the corners of your eyes. each step towards the back felt heavier, laden with the weight of the 90 minutes you challenged your body to play for.

despite your best efforts to stay composed, the strong walls you had built up began to crumble, dragging you down in the destruction. you felt your last veneer of strength begin to fade, mirroring the harsh toll of your day. the barrage of flashing cameras, loud speakers, invasive fans and the sheer physical exertion of the game, left you utterly drained and with nothing to do but try and gather the pieces by yourself.

you longed for solitude, for a single moment in which you could just be you. The persona of the calm, enthusiastic, indefatigable athlete was a heavy mask to wear, and in this moment you felt it start to slip.

nearing the end of the bus, your steps became slow, your laboured breaths echoing in your ears. you yearned for viv. her presence was a light in the haze of your crowded head, a promise of comfort and love. she knew the unspoken battles, the silent sacrifices, the relentless push against one's limits that came with the demanding lives you both chose.

finally reaching viv, you saw her sitting down, arms open, a sanctuary in the storm. her smile, so raw and familiar, able to soothe your nerves. she didn't need to speak any words; her presence was comforting enough. in her arms, you found a haven, a safe place, one where you could let the facade you had built fall away, and just be yourself, vulnerable and real.

collapsing into her embrace, the tears that had been threatening to spill finally fell down your cold cheeks. viv held you, her arms wrapped tightly around your body, her heartbeat beating steadily against your own. "you're okay, darling," she whispered into your damp hair, the three words alone enough to mend your heart all over again. "everything is going to be alright, love." she reminded you, her arm rubbing soothingly up and down your back.

"you're safe." you sniffled, air getting caught in your throat. "you're beautiful." your tears began to subside. "you're talented." your breaths returned to their normal pace. "you're loved." she kissed your forehead, her thumb wiping away your dry tears.

"i love you, vivvy."

you nestled your head into the crook of her neck, her comforting arm never leaving you. gazing out the window, you watched as the rain drops traced effortlessly down the glass, the journey seeming aimless yet purposeful, much like the swirl of emotions you felt yourself. the rhythmic pattern of the rain against the roof provided a calming background noise, to the turmoil of thoughts swimming through your head.

you felt yourself become grounded, safe in her arms.

there was nowhere else you had to be, nobody else you needed to be with.

you found your solitude, right there in the arms of your favourite person. right there in the arms of the girl who would be able to mend your broken heart over and over again. right there in the arms of the only girl who truly understood you, and you understood her.

#vivianne miedema #vivianne miedema x reader #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso community

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echojays · 2 months ago

Text

── .✦ distinguished guest

✮ . ⠂ the under presents

wc; 2.6k

summary; you work as the acting manager for the under when the mc refuses to do so. it's exhausting.

warnings; like. suicidal ideation if you SQUINT. otherwise all good in the hood !!!!

a/n; hi gang. guess who's never published on tumblr before (mee !! it's me !!!!) so if this is formatted horribly or just generally ass. give me grace. i am learning. this game actually has me rolling around like a lunatic bouncing off the walls it is SO scrumptious . idek how to tag this it's such a niche piece of writing LMFAO. to all seven tup fans out there if you've seen this on ao3 no you have not !! haha. what are you talking about. anyways.

— — —

Your days always begin with chaos.

The sun never sets, which in turn means your sleep schedule isn’t defined by night and day, but is instead defined by when you can no longer will yourself to keep moving. Your hours of nonstop work are often ended by the loud thump of your body hitting your mattress. The curtains close. Fade to black.

The Under never slows down. There are always a million Timesprites buzzing about, breaking things and summoning things and throwing shit around. When the “open for eternity” business model of the Under meets your struggling sleep schedule, there is no good time to wake up. Shit is always going down. Or up, depending on how much magic the Timesprites manage to throw around. It doesn’t really matter which direction it’s going. You’ll still be tasked with cleaning it up.

The absence of rest is horrible news for you, but great news for the MC, who practically writhes whenever there’s not something exciting happening for him to watch. You’ve watched him bounce around spacetime far longer than any other Timesprite has, and the entire time you’ve never seen him slow. He’s an unstoppable force. You’re just the unlucky thing he’s dragging along.

He’s a peculiar man— if you can even call him that— one you’ve tried to unravel for however long you’ve been in the Under. The two of you are certainly close, you’ve spilled your guts to him several times in the lulls between work. Your work, it should be specified. You’re not sure he’s ever applied himself to any situation. Ever.

Exhausted, and sometimes drunk, you’ll talk talk talk. Sometimes you’ll tell him you love him and you hate him and you wish you were dead, but most times it’s just yearning. You want to go back home. He looks around your room as you talk yourself to sleep, gaze drifting from the items you’ve found and been gifted from Timesprites. He’ll finally look at you when you finally go silent and wonder if he’s condemned you despite your innocence. Then he’s gone.

The promise of eternity tends to force feelings out of a person like that, but he never discusses anything of his past. You have your theories of course, the same ones whispered amongst the actors and Timesprites, but nothing’s ever certain.

You hear the whispers about him. You hear just about every damn word uttered in the space you look over, so it’s no wonder you’re in on all of the gossip. The loyalties, the betrayals, all of the silly little factions and groups that waddle about, all of the buzz floats around the space like nothing. But when the discussions grow quieter, and the heads tilt down, you can tell the topic’s changed. You lower your head too and near the muttering. You have your two cents, after all.

I heard someone talking backstage, Sean muttered, turning to you as you handed him his blazer behind the curtain. Talking about Him. They said that when he gets bored with the acts, he just turns them to mud. You laughed at that, and this seemed to ease Sean’s mind a little. You’re the one that knows the most around here, the source of comfort for the acts and the residents that risk fading away. The highest rung on the ladder people genuinely trust. Most of them just want to go home. You gave up that a long time ago. You watched Sean’s eyes crease into a soft smile as he threw his blazer on. Kind of funny, huh? You nodded, peeling back the curtain for him and watching him walk on stage, the smile slowly fading from your lips.

The MC is usually the one to wake you up, letting you know about a situation unfolding somewhere in the Main Stage before it gets too bad. He’s the one to wake you up today.

There’s a knock at your door, and you turn in your bed, staring at a poster on the wall. It’s an artist’s rendition of Gerald. Oh, how you’d kill for a day without a mention of that fucking dolphin.

You meditate on your hatred for a second. It slowly slips away as your eyes drift closed.

There’s the knock again, and this time, the MC’s voice carries under the door. “The chandelier broke.” He announces unceremoniously, handing you the first task of the day. “Not the hour this time, a Timesprite—”

“Yeah.” You blurt, stretching and fumbling for your mask beside you. “Yeah, I’ll get on it.”

“You’re great.” He praises, but you can tell by his tone it’s not something he really means. You think about suffocating yourself in your pillow. “I’ll be around.”

There’s a noise from outside, a light whoosh, and you figure he’s gone.

You wonder how exactly the chandelier broke. You wonder what exactly ‘broke’ entails. You wonder if he just stood there and watched it happen.

He probably did.

You know he did.

You slink out of bed with a long sigh.

You throw the mirror a sideways glance, then let your gaze linger for a few more moments as you sling your robe over your shoulders. When you try to remember what you looked like in the Over, you’re usually unsuccessful. So instead, you stare at the form you’ve been granted, simple and lifeless. Whatever grip you had on what you once were seems to slip away.

— — —

Standing over the foyer from one of the above balconies, it’s easy to tell what happened with the chandelier. You think about how “The Chandelier fell and crushed four dining tables,” would have been a more accurate statement.

A giant onion lays a few yards away from the mess of crystal, sparkling shards sticking out and catching the lights from the stage.

‘Somebody threw a big ass onion at the chandelier,’ would have also sufficed.

Go fucking figure. Granted, it’s something you probably would have done when you were still green. When your mask was a toy and the whole Under was yours to explore.

You take your mask off and drag a hand down your face before getting to work.

The few Timesprites that notice and recognize you as you step into the foyer take a moment to fix a few plates and vases with you, but as soon as you turn to assess the chandelier, they all seem to conveniently scatter. Much to your dismay, the entire chandelier doesn’t fit on the inside of your mask.

The magic in the building isn’t buzzing like it usually is at the top of the hour, so the job is much harder to do. You finally make the decision to shrink the chandelier in order to fit it onto your mask and repair it then, before blowing it back up again and fixing it up to the ceiling. It takes a good moment for you to figure all this out, including how the hell to rig it back up to where it had fallen from, but after a long moment of sweat and tears and cursing so loud the performers on stage pause to watch, the foyer is free of broken glass and fallen chandeliers.

There’s a brief moment of quiet. The only thanks the Under will ever give you.

As you turn to go backstage, you watch a Timesprite chuck an onion at Apple Pie Bundy.

You thank the Timesprite under your breath and slip into the shadows behind the curtain.

— — —

The MC looks over at you from the small model hotel that he’s inspecting. Your offer for another Timeloop, one you’d snatched up and polished with Coleman’s help. You were proud of it. Everything was ironed out and ready to be put on display for the guests. All he had to do was nod.

He stares at you for a moment, watching you stand there, entirely still, expectant. Eager. You, at least, still have a purpose in this place, even if it’s just doing what you’re told. Though you’ll never be able to tell, he enjoys watching you flit around, snapping at the guests and the actors, disbanding whatever mess is stirring up before the whole building comes down. What’s left of it, at least.

You think the fire inside you is down to an ember, but he disagrees. He sees it when you yell, and when you cuss, and when you come to him after a tireless day of work and babble nonsense about the Over.

He watches it flare up whenever a new act is brought in, your efforts to accommodate whichever poor soul is trapped here. He watches you care, and something in him starts to do the same.

“You’re going to work yourself to death.” He chimes. You stifle a groan as he quickly juts off-topic. “I almost didn’t wake you up this morning. I wanted to see what would happen if you got a full night's rest.”

“You’re the one who watched it happen.” You mutter, eyes flicking down to the hotel you wish he’d focus on. “You could have saved me the trouble and stopped it.”

He just shrugs, mask perking up to the door as the opening notes of Wet Food carry in from down the hall. He stares out for a moment as he listens. “Everyone seemed to be having a good time. I’m not one to stop guests from having their fun.”

You struggle to find cohesion in whatever point he’s trying to make. “Mhm.”

He’s never been a buzzkill, this you know. A bit of a suck up, at least to the Timesprites, letting them do anything they want as long as they have their fun and sing praises to the place.

“My point is—” He chimes, turning back to you. “You’re worrying too much about everything. In a place like this, things are always happening. People are just having fun.” He waves a hand through the air with purpose, as if it’s proving his point even more. “You need to relax.”

“I’ve done everything else. The only thing left for me to do is worry.”

He pauses at that, then looks down at the small hotel in his hands. For once, he’s out of witty banter.

“Sorry.” You blurt, even though you’re not entirely sure what you’re sorry for. There’s an awkward silence that has you shifting your weight between your feet.

“Tell me about the hotel.”

“Oh—” You perk up, looking down at the hotel and then up at him. Right. “—it starts when a storm comes through the Florida Keys.”

— — —

Scratch stands beside you as you watch the MC introduce an act on stage. The two of you watch his form saunter around the spotlight with little amusement. The charisma wears off after a few years. He recycles jokes. He laughs at nothing to fill silence. His confidence is becoming very quickly aggravating.

You turn to Scratch, taking a sip of your drink. “What’s the thing you miss most?”

“From the Over?”

You nod, and he leans back on his heels, letting out a hum as he thinks. “My hair.”

You laugh at that. Good answer.

He turns to face you fully, echoing your question back at you. “What do you miss the most?”

You know your answer. “Genuine nature, I think. Like, actual birds and trees and stuff. Not… artificial.”

He nods, humming in approval. “You should rig a little something something, get a Timeloop in the forest somewhere.” He nudges you with his elbow, and you grin. You could if you wanted to, but you’re not sure how much that would console you. It would be the same as a window from a prison cell. You can look out, but you’ll always be trapped.

The curtains part, and you both stare at Helvetica and Tina as they do the same act they’ve performed for what you can only assume has been years. There’s a long beat before Scratch speaks.

“You don’t think we’ve all died and gone to hell, do you?”

You’re not entirely paying attention to him anymore. The question catches you off guard. “Hm?”

Scratch turns to face you fully. “What if this is hell?”

You shake your head. You’ve thought about this, too. “People can get out of here. There’s always the opportunity to leave.” He tilts his head at that, and you continue. “You know, really die. Turn to mud, rest your soul. All that shit. They don’t have that in hell.”

He considers this for a moment, before turning back to the stage. It’s hard to read a skeleton’s face, but you can assume he probably understands. Silence settles over you as you both watch the act. He draws a breath like he’s about to say something but stops before anything leaves his mouth. Another bout of silence. You can tell there’s something he wants to ask, and you’re almost certain you know what it is.

“Can you die?”

There it is.

You draw a breath, a shaky one, and he turns again to make sure he’s not said anything wrong. You’re still watching the act as you shake your head.

“Nope.”

— — —

You had a habit of telling yourself you weren’t really tired until it was too late. Usually a staff member would help you to your room, but this time around, it’s the MC who you’re stumbling down the hall with. He watches you in silence as you fumble with your doorknob three, four, five times before the door finally opens.

You collapse onto the bed. “Thanks.” You mutter into your pillow, not even bothering to shed your cloak as you quickly go still.

He closes the door, leaning into it as it shuts. “Good night.”

He doesn’t sleep like you do, or drink, or eat. Dreadfully human things, something neither the acts nor a large lot of the Timesprites do.

Despite the drastic differences, there was still solidarity between everybody else there. They were all in the shit together, thanks to him. Somebody had to keep it all running, had to keep the chaos at bay, and that someone just so happened to be you.

He figures if you had been brought in later, it probably wouldn’t have unfolded the way it did. If he had brought in any one else before you, you probably wouldn’t have been brought in at all. There was nothing interesting about you, at least not in the way that most people were in the Under. You couldn’t sing or dance or perform. You weren’t anything extravagant, you just were.

The reason your unlabeled job had been handed to you was dumb luck. You were the first human brought into the Under, but you weren’t picked with any intention. You were here before Timesprites. Before anyone else but him. Before he’d really cracked the system, and before he had any clue what he was doing.

You were a first attempt, a shoddy and misguided try. His first reach into the Over, just to see what would happen, and he happened to grab onto you.

It was a long time of adjusting, of course, but after a while you settled into the place and took it upon yourself to manage the things that he seemed to not care about at all. You coordinated the acts and helped log the staff, you shuffled around and handled all of the dirty work around the Under that he was too distracted to even think about doing.

He wonders, for a moment, if the Under could take a break. Just for a day— maybe an Over holiday or otherwise— to let you sleep in. A day where the chandelier doesn’t fall and the curtain never opens to serve as the ‘thank you’ he’ll never say to your face.

There’s a moment of silence as he slows in the hallway, and then he chuckles to himself.

What a ludicrous idea.

The show must go on, and you’ll just have to come along with it.

#the under presents #timesprites #the mc

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phantom-dc · 2 years ago

Text

Dad Hood - part 5

The next day, Jason is making breakfast. He puts some eggs, sausages and bacon on the stove, and grabs a knife. Danny is looking at what he is doing.

‘Jason, can I help?’ Asks Danny. Jason thinks for a bit, and gives him some napkins and plastic cups.

‘Why don’t you set the table, ok kiddo?’

Danny is excited to help, and runs off to the dinner table. Jason takes this moment to cut up some mangoes, and put them in the blender. He doesn’t want Danny anywhere near the knife. Thankfully, Danny is small and the counter is high. He’s got nothing to worry about. He gets some banana’s intending to put them in with the mangoes for a smoothie. He turns around and sees Danny sitting on the counter. He asks how Danny got up there, but before he can finish his sentence he realizes what is happening.

‘DANNY NO-‘

He is too late. Danny presses the button on the blender, which is still without a lid. Jason’s vision flashes white whit a mango-y tint. When he gets it out of his eyes, his kitchen is laminated, and Danny is looking sheepishly.

‘I’m sorry, Jason.’

Danny hasn’t stopped apologizing during breakfast. Jason sighs. He knows Danny only wanted to help. Plus, now he knew Danny had another power:

Accelerated healing

Invisibility

Cryokinesis

Flight

Danny had flown, like Superman, and given Jason a napkin to clean himself. That was probably how he got on the counter in the first place. Jason realizes he needs to store his weapons somewhere else. Simply putting them high up wasn’t a solution. Looking at his kitchen, he realizes he needs to clean that quite thoroughly. Danny was still looking sad. Jason gets an idea.

‘Hey buddy, want to help me clean up?’

Danny looks up, hopeful. He wants to help, as he knows it was his fault. Jason ruffles his hair. He realizes he’s been doing that a lot. He compliments Danny on being responsible kid, and they get to work. Danny gets an apron that’s way too big and a cloth to keep his hair clean, like Jason. Jason wonders what task he can give Danny.

‘Ok, buddy. Here are a bucket of soapy water, a scrubbing brush and a towel.’

Giving Danny a pile of unbreakable items like plastic cups, placemats, Soda bottles etc., Jason asks Danny to clean all this icky, sticky stuff after showing him how to do it. Danny puts up his hand like a soldier and scrubs away. Jason grabs his own cleaning supplies and gets to work.

After a few hours, Jason is done and exhausted. He takes of the apron and collapses on the couch. He asks Danny if he is almost done. Danny says almost:

‘I only have a few cups left!’

Judging that Danny is doing a good job, Jason lays down on the couch. He tries to keep an eye on Danny, but is too tired and quickly falls asleep. After a few minutes Danny is done with the cups. He gets up to tell Jason, but he is sleeping. Danny wonders what to clean next. Taking a sniff, he knows one more icky, gross thing to clean.

Jason is walking through a hallway. For a moment he is confused as to where he is, when he hears the angry bubbling of the Lazarus Pits behind him. Turning around, he sees a green liquid monster chasing him. As Jason turns to run away, he realizes it’s a nightmare.

‘Not this one again!’

He runs as fast as he can, but like always, the monster gains on him. Jason expects to be engulfed, to drown like every night. Suddenly, as the monster is right by him, they both float up into the air. Jason has a moment to think that this is new before they both fall upwards into a sea of nails! Jason is surprised, and it hurts! He feels them scraping his… skin? No, not his skin. His heart? No, not that either. Where is this feeling coming from? Its everywhere and not at once! Confused, he suddenly notices the monster is also trapped in the sea of nails. But where Jason is only mildly in pain, the monster is in agony. It is screeching and wailing, being pulled apart and slowly disappearing in the sea. Its screams leave Jason lightheaded. After the monster is torn to shreds, the sea disappears, leaving Jason floating. He is confused, when he sees himself, a giant lying asleep below his floating self.

Jason wakes up. He still feels lightheaded and doesn’t want to open his eyes. He feels a weight on his belly. Realizing it’s Danny, he tries to open his eyes. AAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! The nails are back! What!?! Eyes wide open, he looks up. Danny is indeed sitting on his belly, still in his apron and cleaning… what is that? Danny is scrubbing a green, floating orb with the soapy brush and Jason realizes he can feel it!

‘Danny? What are you doing?’

Danny looks up. ‘You’re awake! I found something gross to clean!’

Jason looks to his left and sees the bucket is full of Lazarus water, no Lazarus goop? Its consistency is too thick for watAAAAAH!!! Danny scrubs a bit harder.

‘Done!’

Danny dunks the brush into the goopy bucket. Jason is confused.

‘Danny, what is that?’

Danny says it’s a Core.

‘Ok, so what’s a CorRRRGGGH!’ The towel dry is very uncomfortable! Danny answers:

‘It’s like a Soul, but for dead people!’

Jason’s blood goes ice cold.

‘What?’

Danny doesn’t notice Jason’s existential crisis.

‘Yeah! I have one too! But yours was covered in gross goop! So I cleaned it! Don’t worry, I was reeeeaaaallyyyy careful!’

Danny gets off Jason and picks up the bucket. Jason realizes why his head feels lighter now. It’s the Pit. It’s quiet. He forgot what that felt like. He almost spirals, until he looks over to Danny.

‘DON’T FLUSH THE LAZARUS GOOP DOWN THE SINK!’

First - Previous - Next - AO3

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #dp x dc #batman #red hood #jason todd #dad hood #dad jason

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blackjackkent · 2 months ago

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Jaheira looks deeply grim as they loot the bodies of the dead doppelgangers. Whatever good humor she'd had on entering the Harper safehouse has drained out of her, leaving her looking more tired and haggard than ever.

Her expression is carefully noncommittal as she looks at a note left on the table near one of the dead bodies.

"So it is, then," Rakha hears her murmur - the words clearly meant for no one but herself. "The tree has been cut apart at its roots."

She folds up the paper and tucks it away in her pack, and for just a moment Rakha can see a flash of brilliant pain through her eyes and across the curve of her mouth. And then it passes and her expression is unreadable again.

Geraldus is leaned against the wall of the basement, trembling with exhaustion and fear. "Did I- Did I get it right?" he asks shakily.

With visible effort, Jaheira pastes a faint smile and a business-like glance onto her face. "Selune's Tears," she says matter-of-factly with a slight nod. "It is said no false face can stand beneath their light. An old code, Harper - but yes. You got it right. Now... I need your report."

Geraldus straightens with an earnest nod. "We had eyes on suspected cultists in the city, like you asked," he says. "We thought we were tracking them, but..."

"They were tracking you instead, evidently," Jaheira says grimly. "Doppelgangers."

Geraldus nods several times rapidly. "And they're not just working with the cult, High Harper. They're *part* of it. Bhaalists, I think."

"Sworn to Orin the Red, yes," Jaheira confirms. "We've... already had the pleasure. Go on."

The boy shifts his weight uncertainly from side to side; his gaze flicks to Rakha and the others, then back to Jaheira. "Everything seemed fine until... your latest orders. Until we started to search for the Rashemaar."

Rakha blinks at the unfamiliar word. She glances at Wyll but he shrugs uncertainly in response.

"They struck the same night," Geraldus goes on. His voice trembles just a little. "I woke to one of them strangling Chelvin while smiling at me out of her face. She said - it said - that I'd report back to you as normal. Lure you here. And... I had no choice."

An uncomfortable little shiver of pleasure goes down Rakha's back as she considers this image. A brutal way to die, whispers the beast. Our Father's servants do beautiful work... and forced the boy to watch...

Jaheira's expression twists with dismay and regret. "I'm sure it felt that way, Geraldus," she mutters. "The others were likely dragged back to Orin. Tortured. Sacrificed." Her jaw works, her eyes hooding over with effort at controlling her emotions. "I do not expect you to die for me," she says, a touch bitterly. "But to risk Entharl? Any citizen who might have wandered in?"

She shakes her head - and even Rakha can feel the sting of disappointment in her words. "There is always a choice. And a Harper must be able to make the hard ones. Perhaps this isn't the life for you after all, Geraldus."

Geraldus blanches, appalled. "No! Jaheira - High Harper - please! I'm still a Harper! I want to help!"

Jaheira frowns - and again, just for a moment, Rakha can see that flicker of pain, swiftly concealed. "You've scarcely signed up, boy," she says softly. "And there is a war coming. Why die a Harper when you could still live as anything else?"

(A/N: This line fucking kills me. :( I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT HER OKAY.)

Rakha draws a slow breath and hisses it out between her teeth. She can tell, from her position outside the moment, that it is a difficult one for Jaheira - but she is all too acutely aware of the dead doppelgangers around them, the smell of blood in the air. She can't focus.

"Enough," she mutters hoarsely. "What do we do now?"(*)

Jaheira flinches. For a moment, she looks as if she wants to be angry at Rakha's interruption - but then she just sighs and shakes her head. "I'll come clean," she says tightly. "I did not tell you all about what I hoped to learn here today. I will rectify that."

A pause. Then she looks at the boy, who is still watching her anxiously. "But first... Geraldus. Does your mother still own that farm in the Dalelands?"

"Yes, High Harper." His shoulders slump, feeling the blow before it arrives.

She smiles sadly. "Just Jaheira to you, now," she says quietly. "Go on. I have all the help I need."

-----

(*) In-game line is "Enough of the Harper dramatics," which didn't sound exactly Rakha-ish.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #i am as always very unwell about the feelings roiling under the surface of any moment when jaheira is being Businesslike and Direct #she is NOT doing well in this moment #not only is she upset to see what happened to her harpers but this also means #that they never found out what happened to minsc #so nothing that she hoped for (that was making her at least somewhat cheery upstairs with Entharl) has panned out #and she is alone again with the responsibility for this group that is fraying apart at the seams :(#I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS #HELP

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thinginahumansuit · 4 months ago

Text

Pent Up Part 2 3/5

My penis directly touched her chest while I started kissing her ass from where I was; there was a lot of ass to kiss. So I started at the bottom edge then went as high as I could go before shifting slightly and came back down. I took a break at her exhaust, sticking my nose in and inhaled a different scent, one of burnt oil and popcorn; I could fix that up with a good licking. She vigorously slid her tits up and down against my member, eventually overwhelming me once more with her silicone pillows, softly kneading my penis into submission. It got all over and between those breasts and the first couple of squirts got her in the chin.

I stuck my tongue in as far as it could go, tasting only metal while licking up a thick layer of soot from the inside. She shuddered and let out a loud moan as I did so, briefly pumping out exhaust in response. That instantly got me hard again and I played with that exhaust tip for a few minutes with the licking, rubbing and fondling of it. Not to mention that I lightly suckled on its edge and licked that clean too. Then I continued kissing her ass until I got to the other exhaust tip and did similar things. By this time, I came yet again and her tits were a mess. I sniffed her exhaust to get hard again.

"Hey!" I said.

"Hmmmm?" She replied.

"Before we do anything else, can you uh, suck me off, please?"

"Sure." She said as she was about to get right to work.

"N-no! No. Can you let me get up first?"

"Okay." She said sounding slightly disappointed.

She lifted herself up enough for me to slide out from under her. Fully erect, I walked around to her front. Getting the idea, she crawled up to me, got up on her knees, and buried her face into my crotch. She hummed and bobbed and licked and sucked on that piece of candy that was my cock and balls. I stroked her hood as she gave me the business, letting my fingertips glide across the smooth metal as she purred even harder.

I felt myself start to come as the shaft continuously rubbed against her tight throat, spurred on by the vibrations of her luscious lips; suddenly she stopped. For a moment everything was still, and then she went back at it. The urge had gone down by then only for it to kick right back up. She stopped once more. The urge to come went away, but the feeling did not. She bobbed up until my cock was free and aching for release. That was when she played with it with her tongue. She gently licked up from the frenulum, then she nibbled a little back down, pulling the skin slightly with each movement, slowly sending me into complete euphoria. She lapped up my balls, softly suckling on one before returning to my ever-increasingly leaking cock. Nibbling her way back up, she kissed her way down the top, sending me into a near frenzy which she recognized. She licked rings around the shaft a couple of times before she dove down with vigour, propping me up from behind as my knees buckled beneath me and I went glassy-eyed. She continued to suck as my seed coated her mouth from top to bottom, sending me straight to heaven. My body uncontrollably shuddered from the complete euphoria I felt in those moments. She held onto me until she was sure my body was working again. I breathed heavily, as did she as we stared at each other. She blew semen bubbles at me with a grin. I cocked my head.

#objectum community #objectum #mechanophilia #mechaphilia #automobilum #car objectum #objectum nsft

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pbandjesse · 1 year ago

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I did not feel good today. I felt exhausted and winded and bad. It was not a good time. I tried really hard but I could not get it together until very late in the day.

I didn't sleep amazing which was part of it. The air hurts my throat, it was to dry in here. I slept late and didn't feel good at all when I got up. I would go out water on my face and just get back in bed because I felt so bad.

Eventually I did get up. But it was not a very good morning. I was weak and dizzy. Like low blood sugar shaky. So once I was dressed, even though it was 1030 am, I had my leftover pasta for breakfast, hoping it would give me some energy. It had at least helps the shaky feelings.

I did do some half hearted cleaning. I put a few more things away in my storage trunk for moving. I put some more stuff in the get rid of boxes. I wanted to do more but I felt bad and overwhelmed.

I would go back and forth from laying down to trying to do anything. I vacuumed. I added water to the tanks. I still felt bad.

Go try to perk myself up, and warm up, I would decide to have some soup. But when my bowl broke in the microwave I was very close to tears. I went back to sleep.

I would sleep until almost 4. And when I woke up I still didn't feel good but I didn't feel as horrible.

I would wait for James to get home. And I was really happy to see them when they got back. They were exhausted from a half price day at the museum. So many people came in and I'm sure it was a lot. But they were still ready and willing to help me do some organizing.

They pulled everything out of the bathroom closet and we consolidated and got rid of and folded our extra towels into a storage box. I was proud of us.

In our moving things around I would also go through all the deodorants I have and figure out what ones were worth keeping. I would get rid of about half. I also just got rid of a lot of packaging and trash I had in our first aid drawers. I was making good progress.

James would go get on a call to play DND with their friends and I started working on organizing my shelves in the studio.

When all of a sudden I heard shouting. Not terribly out of the ordinary but then it kept going. And I couldn't figure out exactly where I could see what was happening but then I saw it from the living room.

At first I thought it was just teens fighting but then I realized it was someone getting robbed. I went to open the window to yell and as I did the cars, two black SUVs drove away. It was the neighbors across the street. I asked if they wanted me to call for help and they said yes of course. I said I would. The younger of the two was upset and said something about wishing I was faster and that I should have called when it was happening but this literally was maybe two minutes. I am sure he felt like it lasted forever. I am giving him grace but I yelled back I'm trying to help! And went to call.

Thankfully I did not get put on hold, which has happened before. I was mad at myself for not getting the license plates. I tried but I couldn't see it clearly. And I tried to relay as much as I had seen I think there were 5 people but it also might have been 4. The two beating up my neighbors on the ground were wearing hooded sweatshirts. One was just standing by the SUV that was in the alley, while someone else was standing near the suv blocking my neighbor's.

I tried to tell them everything I saw so hopefully it will help.

I was very shaken up. Seeing that was very upsetting. I could see what apartment the neighbors went in so when the police called me back I was able to describe where they went so he could go check on them. And when the ambulance was looking for them I was able to direct them as well.

I just focused my upset and nervous energy on sorting in the studio. For about a half hour I did that. But the police called me back and asked if he could come up and talk.

The officer was very nice. While I politically don't trust the cops as an organization, a single person tends to be kind. He said I was very fast and the people who were assaulted hadn't even called by the time he knocked on their door. He said everything I shared and saw was helpful and I did a good job. He also said they might call me back tomorrow to get more info but I don't know what else I can help with. I don't even think I would recognize the people if I wanted to. My eyes just weren't focused enough. I tried but my vision is just not amazing at night and at a distance. If I can help I will. My neighbors were taken by ambulance and I really hope they are okay.

I would go back to organizing. I spent the next hour or so sorting my yarns and the shelves and I think I did a pretty good job focusing the energy. There is much to do. But I think I have done a good job starting and when we start to move things it will hopefully go pretty smoothly.

Now I would like to go take a shower. And hopefully tomorrow I will feel good. I hope you are all safe at home. Take care of eachother. Goodnight.

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arazialotis · 2 years ago

Text

Gabriel(a)? - Part 5

Characters: DeanxReader, Sam, Jack

Word Count: Around 5860

Warnings: Season 14 Spoilers (Does not follow plot exactly, but takes from main ideas), Swearing, Typical SPN Violence/Gore

Summary: Team free will seems to be out of answers and hopeless as one of their own falls sick. Yet a micheavous and annoying mystery girl pops up out of nowhere and may be able to offer a solution, if not more.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

----

“Yeah, yeah. The motel just up there.” You pointed and leaned over the front bench, guiding Dean to the near-empty lot.

It was a crappy estate, but hopefully cheap to host the lot of you. Shutters hung askew, tiles were missing from the roof, and paint was peeling off the plastic siding. The current state of the place had nothing to do with the string of tornados earlier this month. You had viewed the damage of one driving into town. The roads were clear, but only a few fallen trees had been sawed up. Debris was piled high, electric wires were down, and homes were unsalvagable. Whatever the demons were up to, it was some heavy shit.

The Impala shuttered to a halt in the parking life. Even as Dean turned her off, the engine rattled from the mere exhaustion of the non-stop drive. Heat radiated off the hood as you made your way to the room. Dean said he was instantly ready for action, but the dark circles under his eyes proved otherwise. Sam was in better shape, but not by much. So you convinced them a quick clean-up would do them well with the hopes that sleep would find them once they sat down and were no longer in motion.

“Room numbers?” Sam asked.

“Six.”

They both stopped when you didn’t continue.

“Y/N.” Dean’s eyes were closed. “There’s five of us.”

“And three of us don’t sleep or need to, at least. I still enjoy the occasional unconscious jaunt so long as colorful hallucinations are present.” You rambled.

“And I enjoy my privacy.” Dean snipped back.

Sam sighed. “I’ll check in and get us another room.”

“God,” You complained as you neared room number six. “Are you ever going to learn to trust me?” You opened the door and waited.

Dean analyzed you and took the first step forward. Sam stayed put as Dean turned the corner and eagerly crossed the threshold.

Dean sighed in astonishment or relief, or a little of both. “Where have you been all my life?”

You still held the door open, staring down Sam like a lioness would her prey. It was clear that you had won over his brother, won over Jack. Would he and Castiel fall? Would he betray his instincts so easily as Dean had? Or was he wrong?

Sam adjusted the shoulder strap of his duffle and followed his older brother. The expression on his face changed like the stages of tasting a complex whiskey, first from shock, to amusement, to confusion at the possibility.

“Waiting for the Doctor Who moment.” You looked at an imaginary watch.

Sam stepped back outside, glimpsing the length of the motel. “It’s bigger on the inside.”

“There it is.” You held out your hand for a fist bump.

He shook his head and let out a huff with laughter as if to let you know; no, he couldn’t be won over, but he would be taking full advantage of the accommodations while he had to bear your presence. And surprisingly, he didn’t leave you hanging.

The door behind you closed with a soft click, and Sam still stood at the entrance. The duffle bag fell to his feet. The entryway led into a sunken living room with a wrap-around couch large enough for twelve people. Jack watched Harry Potter The Chamber of Secrets on the big screen TV over a white brick fireplace. The fire within crackled and popped. The open space included a dining room with a farmhouse-style table and matching benches.

Further back was a reading nook with an emerald barrel chair and a bookshelf. It was sectioned off from the kitchen by two rooms. The reading nook was separated from the kitchen by two rooms. The kitchen contained an island, modern appliances, and a gas stove. Aside from the entrance, each wall had two doors leading into bedrooms. Everyone's name was posted in silver lettering, assigning each one a room. The sixth said spa.

“Can’t spare any power for Jack, huh?” He questioned.

“Come on, Sammy.” You challenged him. “Grace is more complex than that… It's like heat. Well, that’s my running theory anyways. I assume you’re familiar with thermodynamics?" He nodded his head, and you contained an eye roll. "Naturally. Nephilim, from what I can tell, granted, there are only two of us (that we know of), are some of the most powerful beings in existence, but that translates to requiring more grace to heat us. There’s also the dynamic of specific heat, how well we store grace. Nephilim are like water, and angels like aluminum. Water has a higher specific heat; thus, more heat is required to change the temperature. And then there are the phase changes… Are you following? I’d happily pull out a chalkboard and review the specific physics with you.”

Sam couldn’t deny it; he was impressed. “No, the theory makes sense. For Jack to get to his full potential, he would need a massive amount of grace. To use your example, what you can give him without compromising your own is like melting ice on a stove. You can get him from a solid to a liquid, but you’re never going to be able to reach a boil without an external source of energy to keep yourself powered. It was enough to heal him but not sustain his power."

Dean, who had explored the space a little, was now near asleep as the two of you debated biology and mathematics.

"Honestly, I'm just making it up and hoping for the best." You confessed. "There isn't exactly a handbook on this shit. Heaven having wiped out my kind, and I suspect most of any recorded history about it."

Sam bent down, reached inside his bag, pulled out his laptop, and wandered to the dining room table. "You're absolutely right; we should start recording some of this down."

“We watched a YouTube video!” Jack called from his seat. “But I still don’t understand the math. I guess that is why I'm not a Ravenclaw."

“My money’s on Hufflepuff.” You commented.

“So long as it’s not Slytherin,” Jack mumbled.

“Hey,” You snipped. “We talked about this. Not all Slytherins are evil.”

“Yeah, but Ron said there isn’t a bad wizard who didn’t come from Slytherin, and no one here is either,” Jack argued back. “Sam’s a Ravenclaw, Cas is a Hufflepuff, Dean’s a Gryffindor, and you….” He furrowed his brows and tilted his head, trying to piece a puzzle together.

You only winked at him, wondering if he could settle on the right house. “I guess we will just have to keep watching the movies to see if Ron is right, won’t we.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “We didn’t drive all the way here for a movie marathon. We can paint each other’s toes and put on the sorting hat later; right now, we have a case to work.”

“Dean, you need to rest.” You tried to hold the lecturing tone out of your voice, but a small hint broke through.

Of course, he was defiant. “I need twenty minutes to freshen up, and I’ll be good to go.”

He paused, his eyes glazed over like he was staring at something far away. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself. This wasn’t the first time you noticed that look. He was here physically but not mentally.

“You’re exhausted.” Sam agreed. “We can get a head start and catch you up in the afternoon.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m good. I’m good.”

“Well, if you are certain you are good, freshen up and join Jack and me for the Prisoner of Azkaban.” You near ordered. “I’ve already got the day scheduled out. Going in as press, you and Cas have an appointment with the sheriff at 3:00. They wouldn’t let you speak with the coroner. My fault, yes, should have gone in hot with FBI, but I’m sure you can find a way around that. At the same time, Sam and Jack have an interview with the first victim's family and then at 4:00 with the second.”

“And what will you be up to?” Sam asked.

At the same time, Dean asked. “Where is Cas, anyways?”

You addressed Sam first. “Our miraculously revived coma patient has gone missing. I bet you can guess why with the amount of sulfur in this town. I’ll start sweeping the town for her and any potential buddies. We’ll regroup for dinner and discuss any potential leads. As for Cas…”

The room labeled spa opened, and Castiel emerged from a cloud of steam in nothing but a tan bathrobe. Sam and Dean’s mouths parted.

“I would highly suggest scheduling to see Helga for a deep tissue massage before our time here ends,” Castiel advised.

Dean took a deep breath and sighed. His eyes snapped to yours. “God, I love you.”

Those weren’t the words you expected. He didn’t mean it like that, and you knew it. Despite that, bubbles rose in your stomach, and heat ignited in your core. Yet, somewhere deeper and darker, something twisted. Guilt, shame, fear. You couldn’t let them see any of it. Any part of you, the good or the bad. Especially with Sam’s unmistakable scoff. So you did your best and channel a neutral reply.

You examined your nails, “I know, right? I’ve honed in pretty well on the Alps and Cancun packages. The Shiatsu massage is still a work in progress, but my contacts in Shizuoka are closing in on a deal.”

“If there is anything I can do to be of assistance.” Castiel eagerly offered.

“We may need to roll our sleeves up for a minor miracle, but I’ll keep you posted.” You responded.

Sam couldn’t believe it. He was the one to invite you in. To trust you enough in the beginning, solely for Jack’s sake. But something about this didn’t settle right. Surrounding them with comfort so they would stay compliant and placid. Like you were fattening up a calf before slaughter. He dropped the conversation earlier with Dean but had to get this feeling off his chest. The problem was, finding the opportunity to do so privately. Even as he jotted down notes from your conversation, he took everything with a grain of salt, knowing you may be intentionally misleading him.

“Well, since we have a while, I guess a few hours of shut-eye wouldn’t hurt,” Dean announced before heading to his room, playing it off as casual as if he hadn’t almost fainted moments before.

You and Jack shared a look. More than a look, a conversation, a language that only you two could understand, that was privy to only you.

Jack nodded his head slightly and then put on an act again. “So, I can keep watching Harry Potter, right? There are still six movies to go. And I need to finish so I can decide if I should be a Jedi or a wizard.”

“That’s the best part, Jacky.” You hopped over the couch and joined him, summoning a bowl of popcorn and a Hogwarts blanket. “So long as the stories stay in our head, we can be a part of them. All of them.”

Sam eyed you a while longer, but you simply explained what movie details were missed during the conversation. Until Cas joined you on the couch and asked what a Hufflepuff was, you paused the movie so you and Jack could catch him up on the lore. Finally, Sam decided to surrender his reservations, and after saving his Word document, he headed to his room to freshen up.

With Jack present, you knew he could sense a split. The look you had shared had been concern over Dean. This spell he had was not from pure exhaustion alone. You had noticed one or two other occurrences, and Jack had noticed separate occasions as well. He agreed that you should check on him while a projection of you remained here not to alarm the others.

The bedrooms were not extravagant by any means. But they each consisted of a king-sized memory foam bed, a 4k tv, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the same lake that showed in the kitchen window, and a private bathroom with a jacuzzi tub. Okay, so maybe you had overdone it a little. But why stay in a shitty motel when you could manifest a more pleasurable experience.

Dean came out of the bathroom; his face splashed with water. You stood inside the room at the closed door and rapped your knuckle on it, signaling your presence.

His eyes traveled over your body, and he sighed. “Not now, Y/N. I’m exhausted.”

The brave front he had plastered on for the boys had dropped. It stung a little bit, him assuming what you were here for.

There was concern in your voice as you spoke. “Are you okay, Dean?”

“I’m fine.”

The bed dipped under his weight as he sat on the edge and began to unlace his boots.

“Dean…” You whispered.

“Please. Y/N. I’m just so tired.” He stated plainly.

You pushed off the wall and stalked towards him. His weary eyes followed you across the room until you landed beside him. You cupped his cheek in your hand, and he leaned into it, fully resting and closing his eyes. Prying wasn’t what he needed right now; he just needed support, somebody to hold him.

“Trust me.” You pleaded as if saying the words would make it so. What you have been begging him since the very beginning.

You guided him with you as you leaned back on the bed, half reclining and half sitting against the headboard. When he realized you weren’t asking anything of him, Dean relaxed. He wrapped his arms tightly around your torso and nuzzled his head against your chest. You hummed a soft tune and ran your fingers gently through his hair. His breath slowed and deepened as sleep quickly took him. Were you being overly sappy and romantic, humming Can’t Help Falling in Love? Yes, but he didn’t seem to mind. Did you mean it? Again, yes. With all your heart. Even if you weren’t ready to say the words. Even though he had said them to you, but didn’t mean it. He didn’t understand. A tear broke free from the corner of your eye.

*****

Dean and Cas had just finished their fruitless interview with the sheriff and took a purposeful wrong turn to head to the county office’s morgue instead of the exit. Dean wore green flannel, a beige cardigan, dark-rimmed glasses, and a press badge. Castiel didn’t take to looking the part too seriously. He was back in his trenchcoat and blue tie, but at least it wasn’t the bathrobe. Dean looked over his shoulder once, twice, and again as he reached the door, trying the handle. It only jiggled slightly but wouldn't budge.

Dean reached inside his cardigan for the concealed pocket. A case slowly zipped open as Dean went for his lock-picking set. Cas eyed him with disbelief, took the handle, and popped the door open. With raised eyebrows, Dean huffed and placed the kit back in his pocket.

The morgue was empty, and a chill deeper than air conditioning ran up Dean’s spine. The silence was heavy as their footsteps echoed. There was currently a body covered on the main examination table. Dean snapped on latex gloves and checked the toe tag. It wasn’t one of the victims they were looking for. Papers rustled as Castiel began reading through reports, and Dean went to check the lockers.

“Ah, here we go,” Dean said.

The latch clicked open, and Dean rolled out the sliding metal table, snapping at the end. Castiel kept the notes flipped open in his hands but wandered over, the body able to reveal more than the corner’s observations ever could. Dean carefully pulled back the sheet and instinctively stepped back.

"What the hell?" He asked.

Castiel peered in closer. Dean regained composure and took a better look. The eyes were burned out alright, taking with it half the face. It had to be chemical, acid, or some sort. Dean took a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

"That is no angel." So he concluded, starting a thorough exam to seek further clues.

"Or." Castiel hypothesized. "An angel covering their tracks."

They stared each other down, sharing an unspoken conversation, questions more than answers. What was Michael up to that needed covering up? If Michael was here, was he connected to the demonic activity? Weren’t demons beneath him? Was it even Michael to begin with? If not him, then who? The same person came to mind.

“Dean…” Cas began in a lecturing tone.

“Cas.” Dean interrupted. “We are treating this as any other case, and all evidence so far points to demons until we have something contrary….”

He held his open hand towards the corpse. “This is contrary evidence.”

Dean couldn’t deny it. “Well, until we have a solid lead, there is no need to go around pointing fingers.”

The angel scoffed. “Says the man who she has wrapped around her finger.”

Dean did not take kindly to that accusation. “I wasn’t the one fawning over the sauna this morning.”

“Sam sees it too.” Castiel continued to argue. “Everything she has done since her arrival has either caused us to be distracted from hunting Michael or making us so comfortable we forget Michael is even out there, to begin with.”

“She’s being too nice, which equals her murdering two randos in nowhere, Pennsylvania. You forget she literally saved Jack’s life.” He defended.

“As her way in.” He wasn’t going to drop it. “What else has she done to help us?”

Dean thought about it. You were helping Jack with his powers but with a limited grace supply; to say he was lacking was an understatement. The theory you proposed conveniently made sense and let you control the biggest potential threat. Yet the kid adored you. True, he wasn’t the best judge of character. You made really good pie which only played into the comfort aspect, and you were even better at fucking. God, how he wished to be buried inside you instead of entertaining this bullshit conspiracy theory. But it was more than all these things Cas and Sam argued were the cause of docility; it was the way Dean felt about you. The determination, the boldness, the fragility and loneliness underneath it all, the radiating care for team free will that had won Dean’s trust. If there was ill will, those intimate moments shared would feel more sickly, leery, and gated. There was still no good response for Cas, but Dean would try anyway.

“You’re just jealous I have a new friend.” He was already kicking himself as the words came out.

Before he could redeem himself, a flutter of wings cut him off, and you appeared from thin air, bringing with you the reek of sulfur.

You bent over, leaning on your knees and gasping for breath. “We have a major problem.”

They both waited for you to continue, but you were more concerned about steading your heart. When you resumed normal breathing, you looked between them, and the tension was so thick it could but cut with a butter knife.

“Am I interrupting something?” You asked.

“No.” Dean said as Castiel said, “Yes.”

“Great, well, my matter takes precedent.” You ignored Castiel’s honest response. “Do either of you know how to close a gate of hell?”

Dean’s eyes widened. This was bigger than they thought.

“Did you open it?” Castiel immediately accused.

Your voice raised what seemed to be ten octaves. “What in God’s name would I want to open a gate of hell for?”

“That’s what I��m waiting for you to tell us.” Castiel prompted.

“You are this close to losing all sauna privileges.” You threatened.

He faltered for a second but ultimately held his ground. “Answer the question.”

Your eyes darkened, peering at him as you carefully spelled out each syllable. “If I opened a way to Hell, I surely wouldn’t come around announcing to you asshats that it was open in the first place. Furthermore, if I opened it, I would know how to fucking close it!”

“A yes or no will be sufficient.” He practically ordered.

You chuckled. “Forget it. I don’t need this! I will try again to figure it out on my own. And when demon hordes overrun this state, you will have no one to blame but yourself, and don’t think for a second I will help you without copious amounts of groveling.”

Dean saw you fading and rushed, “Start with a devil’s trap to contain it, then come back, and we’ll figure out how to seal it back up.”

Before you completely vanished, you winked and shot him with a finger gun. The tension between Cas and Dean fully resumed. Dean pointed to where you had been.

“Go apologize. And help her close the damn thing.” He barked.

Castiel rolled his eyes but knew Dean was right on more than one count. Maybe he was just being jealous. They could figure out the details and reconvene after the gate was sealed. He sighed and went to find you.

After all this was over, Dean needed a fucking vacation. A real vacation. On a beach, in the sun, and with never-ending bottles of beer in his hand. He pulled out his phone to update Sam, only to see Sam was calling him.

“Yeah?” Dean answered.

“We got one,” Sam informed him.

“One what?” He asked.

“A demon. Inhabiting the girl who was comatose.” Sam said.

Finally, a way to get some proper answers. “Send me your location; I’m on my way. Oh, and Sam, this is bigger than we thought.”

----

Sam, Dean, and Jack stood outside a devil’s trap, the demon tied to a chair in the center. Everyone’s patience was frayed to the edges. The vessel currently inhabited was a girl in her late twenties. She was weak in appearance from the years of lying in a hospital bed and being fed only from a tube. But the monster inside her was any but, like a feral cat caged. Her hair was field mouse brown and unstyled. Her eyes a doe brown when they weren’t shining black. At least the thing had the decency to change from the hospital gown. As for its personality, well, what could you expect from a demon?

Dean checked his phone; they still hadn’t heard from you or Cas.

“Who opened the devil’s gate?” Sam asked through his teeth.

“I already told you, no fucking clue, hot shot.” She spat out.

“Funny how I told your leader….”

That made her laugh. “Hell has no leader. You thought it was chaos down there before. I haven’t seen anything like it—faction against faction—dog eat dog. All power-hungry narcissists clawing for the throne. As soon as that gate opened, I and anyone else with an inkling of self-preservation hightailed it outta there. I’d rather face you Winchesters any day of the week than face what’s down there. You’re not even an ounce as bad as they say you are.”

Dean twirled the demon blade in his hand. “Oh, that’s just because we're just getting started, sweetheart.”

“Whatever gets you off, Dean,” She teased. “I was on your rack before.” Her smile spread at his reaction. “Don’t you remember? You’re not as bad as you think you are. I can take anything you throw at me.”

Sam looked Dean up and down, realizing how strained Dean was at trying to keep it together. He stepped forward, protectively of Dean.

“Was it Michael who opened the gate?” Sam asked, this time, more kindness apparent in his voice, trying to coax out any drop of empathy this creature might have left.

She leaned forward, doubling over in laughter, her body falling as far as the restraints granted her. “I’m sorry, I’m… I didn’t realize how stupid you were. Must be hard to make space for a brain when you're filled up with all that muscle.”

“Tell us what you know!” Jack snapped, power radiating off him.

That got her quiet. “All I’m saying is why would an angel open up the gate when it’s their very job to wave about their moral superiority and keep us locked up in the first place?”

Sam rested a hand on Jack’s shoulder, hoping to help calm him down. The energy around him still hummed but was no longer on full display.

“Who here on earth then would help you escape?” Jack breathed out, trying to remain steady.

“Could be a number of my kind,” She acted dumbfounded. “I’ll make ya a deal; let me go, and I’ll help you find out who.” A smirk grew across her lips.

A flutter of wings announced the arrival of you and Cas. An angel blade fell from Castiel’s hand, clattering on the ground beneath, as he slid down the wall, resting with his head between his knees. The clothes that garbed you both were dirty and ragged. You leaned your head against the wall, taking deep shallow breaths, trying to keep your head from spinning. Imagine hiking up Mount Kilimanjaro (a five to nine-day trek to the summit) without any endurance or cardio training; that is what closing the gate felt like without a proper team or the necessary equipment.

Castiel looked up at the concerned faces. “It’s done.” He announced.

“Glad I got out when I had the chance.” The demon smirked.

“About how many of your friends joined you?” Dean demanded.

“It’s hard to say. Once we saw it, it was like a Black Friday rush; people were trampled, others clawed their way through the crowd. I’m just lucky to have gotten the prize.”

Sam was through. They were not going to get anything further from her. They had caught themselves a demon who was only looking out for themselves, not part of some grand scheme.

“I hope the short bout of freedom was worth it.” He raised a hand and began the incantation. He had long since had it memorized. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

“Sam, let’s gank her.” Dean stopped his brother. “There’s no one in that meat suit.”

Sam sighed. He didn’t like it, but his brother was right. The girl had been like this since she was a teenager. No one was coming back after an exorcism. It would just be one less demon to deal with. Dean twirled the blade in his hand once more and approached the circle.

“Want me to beg, pretty boy?” The demon taunted. “That was one of your favorite parts in the underworld, as I recall.” She licked her lips.

Dean's fist tightened, and he raised the blade.

“Wait!” You called out and pushed off the wall. “Wait.”

Dean almost didn’t. If he was being honest, he wanted to. But regardless, he took a step back and deferred to you. You crossed the circle, unafraid, knowing she held no power over you. You crouched before her, looking her up and down. She could sense you were the same as Jack, and it made her sweat. Finally, you settled on her eyes.

“Do you know why you were sent to hell?” You asked, your brows furrowing.

She scoffed a laugh, but her eyes pricked with tears, and her lips pinched together. “I can’t say I recall. It’s not if you get a trial. You just wake up there one day on a rack.”

“Do you think you deserved it?” You asked.

“Deserved what? To be tortured for all eternity? To burn in a lake of fire? To not know mercy and love from a God who is said to abound in it simply because I was born human, because I was born imperfect because I didn’t have the chance of knowing him in my mortal life.” Her eyes snapped towards Castiel. “Tell me, angel, how is your God omnibenevolent when being born surrounded by circumstances of generational religion, geological location, violence, and trauma, keeps one from his saving grace, and yet he is omnipotent and omniscient, thus condemning his very creation to hell from the beginning. He cannot be all three, so tell me, which is he? What did I do that was so bad to be condemned to hell? What did any of us do?”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. You looked past her, past the vessel, past the anger, past the trauma, into the very depths of her soul. It was so tormented, so twisted. Her pain was cascading in violent waves against you. And at the very center, she was alone and lost. You tuned the world out, and it was just you and her.

“Let me help you.” You whispered.

The others watched as your eyes glazed over and emitted a glowing gold light. Then, your hand extended forward, your fingers blurring into the space that was her heart. At that, the demon started screaming, straining against the binds, desperate for an escape.

“What is she doing?!” It howled. “Make it stop, make it stop!”

Tears spilled out, and she opened her mouth, trying to flee, but you had the soul held in the palm of your hand, picking the tangled mess apart like a necklace chain that was wound up together.

“Y/N,” Dean whispered. “Let her go.”

But he couldn’t reach you.

You did your best to console the terrified girl lost in the center. The words were only spoken to her. “It’ll be over quickly, I promise.”

The demon wailed in pain. Dean recognized her now. He squinted his eyes shut and shook his head, reminding himself he wasn’t there.

“Y/N.” He ordered more forcefully. “Stop.”

He went to grab you by the shoulder to shake you out of this, but he was greeted by a bolt of electricity that shot him back, falling on his ass. Everyone’s eyes widened with shock as they saw tendrils of black leaking out of her heart, slithering up your arm and into yours. Dean’s concern was no longer for the screams to stop but for your safety.

“Cas, Jack.” He barked. “Get her out of there!”

Hold, on. You slowed time around them as you continued to work. Just a few more seconds. There! Momentarily the gold in your eyes showed black, but you blinked it away.

“What did you do to me?” She sobbed.

You stood up, dusted off your jeans, and undid her bindings. Dean and Sam stood on defense, ready for any trickery. But she only fell out of the chair and curled into herself, inconsolable.

You leaned over and brushed her hair out of her face, the ends damp from tears. “It’ll take some time, but you’ll be okay.”

Castiel, who had since gotten up himself, came over to inspect her as well. As he did, you broke the devil’s trap with the heel of your shoe. Castiel’s brow was furrowed; he pressed two fingers to her forehead, and instead of pooling with darkness, her eyes filled with white light.

“What did you do?” He looked at you, bewildered.

You stepped staggered, and Dean caught you by your elbow. He gazed into your eyes, assessing your state. Your pupils were wider than before as if you were a cat in the darkness. You weren’t concerned. They should recede after a few hours. A raspy breath drew your attention. The girls sobbing was softening, but she still shook. Castiel draped his trenchcoat over her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

“Y/N?” Dean asked.

“I showed her she wasn’t alone. I took her pain as my own. I healed her soul.” You gulped, forcing tears from spilling out. “She has a second chance now.”

Sam was calculating it out. “She not human again, is she?”

“No.” You and Cas answered in unison.

“But she’s not a demon either.” You clarified. “She’s something new.”

A pounding split your head, and your knees gave out. Jack raced to your side, supporting you with the help of Dean. You caged the swirling in your head and stood again. The world was spinning, and off balance, you thought you would faint. Could you even faint? That didn’t seem like a very nephilim thing to do.

“I need some air.” You steadied yourself in their grasp and started off, but Dean didn’t let you go. “I’ll be okay.” You assured him and nodded back to her. “Once she’s calm, you might have a decent chance at questioning her this time ‘round.”

Dean stayed put either by you forcing your will onto him or him simply respecting your need for space; you weren’t sure. The barn was one of several rundown outbuildings in the area. It must have been a big farming operation at one point, managing both livestock and crops. Now tall grass grew between them. There were no discernible paths. Concrete that used to be parking areas for tractors and trucks was now cracked and angled from the push of the earth. An old, forgotten wood pile was stacked and rotting against one of the buildings, probably once used to keep warm during winter months.

You closed your eyes as the breeze carried the smell of wheat and sweet grass. The air was helping, yet a nauseous feeling was growing in the pit of your stomach. You heaved over as pools of liquid obsidian spilled out of you. Three or four heaves, and it was done. You spit several times to clean your mouth. Creating distance from your sickness, you found a red barn and sat down against it.

A sniffle caught in your nose, and the feeling of liquid running down caused you to wipe at it with the back of your hand, revealing further obsidian that smelled of sulfur. Clearly, your body was trying to purge you of the pain and evil you had taken on.

Heavy footsteps crunched the gravel and dry grass underneath. You sighed; you weren’t ready for this. You needed a few more moments alone to process, to grief, to heal yourself. You weren’t ready to face one of them, to convince them that this wasn’t some twisted plan, that they could trust you. Breaths shook out of you as you tried to steady yourself and build strength.

The sun was bright as the looming figure approached you. Relief flooded you as Dean’s outline, not one of the others approached. But as he blocked the sun, outlining him like a halo, the alleviation turned to terror. His posture, stance, and how he oozed arrogance clued you into who it really was. You pushed up against the wall to meet him head-on. He had already discovered you in a vulnerable state, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of prolonging that experience.

“Michael.” You gritted your teeth together.

He adjusted the cuffs on Dean’s flannel. You could tell it bothered him to be clothed in anything less than an Armani suit. Hopefully, it itched.

“Care to fill me in on that little stunt you pulled back there, Gabriela?”

#dean winchester #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean x reader #supernatural #spn fanfiction #SPN FANDOM

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