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imagine-notnatural · 2 months ago

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In my head Johnny is overly dramatic when he’s feeling sick. I'd say 'dont look at me, i dont make the rules' but in this case i do. Also im funny ( im not)

Part six:

No one thought you’d go through with your plans of revenge. No one. Hell, even you didn’t think you were going to go on with it after you’d cooled off. That was until you had to go home early to wash off after your uniform had gotten puked on. And so did your emergency uniform. And also your only set of work boots. Yeah…

You were borderline convinced a new virus had spread and it was only ever activated in your presence becAUSE HOW?!

then you learned that the rookies were coming from training w the 141… yeah that was it

The two sergeants began noting minor inconveniences they figured it was coincidental. It genuinely started as little things. Johnny had been laughing at your peril, saying how a little bit of puke was bringing you down…

He was going to be the first to get it. You’d told him so.

“Just watch,” you said casually. The blank stare that accompanied your knowing tone made him laugh.

"Aye, I'll be watch'n- watch'n you clear off anotha poor bastards guts offa wall"

Oh yeah... getting it good...

At first it was little things: drinks spilling on them at the bar, no luck picking up flings, missing targets they’d normally hit with their eyes closed, picking up extra drills, extra paperwork

Then, the following days, it was as if Johnny could smell the piss off a grasshopper’s ass. Everything was nauseating, and he struggled not to gag around even the blandest of the cafeteria food. His saving grace was the only food he actively hated. No overly pungent smell, nothing of the sort- just his genuine distaste for it. If he wasn't busy over a toilet, he'd be busy going to and from the medical building. The man had gotten so dehydrated he'd been given a banana bag by the medical staff, and he'd even been given a day's rest.

Kyle always had something by in his shoes. He’d been through worse, more serious pains, honestly, but it was driving him insane that in every change of socks, no matter which pair of boots he wore, after he’d finished tying his laces, he’d be on his feet and like clockwork something would poke and prod at his feet. Never both at the same time, but always one. Then he’d unlace his boots to check for a cause and he’d find nothing.

There were times recruits would see him walking normally, just to suddenly fold in on himself and rip his boot off angrily. Shaking the thing like it owed him money.

“Sarg, everything alright?” Someone would ask,

“Damn it- Yes, private yes!” Garrick would be hopping on a single foot

“Being in America is getting to the guy-“ another would whisper as they’d walk off into the distance

Then Ghost started being affected too. Shit was disappearing on him or just straight he never got something.

The spoon he’d set aside on his plate? Turned around for just a second?

Yeah hoe, gone.

The bar of soap he’d just placed on the holder while he washed?

Disappeared.

Right sock he’d set down for a moment?

Yeah pal, you know it. NOWHERE TO BE SEEN

Whenever he’d have a specific meal or drink in mind and he’d find he’d always been too late. The cafe had just run out as someone would have beaten him to the last of it. Whenever he was in the private rec. room, he’d only find the wrappers or empty box of whatever he’d been craving at the time. He’d been snippy with the sergeant’s over the fact.

“Oi,”

Johnny glumly turned around to face him from the couch while Kyle shut the door of the refrigerator. The two of them stared at Simon’s broad back as he stood before the cupboards, his muscles notably tense and his tone irritable.

“If y’finished uh’ box, a’least bloody toss it in the bin,”

The two sent a questioning glance at each other, Kyle was the first to speak,

“Yeah sorry ‘bout that,” he said, quickly moving to get off his feet.

“You bloody Brits n’ yur’ teas,” Johnny groaned, crossing his arms and tucking himself into the fabric of the old couch. His face gleamed under the overhead light from the vapor rub smeared under his nose as Marisol recommended. ("It's a Mexican thing," he recalls her saying)

It effectively broke the tension. The two gave each other another look before going back to their business.

Not long after this interaction, you walked in. Johnny laid on the couch tiredly, a mildly grim expression on his face. Kyle sat atop the back of the same couch, his feet intentionally not touching the ground. He gave you a quick smile, but the air surrounding him was of charged. Meanwhile, Ghost was leaning against the countertop, though his face was hidden, the way he’d gripped the cupboard door shut as you entered let you know something was up.

You gave everyone a quick ‘hello’. As you stepped in, you noted the empty tea rack and the empty boxes in the rec. trash. When you looked back up, you noted Ghost’s eyes were scanning the cart beside you, when he couldn’t find whatever it was he was looking for his eyes rested on you.

“Ah, sweet (Name), mah' sweet hen, save me-“

“Hi Johnny,” you chuckled and stepped around the couch to give him a quick greeting, not giving away your internal joy at his misery. He reached out a hand to you, not thinking much of it, you took it, expecting a quick interaction.

In a split-second decision he tugged you down to his level in a single movement, tucking your face into his chest.

You let out a (scream)sound of surprise.

Trying to avoid falling over him, your knee caught you just in time, resting beside the whiny Scotsman’s torso, and the arm you’d been pulled down by resting on the back of the cushions beside his head.

“Ya’ smell good” he mumbled, leaning into you. Your eyes widen and you felt blood rush up to your face. He adjusted you up slightly, just enough for the ball of his nose to barely scrape against your shoulder. The same arm that’d pulled you now wrapped in a loose but firm manner.

Oh yeah your touch deprived self is freaking jumping rn. Your dignity though?

MAN WHAT THE HELL MAN

“Johnny- what the-“ you tried prying out of his grip, fighting for your 'untouchable nonchalant baddie' image... (reader be for real...KIDDING)

“Izz’at a new soap?” Johnny asked, as if in a daze. Your face darkened as heat consumed you. WHY ARE YOU SMELLING ME?!

You gave another try, digging your palms into his chest in order to get some leverage. "McTavish you shit-"

“Soap, mate let up,” Kyle swung around and gave the Scot a quick ‘tap’ on the head. It worked, and begrudgingly (to your internal dismay) Johnny let go. He gave a grunt as he began sitting up. You smacked his arm, eyes narrowing

“I should tear you a new asshole”

Johnny gave a tired smile and rubbed the sore spot. "Makin' me blush"

You rounded the couch while giving the scotsman a glare(not as intimidating when you're still flustered) and gave Kyle a side hug. He gave a a gentle squeeze and let you go. His gaze lingering on you as you nodded at Ghost and began to unload your cart.

Ghost raised a brow, Kyle could tell .. but he ignored it.

“You ‘blokes’ been alright? Anything interesting happening?” You asked, still putting away items, changing the subject from your hostage situation to something else.

The more vocal men chuckled, Ghost huffed, but you could tell it was in that laughing-out-of-your-nose kind of thing. 100%...

okay, like 85% sure... 65%... 50%

anyways,

“Things are amazing” Johnny said sarcastically, forcing an American accent, making himself comfortable in his seat.

“Oh you wee baby,” you smirked, closing the cupboard door. “Sounds like just desserts,”

You held back the smile, focusing on passing a tin of tea to Ghost. He took a look at the label and sighed, going to get the tea kettle.

“What?” Kyle rose a brow,

“I said ‘Sounds like just desserts,’, like yall’ve got a case of karma,”

The men shared a brief look, then Johnny noted the rancid, gut turning and gag inducing smells ha d faded. Kyle stood and no longer felt anything in his boots. Ghost was finally making himself something he enjoyed.

Kyle and Johnny both stared at you, who was starring at them with an all too innocent smile.

“Almost like y’all earned it,” you shrugged, your smile turning into a smirk.

“How-“

“You couldnae-“ Johnny jerked up, his eyes wide and reluctantly accusatory as they bore into you and your smug face

None of their issues could be justifiably tied to you.

Realistically.

But you don’t get nearly murdered by a supernatural being and not pick up some supernatural (trauma) life hacks.

A call to a certain grump and a promise of some Scotch delivered to him and he’d pointed you in the right direction. (You called him thirteen times after he’d initially said no)

But now, just as promised, your revenge. A week with minor inconveniences for the three of them, only eased in your presence.

No one said a word. You finished restocking the cupboards and the fridge without saying anything else. The room had a strange tension as you began stepping out. The two sergeant eyes following you to the door.

You smiled innocently as you left the room.

The sergeants turned at each other, ghost continued to watch in silence.

“They couldn’t have? Right?” Kyle stared at the open doorway

“Nah.. they couldna’” Ghost shrugged

“Is naw even possibl’” Johnny began to get up “is nawt -“

They all sat in silence. Ignoring the screech of the tea kettle for a few moments, trying to shake off the feeling of imaginary boot on their necks

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imagine-notnatural · 2 months ago

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imagine-notnatural · 2 months ago

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This is so real😭

The first time Graves used “all y’all” in front of the Brits, they had to physically restrain themselves from shaking him like a ragdoll.

...

“Now, all y’all just calm down a minute--”

A beat of silence.

Price blinked. Soap tilted his head like a confused retriever. Gaz mouthed ‘all y’all?’ like it was a slur.

“Beg your fuckin’ pardon?” Soap asked.

...

Graves, undeterred:

“Y’all’d’ve done better if you’d waited for backup.”

Gaz made a noise like a computer shutting down.

“I’m sorry... y’all would’ve what?”

Graves: “Would’ve done better.”

Price, flat: “That’s not what you said.”

“I was fixin’ to explain!”

“Fixing what now?”

...

While reviewing blueprints:

“Might coulda added another entry point here.”

Soap stood up. “This is an act o' terrorism."

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imagine-notnatural · 2 months ago

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𝗕𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛 𝗫 𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 [Yan!Hitman x Gn!Reader] [PROLOGUE]

DISCLAIMERS, WARNINGS & AUTHOR’S VERY PROFESSIONAL NOTES

this story contains:

Murder. (Casual.)

Blood. (A lot of it.)

A hitman with anger issues. (But he smells good, so it’s fine.)

A cleaner MC who is definitely not normal.

(Because why are you so good at this?)

Ridiculous yandere behavior. (Please do not attempt this at home.)

Slice-of-life. (But crime-flavored.)

--Disclaimer--Disclaimer--Disclaimer--

This is a fictional work. Not real. Ridiculous. Stupid. And most importantly—for entertainment purposes only. I, the author, do not condone murder, crime, or falling in love with emotionally unavailable hitmen. (But if he smells good, I understand.) Also, I do not support yandere behavior. But Mr. Zy isn’t real, so we can enjoy this in peace. The images are not mine :D They are ither edited or they came from Pinterest.

- Regarding the Highly Suspicious Cleaning Accuracy-

Do I know how to clean up crime scenes? Heh. A secret. (Just kidding. I googled it. Also, don’t believe everything I say—this is not an expository essay, it’s fictional chaos.)

-Timeline? What’s That?-

This is slice-of-life. No exact timeline. Time flows as it pleases. Logic? We don’t know her. Now, buckle up, grab your pink apron, and enjoy the ride.

PROLOGUE...

You had dreams once.

Not, like, big dreams—nothing too delusional, nothing that involved saving the world or becoming some great person. No, your dreams were reasonable. Manageable. Simple.

Maybe get a nice job. Something where you wouldn’t have to deal with too many people (because, let’s be honest, most people are gross). Maybe a stable paycheck. An apartment that doesn’t come with complimentary cockroaches. A life that isn’t actively falling apart.

…And yet, here you are.

Veygrove City—Home of Crime, Blood, and Probably a Future Headline With Your Name in It.

Look, Veygrove isn’t exactly known for its safety. It’s the kind of place where the crime rate is so high, the police just stopped pretending they cared. Where the rich live in luxury, the poor get stepped on, and the middle class? Doesn’t exist. Nope. This is not Gotham.

This city eats people alive. And if you’re not careful, you become part of the pavement.

Which is why you tried to play it safe.

Which is why you, a completely normal and responsible 24-year-old, took an internship at a totally legit (read: highly questionable) office.

And now?

Now you’re watching your boss bleed out on his own desk.

One Hour Ago: Another Day, Another Scam

Your current job? A glorified call center scam.

Officially, the company was called "Greenleaf Financial Solutions." In reality, you were working for a bunch of sweaty, coffee-addicted conmen scamming people out of their money. You were supposed to be learning “business strategies.” Instead, you spent most of your time not touching anything (because, ew, these desks were disgusting) and trying to ignore your coworker, Greg, who smelled like expired deli meat.

But, hey. It paid the bills. Barely.

At least the job didn’t require much. You were a cleaner here, which meant two things:

You cleaned up paperwork—aka shredded anything incriminating when the wrong kind of people came knocking.

You cleaned up actual messes—which mostly meant spilled coffee, but given the shady nature of this place, you figured it was only a matter of time before you had to mop up something worse.

(You were right. You just didn’t think it would be this soon.)

Present Time: Boss Down, Hot Guy Up

It happened so fast, you almost didn’t process it.

One second, your boss—a greasy, rat-looking man named Dominic—was screaming at some very tall, very brooding man in a dark suit. The next?

Bang.

Blood. Everywhere.

Your boss slumped forward, a bullet between his eyes, and the man holding the gun didn’t even blink. Just casually adjusted his grip, exhaled smoke from his cigarette, and—without a single ounce of urgency—tucked his gun away like this was Monday.

…Okay. So. That happened.

You should probably react. Scream, cry, run, something.

Instead, all your brain managed was:

Wow. He’s hot.

Which—not the appropriate response. But in your defense, the man was ridiculously attractive in a tall, dark, and dangerously competent kind of way. Late 30s? Early 40s? Sharp suit, broad shoulders, goatee, and an expression so unreadable it could probably scare the IRS. The whole gritty hitman aesthetic was working way too well.

(Your poor, thirsty little brain was thriving in the worst moment possible.)

He turned to you.

Paused.

Narrowed his eyes, cigarette burning lazily between his fingers.

You swallowed.

So. Uh. What’s the move here? Panic? Faint? Run?

Apparently, none of the above. Because, instead, this absolute hell of a man reached into his pocket, pulled out a sleek black business card, and slid it across the desk—right through the blood.

"Want a job?"

You stared at him. Then at the card. Then back at him.

The blood on the card was fresh—approximately 4 minutes old (judging by viscosity and color).

And, God help you, all you could think was: Wow, he smells expensive.

You picked up the card.

You flipped the card between your fingers, the blood smearing just a little. The edges were crisp, the lettering elegant—nothing cheap, nothing rushed. Classy.

Zy (No last name. Just Zy. Mysterious.)

Underneath, a phone number. No title, no company name, no unnecessary details.

Simple. Efficient. Very much "call this number and you're in a crime syndicate now."

You looked up. He was still watching you, deep blue eyes unreadable, cigarette smoldering between his fingers.

His hair—just slightly gray at the temples—was neatly combed back, and that mustache? Oh. Oh, it was working for him. Distinguished. Refined. Daddy-coded.

(I should not be finding this man attractive.)

But, hey. You were jobless now. So.

You: "What kind of job?"

Zy’s lips quirked—barely noticeable, but it was there. Amusement? Interest? Hard to tell. His voice, when he spoke, was deep. Steady. A low timbre that made you want to lean in, just a little.

Zy: "Cleaning."

A pause. You narrowed your eyes.

You: "Cleaning… what, exactly?"

He exhaled, the scent of expensive tobacco curling between you. Then, as if he wasn’t offering something completely insane, he gestured loosely toward your ex-boss’s corpse.

Zy: "This."

Ah.

You tapped the card against your palm.

You: "…So. Just to clarify. You’re offering me a job to clean up… murder?"

Zy: "Crime scenes, evidence disposal, asset management." He paused, then added, "And occasionally, laundry."

…Okay, what?

Your brain did a small, polite error 404 before catching up.

You: "Laundry."

Zy: "Dry cleaners can be unreliable."

You blinked.

This man—this deadly, extremely well-dressed, unreasonably attractive hitman—was out here committing murder and complaining about bad customer service?

Honestly? Fair. Dry cleaners were a scam.

Still, you kept your expression neutral.

You: "And what’s the pay?"

Another hum. Zy took another slow drag of his cigarette, then—carefully—leaned forward just enough that you could smell the faint cologne beneath the smoke. Musky. The kind of scent that stayed with you.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you like he could already predict your answer.

Zy: "More than this place paid you."

…Alright. You weren’t dumb.

One job had you making minimum wage while surrounded by fraud and Greg’s questionable hygiene.

The other? Significantly less legal, but significantly more lucrative.

And—objectively speaking—you were good at cleaning. Great, even. You could erase bloodstains, scrub out evidence, dismantle crime scenes with the efficiency of a damn forensics team.

And if you happened to have a dangerously attractive, mustached employer with deep blue eyes? Well.

That was just a bonus.

You slipped the card into your pocket.

You: "When do I start?"

The slowest smirk. Zy stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and—without another word—walked past you, already expecting you to follow.

So.

That’s how you got hired by the most dangerous man in Veygrove.

Neat.

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imagine-notnatural · 2 months ago

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My honest apologies to yall who be waiting on updates, I don’t really have a set schedule and have mundane plans ahead 🥲

#cod 141 #janitor!reader

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imagine-notnatural · 2 months ago

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I SUCK at pacing myself. Sorry about that 🥲 I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to correctly saving my drafts too bruh

CW: brief mention of throwing up? I know this should be a warning I just don’t know how to phrase it

Part Five:

You have a routine. Clock in. Depending on the day’s tasks, bring a drink to Captain Price at the beginning or end of your shift. Spend twenty minutes “debriefing” (distracting) him (he’s secretly a gossip who appreciates the break from the mind-numbing paperwork) with the drama developing at your local grocer.

This routine started with an overheard phone call

. After you crashed your cart against the wall thrice and heard you mumbling angrily through the door.

He stepped up from his desk, eyebrow quirked. Your voice was getting clearer as he neared the door. He peeked out of the window to see your back turned to him. One arm outstretched to support your weight against the cart while you nursed a coffee in the other.

"No M-, they'd- no Mike- my neighbor’s daughter- yes her- paid for a plain regular single-tier cake with white frosting, Mikey. Remember I had the receipt?! I'm telling you, had it been anything else- FOR anything else- I wouldn't have said anything, not even kidding. But it was going to be used as the main decoration for the- yes for the gender reveal yeah. I didn't think he'd be-"

Price pulled open the door slightly, just enough to see his face. You whipped around at the sound.

"Sir- Hi!" You gave Michael a hasty 'goodbye', shoving your phone into you pocket.

"Hello, I'm sorry about that- Did I bother you? I'm so sorry, I brought you a cuppa-" You reached to your cart, where the other steaming cup sat. You gingerly picked it up and held it out to him. Price's eyes couldn't help but follow the motion, from your hands up to your nervous face. He smiled.

"Pastry troubles hm?" He stepped back with an amused tone, using his body to hold open the door. An invitation.

You chuckled nervously, "Yeah.." You glanced inside before looking back at him in question. His mustache raised just slighlty as he smiled again. With a mental shrug uou set aside the cart by the wall of his office before stepping inside, both drinks still at hand. He stepped around you and pulled a chair for you on his way to his own seat. He quickly gestured for you to sit before taking his own.

You placed his on a sliver of bare desk. Tactfully avoiding the neatly stacked packets of papers and folders. He gave you a nod in thanks as he reached over and grabbed the still steaming cup. You watched him bring it to his lips. Well, his moustache, but you get what I mean. He tilted his head and waved his hand in a way that asked you to fill him in.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, "really?"

He hummed, "I could use the break, n' you, seem like you could too". You both chuckled. "Go'n then,"

You sighed with a smile, "Remember you asked for it," you took a quick sip of the hot drink and sat back. "So for context.-"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"And so I think they tried to screw up their gender reveal on purpose because the her ex, their son-in-law, who's married already, is still hung up on her. Even after six years. I think that’s why they have sh- trouble- over the order. They’d been petty"

John huffed, lowering his cup from his mouth while his eyebrows remained raised. "Bad for business,"

You laughed, “ Yes sir,”

He gave you a coy smile, right as he began to say something, your radio went off,

(Name), we need you in medical, a newbie couldn’t keep his food down long enough to make it into the trash. Idiot got it all over the place.

You sighed, pulling your radio off your belt and bringing it up to your lips. “Yeah I got it, “ You dropped your hand with a grimace, meeting Price’s gaze as you began standing.

“Duty calls”

Price gives you a sympathetic smile as he too stands from his seat.

“Yep, can’t ignore the call of duty now can I?” Your eye twitched with mock irritation,

(I know. But am I sorry? No. cheesy bastards RISE!!)

He chuckled, stepping around his desk to get the door for you. “No, can’t say you can.” He gently pulled the door open, “Good luck dear,”

You returned the smile as you passed him. “Aye Aye Cap, you know I’ll need it.” You stepped out of the room and turned for your cart. Turning it in the direction of the exit.

“If this,” you turned your body to face him, referring to the bakery drama, motioning with your hands, “develops, I’ll be sure to update you,” you said to him. He smiled once again with a nod, “I’ll be waiting,”

You chuckled and waved goodbye as you headed out.

When you arrived to the medical building, you were met with a crowd of the nurses and doctors taking some fresh air outside.

“It cannot be that bad.” You spoke in disbelief, rolling up and catching the attention of the crowd. Most recognized you, there were often these incidents when it came down to the rookies.

“(Name),” Blair, the nurse who you often had chats with whenever you entered the building and since befriended , cried out to you. “My saving grace!!” She dramatically, throwing herself into your arms,

You caught her with a role of your eyes. She began ranting “Babes-It’s so bad, it’s so so so so bad,”

Your face scrunched, an eyebrow raised her actions and then to the others

“Y’all treat the craziest, most heinous shit on a regular basis and this is what gets y’all?!”

It cannot be that bad…

You watched everyone’s faces, your thoughts being negated when you saw even more senior members of staff avoiding eye contact.

You sighed, eyes downturned. “They still puking?”

Blair stepped back, shaking her head ‘no’. You began frustratedly slipping on gloves and readying a mask in order to head in. “Who?”

“…lil’ Henry, with the freckles.”

“Im gonna whoop his a-“ you exhaled out of your nose and placed both hands on the cart in order to steer it inside “what happened with him?”

“Poor thing finally had a full breakfast before going into training, sounds like it was his first round under the lieutenant and he’d just had stomach bug too“

You know the days schedule, you know exactly who is training, and it just so happens you know there’s a limit of officials that are simply referred to the lieutenant by the medical staff.

“Well now I’m whooping his ass now,” you grumbled, not meaning the words in the slightest. Blair caught what you’d said and chuckled. You began heading into the building when you heard her speak again,

“While you’re at it get him for not listening when it comes to mandatory rest orders,”

You huff out an amused breath before taking your first step into the building..

Aw hell nah.

… okay maybe it could be that bad

The next time you restocked the 141s pantry, Gaz had been the one to find you practically punching in the variety of items into the cabinets while mumbling to yourself.

He had half-a-mind to leave you be, stepping back and beginning to turn back towards the door when he heard your voice over the noise of the tv,

“Garrick.”

“… (Name)…” he paused, “what did I do?…” He faced you, your back still turned toward him. He walked over, leaning on the same counter you were.

You sighed sharply, your words breathless as your hands rose to your face, palms digging into your eyes

“ I’m gunna’ lose my shit Kyle”

“Wha-“

“Do you know how many times- just this week mind you, I’ve cleaned puke off of shit? Off walls? Off equipment?”

Kyle’s eyes widened slightly. “ No dear, I don’t think I do..”

You turned around quickly, facing him briefly before turning towards the counter with both hands placed firmly on the surface. Your eyes comically wide in mock despair and exhaustion. Kyle swore he caught one of your eyes twitch.

“What’s goin on luv?” He tried to sooth, his body language relaxed as he leaned back over the counter. Nothing gave away the fact that he was biting back a laugh from your display.

“Kyle- KYLE” you dramatically rocked yourself against the counter, you paused then faked slamming your fist against the hard surface, stopping inches away from it.

He huffed a silent laugh,

“Kyle, dude, I’m fighting for my life. FIGHTING!” You accentuated the word with another ‘slam’ of your fist,

“(Name), what is it?” You could hear his smile as he said your name.

Kyle watched as you faced him, hands lifting off the counter, beginning to rise towards his shoulders. He saw the way your hands rose but quickly stopped; dropped against you, balled tightly into fists. His eyes rose back up to your face, questions on his mind.

“You’ve got to tell me- and be honest because I need to know!”

“Go on then,”

“Does he actually not like me?! Does he want me to leave? Because he’s on the right track if that’s his goal man!”

“What? Who? (Name), who are you talking about?”

“Kyle- the lieutenant! Clean up duty has only ever landed on my shifts!! Michael ain’t deal with nothing like this and the L.t.’s been in charge of training on his shift too!!”

“(Name), I don’t think he’s doin’ this on purpose. He’s got no reason to”

“But see how you know he’s capable of it?! I’m telling you he doesn’t like me.” You groaned, leaning back into the counter with your hands covering your face.

Kyle slid closer, there wasn’t much of a distance between you in the first place so he didn’t travel much. Now the two of you were shoulder to shoulder

“Alright you big crybaby, come ‘ere,” he gingerly grabbed your right shoulder and pulled you into a side hug, his arm resting on your shoulders

You tensed under his touch for a second, dropping your hands from your face. Your expression didn’t give anything away but Kyle watched the moment where your hands fidgeted on your lap before you ultimately decided to wrap your arm around his torso to reciprocate.

“I still think he don’t like me.”

He hummed,“You’re probably right,”

“Ass”

“You’ve got me though, that’s plenty, right?” He asked with a coy smirk. He turned to look down at your face, wanting to gauge your expression.

You stayed silent, turning your head (hiding the flush in your face) and avoiding eye contact. Kyle leaned forward to try forcing you to meet his gaze.

This man wants to give me a heart attack

“(Name).”

“…”

“… so you’re just not going to say anything?”

“I would, but it’d hurt your little big boy feelings”

“No it wouldn’t-“

“Aye, ih would’” Soap casually slipped into the room, hair not yet gelled into his signature hairstyle and yawning as he made his way to the fridge,

You immediately straightened up at the sound of his voice, but Kyle’s arm kept you from moving forward.

Johnny opened the door and grabbed a water bottle, snapping the plastic top off before take a swig

“He’d get his wee bits all inae twist,”

You chuckled as Gaz rolled his eyes.

“Whad’ya got for us this time,” Soap scanned over your cart, noting a very specific item was missing

“No tea?”

Gaz hadn’t notice before but there was absolutely no tea on your cart, he didn’t recall you throwing any into the cupboards either.

“Nah, one of you pisses me off then all of you suffer.” You stood there, completely serious, glaring down at the cart.

Johnny chuckled then threw a glance Kyle’s way.

“See, ah told you nah to push-“

“What me? No, NyQuil here’s the one with the issues,”

“Garrick, do you want to get your as whooped?”

“Really?” Johnny cut in, the two men making light of your folly

Gaz smirked, “ Mm, and with the Lt specifically”

“Really? Now wha did ya do to our Ghostie?”

“John- Johnny- Can I call you Johnny? Yeah? Okay, be so absolutely, under oath type shit, for real. What could I have possibly have done to that man for him to have me cleaning puke off crap everyday.”

“Didya hurt his feelings? Our Ghosties’ a right softy, dinae tell me ya did,”

You could tell Johnny was faking his concerned expression. 100% sure.

Except he wasn’t letting up, meeting your gaze with what was looking like genuine concern.

85%

… 65% sure.

“(Name) if yah’ve done something to the L.t., ah’m going ta have ta defend mah mate”

“Even if it costs you?”

“Aye”

“So if I banned you from coming to me for mass-“

“Ya Ken wha, Ghostie can defend himself, ma wee Bonnie ‘ere iza one sufferin’”

“That’s what I thought,” you huffed, Gaz chuckled beside you, giving you a slight nudge to catch your attention

“You realize that he can’t be doing this on purpose?”

“No he is, I swear I saw him give me a look when I came to clean up the equipment in the mat room-“

“And what did this ‘look’ look like?”

“ A look. You had to have been there to understand get the vibe”

“The vibe?” Gaz raised an eyebrow

“Mm, mate yah heard em’ ‘the vibe’” Johnny nodded

“You know what? All of you are getting it. John is the only one safe from me as of now.”

“What did I do?l

“Come now hen, we’ll talk to him. Dinnae do this,”

You slipped out from Kyle’s arm, snatching up your cart and rolling It out of the room. Ignoring Johnnys pleading eyes and Kyle’s gaze you continued down the hallway, yelling back:

“Be ready for it you smug little bastards, you’re gonna get it!”

The two men looked at each other at the sound of your threat, when their eyes met they couldn’t help but laugh it off, not taking you seriously

But they’d get it. Oh yeah, they’d get it real good.

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imagine-notnatural · 3 months ago

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A vibe

Part 1.

MEDIC ;; You have healing powers and get recruited by the GDA. It changes your life, for the better or for the worse. Crack, short fic.

04.03.25 Masterlist

You’d call yourself a normal person—well, as normal as someone can be when they wake up with the ability to heal people. Blessed? Maybe. Cursed? Probably. Your powers are pretty straightforward: you can patch up yourself or someone else, depending on how wrecked they are and how much energy you’ve got left in the tank. Which usually comes down to how well you slept the night before. Real thrilling stuff. Straight out of a budget comic book.

You don’t show off. Never had the urge to. You’re not the selfless type who goes around healing strangers on the street out of some burning sense of justice. You’re not a saint. You're just a person who happens to have something useful and very little motivation to use it unless there's a reason.

Unfortunately, one day, you got soft.

Some guy in a half-torn grey suit was pulling civilians out of rubble after some villain decided to make the downtown district a crater. He looked government—probably fed. And you, in a rare act of generosity (and partially hoping there was a tax break involved), healed him. Just a quick fix-up, no big deal. He looked like he’d been through hell, but he still managed to check on you. Like he was worried you were the one bleeding out.

So you returned the favor. No words, no thanks needed.

Before he could get your name—or ask how the hell you just did that—someone screamed for help and he was off again like his shoes were on fire. But not before giving you one last look. Memorizing your face. You saw it in his eyes. He locked you in his mental files.

You hoped that might help you someday. Court, taxes, jury duty—who knows. Probably wouldn’t. But you like to dream.

And yeah. That act of goodwill? Came back to bite you.

Turns out the guy you saved was named Donald. Big-time GDA agent. As in Government. As in Cecil’s inner circle. And the moment he was back on his feet, he reported you. They tracked you down like you were some kind of loose end—well, politely. The kind of politeness that comes with a folder, a contract, and a clipboard full of benefits.

You said no at first. Obviously.

Then they said dental. And threw in hazard pay.

So yeah. You signed your fate.

Not because you believed in the cause. Not because you wanted to help humanity. You signed up for a paycheck and stable benefits in a world where buildings get leveled weekly and your rent doesn’t come with insurance.

And honestly? You don’t regret it. Not really.

Being with the GDA threw you into situations that could only be described as straight-up horror shitshows. You’ve seen things. Touched things. Reassembled people who should’ve been dead five different ways. Superheroes, the ones people worship, bleeding out on stretchers while you try not to throw up or pass out.

You got used to it fast. Maybe too fast.

Your name started floating around, being whispered throughout the headquarters and mentioned in passing. You cringe every time people give you some type of nickname, get this one, “Miracle Medic”. Yeah, wrap it up.

You kept your distance from the supers. Professional. Cold. You were the healer, not their friend, not their emotional support. You patched them up, maybe muttered a sarcastic remark if you were tired enough to forget the filter.

“Damn. I would've retired after that one.” It helped you stay sane. A little.

And you don’t do the whole corporate professionalism thing. You keep things functional—you’re not out here making friends, but you’re also not about to censor yourself for the sake of workplace etiquette. You know you’re irreplaceable, and that kind of job security comes with privileges.

Like being as blunt and disrespectful as you damn well please.

“The fuck happened to you? Yikes. I don’t even want to touch that.”

You do touch it, obviously. But that doesn’t mean you have to like it.

Unfortunately, this job throws you into more bullshit than you thought humanly possible. It’s not just GDA calls anymore—you’ve got superheroes pounding on your door at ungodly hours, begging for help. Sometimes for themselves. Sometimes for a friend, a coworker, or some half-dead civilian they barely managed to scrape off the pavement.

It got so bad that Cecil had to step in. Too many capes showing up at your apartment was bound to get somebody killed. So, congratulations. You now have dedicated break rooms in the Pentagon, all for you. You practically live in them with how much the GDA needs you. And it was not out of kindness—Cecil just didn’t want to deal with the nightmare of if someone tracked a superhero back to your place and blew it to hell.

Well, life could be worse. Yes, it does get worse.

A/N ;; I intend to extend this to have multiple parts and include actual interactions and more writing, but only if its well received. I'm lacking motivation to write, sorry!

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imagine-notnatural · 4 months ago

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peristalsis - vii

selkie!soap x reader. depression. strangers to “lovers.” suicidal resolve. major character death. violent drowning. a reckoning. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

When you’re sure that Johnny’s friends have left, you return to the beach. The wind has died down in the late afternoon; the clouds sit heavy and motionless in the sky.

Night is coming, and it promises to be cold. It hangs in the wary stillness of the air, in the waiting quiet. The seabirds’ calling is absent; the dune crickets’ singing has ended.

He’s there on the sand. Somehow, you knew he would be. Felt it, even before he came into view. He stands by the kayak, almost as if he’s been waiting there for you.

You hold the folded pelt with both hands against your stomach as you approach. The fur is so soft against your palms, your fingers. Cool from having spent a night in the ground.

He looks at it with sharp eyes. Then, up to you, expectantly.

His eyes on you in the cottage bedroom, moonlight shifting in them. Teeth in your neck. The taste of brine in your mouth.

Pearls in your memory. Parting gifts to enjoy, as you come to the close.

“Missed you at the end there, bonnie,” he says, even and purposefully steady. “The boys were glad to meet you.”

He’s known—the whole time. He always has. You don’t know how you know this, but you do.

“I’ve had a nice time with you, Johnny,” you say, when you’re only a few paces away from him. “But I think it’s time for me to go.”

Three days. That’s all it’s been. Nothing much, objectively, to say goodbye to. A good way to end things, truthfully, with the aftertaste of good food still on your tongue, the heat and girth of him still lingering inside you. The etchings of his calluses still fresh on your skin.

A kind ending. A gentle one. Better than you and he deserve.

You hold out the pelt.

He looks at it. Mouth a tight line. Brows low and flat. Then his gaze moves to you.

“Where will you go?” he asks, still steady.

“I’m not sure,” you say. “Maybe—Amsterdam. Does it matter? I don’t know.”

“Just like that,” he says flatly. “After everything.”

You frown. “I was always going to leave, Johnny. Remember? I only booked the place for a month. This is just…earlier.”

Something frenetic buzzes in his posture. The slight lean forward in the way he stands. The angles of his face seem harsher, more pronounced. Eyes dark as wet stone.

“Johnny, just—” you shake the pelt at him, still holding it out. “Just take it, okay?”

He looks at the pelt again, and then back at you.

At it, then you.

It—you—

Johnny lunges.

In one swift surge forward he snaps the pelt from your hands and flings it aside. As it flutters to the ground his hands whip at you, seizing fistfuls of your shirt a half-thought before you realize it, wrenching you forward.

“What the fuck?!” you cry, but then you’re off your feet, falling toward him, arms flailing as you lose your center of balance. You topple into him, and he hooks you beneath the shoulders with the iron bands of his arms, stepping away from the kayak, and only for a moment do you think that maybe he’s going to bring you back to the cottage before he starts dragging you in the opposite direction—

“Johnny, no,” you breathe, as you hear a wave break on the sand,“Johnny, no!”

You start to kick and thrash. You throw yourself against his grasp, dig your heels into the sand, try to find the meat of his forearm with your teeth, but he is resolute. Unstoppable.

You start to scream.

The waves eddy around your feet, rise up to engulf your ankles, your calves, as Johnny roils the water with wide, unfaltering steps, deeper in—

The water closes around your thighs. Your waist.

This is happening. This is really happening—

“Had a month to get to this, bonnie,” says Johnny, over your screaming, rough and harsh and completely unrecognizable. He slings you around to face him, jaw set hard, the muscles in his temples flexing as he clenches his teeth. “But I guess we’re doin’ it now.”

“Johnny,” you plead, “please don’t, Johnny, please—Johnny, no, no, no, no—!”

He clamps his hands on your shoulders and shoves you downward. You claw at him, push against the seabed, but your lover is too strong, immune to your fighting, and you are barely able to inhale before he forces your head below the water.

Frigid cold—it rushes into your ears, through your hair, knife-sharp and paralyzing. Salt flooding the open canals of your nose—

You close your throat. The surface swirls above you, distorting him, rippling and folding in on itself as a wave recedes. Hope waits for the retreating water to expose you, but he has dragged you out too deep, far enough that even the lowest point of the backwash still submerges you.

Seawater, eroding cilia, ramming against the rolled stone of your epiglottis. Burning the film of your corneas.

You reach up, swinging your hands at his face, but the distance of his straightened arms, muscles flexing to hold you down, is too great; you beat at empty air, or collide with the rock-hardness of his shoulders.

Another wave comes in, deepening the surf around you. You kick out, knee upward, wrench against him—you just need him to loosen his grip once, for just one moment, and then you can get away. You try to pry his fingers up, but they may as well have rooted in you.

Lungs pulsing. Throat already fighting to open. Chest heaving, diaphragm beating upward to pull in air. Pain lancing up your chest, unimaginably sharp, head so heavy it might burst—

You throw yourself to one side, kicking against the sand, and physiology subsumes your control. The cost of fighting is breathing. The floodways open—the ocean rushes into your throat—

Salt abrades the walls of your esophagus, claw-slashing downward. Acid bypasses the filters of your alveoli, honeycomb structures collapsing to the pressure, to the spasming of your lungs desperate to send oxygen to the rest of your body. Your diaphragm contracts—your chest convulses to cough, to force water out, only to welcome more of the sea in.

You beat at Johnny’s arms again. All you manage is to throw water against him. He is a sea stack above you. A pillar. Unmovable.

Holding your body against his in the bedroom, frighteningly strong, moving against you like the ocean itself—

The water churns above you with your struggle. You cannot see his face. All you see is the unstable shape of his silhouette, wavering lines distorting the edges as the corners of your vision darken.

More seawater, expanding your chest. Heart stuttering between your lungs, yanking in the last of your oxygenated blood, with nothing to send back out. The weight of your body swells, arms too heavy to hold up. They crash into the water before you force them back up again, searching and unwieldy.

Perception narrows. Him, and you. That’s all.

Sunlight through the window the next morning, rimming him in gold. The heat of his shoulder pressed to yours.

The seawater steals the tears from your eyes, throat convulsing on a sob you cannot make.

Grinning as you shared oysters.

You slap your hands against his arms, clapping your palms to whatever they can find, begging, praying—

Him moving inside you, his warmth, his smell, the weight of his tongue in your mouth. The tug of his hand on your arm.

His smile, his voice, his hand in yours—

Fists like weights holding you down. Fire in your chest. Too full.

Upward—something in you tugging upward.

You want to live. You want to live. You want to live—

It’s done.

Johnny lifts your body from the surf and carries it back to the beach. You fit in his arms as if they were the mold you were cast from.

He knew you would the moment he saw you in the airport. Perfect. You were perfect for him. He saw it in the angles of your body, the way you stood, the emotions moving behind the mask of your face.

He tried to explain it to Price once—the seeing. The knowing.

How he could look straight at his old captain, for instance, and know, without ever hearing the man say a word, that he felt responsible. For everything. For the gunshot. For the months afterword. Even though he hadn’t chosen to discharge Johnny himself, Price saw the mold of his hands in the shape his sergeant’s life had taken.

It’s how he knows Gaz couldn’t see the change in him, because he saw what he wanted to see—his best mate whole and healthy, thriving in a new stage of his life.

It’s how he knows Ghost doesn’t even recognize him anymore. Not really.

And it’s how he knows you’re just like him.

He lays you down on the sand, cradling the back of your head so it settles lightly down. Stretches your legs to rest straight out. He aligns your limp arms with the length of your torso, turning your hands upward so the sand will not cling to your palms.

Beautiful. Even with your face slack. Eyes half-open, unseeing. Mouth parted; seawater dripping from the corners.

Your feet touched the island the same way his did, years ago. Running away. Looking for the end, without really trying to find it. It was in the set of your brows, the tight pull of your mouth against your teeth.

Life had gone in every direction opposite of your intention. And it had left you alone.

Johnny smooths a few stray hairs away from your forehead, and kisses the place between your brows. The little line that has sat between them this whole time is gone, smoothed away. He kisses the bridge of your nose, and then your mouth, and then stands.

It took him a while, back then, to make the decision. It was hours before he woke to find Price watching him, sitting despondent on the sand, tears tracking salty down the older man’s face.

He goes to the place he threw his pelt away and retrieves it, shaking it out. Holding it in his hands assuages the anxiety that has wriggled in the back of his mind since the day he shoved it into the lintel of the croft. He’d known where it was, but survival instinct prevails over logic—for the rest of his life, he will always fear its loss.

It’s a consequence, but not one he’d been unfamiliar with.

And, in the end, preferable to the alternative.

He lowers himself to the sand a little ways away from you, propping his knees up and spreading the pelt across them.

When he had done this—he’d done it alone. It had been close. He almost hadn’t made it.

If he takes up this vigil—if he stays, the whole time, watching you—you’ll make it. It’s not a matter of hope or belief. It’s a matter of knowing.

He knows every time he looks into your eyes. Every time he’s been inside you. Every time your body has risen to meet his touch.

You want to live.

So he sits back. He keeps his eyes on you.

And he waits.

The sky claps you between its palms and hurls you back down the gravity well—

You vomit up the ocean.

Panting, with burning lungs. Closer—everything is much, much closer, loud and bright, and suddenly, individually distinct.

Channels of sound and aroma dance on the wind—sea salt, the smoke of someone’s grill from the village, burning meat, the rolling crash of the incoming tide, birdcall and the gust of beating wings and—and—

And you can sense them all.

A gap in the clouds lets the sunlight touch the earth.

You move on the sand. Turn onto your belly, chest heaving, empty and light. The cove—you’re still in the cove. There’s the path back up to the cottage. There’s the kayak. There’s—

Johnny, riotous, waiting in the crashing waves.

He calls to you: loud, long, triumphant, teeth bared in jubilation.

You cry out. Wordless. If you’d had any words to say, your lips could not shape them.

You’re alive.

It crashes into you. Alive.

You lift your head into the wind coming off the ocean. It caresses your face softly, tenderly, like a mother’s kiss on your cheek.

Johnny suddenly turns from you and darts into the water.

You wail with surprise. A wave rushes up to where you lay, water licking up the fibers of your body. You’re not ready. It’s too soon. Why did he leave you? What’s happening? Why isn’t the water cold?

You clutch at the sand. You can’t find your legs—you can’t stand up. All you can do is crawl, shuffle your ungainly body forward with the clumsiness of a newborn child. You cry out again, trying to convince him to return, to come help you, but if he hears it, he does not come to your aid.

Another wave surges forward; salt water crashes across your face. You flinch away from it, but something nictates over your eyes, shielding them from the burn.

Once you reach the surf, the water cradles your body, buoyancy easing your way. You submerge, finding something to kick with—

And then you’re gliding.

Murky, and blue. Sand clouding in the tide. But comfortable—cool, without being cold. You remember frigidity cutting into your skin only hours earlier, rending you at the seams, unmaking you.

Now, it receives you like an old friend.

Ahead of you, Johnny moves further out. You can feel him, far out in the distance, tiny eddies of water rippling against your cheeks.

He’s not the only thing you can feel. The radius of your awareness vibrates with blips of movement, darting, swaying, dancing, below and above and all around. It shocks you to realize, and you go still, hovering in place, momentarily stunned by how much there is living around you.

Johnny pauses too, ahead of you. Waiting. A lone distinct figure, patient for you to follow.

You shiver with startled wonder, and resume your way toward him.

The coastal shelf slopes downward, falling away. The water gradually clears as overhead, past the surface, the sun sinks in the sky. Warm golden light dyes the sea around you. He leads you on, further and further, until a forest of kelp grows up around you.

In the turquoise, ribbons of twisting green undulate and twirl, feathery and dancing in the windy current. Silvery bubbles trail toward the sunlight, intermingling with tiny schools of glimmering fish that dart and jump between the fronds. Down below you, red and green algae fur valleys of rock, swaying lazily like prairie grass.

It’s beautiful.

Johnny drifts to a stop in the middle of it all, wheeling around to face you. You approach him, coming in close—and it’s almost like approaching the sun, so much that he radiates across your senses.

His dark eyes hold yours the same way they had that day on the beach, and the pendulum swings balanced now between you.

He brushes the side of his face along yours, and with his touch he leads you downward, following the stipes of kelp toward the stone to which their holdfasts grip. The heat of his huge body warms the water that flows in the narrow spaces between your bodies, even as the coolness intensifies the further you dive.

The two of you draw up along the forest floor—and find the myriad little denizens of the sea. You’d known they were there, at the very edge of your senses, and now they bloom into fullness in your attention.

Shrimp perambulate beneath rocky ledges. Crabs walks along the ridge of a huge boulder, like climbing a mountain. And there, further down, snails in their spiral shells, pulling themselves across the sandy grain. Starfish, in shades of red and blue and orange. Anemones, translucent hair streaming.

Tiny lives—insignificant to you, before. Hardly worth your notice. Now, you marvel at them, reeling. You want to cup them all in your palms and bring them up to clutch against your chest.

Something brushes against you.

You look up—Johnny, sliding along your side, curving back in toward you, then looping underneath. He nudges at you, then darts away; you gaze at him, confused, so he comes back in, shunting you with his body, and once again retreats.

Behind him, you catch a turtle fluttering in between the green leaves. Atlantic salmon chasing capelin. An eel peeking out from its cave. Undisturbed by Johnny’s—and your—antics.

He nudges you again, then backs off, looking at you expectantly. Realizing his intentions, you follow—he makes a low clicking sound in his throat, pleased, and jets into the flowing leaves, buffeting you with the wave he leaves in his wake.

You’re shocked only for a moment before the kelp parts for you in your pursuit. Johnny quickly disappears ahead of you, dipping down below the canopy. You feel him rapidly shrink in your awareness, and you propel forward, scanning for telltale splashes of gray and white, arms of green caressing you as you pass.

You close in on him, but suddenly he evades. You follow again, only to find he’s nowhere in view. Then the chase is on: he stays in one place only long enough for you to catch sight of him before he bolts, or wheels around and backtracks to confuse you every time you approach. Teasing, taunting, flaunting the dexterity he has underwater which you have yet to acquire.

Golden shafts of dancing sunlight begin to dim and shorten as he leads you on. Frustration rapidly builds in your chest, buoyed as your lungs press against your ribcage. You need to breathe, even as Johnny becomes no more than a dot of movement in your senses, confounding you at every turn.

Why is he doing this? Why won’t he stay with you? If you surface, you’ll lose him, but the sudden memory of saltwater flooding your chest has you kicking toward the fading daylight. Self-preservation taking its place at the head of your priorities, and you follow it with no longer any second thought.

Above you shifts a mirror of silk.

You rise. Faster as the weight of the sea lessens, your reflection blooming as you approach, closer and closer to the wedge-shaped face, the large, dark eyes—

You swim into yourself and breach the air. Your nostrils open, and you inhale the wind.

You see the twilight bleeding into the day. Clouds moving quickly off as the sun sinks into the horizon.

Where is Johnny?

You can’t sense him anymore—as you knew would happen—and your chest contracts with fear and longing, suddenly believing you’ve seen him for the last time—that he’s left you all alone, to figure out what to do next, with no idea how to live in the skin of this new self you’ve become.

You give a mournful howl. You don’t want to do this alone, you can’t, you thought you wouldn’t have to—

But in the distance, back the long way you came, you hear an answer.

You whirl around, facing the shore, and almost too far away to see, a dark shape rests on the sand.

Your throat convulses with a clumsy breath, and then you dive. The water parts for your body, sliding around you, streaming through your hair. Faster than you expect, the slope of the shelf draws close, and you jet upward, belly meeting the sand, and when the water recedes and you drag yourself back onto the beach, your own weight settling heavy on your bones, you cry out again.

You shake the water from your head, wailing at the top of your lungs, desolate and blind as you blink the salt away, and then there’s a warm body up against yours, weight melding against you, heat reaching out to drive away a coldness you hadn’t felt until you’d surfaced.

You continue crying as Johnny closes his teeth around a hank of your neck and drags himself on top of you, pressing you down into the sand. You shift to let him settle over you, and all of his weight compresses your body—sandwiching you between himself and the earth, pinning you down in one place.

Something in you still wants to fight. To shake him off—to escape. But all you can do is cry. He enters you with no resistance, and you cry more, harder, until your lungs deflate, and then you take a deep breath and start wailing again.

Saltwater streaming down your face, dripping into your own mouth. Your voice hits the cliff walls, rebounds off the stone until the air fills with your weeping. Johnny shifts on top of you, pressing your head down to the sand.

The vessel you have contained yourself within overturns. You cry.

You cry for yourself. You cry for him. You cry for what you’ve done, what you haven’t, and for what you can never undo. Your lament fills your own ears and spills out again, all across the beach, catching in the wind to fly off into the ether, raised to the birds, to the passing clouds overhead.

You cry with despair of never going back. You cry with the terror of Johnny finally rolling off of you, to dart back into the waves, to leave you here alone again. You cry until your throat hurts, stinging and raw—

And Johnny’s hands, strong and warm, edge beneath your pelt and pull you out, still bawling with every drop of shame you’ve carried in your body since the day you realized you hated yourself.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs, drawing you up into his chest, arms steady and strong around you. “It’s alright now, bonnie, it’s alright. I’m here.”

You cannot respond to him. Your mouth hangs open only to wail your grief. Your body wracks against him, convulsing, involuntary, as you scream with despair and relief and horror and resolve, too much to contain, too overwhelming now to ever split yourself away from.

You find his arms with your shaking hands and grip on tight. He slips the pads of his thumbs beneath your eyes every so often to clear away your tears, and you feel his mouth press against your forehead. You wait for him to drop you. Wait for him to see the mess you’re making and wash his hands of it.

He doesn’t. Every time another sob wracks you, he grips you tighter.

Eventually—when you begin to wonder if it ever could, if this is all you are now, a squalling bundle of fragile skin pebbling in the cold—it passes.

The next time you pause to draw breath, you find nothing more inside you to disgorge. You begin to shake in Johnny’s arms, trembling with exhaustion, whimpering with clenched eyes.

He breathes slowly against you. Calm and even. He strokes your face with gentle fingers, even and patient, as if there’s nothing more in the world he’d rather do.

You find the courage to meet his gaze when your heartbeat steadies, finding the rhythm in Johnny’s chest to match. You see again what you saw that first day, that next night; you know now what you’ve always known, somewhere inside you. Your face is familiar in the reflections of it in his eyes.

His mouth curls gently as he gazes down at you. His eyes dance in yours, corners creasing as he traces the curve of your cheek. Light catches in his pupils.

You see him clearly, as the sun gives way to the evening, and the moon rises over a cloudless night of stars.

epilogue early access

a/n: shoutout to @/gildui for suggesting screenshots for that one section of text. Thank you to @/bi-writes for trying to figure out how i could keep the formatting with tumblr's coding. Please let me know if alt text is necessary. God forbid a text-based website allow for formatting said text.

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imagine-notnatural · 4 months ago

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You can't convince me that Alejandro from COD doesn't have a savior complex

You can't convince me that this guy doesn't have one. Nothing strokes his ego more than knowing when he's done a good job, the best job, and kept others safe.

So there's one thing or another that happened, maybe a cartel dispute or something of the sort and some civilians get caught in the crossfire. He ends up on the wrong side of a gun and trying to talk his way out when tourist reader smacks the person over the head with their own improvised weapon making the person go down like a sack of potatoes. They stare at each other a moment before another spray of gunfire has him jumping the counter and tackling them to the group, covering their body with his own until the gunfire pauses for a moment.

"Stay here." Alejandro orders before running off to do his thing. Unlucky for you a stray shot manages to catch your shoulder and you wind up in the hospital. Twice unlucky as you managed to lose your passport, so now you're stuck in another country not knowing how you're going to get back on the edge of a panic attack when the nurse tells brings in a visitor.

Alejandro, who had come to check up on the person who helped him out, maybe to question them to see if they noticed anything the others had missed, only to find you a near crying mess. It takes minimal prodding for him to find out what's wrong, arms wrapping around you to comfort your sobs. Of course he offers to let you stay with him until things get figured out. It's the best scenario, right? You won't get in trouble if you're staying with someone from the government who is trying to actively help you get back. Someone who says they can help you get through the red tape of things and back to your family.

While you stay with him you can't help but to cook and clean around the house, not wanting to be a burden on the man who has so kindly taken you in and helped you. His clothes are neatly cleaned and folded away, windows so clean its as if there's no glass there, and the scent of herbs and spices always floats through the air from whatever you're making.

Each morning he's woken to the smell of breakfast, using his dining table for the first time since he moved in after you cleared the various papers and nicknacks scattered across the surface (you don't touch the guns though, something he finds amusing). Alejandro gets to watch as you moved about the kitchen, the hem of your shirt raising just enough to give him a peek at the soft skin below that his own calloused hands itch to touch. You pack him a lunch to take to work, and despite the teasing of the others the heat in his cheeks reaches deep into his chest.

He gets home and you have dinner waiting, smiling brightly and telling him about the things you had done that day. Some cleaning and organizing, talking with the neighbors in your Spanish that was slowly but surely improving. It would be easier if you could go out more but he had advised against it, at least for now. Las Almas was a dangerous place after all. Besides, it's almost calming when he gets to translate the official documents you get sent, the wording a headache to understand. He loves the way your accent lays so thickly on each word, brows furrowing as he teaches you new words and phrases. You sit at the table, easily conversing about the day as he unwinds, you attention focused solely on him. After dinner you move to the porch, using the light of the setting sun to go over paperwork you need to get back as you sip on your drinks. Alejandro promises things are moving as fast as they can, that things are just a bit different in the process here, and you trust him. There's no reason you shouldn't. No reason that you would know he uses his own connections to get the process moved further back, a few rejection letters here and there.

He doesn't tell you he had found the small book of papers you needed to get back when he had first gone back, fully intending to return them, only to keep it tucked in his front pocket as you expressed your gratitude for his help even as you were confined to your hospital bed.

Of course he's there to comfort you every time they send back the request for more information you don't have, or straight-out denial of request. He's the shoulder you can always turn to, comforting as you cry. It's too easy to suggest a movie to get your mind of things, settling in on the couch. You're further apart at first, a few inches of space between you before he manages to subtly move his way closer, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. It's not long before your eyelids start drooping, tired from your own anxiety. Alejandro has never seen you get through a whole movie awake, and it's not a surprise when you shift, unconsciously rest against his chest, breathing peacefully. He relishes the moment, taking the time to freely stare at each feature, the soft curves of your face, eyes still rimmed with red.

He knows it's wrong to make you cry but he loves the way you look, loves how you always turn to him, the only person you know, for comfort.

When he picks you up, carefully tucking you into bed, his bed that he let you use while he made a makeshift setup in his office, he has to refrain from joining you even if he knows it would be the best night of sleep in his life. Instead, he returns to his own, driven crazy by the fact that he knows your just on the other side of the wall.

It's the next morning he makes the suggestion, casual as if he were asking for more bacon.

It would be easier to get everything squared away if you were a technical citizen, right? You could get vacation paperwork instead of residency and citizenship paperwork. Once you were back you could gather everything you needed to prove your citizenship and everything would be solved.

Of course he. your generous provider and friend, would be more than willing to step up to the plate for your fake, but very real in the eyes of the government and himself, marriage.

He just needs to get you to fall for him, something he doesn't see too much of an issue in. After all, he's not the only one who takes looks. It's not on accident that he walks about shirtless, citing the heat makes the fabric cling to him uncomfortably, knowing your eyes follow him when you think he's not looking. It brings him a sense of satisfaction each time he thanks you, a term of endearment falling like a purr from his lips as easy as if you were actually dating, though to Alejandro you are. You just haven't realized it yet.

You would have to do all the normal couple things, his insisted, just in case they sent officials to check the legitimacy of the marriage. Something they totally did, and without warning. That meant no more sleeping in the office, and the small barrier of pillows you kept between you would do no good, waking in the morning to find your limbs tangled together, Alejandro's chin resting on your head. It was just a wall, and he would break down all of them until he was able to reach you, to get you to understand that he was all you needed.

(A/N: I've actually been reading a lot about Valeria but writing mean characters intimidates me just like she does. Not a soft edge to her and I love it. Consequentially I've been exposed to a lot of Alejandro stuff and this is just something that has been eating away at me.)

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imagine-notnatural · 4 months ago

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Ah yes the masterlist

intro to it all! Part One

Extra cash! Part Two

3 V 1: Bug vs. Mankind Part Three

Tea or Coffee? Part Four

Vomit chronicles Part Five

Teeheehaa Part Six

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imagine-notnatural · 4 months ago

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This is set to be after the events of this post, sorry about the out of order posting

Anyways! More on Janitor! Readers (mis)adventures!

When you first arrived on base Michael thought he’d be stuck with a stick in the mud. And for sometime he wasn’t wrong. You went out of your way to avoid too many interactions with him and everyone else really, keeping quiet, letting conversations die, purposely avoiding tasks that required working with him, etc. You were coverless book and your title was incredibly boring so he wasn’t even going to try to crack you open. He didn’t even think the two of you would end up getting along.

But all it took was a graveyard shift, some cereal bars,and him telling you the order in which he poured his cereal for you to decide that you’d die on your hill and disagree with him for the two of you to become friends.(Later inseparable)

Back to now.

It wasn’t often a job called for both of you to work together. So when you’d received the call on your radio to meet with Mikey, you knew you’d be waking up the next day completely sore.

You’d been giving a task that would require the both of you. You were asked to clear out one of the buildings before some of the mechanics had to use it the next day. Michael was practically beaming when he entered the break room to find you reading the board for your charge.

“(Name)! You ready for backbreaking labor?!”

“Born ready, Big-Mike. Brought us snacks and everything,” you gesture to the inside of your olive green jumpsuit. Which is filled packets of pretzels, gummies, and protein bars. You held a couple cold drinks in your hand.

“Ugh! Yes! Do you need a house husband? I could be one if you’re going to be ”

“Not my type. I need my men to have more meat on them-“

“Nope- don’t like this- Let’s go!” He quickly stud up to grab a kart and headed towards the door. You chuckled and followed after him

“I noticed you have a couple pins on your bag when you came in today, did you start to collect them?” Michael asked, pushing forward the cart.

“I did actually. I found one on the street the other day, and when I went to go buy groceries from the farmers market today there was someone with a pop-up. I ended up getting a Perry the Platypus and Doctor Doofenshmirtz pin set and a pin that says ‘Ticket to Pound Town’ I'm planning to give as a gag gift-”

"Isn't that beastiality?" Michael asked with a grimace on his face.

"I can't stress this enough, Mikey, it's two separate ones and one is a gift."

“Oh okay...You know, one of my favorite Doofenshmirtz quotes is the one where he goes ‘It all began on the day of my actual birth, both of my parents failed to show up’”

“Mine’s where he goes ‘If I had a nickel every time I was doomed by a puppet, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot. But it's weird that it happened twice, right?”,”

Michael chuckled, “ I like that one too.”

The two of you continue to chatter on as you make your way to building.

You grab your keys as you arrive at the hangar. Once You'd unlocked and opened the door, you proceeded to turn around to help Michael lift the cart over the door's frame and get it inside. Just as you entered the threshold, you couldn't help the shiver the went down your spine.

"What is it?" Michael questioned, seeing as you'd twitched as you enter the building.

"Nothing, I think I'm just cold." You answered, trying to shake off the unease.

"Come on, if you go high and I go low, we'll probably finish faster."

The two of you nodded in agreement and went your separate ways. Michael grabbing a ladder and you clearing out miscellaneous tools and machinery.

"You should set that stuff outside, if you get the main door up a lil' you'll be able to set it out there." Michael called from the latter.

You took a glance at the front where the hangar's main entrance was, that shouldn't be that hard, you thought to yourself. You let Michael know you'd be right back as you walked over to the side of the door with the lock. You moved through the random assortment of boxes and

You stood frozen, staring down at the creature at your feet. Praying to whatever could hear to keep you from this fate. Alas you were left to fend for your own.

“Michael.”

…

“Michael”

Its antenna twitched innocently. Its beady little eyes shimmered under the the light. Its sleek black grey body reflected light as though it’d been polished.

“Michael! Mike- MICHAEL!”

“(Name)?”

. The beam of light from the overhead fixture seemed to follow it like a stage light follows its cast as it began to scurry, it could almost hear the sound of Tchaikovsky’s Swan lake beginning to play in the background-

“MICHAEL GET OVER HERE!” You jumped back, too frightened to turn around and give it your back. Michael rushed to you, his expression panicked then it turned disapproving as he saw what caused this reaction out of you

Feeling the earth beneath it tremble, it took to the skies

“IT’S FLYING MICHAEL- MICHAEL- AHHH! WHY IS IT FLYING?!”

“(Name), stop running! It’s just a-” the tables turned when it changed direction and headed for him,

“ah- AH WHAT THE-?!”

He quickly turned to the defense, swatting the air frantically. Michael’s words soon turned into incoherent screams as he missed the bug horrendously each time. However, he did not miss the fact that you had left him to deal with the roach on his own.

In tempo with the song in its head, it gracefully dodged every swat, not letting the giant deter it. It’s wings whirred in the air. Its trajectory decided.

“(NAME)! (NAME) hELP ME!” Michael screamed as he turned around to run,

“MIKEY RUN- MIKE, OH MY- MICHAEL I CAN’T-,” You were heaving heavily in a well lit area near the doorway.

“COME THIS WAY!” You cried out, rushing to the door and pushing it open,

The screech that left Michaels body was borderline inhuman as he ducked under the flying creature to get to the exit. He could feel the blood pumping into every muscle in his body worked in unison to get him out of there.

It felt like movie scene, Michael sprinting to the door as the flying cockroach speedily flew after him. You watched in terror as it followed after Michael, having whipped around once he’d managed to get past it.

You watched as Michael ran with all his might towards the door. You readied yourself behind the door.

You’d have to close it after him to save the both of you.

Michael dove through the door, yelling as he did“ CLOSEITCLOSEIT-“

“CLOSE IT!!”

You slammed the door shut once he’d passed through. The buzzing noise made by the flapping of its wings dulled by the thick metal door,

You put your back to the door and watched as Michael rolled over and lifted himself on his elbows, his eyes wide as they met with yours

You stared at each other for what felt like hours but in reality was only seconds

He was the first to crack, Michaels fearful expression had morphed into one of disbelief, then he began with his stifled laugh, and you, not able to not react, began to bite back a smile, then your heavy breath started sounding like laughing. You tried avoiding each others gazes but when you inevitably saw each others faces you couldn’t hold it together any longer.

First he began quiet, so did you. Then you couldn’t help yourself as you got louder, you tried covering your mouth but no avail. Seeing how you failed to keep it together, Michael laughed harder, then you did too.

It continued like that until you were both hysterical.

There was a lot of pointing at each other and keeling over while laughing so hard you couldn’t form coherent words.

“Aw fuck, HAH-, dude how are we gonna get shit done?” Michael wheezed out, finally sitting up. He dusted his elbows off and extended a hand.

“I don’t know but I’m not going back in there unless that’s shits gone,” You grabbed it and hauled him up, “I thought being scared of insects was ‘sTuPid’? Looked like you were just as scared as I was- if not more,”

“(Name), mate, it was flying at me,” he quickly defended, “it was coming straight for me! Of course it scared me!”

“Yeah but when I SAID-“

“YEAH YOU KNOW WHAT?! YEAH BECAUSE WHEN YOU SAID-“

As the two of you began your bickering, you both failed to notice the hulking figure that’d been watching the pair of you losing your minds for the last five minutes . Though who can blame you when his moniker is literally Ghost. It’s implied, I fear.

The pair of you were plenty distracted in your arguing. It wasn’t like he purposely had walked out of the building knowing he’d find the janitors seemingly fighting for their lives. it just happened. And now he was going to take note of it, but leave.

It was this motion that finally caught your attentions’. You paused in the middle of your argument with Michael. He quickly noticed and turned around to follow your gaze. When he saw who you saw, he quickly thought of a solution your problem.

You both turned back at each other, as Ghost’s broad back turned to face you and slowly began shrinking into the distance.

“ you know him, go, Ask him-“

“No I don’t?! I’m not asking him shit-“ you quickly denied

Michael grabbed you by the arm and whipped you around to face him, “ Then are you gonna do it?!” He glared,

“FfffAWK NO”

“WELL ME EITHER, so you go ask that big scary man to deal with it, nOW! HURRY! Before he goes!” He forced you in his direction. You stopped and turned around, you both had a silent battle of wills, your faces your weapons.

When Michael saw you weren’t budging, he merely grabbed the door knob and pointed at you then the door.

You wouldn’t, your face said

Oh yes I would, his seemed to reply

You glared at him before you turned around and began to jog to catch up to the lieutenant.

“Lieutenant- Sir! Lieutenant Riley! Wait-“

You had just turned the corner when you nearly bumped into the man.

As always you couldn’t see much of his face, baklava and what not. But you could see his eyes when he turned around and look down at you, he had a quirked eyebrow for a brief moment when he turned around

“What?” As if his figure wasn’t intimidating enough, that deep voice of his and the heaviness of his gaze on you surely were when your nerves were practically fried.

“Hi, Hello, good evening, uh, okay… I’d… if you have the time…there this- and I’ll-“

His eyebrows furrowed and you could explode right then and there

“ Wait okay,” you sighed, your hand squeezing the bridge of your nose, you dragged that same hand down your face before continuing,

“We don’t really know each other, I know this, you know this, but I need a favor-” your hands clapped together nervously, “ I restock y’all’s rec room in two days so whatever you want or need, I can get it for you, and if not that-“

For a moment he stood there just watching you squirm. Watching the way your face changed and how you continued to rattle on. You’re a fidgety speaker when nervous, just as Johnny had said. Your hands moving to accentuate your words or tug at the fabric of your jumpsuit. At this very second, one hand pointed a finger at him

“ and I’d say you at the very least owe me for the two times you scared the absolute shit out if me-“

He hadn’t even realized he’d zoned out starting at you until your hands handed on either side of your hips

“So you in or out?”

You stared at each other for a few seconds before Simon nodded,

You mentally dropped to your knees in gratitude before thanking him quickly and having him follow you to the old hangar where Michael was pacing out side the door.

When he caught sight of the lieutenant walking after you, his face visibly brightened. “ You’re the best!” He whispered shouted at you as you neared,

You had half a mind to flip him off but decided against it. You continued to the door, and turned ‘round to ensure the giant had followed after you.

The big guy is impossibly quiet, you’d thought to yourself on your walk over. And now that you stopped at the door you’d realized you hadn’t heard a single step of his.

“It’s inside, we just need you to kill it-“

“Sir, if you happen on any others feel free to get those too while you’re at it.” Michael added, his hands balled into the pockets of his jacket.

“You shut up,” you pointed an angry finger at him before turning back to Ghost with a pleading smile, “ but also what he said,”

You could’ve sworn you’d heard an amused huff come from the giant.

He opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

You and Michael waited silently beside the door. It was less than a minute before a sudden THWACK, made the two of you jump. Then it was followed by another, and then another, and following that another. It continued like this for five minutes; there was a sound of equipment being moved when a final THWACK was heard.

Ghost stepped outside with a folded up cardboard in his hand, you whipped around at the fight sight of a dismembered leg on it.

“It’s done,” was all he said when he shut the door behind him. “Get on with it,”

Michael was the first to thank him, nearing the door and opening it to look inside. Ghost grunted in reply and walked past him, not that Michael minded, too caught up in the massacre left begging to notice.

Simon dropped the cardboard on the ground before nearing you. At the sound of it, you turned around to face him, purposely not looking to his feet and instead focusing on his face.

“Thank you sir, really,” your eyes met his “ Any thoughts on how I can repay the favor?”

“ Wait and see NyQuil”

You visibly and viscerally cringed at the name,

“Yes sir, thank you sir,”

He huffed out a silent chuckle and began walking off.

Right then Michael poked out his head from the building, his face expressed awe,

“Ay mate you’ve gotta get in here- HEYWHAT THE-“

The rock you don’t remember picking up flew in his direction and dinged the metal of the building, only missing his dumb stupid face because he’d ducked back inside the building in time

“ I fucking told you not to call that shit! Now people are actually fucking calling me-“

“It’s COOL!” Michael yelled back

“No ITS NOT”

you throw a couple more pebbles before finally giving up. Despite your impeccable aim, it was no use if the bastard used the door as his shield.

You finally neared the door and pulled on it, you were met with resistance,

“ Mike open this door right now,”

“ so you can pelt me? No thank you,”

“ I won’t, I don’t even have anything in my hands,”

“ you’re lying,”

“ I’m not,”

“On our friendship you’re not?”

“Mhmm, on our friendship.”

The door creaked open. Michael’s body language unsure as he revealed himself to you. He quickly turned his eyes from your face to your hands, a sigh of relief escaped him when he saw them empty.

“ in all due respect, it’sa sick nickname”

“No it’s not. Shut up before I stone you to death, Mikey”

He smiled and moved out of the way, showing you in

“ yeah yeah just get to work scaredy cat,”

#cod 141 #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #mw2 141 #simon ghost riley #oc #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 #supernatural au #soap cod #ghost cod #gaz cod #captain price #price #price cod

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imagine-notnatural · 4 months ago

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My drafts kept getting deleted so this has to be like the fourth time I rewrite this 😭

“Captain Price!”

The man looked up from the papers in front of him to you. A welcomed distraction from all this damned paperwork he’d been caught up with, he thought.

“(Name), good to see you.” He said in that voice of his, coupled with that smile? Your knees nearly turned to jelly.

“Everyone should be out of the offices by now Cap, what are you doing in here?” He watched as you pushed back your cart.

This hadn’t been the first time you’d seen the Captain after hours in his office, hell, it wasn’t even been the tenth! The man was a workaholic. To not risk disturbing him you’d often taken to sweeping the nearby carpeted offices rather than vacuuming to limit the distractions. (Something John had noted you’d do for him) But this time was late even for him.

He chuckled tiredly, merely raising the paper in his hand to point at the stack of documents at the edge of his desk.

“Mm… I see… Well the job can’t be all blood, bullets and honor, can it?”

He raised his eyes in a look of agreement. Then looks back down at the paper in hand, raising his other hand to rub the corner of his eye.

You caught onto the movement, he’s tired, you thought. But I mean what am I gonna do? I can’t just make him something there’s gotta be like a protocol or someshit… unless there’s not…

…

“The cafeteria is closed right now, but I could probably make you a coffee or tea if you’d like,” you offered,

“That’s a generous offer sweetheart, but you don’t have to,”

“Oh no don’t worry, it’s my pleasure just say the word.”

Now usually you wouldn’t take kindly to the fact you’d been called sweetheart at your workplace by someone of power, but considering the gentleness of when he used the term you figured he didn’t even know he’d used it, let alone meant anything by it. You calmed yourself, ignoring the tinge of heat that hit your cheeks, and carried on.

“You might not trust the general American to make a decent cuppa’” Price smiled,“ but I assure you I know the basics of tea making if that’s what’s keeping you..” you make a gentle tease, a small reassuring smile slipping onto your face.

His eyes caught your own, and the is time they held. As if to see if you were serious. It took effort in order to not look away, (and praying that your minor flush wasn’t as visible as it felt) but somehow you managed to convince him to let you get him some tea.

You gave him another quick smile of yours and walked off.

When you returned, you had a steaming cup with a pleasant smell in your hand. The entire walk back was filled with you simultaneously hyping up your skills while doubting yourself. Especially because when you reached his office again the pile of papers on his desk seemed to have gone down a minuscule amount. You reassured yourself before stepping back inside with a knock on the door frame and stepping before him.

“Here you go Captain Price, let me know if it’s to your standards.”

He smiled as he thanked you, rising from his seat to take the cup from you. “Y’know just John’ll do,” he said as he took his seat

Oh word? You calmed your internalized screaming.

“Alright just John, taste-test, try it, tell me your thoughts.”

He chuckled, “I’m beginning to think you’d just like to have me rate your work,”

“Well to be fair, sir, you didn’t tell me how you liked your tea so I winged it,”

His smile widened as you leaned against the doorframe, nodding your head urging him to take a drink, so he did.

“So?”

“It’s good,” John took another sip, not placing the cup down. The drink relieved tension in his shoulders, and he readjusted in his seat. He let out a content sigh, followed by an appreciative smile. “It’s great, thank you.”

“Well, then my job here is done, enjoy” you tapped your fingers against his frame rhythmically before setting off to do your tasks. You felt the weight of his gaze on you briefly before you disappeared.

Meanwhile you couldn’t help but replay the entire interaction over again in your head. How the hell did that happen?!

This started becoming routine, Price would be in the office so late he’d be early, and you’d drop by and give him tea or coffee depending on which time of day it was, that and a packet of biscuits.

Price began to notice the little things you did around the office. You stocked snacks you where they weren’t usually required but oftentimes needed, mints, gum, etc. You’d somehow found the brand of bars he preferred without him telling you and now a box of them sat beneath his desk should he ever need one. Efficient, proactive, reliable, not to mention you always managed to get him smiling by the end of a conversation. He liked that about you, amongst other things.

He often stayed in catching up on paperwork during downtime when he wasn’t preoccupied, so when your shift aligned with his own, you made sure to keep the routine going. For weeks, it was an unspoken secret(in that it’s a secret because neither of you was prompted into telling someone about it because no one knew)

This night was like any other. You were walking from your car to start your shift and in the distance you noticed Price making his way to the offices. He walked, as all military personnel do, with purpose, so you decided against calling out for him. His figure disappeared from sight and you continued to the janitor’s office to check in.

In the corner of your eye, something suddenly shifted. You whipped around to see what it might’ve been but found nothing but some stray clippings of grass blowing in the night breeze.

The morning shift must’ve mowed the entrances’ grass. You thought nothing of it and scanned yourself into the building.

When you’d opened the door to the office, you were met with Michael changing out of uniform. He turned slightly at the sound of the door opening, giving you his trademark smile when he saw it was you. They’d switched him over to evening shift as he’d begun taking his exams, so he hadn’t been working with you this week. You wouldn’t get to work together until after the upcoming week when your own exams would start.

You greeted eachother as always, and as you began changing into uniform he filled you in on the days events.

A waterpipe had burst in the medical building, luckily it’d been quickly dealt with. Some of your shared semi-friends had invited Michael out for drinks and asked him to extend the invitation to you as well once you were both out and done with exams. An American company had touched down in the early morning and apparently they were lead by the personification of ‘Merica!’. And also he’d seen a family of foxes off in the distance when heading to the hangars.

You make mental notes, and wave your goodbyes as he clocks out.

You’d made your way through completing your tasks rather quickly. Your established routine had been streamlined, you could get a full days work done in half the time, a third if you really pushed it. After the day you had at uni, you’d decided your goal was going to be sleeping on company time. You were breezing through tasks. The weekend couldn’t come fast enough.

When it came down to the office building, you recalled you’d seen John entering. You’d had yet to miss him, so you got him a drink before heading in.

You were pushing your cart through the halls, nearing John’s office, when you noted he’d closed his blinds. Light was visible through the cracks, but the door was also closed. You stopped beside his door, lingering for a moment, you could hear his voice. Just barely. But deciphering what he said was impossible. He must be on a phone call.

You knocked softly. Cup in hand.

There was silence in the room, John’s voice gone. You felt tension begin to work itself into you as you waited for any response.

You could vaguely make out rustling inside the room. You heard John’s voice called out.

You took that as an invitation to open the door. You pulled the door open gently. Poking your head through first to let him know it was you.

However John wasn’t the only person there. Inside was his whole team. And as you opened the door further, the words in your mouth trailed off,

“Hey Cap, it’s me…”

“(Name)?” Kyle had whipped his head around at the sound of your voice, Johnny doing the same.

You noted the lieutenant had given a quick look at John before returning his gaze to you.

They all locked in on you, every pair of eyes in the room watched you. The sargeants were seated in the two chairs in front of Price’s desk to the left, both turned in their seats. The lieutenant wasn’t even entirely visible until you fully opened the door, he leaned against the wall, his head now turned to watch you. Everyone was.

You, who stood at the door in that olive-gray green jumpsuit uniform that you somehow made look good.

There was an awkward moment of silence between you all. You glanced to you left and right, noting they’d locked in on the steaming cup in your hand. “Ooh… sorry guys I only brought one for John..”

“Yur’ on firs’ name basis wi’ the capt’n?”

“You know (Name)?”

The two questions were asked simultaneously by the two sergeants who were taking turns alternating questioning looks between the two of you. The looks on their faces pressed for answers, but they were given none.

Price smiled, shifting in his seat to rise but after catching the furrowing in your brows look(you’d told him countless times to just stay seated) decided against it.

Choosing to ignore the two sargeants and be mindful of the lieutenant, you step past them to set the steaming cup in the captain’s awaiting hand.

“Okay,” you raised your hands with peace signs, “ that’s all for tonight gentlemen, I’m off,” you stepped backwards with a slight nod at the captain and lieutenant, until you were out of the room. Ignoring as both Gaz and Soap shoot you looks that say they demand answers from you.

You shut the door as you exited and turned away from it, heading for your cart. Nearly immediately as you did, muffled voices you figured would be the sargeants’ began to come through. They faded quickly as you made your way out of the building.

You were heading back to the janitors office at the end of your shift, pushing forward your cart that seemed to have double in weight in the last thirty minutes. Unfortunately, the pipe that had burst during the day had done so again, so you’d had to shut the water off to the building and reseal it. The process took over two hours as you couldn’t get a hold of your boss and had to break into his office to get his set off keys. Which by the way you’d be sure to bring up how easy it was when he didn’t lock the door. That actually only took less than thirty minutes, what did take an hour was finding a ladder tall enough to reach the godforsaken pipe. Overall you were completely tired.

Sleep called to you. The warm light of the early morning sun did not in anyway help you, instead it further lulled you.

You were meters away from the entrance, less than a minute away from the door, when you twitched.

A violent chill ran down your spine and it felt like you could feel every hair on your body rising. You snapped to attention, any tiredness gone. Something was wrong .You fought your instincts to freeze, instead stopping at a corner and using the edge of your cart to pretend tying your shoe. Someone was watching you. They saw you. Saw you. Someone saw you. Something saw you.

Found you.

As you leaned over, you subtly took in your surroundings. Your hands trembled as you untied and retied one of your laces. Your arms ached.

There was no one. At least out of place. Morning rounds were beginning and in the distance you saw a crowd beginning to form in the field for outdoor training. You didn’t make out anyone looking your way, you couldn’t even place where it was coming from.

Breathe.

You tightened the laces as much as you could before standing up straight once again. Your body tensed as you rose, like it knew better than to believe your eyes.

Breathe.

You stepped back and forced yourself to take a deep, steady breath. Your hands braced themselves against the handles you your cart, your grip tight. Your blood pounded in your ears

Move.

You leaned your weight into your push of the cart. It rolled forward with a creak. Everything needs to be done in natural fashion. Breathe. Keep pace. You’re almost inside…

One step after the other.

You turned the corner, one forced causal step after the other. You were at the door. Almost inside.

“(Name),” your heart sank. You couldn’t recognize the voice over the pounding in your ears. One step after the other.

You didn’t turn around. You only moved faster, your hand reached for your badge. One swipe and you’d be inside. You practically slammed the plastic onto the scanner, tapping it frantically.

“(Name)?”

The scanner failed to detect your badge, the red light mocking you as it flashed repeatedly.

Of all fucking days to crap out you good for nothing piece of-

You patted yourself down, reaching for your keys. First your front pockets, then back. Then your breast pocket.

No keys.

Your boss’ set of keys sat on your cart, but there was no way you’d have the time to figure out which key was the right one in time-

“(Name)!”

You froze.

You didn’t think the body could feel so hot and so cold simultaneously. The sound of your blood pumping in your ears combined with that sensation made you feel like headed. You couldn’t turn around.

“(Name) ya fer’got yer keys n’- (Name)?”

Even as his voice got closer, as you finally recognized that accent of his, his voice, over the thundering in your ears, you couldn’t turn around. Your arms ached. You couldn’t be sure.

“Ay, you got yeer’ buds’ in er’ wha?”

You stared at the flaking bits of blue paint of the door.

“(Name)? (Name)-“

You made a show of taking out your dead earphones out of your ears.

“Hi John,” you didn’t turn around. Your arms ached as they hung tensely on either side of you.

“Hey la(d/ss), you fergot… You alrigh’?”

“Yeah, no yeah. This is- uhm,” breathe, “ this is gonna sound stupid, but… but I could’ve sworn I saw a roach,” You laughed nervously.

“A roach?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, uhm.. thing is I’m terrified of the fucking things.” Taking breaths was becoming easier, your body was still tense however.

“Ah, well,” you could imagine him taking a look around,

“Dinnae’ see one, if it was here, it’s gone,” you could imagine the quirk in his brow as you felt his gentle gaze on you.

“You’re not lying right? I swear John-”

“Come now, ye’ wound me,” he laughed, warmth filled you as the sound of him reached your ears, “Naw, m’ naw… Who woulda guessed?” He chuckled,

It was then that you turned, albeit slowly, to face him. You were notably paler, but when you looked at John’s face. Really scanned it, the aching stopped.

Now, when you turned around Johnny hadn’t exactly expected you to look as shaken up as you did. His first thought was that something else was going on, worry washed over him. Then you the way you stared at him reminded him of Ghost, of Simon. When he’d wake from nightmares and shake him awake, making sure he was alive, looking for something.

“Check the cart John.” You stared at him with a look on your face so serious his doubts quelled.

“Huh”

“John, move the cart. Check it, please.”

You weren’t exactly lying. You really were afraid of cockroaches, the nasty things, and though you weren’t exactly over the moon about lying, it wasn’t like the alternative was any better.

“You wan’ me to-“

“Get on all fours and check my cart? Yes…John im being so serious right now i’m putting 20 minutes of free massage time on the line,”

“An hour,”

“Thirty”

“Forty five,”

“Foty five and ya answer my question,”

“Just one?”

He nods.

“Done,”

And so you left it at that. Johnny first scanned the surfaces of the cart, then as he knelt down and after having checked under the cart, he rose and gave you the all clear.

You forced a sigh of relief.

“You’re a godsend John,”

“Ah ken, what would yee do wit’out me,”

“Probably be at peace,”

“Naw yer really hurting ma feelings”

You laughed, your body relaxing slowly

“how long you known the capt’n ?” He asked leaning against your cart.

Your eyebrow quirked up, you took a step towards him, ignoring the way your heart rate picked up. You continued towards him until you reached the opposite end of the cart, “ That’s what you want to ask?”

You sighed softly and focused on his eyes, “At least as long as y’all been stationed here if not a little less.”

He nodded, opening his mouth to speak when your radio called out for you.

You both looked down to the device attached your hip before meeting gazes again,

“ I gotta go,”

“Sounds like it, see you around bon,”

You hummed and dragged the car closer to the door.

Jonny had turned and began walking back to where ever it was he came from, the thought of how you’d turned around to face him lingering in his mind

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imagine-notnatural · 5 months ago

Text

More Task force 141 x Janitor Reader

It starts when you offer a neck massage to Rodriguez. They’d just returned from some mission, and all she and the rest of group did was complain about how sore they were. As shes a close friend with Michael, and a good friend of yours too, you decided to offer her relief. A quick massage, just while you had time between tasks and she had her own downtime.

You once done it absentmindedly when you stood behind Michael at a meeting. He sat on the bench in front of you, so you just simply rested your hands on his shoulders. Nothing over the top. However as the meeting progressed, he’d started feeling your hands gently squeeze his shoulders. Michael didn’t react, he didn’t move or give any indication that he felt what was going on; figuring you might stop the pleasant movements of your hands. This continued for another twenty minutes, by the time the meeting ended you’d thoroughly worked out all the kinks in his neck and shoulders, had gently run your hands through his hair enough times where his eyes had to fight to stay open, and left him in a daze.

Ever since, any time he’d feel your hands on his shoulders he’d still, hoping that you were entranced enough with whatever it was Bill(your boss) was talking about that you’d do it again.

“You can say no, Im just offering a service, you don’t have to tell me yes if you’re uncomfortable. Genuinely, I only offer because you seem like you need it” you say, awkwardly turning away from her as she seemed on the fence.

“Marisol, trust me, it’s good. You’ll probably get put to sleep. I call (Name) NyQuil behind their back because they nearly put me to sleep once-“

“Mikey what the fuck-“

Rodríguez laughed, “Sounds good, Thanks (Name) I really appreciate it.” Once she gave you the go ahead, you rounded behind her.

“You still good?”

She gave you a nod.

You started gently kneading the muscles at the base of her neck and worked down from there. The way the three of you were positioned was that Mikey (and you previously) had your backs facing the recreational rooms’ tv, and now you were able to face the tv with Marisol. Some reality tv show had caught your attention, and with time, the sounds from the screen and the show itself distracted you.

By the last comercial break, when you looked down you found Rodriguez was chin-to-chest. Her head rolling over to allow you to gently trace the base of her neck with your nails.

“You still okay?” You asked, chuckling when she grunted happily as her answer.

Just then, more of her squad came bounding in..

“Rodriguez we’ve been looking for you what are- Hey what’re you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” You respond, noting that Marisol had yet to lift her head and her eyes remained shut.

“Aw dude- Me next! My fucking back has been killing me!” Someone from outside the door said, when you turned to look it was another member of their squad.

“You want one? Twenty dollars for however long real housewives of Dubai is on-“ Mikey instantly sat up from the old couch, his arm outstretched and hand open. You instantly shot Michael a glare, while the others looked at him in disbelief.

“Man what-“

“Mikey I didn’t-“

“It’s worth it” Marisol said, loud enough to catch everyone’s attention. She placed a hand over your hand own and gave you a quick thank you. She got up from the folding chair she’d been sat at and riled her shoulders. “It’s fucking worth it. Watch this,”

She made a show of rolling her shoulders and neck.

“Im gonna sleep like a fucking baby tonight. Ten out ten, will recommend ” She smiled and gave you another thank you. You were distracted by her smile, and didn’t hear what Mikey said next.

“So? You heard her, and you know Rodriguez doesn’t lie for shit- what do you say?” Michael smirked, hand still outstretched.The two men looked at each other before they looked back at you.

Still distracted by Rodriguez’s smile, you didn’t notice when the men pulled out their wallets.

“You got change for a fifty?”

“I do”

You turned to see the men exchange bills in front of you before offering you twenty each.

“Im not- I mean- uh-“

You sighed as they gave you a pleading look.

I mean you’re a college student paying out of state tuition fees AND the majority of check went into rent and bills… Having a bit of extra cash is like totally in your best interests…

“Who’s going first?”

And that’s how you became a part time masseuse.

It was a well kept secret. Michael had taking to managing the operation, his payment being on demand head scratches. He’d made it so only people vouched by someone you’d already worked on or by you or Michael personally, would you even consider. It was all kept on the down low so that you wouldn’t end up in some sort of trouble, you accepted payment in cash, goods, and trades of services. And everyone was kept in check by some sort of code of honor they’d established amongst themselves.

Marisol and Michael and taken it up to personally warn (threaten) everyone that if you got caught and didn’t give massages anymore they wouldn’t take it lightly. (Blah blah blah breaking knee caps blah blah blah Marisol is so creative!)

And sure there were physical therapists on base, but for whatever reason you seemed to excel in relaxing people to the point of sleep. That’s what people really came to you for.

One night when you were on graveyard shift, you recieved a text from Michael.

TMNT: Hey, just fyi sgt MacTavish and Garrick r gonna head over to you soon

You: ??

TMNT: The ones w the thiq thighs n fat asses

You: be more specific this is yam city we’re in partner

TMNT: SCOTLAND FOREVAA n the guy w the cap from the 141

You: yOU MEAN KYLE?! ur lYING!! HOW?!

You: who couched ?!

You: vouched*

TMNT: Marisol

You: Ah :o

TMNT: Yeah ;)

You: (ToT)

You: Bye then

TMNT : toodlelu~

You waited nervously for the two sergeants in the rec room. You eased your nerves by scrolling through the streaming services on the TV. Just as you had finally settled on a series, there was a knock of the opened door.

“So yur’ NyQuil?” The Scotsman was the first to enter, an inquisitive eye as he looked over your humble single chair set up. His resting smile, made your stomach do flips as you watched him look you over

“ a wee bit jumpy no?” Soap smiled, getting side eye from his fellow sergeant who was still outside the door.

“Fucking Michael- Yes but no, don’t call me that. It’s (Name), the dipshit trying to get the name to stick is my friend…” you fought to maintain eye contact with those bright blue eyes of his

The Englishmen made his appearance soon after,

“ So it is you! What? Threatenin’ us to keep clean wasn’t enough for you, you’d to start knocking people out?” Kyle walked in with a grin.

“Well, you’re some big hotshot guy so when I couldn’t get to you I had to find an outlet.” You chuckled,

“So Marisol let y’all in on the operation. What’s going on fellas?”

“Near dam dislocated my shoulder when training last week and haven’t been able to sleep it off,” Johnny answered, tentatively rolling said shoulder. You nodded then turned to Kyle,

“Well, truth is I’ve just been tired.” You nodded again,

“Alright then gentlemen, I’ll get started with-“

“Call me John, Bonnie”

“Okay, I start with John and I’ll get to you after.” You gesture for Johnny to sit in the folding chair beside you, “there’s snacks- well the layout is almost the same as your own personal rec. room so you’ll know where snacks are. Kick back on the couch, watch the movie and n’” you turn slightly to see how much more of the movie remained… an hour and forty five minutes.

“Like 45 minutes I’ll have y’all switch.”

The two men looked at each other briefly before stepping to their spots. Gaz on the couch and soap in the chair.

“Oh can I actually get you turned the other way?” You ask, Johnny quickly stands to turn around and sit as you positioned him.

“Okay, now, just let me know if anything hurts in the not good way, okay? I’m going to get started on your neck and then work from there. Sound good?” You asked, placing a bit of scentless lotion on your hands.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” Kyle couldn’t help but turn away from the screen to see you get started on Johnny. As you couldn’t see his face, Johnny scoffed lightly and gave Kyle a small smile at your words. Chin restringing on his arms, Johnny began speaking

“Nah, I’m sure’ve had worse, ‘think I can handle-“

Kyle had the pleasure of seeing his teammate’s face freeze and contort into something between pained and relieved-

“Jesús, Mary, n’ Joseph, the grip on you-“ Johnny grunted, hiding his face in his arms. From his angle, Kyle could see the way your thumbs dug into the base of his neck.

Gaz laughed, “What mate? You good?”

“If it hurts I’ll stop, just say the word,” You said, seemingly unfazed,

“Don’t you bloody dare-“ He muttered, leaning his weight into your hold. He began muttering phrases under his breath, some unfamiliar to you and other indiscernible.

“That good huh?” Kyle smirked,

Johnny, who’s face was buried in his arms only grunted at muttered “-bile your heid” or at least that’s what you managed to understand.

“It’s alright, it’s a compliment to me, yeah?”

Johnny made a noise of agreement

The three of you laughed it off, continuing with light conversation, soon enough you got into your rhythm.

See? nothing to be afraid of! Just passing the time and getting some of that green!

“So how did you find you had this talent of your’s, (Name)?”

“It was just something I did since I was younger. I’d usually only do it for my family but I haven’t..” you paused, thinking of how to continue.

“Ay, dinae stop I paid good money for dis’” Johnny joked sleepily, his breath had begun to steady and his voice sounded more muffled, like his mouth wasn’t moving at all. You chuckled and carried on.

“Relax sergeant, I’m not stopping.” You moved back from his broad shoulders to the base of his neck. You could’ve sworn he’d began purring as your fingers began raking through his hair and working at the junction between his neck and skull.

“But yeah, just something I’ve always done.”

Kyle nodded, taking note of your hesitation but not commenting. You all remained in a comfortable silence afterwards, the movie playing in the background.

Before you knew it, the forty five minutes were up. Your phone buzzed on the counter and you lifted your hands though no without immediate protest.

“Timers’ rigged-“

“No sir. Go ahead and get up, I’ve got to do your friend next before I head out for my actual work. “

“Get out the chair bruv- it’s my turn.”

He only grunted.

Johnny groaned but rose this time, he tentively lifted his arm and rolled it in its socket,

“Braw Job la-“

“Move!”

“Cannae you see I’m going ya jobbie?!”

You laughed, not entirely sure what the Scot was saying but understanding the fact he was pleased with the results. Johnny grumbled annoyed as he laid back on the coach,

“N’ I was falling asleep too!” He complained halfheartedly, placing his feet in the arm of the couch.

“Ay mate but you were cutting into my time.”

“Ah Git Awa’ and Bile Yer Heid,” John huffed, watching as Kyle took his seat in your chair. “Alright same rules, let me know when something’s not working for you or hurts in a bad way, ‘Kay Garrick?”

“Garrick? What happened to Kyle? You cross with me?”

He’d turned his head back slightly, his expression ameused.

“This is a professional setting Mr. Garrick, I’ve got to be professional.” A smug smile pulled at your lips. You placed your hands on his shoulders to begin.

“So this is where you two disappeared to.”

You turned around to trace the source of the unfamiliar voice. You were lead to the doorway- oh hey it’s the grim reaper

“ AH!”

By now both men in the room, had begun stifling their snickers.

“We have to stop meeting like this!I mean you no offense but you’re one scary S-O-B you know that” You swalllowed, raising your head from beside Kyle.

He didn’t respond, but telling from his eyes and the minuscule movement where his mouth would be, you figured he was amused.

“Stalking us’ Lt.? And here we thought yee couldn’ stand us,”

He giant of the group of giants found his place in the corner of the room, he leaned against the counter and allowed for Johnny to yap away.

Meanwhile you’d restarted your timer hesitantly, starting again and hoping that the sound of John’s voice and the tv kept your voice out of earshot.

You leaned over slightly, just enough for Kyle to hear you. ( And for a tingle down his spine n heat reach the tip of his ears)

“He won’t kill me right? He looks the like kinda of guy that could kill me.”

“I mean he could, but he won’t….‘Least I hope…”

“Fuck right off then Garrick, if it wasn’t for the money you paid me I’d leave right now.”

“So you’re telling me you’re only here for money? I thought you liked me?”

“Just because you’re hot doesn’t mean you can’t be insufferable, sergeant. I’ve gotta keep the bills paid somehow.”

“You think I’m hot?” He smirked,

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “- and insufferable, don’t forget that part. It’s key that you understand that’s more important .”

The two of you continued to bicker, not noticing that the Lieutenant and other sergeant had been watching the two of you interact.

“Lively one ye?” Soap turned slightly to get a look at Ghost’s expression. Despite being hiding under that skull themed baklava of his, Johnny felt he’d seen enough and been through enough with the man to get a general feel for him.

Ghost took a moment to take in the scene.

Kyle trying to rile you up while being forced multiple times to keep his head facing forward. A broad smile on his face and the sound of his laugh just slightly louder than the television.

You, who eventually forced him to plant his face into his arms so that the whole ordeal would be over with. A smile tugging on your own lips no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

He then turned back to Johnny, who watched the two of you as well. The look on his face seeming content, his eyes following the way Kyle’s eyes lit up and switching off to the way your lips moved when you smiled and spit back another comeback. There was a heat to it all but.. The whole scene was so… domestic. Ghost quickly turned away, instead focusing on how you decided to torture Gaz, completely giving up on the relaxation part of the massage and instead aiming for as many weak spots as you could find.

Lively indeed.

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imagine-notnatural · 5 months ago

Text

this is the mindset I use when I write ngl

that thing where you're attracted to someone not in a platonic or romantic or sexual way, but in an 'i want to read about their exploits' kind of way

23K notes · View notes

imagine-notnatural · 5 months ago

Text

CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’

DEAN WINCHESTER X BIMBO!READER

WARNINGS: ANGST!!!!, forced proximity, szn one, yeah these first chaps are going to be rough😃

SUMMARY: it’s been a while since dean saw his little brother, but somehow the first thing sam winchester seems to ask is, “where’s your girlfriend?” god, how much he wished sam hadn’t said that.

WC: 3k

HEARTBREAK HISTORY

the ride from palo alto, california to jericho wasn’t too bad, just a couple of hours and the winchester brothers would be at the last known place of their father. but what should’ve been a decent ride catching up with his baby brother turned into one from the depths that encrusted dean’s soul.

“i’m surprised she’s not here. when i left, the two of you were attached at the hip.” sam was oblivious to the glaring truth that rolled off of dean in waves. it was evident in the way the eldest clenched his hands on the steering wheel, a white sheen taking over his knuckles. his jaw clenched when he thought about you; the five year old hair curler you brought everywhere because it gave you those ‘perfect, glossy waves’, the type of blush you used that made it look like rose petals had dusted across your cheeks. and those lips. god, how could dean forget about that kissable pout.

but sam didn’t know. he didn’t know how badly dean fucked up, he didn’t know that his eldest brother lied to keep the girl he loved safe, and that’s what made you hate him so much.

the hate you held for him was the fuel for the hate he had for you. but it wasn’t because of anything you did; no, dean winchester hated you because he hated himself. the way he could carelessly throw away something so good, something he’s had since he was nineteen. you screaming at him, tears dripping down your face as you watched his turn into a snarl, he hated himself for it.

that’s why dean forced himself to feel nothing but hate towards you; because if he kept loving you, it would tear him apart.

the night still plagued his mind, finding him in his dreams. that perfectly curled hair getting all messy as you yelled at him, your cheeks flushed an angry red instead of it’s dusty pink. and those lips, how they curved around the words to his demise, the words that dean planted in your mouth.

he didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to even mention your name for the flood gates would burst and memories of laughter and pure happiness would leak through. happiness that dean threw away. but sam kept pestering, kept asking where you were, and dean was sure that if he gripped the steering wheel tighter, he might break his fingers.

“we broke up.” dean grit through his teeth, his molars rubbing against each other in an uncomfortable fashion as he watched sam’s face twist into shock. “about eight months ago.”

eight long, gruelling months of self-loathing and wishing you were beside him, running your hands through his hair and telling him everything was going to be okay. but it wasn’t, and it would never be again; dean made sure of that.

a splutter came from the passenger seat, sam still trying to grasp onto what his brother just said. “seriously? no, no way, you’ve got to be kidding!”

dean felt his blood run hot as sam continued to blubber in shock. he hasn’t seen his brother in years for gods sake, he should be happy, asking him how his time at stanford was. he shouldn’t be thinking about you, about all the things he could’ve had.

“not kidding sammy,” the words came out clipped, like he was forcing himself to talk about it. “haven’t even seen her since.”

dean was trying to act nonchalant, like voicing the end of your story was an everyday task for him, as though he could speak about it and shrug his shoulders. but dean couldn’t, he couldn’t stand the thought of it. it ripped and gnawed at his insides, making the love he had for you fester into hate. hate that he ruined it. hate that even though it wasn’t your fault, you let him ruin what you’d had.

sam was still rattling off his questions drenched in surprise, which dean couldn’t really blame him for. you two got together when sam was fifteen, he watched you two fall more and more in love for three years before he went off to school. this year would’ve been your seventh year anniversary. he had every right to be shocked.

“how did it happen?” oh god, dean wished he skipped that one. “was it mutual? did something bad happen? i’m sorry if i’m pushing dean, but i’m rightfully confused about this.”

“don’t worry, i can’t blame you.” sam could hear the sadness behind his brothers words, a hidden sorrow that he wouldn’t let anyone see. “but we were on two different paths. i didn’t want to drag her down with hunting, and she had other obligations, so we decided to end it.”

lie. lie. lie. the only truth in that statement was how he didn’t want to drag you down with hunting. but you didn’t have any other obligations, and it definitely wasn’t a mutual breakup. dean had lied to you to make it all the more easier to let you go, make you hate him so there was no way he’d come crawling back and put you in more danger.

sam just shook his head, wondering what could’ve swayed you and dean to end the relationship you two had been in for half a decade. “are you okay though?” he knew it was a stupid question the second he saw dean’s breaths quicken, air coming out of his nose like a raging bull about to charge. but he didn’t show any signs of anger or emotional turmoil. all dean could muster was a shake of his head, hands gripping the wheel so tight sam thought he was going to break his fingers.

“i’m fine, sammy.” the words didn’t sound convincing, but sam didn’t question. “let’s not talk about it, okay? we’re almost at the bridge where the last victims car was found, let just focus on the case.”

sam just nodded, briefly turning his head to look out the window at the rolling greenery. it was strange, you not being here. he was so used to cramming in the backseat, you upfront with your hair flowing in the wind, dean’s free arm either around your shoulder or his hand placed on your thigh. he didn’t want to question his brother any further, but the reasons he gave for your breakup didn’t make sense in his head. sam wanted to wait; wait until dean seemed to have a semblance of peace when it came to the topic of you before he went poking around anymore.

the rest of the ride to the bridge was fairly tame. sam asking dean about the case, about their father. dean answering the best he could while simultaneously trying to forget you. it was all very peaceful. two brothers who haven’t seen each other in years catching up.

that was until they made it to the bridge.

off the jump dean noticed something was off. on top of the multiple police cars, a red, volkswagen beetle stood out in the mix. it looked familiar, and dean couldn’t help but get a keen sense of deja vu when he saw it.

he also thought he was dreaming when he saw ur perfectly curled ponytail swish behind you as you talked to a police officer. but as you turned, and your face masked into an even more vivacious horror and simmering anger, dean knew he wasn’t in a state of rem.

“is that. . .” sam had breathed out, looking at his brother and seeing the utter disbelief and slight horror on his face. you hadn’t changed, not even one bit. when you had turned around, dean swore it was like the last time he saw you; those perfect pouty lips painted in a muted pink, those rosy cheeks and big eyes that were full of wonder.

you wore dark washed skinny jeans with knee high heeled boots, dark pink cardigan peeking out of your petticoat of the same colour. professional yet girly was how you described it, and dean suddenly wanted to vomit all over his shoes.

why were you here? hunting was the main reason that the two of you broke up, so seeing you in the middle of a suspicious death was unbeknownst to dean.

the feelings swimming in his gut was nauseating, a mix of sadness, regret, and anger for how he fucked everything up. you were as beautiful as the day he left you, and dean winchester was now starting to feel the repercussions of how much of a fucking fool he was.

your insides were churning all the same, the one thing you still had in common with your former lover. dean looked different; more gaunt a little more worn down. ‘good’ you thought, lifting your chin up as you walked over to him and his brother. ‘i hope he’s fucking hurting.’

with a deathly smile on your lips that had dean’s knees buckling, you completely sidestepped his frame and went for sam. “sammy!” you squealed, a noise that had dean’s knees buckling and heart twisting in jealousy for his own damn brother. “i can’t believe it’s you! i haven’t seen you in what? 4 years?”

sam laughed, a huff leaving his lips as you threw yourself into his arms. the makeshift hug left dean’s hands clenching, watching as sam’s eyes turned to his and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “yeah, i’m back. but only for this case, sunny, i have an interview for law school on monday.”

sunny. the nickname sam had given you when he was only sixteen. he used to call you that because it was what you brought out in his brother; the sun, all the happy emotions that john winchester lacked in delivering. you made everything around you bright, and sam always thought that the name was especially fitting for you.

a loud gasp ripped through your lips, pulling back a little until your hands rested on sam’s shoulders. “law? jeez sammy, i knew you were smart, but damn!”

your voice rang throughout the air as you laughed and reminisced with sam, completely ignoring the other winchester’s presence. it was infuriating, how easily you could pretend that dean wasn’t there. it was a cruel punishment. knowing everything about a person; their dreams, what they love, how they look when they just wake up, yet you couldn’t reach them. dean felt like an outsider looking in, a wall of fogged glass between him and the one he let go away.

after a good five minutes of having to listen to your conversation with sam, dean finally cleared his throat aggressively, watching as your smile slowly faded into a scowl as you turned your head to his. “if you don’t mind, we’ve got a case to get to, sweetheart. though if you’re too busy chatting up my brother, than i could just go and do all the heavy lifting.”

gritting out a smile, you squared back your shoulders and tilted your chin upwards so you could look dean in the eye. “mad i got here first winchester? obviously you’re not used to it, since i never finished when we fucked.”

sam sputtered on a cough, hand going to cover his mouth as he took in the words you’d just said. your back was to sam, so he couldn’t see your face, but he could see his brothers, and he was pissed. dean’s fists were clenched at his sides, and the crease in his eyebrows was heavily visible.

your face was passive, and dean seemed to be staring into your soul, egging you to tell sam about how that was far from the truth. his eyebrow quirked, and a devious smirk grew on his face.

“very mature,” he spoke through his grin, an shade of ease over his face, though his insides were speaking the complete opposite. “why are you here, sugar?”

sugar. a name you hadn’t heard in eight months. while sam called you sunshine because you brought a brightness to his brothers life, dean called you sugar because of how sweet you were. it was your automatic setting; always being kind, sweet, and chipper to anyone who you met. but dean’s reasoning behind it now wasn’t the same as it was eight months ago. it was cruel, demeaning, like he was attempting to rattle your bones like you’d done his.

dean had watched your face falter, the whit and spark behind your eyes dying. it left a dampen on his heart, but if you were going to play dirty, then so was he. shaking your head a little, you lifted your nose up to dean, trying to wave an air of calmness while you spoke to the man who ripped your heart out. “i got a random text with coordinates. i didn’t know who it was, so i called the number back and it was one of your dad’s phones. so, i decided to come check it out.”

this had sam and dean looking at each other over your shoulder. why would john be sending you the same coordinates he sent dean? he was aware of your relationship, and he was aware you knew of the supernatural, but he was also aware that you broke up.

sam gave dean a look, speaking volumes about how unpredictable and difficult their father was. but dean just ignored it, turning his eyes back to you with a smirk like a wild animal. “you decided to come check it out? why sugar? you worried about me?”

rolling your eyes at the huge ego on this man, you crossed your arms over your chest and gave him your best sneer — even though to dean it looked nowhere near threatening on your poised and pretty face.

“why would your dad be sending me coordinates, dean?” you replied in a sharp tone of voice. “i haven’t thought of you in the eight months since you threw our relationship down the drain, so get your head out of your ass!”

lie. lie. lie. you thought about dean everyday since he broke your heart. his reasons for a breakup were so sudden, not something you expected to happen in a long shot. he told you that you were dragging him down from what his hunting, that you were to clingy and needy and that he wanted to focus on his family business more.

you begged and pleaded for him, telling him that what he was saying didn’t make sense. but he would not budge, saying that you were through, that your seven year relationship had run it’s course. you’d gotten furious with him, yelling and saying how much of a coward he was, how he was a scared little boy afraid of commitment. but he just left, leaving your relationship and and heart in the trash.

the eight months since you’ve seen dean has been hard. so now, seeing him act all smug, like he didn’t completely tear you apart was infuriating.

dean just stared at you, his smirk dying down a little. had you really not thought about him? he’d thought about you, and a hell of a lot too. but he couldn’t let his guard down, couldn’t allow you to see that all those cruel and selfish things he said were fake.

“well, thanks for stopping by sweetheart, but sammy and i got it from here.” the smile plastered on dean’s face was pure mockery, and you had every inclination to smack it right off. sam, on the other hand, was as confused as the day he was born. what happened between the two of you? obviously dean lied when he said it ended on good terms, but he didn’t think it was this bad.

your stare hardened, and at that moment dean remembered how stubborn you were. “i’m not going anywhere,” you declared, body turning so you could face both sam and dean. “your dad clearly sent me these coordinates for a reason, so i’m staying until i figure out what’s going on.” dean wanted to argue, but he saw the way sam looked at him from the side of his eye, the way you stared him down with that ‘taking no for an answer’ attitude, and he couldn’t help but sigh, turning away and walking towards the impala.

his retreating frame allowed a huff from your lips, jokingly bumping shoulders with sam as you followed dean to the impala. the younger man just sighed, following behind you as he thought about how tiring this was going to be.

and he wasn’t wrong. the case was gruelling. you and dean were either arguing or sending petty jabs to each other. and when one of you disagreed with the other — which was all the time, it was like a war zone. sam thought he’d lived multiple years when they finally caught the ghost. when it was time to go back to stanford, sam caught you by your car, throwing his hand over your shoulder as you both watched dean pack the impala’s trunk.

“you’ll tell me the truth of what happened between you two?” his words came out hushed, a whisper that floated in the wind alongside the scraps and thuds of dean’s packing. “dean said you ended on good terms, but from what i saw today, i don’t believe it for a second.”

all you could do was scoff, appalled but not shocked that dean would lie to his brother about what happened. “ask dean,” you said finally, turning and giving him a paper with your number on it. “and call me when you find out his reasoning behind his bullshit. ‘cause i’m just as confused as you are.”

sam took your friend request with grace, giving you a small hug before he departed to go back to his future. you watched as dean stared at you for a second longer before getting in the car, peeling out of the driveway of the old home without a second thought.

it was weird; having to see dean again, getting the note from john. none of it made sense. but you were okay with things being a little confusing. after this intermission in yours and dean’s ignoring game, you realized you never wanted to see him again. you were content with not ever seeing his face again, and the peace in your stomach was slowly coming back.

but we know how the things we dream for sometimes don’t come true.

TAGS: @starzify @titsout4jackles @floralscented @bluemerakis @haunteres @foolinthera1n @figthoughts @vaiieydoii @taurus-0-queenie-33 @misatxox @milkb0nny @youdontknowe @woaheasytig3r @whyyouegg @mimiimmii

NAT BABBLES: i am giving these two NO COMFORT WHAT SO EVER. they are going to hurt, be angry at one another, heavy HEAVY pining and groveling will also be ensued. hope you all have fun!!!

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