alex

i’m gonna grow wings 🪽

[svmbers]

alex she/her 26 libra infp unlabeled/sapphic

masterlist

hi, i'm alex (fake name for privacy reasons, but close enough to my real name lol). i'm not new to tumblr, but i've never had a fan blog where i can write fics before.

i'm 26, so while what i write may not be nsfw, please read warnings and proceed with caution. i will indicate when mdni. thank you for understanding <3

what i <3: jennifer's body, it’s always sunny in philadelphia, parks and rec, bob’s burgers (i am louise fyi), abbott elementary, community, gen v, stranger things, supernatural, yellowjackets, anything horror, jordan li, natalie scatorccio, dean winchester, jennifer check, nancy wheeler, steve harrington, robin buckley, anakin skywalker, selena gomez, ariana grande, natalia dyer, jenna ortega, sophie thatcher, and more

i take requests through the ask button, so please feel free to send them my way! <3

please note, i only write fics for characters. writing about real people makes me uncomfortable, and i want to respect them.

my fics are under the hashtag #svmbers writes

fic recs are under the hashtag #fic recs!! <3

[loserlesbiancoded]

oh my GOD your Nat story had me in tears !! i love the way you write and how you capture her character, it feels so honest! and the ANGST !! i’d love if you could write something with her in like an opposites attract sort of thing where reader is the popular people pleaser princess with internalized homophobia (a la jackie taylor) and finds herself going absolutely insane upon being attracted to the rude stoner who’s constantly humbling her .. sweet and angsty as things should be ! if you can of course ! love ur writing 💕💕

꩜ stress relief

꩜ pairing: natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

꩜ additional tags/warnings: no crash/modern, college au, hookup!natalie, cheating (on a man so who cares), angst, some fluff towards the end ig?, suggestive content, alcohol use, drug use (weed), abusive relationship, internalized homophobia

꩜ author's notes: this is a personal fav of mine so far :'). i hope i did you justice anon. thank you so much for the kind words and the request, i absolutely loved writing it for you. i promise i'll get around to the other ones asap!! requests are still open btw :)

꩜ summary: you're not gay. still, for some reason, you can't seem to stop hooking up with the sexy stoner from your college soccer team, even when it means sneaking around behind your boyfriend's back in order to do so.

꩜ word count: 7.8k

You didn’t really care when your back clashed a bit too roughly against the steering wheel, causing the horn to sound out loud and clear amidst the empty parking lot.

You didn’t care that your knees were bent uncomfortably, making your thighs burn, giving you the certainty of an incoming ache that was meant to linger for at least the next couple of days.

And, to be honest, it didn’t really faze you that someone could randomly walk by the car and see Natalie’s pale hand slammed against the fogged up window or hear the clinking sound of her rings as they bumped on the glass.

When you were with her, alone, just the two of you, nothing else seemed to matter. The haze of her fingertips on your skin, her hot breath against your neck and her wet kisses on your jaw clouded your mind with a dense, heavy fog — and, suddenly, all that mattered was chasing that high, prolonging that feeling, relishing the sensation for as long as you possibly could, knowing it would all be gone sooner than you’d like to admit.

And, when it was over, it was over. Abrupt, quick, like ripping off a band-aid — something you just pull off and forget about. As simple as that. Like it never happened.

So you kept savoring it while it was still happening, while it was still real — because, soon, it wouldn’t be. You let your hands meet her hair, her jaw, her neck — feeling her, gripping her like she was yours: your quiet way of letting her know that, in that moment, she was. Even though it wasn’t true. Even though it would end. 

Natalie’s fingers were agile and annoyingly talented, curling expertly in a way you’d never admit you loved, at least not when you were in your right mind. And that’s what you hated the most — how good she was. How she never missed. How she picked up on subtle sighs and noises and shivers no one else ever did.

Your skirt was crumpled up around your waist, underwear carelessly pulled to the side, top already long gone, tossed somewhere on the backseat amidst loose paper sheets and the emergency umbrella you always kept around. She worked you like she meant it, as if she was trying to prove something, watching your scrunched up face like her favorite movie. She analyzed the way your eyelids pressed together, the way your lips parted, the way you threw your head back and your hips moved faster, more desperate, more urgent.

And, well, she was good — so she did something about it. Caught up to your rhythm with skill. Pressed her lips to yours because she knew you liked to be kissed while she touched you. Because it made her crazy to feel how your breath hitched and your mouth opened in a gasp against your will, so stupid and pathetic you couldn’t even bring yourself to keep kissing her properly.

“Just like that…” You managed to blurt out in a single breath, whispered and hushed, the sound fading away in the air like a promise you’d soon forget. “Fuck, Nat, I’m so close.”

She flashed you a smirk. That fucking smirk — smug, conceited, devilish, subtly letting you know she was very much aware of what she did to you, of how much she affected you. Of how much you hated that you couldn’t get enough. And she knew it.

You didn’t last long after that. Before you could even think, you were already sweaty and panting and utterly destroyed, body limp against hers, head instinctively sinking into the curve of her neck for no more than a split second — that blissful moment of lull and oblivion, when the blood hadn’t rushed back to your brain yet, while your mind was still just as useless as your weakened knees.

But it ended — of course. It always ended.

You were the first to pull away. Still breathing heavily and sporting a pair of flushed cheeks, you brought your head up, left her lap, found your way to the passenger seat. Always quiet, always avoiding eye contact. You quickly adjusted your underwear and pulled your skirt back down, smoothing it clumsily with one shaky hand as the other reached for your now creased shirt on the backseat.

No one said anything, no one asked anything. Natalie simply fixed the collar of her leather jacket, which was crooked and slightly pulled up from the way you’d held onto it earlier, lips still red and swollen from being kissed with so much passion. The previous sounds of gasping, moaning and scattered whispers that filled the car had now been replaced with a lingering, familiar, uncomfortable silence.

Then, unannounced, your phone buzzed once, then twice, then a few more times, cutting sharply through the quiet. Unsolicited. Like a violation.

The low, steady, torturous humming, along with the way the screen lit up with the name Josh written across it, made you flinch — immediately and quite visibly, your shoulders tensed up and your heart skipped a beat, like you’d been caught in the middle of doing something wrong.

Natalie scoffed under her breath, shaking her head subtly, almost imperceptibly — almost. But you noticed, and you wanted to reprimand her for it. To tell her she had no right to judge you. To scold her for giving you that annoying, condescending, holier-than-thou look. But you didn’t. Instead, you just grabbed your phone and, before answering it, muttered huskily:

“Keep your mouth shut.”

You gave your boyfriend a half assed excuse involving a study session that had run late, something that seemed to happen more and more naturally lately, while Natalie just leaned back against the driver’s seat — one arm slung over her own head, blonde hair touching the headrest, sitting casually in your car like it was her own. The call went on for about a minute, you coming up with short answers and unelaborate lies, Natalie staring at her phone, aimlessly scrolling — still in your space, for some reason.

When you finally hung up, she still had that cocky smile on her lips, eyes on you this time, her own cellphone tossed back aside.

“Study session, huh?” She mocked, one hand traveling to a small pocket on the inside of her jacket, carelessly fishing for something.

“Shut up.” You replied, ears hot, heart racing — some sort of mixture of guilt, sadness, shame and some other feeling you couldn’t quite name taking over your chest.

Your clothes were back on, you weren’t straddling her lap anymore. Her hands were now fiddling with something on her jacket, nowhere near you. The sex was over. Your worried boyfriend had called looking for you.

You knew what that meant.

It was time to go back to hating Natalie.

“Just saying.” Her voice was raspy and teasing, very clearly amused by your distress, as she finally pulled a rolled joint out of her pocket and brought it up to her lips. “With all the studying you’ve done lately, the poor bastard might think you’re applying for a job at NASA.”

“Shut the fuck, up, Scatorccio.” You fumed, one hand traveling abruptly and roughly to yank the unlit joint out of her mouth. “And don’t even think about stinking up my car with this shit.”

Natalie laughed, throwing her head back just enough for you to spot a small, red mark you’d accidentally left on the skin of her neck.

“Back to Scatorccio already?” She bit back, reaching to steal the blunt back from you and tucking it in her pocket again, fingertips almost shocking you as they brushed against your own. “It was Nat just a few minutes ago.”

You felt a burning heat creep up your neck, painting you red in a mixture of embarrassment and anger, along with a tightening feeling in your chest you simply couldn’t shake. She had that effect on you — always leaving you confused, upset, frustrated, filled with an unexplainable rage that made your blood boil and your heart sink.

“Just stop fucking talking, will you?” You blurted out, instinctively sinking your head into your hands, wanting to crawl into a hole and hide from her gaze, from her judgment, from that weird thing she made you feel in your chest.

Silence installed itself back in the car, and you didn’t really know what to do with it. You let your mind wander, and caught yourself wishing you had been stronger — you wished you hadn’t let your weakness get the best out of you earlier after playing horribly during that scrimmage. Wished you’d only closed your eyes and taken deep breaths when Jackie scolded you for not paying enough attention to your surroundings as Shauna stole the ball from under your feet. Wished it hadn’t only gotten worse when you left the locker room after practice and saw that Josh had texted you, asking to hang out, which you fully ignored, despite him technically being the person you were supposed to want to see. Wished you’d had better self control, that you could somehow find somewhere else to take your stress out on.

That your mind would drift to literally anything or anyone other than Natalie Scatorccio — than dragging her to your car and driving her away to an empty parking lot, than letting her touch and kiss and hold you until whatever bothered you earlier had long vanished from your thoughts.

The heavy quiet was disturbed by the sound of a breathy chuckle coming from the driver’s seat, where Natalie still sat nonchalantly, absentmindedly playing with the lighter that dangled from the holder attached to the carabiner she always had around her belt loop.

The sound alone was enough to make you feel like you could murder someone — preferably her.

“What’s so funny?” You asked with clear annoyance in your voice, rude and dismissive, yet still infuriatingly curious about what was happening inside of her head.

She shook her head slowly, softly, eyes stuck on the dashboard before her.

“It’s nothing.”

Still, that patronizing smirk lingered on her lips, causing a maddening, irritating sensation to settle itself in your chest.

“Something’s clearly funny enough to keep you laughing to yourself like a crazy person.”

Natalie let out a scoff, shaking her head again as if the whole situation was nothing but amusing to her.

“Since you really wanna know.” She started, eyes drifting toward your face. “You’re doing that thing again. All over me one minute, acting like I’m contagious the next.”

Your breath caught in your throat — you didn’t expect to be called out like that.

“I don’t— I don’t do that.”

She laughed again.

“Please, you don’t even believe that.” She stopped messing with the lighter, her ring clad fingers now resting beside her body on the driver’s seat.

“I was not all over you.”

Natalie paused, staring at you for a second, still smirking. Like she was pondering whether or not to talk. Like she was analyzing you.

“You can act like you hate me all you want. Give your boyfriend as many excuses as you can come up with. Behave like the perfect, uptight, goody little princess you want everyone to think you are.” She stopped for a beat, tilting her head just a bit, eyes never leaving yours. “But you can’t run away from yourself. You’re so deeply stuck in denial it’s gonna end up eating away at you eventually.”

You didn’t know what to say. Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, blunt and sharp, way too close to home. You hated that she saw right through the front you so carefully built, that she read you like an open book — one that was written in a language only the two of you understood. You hated how condescendingly she spoke to you, as if she could ever understand the crushing pressure you’d been under your whole life. You hated how right she was about everything she’d said, and how, deep down, you knew it — though you’d never willingly admit it, you wouldn’t, you simply couldn’t.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” A stubborn crack made itself present in your voice, causing your cheeks to blush even harder with anger and shame. “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Natalie’s tone was still smug and mocking, and maybe, just maybe, bearing a hint of hurt. A tiny, subtle, almost unnoticeable hint. “Live your lie, marry some guy you could never love, keep secretly sneaking off to fuck random girls like me so you can feel alive every once in a while.” She scoffed. “Hell of a life, huh?”

You could feel your heart threatening to beat out of your chest, the fuming sensation taking over your body so intensely you thought smoke might start coming out of your ears. Natalie’s words hurt, stung, cut through you like a sharp sword — deeply, abruptly, without ever giving you a chance to try and assemble an effective defense.

Sure, she had always been the type to make snarky comments — witty remarks, crafted comebacks designed specifically to mess with you, clever insults and backhanded compliments that somehow always found a way to tackle the absurdity of the situation happening between the two of you. The teasing, the hatred, the heated sex, the silence that came from you afterwards. You knew it was ridiculous, it hammered in your head every single night, and she never let you forget it. There was always something, as little as it was.

But she’d never been this… direct. Elaborate. Hurtful.

You didn’t know what it was that pushed Natalie over the edge, but you didn’t like it. Didn’t like to be called out like that. Didn’t like to be forced to think about the situation you were in, about how pathetic you must have seemed in her eyes.

“Don’t act like you know me. You know nothing about me.” You spoke through your teeth, using all the strength in your body to keep yourself from crying. You wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. “And I do love Josh. This doesn’t have anything to do with that.”

Natalie let out another laugh, this time louder.

“Oh, it doesn’t? What is this, then?”

Unlike hers, your voice only went lower, more quiet, more guarded.

“It’s… stress relief.” You said, weak and flustered, painfully aware of how hopelessly pitiful you sounded. “It doesn’t mean I’m…”

You trailed off, and Natalie kept chuckling incredulously, reeling in the sheer insanity of your words.

“What, that you’re gay?” She sounded out loudly, the one word you dreaded coming out of her lips and straight to your chest, cutting a hole through you like an arrow. “Fuck, you really are locked in that closet, aren’t you?”

Oh.

She went there. She actually went there.

You were not gay.

No.

Not gay.

The kisses, the touches, the sex — it was plainly and simply stress relief.

When you met Natalie, back when you were both freshmen, she was annoying, conceited, a hard headed know-it-all who kept shoulder shoving and tripping you during practice. She always made sure to get the last word in, weirdly obsessed with humbling you whatever chance she got, calling you a privileged princess and disagreeing with absolutely everything you said, whatever it was. But you didn’t fall behind — you argued back, showed her up, tried to prove yourself through your performance in the field. Tried to one up her.

Tried to ignore the way her bleached hair clung to her sweaty forehead whenever she ran across the field, the way her chest went up and down with heavy breaths whenever coach Scott told the team to take a five-minute break, the way she drank from her water bottle so clumsily and desperately a few drops dripped down her chin and onto the collar of her shirt.

It wasn’t gay. You were just… noticing. You noticed things.

You were human, after all.

And, well, she noticed things, too. She was also human.

So it simply made sense when, one day, after a particularly charged practice, she pulled you into an empty shower stall in the locker room and made her hand disappear inside your shorts, fucking the tension away, making you melt into her body until you couldn’t remember what had even made you so mad earlier on.

And you let her.

And it kept happening. Over and over again.

You were both ticked off by each other, stuck in a long lasting rivalry that set you both on edge, and that’s what those secret moments were fueled by — it just made sense. A way to shut each other up. To ease the tension. It had nothing to do with being gay.

It was stress relief.

Therefore, of course you felt personally attacked when Natalie used that word to describe you. Like she knew anything about you at all. Like she understood what was going on inside of your mind.

She didn’t.

You gulped, mouth immediately closing shut, and just stared at her for a moment too long.

After what felt like forever, you blurted out, voice barely above a whisper, charged with unshed tears:

“Get out.”

She laughed incredulously.

“What?”

“You heard me. Get the fuck out of my car.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Natalie turned her body completely towards you, looking utterly shocked.

“Get out, Scatorccio.” You reinforced. “I mean it.”

“We’re in a deserted fucking parking lot in the middle of nowhere.” The smirk that annoyed you so much finally left her lips, now replaced by a frown, accompanied by her raspy, rigid voice. “Do you know how long I’d have to walk to make it back to campus? In the fucking dark?”

“Not my problem.”

Natalie looked at you like you were insane. Maybe you were — she was making you that way, with her furrowed brows, her angry stare, her shocked demeanor. With her messy hair, still carrying the traces of your fingertips. With her scent, stuck in the air inside your car.

And you knew you were being unreasonable. Knew it was unfair to pull her in whenever you wanted and then leave her hanging that way. But you couldn’t stop yourself. Couldn’t handle the weight of what she’d just told you. You just kept staring down, eyes fixed on the glove compartment so you wouldn’t have to meet her gaze.

So she opened the door. Roughly. Angrily.

Then, a huff.

“Fucking pathetic.” She said under her breath, jumping out of your car onto the empty parking lot, her worn Converse knocking against the asphalt.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You thought Natalie wouldn’t either.

But, then, she turned around one last time, hand over the car door, cheeks flushed from the sudden cool breeze that hit her face.

“Next time you’re stressed,” the words were practically spat out of her lips, bitter and crushing, “don’t bother seeking me out.”

Nothing more was said. Natalie slammed the door so hard the whole car shook, and you were only able to lift your head up to look at her once you were sure she was facing away. You caught a glimpse of her back, blonde locks messily flying in the wind, hands tucked inside of her pockets, walking fast.

You felt so small.

Your heart was tight, weird, heavy in your chest for some reason. You weren’t able to return to the driver’s seat until she disappeared in the horizon through the glow of a few scattered lamp posts and the moon, kissing the back of her head so beautifully it made your chest ache even further.

There was an assortment of confusing, agonizing feelings mingling inside of you. Worry, disappointment, resignation. A type of sadness that cut deeply, leaving you seated there, alone, for what felt like forever. Gruesome, gut wrenching loneliness, amplified by the vastity of the parking lot you were at and by that fucking Slowdive song that started faintly playing on the radio — the one that always made you think of Natalie every time you heard it.

And, of course, the very worst one of them: that sinking feeling, deep in your bones, whenever you saw her in the distance — the same you felt when you caught her running through the soccer field or outside at a party, smoking a joint and cracking jokes with Lottie and Van. The same that made you dizzy when her eyes met yours from across the room and that knowing crooked grin popped up on her lips for no more than a second before facing away. The same that made your hands tremble when she finally approached you.

You couldn’t explain it. You just felt it.

And you didn’t feel it when you looked at Josh.

Fuck, Josh. Still texting, still asking to hang out. Probably trying to get in your pants with how insistent he’s been tonight.

You shook off the feeling — or tried to, at least. Jumped into the driver’s seat and turned off the radio before the song was even over. Drove back to campus with the windows down, needing the wind to blow the thoughts away, resisting the urge to cruise slowly and scan the side of the road for signs of Natalie. Feeling guilty, on top of everything else, for letting her walk alone when you caught a glimpse of just how dark the way back was.

When you got to your dorm, you texted Josh another excuse, saying you were tired from studying and just wanted to shower and crash for the night.

When it came to Josh, it wasn’t that you hated him — you’d just never really loved him, either.

But you could. You thought you could. Maybe. If you gave it enough time.

Still, six months had passed and you hadn’t really felt it yet. Sure, he wasn’t so bad. You actually laughed at his jokes, most of the time. He was smart, handsome, mostly kind — and you saw that. There was no obvious reason why you shouldn’t love him.

So you didn’t really understand why your hands felt like someone else’s every time you touched him. Why lacing your fingers through his felt like an act of politeness rather than affection. Why his lips tasted like they lacked something, and kissing them felt like an item you merely had to cross off a checklist. Why it took every last ounce of strength in your body to let him lay you down and touch you. Why you felt the desperate need for a shower and some time alone afterwards, every single time.

And especially why that wasn’t the case at all with Natalie.

Because when you were with her, your hands were your own as they dug through her hair, as they unbuttoned her shirt. And it was passion you felt when she intertwined your fingers together against the mattress and whispered words of praise in your ear. And her lips tasted like cigarettes and peppermint and something addictive, something you couldn’t get enough of, something you counted the hours until you were able to taste again. And it was just natural for you to let her touch you in the way she did — so desperate, so eager, as if she also felt every single thing you were feeling, communicating through gasps and pants and wandering fingertips. And it pained you every time you acted as if you hated her, because the truth was you didn’t want to leave. You wanted to stay. You wanted to hold her through the night, to sink your head into her chest, to let her run her fingers through your hair. You wanted to talk to her, to hear her stupid dirty jokes, to watch her proud smile as you laughed at each one of them.

You wanted her.

But you couldn’t. You just couldn’t.

So, instead, you showered. Washed off her perfume from your skin. Scrubbed off her chapstick from your neck. Got rid of any remaining evidence of her fingers on your hair. Lay down in bed and stared at your phone for hours, waiting for a text you knew wouldn’t come, especially after what she’d told you before walking off.

“Next time you’re stressed, don’t bother seeking me out.”

It echoed in your head for days. Her husky voice. Her firm tone. The hurt look on her face.

Then came the night of the party.

Josh had insisted on your presence — it was his frat’s biggest party of the semester, and he was keen on showing you off (his own words). You didn’t really feel like it, to be honest, but, with the absurd amount of excuses you’d been giving him lately, you figured you owed him this much.

So you put on a dress, did your makeup and hair and made sure you looked nothing but spotless as you walked through the door with his arm around your shoulders, smiling robotically, rehearsed. Like you usually did.

You played your part. Had a few drinks — all of which he’d gotten you. Chatted with his idiot friends and their unbearable girlfriends about things you didn’t really care for. Stayed glued to his side for hours, feeling the weight of his hand on your waist like a leech — like something that clung to you and slowly sucked your blood, leaving you weaker and weaker until you could barely stand to hold yourself up anymore.

At some point during the night, you found Jackie and Mari hanging out by one of the beer kegs, and that was your perfect excuse to free yourself from Josh, from his touch, from the agonizing kisses he’d been stealing from you all night. He didn’t mind — just went straight off to his football friends, muttering something about a game of beer pong you could not be less interested in.

Still, even though you were away from him, his traces remained all over you — like you’d been branded. Every time someone referred to you as “Josh’s girl”, you felt a little sicker. Every time one of his frat brothers stopped you to ask where he was, your shoulders tensed and you pursed your lips. You didn’t care. You didn’t want to know. It made you mad that people asked you.

So you drank more. And more. And way more, definitely too much, definitely far more than you should have. Anything to not feel, anything to forget — to forget about how dirty his hands on your waist made you feel. To forget how miserable you’d been all night, how forced all your smiles had been. To forget the huge lump on your throat and the tightening feeling in your chest.

And to forget Natalie.

To forget how she hadn’t looked at you during practice at all the past couple of weeks after the parking lot incident. No snarky comments, no clever remarks — just a heavy silence, the type that hurt more than any jab she could ever throw at you, that made you sink your nails into your palms until it left a mark as you pretended like everything was under control. Even though it was killing you.

Even though you missed her like crazy.

The air inside of the frat house got too much to bear. People walking around, drunkenly bumping into you, the loud music making your thoughts pound even harder inside your head. You had long lost track of whatever Jackie and Mari were going on about — they seemed to navigate about twenty topics a minute —, and you managed to slurredly tell them you were going out for some air before stumbling away towards the front porch.

Maybe you did it unconsciously. You weren’t really sure. But you simply caught your half lidded eyes wandering to the corner on the right side of the house, just outside, where Natalie usually snuck off during parties to smoke a joint and laugh with her friends.

And there she was. Leaning her arms on the railing, eyes fixed on the distance, blunt hanging from her lips. Glowing under the yellow porch light, so serious, so beautiful. No Lottie or Van around — just her, alone. Blowing out smoke distractedly, looking lost in thought, pronounced cheekbones even more highlighted because of the natural blush that painted them a soft pink.

You stood just outside the door, not daring to approach her, just watching her quietly instead. Taking in the view of her as she kept smoking, wondering what was going on in her head, your own vision slightly blurred in a dizzying haze that could be from the drinks you’d had, but could also have something to do with the shape Natalie’s lips took as she inhaled the smoke. Looking at her. For just a beat.

For only a moment before you were caught.

Her head turned your way slowly, deliberately, as if she’d somehow felt your presence near, and she stared right back at you with an intensity that made your knees almost give out. She tucked the joint between her fingers and pulled it away from her lips, not saying anything, not moving another inch.

Just looking at you.

No “come to get your fix?” or any of the other things she’d usually say whenever you walked up to her at a party.

Just her eyes, unreadable and overwhelming, on your face. Drifting down to your lips, parted and red, lipstick slightly smudged from the kisses Josh had stolen earlier. Back up to meet your drunken, pleading, almost desperate gaze.

Set on you.

It was electric. Paralyzing yet enticing, setting a sort of fire within you that had nothing to do with the alcohol running through your veins. It wasn’t just desire, and you knew it.

And the worst: you knew she felt it, too.

You thought about walking up to her and begging her to take you somewhere despite how drunk you were — just wanting to be near her, to feel her skin against yours, to feel her hands on your body, to breathe in her scent and let it ease the turmoil that had been set in your head for weeks. To scratch the itch that had been gnawing at you since you saw her blonde head disappear into that fucking parking lot. To cry on her shoulder and tell her you were sorry, that you shouldn’t have let her walk back alone, that you shouldn’t have left, that you so badly wished you didn’t have to go back to your boyfriend every single time after being with her. That he didn’t compare to her. That he couldn’t compete. That he didn’t even come close.

And you were going to. In that moment, despite everyone else around, it was like you were the only two people that existed. No college, no party, no outside pressure, no boyfriend.

Because, well, when it was just you and Natalie — nothing else mattered.

Then, as if orchestrated by a gigantic cosmic joke, you were yanked out of your trance. A hand grazed against your back. Curled up around your waist. Gripped you uncomfortably, fingertips sinking into your skin possessively, making your whole body tense up. A big, calloused, rough hand, unsolicited, unwanted, nothing like Natalie’s.

Josh’s hand.

“Been looking everywhere for you.” His voice sounded out muffled in your ear, hot breath against your neck reeking of cheap beer, grip tightening even further in a way that made you feel trapped.

You couldn’t bring yourself to talk. His hand around your waist had stopped you in your tracks, keeping you static, eyes still on her like you were begging to be saved. To be rescued. But you knew you couldn’t ask that of her — after all, you’d done this to yourself.  Not Josh, not everyone else around you. It was all you.

Natalie kept watching, face even more unreadable now, brows slightly furrowed, lips parted. The dying joint between her fingers long forgotten, smoldered to a lifeless gray ember.

“Couldn’t wait to get my hands on you.” Josh whispered again, too drunk to notice where your eyes wandered to. “Let’s go up to my room.”

That was the last thing you wanted.

Sometimes, you gave in. You were his girlfriend, after all, and he could be very persistent, so it was mostly easier to let him take you to his bed than to withstand his constant complaining and questioning why you weren’t in the mood.

But tonight you just couldn’t.

Not when Natalie kept looking at you like that. Not when her eyes drifted to his hands on your waist.

“I don’t feel so good.” You finally said, words slurred and rushed, quiet, like an apology.

“I’ll make you feel better.”

“I’m just feeling kind of weird and—”

He interrupted you with an annoyed, exaggerated huff.

“Come on, babe, you’re killing me here.” His hands were firmer now, tight around your body like you were something he possessed. “I’ve been waiting for you all night, just help me out, please.”

You tensed up under his grip, wishing you were anywhere else other than there.

“I think I drank too much.” Your voice was delicate, way too soft, even a bit intimidated.

One of his hands flew to your wrist now, tugging just a little too hard, turning your body around so you would face him.

“I’m drunk too, come on, it’ll be quick.”

He started walking, pulling you with him, and, as much as you didn’t want to follow him, you were simply too drunk to resist it, body too limp to keep both your feet on the wooden floorboards of the front porch.

You figured the same thing that had happened dozens of other times would happen again: he’d insist to the point of exhaustion and you’d give in. Like that. Despite what you truly wanted.

But that’s not what happened.

Instead, a voice sounded out behind you. Raspy. Gruff. Laced with that Italian-American accent you knew a little too well.

“You really gonna take advantage of a drunk girl?”

Josh didn’t hesitate before turning around, and a sarcastic scoff left his lips as he faced Natalie.

You just stood still.

“Excuse me?” He asked, inebriated, sarcastic.

“That’s what you’re doing, right?” Natalie walked closer — close enough so you could spot the slight smudge of her eyeliner and the faint red on the white of her eyes caused by the weed. “Dragging her by the wrist when she specifically told you she’s not interested?”

Josh just let out a breathy chuckle, eyeing Natalie up and down like she was insane.

“Fuck off, burnout.” He spat. “She’s my girlfriend, I think I know more about what she wants than you do.”

God, you thought, he couldn’t be more wrong.

But you just kept quiet, looking at both of them like a deer in headlights.

“How about you just fucking ask her, then?” Natalie bit back, stepping even closer now, raising her voice. “Since you’re so sure that’s what she wants?”

Josh was clearly affected by her words, unable to hide his annoyance as his free hand flew to his own hip and he laughed condescendingly.

“Fine. Let’s play your little game.” His eyes were now set on your distraught face, grip tightening harder around your wrist in a way that felt more punitive than possessive. “Babe. You wanna come with me, right?”

His tone wasn’t sweet, it wasn't concerned. Not like usual. Instead, it felt commanding, as if the question definitely came with a right answer, and you were supposed to reply accordingly.

You stuttered.

“I, uh—” Your voice came out quiet, hushed, barely there. “I think that—”

It was like you forgot how to talk.

Because you didn’t want to go. God, no. Your stomach churned at the mere thought of going upstairs and being alone with him right now, of his rough hands on your body, of his beer breath against your neck.

But still — it wasn’t that easy to say no. Not when Natalie was there, looking at you like your answer meant something more, unaware of how exposed she was making you feel — especially when the alcohol clouding your brain was already singlehandedly doing half the job of baring your soul to the world.

And you had a plan. You’d always had it — one that involved good grades, a spot on the soccer team, a boyfriend with a nice smile and a letterman jacket. Weekends at the country club, spotless makeup, flowy dresses. Making your parents proud.

A perfect life.

And denying Josh meant risking that. The life you’d always envisioned for yourself.

Still, when you looked at Natalie — at her protective demeanor, at the hint of concern present in her eyes, at the way her nails dug into her own palms as her gaze drifted down to where Josh’s hand gripped your wrist —, you could only think of how wrong you’d been your entire life.

Because you’d planned it all: the white picket fence, the well behaved children, everything, even down to the fucking golden retriever. But, when you thought about it, when you actually stopped to analyze what you wanted for your future, you knew none of that would ever make you truly happy. It would never make you feel complete.

It would never make you feel alive.

Not in the way Natalie did.

As hard as you tried to fool yourself, as much as you attempted to believe your own lie, you knew it.

So you spoke up. Still guarded, still contained, still way too drunk to sound firm. But you spoke up.

“I don’t.” You said, avoiding Josh’s eyes. “I… really don’t feel good. I just wanna leave.”

His demeanor immediately darkened. His face took up an expression unlike any you’d ever seen before — not just hurt, but pure anger.

“What the fuck? Since when do you listen to her?” He raised his voice, hand finally leaving your wrist as he puffed his chest. “You’re really gonna side with this bitch over your fucking boyfriend?”

Your shoulders became more and more hunched, as if his harsh words were somewhat of a physical blow. You looked at your own feet now, but still managed to blurt out:

“Please, Josh. I don’t feel good right now.”

Josh scoffed again and took a deep breath, his face going back to its previous calmness.

“You know what? I’ve had enough of this shit. It’s always some excuse with you.” He crossed his arms. “So I’m drawing the line here. Either you come with me, or we’re fucking done.”

Natalie stayed quiet, watching, and you could swear smoke was about to start coming out of her ears from the way she looked at him. She didn’t interrupt — probably guessing you would find a way to drag out your lie a little longer, to somehow stick with the boyfriend and the fake smiles and the plastic life.

But you spoke up.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the weeks of pent up tension building in your chest. Maybe it was the way Natalie’s blonde hair was disheveled enough to fall perfectly around her face, how her pale skin glowed perfectly beneath the porch light and the moon, how she’d actually stepped up to defend you, even after what you’d done, even after you’d been so quick to dismiss her, even though you theoretically hated each other.

“Then we’re done.” You said. Firm. Final. Sure. “Because I’m not coming with you.”

Josh let out a sarcastic laugh, shaking his head conceitedly, looking at you in disbelief.

“Fine.” He spoke harshly, clearly offended. “Have fun with the fucking dyke.”

And, just like that, he turned around and walked back into the frat house, slamming the door behind him like he wished it was Natalie’s face instead.

You felt even more dizzy, even more distraught. All you could do was close your eyes and lean your back against the wall, trying to steady yourself, to keep yourself in place.

Then, her voice. God, that voice. So calm, so attentive, so uncharacteristically laced with concern. So natural. So real. So raw.

“Hey.” She stood right in front of you as you finally opened your eyes, taking her in, feeling comfort in her presence. “You okay?”

You just shook your head. The tears you hadn’t even noticed were welling up started rolling down your cheeks one by one, smudging your makeup — tears that came because of the confrontation, which you never liked, the alcohol, the sheer relief of not being with him anymore.

“Yeah. Stupid question.” Natalie said again. “You… need something?”

Your voice came out muffled through the tears.

“Get me out of here. Please.”

You sounded almost desperate. You wanted to leave that frat house more than anything, and you needed her to leave with you — not just because you were drunk and would probably never be able to make the way to your dorm in the state you were in. But because you needed her. Her company. Her touch. Her presence.

And she didn’t hesitate.

One of her arms immediately flew up to your shoulders, wrapping around you in order to offer balance, to offer support, to offer help. You unconsciously leaned into it, just letting her guide you, letting her walk you through campus, for once ignoring the looks that came your way. Ignoring what other people would think.

Doing what you wanted.

The walk to her dorm was quiet. Calm — the silence interrupted only by your occasional sniffle.

Before you knew it, you were sitting on her bed, head spinning a bit as she stood across the room from you, arms crossed, just looking at your face.

You were the first to speak.

“Sorry.” Your voice came out slurred as you pointed at your own wet, red eyes. “Not very sexy of me.”

To your surprise, Natalie let out a breathy chuckle.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She answered, raspy and low. “I’m not gonna try anything.”

You looked down at your knees, shaking your head softly.

“I know.” You whispered. “You told me not to seek you out anymore.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Only walked closer and closer, finally sitting by you on her messy bed — but not touching. Not invading. Not imposing. Just being there.

“Not because of that.” She spoke at last, placing her hands on her own thighs, eyes fixed on your face. “Because you’re too fucked up right now to even be able to tell what the fuck’s going on.”

It was your turn to chuckle.

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Please, if I lit a match next to you right now the whole room would catch on fire.”

You laughed a bit harder this time, way too tipsy to notice the tears had stopped falling.

“You may have a point there.” You muttered. “But I know what’s going on.”

You couldn’t help the way you looked at her, not when she was that close, not when your inhibitions were long lifted by the alcohol clouding your nervous system. Not when she’d been so perfect tonight.

So you kept talking.

“You defended me. You… saved me. From what could’ve been a really shitty fucking night.”

Natalie was looking at you, too. Just as intensely, just as carefully, just as attentively. Listening to every word — not a hint of the usual annoyance or sarcasm on her face.

“I didn’t save you.” She said. “I just— I couldn’t let him take advantage of you. Not like that. Not knowing that you’re—”

“That I’m gay?”

She froze.

“I— I was gonna say wasted, but—”

“Because I am.”

And, even though the world spun before your eyes because of the state you were in, for the first time in your life everything just seemed to fall into place.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t some big revelation.

It was something that simply came from within you. That had been waiting to come out. That you just needed to be ready for.

And, looking at Natalie, sitting on her bed, breathing in her scent, no Josh around — you finally felt like you were.

“I’m gay.” You said, the word coming out of your lips quietly, like you were testing it. “I am.”

She stayed silent at first — still observing, mouth agape, taking you in. But the silence didn’t last.

“Took you long enough to figure that one out.”

You laughed softly. Freely.

Then, you reached over to place a hand on her knee — and she didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry.” You took a breath before continuing. “For… everything. For what happened in the parking lot. For being an asshole. For acting so… weird with you.”

The faintest smile appeared on her lips, knowingly, as if she’d been waiting for this moment to happen.

“It’s okay.”

You sighed softly, relaxing your shoulders.

“It’s not.” You insisted. “It’s just— you’re so… fuck. I had this plan.”

Natalie raised an eyebrow.

“A plan?”

You closed your eyes and shook your head.

“A plan. The career, the husband, the kids… my  whole life figured out. Planned down to the minute. Not a hair out of place, not ever.”

“And?”

“And… you. You just had to show up to practice with your stupid blonde hair and your stupid eyes and that stupid crooked smirk on your face, and of course you just had to be so good at—”

“Relieving your stress?” She interrupted playfully, flashing you that exact crooked grin you’d just mentioned.

You let out a soft chuckle.

“Shut up.” You nudged her shoulder gently. “Do you have any idea how hard you’ve made it for me to act like I didn’t like you?”

The words left your lips unfiltered, uncensored. For once, not carefully crafted. Just real.

And, even though you had your drunkenness to use as an excuse, deep down you knew that wasn’t the reason for your boldness. No. It was all Natalie.

Because her presence alone was enough to leave you bare and exposed, to make you wear your heart on your sleeve, to cause you to feel things you’d never felt before. She was just like a glass of vodka tonic — tasting bittersweet on your lips, making it hard for you to keep the thoughts inside, making you want to say and do things you never thought you’d be able to do sober.

But, this time, it was different. It felt right. It felt real.

And it felt even better when she reached for your shaky hand and said:

“I do. Because I’ve been doing the same thing.”

So, this time, you didn’t leave.

You stayed with her, in her bed, legs tangled up with hers until you fell asleep under the promise of tomorrow. Of hope.

Of freedom.

And, when morning came and you woke up next to her, you didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

Because, at last, it wasn’t about stress relief anymore.

It was your life. Not the one you’d always planned.

The one you’d always wished for.

[svmbers]

thinking of writing a robin fic based off my bff since she reminds me of her a lil bit 😇

[svmbers]

I legit just posted about this before i saw your post for requests but im rewatching supernatural and bro early seasons Sam lies to Dean like it’s his business and i am in desperate need for Dean x reader where the reader just doesn’t lie if you’re interested in writing idc what the not lying is abt or anything else just a general idea okay thank you sm love your writing okay bye 🫶🏻

oh, bby, i love me some dean winchester <3 also, thank you so much omg :’) i totally get this idea 1,000%. love sam, but he was lying tooooo much. i hope you like this <3 (ps - omg sorry this took me forever to write. i appreciate your patience so much if you’re still here!)

Better Left Unsaid

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pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: you find out sam has been lying to dean…again.

content warning: angst(?), mentions of blood

word count: 2.2k

notes: this isn’t fully proofread near the end, so apologies for any mistakes! also, the ending is a little rushed because i wanted to get this out asap since i haven’t written in over a year… i’m so sorry to any requests that have come in! thank you for everyone’s patience and kindness and understanding <333 (also, i haven’t watched spn in a hot minute, so depictions of ruby may be off, ok)

———————————————————————————

Beep beep beep

INSERT DOLLAR

Christ, won’t this shitty machine work? You try kicking the vending machine that’s just outside your motel room you’re currently vacating while on yet another hunt with the Winchester brothers. You just want one of the cheap, junky snacks the machine has to offer, but it won’t take your only dollar bill. The three of you have just had a long day on the road in the Impala, and your stomach is growling.

You try to feed the machine your dollar one last time before it spits it back out at you in mockery, making you kick it in resentment before returning to your room. You have your own room while the brothers share another right next door, being close by just in case something were to happen. The motel key card dangles from your fingertips as you hover it over the keypad, granting you entry to your less-than-stellar room.

You let the door slam shut behind you rather than closing it gently with a huff, your head starting to ache from being so famished. Dean hears the slam from his room next door and can’t help but wonder what’s going on.

Dean has a soft spot for you. You two are complicated. Every time you think he’s finally ready to commit to you, he comes up with an excuse for why he can’t. But it’s obvious to everyone — including you — that you’re both head over heels for each other.

Sam’s taking a nap on his bed when Dean makes his way to your room, knocking on your door.

“Hey, it’s me. Can you let me in?” he says through the door, his voice gruff as usual. He sounds soft, though. He always sounds soft with you.

You’d been sitting on the very edge of the bed and rubbing at your temples when he knocks. You wince and stand, making your way to the door and opening it before walking to the little desk in the room and sitting in the chair. He saunters in, taking in your less-than-eager state and sitting across from you.

“You okay?” he asks, his green eyes peering at you as you hold your temples in your hands again. You grumble and move to set your forehead on the counter with a quiet huff.

“I’m starving, and the stupid machine wouldn’t take my damn dollar,” you mutter pathetically. Dean just chuckles, his face soft and mirthful.

“Okay, princess, let’s go get you some food, then. To be honest, I could eat, too. I think there’s a diner just down the road. My treat,” he offers with a charming, sweet smile. You raise your head to meet his eyes, your face no longer scrunched as you let out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks. That sounds good,” you say, a hint of a smile starting to tug at your lips.

You both get up from the desk and make your way out of your motel room back to the brothers’ to ask Sam if he’d like to join. He just grumbles from where he lays on his bed, muttering something about not feeling well, which allows Dean and you to spend dinner alone.

——————————————————————————

Dinner was filled with delicious, cheap comfort food, neon fluorescent lights, and genuine happiness and laughter. Your headache had subsided, and you felt more at ease in this town for the night having spent the evening with Dean talking about random shit over good food.

You both make your way back towards the motel, and he pulls out his car keys.

“Hey, you go on ahead. I just gotta grab some extra clothes from the car,” he says, giving you an affectionate smile while squeezing your upper arm. “Get some sleep, alright? If you need anything, I’m right next door.”

“I know. I know the drill, don’t worry,” you reply with a chuckle and playful eye roll. You say goodnight and make your way around the corner of the motel building towards your room.

As you walk, you begin to creep upon Dean and Sam’s room first, hearing a loud THUD. You quicken your footsteps, desperate to see if the alarming noise came from their room.

As you come up on the doorstep, you notice the window to their room has the blinds still slightly open with a lamp on inside, allowing you to see in. Inside, you see Sam and a woman on his bed. At first, your cheeks redden, and you step away from the window, feeling embarrassed you may have caught him in a private moment on accident. But then you hear another loud THUD, and you can’t help but peek again…

You recognize the woman straddling Sam. The woman has dark hair, and there’s blood around Sam’s mouth. Willingly. Sam is with Ruby, a demon, and he’s drinking her blood. The loud thuds you’d been hearing were from the bed frame and lamp falling to the floor. You audibly gasp and start running back towards the Impala, looking for Dean, your boots thudding against the pavement with every step.

You don’t even make it around the corner before you’re running into Dean’s chest, knocking the clothes he’d gathered from the car out of his hands. He catches your bewildered eyes, immediately on alert and trying to catch your gaze.

“Hey, hey, look at me. Y/N, look at me. What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice gravelly but soft, tinged with worry. He looks ready to snap, to kill whatever it is that may have spooked you. You take a deep breath and swallow, clutching your chest.

“I– I saw Sam w-with Ruby in your room. He was drinking h-her blood,” you struggle to get out, knowing how crazy it sounds. Dean looks at you with disbelief, like you’d just grown another head on your shoulders. He looks past you towards his room before looking at you again, having trouble processing what you just said.

“What?” he blurts out, in shock. You shake your head, your hands up gently in defense.

“No, I know it sounds crazy, I know. I was heading back to my room when I hear this loud noise coming from your guys’ room, and I wanted to make sure he was okay, and when I looked to see what was going on, I saw him and Ruby, and he was drinking her blood.”

You look up at his emerald eyes, your own pleading with him to believe you. You crouch down to pick up the clothes he’d dropped when you slammed into him moments prior, and he joins you, his face softening.

“I got it,” he says, his voice gruffer than before. He’s upset, but he doesn’t want to take it out on you. You both straighten up as he picks up the rest of his clothes, and he makes a beeline for his room. You follow after him, trying to keep up.

With his clothes in one arm, he pulls out the keycard for his room from his pants pocket swiftly, kicking the door open. Sam looks towards you both in shock, wiping instantly at his mouth while pushing Ruby off of him.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean barks as he barges in, clothes forgotten on the floor in the doorway. You weather your lip between your teeth as you watch the scene unfold in front of you, having to witness another Winchester brother spat.

Ruby is no stranger to the Winchester brothers. She had once camouflaged herself as an ally to the Winchester brothers and you, but Dean was always skeptical. And since you were always closer with Dean than Sam, you trusted his instincts more. Plus, you noticed Sam tended to bend the truth sometimes about certain things.

Once it was clear that Ruby could no longer be trusted, Dean made it clear that we all cut contact with her. Especially Sam. Sam had agreed, saying he’d never see her again… which made you side-eye him, naturally. Now, here he is, sneaking around behind Dean’s back, drinking Ruby’s blood. This should be good.

“Dean, it’s not what you think,” Sam starts to say, raising his hands as if Dean is a wild animal he doesn’t want to startle. You can’t help but sarcastically snicker and roll your eyes, staying just a step behind Dean.

“It’s not? Because it looks like you’re drinking this demon bitch’s blood!” Dean barks again, clearly enraged and disappointed. His fists are clenched white, and his green eyes are wild when they land on Ruby. Sam cringes at Dean’s words, knowing he’s right and that there’s no way to justify this.

Ruby promptly tries to escape, but you block the door before she’s successful. You raise an eyebrow at her, silently expressing your distaste.

“Look, it’s no big deal, okay?” Sam tries to say before Dean interrupts.

“No big deal? It is a big deal, Sam! You continue to lie, sneak around, you can’t be trusted! Do you think we’re supposed to trust someone who would do something like this behind our backs? With someone we all agreed to never interact with again?” Dean snaps, gesturing between the two of you. He shakes his head, frustrated and upset at the whole situation.

Ruby is still blocked by the door with a muted grin on her face, clearly amused by this whole charade. Dean turns to her with a look that could kill.

“I suggest you leave right now and never contact any of us again if you want to stay alive,” he growls. You move out of the way and practically shove Ruby out the door, slamming it behind her. Both you and Dean turn back towards Sam with solemn looks on your faces.

“Sam, you have to quit lying to us. We’re supposed to be a team. You’re my brother, for crying out loud!” Dean tries to mellow out his voice, wanting to speak reasonably with Sam, but his emotions got the better of him. Sam looks like a kicked puppy, just like he does always does when they go through this talk.

You decide to let the brothers have their talk alone and head back to your room next door. When you head outside, you see Ruby took Dean’s advice since she’s nowhere to be seen. The keycard beeps when it grants you access to your room, and you immediately flop down on the bed with a tired groan, feeling the weight of the day hit you.

————————————————————————

Your eyes slowly flutter open to the sound of knocking at your motel door. Your brows furrow as your eyes adjust to the light and your surroundings. You had fallen asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow, and a half hour has passed.

“Y/N? Are you okay? You awake?” Dean asks, his voice that mixture of soft and gruff.

“I’m awake, hold on,” you mumble out, voice laced with sleep. You pad over to the door and open it for him as you yawn, inviting him inside.

“Hey, uh, I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing,” Dean says as both of you take a seat at the small kitchenette table.

“Tired,” you mumble with a small chuckle, eyes crinkling with a smile. You can see how fatigued he is and reach for his hand across the table, internally hoping he doesn’t pull away from your gesture.

“Hey. It’s gonna be okay. Sam just needs some extra guidance sometimes,” you try to reassure him. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t concede right away, either. His neck muscles are taut, and he looks like he could cry if given permission to.

“You’re the only one who’s never lied to me,” Dean admits, his voice quiet. His eyes are focused on your hand covering his, and he brings his other hand to rest on top. Your mouth opens for a moment, but no words come out. You’re just stunned.

“Thank you for always being honest with me. And for telling me about Sam today. I just, I don’t know what I’d do without you, I guess,” Dean continues, his voice still soft with a slight chuckle. His voice is vulnerable with an edge to it. You know he’s being serious.

“Oh, um, yeah. I mean, of course,” you respond, clearing your throat a bit in surprise. Your response is sincere, but Dean is seldom vulnerable when it comes to how he feels. Your hand that’s in his squeezes in a comforting manner.

“You mean too much to me ever to lie,” you add under your breath, your eyes looking down at the table.

Dean shifts in his chair, moving forward across the table to get closer to you. His piercing green eyes stay on you, and he looks like he wants to say something that he’s been holding onto for years, but he doesn’t. Instead, after a long moment, he finally leans back in his chair with a soft sigh and runs a hand over his face.

You peek up at him through your lashes, your eyelids still droopy from sleep. You look at him curiously but don’t question him. This is just the regular routine of feelings being better left unsaid. Your eyes meet his, and he offers you a weary smile. The exhaustion is evident in his features.

“Anyways, thanks again. I’ll let you get back to sleep. We hit the road in the morning,” he says with his usual gruffness, standing from his place at your table and heading for the door. He lingers before fully turning the doorknob.

“You good? Do you need anything?” he asks, looking at you one last time before leaving, his eyes caring and protective. You shake your head with a tired smile.

“All good. Thanks, Dean.”

With that, he nods and leaves your motel room, leaving you both to get some sleep and continue this charade of will they, won’t they.

[koodosettles]

When you put it on me you relieve my stress | Natalie Scatorccio x gn!reader

Synopsis: the first night you find the cabin you have trouble sleeping. Good thing your girlfriend Natalie snuck some contraband that can help you.

Cw/themes: gn!reader, no use of y/n, no mentions of anatomy, dr*g use (weed), fluff, Pre-established relationship, no smut just making out, blasphemy?

Notes: reader is the sleepy kinda high. Ps, if it seems like I don’t know how to roll it’s because I go electric so please forgive me.

Just something small while I work on something bigger…

Wc: 1.2k

The wooden floors groaned as you rolled onto your side, sliding your arm up under your head. The window parallel to your huddled form plunging you into dialog with expanse of woods lurking just outside the cabin doors.

Your watch read 3:10 AM, its golden hands twisting terribly slow as you contemplated the situation you were in. Without sleep you would surely be a mess in the morning. But as it stood the floor offered the least bit of rest, neither did your wandering mind. You shifted onto your back, the wood beneath you announcing the movement, cutting through the ambient noise of the wind blowing past the cabins exterior.

“Jesus christ are you starting a band over there?” You didn’t need to raise your head to know who was asking. Natalies voice carried its own special edgy cadence. The kind that couldn’t make you angry, not like some of the others. It almost made things seem small, in a reassuring (or somewhat agitating) way.

“Mmmh thinking about it,” you teased back, voice teetering between rasp and whisper. You continued, this time more sincere,

“Did I wake you up?” You lolled your head to the side to look at her. She laid less than an arms reach away and carried the same desperately tired look on her face that you assumed you must have as well. Except where your eyes stung with the pain of having been open too long, hers seemed to be drudging sleep away, pinching open and closed in a way to keep herself awake.

She stared towards the ceiling while composing her response,

“no, I… keep waking myself up I guess.”

You couldn’t do anything more than keep your eyes on her while you tried to piece together whatever it was that could mean.

After an unbearably confusing beat of silence, Nat rolled her head towards you, “what if I said I had something that could help us? Something that usually puts you to sleep?”

A smile crept onto your face.

“You’re fucking kidding me right?” Your voice raising to full volume at the amusement, threatening to wake up the others who had made it to sleep. Or alerting those who were awake and who would likely to question you in the morning if they knew what was happening.

“SHHHHHsshhhh” Nat’s hand flew to you’re mouth, her body rolling to the side with it. She smiled through the laughter while she shushed you, until she stood up and wandered to her bag. After rummaging for a minute she pulled out a small baggy, once tucked between some papers in her school folder, no doubt a quick hiding place for when she removed it from her luggage, concealing it from the other scavenging girls.

She shoved the thin plastic into her pocket, while using her head to gesturer towards you, beckoning you forward. As you sat up, your body felt the relief of the absence of hard wood flooring. You grabbed an extra sweater as you walked towards the door, grabbing Nat’s hand and giggling as she pulled you quietly outside, being careful not to alert the others of your departure.

The two of you put a couple of paces between yourselves and the cabin before raising your volume.

“Do you even know what would’ve happened if this was caught on you at the airport?” you probed, knocking your elbow into her arm.

“Right… because the presence of a little bit of pot is the worst thing that has ever happened to an airplane. Come to think of it, maybe Laura Lee was right. Maybe I brought the plane down with my weed.”

“I can think of a few other things that God might smite us for,” your voice was teasing as you slipped your hand down, out of your pocket and into Nat’s, lacing your cold fingers between hers.

Now that the trees enveloped you enough that no outside eyes could see, you leaned yourself into her side as she moved to mirror you. You settled on a fallen log, not too far from the cabin. The forest canopy was thin enough for moonlight to pour through the trees and onto your faces, illuminating your movements.

You watched as Nat made quick work of rolling the joint, her hands and tongue moving a little too fast. The end result was a slightly lumpy and messy roll, but it didn’t have to be pretty to get the job done. She lit the protruding end and brought the other to her lips, inhaling deeply while slowly closing her eyes before handing it to you.

Muscle memory look over as your lips wrapped around the nub at the end. Body relaxing as the smoke carved through your throat, before stopping so as to prevent the burning cough that you would have nothing to sooth with.

As you exhaled, Natalie reached a hand up to your cheek, the pad of her thumb and knuckle of her pointed finger soothed over your skin, pressing just enough to lightly massage the tissue. Then travelling to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

Silently while turning your head to face her, you took another small drag before handing the joint back over to her,

“Greedy,” she murmured while raising her free hand to her lips. The small joint burned smaller rather quickly, but the words to defend yourself wouldn’t come out as the hand that Nat kept on you cupped your jaw and steadied your head to keep facing her.

She leaned in slowly, cradling your head up to open your mouth as she hovered her lips on yours, bumping but not closing in. She exhaled the smoke from her mouth into yours, plumes of it escaped and billowed out into the night air. Only then did she attached her lips onto yours, attempting to trap what little smoke was left in your warm mouths.

You stayed like that for a minute, slowly and tiredly pulling each other in by your lips. The joint kept burning, but the weight of it teetered between Nat’s fingers, forgotten.

Your head began to grow more heavy, slowly making contact with Nat’s forehead. Once, then twice, before Nat broke the kiss, taking her head between both hands to steady your wobble. The sleep that she had promised you was taking over. She took one last inhale before putting out the pitiful butt in the side of the log and stuffing it far into the ground that it couldn't be noticed.

“I said I could help you couldn't I,” she teased, lips pressed into your hairline. Nat felt the anxiety that had been waking her up had been relieved as well, now that the drug began working it’s way through her. She then managed to coax you up, arm around your back, clinging to your hip and walked the two of you back to the cabin.

The sound of your footsteps was slightly louder upon your return, and the two of you fell asleep closer than you had intended when you first chose your sleeping spots 5 hours earlier.

The next morning:

Laura Lee asked what “that weird smell is”. Queue everyone looking at Nat, “We’re in the middle of the fucking woods there has to be skunks around.”

[svmbers]

Hi guys! Long time no see. If you’re still here, THANK YOU <3 I apologize for not posting any fics since June. Life had been a little unstable since July, and it’s just recently gotten back to normal and settled.

I want to thank you guys for all the love on my Jordan Li fic. Jordan is such a special character to me, so to see so many people like it means the world to me :’) I’m still planning on posting part two, so stay tuned. I’m sorry for the incredibly long delay </3

Now that I’m in a better place both physically and mentally, I’m feeling inspired to write more again, so I’m hoping to post again soon and interact with you guys again. Thank you guys for being so supportive and understanding :’)

[inbred-eater]

this look of theirs is gonna stick in my brain for months to come btw

[marscardigan-deactivated2026071]

imagine ghostface nat…

ghostface!nat who only agreed to shauna’s plan at first because she was bored, angry, restless (and maybe a little high). the first few calls were just a game to her, something to make shauna laugh. but then shauna promised her it would make a fortune, and that fortune meant freedom. freedom from her mother’s trailer, from the stifling town, from everything that made her feel trapped. and with that freedom, she could take you far away, give you the life you deserved.

ghostface!nat who realized, call after call, that she liked it. she liked the power, liked the rush, liked how her distorted voice could make someone’s blood run cold. she told herself it was for you, for the life she could finally give you. every gasp, every shiver she heard made her feel closer to that dream.

ghostface!nat who pretends she’s unaffected when wiskayok starts buzzing about the two murders. the whole town’s scared shitless, and you’re clinging tighter to her arm in the hallways, whispering you don’t like walking home alone. nat shrugs it off, teases you with a smirk, but inside she’s purring with satisfaction. you’re scared, and you’re running to her. exactly as planned.

ghostface!nat who tells you not to worry, flicking ash from her cigarette with that lazy grin. “babe, it’s just some psycho with a knife. nobody’s dumb enough to go after you.” but her stomach twists at the thought of you being in danger, because she knows the psycho with a knife is her.

ghostface!nat who hangs up the mask and slips into your bed after a kill, smelling of smoke and metal, letting you curl into her chest while she murmurs sharp little jokes to keep you laughing instead of crying.

ghostface!nat who pretends she’s only in it for the thrill, smirking when the town panics about the sudden deaths, but secretly her mind is racing.how much longer, how much more, until she can escape with you? until she can leave the sulking town behind, knives and masks and all, and finally have you all to herself?

ghostface!nat who tells herself over and over that the fear, the screams, the danger, the blood, it’s all part of the plan, for you.

ghostface!nat who rolls her eyes every time shauna calls you “too sweet for your own good,” but she’s memorized every detail about you down to how you write your name in the margins of your notes. she doesn’t need shauna to point it out, because she already knows. and she also knows you're the perfect victim, she just chooses to ignore it at first.

ghostface!nat who finally caves when shauna pushes too hard— agreeing to make the call to you, even though the thought of your name on her lips through the voice distorter makes her chest ache. she tells herself it’s just to keep suspicion off, just to keep shauna calm.

ghostface!nat who dials anyway, the mask on her face, voice warped as she asks: “what’s your favorite scary movie?” and for the first time, it’s not fun, because your terrified silence guts her more than any knife ever could. she hears you choke back tears and her hand trembles on the phone. she hangs up early, blaming “bad timing” when shauna teases her after.

ghostface!nat who loses her shit when shauna crosses the line, sneaking into your apartment unannounced, mask on, knife glinting. you bolt, sprinting through the rain, shoes slipping, breath heaving until you slam into nat’s arms at her door. you’re soaked, shaking, sobbing, whispering that ghostface came for you.

ghostface!nat who pulls you inside, stripping her jacket off to wrap around your trembling frame, voice low and sharp but soothing “hey, hey, you’re okay. you’re safe here.” she brushes the wet hair off your face, kissing your forehead even as her blood boils. inside she’s vibrating with rage, because she knows exactly who it was.

ghostface!nat who storms into the hideout after, slamming shauna against the wall so hard the mask clatters to the floor. blade pressed to shauna’s throat, she snarls, “you scared her. you don’t get to do that.” shauna rolls her eyes, unfazed, spitting: “i didn’t even touch her.” and nat nearly loses it, because that’s not the point.

ghostface!nat who snaps completely when shauna keeps pushing, taunting, and then finally luring you into a corner one night, knife raised, mask up. she whispers through the distorter, “time to bleed, sweetheart.” and you scream, scrambling back, dialing 911 with trembling fingers.

ghostface!nat who bursts onto the scene a second later, also in the mask, blade drawn, slamming shauna away from you. the two ghostfaces collide. you can’t even process it, just frozen in terror as the sirens wail closer.

ghostface!nat who finally knocks shauna down, knife on her throat, panting, voice raw through the distorter: “i told you she’s not part of this. i told you.” for a second it looks like she’ll kill her. but the flashing red-and-blue lights pour through the window before she can choose.

ghostface!nat who tears the mask off just as the cops pour in, her messy hair plastered to her face, dried blood on her cheeks, eyes wide, caught between rage and desperation. she doesn’t run. she just looks at you, your tear-streaked face, and for once there’s no sarcasm, no smirk. just the raw, vulnerable truth of who she truly was.

ghostface!nat who doesn’t fight the handcuffs, shauna sneering beside her as they’re shoved into the back of the squad car. she never looks at her, though. she only looks at you. even as you flinch away from her gaze, she drinks in every detail like it’s the last thing she’ll ever see.

ghostface!nat who tells herself, as the doors slam shut, that she was right all along: you’re not a victim. not even now. you’re hers. and maybe, someday, when the bars come down and the knives come out again… you will be.

perm taglist !

@valeisaslut @firefly-ace @sevslover @twopeoplee @mayfldss @elliesfavtoy @avalovesmus1c @samcvrpenters @mars4hellokitty @prettyinpink69 @yashirawr @furtherrawayy @maximumdreamlandcoffee @elliesfavgirlfriend @abcline006 @marieeeme @smaugayra @eriiwaiii2 @d1psht @creativedespaitr @leaaavesss @yasmilks @piastorys @nemesyaaa @elliewilliamskisser2000 @oatmatchalatte @mascspleasegetmepregnant @leeidk87 @morticeras @vahnilla @sulliefimmie @eddiesdrummergf @modernvenuss @jazzyxox @incog-nizo @l0veylace @usuck @snooopyinspace @softqirls @wiildandfluorescent @arcaneflorist

[svmbers]

hello! i just wanted to update everyone that i AM writing again, it’s just been kind of a slow process. my next fic posted will be a dean fic that was requested back in june (i’m so sorry for the delay, but i hope you will enjoy it when it’s done here shortly <3). after that, i will finish part 2 to my jordan li fic that i know has been highly requested, and i’m so sorry for the delay. thank you so much for being patient with me as i navigate through life at this time and fit in writing as i do so! i want to put out the best writings i possibly can and not rush them, so i appreciate everyone’s kindness and patience. i know it’s been a while :( really looking forward to my return here! <3

[sacr1ficialang3l]

The fates already fucked me sideways ⸸

SUMMARY: Natalie and you hang out outside your father's church and get into some trouble. 2.3k

WARNINGS: sapphic content. religious themes. references to child abuse. references to SA (only alluded to.) underage smoking. underage drinking. religious trauma. internalized homophobia. 90s homophobia. use of slurs (author is queer.) references to self-harm. natalie and her bad coping mechanisms. reader is traumatized. ethel cain references (is anyone surprised?)

When you walk out into the church’s back parking lot, Nat is already waiting for you there.

Her recently bleached platinum hair shines under the Sunday morning sun, her shaggy hairstyle messy, tousled like a halo around her face, and there’s a cigarette already between her lips. Her lips are bitten red, and the eyeliner around her eyes is slightly smudged. She’s sitting on one of the arched windows, the stained glass behind her glowing with the light from inside and drawing colorful shapes on her pretty features.

You stare at her as you make your way through the lot, taking in the way she’s all perched up on the church’s stones—one leg hanging off the archway, the other drawn up to her chest, bouncing relentlessly. Her fingers furiously drum along to whatever song is playing on her orange headphones, and she looks anxious. Still, the mere sight of her makes you wonder if angels are actually real after all.

The voice of your father rumbling through the church echoes through your head at the thought—deep and condemning. He says something about sin and hellfire, about depravity and deviations. It makes you nauseous, so you push away all thoughts and keep walking toward your best friend of years.

You know Natalie better than anyone, maybe even better than she knows herself. You know when she’s happy—because her steps gain an extra skip and her smile stops being sharp, becomes too toothy and a little silly. You know when she’s angry—because she’ll shut down and not speak a word for hours, and you have to slowly coax her into at least giving you a nod or shake of her head until she feels like talking again. You know when she’s sad—not just upset or gloomy, but actually sad—because she’ll get so high she can barely function, and she’ll look for anything to distract her: too-risky drugs that even dealers are wary of, sex with the first asshole she can find. She even once tried to jump off a bridge when the river under it was almost dry because she said it would “make for a good fucking anecdote.”

You know Natalie like the palm of your hand, and you know that she is restless. Something is gnawing at her, making her leg bounce and her eyes flutter beneath her closed eyelids. You can bet that if you got close enough, you’d hear her racing heart slamming against her ribcage and the way every breath is forced. She only ever gets like this when she has an important soccer match the next day, when she has to visit her dad at the cemetery because her mom forced her, or when—

“Thank God you’re here,” she looks up at you with dilated pupils, patting the space next to her in the windowsill frantically while she pushes her headphones off her head. “Been smoking all morning. I’m fuckin’ starving.”

When she has the munchies.

You laugh, shaking your head and quickly moving to sit in front of her. You lean your back against the stone archway, your leg brushing Nat’s as you mirror her position on the window. The soft fabric of your flower-patterned, dove-colored dress contrasts against her ripped tights, and the sight of it brings a smile to your face and a flutter to your heart that you force yourself to swallow.

“You’re gonna fry your brain, Nat,” you murmur, leaving a glass jar full of something in the space between you two.

Natalie laughs, throwing her head back as she reaches for her backpack. “Good. I hope so.” She pulls out a bottle of red wine, and you raise an eyebrow in disbelief. Since when does she drink wine instead of vodka or whiskey?

“What? I thought we’d respect tradition and accompany the body of Christ with His holy blood.”

You chuckle, wondering how many heart attacks your dad would have if he caught sight of you like this. He already doesn’t approve of your friendship—calls Natalie a bad influence and “the devil trying to tempt you.”

You let your father dictate many things in your life: you still go to Mass every Sunday, you still dress in modest clothes, you still have that crucifix above your bed. You let him force you to celebrate your first communion; you sit through every one of his preachings; you have claimed to forgive him, in the name of Christ, for every bruise he’s left on your body.

But you don’t let him take Natalie.

You don’t care about his disapproval, or the dirty looks he always throws her when he sees you roaming around town. You don’t care that he doesn’t let her stay over, or that he always bitches about why you can’t just be friends with a good girl like Laura Lee or Charlotte Matthews (he only says this because Mr. Matthews gives sainted donations every month to make up for all his vice, of course).

Your father has taken too much from you. You won’t let him touch the only light you have in this abyssal, piece-of-shit town.

You accept the bottle after Nat opens it, picking up a round white wafer from the jar you stole from under your dad’s desk. You throw it in your mouth before washing it down with a long swig of wine, passing the bottle back to Nat and chewing on the afternoon’s special snack.

Just like that, you spend the next few hours munching on communion hosts and getting drunk on red wine with Natalie in the back of your dad’s church. Nat inhales the hosts like they’re actually holy, letting out small hums of satisfaction that make something edenic inside you twist.

“Holy fuck,” she murmurs through a mouthful, her lips purple from the wine. “These are so fucking good. Now I understand why Catholics love this shit.”

You giggle, throwing back more wine and letting one of the wafers melt on your tongue like you used to when you were a kid. It always felt too disrespectful to just… chew it. To just sink your teeth in and swallow down Christ’s flesh.

Anyone deserved better than that.

When you look back at Nat, she’s scowling down at a host with the concentration only someone way too high for her own good could manage. Her pupils are still dilated, and her lips are set in a small pout that only ever comes out when she’s drunk on something sweet instead of her usual white liquor.

“Does this count as cannibalism?” she mumbles through a mouthful of Eucharistic bread, making you burst out laughing.

“Shit, you’re like—seriously out of it.”

“I’m serious!” She whines your name, kicking you in the leg and tugging at your dress. You quickly wrap a hand around her ankle, stopping her from hitting you more. You bite your lip to suppress another laugh—and to quiet the thing clawing at you that you refuse to even acknowledge. “If this is the body of Christ, isn’t this cannibalism? Are we cannibals?”

You tilt your head, your fingers playing with the shoelaces of Natalie’s boots. “Technically, Dad has to consecrate the bread to transform it into the body of Christ. Right now, these are just wafers.”

Nat nods, way too solemn about something so silly, and throws another host into her mouth—but misses completely. The wafer falls to the dirty ground, slowly sinking into the mud, and both of you stare down at it absentmindedly. You finally feel the wine in your veins, making the world spin and accentuating Nat’s scent—nicotine and anise and something else. Something floral and almost delicate, like gardenias.

Under all that musk and leather, she smells like your favorite flower.

“The whole thing is very cannibalistic, though,” Nat says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You hum, then nod when she looks at you for confirmation.

“Fucking freaks.”

And you couldn’t agree more.

You laugh—bright and divine in a way you only feel when you’re with Natalie—and steal the wine bottle away from her, drinking the last bit. By this point, the jar of Eucharistic bread is almost empty, and your dad will be walking out to his car for lunch any second now. You place one last wafer on your tongue, letting it melt as you get up from the windowsill.

Nat slides off of it too, stumbling until she crashes into your chest. You hold her, hand at her waist, trying to steady her as you both break into a fit of drunken giggles.

“Oh wow, look at the dykes!” you hear in the distance. Your smile vanishes immediately as you turn toward the nearby car.

“Our little Virgin Mary is having her first lesbo sesh!”

Yeah, because you haven’t heard that one before.

Inside the vehicle, three guys from school stare back at you with wicked grins. You’re pretty sure they graduated when you and Nat were still sophomores, and you recognize them from church. You wonder what their parents—always in pristine white clothing, eyes closed and moralizing, showing off their sons to the rest of town—would think of them right now.

They’d probably pat them on the back and buy them a new convertible, you guess.

“Come on, girls, kiss!” the driver yells, making his idiotic friends laugh, and your grip on the wine bottle tighten. Natalie, even intoxicated, doesn’t miss a beat before stepping between you and the car, as if to shelter you. To protect you.

“Give us a little show! Don’t be shy!”

“Go fuck yourself, Cameron!” Nat yells back, and a chorus of mockery rises from the car. “Get the fuck away from us, or I’ll have to tell your daddy that we both buy from the same plug.”

That quiets them down. You’re all too familiar with the violence that lives under the skin of every self-proclaimed church man, and you wouldn’t be surprised if—just like you—these guys’ demons often take the shape of their fathers.

“Whatever,” Cameron huffs pathetically. “I guess the Burnout likes sucking dick too much to give it up.”

Nat’s fists clench, but she doesn’t say anything. You watch over her shoulder as the guys start to drive away.

You’ve been through this before—people asking if you wear a chastity belt, boys making bets about your virginity, a girl sneering “sorry boys, but her daddy probably took care of that already.”

It used to make you cry. Used to make you run to the bathroom and hide the rest of the school day. Made you soak your bedsheets with blood again and again. But then Natalie and you became close, and she caught on.

Every tear sliding down your face was a car she keyed. Every blood-stained razor was a house she trashed. Every bitten-back sob was a nose she broke. It got to the point where she almost got suspended, and you decided you couldn’t keep doing this—if only for her.

So you started to shrug off every comment. You laughed when they called you a “church mouse,” rolled your eyes at the mocking glances thrown during Holy Communion.

You could handle anything they threw at you—but their words toward Nat make bile rise in your throat. It burns through you like hellfire, floods your veins like venom. It makes you snarl at the dudes’ smug faces, and ache at the way Nat’s eyes are duller when you finally glimpse her face.

Without a second thought, you throw the wine bottle at the car. You were aiming for the roof—maybe the tires—but there’s a reason Natalie is the athlete here and not you.

The bottle smashes through the back window, sending glass flying into one of the guys’ faces. The car screeches to a stop, and a door slams shut behind you.

“What in the great heavens did you just do?!”

Your heart stops for a moment, and you think you might vomit all over the asphalt. But Natalie grabs your hand and bolts before your father can reach you.

You follow her. Of course you do. You run and run and keep running. Down the road, past the nearby gas station, and into the wilderness. By then, the sickness is replaced by pure adrenaline and ecstasy, both of you erupting into laughter as you sprint.

The tall, yellow grass of the field you venture into snaps against your arms, and all you can see is the back of Natalie’s head and her leather jacket catching the sunlight. All you can hear is her squeaky laughter and the cicadas.

You don’t know how far you run, but by the time you stop to catch your breath in a clearing, it’s well past noon and Wiskayok is out of sight.

You rest your back against a tree while Nat sits on a rock. She ends up sliding off it and into the dirt, still laughing uncontrollably—the adrenaline from the escape doing nothing to slow the substances swimming in her blood.

You try to steady your pulse as your eyes scan the nature around you. You spot a patch of nettles, take them in quietly, while your mind swarms with thoughts.

Your father will be furious when you get home, and you’ll probably have to wake up extra early tomorrow to cover any bruises with makeup before school. Your mom will give you that ghostly, absent look she always has, and you’ll stare back at the shell of her and refuse to feel anything.

You’ll be forced to apologize to the boys’ families, and your knees already ache with the forgiveness you’ll be expected to ask for as you kneel in your father’s favorite pew.

But when your eyes find Nat again—her black-rimmed green eyes glinting in the sun, her lips settling into that sweet, almost seraphic smile—you know it’s worth it.

You’ll stay right here, under your father’s cursed regime, and you’ll die all alone next to her in this godforsaken town, if it means staring at that smile for just a second longer.

NOTES: I wanted to post this before pride month ended, but it was a busy month for me. still, i wanted to post this anyway because i love nat and i can't stop thinking about her. Also, remember to be gay and proud every day!

This is a small excerpt from a bigger project i have been thinking about for months. it's a whole series following the events of Yellowjackets, inspired by the album Preacher's Daughter by ethel cain. it would be a long project, and I have never posted anything not supernatural-related in here, so I wanted to test the waters by posting this short little appetizer.

if any of you are interested in this idea, pls let me know! I will probably end up writing it anyway but it would still be good to know if any of you would actually want to read it.

I love you all, sorry for being a little MIA lately, and thank you for reading!

TAGS: @littlejackles @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @pieandflannel @southernimpala @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @that-stanford-girlie @immodestly-marina @angellust333 @cupidzbunny @mimiimmii <3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[returnofeternity]

shauna’s clingy/needy gf stoked the flames in me and now i raise you this: nat’s needy/clingy gf?

give her a clingy gf nowww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

she loves the attention you give her. will always blush and smile so hard that her cheeks hurt. and she always grumbles about how sore her face feels after 😒 she does the little *kicks feet against rocks* move with her hands behind her back when you praise her because she doesn't know how to handle it =3

nat loves to tease you about being clingy like she isn't as clingy 🙄 she'll make a comment about how you can't keep your hands off her for one second, but then pout at you when you take them off -_- i like to hc nat as someone who finds it awkward to initiate touch so she just stares at you like a puppy until you get the hint.. or until she gets needy enough and puts your hands on her herself!!!

thinking about times where she needs your touch and times she doesn't. times like when she needs your reassurance after making a tough decision for the group, where she needs you to hold her and kiss her until her anxieties go away. but times when her brain has it out for her and pushes you away, snapping at you for trying to hug her and comfort her like you always do.

always always always holding her hand. holding it while she scolds shauna for whatever, holding it during ben's trial, holding it on your walks when she needs to get away from everything, holding it during sex, holding it during the card pulling, holding it tight when you lead her to the rescue plane because you don't want to let go.

postcrash neediness!!!! always showing up at her place in the middle of the night because you can't sleep without her. she tells you to go back and spend time with your parents bc they'd for sure worry when they find ur not there, but at the same time, she's so relieved when you stay. kind of getting Too attached after rescue. like literally glued together type thing. you wake up to the bed dipping and ur already asking where she's going and tagging along.

constant texts....and calls! always excessive emoji usage when you text her about something random bc u love her so much. calling her to tell her that you just saw some guy run a red light because you just wanna talk to her!!! you wanna hear her voice :(

always going on datesss :] ur usually a bit late bc you get distracted while watching her get dressed and put on her makeup, and she has to reapply it sometimes bc you get needy and kiss her a lot .-. taking her out on a random tuesday evening because you just wanna spoil ur girl!!!

she likes to laugh in between kisses because of how needy you are and it makes you flush. and the way ur groping her lightly isn't helping...she's very ticklish.

pulling her onto your lap like all the time. she goes to sit next to you on the couch? nuh-uh. she's only allowed on your lap!!!!

[metal-mania]

Jennifer’s body MISTYNAT edition

That’s it. No notes

[svmbers]

obsessed with nat x ethel cain fics they’re so <3 • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

[ghostyuri]

surrender to the sound 

happy yellowjackets renewal day lesbians!

pairing…post-rescue!natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

in which…your ex picks you up from the bar—when you get too drunk thinking of her.

before you read…angst. misty is here too.

“she said she wouldn’t leave, ya know? and then—she’s fucking gone—just like that? what fucking sense does that make, misty?”

the blonde sits beside you, her fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the coca cola she ordered. all she offers is a hum, and the shaking of her head, her curls bouncing lightly.

she’s been trying to get you out of this place for nearly an hour now, but you won’t give up moping over natalie—it’s impossible.

misty should’ve known better, you didn’t ever invite her to shit. apparently just when you wanted someone to validate the bitter words you spewed about the girl that had taken your heart, then crushed it in her pale palms.

“fuckin’ liar she is…” you mutter, grabbing the glass of amber liquid as soon as the bartender places it before your face with a failed smile. he was probably tired of you, just like misty, but you’re suffering more than the both them combined, so you don’t care. 

everything felt like a blur to you.

like you were just punched in the gut and can’t steady yourself and the world is crumbling beneath your toes. the alcohol dulls it enough to where you have no desire to cry, you’re only angry every time her face crosses your mind. 

you want to scream. 

each day had felt more suffocating, four weeks that had felt blended together, an inescapable nightmare that you could hardly process as a reality.

it wasn’t simple. you two were bonded the mere moment that fucking plane crashed—and every single day afterward. an intense trust in one another because you two had something so crucial in common; the desire to keep your humanity. she had felt safe with you, you had felt protected by her. 

because natalie would never hurt you. 

you can only laugh at yourself for believing that, and misty turns her body completely on the stool she occupies. 

“it’s getting prettyyyy late,” she sing songs, looking at her watch then back to you with a smile too sweet, “i can bring you home…even stop for ice cream?” 

“i don’t—” “i know a place open all night—their root beer float is out of this world.”

“i can have a normal fucking beer,” your voice raises with a crack, exhaling deeply when you notice the subtle flinch in her reaction. she expects a sorry, but you don’t bother, swallowing your briefly lived pity with another gulp of your drink. 

misty abruptly stands up, a tight-lipped smile before she excuses herself to the bathroom. your head hangs low listening to her steps fade further in the distance, propping your elbow on the counter and massaging your forehead. 

it’s surely past midnight, and you’re not sure how much longer misty will put up with your natalie-centered rants—but the idea of returning to your cold and empty bed only cemented you more in place.

you finish the glass in front of your face, just for a freshly opened beer to be placed in front of you by the bartender. something you didn’t order. you don’t think you did, at least. 

“guy in the sunglasses,” the man informs you, tilting his head over his shoulder to the counter across from you. your lips are parted with nothing to say, looking at the apparent guy with a slight squint. 

who the fuck wears sunglasses in the bar? you scoff but accept the drink regardless. 

unfortunately, he takes that as an invitation, sliding out of his chair and approaching you, watching while you keep your gaze straight. 

“i see your, uh, friend, took off.”

“clearly don’t see shit cause’ she’s in the bathroom.”

you have yet to spare him a glance, and he begins to shift in place, upset he’s not getting the attention he wants. boo, fucking hoo. you sip on the beer more, taking satisfaction in the small huff that leaves his lips, then the silence that follows. 

he dares to try again.

“i got more of those back at my place,” he motions to the tall dark glass in your hand, even having the audacity to lean in closer to the point you can smell his rancid breath. he adds, “and this shithole is about to close, so…”

“so get the fuck out,” you say lowly, oddly polite despite the words and the charge behind them. dealing with some prick was not what you needed right now. if nat was here he wouldn’t have even had the courage to send you a cheap beer. he’d stay still in his stool and let the chewed-up tobacco rot in his gums. you’d prefer it that way instead of right beside you. 

where the hell is misty?

not a question you ask yourself often, but you’re now peering at the bathroom door waiting for it to open. not that you needed assistance with the man, he’ll surely connect the dots and walk away.

but seconds pass, and he’s whistling obnoxiously while tapping his drink on the counter. you squeeze your red eyes shut, losing the little patience you have and abruptly get up.

fresh air sounds nice.

except, there’s a large hand tugging at your wrist the moment you stand. 

with a hardened face, you stare, picturing how fucked up natalie would have him looking right now. a busted lip, bruised eye, broken nose. you’ve bailed her out for less than being touched by a stranger. sometimes, you thought she was overbearing. a downside to her protective nature that you’ve appeared to take for granted…no…no. you don’t need her.

“sweetheart—”

fuck this.

with force, you pull your hand away, just before balling your fist and throwing it at him. not as effective as nat, her silver rings left violent marks that you’d clean the blood from with loving hands. but, his head swings to the side and he’s clutching the edge of the counter for support; a crowd already forming and pulling you away. 

“don’t fucking call me that,” you spit at the man, trying to squirm out of the hold another older woman had you in. you disregard her attempts to calm you down because she had no right—a wide-eyed misty rushing over and trying to take control of the situation. 

“don’t fucking…” you trail off with a hushed voice, allowing misty to guide you away. you’re shaking now, and you’re not sure if it’s from the adrenaline, or outrage, or something entirely different. your cheeks are on fire and you’re not thinking about what you just did. 

you’re thinking about her. all you fucking do is think about her. it’s a curse.

your legs feel unsteady, but misty has her hand on your back and is gently pushing you out the door, preventing you from stumbling. the cool night air hits your face, shocking the warm alcohol-induced haze you’ve been in, still not as cold as your bed without her. but god is your mattress so freezing.

you stop for a moment, leaning against the brick wall outside, your chest heaving while the tears begin to fall. you hate this—misty watching you like a scared puppy and the incapability you had to just blink them away, show a reassuring smile that you’re alright. 

you’re not, you haven’t been, and this night has been so fucking long, it’s hitting you at once. 

the pain of everything weighs on your shoulders like it’s the world itself. the abandonment. the thought of how easy it was to just leave you behind, along with every sacred moment you’ve shared with her. 

memories that cannot be replicated even in the slightest, there’s only one natalie scatorccio and she’s the only person that kept you sane—kept you alive when you wanted the winter to take you.

you slide down the wall, otherwise you swear you’d just collapse. it’s too much. you bend your knees and bring them to your chest, burying your face into your palms and sobbing. you couldn’t help it and you really tried. the night was meant to be a vacation for your mind, from her, and you feel stupid when she’s probably out there with another girl in her lap already.

moving on from you while you’re stuck in place; you keep crying.

even when the neon lights in the windows shut off and the leftover patrons exit and fade into the distance.

“hey,” you hear misty’s voice, the girl bending down and tapping your knee. with a blurry vision, you peek at her, a proud smile on her face as she points to the left of you.

you turn your head, catching a silhouette of a figure on the sidewalk. even with glossy eyes, it’s not hard to make out the long messily chopped brown hair and leather jacket clinging to her arms. 

fucking hell.

“called her when i went potty—well—i went potty to call her,” misty laughs awkwardly, assuming this was some sort of favor, inserting herself in your broken relationship and trying to fix it.

“why would you do that, misty? a-are you stupid?” 

she blinks dumbly at you, then at natalie. the brunette is already kneeling before you, using her eyes to tell the blonde to leave. misty does, without a word, because she only seemed to say the wrong things to you. even a ‘bye,’ might piss you off even more than she already has. 

you don’t want natalie to see you in this way. weeping over her outside a fucking bar she’s probably banned from. you sniffle, averting your gaze as you dabbed the tears with the sleeve of your shirt.

natalie allows you to catch a breath, glancing down at your trembling hand in the meantime, noticing the swelling and discoloration.

she frowns, reaching out and holding it delicately, afraid to apply any pressure. she is treating you like porcelain that’s already cracked.

“what happened?” 

natalie’s tone is gentle, with a familiarity to it that you’ve missed; genuine worry, and almost prying. or more so, subtly asking if you wanted her to take care of whatever or whoever had bothered you. she’s a bit too late here. 

“none of your business,” you mutter, retreating and placing your palm in your lap. this isn’t something nat is used to, and obviously so by the way she shudders at your demeanor. 

she’s not alone, though, even with the alcohol tainting your system, it’s agonizing to push her away right now. you spent the whole night, no, whole fucking month, wishing for her presence again. even thought up the first words you’d say to her…but now they slip from your brain.

“you don’t have to be like this.”

“like what, natalie? tell me.”

she’s eyeing you like she doesn’t know what to do with you. maybe she doesn’t, you were usually the one cleaning up her messes and tolerating her liquor driven attitude. 

the other part of her that isn’t focused on getting you home, is filled with a quiet rage that you had let yourself get so fucked up. especially with misty out of all people. 

natalie clears her throat, ignoring your question—it’s not serious anyways, you only want to argue. 

“just…let's go, okay?”

“fuck off.”

she takes a deep breath. natalie does not take joy in being mad at you—she fucking hates it. and yeah, you’re not in your right state of mind, but she cannot convince herself that your words are meaningless. 

that your newfound resentment isn’t a product of the alcohol, it’s just…you. how you feel about her now that she had done the worst to you. she wants to bash her head into the same brick wall your back rested upon.

she opens her mouth to plead with you but you’re faster.

“you can go, natalie—i actually fucking want you to.”

you had said the opposite the day she did leave you. you’re unsure if the words were coherent through your bawling, but it was something desperate along those lines, just begging her to stay. 

she hadn’t listened then. 

and still, natalie refuses to listen to you now.

“i’m not doing that,” she informs you, keeping her voice calm though she is on the verge of both snapping and having a similar breakdown. 

none of this was easy for her either, not the way you had assumed. hell, it was just a week ago she too was outside a shady place with tears streaming down her face. all because someone fucking smelt like you. 

it was the shampoo; a flashback of holding you in your shared bed while her body pressed into your back. she would cling to you and breath you in, peppering kisses on the tender spots of your neck down to the tip of your shoulder and the side of your arm. the last time she felt peace.

she had shaken her thoughts of you away and carried on. something that had become a routine, wishing that eventually, it would just stop—but that was like wishing on a shooting star. only having false hope but it would never become a reality. 

you don’t choose your next words carefully. 

“i’d rather leave with s-someone—anyone else—instead of y—”

“don’t you fucking say that to me,” natalie cuts you off, jaw clenching in fury while her mossy eyes welled up. you never made natalie cry, and your expression noticeably softens when she turns her head away from you, wiping her face hurriedly like a child. 

all natalie did was come here to take you home, now she’s sinking deeper into the hole she dug herself in weeks ago. she rejects her vulnerability and with a flash, her emotions are concealed.

she clasps her hands together and blinks at you in exasperation.

“then i’ll have misty come back and pick your ass up. even spend the night to make sure you don’t choke on your damn vomit.”

with that, nat gets up, but doesn’t leave. she stands there with her hands on her hips, waiting for you to pick yourself off the sidewalk and follow her to her rusting car. your bottom lip is quivering, forcing yourself to accept defeat because natalie always won. 

your wobbly legs straighten, and she’s already placing an arm around your torso to help. part of you wants to refuse, the other part melts into her. 

both of you don’t say anything. not on the way to the poorly parked vehicle around the corner, and not on the ride to your apartment. she plays her cd with the volume on low, the tension incredibly painful each time a song you associate with each other taunts you through the speakers. 

she occasionally steals glances at red lights, but it’s when she parks on your street that she looks again and notices the lonely tear trailing down your cheek. you’ve unbuckled your seatbelt and gripped the door handle, but you were frozen.

natalie says your name softly, and you feel her right hand softly reach for your left one. you don’t react, not even when she gingerly brings it to her lips, kissing the flesh fondly. 

you have no desire to speak anymore. your anger had died a few stop signs ago and now you just feel numb. you’re inhaling the scent of the apple car freshener and the cigarette smoke that tainted the fabric, while natalie is studying your desolated yet so fucking beautiful features.

natalie pushes the lump in her throat.

“…i love you…”

when she finally catches your glistening glare, her eyebrows knit in heartache, and she’s the one who may throw up. there’s not an ounce of uncertainty behind the three words, never has been. it’s the very reason she had to hurt you anyway—it was necessary.

nat knows you’re both fucked up, there’s no denying that. but, she will always view herself in a different light than you. a very dim one with a bulb flickering near its death—compared to the halo she envisioned over your pretty head because you still had the warmth of the sun, despite what you two had gone through.

she’s so cold, and she hopes one day you’d acknowledge that and understand her.

“i can’t just…stop that.”

natalie’s thumb is tracing slow circles over your hand, the small repetitive motion keeping her grounded and stopping her from shaking. the words are hard to say, and difficult to hear—because this isn’t natalie regretting what she had done. it’s the total opposite, it’s a bittersweet goodbye. and she keeps going.

“i mean—fuck,” natalie laughs to herself, though it’s hollow and she glances at her lap, “the way i feel about you…that’s a one-time thing for me.”

you’re physically unable to smile; but there is a very slight twitch to your lips, the corners pricking upwards hardly. she’s honest, and she’s holding you so tightly. despite it all, there is a sense of comfort. not at all a sudden rush of freedom from the agony, but it’s something. 

and for some odd reason, the rest of the unspoken words you wish to say, no longer matter at all. natalie made a decision and she’s sticking by it.

and you have to be okay with that.

[abellmunsonmovie]

nat and her witchy, movie obsessed girlfriend (me)

[svmbers]

request: “ok so um hiyaa! I was wondering if you could maybe write a Lucifer (from supernatural) x reader fc where like we take him to the beach and he's all nervous or feels out of place then we convince him to go into the water and like its all just a bunch of fluff.”

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thank you so much for your request! this is literally so cute? and i love the beach so much, so this is right up my alley! i hope you like it <3 @flintn0tf0und

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Beach Day

pairing: lucifer x gn!reader (established relationship)

summary: you decide to take lucifer out for a fun day on the beach

content warning: none, this is pure fluff

word count: 0.6k

notes: this might be out of character slightly due to the fluff but also due to the fact that i haven’t watched supernatural in a hot minute. i’m due for a rewatch 🙂‍↕️

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The summer sun has been unrelenting, making the days long and air thick with humidity. Of course, Lucifer isn’t complaining as he’s adapted to literally living in Hell before. You, however, have not, and you cannot handle this heatwave.

You eventually convince him to go to the beach, wanting to escape the heat and soak in the salty waves. You pack up some snacks, sunscreen, beach towels, umbrellas, beach chairs, and whatever else you may need to enjoy your day in the sunny breeze.

As you make your way through the public access dock, you realize you weren’t the only one with the idea to hit the beach today to deal with the heat wave. The beach is packed, the sand and surf lined with people lying on beach towels and swimming in the waves. Lucifer looks apprehensive when he realizes this too, his pale skin becoming a bit flushed, but you motion for him to continue following you until you find a free spot on the beach.

The sand is hot beneath your feet, the wind whipping against your hair and towels. Once the towels are securely laid out and the umbrellas are stuck deeply into the sand, Lucifer begins to lay on his designated towel underneath his umbrella, bringing his forearm over his eyes with a huff. You look at him curiously but don’t question him, wanting to get in the water first before laying in the heat.

“I’m gonna get in the water. You wanna join?” you ask Lucifer, your voice louder than usual so you can be heard over the wind.

“Nah. You go ahead,” he responds, not bothering to remove his forearm from his eyes. You look at him with your lips twisted for one more moment before heading for the shore and dipping your toes in, getting adjusted to the water. You fully submerge into the water, feeling the coolness of it seep into your hair and skin. When you emerge and look to the shore, you see Lucifer still lying on the towel with his forearm over his face.

You decide to walk out of the water and pester him a bit, wanting him to join you. You want to have a fun beach day with him, after all. Lucifer feels your presence looming over him, and he finally peels his forearm off of his eyes.

“What’s up?” he asks, his eyes squinting against the bright sun despite being underneath the shade of his umbrella. You nudge his arm gently with your foot.

“I want you to join me in the water. C’mon, it feels great!” you say, your tone chipper as you lean down to grab his hands and gently pull him up. He grumbles as you pull him up, reluctantly following you as you pull him to the shore.

“Uh, I don’t know, Y/N,” he says, his face flushing again now that he’s fully in the sun again, feet in the water. You study him, wondering why he’s becoming apprehensive again.

“Why, what’s wrong?” you ask him.

“I don’t know, I just feel…I don’t know, like, exposed?” he says, his arms crossed but staying next to you in the shore. You give him a small, reassuring smile.

“Oh. Hey. Listen, I get it. But I promise you, no one is paying attention to you. Everyone is focusing on themselves and enjoying themselves. Look,” you say, just as you splash him with water. He turns away in surprise, but it manages to get him out of his funk when he realizes no one was paying attention. You pull him further into the water, laughing when he grumbles at how cold it is. He eventually adjusts to the temperature, and he begins to feel more comfortable and relaxed in the water.

You two spend the rest of the day together on the beach in and out of the water. You’re happy that Lucifer became more comfortable on the beach, allowing you to spend more time with him in the water. You swam, splashed each other, ate some snacks, and were able to beat the heat wave together the whole day, making for an amazing summer day together.

[fawnsfern]

your camera roll if you were dating natalie scatorccio ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ why did this one make me emo god she is so special to me