#how to break a guys wrist and steal his knife at the same time

[arbitrarycategories]

HEY!! Because I’m curious:

Tag what kind of self defense/martial arts you know (if you know any) and the coolest move you’ve learned

[ficsforeren]

Kana please PLEASE give us spiderman Eren, like head cannons or a one shot it would be SO good

aight, baby, your wish is my command *cracks neck*

WC: 1,4 K (slightly NSFW-ish), inspired by this scene.

“Please, don’t be mad.”

Eren has a little smile breaking upon his lips. It is as shy as it is impish, reeks of juvenility and the adoration he holds for you. His viridian eyes gleam beautifully when he looks up at you from underneath his eyelashes.

He’s lying down on your couch, his back leaning against the armrest. His suit has been unzipped, pooling around his waist and providing you enough skin of his chest that is marred deeply by a knife. The wound no longer oozes blood, but it’s wide enough to spread from a few inches below his right shoulder to the middle of his abdomen.

“I’m not mad,” you mutter back, but the way you jut out your lower lip betrays your words. Perched at the age of your couch, you lean forward to dab a clean towel over his wound. Your face hovers a few inches above his, a stray lock of your hair grazing against his clavicle.

Eren marvels at your beauty, just like how he always does whenever he has the chance. His gaze starts from the little frown that breaks on your temple, going down to the shape of your nose, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you look down to examine his injury. His eyes rest a little longer at the shape of your mouth, watching them closely as he draws his own between his teeth. “Kinda look like you are, though.”

“I’m not mad.” You press the towel a little bit harder against his scar.

Your boyfriend hisses, face contorting in pain but when he looks at you, a peal of laughter escapes him. He tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, adorably tilting his head to the side like a curious little child. “This is how you treat your wounded knight, my queen?”

You sigh, evidently weary and dismayed. “I’m tired of seeing you get hurt like this, Eren.” How many times has it been already? Five months you’ve been together and there’s never a moment where he broke in through your window, showing up in your bedroom without cuts or bruises blooming on his skin.

“Baby…” He soothes you down with his hand framing your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. “This is my job.”

“No one asked you to do this,” you argue, curling your fingers around his wrist. His hand is a comforting weight on your cheek, and you want it to stay longer, want to feel his warmth seeping into your skin, yours into his. You lean closer, resting your temple on his forehead. “I’m so scared of losing you.”

Eren closes his eyes, basking in the sweetness of your scent and wondering if your lips taste the same. “You’re not gonna lose me.”

You break away, your eyes drooping in sadness. Every physical pain he has to endure is a mental one you have to face. “They’re looking for you,” you whisper, trepidation in your voice. “These bad people… They will kill you if you don’t stop.”

Eren knows how terrible you must have felt. If he was in your shoes, he would’ve asked you to do the same. “Thank you for being so patient with me.” His smile turns delicate, filled with nothing but sincerity as gratitude swells within him. “But baby,” he sits up, trying not to wince from the pain. He cups your face with both hands, lifting it so he can lock gazes. “When you can do the things that I can but you don’t." He turns solemn, gently swatting the bangs out of your eyes. "If someone gets hurt, it happens because of you. Because you have the power to save them but you don’t. And I’m not going to do that.” A little mischief finds its way back to his eyes, just the perfect amount to make him look boyish. “I’m just looking out for the little guys, that’s all.”

You exhale, frustration building up quickly. “Why can’t you just look out for me? Or your aunt or—“

He stops you with his lips, brushing lightly against yours, just enough to silence your words and to steal your breath away. He kisses you languidly, the soft, moist glide of his satin lips clouds your thoughts and you find yourself surrendering in his arms, your eyes trapped in a haze when he breaks away.

“I am looking at you,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss on the spot between your eyebrows. When he returns to peer into your eyes, his crooked teeth make an appearance behind his grin. “I’ve only had my eyes on you ever since you walked down my street wearing that beautiful summer dress of yours.”

You pout. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.” He kisses you briefly, playful this time. “Look, I promise you I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look fine to me.”

“Okay, then how about we play a game to test it out?”

You're about to question him further when Eren threads his fingers through your hair for a moment before he rests them on your nape. “Would I be able to do this…” he brings his other hand to your face, his thumb and index finger trapping your chin between them. He drags it down, causing you to separate your lips. Angling his head to the side, he slants your mouth against his, kissing you a little deeper, firmer, with his tongue peeking out ever so slightly, just to get a sliver of your taste. He drags his mouth to the side, showering kisses along with the shape of your jaw. “…if I’m not fine?”

He grabs a handful of your strands, holding them up in a messy ponytail as he dips his head down to skim the tip of his nose along the pulsating veins on the side of your neck. “Would I be able to do this...” He whispers against the skin, parting his mouth and taking your supple skin between his lips. "...if I'm hurting?" You shudder when you feel him suckling on the spot, fire burning in the pit of your stomach.

Having superhuman strength has its perks. No matter how much you weigh, Eren can easily lift your body with one arm around your waist. He settles you down on his lap, your legs tangled around his back, the hem of your dress pushed up to the middle of your thighs.

His other hand skims over the curve of your hip before it glides up your spine, stopping only when he finds the zipper of your dress. He tugs it down, your fabric falling down your shoulders, pooling on your elbows. He shifts his face lower, now pressing his hot mouth against your collarbone

You weave your fingers around his hair, shivering at the sensation. You gasp out his name. “Ren—”

“You’re not answering my questions, Sweetheart,” he chuckles, landing small kisses on your throat as he makes his way up. He returns to your lips, smiling into the kiss when you drape your arms on his shoulders, pulling him even closer. His kisses turn rough, but only for a few seconds just to make you moan his name. “I love you.” He breaks away, pressing your foreheads together. “You know that, right?”

Your lips still tingle from his kiss, his intoxicating taste lingering on your tongue. “I love you too.”

He widens the gap, wanting to see how your lips move when you say the words. “Say it again,” he says, gliding his thumb over your glistening lips.

Your heart palpitates at the intensity of his gaze. “Why?”

“Because I love it when you say it.” It’s only at times like this that you can see a demanding look written on his face. “It makes you look like you belong to me. Only me.” It’s almost ironic how the selfless Eren Jaeger who claims to be everyone’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man can look so dominating and possessive when he’s with you. But it’s a nice change, giving you the thrill that you don’t know you’ve been craving. His tongue peeks out to wet his lower lip. “Please?”

Dazed and hypnotized, your eyes descend to his lips as well. “I love you.”

He catches your lips between his, teeth nibbling against your lower lip before he lets it go, satisfied when it's bruised and swollen. “Again.”

You flinch, shivers running down your spine when he dips his head low, tugging on your dress before he plants his lips right on the skin that covers your heart. “I lo—” You can feel his mouth sucking bruises on the side of your breast, causing you to bury your fingers in his dark brown locks, tugging at the roots. “I love you,” you moan, shuddering when you feel his nails raking down your spine, his mouth hovering dangerously close to where you want him to be.

Eren looks up, his eyes twinkling mischievously when he catches how wrecked you look under his touch. His smile is sweet but you know it’s not going to stay the same once you permit him to go further.

“I love you too, baby.”

***

Banner art by @viii0_8 on Twitter

[saintshigaraki]

the sun has not yet fallen

pairing: bakugou katsuki x gn!reader

word count: 2.2k 

excerpt: You look back towards the setting sun just once. You don’t really know why. Perhaps to find some bravery in the beauty of it, to steal yourself a few extra seconds of this limbo you’ve found yourself in. Where everything is hazy and beautiful and hurts so bad you can hardly breathe.

a/n: me: i hate angst

       also me: writes this fic

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, sometimes love requires work 

in case you want to read it on ao3!

Katsuki is in a bad mood. He was uncharacteristically quiet when he walked through the door which is more often than not a sign he was trying his damndest to hold back saying something just a bit too cruel. And you appreciate the effort, truly you do. 

On any other day, you would’ve let him be to work through his shit alone. He usually does that by cooking up something far too elaborate for a weekday night, and then after decompressing for a bit, he tends to slink back into whichever room you’re in and lay his head on your lap so you can work your fingers through his hair. 

You’ve found over the last two years that that is what tends to work best. Giving him space and letting him come to you.  

But today you’re feeling just as raw as he does. You can’t remember the last time you spent quality time together. You can’t remember the last time he didn’t go to bed so exhausted he was out before his head hit the pillow. You can’t remember the last time you didn’t feel this heavy cloud hanging over your head. You can’t remember a moment where there wasn't a timer counting down and down and down while you do nothing but wait for it to hit zero. You’re not quite sure what will happen when your time is up.

It’s selfish, probably, to want to be with him right now when you know he’s so weary, but you won’t even bother him, is what you tell yourself. You just want to be around him for an hour (or two) you want to stand so close to him you can smell the ever clinging scent of caramel and help him with dinner and think of brighter days. Better days. 

(You want things to go back to the way they were before. You want to cling to him, just for a short while, stuff your face into the crook of his neck while he tells you everything’s okay. That you guys are okay.

But that’s for another day. It has to be.

How many times have you told yourself that?)

You follow him as he stomps towards the kitchen. 

He aggressively grabs the ingredients for whatever he’s making and slams them on the counter, grumbling under his breath the whole time. You stand in the doorway worrying your hands, feeling awkward, and hating that you feel awkward in your own kitchen with your own boyfriend. 

It makes that awful nagging voice in your head grow just a bit louder. 

You approach him slowly while he sets up a pot filled with water and turns on the stove. He’s still grumbling to himself by the time you place your hand softly on his forearm. 

He jerks away immediately and narrows his eyes. You viciously stamp down exactly how awful that makes you feel. How small and unloved. 

“What do you want?” he says bluntly (and a little cruelly but a part of you says just ignore it, maybe if you close your eyes and cover your ears you can pretend that everything is fine, that you guys are fine) . 

That was part of his charm when you two first started dating. You loved that he was blunt, that he got to the point, there was really no guessing what Katsuki was thinking because he’d simply tell you and if it were any other day perhaps his words wouldn’t have bothered you as much as they did now. 

And it’s partly your fault, or maybe even mostly. Because you let it get this bad. You could have told him something was bothering you, that lately, you’ve been feeling a little insecure in this relationship. Katsuki was blunt but very rarely if ever cruel with you or your feelings. He would’ve understood, probably. 

But anytime you thought about broaching the subject with him, he always looked so, so tired. Bone tired. And you thought maybe it was selfish, to want him to comfort you over something this dumb. Over something as frivolous as this. He just needs time. 

(How much time, you wonder. How much more can you take? you ask yourself.)

“Are you fucking braindead or something,” he snaps, dragging you out of your spiraling. 

“I was just wondering if I could help. It’d be nice to cook dinner together.” We use to do it all the time, you almost say. Now you can’t even remember the last time you did. 

“You’re a shit cook,” he says. 

It’s true, and on another day, a brighter day maybe, you would’ve laughed. Or at least smiled. Because it was true. You are an awful cook, a shit one, as he so eloquently put it, especially compared to him. But that never mattered to Katsuki before. 

He always let you cook with him, always wanted you to cook with him, even if the majority of the time you ended up sitting on the counter swinging your legs and watching him do all the work. 

To be fair, afterward, you always cleaned the dishes. It was a lovely, simplistic give and take, one you wish you had again so, so dearly. 

“Yeah, I am,” you agree. You try to smile, but it feels forced. You’re tired, you realize, bone tired. 

You don’t say anything else and he turns away. You know that’s technically a dismissal but you elect to ignore and start unwrapping the vegetables. 

Just as you reach for a knife he grabs your wrist. 

“What the fuck is up with you right now?” he grounds out. 

“I just want to spend some time with you.” 

Your voice sounds frail, even to your own ears. 

And before he even opens his mouth you know what he’s about to say is going to bring all this to a head. And from the look on his face and the awful, gnawing in your gut, you know you’re not going to like it. You know that more likely than not, it’s going to break your heart. 

(A part of you can’t help but wonder if maybe your heart has already been broken. That it’s made up of haphazardly glued together pieces. Perhaps that’s why you feel so fragile. Perhaps the damage is done and you’ve just been waiting for Katsu to bring down the axe. To scatter the pieces. To finish the fucking job.)

“God,” he spits out. And it’s like a dam has been broken and every hateful thing he’s ever thought about you can’t help but come pouring out.  

“You’re so fucking needy, you can’t do a fucking thing by yourself. It’s like all you ever do is breathe down my fucking neck and tell me everything I’m not doing for you.” Distantly, you wonder if that’s true. It might be. Maybe it’s that ugly selfishness you’ve never really been able to hide. You thought you’d done a better job of tucking it away. You were wrong, it seems. 

“So I can’t spend every single fucking second of every single day with you, sue me. I’ve got my own shit to deal with, my own problems, or have you forgotten that I have a life outside of you?”

No, you think. I haven’t. Or maybe you have. You’re not really focusing so hard on his words. You tune them out as much as you can. You’re staring at his face, taking in all the details. The deep red of his eyes, the pale blond of his hair, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the slope of his neck, the little scars peppering his face. You used to sit on his lap and kiss each and every one, no matter how faint. 

You’re so weird, he’d say as you did it, but the tightness of his arms around you always spoke a different story. 

You’re going to miss that, you think. Holding him. Loving him. 

It takes you a while to realize he’s still yelling. It’s all hateful and cruel and so sharp. Like he’s taken a knife to your skin to flay you open, exposing every crack, every vein, every shattered piece of heart that makes you. You let it wash over you, like a particularly violent ocean wave.  

“Sometimes,” he says, his voice finally quieting to a bearable level, “I wonder why I’m still with you.” 

The breath you let out is shaky. No matter how ready you thought you were, there’s simply no amount of time that prepares you to hear those words from him. From the person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with. From the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. 

The silence between you two is deafening. And heavy. So heavy it feels as though your chest will cave in from the pressure. 

“Yeah,” you say at last, though you have to force the words around the burning iron poker in your throat. And then you laugh, you can’t help it. It’s all so fucked. You hate that it’s come to this bitter monstrous ugliness. 

When had this all started to fester, to rot? you wonder. Is this really all that’s left?

“I can’t help but wonder the same thing.” It comes out more bitter than you'd like. A small jab to try to even out the gaping wound he’s torn open in you. 

But it’s also true. 

You can’t see his reaction through the tears clouding your vision. You don’t really want to anyway. What’s done is done. What’s said is said. 

You grab your phone and keys and walk through the front door, closing it softly behind you. 

He doesn’t say a word.

You think if there was any part of your heart left unbroken, his silence has shattered it to oblivion. 

+

You walk for an hour or two. Until the sun has dipped almost completely below the horizon and it’s surrounded by hazy blood-red waves. 

It’s a good place to think. To set your jumbled thoughts in order. 

It takes a special kind of selflessness to love a hero, you realize. A type you don’t possess, not even nearly. You’ve always been just a little selfish when it came to love. But there’s no room for that when with people like Bakugou Katsuki. 

And that’s okay, you tell yourself. 

It’s a lie. It’s not okay. And the hollow aching in your chest that beats in time with your heart agrees. 

You look down at your phone. 

33 missed calls from Katsu 

You look back towards the setting sun just once. You don’t really know why. Perhaps to find some bravery in the beauty of it, to steal yourself a few extra seconds of this limbo you’ve found yourself in. Where everything is hazy and beautiful and hurts so bad you can hardly breathe. 

It’s not long before you’re biting the inside of your cheek, turning on your heels, and heading home. 

+

You don’t even have your keys fully out of your pocket before the door swings open, with Katuski on the other side looking a bit worse for wear, though you doubt you’re one to talk. 

His eyes are bloodshot and his nose is a bit pink. He’s been crying. You can’t remember the last time you saw him cry. 

(That’s a lie, you realize. You had gotten in the crosshairs of a particularly brutal villain versus hero showdown. The resulting injuries you suffered were severe. You’d apparently been a bit touch and go for a while. When you opened your eyes for the first time after everything, Katsu was right there, looking like hadn’t slept, showered, or eaten for days. Later you found out it’s because he hadn’t left your bedside since you returned from surgery. 

Katsu, you’d croaked out weakly, stretching out a shaking hand toward his face. 

He broke down into sobs so violent they wracked his whole body. It took him over an hour to calm down.)

You got about half a foot through the door before he threw himself at you. Wrapping his arms around you so tight it bordered on painful. He sinks down to the floor. You sink with him. 

He’s sobbing into your shoulder repeating a mantra of, I’m so sorry and I didn’t mean it. Please, please. I didn’t mean it. 

You think about that old saying. What a person says in anger is how they really feel. You don’t necessarily believe that. You yourself have said things out of anger that you in no way meant, that were purely thrown to hurt the person on the other end. 

You want to believe he didn’t mean it, more than anything you do. Because you love him. Because you really do think that Katsu is it for you. That he’s always been it for you. 

You pull away about as far as he’ll let you. 

“Do you love me, Katsuki?” 

The words hang in the air. You feel raw. Like you’re the one who has taken a knife to your own skin and flayed it all open for him. 

You don’t quite know vulnerability until you ask someone if they love you. It’s a different sort of weakness. 

“Yes,” he responds. His voice rough from his tears. “More than anything.”

You watch one last tear fall from his eye.

You hold his face in your hands and wipe it away. Softly. Gently. Lovingly. 

+

You guys are not okay and now that you’ve accepted that you think there’s a chance that one day, you will be. 

[vdlest]

The Roommate

Characters:

TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Neighbor!Reader

Summary:

Bucky Barnes as your neighbor is a good thing, especially when you need company. You two instantly became friends ever since he heard you listening to classic songs, and that you prefer "old but classic" stuff. To make the long story short, you fell for him, but when you confessed your feelings for him, he avoided you. And you thought that's how your beautiful start would end.

Warning:

Fluff

This is why you sometimes hate Sundays, you have nothing to do, and you're bored as fuck.

There's nothing to watch on Netflix, you have no new books to read, and no new episode of a podcast to listen to. So at the moment, you are just lying on your bed, staring blankly at your room's ceiling.

If only you're still living with your ex-roommate, Ana, the two of you must've talking gossips and having conversations about life nonstop. But she's not here since she moved to a different State last week already for a new job opportunity. She didn't want to leave you but she can't say no to a job opportunity, and you can't keep her from achieving her dream as well. So here you are, hoping that your next roommate will be just like Ana.

You were about to grab the remote control of your television inside your room when your phone vibrated, signaling that you have a text message.

Hey, I saw your post on the internet and that you're looking for a roommate. I'm interested and hoping we could meet today somewhere so we could discuss it.

You frowned a bit when you noticed that the sender of the message didn't mention any name nor introduce himself/herself.

Just when you're about to reply to this text, you received another message from the same number.

I'm Sam by the way.

Now that this sender finally introduced himself/herself, your confusion vanished, and decided to meet with this potential roommate of yours. Although you're still not quite sure whether this Sam is a guy or a girl, nonetheless, that's not important. What's important for you is that he or she is not a bad person and a heartbreaker.

You agreed to meet with your potential roommate in a nearby coffee shop in an hour. So you got up and went your way to your shower to prepare for this unexpected meeting.

The moment you entered the coffee shop you and your potential roommate agreed to meet on, you grab your phone and dialed the number of the person you're meeting, Sam.

Well, at least, you're not gonna die out of boredom. ───────────────────❥

"Hello?" you began when you heard that Sam already accepted your call, "This is Y/N. I'm already here in the coffee shop. Can you like raise your hand so I could see you?" you asked.

You roam your eyes around as you wait for Sam to answer in the other line.

"I'm right behind you," a familiar voice spoke on the other line.

Your heart skipped a beat when you heard that familiar voice.

You slowly turn around and see for yourself if your hunch is right about that familiar voice.

Hell, you are right.

It was him. It was Bucky.

It was the man you fell for.

Your eyes met his blue eyes when you face him. He was still holding his phone to his hear when you two face each other.

Seeing him now made you remember how you told him that you like him and that you're starting to fall for him already, and at the same time, you remembered how he walked out of your apartment and broke your heart into pieces. He left without any words. He just left and avoided you from then on.

Well, not until this day came.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you asked him straight on his face as you end your call with your supposed to be a potential roommate and put your phone inside your bag, "And what kind of sick joke this is?"

Bucky took a deep breath as he moves a step closer to you, "You have every right to be mad at me, and I won't question it. I've been a jerk, an asshole, I get it. But I was hoping you'd listen to me," he said.

You scoffed, "Listen to you? Listen to the guy who walked out on me on the night that I confessed my feelings? That's a bit absurd, don't you think?" you sarcastically smiled at him as you ask him. You shook your head, "This is going nowhere. So long, old friend."

You were about to walk past him when he gently grabbed your wrist to stop you from walking away from him.

"Please, Y/N. I'm begging you," he made you face him again, "I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't mean to avoid you as much as I didn't mean to love you."

Love you? He loves you?

He nodded, "Y/N, that night you told me that you like me and that you are actually falling for me, I was the happiest man alive. But that happiness faded away the moment I remembered who I am, and who I was. Instantly, I realized that you don't know me that well for you to love me that easily," he explained.

"Let's say you really do love me and that there's still I need to know about you," you pull back your hand away from him and crossed your arms in front of your chest, "Why tell me now? Why confess to me right now?"

"Because I fucking love you damn much already," he answered back immediately. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes for a second before he started talking again, "I tried my best to forget you, to forget what I feel for you but it's fucking too impossible. So I thought that if I'd let you know who I really am, who I was, I'll leave you the choice whether you still want to be with me or not."

You can't believe that this is happening right now.

A month ago, you realized that you don't have every time in the world to take your time to confess your feelings for Bucky, so you did confess to him. However, he broke your heart. And now here you are, you are very tempted to kiss him right now but you fought the urge to since you are curious about who he really is.

Bucky extended his hand towards you, "Come with me."

You took a glance at his hand before you look at him again, "I don't know, Bucky," you looked down and shook your head, "You already broke my heart and I don't think I have enough trust in you to come with you."

He chuckled, "You have a swiss knife on your bag, you have a pepper spray, if I do something vile to you, use it. I won't fight it," he assured.

Despite the heartbreak he gave you, you won't deny the fact that he's still charming to you. So yes, you ended up saying yes and coming with him.

➽──────────────────❥

"What the hell are we doing in the Smithsonian museum, Bucky?" you ask him as you both walk inside the museum.

It was a long drive from NYC to DC. You fell asleep the whole time you two were on the road. You wanted to ask him why does he have to take you to DC, but you were too tired to give a damn. So you let him take you to the place that will show you who he really is.

But you never thought you'd end up here in the Smithsonian Museum.

He didn't answer you, instead, he leads the two of you inside the exhibit made for the legacy of Captain America, Steve Rogers.

You chuckle and shook your head as you both walk inside the exhibit, "If we're planning to steal Cap's shield, I hate to break it to you but there's a new Captain America already," you joked.

"Yeah, I know," he casually answered, "I know him."

Your brows furrowed as you look at him, "The former Captain America or the new one?" you asked him, not sure if he's kidding or not.

"Both of them," he sighed and stopped walking. He faces you, "Before we proceed," he grabbed your hand and sighed again, "I want you to know that I love you, I really do. I also want you to know that I'm sorry for breaking your heart, for hurting you, but there's a lot of reason why I had to do it."

Your heart melted the moment he told you that he loves you. It wasn't the first time, but it feels like it. You wanted to tell him that it doesn't matter who he was and who he is because, for you, love is love. It doesn't give a damn about anyone's real identity. But you two have come a long way to back out now.

"Ready?" he asked you.

You nodded, "Yeah. I'm ready."

You and Bucky walked a few seconds more, but your body froze the moment you saw his picture inside Captain America's exhibit. He was beside Captain Steve Rogers.

"Battle tested, Captain America and his Howling Commandos quickly earned their stripes. Their mission, taking down HYDRA, the Nazi rogue science division."

"Bucky?" you murmured when your eyes landed on the picture of the guy standing next to you. You took a glance at Bucky and he was just looking at you and what your reaction will be. You look over Bucky's shoulder and saw a portrait of him plastered in a glass. You automatically walked there and check it for yourself.

"Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country."

There's both so much and too much to see in this exhibit, not the Captain America part, but the part where you realize that your neighbor, the guy you fell for is actually not the man you thought he is.

Beside Bucky's glass mosaic, you saw a video presented near it. It was Bucky and Captain Rogers.

"You weren't really kidding when you said that you knew the former Captain America," you said when you saw Bucky on your peripheral, looking at you, watching you.

"He's my best friend, and even he's gone already, he still is," he said.

You and Bucky walked around the exhibit more. He also showed you around Captain America's exhibit and even showed you the uniform he wore during his Howling Commando days.

You have no idea what to think or feel at the moment, but one thing's for sure, your love for him didn't fade away even if you knew who he really is and who he was, not even after he told you that he was the infamous Winter Soldier. You still feel the same for him and you have no idea why. Maybe because love is love.

After you two went ou the Smithsonian Museum, you two walked around the National Mall.

"Why did you think that showing me these would change my mind about you?" you asked him, breaking the silence between the two of you.

"Because I--"

You cut him off, "Because you assassinated people in the past?" you stopped from walking and faced him, "Or because you are a hundred and six years old man?"

"Y/N, you know---"

You cut him off again, "No, I don't know, Bucky. So tell me," you chuckled and shook your head, "Does these things supposed to change my mind? My heart? What I fucking feel for you? Well, sorry it didn't! Because even after I found out that you are Cap's best friend, that you were one of his Howling Commandos, that you were the Winter Soldier, and that you are an Avenger, I still feel the same way for you, I still see you as the guy I fell in love with, I still see you as my neighbor who likes Marvin Gaye so much that he listens to it through night and day, I still see you as Bucky Barnes," you told him.

The whole time you two were walking around the museum up to this scenic place in DC, you have nothing in mind aside from the fact that you were actually fascinated about who he really is.

Finding out that he's an avenger, that he's making this world a better place and saving it from going chaotic made you love him even more. Even the fact that he's a hundred and six years old man doesn't bother you at all and doesn't change how you see him.

"And if those things you showed and told me why you broke my heart, then I must tell you," you wiped your tears away, "You just wasted your time because it didn't change the fact that I love you. You told me that you're giving me the choice whether I still want to be with you or not, and I made my choice now, Bucky," you walked closer to him and held his right cheek, "I want to be with you."

Bucky held your hand that was on his cheek, and your eyes landed on his gloved hand because now you know why he was always wearing a leather jacket and covering his hand with gloves.

So you grabbed his hand and slowly remove the glove he was wearing, when you look at him, he was surprised by what you did.

"This is the hand that I will always hold onto, the hand that I will always choose to hold," you smiled at him.

You finally felt his vibranium hand on your cheek as he wipes your tears away, "I'm sorry if I had to hurt you that way. I'm sorry for breaking your heart, but I'm already here and I will not leave you," he pulled you closer to him and kissed your forehead, "I got you now and there's nothing else I could ask for," he pulled you again and this time it was the tip of your nose he chose to kiss, "I love you," he said before he finally claims your lips with his.

His lips dance with yours, and with every sway, you felt his longing, his love, and care for you. As cliche as it sounds, it was truly like your love for each other. It was pure and true.

"Who's Sam by the way?" you asked him after you two kissed, "Wait, Sam Wilson as in the Falcon?"

He nodded, "Yeah, the new Captain America. I asked him if I could use his name because I know you won't answer my calls," he said and sighed, "Anyway, you might have to take down your post about looking for a roommate."

You frowned, "And why is that?" you asked him.

"Because I'll be moving in with you," he revealed, which made your eyes widened in surprise, "Only if you want to of course."

You chuckle as you nodded, "I would love that."

"Just to be sure, you're my girlfriend now, right?" he asked you.

"For a hundred and six years old man, you're the most slow-moving one," you joked and run your fingers through his hair as he wrapped his arms around you, "I'm yours and you're mine, Bucky Barnes."

-v.dl

[dylansslutt]

danger R.C

rafe and you get caught up on the boat. shit goes south

WARNINGS: cursing, abuse, mentions of dark shit, rafe

you all had a mission, now while jj and kie went to lock the door on the boat. you went to find sarah with your brother. you followed john b through the hall.

“where would she be?” you ask john. “ i dont know, uh- go down there! ill check up here. be careful!”

“Dont Die, bird.” You glare at him.

“You either, raven.” He used your nickname as well.

you walk off, trying to be alert as possible. you are on a fucking boat in the middle of nowhere with people who will kill you. you go to walk forward when you halt.

noise came from around the corner, “oh i hear you pogue.” rafe’s voiced called out. you freeze, you go to move back but slam into something.

fuck, the loudest noise you can make possible. yes lets scream ‘im right here!’

you go to run forward, but rafe steps out in front of you.

“y’n? that’s funny.” he lurches forward grabbing you. you push back, almost slipping on your ass.

“i don’t have time for your crazy ass.” you elbow him in the ribs. your mission was already made.

rafe punches you in the face, your head jerks back. oh he stuck the shit out of you. You felt dazed as hell.

you whimper as he grabbed your shoulders. “you should not have came here, y/n”

“Not like I really had a choice.”

your hands fumbled with your pocket knife; you somehow managed to bring with you. You secretly slip it out.

you slice at his arm, stumbling backwards. Rafe hisses grabbing the small cut.

“stay the fuck back!” you hold out the knife, trying to seem threatening.

rafe laughs, a dark look on his face.

“you dont see do you? i did this! i got the gold, i-i got the-the cross. me!” rafe ranted, you wince. rafe can fucking swing. Your head was pounding.

“you didn’t get shit! you stole it, along with your murderous father!” you scream, you grab a random tool beside you throwing it at rafe.

Rafe dodges the object as you run away. Him hot on your tail.

you manage to get to the side of the hall, leading out towards the edge of the boat.

“you can’t get away that easily, fucking pogue.” rafe grabs me from behind.

He holds you close to his chest, “I was nice to you. You caused this.” He grabs me by the back of the head.

“no! st-” he throws me against the railing. my head bouncing off the side. jesus imma have a fucking concussion.

You roll over onto your hands and knees. Your head spinning, you try to grab the railing.

“where’s the rest of your dirty little group?” He squats down to your level.

“wouldn’t you like to know.” you spit the blood in your mouth at his face.

He wipes it off, glaring at you. He pulls you up harshly.

you dont have the knife. It dropped when he threw you. you frantically search the ground. Everything is doubling, you couldn’t see straight.

Behind him, it laid a few feet away. You try to keep the sob in but a few whimpers escape.

“I’m not here for you!” You cry out. “Let me the fuck go.”

“I know what you are here for. You are a thief! Trying to steal what is mine.” He slams you against the wall.

“I have to do what I have to do.” He stares down at you. Like a switch flipped. You stare at him in fear.

“Rafe.” You try to push away.

“no, hel-” he grabs you by the throat. you knee him in the balls, allowing you to drop to the ground. you reach for the knife but rafe pulls your leg.

you kick him in the face grabbing the knife. “back the fuck away!” you scream, tears running down your face.

rafe wipes the blood from his nose. you shake, where is everyone?

“you wont stop me y/n. i will do this. i am stepping up!” he raises his voice.

“i am the man now.” he points at me. he walks forward as i back up. his hands move for the knife.

you swing it forward but rafe grabs your wrist. he throws the knife overboard.

“so what? you gonna be your old man? you gonna kill me rafe?” you push at him. He was just like his father.

you were sobbing at this point, “do it! do it, fucking kill me. right? like your dad killed my dad. god you fucking monster.” you pound at his chest.

rafe stares down at you, his expression faltering. He stops for a split second, silence.

“guys hurry!” you hear voices from the deck. Fuck no. rafe can not get to them.

you shove rafe against the railing. your hands trying to push him over somehow. You struggle against his strength.

rafe grabs you by the throat. cutting your air off. “i didnt want to do this, y/n. look at what you made me do.”

His eyes stared into yours as you couldn’t breathe. Rafe was mad, he just squeezed. You clawed, kicked. Nothing was stopping him.

He really was going to kill you.

your legs folded, rafe finally letting you go. he rushes off to the others as you lay on the ground heaving.

you struggle to push yourself up. Your throat sore, struggling to maintain a breathing pattern.

finally after catching your breathe you run to the other side of the boat, seeing jj and kie struggle with a man with a machete.

“kie duck!” your hoarse voice yelled out, as you forward knocking the guy back. You step across helping jj to his feet.

His eyes on your face.

“Watch out!” Kie yells. The guy hit jj in the back of the head, his body falling into yours. You both topple over the side of the boat.

The waves pushed you around, before you were finally able to surface. JJ was a few inches away face down. Fear hit you like a truck, you swam forward pulling jj onto his back.

“JJ! Y/N” A voice yelled before a splash hit the water. Kie surfacing. She swam towards you as you held him up.

“Kie! He won-“ you spit water out. “He won’t wake up”

Kie helped grab the other side of him, struggling to keep us and him above surface.

“Please wake up.” You sob. If he doesn’t wake up we are all gonna drown.

“We are gonna make it. We won’t die.” Kie struggled out. You hope she was right.

“Help! John B!” Kie yelled out. You struggle to maintain my head over the water. With your last effort to keep him afloat along with you.

“I’m sorry.” Kie sobs making eye contact with you. You know you both were about give out. The waves are strong, and you both can’t keep jj afloat much longer.

“I’m so sorry, I-“ the wave pushed you under. You stared up at the sky. Water floating around you. It was silent for once.

Was this how my dad felt? Being pushed over board. Being hit in the head, maybe rafe didn’t do it himself. But this get like déjà vu. Everything starts to fade.

Next thing you know, your body is being pulled out the water.

“Y/n!” You felt your body shake.

“Please.”

You jolt up, throwing up sea water. You felt awful, your head was pounding. The sun was bright, and you’ve swallowed a gallon of sea water.

“You okay?” Your brothers face comes into view. Your vision felt doubled but you were alive.

You pull him into a hug, sobbing into his shirt. “Oh my god.”

You glance over seeing jj still unconscious. You threw yourself away from your brother.

“JJ!” You shake him. “Why isn’t he waking up?”

You stare at Kie who was in the same state as you. “JJ please, please don’t leave me.” You sob against his chance.

“Not yet.” Your voice breaks.

jj comes to, water spurting out his mouth. You let your hand rest on his shoulder. His eyes following up towards yours.

“Hey.” He says.

You laugh, shoving his face softly. “I was so scared.” You hug him softly.

You lean back as Kie rushes forward to hug him as well.

I glance around at everyone. “I am so glad y’all are ali- wait. Who’s this?” Your eyes land on a new girl.

“This is Cleo, the one who helped us in the Bahamas.” Sarah spoke up.

You nod. “Welcome to the family, Cleo.” You smile at her.

You sit back, as y’all make way to the island closest to you. You almost died, not once but twice. Tears slipped out but you quickly wiped them.

You were just grateful everyone was alive.

[crowfootwrites]

Bruises | Part II [Nestor Oceteva x Fem!Reader]

Part II of the Nestor two-shot. This part is significantly longer than the first part, but we get to see Nestor takin' care of business, so. Also, there's a Marcus cameo.

Warnings: implied violence; gun usage; language | Words: 1,861

Part I of Bruises

Two days later, you’re back at work, opting for a floral catsuit to keep your bruising covered. Your sides, back, and thighs are starting to look pretty gnarly.

Nestor had indeed taken you to the hospital and stayed with you while doctors performed a series of ultrasounds and CT scans to check for any internal hemorrhaging; he was on the phone for a while and you could hear snippets of angry conversation, likely with Miguel or Marcus about finding the guy that did this. When you were given the all-clear, Nestor had taken you home, insisting on you taking it easy. He had made dinner and curled up with you on the couch, trying to avoid jostling you at all costs. When the two of you had finally made your way to bed, his fingers gently caressed you and he pressed soft kisses against the deep violet bruises blooming across your torso. You saw the quick flash of heartbreak in his eyes at seeing you hurt, and you had curled against him, falling asleep safely in his arms.

It’s a Tuesday and it’s early, so the club is still fairly slow. You’re bartending tonight, thankfully, glad to have a large slab of wood between you and everyone else. You’re not sure what progress Nestor has made on finding the guy, but you still have your job, so you count your blessings and don’t ask questions.

Another blessing: the other bartender for the evening arrives, and it’s an intimidating-looking girl you’ve worked with a few times named Morgan. All but the most confident (or the stupidest) patrons find her pin-straight black hair, severe makeup, and perma-frown a little daunting. No one ever fucks with Morgan and you’re glad to have her beside you for the night.

Things start to pick up around 11 and suddenly, it’s busy, even for a Tuesday. Morgan leans over to remind you about the drink special your boss is promoting, and you groan internally, knowing the tips are the only thing making it worth your while. You and Morgan make a good team, supplying drinks at a breakneck pace while club lights flash around you, obscuring most of what’s happening past the first row of patrons at the bar.

You’re throwing together a Jack & Coke when you hear it. The voice sends panic jolting down your spine as it requests a Budweiser. You stare at your trembling hands, a lime wedge clutched between your fingers.

You force your eyes upward and it’s him. The same slicked back brown hair, the same oily smile, even the same leather jacket. Your eyes widen and he looks back at you with a calculating gaze. Your immediate reaction is a desire to run. But as soon as the thought appears you dismiss it. The club is packed, and it would be easy for him to try something in the middle of a throng of people. No, the safest place for you is behind the bar, where other people can keep their eyes on you.

You force a smile that you’re sure comes out as more of a grimace.

“Sure thing,” you tell him, the pitch of your voice just a little too high. You hand the Jack & Coke to its owner, managing to spill a little on your shaking hands, then head over to the cooler for the beer.

You can feel his eyes on you and your stomach turns, bile burning in your throat. In the dark corner of the bar, shielded partially from view by Morgan, you can feel yourself breaking down. Your eyes flash around you in a panic. Everything and everyone feel too far away. You don’t see the bouncer by the door, and there’s no escape route that doesn’t take you past the man staring at you from the end of the bar.

You’re not sure what to do so you call the person you trust the most.

Nestor answers on the first ring. “Amor?” His voice is, understandably, apprehensive.

A whimper steals through your lips before you can get the words out. “He’s here.”

“Are you inside?” Nestor’s tone has lost all sense of worry. His words are clipped, business-like, and you know this isn’t going to end well.

“Yeah, I’m working the bar with Morgan,” you mumble, dropping your head into your hands as Morgan looks over at you with concern.

“Stay behind the bar,” he commands. “If he tries anything, break a bottle, get a paring knife. Whatever you gotta do, mi amor. I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

The line goes dead and you take a couple deep breaths, glad that, despite what’s about to happen, Nestor is coming. You grab the Budweiser out of the cooler, pop the cap and plunk it on the bar top in front of him, not meeting his eyes.

“How’s your night going, babydoll?” The words slither out of his mouth deviously and you swallow around the knot in your throat. Your eyes glance to digital clock beside the register. Thirteen minutes to go.

“Busy,” you grind out through gritted teeth. You move to the middle of the bar to help a waiting customer, and the man’s eyes follow you as you make drinks. He doesn’t leave the bar. He sits and leers and you wonder if he thinks that he’s going to follow you out again at the end of the night. As if you wouldn’t have learned your lesson? Good thing he won’t be here ‘til closing, you think, as your eyes flicker obsessively to the clock, counting down the minutes until Nestor arrives.

Nestor, apparently, makes very good time when he’s angry, because you see him come through the door of the club with two minutes to spare. An audible sigh of relief passes your lips as his eyes find yours over the crowd and he makes his way to the bar. You bite your lip as your gaze lands on Marcus talking to the bouncer who has returned to his post. The bouncer, the same one who was working the night you were attacked, glances at you, then nods to Marcus. Marcus disappears into the crowd behind Nestor. You can’t help the tightening in your chest. This is going to be bad.

You come to stand in front of the man so Nestor knows who to see about their little assault problem. The man, still unaware of Nestor and Marcus’ approach behind him, winks nauseatingly at you and just as he reaches over the bar for your wrist, a firm hand clenches around his forearm and pulls back. The man jerks back on the bar stool and spins to face two vicious looking men in suits.

The man sputters, trying to yank his arm free, but Nestor has no intention of letting him go. “Who the fuck are you?” the man yells. You glance at Nestor’s hold on the man’s arm, his knuckles turning white as his grip intensifies.

Marcus paces around to the other side of the man’s stool, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. “We hear you like to hit women,” he says nonchalantly, bringing his mouth close to the man’s ear. His one free arm flies up, trying to hit Marcus, but Marcus was expecting it. He grabs it and yanks it behind the man’s back. Marcus steps back just slightly, drawing out his gun, keeping it low so as not to alarm the crowd. You see the added length of a silencer on the end of it as Marcus shoves it into the man’s side and you step forward.

“Not in here, please,” you beg, and Marcus smiles at you benevolently.

“Mija, what do you take me for? I would never,” he says, and you cock an eyebrow, knowing full well he would.

Between the two of them, Nestor and Marcus hustle the man outside as he yells frantically over the crowd. He can’t really be heard over the music, and no one appears to notice, likely assuming security was removing him. They take him to the back, towards the back door of the club that leads into the alley where he attacked you. The heavy door slams shut with a note of finality, and you try to put it out of your mind. It’s out of your hands anyway. It was out of your hands the minute you told Nestor about it.

You see Morgan looking over at you as you try to get back to work, willing your hands to be steady. She seems to know better than ask, though, and you’re grateful for that. Thirty minutes later, Nestor comes back in through the front door of the club, nodding at the bouncer as he passes. The crowd has thinned out and the bar is considerably less busy. Nestor makes his way over and you run out from behind it to wrap yourself around him in a hug. The fingers on your right hand find their way to their usual spot around one of Nestor’s braids and you give it an affectionate tug. It’s slight, but you feel him sink into your embrace, seemingly as relieved as you. You pull back and scan him from head to toe, your heart racing. He appears unscathed, but you do notice the tiniest drop of blood on his dress shoe and point it out to him. He frowns and grabs a cocktail napkin off the bar and leans to down to rub it off, as you release a tired chuckle. He crumples the napkin and puts it in his pocket, then caresses your cheek, tucking you against his body.

“He won’t be bothering you anymore,” he murmurs.

You sigh, partly relieved, partly concerned for Nestor. “¿Lo mataste?” you ask hesitantly, not sure if you’re ready for the answer.

Nestor pulls away to look at you dubiously, as though he can read you like a book. “You really want to know?”

“I feel like I need to,” you say with a shrug, but your grip remains tight on Nestor.

A hard look passes briefly over his eyes before he gazes back down at you with a lopsided smile. “We made sure he won’t be touching anything he’s not supposed to anymore.”

Your face contorts as you wonder what they did with the fingers, but you opt not to ask.

“And he’s not gonna come back?” you ask, your voice small. You’re sure Nestor can feel your heartbeat clamoring against his chest.

“Not unless he wants to die,” Nestor whispers soothingly, and you let out a heavy exhale. “And I talked to Jimmy at the door. He gets anywhere near this place, they call me or Marcus.”

Tears sting your eyes, and you sniff as you pull Nestor tighter against you. “Thank you,” you mumble into his lapel. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“So, what now?” you ask, unsure what a person does after they dismember someone in the darkened parking lot of a club.

Nestor pressed a kiss against your forehead, and you could feel his lips curling into smirk against your skin. He pulled away and met your eyes with a shrug. “Now we go home.”

[spencessmile]

Enough Is Enough

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary -  Spencer has had enough with you putting your life in danger.

Warnings - Angst

Word Count - 2,365 words

And all imagines/fanfics/blurbs are written solely by me so please don’t steal my work and post it without my consent.

Feedback and Comments are welcome. Happy reading!

Requests are CLOSED!

**

“Jake, just take a minute to think about what you’re about to do. I’m not going to tell you that it’s going to be okay because you and I both know that’s a lie. But I just need you to put the knife down, can you do that?” You slowly lower your gun. “Okay, I’m going to lower my weapon,” You slide your gun back into its holster.

The room is eerily quiet and you can sense the tension.

“Y/n, what are you doing?” Morgan called out from behind you. You ever so slightly shook your head, not wanting to take your eyes off from Jake. You move slightly closer to him.

You can see Jake gripping the knife tighter, “Jake you hurting yourself isn’t going to help anyone. Just talk to me. I’m right here.”

“NO! NO ONE EVER LISTENS!” He shouted back.

“I’ll listen. I promise I’ll listen to everything you have to say,” You respond. It was at that very moment that you noticed Jake’s facial features change.

“I want your partner to kill me! He has an aim, doesn’t he?”

“My partner isn’t going to do that,” You reply, standing a foot away from Jake.

“Make him do it! Make him,” Jake yells, as he cries, his shoulders slump. You notice that Jake drops the knife as she continues to sob in front of you.

“Adding another name to the list isn’t the way to go Jake. You and I both know that” You speak as you slowly but with caution move closer and closer. You knew what you were about to do was risky but you didn’t have much of a choice, so you were going for it. You quickly reached up and grabbed Jake’s wrist as you bent down, your hand reaching for the knife. Jake’s eyes meet with yours as he realizes what you’re doing.

“NOOO! NO! NO! LET GO OF ME!” He yells at you, pulling his arm back but he pulls back with a force that you went with him, you feel the cold metal of the knife slice into your left torso.

“Y/N!” You hear Morgan yell.

“Morgan, do not shoot! Do not shoot,” You say as Jake pulls you in, again.

“Shoot me now. Shoot me!” Jake said to Morgan. “Take me out while I have your partner!” As Jake is talking to Morgan you notice you have an opening so you go to grab the hilt of the knife. “Watch it! Otherwise, I’ll kill you first!” Jake yelled, as he fought for the knife, you and him going back and forth until you felt a sharp pain shoot through your right hand.

You muster all the strength you have and turn your chest to this back and kick his legs, watching him falling to the ground as you pull out your gun. He tried to fight you as you put your right leg on his chest, keeping him down.

“It’s over! Stay down!” You yelled as the pain in your left torso increased every single second as you applied pressure with your leg to keep Jake down to the floor.

As you keep your gun pointed to him, the next couple of seconds are blurry until you see Hotch and Morgan running up to you.

You holster your gun and take a step back, holding your torso. You feel something wet when you look at your hand; its blood. Your back hit the wall as you slid down.

“Agent down, we need a medic!” You hear someone yell through your earpiece. “Y/n,” With hazy eyes you look up and see Morgan bending down to your level.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” You breathe, as the pain is starting to take over your body.

**

“This is a bit deeper than a flesh wound. I’m going to have to stitch your torso and right hand,” The EMT tells you while examining your wounds. As you’re sitting in the back of the ambulance you can hear multiple footsteps making their way closer, you look up and see Spencer running towards you. Spencer stops himself before he can fully reach you.

“This is going to hurt a little, are you sure you don’t want any morphine? You can also tell me to stop at any time,” The EMT said, cleaning your wound

“I’m okay,” You reply as Spencer scoffs at your answer.

“Oh, she’ll be fine. She throws herself into dangerous situations all the time. Break? She doesn’t need a break. She never stops! But guess who does need a break? Me, I need a break!” You were taken back from Spencer’s reaction.

You’d never seen him like this. He was yelling. He never raised his voice at you or as a matter of fact at anyone.

“Spen-”

“I need a break from your stupidity! You fought a teenager who was far past his mind, he was holding a knife. Not only did you put your gun aside but you told Morgan to stand down. Why do you do this type of stuff? Does this stuff excite you? Can you not do this job unless you’re on the edge? You went real far today. I ca-” Spencer stops when Emily puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Reid, she’s ok-”

“I know she’s okay,” He breathed, looking at Emily. “But why can’t she just try to do this damn job without getting herself killed or put in danger every time we’re on the field?”

“Spence,” Your emotions were all over the place, you felt tears pressing but you pushed them aside not wanting to cry in front of the team. “I didn’t have any other ch-”

“There is always another choice other than throwing yourself in danger.”

“Spencer!” You say, catching his attention. “Look at me, please. I’m okay. I’m in one piece,” You assure him.

“You are today, but if you keep making stupid decisions and putting yourself in danger like this every time then someday you won’t be!” He snaps at you.

“Spen-” You try to reach for his hand.

“Please sit still,” The EMT said, holding down your hand as you groaned in pain. “Spencer! Spencer, just lis-” Spencer just turned his back to you as he pushed past Hotch and Rossi.

“Kid!” Morgan calls out.

“Reid,” Emily said, turning back to go after him.

“Em,” You call out as she looks at you. “Let him go,” You say as you watch Spencer walk away.

**

“Alright, you’re all good to go. No heavy lifting or putting any pressure on your right hand. You’ll probably be off work for a couple of weeks until your left torso stitches fully heal. I’m prescribing this medication, take it as instructed and you should be good. Also, follow up with your doctor in a week,” The EMT said, handing you your prescription, that Morgan quickly snatched from your hand and put in his pocket.

“Alright let’s go,” Emily said, pulling a wheelchair towards you.

“Seriously?” You raised your eyebrow.

“It’s just from here to the car and then I’m sure Morgan wouldn’t mind picking you up,” She laughs as Morgan chuckles.

“Did Spencer leave?” You ask.  

“He uh- he rode back with the Sheriff. Rossi, JJ and Hotch just left.”

“Oh,” You understood that he was upset at you but he never left without you.

“He just cares for you Y/L/N, that’s why he’s just upset. The kid can’t stay mad at you for long. He’ll run up to you as soon as we get back.”

“I know,” Morgan was right, no matter how upset Spencer was at you, all it took was one glance of yours. Spencer was a softie, which is one of the million reasons why you loved him.

**

Emily held the door open to the station as Morgan helped you inside, JJ took notice and quickly pulled out a chair for you.

“Agent Y/l/n,” You looked over at the Sheriff. “That was one hell of a tactic. Great job,” You shake his hand as you notice Spencer shaking his head.

“Hey kiddo, how are you feeling?” Rossi asked.

“I’m okay,” You answered but, to be honest you weren’t going to be okay until you talked to Spencer. He was on the far end of the table with Hotch, wrapping up the files. He glanced your way and you sent a small smile his way but he just ignored you.

You sighed, grabbing the stack of files until Emily grabbed them from you, giving you a stern look.

“What are you doing?” She asked, putting the files aside.

“My paperwork.”

“Y/N, you’re hurt. The paperwork can wait,” She tells you.

“Don’t stop her Emily, she may be injured but she’ll probably fight you too,” Spencer says and you snap your head in his direction giving him the ‘are-you-being-serious-right-now?’ face.

“Guys,” The team looked up at you. “Can Spencer and I have the room for a minute?” They nod, leaving you and Spencer all alone, sitting on opposite ends of the table.

“Why are you so upset?” You ask as Spencer continues to shuffle through the files.

“You should know why.”

“This is our job, Spence,” You reply, as Spencer turns the corner you muster all the strength you have and stand up, grabbing his arm. As soon as you do, pain shoots right through your hand and wince in pain, retracting your hand.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asks, immediately dropping the files and lightly holding your arm. He pulls the chair and helps you sit down.

You look at Spencer and notice how instead of now being upset he was worried about you.

“I’m okay.” As you looked at him, Spencer grabbed his files and turned his back to you, walking away.

“Spencer,” He didn’t turn around. “Turn around please.” You heard Spencer sigh as he walked over to you and crouched down meeting you at eye level.

“Do you like doing this to yourself?!” He was still really upset.

“Doing what?”

“Always getting hurt? Does it give you some sort of adrenaline rush?”

“I made a decision.”

“It wasn’t the righ-”

“If you were in my position you would have done the same thing.”

“I would have thought of something else, Y/n!”

“No, no you wouldn’t have.”

“Y/n, I’ve had enough with you thinking that you can save everyone while doing this job. You’ve been doing this job for a long time and you know it doesn’t always work that way.”

“I know how this job works Spencer.”

“Do you really though?”

“What does that supposed mean?”

“You don’t think through your decisions.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

Although you were upset that Spencer brought it up, somewhere along the line you knew he was right. You didn’t always think your decisions through. If there was anything you learned while doing this job it was sometimes you had to make rash and fast decisions; and they won’t always be safe and easy to make.

“You can’t keep putting yourself into situations in which I might lose you.”

There it is.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer shook his head. “I know that this is our job but sometimes it sucks when we have to put ourselves on the front line not knowing what can happen.”

“There is a reason why we go through so much training, it’s because it prepares us for situations like this.” “I’m sorry for yelling at you in front of the team, I just saw you and I ju-just don’t know what came over me,” He breathed, you grabbed his face.  

“You were just worried and I don’t blame you,” Spencer looked at your bandaged right hand and you nudged his shoulder. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“You’re just saying that. Why didn’t you take any meds for the pain?”

“Because I didn’t need them.”

“Can you promise me something?”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Can you promise to stop making stupid decisions when we’re out on the field?” You sat on Spencer’s words for a bit.

“Spencer you know how th-”

“I know I should trust you when you’re out on the field and you make decisions and I do but I’m always so nervous that I’m never going to see you again,” Spencer spoke honestly. “The thought of never seeing you again is abso-”

“Hey,” You whisper “We do a pretty intense job for a living, I won’t promise you anything but I will try to be more careful and make less stupid decisions.”

Spencer nods at your words. “But I am upset at you for one thing,” You said.

“What?”

“Back at the crime scene, you left without me.”

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done that. It’s been weighing down on me ever since I got back with the Sheriff,” Spencer said, his voice laced with an undertone of sadness.

“I’m kidding Spence,” You said, throwing him a small smile. “I just don’t like it when you’re mad. You seem like a whole different person.”

“I know.”

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you by any chance have ibuprofen?” You ask, shyly.

“I do but you said you don’t need them.”

“Well I didn’t, but you’ve been squeezing my hand for the past 3 minutes and it’s starting to hurt like a cheese stick,” Spencer lets go immediately. You can tell that he tensed up. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” You assure him.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” Spencer gets up but turns around and faces you again. “Hey,” You look up at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Enough is enough; no more hurting yourself. Just don’t want to lose you,” He said, leaning down and kissing you. “I love you.”

“I love you,” You reply, pecking his lips again. “Also any unsub is going to need more a kitchen knife to take me out,” You joke as Spencer just shakes his head at you.

**

Sometimes making rash decisions can be the best decisions you ever make - Unknown

[lovequeenofdiamonds]

Ten of Hearts

❛ 𝖶𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋𝖶𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟣

↳ 𝟬𝟭. 𝗘𝗻𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀 ⸝⸝ —— 𝙎𝙤𝙧𝙖 - 𝘼𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝘽𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙 ❜ 𝑻𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔. The world in Borderland is divided into those who know how to make the most of heart games and those who, on the other hand, find themselves capitulating for fear of the betrayal of others by bringing to the surface what could only be defined as a kind soul but in reality is identified as human weakness. And Sora has always considered herself terribly skilled in convincing that she is perfect in the part of an insensitive and elusive person, ready for anything to achieve her goal and above all determined not to look anyone in the face. Because Borderland is a dangerous place, not so much for the games as for the people who can be met there. But if she initially faced what she had seen with her own eyes she had thought that one could not fall deeper with the death of the Hatter, it was as if they had crossed that abyss that was pushing them into absolute darkness. Time passes all too quickly on the screen of her phone and she is more than convinced that in two hours they would not have gone anywhere, especially given the massacre that was taking place in the corridors of the luxurious hotel. She had begun to disperse among the crowd, aware that a bloodbath would soon break out, because it was not necessary to be an expert in heart games to realize the imminent betrayal. Sora had always shown a marked and brutal cunning that had allowed her to survive there inside her but in the end, her mind continued to point to only one person: Chishiya. It had been that cursed game, Guard and Thieves, which had seen them accomplices and winners, but knowing a person like him, the mirror of his soul, and the fact that Sora had stolen his card, had certainly not contributed to making starting their relationship in the best way. Sora and Chishiya live on two opposite worlds while behaving the same way. She is silent because has nothing to add, he is silent so as not to show his superiority to others. She prefers to play alone because there is less chance of having to face someone she knows, he prefers to play alone because in doing so he will have a better chance of being the only one to save himself during the game. She walks with a knife to threaten, he walks with a gun to defend himself. She spends her days away from people because she doesn't want to get attached to anyone, he spends his days away from people because he knows he can't get close to people. She lowers her gaze when they are one in front of the other, he looks into her eyes only so as not to give her the win. Sora would have wanted to help him in stealing the cards, Chishiya would have wanted her help in stealing the cards. They are the two sides of the same coin that do not seem to be able to find a meeting point. [...] Her hands are covered in blood as she pulls the knife from the throat of that guy who tried to shoot her in the hallway. But Sora had been smarter and faster, she had hidden and had caught him behind, so as to become from victim to executioner. Yet in such a moment, in those moments of terror and panic caused by the game in progress at the Beach, she seems to have entered a trance. She had never killed anyone whit her hands and she never would have wanted to, unless she, as in that case, was forced to. She and she takes a deep breath, passing a hand to move away the locks of hair while her glassy eyes go to study that body of her that collapses to the ground. Sora hears the screams of other people not too far away and has to walk away, but at the same time she finds herself paralyzed as her mind concretely analyzes what she has done. Probably would have stayed there again and again, until her hand grabs her wrist and drags her away in that whirlwind of madness. She needs a few moments to realize that the figure of her dressed in white is not Chishiya who, without saying a word, takes her away away from the corridors, currently the most dangerous places. « Are you hurt? » He was worried? And Sora is unable to fully understand it and perhaps she would never have succeeded because a more difficult and hermetic person, just like herself, did not seem to exist. But looking at her serious sideways expression she's pretty sure his concern is indeed buried deep in his heart. So Sora doesn't answer, she doesn't want to give him such satisfaction, and she just slides her hand into hers, intertwining her fingers with the boy's.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞:  It is the first time that I post my work in English and I apologize for the errors or the grammatic Anyway I decided to start posting my works for the Writober2021 (sorry if I'm late) simply because I needed a personal challenge.  I will mostly write about some of my roleplaying characters (both oc and canon characters) and I hope you like them. Thanks for the reading! Effe

[its-my-little-dumpster-fire]

Let it Burn ( t w e n t y n i n e )

Billy Russo x Reader, 6.7k

A/N: I don't know what to say about this one, just that it's been a long time coming and I'm equal parts excited and terrified of being this close to the end. So if even one person asks for a nice interlude, I'll friggin do it, because there aren't many sweet moments left. Not that there are any in this chapter? idk. You decide.

Warnings: Death. Talks of death. Violence. Poorly written fight sequences (I'm sorry @the-blind-assassin-12).

Summary: Billy's past comes knocking and you're thrown head first into a future you weren't expecting.

“I’ll get the car,” Matt volunteered the second your little group exited the bar. He was quick to turn away, leaving you with Noah and Libby on the sidewalk. The air thrummed around you with bass tones from leaking out onto the street. Combined with the alcohol in your system, you felt warm despite the chill in the air. Noah had his arm looped around Libby, holding her close and holding her up as her head lulled sleepily into his shoulder. Her hand stuck out, blindly grasping at the air behind her until you caught it in yours and she turned her face to smile. It was good to be with friends. Shocking, how normal it felt to be with people who knew you in college. Libby was there in your dorm room, laughing mercilessly at the sharp tingling in your legs after sprinting through the snow in shorts. A boy at the gym tried asking you out and your eighteen year old brain only came up with the dumbest responses to his flirting, prompting you high tail it out of there before pulling your sweats back on. Matt was there the Thanksgiving after you turned 21, carrying you on his back after too many spiked ciders, when you needed a break. Noah… well thankfully you hadn’t done anything remorseful in front of him that week, a sign you were getting older, but his presence in the group was a welcome one. Even if some days you looked at him and half expected your brother to be in his seat again, rubbing the back of Libby’s neck and calling Matt an asshole for wearing a Tom Brady jersey in public. It struck you that someday soon, these friends would have to move on from you too, keeping you and your brother as memories and nothing more.

Unwilling to let another string of macabre thoughts could kill the lingering comforts of the evening, you glanced up and down the street mindlessly taking in the city you once called home. It certainly wasn’t New York, but it had its own pulse. You couldn’t help wondering if it was the last night you’d ever get there and wanted to soak up every second. In your reverie, you floated away from Noah and Libby, kicking the pavement gently, eyes closed and heart content. Dying girls are allowed to romanticize whatever they want, you reasoned without paying attention where you were standing. It was your own fault that you were nearly knocked over by the broad shoulder of a passerby.

Noah hollered out in your defense, telling the man to watch where he was going, but one look up into familiar black irises told you the “stranger” was watching his step… and yours apparently.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered, a smile growing under rounded cheeks and puckered pink lines torn by glass.

You tried and failed to school your features into something slightly less glowy, but your soulmate’s hands were on you, steadying you, just feet from your friends. If you closed your eyes again, it might feel like a normal night out. A double date. Billy propped up against the wall, his arm stretched out over the plastic seating of a diner booth. You next him, stealing french fries off his plate and apologetically kissing his cheek after he slapped your hand away. Noah and Libby would be on the other side of the table, being their own kind of adorable, sharing a milkshake or something like it was the fifties. Oh god, you shivered, imagining Billy Russo in a leather jacket, driving you home after parking over in some poorly lit part of town, where his hand felt completely at home under your sweater.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asked, squeezing your arms and angling his face away from your friends, so only you could see or hear him.

“Yeah,” you sighed, disappointed your soulmate wasn’t a greaser, but still amazed he made such a brazen attempt to see you before you went home with your friends. “I’m swell.”

Billy chuckled at that, catching the sound in his throat so all that escaped was a huff. He nodded and licked his lips, looking down at the pavement between your shoes. Your eyes were still on his face, darker under the hood he’d pulled up, but you felt the toe of his boot nudge yours affectionately. “Swell, huh.” You nodded. “Alright,” he nodded in the direction of your friends, already releasing you and pushing you back toward them. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Thanks,” you called out, backpedalling until Libby caught your arm again and Noah stared down the stranger like any tough guy should. It wasn’t his fault that he had no idea who he was glaring at. If he did, he certainly wouldn’t linger.

“Russo!” you heard someone yell and immediately your blood ran cold. Libby and Matt were still trying to herd you away from where you’d been so rudely bumped, but you were immovable.

You heard Billy’s hissed ‘shit’ as the man with the thick black beard stalked over from the bar’s entrance. Shit, you repeated in your head, had this guy seen Billy in there and followed him out?

“You got the wrong guy.”

“Nah,” this man shook his head, “I don’t.” A terrifying smile appeared on his face as he approached Billy. “I’d know that fucked up mug anywhere.” He looked your soulmate up and down, all too satisfied with what he found. “Thought I was seeing a goddamn ghost,” he announced, before lowering his voice considerably. “Last I heard, they dragged your ass out of the river…” he scoffed. “Guess not, huh?”

In the presence of a rising conflict, Noah and Libby turned away, tugging you along with them. Your body followed them toward the lit yellow circle under a streetlamp to wait for Matt and the car, but your senses belonged to Billy. Always.

You had to believe that he was armed and clearly more than able to defend himself. Even strolling along the Adriatic, where time moved slower and the locals cared more about their afternoon cappuccino than the scarred face watching the water over your head, Billy had been prepared for the worst. There wasn’t a cell in your body that feared for him in these moments, but the second his name was spoken out loud… there was a new fear. Your life over the last 6 months was not safe anymore, Billy was not safe anymore. Everything you knew up until this point relied on anonymity and that was gone. Your soulmate could survive a street fight, but could he live beyond one where his ability to remain invisible was compromised?

The argument over your shoulder escalated and when you turned back to observe them again, what you found was more startling than a simple scuffle.

Billy was evenly matched and that alone was enough to scare you. He’s Billy Russo. Any conflict that comes his way should be easily snuffed out. He’s been fighting his entire life. First with broken broom handles and the grace of a boy who hadn’t grown into his limbs, but abandonment and terror look a lot like rage against hungry cheeks. No matter how “pretty” he’d been, there was a fight in Billy begging to come out. Surely the fight enticed a young Billy into service. The power, the training, the knowledge that he’d never be a victim again once his fists knew where to strike. With a scope, he could fight without getting his hands dirty. With a Ka-bar… he didn’t seem to mind that either. And you knew first hand that the fight followed Billy home, where his enemies were chosen for him and in exchange, he maintained his power. That Billy shouldn’t have equals, but somehow on this street, an equal had found him.

“They’re all dead,” the man spit then shouted, feet shuffling as he and your soulmate circled each other. “Geno, Todd, Bobby, Moke.” He lunged forward and Billy’s hands came down on his wrist, blocking the blade out in front of him. At first, you hadn’t noticed the black carbon steel in the dark, but when Billy took hold of his wrist in one hand, it was clearly visible under streetlights and gasps skittered through the small crowd gathering outside the bar.

“That’s on them,” Billy ground out, keeping his attacker’s arm straight up over their hands as he went for the knee with his other hand. Off balance, the man was forced onto his back and Libby’s audible gasp pulled your attention at the same time her hands were pulling back on your shoulders. Completely unaware of your own posture, as you stumbled backwards a step, you realized that you’d been moving closer to the fight since it broke.

“You pissed off the Punisher, Russo.” At the mention of Frank Castle, you turned back again, watching Billy’s hand come down on the man’s neck and jaw. You cringed at the way his voice gurgled and strained, but he kept taunting. “Jake’s dead.”

“He’s a fucking tweaker who didn’t know when to quit,” Billy insisted, struggling to dodge a knee to the liver while still pinning his assailant. The knife finally fell from the man’s hand, but neither he nor your soulmate lunged for it as you expected. Two men as deadly as this needn’t concern themselves with a sharp edge when their bodies were well honed weapons. You assumed this man must have been military too, with the pace at which they were anticipating the other’s movements, blocking and striking with disturbingly natural ease. He never would, but a part of you, a very small part, wished Billy would just run.

“Castle wanted you, Billy! Wanted to crush what you started!” Another series of punches that sounded painful. Everytime Billy drew blood, you noticed more of his own, a cut over the eye, redness that would bloom into dark purple before tomorrow. “You were a coward, Russo. Leaving everything you built,” the man was winded and you hoped that meant he’d slow down, but neither of them had that kind of quit in them. Not when face to face with an enemy. “We kept going, we could have run that city! But your buddy Frank Castle wouldn’t sleep until every of the boys was dead. Spunk, Manny, Vincent.” The man spit blood from his red stained teeth as he seethed through the names of fallen comrades. “That psycho went after Jimbo, that dumb kid didn’t stand a chance. I never thought I’d get my chance with Billy Russo…” he laughed, a little manic as that confident veneer he’d worn just a minute ago was broken. “But here we are, Billy. You and me.” He was using Billy’s name frequently and loudly. His eyes were as black as Billy’s and you watched them dart around to the handful of cellphone cameras pointed directly at the scene. The smirk on his face was unsettling and suddenly you knew what was happening. This man didn’t care if he died as long as he took Billy down with him. Billy, observant, but ever the predator was more concerned with eliminating the physical threat than his name going viral. The man wasn’t down for long before sweeping Billy’s leg and rolling away. Knife forgotten and fists flying into every inch of tender flesh, just like they were trained. Behind you, Noah described the scene in alarming detail while on the phone with local dispatch, making sure an officer en route knew exactly where they were needed and everything you were certain of two minutes ago was in jeopardy.

“Borrowed time, remember?” the man seethed, hunched over a heavy breathing Billy Russo who’d just taken a shot to the ear. “It was always gonna end this way.”

Falling from the top bunk and breaking your arm. Graduation. Your parents’ funeral. Your brother and Libby’s wedding. Meeting Billy. Standing outside a building that erupted in flames from the inside. The oncologist sat before you with a sour expression. Waiting for Billy in every new country, wringing your hands as if he might not come. So many life changing moments and yet, they were all a blur. This moment, however, was painfully clear.

You felt the tension in your toes as heeled feet moved toward the fray. The burn in your legs as you squatted after a day standing to accept goodbyes followed by a night of dancing poorly. The knife’s weight in your palm as you adjusted your grip to something that felt more solid. You’d bought cans of soup that were heavier than the blade wrapped in your fingers and that surprised you. No wonder these looked like an extension of Billy’s hand when he wielded them. Despite the relative lightness, you looked awkward holding on to it. Not like Billy. Through the blood rush behind your ears, the heavy throb of your own pulse drowning everything out, Libby’s voice screamed your name. Billy looked shocked, a marvel in itself as it seemed so little could surprise him, to hear your name and his eyes landed on yours, wide, but narrowing as the blade sank into his opponent’s side.

The man wheeled back quickly, his elbow landing hard in your chest and knocking the wind from you. Someone Billy’s height would have doubled over groaning after a shot to the gut, but when you hit the ground, no sounds came out as you tried to call out to Billy. He acted without your cries and while you stared at the ground spinning between your knees, the sound of the fight grew louder, more urgent. As unseen hands guided you back to your feet, your legs shook at the sight of blood splattered on your hands and bare shins. In your struggle, the knife remained in your grasp and the sight of it, shimmering red in moon and street light, made you feel dizzy.

It was Billy to say your name next, loud and strained. When you looked back toward him, he was on his back, thumbs digging into the man’s cheekbones as his head thrashed. The scars on Billy’s face seemed to give way to the veins bulging in his forehead until they were all you could see, evidence of his struggle to take in breath with hands pressing down on his windpipe. The last time you were in this scenario, Billy hadn’t struggled at all. Your attacker was a bum compared to the marine and when your soulmate sliced his fingers clean from his hand, you didn’t even stop to wonder if you’d done the right thing assisting Billy. As if a practiced dance, you approached again with shaky steps, to drop the knife in Billy’s outstretched hand. You watched as a red faced Billy Russo lifted the knife and plunged it directly into the side of the man’s neck. Blood flowed from the artery when Billy removed the blade and struck him again and again. He shoved the man from his body and rose with a face, reddened by blood splatter instead.

The world slowed to a stop as you fell forward and Billy caught you, widening his feet to adjust your body against his so that you both stayed up right. His whispering disappeared into your hair and you heard nothing that was said, until a new voice cut through the night.

“What the hell?!” Matt called your name, wide eyed and confused by the blood covering both you and the man that held you. He’d only been gone a few minutes and everything had gone to shit in his absence. At the sound of sirens just around the block, your eyes flew from your friends back to Billy’s, dark and conspiring as the next few seconds proved most pivotal.

Clutching the front of Billy’s jacket, you jostled him until his eyes fell upon yours. “Don’t you leave me here, Russo,” your head shook desperately, as did your voice. “Don’t.”

Without saying a word, Billy’s jaw tightened and he was off, all but carrying you toward Matt and the car that couldn’t have come at a better or worse moment. Your friend, too noble for his own good, stupidly resisted the man on a mission and Libby shrieked when Billy’s fist landed against Matt’s cheek. He shoved your friend toward the sidewalk where his sister cried and got into the driver’s seat like it was his plan all along. Libby tried to pull you back with them, insisting it was self defense and you didn’t have to run, but one look and she knew.

The second your door shut behind you, Billy pulled away, blessedly unnoticed by the blue lights approaching from the opposite direction. You were shocked when your getaway driver stopped the car after only a few blocks, slipping into an open spot in front of a fire hydrant and stepping out of the car without explanation. He opened your door and pulled you out when you didn’t immediately follow, dropping Matt’s keys in your seat before slamming the door behind you. A half turn over your shoulder and the blue from the responders’ lights bathed the buildings on the corner. You were far too close to be safe, but Billy pressed on, walking so close behind you that his chest moved you forward more than his hands. Around one more corner and it all made sense. There was already a plan in place, a car stowed safely within walking distance of the bar meant to carry Billy away before he was jumped and his identity exposed.

You settled uncomfortably in the front seat of a sedan that -under any other circumstance- would make you laugh to see Billy behind the wheel of it. “We can’t travel like this,” you gestured down to your short dress and blood stained skin. The man next to you made a disgruntled noise, but flipped on the turn signal all the same when you pointed out Libby’s street upcoming.

Billy stood watch at the large front windows, peeking through the curtains suspiciously and giving you commands from the other room. There wasn’t time for you to change clothes, which you hated, but you were allowed 5 minutes to grab whatever you’d need so you shoved what belongings you didn’t have to dig for into a bag, flying from every corner of your guest room. Job’s excitement at seeing you and Billy, together and walking through the front door like you’d been invited rather than pillaging through the flower bed for a false bottomed rock, lasted only the length of the entry before even the dog decided that your frantic packing was too much for him. With your bag slung over one shoulder, you scribbled the quickest apology onto a pad of paper in Libby’s junk drawer, hoping she wouldn’t find it until you were long gone. You trusted she and Matt and Noah to do the right thing, to tell the truth about what they saw. You weren’t sure what to expect of the bachelorette party that watched like a herd of scared sheep, phone out and backs hunched as they gasped and gawked at the death befalling tiny screens. There was time to spare one final glance toward the refrigerator, normal clippings and wedding announcements and grocery lists. Your friends would slide back into their normal lives soon enough. They’d feel the need to mourn again, despite attending your funeral just hours ago, but they’d be forced back into work, obligations, other friendships.

You had no such luxury. There was no normal from here on out. Whatever you thought you’d been running from in Europe was soon to be clawing at your door. It was impossible not to recognize that your journey with Billy so far had been easy compared to what was coming next. He was going to be hunted, while your dying slowed him down, dragged more like. The humble bag of belongings over your shoulder suddenly weighed a thousand pounds and the strap dug into your skin. In your haste to be close to Billy, your desperation to stay with him, you hadn’t stopped to consider what a cruel fate you were damning him to. Libby lit the spark, a guilty smoldering in your chest, thinking about Billy losing you the way your best friend had lost your brother. She was broken and changed, but you couldn’t fathom what Billy would do once you were gone. Torn between wanting to spend every waking second with him until your last and letting him run without you there to complicate his survival, you didn’t notice him moving through the house to find you and hurry you along.

“Let’s go,” he said sharply, urging you with his eyebrows and an extended hand, but his other hand was not empty and it amused you more than it should.

“What are you doing?” you asked, seeing the answer for yourself without addressing it. Billy shook his head and furrowed his brows like he didn’t know what he meant. You nodded at his hip, but he ignored the gesture completely, passing Job’s black leather leash from his left to his right hand, and walked out.

“Time’s up,” he announced again without further explanation and the dog behind him was more than pleased to be included. Job had no idea where he was headed or the dangerous circumstances that had brought his two favorite people back to him and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be like Job. You fought back your amusement and nodded solemnly, following Billy and his beast out of your friends’ home, apology tucked into a drawer and bag drawn up over your shoulder. Just before exiting, you stopped at the front door to kick off your heels and slide your bare feet into a pair of Libby’s walking shoes. She wouldn’t miss them and you were in greater need at the moment. This way, you hoped, she’d know you were safe upon entering, even before finding the note with half assed explanations. With the door closed behind you and the hide a key back in its place, Billy loaded Job into the back seat while you settled into the front. It could have been the start of a road trip, if you let it. Man, woman, dog, all piled into a car and headed for the next adventure.

Billy leaned over and you didn’t even try to hide the tears tracking down your face, overcome by the idea that your only normal moments would have to be imagined from now on. Usually one to prefer silence in these complex situations, you were surprised when Billy started to speak. Jose was the man’s name. He’d been involved with Billy’s tiny army, plundering New York City and taking back what they felt was owed to them after sacrificing so much in service. Jose, Billy explained, was the only member of their gang that questioned his decision to leave the game when he did. He didn’t explicitly say it, but her name hung in the air anyways.

“A lot of people died because of me…” Billy continued and you turned to face him in your seat. His eyes were forward, occasionally drifting toward dark mirrors, but never toward you. “Frank… if what Jose said is true… Frankie’s on a fucking spree.”

“Is that any different than before?” you asked honestly. You didn’t know Frank that well, or at all, minus a handful of meetings that always left you feeling nauseous before, during, and after. He was the Punisher, famed for clearing the streets of those that crossed him or his moral compass. Watching the Boondock Saints with your brother was one thing, knowing someone with twice the training and fire power was loose in New York with your soulmate’s name at the top of his list was something else entirely. Billy wasn’t the good guy in this story, you loved him, but your brain hadn’t disintegrated that much yet. Given another opportunity, Frank Castle would end Billy’s life without pause. That wasn’t a fact easily forgotten, or forgotten at all, but knowing that even one person blamed Billy for Frank’s less than judicious behavior was terrifying.

The steering wheel squeaked under the tight flexing of his fingers. You knew him well enough to know that Billy didn’t feel responsible for their deaths, not really. He was smart enough to draw conclusions about how they ended up on Frank Castle’s hit list, but he wouldn’t lose any sleep over them either. The only thing that worried you was if Billy was looking for a reason to fight Frank one more time, this would be as good a reason as any. You reached over to touch his arm and as awkward as it was to hold onto his elbow when Billy made no moves to reciprocate or accept the touch, you left your hand where it was. Only when Job’s snout shot up from between your seats and bumped the back of his arm did Billy react, dropping his right arm to trap Job’s face between his arm and his ribs. He looked up then, meeting your eyes for the first time since getting into the car. His expression was unreadable in the dark, but you disregarded the voice in your head that told you not to push him. “You’re not going after him are you?”

Billy’s eyes drifted purposefully back to the road ahead and you expected your question to linger without ever being answered. An unspoken confirmation of your worst fears. “I’ve got other shit to do,” he answered suddenly, releasing Job’s head from its hold and sliding his arm through your hand until your fingers fell in the spaces between his. Billy tightened his hold, fingertips digging into the back of your hand, then let go completely, switching hands to steer with his right. His elbow rested by the window and he cupped his own chin, covering his mouth with his forefinger as if deep in thought.

You. You were the other shit to do. You had to be.

On the one hand, overlooking his choice of phrasing, you were encouraged. He’d planned to keep you around and knew he couldn’t be with you while successfully hunting Frank Castle. That was… nice. In a way. There was a time when Billy’s feud -if you could call it that- with the Punisher took precedence over you and the trust he placed in you. Somewhere over the last year, Billy learned of your importance to him. Of course he didn’t share this as he was discovering it, but the night he held you and forced you to look at the passports he’d secured for you both before blowing Anvil to the ground, he’d laid it out clearly. You meant something to him and without his memories, he had to be sure. Once he was sure, he was all in. Or so he said.

Which made everything else harder. How could Billy Russo be all in when he had no idea what was coming next? A few months in Europe away from the US government and the Punisher, your brain was changing, but that was nothing compared to what he’d have to deal with soon. You and your doctors had discussed end of life expectations, but how much was Billy ready to shoulder. Would he regret his choices when you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore? When you couldn’t get to the bathroom by yourself? When your throat rattled with every labored breath? When you weren’t sure where you were or who he was? How much of your dying could Billy stand before he took Job for a walk and never came back?

You’d meant to talk to him about it back at the bar- god, could that really have been an hour ago? Hearing Libby’s heartbreak as she talked about losing your brother was too much already. How much worse would it be when the goodbye was drawn out and by the end, he was so sick of caring for you that your departure was more of a relief than a loss?

“Billy, pull over,” you demanded suddenly.

He ignored your warning, but the churning in your stomach wasn’t waiting on your soulmate.

“Billy!”

“We gotta- SHIT!” You felt the car slide over to the shoulder when you lurched forward, hand over your mouth too late as the contents of your stomach emptied through your fingers and onto the thick rubber mat between your stolen shoes. When the car finally stopped, you were quick to exit, heaving twice more before falling backwards. Your butt hit the damp grass and your body slumped into the slope of the ditch until you were flat on your back. Slow breaths pushed whatever was left back down and when you were feeling brave enough to open your eyes again, you focused on a familiar cluster of stars to keep the rest of the galaxy from spinning away. The archer was facing back the way you’d come stumbling, taunting you, daring you to rise and face Billy Russo after throwing up in his getaway car. He could wait a few more breaths. When the sticky sweet scent of alcohol soaked soil wafted up into your nose, you frowned, wiped your wet hand in the grass, and stood, not really ready to face him, but unwilling to lie out in the cold smelling your own sick any longer.

Billy was watching you, one arm bent over the hood while he stood between the door and the driver’s seat. He didn’t strike you as the hold your hair back guy, but seeing him out of the car at all was a surprise. Your embarrassed shuffle back toward the vehicle was met with silence, only the thud of the door closing behind you and the click of your seatbelt broke it. Billy pulled himself back in once you were situated and in a matter of seconds, you were rolling again. The puddle by your feet was even worse than the wet ground you’d left in the ditch and Billy didn’t hesitate to roll every window down. The wind whipping through the front seat did little to cover his scoffing.

“Smells like death.”

“Get used to it,” you murmured back and waited for Billy to reply with something smart. The rebuttal never came, but he sat straight up after it, left fist clenched against his thigh while his right hand kept the car steady. He heard and you knew you’d need to talk to him again, seriously, but the adrenaline was well and truly worn off and the sickness wasn’t exactly invigorating. What a mess. You briefly imagined what Kathleen would say about it all before remembering that your phone was safely tucked into your purse, dropped at Libby’s feet in the middle of the night’s chaos and with it… shit.

“The address,” you said quietly. Billy’s eyes flitted up to the rearview, without responding. “The address you gave me, we can’t go there. Libby has it.”

“I put it in your bra,” Billy stated, already sounding frustrated.

“I put it in my purse so I wouldn’t lose it and…” you gestured vaguely. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were holding it. Maybe when Billy bumped into you on the street? Once the fight broke out, your attention was not on your belongings.

Billy took a deep breath through his nose, shaking his head as he dug his own burner out of his back pocket. He nodded to the backseat, “gimme that blue pouch back there.” You turned onto your left hip and opened the duffle he always had with him. Along the front side of the bag, you felt a leathery pouch.

“With the zipper?” Billy hummed and you pulled it out for him. Job whined quietly from the backseat, clearly not pleased that you were rummaging around in his space without even petting him. While Billy had the pouch between his legs, looking for something, you stayed turned toward Job, reaching out to run one of his ears between your fingers. He relaxed again, laying across the bench seat, so you rested the side of your head against your seat to watch him sleep and within seconds, you too were out cold.

Before you knew it, your eyes were flying open at the gentle vibration of the trunk slamming shut behind you. Looking around, it was impossible to tell how long you’d been out. The sky was just as black as it was before, but nothing outside the windows looked familiar and you were definitely in the car alone.

Billy was loading his bags and yours into a gray pick up that was so comically large you weren’t sure his long legs could pull him into the cab, let alone yours. You could make out at least two more men from their silhouettes, black against the glare of the truck’s headlights, exchanging words and something else with Billy before he turned back toward you. Unsure what was happening or who the men were, you waited in your seat for Billy to retrieve you, which soon enough he did. You hadn’t even noticed his jacket draped over your front until he slid it off your chest, placing it back around your shoulders once you were out of the car and standing with him. He didn’t touch you much, didn’t even wait for you before starting his march back toward the truck. You followed awkwardly, dodging the uncomfortable stares from the men he’d just been talking to and helped yourself into the passenger seat with about as much difficulty as you were expecting, especially in a short dress that still had tiny, but pungent vomit splatters on it and needed to be burned. It was probably a faux pas to wear the dress you wore to your own funeral anywhere else and you weren’t worried about missing it. Billy spoke with the men once more, pointing to the car that had gotten you here. The men weren’t interested in the car, stealing glances through the windshield at you. One had the audacity to wink before rolling his neck to smirk at Billy. You watched your soulmate’s face lift in one of his signature snarls before taking a total 180 into a similar sadistic sort of smile. He tilted his head toward the windshield, not even really looking at you before turning back and saying something that made the men roar in laughter. Through the thick glass and over the loud engine, you could hear their response and you were thankful you couldn’t hear what he’d said to be so entertaining. Instead of watching them through the windshield, you turned a bit to look in the backseat. Job was stretched comfortably across the bench, his big block head supported by Billy’s duffel bag, which left his snout right in between your seat and the driver’s. You scratched his head, amazed that the dog seemed to be adapting to this on the run business much easier than you were. He trusted you and he trusted Billy. The details weren’t anything for Job to be concerned with, so he nodded off again without trouble. You could stand to learn a thing or two from the mutt.

By the time Billy was back in the driver’s seat next to you, you had surpassed uncomfortable and settled well into ‘about to throw up’ territory again. The way the mean leered at you was chilling, but the way Billy let them, almost encouraging them, was ultimately what made your insides crawl. His head hit the seat behind him with a thud and he waited until the men, driving the first car away, were completely out of sight, not even the faint red spot of tail lights on the black highway ahead of you.

You had questions. Loads. Who were those men? Where were they going? Whose truck were you in? Where were YOU going? What did Billy say to make them laugh? Were you in danger? Was this always the plan or was Billy really so resourceful to pull off this swap all while you slept next to him?

And yet, none of them came out.

“Billy…” his head lulled to the side, looking at you dutifully without moving any other part of his body. “We need to talk.”

Billy’s huff was clearly annoyed and he straightened immediately, reaching for the gear shift and ignoring you.

“Billy-“

“They were guys from Anvil,” okay one answer. “They’re going ahead to set up a place for us in Buffalo. It’ll take a couple of days, but they got connections to get us across the border. Anything else you need to know?” His stare was hard. Impatient.

You swallowed and nodded. His nostrils flared but he didn’t say anything, so you continued. “Can we trust them?”

Of all things. That made Billy Russo smile. He licked his lips before answering. “Not at all,” he said, finally shifting into drive. “That’s why we aren’t going to Buffalo.”

The relief you felt at his words was enough to put you right back to sleep, but suddenly you felt wide awake. You even sat up a little straighter, turning a bit in your seat to look at Billy easier. The truck was pointed West, the ugliness of the night left back in Philly. Your poor friends would be left to pick up the pieces of the evening and you suddenly remembered why you’d run off on a grand adventure in the first place. Dying just left so much trouble for the ones left… which reminded you....

“Billy, we still need to talk.”

“I didn’t tell them who you were,” he assured you, derailing your thoughts entirely.

“Who did they think I was?” You asked.

Billy shrugged. “A hooker.”

“And that was believable??” Billy’s annoying smirk said it all, but he took a moment to look you up and down, lifting his eyebrows once his eyes made it back up to yours. “Ugh,” you whined. “Don’t answer that.” You tugged the hem of your dress down over your thighs as far as it would go. You were still in his jacket, a little black dress that stunk of sweat and booze and vomit, boots that didn’t belong to you. You hadn’t had a good look at your hair or makeup since before Billy fucked you in an office and there was no way your makeup had survived an evening of drinking, dancing, Billy’s rough kisses, manslaughter, and throwing up on the side of the road. The little pull down mirror above your head wasn’t even tempting at this point and Billy’s smug chuckle next to you was bad enough. You shrunk down, wedging yourself firmly between the back of your seat and the door, and Billy glanced over barely containing his amusement.

“Aw, c’mon baby, don’t be like that,” he teased in that thick accent of his and you glared at him from your little corner, pulling his jacket tighter with your crossed arms. He reached out across the console between you and unfortunately you had nowhere to go. His fingers wrapped around your shoulder and he barely had to tug before you were shifting in your seat to lean closer to him. Billy dipped his hand into the back of his jacket, rubbing your neck as you leaned further in. At his gentle kneading and pulling, you finally relented and let your head fall into his shoulder. It was an uncomfortable angle with the wide center piece between you, but totally worth it when you felt Billy’s lips brush your forehead. “You smell like a 4, but I know you taste like a 8.”

“I’m a 10,” you argued and he laughed above you. His arm was all the way behind your neck now, holding you against him as he maneuvered the giant vehicle with his left hand.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “I dunno about that. How bout we find you a shower and some toothpaste, then I can have another taste, just to be sure.”

You shook your head in complete disbelief. How dizzyingly quick could he switch from hardened criminal on the run to this flirt. Too fast. Hard day behind you and hard conversations ahead, but both forgotten for the time being. The ride was quiet and you were bound to fall back asleep before too long, Job’s snoring behind your head as comforting as Billy’s long fingers rubbing your scalp. Just before consciousness evaded again, you felt Billy turn his face into your hair, mumbling something too low to be understood.You hummed a bit to question it, but were out before hearing him repeat it.

YEAH WE KNOW BILLY. ITS ONLY MOSTLY YOUR FAULT.

Idk how y'all still put up with me and this story. Its too long. You can say it.

General Tags: @something-tofightfor @the-blind-assassin-12 @gollyderek @suchatinyinfinity @fific7 @beautifuldesastre @elanor-of-imladris @actuallyazriel @malionnes @pheedraws @commanderlola @mariaenchanted @the-blind-assassin-12 @gollyderek @suchatinyinfinity @fific7 @beautifuldesastre @elanor-of-imladris @actuallyazriel @malionnes @pheedraws @commanderlola

Let it Burn/Billy Russo: @elenarogersbarnes13​ @19avocado-high51 @songtoyou @disengagefrmreality @christinawxxx @stories-you-wont-hear @lexxierave @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @thesumofmychoices @ofheroesandvillains @charmed-asylum @bugboy-and-icegirl @thefinalexperiment @lysawayne @operation-spot @ilkaeliseb @littlemermaidprobz @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mathle0matle @a-dorky-book-keeper @blackbirddaredevil23 @elenarogersbarnes13 @19avocado-high51 @songtoyou @disengagefrmreality @christinawxxx @lexxierave @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @thesumofmychoices @ofheroesandvillains @charmed-asylum @bugboy-and-icegirl @thefinalexperiment @lysawayne @operation-spot @ilkaeliseb @littlemermaidprobz @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mathle0matle @blackbirddaredevil23

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30-Epilogue

*Trigger warning- panic attack. The next 4 chapters will stay completely angsty as well, but I swear the ride will get us to a happy ending. Due to feedback, I agree that I need to show the trauma and progression to heal.

Thank you to @mcornilliac​ for your invaluable input, it’s really gonna help bring the story fully to life :) 

“Lucy, baby,” Natsu’s hand squeezed harder. “You gotta calm down.”

“Ma’am... ma’am,” the EMT snapped his fingers in front of Lucy’s face. “Ma’am, I need you to focus on me. Can you focus on me?”

Their words were just muffled static, barely any tone and definitely not comprehensible to Lucy for there was too much competition vying for attention flowing through her mind. It felt like standing in a rapid wave break of constant ebb and flow but pounding against her prone body flattened into the shoreline. The thoughts raced so quickly, screaming, with only the harshest words coming through like a foghorn in the blackest night. Death. Pain. Blood. Anger, along with the emotional turmoil that came with them. Each rushing wave of anxiety fueled irrational thought after thought. ‘Stupid, stupid girl! Such a selfish fool! This was your fault for stealing away someone else’s love, a fantasy home wrecker! Fuck that! Natsu was mine fair and square, damn it! I deserved Natsu just as much and he loved me! Not Touka! Me!!!’ Lucy’s mind screamed, but the stares ate away... All those eyes judging her as they took that walk of shame. The authorities, the neighbors, heaven help her the talk that’s bound to get around. Will there be whispered, and hushed tones muttered around her, bearing down with all the weight of a thousand gravitational forces?! It was too much! Too mu—

“Oww!!” Lucy screamed and yanked her hand back, as she felt a sharp stab on the back of her hand. “What the fuck did you do that for?!” She glared at the EMT while rubbing and nursing the angry red spot. Whatever the man had done had hurt, but aside from the pain, nothing broke through the skin.

Without missing a beat, the EMT merely retook Lucy’s hand and placed two fingers over the pulse point in her wrist. “Can you tell me your name?” He questioned, speaking in a soft tone.

“Of course, I can! It’s Lucy Heartfilia!”

“Mmhmm,” he uttered in response. His eyes stayed trained on his own watch. “Do you know where you are?”

“In a fucking ambulance!”

“And who’s the current prime minister?”

“Huh? Um,” she paused with her head slightly tilted, “it was Abe, but I don’t remember the new guys name.”

“Close enough. Your pulse is still high, but it’s coming down now.” The EMT let go of Lucy’s hand, talking as he continued working on things. “I’m sorry to use such a technique, but when a person is in a panic attack, we need to snap them out of it as quickly as possible to keep it from escalating. Basically, during an attack your mind goes on overload, but physical stimulation can halt it. Shocks, if you will, to snap your focus away from cognitive thoughts back to the physical reality. The questions were to check if your cognitive focus had returned.”

“Oh...” was all Lucy could respond with to all the jargon. She hadn’t even realized she was having a panic attack. “T-Thank you...” But she wondered for a moment, just some physical pain could stop all those bad thoughts? It was something she’d never known before.

“You’re welcome. There are other methods including those you can administer to yourself at the immediate onset, so I suggest you look into them in case of another attack.”

“You think she’ll have more?” Natsu questioned with an obvious mix of concern and curiosity. The whole thing happened so quickly, that by the time he’d registered how bad it was, he couldn’t even react to a stranger stabbing a pen into his girlfriend’s hand. He was annoyed but glad this EMT was able to stay completely focused and calm.

“Traumatic events can cause a lot of emotional reactions including panic attacks. So, it’s a good idea to be prepared just in case.” The EMT now injected her arm, explaining as he went. “This is a mild sedative just to help you relax.”

By the time they’d reached the hospital, the sedative was taking effect and Lucy struggled to keep her eyes open. The level of exhaustion blindsided them both. Physically exhausted as if she’d run a marathon and emotionally drained. The closest she could rationalize it to was studying for the college entrance exam and how tired she’d been once it was over. So, she sat quietly as the medical personnel double checked her wounds, but too dazed to pay attention when they were giving her aftercare instructions. Thank goodness for Levy who’d been waiting as soon as they’d arrived. The woman handled a lot of the talking for Lucy and Natsu, but Natsu himself was being worked on next to Lucy. His wounds were cleaned up better so they could get a closer look.

The doctors inform Lucy she’s free to go but Natsu would have to stay so they could run X-rays. She wanted to fight to stay because right now he was the closest thing to security she had but could barely focus. With some gentle coaxing from both Natsu and Levy, and reminders that Touka wasn’t getting out of jail, Lucy eventually relents. A police officer would be escorting the women back to their apartment.

“Just try to get some sleep, please,” Natsu kissed his girlfriend. “I promise to call you as soon as I can, but I might pass out as soon as I hit my bed.” He wanted to be honest with her but assuring at the same time.

“O-Okay,” she nodded slowly, glassy eyed from exhaustion and sadness. “I understand.”

He leaned his head to her forehead while cupping the back of her neck. “We’re gonna be okay, Lucy. We’re gonna get through this, and I’ll be there for you no matter how long it takes.”

That pulls a few sniffles out of the woman who closes her eyes. “I love you, Natsu.”

“I love you too, Lucy.” He sits back up. “Now promise me you’ll get some sleep?” She nodded. Natsu smiled. “That’s my girl.”

Gray arrived shortly after the two women left for the night to keep his friend company and help him get home. Natsu wasn’t keeping track of time, but it sure felt like this was taking forever. The police had taken both he and Lucy’s phones for evidence, so he had nothing to pass the time with. Luckily, there wasn’t a lot of downtime between treatments. After the X-ray, the doctors sedated him and sewed up the wounds on his cheek and abdomen. It took both internal and external sutures, but luckily the side wound didn’t hit anything major. According to the doctor, the knife had missed the large intestine by a centimeter. He’ll be left with nasty scars for life, but a life is one he’ll at least have.

“You okay, man?” Gray questioned.

“Just tired and sore,” Natsu sighed. Now that Lucy wasn’t there, he let his body and mind fully register all the physical pain he was going through. “I just wanna fall into my bed.”

The doctors told Natsu, he should fully heal in about six to eight weeks, pending he keep the wound clean, keep his health up, and above all did nothing to aggravate it. So much for working, but he was sure that Makarov will make an exception. Maybe put him on register, light stocking, and inventory with no heavy lifting. As for how bad the scars will be, only time will tell. Plastic surgery might help, but that costs money. In a fleeting thought, Natsu worried that Lucy would leave him over it. ‘No way, she’s not vain like that... although the reminder it gives might be the problem...’ he quickly dismissed the notion from conscious thought, even though it lingered in the background. It would certainly hurt if she did, but could he really blame her? To be reminded of the night she almost died every time she looked at him? Natsu wanted to believe that Lucy was strong enough to get through this, and regardless if things eventually didn’t work out between them, he’d never stop trying to help her. He owed her that much for putting her in this situation. Well... that wasn’t fair, he couldn’t have foreseen Touka’s behavior, but it didn’t make him feel any less guilty for it.

“We’re here.”

Grays voice snapped Natsu out of his thoughts. He looked out of the taxi window to see the front of their apartment building. “Oh, right.” He was so ready to clean up and sleep.

Inside their apartment, Natsu took a shower, and Gray helped him to re-bandage his wounds. The warm water and sensation of being clean helped him to feel a little better, at least physically, even though the emotional turmoil still churned. But as he laid in bed, the exhaustion was swiftly taking over. There was so much to do. Replace their phones, the official police interview, notifying their jobs and schools to make sure they wouldn’t fall behind. Even the EMT’s comment was nagging at him, so note to self, call the shrink in the morning... well, as soon as he woke up anyways. By the time his eyes were shuttering closed, the early breach of dawn had made its calling. It was a new day and all Natsu could hope was to start anew.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Hi! Hope you're doing well. I posted this Booker/Joe/Nicky prompt on the TOG kink meme originally. No one claimed it, so I thought I might try asking you, if that is okay. Here:

"Porn with feelings is one of my favorite things, so: Five Times Joe and Nicky invited Booker into their bed and the one time they told him to stay.

You do not need to be explicit with the smut if you do not want to, although that would be lovely and much appreciated.

Just give me Joe&Nicky and Booker catching feelings throughout centuries worth of hookups while thinking that the other party is only interested in friendship and sex.

Angst With A Happy Ending, please.

Bonus for Bottom!Booker, but it is not a must.

Double Bonus for Exasperated!Andy dropping hints that they are too oblivious to understand."

Thank you for reopening your Ask Box and for considering my prompt. Have a great weekend!

A/N: Hope you’re well too, friend and thank you for the trust in my abilities! 😁 Feel free to consider your prompt filled if you’d like? It’s not as porny or as angsty as I think you were looking for but I hope it still satisfies.

--

one.

“I’m telling you guys,” Andy hisses, fingers digging into the soft dirt under her palms. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“And I’m telling you, Boss. We’ll be fine,” Booker grins sunnily, peering over the ridge to spy the military convoy transporting black-market arms and munitions. At the sight of the gleaming trucks and the stern-faced men with their faces focused on the road, the mischief dims a little.

Joe slaps him in the arm with a warm laugh. “If you get shot in the ass, you’re bunking with me and Nicky tonight. Let Andy have the big bed all to herself.” The man waggles his brows, brown eyes winking in devilish delight. “Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get front row seats to how Nicky makes love to me.”

Seeing that there were only two tiny Queen sized beds in their latest digs, Booker’s eyes blink in alarm, turning to her as if to ask, you wouldn’t do that to me, would you? He’s been with the family long enough that that was one knowledge he already has a too intimate familiarity with and not one he is keen to revisit.

If his reasoning hides the way his eyes always seek them out in a crowded room, that’s for him to know and only him.

Her only answer is the unsheathing of her hunting knife and the pulling of her scarf over her nose and mouth. “Better watch your ass, kid.”

two.

Nicky’s hand in his is what pulls him out of his thoughts. He must have been staring at the sea for longer than he had thought because stars dance in his eyes and he has to squeeze them shut to block out the sudden spinning of the world around him. 

Slipping away from Nicky’s touch, he sighs as he slowly feels himself come back to his stiff joints and sun-beaten face. He’s lost track of time again.

Booker feels Nicky take a seat on the sand next to him and instinctively looks around for Joe, before raising an inquiring eyebrow at him. “He has run out of his favourite colour again,” Nicky chuckles, kicking out his legs and burying his bare feet in the warm sand. 

“Ah.”

“Ah,” Nicky echoes with a smile. Their sympathies are immediate and resting solely with the poor salesperson who has to deal with Joe’s charm as he convinces them that one brand cannot be a substitute for another. They sit together, watching the tides kissing the shores in companionable silence before Nicky turns onto his side. “Are you okay?”

 Booker considers the question, still keeping his eyes on the way the sunlight dances on the waves. This beach is too warm for this time of the year and the air is the wrong tang of brine. Next to him, in the space where his wife should be with her wild laughter and her windswept hair, is nothing but empty, foot trodden sand. His heart sticks in his throat when he opens his mouth to speak and only the sound of unspeakable grief steals out past his lips. 

When Nicky wraps his arms around him, he doesn’t try to pull away. When he asks if Booker wants to come with him, unmistakeably to bring him to their bed - the one where he and Joe sleep in and not the comfortable guest bed in the spare room - he merely sighs, sinking into the warmth and strength of Nicky’s arms around him, and allows himself to be cared for.

three.

The camaraderie he feels amongst this new family is one he never thought he could have. He appreciates every new memory he builds with them and every new layer of life he lays down even if he cannot help looking behind him and long for what is no longer his.

Friendship and brotherhood are easy to grasp. What confuses him, however, is the way Joe, Nicky, and Booker have somehow developed something more than that. He isn’t unaware of the pleasures that brothers in arms share on a battlefront. Any shred of comfort and warmth to be shared in those moments of relief in finding yourself escaping Death’s embrace is one that was somehow tolerated when he had been conscripted to march for a madman. 

What Joe and Nicky have is more than that, and Booker knows it, is in awe of it, and can hardly stop admiring it. 

What they have in the moments where Nicky’s warm breath tickles against his neck as Joe presses in between his trembling thighs is one he cannot divine.

The easy way they three have fallen into the rhythm of kisses and touches, of shared quiet moments, lulled to sleep with the smell of sex on their skins confuses him and calming heartbeats. How, when he builds his first safehouse, he puts out a room for Andy but leaves the little touches for them in his own. The way he feels no jealousy when they go off on their own and nothing but elation when they fold him into the fabric of their being. And yet.

Yet, when they are together, Booker feels like his heart could stop from the guilty happiness he has coursing through his veins. When he is in the space between wakefulness and sleep held in their arms and sharing their space, it is the calmest, the safest he has ever felt since the day he walked away from Marseille. 

And Booker can’t stop but to wonder. What does it all mean?

four.

Joe stops mid-sentence and it doesn’t go unnoticed. The sounds of the other guests in the hotel percolate into their room and he has to take a moment to look at the bed where just an hour before, they’d languidly been tangled under the covers. They had arrived two days earlier just to take advantage of the privacy of the room and the luxury of a King-sized bed where Joe had pressed kisses into the quivering corner of Nicky’s lips as he tries not to laugh while Booker is playfully nipping at his jaw. 

God, has it just been an hour since he had to wrangle them all into some semblance of order so that Booker can catch Andy before she gets here? 

“What’s wrong?” Nicky asks, clear eyes catching in the light when they gaze at him. His beloved’s hands move methodically as they make the bed. The same sheets that still carried the scent that he is sure now permeate every shared space the three of them occupies on a regular basis. 

A whirlpool of emotions snake around his chest and all he is able to do is to reach out to Nicky; to the anchor in the storms of this strange life they live, to his true North. It speaks to the bond they share that Nicky comes to his side, kissing their clasped hands, patiently waiting for him to speak.

Joe thinks he can burst with all the love he has in him for this man. Then the quiet flicker of his mind to another face, another smile that he holds just as dear and he swallows down the maelstrom of words bubbling up because he knows that whatever he says now matters.

Love is not a finite source. Joe has seen enough and been through just as much to know that that is true not just for himself, but for Nicky too. Smiling at Nicky, he feels his shoulders relax, leaning into him. 

“My love, I think we need to talk.”

five.

“Come here.”

Booker hesitates but Nicky does not allow him any room to escape. Taking him by the wrist, he drags him to the quiet of an out of the way spare room in Copley’s home, eyes cataloguing every scrape, bloodstain, and healed over wounds.   

Sitting him down on the bed, Nicky begins to methodically push his fingers through Booker’s hair, brushing out flecks of dried blood and grime, bits of glass and debris. Neither one speaks for a long moment and the familiar silence is heavy between them. From this room, Nicky can pick out the quiet murmur of Copley and Nile speaking while Andy is being tended to by Joe. This moment won’t last and Nicky has to speak his peace.

“He’s hurt. We both are.”

Booker flinches but Nicky doesn’t allow him to rise from the chair, pressing him back into position, feeling some small relish when Booker obeys. “Why, Booker? Why couldn’t you come to us if you were hurting? Why did you hide from us?”

Blue eyes look away from him and down to where his leg is shaking. 

“Aren’t you going to defend yourself?” Nicky asks finally, softly and feels his heart break a little at all the possibilities that are slipping away with every moment they leave this unresolved. He sighs when Booker doesn’t speak, fingers moving to cup him by the jaw. 

“We love you,” He says. “But maybe that’s not enough just yet.”

“Maybe,” Booker murmurs. Moving to stand only for Nicky to take him by the hand, pulling him in for a kiss. 

“One day it will be.”

and the one.

Joe can smell the sea on Booker from the other side of the room.

Andy had levelled him a heavy look, telling him not to fuck this up with a soft smile on her lips as she leaves with Quynh in the first cab they could hail down. Nile had laughed when they asked if she was staying, telling them that she’ll be in the next city over if they needed her for anything.

Which now leaves Joe, Nicky, and Booker in a small motel room with the dying sunlight stealing through the gaps in the curtains. Nicky’s knee knocks against his and Joe has to sigh. Looking over to Booker, it is clear that the man is in the middle of some fight or flee reaction and he is tamping it down to fidget in the chair by the television set. 

Picking up one of the scratchy towels that came with the room, he tosses it at Booker, jerking his head at the bathroom door.

“Get cleaned up. We can talk after.”

Booker gapes rather unattractively at them and his look of incredulity grows into a frown when Nicky sighs around a snort. Joe can’t help but mirror Nicky’s amusement and feels his lips curl into a smile. Exhaustion clings to the way Booker looks from the towel between his hands and to them at the bed.

Joe feels a swell of affection cut through the need to clear the air before they go any further into this. He won’t make the mistake of not talking this through again. Walking over to him, he nudges Booker to his feet, pulling him into the bathroom. Brushing his thumb in an arc under his tired eyes, Joe says, “Maybe we can leave the talk for after we sleep.”

[ficforce]

Little Wound Part 2

Joker/52 x Little Lady Reader SFWish Mentions of abuse and non-con

“What are you doing?” Joker threw a glance over his shoulder to Licht and gave a small shrug, The scientist hadn’t visited him for well over a month and a half, “I thought you just wanted to lay in bed all day, now you’re building furniture - why?” “Because flat pack furniture is easier to move through The Nether than already built pieces.” Licht rolled his eyes and entered the room that used to be where they stored random finds, “I know why you’re having to build it from scratch, I meant, why are you doing it in the first place?” Tightening a screw on the metal frame of the double bed and then picking up a vacuum-sealed bag, Joker heaved a sigh at the scientist, “Because,” he threw the bag on top of the frame and cut it open so that the mattress inside could grow, “You said, ‘Get up and do something’.” “I meant to fight the bad guys, investigate Ameratsu, go stalk the kusakabe kid… Not make a better bedroom to lay around in…” He was trying to keep his tone amicable but he really wanted to blow the long-haired man up with some faulty concoction. The room wasn’t at all how Licht would expect Joker to like it, the steel walls had been sprayed a soft colour, the steel ceiling was white, the usual bare bulb now sported a nice lampshade that matched the… “Did… did you lay a carpet?” Joker smiled proudly, “Yeah, so take your damn shoes off.” It hadn’t been easy for him to set up, what was essentially a steel box like most of the manmade hideaways in The Nether, into something that looked like it belonged on the surface in a regular house. “I’m going to get a wardrobe built, a chest of drawers, gonna have a dressing table too. Later I’ll grab some bedding and what do you think of a bedside table with a lamp?” “I think you’ve finally lost it.” This time he did frown and his voice dropped, he couldn’t hide how disappointed he was that Joker wasn’t taking the truth seriously anymore.

He wasn’t blind and Joker lit up a new cigarette, sitting down on the bed to rest his aching body, “It’s for Y/N, Licht. For when I rescue her.” Licht was quiet for a moment, staring at Joker and then at the room and the work going into it, “I think you’ll need help stealing more electric and diverting clean water pipes to make a little bathroom.” x - - When Y/N opened her eyes and she saw a ceiling above her and a lamp on a little table beside the bed she was on, she was confused. She sat up slowly, looking all around her to take in the bedroom she appeared to be in and when she looked down at herself she wasn’t in the shapeless, white uniform of the shadows but in pair of clean pyjamas. The last thing she remembered was fighting with a man with mismatched eyes and then the world morphing and changing as something made her think she’d finally gone mad. Then… “Fuck!” Her eyes widened and Y/N looked around the room harder than before, she stumbled out of the bed and hit the main light switch to disperse all the dark corners of the room. She was alone. Opening one of the two doors she found a tiny room containing a toilet, the smallest sink in the world and a shower. There was an artificial mirror stuck to the wall, she wouldn’t be able to smash it for shards to use as a weapon, a shelf with a few cosmetics she recognised from her time at Company 3 and a towel hanging neatly on a hook - no rail for her to use as a weapon either. Heading for the second door, Y/N wasn’t surprised to find it locked. This was a prison made to look like a cosy room. What was Joker up to? Was he going to lull her into thinking she was safe and then kill her - it was hardly any different from what she had done to him… would he try to humiliate her too? Not a day had gone by where she hadn’t thought of his pleading eye and the way he had reached for her; how he hadn’t stopped even after she had poured her drink over him as he lay there helpless. And now he was back. He had killed the Captain and taken her as his prisoner. Y/N hid beneath the bed, it was obvious he could find her there but as she balled herself up as small as she could go, the tiny space was somehow comforting, despite her claustrophobia beginning to act up and telling her to get out into the open. A scared gasp left her lips and she shoved a shaking hand against her mouth to muffle the onslaught of panicked sounds trying to force their way out. What was he going to do? Was he going to torture her? Cut her? Strangle her? Whip her? Would he… no, this was Joker… but then she had betrayed him. The thought of going through more torture was more than she could stand. The captain had continued to hurt her even after she completed her mission, he had beat her and whipped her and he had continued to defile her at every opportunity. He told her it was for her own good, that he was making her stronger. Sometimes suffering was just suffering. It didn’t make her stronger, it didn’t build her character… it had only hurt. So maybe if she could find that kind part of Joker, the one he had let her see, she could convince him to just kill her quickly. Y/N had wanted the pain to stop and the Captain had told her that the only way she would ever truly be one of them was to get rid of the original Five-Two, until then she would always be a spare card.

Her teeth began to chatter as she hugged herself tighter and her eyes stayed glued to the door. Unable to tell if it was night or day or even how long she had hidden for, Y/N fell into an exhausted half-sleep.

When they opened again she was back in the bed, the small lamp dimly lighting the room as it had before, only this time there was a tall figure sat at the dressing table with his back to her. Y/N felt her body move before her mind could register it, she scrambled into the corn of the bed, the blanket tangled around her legs and heard shaped pillows tumbled to the floor in her rush. The movement made Joker turn around to face her, he figured if he stayed sat she might not freak out too much, “Hey, it’s alright, Little Lady. I swear I’m not gonna hurt you.” He doubted she would believe him. “I don’t believe you.” See? He gave a little sigh, “I don’t blame you. I get it - I was in that same shitty situation. That green-eyed bastard used to beat me to a bloody pulp, he got worse the older we got. He beat me, got into my head, whipped me down to the muscle and on the odd occasion he was feeling a little randy, he’d fuck me too.” He’d been the one to change her out of her old uniform and clean her up, Joker had seen old scars and marks he vaguely remembered from their time together but he had also seen the new marks and scars - she’d really been through hell. “If I had been in your place, I would have done the same thing… I don’t think I would have been kind enough to leave you unfinished though.” He saw her flinch and he gave her a small grin, “But nice job on recognising you couldn’t take me head-on, gaining my trust and stealthily attempting murder like that - that was impressive!”

She had so many opportunities to kill him before that night. Like the times he would fall asleep beside her and be completely vulnerable. That had been one of the things that plagued his mind the last year but also gave him a scrap of hope; she hadn’t even finished him off and that had allowed him the chance to survive. The Shadows would have taught her to always make sure the target was dead before leaving… maybe she had wanted to give him that chance to survive. “Let’s just talk about it, Little Lady,” the man stood up from the chair and took a step toward her, “You said talking was how normal people do thi- Y/N? Wait, hey, it’s oka-” Joker stopped and lifted his hands in surrender as she got off of the bed to run into the bathroom, slamming the door after her. Leaning against the door he called through to her, “Y/N, Little Lady…” she didn’t reply and he heaved out a loud sigh; he had known this would be hard. “Don’t be scared of me, I forgive you.” He had forgiven her the moment he had felt the knife in his body. “I just want to help…” From the other side of the door he heard her begin to vomit and he opened the door, he had guessed she would try to lock it so made sure it wasn’t an option, “I’m going to touch you.” Joker wasn’t asking if he could, he was informing her so that she might not react too badly. He placed his open palm on the middle of her back and stroked up and down until she stopped being sick, the retching sounded painful and it was hardly a surprise because it must have been a while since she had eaten - she’d been there for less than forty-eight hours already. “Okay, let’s get you back to bed.”

“No!” Y/N’s reaction was almost violent as she threw herself away from him in the tiny space and he winced at the force that her body hit the wall, it was enough to shake the shelf above. He watched her breathing become rapid and shallow, her chest heaving and a cold sweat had started to break over her brow. She was beyond terrified. Joker gave her a little space, wary of the wildness in her eyes, “You’re scared this is all a lie and that I’m going to do worse to you than the Captain did. I get that, I know you won’t believe a word I say and I know that if I let you leave here then you’ll either get yourself killed or do it by your own hand. So you either stay here and be scared or let the Stockholm Syndrome start to kick in.” How was he still so bad at people-ing? Did he even register what he was saying half the time? Y/N was half tempted to yell at him for being so stupid but she didn’t have the energy. Instead, she huddled up and hid her face again, “I did everything the Captain told me to… he just kept pushing and pushing and pushing me until I fucked up.” The words were muffled and her breathing was still too fast but Joker understood her just fine, he noticed her nails biting into her skin and without thinking her reached for her wrists to stop her. The action made her scream so loud that couldn’t avoid wincing as it shredded his ears; he didn’t let go even as she struggled and thrashed in his hold. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you but you’re hurting yourself,” Despite knowing it was probably the wrong thing to do, Joker dragged her to him, he let her wrists go and her nails soon found their way into his clothed arms and even into his hair as she tried to escape the forced embrace. It was better to attack him than herself he supposed. “Listen,” he said as firmly as he could to make her understand he was serious, “He was a bastard. A sick, twisted, son of a bitch, who thought he had the right to take what he wanted, that he could punish and treat people however he wanted and tell them it was their fault. He didn’t teach you a damn thing, his lessons were just his excuse for raping you. For making you think you deserved to be violated and defiled.” Y/N froze completely at his words, “He did the same fucking thing to me, from the time he was old enough to get an erection to the time I ran away. If I had thought for a second that killing just one person, no matter who that person was, that it would save my ass for even just one time - I would have fucking done it. Man, woman or fucking child.” He could hear her still struggling to breathe properly but it was enough for him that she wasn’t fighting him anymore, “He’s fucking dead, Y/N. I sliced him up into pieces and now the rats are chewing on what’s left.”

Y/N’s grip in his hair didn’t loosen and he had to twist his head a little to relieve the pressure on his scalp, “He’s dead?” “Dead.” “Then why… why can I still… why is he still in-“

“In your head?” he murmured, “Yeah, he was in mine too - drove me kinda mad.” Finally, she seemed to be able to take a deep breath and her urge to fight him was replaced with a trembling that seemed to go through every nerve and limb. The man loosened his hold a little, giving her the chance to get away if she wanted; to his surprise she stayed in his embrace, her fingers unlatching from his hair as she slowly dropped them to his shoulders and put her face into his neck.“I know you’re scared and I know you can’t trust me yet… But listen up, I promise I’ll let you feel the warmth of the sun again.”

[dayseternal-blog]

A summer job at the Dole pineapple cannery, graveyard shift 10 PM to 6 AM. A long bus ride into and out of town. Two teens, shy beside each other.

Written for NaruHina 2020 August - Cultures/Around the World

Rated G

Inspired by “Torch Song” by @mmmbuttery (emmykay)

Here we go, a story I've worked on since November of last year. Despite the months of creation, this story is simply boy meets girl. This one is close to my heart, and I've second-guessed posting it.

It's loosely based on my parents' high school stories and how they met, and the experiences from many recorded accounts of people from that generation, the 1970s. I wrote this mostly with the intention of diving into and imagining their time period.

Finally completed, of course it’s late for August, in true spirit, I stay on island time.  This story is titled after “About You” by Cecilio & Kapono, a 1975 Hawaiian pop classic.  

One Shot - About You

The bus bumps and lurches on the potholes.

She notes when they pass by a friend’s house, lit only by the dim orange street lamps over dark driveways.  There are so few cars out on the road that every time the bus pulls over and the door opens, she can hear the high-pitched hum of crickets in the grass.  It’s all a familiar rhythm that might have put her to sleep on any other night.  But she already took a long nap, readying her internal clock for the new schedule.

She’ll be taking this route for the rest of the summer, heading from the bus stop next to the local library straight to the cannery.

It feels alright, better than she was expecting.  She was worried it would feel lonely--her friends are all working the cannery, too, but in the daytime.  She wanted the extra nickel the night shift earns, bringing her up to $1.40 per hour.  

She’s always thinking ahead--the more money she manages to save now for business college, the less she will need to work later.

The bus slows down to a stop, picking up probably the last passenger before it gets on the freeway straight to town.

She relaxes into her seat, settling in for the drive out of the suburbs.

“Hinata?”

That’s weird that someone would know her at this hour.

She turns her face away from the window and sees him standing in the aisle, as if he was about to sit down in the row in front of her.  “N-Naruto?”  She regrets her stutter.  She just wasn’t expecting to see him.  At all.  

“Hey!  Howzit?”  He looks genuinely surprised to see her, too.

“Good...”  She returns his bright grin with a shy smile of her own.  She tucks a lock of loose hair behind her ear.  “I’m heading to the cannery.”

“You working cannery, too?”

“Yeah...are you?”

“Yup.  Gotta make dat extra nickel, yeah?”  He smiles disarmingly as she nods, and he takes a seat.  

She wants to relax.  But she can’t.

Because it’s him.

All 5 feet 9 inches of beautiful boy sitting in front of her on a relatively empty bus.  He’s taller than the average local Japanese, due to his hapa blood.  And as if height wasn’t enough to make him attractive to all the girls, he’s funny.  And clever.  Athletic and nice.  A little rascal, but that only increases his charm.  She has so much adrenaline pumping through her from that one tiny conversation, she knows she’ll be exhausted before they even get to Honolulu Harbor.

-

The forewoman, a middle-aged Portuguese lady, takes her and another girl named Tenten to the lockers.  “Wear dis.”  She passes them a white apron and hairnet.  “You girls get gloves?”

They both nod, pulling out their plastic gloves, required in the job description.

The lady glances at the gloves, bored expression unchanging.  “Follow.”

Hinata tucks all of her hair up into the net, and she knows she probably looks like an enoki mushroom, dressed now all in white.

They follow the forewoman to the assembly floor.

“Here.”  She hands them knives with the same carelessness of someone who’s been doing this for ages.  “Take all da extra skin off cuz da machine no get ‘m all, look, but gotta do ‘m fas’ kine ah.  No let da pines go down widdout cleaning ‘m,” she explains, pointing and waving at the conveyor belt.  

Hinata nods.  Four girls stand silently before a machine that’s spitting out bright yellow, skinned pineapples.  They grab at them quickly, and then with practiced flicks of their wrist, they nick off the remaining bits into slots for the rubbish.  They put the pineapples back down on the belt, where the fruit runs along to another set of girls, who give them another checkover.  Further down, the fruit runs into a machine with circling blades that chop them into slices.  

Rows and rows of young women dressed in white aprons with mushroom-netted heads stand around conveyors and machines.  

Young men cross over the upper ladders and walkways carrying pineapples to dump into the machines and sticks to poke at the fruit in the chutes to prevent jamming.  

The smell of pineapples is pervasive, sickly in its sweetness.

Not too much later, a bell shrills throughout the warehouse, and she’s taking over for a girl who’s now off-duty.  She grabs at the pineapples, turning the weighty fruit over in her palm and cutting brown spots of skin off with the knife as quickly as she can.  Droplets of pineapple juice stick to her gloves, and soon enough, the juice is dripping down the latex.

She’s not thankful for the gloves for long.

The juice runs down, and every stretch of her arm to grab at the fruit or place it back down feels sticky in the crook of her elbow.

Minutes turn into hours of watching pineapples.

She has no idea how the world eats so many pineapples.  

How is it possible that people love pineapples this much?  That the machinery is rarely turned off?  That all of the state’s teenagers are employed every summer to work the fields and machines practically 24/7?  

As unfathomable as it is, she finds a strange awe for the tropical fruit that she never had before.  To pass the time as she trims the skin, she imagines where these pineapples are going.  Who’s going to buy these pineapples.  What country they’ll end up in and what language the people speak there.  And whether they have ever seen a whole pineapple before.

But then again, maybe they’re all just going to the Mainland.  Women who look like the movie stars with perfectly curled, blonde hair will open the cans for their families.

The bell rings, the machines stop.

They have 30 minutes.

The more veteran workers zip off to the lunchroom, not waiting for anyone.

Hinata smiles tiredly at Tenten.  

“Whew,” the Chinese girl sighs.

Hinata nods in agreement.  “I never seen so many pineapples before, I think.”

“Yeah, me, neither.”  Her brows raise to emphasize the point.

-

By the time they get off at 6 in the morning, dawn is breaking, traffic is slowly building along Nimitz Highway, and she knows she must absolutely stink of pineapples.

But Naruto waves and stands beside her as they wait for the bus, as if he doesn’t care.  Maybe he can’t smell her, desensitized now after so long in the warehouse.  “Morning, Hinata,” he laughs, and the joke is not lost on her.  

She smiles weakly, only his good attitude motivating her.  “Good morning,” she manages to reply.  She’s too exhausted to feel shy about standing beside her crush.  After all, she was standing for the last several hours.  All she wants is to sit down.

“How wuz it?” he asks conversationally.

She pinches her lips into a tight frown.  “I had to trim the pines at the ginaca.”  She gestures halfheartedly with her hands, showing him the flick of an imaginary knife she used.  All night.  She’s almost certain that she’s the machine now.  “What did you do?”

“Oh, wuz pretty neat!  I jus’ had to keep da cans moving on da belt an’ stick da lids inside da kine, machine, and then the cans pop out.  I did da tops.”

She blinks at him.  Forces a weak smile out that she barely feels in her heart.  Sounds easy…  But that’s to be expected, after all, women usually handle food anyway.

“No can wait fo’ sit down, yeah!” he laughs.  He doesn’t sound tired, but it occurs to her that maybe he never does.  His natural excitement is what makes him popular in the first place.

She nods.

When the bus pulls up to the curb, Naruto lets her get on in front of him.

The bus driver pulls a face as she pays.

She frowns, a hot blush spreading over her cheeks.  She tried to clean up as best she could after her shift, but apparently, it really was all for naught.

“Go in da back!” the driver directs, none too friendly.

She does so, even though the front seats aren’t full.

Naruto laughs outright as he pays, unashamed at his own stink.  “What, uncle, wen try fo’ wash off, still stay pilau?”

“Eesh,” the driver utters in response to the teen’s cheekiness.

She doesn’t know how he’s not embarrassed, nor how he’s able to talk back to strangers like it’s nothing.  It’s just another case in point of her admiration and curiosity of him.  She picks an aisle-facing seat, and, to her surprise, Naruto sits right next to her, his knees spreading open.

She’s not as tired as she thought.

Nerves race up her legs.  She stares at her hands, which she carefully places on her knees, which are closely pressed together as ladylike as possible.  Not a single part of her touches him.  She thinks she might die if their legs touch.

And that’s how she doesn’t doze off on the long ride back home.

-

He meant to brag to his friends about working graveyard shift when he saw them that first weekend.  Sure, the hours are junk, but, Ho, should see da chicks!

Particularly the one he rides the bus with.  Hinata Hyuuga.  A small, Japanese girl.  Brains and looks.  Not to mention her unusual, light eyes, making you question her race.  But, nah, no real question about it, she’s Japanese through and through with her shy, quiet manner.  She’s someone he imagines could win the Cherry Blossom Festival pageant with her smooth skin and round eyes.  He and the guys always steal a poster of the new year’s contestants from the supermarket window.  Pictures of pretty Japanese girls’ profiles all lined up, free to admire.  She could definitely win.  If she ever tried.  But she’s not very personable.

Not that that ever stopped him from talking to whoever he wants to talk to.

Yet he ended up not mentioning anything about Hinata to his friends.  Not the next week, either.

Somehow, she just comes off as out-of-his-league.  At least, he’s certain that’s what his friends would say.  Just mentioning her would probably earn him jokes.  He’s pretty sure she’s in all the high, smart classes.  But he doesn’t know much about that--and she’s a year younger than him.  He only knows her because his social club had a gathering with hers last year, invited by Sakura.  There’re lots of pretty girls in that social club, and, unusually, it has girls over two grade levels.  Just the younger girls didn’t catch his attention last year.

Needless to say, he’s thinking about her now.

Not much else to think about while he drops lids into the machine.  It’s monotonous work, but he knows now that his job is way, way better than Hinata’s.

-Two weeks ago-

His jaw dropped when he saw her on the bus the second night.

She had covered her arms self-consciously with her hands when he got on.

Of course, that action was what drew his attention.

Bright.  Red.  Streaks and bumps.  A rash.  Mottling her fair skin in the crook of her elbows to the middle of her forearms.  Both sides.

“From da pines?” he asked incredulously.

She nodded, her eyes turning down, as if somehow the rash was a personal fault.  

He looked away, realizing his staring was only making her feel worse.  “You have da kine..sensitive skin?”  He wondered belatedly if talking about it would only make her feel worse worse.

“Umm...yeah…”  Her voice sounded even quieter than her usual.

He frowned awkwardly, though she didn’t see it.  He sat down beside her, still looking away.  “Jeez.  Das real junk.”  He swallowed back his strange feeling of guilt.  Her pain wasn’t his fault.  Her job placement wasn’t his fault.  So why did he feel like he was partially responsible...?  “Uh, dere anyting fo’ do about it?”  He suddenly felt like cringing at the sound of his own pidgin.  His heavy speech just further emphasized his upbringing compared to hers.  Someone classy like her shouldn’t be doing a job like that, right?  “‘Cuz like, can only get worse, yeah?  You get medicine fo’ put on or someting?”  He couldn’t help jabbering on and on.  When he starts feeling uncomfortable, that’s just what happens.

Thankfully, she continued the conversation.  “Mhm.  I saw yesterday some of th’ other workers wuz wearing two gloves.”  She opened her purse and pulled out a pair.  The hands were cut off.  “Like this, see?”  She pulled the glove on over her elbow like a sleeve, then pulled another, uncut one on so that they overlapped on her forearm.  

“Ho, neat idea, yeah?”  He nodded in approval.

She smiled in response.  “The juice no can get inside, I think, yeah?”

“Yeah!” he emphasized.

She smiled a little more, obviously not embarrassed anymore by her arms.

And he felt proud of himself for getting them out of that uncomfortable start to the bus ride.  Felt oddly self-satisfied that he got her to smile.  Decided right then and there that he was pretty interested in her.

But he hasn’t really made a move, yet.  The thought that she might turn him down is there.  He’s been turned down enough times that rejection isn’t really what’s bugging him.  It’s that she never seems to be in a good mood after their shift is done.  That, and he doesn’t want it to be uncomfortable for the rest of the summer in case she does reject him.  He would still have to catch the bus with her every night and morning.  Too bad his dad doesn’t let him take the car to work.  He gets it, though.  His dad needs the car to go to work.

Well, he’ll figure it out later.

The bell screams, signaling the start of their lunch break.

He joins a group of Farrington guys he befriended over the course of the two weeks.  There’re a lot of them working at the cannery, being that the high school is only a neighborhood away from the warehouse district.

“Eh, Naruto, you surf?” Omoi, a dark-skinned Filipino boy with sun-bleached ehu hair, asks.

“Yeah,” he answers, excitement bubbling.  But only on the weekends with Shikamaru and Choji.  He lives central, not at all close to the ocean, making beach trips longer than ideal.  “Why, whatchu thinking?”

A guy they call “C,” Naruto has no idea what it’s short for, leans forward.  “We go dawn patrol, Kewalo’s.”

Right after their shift, at the surf break at Kewalo Basin.  Sounds solid.  “Eh, shoots, we go!  Tomorrow den?”

“Yeah,” Omoi affirms.  “Prolly gon wash da pine stink off, yeah?”

C’s eyes widen at Omoi’s shoes, shaking his head.  “Eh, brah, I no tink so, you dripping pines ova hea, bet yo feet kill, phew!”

“You faka, you no can talk, da flies stay all buzzin’ ‘round you!” Omoi shoots back.

Naruto frowns, considering that Hinata has the same job as Omoi, one of the few guys assigned to a woman’s job.  Over the course of the job, Omoi’s shoes had soaked in pineapple juice that dripped from the cutting.  This didn’t seem to be as big a problem for Hinata, who, for some girly reason, wore sandals despite the long hours of standing.  “How come you no jus’ wea rubbah slippahs?”

Omoi shook his head with a serious expression.  “No can fo’ do dat brah.  I only get one good pair!  Already wen ruin deez shoes, no sense ruin my slippahs too.”

“Dis broke faka ova hea, he no get money fo’ buy one noddah pair from Long’s das why!” C laughs.

Naruto shakes his head, laughing out loud.  “No way you dat broke!”

Omoi turns to C, faux annoyance twisting his face.  “Eh dis haole ri’ hea like get lickins?”

Instead of looking threatened, C just humorously shoots back, “You like go, we go!”

“Go den, shoots we go,” Omoi answers, squaring up.

“Yeah den go cuz, shoots,” C threatens back.

But neither of them stand.

Naruto rolls his eyes at their idiotic banter.  Rarely is he the voice of reasoning, but he supposes it would be a different story if his school friends were here.  “Eh we go Kewalo’s shoots.”

They turn back to him, huge grins on.  “Yeah, we go!” Omoi says enthusiastically.

“Bring your board yeah?” C reminds him as the bell rings again.

“Yeah!”

He tells Hinata that he can’t go back with her the next day, and she just nods and smiles.  Tells him to have fun.

And it’s a slight relief to not worry about the ride back home with her.  He’s starting to feel like maybe she’s expecting him to ask her out since they spend so much time together.  Well, really, he’s expecting that of himself, but he just can’t right now.

She’s just not any other girl at school in these current circumstances.

-

Hinata never meant to be one of those girls.

One of those girls, picked up on a stretcher and taken to the medical room to recuperate.

But on the first day of her period, she was exactly one of those girls.

She was feeling so tired.  Legs like jelly.  Sore up her thighs.  Aches digging around her lower back.  A weighty twisting in her core.  A heavy day.  It made her feel lightheaded.

The pineapples, one after another, going by, making her feel a little dizzy, like maybe she needed to close her eyes.

Shutting her eyes for a second didn’t help.

A breath, two breaths, intentional breaths.

She felt like maybe she was going to make herself start hyperventilating, the opposite of what she wanted.  She wanted to breathe normally.

Focus on the pineapple.

It felt too heavy in her hand.

Her focus sliding off the pineapple, to the sticky yellow glint of the knife.  Back to the pineapple.

She looked up, dazed, her eyes taking too long to adjust to a point on the far wall.

“Hinata, you alright?” Tenten asked.

She tried to refocus on the girl on the opposite side of her.  She nodded, blinking, trying to concentrate on their job.

“You don’t look alright.”  Her voice was too loud, like everything else going on.

Too loud, pounding.

She closed her eyes, heat searing her temples.

-

“-nata?  Hinata?”

She slowly gains consciousness, to find Naruto looking down at her.

“You okay?  You wen faint dey said.”

“Oh,” she manages to utter, trying to get her bearings as the room and bed take shape in her mind, blinking away the dazed vestiges of sleep.  “W-what time is it?”

“Our shift only pau now.”

“Oh.”

“You feeling okay?”

She slowly sits up, nodding.  “Yeah.”  She must not have been out for that long.  She really thought she would make it to the end of the night.  “Were you waiting for me?” she asks, suddenly panicked at the realization that he is here with her.

“Ah, nah, nah.  I come in jus’ now.”  He gestures at the door.  “You weren’ out dere, so I jus’ wen ask somebahdy.  Dey said you wuz in hea.”

“Oh.”  That’s good that he wasn’t waiting for her to wake up, but, still, she never expected him to do something like this.  “You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs.  “No problem.  Ready fo’ go?  Can walk or..?”

She nods, scooching off the bed-like table.

And he walks with her to check-out with one of the heads, and then back to the bus stop.  Waits with her there.  And when it’s obvious that he’s going back with her despite the longboard he’s been holding this whole time, she haltingly brings it up.  “You not...going surfing?”

He shakes his head carelessly.  “Nah, I go tomorrow.”

She ducks her head, biting her lips.  “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, nah, waves not hitting today, so.”  He shrugs, looking past her for the bus.

Obviously an outright lie, but she accepts it over drawing out such an uncomfortable situation.

“You no feel good today?”  He sounds honestly concerned.

“Um, I felt fine earlier.”  Well, in truth, she felt okay.  The normal period cramps.  As okay as a heavy day can be.

“You not sick?”

She shakes her head.  She wants to sit down.  The bench has the older workers sitting down, so she never gets to sit until the bus comes.  She shifts her weight from foot to foot, trying to relieve the weight from her hips and pelvis.

It’s such a relief when the bus comes.  She ignores the bus driver’s daily grimace and makes for the back row as quickly as she can.

He watches her sit down, audibly sigh, and her whole body kind of just melts into the stiff chair.  It’s obvious that out of all the days so far, she’s the most tired today.

Or has she been like this?  He just didn’t know because he’s been avoiding her in the mornings?

Ten minutes into the long ride, he’s thinking that it’s a good thing he’s going home with her today because…he thinks she’s falling asleep.  Her head keeps jerking in his peripheral vision, so he decides to stop being considerate and turn to look straight at her.

Her eyes are drooping heavily, she’s blinking really hard...she is falling asleep.  Or, trying really hard not to.

“Hinata.”

“Huh?”  Her eyes fly wide open, obviously forcing herself.

“Sleep, I go wake you up later.”

Her cheeks redden.  “Oh, no, I’m fine.”

She doesn’t trust him, or…what?  She’s embarrassed?

“You sure?”

She nods.  “Yeah.”  Her voice sounds too breathy to be fine, but if she says so...

It’s no surprise to him when her body starts slumping over, her head weighing the rest of her body down and toward the seats in front of them.

She’d be even more embarrassed about this position, right?  So he reaches over to grab both her shoulders and kind of push her back upright.

Well, that’s what he meant to do.

Her eyes open as if spooked, and she straightens out of his hands.  “Sorry!” she gasps.  Expression all pinched, she looks like she feels really ashamed.

About what, though?  If anything, he feels bad about how tired she is.  “No,” he reassures.  “No worry ‘bout me.”  He’s trying his best to sound comforting…  “Should get some rest, s’okay, I go wake you up befo’ my stop.  Trus’ me.”

Her eyes squint, like she’s straining to focus.  “...maybe.  But I don’t like sleep..on da bus.”

He can’t help a laugh.  “Ha, you look like you goin’ give yourself da kine whiplash back-an-for'-li’ dat, jus’ relax.”

“Mm…”  A noncommittal answer, but one that doesn’t argue, so he can’t push the issue any further, either.

They settle back into the sound of the engine roaring along the highway, and pretty soon, her body’s starting to lean over again.  He refrains from helping her, even though she looks uncomfortable.

She looks like she’s going to wake up with a sore neck.  Her blood’s probably rushing to her head in that position.  That’s not good, right?  She literally just had a fainting spell not too long ago.  So having her head lean against the rattling window pane wouldn’t be ideal, either.  Since they’re sitting at the back, she might really conk her head hard if the bus has to stop.

With more care than the first time, he tries to guide her to lean against him.

For a moment, her eyelids and brows wiggle and bunch up, but swiftly return to their placid state.

It’s nice.

She’s nice.

He should ask her out.  She doesn’t ignore him or outwardly show any disinterest, so…sometime he’ll do it.  Just of course not today.

When he sees that he’s getting close to his stop, he calls her name, “Hinata.  Hinata.”

“Mm.”  She sits up and blinks, a hand hurriedly wiping her mouth.

Drool?  He’s trying not to smile like a goofball, but kind of failing at hiding his selfish amusement.  “I gotta get off now.  You gon’ be okay?”

She nods, making eye contact for a second, only for her gaze to immediately skitter away to some unknown point on the bus floor.

“‘Kay, you take care, yeah?”

She nods again, still refusing to look at him, her hands busy everywhere touching her face and then her hair, fixing who-knows-what.  She murmurs something.

“Huh?” he asks in a knee-jerk reaction before his brain pieces together that it sounded like an apology.  “Oh, no need say dat.”  He reaches over to pull the cord for his stop and grins.  “Maybe I see you tomorrow, yeah?”

She nods, glances up at him for a second, and looks down once more.

He gets off the bus feeling pretty good about himself in the bright morning sun.

Only to realize--

Maybe he should have made sure she got home all the way.

Maybe he should have gotten off at her stop with her.

The library isn’t really that far a walk back to his own home.

…

She’s probably fine, right?

She wouldn’t have fallen asleep again, right?

Why did she faint anyway?

Should he have asked more?

His consciousness won’t let up.  He could call, but if he calls, then he really probably will need to ask her out eventually.  Well, he plans on it anyway, but if he calls, then that would really solidify things, and she’d expect something from him by, like, tomorrow.  

Well, that’s all hypothetical.  If he can even find her name in the phonebook...

...He finds it.

“Who you calling?” his mom asks, teasing him, as she pops up beside him in the kitchen.  “Noddah one of your girlfriends?”

“...No…”

“Ohh, you asking a girl out?  Why you no jus’ call her?  She goin’ turn you down, ah!” she laughs, all by herself.  “Who like go out wit you, ah?”  Her laughter rings throughout the house.

He wishes he could yell at her to shut up, but then she’d go get the slipper and give him some serious dirty lickins.

So he keeps his eyes on the phonebook, and with his mom’s derision motivating him, picks up the receiver and hooks his finger into the first digit, gaining self-confidence with each pull, release, and spin of the dial.

If it’s the parents, then that’s fine.  He’ll make a good impression.  Maybe.  He doesn’t need to talk to Hinata, he just wants the family to know that she fainted.  He gets the feeling Hinata’s not the type to talk about things like that to her family.

But then...maybe the cannery already called them about it.

The dial tone ends.

He takes a readying breath.  “...Hello?”

“Hello?”  It’s a young girl’s voice.

“Is this Hinata’s house?” he continues, desperately trying to imitate a school valedictorian or maybe a teacher...

“...Yeah...Who’s this?”

“This is Naruto...I, uh, work same place, at da cannery.”

“...She’s not home, yet.  And she’s not supposed to talk to boys.”

What?  I tought she in dat social club?  “Well, I no need talk to her.  I jus’ like you guys know that, uh, she wen fainted at work, yeah.”

“...”

“...So, she should be home soon, I get off da bus a little befo’ her, I jus’ like try check she gets home okay..yeah..”

“...Okay.”  In the background, he hears a faint voice talking before the girl on the line continues, “It’s a boy.”

“Huh?”

“He’s saying Hinata fainted at work.  And that she should be home soon.”

He realizes she’s talking to someone else, so he awkwardly waits.

“Okay, ...uhhmm...”  Her voice trails out for a solid second.

She talking to me now?  “Oh, yeah?”

“Thank you, I’m gonna go meet her.  Bye.”

“Oh-”  The line cuts, his own goodbye stuck in his throat.  He places the receiver back down, uncertain what to make of that whole exchange, wondering what about it left him dissatisfied.  He did what he meant to do, after all...  That must have been a younger sister.

“Hinata?  You neva talk about her befo’,” his mom observes as she gathers her things for work.  “You met her at da cannery?”

“No, she one year youngah dan me at sku’.”

“She wen faint?  Why you neva walk her back home, ah?!”

“I no tink dat until aftah!” he defends.  “Das why I wen call!”

“You no can get one decent girlfriend acting li’dat, ah!, dis stupid son of mine, ahh, ah, if you jus’ focus on sku’ mo’, get bettah grades, get mo’ smartah, ah,” his mom tuts and laments off on a tangent, and he ignores her.

He sees her off for work at the door, his mind turning back to whether he needs to ask Hinata out tomorrow.  Especially since, “She’s not supposed to talk to boys.”  What’s that about?

-

He never does find out.  There’s no way he could ask such a question, and the summer passes too fast for him to face her plainly.  He’s not sure why, but whenever he imagines her turning him down, the idea hurts a lot more than it should.

Logically, he knows itʻs just a yes or no answer.  He’s been turned down here and there.  He’s gone on numerous dates, danced with girls, and played silly social games with the opposite sex at parties.  And concerning Hinata, she’s a year younger than him, so the chances of seeing her on campus are a lot smaller, so he wouldn’t have to face her that often if she does turn him down.

So why can’t he just ask her out?

-

She held out hope.

She thanked him profusely the day after, and he was extremely nice to her.  He went back on the bus with her for that entire following week's shifts, making sure she was okay, before he determined that she was safe enough without him.

He went back to surfing in the mornings.

The day of their last shift, she held out so much hope.

He didn’t ask her out.

So she tries to shrug it off.

The disappointment.

The deep, far too deep, disappointment.  She’s probably just not his type.

But to her surprise, that’s not the last time she sees him before school starts.

Their social clubs host a joint car wash to raise money.

She pushes down her shy feelings, knowing that if he has absolutely no interest in dating her, then there’s really no reason for her to act strangely around him.  It would simply be rude of her to ignore him after spending all summer the way they did on the bus together.  Gathering her courage, she walks up to him and calls out his name, “Naruto!  Hi!”  She smiles, hoping to appear as cheerful as possible.

“Oh!”  He turns from his friends, already knowing whose voice it was, but still caught off-guard.

She’s dressed really casually--in shorts, a shirt, and rubber slippers, obviously appropriate for the day’s work, but still strange to see on her.  He somehow thought maybe she didn’t own casual clothes like that.

“Hinata!  Hi!” he responds, a little belatedly.  He feels really stupid, somehow his grin feels unnatural, too tense.  He watches her smile again and then turn back to her friends.

Something gnaws at his consciousness, like he missed out on saying or doing something he should have done in that moment.  Ask her how she’s been in the past week?  He just saw her not too long ago, so that would be dumb to ask.

“Whose dat again?”

He blinks out of his stare and turns to Sasuke.

“Hinata.  Hinata Hyuuga.  We bo’ worked night shift at da cannery.”

“You ask her out?”

“...No, nah yet…” he admits, nerves crawling around, making him feel guilty out of nowhere.

Sasuke raises a brow.  “You like her?”

He shrugs his shoulders, frowning, trying to play off the intrusive question as nothing to him.  “...Yeah…”

Now both of Sasuke’s brows are raised.

Naruto shifts uncomfortably.  Every single second here is making him realize he should’ve gotten the deed done and over with already.  Now she’s around all of his fellow club members.  Any one of the other guys could ask her out by the end of the day.

She could take a liking to one of his friends.  He realizes that his chances were so much higher when it was just the two of them.

-

She and Sakura walk around helping to pass out sponges and buckets.  They introduce themselves to several boys, all of them very friendly.

Hinata herself feels very friendly.  After her act of courage in facing Naruto, after getting that difficult exchange done with, she feels pretty bold.

She’s in this social club to have fun!  She won’t let a little one-sided crush damper her day!

True that none of the other guys are as naturally magnetic as Naruto, but she knows that first impressions aren’t everything.  All of these guys in his social club seem perfectly nice, helping to fill and carry the heavy buckets of water for the girls.

She sets to work on a car, excitedly engaging in discussions about the new school year with whoever works beside her.  And with an observant eye, she manages to not work on the same side of a car as Naruto.

Two hours pass in laughter and good spirits, even with how the noonday sun beats down, pouring heat over the asphalt lot.

The once cool water comes out hot from the hose, and the buckets are just puddles of liquid sun she has to dunk her hand and sponge into as infrequently as possible.

The constant bending is nothing to her, though.  After a whole summer of cannery work on her feet, she’s pretty sure she’s more fit than last year.  She’s not even sweating as much as she thought she would.

Until she gets up too fast.

Her head sears hot, her vision darkening into pinpoints of bright light.

She tries to squint, to see through the sudden tunnels of black, but her eyes burn, and just as quickly, she feels off-balance, her head too heavy to hold up.

She crouches down, face in her hands, confused and pained.

“Hinata, you okay?”  Sakura, most likely.

“I can’t see.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t see,” she repeats, trying to stay calm despite the painful splotches of color beneath her eye lids.  “It hurts.”  And she feels like she’s going to pass out, but she refuses to embarrass herself like that in front of everyone.

“Oh my gosh… Water.  Water!” Sakura says louder.

“Wut’s wrong!”  Another voice.

Oh no, not that voice.

“She’s dehydrated I think!”

“Oh shit,” he curses.

Hinata sits as still as possible, focusing on not tipping over into a ball and fainting right there on the dirty, poky ground.  Not again.

“Here, water,” Sakura says, her voice stressed and concerned.  “Can you raise your head?”

“Mm.”  She slowly lifts her face and opens her mouth.

A plastic water bottle is placed at her lips, lukewarm liquid flowing onto her tongue.  She drinks it dutifully, the pain in her head clearing rather quickly.

She eventually pushes the water bottle away and wipes her lips on the back of her hand.  “Thank you,” she breathes out, relieved that her head’s weight is starting to feel normal again.  But she keeps her eyes closed, too afraid to strain her vision.  Or to see if she attracted everyone’s attention...or to find out if Naruto is still there.

“Do you feel better?” Sakura asks, still sounding way more worried than necessary.

“Yeah, thank you, Sakura.”

“Can you see?”

“I don’t know…”  She doesn’t want to test herself too soon, but she cracks her eyes open, if only to assure Sakura that she’s okay.

The world is a bright fog through the slight cracks of her eyelids.

But it doesn’t hurt.

“I’ll be able to see fine in a minute, I think.”

Sakura sighs in relief.  “Good.”

A random boy whose deep voice she doesn’t recognize asks what happened.

“She dehydrated,” Naruto answers.

Hinata doesn’t know whether to feel flattered or dreadfully embarrassed that he’s still there.

“Oh, das not good,” the other boy assesses.

“Yeah…” Naruto agrees.

“I’ll be fine in a moment!” Hinata pipes up, her personality automatically choosing to feel embarrassed.

The unknown guy makes a sound of uncertainty.

“Yeah, Hinata,” Sakura adds on.  “I don’t think you should help out right away.  You could’ve gotten heatstroke.”

“Heatstroke?” she asks.

“Dere’s no shade ‘round hea,” Naruto comments.

Hinata slowly forces her eyes to adjust, hoping to prove them all wrong.  “I can see.  I’m fine.”  She starts to get up carefully.

More sounds of uncertainty resound behind her, and she hates how all three of them are treating her like she could collapse at any moment.

Like, even if she could collapse at any moment, even if that is what just happened, she doesn’t want this to be how everyone sees her from now on.  Like some weak, stupid girl who forgets to drink water on a hot day.

Even if that is what she is.

“I can take her home.”  Naruto’s invitation has her finally turning around to face her audience.

To her relief, it’s just the three of them, Sakura, Naruto, and a pretty, black-haired Japanese boy she’s seen him hanging out with.

“Yeah, take her home,” the pretty boy says.  He claps Naruto’s arm.

Naruto gives some kind of smile that’s really cute, and Hinata has to force herself to try not to examine anything he’s said or done in the past five minutes.

He made her over-examine his behavior all summer, only for it to amount to nothing.  He’s just really nice and treats her like a good friend.  That’s all.

Sakura helps her walk to his car.

And all too soon, she’s sitting right next to him.

Naruto starts up the engine, blasting the AC so that cool air roars onto their heated faces.

“I’m sorry.”  She gulps down a knot of discomfort in her throat, already regretting so much.

“Nah, no need say dat.”  His stomach feels sore, his legs antsy.  He was trying to nonchalantly work on the cars by her, but somehow, he wonders if she was avoiding him.

She’s too nice to do that, right?  She never tried to avoid him at their summer job…

He needs to gauge her interest in him.  So after he backs out of the parking space and safely makes it into traffic, he ventures conversation.  “How you feeling now?”

She nods.  “I feel better.  I could’ve stayed, I think…”

“...Oh…”  He’s already on Moanalua Home Road, and turning around now would be humbug.  “Are you sure?”

“Mm…”  She’s not sure.  She just doesn’t want to seem so frail.

“‘S'okay, ya know?  Already get plenny help, das why, no need chance 'm.”

“Mm...okay… Thank you...I’m sorry…”

With conversation finding its natural, quick end, he finds himself wracking his brain for ideas.  He has about five more minutes with her before they get to her house.  I should ask her out...I should just ask her...just ask her…

“Oh, I like this song.”

“Hm?”  He turns the radio up, glad to focus on something outside of his brain.  “Oh, yeah!”

It’s a newish one by Cecilio and Kapono, one he imagines will be really popular at social club dances, the slow tempo is perfect.

Not knowing what else to do to fill the silence, she starts singing softly.  She can tell he’s glancing at her, but she keeps her eyes fixed determinedly forward, her gut turning to jelly as the romantic meaning registers in her mind.  “...Our small moment that we shared, Is only yours and mine, No one else is really going to know, That I care about you…”

His cheeks flush.  This song really is perfect for a social club dance.  He never paid that much attention to the lyrics, but with her soft voice singing them, the words are suddenly resonating, hitting a little too close-to-home.

“And all the questions that I asked myself about you…”

He's made up his mind.  He’s going to ask her out.

“Won’t you come and be with me…”

Right after this song.

“That if you come and stay you’re going to see, That I care about you.”

He relaxes into his seat, his grasp, unintentionally tight on the wheel, relaxes, too.  If she's comfortable enough to sing in his presence, then there's nothing stopping him from feeling comfortable, too.  It's actually really nice to know that she's willing to do something like this with him.  He's stressed out for nothing.  He's hesitating for nothing.  And maybe, if things work out, this feeling...this moment...would be normal...

She peeks at him, and...he’s smiling.  He’s not teasing, laughing, or grimacing at her.  So she continues singing, relieved.

When the song finishes, he lowers the volume, reassured, readier than ever.  “Hinata…”

She blinks, realizing they’re really close to her house, and Naruto doesn't know where to go.  “Oh!  You turn left at the intersection after this light.”

Jarred to the present, he suddenly notices his heart racing, despite how calm he felt not even ten seconds ago.  The words get lost on his tongue, and he simply follows her instructions, the opportune moment evaporating into nothing.

“It’s that house,” she points, and he slows, pulling over against the curb.

She turns to him to give her appreciation properly.

But he’s facing directly toward her, his usually cheerful expression one of uncharacteristic focus.

Her heart leaps into her throat.

“Hinata," he repeats.  "You like, go movies with me, sometime?”

She nods, speechless, because yes, yes, yes.

And he visibly relaxes.  He can breathe again.  Her agreement was so much easier than he thought it would be.  “I go check da listings den, okay?  And I’ll call you?”

She nods, eyes growing wide as everything starts to sink in.

He nods, too, an embarrassed smile working at his mouth.  “Talk to you later den, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, a smile forming in reaction.  In a fog of happiness, she steps out of the car, nearly forgetting.  “Oh, thank you for taking me home!”

He nods, thinking that this won't be the last time he makes sure she gets home.  He notices how her happy smile lights up her eyes like earlier at the carwash, but now, it’s directed at him, him only.  And once she disappears into her house, more than anything, he feels incredible relief.

And excitement.

He gets the feeling…

She gets the feeling…

This is going to last.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

My Little Secret (Part 3)

Summary: When a tragic accident happens, Dean takes a drastic measure in order to save the person he cares about most…

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 2,900ish

Warnings: language, time in hell/injury, death

______

“Good morning sunshine!” you heard. You slowly opened your eyes, Alistair kneeling down beside your cell. “How’d the first week go kid?”

“Screw you,” you said, closing your eyes again.

“Want to take a guess how long you been here?”

“Um, a week, asshole,” you said.

“Here yes. In the real world, it’s only been a few minutes,” he said. You opened your eyes, Alistair smirking at you. “Oh, yes. Time’s a bit different down here. Ready to get off the rack yet?”

“Screw you asshole,” you said.

“Always tomorrow to change your mind.”

“How was it today?” asked Alistair, stopping by your cell not long after you’d been dumped in there for the day.

You didn’t move, not that you wanted to. He opened the door and knelt down beside you, cocking his head.

“Want to get off the rack?” he asked, same as he did every day. You stared at his shoe, Alistair poking your shoulder. “You haven’t felt like talking in a long time. You get off the rack, you can get cleaned up, relax in a bed, become my star student. There are perks to that.”

“Promise,” you said quietly.

“Sure I promise,” he laughed.

“No,” you said, closing your eyes. 

“Fine. Back on the rack you go.”

“Y/N,” said Alistair as he visited you maybe a month later. It could have been a year. You weren’t paying attention anymore. You knew a month up there was a decade down there but your ability to keep track of time was more skewed than not lately. “What do you say? Off the rack today?”

“Promise,” you mumbled.

“What do you want to do?” you heard Abbadon say. “Almost everyone breaks by now.”

“Put her on a rack for a few years. See how she’s feeling after that.”

“I see you eyeing my knife more often,” said Alistair one day, your gaze flickering over slowly from it to him. 

“What’s it like?” you asked.

“Tearing into flesh? It’s an art form, not a science,” he said.

“I meant what’s it like being the big bad demon and you can’t break me. You must be the laughing stock of Hell,” you laughed, hearing a few other demons turn away from their own racks. “Aren’t you guys embarrassed of this old hack?”

“I will-“

“You’ll what? You’ve already done everything. Face it. You’re washed up,” you said.

“You’re having your second wind. Don’t worry. No one ever has a third.”

“Rack?” asked Alistair what felt like an eon later. “It has been decades kiddo. It’s okay to say uncle.”

“I wonder how long your little ass lasted before you gave up to Lucifer. A week?” you smirked.

“Dean doesn’t care about you. If you want to continue this charade that’s your choice. He is never coming for you.”

“Rack?” asked Alistair once again at the end of the day. You sat up in your cell, staring at him. “Hm?”

“What do I have to do?” you whispered, barely able to hold yourself up.

“Work the rack. Under my tutelage,” he said. “What do you say?”

You gave a single nod, Alistair smirking.

“Come now. One quick lesson to start and then you can rest,” he said. For the first time, there was no one dragging you through the halls, no hand on you as you followed him through a maze and eventually into the open vastness that was the rack room. He hummed and waved for you to follow him to an occupied one, a trembling man on it. “This is a purely innocent man. He made a deal. George, this is Y/N. She also made a deal but now she has the opportunity to not be in your position. But enough chit chat, Y/N needs to learn and you’re going to be a very good boy and help us out.”

You watched his table of instruments appear, Alistair handing you his favorite curved blade.

“You know the hunter special?” he asked you. You nodded, staring at the tool. “Show George here how it goes.”

You stared down at the man, holding up the blade.

“I’m sorry,” you said. You spun around and stabbed it into Alistair, sighing when he disappeared in front of you, appearing off to the side unharmed. “It was a trick.”

“You tried to trick me first,” he said, your body back on a rack, George free and on his feet now. “So George. Would you like to try?”

George stopped apologizing a while back, just slid up, did his thing and moved onto the next person. You didn’t blame him. It was hard to blame someone that had lost their humanity bit by bit. It was easier that way.

“What do we say today?” asked Alistair. You shook your head and heard him leave you, a few hours of sleepless alone time your one reprieve of the day. 

You heard your cell door open and you didn’t even care that they weren’t giving you a break this time.

You just didn’t care anymore.

You sucked in a deep breath, darkness surrounding you. Something was wrong. You weren’t on the rack. You weren’t in your cell. Something just felt wrong. The air felt wrong. Space felt wrong. 

You slammed your hand and scraped it on something, a stinging pain hitting you.

A very different kind of pain than you were used to. You tried to sit up and smacked your head immediately, groaning at the dull throbbing. 

“I’m alive,” you said to yourself, letting out a shaky breath. “As long as I don’t run out of air.”

You suddenly realized how cold you were, hands feeling around more slowly this time, smooth metal all around you.

“I’m in a morgue drawer again. I’ll be interested to know how…” you said to yourself, quickly realizing you were starting to freeze to death. “Shit.”

You felt around over your head, finding a little string somehow and you pulled, the door flying open. You caught it and pulled yourself out, dropping to the floor with a shake. You righted yourself, finding a doctor standing over an open body. He stared and gave a little wave.

“Uh hi,” you said, wrapping your sheet around yourself. “I’ll just...see myself out.”

You jogged out of the room and down a hall, discovering you were in a county clerks office after a moment. You slipped into a breakroom and found some old clothes in a donation bin, stealing what you could before you were out of there on bare feet.

“Mom? Dad?” you called when you got to the house, opening the door with the spare key. You went inside and to the kitchen, grabbing some water before your glass went flying and you were tackled to the floor. 

You spun around on your back, staring up at a very angry looking Dean.

“Dean! Dean, it’s me!” you said.

“That’s what the shifter two months back said,” he snarled, holding up his arm, a big knife in his hand.

“Get off!” you shouted, kneeing him hard as you scrambled away, smacking your head on the corner of the kitchen table in the process. You fell to your hands and knees, rolling to your side as Dean walked in front of you. He knelt down and grabbed your wrists, staring at you before he made a small cut on the back of your hand. You stared up at him when nothing happened, some water tossed on you next. “It’s me!”

“Sweetheart?” he asked. He tossed the blade aside and pulled you into the most earth crushing hug you’d ever had.

“Dean. I need to breathe,” you said. “Also some water and food would be nice.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Here,” he said, pulling you to your feet and sitting you down at the kitchen table. He ducked into the fridge and pulled out half of an uneaten sandwich, sliding it in front of you. He was quick to get another glass of water for you, picking up the broken pieces of the other one while you dove in. You were nearly finished when he grabbed a chair and sat it next to you, watching you carefully.

“You make this?” you said with a mouthful.

“Yeah,” he said.

“You always make good sandwiches,” you said, wiping off your hands. He waited a few seconds before he was hugging you again, pressing you to his chest. “How long has it been?”

“About a year and a half,” he said.

“Are you okay?” you asked, reaching a hand up to his face. He chuckled and held on tight.

“You’ve been in hell a year and half and ask if I’m okay,” he said. “Yeah, I’m good sweetheart. I missed you so much. Longest 18 months ever.”

“Yeah,” you said with a hard swallow. 

“You want to get cleaned up?” he asked. You nodded, pausing when you turned to leave. “What?”

“You didn’t make a deal, did you?” you asked. He shook his head. “You promised.”

“I kept my promise,” he said quietly. “No matter how much I didn’t want to.”

“Me too,” you said.

“You didn’t sneak out then I take it?” he asked.

“No. You don’t know how I got out then?” you asked.

“No. I’ll call your dad. They’re away right now. Let’s have you take it easy for a little bit. You need to rest,” he said.

“Alright,” you said, holding out your hand. “Come with me?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Sh,” you heard Dean say when you stirred awake in your old room after your shower, head nestled on his chest. You curled back into him, Dean quiet for a few minutes but he was obviously texting someone. You blinked open your eyes, Dean dancing his fingers up and down your arm. “Go back to sleep, Y/N.”

“I don’t want to,” you said. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one,” he said, putting his phone aside.

“S’okay if you have a girlfriend now. Probably shouldn’t have taken a shower with me if you do but-“

He pressed a kiss to your lips, fixing your hair after a moment.

“The only girl I have is you, my fiancé,” he said. You stared up at him, Dean moving you to rest your head on a pillow before he sat up. “I may not have told the whole truth earlier.”

“You sold your soul you-“ you said, ready to give him the ass kicking of his life when he turned his head, so confused looking you stilled. “You didn’t.”

“I got close. I...I may have gone to a crossroads and even talked to a demon about it but I didn’t do it,” he said. “But I never went back to Lawrence.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, taking his hand.

“Your parents trained me. To hunt,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m a hunter now. A pretty good one too,” he said. You dropped his hand and stood up, going to the bedroom door. “Y/N, wait.”

“Where are they? I’m going to kill the both of them,” you said.

“No, you aren’t and they didn’t put me up to this. I asked, willingly,” he said.

“You what?” you shot back. “I asked you not to.”

“I know. But I also watched those dogs rip you apart. I didn’t want to be helpless again so I learned. I was texting another hunter earlier. I told him I couldn’t meet up on a hunt a few hours from here. That’s all it was,” he said.

“All it was?” you said with a laugh, looking him over. “Look at you. You’re so much bigger and stronger than I remember. You practically killed me downstairs.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I am,” he said.

“You know why I left hunting? Because people die and they get hurt and it fucks them up. I wanted a normal life away from this Dean. I never wanted this for you,” you said.

“Well it happened. Now I know how to protect you,” he said.

“Alistair will try again,” you said, a tiny shiver running down your spine. “It doesn’t matter. All you did was give yourself nightmares for no good reason.”

“I already had ‘em,” he said. “I help people. Maybe this job sucks sometimes and it’s hard but I help people. I have spent all of this time trying, for you. I didn’t get you out but I’m sure as hell not letting you spend another year and a half there again.”

“Did you ever get close?” you asked.

“Not really.”

“I need some air,” you said.

“I-“

“I need some air,” you said, leaving the room and going outside, wandering to the far garage and taking a seat on the workbench. It didn’t take long for Dean to find you, quiet as he leaned against the table.

“You mad at me?” he asked quietly.

“No,” you sighed. “I just didn’t want you to wind up like me.”

“You’re amazing. Why wouldn’t I want to be like you?” he asked. “Total badass on top of that. You held out for a year and a half in hell. That’s-“

“It wasn’t a year and a half,” you said.

“How long was it then?”

“Hundred and eighty,” you said softly, Dean’s face losing its color.

“Years?” he breathed out. You nodded, grabbing his arm when you thought he was going to fall over. “Oh my God.”

“Dean, sit down before you pass out,” you said, helping to sit up on the bench. 

“A hundred and eighty years?” he whispered, looking you up and down. “What-“

“It’s not like, normal years. It is but it isn’t,” you said. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Sweetheart,” he said. “Sweetheart, no one could last-“

“I promised,” you said, gripping the edge of the bench hard. 

“How bad.”

“Dean.”

“How bad did they hurt you?” he asked.

“Worse than you could possibly imagine,” you said, ducking your head down. 

“Did they-“

“Yes. They did it all Dean,” you said. “And then some.”

“You could have broke,” he said. “Sweetheart, you could have and no one would have blamed you. No one could last that long.”

“I just remembered I made a promise. I couldn’t remember what it was sometimes but I knew I made one. I held on to that one little scrap for dear life,” you said.

“I’ll never hunt again,” he said, grabbing your hand. “Never.”

“He’s gonna come back,” you said.

“I’m gonna kill him,” said Dean. “I’ll kill ‘em all. Lock them away.”

“That’s not possible,” you sighed.

“We don’t know that. One way or another, I’m making sure these things leave you the hell alone.”

You jumped up in bed that night, Dean’s hands on you only a slight comfort as you looked around the room.

“S’okay. Just a bad dream. You’re safe,” he said.

“Yeah,” you said, pinching yourself, knowing you were still back home.

“You’re awake, I promise,” he said, wrapping his arms around you.

“Pain is different here. I can’t explain it but it is. It’s how I know I’m back,” you said.

“It kinda makes sense. It’s another plane of existence, right? Hell?” 

“I suppose. A really sucky one,” you said. You sighed and leaned back against him, Dean rubbing your arm. “I’m okay. Go back to sleep, Dean.”

“You’re not okay,” he said, keeping you close, kissing the top of your head. “You don’t have to let it out tonight but whenever you decide to, I’m here, alright?”

“You don’t sleep in hell,” you said quietly. “All I wanted was a night of sleep and I can’t seem to even get through one.”

“You will. You’re safe here. You try to relax and I’ll make sure nothing happens to you,” he said. “Promise.”

You smiled and closed your eyes, Dean shifting the two of you to lay after a minute. 

“So where do you want to go on our honeymoon?” he asked quietly.

“Somewhere warm,” you said.

“We can do that,” he said. “You want like a blowout wedding or a small backyard kind of thing?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “We can figure it out.”

“Do you still…” he trailed off, your gaze going up.

“Yeah. I still want to marry you,” you said quietly. 

“Me too,” he said as you yawned. “I’ll be quiet. You rest now. It’s okay. I promise. He’s not coming near you ever again.”

______

[holylulusworld]

Sleep well in hell

Summary: You always looked up to Dean, not only as a strong leader or former hunt but as the raw force of nature he is. Sadly he only sees you as a child.

Pairing: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Endverse!Chuck, OFC’s

Warning: angst, unrequited feelings, hurt reader, rejection, mentions of sex, Endverse!Dean being a douche, tension

“Punch me harder next time. You need to use all your strength to make the first punch worth your time. If you fail the enemy might have an advantage and takes you down.” Dean explains as you try to hit him again and he blocks your punch easily.

“I will never be as good as you are.” Sighing you try to take Dean down once again, but he dodges your attack after you barely brushed his cheek.

“Better, Y/N. You brushed my face.” Smiling you nod eagerly as Dean tosses a towel at you. “This should be enough for today. It’s getting late.”

“Do you think I get better, Dean?” Looking up at your leader, eyes wide, lips parted you gasp as he nods, looking at you for a moment with these piercing green eyes.

“I mean you’re an impressive enough fighter by now, but everyone has room for improvement. Just keep on training with me and soon you can take me down, Kiddo.” Dean smirks as you squeal.

“Awesome! Now I will try to make some push-ups and run around the camp to end my training.” You exclaim but Dean grabs your upper arm, shaking his head.

“Young lady, you will get clean and eat something. Don’t train any longer. I don’t want you to get sore muscles and whine like a baby or even worse - get more muscles than me.” Dean’s face is stoic, controlled and you can’t hold back a chuckle.

“How can you say that stuff with a straight face?” Snorting you give Dean a high-five before you want to stretch your muscles.

“It’s time for bed, Y/N. Have a rest.” Licking your lips, you slide your fingers over Dean’s chest, batting your eyelashes.

“Ooh, is that an invitation? I’d sleep like a baby next to you for sure…” Dean’s face hardens, and you take a step back as he squares his jaw.

“Definitely not.” Those two words make your stomach drop. “Now be a good girl and go to sleep. Children your age need all the sleep they can get.” Dean is pointing toward the door and you nod, suddenly feeling like a fool.

“Yes, boss. I was just joking…” You try to keep the heartbreak out of your words before you turn to leave.

“I know you are a good kid but stop acting like you know what a man wants. Someone might get the wrong idea.” Not turning around you nod again before you blink a few tears away.

“Don’t you worry, boss. I know my place after all. Shall I send a random whore into your hut to get you off or can I go to my hut right away?” You spat the words before you open the door, slamming it shut behind you.

“Y/N…is something wrong?” Chuck is watching you sit outside your hut, playing with your gun. “Did anything happen?”

“Chuck, you’re a good guy but please don’t ask me questions right now.” Sniffling you start to disassemble your gun to clean it, not daring to meet Chuck’s eyes.

“Dean again? What did he do?” Chuck sits next to you on the hard ground, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Kiddo?”

“Nothing, Chuck. Dean did nothing to me or with me, that’s the problem. I’m twenty-two and he treats me like a stupid child. I made a dirty joke and he showed me I’m nothing but a child to him.” Bitterly swallowing the words wanting to escape you give your friend a cracked smile.

“He tries to protect you, Y/N.” Chuck offers but you know better. “Dean is…”

“Fucking another chick right now, Chuck. I got the message. I’m a child, not knowing what a man wants.” Jumping up Chuck holds out his hand, forcing you to get up too.

“Let’s have a walk around the camp to clear your mind. We will forget about this shithole and imagine we are in a nice park, enjoy the sun and eat ice cream.” 

While you follow Chuck, you forget about your heartbreak for a moment but then you pass Dean’s hut and you can hear one of the chicks cry out his name as he grunts in response.

You want to run away but then the woman says your name and you stop in your tracks, listening to what she says.

The woman asks Dean why he spends so much time with you and he tells her you need guidance as you are a kid. ‘Figures’, you curse but the woman doesn’t stop talking about you and Dean starts yelling.

“I told you Y/N is nothing but a kid, Sarah. Only a new mouth to feed. She can’t even punch someone or help in the camp to earn her stay. If it was up to me I would kick her out.” Dean curses before he kicks the chick out.

Chuck and you hide behind the hut, waiting for Sarah to leave. When she’s out of sight you want to walk back to your hut, but Dean gets out of his hut, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Y/N…”

“No…not Y/N. The worthless kid you want to kick out. Fine by me, Winchester. I never wanted to come here. Castiel dragged me away from my dead parents so I’ll follow your wish and leave tomorrow morning.” Turning on your heels you rush toward your hut while you wipe angry tears away.

“Wait…kiddo…sleep and we talk things out.”

“No, boss…I’m going to pack my things and you can go and sleep well in your bed. I hope one day you will catch hell for being the heartless monster you are.” Sniffling you open your door to slam it shut, not caring Dean calls your name.

“Well done, boss. We just lost the only person able to help Castiel stay clean.” Chuck pats Dean’s back before he walks away, not caring his boss is yelling after him.

While you toss your few belongings into two duffle bags you hear Dean calling your name, repeatedly knocking at your blocked door.

“Fuck off, Winchester. The useless kid will leave and you’ll have one mouth less to feed. I’m not worth your time or to stay here.” Sniffling you zip up your bags before you check on your gun and knife. “Don’t worry. I’ll survive as I did before Castiel found me.”

Dean won’t give up. Using all his strength he rams his shoulder into your door, causing the doorframe to break. “You will not leave camp! This is an order. Now unpack your things and go to sleep!”

“You’re not my dad nor my boss, Winchester.” Snarling the words, you grab your bags, trying to brush past Dean but he grabs your upper arm to drag you toward his hut.

Pushing you roughly into his hut Dean clenches his jaw before he follows you inside.

“Stay in there or I swear I will put you over my lap and slap this ass bright red. You won’t leave anytime soon.” Dean is towering intimidating over you, knowing what he did was wrong, but he would never tell you so. “Last warning…”

Reluctantly walking further into Dean’s hut, you toss your bags onto the floor. Hands on your hips you tap your foot. 

“Why do you want me to say? Huh? I’m useless according to what you said to your rut bunny…” Poking one finger into Dean’s chest you narrow your eyes as he ignores your outburst, rather shrugging his jacket off his shoulders. 

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Y/N. Now be a good girl, strip and sleep.” Opening your mouth, you want to say something but your eyes dart between Dean and the small bed.

“No way!”

“Not two hours ago you wanted to share my bed, kiddo. Now get out of these clothes and sleep.” Jaw ticking Dean grabs your wrist and you flinch away as he pants heavily. “Get on my bed, Y/N.”

“I said no! Get off me and let me out. I want to go, Dean.”

Dean drags you toward his bed to bring you over his lap and his hand slaps your ass. Not hard enough to inflict pain but to embarrass you as there’s no way to get out of his tight grip.

“Just take it and later we can have a conversation like decent adults. I’ll bend you to my will regardless, Y/N. I need to show you how vulnerable you still are.” 

While Dean tries to slaps your ass you wiggle in his lap. “Jesus…stop squirming.” Feeling something hard poking your thigh you pant heavily.

“What…”

“I will talk to you if you stop acting like a kid, change into pajamas and sleep.”

Dean let' got of you and a second later you try to punch his face, but he easily dodges your attack, pinning you to the mattress.”

“I will kick you…bite you…asshole.” Struggling against Dean’s strength you gasp as he holds you in place without any effort.

“Little hatchling…” Dean grunts burying his face into your neck, brushing the skin with his lips. 

“You make me weak, Y/N. That’s the reason I said these things about you. Do you think I want a random fuck to know I imagine a better future with you? I need to make sure everyone believes I treat you the same way.” Dean pants on top of you, as you stare at him not able to move a muscle.

“No reason to be an asshole. Now let me go…please.” Fighting against Dean’s strength you curse his name, telling him you rather sleep in hell than next to him.

“Ooh, Sweetheart, sleeping next to me will be hell.” Still holding you in place Dean smirks before he brushes his lips over your soft pillows. “Sleep well in hell. Now change clothes and come to bed or I will rip your favorite pants down these legs and slap you bright red.

“Asshole…”

“Hatchling.”

“Stupid old man!”

“Kid!”

“Why are you hard…?” Nipping at your lips Dean mumbles something about Sarah and that he kicked her out before she had the chance to get him off.

“I won’t get you off, pervert…”

“Hmm…” Dean grunts against you, still not letting go of you. “Soon you will beg me to get you off, hatchling. Now move your cute ass and change into your sleepshirt, or rather the old shirt you stole from me.”

“I didn’t steal it, just borrowed it…” Whimpering you feel Dean shift his body to let you get out of his bed. “I wanted to give it back…eventually…”

“Sweetheart, we both know you are a bad liar. Now hurry and let us get some sleep or the ‘old man’ will be grumpy in the morning…”

“You’re always grumpy.” Muttering you get your nightshirt out as Dean tries so hard not to get a glimpse. “Don’t look…”

“Kiddo, sooner or later I’ll see you bare…” Dean husks now and you look over your shoulder to find him close behind you, kissing your shoulder.

“Now change and come to bed. I’m sorry for …” Before Dean can say more you crane your neck to grab his shirt, bringing him close to your lips to peck his soft pillows.

“You’re not forgiven, Winchester.” Hands on your waist Dean deepens the kiss until you need to break it to breathe again. “Maybe a bit…”

“I can work with that, hatchling…” Ogling you only wearing panties Dean smirks. “Maybe you should forget about the shirt.”

“Nah, I don’t think so, old man.” Grabbing the stolen shirt, you put it on before you turn around, smirking. “ ’Cause sleeping next to me will hell to you, old man.” Pecking his cheek, you chuckle.

“I bet I will sleep well in hell…”

SPN Forever Tags

@donnaintx, @screechingartisancashbailiff, @fallen-wolf22, @sister-winchesters99, @mogaruke, @the-is13, @helloitsmeamie203, @strayrosesbloom, @thewinchesterco, @hobby27, @kittycatlover18, @gh0stgurl, @marvelfansworld , @sandlee44, @hawaiianohana31, @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt, @katpatrova17, @notyourtypicalrose , @heyitscam99, @flamencodiva, @echoesofpassion, @cocklesbelli, @voltage-my2dlove, @fandom-princess-forevermore @thenamelesschibi, @lauravic, @fandomsrourlives, @wittysunflower, @drakelover78, @lemondropirwin, @lonewolf471, @wronglanemendes, @spnhollis, @void-imaginations, @jay-and-dean, @shatteredabby, @juniorhuntersam, @helpmeluci, @neii3n, @goodgodimaweirdperson, @alltimesamantha, @chonisberonica, @supernaturalonice, @stuckys-whore, @shadowkat-83 @officialmarvelwhore, @wecantgiggleitsafandom, @meganywinchester, @shikshinkwon, @miraclesoflove, @yolobloggers, @lu-sullivan, @maniacproffesor, @hollymac79, @straycuties9 @kayla-2000, @ilovefanfic86, @gracefultrenchcoat494, @babygirls-fav, @sadn0va, @spnwoman, @amiquette, @linki-locks11, @geekofmanyforms, @eggingamazinglove, @jessica-marsh09, @spnficgirl, @shut-themoonscone, @thequeenreaders, @countrygal17a, @kteelou, @soryuwifeyxx, @kricketc28, @atomicfandombomb, @defenderrosetyler, @shortwinchester, @maybesomedaygayyyy, @tmiships4life, @deanmonandnegansbitch, @exo-nova, @laxe-from-outer-space, @sabascio, @that-place-called-middle-earth, @the-broken-angel-13, @bunnybaby89, @pandabiiissh, @maddiedott, @fandom-imagines1, @lilulo-12, @theoneandonlymelol, @mblaqgi, @sea040561, @clawsandshotguns, @justsomedreaming , @differentstudentrunawaysposts, @hhiggs, @deepmuffinspymaker, @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel, @cassiopeia-barrow, @mep6811, @jo-like-josette

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags     

@spnfamily-j2, @supernatural-bellawinchester, @butifulsoul125, @lyinginthegingerlocks, @deans-baby-momma, @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester, @20gayneen, @janicho88, @thefaithfulwriter, @dreaminemz, @negans-lucille-tblr, @akshi8278, @midnightsilver16830, @mrspeacem1nusone, @ria132love, @caligraphee, @the-witch-in-silence, @multisuperfandom, @deansgirl-1968, @justanotherwinchester, @jadesupernatural, @squirrelnotsam, @gaveherhearttotheliontattoo, @roonyxx, @jason-todd-squad, @thevelvetseries, @spnsuper17, @adoptdontshoppets, @woodworthti666, @frederikkeborup, @psychicforest​, @luciathewinchestergirl, @michellemxndes​, @addictedtofictionalcharacters​, @gabifernandessn​

[cranehusbands]

null and voided

Crypto | Park Tae Joon/Wraith | Renee Blasey; voidwalker timeline; hurt/comfort; voidwalker/whitelisted; apex rarepair week; 1563 words

a/n: and here’s where i show you just how unhinged i am.

SO. FOR CONTEXT. me and a friend (it’s mr tumblr user the-goolings, nate) have an au/plotline for the voidwalker timeline seen in wraith’s original story short, with voidwalker being... voidwalker, and her guy in the chair helping her out is crypto, who is originally in his hired gun skin variant before being captured by the syndicate and like... half-cyborged? before he escaped to wait for her while she went about with her revenge. it’s fucked! but anyways they make me feel and they’re in LOVE. please ask me more about this au if you’re so inclined i have. a lot

a very late day 6 for @apex-rarepairweek, hurt/comfort! 

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Preview: Renee pushed away some of the schematics for the parts in his chest cavity, folding her arms across the dining table and resting her head on top of him, turning to keep an eye on him as he was sleeping… no, as he was shut off. He was hardly human, he’d said so himself, he didn’t sleep. ...But that wasn’t right, was it. He still lived, and felt, just as she did, and although he didn’t breathe and eat he still existed by her side like he always did, and that was as human as it got, right? [...] “God, Tae, how did this happen?” 

The only sounds echoing through the apartment were the loud contact of metal on metal, small curses and larger ones, and electricity crackling between two loose wires with a frustrated grumble. Old Chinese food boxes laid strewn around the apartment, old clothes discarded without a second thought, a blanket thrown over the couch like a makeshift bed, and the dining table taken over with tools and schematics, first person pronouns littering the notes of parts and functions. The radio at one end of the table quietly played the news, news of wars and violence that was just white noise against the gentle scraping of metal.

 Renee cursed to herself again, slamming the screwdriver back down on the table as she sat up and rolled her shoulder, scowling a little. She was learning this as she was going along, which was hard when the handwriting on your only guide was illegible most of the time. Running a hand down her face, her fingers parted for a moment, and she dared to steal a glance down at the body resting on the sofa that she’d dragged into the dining room, at the way the metal reflected the synthetic lights, how peaceful he looked, like a… fucked up, cyborg sleeping beauty, eyes closed and chest wide open, exposing the wires and components that kept him alive. How her friend, her partner, her lover, Taejoon Park, was sitting there, half human and half machine, and how she was repairing him for the third time that week.

 Getting back to their timeline had been a mess. She’d done what they’d been fighting for all this time, saving herself from another dimension in her place, barely surviving by the skin of her teeth. Sometimes she could still feel the blood of the man who had ruined her life splashing onto her face, remembering the feeling of his skull as it marbled in her grip with every bash against the wall, and she couldn’t tell if that felt good or not. But what didn’t feel good was stumbling back into their own quiet, secluded apartment, practically tripping through a portal, delirious from blood loss, leaning a shoulder up against the wall as she shook off the heavy gear and dragged her blood along the paint, and seeing a man who seemed so familiar but still so strange rushing to meet her, staring at her as if he was an illusion. She wondered if that was just what he was - he looked like Taejoon, looked at her like he used to, lips parting in the same way as he brought a hand up to her face to hold her, but his touch was cold, metallic and unwelcoming, but all the same, it was him, surely?

 The way his nightmares haunted him, and the way he gripped for her in his sleep as if she would leave him, all but confirmed it.

 It was the Syndicate, he’d said. Got to him when he was gone. Tortured him, barely kept him alive, involuntarily entered him into a simulacrum program, where he escaped with the last of his humanity and had been living in isolation for months before she’d gotten home. He didn’t sleep, or eat - he didn’t need to, not anymore. He just listened to the sounds of his own parts functioning, and wondered what it would be like to hear them stop. He’d taken down all the mirrors, covered the windows and any other reflections, making sure that he didn’t have to see himself, and what he was forced to become. Tried to find Mila by himself, he’d said, but he kept flipping between hopelessness and sheer mania, trashing the apartment before fixing it again to trash it again. All while she was dimensions away, totally unaware that the man who helped her get this far was barely hanging on, waiting for her to come home.

 It wasn’t her fault. Not by any means, and Taejoon had told her as much. But now that what she’d made her life’s purpose was just another page in the book of her personal history, it was all she could think about. Renee pushed away some of the schematics for the parts in his chest cavity, folding her arms across the dining table and resting her head on top of him, turning to keep an eye on him as he was sleeping… no, as he was shut off. He was hardly human, he’d said so himself, he didn’t sleep. ...But that wasn’t right, was it. He still lived, and felt, just as she did, and although he didn’t breathe and eat he still existed by her side like he always did, and that was as human as it got, right? She let out a sigh, shaking as she did so, biting her lip as her eyes started to well with tears, continuing to watch him and remembering the times he’d fall asleep, just like this, at his desk, working for hours for her sake and his own, as she’d wrap a blanket over his shoulder and ruffle his hair with a gentle kiss to the temple-

“God, Tae, how did this happen?” She whispered to herself, breaking down and turning her head away to sob against her forearm, unable to stop herself, her whole body shaking with the force of it, bottled up day in and day out of repairs. Had she let him down? What had they become? Zombies, searching for truth and revenge, the syndicate one step in front with a knife behind their back. She’d gotten revenge in one dimension, but what about the countless others she saw in her sleep, the voices that followed her everywhere and the void that beckoned for soulless company-

 She held in a breath at the familiar whining sound of servo’s releasing locked up air, fans kicking in as a single robotic eye looked around, making noise with every movement. Renee rubbed her eyes against her arm before she sat up, forcing a light smirk. “Hey. I’m not finished, why’d you-”

“Forced startup. Syndicate slave code.” Even now, it was hard to get used to the slight crackle in his voice as he spoke, as he moved his hand to point to the back of his neck.

“We gotta get that fixed.”

“...Have you been crying?”

She froze. “I- no, it’s nothing-”

“Renee…”

“Don’t ‘Renee’ me, Tae.” She almost snapped, not wanting the pity, before she felt herself deflate. “I said it’s nothing, OK?”

She listened to the way his cybernetic eye moved to look her up and down, moving his hands to support himself as he slowly sat up. “Wait, no, I’m not-”

“Quiet.”

“What- no, let me finish my work first.”

He closed up his ribcage with a light click, looking up to her as she rolled her eyes. “There. No more work.”

“That’s only going to wreck itself later, and you’re going to complain, you know that, right?”

“I don’t matter right now. All that matters is you.”

Though she slightly softened, Renee opened her mouth to speak again, only cutting herself off as he put a hand against her cheek - it was cold, but still so warm, and full of love, as he ran a hand across her cheek.

Taejoon moved his hand up to across her freshly shaven (another bad episode with the void, instinctive) head - the metal was cold against her skin, enough to make her flinch a little, but she stayed, almost leaning into it like a cat would, as he gave her a tired smile, moving his hand to hold her face, fingers still stroking what little hair was above her ears. “Kiwi…”

Renee paused, opening her eyes and cocking an eyebrow as she held onto his wrist. “Did… you just call me a kiwi?”

“Mhm… you’re soft and fuzzy.”

She looked at him, chuckling and scoffing a little, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you. Remind me never to cry about you again.”

“Noted. I would never want you to, regardless.”

“But you know I will. We’re just made that way.”

Taejoon hummed, looking down, almost defeated. 

She sighed and pressed her forehead against his, touching what little of his skin was left, listening to the way his eyes closed and gears kicked into overdrive at the soft physical contact, chuckling to herself. “I love you, Tae.”

“Yeah… yeah. I love you too.”.

 “We’re gonna be OK, I promise.” Her voice was quieter now, only for her entire world, as she opened her eyes to look at him, almost blinded by his as he looked back at her.

“As long as we’re together, I don’t think we’ll ever be OK.” Despite himself, Taejoon laughed, her voice gaining that familiar crackle to it as he moved his hand down from her head to her shoulder. “But I suppose… that’s just fine with me.”

Renee moved herself back a little to go in again, moving in to plant a kiss against his lips, slow and deliberate. He was cold to the touch but warm with the love and care for her he felt with every fiber of his being, both what little of him remained and everything that had been replaced, as he returned the kiss, the bells and whistles all going off in harmony as she chuckled into the kiss they shared, feeling a gentle slap against her arm.