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yeeterthek33per · 8 months ago

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Loved and Landed (Steph Catley x Reader)

A/n Requested

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Steph lives a busy life.

There's her football life. Obviously.

There's her schooling life.

There's the life she lives with her friends and family.

And then there's the life with-

"Steeeeeph, come on, I wanna get there early, I'm not dealing with Katie leaving something for me to find, again."

There's incessant tugging at the sleeve of her red Arsenal hoodie.

Of course, her football life keeps her the most busy.

Especially when she has to drive it to and from home all of the time now that Kyra's living in the house as well.

It had been a hectic process, but the young midfielder had settled in quickly, taking in the familiarity of the Aussie herself and her club teammates' closeness around them.

Quickly becoming a child amongst the older girls on the team, much like a sibling to them, within but a few months.

That being said.

Kyra was a little shit.

And she knew it too.

A demanding one at that.

Hence why Katie had taken to knocking the young brunette down a few pegs.

Her cockiness was starting to show under the protection of the older girls, so the Irish captain had been messing with her enough to take the invincible mindset away from her.

Leaving her ultimately latched onto Steph now.

A lot.

"Seriously, Steph, please, I can't deal with her leaving shaving foam in my boots again."

The older woman raises an eyebrow at the pleading look on Kyra's face.

"You did this to yourself, Ky. Katie's only retaliating because you decided you were king shit enough to put hair dye in her shampoo."

The younger girl whines.

"Don't you think she's retaliated enough? I've had my shoes violated, my shin guards replaced with slightly smaller ones. I mean, the other day, my water bottle was filled with pickle juice. Pickle Juice! For gods sake."

Steph sighs, rolling her eyes slightly, grabbing the last of her stuff to shove into her pack, she gestures to the front door, to which the midfielder eagerly hurries out of and towards the car, waiting impatiently for the defender to unlock it.

"You've seriously gotta apologise to Katie or something. The girl has ten siblings, I can't imagine she hasn't spent her whole life dealing with bratty behaviour from little shits like you."

Kyra scoffs as she hurriedly buckles herself in.

"Rude."

"The truth."

Steph smirks at the small pout that forms on the other girls lips.

"Hurry up and drive."

"So bossy."

-------

As expected, they arrive with hardly any other people around, decidedly much earlier than any of the other girls. Katie wasn't the earliest of player's anyway, so Kyra really shouldn't be worried about her beating them there.

Still, the youngin looks exceptionally nervous as she peaks into the changing room and gingerly makes her way over to her cubby, scanning it with a ridiculous level of detail.

Steph can only shake her head, watching the young girl sheepishly wander around the room, checking for what may well be hidden traps.

Maybe she should talk with Katie about getting her to take it down a notch.

The Irish woman was nothing if not relentless when it came to getting back at someone.

The last thing the team needed was a midfielder with serious trust issues stemming from their infamous yellow card magnet of a winger.

"Ky, relax. She's not even here yet."

"Yeah, but you never know."

"Seriously, it's game day, relax, she won't-"

"Oh, hello, you two. Stephy. Kyra."

The ever so loud and joyful Katie enters the changing room with a bang of the door as it slams open and hits the wall.

Her smirk quirks up a little wider at the sight of the midfielder, who's looking rather sheepishly around her rather than at the Irish woman herself.

"You two extra early today, eh?"

"Ha, something like that."

Steph gives her a look as she nods in Kyra's direction.

"Give the poor girl a break, would ya? I think she's been thoroughly humbled."

Katie snorts in amusement, eyeing her up.

"Eh, she’s fine. I wasn't gonna do anything."

Steph raises a brow at that.

"....Yet."

There it is.

"Of course. Don't mess around too much, though. We still have a game to play, McCabe."

She lets out an unconvincing hum in response, right as some of the other girls start to filter in, Caitlin one of the ones to settle into her cubby beside the defender.

"What's up with the kid?"

Steph snorts.

"Ask your girlfriend. She's been torturing the poor girl."

Caitlin rolls her eyes, turning to Katie, who's now got a cheeky glint in her as she eyes up the younger of the three.

"Katie."

"What? I didn't do any-"

She stops at the look she gets from the Australian, grumbling as she relents and turns back to her cubby.

-------

Kyra's finally able to escape the locker room out of sight of the defender the moment the Irish woman is distracted.

Heading down the hall towards the physio room, she ends up coming face to face with and bumping face first into someone.

She groans when she rubs at her face and her backside from where she landed on it as she stands up again with the help of her assailant.

The person is stood in a royal navy uniform, a patch on her shoulder with three horizontal gold stripes and a small circled loop on the top, hair slicked back and tight into a bun behind her head.

'L/n-Catley' the name badge reads.

Confusion crosses her face which you quickly notice.

"You're Steph's teammate right?"

"Uh yeeaah? Who are you?"

"It's a long story and sorry about the bump there. I uh, I don't know if y'all know yet but I might need your help. The staff were nice enough to let me in but I need an escort here."

"Where are you going?"

"I got told to wait for one of the trainers in the staff room?"

"Can I ask what you're doing?"

"Waiting to see Steph, but don't tell her, it's supposed to be a surprise."

Kyra is extremely sceptical, but she leads you down the hall to where the trainers are situated and one of them recognises you immediately, hugging you and dragging you into the room.

She's even more confused when the staff member is nearly in tears.

Wait.

Navy uniform.

Here to see Steph.

L/n-Catley on the name badge.

There's no way.

"Are you... Are you married to Steph?"

You chuckle softly, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Yes I am. If you can't tell it's been a little while since we've seen each other."

"Yeah, I can tell, her house is far too empty for the size of it."

"Ah, so you're the new roommate. Kyra, right?"

"She's been talking about me?"

You nod.

"We would call every two weeks. When she found out you were moving to Arsenal, I couldn't tell if she was happy or mad because you'd already trashed her white towels."

"Hey! That was not my fault, the wine just fell... on it's own."

There's a sheepish look on her face.

You chuckle softly.

"She'll be fine, the pattern was ugly anyway, we needed new towels... Don't tell her I said that."

Kyra smiles at that.

"It's great to meet you, then... How are we planning this out?"

"I'll have my sister here sneak me somewhere I can wait and surprise her at the end of the game."

She nods.

"Alright, I better get going then before the girls come looking for me for pitch inspection."

You nod back and give her a warm smile.

"Oh, I'm Y/n, by the way, Lieutenant Commander Y/n L/n-Catley."

-------

The roar of the almost entirely red and white crowd as the girls enter the pitch is as usual, deafeningly loud.

Home games are always the most adrenaline instilling games, ones where their fans are always the loudest, chanting and screaming every time one of their own touches the ball.

Steph can still hardly believe it.

The growth in the game. Breaking records every single home match so far.

The FA Cup semi-final was no different it seems.

Her eyes subtly scan the crowd as she jogs out behind the others, shifting from clapping fan to clapping fan. There's an air about the crowd.

A massively high inducing air, one that she can feel in every nerve ending in her body as she practically bounces around the pitch in warmups.

She brushes it off as it being a semi final type of high.

Aston Villa would be a difficult opponent and she assumed that was the reasoning.

-------

It seems she's proven wrong in the first ten minutes.

It doesn't take long for Stina to score, the home crowd immediately losing their minds, and they barely have time to recover just two minutes later when the Swede swoops in for the double.

By the fourty-fifth minute, they know they have the game. Four to nil over the Villans thanks to a Stina hattrick and a goal from Frida. Her heartbeat is thumping in her ears as they approach the final minute.

This is the part they're in the dark. How many minutes left of stoppage? How much longer does she have to defend?

The players are taught not to worry about that. To just play until the whistle blows. And she does.

But she can't help the nagging awaiting of the whistle, wondering when it will go.

The moment it does, there's celebration, relief, and a lot of cheering and screams and congratulation from the air around.

A pair of arms and legs wrap around her from behind as Kyra jumps on her back, the young Australian whooping into her ear.

"Onto the finals, Stephy!"

The defender chuckles and celebrates with the team, the announcer shouting out the home teams win to wind up the crowd once more.

As they do the celebration walk around the pitch, the announcer announces player of the match, and then one more announcement catches her ear.

Her head snaps toward the tunnel the moment she hears it, heart stopping at the words of the female announcer.

"And finally, one last round of applause. Let us congratulate and welcome back someone very special to one of our own. Lieutenant Commander Y/N L/n-Catley returning from fifteen months of duty at sea with the Royal Navy."

And truly, there you are, her wife.

Dressed to the nines in your Black, long sleeved uniform, hands clasped behind you, standing with a wide, almost teary smile as you watch Steph bolt across the pitch towards you, catching her with little effort as she jumps into your arms, knocking the cap off your head with the force.

The rest of the Arsenal girls stand shocked, looking between themselves and their left back at the sudden appearance of a totally new member of the Catley family.

Before they can even try to work out who you might be to Steph, the defender has her lips pressed to yours tightly, tears streaming down your face.

The sensation of finally being able to kiss you, her wife. HER wife, has her trembling against you, her stomach twisting and curling as you hold her tight against you, your own hands shaking as they rest on her back.

It had been the longest stint you'd gone without seeing each other, having been on a cramped ship for the majority of that time.

Even having been used to long times apart, the immense relief of being able to hold your person, your love, YOUR wife, after so long. was like nothing else you'd ever experienced.

And you were glad you had all the time in the world to experience it now.

When Steph's finally able to pull back and look you in the eye, hands holding your face, eyes scanning your features, noting a small scar under your right brow, and then returning to make eye contact again with you, albeit very tearily, much like yourself.

Lifting your own hands, your thumbs swipe away the tears on her cheeks, leaning down once more to kiss her, forehead leaning against hers.

You take in the immensity of the screams of the crowd all of a sudden, especially the crowd around the players' tunnel.

With that, she buries herself back into your hold, her nose buried into the crook of your neck.

Your eyes scan the pitch, watching the applauding or shocked expressions of the players.

You'd already known her teammates didn't know she was married, however their shocked expressions still have you chuckling.

All except Kyra's wide smile as she watches the two of you and you give the girl a wink.

"I can't believe it. You're here."

It's half whimpered into your shoulder, and you just barely hear it over the crowd.

"I'm here. I'm home."

"They finally let you on leave?"

She's using a half joking tone beneath the watery chokes and sobs.

"Better than that, Love."

She pulls away shocked.

"You mean.."

You smile down at her teary eyed.

"I'm home for good, not retired but they're giving me an office in London. Full time hours still but I won't be needed for duty anymore."

She frowns softly after a second.

She knew you'd always hated the idea of an office job.

Catching the look on her face, you knew what she'd be thinking about.

"I don't care where it is, or what I'm doing. I'm just glad I'm home, with you. I've had my fill of travelling and front line work for a lifetime."

Leaning your forehead back against hers, you let the moment sink in.

You'd known it was coming for months now, haven spoken to your superiors, and them letting you know there was a position available remotely, you'd taken it in a heartbeat.

If it meant coming home to your girl, you'd have done anything.

A small throat clearing a couple feet from you, the team had moved to stand around the pair of you, eager to ask questions of the brunette in your arms.

You nudge her softly with a small giggle in her ear.

"Babe, I think they have questions."

"They can wait a little longer."

You don't fight her on it just letting her settle into you again, holding you tightly.

The moment she does let go, she's grabbed by the shoulders and interrogated by the team rather swiftly.

Leah stands arms crossed.

"Now Stephy, when did this occur?"

Steph sheepishly smiles around her at her.

"Alright alright, Gunners, meet my beautiful wife, Y/n. She's been in the navy since she turned eighteen, we met five years ago when she was on leave in Australia. We started dating less than a month later and she left on duty about four months later. We got married after three years, bought a house right before she left a year and a bit ago. We haven't seen each other in person since then. Until now, that is."

And just like that, you're immediately dragged into the group rather swiftly, squished into several hugs.

A firm handshake and then a tight hug from their captain, especially. The Scot making firm well you know how quickly she'd bury you should you hurt their defender, despite the fact you'd known Steph longer and you chuckle, nodding in agreement at the stern look turned cracked smile she lets go.

When you're finally free, Steph takes no time tucking herself under your arm and wrapping hers around you, looking up at you slightly with a proud, elated smile, eyes still slightly teary.

Returning the expression, you press a small kiss to her nose.

"Welcome home, Baby."

You shake your head.

"Congrats on the win, Baby, this is your moment right now. Go celebrate for a bit, we've got all the time in the world now."

She pouts but relents with a small peck and nudge.

"KYRA, YOU KNEW?!"

The shouts of the Irish captain make her jump but chuckle a little as a gloating midfielder teases the rest of the girls.

Yeah. She was in for it.

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#woso x reader #steph catley imagines #woso #woso imagines #woso imagine #steph catley imagine #steph catley x reader #steph catley

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satorusugurugurl · 5 months ago

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The Leisure Streamer is a Hottie! (Chapter Four)

Summary: Rumor had it the top donor of the-strongest-streamers chats get to see him naked! Now that you're the top donor, will you get to see the goods, or was it just a rumor? Time will tell.

Pairing: Streamer!Gojo x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,169

Warnings: language, suggestiveness, social media drama

A/N: o my gosh! This series has about two parts left! I love it!! Ahdndndndnd!! ! 💚💚💚

Part One Part Two Part Three

The soft bubbling from the fist tanks wakes Gojo up; he stirs, blinking sleep out of his eyes before slowly pushing himself onto his elbow. The bed is still slightly warm with the traces of your body heat. You, however, were nowhere to be found. Sitting up to scratch his head, Gojo looks around the underwater-themed room for you.

You're gone, vanished, nowhere to be seen. Did you seriously walk on him after he asked you out like this was just a meaningless one-night stand? Satoru felt his stomach flip upside down as he reached for his phone, only to find a note.

‘Good morning, Satoru!

I went out to get us some coffee. I’ll be back soon! You should take the bathroom; you thought the bed was the star of the room. You should see the bathroom.

See ya soon!’

The biggest, dopest smile pulled at the corners of Gojo’s mouth, and he flopped back down on the bed, holding the note close to his chest. God, you were getting him coffee. It should’ve been the other way! If you could walk properly after last night, he didn't do a good enough job of making you feel good. Something he planned on correcting the second you got back to the room.

Until then, he had to see this bathroom, and you hadn't been kidding. The bathroom was as tacky as the rest of the room. Satoru barked out a laugh as he took in the bathroom. The floor has been painted to mirror what the water looks like on the seafloor, complete with detailed hand-painted seashells. The sink and toilet were relatively normal. But the star of the bathroom as a whole was the giant sea turtle bathtub. Where she would be is the place you would get in to bathe.

“Oh my god, this is great!” Suguru had to see this! Running back into the room, Satoru snatched his phone up, tapping on the screen to unlock it, only to find hundreds and thousands of notifications on his screen. “Eh?”

Forty missed calls from Nanami, a dozen texts for Suguru, thousands of notifications from Discord, Twitter, and his Twitch account. Oh god, what the hell happened?! Satoru nervously hovered his thumb over Nanami’s name before hitting Suguri’s name instead. The line rang twice before he heard a groggy groan from the other line.

“Hello?”

“Suguru, is everything okay?”

The line is silent, aside from the sound of wrestling sheets. “Satoru—”

“Yeah, it's me.”

“Oh, I know it's you. I was going to tell you I'm going to miss you.”

Too stunned to speak, Satoru nervously laughs instead as he hears a woman laugh in the background of Suguru's line. “As curious as I am as to why I hear your favorite employee in bed with you, what the hell do you mean you're going to miss me?” There’s another giggle and a bed creaks.

“Nanami’s going to kill you~ then bring you back just to kill you again. What do you want me to put out on your altar? Mochi, boba, maybe a cake?”

“The fuck do you mean? Mochi, obviously, you asshole. But why is Nanami going to kill me?”

Sure, Gojo had said some stuff in the past that got him put in the trending section online, like how he was the best streamer. People called him arrogant for that one. He also played a semi-raunchy game online once and almost got canceled for that. But none of those times he had ever seen his phone blow up like this. he could understand if he said something.

“You’re telling me you saw all of those notifications on your phone, and instead of calling, I don’t know your PR manager who handles all this stuff, you decided to call me first?”

“Well, you are my best friend. I figured you wouldn’t bite my head off for whatever I did.”

Satoru can hear Suguru rolling his eyes on the other side of the phone. “You should call Nanami about this. I don’t know the details, but I know a photo was taken.”

Worst case scenario pops into Gojo’s head. Did his WebCam get hacked when he was doing your first meet and greet, which led to a killer masturbation session? Or did some of his photos from high school get leaked? Oh god, the masturbation session would be the worst thing that could happen! His dick would be on the Internet forever! There was no taking that back!

“Oh fuck, what photo? Is it mini Gojo? Please tell me it’s not mini Gojo.”

“First off, gross; secondly, no, your dick is safe this time. Just call your PR manager, please.”

The line disconnects, leaving Gojo staring at his phone on the edge of the sea turtle bathtub. If Surguru was telling him to call Nanami, it was severe.

Before he can muster the strength to call the tall blonde, who would likely wring his neck later, Gojo jumps on his Twitter, discord, and Twitch accounts. On every single one of his social media platforms, he’s greeted with the same picture, which wasn’t his dick. But a photo of you and him checking into the hotel together.

A specific relief comes with the realization that it wasn’t anything controversial but short-lived. Because he knew his fans, particularly his fan girls, and knowing they would not be happy about this, he didn’t care if they were upset about that. They didn’t know the real him, and they continued to thirst after him, but he knew how ruthless they could be in their comments when he was photographed with his friends, who happened to be girls.

They were cold, mean, and cruel.

That was one of the things he hated about his job. Sure, he played leisure games on stream, half-naked, with just his sunglasses on. But that didn’t mean he was something to be objectified. People tend to forget that he was a human, too. He had a life outside of his streaming room. A life that he liked to keep personal. Which was one of the reasons he didn’t attend conventions. He was thankful for his fanbase, and he was so grateful most of them wanted to support him, allowing him to play video games instead of being stuck in a boardroom like his family wanted. But sometimes, his fans were a little too much to handle.

That was why he paid Nanami big bucks. Nanami ensured that all of Gojo’s social media were kept on a tightrope; problematic fans were banned or warned, depending on their behavior and actions. Despite Gojo giving him a hard time (which was all the time), he truly appreciated everything Nanami did for him. He also knew Nanami was going to rip him a new asshole.

Satoru’s thumb hovered over Nanami’s contact information before his phone lit up with Nanami’s name. Either his PR manager was psychic and knew he was about to call, or his best friend had narced on him. There was no avoiding the issue; the faster he got lectured, the quicker this ordeal would be handled.

With a quick slide of his thumb, Gojo answered the phone call, holding his phone next to his ear. “Mornin’ Nanami—”

“Two years.”

Gojo runs his fingers through his bangs, grimacing at the cold tone of Nanami’s voice. “Nana—”

“For two years, I’ve been telling you how important it is that you wear your damn mask out in public! When we’re out and about together, you have no problem keeping it on.”

“Because you scold me otherwise.”

“Shut up.” When Gojo huff’s Nanami lets out an irritated sigh. “So, care to explain how it is after two years of wearing a mask out in public. You suddenly forget the second you run away from me and responsibilities for a day for mochi.”

“It’s Kikufuku—”

“I’m not done!” Yikes, Nanami was pissed. “Regardless of whether it was for an emergency or some rice cake, we had issues to discuss, schedules to maintain, and a worldwide convention to call, and you run off on the first bullet train out of Tokyo for fucking rice cakes.” Gojo swallowed hard, staring at the painted floor, as Nanami took several deep breaths to regulate his blood pressure. “But what’s done is done, and we can't go back in time. What we can do is focus on damage control. You need to come home; both of you need to come home. We have much to discuss, so you two must catch the next train home.”

Gojo rolls his eyes before slamming his hand down on the side of the turtle tub. “Alright, fine.” Nanami, let’s have a sigh of relief from the other line. “Uhm, how are the fans taking the news?” He already knew the answer to his question.

“Like rabid animals. Make sure you both wear masks, sunglasses, and baseball hats, please. The last thing we need is another photo of you, too, leaving the hotel to go viral.”

As he hangs up the phone, the room door opens, and you step inside. You’re wearing his shirt and your pants from the other day. Your mile is warm and welcoming, making his heart swell with happiness. God, he could get used to this. The second your eyes meet him, you're running forward but stop to put down your bag and coffee cups.

“I-I uhm—” you begin with an adorable stutter, “I don’t know whether you’re okay with a hug or maybe a ki—”

Gojo answers your question by grabbing the back of your head and pulling you towards his mouth with a deep, welcoming kiss. It takes your breath away. But you recover just as fast, wrapping your arms around his neck; with a happy moan, he kisses you deeply. Tingles and butterflies swarm in your stomach as he slightly tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss. You moan as he pushes you back against the wall, the back of his hand protecting you from the rigid wall while his other hand grabs your hip, holding it tightly against your boxer-clad crotch.

Satoru pulls back, panting softly, his cheeks flushed as he presses his forehead against yours. “A kiss would suffice for now.” You giggle breathlessly against his mouth before gently pecking his lips again.

“Noted.” Your arms remain wrapped around him as he pulls you towards the coffee on the table. “I don’t know how you take your coffee, but I brought cream and sugar.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Did you see the bathroom yet? I found it quite shell-shocking!” Gojo sputters, eyebrows, and knitting together at your terrible pun. “Oh, come on! That was a good one!”

You plop down on the mattress, watching as Gojo begins preparing his coffee, which involves ripping six sugar packets open and pouring all of them into his cup. “You’re right; it was a good one.” As he adds the cream, you can’t help but notice some things are wrong. He had a look in his eye that told you something was going on that he wasn’t sure how to talk about.

“Is everything okay?” It better be after the way he just kissed you.

You weren’t sure what this was going to become. You guys had joked that you were boyfriend and girlfriend at the receptionist counter when you first checked into the hotel. And Gojo had asked out on a date for Friday! So that at least meant this wasn't, hopefully, just going to be a one-night stand. But in reality, you were both still strangers. Strangers that had slept together, after just meeting each other. Which was something you never did!

Stranger or not, you could tell something was on his mind.

“Uhm, so about that.” At least he wasn’t trying to hide the fact that something was wrong. “You, uhm, remember how I told you last night that my fans and community were great?”

“Yeah, they don’t seem toxic or anything.”

“Well, you probably haven’t been a fan for as long as I’ve been active. When I first blew up and started getting lots of viewers, Collab requests, and sponsorships, an incident occurred.” you did not like where this was going. “ before I tell you about this, please do not all my fans are—how did you put it—?” He takes a long sip of his coffee. “Toxic?”

The few sips of coffee that you’ve had sour in your stomach. “But some of them are, yeah, I get it. Every fanbase has toxic fans. What are you getting at with this?” Gojo takes another long step of his coffee before scratching at his undercut.

“A photo of us checking in at the reception desk yesterday was taken and leaked online.” The words sound like gibberish to you for a second while your brain processes what he has just said. “And said photo sort of went viral online.”

“Oh—”

“Yeah, so we need to get you a baseball cap and a mask. Because your pretty face is all over the Internet, and if they see us together without a disguise, I know there’s going to be more pictures, and Nanami is already pissed off enough at me right now, so we gotta go.”

“A photo—?”

“Yep!”

“Of us—got leaked?”

From how your skin is slightly pale, a lighter tone than your natural skin, Gojo, no, you’re not taking this very well. He wasn’t sure if you were either going to throw up or pass out, or maybe a lovely combination of both. Being told that you were going viral on the Internet isn’t something many people know how to handle. Especially people that haven’t been used to that sort of lifestyle before. Gojo used to trending or going viral for some of his clips online. Some of those clips became famous TikTok sounds. That was what came with his job, though. He was putting himself out there for millions of people to watch. You were the freelance artist and fan that caught his eye.

So, your reaction was valid. Gojo was sure he had the same reaction when he first went viral online. But that was because he said something funny. This was something he wasn’t even familiar with.

When he noticed how your hands were trembling, he placed his coffee down before he stepped forward gently, grabbing them. They felt cold in his large palms, but he brought them slowly up to his mouth, where he kissed the back of your hands. It was a sweet and gentle gesture meant to provide some reassurance that everything would be okay. An action that did seem to put some of your nerves at ease, at least for the time being. You knew a simple kiss on the back of your hand wouldn’t fix the problem you found yourself in.

“We’ll get through this,” Gojo said softly against your hands as he slowly trailed kisses up your arms before he pressed his lips against yours. “I promise it's going to all work out in the end. Nanami is sure to have a plan for this!”

With a curt nod, a gentle smile united your head in agreement. “Yeah, you're right; everything will be okay.”

Thanks to your baseball hats, masks, and matching sunglasses, nobody seemed to recognize either of you the whole ride home from the pictures or Gojo’s streams. You were able to leave Sendai without any issues and get back to Tokyo safely and in one piece, without rabid ripping you apart.

The moment you stepped into the Rainbow Dragon Café, you and Satoru released heavy sighs of relief as you began taking your disguises off. “Welcome back,” Suguru called out from the counter With an almost condescending smirk. “You look like shit Satoru. Did you not get enough sleep last night?”

“Haha.” Satoru mocks back, tossing his hat and glasses onto the couch in the middle of the café. “Did you even look at yourself this morning bitch? You look like you were in a marathon or two.” Satoru hummed, looking around and tilting his head with a sarcastic hum. “And what do we have here? Your precious ‘Princess’ isn’t here again? Is she sick, or did you break her back last night?”

Suguru just shut his eyes as he smiled gently before turning his head toward the back of the shop. “Nanami, he's back!” fear can be seen in Satoru’s eyes as you both listen to thundering footsteps heading your way. Nanami appeared around the corner, looking just as tired, if not more, than Gojo and Geto combined.

“You traitor.”

“Thank you, Geto; Gojo, let’s go.” Nanami motions for Gojo to move, with half your favorite streamer gently, take your hand and leads you to the door down to the basement. “Hurry up, some of us haven’t slept all night, and I would love to nap sometime today.”

Gojo, what is something you can’t make out under his breath? Even if you could, you’re too stunned to think as he leads you to his apartment. It’s nicely decorated with costly furniture. It didn’t look like some streamer who lived in a basement. No, this was almost a condominium underneath the coffee shop! Just how rich was he?

A huge eighty-five-inch television, huge kitchen, and bookcases lined with movies. There are a few stands with awards he had and some vintage-looking Digimon collectibles. You find yourself wanting to explore the space some more, but Gojo leads you to the couch instead, where the both of you sit down While Nanami slowly sinks into a recliner with a groan.

“I think right now we need to lay low.” Nanami sighed, rubbing at his temples. “We can issue a statement. Maybe ask your fans to respect your personal life and not comment. We could say you were making a video for your YouTube channel about different themed love hotels, or you can tell them that you have a girlfriend, and you both were wished off to Sendai for a weekend getaway.” Gojo frowns, his fingers gently squeezing your hand. He glances towards you as if you had any say in this.”As much as I would like to say that we could ignore this, for now, we can’t. Not with all the conventions you’ve been asked to appear at.”

“I know, I'm just thinking. I hate to lie, so we’ll scratch the YouTube video off the list.” His fingers gently squeezed at your hand a little harder. “What would you be more comfortable with? Tell them not to pry into her business, or would you like me to announce you as my girlfriend officially?”

Both men's eyes settle on you, waiting for you to decide, which seemed a little out of left field, seeing that you weren’t the streamer in question. “Well, I mean, we've just been on a couple of dates so far, so maybe for the time being, it would be best to ask them not to pry into your personal life?” Gojo gives you a gentle smile before turning towards Nanami; as he opens his mouth, you blush, “Just for now—can we touch base on the statement in a couple of weeks?” The gentle smile on Gojo’s face turns wide, revealing the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that sounds like an amazing idea. gives us time to get to know each other better without Internet drama.” Gojo turns back to look at Nanami. “Wouldn't you agree?”

“Yes, I do believe that's a peaceable plan for the time being.” the blonde pulls out his phone, quickly typing away on it. I’ll write up the statement and email it to you. That way, you can copy and paste it onto your social media tonight. In the meantime, I suggest you both tread very carefully. Make sure you’re wearing masks, hats, sunglasses. Avoid crowded places if you can. At least for the next couple of weeks until you can decide what you want to do. Or you can leave it as is. It's up to you in the end.”

“Right, we can do that.”

“Yep!”

Nanami sighed, glancing at you briefly before focusing back on Gojo. “Let’s discuss the way to word it.”

“Right, sweetheart, you can go hang out in my room or the office. This should only take—”

“Several minutes because I want to thoroughly discuss how important it is for you to wear a mask.”

“Ugh, fine.” Gojo tilts his head back against the couch. “Go on, sweetie, bedrooms down the hall and to the right; the office is to the left.”

You thank Nanami for all his help before you go down the hall and take a leave in his office. You were dying to see his setup. Entering the room, the LED lights around the ceiling lit up upon your entrance, glowing a soft blue hue, revealing his desk. His chair was the best on the market, and he had two monitors for every gaming station you could think of—PlayStation, Xbox, Nintendo, and more.

You pulled his desk chair out, sitting in it before focusing on the camera hooking up on his monitor. The cap was on, but you knew what it had captured several nights before. Gojo jerking off with you the same night you supposed Q and A changed your life. You twirled in the chair, looking up at the lights that lined the ceiling as your phone buzzed in your pocket for the tenth time since you got off the train.

But when you notice they were from your account, where you posted all of your pictures, Selfies, and food you ordered at restaurants, you didn’t care what it was about. Your art profile was focused on, so everything else would be on the back burner. You didn’t want to look at your phone because you were in Satoru’s gaming room! One you had only seen on camera before.

You stayed like that, looking at his desk, running your fingers over the different video game cases lining his desk. When the floorboards behind you creaked. You don’t need to look over your shoulder to know who it is. Large hands gently reach around, rubbing at your shoulders, causing you to softly moan out as they kneaded into your muscles, rubbing the tension away. The hands try lower, rubbing your arms before the chair is turned to face him.

Gojo towered over you with a grin. “Hey, sorry to keep you waiting. Nanami just left, so it's just the two of us. He will work on a statement after he takes a nap.” You nod in understanding, pushing yourself off the chair.

“Good, he looked tired.”

“Yeah, he busts his ass all the time; I think I’m gonna tell him to go on vacation after this whole fiasco.”

“That would be a really good idea; this whole thing is just—”

“Crazy?”

“Yeah.” you bite your bottom lip.

Gojo cups your face, sighing softly. “I'm sorry about everything that happened this morning. We were in a rush, and I wanted to spend more time with you.” The thought of lazily lounging in the seashell bed all day sounded like a great time.

“Maybe I would love to return to that hotel and bathe in that bathtub!”

“Oh, I agree; I have to bathe in there at least once. It has been added to the bucket list.” You giggle as he wraps his arms around you. “I know you probably have to go home soon, seeing that you have classes to attend. But I would like to offer a proposition.”

His finger gently hooked under your pants, playing with it teasingly. “Oh, and what might that be?” The warmth of his touch as you shiver as he continues to tug at your pants.

“I may not have a sea turtle bathtub, but I have a nice tub with Jacuzzi streams. Would you like to take a bath with me here? Maybe let me make up for the not-so-great morning that we had.”

“Ooh~ you had me at Jacuzzi stream.”

Without another word, Satoru is pulling your clothes off as you pull his off. Both of you make your way to the bathroom, slamming the door. Your phone starts dinging with notifications from people you didn’t even know. People who have found your social media and your artwork page. More and more notifications popped in as packs of rabid fangirls stalked your account like wolves that circled an injured rabbit waiting for the kill. And you were the rabbit.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3

LSIAH Tag List (AGE MUST BE IN BIO):

@witchbybirth @zoeyflower @missmuffinr @kalulakunundrum @matchalatte06 @aussiemeerkat @gojoful @ilovebattison @getoloverr @dottedhalfnotes @sonicsolos @manyno @candy-s72 @smolbeanzzz @ya9amicide @strychnynegirl @jaeminaur

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doctorbitchcrxft · 8 months ago

Text

Phantom Traveler | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, namecalling, typical Dean and reader

Word Count: 8289

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You were sound asleep, curled up into yourself when a knock on the door brought you out of your slumber.

“(Y/N)?”

‘Sam.’

“I got coffee, thought you could use some,” he called through the door.

You pushed yourself up out of the bed as you yawned, and walked over to the door of your motel room to open it for Sam.

“Dude, you realize it’s six in the morning, right?” You scratched your head as you let Sam into the room.

“You sound like my brother.”

You playfully glared at him. “Don’t compare me to him.”

“Here.” He handed you a coffee and a bag of what you assumed was a pastry.

“Thanks,” you replied, sitting on your bed with your stuff in hand.

Sam sat on the chair across from you. “Still haven’t warmed up to Dean, huh?”

“Well, he hasn’t exactly warmed up to me,” you reminded him, thinking of the fight you got into yesterday over his reckless driving.

“Guess that’s true,” he conceded. “It’s weird, though, you guys are so much more alike than you let on.”

“Tell that to him. He started it.” You took a big bite of your pastry.

“Seriously?” Sam laughed, “ ‘He started it’?”

You shrugged, smirking.

He seemed to remember his original intention behind disturbing your slumber. “Hey, he found a case, though.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s up?” You licked the pastry cream off your thumb.

“We don’t know. The guy on the phone didn’t say.” Sam raised his coffee cup to his lips.

“Guy on the phone?” You took a sip of your coffee as you let Sam answer.

“Yeah. Some guy my dad and Dean worked a case for a while back’s got another one for us. He called Dean.”

“Ah—” you nodded, “—gotcha. So, where’s he live?”

“Pennsylvania,” Sam responded.

“Okay, not too far,” you noted. “I’ll be ready in fifteen.”

***

“Thanks for making the trip so quick,” a short older man named Jerry told you and the boys. “I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out.”

You were walking beside Sam as you followed behind the man who was having you do this job. You were being led through a warehouse past planes as well as their parts and people hard at work.

“Yeah, he told me. It was a poltergeist?” Sam asked the older man.

Someone walking in front of your group was eavesdropping on you. “Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie.”

“Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking,” Jerry stated authoritatively to the man. He turned his attention back to the conversation. “Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart.” He addressed Dean. “Tell you something, if it wasn't for you and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?” He’d turned to Sam.

“Yeah, I was. I'm— taking some time off,” Sam explained.

“Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time.”

“He did?” Knowing what you knew about Sam’s relationship with his dad, you found this surprising, too.

“Yeah, you bet he did,” Jerry nodded. “Oh, hey, you know I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?”

“He's, um, wrapped up in a job right now,” Dean lied.

“Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam and— what’s your name again?” he asked you.

“(Y/N).”

“(Y/N). Even trade, huh?”

“Eh, I wouldn’t say that,” you laughed.

“Say, (Y/N), how’d you get wrapped up with these two?” Jerry asked.

“Oh, uh—” you began, searching for an abridged version of the truth, “—I met them on a hunt in California. They decided to drag me along with them.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. The guys are gonna need backup with this one,” Jerry said.

“Why?”

He did not give a direct answer to your question. “I got something I want you guys to hear.”

He led you to his office where you and Sam took the two chairs and Dean stood behind his brother.

”I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley,” Jerry stated, putting a CD into a drive. “Normally I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.”

A frantic voice immediately rang out from the speaker as soon as the recording started. “Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britannia 2485—” the recording cut out with a static sound, “—immediate instruction help! United Britannia 2485, I copy your message—” and cut out again, “—May be experiencing some mechanical failure—” and then cut out one last time. The man’s voice was completely drowned out by static, whooshing, and growling sounds.

“Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south,” Jerry continued. “Now, they're saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive. Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh… well, he's pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault.”

“You don't think it was?” Sam questioned him.

“No, I don't.”

“Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors,” Sam listed.

“Alright,” the man replied.

“And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?” Dean inquired.

“The other stuff is no problem. But the wreckage… guys— and gal— the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance.” Jerry shook his head.

You frowned.

“No problem,” Dean declared.

You gave him a questioning look to which he shrugged off.

***

“How fucking long does it take to make a fake ID?” you groaned, falling back across the backseat of the Impala. You and Sam had found a way to isolate the EVP on Sam’s computer, having gotten a copy of the tape from Jerry.

“I don’t know,” Sam responded. “But I’m gonna lose it if it’s much longer.”

“Same here.” At that moment, Dean walked out of the Copy Jack the Impala was sitting in front of as a pretty woman walked into the store. They greeted each other before Dean walked over to you and his brother.

“Dude,” you started, “You’ve been in there forever.”

“Wah-wah,” he whined, mocking you. “You can’t rush perfection.” He held up three IDs.

“Homeland Security?” Sam questioned as he took one of the IDs. “That's pretty illegal, even for us.”

“Yeah, well, it's something new. You know? People haven't seen it a thousand times,” Dean pointed out as he got into the car.

“Alright, so, what do you got?” Dean asked his brother as he flicked your ID back at you. It hit you square in the side of the head.

“Dude, really?” you hissed, aggravation clear in your tone.

“Shh,” the older Winchester hushed you as he waited for Sam to answer.

“Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder,” Sam explained.

“Yeah?”

“Listen.”

The isolated voice of what you were dealing with came through the recording scratchy and backed by demonic growling sounds. “No survivors!”

“ ’No survivors’?” Dean asked. “What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors.”

You shrugged.

Dean let out a sigh. “So, what are we thinking? A haunted flight?”

“There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers,” Sam began.

Dean hummed in affirmation. “Or remember flight 401?”

“Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights.”

“I don’t know, guys,” you stated skeptically. “Ghost just doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, thanks for your optimism, sunshine,” Dean quipped.

“It’s not about optimism, you asshole, it’s about being right and dealing with whatever we’re up against properly,” you pushed back.

“Know-it-all,” the older Winchester replied.

“Fuck off, Winchester.”

He let out a breath and turned his attention back to the case.“Alright, so, survivors, which one do you want to talk to first?”

"Third on the list: Max Jaffey,” you said.

“I wasn’t talking to you, but why him?”

You glared at Dean. “Because if anybody saw something weird, he did. I talked to his mom while you were spending forever in the store. She said some pretty weird shit and told me where to find him. He was so screwed up, he checked himself into the hospital.”

***

You and the Winchesters walked beside Max Jaffey, who hobbled on a cane, through the Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital’s garden.

“I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security,” Max told your trio.

“Right. Some new information has come up,” Dean lied. “So if you could just answer a couple questions...”

“Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything… unusual?” Sam questioned.

Max looked confused. “Like what?”

“Strange lights, weird noises, maybe. Voices,” Dean offered.

“No, nothing.”

Seeing as no one was getting anywhere with this investigation, you tried your hand at it. “Mr. Jaffey, you checked yourself in here, right?”

He nodded at you.

“Why?”

“Uh, I was a little stressed,” he said sarcastically. “I survived a plane crash.”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded. “And that’s what scared you? That’s what screwed you up so badly?”

You could tell you were close to the answers you were after as he swallowed uncomfortably. “I— I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“I know, but I also know you saw something up there,” you continued. “We need to know what.”

“No.” Max shook his head. “No, I was… delusional. Seeing things.”

“He was seeing things,” Dean half-mocked him.

You shot a warning glance at Dean, hoping to get him to shut up.

“It's okay,” you coaxed. “Just tell us what you thought you saw, please.”

“There was… this—man. And, uh, he had these… eyes—these, uh, black eyes. And I saw him—or I thought I saw him...” he trailed off, stopping as he recounted the events.

“What?” Dean asked.

“He opened the emergency exit,” Max explained. “But that's— that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There's something like two tons of pressure on that door.”

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed, clearly confused.

“This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage?” Sam asked.

Max quirked his head at the younger Winchester. “What are you, nuts? He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me.”

***

“I think we can rule out phantom traveler,” you noted as you got out of the car in front of the Phelps’s house. You were going to visit the wife of George Phelps, the man who opened the emergency exit.

“Why?” Dean asked.

“You heard Jaffey. He said the dude had black eyes. Opened a fucking emergency exit on his own. ‘Black eyes’ points me to demon.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Demons?”

“I mean, it makes sense,” Sam shrugged. “He could be a demon. He might be some kind of a creature, too, in human form.”

“Does that look like a creature's lair to you?” Dean questioned as he gestured toward the house that was representative of the essence of suburban houses. From its beautiful garden to the cobblestone steps to the beige paint coating the outside of the two-story building.

Sam shrugged and began leading your trio up the steps of the house.

Once inside, you three sat across from Mrs. Phelps on the couch while she sat in an armchair.

Sam picked a picture of Mrs. Phelps and an older man up off of the side table. “This is your late husband?” he asked.

“Yes, that was my George.”

“And you said he was a dentist?” Dean questioned.

She hummed in affirmation. “He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that...”

Sam asked another question. “How long were you married?”

“Thirteen years.”

You could tell Sam was contemplating how to ask his next question. “In all that time, did you ever notice anything… strange about him; anything out of the ordinary?”

She paused for a moment. “Well, uh, he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean.”

You nodded, clicking your tongue. “I think that’s all we have for you, Mrs. Phelps. Thank you for your time.”

She showed all of you out, and you piped up as you walked down the stairs outside of the house.

“Demon’s sounding more and more correct all the time,” you smiled, trying to joke around.

“Jesus, you’re annoying,” Dean groaned.

“And you’re a misogynistic dick that can’t handle women with brains,” you responded.

“What, are we gonna duke this out now?” Dean stopped by the door of the car, facing you.

You stood by the backseat’s door. “You started it,” you taunted childishly, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared back at him.

“Really?” he leered. “You’re gonna pull that card? Mature.”

“You act like you’re any better.”

“Guys—” Sam tried to cut in, but Dean continued to fight with you.

“You’re such a bitch.”

“Wow, haven’t heard that one before,” you drawled.

“Guys! You can fight later. Wrong place, wrong time to sort this out,” Sam chastised you and Dean like you were children.

You got in the car and slammed the door behind you.

“Don’t hurt my baby ‘cause you’re pissed,” Dean scolded you as he started to pull the car away.

“Just drive, asshole,” you grumbled in frustration as you slumped down in your seat. The rest of the car ride to the local outlet mall was silent.

***

You had never felt more confident. Despite the fact that you could have worn the one dress you already had to pose as homeland security, you decided to treat yourself to a new outfit to distract from your aggravation with Dean.

The boys had gone to a suit shop called “Mort’s for Style,” and you went into a dress shop called “Betsy’s.” It was a cute little shop with a lot of great dress and pantsuit options.

You had picked out a navy blue pantsuit. You wore a white button-up underneath the blazer with the top two buttons undone to accentuate your breasts. The blazer was unbuttoned, and the high-waisted, straight-legged pants you wore matched the black color of your blazer. With the white button-up tucked into your pants and the small amount of makeup you threw on to draw attention to your eyes and lips, you felt good.

Once you had paid for your clothing, you walked out of the shop and back to the Impala. Surprisingly, the boys were not there waiting for you.

You leaned your back against the car, picking out the grit from under your nails.

You looked up when you heard Dean’s voice. “Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers.”

Both of the boys were dressed in sharp, black suits. You almost lost your breath at the sight of Dean, but fought yourself to keep your composure. You would not give him the satisfaction of knowing you found him attractive.

“No, you don't,” Sam told him. “You look more like a seventh-grader at his first dance.”

You laughed at the younger brother’s jeer. “What took you girls so long?” you asked once you got in the Impala. “I thought you two would’ve beat me out the store by a long shot.”

“Dean wouldn’t leave the dressing room,” Sam said dryly.

“Seriously?” you droned.

You and Sam both looked to Dean, who did not answer immediately. When he finally spoke, he complained, “I hate this thing.”

“Hey,” Sam stared. “You want into that warehouse or not?”

Dean rolled his eyes as he continued to drive along.

You steeled your nerves as your black, pointed-toe pumps clicked across the warehouse floor. Your trio was headed to the security guard that would allow you in to see the wreckage.

You held the clipboard you had stowed in your bag close to your chest, acting as some sort of a recorder for the boys. The three of you flashed your badges at the security guard, who nodded and allowed you into the hangar where the wreckage was being kept.

There was a large map of what the plane should look like painted onto the floor, and the parts that corresponded to the different portions of the map were laid in their proper spots. There were wires hung on fences and broken interior parts of the plane laid on tables. The most heartbreaking things for you to look at were the torn passengers’ seats because most of the people who had been in them were now dead.

You looked over at Dean, who had earbuds in and was moving a small box over the tops of the wreckage.

“What’s that?” you asked him.

“It's an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies.”

You got closer to him, noticing what the object appeared to be. “I know what an EMF meter is; I’m not stupid. But why does that one look like a busted-up walkman?”

“ 'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade,” he grinned.

“Yeah, I can see that,” you quipped.

His grin disappeared. “Bitch.”

“Dick.”

You once again fought the pain in your chest when he called you a bitch. In all honesty, you thought his homemade EMF meter was cute. However, you were too far gone in your war with him to surrender now.

Dean ran the Walkman over a piece of the wreckage with black spores and yellow dust on it. You could hear the faint sound of a spike on the meter through Dean’s headphones.

“Check out the emergency door handle,” Dean called to Sam.

Sam came over to where you and Dean stood as the older brother scratched at the dust to get some on his hand.

“What is this stuff?” Dean asked.

One way to find out.” You saw the younger of the two brothers start scraping some of the dust into a small bag.

“We need to go,” you told the boys. You weren’t sure what told you that, but you just suddenly felt unsettled. The hairs on the back of your neck stood at attention, and every muscle in your body tensed. You started off toward the exit in the back of the warehouse.

“Wait, (Y/N), what if we’re missin’ something?” Dean questioned, clearly aggravated you were ready to ditch already.

“Too bad, we gotta go.” You kept walking toward the exit, making it out of the door and around the backside of the building.

At that moment, an alarm started blaring through the area surrounding the warehouse.

You turned around to look at the boys as you gloated, “I’m not gonna say, ‘I told you so’!“ Not bothering to rip your shoes off of your feet, you took off running to the gated exit.

Sam and Dean were quick to follow you and soon passed you up. The older brother took off his suit jacket and threw it over the barbed wire at the top of the fence. You did the same with your blazer. After quickly taking off your pumps to avoid hurting yourself when you jumped from the top of the gate, you threw yourself over the fence. The other two did the same.

Sam grabbed your blazer that you were too small to reach from the top of the fence as Dean found it within himself to remark, “Well, these monkey suits do come in handy.”

You ran after the two boys, heels and blazer in hand as the jagged rocks in the cement cut into your feet. As soon as you shut the door to the car, Dean slammed on the gas pedal.

He tore out of the warehouse’s parking lot, speeding down the road to head toward Jerry’s workplace.

"(Y/N),” Sam started, turning in his seat to face you with a curious expression on his face, “how did you know that?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. My intuition’s just always been pretty sharp.” You were being honest; there had been a few times on hunts previously when you’d known it was time to get the hell out of dodge.

“Hm.” You could tell Dean still didn’t trust you.

“Dude, I don’t know what else to tell you. That’s the truth,” you countered. “I’ve been helping you guys with your dad for almost two months now, and you still don’t trust me. I don’t know what more to do for you.”

“Maybe because I don’t know you,” he responded, never taking his eyes off the road.

“Maybe if you tried to know me, you’d find it a little easier to trust me,” you answered.

“Not interested,” came Dean’s grumbled response.

You tried your best to ignore the pang that went through your chest once more. “Of course not.”

***

You refused to speak to or even look at Dean; your frustration with the fact that he had no desire to know you and his general existence boiling to the surface. You could feel his stare burning into the side of your head as you focused on Jerry, who sat in front of you. He was looking through a microscope on his desk at the yellow dust Sam had collected.

“Huh,” Jerry remarked. “This stuff is covered in sulfur.”

“You're sure?” Sam asked.

“Take a look for yourself,” Jerry offered, getting up from behind the desk so Sam could take his place.

Banging sounds along with a string of curse words caught your ear as Jerry sighed.

“If you guys will excuse me, I have an idiot to fire,” he dryly stated, walking out of the office.

You got up from the chair you were sitting in next to Dean. “See?” you started excitedly, gesturing toward the sulfur, “Demons.”

“That would explain how one guy had the strength to open up the emergency exit,” Sam added.

“This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane?” Dean put his hands on his hips as he stood. “You ever heard of something like this before?”

Sam looked over at his brother, who responded, “Never.”

“Well, I have,” you said simply.

They both looked to you to continue.

“In NYC a couple years back. Some cabbies had gotten possessed and were takin’ girls left and right.”

“Those were demons?” Sam asked, standing up from behind Jerry’s desk. “That was a huge deal on the news while I was at Stanford. Police thought it was a serial killer. You took ‘em on all by yourself?”

“I’m a big girl, Sam,” you chuckled. “I can handle a few demons. But, yeah, that was me. That was probably the toughest case I’ve ever been on. Finding where those demons had taken those girls after they drugged them in the cabs... where they were raped and murdered...” You shook your head, your cheery expression gone.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Sam told you gently.

Your eyes were glued to the floor, hands on your hips with not a bit of life in your voice as you muttered, “All in a day’s work.”

Sam had asked you to tell him and Dean everything you knew about demons once you got back to the Winchesters’ motel room. Sam sat at the table close to the window while Dean sat on the bed closest to his brother. You stood in front of the two as you spoke.

“Demons exist in every religion in every world culture. With the ones that I was dealing with up in New York, they were most similar to Incubi from early Christian religion. Incubi raped sleeping girls. These demons drugged the girls to put them to sleep, then they raped them, and then they murdered them. What I’m thinking for these demons is that they’re most similar to certain Japanese demons. I had to look into these when I was trying to figure out how to kill the NYC demons. The Japanese believe demons cause certain disasters, whether it be natural or man-made. Some cause earthquakes, others cause disease—”

“And this one causes plane crashes?” Dean deadpanned, cutting you off.

You ignored him. “Demons are having to find new ways to ratchet up the body count. Like with me in New York, Incubi can’t go about their old methods anymore. This demon probably evolved with the times like the Incubi did, and so it figured plane crashes were the best way to get its job done.”

Dean snorted, getting up from. the bed and turning away from you and his brother.

“What?” Sam asked.

He turned around, scratching the back of his neck. “I don't know, man. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death, and destruction for its own sake. This is big. And I wish Dad was here.”

“Yeah. Me too,” the younger Winchester admitted.

Dean’s phone rang, and he answered it. “Hello?... Oh, hey, Jerry… Wha— Jerry, I'm sorry. What happened?... Where'd this happen?... I'll try to ignore the irony in that… Nothing. Jerry, hang in there, all right? We'll catch up with you soon.”

He hung up the phone.

“Another crash?” Sam questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah. Let's go.”

“Where?”

“Nazareth.”

‘Ah, there’s the irony.’

***

After leaving the horrendous scene of Chuck’s plane crash, you and the boys went back to Jerry’s office. Once again, Jerry confirmed that the dust you had taken from the steering wheel of Chuck’s plane was, in fact, sulfur.

“Well, that's great,” Dean sassed. “Alright, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him.”

“If that's the case, that would be the good news,” you chimed in. You looked up to the sky, addressing the pilot. “No offense, Chuck.”

“What's the bad news?” Jerry asked you.

“Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into the flight, just like 2485,” you informed the older man.

“Forty minutes?” Chuck inquired. “What does that mean?”

“It's biblical numerology. You know Noah's ark, it rained for forty days. The number means death,” Dean said.

“I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in,” Sam explained.

"Any survivors?” the older Winchester questioned his brother.

“No. Or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason.” Sam turned to you after thinking for a moment. “On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?”

“ ‘No survivors,’ “ you realized. “It's going after all the survivors. It's trying to finish the job.”

Dean drove the Impala down an empty highway.

Sam was on the phone with one of the survivors from the plane crash, the conversation almost over. “Really? Well, thank you for taking our survey, And if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks.” He hung up the phone. “All right. That takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon.”

“That leaves the flight attendant, Amanda Walker,” you commented.

“Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight P.M. It's her first night back on the job,” Sam told you and his brother.

“That sounds like just our luck,” Dean grumbled.

“Dean, this is a five-hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel,” Sam said worriedly.

“Call Amanda's cellphone again, see if we can't head her off at the pass,” Dean tried.

“I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off.”

“God, we're never gonna make it,” you shook your head, leaning back in the seat as you scrubbed a hand through your hair.

“We'll make it,” the older brother countered, slamming his foot on the gas.

Somehow, someway, Dean had managed to get to the airport at ten minutes to seven.

You jumped up out of the car, taking your gun out of your pants and stashing it under the backseat.

“What are you doing?”

You still did not feel like talking to Dean but answered him shortly nonetheless. “We’re going into an airport.”

Dean finally caught onto what you meant and took all of his weapons off of him, too. “I feel naked.”

You fought the smile threatening to creep up your face.

You rushed into the airport just behind the boys, squeezing your way through the crowd of people to get to the departure board.

“Right there,” Sam pointed out. “They're boarding in thirty minutes.”

“Okay. We still have some cards to play,” Dean paused, thinking for a moment. “We need to find a phone.”

He found a courtesy phonw on the wall, picking it up. “Hi. Gate thirteen… I'm trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She's a flight attendant on flight, um… flight 4-2-4.”

He waited impatiently for Amanda to pick up the phone. When she finally did, he began speaking again.

“Miss Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here… Nothing serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so—” His face fell, his eyes widening a touch. “You what?... Uh, well… there must be some mistake—”

Sam went around his brother to try to get a closer listen.

After a longer pause, Dean let out a sigh of relief and smiled. “...Guilty as charged… He's really sorry… Yeah, but… he really needs to see you tonight, so—... Don't be like that. Come on. The guy's a mess. Really. It's pathetic… Oh, yeah… No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda!” Dean slammed the phone back onto the receiver. “Damn it! So close.”

"Alright, time for plan B. We're getting on that plane,” you stated firmly.

“Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second.” For the first time since you met him, Dean looked scared.

“Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash,” Sam argued.

“I know.” He looked conflicted.

“Okay. So we're getting on the plane, we need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets. You and (Y/N) get whatever you can out of the trunk. Whatever that will make it through security. Meet me back here in five minutes.”

Dean looked at Sam blankly, evidently a little anxious.

“Are you okay?” the younger Winchester asked.

Dean hesitated. “No, not really.”

“What? What's wrong?”

“Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh...”

“Flying?” you cut in.

“It's never really been an issue until now,” he told you.

“You're joking, right?” Sam huffed.

“Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?” he spat.

For the first time since you met him, you didn’t feel like mocking him about his fear of planes.

“Okay, then (Y/N) and I’ll go,” Sam proposed.

Dean shook his head. “What?”

“We’ll handle this one.”

“What are you, nuts? You said it yourself, the plane's gonna crash.”

“Dean, we can do it together, or I can do this one with (Y/N). I'm not seeing a third option, here.”

Dean scratched his head. “Come on! Really? Man...”

Dean walked much faster than you did toward the car to get supplies, clearly trying to leave you in his dust.

“Would you slow down a bit, please?” you asked.

“Why should I?”

“Because even if you get to the car before me, you’re not gonna have a fucking clue what to use to deal with a demon,” you reminded him, your words a bit more venomous than need-be.

He stopped, turning to face you. “Are you calling me stupid?”

“No,” you told him. You truly weren’t.

“Definitely sounds like you are.”

You walked past him to the trunk of the Impala. “I wasn’t, I’m simply pointing out the fact that I’m the one who knows how to deal with demons, and you don’t.”

“There you go again. Acting like you know so much better than I do.” His attitude was truly exhausting.

Your voice rose as you defended yourself. “Because I do! In this case, at least!”

“But it’s not just this one time that you acted like you’re better than me,” he argued. “Do you realize how frustrating it is to deal with your smart ass?”

“Do you realize how frustrating it is to deal with yours?” you threw back. You sighed, putting aside your anger for now. “Look, we don’t have time to talk about this.” You shoved holy water, a rosary, and the EMF Walkman into Dean’s hands. “Now, let’s go.”

You shoved past Dean and headed back to the airport.

***

You sat between Sam and Dean, completely at ease. Dean, however, was losing his mind.

"Just try to relax,” Sam whispered from the window seat

Dean’s voice came back harder and slightly louder. “Just try to shut up.”

“Oh, don’t be a baby,” you scolded playfully.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Dean clapped back using the same tone with you that he had with Sam. He took in a sharp breath when the plane began moving a second later.

You gathered your courage and grabbed his hand. He jerked away from you and looked at you in surprise. When the plane took off, though, his hand rejoined yours, squeezing tightly. You giggled to yourself.

“I’m so glad this is funny to you,” Dean hissed.

“It’s not,” you answered simply.

“Then why are you laughing?” His grip tightened once again.

“It’s just,” you considered your next words carefully. “It’s kind of cute, that’s all.”

Dean was caught off-guard by your response. He eyed you quizzically, unsure of what to say. You just shrugged, settling the back of your head against your seat with your hand still in Dean’s. It was much larger than yours, and you fought the urge to run your fingers along the calloused ridges.

Moments passed in a bit of an uncomfortable silence before Dean spoke again, not a trace of bite in his tone. “Why are you doing this?”

You rolled your head toward him. “Everybody’s scared of something,” you quietly replied. “It helps me to know I’m helping you. Even if you do hate my guts.”

“I don’t hate your guts.” He spoke so softly you almost couldn’t hear him.

“Pfft, could’ve fooled me,” you answered.

“You just…” he started, “...get on my nerves. ‘S all.”

You giggled.

A few minutes later when the plane had fully gotten up in the air, you heard the familiar sound of a song you had heard many times before in the Impala coming from the man next to you.

“You're humming Metallica?” Sam asked Dean monotonously.

“Calms me down,” the older brother replied.

“ ‘Some Kind of Monster’? Really?“ You raised a brow at him.

Dean did not respond to you.

“Look, man, I get you're nervous, all right? But you got to stay focused,” the younger Winchester reminded his brother.

“Yup,” you chimed in. “We only have thirty-two minutes to track the bitch down and full-on exorcise it.”

“Yeah, on a crowded plane,” Dean commented. “That's gonna be easy.”

“Just take it one step at a time, alright?” Sam said calmly. “Now, who is it possessing?”

“It's usually gonna be somebody with some sort of weakness, you know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress,” Dean stated.

“Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash. If I were her, I'd be pretty messed up,” Sam told Dean, who hummed in response.

Dean sat up stiffly, his body still tense as he turned to the blonde flight attendant walking past.

“Excuse me. Are you Amanda?” he asked her.

“No, I'm not,” she answered with a smile.

"Oh, my mistake.”

The flight attendant hummed in agreement.

He peered into the back of the plane, finding the other blonde flight attendant. “All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so I'll go talk to her, and, uh, I'll get a read on her mental state.”

“What if she's already possessed, genius?” Sam asked.

“There's ways to test that,” Dean responded, pulling the holy water out of his jacket. “I brought holy water.”

“Correction, I brought holy water—” you leaned forward, gently taking the bottle, “—And that’s for when we try to exorcise the demon. She’ll flinch at the name of god if she’s possessed.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Dean replied, getting up from his chair. You could tell he had not. You already missed the feeling of his hand in yours.

He turned to go, but you stopped him.

“Dean!” you whispered.

“What?” The annoyance in Dean’s voice was back.

“Say it in Latin.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then what is it?” you smirked, quirking a brow.

“ ‘Christo!’ I’m not an idiot!” he hissed back. Dean turned away from you and headed to the back of the plane.

You slumped down in your seat, closing your eyes as the copilot began speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer speaking...” you tuned out the rest of his message.

A few minutes went by before the older brother returned.

“Alright, well, she's got to be the most well-adjusted person on the planet,” he sighed as he flopped back into his seat.

“You said ‘Christo’?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“There's no demon in her. There's no demon getting in her.”

“So, if it's on the plane, it can be anyone. Anywhere,” Sam explained.

The plane shook, causing Dean to tense up. He grabbed your hand once more. “Come on!” he whined. “That can't be normal!”

“Hey, hey, it's just turbulence,” you coaxed.

“Sweetheart, this plane is going to crash, okay? So quit treating me like I'm fucking four.” He went to drop your hand, but you tightened your grip.

“Okay,” you started, changing tactics. Your tone became harsh. “You need to calm down.”

“Well, I'm sorry, I can't,” Dean sassed.

“You didn’t want to be treated like you’re four, so stop acting like it,” you commanded. “Be a man, Winchester. If you’re a basketcase, you’re wide open to possession. Get your shit together. Right now.”

Dean took a deep breath.

You smiled. “Great. Onto the Rituale Romanum.”

“The what?” Sam and Dean asked in unison.

“The exorcism ritual,” you elaborated. “It's two parts. The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful.”

“More powerful?” Dean questioned, his voice strained and eyes wide.

“Yup.”

“How?” He was starting to get panicky again.

“It’d just be able to wreak havoc on its own without a vessel,” you informed.

“Oh. And why is that a good thing?”

“ 'Cause the second part of that sends the bitch back to hell once and for all.”

“First things first, we got to find it.”

“There ya go,” you chuckled.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, getting up from his chair with the EMF Walkman.

You and Sam let him walk down the aisle by himself for a few minutes before the two of you got up to go talk to him.

You tapped his shoulder.

“Ah!” Dean jumped back, wheeling around to face you. ��Don’t do that!”

“Anything?” Sam asked.

The older brother shook his head. “No, nothing. How much time we got?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Sam told you and his brother. “Maybe we missed somebody.”

“Maybe the thing's just not on the plane,” Dean shrugged.

“No way. Dean, it’s gonna be here,” you protested. Just as you spoke, the EMF meter spiked.

You looked up to see the copilot coming out of the bathroom.

“What?” Sam asked. “What is it?”

You stared at the copilot. “Christo.”

The man’s head slowly turned toward you and the boys, his eyes black.

You wheeled around to face Sam. “We gotta talk to Amanda.”

“She's not gonna believe this,” Sam contested.

“You’re probably right, but we only got twelve minutes,” you reminded the younger brother. You walked ahead of the boys into the concessions area where Amanda busied herself.

“Oh, hi. Flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope,” she smiled politely, clearly caught off-guard by your presence.

“Actually—” Dean began, “—that's kind of what we need to talk to you about.”

Sam closed the curtains behind you as Amanda answered Dean. “Um, okay. What can I do for you?”

“Alright, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don't have time for the whole ‘the truth is out there’ speech right now,” Dean rushed out.

She looked confused but kept her smile painted on her face.

“Alright, look, we know you were on flight 2485,” Sam continued for Dean.

Her grin disappeared. “Who are you guys?”

Sam ignored her question. “Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure.”

“We need your help because we need to stop it from happening again. Here. Now,” the older brother told her.

“I'm sorry—” she started, attempting to move past you, “I— I'm very busy. I have to go back—”

“Chuck Lambert’s dead, Amanda,” you cut in, effectively stopping her from leaving. “The pilot from 2485.”

“Wait. What?” She turned to face you, her eyebrows furrowed. “Chuck is dead?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “He died in a plane crash. That’s the second plane crash in two months. Doesn’t that strike you as weird?”

She shook her head in complete disbelief.

“Look, there was something wrong with 2485,” Sam added. “Now maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn't. But there's something wrong with this flight, too.”

Dean made a last attempt to drive the point home. “Amanda, you have to believe us.”

The blonde looked to the ground. “On… on 2485, there was this man. He… had these eyes.”

“Black eyes?” you asked.

She nodded.

“That’s exactly what we’re talking about,” Sam clarified.

“I don't understand, what are you asking me to do?”

Dean answered before you got the chance to. “Okay. The copilot, we need you to bring him back here.”

Amanda looked between the three of you, confused. “Why? What does he have to do with anything?”

“Don't have time to explain. We just need to talk to him. Okay?”

“How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot—” You could practically see her mind running a mile a minute.

Even Sam was getting impatient. “Do whatever it takes. Tell him there's something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit.”

“Do you know that I could lose my job if you—”

“Babe, you're gonna lose a lot more if you don't go get him right now,” you remarked.

She looked at you and nodded, turning to leave for the cockpit.

As soon as Amanda made it out of the curtains, you fished the holy water out of your hoodie’s pocket, moving to press your back against the wall next to the closed blue curtains.

A few moments later, you heard the copilot say to Amanda, “Yeah, what's the problem?” Just outside the curtains. As soon as the demon ducked into the small room, Dean punched him in the face. He then shoved the demon to the ground and slapped duct tape over his mouth.

“Wait,” Amanda protested as you got down on the ground beside Dean, “What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him.”

“We are gonna talk to him,” Dean replied simply as you splashed the copilot with holy water.

The demon groaned under the duct tape, his skin sizzling and burning holes through his shirt.

“Oh, my god. What's wrong with him?” Amanda cried.

“Look,” Sam started calmly, “We need you calm. We need you outside the curtain.”

Amanda’s breath quickened. “Well, I don't underst— I don't know—”

“Don't let anybody in, okay? Can you do that? Can you do that? Amanda?”

She gave herself a pep talk before heading outside of the curtains.

“Hurry up, Sam,” Dean groaned. “I don't know how much longer I can hold him.”

The demon went to kick the older Winchester in the back, but you dove to grab his legs.

Sam began reciting the Latin ritual written in his father’s journal. “Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino—”

The demon kneed you in the forehead, causing you to fall back and got a few good swings at the boys in as well. You clambered on top of the copilot, sitting on his stomach with his arms pinned by his sides under your legs.

Sam continued with the ritual before the demon threw you off of him. He ripped the tape off of his mouth and turned to Sam. “I know what happened to your girlfriend! She must have died screaming! Even now, she's burning!”

You attempted to recover from getting slammed into the wall while Dean focused on attacking the demon.

Sam sat there in shock, so you grabbed the journal and tried to finish the ritual.

The demon hit Dean again, effectively getting the young man off of him and knocking Dean into you. The book fell from your hand, and the demon kicked it out into the passenger’s cabin.

A cloud of black smoke flew out from the copilot’s body and into a vent while Sam went out into the aisle to find the journal.

Suddenly, the plane shook violently and took a nosedive. The lights in the plane flickered and you and Dean were thrown to the back wall of the concession’s area.

You and Dean screamed as the plane went down. Dean held onto the emergency exit door for dear life as you pressed yourself into the corner opposite from the older Winchester.

Your yelps were cut off when the plane leveled out following a surge of electricity coursing through the aircraft. You assumed Sam was able to finish the ritual and the pilot was able to regain control of the plane.

You shakily stood up from the ground and dusted yourself off, tugging on the sleeves of your large hoodie.

You stepped out into the passenger’s cabin, heading to Sam as people began asking their neighbors if they were okay.

You wrapped Sam in a short, tight hug as you thanked him for keeping his head level enough to finish the ritual and trying to comfort him after what the demon had said. When you had made your way back to your seats, a slight rumble went through the aircraft. Dean grabbed your hand once again, and kept it there for the rest of the flight. A small smile tugged at your lips.

After landing back at your original airport, you stood beside Sam and Dean as you watched the swarms of EMTs, FBI agents, and FAA agents go from person to person. They questioned or looked over each one, and your focus bounced between them.

You found Amanda in the crowd talking to an FBI agent, and she turned to the side to mouth “thank you” to you and the Winchesters.

“Let's get out of here,” Dean said firmly.

You began to head to the exit when Dean asked Sam, “You okay?”

You turned back to Sam, who reminded you and his brother, “Dean, it knew about Jessica.”

“Sam, these things, they, they read minds. They lie. Alright? That's all it was.” The older brother attempted to brush Sam’s concerns off.

“Yeah.” The brunet didn’t sound convinced.

“Come on.”

***

The next day, you and the Winchesters visited Jerry at his workplace to give him the final mission report. Jerry showed you and the boys out and escorted you to the Impala parked outside of the warehouse.

“Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed,” he acknowledged. He shook your hand before turning to the boys. “Your dad's gonna be real proud.”

Sam gave him an awkward, tight-lipped smile. “We'll see you around, Jerry.”

You turned to the car, as did Dean before he turned back to the older man.

“You know, Jerry—" he began.

“Yeah.”

“I meant to ask you, how did you get my cellphone number, anyway?” the young man continued. “I've only had it for like six months.”

“Your dad gave it to me,” Jerry explained simply.

“What?” Sam exclaimed in shock.

“When did you talk to him?” Dean questioned.

“I mean, I didn't exactly talk to him, but I called his number. His voice message said to give you a call.” He took a pause. “Thanks again, guys— and gal,” he grinned.

“Bye, Jerry!” you called after him as he headed off.

“This doesn't make any sense, man. I've called Dad's number like fifty times. It's been out of service,” Sam told his brother.

Dean dials what you assumed was his father’s number. However, instead of the out-of-service message Sam had described, a voicemail began to play.

The two boys leaned into the phone so they could hear it better.

You leaned over Sam’s shoulder, the voice hard to hear, but you were still able to make out the words. “This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help.”

Sam fumed, shaking his head in frustration as he got in the car. He slammed the door behind him. You looked over to Dean, who did not meet your gaze. He got in the car following his brother. You took one last look at the setting sun as a plane flew over your head.

“I fuckin’ hate flying,” you muttered.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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lupinescribbler · 2 months ago

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Writing Descriptions

I was just musing recently about this, so thought I’d share some bits about how I try to build compelling descriptions of scenes/environments. Normally I just post fan art but eh, diversifying lol.

Having an agenda

I found both reading and writing descriptions that if I don’t have an objective for them they end up feeling aimless and sometimes forgettable. I am always trying to build a narrative. It can be as simple as “this building is old/unused” or as complex as ‘contrasting a bright atmosphere with an underlying coldness as an allegory to a character’s crushing isolation in the face of their personal grief/pain’. What does every line and descriptive word contribute to what you’re trying to do? What emotions or vibes are you trying to evoke? How does every part of it tie together into a cohesive picture instead of a bunch of disparate parts?

2. Utilizing descriptions as a tool

descriptions inherently tend to center a story in a specific setting, or serve as our senses to experience the story alongside the characters — but I try to use it as more than that when possible. How you can use it may vary with what person you’re using, but even third person (what I typically use) descriptions can give you a glimpse into the headspace of your character. This can be really helpful when writing a character who isn’t very emotionally self aware, or a character who is stoic. I typically use this one of two ways.

First one is seeing through the eyes of the character. How do they see this other character? How does their emotions, history, etc affect their impressions about different settings? For example, a characters with religious trauma might have a more negative/emotionally loaded perspective when walking into a church which can manifest at different levels of subtlety within the description of the environment.

second one way is just to get the reader on the same page emotionally as a character. If the character is desperate, incorporate that emotions/vibe into your description of the setting or even of them. If they’re lonely invoke that, etc. Note that this can also be used for plot beats and not just character moments.

Also total side note, but I’d reccomend not taking any writing advice too seriously. Explore how people write their stuff, take little tidbits here and there when it speaks to you and your style, and toss aside anything that doesn’t work for you.

#on writing #creative writing #writeblr #writing #writing advice #writing tips #writing descriptions

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yuikomorii · 11 months ago

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Happy 12th anniversary! 🎉

// I can’t believe so many years have passed since Ayato’s first CD drama, which marked the beginning of Diabolik Lovers and the introduction of my girl, Yui. Even if it got its flaws, I will continue to support this franchise! 💘

I have prepared an edit and a scenario for this special day! It's meant to be a "funny" one, so there will definitely be some cringe moments, but overall it's quite lighthearted. I sincerely hope you find it enjoyable! Besides, I had a blast writing Laito; he always channels my inner mischievousness.

Yui: Hmm… I believe I have all ingredients now!

( Come to think of it, the Sakamaki brothers are vampires but they surprisingly allowed me to celebrate Christmas this year. )

( It’s honestly so ironic that it makes me wonder whether or not they actually did it for… me? )

( A-Ah no, that’s definitely not the case! I’m probably just getting selfish at this point, but I genuinely do appreciate it. For this reason, I’ll try my best to cook all of their favorite dishes so as to show my gratitude! )

( Christmas is such a magical time of the year. It brings back memories of my father and I organizing the annual Christmas Mass together. We used to decorate the church and bake sweets for children, who were so cute when receiving them! Those were activities that truly brought joy to my heart… I sort of miss those times. )

( My father… I wonder, is he preparing for Christmas too? No, he most likely isn’t… )

( I don’t even know where he is to begin with but I truly hope he’s alright… )

( Anyway, I shouldn’t ruin the mood with those thoughts. Now that I've got everything ready for the dishes, I just need to find the right spot to hide Ayato-kun’s pre— )

Ayato: Yo, Chichinashi!

Yui: G-Geez! Ayato-kun, I told you already not to sneak up behind my back!

Ayato: Haa… Fine, fine, I’m sorry.

Yui: It’s— Eh?

( Wait a little, did he just apologize? )

Ayato: Why are you making such a dumb face? You don’t believe my words, do you?

Yui: Y-You got it wrong! It’s just that I wasn’t expecting Ayato-kun to apologize for something so trivial, you see.

Ayato: Hmm, I guess you’re not wrong. But, since Christmas is coming soon, it’d be a pity for Santa Claus to write me on the naughty list after trying to avoid it the whole year.

Yui: Naughty list…?

( Is it just me, or does Ayato-kun really believe Santa Claus will give him a present? I mean… Santa is told to only deliver them to children, and I'm not sure a 17-year-old still qualifies as one. )

( But I can’t straight up tell him that! It will only ruin the magic otherwise… Besides, when that thought crosses my mind, it somehow makes him appear so pure. )

Ayato: Hah? What are you grinning at? I swear, I've made an effort to be a good boy this year!

Yui: That’s really… amazing, Ayato-kun! I’m sure Santa will remember that!

Ayato: Heh? So you really think he’ll bring me something?

Yui: Uhm… Definitely!

( His eyes started sparking, I really can’t say “no” to that…! However, that only means I'll have to get him another gift so that he can have one from "Santa" and another one from me. )

B-By the way, I think I forgot to buy gingerbread syrup. I suppose I should leave before ——

Ayato: No, no, I’ll go!

Yui: You will? Ah, but you don’t have to! I was the one who forgo—…!

( He’s covering my mouth! )

Ayato: Stop blabbering already! Ore-sama offered to buy it for you, so you could try being a bit more grateful!

Yui: That’s… you’re right.

( Maybe it’s for the better. This way, I'll be able to find a hiding place for the present I already have for him. )

Ayato: I’ll be right back!

—Timeskip—

Ayato: Tsk, I can’t believe that shit was out of stock!

Chichinashi will surely be disappointed, if I come home with nothing! After all, she takes all that Christmas stuff seriously…

What's worse is that I tried really hard to find it, but it was already sold out by the time I arrived!

Tsk, damn it! Why must this be so complicated!?

Laito: Well, well. Seems like Ayato-kun is quite moody today.

Ayato: Get lost you pervert, it’s none of your business!

Laito: Haa… how rude of you, Ayato-kun. And there I was actually intending to give you this, but I guess you don’t need it anymore.

Bye bye~!

Ayato: Wait… What’s that thing in your hand?

Laito: What you ask? Nfu, it’s gingerbread syrup, of course. I was able to get the last one today.

Ayato: Wha—! Oi, you better give it to me or else—

Laito: Or else what~?

Ayato: I’ll—… Nevermind.

Look, you know I’m not into cheesy stuff but Chichinashi really loves Christmas, okay? Getting that gingerbread syrup might make her happy ‘cause maybe it’d remind her of how she celebrated it with her pops. That’s why… I can’t believe I’m saying this but… give it to me, please!

Laito: Woah, it’s honesty hour, hm?

Well, whatever, I don’t really care about that gingerbread syrup anyway, so you can take it if you want to.

Ayato: Really? Gr—

Laito: You didn’t let me finish though. I will only give it to you, if you promise me something.

Ayato: Hah? What the hell is it this time!?

Laito: No need to get so worked up~. All you have to do is to ensure that Bitch-chan consumes at least one glass of syrup at the time you bring it to her.

Ayato: That’s it? Pfft, easiest task ever!

Wait… almost a bit too easy.

Oi you perv, you better not plan something behind Ore-sama’s back, understood?

Laito: Normally I would, but Christmas is just around the corner, right? Who would risk being added to the naughty list at the last minute, right?

— hands Ayato the gingerbread syrup—

Place: Living room

Ayato: Yui! Yui! I’m back and look what I found!!

Yui: Good job, Ayato-kun! Thank you so much for helping me!

Ayato: Now take a seat!

— forces her to sit down —

Yui: Eh? What’s happening?

Ayato: Nothing to worry about, just drink this!

— shoves glass of syrup down her throat —

Yui: Mmh…!!

(What on earth!? I can’t breathe—!)

— Yui swallows it —

Ayato: So~, how is it?

— Yui starts coughing —

Yui: It’s… it’s not as sweet as I remembered. This one is quite bitter.

Ayato: Bitter? Don’t spout nonsense, gingerbread can’t be bitter!

Yui: Yeah… thought so too… but..

(My head started spinning around…)

Ayato: Are you even paying attention to what I’m saying?

Yui: Uuh… Sorry, Ayato-kun, I’m suddenly feeling so dizzy…

Ayato: How—?

( The heck’s wrong with her? Is it ‘cause she swallowed that too fast or…? )

Yui: Ayato-kun…

Ayato: What’s it?

Yui: Has anyone ever told you before that you are… extremely cute?

Ayato: Hah!? I mean, yeah, but what’s up with the random confession?

Yui: Eh? Am I not allowed to compliment the most adorable boy in the whole wide world…?

Ayato: Huh—?

Yui: You see, when I look at you like that… you might not be very clear, yet I can’t help but want to protect you…

Ayato: Protect me? D-Don’t say shit like that, it should be the other way around! After all, Ore-sama is the stron—!

(She pinned me down!?)

Yui: Fufu, you’re just so funny when you praise yourself like that…!

Everything about you is so beautiful… your hard yet nicely textured hair, your jade green eyes, your long eyelashes, your ——

Ayato: Tsk, get off me!

— pushes her away —

— Yui falls down —

Yui: Ngh…!

Ayato: …!

Oi! I… I didn’t mean to! Wait, gimme your hand!

— Yui takes his hand and looks up —

Ayato: (Don’t tell me… did that push bring her back to normal? Heh, if that’s so then—)

Yui: Mistletoe…

— puts her hands on his cheeks —

Yui: Holding your face like this makes me realize how soft your cheeks are… They are so round that I wish I could give you more and more Takoyaki until they become even chubbier…!

Ayato: S-Say what—!?

( It’s not like I dislike cheeky women but she’s nuts! )

— Yui gets closer to his lips —

Ayato: …!

*Smooch*

Laito: Fufu, hahaha, look at your face!

Ayato: Oi, Laito! Don’t just stand there staring, help me!

*Smooch*

Laito: Now why would I? After all, I already did you a favor by giving you the gingerbread liquor~!

Ayato: But you— Did you just say gingerbread LIQUOR!?

*Smooch*

Laito: Ex-act-ly! I was simply curious to see what kind of ‘drunk’ Bitch-chan is, and it seems like she’s the honest and horny type.

— takes picture —

Ayato: O-Oi! Don’t you dare to send it to anyone, delete it right now!

Laito: Oh my, look at the time! Now excuse me but I have to take my leave~.

Ayato: You can’t! Save me first!

Laito: Sorry Ayato-kun, no matter how delicious it feels watching you on top of each other while making out in plain sight, I've got better things to do, so... nfu, enjoy while it lasts!

— winks and disappears —

Ayato: You… You bastard! You will pay for this, I swear you wi— Mmh… Mm!

( Now how will I get myself out of THIS situation!? )

( Ugh, that’s what happens when you try helping others. I should have learnt my lesson a long time ago! )

— Yui stops kissing —

Yui: Will Ayato-kun… suck my blood?

Ayato: …!

( Heh, suddenly this doesn’t seem half bad anymore. I might actually grow to like being desired like that~. )

#diabolik lovers #yui komori #dialovers #ayato sakamaki #my edit #ayayui #ayato x yui #admin

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gloryhrs · 8 months ago

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━━ ⟡ 𝓛𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝓑𝐎𝐘𝐒, various.

ᥫ᭡ o. requested by — @normansnt. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

ᥫ᭡ i. ᧔𐓪᧓ 𝐡𝐜𝐬 𝐟𝐭 ━━ kenpachi zaraki, shūhei hisgai, ichigo kurosaki, & kisuke urahara.

ᥫ᭡ ii. ᧔𐓪᧓ trans [ ftm ] reader, fluff + comedy, modern era + everything takes in a non-soul society universe.

❨ KENPACHI ZARAKI. ❩

Kenpachi Zaraki . . . the brutal captain of the 11th Division had a passion for all things that revolve around fighting. But you know what else he has a passion for? You, his husband, and Yachiru, his daughter. He loves his little family and would protect you both till his final breath.

Kenpachi likes what he likes, and he loves you—so he didn’t understand why you were so scared of telling him that you were trans. He will always support you, no matter what the situation is or how bad it gets. When he found out about you being trans he just shrugged his shoulders and asked what was for dinner.

“Kenny? You aren’t mad at me . . . right?” You played with the hem of your kimono sleeves. Once you told your husband about your identity he just stood there . . . No reaction or anything. It was as if his system was rebooting. After what felt like years of silence he finally spoke, “Eh, not really. There’s nothing to be mad about, seriously.” He shrugged as he put his large hands on your shoulders before placing a sweet kiss against your sweaty forehead. “Now, what’s for dinner?”

“Also, I know I shouldn’t ask you this. But is that the reason why your chest was cut off?”

“Yes, Kenny.”

“Well I could’ve save us the money and did that myself!”

When Yachiru found out about the news she was so sweet and supportive. She understood the importance of the situation perfectly and even said you’ll forever be her dad, even if you didn’t give birth to her.

“Look dad! Look at the drawing me and papa made for you!” The little girl smiled sweetly as she held up a drawing that included blue, pink, and white—the trans flag colors. It was a drawing of her and Kenpachi wearing matching shirts that said “We love you Y/n” along while holding the little pride flags in their hands. You couldn’t help but smile brightly and place a little kiss against the girl’s cheek. “Thank you, Yachi. I’m gonna hang this up on the fridge, okay? You and Kenny’s art skills are amazing.”

❨ SHŪHEI HISAGI. ❩

Shūhei thinks of you as his safe space . . . one of the only few people he can be around without having to relax his shoulders every five seconds because he is feeling tense.

He didn’t care about the fact that you were trans, in fact, he thought you were brave. Since you didn’t hide yourself from the world, you weren’t too accepting of people like you. But that didn’t matter to him, he was going to protect you every step of the way, holding your hand without fear.

“I–I’ll still love you. No matter what, babe. Whatever you’re comfortable with, I’m comfortable with. You’re very handsome to me! Haha . . .” Hisagi laughed and nodded his head. He was so supportive in his own weird way, it was cute.

He loves snuggling into your chest like a little kitten after a long day of work. ♡ Each time he got home he would immediately throw his stuff on the ground without having a care in the world.

“Darling, I think your laptop was in there.” You spoke softly as you caressed the back of Shūhei’s head while he rested his cheek against your chest. The man had another stressful day at work and he threw his bag to the floor—you could’ve sworn you heard a slight crack. “It’ll be fine . . . it’s practically indestructible.” He muttered with his eyes closed and his breathing starting to slow down. Instead of aggravating him about it, you only smiled softly and ran your fingers through his hair.

It turns out that did end up breaking his computer and was charged on his tab at work for the incident.

“Damn it . . . (πーπ)”

❨ ICHIGO KUROSAKI. ❩

Ichigo was kinda known for taking certain subjects to heart—his family, friends, and most importantly, you. He knew about your identity since he was fifteen and he never judged you or discriminated against you for it. He would never use hurtful words or do hurtful things to you because he truly loves you with every last bone in his body.

When he’s around, he always makes sure that people use the correct pronouns on you and make sure you don’t feel uncomfortable in any shape or form. He doesn’t care who they are. They will respect you and your identity. When you would often speak up for yourself, you would always get turned down and ignored in the end. Which infuriated him to no end, he hated seeing you sad.

Ichigo's eyes glared holes into the back of the teacher’s head as she continued to refer to you as she and her. He noticed you tried to speak up for yourself but she only ignored you and continued to misgender you in the end—which made you go quiet for the rest of the class period. Once she referred to you as the wrong pronouns that’s when Ichigo decided to step in. “He said, his pronouns are he/him. Why do you keep referring to him as she and her? Did you not hear him the first time he corrected you?” Ichigo frowned while the teacher seemed a bit shocked at his words. “What the hell are you looking stupid for? Can you not hear?”

Since you’re his first boyfriend, he always tries his best to show you that he loves you—even though he can be a bit awkward at times. Good days or bad days, when he visits you, he always brings flowers and favorite snacks. He also has a habit of buying you merch of your favorite things because he just can’t help himself every time he walks by.

“Ichigo? Did you seriously buy me a set of these?” You chuckled at the sight of the jumbo plushie of your favorite animal. The plushie was so soft and fluffy that you couldn’t be upset with him that he spent so much money on it. “Yeah, when I saw it, I couldn’t help myself. It reminded me of you.” He smiled before he pulled out a cute little hairpin of your favorite animals and placed it in your head with a soft kiss to your cheek.

❨ KISUKE URAHARA. ❩

Kisuke wasn’t shocked at the news about your identity. Like Kenpachi, he knows what he likes and isn’t ashamed of it. Love is love, why should he be ashamed of being married to someone who isn’t afraid to express themselves? It didn’t make sense to him—but he didn’t care.

“Oh? Hehe, I guess we’re both husbands now, yeah?” The shop owner poked at your cheek with the end of his fan before covering his red cheeks with it. It was obvious he was flustered at his joke. Instead of getting upset at him about the joke you only smiled softly and playfully punched his shoulder.

Yoruichi is tired of you two deeply. She never saw Kisuke so deeply in love with someone, since he was a bit of a pervert. Every time she sees you both being lovey dovey she can’t help but let out a loud dramatic sigh. Kisuke would often joke around and call her jealous because she didn’t have anyone in her life. And it always resorted to her flipping him off or smacking him in the back of the head because of his smart-ass mouth.

“Why hello my most beautiful, precious, loving, and gorgeous husban—”

“Get a room you freaks!”

“I didn’t even finish my sentence!”

This man was your hype man—you want to show him your new outfit? Give him a show! Did you get a new haircut? He will give you compliments until you get sick of him! This man didn’t know how to stop once he had gotten started. Most of the time, you would never get sick of him and his compliments and pickup lines. Because, unlike most people, you genuinely found him funny. He would often talk like a high-school student just to get a smile on your face.

The moment he walked in on you trying on something new with a frown on your face he just couldn’t hold himself back. The man placed the fan up against his face as he began to speak. “Hey handsome, I guess there is a rainbow today as I just found the treasure I have been searching for.” He started to fan his face in a dramatic manner, which caused a series of laughter to leave your lips. “You like it? I think I got a size too small.” You tugged at the shirt and pants that were a little too tight in certain places. Kisuke, being the pervert he is only wolf-whistled while continuing to fan his pink cheeks. “My dear husband, do you mind doing a slight 360 for me? I would like to see something.”

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wheels-of-despair · 3 months ago

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How to Get a Hot Date Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie and Evil Woman run into a little jock trouble… but she'll snark their way out of it. And into something else. Contains: O'Donnell, an assembly, jocks being jackoffs, Evil Woman snark, discussion of dick size. Words: 1.1k

"Everyone, please make your way to the field for a special assembly," the dull voice of Higgins drones over the intercom.

"What now?" you groan, slamming your book shut and looking at Eddie in exasperation.

He thinks for a moment, narrowing his eyes and racking his brain.

"Aw hell, I think it's time for the Mothers Against Drunk Driving to make the rounds." You raise an eyebrow, and he continues. "They come through every year to tell sad stories about kids who drank and drove and died. Then somebody from the fire department tells stories about scraping bodies off the pavement. Real fun stuff."

"Sounds great," you smile. "Would be a real shame if we got lost on our way to the field."

Eddie grins, and you start shoving your stuff into your backpacks.

"Leave your things here," Mrs. O'Donnell instructs. "We're going as a class and returning here afterwards. Mr. Munson!"

"Yes, Mrs. O'Donnell?" he asks innocently.

"Attendance will be taken again when we return. No disappearing."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mrs. O'Donnell," he says seriously.

She keeps her beady little eyes on him all the way to the field anyway. You settle in on the rickety aluminum bleachers used for sporting events and watch the other classes fill in. If this had been a regular assembly held in the auditorium, Hellfire would have gathered in their usual spot and already been playing cards or something. But you're guessing that due to the serious nature of this one, as opposed to a pep rally or awards assembly, they're going for silence rather than camaraderie.

When everyone is seated and the assistant principal starts the introduction, Eddie starts to fidget. It's a good thing you came prepared. You pull a pen from your pocket and draw a hangman game on the exposed flesh of your leg, thankful that you decided to wear shorts today. Eddie grins, and the game is afoot… eh, a-leg.

Approximately one hour later, your legs are filled with games of hangman (featuring creative phrases such as "Higgins sucks balls" and "we should be fucking in the van right now") and tic-tac-toe. The games take place on your legs. The scoreboard is on Eddie's arm. He's slightly ahead, and being quite smug about it. He smirks and adds another slash to the EDDIE column, making you roll your eyes.

"Do you smell something burning?" you ask suddenly, a strong smoky smell invading your nostrils.

"Just me smoking your ass," he grins.

"No, seriously," you say, looking around. Eddie does too, and pops out of his seat with a yelp.

Eddie's bandana is on fire.

He jerks it out of his pocket and drops it onto the bench, stomping and attracting the attention of everyone in the surrounding rows. They stare curiously or hide snickers behind their hands.

"Munson!" O'Donnell hisses. "SIT!"

Laughter erupts from below. You look just in time to see several green and white blurs streak from beneath the bleachers. The color of sports jerseys and letterman jackets, of course. Eddie sees them too, and his body tenses. He balls his fists.

He takes one step before you reach out and grab him by the belt, tugging him back to you. His ass lands on the aluminum bench with a thump. His face is red. He's fuming.

"Too many eyes," you whisper, wrapping your arms around him.

Eddie huffs out a short breath and reaches for his poor singed bandana. The corner has burned off. He traces the charred edge with a sigh.

"Would you believe me if I told you it looks even more badass now?" you whisper.

He leans his head toward you and knocks it against your own. You keep your arms around him for the rest of the assembly, partially for comfort, but mostly because you're fairly certain that if one of the jocks so much as looks at him, Eddie's going to take a flying leap off the bleachers and come out of it with a murder charge.

The assembly concludes soon after. You manage to get back to class and get your stuff without incident, foolishly thinking that today's drama is over. You're at your shared locker, swapping books and getting ready to meet Hellfire for lunch when something hits Eddie in the back of the head. He flinches, and you both look to the ground.

A matchbook.

"What's for lunch today, boys?" an unmistakably jock-y voice calls from across the hall. You turn to see five of them watching you with nasty smirks on their faces. "Smoked freak?"

"Singed psycho?"

"Charred cunt?"

Eddie's fists clench.

"I wouldn't touch it even if it was charred," one of them laughs. "Even fire can't cleanse whatever Munson's spreading."

Your fingers close around the lapel of Eddie's battle vest. They're trying to provoke him. They want him to get himself expelled before he can graduate. That's all this is. You're not going to let that fucking happen.

"You think she spreads her legs for all of the freaks, or just Munson?"

Eddie's body is beginning to vibrate. Not good.

"Sorry to disappoint you, boys," you say, putting yourself between them and Eddie. "But you must be at least this big to ride The Freak Express." You hold your hand up in a pinching motion, with only a few centimeters between your thumb and forefinger. "I don't believe any of you qualify. I hear they're working on some kind of procedure to help out guys like you, though, so don't give up hope! I'm sure you'll see some action outside the boys' locker room someday!"

"What does that mean?" one of them mumbles to another.

"It means you've all got micro-dicks," Eddie says loudly, his voice echoing through the nearly empty hallway.

"The term micro-dicks seems very generous in this case," you smirk, eyes darting around the hall and planning a hasty retreat.

One of the boys clenches his fists and steps forward, but freezes when a sharp "HEY!" sounds from the end of the hall. All eyes land on Mrs. O'Donnell.

"You two," she huffs, pointing to you and Eddie. "Will be writing me essays about why foul language has no place in Hawkins High this afternoon in detention. And you," she says, turning her focus to the jocks, "have five seconds to get out of my sight, or your coach will be hearing from me."

They scatter. Mrs. O'Donnell gives you each a severe look over the top or her glasses and stomps back into her classroom.

Eddie seethes. De-escalation, stat!

"C'mon, Monster-Cock Munson, let's go get lunch," you say quietly, sliding your arm around his middle. "All this foreplay is making me hungry."

Eddie laughs and slams the locker door shut. He throws an arm around your shoulders and steers you toward the cafeteria.

"Good thinkin'," he says, voice low and lips close to your ear. "Gotta refuel before our hot date with O'Donnell."

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman

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gaylordscooter · 7 months ago

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Where Fate Leads Us

Killer, Dust and Horror were in Killer's room, folding the multitude of clothes.

“don't expect me to do more of the chores around here just because you two offered to help me,” Killer said.

“sure, you'll be too busy with laundry anyway,” Horror chuckled.

“i literally will,” he said in full seriousness. He placed the shirt he folded onto the stack of shirts in his closet that was getting taller than he was standing. “i know i’ve joked that you two ain’t allowed to borrow my clothes—but yeah, please take some of these. i didn't expect there to be this much.”

“eh, it's not my style,” Horror shrugged, holding a pair of ripped jeans.

“horror, bud. please.”

Horror shook his head, “shouldn't have gotten so many clothes, man.”

“i swear nightmare gave me more than i grabbed.”

“that's definitely not true.”

“dust, back me up.”

Dust did not back him up.

Killer sighed, looking at his hubris that was the closet filled to the brim with stacks of clothing. He wouldn't have to do laundry that often if he washed all his clothes once he ran out of clean ones, but that would take so long. Eh, he’ll worry about it later.

They didn't see Nightmare until they started to eat dinner. He arrived without a word, keeping his gaze forward and away from the three as he walked over to the door to the hallway.

Killer dropped his fork upon seeing him.

A good amount of the goop on his body was gone, as if half of his body was washed off. Or scorched off. Something smelled burnt.

What surprised Killer the most was seeing his skull. He was a skeleton and he looked like him. He didn't expect that.

Nightmare spared a quick glance at Killer as he tried to walk faster. His gait was erratic, akin to limping. What little slime there was formed slim tendrils by his legs that he used as support to walk.

The three stayed silent until a few moments after he left.

“he looks younger than me,” Killer said.

But rather than questioning it, the three decided to drop it there.

They didn’t see much of Nightmare until a whole week later.

They were sitting at one of the tables in the Great Hall, conversing with each other. Soon enough the topic steered over to Nightmare.

“nightmare hasn't put us through anything recently, huh? not even a game of uno,” Horror said. Last time there was a dip in activity, he was paranoid, but he was oddly calm about it this time. Seeing Nightmare's other form changed the way he saw him, he supposed. It was easier to personify him. “what do you two think he's up to?”

Dust merely shrugged. Either because he didn't feel like talking or because he really didn't have a clue.

Killer seemed lost in thought, before speaking up, “he apologized.”

“huh?” Horror cocked his head.

“he apologized, for putting us through all that shit. maybe he meant it?” That apology would be worth nothing if he continued to do it, after all. Which is what he was expecting, but it's been a whole week since then and he has yet to tell them to do anything.

“he actually apologized? that's hilarious,” Horror said.

“i think he was being genuine, but i wonder why he’s been out more often.”

The obvious conclusion to this behavior would be that he's planning something, but none of them jumped to it. Perhaps they were beginning to trust him.

They were also all in a good mood today.

Killer was able to get a good night’s sleep and woke up well-rested for once. He had a good breakfast consisting of ungodly amounts of buttered toast, tended to the cats, and now he was hanging out with the other two. It was a solid day.

Dust also appeared to be in a lighter mood. He was chatty by his standards and overall more relaxed. It was like less stuff was on his mind.

Horror didn't feel on edge constantly, almost feeling how he used to before the core went kaput. It was as if he felt safe, almost.

In fact, they’ve been in a good mood this whole past week. If their year-ago selves saw them now they'd find this weird and crazy.

“though, he always comes and goes in such a hurry…”

As if on cue, Nightmare entered the hall, throwing the doors open in a dramatic fashion that called for attention. He only had four tentacles out at the moment. That was half the usual amount.

“Hello,” he greeted. “How has everyone been today?” He has never asked that question before. He was being friendlier, perhaps.

“i’m doin’ good,” Killer answered without a second thought.

“‘m fine,” Horror said.

Dust nodded, indicating he felt the same.

Nightmare hid his smile. “I see, carry on then.” He left the hall, sinking into the ground to reappear in his room.

It was happening.

He felt incredibly weak at the moment, sure, but it would all pay off. He just needed to be patient.

He collapsed on his bed, reverting to his normal “passive” form as the protector of the multiverse called it. He was nearing the end of his plan. He will enact the last step tomorrow. He had to. If his exhaustion was anything to go by, he was running out of time.

The next morning, Killer was first to wake up. Another night of feeling well rested. It was a miracle. He sat up and stretched before getting up to throw on a change of clothes.

He went out to the hall, glancing at Horror and Dust’s doors before heading over to the kitchen.

He opened the pantry only to be met with nothing but chocolate bars. Instead of getting annoyed or mad he laughed.

He shut the pantry and composed himself. Why did he find it funny? Nightmare definitely targeted him with that one—No, it was just coincidence.

It was?

Killer shook his head trying to snap himself out of whatever was happening.

Something was happening, right? Something was off.

Nothing was off. He was just being silly.

He scratched the back of his head, opting to open the fridge.

And there was nothing but ketchup.

He slammed the door shut. Laughter erupted from his metaphorical throat. He ended up collapsing to the floor from how hard he was laughing.

He couldn't breathe. He didn't need to breathe.

But his chest still hurt. No it didn't. He couldn't feel pain.

Everything was fine.

His soul snapped into a target shape. He gasped for air and scrambled up to stand. It was like cold water was dumped onto him.

Something’s wrong, he tested the thought. Nothing came to counter it.

Something was messing with his head. For how long? Oh god, for how long?

Where the hell was Dust and Horror?! He wasn't ever the first to arrive in the kitchen, let alone first to wake up.

A cackle echoed throughout the area as the kitchen warped and twisted. The floorboards underneath him cracked and splintered, revealing dark nothingness beneath. The patterns on the wall had eyes, all glaring at him.

What the fuck was happening?

He choked out a breath, rushing over to the door that led to the hall. The door itself looked normal but when he grabbed the doorknob he couldn't let go of it, as if it grabbed back.

Was he still dreaming? Was this a hallucination?

The door flung open. He still couldn't let go of the handle.

It was Nightmare.

“Good morning, Killer,” he said calmly, as if their surroundings weren't collapsing in on itself. “Leaving the kitchen so soon? You haven't even eaten yet. Was the food not to your liking? But I picked it out just for you.” It sounded like his voice was coming from all directions. It was disorienting to say the least.

His eye, along with the eyes on the walls darted to his soul. He looked disappointed when he noticed its shape. He tsked, “After all the work I’ve put in, the stubborn thing is still unstable?”

“wh-what the hell are you talking about?” he rasped.

Nightmare snatched his soul with one of his hands. He leered down at it like a predator stalking its prey. He molded it with his hands back into the shape of a normal monster soul while Killer keened.

Killer grit his teeth as his emotions hit him at full force. It was now that he realized the unusual happiness he felt these past few days was not normal. That had to be Nightmare's doing.

That's why he thought he trusted him.

“you,” he growled, “you asshole!”

Nightmare merely drank up his anger with an amused expression. “Yes? Is that anything new?” he asked.

“fuck you!”

“Using big boy words now, aren't we?”

“i hate you.”

Nightmare was unfazed by the comment. “Tell me something I don't know.”

The door, along with the handle keeping Killer captive, suddenly disappeared. However, he still couldn't move. It was like he had sleep paralysis.

But unfortunately, he knew the demon was real.

“Do you want to know something funny? It isn’t just that I gain energy from negativity, positive emotions hurt. They sting like pouring acid on a wound as you wrench it open. But it was all worth enduring just to see the look of betrayal on your face.”

He was foolish. He was an idiot. He was an utter idiot!

Nightmare's smile spread impossibly wide across his face, curling up at the edges as he took in all of Killer's anguish. He was reveling in it.

“The best part, you were right to be untrusting. And then you second guessed yourself, leading to your downfall. It's pathetically hilarious.”

Killer wanted to wipe that smug face off so badly.

“I may not be able to force people to be happy like my brother, but I can maintain what is there by taking away your ability to feel anything negative. Isn't that fascinating? Your happiness was real. I tore that away from you.”

He felt sick. He felt utterly sick.

“I wonder. Do you think you three were the first ones?”

There was too much liquid determination leaking from his sockets. He retched, leaving a puddle on the torn up ground. He coughed more out, trying to prevent himself from choking on it.

Nightmare watched the display in amusement. He leaned down, reaching a hand out to caress the side of his face in a false display of affection. “Oh, Killer,” he cooed, voice sickly sweet, “You're getting my floors dirty.”

His touch was painful. It trudged up old and awful memories. He imagined that this is what everyone he killed felt when he dealt the final blow. With effort, he managed to tilt his head away from his hand.

Nightmare withdrew his hand, wiping it on his cloak as if Killer was covered in dirt.

“Oh mortals, so easy to fool. You pretend not to know things, ask questions and suddenly you seem less of a threat. He's ignorant to the world. So innocent. Surely he’s just misguided.”

Killer’s breath hitched. He tried not to break down in front of him. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. He couldn't. Usually it was second nature to suppress his emotions, but it was too much now.

God, it was all an act for a false sense of security. He played with them like dolls and now he was tossing them out. What was going to happen now? Was he going to kill him?

Back then he wouldn't have cared about that. But now, he wanted to live. He had people he cared about again.

Did he already kill Dust and Horror?

“You're crying,” he said with false concern. “Be grateful you're able to. The others and your cats didn't even have the chance to.”

“NO!” Killer cried at the implications. The dam broke as he sobbed audibly. He clutched at his head, digging his fingers into his skull. He was hyperventilating. “no, you didn't. you didn’t—no.” He collapsed to his knees, shaking as he repeated his words of disbelief.

“You're alone, Killer,” he said in a tone that was a mockery of comfort. His sadness was euphoric. “You know, you were always my favorite out of the bunch.”

Killer was hardly listening now, too wracked with grief to hear.

“Because I knew how satisfying it would be to build you back up, just to tear you down again.”

And it was satisfying. Killer served him a mess of emotions in a cocktail just for him.

This is what he wanted. This is what he was made for. Was the multiverse finally happy with him?

Everything went dark. Killer shut his eye sockets tight and braced himself for certain death.

“Goodbye,” Nightmare growled.

When he opened them, he saw white. He had to blink his sockets until they adjusted to the brightness. Was this the afterlife? It was so empty.

And quiet.

He stayed on the ground, unable to find the effort to stand. So that was it, huh? He thought he was given a second chance. He was given back control over his life—but that was just a mere illusion. They were all his puppets in the end. He was just good at hiding their strings.

He couldn’t deny the sense of betrayal he felt. It was funny, he knew he couldn’t trust him.

He was still crying. There was a stain on the ground now created by the liquid determination pouring from his sockets.

He remembered when he thought dying would bring him peace, but now he was mourning all the things he was unable to do. He already missed Dust and Horror.

He laid on the ground for a little while, numb to the passage of time.

“—and there's the third. Hey man, you good?” A voice spoke.

Killer jolted and staggered to his feet. He looked around the area frantically, not finding anyone nearby—until he looked down. He screamed and backed away on instinct.

It was another skeleton, notably shorter than him, but still looked like a Sans regardless. However, this one dressed drastically different from any Sans he’s seen. He wore a scarf around his neck, some kind of crop top over a white tank top, long brown gloves that only covered his ring and pinky finger, and a brown jumpsuit worn like pants with the sleeves tied around his waist. It was safe to say he was a fashion disaster.

He raised his hands to show he was empty handed and meant no harm. “It's okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

The way he spoke reminded Killer of how he’d talk to a scared cat. Another sharp pang hit his soul as he remembered that he’ll never be able to see his cats again. “who the hell are you?” he asked, voice raw from all his screaming.

The skeleton looked confused at the question but answered anyway, “The name’s ink.” He did a dorky pose where he pointed to himself as he said that.

“so i’m not dead?” he questioned aloud.

“I sure hope you aren't. Your friends would be sad.”

Killer narrowed his eyes warily. “what friends?”

“Two sanses like you, one had a red eye and the other had his hood covering his face. They asked if i saw you.”

“when did you see them?! they're alive?” Hope kindled in his soul before he had the chance to be cautious.

“They are. I took them over to the hub just a bit ago,” Ink explained. “I can take you to them.”

“please!” Killer hastily said. He didn't even know what the “hub” was but all he knew is that he needed to get over to Dust and Horror now.

He reached his hand out to him.

Killer grabbed it without hesitation.

Ink’s scarves moved like prehensile tails and painted the ground beneath them which promptly turned into a hole.

The two of them fell, startling Killer, but fortunately once they got close to the ground, Ink slowed their fall by floating somehow.

He let go of his hand once they landed.

They were in a whole different world. His eye sockets widened. He looked around the new area and saw a multitude of unfamiliar people.

“killer?”

He whipped his head in the direction of the voice. His face lit up upon seeing Horror and Dust. “guys!” he shouted. He bolted over to the two, tackling them down into a hug.

“you're both alive!” he exclaimed. He clung to the two of them like a koala. “i thought nightmare killed you guys.”

“we thought nightmare killed you.” Horror patted his back comfortingly while Dust simply hugged him back.

Killer ended the hug and stood up after a bit, helping the two up. “i’m so glad it was a bluff,” he said in relief. “fuck, what an asshole.”

“what did he do to you? it looks like you were doused with black paint.”

Killer glanced down at his clothes. Sure enough there were black stains. He didn't really want to think about what happened, but even as he did he found it hard to describe. “well, first of all, everything was fucked up like i was having a bad trip, and then he gloated about killing you two and then i thought he killed me.” It was a really poor summary, but he believed he got the point across.

“and what’s up with all that?” Horror gestured to the black stains that trailed from his face to his shirt.

“i threw up,” Killer said, trying to wipe off the dried determination near his teeth.

Horror absentmindedly wiped his own shirt. He was transparently concerned.

“Woah woah woah, what the hell are these three doing here?!” a new voice shouted.

The three of them snapped their attention to the unfamiliar person, making him freeze in place as a result.

Killer noticed that Ink was next to him.

He was yet another Sans, slightly taller than Ink but shorter than the three of them. He wore a torn-up lab coat over a blue-gray shirt, navy blue pants, blueish-green gloves and boots of supposedly the same rubber-like material. He also wore a bandana the same color as his boots and gloves around his neck.

In short, he looked like a nerd.

Ink told him something too quietly for them to catch.

The nerd-looking Sans, gave them a weird look before daring to walk over to them with Ink trailing behind. He reached his hand out for a handshake. “Hi,” he said simply.

No one made a move to return the handshake.

“Don't any of you know how to greet a new pal?” The way he said that felt practiced. And then he snickered and dropped his hand. “So none of you remember those times you almost killed me? Cool. That's great. The name’s Blue.”

The three exchanged glances amongst themselves, seeing if any of them recognized this “Blue”. Nope, none of them did.

None of them felt inclined to introduce themselves either.

Blue tugged at his bandana awkwardly and then swiveled around to Ink. “do they have to be here?”

Ink rolled his eyelights. “Yes, it's a thing.”

“Like how Dream bursting into flames and turning into some eldritch angel for a bit was a thing?”

Ink didn't even have to reply.

“Of course it is,” he sighed. He turned back around. “Anyway!” The increase in volume made the three flinch, but Blue didn't seem to notice. “Welcome to the hub! This is a place of refuge for people who’s universes have been destroyed or sucked badly, et cetera, et cetera, don't kill anyone here and you'll be provided a home along with food and water, probably.”

They were all disoriented by this change of pace. So they really were just going to live somewhere completely different now. Said somewhere being populated with many other people.

This was definitely going to take some getting used to.

Horror looked uncertain while Dust looked uncomfortable. Killer, on the other hand, looked elated.

“guys this means we're free. we’re free from nightmare!” he realized. “you're not gonna torture us, are you?” he asked Blue.

“Oh god no,” he replied, sounding repulsed.

Killer pumped his fist in the air as if that was a plus instead of the bare minimum.

Blue looked to the side awkwardly. “So then, Ink here will find you guys a place to stay and if you have any questions you can ask me, or Cross and Chara. Those two are the ones who founded the place after all, but they aren't here right now, unfortunately.”

“where can we get some food?” Killer asked. Hunger decided to hit him now and it was likely Dust and Horror were hungry too. None of them got to eat breakfast, to his knowledge.

“Oh, there's a Grillby’s—”

“anything but a grillby’s?” he sounded a bit desperate asking that.

“I gotcha covered!” Ink chimed in, nudging Blue aside. “I can get you guys whatever you want. I’ll get you guys a room first. Follow me.” He walked off towards the buildings in the distance.

There were a lot of other people around the area. A good amount were also skeletons. For the most part, they’d mind their own business, only glancing at them from time to time as they followed Ink.

Dust avoided looking at everyone, especially trying to make himself look small when nearing a Papyrus.

At one point Horror came to a sudden halt with a horrified expression.

There was an Undyne and Alphys, the two clearly together, nearby.

“what? you hate love or something?” Killer snickered.

Horror pulled his tattered hood on. “don't joke with me right now, killer,” he grumbled.

Killer went quiet and kept his head down. He hoped they were almost there. He kept looking at the buildings as they walked along trying to find one that looked remotely like the place they would stay. He realized that, while Horror and Dust seemed bothered by seeing different versions of people they knew, he saw all of these guys as mere strangers. Try as he might, when he sees a Papyrus he doesn't feel anything and can only go off of vague memories to know that he should be feeling something more.

He hesitated to kill his Papyrus. Why did he look at these other versions of him and feel nothing towards them?

He remembered when Nightmare brought a Papyrus to the castle and when they hugged. He didn't feel that much back then either, but he chalked that up to his soul being on the fritz.

“We're here!” Ink finally said. “Well, this is where Horror’ll stay—if you guys want to be separate, that is.”

The building they were in front of looked like an actual house rather than an apartment.

“how the hell do you know my name?”

“Your brother told me, duh,” Ink said as if he should’ve known already.

“my brother?! is he here?” Horror questioned. He looked like he’d strangle Ink if he was joking with him.

Ink pointed to the building with his thumb. “He’s living in there with a few others from your world. I think he's in there right now.”

Horror approached the door and knocked.

“Who’s there?”

That was Toriel’s voice.

“amish,” he answered.

“Amish who?”

“I missed you too.”

Toriel laughed, thankfully. He was pretty rusty on his knock knock jokes. He wasn't sure that one would land.

The door opened a few seconds later.

Toriel looked healthier and less burdened. Her fur was well taken care of rather than matted like it was the last time he saw her. She also had new robes that were much more vibrant in color. She smiled fondly at him. “Hello, Sans.”

He couldn't believe this was real. “heya, toriel.”

He heard a stampede coming from behind her as the whole gang from Grillby’s went up to the door. A chorus of “Sans!” rang out.

“‘sup, guys?” He was surprised to see that all of them were staying in the house.

Many of them were saying things like “we thought you died” and “where the hell have you been?”.

Everyone looked a lot livelier.

Papyrus managed to push himself out from the crowd, Toriel stepping aside to let him get closer to his brother.

Papyrus looked more like his old self. There weren't any more blood stains on him, but his teeth were still crooked. His outfit was completely different. He was wearing what appeared to be a red-orange knitted sweater with the text “Cool Dude” embroidered in white in the middle of it. His jagged neck was exposed without his cape on.

Soon enough, Sans was off the ground and lifted into the air by Papyrus as he brought him into a tight hug. “I KNEW I’D SEE YOU AGAIN!” he said excitedly.

“missed you too, bro. i hope you weren't too bonely without me.”

Papyrus let out a sob at his joke, but not in annoyance but rather joy.

“you good?”

“I MISSED YOUR PUNS,” he admitted. “IT WASN’T THE SAME WHEN TORIEL WOULD MAKE THEM.”

“you dead serious? of corpse toriel can't hold a candle to me, she’s just not as humerus. no body’s funnier than a skeleton like me.”

Toriel snickered at his rapid-fire jokes.

“AND IT’S WORN OFF! I NO LONGER MISS THEM,” he said lightheartedly. He set Sans down carefully. “WOWIE, YOUR CLOTHES SURE ARE…SOMETHING.”

Right, he practically was dressed in tattered rags.

“I THINK I HAVE SOME OF YOUR CLOTHES PACKED IN MY ROOM. DOGARESSA SAID I WAS OVER PACKING BUT I KNEW I WAS RIGHT TO BRING THEM!” he raised his voice even louder as he mentioned Dogaressa. “COME INSIDE, I’LL SHOW YOU OUR ROOM!” Papyrus walked back inside the house eagerly.

Sans smiled but paused before taking a step in. He looked back to Dust and Killer, who were watching his reunion.

“Are those friends of yours?” Toriel asked.

Friends. He doesn't think any of them have called each other a friend before.

“uh, yeah,” he said quietly.

“Why not introduce them to us?” she suggested.

He never thought about the possibility of introducing Killer and Dust to them. He wasn't sure how something like that would go. Their names themselves would be off-putting. He motioned for them to come over.

They looked hesitant, as if they weren't sure if he really did want them to come over. Eventually, they bit the bullet and started walking over.

“Hello there,” Toriel greeted. “I take it, you two are friends of Sans?”

Man, they've killed different versions of everyone inside that house, Killer thought awkwardly. “yup, the name’s killer.”

She seemed to be more concerned with his odd soul than his name. To her credit, she didn't question either. “My name is Toriel, it is nice to meet you.” She looked at Dust, who was probably sweating bullets underneath his hood. “And you are?”

Dust kept his hands in his pockets and his gaze downward as if the ground was very interesting.

“oh uh, he doesn't talk. we call him…” Killer desperately tried to think of any other name to call him that didn’t literally mean corpse. “dusk.”

“It is nice to meet you as well, Dusk.”

“Nice of you guys to get acquainted,” Ink said, appearing behind the two skeletons. “Now if you don't mind, you two, we gotta get a move on. I’m a busy skeleton.”

“right, we’ll see you around,” Killer said. “bye, h—sans.”

Sans waved goodbye and went inside the house after his brother.

“Farewell,” Toriel said and then closed the door.

Ink led them to a hotel building a few blocks away from the house. The walk was quiet and lackluster.

That is, until Killer realized something. “hang on.”

“Hm?”

“you said horror’s brother told you his name.”

“Yup!” he confirmed.

“Horror’s brother doesn't know he's called that.”

Ink looked like he was caught robbing a bank, and then he laughed it off. “Wow, it took you that long to notice that? Anyway,” he gestured to the hotel, “this is where you two will be staying.”

“don’t just change topics—”

“I don't have time to explain to you who I am and how I know literally everything about you. Like how you're gonna ask me if you're gonna share a room with Dusk and then you'll get sad when I tell you ‘well I did have two rooms prepared’ and then stupidly happy when I say ‘but if you want you guys can share a room’.”

Killer looked mortified. What the hell was this guy’s deal? Could he see the future?

Ink handed him a key. “Anyway, here's your room key, it's on the second floor. Yes there's two beds but I doubt you need the extra one—”

“hey.”

“Have fun.” His scarf painted a hole in the ground and he jumped into it.

Killer sighed, inspecting the key in his hand. It had the room number on it, fortunately. “c’mon, man,” he said to Dust.

The two of them walked into the hotel, which thankfully didn't have anyone in the lobby at the moment. They were able to get in their room without any interruptions.

The moment Killer locked the door shut, Dust threw himself onto one of the beds with a sigh.

“how you holding up, dust?”

“don't call me that,” he muttered angrily.

“oh.” He went over to sit on the other bed, proving Ink wrong. “so is ‘dusk’ fine?”

He didn't protest, so he assumed it was a yes. It was funny, they hardly sounded different. In fact, Killer came up with that name because it sounded similar.

Was it because of the meaning behind the words or because of the person who gave him the name that made the difference? Killer knew it was more likely to be the former.

Dusk laid on the bed lifelessly, as if he was an actual dead skeleton.

Killer couldn't blame him. The only reason he wasn't breaking down was because someone else was in the room, and he was getting tired of all this emotional turmoil.

He heard a knock at the door. “i’m going to stab whoever's outside if you don't make like a tree and fuck off,” he threatened.

“Geez! I just brought you guys some food. It's lumpia. I’ll leave it at the door,” that sounded like Blue.

Killer waited a bit until he got up to open the door. There was a bag of takeout on the ground. He picked it up and shut the door, locking it again.

Inside the containers was a food he didn't recognize. thank god, he would've snapped if it was Grillby’s. He left one of the containers on Dusk’s bedside counter.

He ate like a starving animal, pleased to find out that the “lumpia”, as Blue called it, was pretty good. Honestly, he’d eat literal dirt but that didn't stop him from appreciating well-cooked food.

He heard Dusk sit up and grab the container on his bedside counter.

They ate in silence for a bit.

“i’m glad you're not dead,” Dusk said eventually.

Killer snickered, “me too.” He realized how that came out. “i’m also glad that you're alive, i mean.”

He saw him smiling underneath his hood.

“i dunno if my cats are okay, though. even if he doesn't hurt them directly…who's gonna take care of them?” His smile faltered.

Dusk put the container back and got up to sit next to him. He thought of what to say. He wasn’t that good at comforting people in the past and he definitely wasn’t good at it now. “they were strays, right? they’ll probably be able to fend for themselves.”

“god, i hope so.” That wasn’t even taking into account the possibility that Nightmare himself will hurt them. Killer supposed he never explicitly said he killed anyone, and the other two turned out to be fine, but that didn’t stop him from fearing the worst.

He felt Dusk’s arm awkwardly wrap around him. Instinctively he turned to hug him back.

Maybe they’ll end up okay.

#utmv fic #nightmare sans #killer sans #horror sans #dust sans

175 notes · View notes

nyctoaerah · 7 months ago

Note

YOU WRITE SO GOOD, LIKE HELLO??? YOUR WRITING STYLE IS SO GORGEOUS AND YUMMY, LIKE CAN I EAT IT? PLS PLS PLS??? But no joke, your writing style is literally so gorgeous 😭 like it's so detailed and all? How do you do that??😵‍💫 The gore?? The emotions? The wording?? Gosh, please take my money and enslave me queen, i am nothing but a loyal servant that shall kiss the ground that you step on🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏾‍♀️BTW, can i get some jjk fanfics recommendations?? You write so good so you probably read good stuff too hehe😈

Dang, you're boosting my ego, pooks, and that’s not good ‘cause i have a high ego n’ i’m a Satoru kinnie /j

Thanks for the love! Just gotta let those words spill out, you know? Honestly, it’s all about pouring my heart into it and letting the words flow💀💀 and I feel more comfortable with writing things this way and i have high standards in writing so i tend to make it descriptive since I’m having a hard time understanding things if it's too simple and not detailed😔😔😔 it’s a struggle yk?

BUT STILL, THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE AGAIN ANONNN,AAAAAA ILY🥹🫶🏻🫶🏻 YOU’VE SERIOUSLY MADE MY DAY!!🫶🏻😚

Sending loads of love and kisses to youuu🫶🏻

Here’s my recommendations, and I swear you won’t regret reading them cause they’re all top tiers!

Corpse Darling —this one is my FAV broo, made me cry and made me go through roller coaster of emotions frr, it’s written SO WELL, and it’s so elegant, the writing style is gorg and everything+ a must if you like reading abt male readers🫶🏻 IF YOU LIKE READING ANGSTY BOOKS THEN THIS!! (kagura is literally the best!!)

The Contortionist — LITERALLY SO GOOD, LIKE THE EMOTIONS, THE READER IS SO FUNNY AT THIS AND IS OVERALL A VERY GOOD BOOK RAHHH

The Fuck List— ONE OF MY FAVORITES TOO,IF YA LIKE THEM SMUTTY FICS THEN THIS IS FOR YOUU! EVERYTHING IN THIS IS LITERALLY A 5 STAR MEAL, I’M TELLIN’ YOU!!

Other Husband — This one is so good too, one of my favs fr fr, AAAA SUGURU’S SO HOT IN THIS 😍😍 IF YOU LOVE CORALINE TOO THEN THIS IS A MUST READ!!

Love Bombing— I SWEAR, the mc of this is different and refreshing, and karma is real in this + it’s written very well and i’m literally hooked (I’m watching you blade, ya better gimme my kagehikari @terrorbladewho )

Tsunami & Bloodflood— TOTALLY MY FAVORITE, IF YOU’RE INTO AN UNHINGED MEN AND YOU’RE INTO MC’S WHO WERE WEAK AT FIRST THEN PROCEEDS TO GET STRONGER, THEN THIS IS A MUST!! THE YANDERE’S IN THIS R SO GOOD, YOU WON’T REGRET READING THIS 🫶🏻 A MUST IF YOU LIKE OC FICS🫶🏻🫶🏻

Hollow Element— This is so good too + it’s written so well and is an overall a gorgeous fanfic aaa, one of the best JJK FICS THAT I HAVE READ

Cursed Prisoner— THIS ONE IS SO GOOD LIKE, EVERYTHING AND IS MY FAV TOO, LIKE, IF YOU’RE INTO READER INSERTS WHERE THEY’RE A CERTAIN CHARACTER (LIKE FOR EXAMPLE; MITSURI! READER) OR SOMETHING, THEM THIS IS FOR YOU

Otherwordly Attraction— THIS ONE IS JUST *CHEF’S KISS* IF YOU LOVE ISEKAI TROPES THEN THIS ONE IS FOR YOU!

Runaways— IF YOU'RE INTO CROSSOVERS THEN THIS IS A MUST READ!

EHE THEY’RE ALL MY FAVS<33 if you want to read some other fics that aren’t jjk then just check my library on quotev and reading list on wattpad hehe🫶🏻 THAT’S ALL, LOVE YA POOKS.

#夜nycto.ans #夜aerah.recs

127 notes · View notes

ducktoo · 2 months ago

Text

Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

20. Kabe-down

Note: this is so dumb lmao

Masterlist here

It had been a whirlwind month leading up to the release of “Supernova,” aespa’s next major comeback. Every day had been packed with rehearsals, recordings, interviews, and meetings. Y/n had barely had time to breathe, let alone recover fully from the tension of the previous weeks.

Though things between him and the group had patched up after their argument, the stress was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

The comeback was only a few days away, and the pressure of everything coming together had everyone on edge. Y/n had late nights going over scheduling details, answering last-minute requests from staff, and reviewing their choreography for any final adjustments. Though exhausted, he couldn’t help but feel proud of how far they had come.

But today was different. Today was a rare, precious day off. No rehearsals, no interviews, no meetings. Just a day to unwind before the final sprint toward the comeback. The atmosphere at the dorm was strangely quiet for a group that usually thrived on chaos, and Y/n thought they might actually take the time to relax.

At least, that’s what he thought.

“Jung Y/n!” Ningning’s voice pierced the quiet of the dorm, shattering his brief moment of peace.

Y/n didn’t even bother looking up from the screen, his voice dripping with resignation. “Yea Ning?”

Before he could get a proper answer, Winter popped her head into the room, grinning mischievously. “You’ve been on that game all morning. Time to earn your keep, idiot.”

Y/n groaned, but still paused the game, fully aware that ignoring Winter and Ningning was a fool’s errand. “Can’t a guy get some downtime before things go crazy again?”

Winter smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Downtime? You’ve been checking your emails and gaming every five minutes. This isn’t downtime.”

Caught red-handed, Y/n let out a defeated sigh. “Alright, what’s the next disaster this time?”

Ningning stepped into the room with a flourish, dragging a whiteboard behind her, already filled with scrawled text. “We figured it’s time for some fun! Behold, the Day Off Challenge Series!”

“…seriously?”

“Cmon! Just hang out with us please?” Ningning pleaded. “Just a fun way to amend after that whole thing.”

“But thi-.. Ah whatever. Does sound funny now that I think about it.”

Y/n stood up reluctantly, walking into the living room where the rest of the girls were gathered. Karina and Giselle were lounging on the couch, watching with amused anticipation as Ningning set up the board.

“We’ve got a list of challenges,” Karina explained, gesturing to the board with a sly grin. “And you, Y/n, are not getting out of it.”

“Since when I can..”

Giselle, stretching her arms lazily, laughed. “Besides, we need to lighten the mood before the big comeback. You’ve been way too serious lately, Y/n.”

“…we could’ve just played Uno.”

“Eh. Too boring. Pass.” Giselle waved off.

Y/n eyed the whiteboard and spotted one challenge in particular that made him cringe: Kabedon Challenge. Scribbled in Ningning’s unmistakably messy handwriting, it was clear they had something up their sleeves.

“Ning, one, fix your handwriting. Two, really? Kabedon?” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at them. “How is that supposed to be relaxing?”

Winter smirked, stepping closer. “It’s trending, and it’s fun! Besides, it’s harmless.”

“It’s not even trending…”

“Tsk. Whatever, Aeri-unnie just wanna see some spicy stuff apparently.”

“Nice of you to throw me under the bus, Minjeong.” Giselle glared.

Y/n let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his hands up. “Harmless for you guys, maybe…”

Karina stood up and walked over to him, her expression unreadable. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Y/n. Come on, first round—me.”

Y/n stared at her for a second, almost reconsidering the whole situation. “Is this an undercover to get Rina and me to make up from that fight again? I told you we're cool now”

Ningning beamed, already recording on her phone. “Yes! And also it's just funny so do it!”

Y/n sighed. “Please don’t rocket punch me, Rina-ya.”

“No promise, mister.”

Resigned to his fate, Y/n stepped forward. He placed one hand on the wall beside Karina’s head, leaned in slightly, and did his best attempt at a dramatic kabedon. His face was inches from hers, their eyes locked.

But Karina didn’t even blink. Her expression remained neutral, even bored. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Y/n pulled back, blinking in confusion. “Tsk. Your face card is too strong that I can barely do anything!”

“Make no sense but whatever”. Karina shrugged, crossing her arms. “Try harder next time, Y/n. You’re going to need more than that to impress me.”

Giselle burst into laughter from the couch. “She’s right, Y/n. You’ll need to crank up the intensity to crack the ice queen.”

Y/n shook his head, stepping away from Karina. “Alright, I give up. You win this round.”

Before he could retreat to the safety of the couch, Winter stepped forward, blocking his path with a mischievous grin on her face. “Wait a minute. My turn!”

“You?” Y/n stared at her, blinking in disbelief. “You want me to do the kabedon thing on you too?”

Winter leaned casually against the wall, tilting her head with a playful glint in her eyes. “Come on, idiot. Let’s see if you can handle me.”

“Uh…” Y/n glanced at the others for some kind of lifeline, but they were all watching with anticipation. He couldn’t back out now. “Alright, fine.”

He stepped toward Winter, but something about this felt… different. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, or maybe it was because the atmosphere had shifted since the Karina challenge. Either way, as he approached, he felt the tension rise.

Y/n placed his hand on the wall beside Winter’s head and leaned in, close enough to feel her breath on his skin. The playful grin on her face faltered, replaced with something more serious.

Winter blinked, her gaze shifting between Y/n’s face and his hand. Her cheeks flushed just the slightest bit. “Okay… you’re not going easy on me, huh?”

Y/n smirked, his voice lower than usual. “You told me not to.”

Maybe because he ignored everything around them, but his sense was extremely heightened. Her cheeks were beat red. It seemed like she used the perfume he got for her after the recent tension. Her breathing went in tandem with his racing heartbeat.

For a second, neither of them said anything. The room, usually filled with the girls’ teasing remarks and laughter, was now eerily quiet. Even Karina, the so-called ice queen, watched with wide eyes, sensing the sudden shift in energy.

“Uh… guys?” Ningning whispered, her eyes darting between Winter and Y/n. “This is getting kinda… spicy.”

Y/n was about to pull away, feeling the weight of the moment, but Winter reached up, lightly grabbing the collar of his jacket. Her voice was softer than before.

“Ya… don’t back out now.”

If this was in the hospital, his monitor would be a straight line after that bombshell.

Before Y/n could respond, Ningning’s loud, teasing whistle broke the tension. “Woo! Y/n, you’ve got game!”

Winter quickly let go of his sleeve, her face turning a shade redder than before. She cleared her throat, trying to play it off. “Okay, okay, maybe you win this one.”

Y/n took a step back, laughing awkwardly to diffuse the situation. “Alright, enough of this. Can I please go back to the couch?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s enough!” Ningning shouted, breaking the moment with a loud laugh. “Winter’s getting flustered!”

Winter quickly straightened up, clearing her throat. “I’m not flustered! It’s just a game.”

But her flushed cheeks betrayed her words, and even Karina couldn’t help but chuckle. “Looks like you’re not as tough as you thought, Winter.”

Winter shot her a glare, but before she could respond, Ningning raised her hand. “My turn!”

Y/n rubbed the back of his neck, giving a half-hearted laugh. “Are you guys really all going to do this?”

Ningning didn’t answer; she just marched up to the wall, positioning herself with an exaggerated pose, ready for her turn. “Come on, Y/n. You’ve got to do this one right.”

“But my co-“

“Shush, Jung Y/n, and let me have my fun!”

He stepped forward, feeling like this was the weirdest day off he’d ever had. He placed his hand against the wall, trying to keep things light. But Ningning, true to her chaotic nature, had other ideas. As soon as he leaned in, she let out a dramatic gasp and clutched her chest, making it seem like she was in some cheesy drama.

“Oh no, Y/n, what are you doing to me?” Ningning wailed, throwing in some fake tears for effect.

Y/n couldn’t help but burst into laughter, stepping back with a grin. “Ning, you fcking Kdrama addict.”

Giselle, barely holding in her laughter, waved her hand from the couch. “That was more dramatic than actual dramas, Ningning.”

Ningning stood up straight, dusting off her shirt. “I live for the drama, thank you very much.”

Finally, all eyes turned to Giselle. She grinned, shaking her head. “I’ll pass. No way I’m getting roped into this.”

But Ningning wasn’t having it. “No way! If I had to do it, you have to too. Come on, Aeri-unnie, take one for the team.”

With a sigh of resignation, Giselle stood up, making her way to the wall. “Fine, but I’m not making it easy.”

Y/n, by now feeling like an (self-claimed) expert in kabedon, stepped up once again. He braced himself against the wall, leaning in toward Giselle. Her eyes narrowed as she stared him down, refusing to let him fluster her.

“Is this supposed to be intimidating?” Giselle asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because it’s not working.”

Y/n chuckled. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m not cut out for this.”

Before he could pull back, though, Giselle leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between them just enough to make Y/n freeze. “This is how you do one, boy.”

Before he could react, Giselle’s boldness had gone just a little too far for one person in the room. “I-I…”

Without missing a beat, Winter, sitting nearby, narrowed her eyes at the sight. The playful atmosphere turned slightly competitive in her head. Her gaze flicked to Giselle, then back to Y/n, and without a word, Winter stood up and stealthily made her way toward them.

Just as Giselle seemed ready to continue her teasing, Winter stepped in and, with no hesitation, pinched Giselle’s arm.

Hard.

“Ow! What the—” Giselle jumped, pulling back from Y/n as she rubbed her arm. “What was that for?”

Winter didn’t bother with an explanation. Instead, she crossed her arms and shot Giselle a look. “You were getting too close, unnie.”

Giselle raised an eyebrow, surprised by Winter’s sudden interference. "Jealous much?"

Winter, though slightly flushed, kept her cool, or at least tried to. "No….Just keeping things in check. I’m the only one allowed to make him flustered."

Ningning cackled at the scene, pointing between Winter and Giselle. "Oho, look at this! Jealous Winter is out here protecting Y/n like a guard dog."

Y/n blinked, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. “Wait, what? Why does it feel like I’m caught in some sort of territorial dispute?”

Karina, leaning against the arm of the couch with a smirk, chimed in, “Looks like someone’s a little possessive today, huh, Winter?”

Winter shrugged, her cheeks a little pinker than usual. “Tsk. Just making sure things don’t get out of hand. That’s all.”

Giselle, still rubbing her arm, shook her head with a laugh. “Fine, fine. I’ll back off. But you didn’t have to pinch me so hard.”

Y/n let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I feel like I should be worried about you all at this point."

Winter flashed him a satisfied smile, happy to have ended the kabedon challenge before it escalated further with Giselle. “You should be more worried about yourself, idiot . You’re not as smooth as you think.”

The room erupted in laughter again, with Ningning still poking fun at the situation, but Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that this playful banter between Winter and Giselle might not be over anytime soon.

For now, though, it was just another ridiculous day in the dorm—a break from the intensity of their upcoming comeback, but with a bit of chaos to keep things interesting.

“Alright.” Karina clapped. “While Minjeong is still being jelly, time for Y/n to get kabedoned back.”

“Wait, what-“

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