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serene-destruction · 11 months ago

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(Platonic) Reactions To Finding Out You're In Hell For Killing Your Abuser [Angel, Lucifer, Alastor, Vox]

TW: Mentions of childhood sexual abuse | Cannon typical violence | Mentions of suicide

A/n: this one is really dark so reader discretion is greatly advised. Read at your own risk.

Word Count: 4.5k

Angel Dust

You and Angel Dust likely met at the hotel. You were a newer resident of hell that just so happened to be spotted by Charlie and taken in after wondering the streets.

He didn't take to you right away, considering he had his own issues to deal with. Not to mention that you were such a goody two shoes that it kinda made him feel even worse about himself. Despite his name he knew he was far from any angel and your presence only exemplified that.

By all accounts you seemed to save your shit together. A drug free, pure and kind person, through and through. You never faltered. So it takes a while for him to even stand being in your presence, longer to actually try and talk with you. He hates that he doesn't find something to hate about you. Just so damn perfect.

He should have known better, truthfully. No one gets sent to hell off a whim, there were reasons. He was just so blinded by your purity at first that he doesn't see it. He isn't the only one, either. Charlie would be the first to use you as an example of purity.

But all the same the two of you do end up getting close to each other. You may be a bit straight-laced for his taste, but he can't help but grow attached. You're a good kid, you really don't deserve to be here.

It only takes one night for his perceptions of you to shatter

It started with one of Charlie's trust games. You were all meant to share what sins brought you down here. In a place like hell that wasn't usually a very taboo subject. Murder, drugs, sex, Angel's heard it all. But despite that assurance you wanted absolutely nothing to do with the exercise. You had locked yourself in your room, refusing to participate. So while the others went on ahead Angel decided he'd talk to you.

“Kid! C’mon, it can't be that bad!”

“I don't want to!” You were adamant. He should have known it right then

“Kid…look, can ya at least let me in? I'm tired of yelling through the door!” He pleaded and, to his surprise, you did. Your eyes avoided him completely as you allowed him to step in the room. Even when the two of you sat down on your bed you didn't budge. You looked almost as terrified as the first day you came here.

“Look, I get that admittin’ what you done can be a bit…embarrassin’ sometimes,” he's tries to calm you.

“But none of us are perfect and you ain't any different. Hell, it might even be good for you” his attempt at comfort didn't seem to be working. In fact he might have made it worse, given how you turned further away from him.

“It’s not just because it's embarrassing! I- I just don't want to tell everyone!” you answer through a tightening voice. There's a pause as Angel considers your words before he speaks again.

“Then you don't gotta tell everyone. You can just tell me” He was surprised when the offer had you turning back to him, though your discomfort was still evident. You didn't say anything at first but eventually you found the words.

“...Promise you won't tell anybody?” he fought the urge to roll his eyes. He was sure you were being overdramatic. You probably told a little lie that got out of control or accidentally kicked a puppy or-

“Promise” he answered anyway.

And so you told him

“I…I was tired of him touching me” Angel’s stomach immediately drops at just those few words. All of his previous downplaying caused an explosion of guilt within him.

“He was always touching. Every day since I was little. Every time he was over, every time I was alone. I couldn't- I…I just wanted it to be over”

He knew where this was going.

“I-I snapped. I just couldn't take it anymore. Eighteen fucking years” your voice is a mix of rage and pain, a sound he didn't think you capable of until now.

“I'd never been so angry. I didn't- I didn't know what I was doing until it was over. There was blood everywhere- I killed him and…and I couldn't live with myself. I'd never done something like that before! I'd never hurt anyone! I couldn't live with that- I couldn't-”

Before you can spiral any further you feel Angels hand land on yours. With slow, purposeful movements he pulled you into his arms. You freeze for a moment, caught entirely off guard by the sudden comfort. He was careful not to hold you too tight and keep his breaths steady. Keep himself predictable.

“S’okay kid…You didn't do a damn thing wrong” his whispered words break through your shock, melting you into a pile of sobs in his arms, gripping onto him like your very soul depended on it.

After that night the two of you quickly become known for your fierce protectiveness over each other. Angel swears that if he ever sees the bastard he'll rip him a new asshole before shoving a spike in it.

Lucifer Morningstar

You were one of many assistants to Lucifer, helping him with the many tasks he doesn't ever keep up with as the king of hell. You are most likely ignored and/or forgotten about for a while. He is far too, uh…busy for remembering much of anything, let alone names and job titles.

However you do manage to catch his eyes when he finally notices your apparent lack of any sort of social life in hell. Unlike the others he has working for him who seem all too happy to indulge in hells many depraved luxuries, you aren't one of them.

It triggers his curiosity, so he starts to remember your name and even manages to strike up conversations with you that don't sound like he's desperately trying to remember who he's even talking to.

You begin to be the first person he goes to when he needs something done and in turn you go to him when you need something as well. It's never anything too much, he notices. Always just small tasks that take him almost no effort at all. But you seem to beam at even the smallest kindness.

But then there is that ill-fated night…

It was late and you were still hard at work in your office.

Or at least you would have been, if you didn't feel like the weight of everything was weighing down on you as you stared down the two items Lucifer had left for you. A small note and a tiny rubber duck. You kept re-reading the note over and over again.

‘You're a good kid, Y/n. Keep it up’

The small gesture had formed a sickening guilt in you. You were the farthest thing from good. What you had done rightfully landed you in the shithole you belonged in. You didn't deserve his kindness, let alone his care. You felt so guilty for ever allowing him to think that you-

A knock at your door has you quickly wiping away your tears. Before you can say anything he opens it, his wide smile falling immediately.

“Oh no, what-” he pauses when he sees the death grip you have on the rubber duck he'd gifted, your eyes unable to even glance at him. He gives a nervous laugh at that. It sounds more worried than anything.

“You uh- don't like the gift, I take it?” At that your head whips to look at him, an attempt to calm your nerves written all over your face.

“No! No that's not-…no” your frantic words die down quickly as you quickly turn away again, unable to look the man in the eyes. There is a long silence that feels almost like an eternity passing. Then, to your complete surprise, he slowly pulls up a chair next to you, his eyes not turning from you for even a moment.

“Do you…maybe wanna talk about what it is then?�� His voice is disarming, a mix of poorly feigned calm and genuine concern. It frightens you how quickly he makes you want to spill your guts.

“It's- I’m not-” You pause, trying to collect your words. You know then that you can't bear to tell him anything but the truth.

“I don't deserve this” you gesture to the toy and his letter. He doesn't seem to understand.

“You? Y/n, you're practically the only reason I get any work done around here! The least I can do is this, truly. Why wouldn't you deserve it?” His tone is full of disbelief, almost entirely sure that you must be avoiding telling him the entire truth.

“Because it isn't true” the bluntness of your words catches him off guard.

“I killed him and…and it felt good when I did it. It felt good to hurt him like he hurt me, it felt good being in control. It didn't feel bad when I put that knife through his throat, It didn't feel bad when I finally got him to stop touching me. It didn't…until it was over” the tears that had brimmed at your eyes fell like rivers, your attempts to wipe them away fruitless. You didn't dare look him in the eye, even as you continued.

“There was so much blood. I…I didn't know what to do. I- I didn't mean- no, no I did. But I just couldn't live with it. I couldn't live knowing that I killed him and that all I could think about was that he'd never touch me again! I couldn't-!” your words are cut off by the feeling of arms wrapping around you. For a moment you freeze, confused and horrified by the action, that is until the comfort of it seeps into you, knowing that the hands that held you now meant no harm. After that you sobbed into him.

Only once you'd calmed your sobs to hiccups and your grip loosened did he finally pull away. But he didn't go far and his eyes looked at you with nothing but pure concern.

“You listen to me, okay? I would never hold that against you. I couldn't if I tried. You did what you had to and I trust that you did it for the right reasons” his words of forgiveness strike through you, hitting you directly in your wounded heart. Never before had you believed anyone could look so kindly upon you knowing what you'd done.

After that day Lucifer had become quite father-like to you, treating you just like he would his own kid. You practically become an honorary Morningstar.

Alastor

You and Alastor have an…interesting relationship. the two of you very likely met at the hotel, considering he wouldn't have given you a second glance otherwise. You were, after all, just one of the many other souls, and not an impressive one at that. Meek, young and weak.

It takes a long while for Alastor to warm up to you, most likely because you avoid him at all cost. You learn quickly that Alastor doesn't like being avoided like that when he begins to follow you around.

It's through conversation that he grows interested in you. When you aren't blinded by your fear he's actually a great conversationalist, especially when he's alone with you. It seems almost like he drops a bit of his guard as well, something you explain away as you being of zero threat to him. The two of you often talk of your plans for the day and whatever latest idea Charlie has conjured. Small talk, for the most part. Never anything personal

Which is why you are so caught off guard when he asks the truthfully inevitable question.

It was a usual calm morning in the hotel kitchen. A bit of smooth jazz played from an old radio, the coffee machine churned, the constant static from Alastor flowed through the room and the sound of idle chit-chat passed between the two of you. Besides the fact that no one else joined the two of you, it all seemed relatively normal.

“I must say, for someone in Hell you have quite the kind heart, my dear. One might even ask how you managed to get yourself down here” Alastors words cause your heart to sink almost immediately. Your body tenses, your breathing catching for just a moment. You make sure to keep your eyes on the coffee pot and manage to give him a halfhearted laugh. But you know the moment he goes quiet for just that second too long that he noticed.

“How did you end up down here, if you don't mind telling me?” You feel your tongue go dry, your jaw clench, your entire being beg to leave this conversation. But you knew there wasn't a chance in all of Hell that you'd get out of this. If he didn't get an answer now he'd be sure to get one later.

“I uh…” you start, nausea threatening to crawl in.

“I don't know” you try to answer, hoping beyond hope that it would satisfy him.

It did not.

“Now now, one mustn't feel the need to lie to friends. I assure you I've seen worse than whatever it is you managed to do!” You pause at his words, finally turning over your shoulder to look at him.

“We’re…friends?” You ask, surprised to see him look almost just as confused by your words.

“Why of course! The both of us have quite nice talks with one another, why wouldn't we be?” He seems so confident as he speaks. Despite how skeptical you've been ever since meeting him, you can't help but feel that he might genuinely be growing on you. Fuck, you might even trust the guy. Not with your soul, mind you, but you were sure at least your words would be safe with him.

“Out with it then, what got you sent down to this lovely pit of fire and brimstone?” his tone is jovial and light, not taking this nearly as seriously as you felt he should be. You were weirded out when it actually helped you calm down a little.

“Well…” should you tell him? Would he even care? Would he blink an eye at your suffering? Would he laugh at you? All the possibilities ran through your head at once.

When you finally turned to face him he gave you an expectant look, fully anticipating an answer from you. So you took a deep breath and turned your head to gaze at a nearby wall before beginning.

“My uncle, he um…well he didn't really know how to keep his hands to himself. Ever since I first met the man he wouldn't keep his damn hands off me. Then mom died and I had to live with him and…” you pause a moment, trying to keep yourself together. With a deep breath you continued.

“He never stopped touching me. No one believed me, no one did anything. Not when I was eight, or ten, or fifteen. Not after either. I was just alone with him. Every day of every month of every year…until I couldn't take it anymore” your voice was quiet now, just above a whisper to keep it from shaking.

“I was cooking dinner when he came behind me and-…I snapped and…well I'm not really sure. I just remember being covered in blood and knowing that no one would believe me. So I did what I thought was the only thing I could do. Next thing I knew I found out I had been damned for all eternity” you hugged yourself in an attempt at comfort that wasn't working. You managed, by the smallest effort, to keep your tears in and your breath steady, but you knew you'd break at any moment. When you turned to him, his smile still plastered and staring blankly at you, you thought you just might have done so then. So you quickly turned back around to save yourself the embarrassment.

“But yeah. Pretty sure that's why I'm here-”

“That was quite brave of you” his words shock you still enough that you might have even felt your heart stop. Your head snaps back to him in an instant, unsure if you'd heard him right. He's standing now, smile just a little less wide and leaning on his cane. If you didn't know any better you might have mistaken it for a look of uncanny care.

“What?” You whisper the word. He stands a little taller at that.

“When the world stops caring then one must simply make it. Very few do so, and so I applaud your effort in taking fate into your own hands” he is serious, almost deathly so. His words aren’t what you expected, but they are actually some of the most comforting you'd ever heard. Not only because he believed you, but because he truly believed you'd done the right thing.

“...Thank you” his smile widens again and you catch how ever so slightly bigger his antlers have gotten and the small flicks of green that seem to only show in your peripheral. You choose not to say anything about it.

“Of course! Now I simply must be on my way! There is much to do and so little time. Have a pleasant rest of your morning!” he was out the door before you even realized he was leaving. You would have said goodbye yourself if you didn't know he was already gone. And without his coffee too!

After this little incident Alastor seems almost tied at your hip. You are warned time and time again not to get too close to him but after the way he took the news of your sin you honestly don't think you could push him away. He was the first person you'd ever told in Hell, the first person to ever believe you. And given how keen he is on keeping you safe both in and out of the hotel you are quite happy to call him a friend.

Vox

The only way you'd be able to get even a second glance from Vox is if you worked for him and, let's be real, he couldn't have given less of a shit about you when he first met you. You were one out of thousands that worked on his many, many projects. You were lucky if he ever even read your name, let alone remembered it.

It takes quite the circumstance for him to notice you and it's likely only because of very selfish reasons. Maybe he picks you out of the crowd as a gag at first. The big CEO talking to this meek little low life, giving them a glance at something they'll never achieve.

But Vox has a way of getting attached to the strangest things sometimes and you end up being among them. Maybe it's the way you go along with whatever he's saying, playing to his ego. Maybe it's the way he knows you don't mean a single word and he feels he has to prove himself. Or maybe he just liked having a bit of a babyface around to impress. Either way, he ends up kind of taking you in.

You become a sort of protege to Vox as he teaches you all about his company and how to run it; mostly so he can hand you the tasks of the day that he doesn't feel like handling. You're a secretary of sorts. He does, however, try to keep a distance between you and the other V’s. Mostly because he knows they can be a bit much and he doesn't want to scare you off just yet.

But it's inevitable that you would meet them someday. And, as he expected, the first meeting didn't go very well.

You and Vox were on your way down the hall in the middle of idle conversation that was mostly work related. You liked having these conversations with him, mostly because he always seemed so pleased when you'd give him an idea he liked or a change he'd consider. You felt useful in a way you hadn't really ever felt before-

“My my, if it isn't Vox and his new little pet” the voice speaks behind you and both you and Vox turn to see who it is. You are set on edge when Vox gets suddenly nervous.

“Val! I thought you had work down in the studio today?” Vox’s voice booms in the way you know he only does when he's trying to keep his cool. You make sure to stand a little closer to him when Val walks up to the two of you.

“You've been hiding from me, love. So I figured I'd pay a visit. Good thing too” the moth man leans down to you so close you feel your entire being beg to disappear.

“I wouldn’t have met the darling that's been keeping Voxy so occupied. Cosita bonita” he looks down at you, his smile alone sending a cold shiver up your spine. He grabs your hand and instead of doing anything normal like shaking or kissing it, he instead begins to lick up your arm.

“Rumor has it your little fall from grace betrays how sweet as you look” Horrified and feeling very familiar fear consume your being, you freeze up. Luckily, and rather surprisingly, Vox very quickly pulls him away from you.

“Alright, alright that's enough of that!” his tone is that of a light reprimand, though the swirls in his eyes betray him. He effortlessly spins the moth man around in something similar to a dance, ending with the two of them facing away from you. Whispered words are exchanged, Val glancing back at you for only a moment afterwards before walking off with no complaint.

Vox straightens his suit, his performative smile falling for a moment before turning back to you.

“Let's get back on our way” he beckons you as he continues to walk. You follow along, compliant as ever. He leads you to an elevator where the two of you get in and he clicks whatever floor he'd decided he had work on. You think everything is relatively normal until, with a wave of his hand, the elevator stops.

“What did he mean?” The question confuses you.

“...about what?” You ask, unsure what he was getting at. He turns to you.

“About your ‘fall from grace', what was he getting at?” the realization dawns on you the same way acid would drip into an old wound. There was really only one thing that could mean and the fact that a man you'd never met knew enough to mention it made you sick to your stomach.

“Kid?” He calls to you and it's only then you notice tears build in your eyes. You quickly blink them away before making sure to avoid looking in his general direction.

“I…don't know” you tried, very unconvincingly, to feign ignorance. Unfortunately that didn't go over well with him.

“I don't think I've met a worse liar in the entirety of Hell than you” he states plainly and you can't help but agree. You hadn't really ever had practice in the field. Yet even with his call on your bullshit you chose to stay silent.

“Look, If Val knows then chances are I'm finding out anyway. He's not exactly great at keeping his mouth shut” he tries to convince an answer out of you but his words only make it worse. You didn't want that creep to know in the first place! But, being ever so horrible at keeping such a cold front up, you break under his gaze.

“It’s why I'm in Hell” you start off vague and you notice how he leans in just a bit closer.

“Seriously? That's what's got you upset? What, was it embarrassing? Because believe me, I'm sure I've heard worse” he was really trying to sell you that notion, what with the wide smile and undivided attention, but you couldn't help the nagging voice that told you he wouldn't believe you.

But still, you assumed it better he heard it from you than Val. After all, you and Vox were pretty close at this point. If there was anyone that you'd tell, it would be him.

“No it's- well it is embarrassing, but-” you stammer a moment, trying to find the right way to say it. Soon enough you fix your eyes on the metal doors and just spill.

“I had an uncle. I lived with him for a while, most of my human life really. And he uh…I was just a kid at the time and he- he couldn't keep his hands to himself. Just kept…touching me. For years” the way the information pours out of you is forced. Like you have to pry it from your own mind and shove it out your throat. But there was no point stopping now.

“And then I just couldn't take it anymore. I don't even really know what happened. One second I was cooking dinner and the next he came behind me and…and then everything was bloody and…” you trail for a moment, your mind brought back to that horrific memory. Without a thought you finally turn to Vox.

He looks completely deflated, stripped of that egocentric smile of his and leaving nothing but a shocked still expression in its place. His mouth hangs slightly open as if to say something, but no words come. You feel your tears sting your eyes at the sight.

“No one believed me when I told them what he was doing, no one believed me when I told them for how long. So I knew when I killed him it would just be the same. That they'd make him a martyr and I'd be the villain and- and I couldn't deal with that! I- I didn't want to live through that again!” your voice raises at the end, voice pleading to be listened to, to be believed. Fuck, even just heard.

You get what you ask for with his stunned silence and tense posture. After a moment though you can't help but feel like you want to take your words back, his silence disturbing you greatly.

Just as you're about to ask him to forget what he'd heard, to pretend like you hadn't ever said anything and move on like normal, his hands reach slowly for you. The movement confuses you so greatly that you don't even think to stop him when he silently pulls you into him. You stand rigid for a long moment before, bit by bit, melting into sobs. He holds you tighter in the silence of the elevator and you can't help but grip onto him like your afterlife depended on it.

It's after this that Vox becomes fiercely protective of you. It's incredibly strange for everyone, including yourself. He is adamant that it's just because you know so much about his company, that it's all purely business. But when you think back to that day in the elevator you can't help but believe that he might just actually care about you.

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loverslantern · 1 year ago

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The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean

Winchester x f!reader

Description: Sam is haunted by a vision of a woman trapped in his childhood house

Warning: cannon violence, tension/ minor flirting, slight angst and comfort, mentions of death, mentions of a dead parent, the use of witchcraft that isn't exactly apart of Supernatural lore but does have ties to many folklore's interpretations of a witches capability from European Folklore to Appalachian Folk Magic and many more (i used a mix of different lore to create my own interpretation) this took so long to research, l also was testing things out in my apartment so i'd be able to write it properly- literally rearranging furniture for it

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld ,

@okayiamkassandra, @fablerose , @ada--44

Word Count: 12,947

Home

(Master list, Previous Ch., Next Ch.)

I stumble into the boys motel room, stifling a yawn from passing through my lips. Did I wake up two hours ago and refuse to get out of the stiff motel bed instead of coming to meet my lovely friends in their room?

Yes!

“Good morning my little stabby hunters” I greet cheerfully, closing and locking the door behind me. Sam mumbles some incoherent version of a greeting from where he sat on his bed while Dean looks up from Sam’s laptop, “Mornin’ sweetheart”

I walk up to each boy individually giving their hair a nice ruffle before shuffling my way to sit criss-cross applesauce on the unoccupied bed. “You had perfect timing ‘cause I think I found a few candidates for our next gig.”

“Oooh how fun” I half sarcastically say, “read ‘em out!”

“Alright we got a fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali” I nod pretending to know what a ‘trawler’ is, “ –-its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” Dean lists out looking up every now and then for a reaction, “Hey. Sammy.” He calls out to his brother who’s sat drawing something on a little notepad.

Sam looks up, giving Dean an annoyed look waiting for what he has to say. Dean leans back in his chair, “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.” Sam declares, going right back to his drawing. He was in fact not paying attention.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.” He stops speaking again, waving his hand in the air intended to get his brother's attention, “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam suddenly sits up fully, “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“Seen what?” I ask, Dean and I sharing a confused look. But Sam doesn't answer, he just crosses the room towards his duffel bag, searching for something. “What are you doing?” Dean asks. Again Sam doesn't answer, finally finding whatever he was looking for he pauses studying the two things in his hands, he swiftly turns around “I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean muses, asking the question were both thinking.

“Back home –- back to Kansas” Sam breathes, a hint of panic in his eyes.

“Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

Sam shows the thing he took out of his bag, a photo, to his brother, I get up to view it too. “All right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?” Sam asks, looking between the sort of family photo taken in front of their house and his brother.

“Yeah.” Dean answers plainly.

“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?” Sam asks further.

“Yeah it took ‘em a while to, I think it was mostly out of respect because no one ever moved in after you either, as far as I know.” I answer only knowing because I lived in town even after they moved away.

“Okay, well, someone lives there now…and, I, uh, look, this is gonna sound crazy but….the people who live in our old house –- I think they might be in danger.” Sam stammers

“Why would you think that?” Dean asks the obvious question. “Uh…it’s just, um….look, just trust me on this, okay?” He starts to walk away to the other side of the room, Dean following suit, “Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?”

The fighting begins, I think to myself as I chew on the inside of my cheek. I knew Dean would probably act harsher then he meant to, his mom—his old house being a very rough topic for him.

Now it’s Sam’s turn to answer simply, “Yeah.”

“Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give me a little bit more than that.” Dean raises his voice slightly.

“I can’t really explain it is all” Sam says looking around the room instead of making eye contact.

“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do” Dean crosses his arms waiting expectantly.

Sam sighs, “I have these nightmares.”

“I’ve noticed” Dean says while nodding and I want to step in and lecture him for coming off so mean, but I bite my tongue.

“And sometimes…” Sam pauses for a while before continuing, “…they come true.” This time I don’t bite my tongue, the word slipping out of my lips out of pure shock, “Sam” I gasp. “Come again?” Dean says almost at the same time as my gasp.

“Look….I dreamt about Jessica’s death –- for days before it happened.” Sam tries to explain further, nearly getting cut off by his brother, “Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” I know Dean doesn't want to believe it, I know he’s scared of what this could mean. But I can’t help but feel this is like the argument Dean had started on my twelfth birthday, all those years ago. It felt especially silly to feel this way now, not when I never held a grudge against him because of it. Maybe I should have but I could never find it within myself to do so.

Dean sits down on one of the beds and it’s clear he doesn't know what to do with himself. Sam begins to explain himself more, which I hate the fact he has to, “No, I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”

“I don’t know.” Dean huffs out. It’s clear he’s overwhelmed, which is a significantly better reaction than what I got to his whole realization of what I really was—a witch—despite the fact he already knew that. I want to respect their relationship and not speak when it’s not my right to, and yet if it comes down to it I know I will. I won’t let their relationship fall apart because of this, I won’t let a hatred form between them. Let alone like how Dean had hated me for months and I had hated myself too.

“I-it can mean something. There's a lot of cultures that believe that dreams are capable of showing the future as a guidance or even as a warning. Egyptians, Romans, and Greeks, they all believed in this; it's,um, called oneiromancy.” I pipe in quietly as if scared that saying it too loud would shatter the delicate atmosphere. Sam was looking at me with big eyes like he was hanging on to each word I spoke, nodding along.

“All right, just slow down, would ya?” Dean stands abruptly beginning to pace the carpeted floor, “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”

“When what?” Sam asks carefully.

Dean sounds on the verge of tears, probably the most vulnerable he’s been in a long time, “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?” The air, the atmosphere itself, felt fragile then too as if something so palpable had to be careful of where it stood

Sam begins softly, his eyes scrunched in a mix of worry and sympathy, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

“I know we do.” Dean nods, his head hung low.

The Impala pulls up in front of the old Winchester house, the cute little two story green house standing there simply. I can’t help but wonder if in a hundred years these people who lived in Lawrence would know what happened here? The family that was lost here? Maybe not physically but you can trace everything back to this simple house, where these boys lost a piece of themselves no matter how young they were. You can still feel it in the air now, in this car with Dean's head hung low as he peers up at his old house, the only and last house he’s ever had.

“You gonna be all right, man?” Sam asks, trying to catch his brother's eyes. Dean swallow’s thickly, “Let me get back to you on that.” We exit the safety of the car and with each step forward the weight of this settles on our shoulders, the realness of this all. I know this isn’t about me, but if I let my mind stop focusing on the task at hand I know that it will wisp away to my old house. Just on the other side of town, to every moment I spent wandering the streets with no where particular in mind-

A sharp knocking on the front door snaps me out of my mind. A pretty blonde opens the door, her eyebrows scrunched in what seems like stress, “Yes?” she answers.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—“ Dean begins his lie getting cut off by his brother, “I’m Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Dean, and our friend Y/N. My brother and I, uh, we used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

“Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She laughs lightly. Dean's face drops a little, a mix of curiosity and longing on his face that if I hadn’t seen it before, hadn’t known him so well I wouldn’t have recognized it. “You did?” he asks, and I'd have to think it was a look of longing for his life back then, before he lost his mom, to a life that was so simple and child-like because that might have been the only time he really was a child.

She nods and steps aside, “Come on in.” The inside of the house wasn’t so much different from what I’ve been told about it, she shuts and locks the door behind us and we wait for her to lead us further in before moving. “I’m Jenny by the way” she says moving past us. She leads us into the big kitchen, a young girl doing homework at the table while an adorable jumpy toddler bounces in his little playpen, I can’t help the smile that creeps up on my face at the sight.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” The toddler chants, bouncing as he speaks.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie.” She introduces going over to the fridge, taking out a sippy cup and handing it to the bouncy baby. “He has good taste” I laugh, the kid being just so freaking adorable.

Jenny walks over to her daughter, “Sari, this is Sam and Dean, they used to live here. And that’s their friend Y/n.” I smile at the girl who greets us with a small “Hi.” Dean for some reason waved awkwardly at the child, as if he doesn't know how to act around kids when that’s so far from the truth.

“Hey, Sari.” Sam smiles before allowing her to get back to her homework.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asks, jumping right to it. “Yeah, from Wichita.” Jenny answers, referring to a different part of Kansas.

“You got family here, or….?” Dean continues to ask, and honestly it’s kind of a creepy question. She answers a little hesitantly, “No. I just, uh….needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job –- I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”

“Do you like it here?” I ask genuinely. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home” She starts looking at the boys as she speaks, “…I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here…but this place has its issues.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks almost a little too quickly.

Jenny sighs, “Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

“I think that’s an easy fix” I try to remain hopeful, it’s not like we can just tell her ‘oh yeah that’s ‘cause your house is probably haunted by a demon or something.’ And under the assumption that it was just faulty wiring, I really wasn’t sure if it was an easy fix. I mean I am no electrician.

“Anything else?” Dean adds in.

“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement.” She lists off before pausing for a beat, looking between us nervously, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.” Dean looks a little taken back by this concern, because what was written on his face was far from offense, “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”

“It’s just the scratching, actually.” She answers.

“Mom?” Sari calls out lightly, Jenny kneels down to her daughter waiting for her to continue, “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

“What, Sari?” Sam asks, confused.

“The thing in my closet.” She answers weakly, and I swear my heart broke a little at the way in which she said it.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny answers softly, reminding me of my mothers soft tone when she spoke to us. Jenny looks up at the boys, “Right?”

Sam stumbles over his words as he answers, “Right. No, no, of course not.”

“She had a nightmare the other night.” Jenny explains, a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

Sari shakes her head, “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom –- and it was on fire.”

Uh oh.

~~~~~~~~

“You hear that? A figure on fire.” Sam whisper-shouts, mainly to his brother who was walking a little too quickly then necessary to his car. The man in question turns around swiftly, “And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?”

“Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.” Sam bites back.

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true.” Dean snaps.

Sam’s eyes were wide with panic, “Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean snaps.

Back and forth they fight like two dogs having a barking match from just over the fence. “Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam starts again.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”

“Well, those people are in danger, Dean. We have to get ‘em out of that house.”

“And we will.”

“No, I mean now.”

“And how you gonna do that, huh? You got a story that she’s gonna believe?”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Both of you, stop!” I nearly shout, both boys going quiet, “Look” I sigh. “I get this is scary and all but you two bickering isn’t going to get us anywhere! And if we want to help that nice family we have to think logically. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, maybe it’s something else or maybe we have to prepare ourselves for the fact that it is that monster.

Either way we can’t just run into this with assumptions or lead on feeling alone, okay? ‘Cause that’s how we mess up and wind up dead and I don’t know ‘bout you boys but i’m not quite craving the taste of death just yet.” I take a deep breath before continuing, “So, let’s pretend this is any ol’ case, any other hunt. What do we do first?”

“Research” Dean mumbles as if he was a kid who got caught doing something wrong, which arguably isn’t so far from the truth.

“Check our bases, dig into the history” Sam adds.

“Exactly” I smile, “Good job”

Dean opens the driver seat door, getting in as he speaks, “Except this time, we already know what happened.”

Sam and I followed suit, “Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?” he asks. Dean looks around a little uncomfortable, “About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Not much. I remember the fire…the heat.” He pauses, “And then I carried you out the front door.”

“You did?” Sam asks surprised.

Dean scuffs, starting the car and pulling out of the spot, “Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

Sam shakes his head, “No.”

Dean continues, “And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was….was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?” Sam questions further, and up until now I didn’t realize how much he was kept in the dark about such a significant moment in his life.

Dean shrugs, “If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.” Sam starts again, “Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”

Dean again looks around uncomfortably, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, “Yeah. We’ll talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

Sam notices this obvious movement like I did and pauses for a moment, you could see the gears turning in his head, “Does this feel like just another job to you?” Dean clears his throat, suddenly jerking the car off to the left side of the road right up to the curb, the car poorly parked, “I’ll be right back. I gotta go to the bathroom.” The second he finishes his sentence he’s out of the car and walking away into some local business that I couldn’t quite see the name of.

“I- I don’t understand him” Sam suddenly says as he watches his brother leave, turning in the passenger seat to talk to me properly, “It would be so much easier if he just…” He sighs, “talked to me.”

“I… don’t want to excuse his actions because you are right, but at the same time you know he was never taught how to be vulnerable.” I try to explain, carefully choosing my words knowing there were eggshells surrounding our feet. He then mumbles something incoherently about their childhood, he looks back up at me, “you know, you don’t really talk about your childhood either.”

“Maybe it’s just something about Kansas” I joke, he laughs lowly, “But I ,uh, I would like to tell you about it…someday…” I offer shyly, trying to offer him something in a moment where he has nothing

“I’d like that, at least I could get closer to one of you” Sam smiles, sadly.

“Hey and maybe it will open the door to encourage Dean to speak up” I say.

“Yeah you know that’s not gonna happen” He scuffs.

“Well, I was trying to be a little optimistic.”

When Dean came back to the car he was dead quiet, his eyes were glossy but he refused to talk. It wasn’t uncommon for him, not one bit.

Sitting in the back of the Impala, I watched the buildings and trees pass by. All blocks I was familiar with even if it was far from where I had actually lived, but when you're lonely you tend to find walking for an eternity isn’t so bad. Funnily enough, sitting in the back of this car felt eerily similar to when I was a child, my dad as quiet as an owl, a then changed man having lost his world. Only, he had forgotten my brother and I had lost her too, and that we were still around to begin with.

Dean stared at the road like my dad had all those years ago, so deeply as if they were to look away it would disappear right beneath them. Then Sam sat in the passenger seat looking between his brother and out the window not knowing what to say, like my brother always did. And I of course still played the same role because some things never change, some feelings never do fully leave.

Dean suddenly clears his throat, “Alright, up ahead is an old pal of dads.” Just as suddenly as he said it, he also hadn’t given us time to say anything before pulling over once more, this time in front of a mechanic's place. A sign reading “Guenther’s Auto Repair” in big red letters hung above a large garage unit. The smell of metal and grease breeze by my nose as I exit the car, following after the two taller men with what I thought was a forgotten sadness now back. I can’t imagine how they must feel, how Dean must feel.

They effortlessly found and began a discussion with the owner, easily lying about being cops which felt especially wrong today. It felt wrong to lie to anyone from the town I pretty much grew up in, even if I never knew any of them.

“So you and John Winchester, you used to own this garage together?” Dean asks the older man. I knew their father was a mechanic but hadn’t known he had his own garage and partner.

“Yeah, we used to, a long time ago. Matter of fact, it must be, uh…twenty years since John disappeared. So why the cops interested all of a sudden?” He says, whipping his dirty hands on a rag stained with car grease.

“Oh, we’re re-opening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of ‘em.” Dean answers smoothly, and I guess it isn’t technically a lie either. He accepts the answer with no further, visible, speculation, “Oh, well, what do you wanna know about John?”

“Well, whatever you remember, you know, whatever sticks out in your mind.” Dean suggests.

“Well…he was a stubborn bastard, I remember that.” He laughs. “And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It’s that whole Marine thing. But, oh, he sure loved Mary. And he doted on those kids.” To that I have to stop myself from reacting, for some reason I can’t picture John being anything less of what he is now, in terms of strictness and toughness.

“But that was before the fire?” Sam points out.

He nods, “That’s right.”

“He ever talk about that night?” Sam adds. He seems to think for a moment, “No, not at first. I think he was in shock.”

“Right. But eventually? What did he say about it?” Sam clarifies.

“Oh, he wasn’t thinkin’ straight. He said somethin’ caused that fire and killed Mary.”

“He ever say what did it?” Dean asks this time.

“Nothin’ did it. It was an accident –- an electrical short in the ceiling or walls or somethin’. I begged him to get some help, but….” He explains.

“But what?”

“Oh, he just got worse and worse.” He answered, sympathy written all over his face.

“How?” Dean asks carefully.

“He started readin’ these strange ol’ books. He started goin’ to see this palm reader in town.” He says, suddenly catching my attention, an air of familiarity surrounding it.

“Palm reader? Uh, do you have a name?” Dean questions. I scrunch my eyebrows together trying to remember why this was familiar.

He responds at the same time it suddenly hits me, “No” he scuffs.

The name leaves my mouth in quiet thought, “Missouri Moseley.”

All three of them look at me strangely, before Dean grabs hold of my upper arm, throwing the man a smile and a “Excuse us.” He begins pulling me away from the garage and back to the car, his brother following after us after he had thanked the man.

“Where’d you get that name from?” Dean asks me sternly, looking down at me with sharp curious eyes, his grip on my arm never faulting.

I look up at him, his green eyes piercing mine, expectantly, but I find myself at a loss for words. Each syllable ready to be spoken but dying on my tongue, all in the fault of once more feeling like my younger self. Sam reaches for his brother's shoulder, almost pulling him away from me, “Ease up, Dean.” He shakes his brother off, but listens, releasing my arm and swallowing thickly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay” I cut him off quickly. I wasn’t scared of him at that moment, but of the past and I knew he was too. We all were.

“I remember your dad came over and mentioned that name, along with her being the real deal. I just don’t remember what the conversation was about, I mean it had to be years ago…” I feel my eyebrows scrunch together again as I try to recall more, glimpses of the memory popping up. Our dads sitting on the long vintage couches my mom had bought for the house while me and my brother ran outside to play, “It was at the original house, m-maybe a year before we moved to Kansas.”

“So three years after mom died” Sam nods.

“Yeah that seems about right, but I’m not sure if that encounter was like right after your dad met this Missouri or some time after.” I add

“It sounds familiar. '' Dean breathed out before rounding the car to the trunk, digging through it before pulling out the journal. “In Dad’s journal…here, look at this.” He flips it open, handing it off to his brother, “First page, first sentence, read that.”

Sam takes the book, reading the sentence out loud, “I went to Missouri and I learned the truth.”

“I always thought he meant the state.” Deans shrugs.

Missouri’s house was a cute little two story place. I admire the light brown wood paneling and stained glass windows, something I knew my mom would have loved. Dean and Sam sat squished together on a small couch, all of us waiting for her to be finished with her client. I choose to stand, not only to see them both quietly fight to sit on the couch but also to slightly look around the place without wandering around.

A round faced, warm brown skinned lady with big curly hair tied back in a ponytail escorts a man out of her house, “All right, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” She tells him, her voice a natural soft and sweet tone, accompanied with a southern accent.

She closes the front door behind him, turning to face us, “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.” Her sweet voice does nothing to soften her blunt statement, my eyes go wide with the comment.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asks her,

“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news.” She answers simply, causing the room to fall quiet for a beat, “Well? Y/n, Sam and Dean, come on already, I ain’t got all day.” She leaves the room, I follow after her only pausing when I realize the boys weren’t following. I turn back towards them waving them over, they share a look before getting up and following.

“Well, lemme look at ya.” She laughs, “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She points a finger at Dean, “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.” A burst of laughter slips through my lips before I can control myself, his face falls and he glares at her.

Her gaze turns to me, my laughter dying out but a permanent smile left on my face, “Oh, you never lost your beauty” She smiles.

“You knew me when I was younger?” I ask, confused.

“Well of course, I knew your mother. Bless her soul” She answers, only leaving me more confused ‘cause my mom never mentioned her and I would sure remember such a sweet and funny woman.

“We helped each other out back then”, she explains, “She would always show me pictures of you and your brother. You were always a smiley girl, it’s good to see you didn’t lose that. Your mother would be glad too.” A warmth blossoms in my heart at that, my smile softens with me and it was like something I didn’t even know was within was fulfilled. It was hard to find new memories of my mom when I really didn’t know anyone who had known her, other than our family, to ask. Missouri hadn’t given me a full in depth memory and yet, it was enough. Enough to know someone else clearly adored my mom and had seen her in the same light I did. I don’t know why my mom never told us about her, but for some reason I didn’t feel the need to ask.

She gives me one last smile before giving her attention to Sam, she grabs his hand, her face falling, “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend.” A wave of shock clearly passes over the boys face, “And your father –- he’s missin’?” she continued.

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asks, clearly forgetting she is a psychic.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.” She explains.

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean rapidly spews out.

She half shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?” He snaps back, far too hostile.

She gives him a weird look, “Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air.” A laugh passes through my lips before I could stop myself, I nudge Dean's shoulder who glares sharply at me before turning that look to Missouri, only furthering my spits of giggles that I try to bite back.

Her demeanor changes back to gentle, “Sit, please.” We listen to her, I took a seat beside Sam so that I wasn’t squished between both boys. Missouri suddenly snaps at Dean, “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Dean argues, his voice seemingly an octave higher- like a child.

“But you were thinkin’ about it.” She answers.

“Oh, I like you” I say through my laughter, it was quite the breath of fresh air to see someone put gruff ‘macho man’ Dean in his place.

Sam gets back on topic, whipping the smile that formed on his face, “Okay. So, our dad –- when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say…I drew back the curtains for him.” She responds.

“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean asks.

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing” She explains.

“And could you?” Sam asks

She shakes her head, “I…”

“What was it?”

She answers softly, “I don’t know. Oh, but it was evil.”, She pauses for a beat, “So…you think somethin’ is back in that house?”

“Definitely” Sam breathes.

She shakes her head again, “I don’t understand.”

“What?” Sam asks.

“I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keepin’ an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it actin’ up now?” She explains.

“I don’t know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house all happening at once –- it just feels like something’s starting.” Sam says, eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“That’s a comforting thought.” Dean mumbles.

~~~~~~~~~

The ride back to the Winchesters house was the light in this complex time. The entire ride Missouri lectured Dean on his driving saying he was just a little too reckless and was gonna get us all killed despite it being a generally short one. They bickered back and forth a while until Dean gave up grumbling something below his breath, causing another snap response from the woman herself.

When we finally arrived Dean quickly got out of the car before anyone else could even register being parked, I genuinely don’t think I've ever seen him happy to be out of Baby. He had very obviously, and purposefully, positioned himself so that he was standing next to me away from Missouri, in fact two people away as she stood on the other side of Sammy. I searched for Dean's hand, my fingers brushed against his larger rougher hand. I clasped it gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze to hopefully ease his tension, caused by the beef he had with the nice lady that was helping us to begin with, even though I most definitely found the whole thing hilarious. Just as Sam knocked on the door I released Dean's hand, bringing both my hands to clasp in front of me. A peak of nervousness rests in my gut as I feel his gaze on me, I ignore it, focusing my eyes forward while I rock on the balls of my feet.

Jenny answers the door, her blond hair messy and clear stress present in the crinkled corner of her eyes and worry etched into her pupils. She holds her baby, Ritchie, close to her chest, “Sam, Dean, Y/N. What are you doing here?”

Sam smiles at the blond, “Hey, Jenny. This is our friend, Missouri.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, we were hoping to show her the old house. You know, for old time’s sake” Dean chimes in.

She scrunches her nose, “You know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy.”

“Listen, Jenny, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain before Missouri smacks him hard on the back of the head, far harder than I ever do, “Ow!” He yelps, turning around swiftly towards the shorter woman, “How did you-!” He nearly yells holding the back of his head. He looks at her with big wild eyes, his yelling coming from the fact she was able to quietly get behind Sam and I to hit him.

Missouri cuts him off, “Give the poor girl a break, can’t you see she’s upset?” She then turns to Jenny, “Forgive this boy, he means well, he’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed, but hear me out.” Dean looks further stunned.

“About what?” Jenny asks, adjusting her hold on her kid.

“About this house.” Missouri answers.

“What are you talking about?” Jenny looks between us all, nervously.

“I think you know what I’m talking about. You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?” Missouri says.

“Who are you?” Jenny asks just above a whisper.

“We’re people who can help, who can stop this thing. But you’re gonna have to trust us, just a little.” Missouri smiles comfortingly but even so Jenny looks unsure.

She seems to go over it in her head before finally sighing, “Alright.”

The four of us stand in Sari’s bedroom, Jenny having given us room to do what we need to while she waits downstairs with her kids. Sari’s room was a dark blue, a contrast to her pink and white furniture and toys.

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it.” Missouri states, looking around the room carefully from where she stood.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.” She answers, looking around the room. Dean pulls out his DIY EMF from the inside of his coat pocket, “That an EMF?” Missouri asks.

“Yeah.” Dean smiles smugly.

“Amateur.” Missouri says lowly, I don’t know why she was targeting Dean specifically but his reaction to her was too amusing to really ponder it.

The EMF beeps frantically, “I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom.” Missouri announces.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam asks frantically, getting a confident nod, “How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.” She answers, pausing for a beat before adding, “Can you feel it Y/N?”

My eyes widened in shock, “I’m sorry what?”

“You still got a lot to learn ‘bout your abilities'' She responds waving me over, “c’mere, you might be able to sense the energy.”

I hesitantly place my bag down before slowly walking over to her, she either senses my nervousness or reads my mind because she explains what she means, “Witches tend to have the best intuition and connection to the natural world, you should be able to sense energies especially spiritual ones with a second sight.”

She situates me in front of her with my back towards her, her hands clasp my arms tightly as they rest at my side. “Close your eyes, and just like meditation let everythin’ else fall away.”

I follow her instructions, my eyes fluttering shut reluctantly. I feel incredibly silly as I take a deep breath, the sage-y perfume of the woman behind me filling my nose. I breathe out slowly, forcing my mind to shut out the real world, which isn’t as hard as it should be with the quiet room and my nearly regular meditating. Complete darkness surrounds me as if the room itself had fallen away with all the people in it too, just me floating in an abyss.

I focused more closely on the house itself, extending my awareness far out to the block and then as if a dark fog hugged it I zeroed in on the house. Using my conscious self I pictured what it was like to walk through the house this time with a deep focus and new eyes.

With each step I ventured further into the house cautiously, a buzzing feeling rang through the house like when two strong magnets fight for equilibrium with a clatter. But despite the buzzing a physical warm glow emitted from the home's edges and like a hand reaching out it tried to conquer more of the house, yet it couldn’t. A force I couldn't quite tell held it back. The hair on the back of my neck stood tall, a cold chill running down my spine, I shrugged it off as I walked back up the stairs and down the hall to my physical self.

My foot only breached the doorway when a dreadful feeling filled the halls as if rooted beneath the wallpaper, a twinge of fear made its home in my stomach. I had never done this before, never went into my mind to feel the very things I hunt. I have no experience here, this is not my domain. They must know that as hushed murmurs fluttered around me with voices I couldn’t detect but knew they didn’t belong to anyone in the room. They wouldn’t be able to talk to me here so normally, maybe Missouri but certainly not Sam or Dean.

The murmurs became louder, each whisper jumbled over the next, talking over each other to the point of no recognition. My back hits the hard archway of the door's entrance, the sheer loudness of combined voices knocking me off balance. I braced myself against the door, nails biting into wood, my eyes shut tightly in effort to focus even further.

An unfamiliar cold hand brushes my forearm dragging its fingers up to my elbow as if standing beside me, I swiftly turn around backing up a few feet to see nothing near me. Another brush touches me, this time the back of my neck accompanied by a hot breath fanning by my ear. I don’t move away. this is not my domain, but it will be, and I will not show fear now. Latin spews from its mouth flowing right into my ear, a simple teasing statement, “Another toy.”

My eyes shoot open, pupils blown wide as my eyes adjust to the lighting as well as my mind being back in focus of the physical realm. My heart beats harshly against my chest, my lungs heaving with adrenaline.

A large hand clasps around my upper arm tightly, I nearly stumble back a step before my mind finally catches up with the present. “What is it?” Dean spews out quickly, his green eyes nearly crazed with worry.

I open my mouth to answer only to have Missouri answer for me instead, “You saw them.”

“F-felt more like” I stammer the feeling of its touch still lingering.

“What are they doing here?” Dean asks, looking between Missouri and I for answers, his hand still on my arm. Thing is I don’t have an answer, all that creepy spirit touching and I still don’t know everything.

But of course Missouri does, “They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected.”

“This house buzzes with energy, literally you can feel it attracting paranormal energy. There’s two here right now…ones in the room. My head turns towards the closet, “A poltergeist. I’m not sure if it sees it as a game or what but I think it wants Jenny and her kids dead.” I know I’m right when Missouri nods her head.

“You both said there was more than one spirit.”

“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.” Missouri answers before adding, “You pick up anythin’”

“Only that it felt…good, if that makes sense. It was very different from the other. It was like this warmth trying to consume the house or really rid the house of its evil.” I answer by trying to make sense of everything that I have experienced.

“You’re sure of this?” Dean asks me, gaining my attention again by squeezing my arm before finally letting go.

“Yes.” I breathe simply, failing to explain that my only other hunch was the fact that it hadn’t been bothering me or I suppose terrorizing me like the poltergeist had with its touching.

A hard determined look sharpens on Dean's face, “Well, one thing’s for damn sure –- nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

“We’re gonna cleanse the house” Missouri answers simply, “Y/N, what you have in that bag of yours?”

A devilish smirk stretches itself on my face, “You wanna do purifying bags?” I ask back instead of answering. I walk back over to my discarded bag picking it up and swinging it over my shoulder, “Let’s do this downstairs, don’t want to make a mess in the kids room” Missouri says, answering my question without really answering it.

“Copy” I smile, taking the lead as we exit the room. With a sudden need for my specialty I found a new pep in my step as I quickly descended the stairs beelining for the nearest table. I carefully placed my bag down on the dining room table, pulling out my spell book marked and written in along with small corked glass bottles of different roots and herbs I carry. “When did you put all of this in your bag?” Sam asks, picking up a vial of crossroad dirt.

“Before I left with Dean to come get you, ‘cause you never know when you're gonna have to put together a spell or a potion of sorts” I answer, pulling out a couple empty small brown pouches.

“So you’ve been carrying this ‘round with you this whole time?” Dean asks this time.

“Mhm” I hum as I sit getting right to work.

With a little bag in front of me I put in each ‘ingredient’, for lack of a better word, not needing to look at my book for the right amount in each.

“Well don’t be lazy, help the girl!” Missouri lectures hitting Dean on the back of the head again. He grumbles no longer snapping back with something, he sits down next to me looking for direction.

With the feeling of his gaze on the side of my face I swirl my finger towards my spell book, a purple haze floating through the air turning the pages of my book to the right section for him to follow without me having to stop my work. He doesn't say anything as he takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, putting his forearms on display as he picks up bits of root, unfortunately catching my attention enough to pause my work and stare at him.

His eyes move from my book to the bag he was working on, his eyes sharp and focus as it passes across the words on the page. He moves his hand to the book using a finger to drag across the page underneath each word, the veins in his hand bulging as he does so. His eyebrows scrunch and his jaw ticks as he asks, “What is this stuff anyway?”

“That’s angelica root your holding” I mentioned first, referring to the fuzzy green plant in his hand. “And that’s van van oil, crossroad dirt, sage” I point to each bottle, naming off each ingredient we’re using.

He nods as I speak, his eyes still holding the same level of focus. From his listening to the gentle touch he used as he handled each bottle, all I could feel was pure endearment. The sudden quietness in the room made me painfully aware of the fact that we were the only ones left in said room and that Missouri along with Sam had left at some point, most likely to talk to Jenny.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Dean questioned, knocking his knee into mine to get my attention once more. A bashful smile breaks its way onto my face at his touch, “We put them inside the walls of each corner of each floor of the house, north, south, east, west.”

“We’ll be punchin’ holes in the dry wall. Jenny’s gonna love that.” Dean points out.

My lips formed a tight line, cringing, “Yeah…this is just how this goes but to be fair some holes in the walls are better than evil spirits.”

He huffed a laugh, “And this will destroy the spirits?”

“It should, it's supposed to purify the house completely, we’ll probably each take a floor but we do have to work quickly because when they catch on to what we’re doing, they get seriously pissed.” I answered

“Won’t they catch on with us doing it here?”

“You would think that but spirits don’t always know until it’s actually happening like when we make the holes then it’s a big deal.” I inform, tying off another bag.

“Huh” He replies as he continues to work.

Soon silence falls upon us while we work, our arms brushing against each other every now and then.

“Are holes in drywall a hard fix?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence, worried that the spirits won’t be the only pissed ones.

A deep chuckle passes through his lips, “That depends, sweetheart, but it should be.” He went on to explain the logistics of it, and while it wasn’t something I really cared to know about I didn’t stop him from explaining.

By the time his explanation of spackles and walls was over our purifying bags were done too.

Missouri and Sam walk back into the room, the floor creaking slightly underneath them. “You guys almost done?” Sam asked

“Yup” I hummed, “The bags are all done just gotta finish cleaning up”

“Good. Jenny and her kids just left, they’ll be back in an hour or two” Sam explained, placing a bunch of heavy items on the table. “I brought these in from the car, take your pick.”

I look up at the heavy mass, a hammer, a small ax, and two crowbars lay on the table. Though it is an odd collection of weapons as long as it is capable of making a hole in the wall it doesn't really matter, Sam picks up the hammer testing the weight of it in his hand.

With every part of the plan settled I throw the rest of the vials and leftover bags in my bag worrying about organization later, gently tucking my thick spell book into my bag I turn swiftly around, “Let’s get it done.”

“I’ll take this floor” Dean says, picking up his four bags, “Sammy you take upstairs, and you two can take the basement.”

“And remember you need to put a bag in each corner, north, south, east, west.” I order as everyone has the right amount of bags and a weapon of choice.

A collective nod was all we needed to spring into action, with the cold heavy crowbar in my hand I took the lead down the basement Missouri following closely after me. Without any words needed, we split up her heading to the west side of the floor and me to the east.

A chill runs up my spine, an uncomfortable feeling floating in the air, I roll my shoulders trying to rid myself of the feeling. My knees hit the floor, the coldness seeping through my pants. I knock on the wall in an attempt to hear a hollow part, Dean having mentioned before that would be the easiest way to make a hole. My knuckles hit the wall in at least ten separate spots before it no longer sounds solid. I stand back up for better leverage before changing my hold on the crowbar to be horizontal, bashing the end of it into the wall repeatedly until it cracks.

A heavy sliding noise shuffles behind me, I snap my head to the sound of a large dark table moving across the floor right into Missouri. My mouth opens to scream her name in warning but just as the first syllable leaves my mouth a nail comes flying at my face. Out of reflex alone I send the nail flying to the left, the invisible force of my power altering its trajectory. My eyes follow where the nail came from, an open red tool box, more nails come flying my way and each time I knock them away. Knowing it wouldn’t stop I gripped the crowbar harder using only a glimpse back at the wall to know where I was aiming for. While I used one hand and half my focus on changing the direction of the nails I used my other to slam the crowbars end into the already cracked wall but only when it sounded like it broke through enough did I glimpse back again. With another look forward at the coming nails, only one more left, I waited until it got closer, the old nail zooming toward my eye. Just as it got but an inch away I dropped to the floor, turning my body as I went, throwing the purification bag in.

I got up quickly, dropping my crowbar, almost tripping over my other foot as I ran to Missouri, pushing the table away from her, throwing another bag into the hole she had already made before she got attacked. She breathes heavily, a hand on her chest. “You okay?” I ask, putting a hand on her shoulder and leading her away from the table. She nods her head, handing me her two bags, wordlessly telling me to finish the floor.

I grip the bags in one hand as I pick up my discarded crowbar, seeing the nails that flew at me sticking out of the walls. I head over to the undisturbed wall slamming the crowbar into the wall, not even attempting to do the knocking at this point. While I threw in the third bag, worry consumed me at the realization that the spirits must be attacking the boys too. Without wasting any more time I go to the last undisturbed wall, again slamming the crowbar into it. Call it paranoia or instinct that made me turn so that my shoulder was facing the wall instead of my face to see if another attack would be coming. Either way it was that alone that saved me from the poltergeist throwing a wooden chair at my head. I duck again just in time for the chair to smash into pieces above me, wood undoubtedly falling into my hair.

“Stop throwing stuff!” I yell at the air itself or really the incredibly annoying poltergeist. With a huff I throw in the last bag, all the activity silencing on this floor. I get up walking over to Missouri as I pick out chunks of wood from my hair, as soon as I get close enough she reaches up and takes a particularly large piece of chair out of my hair showing it to me with a laugh before tossing it somewhere on the floor.

“Y/N!” A voice yells with a strain, clearly coming from a distance away. Right away I recognize the voice, Deans, I go running climbing up the stairs two at a time. Forget about my hair, forget about leaving Missouri behind (no offense).

The ground floor is practically untouched other than the clear mess that is peeking out from the kitchen, I look around quickly and see no one, “Dean?!” I shout back evident fear in my voice, getting an immediate “Up here.” Slight relief hits me as I again sprint up the stairs, twirling around the banister the second I reach the second floor seeing the closest open door. Forgetting about precautions I immediately approach the door, my hand on the archway when I see Dean on the floor cradling a hurt-limp Sam.

“Wha-“ I begin saying only to lose my train of thought.

“Let’s get him up” Missouri suddenly says from behind me, very calmly. She nudges past me heading straight for the boys, but neither of them move. She leans down beside Sam pressing two fingers to the side of his neck, “He’s still alive, he’ll be just fine.”

He gives her a curt nod before leaning back on his feet and standing, dragging his brother up with him, just as he does so Sam comes to. His eyes fluttering open and close, “It’s okay Sammy, just gonna bring you downstairs” Dean tells him, putting his brother's arm around his shoulder.

Carefully he walks his brother downstairs, Sam grumbling something halfway through before going limp again. Finally they reach the living room, Dean carefully lays his brother on the couch then moves to sit on the coffee table right across from him.

“He’ll be alright” I say softly, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“I know” he replies.

“Were you able to finish the floor?” I ask even though maybe it wasn’t the proper time to.

“No. I was hurled with knives the second I made the hole, then I heard something upstairs and ran to see if Sammy was okay…I don’t think he finished either” He explains, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“It’s okay, i’ll go finish it and you guys can stay here, watch over him” I say, giving his shoulder a little squeeze before moving my hand away.

“Are you crazy?! That’s dangerous. Did you not just see what happened to Sam?!” Dean shoots back, not quite yelling but his voice is definitely louder than needed.

I smiled at him sweetly knowing this was coming from a place of worry and not an incompetent sort of deal, “Don’t worry I can take care of myself just fine, I did so down stairs when we finished up. Got some nails thrown at me, a chair and a table, you know just the usual playing house with the ghost.”

“That’s not the point. I’m coming with you.” He stands up abruptly and I swear I saw his jaw tick.

“Okay. I’m not gonna argue with you” I respond with humor in my voice. “But. If you did want to stay behind to watch your brother I wouldn't fault you for it either.”

He looks at me strangely with those beautiful green eyes before diverting them just past me, “I’m coming with you.”

“Right.” I smile “‘You got the bags?”

He answers by shuffling through his jacket pockets and pulling out a bag from each, he holds them up in an almost teasing way. I take a half step forward, grabbing a bag right out of his hand, only then realizing how close my small step puts us, having to lean my head back far enough to look up at him comfortably. But I don’t move away as I ask him, “What about your axe?”

He tilts his head down slightly towards me, his breathe hot on my face, “Dropped it in the kitchen”

“Good.” I say, nearly and pathetically getting distracted by our closeness…and his eyes… and his lips. “ ‘Cause I have no idea where I left that crowbar”

He laughs and steps away, his shoulder brushing mine as he walks away to the kitchen. Before I can turn to follow him Missouri meets my eyes, giving me a pointed-knowing look about what just happened. ‘Shut up’ I playfully mouth.

Finally I turn around following after the man in question. He comes out of the kitchen holding the small axe but just behind him is a mess. The kitchen looks like a tornado went through it with draws and cabinets open, utensils on the floor, broken dishes scattered around, the table turned over with knives sticking out of it (a tornado could not do that but the point of the mess still stands.) I look back at Dean then behind him repeatedly, “Did you have fun?” I remark sarcastically.

“Oh, not as much fun as you had” He replies gruffly, reaching up to my hair, his fingers sinking in as he ruffles out small chips of wood. My cheeks feel warm at the small contact and even more so when he pulls away and gives me that smirk. Then he walks away towards the back of the house with a cocky look in his eye like he knew exactly what he had done. I take a short deep breath before following him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later every purifying bag is put in place and Sammy is conscious and now we stand in the disaster that is the kitchen, broken cabinets and chair bits on the floor as well as a collection of utensils, all just to see the bunt of the fight.

“‘You sure this is over?” Sam questions, his voice a little rough.

“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?” Missouri answers.

“Never mind.” He sighs, “It’s nothin’, I guess.”

The front door opens followed by footsteps, “Hello? We’re home.” Jenny calls out before finding us in the kitchen pure shock written on her face, “What happened?”

“Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this.” Sam word vomits, the words spilling out quickly and anxiously. Both Dean and I’s heads snap towards him, I seriously want to ask him ‘with what money???’ But before anyone can fathom a word Missouri beat us to it, “Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.” Again with her (maybe) uncalled targeting I have to bite back a smirk, meanwhile Dean stands unmoving his eyebrows scrunched looking at the shorter woman with a total bewildered expression.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.” She adds, and I don’t know how she has this much power but he listens and begins to walk away or really shuffle away, “And don’t cuss at me!” She lectures.

Laughter slips through my lips as he mutters under his breath, Sam joining in on the hilarious nature that is his brother being bossed around.

Wiping a tear out of the corner of my eye I touch Sam’s shoulder, “I’m gonna go get him and fix this up…” I twirl my finger slightly to signal I mean magically, “Bring Jenny inside somewhere.” He nods, “Okay but you should really let him suffer”

I laugh again, rolling my eyes as I move away.

I find Dean standing in front of a broom closet trying to balance several cleaning objects in his hands at once. I admire his effort but there’s just no way anyone could clean that kitchen when it’s quite literally just destroyed. I grabbed a broom from him that was seconds away from falling, “Not to ruin your fun but I figured it would be easier to use magic on the kitchen than a mop.”

“Thank god” He sighs, shoving everything back in the closet including the broom I held.

Back in the kitchen I try not to get stressed at just how bad it is. Taking a calming breath I walk over to the kitchen counters, closing my eyes, I feel my hair move around me slightly from a small drift in the room, my body stands completely still as I let my hands feel the cool counter below me and the steadiness of it all. As my body relaxes and my shoulders drop, relieving its tension I become a conduit for magic, a dance of ethereal threads weaving through me. The energy flowed from my core to my fingertips, the flow gracefully extending to every nook and cranny. As if tracing an intricate pattern, it embraced the room, coaxing broken shards and scattered pieces back into harmony. The air felt electric with the essence of restoration, and the kitchen hummed with the soothing melody of enchantment.

When I open my eyes again, I feel a gaze on me. I turn my whole body, so that I was standing sideways, to it and of course it’s Dean, he meets my eyes, his mouth just slightly agape and I can only imagine what the swirling of purple energy around the room fixing items must have looked like. His green eyes are slightly glossy with what is maybe curiousity or amazement, either way it was a weird look. Before I could question him I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a tall familiar figure. Sam stands by the kitchen archway waving his hand, signaling it was time to go.

Hours later darkness consumes the Impala. After dropping Missouri back home Sam insisted we came back to the house for a stakeout. It was hard to argue with someone who had a bad feeling over something that is quite literally life or death, so we stayed. We’d been in here so long in fact that I’d taken to lying down flat in the backseat, my legs propped up on the seats (shoes off so Dean wouldn’t complain but at least I got to showcase my cute dragonfly socks).

I stare up at the beige-ish interior roof, my hands laying across my chest. I breathe in and out evenly, but with the prospect of being bored, memories of my life here swarm my head and suddenly I miss my mom more than I've had in a long time. If I focus hard enough on the roof I can still hear the remnants of her laughter and I could see her smile, the one I inherited, on her soft face. That old longing, that old sadness that I thought I was over fills my heart, its hands creep up on it clasping it tightly. It’s been years. So many years since she’s been gone and yet still this feeling—this rawness in my chest, this endless longing is home in my body just as it was the first time around.

I miss my mom.

I want to cry and I want her back, tears threaten my eyes and that stupid tightness in my throat prevails almost like it’s choking me, a tightness that’s so painful I want to rip my throat out. I swallow forcefully, I hate this feeling and I hate death and I hate that I'm feeling this in the back of the car with my best friends just right up front. It’s too vulnerable, it’s too open, too close to home…I want to go home.

I want to go home.

I shut my eyes tightly trying to erase these feelings to move them back in the dusty box they had sat in. But it isn’t that easy and I know it isn’t so instead I breathe deeply and choose to listen to Dean and Sam talk, focusing on the up and down of their words and the softness of each syllable.

“All right, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asks, impatience clear on his tongue.

“I don’t know. I just…” Sam sighs, “…still have a bad feeling.”

“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.” Dean explains.

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.” Sam answers.

“Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.” Dean responds and I hear him slide down his seat, probably closing his eyes in the process, “Like Y/N back there” he adds, softer, and even with my eyes closed a smile produces itself on my face. The small warmth that spreads in my chest fends off the grief, at least enough for it not to be at the forefront of my mind.

The quiet peace that falls over the Impala is short lived, Sam suddenly yelling, “Guys. Look” My eyes shoot open, “Dean!” He hits his brother's shoulder.

I sit up quickly catching a glimpse of Jenny yelling by her window, with nothing more to be said- we jump out of the car. I shuffled to the car door, leaving my shoes behind, the second I’m out and the door is slammed shut I run after the boys who were only two paces ahead. “You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny.” Dean commands as Sam tries the door which of course is locked. Dean pushes him slightly to the side, he takes a step back lifting his leg and kicking in the door. Broken pieces of wood stick out from the side of it.

The dark wooden floors are cold beneath my sock-covered feet, each step up the staircase seems far too long even as we reach the top. At the top Dean stops at a door close to the stairs but I don’t use any more focus to take anything else as Sam and I run down the hall, “Get Sari! I’ll get the baby!” I yell after him. Stopping at the closest door I swing it open only to reveal a bathroom, I curse underneath my breath before spinning around to the door right across the hall. Once more I swing it open, this time revealing a baby room with a white crib in the middle of it. I rush over only slowing to not scare Richie as I approach, somehow he’s still asleep wrapped up in his little blanket.

Carefully I reach in the crib scooping him up from underneath his upper back, my other arm going for his legs. Once in my arms I rearrange him so my dominant hand rests on his lower back while the crook of my other arm cradles his little head, just like holding a baby doll except this one is way cuter and also very alive. Standing back at my full height I fix his blanket around him before exiting the room. I know Sam can handle himself so I head towards the stairs, the baby had to be the priority right now. I quickly descend the stairs, only half way down when I feel Sam close behind, a relief hitting me.

My feet only just hit the ground level when Sam calls my name, swiftly I turn towards him Sari in his arms.

“Y/N, you need to take the kids and go outside.” He orders, placing Sari on the floor.

“Okay, what about you aren’t you coming?” I rushed out, cradling Richie in one arm so I could take hold of Sari’s hand.

Panic is written all over his face and something else lies in his eyes, “Take them. Don’t look back” And before I can argue any further he’s nudging me forward, reluctantly I go only because I know I can’t help with two kids in my arms. I run towards the door at this point, pulling Sari along with me, just behind me I hear a slam to the floor and I know it’s Sam- relief gone. But even so I rush forward.

The chill breeze of the night hits me hard. Jenny and Dean stand on the edge of the grass line. Only a few paces from them Sari lets go of my hand and runs to her mom, Jenny leaning down to catch her and hold her tightly. “Sam’s inside you have to go now” I speak quickly, my words jumbling over itself. Dean's eyes widen and pure fear fills them, on top of being scared guilt fills me now too. He runs to the front door and I hear it slam loudly. I hand Richie back over to his mom who is very obviously relieved to have him again.

Dean runs back to the Impala pulling out a shotgun and an ax, going right back to the door. I know I could open the door for him, it would be easy and I wouldn’t even break a sweat. Yet, my feet remain planted to the grown, the chaos of it all—the guilt. My purifying bags didn’t work, it nearly got a whole family killed and Sam’s now in trouble too. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.

My feet won’t move, my body won’t react, I can't even redeem myself. I don’t want to lose anyone else, I don’t want to. I can’t.

Move.

Move. Please move, I beg myself— my very being to do something anything but be helpless. I hate being helpless and yet I’m here doing nothing, anxiety and fear encasing me to this spot. I hear Dean hacking away at the door, faint grunts leaving his mouth as he does so but still I can’t move. Sari begins to cry latching on to her moms legs only waking up Ritchie in the process who then begins to cry too. The loud crying rings in my ears, only making my heart beat faster.

Jenny, visibly overwhelmed, wrestles with the challenge of consoling both kids, her distress mirrored in her eyes. Without conscious thought, my arms extend, offering to hold Ritchie. To my surprise, she entrusts the baby to me, planting a tender kiss on his forehead before gathering Sari into her embrace. Sari's legs encircle her mother's waist, a protective hand cradling the back of her head.

Richie moving in my arms breaks me out of my panic, if only because someone in need was right there, someone who surely couldn’t help themselves. I begin to rock him, moving my weight from one foot to another but my stress and worry is still there and he must feel it too because it does barely anything to help. I look back up, Dean is still hacking away at the door, not enough progress has been made. I rearrange the baby, using my free arm I lift up a hand my palm facing towards the direction of the door, with barely any thought needed the door slams open. Dean looks back at me for only a second before running in.

Richie's cries persist as I rock him, murmuring reassurances, "It's okay, everything will be okay." I desperately rack my mind for any calming measures, when I suddenly recall my mother singing me lullabies. But still I struggle to remember any of them, the memory too distant to be anything more than a hymn, instead I decide to softly sing "A Lullaby" by Dear Nora – even though it came out way after my mothers passing it always reminded me of her. And I had always kept a small hope that one day if I were to have kids that I would sing it to them too.

As I move a strand of hair from Richie's face, he begins to settle. My voice trembles with fear, but it seems to have a soothing effect anyways. Richie stops crying, and I meet Jenny's gaze. She offers a sad smile while holding her daughter close.

Both boys came out of that house. Relief had hit me like a ton of bricks, my knees felt wobbly with it. At first they could barely speak, shocked at what they saw but then the police and firefighters came and it was all the usual.

It was hours later until everything was resolved, and it wasn’t until Missouri came over that they actually spilt what happened. Their mom was there, she was the good spirit that I had felt, the one that was fighting off the evil and she did exactly that when it had attacked Sam. Somehow, she was still at the house after all these years protecting it. She had used the last of her abilities to say…sorry.

It’s morning now, Missouri cleared the house for real this time no spirit was left in there. The kids were sleeping still, Jenny was giving the photos she found to Dean and Sam sat with Missouri on the steps talking.

I had nothing to say to anyone in particular so I sat in the Impala, my legs outside the car, digging through my bag, when I finally pulled out my spell book I turned to the purifying page, I looked it over again trying to see if we did something wrong and messed up the amounts. But no. We did it right, but for some reason it didn’t work—it didn’t work and people could have died. Holding the book on my lap I reach up to the top of it, my hand holding the single page ready to tear it out when it’s suddenly taken from my grasp “Hey, what are you doing?!” Dean yells, holding it out of reach.

“It didn’t work. It needs to go, please give it back.” I answered, my jaw clenched.

“This was your moms, you’d hate yourself if you ripped it up.” Dean lectures.

“No I wouldn't, give it back. I need to make sure this never happens again.” I shoot up from my seat reaching up to grab it back but his arm shoots down behind his back.

“Yeah, you would. Sorry to break it to you sweetheart but I know you pretty damn well.”

I don’t care if he’s right. I don’t. That page needs to go, I can’t make this mistake again. I won’t. I reach for it again behind his back but again he moves it, “Dean. I’m not joking around give it back.” I don’t often get angry, but I am.

He looks down at me, his eyes scrunched in confusion and concern, “What’s going on with you?”

I huff, frustrated, “What’s going on is I messed up. Badly. They could have died and don’t try to say I don’t know that for sure because I do. And I know you do too, so I don’t need any comforting lies”

"We screw up, sweetheart. It's part of the gig. But we fixed it. They're alive and kickin', okay?" His words carried that gruff reassurance he always had, even when he was being a bit of a hypocrite. Book at his side, guard lowered just a bit, it was my chance to snag it back. "Not this," I jabbed a finger at the book. "I'm good at this. I don't mess up on this."

"I don't care that you're all emotional right now. You're not trashing your spell book." Arms crossed in front of his chest, he held his ground.

My chest heaved, my eyes scrunched in frustration as I looked up at him, my free hand in a tight fist my nails digging into my palm. “But, it needs to—“ I say back, weakly, already my fight was crumbling, being replaced with something else. Suddenly his arms were around me and my face was buried in his chest. His arms held my upper back tightly, his hands going up to cup my head, his fingers entangled into my hair a little while his chin rested on top of my head. With each breath I took, inhaling his smell of something woody and some sort of spice mixed into one, any resolve I had left was gone.

I wanted to keep fighting, I wanted to tell him he was wrong but he held me so close and so gentle that I couldn’t. If that in itself had made me weak then so be it. I wrap my arms around his center, even with my book in my hand. It had to be seconds later when he must have felt the tension leaving my shoulders when he pulled away, his hands dropped down to the crook of my arm holding me a short distance away. His green eyes locked with mine in a silent agreement.

I pull away fully when Sam and Missouri approach, quickly whipping my eyes just in case and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. We each exchange hugs with her, even Dean who surprisingly gets no comment this time.

Missouri smiles, “Don’t you be strangers.”

“We won’t.” Dean nods as he rounds the car.

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keyorden · 2 months ago

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Echo Parents (5. Chase)

So. A quick recap; TJ has reasonable, loving parents, with no indication that there is any problems beyond what any kid might have with their parents, potentially marred only by over-protectiveness (reasonable) Leo and Carl have overall positive relationship's with parents, with significant issues that aren't easily overcome, and contribute to their kids issues, which lead them to identify more with friends overall. Jenna, Syd, and Flynn have abusive parents, and much of the stories they have are about dealing with that, and how friends can share the burdens. Clint, Jeremy, Heather, Micha and Keith are all examples of when the support network Can't bridge the gap (In this case, their Flynn example, Keith, was taken too soon, and they had literally no positive examples to otherwise help) So, given all of that overall. What is up with Chase's parents. Going over everything, it's....strange. In all the other examples, the parents reflect the kids beliefs and values. In Chase's case, the greatest part's of his story are about his avoidance to conflict, his lack of desires, his own communication issues, and his inability to make meaningful decisions. But it really honestly doesnt seem like Chases parent's reflect this? Like, in Route 65, Chase mentions that his mom locked herself in a room, and the dad could only "Laugh awkwardly" at the impromptu outing. Then, there is the implication that they accepted the relationship, but nothing else. It is mentioned that they punished Chase for some of his behavior as a child (Which, in his own words, was dickish), like leaving TJ to clean Duke's yard alone, and there are other minor instances of mention, but nothing that leads to a really clear or obvious picture like anyone else. They held some barbiques, did some things that annoyed younger chase, and that is that. At best, given whats in Cannon (even more with the beginning phone call and Chase's remincing in Flynn's route), you could determine them as just being....normal parents. But that doesn't feel right. Its strange, for normal parents to have that much of an opposition to filmography, of all things. Carl's not wanting an art degree is a classic complaint, but Flim? Even more, it just seems...odd. Like, Chase isn't really defined by being normal. His parents seemingly not having a large impact, positively or negatively, on anything, without note, seems off. Wrong. I have ideas, of course, on things they could've been presented as. If his parents were awkward, never commuting to condemning or helping him after he came out, or even before not approving of anything he did, yet not outright rejecting him like with Sydney, that could fit Or, if Chase Felt like he had a normal childhood, and then realized he hadn't spoken to his parents in YEARS, that would also be a fitting commentary. Or if his parent's notably had a rocky relationship, more if they wanted different things out of Chase. Or even if they didn't want to have Chase at all! if they were somewhat openly resentful of being stuck together and having a child, yet not separating, and just not talking about it, that could also fit for him. Not like that is an exhaustive list, but what we do know of the Hunters is just so lacking and limp. Overall I guess I just feel like Chases parents are one of the few kind of dropped parts of Echo. Or, at least, something that wasn't handled with the kind of detail I think they really could've. Just, an untapped goldmine for things to do or talk about.

#echo vn #chase hunter #leo alvarez #tj hess #flynn moore #jenna begay #carl hendricks #spoliers

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idiot-in-a-nutshell · 1 year ago

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My ship thoughts for America.

Ameliet. I feel like they would be kinda like an old married couple. Domestic and has a lot of trust in each other.

Rusame. Honestly never hated each other but their bosses were asshats. Have a quite strong bond even after all they've been through together.

Gerame. Trauma x trauma couple and also gym bros. Never really got a childhood so I feel like they would comfort each other especially after world meetings.

Ameita. Cinnamon roll x cinnamon roll. Both are very clumsy and can be loud but both have similar facades and love each other since they have similar interests and favorite foods.

Romerica. Another comfort ship. They take care of each other and defend each other. And if America forgets to eat romano lovingly threatens to shove food down his throat.

Pruame. Have good personalities with each other and goof off a lot. Their relationship can get rocky but they love each other a lot.

And then last but not least if I had too Prussia x Denmark x America. Of course America being the bottom bottom he gets showered with affection at all times. The relationship probably started with America and my head cannon is that it started during the great depression, during the cold war Prussia managed to not get caught sneaking out until like a year after and he was locked in a room, it was basically hell for them then they got back together after the wall fell. (I may write a book about this ship because I have too many head cannons to put in this post.)

#alfred f jones #hetalia #aph rusame #ameita #gerame #romerica #hetalia ships #aph america

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mxtxfanatic · 10 months ago

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Book of the Week: Transmigrating Into The Heartthrob's Cannon Fodder Childhood Friend

Author: This Concubine Is In Shanyang (妾在山阳)

Genre: transmigration, high school setting, danmei

Rating: T (despite Xie Sui’s best attempts 😔)

My Synopsis: If you’ve ever wondered how someone can play both bully and victim, look no further than Song Yu, our transmigrating main character who’s first instinct when faced with conflict is ✨violence✨ while his second is calling the cops, as he fights against his system to befriend and protect the reborn blackbelly protagonist-turned-love interest, Xie Sui, from a slew of dickwad suitors. Watch as Song Yu threatens to take on the whole damn world if he has to in order to keep Xie Sui single while Xie Sui just wonders whether he’ll even get a turn to enact his revenge on his foes without interception, thank you very much.

My Actual Review: The moment Song Yu walked into a room and immediately tried to brain an antagonist with a bottle of alcohol without so much as a “by your leave,” I was hooked. I think this is the first cnovel I’ve read where the MC’s first solution to a problem is just his hands 😭 Song Yu’s name can be found in the dictionary as an example of the word “tyrant.” But don’t worry! He’s only a harbinger of pain towards those who mess with the innocent and his loved ones (plus Xie Sui totally thinks it’s hot that this short king fights his battles for him). And for all of his violence, Song Yu’s goodness and persistence draws in both reader and LI, translating into an especially soft romance to counteract Xie Sui’s tragic romantic history. The drama and comedy tastefully interwoven into the high school setting makes for a lovely and moderately gripping read without becoming too stressful.

While the translation is currently incomplete, I finished it with an mtl and it was fine. However, it is still currently being translated and is almost finished, so if you want to wait for completion, that’s fine too.

Translations: currently incomplete

Dummy Novels: unlocked, last updated Sept. 2023:

Foxaholic: locked (though password available), still currently updating:

https://www.foxaholic.com/novel/transmigrating-into-the-heartthrobs-cannon-fodder-childhood-friend/

#human promotes #thcfcf #ok so to view the foxaholic chapters #you either need a novelupdates login or a foxaholic login #clicking directly on the novelupdates chapter links will lead you to the foxaholic password page #for the individual chapters #clicking directly onto the ‘next’ button on foxaholic won’t do that #unless you have a login there #it’s kind of a very involved process #which is why i just read the dummy novels translation #even though it’s further behind and stalled #but you choose

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zapreportsblog · 1 year ago

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Hi! I have a request for Randy Meeks from a Scream (you can do scream 1 or 2 Randy ) with Reader. She comes over to his house or wherever after a long day of work and she's in pain and super hungry, stuff like that. And he comforts her.

This can be a fic or head cannons whichever you want!

Thanks!

❝stressful day❞

✭ pairing : Randy Meeks x reader

✭ fandom : slashers, scream

✭ summary : after a rough day at work (y/n) heads over to her trusted friends Randy house where she rants about her day and more things unfold

✭ slashers masterlist

The harsh fluorescent lights of the convenience store flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows on the worn linoleum floor. (Y/N) stood behind the cash register, bleary-eyed and counting the minutes until her shift ended. She had been working two part-time jobs to make ends meet, and tonight was another long and exhausting one.

As the last customer left with their late-night snacks, (Y/N) let out a heavy sigh of relief. She had a brief window of freedom before her next job at the diner across town. Two jobs meant minimal rest, and her body was feeling the strain. Her muscles ached, and her feet throbbed from standing for hours on end.

She pulled out her phone and dialed a familiar number, the one she knew by heart - Randy Meeks, her best friend since childhood. Randy had always been there for her, especially during these challenging times. He lived just a few blocks away, and she hoped he could provide the comfort she desperately needed.

After a few rings, Randy's voice crackled through the phone. "Hey, (Y/N), what's up?"

(Y/N) mustered a weak smile as she replied, "Hey, Randy. It's been a rough day, you know? Mind if I come over for a bit? I could really use some company."

Randy, ever the understanding friend, sensed the exhaustion in her voice. "Of course, (Y/N), come on over. My door is always open for you."

She thanked him and hung up, then quickly locked up the store and headed towards Randy's house. The night air was cool against her tired skin, and she shuffled along the dimly lit streets, her fatigue making every step feel heavier than the last.

Finally, (Y/N) reached Randy's doorstep and gave it a gentle knock. The door swung open, revealing her friend in his typical casual attire, a t-shirt and jeans, and his trademark glasses perched on his nose.

Randy's face lit up with a warm smile as he greeted her. "Hey, (Y/N), come on in. You look beat."

She stepped inside, and Randy led her to the cozy living room. It was a place filled with nostalgia, posters of classic movies lining the walls and shelves stacked with DVDs. A soft, worn-in couch beckoned to her, and she sank into its welcoming embrace.

Randy disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a steaming cup of tea and a sympathetic look. He handed her the cup, and (Y/N) wrapped her tired hands around it, savoring the warmth that seeped into her fingers.

The hours slipped away in Randy's cozy living room, and as (Y/N) sipped her tea, the dam holding back her emotions began to crack. She had been bottling up so much for so long, and the exhaustion had finally worn down her defenses.

With a shaky sigh, she set her cup down on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch. "Randy," she began, her voice trembling, "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. These two jobs, the endless bills... It's suffocating, you know?"

Randy listened attentively, his concern evident in his eyes. "I can't even remember the last time I had a full night's sleep," (Y/N) continued. "And my body... It aches all the time. I'm running on fumes, Randy."

As the weight of her words settled in the room, tears welled up in (Y/N)'s eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks. Her shoulders shook as she struggled to hold back sobs, but the dam had burst, and the tears flowed freely.

Randy moved closer, his voice gentle yet resolute. "Hey, (Y/N), it's okay to feel this way. You're carrying an incredible burden right now, and it's completely understandable to break down."

Unable to contain her emotions any longer, (Y/N) cried openly, her words coming out in between choked sobs. "I just... I feel so trapped, Randy. I'm working so hard, but it's like I'm stuck in this never-ending cycle of exhaustion and bills. I don't even remember what it's like to relax, to have a life outside of work."

Randy reached out and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You're not alone in this, (Y/N). I'm here for you, and we'll find a way through this together."

(Y/N) wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She appreciated Randy's support more than words could express. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Randy. You're the only thing keeping me sane through all of this."

Randy smiled softly. "And you're not alone in that either. We're best friends for a reason, (Y/N). We'll figure out a plan, one that eases your burden and gives you some much-needed rest."

With Randy's reassurance, (Y/N) felt a glimmer of hope. She knew that life wouldn't magically become easy, but having someone to confide in and lean on made all the difference. They sat together, planning and talking late into the night, determined to find a way to lift the weight off (Y/N)'s tired shoulders.

As the night wore on, Randy could see that (Y/N) was still emotionally drained from her earlier outburst. He knew that going back to her cramped apartment and facing her relentless work schedule would only add to her stress. He decided it was time to offer a suggestion.

"(Y/N)," Randy began, "why don't you stay the night here? You could use a break, and we used to have sleepovers like this all the time when we were kids. It might be a nice change of pace."

(Y/N) blinked back the remnants of her tears, considering the offer. The thought of spending the night in a familiar place, away from the constant grind of her daily life, was incredibly appealing. She managed a faint smile through her exhaustion. "That sounds wonderful, Randy. I'd love that."

Randy nodded, relieved to see her agree. "Great! I'll set up the guest room for you. You can get a proper night's rest, and in the morning, we can catch up on all the movies we've missed."

With Randy's help, (Y/N) moved to the guest room, which was adorned with posters from their favorite films, just like old times. It was a comforting sight. She changed into some comfy pajamas and settled into the cozy bed, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over her.

Randy checked in on her before heading to his own room, ensuring she had everything she needed. "If you need anything during the night, don't hesitate to wake me up," he said, his caring tone unwavering.

(Y/N) nodded, a sense of security washing over her. "Thanks, Randy.”

As Randy retreated to his room, (Y/N) lay in bed, reflecting on the events of the evening. She couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia and warmth. Despite the hardships she faced, having Randy by her side, even if just for a night, was a reminder of the simple joys of life.

In the darkness of the guest room, (Y/N) drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face, grateful for the return to those cherished sleepovers of their childhood. It was a temporary escape from her demanding reality, but one she would cherish, knowing that Randy's unwavering friendship was the anchor in her turbulent life.

#x reader #x reader one shot #x reader oneshot #scream imagine #scream 1996 #scream x you #scream x reader #ghostface x you #ghostface x reader #ghostface imagine #ghostface imagines #randy meeks x reader #randy meeks imagine #randy meeks imagines #randy meeks #randy meeks x y/n #randy meeks x you

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prophecyofwinter · 1 year ago

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Nemophilist

;One who is fond of forests or forest scenery

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: You are the childhood best friend of Aemond Targaryen. As children, the two of you made a promise that you two would Wed, no matter the cost. But would a war, a dance perhaps, cause issue with that promise?

Warnings: 18+, Death, Trauma, Toxic Sibling Dynamics, Cannon typical violence. More tags will be added as we go on

Notes: Finally posting the long chapters! I hope to have chapter four out by Monday or sooner!

Last Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter 3: Vows, Goodbyes, and Promises

“And none for me? After I came all this way...”

Aemond.

Your head snapped up to make eye contact with a purple eyed shadow, illuminated by soft candle light. He only stood there as you stumbled up from the floor, tripping over yourself and your hounds.

If you were any stronger you would’ve knocked Aemond right to the floor on his ass, not that he would’ve minded.

No words were exchanged, no words needed to be. It had been, what, years? Since you’ve last seen each other? Since you’ve been allowed to see each other? Your lips melted together in a mess of lip tongue and teeth. You didn’t even have half a mind to ask how he even got up here.

Aemonds hands caressed the warm dark fur of your coat dipping his hands under the material and wrapping one arm around your waist guiding you up against a stone wall and the other going to caress your cheek. Your hands entangled themselves in his silver locks which would normally be nice and soft but at this moment they were unkept and tangled as though they'd dried from rainwater. He smelt of Dragon, not that you could really critique him. He was here wasn’t he?

You two got rougher with each passing moment as if you both feared either one of you would disappear. Getting frustrated with fabric on fabric friction, you reach down to his pants in an attempt to free Aemond from his confines. You two have never attempted to go this far, it just felt so right, it was a primal reaction.

Only for Aemond to stop you by pulling away and holding your face still with both of his hands to prevent you from chasing his lips. His one eye staring deeply into your pair, noses almost touching.

“I’m sorry my love but I fear we do not have the time.”

You were half listening still attempting to reconnect your lips, Aemond is so warm and being away from him like this felt as though you were thrown north of the wall for a year. You were so cold without him.

“Gods Aemond, I need you” You move your hands down from Aemonds hair to grasp onto his coat in hopes to reconnect. Aemond holds your face in place more aggressively bringing you out of your foggy state.

“Y/N you need to listen to me. I don’t have time, We don’t have time. I came here to take you to King’s Landing, I said we’d get married in the future didn’t I? That’s what we promised.”

Marriage. That’s why he was here, you’d come to terms by now it was just some childish promise that you’d marry Aemond one day. But, here he is. Telling you that it is true. You couldn’t believe Cregan would ever truly allow this.

“Do you Jest with me Aemond? You asked my brother? Did you come with Jacaerys-“

“Jacaerys is here?”

Aemonds eyes darkened sharply, you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what emotion he was dealing with. Whatever it was, your previous excitement was warring off and reality started seeping in.

“Well yes, I walked him to my brother not too long ago-. Wait, how exactly did you get in here Aem?”

There’s no way Aemond came through the front gates. You surely would’ve known if he had come that way, he would have been meeting Cregan right this moment if he had. Guards would never allow a man into the chambers of a young lady.

Aemond said nothing, trying to gauge your current emotions to give you an answer that wouldn’t scare you off.

You could feel your heart beating in your ears, something wasn’t right about the air of the room. The adrenaline of seeing Aemond was slowing down, allowing you to come back to your senses

Needing an answer to calm your nerves you pressed on. “Aemond. What are you doing he-“

“I killed Lucerys.”

Cold blood rushed through your bones. Aemond closed in on your body, pressing you further into the stone wall.

He towered over you, you became a small pup and he was a dragon closing in on his prey. You should run, hide, scream, call to Snow and Smoke, anything; but you stood there and did nothing.

Aemond could feel you cowering into his touch and could sense your wolves behind him becoming alert to your stress.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear to you my love. I was in Storm’s End and I- Vhagar she- she was provoked and there wasn’t anything I could do.”

“I can’t hide you here Aemond if that’s what you ask of me. If Cregan heard-“

“Aegon is King. There is a war coming and I won’t allow you to stay here knowing I’d never see you again. The seven kingdoms are going to break apart and the North will not side with Aegon- I-, please, Y/N, my love. I will answer any and every question you have, but I need you to come with me now.”

Aemond pressed his forehead to yours in a show of affection. You tried to take in this information the best you could but, what? Aegon is king? Rhaenyra is Queen now isn’t she? Breaking apart? Aemond sounded like a man gone mad, did you trust him? Why else would Jacaerys if Aemond was telling the truth? He was right then, you would never see him again, not if you didn’t go with him right now. What else do you have here? Stay and be a brood mare to some cunt or go with Aemond and have a chance at something better.

You take a deep breath in, and breathe out. “This is a lot, Aemond, but I will trust you. Just give me a moment with them…”

Aemond let out a heavy sigh as though he’s been holding his breath for years and gave you a deep soft kiss. He let you go and moved to the side back into the shadows that your candlelight didn’t reach. “You won’t regret this, my beloved.”

You walked over to your greatest loves, crouching down to their level. This was the right choice, you’d see them again. It would just be a while for them to find you again, still, your heart broke a little. It had always felt that they could read your mind, knew what you wanted and what they had to do. You said nothing for you knew that they knew. You rose back up, walked for the door and peaked your head out to the guard standing out.

“Excuse me? Could you guide Snow and Smoke out of the walls? They need to do their business. Now, please.” You said with a smile to the guard, with only a nod and a ‘Yes Lady Stark’ he led your children out.

Your heart ached as they looked back to you in farewell, but not for forever.

You shut the wooden door softly, holding the door for a moment with a few deep breaths. You turned back to Aemond who still stood where you left him.

“Can I bring anything with me?”

“I fear no, nothing you can’t carry on your back anyway. Northern clothing wouldn’t be the best in King’s Landing anyway. I will see to it personally that you need and want for nothing, you will have plenty of clothes.”

“Very well. I just have a few things then.”

You went over to your bed stand and grabbed a holstered blade. It was a gift from your father when he was still alive, a Valyrian Steel sword with a Dire Wolf as the pummel, branch and leaf engravings wrapped around the handle and blade. It was the only thing left of him and you’d be damned to leave it behind.

You did one final look around your chambers, you knew that it would be a long time before you had this view again. The metal chandelier covered in melted candle wax, your bed with messily thrown around fur blankets that you didn’t need most of the time with Snow and Smoke warming you up just fine, your fireplace that definitely needed a cleaning soon.

What would become of your chambers now? Would Cregan pretend you had never existed and clear the whole room? Or would he sit in your chair and on your bed praying for you to come back because he had missed you? You fear that this is his problem now.

“Ready to go now my Lady?” Aemond came up behind you wrapping his arms around your torso and kissing the crown of your head.

“Yes, yes I am my Prince”

Aemond took your hand and guided you to the window of which he had entered through in the first place. He’d snuck in with Rope? Interesting.

With your arms wrapped around his neck and his right arm around your waist, he guided the two of you down the stone wall and made your way onto the floor of Winterfell.

———

Mirayll was a maid of Winterfell, she did her job as she was told, mainly bringing meals to Lady Stark. She was bringing a tray of Meats, cheeses, and other assortments of things for the Lady to eat for her dinner.

She kicked her foot lightly to the door, with her hands full she couldn’t use them to knock properly. No answer, normal for the Young Lady, probably napping.

Mirayll opened the door with her back to let herself in, she was met with a dead silent room, no wolves, no sound, and most importantly no Lady Stark.

Perhaps she was just taking an evening walk by the Weirwood tree, while odd, not unheard of-

Her eye caught the shine of a metal object on the window of the chambers. Placing the tray on a table by the fireplace she goes to inspect. Her blood runs ice cold when she realizes what has happened.

————-

Cregan sat at one of the dining room tables in the Throne room with the Prince Jacaerys. In such a short amount of time he’d taken a liking to the young man, having an amazing conversation with the man.

Perhaps if he wasn’t already betrothed to another he would’ve had his sist-

“Please! You have to see Lord Stark immediately! It’s the Young Lady she’s!”

Cregans head immediately shot up at the mention of his sister. ‘What has that girl done now to cause me more trouble’

“Let her in!”

Mirayll stumbled into the throne room immediately walking over to Cregan, she was red and out of breath like she had run all the way here.

“It’s Y/N my Lord! I believe she had run away or been taken! Through her window! There’s a rope-!”

Right as the maid had finished her sentence a roar had pierced through the air and through the skies. That could only mean one thing. There was a Dragon here that was not the young Velaryons…

Cregan didn’t even have time to speak before Jacaerys stood tall from his seat and bolted to the doors screaming only one word.

“Aemond!”

Gods be fucking good.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader

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mothmags · 1 year ago

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Hi, i wanted to add more to this post because the bull family is on my mind ALL THE TIME.

It's time to talk about the problematic side of the bull family that I didn’t bring up in the first post. (and how they become aware its problematic)

A mix of headcannon and actual cannon. mostly headcannon, tho probably.

also, he/her for redson because i forgot to say that the first time

Let's look at PIF's side for a hot second. Her husband, the person she LEFT THE CELESTIAL REALM FOR, gets trapped under a mountain. ofc she's going to want to get him back asap. It consumes her. Unfortunately, it was at the cost of her only childs childhood. She dedicated her life to getting her husband back and ended up neglecting and (intentionally or unintentionally) abusing her kid in the process. She forced him to grow up, to get his father back, because that was what was more important in her eyes.

Now DBK is back! Her husband is here! and her child, now an adult, CRAVES his approval and attention. At first, she treats Red like she always did by forgetting him until he was useful. Still silently loving him but never actually showing it. She never notices that she never shows it. Redson has to know that her mother loves her right?... right.?

DBK notices, tho.

Redson will deflate after PIF tells her how much of a disappointment she is after an experiment fails. At first, DBK was angry at Red, too, but as his anger mellows and he lives with the two people that mean the most to him, he starts to realise how badly they treat her.

Redson is brilliant. DBK knows this. To be brilliant, to be a king, mistakes must be made, to learn, and become better - to adapt. Redson will make mistakes, he'll learn, and fix them. PIF goes beyond showing mistakes. She belittles him, makes him feel worthless, almost loathes him for making mistakes. She carves every mistake into her skin and tells him to sew himself up.

After centuries of this abuse from PIF, and now DBK, Redson is on edge. He always sits up straight, is always on his best behavior, and is always formal when talking to them. (unless when he's angry, but ya know, its redson) Which is strange because children, when they become adults, even back then, could go to their parents if they needed help. They would relax around their parents because they know they are safe. Redson doesn't do that. He locks himself in his lab or room and works on plan after plan, hoping, BEGGING, that this one won't fail. She is so tired. All she has ever known is to work, to be better, and to hopefully stop being a failure in the eyes of the only two people that matter to her.

DBK, once he becomes aware of this, is disturbed. BEYOND disturbed. HES been a part of the problem. Telling her she's a disgrace to the Bull Family name - shoving every mistake into her face like she purposefully makes her prototypes fail. Even little things like an oven breaking or a lightbulb dying. Things that Redson couldn't even plan, things that aren't even redsons' fault.

DBK and PIF love Redson so much that they made sure that they removed the Samadhi Fire it didn't hurt her. That it didn't kill her. That even once the fire was removed, DBK ran to catch her as she fell.

How could they treat their own child like this?

As you could probably tell, I think DBK would be the one to realise how badly Redson has been treated. He's been gone for a long ass time, he doesnt know their dynamics or how they work as a family until he realises that they dont act like one. He's seen how people in this time show affection at this point through TV and how MK and his whole group act. They show that they appreciate each other and that their hard work was for something beyond function. And ya know it has to work, they keep winning. He becomes aware of how he's been mistreating his child and how his wife has been, too.

DBK brings this up to PIF. At first, she blows it off. Maybe there even was an argument or many about it. But that's until Redsons newest invention fails. It's something for the kitchen to help DBK handle smaller foods for cooking, nothing world dominating, or anything. Her first instinct is to belittle her, but before she can, she stops. She looks at Redson. He's sunk in on himself, and he looks ashamed. So wholeheartedly ashamed that her little invention didn't work on the first try. She's practically doing the belittling for PIF at this point. He notices her pause and fills the silence with apologies, as he takes the tool and runs to his lab to fix it immediately. PIF just kinda,,, stands there, then she feels a spike of remorse. Ah shit, DBK was right.

#lmk #lmk redson #lmk dbk #pif #lmk pif #demon bull king #demon bull family #princess iron fan #lmk headcanon #red son monkie kid #lego monkey kid #lego monkey kid red son #lmk red boy #im making more headcannons you cant stop me

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eatyourheartvalentine · 9 months ago

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HEAD CANNONS FOR THE LOVELIES AS BOYFRIENDS?? 🤍💜🤍💜

Sure we can do that! 🐰

These are some general things, I hope its alright!

Apologies for any typos I hate writing on the phone ಥ‿ಥ

Allar-

He likes to pretend he's relatively normal aside from his Kawaii addiction, but it's hard to hide certain habits he has when he's just so in love with you!

Good morning and Good night texts are guaranteed every day without fail. He's also always wanting to meet up when you both have free time so there's lots of

' What are you up to? (*＾3＾)/～♡ '

texts in your chat log.

His phone is filled with pictures of you; selfies with you, regular pics he takes of you, and a few stalker shots as well. Because he has so many, hes constantly changing his lock and home screen to a new one of you. They're usually edited with a pink and sugary sweet boarder.

He'll want to go on dates with you whenever you're both available. Movies, grabbing food, going for walks around town, skating. He'll even hit up the Last Enigma room with you if you want!

He's all about PDA as well, holding hands constantly, putting his arm around you, kissing your cheek and forehead, just hugging you in general. You could be standing there talking with someone and he'll be standing behind you with his arms wrapped around you happily.

Since he loves you so much, he prefers if you don't know about his 'unhealthy' tendencies. The play room is off limits when you visit, under the guise of it being Uncle Emil's boiler room for the shop upstairs. He wants to be in a loving happy relationship with you where he doesn't have to worry about you getting scared of him. He's so much more vulnerable with you once he's in a relationship with you.

It takes him time but eventually he'll hang out in his room with you without his usual makeup and decals on, letting you see the scars on his face and body. He won't tell you what they're from, it's far to uncomfortable to talk about when he wants to pretend he's normal. At most you'll be told he had a rough childhood.

If you find out about his playroom and play time, well that's the whole deal with the Living doll ending. You just get to live in the playroom safe and sound! You'll warm back up to him, it'll be fine! He loves you!

Mica-

Mica is a contradictory person, on one hand he likes to tease and joke around. Fake flirting isn't uncommon in a friendship with him since he treats it as a joke. But when you're in an actual relationship with him he can't help but get flustered and more forward with you.

Expect a text at least once a day checking in on you or telling you he hopes you're having a good day. He's on his phone pretty often, so he always replies to your texts within a couple minutes. He's more than happy to send silly selfies of him goofing off at work with Helen in the hopes you'll send something back.

He takes occasional selfies with you, uploading them to his Instagram or Facebook to show off your relationship. ( Or more so gush about it without gushing).

Dates are pretty much once a week to be reasonable. Sometimes it's hanging out at the Last Enigma room, sometimes it's playing video games together, other times it's hitting up the movies. He's not one for any physical activities on dates, so stuff like walks in the park or anything that makes him sweat is probably a no go or he'll just sit on the sidelines cheering you on. Micas more prone to romantic nights together than just chilling. He can get a little handsy if you're staying the night or vice versa, expect a lot of hickeys and bite marks.

PDA is usually his arm hooked with yours, resting his head on your shoulder or kissing your cheek and neck to get a reaction out of you. He also has a habit of wrapping his arm around your waist or putting his hand in your back pocket. If you pull any of this on him, he will get very very flustered.

Mica is the type of person to show love through doing things together or him just pampering you. Brushing your hair or playing with it, doing your nails, skin care and helping you relax. Though there are more intimate ways he can help you relax with if you're comfortable with it.

Josh-

Josh is friendly but still fumbles here and there in a relationship. Not in a bad way, in a clumsy way.

Texts are there when he can't call. Unfortunately he's the type of person to call you when he knows you're up. If you're up for it he'll stay on call with you for hours too, just chatting away while you both do your own things. He totally understands if you can't though!

PDA is him wanting to hold your hand, or hugging you when you 'seem like you need one'. He's cuddly, so he'll do anything you initiate within reason! Want a piggy back? That's reasonable! Want to hug his arm, cool with him! Warning for his hands sweating though, dude can't help it.

Joshs ideas for dates are usually food related. Going out to different restaurants that sell all manner of food; Indian, Chinese, Korean BBQ, Mexican, Italian. If you don't go out to eat at a cool restaurant he also likes to have at home dates where you too chill out and watch movies or play video games. On the occasion where the date isn't either of those, it's probably hiking together or taking a camping trip!

Josh likes to cook, so expect him to want to make you lunches or dinners to take to work or home. He wants to take care of you, so aside from that he'll also offer to come help clean or run errands for you. He's also the type of dude to come kill a spider for you in the middle of the night. As seen in the game, he's also willing to risk injury to make sure you're safe. Truly a solid choice of boyfriend!

Louie-

Louie can seem like he's an aloof boyfriend who doesn't care, but he's really not. He's actually pretty much in your business 24/7.

His texts are short and blunt, but you always get a response. You'll have to initiate the good morning text though if you want them! He's not much for texting, or phone calls, instead he opts to just talk to you irl if the conversation is a detailed one!

Louie is the type of person to subtly put his hand in your back pocket or on your lower back. Hand holding or hugs isnt really his style, but he's happy to hold pinkies while you walk. If you want to hug him, he's fine with it, but again he tries not to initiate the gestures.

This completely changes up when he feels threatened by someone else potentially liking you and being near by. Arm around your waist, kissing you, holding your hand or just clearly being in physical contact with you. He wants that person to know you're with him and to fuck off.

Concerts are an obvious date for Louie but...

Louie will do whatever you want to do for a date. Wanna go to an amusement park? Okay, sure he's game. Wanna go swimming? Cool he can do that.

Berry picking? He'll buy a basket for it, you two will have it full by the end of the date.

As long as he's with you, spending time with you, he doesn't care where you are or what you're doing. He just wants to be with you.

Louie is highly protective of you as well, it's crazy how he just sort of shows up wherever you are. You might not even realize he's joined you for a while until he says something. He likes to know where you are so he tends to straight up stalk you, if you end up somewhere he considers dangerous he's right there like a guard dog at your side. He also really likes it when you rely on him, it makes him feel validated in his unhealthy habits. ( Like breaking into your place to see what sort of stuff you have so he can get you a gift.)

#eat your heart valentine!#eyhv #allar #louie #mica #josh #mod bunni #ask

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itsahotminuteinbetween · 10 months ago

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coming after witch eclipse's ass nyeheheh >:3

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

What animal do they fear most?

What is their favorite number?

What embarrasses them?

*rubs my lil hands together and cackles*

1.) Maybe a minute at most. He's a very busy guy and is constantly moving around, prepping spells or leafing through old documents or researching about the pendant or conducting experiments;he doesn't have time for any recreational activities, he always has something to do, and if he doesn't then he'll make something up to occupy himself with. He can't sit with himself for very long before thoughts start to settle in and he vehemently refuses to sort through them-most of them are about KC and Eclipse's own creation and...well, let's just say there's a little apprehension in questioning oneself. This constant behavior often results in him forgetting to charge and managing by some miracle to plug in at the last second-he also doesn't eat (not that he needs to, but it does help with energy levels) and has a very large caffeine addiction, which feeds into his non-stop movement.

2.) Anything relating to his past life before KC disappeared. If it weren't for the fact that he doesn't have anywhere else to go (plus a secret fear of officially losing everything and an almost non-existent hope that KC might return), he would have burned down the house and left a long time ago. He keeps KC's room locked at all times, grabbed all the pictures and slammed them into the drawer, and basically took everything he'd owned and hid it-out of sight, out of mind. The only thing he keeps are KC's old documents about the pendant-for his research, of course (and because KC writes in a way very similar to how he speaks-thoughtful, neat, concise-Eclipse hasn't heard from him in some time.). Well, those and KC's clothes-Eclipse had outgrown his old shirts after a while and they were just sitting there, so he might as well. He does his best to ignore the stuffy smell of pine needles and charcoal, but it's still there.

3.) Snakes-after the...incident, with one of his experiments on a pendant, he developed a fear of them-but that's probably a normal reaction to finding one in your sink, your dresser, your mattress, and your favorite coffee cup. It's not a terribly large fear, however-he'll freeze for a second and then fumble around for his lazer cannons and turn the thing into mere molecules, same as any other animal. As long as it's not in his space, he doesn't really care. Most of his fears aren't animal related, anyhow.

Edit: I’ve decided he’s also a little nervous about ravens-they’re often seen as a bad omen (at least in my culture, though I never really cared cuz corvids are adorable) and he always feels a little on edge when they circle the house. Lunar likes them, though.

4.) Had to sit and think about this for a while because I don't think he'd really have a favorite, but it'd probably be 13-they used to joke that that was the number of words KC spoke a day. It's also how old he was when he cast his first spell, though that memory is somewhat soured by the aftermath.

5.) (I see what you're doing here, ehehe)

If we're talking general embarrassment or mortification-baby pictures or things from when he was younger. KC never had anyone to share his stories of Eclipse with and no one was there but him and Eclipse himself, who only remembers some of them, but this guy would actually crawl into a hole and die if his childhood was brought up. He was a very bright child, KC remembers, very chipper and carefree and different from the Eclipse we have now. Eclipse looks upon his past self with a sort of bitter scorn and envy: he was weak back then, didn't know what the world really was, easy to manipulate and easier to hurt...but he also knows that he was happier back then in spite of all of that, back when life was simpler. He tries not to dwell on the past too often-it's gone and no amount of remembrance will change anything now.

...Assuming you're close enough to him that his reaction to whatever it is isn't unbridled rage and several death threats that aren't entirely impossible to enact, working with him or doing little favors makes his non-existent heart burn: arranging his papers for him, making him a cup of coffee, ironing out a shirt, volunteering as a bouncing board for his ideas, things like that. You won't get a thank you, if that's what you're looking for-if anything, he'll probably be very gruff about it, shooing you away to mask the increasing temperature of his casing and the steam coming out of his fans. And if you're confident enough to tell him outright what you think of him (assuming it's all good things), he'll bluescreen for a good 10 seconds before stammering out an insult and running back to the safety of his workplace-where he'll get nothing done and stew in his thoughts for a good 3 hours.

#asks #witch au #witch eclipse #thanks for the asks sue!#i heavily appreciate it!#hope these were satisfactory answers!#(sorry they're a little long-i got carried away ahaha...)#i love how this au was supposed to be lunar-centric and then just evolved to become entirely about eclipse #pfft #THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!#i love getting asks and it only happens once in a blue moon so I'm always really happy to answer #anyways yea!#tsams au #witch kc #rambles

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stnexus · 1 year ago

Text

a toast to you…!

jason todd x black!fem!reader

minors dni, mature audience, suggestive content

summary: jason and his protective nature throughout the relationship amplifies even more when you’re drunk. his desire is not important when you’re under the influence.

cw: language, suggestive content, pretty much fluff, established relationship, one singular smack on the butt, drinking + intoxication, drunk reader, speaks of consent

names used(?): pretty girl, baby, sweetheart, pretty thing, beautiful girl

wc. 2.3k+

tag + note: literally rewrote this multiple times because i was struggling with the wording and pacing. then halfway through the third time writing it i was like this would make a great nye fic. so i started the process of writing it for the fourth time, while drunk (lmao). but ultimately started slacking. then i came along @fic-over-cannon ’s piece which pushed me to finishing, we were literally on the same wavelength i swear — despite our differences in time frames lmfao. there may be a follow up so let me know if you would like a part two. i really hope you all enjoy! i wish you all a beautiful new year’s eve + day.

the cold air of the crisp winter night nipped at your smooth brown skin, snow falling in a cast of white flurry all around you. your eyes felt somewhat heavy as your eyelids drooped — eyelashes fluttering just a bit as you took in the scenery. a pretty toothy grin tugged at your glossed lips. with your head tilted upward, you allowed snowflakes to rain down on you from the night sky. letting them drop down in all their graceful glory and melt into your already-cold skin. the tip of your nose boarding along freezing and your cheeks following suit. though, it did not seem to bother you one bit — your trench coat had long been shrugged off and draped across your arm. something you surely would have been reprimanded for during your childhood.

a giggle full of glee fell from your lips, almost like the joy that followed a child's first sight of snow. it was a melody that jason could never get tired of hearing. he listened intently as he sifted through his keys for the house key. finding beauty in such a place as gotham was your specialty, something that your boyfriend had come to adore you for. you were like a missile, seeking out the light in a dark room. your joy had been buried in studying the little things, then pulling them to the forefront for others to observe. it kept jason balanced and kept him at peace within the realm of gotham.

“now, what could you possibly find funny out here?” jason’s amused question broke the daze you had found yourself in, and he tutted at seeing you bask in the winter air with no coat. although a grin fell onto his face as he observed your happy appearance as he pushed the front door of your home open, the keys in the lock jingling and swaying in the process. a gush of warmth radiated from the gap in the door.

“the snow, jay. it’s beautiful.” you spoke with a slight slur to your words, your intoxication evident on your tongue. the pristine white snowflakes had begun to cling to your blonde-colored fulani braids as you looked at your boyfriend. his eyes took in every movement of your drunken state – vigilant at all times. shaking his head, he pushed the front door open, stomping his black dress shoes against the welcome mat at the front door in order to not track snow into the house.

“so are you, pretty girl. now get inside before you catch a cold to go along with that hangover tomorrow.” jason spoke gently as he grabbed at your forearm, pulling you towards him as he walked you over the threshold of your shared home. “i can tell you definitely enjoyed yourself tonight.”

it was never your plan to drink so much tonight. no, that was not the plan at all when you were told about bruce’s new year’s eve party. this had been your second time attending the event, marking two years since you had begun dating jason. as classical music buzzed around the open floor of wayne manor, you had showed up as quiet as a mouse, shaking the hands of those that spoke to both you and jason. your acrylics played at the emerald-green silk of your maxi dress.

it was not until bruce had spoken to you two that you started to loosen up a bit. taking a drink from his hand as he had welcomed you, then deciding to venture off on your own a bit. jason watched you closely as you admired the manor and spoke with those who approached you. a few times you had been offered more to drink and food as well, and you agreed politely.

jason’s eyes had moved from anyone he had conversed with to you during the party. the bulbs of glowing warm lights highlighting your skin with each movement you made, your dress fell perfectly over you. the cherry on top was that any time you passed by, you left a trail of your signature scent behind; it was like a pathway that he could follow to the end of the earth.

to say he had been stuck on you the whole night was an understatement. he was stuck on you daily — this was something more. he was sure you would drive him mad one day, but he did not think it would come so soon. he shifted on his feet just a bit as he watched the man he had been speaking to bid a farewell, his daze starting to send a wave of desire through him as the night progressed. though he began to push his thoughts down as your pretty eyes began to glaze over due to intoxication — peering at him with a gaze full of adoration.

it was almost twisted, really.

the way he knew you held such love for him. no matter what he had come from, no matter where his faults lied in the past. you had always looked to him like he had hung the moon and the stars — which he would gladly do for you with no questions asked. though, as he heard a small giggle leave your pretty lips, he knew it was time to go. he knew you knew your limits, but he also knew you would crash at some point. then it would be a mess as he tried to get your drowsy self to get ready for bed.

it had been way past midnight, so guests had begun parting ways. jason watched you closely as you rejected a hand pushing another glass your way. your braids swaying just a bit as you shake your head kindly, the ends of your hair brushing across the cloth of your silk emerald-green dress.

the car ride home was filled with the low sound of the radio. one of jason’s hands splayed over your lap while you fumbled around with his fingers, running your hand over his forearm. his other hand was placed securely on the leather covered steering wheel. he already knew what you were hinting at, but a response of refusal had already begun to brew in his thoughts. it diminished the want that he had felt making its way to the forefront earlier, turning it into absolute nothingness.

your laughter filled the car at random times as you complimented jason a few times throughout the ride. your eyes tracing over his face as he drove, a hand reaching out to brush through his hair at times. the scenery flew by beautifully as you both neared your home. decorations that people had left up after christmas lit up the city.

“but jayyy, the snow.” a whine left your lips in protest as you both took in the warmth of the home. you could hear the locks of the front door slid into place, then felt your trench coat being taken from your hands.

“the snow will be there tomorrow, baby. whining definitely won’t work,” he chuckled as his dress shoes thudded against the hardwood floors as he took them off. watching as you stooped down to take off your heels, stumbling a little as you tried to stand once they had been removed. a gentle yet firm hand was wrapped around your upper arm, catching you swiftly as you were pulled up before hitting the floor. a small yelp of surprise falling from your lips.

“you’ve gotta be careful, sweetheart.” jason spoke almost sternly with a small frown. pulling you towards him and over his shoulder, he landed a smack on your poked out asscheek. a spill of laughter fell from his lips as he listened to your cheeky protests that followed. he guided you both to the kitchen, sitting you on the marble-topped island in the middle of it.

“we already ate at bruce’s though—” a hiccup cut your words short as you watched your boyfriend drift around the kitchen. reaching into the cabinet to pull out a cup, the glass shining in the light of the kitchen.

“i’m not getting food; i’m getting you some water. we’ve gotta sober you up.”

“iamsober.” your words slurred together as your feeble attempt to feign a sober response fell flat on its face. a knowing laugh falling from your lips as your boyfriend’s eyebrow lifted in an amused manner as he filled the cup by using the water dispenser on the front of the fridge.

“nice try,” jason stated as he neared you once more, hand jutting out to give you the cup. “we’re not going anywhere until you finish.”

“what if i said no?” you bit back jokingly, though the rim on the cup fell to your lips as you began to drink.

“well, we’d be here all night. i’d annoy you until you finished it.” he stated with a matter-of-fact tone.

“i don’t know if you can annoy me, jason. that might be impossible.” a bashful smile covered your face as you downed the last bit of water in the glass. taking the cup from you and sitting it down, jason found himself standing in between your legs, his hands falling down to rub at your covered thighs.

“yeah?” he spoke slowly as he closed in on you, his face mere inches away from your own. the alcohol that lingered on your breath was still clear to him, and even more so as his lips met your own. your tongue swiped over his lip as if you were asking for permission to deepen the kiss. your hands reached up to play at the hairs close to the nape of his neck. subtle moans fell from your lips and were swallowed by jason, his black slacks beginning to tighten slightly in a certain area at your sounds.

“jason, i want you.” you declared as he had begun to pull away, rejection already seeping out through his demeanor. upon hearing your words, jason took into account once more the alcohol on your breath and the way your eyes held on to a dazed look. as if you were floating. your words were coherent at times but still veered off into a cluster of sounds at other times.

his protective ways are prominent in his actions. knowing you had not agreed to him touching you in your drunken state prior to your outing. your drunken words were of no significance to him.

“you’re drunk. not tonight, pretty thing.” he spoke sternly, planting a gentle peck on your lips as he picked you up once more. carrying you to the bathroom connected to your bedroom. his slacks were still tight in one area as he grabbed at washcloths. making sure to help you secure a black bonnet over your braids. he worked to ignore the cute little pout that sat on your drunken lips as he moved to turn on the shower.

standing in front of you, he dropped the straps on the dress from your arms and pulled it past your waist, watching as it fell in a pile at your feet. reaching for the band of your black lacy panties to pull them down.

“not we gettin’ frisky,” you giggled drunkenly once again.

“we’re definitely not getting frisky,” jason almost choked in response, grabbing at your waist as you used him for leverage to kick the panties off. helping to remove your jewelry, he ushered you into the shower. “get your drunk ass in the shower, pretty girl.”

looking over himself in the almost foggy bathroom mirror, jason unbuttoned the first three buttons of his black-button up. with a bit of tiredness he let out a sigh as he got undressed, ignoring his dilemma in the process. hoping that it would ease its way down so he wouldn’t have to spend time handling it himself.

the warm white comforter splayed over the bed was like a personal safe haven. you had been covered in moisturizer and other essentials by jason. his hands moving quickly to help you get dressed, tightening around you whenever he felt you were about to lose your footing. your pajamas for the night, consisting of one of his shirts and a pair of underwear. the warmth swarming the house left no fear of you getting sick while covered in your usual nighttime attire.

only a pair of dark red pajama pants hung loosely from jason’s hips as he pulled the drawstrings together to tighten the waistband. the bedside lamp and moonlight that streamed through the window were your only sources of light.

“jason…” you hummed briefly as your eyes locked on to him from your position under the comforter. placed on your side of the bed, his side empty right in front of you.

“mhm,” he hummed while briefly letting his gaze fall on you, then back to the jewelry box that he was putting your belongings into.

“you’re so handsome,” you drowsily confessed once again, your head placed on the pillow below you, eyes following his every move. watching as a lazy smirk graced his lips — a hand coming up to run through his dual-colored hair. his feet carrying him to his side of the bed.

getting under the covers beside you, jason pulled you close by your waist. setting a kiss on your lips, he let out a hum when you began to kiss back.

“you are absolutely beautiful.” jason complimented quietly. “my beautiful girl.”

“happy new year,” your words fluttered into a muttered mess as you tried to fight your sleep. eyes becoming heavy with sleep as you move your head from the pillow to jason’s bare chest. a subtle laugh left his mouth as he watched your movements and the way you tried to reject the need for sleep as you groaned a bit in frustration. gliding his hand over your side, he tried to coax you into sleeping.

“happy new year to you too,baby.”

it was moments like these that jason found most intimate. the moments where you both stepped into the unknown, like the new year that awaited you. the moments that he got to hold on to you, while you held on to him. as his hand traced over your body and began to soothe you, he listened to how light snores filled the room. reaching with his free hand to turn out the lamp on the nightstand with very little effort.

#𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨:#jason todd #jason todd x black!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x black!reader #red hood #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood x reader #fluff #jason todd comfort #jason todd fluff #red hood comfort #red hood fluff

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