#I am a bastard with a bottle of bleach and you can fight me

[upn-the-sky]

Oh gosh oh gosh *sighs*

you can't even imagine HOW MUCH I want to draw some Ares-centric comics... At least some strips..

Nobody need it but me, because I am an Ares stan and I am alone at this domain, but I want his character to shine through his antagonistic role according to the myths and my own headcanons.. I want to highlight his relationship with his parents, and Kratos and.. ghh

poor me

#I am a bastard with a bottle of bleach and you can fight me #And Ares/Kratos is my otp #Without rapes and cringe and without inadequacy. Ares hates rapists #He and Kratos were soulmates in warfare and manhood. But has a big tragic misunderstanding #kratos #ares #ares god of war #kratos gow #aretos #god of war ragnarok #god of war #gow

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

This took a while because I was busy with uh... stuff...

I don't like how short it turned out, even though for my old standards it would be long.

Either way, this chapter is called "Hell Rising". Hope you enjoy!

Page 9 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 3:

Why do you, asked the beast, Not fear me, monster of sharp bones and teeth? The blind man considers, I do not believe in beasts, I do not believe in monsters, I believe in the man’s nature, to be kind, And in his storm, to be utterly merciless, In his moon, to aid the poor, And in his sun, to burn the sinner.

Soap gets dragged to the ground by Ghost, the huge man collapsing. He snarls, “the fuck- let go!”

Ghost doesn’t let up, so he shakes his grip off. Soap looks up, mouth open to snap at the bastard, before he halts.

Ghost tries to hide everything human about him - his skin covered by layers of dark clothing, face shielded with a grotesque skull, but no matter how much he tries, he cannot hide his eyes.

Dark brown, lit by the scarlet red flares, shine up at Soap. 

And he sees in them pure, unadulterated terror. 

Soap’s breath hitches, his gut roils. In an instant, Ghost isn’t this larger-than-death soldier, a monster more than a man, a name to strike a fear greater than God.

Ghost is a man. A man that fears, just like him, that bows to the rule of nature and to the innate dread of the Reaper.

The flare near them dies down, taking with it the light gleaming in Ghost’s eyes. Soap looks down, watching him try to move his left leg, the muscles shaking with exertion. Whatever’s wrong with him, it’s spreading-

“Yer poisoned…” 

Ghost stills, so much so that Soap isn’t sure he’s breathing. “I am.” the man lets out.

Voices come closer to their position, boots crush through stalks of wheat. Torches and flares flash through the plants, casting dancing shadows over the both of them. Soap feels his heart thrumming, and he knows he must choose.

“Ghost.” he levels the man with a determined stare, and he snaps his gaze to Soap’s. “I know ye would rather leave me to die, go scurry away to whatever hell ye crawled out of.” He rises to his feet, “but we both know ye can’t. Now, would you rather die alone…”

Ghost’s head tilts, Soap offering a hand, “...or fight together?”

For a breath, nothing moves, the world plunges into darkness.

In the next, Ghost takes his hand, and rises to his full height, “don’t happen to have something in mind, do you Sergeant?”

Soap flexes his jaw, mentally going through the supplies he has left in his rucksack. Bleach, bottles, screwdriver… oh!

His lips stretch to a maniacal grin, “I do, actually.”

A rustling behind them snaps both of their focuses, “can ye walk?” Soap looks back, Ghost’s leg trembling but holding.

“Well enough for your plan?” Ghost nods to his leg.

Soap sighs, “has to be.”

Ghost nods, “lead the way.”

They drop to a crouch, slowly backing away from the soldier nearest to them. Ghost’s steps aren’t as silent as they usually are, and his steps crunch loudly. The soldier turns around, light pointing at them. They both stop moving. Soap watches his hand move towards his radio.

They get spotted, it’s over. Ghost swiftly pulls out a knife, but with his condition, Soap is not certain he’ll win.

He nabs the knife from Ghost, dashing forward.

“Shit, we got one here-!” the soldier squeaks, before Soap slams into him, landing them on the ground. He hits the radio with the hilt, shattering it. The soldier scrambles for his rifle, and Soap stabs him above his tacvest, but it’s not enough, he’s going to get the gun-

A knife drives into the man’s eye socket, and his limbs fall as if his strings were cut. Soap heaves a breath, and turns to see Ghost looming over him.

Did he just throw that knife from that angle, in complete darkness, and nailed the soldier right in the eye?!

“I had him.” Soap lies through his teeth. He takes the discarded rifle and loops the strap around his shoulder.

Ghost shakily bends down to rip his knife off of the soldier’s skull, “clearly.”

“Awa’ an bile yer heid, ye posh bastard.”

The bastard in question stares at him for a moment, and grunts, “I’ll pretend I understood that.”

Soap pushes off the body, starting for the parked vehicles, “means go fuck yourself, you overconfident arsehole.” he over enunciates.

He thinks he mishears the smile in Ghost’s voice, “much better.”

After maneuvering around several soldiers, the armored trucks left on the road come into view. Ghost’s leg got better as they continued sneaking through the field. Despite how mad he still is at the back stabbing liar, Soap can’t help but feel a smidgen of sympathy for the man. If his arm and leg were to spontaneously stop working, with no predictable pattern, he too would be terrified.

Soap continues to wonder who Ghost really is. The most likely answer is a lone merc, but… the 141 doesn’t go after such small threats.

That is, unless they pose an international threat.

They clearly knew each other… perhaps this isn’t the first time Ghost evaded them.

Soap pulls out the bag of black powder from his pack. It’s really not enough for what he wants to try, but when are the odds ever in his favor?

“Alright.” Soap turns to Ghost, “what I need is a spark plug, as much gas as we could gather, and a distraction.”

The headlights allow for him to see Ghost’s brows furrowing, “what are you going to do?”

Soap smirks, “ah, jus’ gunna blow up their convoy to high hell. Leave ‘em stranded with no lights, and we can run off into the night.”

Ghost seems to mull the plan over, scanning the trucks. He points to one in the back, further from the rest, “I’ll drive this one away. They’ll think we’re escaping with it, and run back to their vehicles…”

“... you want to blow them up.”

Ghost nods.

He exhales. It won’t be a merciful death, that one. But who says they won’t go back to killing civilians once they return to the city?

Maria and Victor flash in his mind, the fearful children left in the rain alone to die, and his heart hardens. No one had mercy for them. Not one soldier considered stopping their maddening march through the city, shooting anything that moves. Never asked whether they’re shooting parents, brothers, grandmothers, daughters, or actual threats.

Not a single one.

Suddenly, Soap doesn’t care what happens to the Hunter’s soldiers anymore.

Soap assesses the forces left by the trucks. About 8 soldiers, one for each truck. Soap has the rifle he took from the body, and a couple of knives he gathered around the city. He knows ghost has a silenced pistol, and an unknown number of knives (which he keeps pulling out of thin air like the worst magic trick in history).

Ghost must’ve noticed the wheels turning in his head, because he says, “I can take the three up front, let them make some noise and draw the others. You’ll get the spark plug and gas while they’re busy with me.”

“And how are ye gonna get back to the truck?”

The fucker just shrugs, “easy to disappear in the dark.”

Soap side eyes him, before rolling his eyes. “I’ll take out the two at the back, I see a fuel tank in the truck bed.” 

“Copy.” Ghost answers, and easily slinks away, like a predator hunting for prey. Soap readies his blade, and stalks closer to his targets.

The blood spilling down his arms doesn’t even register in his mind anymore.

Ghost’s diversion worked, maybe too well. Soap quickly finishes spilling the gas around the first truck in the chain, letting it mix with the rest of the river forming from the punctured tanks of the others.

The spark plug is rigged and ready, all he’ll need to do is throw it at the gas, and it’ll trigger the reaction. The longer they wait, however, the less strong the reaction will be, as the gasoline mixes with the oxygen in the air.

At this moment, Soap really wished they had comms. But, this isn’t a real mission, Ghost isn’t his teammate, and there are no regulations to be found.

Soap backs away, letting the wheat crops hide him again, and he waits. Keeping his head on a swivel, splitting his focus between the ruckus the soldiers are making at the front of the convoy, and the truck at the back.

He chokes on a breath when the lights turn on, the vehicle instantly shifting to drive backwards at neck breaking speed. Soap didn’t see even a hair of Ghost before that moment.

Perhaps his overconfidence isn’t that unwarranted…

Shouting fills his ears, soldiers scrambling for their trucks, not noticing the gas leaks in their hurry. A fatal mistake.

As soon as most of them are in, Soap inhales, draws his arm back…

And throws the spark plug. It hits the road with full force, igniting with a small yellowish-white flame. Instantaneously, it spreads like blood in water, and the fire encompasses the trucks. 

The first explosion is so strong it singes his nose hairs, Soap wildly thinks. He would be admiring the tall flames, if the crackling blaze wasn’t accompanied by anguished screams. He may have no remorse for the Hunter’s soldiers, but he’s not going to take joy in their death.

Ghost’s truck is far ahead, headlights turned off. Soap wonders if he’s just going to leave him here, go back to the city and do whatever ghosts do. Maybe it would be for the best, it’s not like he’s really keen on sticking with the bastard.

Still, a part of Soap doesn’t want to be betrayed again.

That part cheers on when Ghost’s form slowly comes into view, bone white skull almost glowing in the fire’s light.

The man stares at the destruction Soap caused, and returns his gaze.

“Truck’s out of fuel. You saved anything from their’s?”

Soap lifts his eyes to the sky, “...fuck.”

They’ve been walking for so long, the sun has started to rise, the stars fading away to reveal greyish dull skies.

Soap’s eyes are flagging. He hasn’t slept more than a few minutes since the first shot was fired, and while he’s used to going a long while without sleeping, he’s been on high alert the whole time. It’s starting to take a toll on him.

Ghost isn’t faring much better, not that the man is saying anything. His left leg is shaking again, almost tripping on nothing every couple of steps.

He abruptly stops, when he spots a shed not too far from them. Probably made to keep farming equipment, and looks like it’ll be cramped as all hell for men of their size, but it’s the only building for miles and fuck, he’s so tired.

“Ghost.” the masked man grunts. “We should stop to rest.”

Ghost snaps his gaze to his, then to the shed he’s pointing at, “I don’t need to sleep.” he grounds.

“Aye, aye, yer strong and ye don’t need anyone, got it. I’m not going to pick ye up if ye fall, ye big lug.”

Ghost puffs his chest like he’s about to retort, but he deflates, “...fine. I’m taking first watch.”

Soap doesn’t wait for him to follow, starting to walk towards the shed. As he gets closer, he can see just how dilapidated it is - wooden planks rotting off it’s walls, door almost falling off the hinges. He can’t wait to finally lay down.

The inside of the shed doesn’t look much better, with broken tools strewn everywhere, and a dirt floor. Soap takes a tarp off of the wobbly table, and lays it on the ground. At least this way they’re not gonna sleep on actual soil…

Ghost sits down, facing the door. Soap considers the rifle in his hands, before cautiously passing it to Ghost.

If he shoots him in the back at this point, Soap prays hell is real for him.

He lies on the tarp, his spine groaning in relief. Soap turns his back to Ghost, closing his eyes and sighing.

Ants of anxiousness climb his skin, heart refusing to calm. Soap turns around, and presses his back to the wall. He stares at Ghost for a moment. The man has his gaze glued to the door, rifle resting between his thighs. Soap never noticed the markings on the skull mask, white lines dragging down the cheekbones, like tears. 

He doesn’t mean to, but Soap’s eyes close on their own volition, and he drifts off to sleep.

“What have you done…?”

Soap looks down. His hands dripping blood. He lowers them, revealing the body of their target. Dead, neck sliced and breath choked out.

“We were supposed to bring the HVT back alive!”

His fists clench. Leaving him alive would’ve doomed the rest of the world. His screaming CO doesn’t understand, none of them understand.

The corpse rises, loose jaw swinging, blank eyes rotating in darkened sockets to leer at him.

“I’ll be seeing you again, MacTavish… I promise”

Blood drops from his mouth, filling the helo, red rising and rising until all Soap can see is the target’s laughing mouth.

“And when I do… I’ll take away everything you ever knew.”

Something shakes his shoulder, and Soap instantly grabs it, snarling as he opens his eyes. It takes him a few moments of frantically looking around to realize he will not be seeing a dead man speaking to him.

Soap looks down, to the boot he still holds in his hand. Ghost’s boot. He lets it be ripped away.

“Your turn on overwatch, Sergeant.” Ghost flatly says, standing over him. Soap’s gaze lingers on his brown eyes for a moment longer, before he rises to his feet.

He silently takes the rifle propped against the wall, and leans on the table. Ghost slowly sinks to the floor, and lays down to sleep.

He looks away, staring at his reflection in the window.

Soap wonders if that target is laughing at him from hell. Despite killing him, the man still took away everything he knew. His life’s work, his house, his friends.

Himself.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #cod ghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #BLOOD||HUNGER #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod fic #cod fanfic #if you recognize the quote in Soaps dream... you got my kudos #its not that important to the story but its a little detail I like :) #this chapter was the hardest yet to write for this fic #i think i just... wasnt there mentally...

[godkilller]

@shirenui144

A more sombre question, but had me wondering... Has Gin ever cried / what would it take to make him cry? I imagine it would be verse dependent, but could a man this guarded ever visibly show such emotional hurt?

          out of character.  Why must you hurt me.

          But it’s an excellent question, and as you say too -- Gin has become such a guarded, numbed, and twisted man. He has, for lack of better wording, killed off that part of himself long ago. He is also one of the topmost guarded characters in Bleach, even Ichigo’s little trick of ‘reading his opponent’s heart’ during battle did not work on Gin. Gin was empty. Gin wasn’t even ‘looking at Ichigo’ with his heart when fighting. They did not reach each other. Gin is so utterly closed off from others and himself that there’s an eerie absence of self present in him, a swallowing abyss, intimidating and oppressive. Gin has also spent his entire existence isolated, he joined Aizen extremely young and thus his centuries-long otherness began. He cannot show emotions akin to Toshiro, who is often used in ways alongside Gin to show what happens if one shows emotions and weakness to Aizen Sousuke via childhood friends. Renji and Rukia, too, are used in ways that contrast Gin and Rangiku subtly in the background. Gin’s interactions with Rukia about Renji, and his interactions with Toshiro about Momo are to make Gin more of an other. He is removed, unlike them.

          So Gin does not despair openly like they do. He doesn’t shout or cry for the audience to see. He’s a villainous cold-hearted bastard.

          This is on top of the potent sense of cultural toxic masculinity and military way of avoiding / “dealing with” emotionally charged moments, not speaking of trauma, and the whole nine yards of suppression which channels into self-worth issues and a tendency for violence. Most characters in Bleach, and especially male characters, aren’t allowed to really stop and think about what they’re feeling, doing -- Ichigo being able to do a decent amount of that, yes, with his protagonist badge, but even then ?  It’s pathetically insufficient, barely a taste of what Ichigo actually should be experiencing, and no other characters are allowed to mourn losses or suffer long-lasting consequences for their actions, for injuries, for mistakes, for harmful words or acts. It’s an action / fighting series, the audience is here for big flashy swordfights and cool abilities, not emotions. Certainly not darker topics of PTSD and the like.

          You can slice it any which way, but Gin grew up as a child soldier. It can be contrasted by the fact that the majority of the Gotei 13 / Shinigami characters are shown, in flashbacks, as entering the Academy whilst in adulthood, becoming Shinigami once adults, with the exception of people like Toshiro, Momo, Hiyori, who all look / are perpetually young.

          Gin is a little older than Toshiro, for context, by the way -- and he is younger than Byakuya. Because Tite doesn’t know how the ages of his own characters work, it can be argued that Gin and Hiyori are possibly within the same ballpark in terms of ages. But like. Look at her. What the fuck. ANYWAYS, the point is ?  Gin’s young, and his trauma is fairly fresh. From the Winter War -- and then 110 years into the past to the Turn Back the Pendulum arc -- Gin spends the majority of his childhood either playing caretaker for Rangiku, who is actually a little older than him, and then killing; first, the three Shinigami that attacked Rangiku, then the Third Seat of the Fifth Division, and then many more likely during his career of observing failed projects at Aizen’s side, witnessing horrific Hollowification experimentations, and many more things. The crucial period of development for things like higher level empathy  ( Gin showcases it by sharing his food with Rangiku, a stranger, and then we see the absolute absence of it from then on )  and Gin swiftly enters into the midst of Erikson’s industry vs. inferiority stage of development; what does he have to offer the world ?  What can he become ?  Will he be good enough ?  This is the stage in which Gin makes the connection as well as makes peace with becoming a monster; this is what I’m offering, this is what I’m becoming, this will be good enough.

          He flipped a switch. It’s questionable whether or not Gin has the ability to cry once he’s an established Third Seat. It’s gone, it’s been swallowed down a hole so deep and dark Gin doesn’t want to go searching for it. He doesn’t want to cry. Gin already has a negative connotation connected to crying given his quote “I’m gonna become a Shinigami, change things for ya, so that you don’t have to cry anymore, Rangiku.” Not crying = good. Not crying means better. Rangiku crying over what was done to her was what embedded into Gin that he needed to be stronger. No crying allowed. None. In his mind, obviously, Gin doesn’t actually make that connection that ‘because Rangiku did this, I’ll do this’ no, he’s not so meticulously aware yet, but there’s certainly an imprint left on him from those earlier years in the Rukongai, dreading her tears, hating them, hating those men, and so crying = murderous intent. Crying = anger.

          If Gin cried as a child, he didn’t realize he was doing so. I can see him crying in his sleep from a dream, a nightmare, a jam-packed series of emotions hitting him whilst vulnerable, whilst unable to smile and swallow it all down. I can see him waking from it and wiping at his face, feeling utter detachment like an ache in his chest, an otherness, like that wasn’t even him crying, that wasn’t him. Gin wouldn’t think more of it, he wouldn’t dare linger on the thoughts. Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know.mp4 and all that jazz.

          Gin is more likely to lash out in anger than let himself cry. I have a headcanon / drabble somewhere of Gin screaming into his inner world, clutching at his hair, feeling so terribly close to crying but he can’t, it literally will not happen. He’s too bottled up and frustrated from that that when he actually has an opportunity to cry and it doesn’t naturally happen because he’s become so suppressed, it just outright angers him. Because he has latched everything up, lock and key, by the time Gin’s an adult -- if he were to cry as an adult, it’d be during a flurry of explosive emotions. He cannot just casually let loose, no, that door’s jammed shut, it’s been coiled tight in him. A pit of despair by the time the Winter War rolls by. Gin admits to feeling anxiety, dread, during that conflict -- a sign of slowly coming undone, no longer able to keep himself from hesitance, doubt, insecurity, and anticipation hovering around him like a dark cloud. Gin cannot cry, though, not now. Not when he’s so close to making all the pain worth something...

          So it’s no surprise that Gin really only starts getting the actual opening to properly cry in my canon divergent verses. But the catch !!!!  Gin has failed so thoroughly and so brutally that he feels he doesn’t deserve to weep about it. That this is merely a fraction of the karma he deserves. He experiences suicidal ideation, daydreaming of how it’d simply be easier if he hadn’t survived at all. He feels too hollow to cry, then, at the start. He feels too heavy, too much, it’s too much to cry about. He ruined himself and Rangiku for nothing. He did all of this for nothing. And now Rangiku wants answers, still waiting, watching him, and he can’t cry in front of her. IT’S STILL INGRAINED IN HIM FROM CHILDHOOD: she’s the one who cries and he’s the one who comforts. The audacity of him to cry in front of her after everything he put her through, as though he were the victim and her the one needing to comfort him. Gin may be morally gray, but at times he truly sees the world in black and white. No moderation, no give and take.

          It’d hit him later, when he’s learning to become more vulnerable. When he’s trying to open up to Rangiku about something he has to rip from himself, his heart holding onto this sorrow for so long Gin has to surgically remove the truth from himself. AS A CHILD, WITNESSING WHAT HAPPENED TO RANGIKU COUNTS AS A TRAUMATIC EVENT. Not talking about it for 110+ years does a number or two on you when you at last, FINALLY, tell her the fucking scoop. Gin repressed what happened to Rangiku because he recognized that Rangiku did not fully and properly remember, recollect, what happened to her. He knew. Gin saw.

          Compartmentalizing her trauma on top of his own, as though a keeper of it, a sin-eater, Gin would feel absolute despairing relief at finally telling her. Despairing because he’ll be inflicting upon her something he’s been holding back, holding that door shut, for the entirety of their knowing of one another, and to finally let go of the door and let that beast of trauma go charging at her undeterred ?  There’s immense guilt attached to this entire affair. Gin feels childlike guilt; why her, and not me ?  I wish it could’ve been me, we could’ve traded places and I’d be fine, I’d live, we could live happy together.  Akin to survivor’s guilt, Gin wishes those men had found him and taken a piece of his soul rather than Rangiku’s. The ‘why’ of it haunts him. Why her. Why didn’t I stop them. Why didn’t I show up sooner. I could’ve bitten at them, kicked and hit, we could have escaped together -- or at least you could have. Gin also feels guilt at a base adult level: why am I keeping this from her ? No, it’s too late to tell her, she’s happier now, there will never be a good time to tell her.

          There are so many things, feelings, thoughts, that Gin has never shared with Rangiku due to it all being tied to the unspoken secret he’s let fester inside of him.

          SO WHEN GIN FINALLY TELLS RANGIKU WHY HE JOINED AIZEN, WHY HE TRIED TO KILL AIZEN, WHY HE SAID THOSE WORDS TO HER DURING THAT BLIZZARD AND BECAME A SHINIGAMI ... GIN’S GOING TO BREAK DOWN.

          The truth is tied to vulnerability in Gin’s mind. Telling it means ripping himself apart at the seams. Everything he crafted himself out to be was made around this secret. It’s going to be bloody, it’s going to hit him like a fucking train. Gin’s going to feel it coming, rumbling on the tracks, he’ll hear it even, that approaching storm, he’ll know by the prickle at his eyes and the closing of his throat, but still nothing’s ever prepared him for the absolute choked finality of the truth, and he’s going to do his best to hold it back -- it’s instinctive, it’s in his blood by now to mask it, stop it, divert and drawl his way out of it. But this time he can’t just stop halfway and distract her, talk about something else. No, Gin’s cornered himself and it’s high time Rangiku got the truth from him, he can’t run away any more. He’ll have to grit his teeth and talk through it, swallow it back just enough to speak, to tell her what he’s done to them both and for what, for why, it’s the worst possible conversation they could ever have, but one they need. And Gin’s going to find himself incapable of holding back a sob the more he discloses, the more that slips out and escapes him the more the emotions tied to that sunken anchor come up too. He will feel simultaneously lighter and heavier for it.

          There are numerous ways Gin’s thought about wording it. He’s thought about the numbed approach, MISSION REPORT style: Aizen Sousuke harvested souls from the 64th Rukongai District, they took a piece from you. Perhaps not, no, not like that. Maybe... back when y’were a kid, there were three Shinigami assigned to the 64th District to collect souls to fuel Aizen Sousuke’s Hogyoku. They took somethin’ from you. I saw it. I saw them hoverin’ over you, I saw it in their hands. I saw’em offer it up to Aizen in the forest, collectin’ firewood. I saw him.

          WHY DIDN’T I STOP HIM, WHY DIDN’T I ATTACK THOSE THREE MEN THEN AND THERE IN BROAD DAYLIGHT WITH YOUR COLLAPSED FORM A FEW FEET AWAY, MAYBE I COULD HAVE TAKEN THEM ON AFTER ALL. I COULD HAVE CRUSHED A SKULL IN WITH STONE, I COULD’VE STOLEN HIS SWORD BEFORE THE LIFE FULLY FADED FROM HIM AND MADE IT VANISH, I COULD’VE CARVED THROUGH THE SECOND, SLICE THE TENDON AT THE THIRD’S ANKLE AS HE ATTEMPTED TO FLEE, WARN OTHERS. SLIT HIS THROAT AS HE CRAWLED AWAY. YOU’D HEAR IT, OFF TO THE SIDE. YOU’D SEE ME COME UP TO YOU WITH BLOOD SPLATTERS. YOU’D SEE ME LEAN OVER YOU WITH NOT A PERSIMMON OFFERED, NO, YOUR OWN FUCKING SOUL THEY PLUCKED FROM YOU. SHAKY HAND. BLOODIED HAND. TAKE IT, TAKE IT BACK. I FIXED IT --

          Just tell her. JUST TELL HER.

          DO YOU REMEMBER THE DAY WE MET, RANGIKU ... ?

#[ headcanon ] fresh snowfall; fading footprints mark his path #[ verse: redemption ] i am healing by mistake; rome is also built on ruins #me: i wanna cover more but also i. oof.

[partyanimal167]

Bodyguard AU

Hey everyone! I am not new to the Bleach fandom, but since I’m rewatching the anime I decided to try my hand at some GrimmIchi fanfiction since the ship has caught my eye (and I’ve bingeread a bunch of fics the last couple weeks). I have no idea if this story will continue or any plans, but hey, I wanted to try writing them. I hope you enjoy :)

He got on his nerves. He was always there even if he couldn’t see him. He knew there was something about him that made him want to fight.

Grimmjow spit out the bloody gauze from his mouth and that signature grin was smacked on his face. “Shit, I can still hear the crowds. They love me!” he snickered. 

“Well the victory was well earned. You looked like you were in trouble there for a minute.” Grimmjow’s trainer, Shawlong, replied and finished cleaning up Grimmjow’s wounds.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was currently undefeated for last year and was looking to take the Middleweight title. He was a cocky bastard who was nicknamed “The Panther” for his fast moves and stalking actions when looking for an opening. Things were looking up this year as endorsements and side gigs were coming his way. However, he wanted, no needed, to secure that championship title. It would be the cherry on top.

Grimmjow kissed his teeth. “Tch, shut it. I was doing fine.” he grumbled. He heard a chuckled and glared at the source.

The only complaints Grimmjow had besides no title was the orange-haired brat named Kurosaki Ichigo who was currently paying more attention to the game in his hands and the chocolate piece in his mouth. 

“Why is this bastard here again?” Grimmjow complained.

Aizen chimed in. “For your protection. You know you have some rowdy fans and plenty of enemies. I don’t want anyone hurting you outside of the octagon.” he explained all too calmly.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. “If someone tryna pull a fast one on a UFC fighter they can just get what’s comin’ fer them.” he stood up and put on his shirt. “Besides, are we sure this brat can even do his job properly? He ain’t even paying attention. Can he throw a decent punch?” Again there was a cocky chuckle.

Ichigo stretched and pocketed his game into his suit pocket. “I promise I can hold my own against you. That’s why I was hired.”

“Bullshit. Me? You’re biting more than you can chew, Strawberry.” Grimmjow pressed.

“Watch your mouth or you’ll be needing Shawlong to add some bandages to that pretty stupid face of yours.” Ichigo threatened and the typical scowl was plastered on.

“I appreciate the compliment. Unfortunately for you, I plan on getting a chick tonight once this is all over.” Grimmjow shot back.

Aizen finally stepped in. “Guys enough.” He tossed a set of keys at Ichigo. “Take him home tonight. Grimmjow, no clubbing”

“What!” the men shouted. “Doesn’t he have a driver?” Ichigo argued. “Why can’t I go out?” 

Aizen only smiled. “We only have three matches before Grimmjow challenges for the title, and I don’t want anything happening to him. The driver can go on a vacation, and I know you want the cash. You’ll get a raise.”

“That’s a low blow...” Ichigo mumbled and pocketed the keys. 

“And Grimmjow, I don’t need you out making a bad image for yourself. There’s a limit to how much of a bad boy people want to see.” Aizen explained. He stood up and fixed his suit cuffs. “See you gentlemen in a couple weeks. Good night.” he left the room.

Ichigo rubbed his neck. “Guess you’re not getting laid tonight.”

Grimmjow thew a towel, but Ichigo caught it.

~~~

Apparently, Aizen wanted Ichigo as a live-in driver/bodyguard because Grimmjow found the boy was always closer than he thought. Thankfully, his bachelor pad was big enough for a family, and there was a separate building that was almost the size of a single home itself. Ichigo took up temporary residence there. Grimmjow was annoyed at first when Ichigo’s friends had rung his doorbell instead of going to the other building. He gave them as much attitude as he could muster, but they didn’t seem too troubled. 

He was shocked to see one of his bodyguard’s friends show up in training clothes with a pair of kickboxing gloves on. Then, the one benefit of Ichigo’s presence came in the form of Mr. Chad Yatsutora. Grimmjow was surprised to learn that his bodyguard did in fact take up some physical training and sparred. Chad was willing to spar with Grimmjow but insisted that he was still and up-and-coming fighter and nothing compared to the undefeated celebrity. 

Grimmjow should have called bullshit. 

Grimmjow chugged his water bottle and looked over as his bodyguard and his best friend chatted away after the two had gone at it for about an hour. Chad still needed some help with speed, but his blows were powerful.

Chad returned to Grimmjow and did a little bow. “Thank you.” 

Grimmjow shook his head. “Ah, don’t worry about it. You’re more fun than going to the gym. They’re too uptight.”

Chad simply nodded and looked over at Ichigo. “You don’t train with Ichigo?”

Grimmjow was a bit surprised at first and laughed. “The Strawberry?” he howled. “You’re kidding.”

Chad shook his head. “He’s good.” That was all he said before bowing again then leaving with his things. 

‘He’s good.’ That rung in Grimmjow’s head for a few days. Now, that he thought about it, Ichigo did seem to keep up during the endurance training the fighter did at home. Grimmjow would run miles in the neighborhood, and Ichigo would be only trailing by a few yards saying that he needed to keep an eye out for his surroundings. Ichigo would occasionally spot for Grimmjow in case he thought the man was pushing his boundaries at home with no Shawlong to watch him. Grimmjow was sure that Ichigo was fit well enough to have some of his own fights, but the man would never step into a practice ring with him. He wanted to change that.

Grimmjow walked down stairs and spotted the young man in his kitchen--the other building didn’t have everything. Ichigo felt his presence and turned. “Do you believe in clothes?” addressing Grimmjow’s nowhere-to-be-found shirt. 

Grimmjow wanted to get annoyed, but he had a mission. “Shut it, you like it.” he mumbled. He watched as Ichigo fixed himself a bowl of cereal. “Fight me.” the words came out before he could stop.

Ichigo lazily looked up at him before shoving a spoon in his mouth and shaking his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Kinda stupid for a bodyguard to hurt the person he’s meant to protect.” Ichigo answered before going back to enjoying his cereal as he leaned on the counter.

Grimmjow wasn’t going to budge. “Oh what protecting? I’m fine.”

Ichigo raised a brow before placing his bowl down and reaching into his basketball shorts for a phone. He unlocked it and pulled up the gallery before tossing the phone. “Those are photos that vary from stalkers, paparazzi, suspicious vehicles, and the occasional bold fan that thinks they can climb a wall.”

Grimmjow swiped through them while Ichigo went back to his cereal. “How come I never knew this?”

“It’s my job to make sure nothing crazy happens. You train and fight, and I keep the weirdos away.”

Grimmjow didn’t want to admit it, but he had a point. He handed back the phone. “I don’t care about that right now. I want to fight you. I need a challenge, and your buddy has his own fights to prepare for.” he paused. “What’s the problem, Strawberry? Ya scared?”

Ichigo glared at him. “Watch it. Aizen, isn’t here to protect you.”

“I think you’re forgetting which one of is an undefeated professional fighter.”

“And one of us has the job of protecting said fighter.” Ichigo then grinned. “I also ain’t the one begging for a fight.” 

“Oi, I don’t beg Kurosaki.”

Ichigo chugged his cereal milk and wiped his mouth. “Keep that pretty face of yours in check. I don’t want to be the one who messes it up.” And with that he walked away and left out the backdoor. 

Grimmjow wanted to chase after him. His instincts were ringing loudly that Ichigo might be the challenge that he needed to get ready for his next fight. He was annoyed and irritable. He obsessed over a challenging contender, and Ichigo might have been what he needed to satiate his desires.

~~~

Ichigo was back in a suit and sat boredly as he watched Grimmjow tore through his training. He went through drills, exercises, and sparring opponents. He was having a bad attitude day. Ichigo thought about his proposal from the other night. Old man Urahara recommended he take the bodyguard position as a way for him to get some type of career going. The old man also said he was tired of patching up Ichigo from his fights with local gangsters, and that he could at least surround himself with some legal fights. 

Ichigo wasn’t so keen on the idea, but he wanted a change of pace where he could help his sisters save for school. Aizen came along after Urahara suggested him. Aizen happened upon a video of Ichigo putting in some work on some thugs who had tried to rob an old lady. Once Aizen learned that he also trained with Chad, he took on the candidate. Of course, Ichigo had to go through vigorous security training and could tell you more about doors and windows than you knew existed. He kept up with the sparring and took on some other fight training to keep him sharp.

He did enjoy watching Grimmjow’s fights, but he knew the man for the attitude and temper he had. They clashed and argued all the time, and that only settled a little since Chad presented as a chance to get some steam out for both of them.

Ichigo caught a water bottle tossed his way. “Take your clothes off.” Grimmjow growled at him breathing heavily and sweating.

Okay, Ichigo did blush slightly at that. “Take me to dinner at least first.” He ducked from a flying glove. “What the hell man?”

“I ain’t taking no for an answer, Kurosaki. You can fight. I know it. I’m tired of waiting. So get in that damn locker room or take me home and we’ll do it there.”

Ichigo was stunned at first, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it this time. He tossed the keys out from his pocket and twirled them around his finger. “Alright, pretty boy. Don’t complain if you get hurt.”

“Hell yeah, Kurosaki.”

~~~

So some gentle flirting. Maybe a part two. Who knows? Let me know what you think. I appreciate the read and hope to contribute more to this fandom. 

Thanks! 

#bleach #bleach anime #ichigo kurosaki #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #grimmichi #ichigo x grimmjow #grimmjow x ichigo #au #fanfic #bodyguard au #partyanimal167 #mine

[wallgirl]

La Squadra - Trailer Park Boys

1400 words, some harsh language, nothing worse

@moody-blues-requiem Here ya go

               Risotto awoke to the sound of violins blaring into his ear. With a groan, he dragged a sweaty hand over his face and grabbed his phone off the nightstand. The time was 11:02 AM, and somebody had changed his alarm tone from Master of Puppets to Thong Song. “Goddammit, Melone,” he groaned as Sisqo launched into the second verse. He shut the alarm off and threw his phone down onto the worn comforter, stretching his arms and reaching for his wife-beater that he’d discarded onto the floor the night before. Pulling it brusquely over his head, he got up to push the dusty blinds aside and look out into the yard.

               The bedroom window overlooked an area where three trailer lots met, meaning there were tons of grass growing along the property lines that no one bothered to mow and discarded beer cans and golf balls no one bothered to claim. That was, until Ghiaccio got around to bitching at them. He’d been doing a lot of that lately, since the summer heat was in full swing. No one hated the hot weather more than Ghiaccio. In the distance, a dog started barking viciously. A familiar voice – Formaggio? – sounded from somewhere nearby outside. “Shut up, Biggie!”

               Risotto stepped out of the dark bedroom and into the combined living and kitchen area of the trailer, taking care to avoid a plastic bag lying on the ground that had splatters of God-knows-what on it. Prosciutto was standing at the kitchen island, rollers in his hair and wrapped in a tattered blue bathrobe, mixing himself a drink.

               “You’re up late,” Prosciutto commented as he poured vodka into the plastic cup and added a maraschino cherry.

               “Melone messed with my alarm again.” Risotto rubbed his eyes, and as an afterthought, added, “I’m gonna kick his ass one of these days.”

               “You and me both,” Prosciutto snorted, taking a quick swig of the vodka before continuing to pour more into the cup. “You look like you’re in a hurry.”

               “Me, Sorbet, and Gelato have to head over to Carne’s today to take a look at his A/C,” Risotto said, grabbing a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge. He checked the expiration date and reconsidered, dropping it unceremoniously into the trash can nearby. “We’re late.”

               “That sounds like fun,” a second voice chirped. Illuso strode out from the second bedroom, pulling on his daisy-dukes and wiggling his hips. Risotto caught an eyeful of one stubbly ass-cheek hanging halfway out and groaned, turning his face away.

               “Like them?” Illuso teased with a smirk, slapping his butt to make it jiggle a bit. “I bleached and cut them myself, you know.”

               “And where the hell might you be going dressed like that?” Prosciutto asked, lip curled in disgust.

               “To the beach. It’s hot as hell outside, and Trish asked me if I wanted to go prowl and get ice cream.”

               Prosciutto spat his vodka out. “Trish?”

               Risotto’s eyes widened. “Why are you…?”

               “Hey, didn’t you say we should be getting friendly with her to get on the Boss’s good graces?” Illuso quipped, checking his eyebrows with a compact that he slipped into his back pocket. “Guess I’ll be doing the heavy-lifting. The rest of you creep her the hell out.”

               “Oh, and nobody’s gonna think you’re a creep going out like that,” Prosciutto hissed, glaring pointedly at Illuso’s rear-end.

               “I’m done here,” Risotto said flatly, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge instead and stepping out onto the front porch to light up a cigarette.

               In the gravel drive that made up most of the front yard, two men squatted next to a stripped-down riding lawnmower. Tools and greasy rags were spread out next to them, and a compact radio on the bottom front step fizzled out the day’s forecast. “High of 92 today, cooling down to a low of 73 by midnight,” the forecaster trilled. “Coming up, we’ll be playing Sugar Ray’s 1999 hit-“

               Risotto reached down abruptly and snapped the radio off. One of the men, wearing ripped jeans with the cuffs rolled up and a stained crop top knotted in the front, looked up. “Hey! You can’t turn off Sugar Ray on me.”

               “If you mess with my alarm again Melone, you’re a dead man.”

               “Geez,” Melone sighed, stretching his back and pulling at the knot in his shirt. “This heat might beat you to it, Risotto. But please, mind your language around the newest member to our family.” He rested a hand on the lawnmower.

               The man next to him smiled and pulled off his worn camo vest, using it to mop his forehead before tossing it away onto the gravel. “Way to put Risotto in a great mood, Melone.”

               “Don’t encourage him, Formaggio,” Risotto huffed.

               “Oh, I’m not, though I won’t pretend like I don’t get a kick out of it.”

               “Enough bullshitting. Have either of you seen Sorbet and Gelato?”

               Formaggio rose his eyebrows. “They didn’t come back last night?”

               “No. They said they were going to Denny’s. Haven’t heard from them since.”

               Melone slapped his cheek dramatically, leaving a grease smudge. “Oh, that’s right! They called last night. It was your phone, too. Happened while I was fucking with your alarm. They said they got arrested for starting some fight at the Dollar General down the road from Denny’s. They need you to bail them out.”

               Formaggio made a ‘yikes’ face and inched subtly away from Risotto, who had become a towering pillar of seething rage.

               “They called… and you never told me…?” He hissed, face dark with anger.

               “Well, it was like 2 AM,” Melone explained in all seriousness.

               Silence.

               “They didn’t even say ‘please,’” Melone added.

                Risotto’s sour expression didn’t change. Not one wrinkle.

               “Oh, come on, Risotto, you were bitching just last week about leaving them to sit for a few days if they got hauled in again,” Formaggio snorted. Risotto’s gaze slid away, conceding.

               “Hand me that socket, ‘mag,” Melone interjected, holding out a greasy hand.

               “What the hell are you two building now?”

               “We call her the Pesci-cutioner,” Melone beamed, giving the frame a loving caress. “Our latest pride and joy. We’re gonna haul her over to Cioccolata’s in a little bit so we can film Pesci catching some serious air.” Formaggio pursed back a grunting laugh.

               Prosciutto came out to join them on the porch, a new drink – this time a Natty Ice – in hand. “Did you say Cioccolata? That weird bastard who lives two blocks down?”

               “Yeah, why?”

               “Didn’t he set fire to some old grandpa’s house a few years back?”

               “Completely irrelevant, Pros,” Formaggio grinned, taking a drink from a nearby thermos. “He had the money to spare for a bigger ramp and a shared enthusiasm for seeing Pesci drive off into the blue, so we’re hauling the Pesci-cutioner over to his place. Besides, he’s got an actual video camera we can use.”

               “My Youtube followers are gonna loooove this one,” Melone whispered.

               “You are not fucking having Pesci drive off fucking anything!” Prosciutto screamed, drink sloshing in his hand. “Do you hear me?! I’ve had enough of this crap!”

               “Christ, Prosciutto, that’s my ear you’re screaming into!” Melone shouted, cupping his head. “Pesci’s twenty-two years old! Let the man have some fun and quit babying him!”

               “What was it the last time I had to take him to the ER?!” Prosciutto continued, face contorted with rage. “You remember! What, three eggnogs and the-?”

               “The paint pellets,” Formaggio finished. Melone choked his laughter back into his hand.

               “The god-damn paint pellets!” Prosciutto barreled on. “That’s right! I swear to God, if you even–“

               “Enough,” Risotto grumbled, patience gone. “They won’t be going anywhere with Pesci for a while anyway, Prosciutto. I have to take the truck to bail out Sorbet and Gelato.”

               “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Prosciutto ground out, rubbing his temple with his drink-free hand. “What was it this time?”

               “Disorderly conduct at the Dollar General on Webster.”

               “Of course it was.”

               “Aw, come on, Risotto, don’t ruin our fun!” Melone protested as Risotto swung open the truck’s door.

               “I’ll be back in an hour,” Risotto thundered, bringing the conversation to a close. “People can drive off whatever they fucking want to then.” And he drove off.

#la squadra #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba #risotto nero #prosciutto #melone #formaggio #illuso #pesci #ghiaccio #sorbet #gelato #la squadra au #did I really spend an hour and a half writing this #but it came to me so easily

[jobros-pleaseinteract]

Footprints

Birthday present for @bucky-babe who wanted some Ironhusbands so here we have a college AU (and a surprise AU very fun) also latinx Tony Stark. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Bucky!

Tagging @myspideysensesrtingling @starksnack @sbidermanstan @cptdcnvers @sleepyoldchild @spideysstark @bamboozledfucker @irndad @thors-bleached-eyebrows

warnings: some hints to Howard Stark’s A+ parenting

    College. A terrifying time in any young person’s life, but even more terrifying if that young person looked like they were fifteen years old. Tony Stark, genius son of Howard Stark, at seventeen years of age is beginning his academic career at university, and the poor boy is fucking terrified. His father is too busy at some business meeting to help his only child move in, but his mamá is there with him, along with Jarvis to help him carry all his boxes in. Tony can feel his arms start to shake, and he can try to kid himself it’s from the weight of the box he holds in his arms, but deep down he knows it’s because he is about to shit his pants from fear. Sure, he’d gone to boarding school before, but this is different. Here, he is the youngest, a baby, and no one is gonna want to befriend a baby.

    A gentle hand passes over his head, caressing his head of curls. “Mi vida,” his mamá whispers to him as they wait for Jarvis to shut the trunk. “Mi amor, calm down. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

    Tony lets out a cough, trying to calm his racing heart. Yeah, nothing to be afraid of, except, you know, bullies and shit. He’s seen movies. He knows what college frat bros are capable of. He just wants to be challenged… and also maybe he wants to get away from his bastard of a father, but that’s besides the point.

    “You are going to do great things here, mi amor. I can feel it.”

    He can feel a smile tug at his lips. “Gracias, mamá.”

    It flows off his tongue like a river, his mamá’s native language that Howard refuses to allow under his roof. Maria wraps an arm around her son and runs her fingers through his thick brunette curls. She’s going to miss him as she always does when Howard sends her boy away. She’s left with an empty house all to herself; her husband is almost never home, not that she minds, but she misses when she could still hear her Tony’s laughter fill the cold halls.

    “You’ll call me,” she says more than asks. He always calls his mamá.

    “Claro. Who else are you going to complain to about the women in your book club?”

    “Ay, why your father insisted I join those ridiculous women is beyond me.” Maria rolls her eyes. “The books they choose are boring, and all they talk about are their yachts or houses in the Hamptons.”

    “You don’t want to talk about that?”

    A laugh escapes her. Howard may paint her as some sort of Spanish nobility for the press, but that wasn’t her. She was Mexican born, Los Angeles raised, and she wasn’t used to the life Howard led when they first married. She still wasn’t used to all the bragging and pettiness that came with being married to a Stark. The only good thing to come from her marriage is her son. And her friendship with the Jarvis couple.

    “Vamos,” she calls when the three of them manage to grab everything, “we have a dorm to see.”

    Tony, he isn’t so sure what to expect from a college dorm, but whatever it had been, it definitely does not match up with what he sees when he opens the door. Whoever his roommate is, well… he’s a total slob. Tony can feel the crease form between his eyebrows as he takes in the set of footprints on their carpet. What asshole tracks dirty footprints on a new carpet?

    “Oh, hi!” a warm voice greets from inside. “You must be James’s roommate!”

    He’s being swept up in a tight hug. It’s warm, maybe even warmer than the hugs his mamá gives. He’s released, and he sees who had embraced him. She’s beautiful, that’s for sure, and her face is so kind, all laugh lines and dimples. She’s big, bigger than tiny Tony, and he loves it. She’s like some sort of goddess, completely different from mamá, and yet exactly the same. The love they carry in their souls just radiates from them.

    “James!” the goddess yells into the bathroom. “James Rhodes, you get out here and meet your roommate!”

    “Okay, Ma, there’s no need to yell. I’m only five feet away, you know.”

    And there he is. An angel right before his eyes. Tall, dark, handsome--no, gorgeous. Wow, I am so gay, goes through Tony’s mind before he realizes, this is my roommate. You don’t hook up with your roommate, even if he is the most beautiful being Tony has ever seen in his entire fucking life.

    “Hi,” Tony squeaks, his voice cracking in a way that just makes him want to crawl in a hole and live out the rest of his days like some hermit, “I’m Tony.”

    “James,” the angel--his roommate--says, and his warm ass hand fucking engulfs Tony’s tiny one, and Tony wants to melt into the carpet right there. “It’s nice to meet you, Tony.”

    The goddess, who Tony’s infers is James’s mother, holds out her hand to Maria and gives her a warm smile. “Roberta Rhodes.”

    “Maria, pleasure to meet you.”

    “This your husband?”

    “Oh, no,” Jarvis scrambles to put down his boxes and shake Mrs. Rhodes’s hand. “Edwin Jarvis, I’m a, uh, family friend. Here to help him move in.”

    “Your husband working? That’s understandable, Terrence is back home looking after our daughter while I get to help James get settled in.” Mrs. Rhodes lowers her voice and stage-whispers, “He was nervous to meet his roommate.”

    “Ma!”

    “But I don’t think there’s any need to be nervous. You seem like a good boy, Tony.”

    “I, uh… I am?” He looks to his mamá for some guidance.

    “James has nothing to worry about with Tony other than late nights and some skipped meals. Recuerde comer, mi vida,” Maria tells her son. “Hopefully they can look after each other while they’re here.”

    They start unpacking, and Tony can’t get over the fact that his super hot roommate is the kind of guy to 1) wear shoes inside and 2) wear dirty shoes inside. Their carpet is absolutely covered in footprints, and while Tony isn’t a neat freak, it does kinda piss him off. But he can’t just call him out in front of everyone, can he? He’s actually a bit surprised Jarvis hasn’t said anything about it. But whatever, right? It’s the first day, and they’ve got a lot of stuff to move in, so it makes sense James would keep his shoes on, and Tony can always clean it up later… hopefully.

    Although Tony hates to admit it, he cries when mamá and Jarvis has to go. He’s a baby, practically, and he’s being left on his own to take care of himself. He can’t do that! He has problems with sleeping and eating and just, well, taking general care of himself!

    “You are going to be just fine,” Maria tells him as she cradles his baby face in her hands. “You are so talented, Tony, and I am so proud of you. So proud.”

    Tony sniffles and looks up at her with glossy brown eyes. “Are you sure?”

    “Of course, mi amor, I will always be proud of you.” She presses a kiss to his forehead and closes her eyes. “Te quiero, Tony.”

    “Te quiero, mamá.”

    Jarvis ruffles his hair and promises to write before he and Maria get in the car and drive off. Leaving him alone on the curb, fighting tears. He’ll be fine. Stark men don’t cry.

    Tony and James fall into an easy sort of friendship, and Tony starts to feel more comfortable at school. Rhodey, what James has lovingly been renamed, still tracks in those goddamn footprints, but Tony can’t bring himself to call him out on it. Whenever he feels frustration creep up inside of him, he remembers what always happens when he tries to make his father listen to him, and suddenly he’s unable to say anything to Rhodey about his messy habits. So he keeps his mouth shut and his head down whenever he wants to say something. He can handle this.

    His friends think he’s a fucking idiot for not just bringing it up. Well, they think he’s an idiot for a lot of other reasons, but they especially get onto him for this. Somehow, around a week into the semester, he managed to collect three mom friends: Carol, Pepper, and Natasha. He and Carol share a class together, but that’s not how she adopted him. No, it was outside of class, on the quad, when she and the other two girls were studying and talking shit, when suddenly this small boy was tripping over his shoelaces and his books were flying everywhere. They saw tiny Tony and adopted him on the spot, and now they made sure he actually ate, got more than two hours of sleep a week, and communicated with his freakishly hot roommate.

    “Tones, if the guy keeps tracking in dirt, fucking tell him,” Natasha sighs as they’re lounging on Tony’s bed one Friday night. “It’s obviously bothering you enough keep bitching to us about it.”

    “But what if he gets mad at me?”

    “He’s the one being slob,” Pepper points out.

    “If he gives you a hard time about it,” Carol says, “we’ll kick his ass. Now hold still.”

    Carol had bought some new nail polish and wanted to try it out on Tony, claiming the red and gold would go perfect with his dark skin. It’ll totally pop, Tones, just trust me, she had said when she’d pulled out the bottles. So now he’s lounging between Natasha’s legs, her fingers lightly scratching against his scalp while Carol paints his nails and Pepper flips through a magazine.

    “Where is your Adonis anyways?” Pepper asks. “He got plans?”

    “I think he said he had a Smash Bros tournament with uh… Sam? You guys know Sam Wilson?”

    “Yeah, he’s friends with Steve Rogers and that other guy with the man bun,” Carol answers. “Wait, Nat, didn’t you hook up with man bun?”

    “Like, once. Okay, so it was twice, but what can I say? He’s got nice arms.”

    “Thirsty.”

    “Shut up, Pepper, so are you.”

    “Wh-- no I am not, I am completely, 100% focused on classes, thank you very much! You have absolutely nothing on--”

    The door swing open, and Rhodey walks in looking a bit winded. He waves to the girls and Tony before disappearing into the bathroom.

    “...If he left a Smash Bros tournament, he isn’t worth it, Tones,” Carol tells him. “A quitter never makes an attractive partner, let me just tell you that right now.

    “Hey!” Rhodey comes back in and smiles. “Sorry for interrupting your party, but I remembered Sam let me borrow one of his hoodies last week, and if I don’t return it tonight, he’s never gonna let me live it down.”

    “Oh, was it the one hanging in the shower?” Tony realizes.

    “That’s the one! I got salsa on it and had to scrub it out.” He grins at Tony, and the younger boy swears his heart skipped like five beats. “Anyways, I’ll be back in a few hours. Want me to bring you back some pizza, Tones?”

    “That would be amazing, platypus, thank you!”

    “Anything for my tiny Tony.”

    The girls wait until he’s gone before turning back to their friend with wide eyes. He just looks back at them innocently.

    “What?”

    “What do you mean ‘what’?” Pepper says. “You just called him platypus, and he just called you his tiny Tony!”

    “Yeah, we have nicknames for each other, so what?”

    “Tony, it was the way he said it,” Natasha sighs. “We already know you’re in love with him--”

    “I am not!”

    “But, Tony, he sounded pretty fond of you.”

    “People can be fond platonically! You are fond of me! And for your information, I am not in love with him.” He stands up, ignoring the annoyed shout Carol gives him when the nail polish gets smudged, and puts his hands on his hips. “I am not in love with someone who is completely incapable of taking off his dirty ass shoes before walking on the carpet! I mean, just look at how messy it is!”

    The girls look down at the floor and are quiet for a few moments. Tony waits as they continue to stare at the floor and them give him a worried look.

    “What?” he asks.

    “Tony… there are no footprints on the carpet,” Pepper tells him.

    “What the hell are you talking about? Are you blind?” He gestures to the carpet where he can clearly see a trail of footprints leading to and from the bathroom. “They’re right here!”

    “Oh my god, you cannot be this stupid,” Carol laughs. “Are you being serious right now?”

    “Yes!”

    “Tones, if we can’t see the footprints you can clearly see,” Natasha says, “then have you considered he’s your--”

    “If you’re gonna say soulmate, I’m just going to stop you right there,” Tony interrupts her. “There is no way someone like me could ever have a soulmate, let alone one like Rhodey.”

    “And why do you say that?”

    “Because… well… because I’m me. Tony Stark, the absolute fuck up! I mean, my own father can’t even stand to be in the same room as me for more than five minutes without telling me what a terrible son I am! Why should I be soulmates with someone as wonderful as James Rhodes?”

    “There’s a lot to unpack here, but--”

    “ANTHONY EDWARD STARK, YOU GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS THIS INSTANT! HE IS YOUR SOULMATE OKAY?” Pepper suddenly yells, causing the others to stare at her with wide eyes. “You can see his footprints, we can. There is literally no other explanation for this!”

    “Pepper,” Carol hisses. She can’t just yell at Tony and expect everything to--

    “Yes, ma’am.”

    “Oh, wow, did not actually expect that to work.”

    “Well… you guys are like my moms, so. I listen to you.”

    “He listens to you, well that’s just great,” Carol grumbles. “He doesn’t listen to me.”

    “That’s because you’re just as reckless and stupid as him, Danvers,” Pepper says back. “Now, Tony, I want you to actually talk to James about this, okay? You know now that he isn’t just some asshole who likes to track dirt into the dorm; he’s your soulmate.”

    “But I mean, do we really--”

    “Don’t make me pull the full name card again, Tony, because you know I will.”

    “...Fine. I will talk to him about this. Now, Carol, can you please fix my nails? I think I fucked them up.

    Rhodey sneaks back into the dorm after midnight, trying hard to be quiet in case Tony went to bed. Of course, the little insomniac did not go to bed, and is instead sitting at his desk waiting for his roommate/soulmate. When he hears the door click shut, he turns on his desk lamp and swivels his chair, causing Rhodey to let out a shriek.

    “Oh, fuck! It’s just you, Tones. You scared the shit out of me, man.” He can see Tony chewing the inside of his cheek as if trying to find the right words to say. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

    “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong, or at least I don’t think so, I just, uh. Fuck. Okay so basically… I think you’re really hot, and I have since we first met, and, like, that’s really weird because we’re roommates and I most definitely should not be thinking that, and then I noticed you kept tracking fucking dirt onto our carpet, but I didn’t want to say anything in case you got mad, because I don’t like it when people yell at me, probably because of like childhood trauma or some shit, I dunno, but then today Carol, Pepper, and Nat realized that you weren’t tracking dirt into the dorm, I just saw your footprints, which, you know, means we’re soulmates.”

    “Wait… what?”

    Oh, god, Rhodey didn’t know. “Oh, well, we’re--well I think we’re soulmates. Because I can see your footprints when no one else can.”

    “Yeah, no I knew that.”

    “You knew?”

    “Uh, it’s pretty obvious when I can see your footprints, Tony, even when you’re not wearing shoes.”

    “Well… why didn’t you say anything?” Tony could feel his chest start to get tight and his breathing pick up. “Oh, god, you don’t want me, do you? That’s why you didn’t say anything! Because, because you know I’d be a terrible soulmate, and you don’t want that, and you deserve someone way better, someone like Sam Wilson, because he’s so cool, oh god, who wouldn’t want to be soulmates with Sam Wilson, he’s like--”

    Tony stops talking when Rhodey cradles his face in his warm ass hands, his entire brain going blank.

    “Whoa, there, calm down, okay? I didn’t say anything because I thought you knew, Tony.” Rhodey lets out a laugh and shakes his head. “Hell, I thought we’ve been dating for like a month now!”

    “...what.”

    “Yeah, you started calling me Rhodey and platypus and honeybear, and we’ve been cuddling and holding hands, so I thought you knew! Oh, god, this is so embarrassing! I totally thought we’ve been dating!”

    “Well, I… I mean, we could, uh, well, if you wanted to, I wouldn’t object to us, like, actually dating. As in we both know we’re dating.”

    “Oh you wouldn’t, would you?” Rhodey asks with a smile. “Well, would you object if I were to kiss you right now?”

    Oh my god, he wants to kiss me!

    “I mean, if you really wanted to.”

    “Oh, shut up, Tones.”

    “Why don’t you make m--”

    Rhodey leans down to kiss him before Tony can finish his snarky comment, and Tony does not mind one bit. Because Tony has never felt anything as fucking perfect as kissing Rhodey. His whole body grows warm as Rhodey wraps his arms around him, and Tony practically melts against him when he feels Rhodey’s fingers gently tug on his curls. He’s kissing his soulmate, and his soulmate is fucking James Rhodes, his platypus, his honeybear, his Rhodey.

#hope you like it! #i attempt to write #ironhusbands

[moon-minghao]

‘gentle hands and quiet hearts’

@hungline requested: friends to lovers au for junhao (slight angst)

words: 3780 

cw: violence, underage drinking and smoking, minor homophobia 

summary:  and maybe junhui is saying something more, but minghao isn’t listening. he can only think about jun’s hands, long fingers carding through minghao’s damaged hair, and he can only think about how something inside of him doesn’t want it to stop. he wants junhui to keep touching him. the thought makes him sick to his stomach. 

[or, a play told in nine parts]

I.

xu minghao is seven when he first meets wen junhui. they are two kids at the park, sitting next to each other because they have no one else. they become close in the quick, confident way that children always do: it only takes a few conversations about their families and favorite superheroes before they are inseparable, ‘friends forever’.

junhui is two years older than him, quiet but cocky in a way that minghao subconsciously tries to mimic whenever he talks to other kids. once, they spend the whole day at the creek in the woods behind minghao’s house, and junhui convinces him that if he swims too deep he’ll be taken by evil river monsters that eat young boys. he says it just to make sure that minghao doesn’t end up in over his head and drown, but his plan works too well and minghao refuses to wade into anything deeper than his ankles for weeks.

II.

minghao doesn’t know the name of the boy who has hit him.

he only knows that the slap stung, that now he is standing in the street and that a gang of older children who he does not know but apparently know him are watching as his eyes well up with tears.

it only takes a second before minghao punches the boy back across the jaw, and then they are fighting. minghao knows he is going to lose; the boy is much stronger than him and the crowd that has circled around them is not on his side.

the boy keeps calling minghao names, poison words that he has heard before but doesn’t quite know what they mean, and all of a sudden minghao can’t hear anything because he gets punched in the gut, hard enough to make him double over and gasp for air. he takes a second, a quick second to glance at the kids surrounding him. he can tell that there is someone trying to break through the crowd and get to the front, the way the people are shifting to allow the person through.

minghao doesn’t see much after that, because the instant that he looks away is the instant that the boy knocks him out.

it’s quick, the time where all he can see is darkness, but it’s long enough to be a clear sign that the fight is over. the boy who’s name minghao does not know has won. by the time he opens his eyes, the crowd is slowly starting to disperse.

“minghao?”

he turns his head slowly to the sound of his own name. he knows that it’s junhui who called out to him, even before he sees his concerned face.

“ah. hey junhui.”

junhui rushes forward and yanks minghao up, before turning to the boy who gave him a beating. at fourteen, jun is tall and broad-shouldered, just enough to appear threatening to strangers.

“if you’ll kindly excuse us, you bastards.” jun is quiet and cold, and the left over crowd parts as he drags minghao away from the scene.

they walk all the way to jun’s house, all the way to the upstairs bathroom.

minghao sits on the edge of the bathtub, watching as jun pulls gauze and a washcloth from the wooden cabinet beneath bathroom sink. soon, jun is kneeling in front of him, washing off minghao’s split knuckles.

“did he break your nose? shouldn’t it have stopped bleeding by now?”

“i don’t know.”

“what happened?”

“i don’t know. those kids have always hated me. today one of them sort of attacked me, i guess.”

junhui nods. his hands are gentle as they wipe the blood away, eventually he begins to clean up minghao’s face, too, telling him to tilt his head back while he bandages up his nose.

“only a coward picks fights with people that are younger and less experienced. did he hurt you anywhere else?” jun asks. his hand is still resting on minghao’s cheek, now just a reassuring touch.

“he probably bruised my fucking ribs,” minghao says as he reaches up and pushes jun’s arm away, “but you can’t really help me with that.”

a silence settles over them as junhui puts the supplies back where he found them. jun keeps looking at minghao, and minghao just keeps his eyes trained on the ground, occasionally lifting up his fist to re-inspect his split knuckles.  

III.

minghao is fifteen when he first hears the rumors. like all stories started by upperclassmen, it takes a while to get to him, whispers that started weeks ago eventually falling onto his ears.

“did you hear about wen junhui?” a girl asks her group of friends. minghao, who is putting his things away in his locker, stops short. he’s curious about the gossip this girl is spreading about his closest friend, wonders if jun got a girlfriend and hadn’t told minghao yet. the idea unsettles him.

another girl responds, “the eleventh grader? the handsome one?”

“yeah. people are saying he’s a total pansy. he’s turned down every confession he’s ever gotten from girls. and you’ve seen the way he is with jeon wonwoo.”

“or with xu minghao.”

“i’d definitely believe that…” this time it’s a guy speaking, and minghao quickly stops listening.

he grabs his books and walks to class.

that afternoon, when he’s walking home with junhui, he can’t stop himself before asking, “have you heard what kids are saying about you?”

jun looks surprised, he exhales the smoke from his cigarette before turning to minghao and shrugging.

minghao realizes that he doesn’t know how to reiterate what he has heard without it sounding like an interrogation. he’s not here for answers, doesn’t care either way, he just wants to let jun know. so he picks apart the rumor in his head, and finally latches onto a detail to exploit.

“they’re saying that you’re fucking wonwoo.”

at this, jun half chortles and half chokes, red creeping up to his cheeks, “wonwoo? like, jeon wonwoo?”

minghao nods.

“i can assure you, i am not fucking wonwoo.” junhui says it quietly but incredulously, still blushing. suddenly minghao wants to know more, and so he mentally prepares himself to be the cat that curiosity kills.

“do you want to fuck wonwoo?”  

“look, kid,” junhui starts, and that’s when minghao knows he’s gone too far. junhui rarely acts like his elder, too shy and too afraid of any sort of power. “you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

minghao watches jun quicken his pace, and is reminded once again that jun is all sharp angles and dark eyes, long hair tied back and cigarette smoke. he looks like the opposite of what he really is; kind and gentle and honest.  

“yeah. i suppose i don’t.”

IV.

“trust me, hao, you’ll look super cool when this is over with.”

minghao laughs. junhui had somehow convinced him that he should dye his hair blonde, and now they are sitting on minghao’s bedroom floor with bottles of dye surrounding them. minghao is trying to read through the instruction packet and junhui is sitting behind him, rubbing the bleach into minghao’s hair. they’ve been working their way through a six-pack of cheap liquor, and now they are full of childlike giggles, minds hazy.

“my eyes are killing me, junnie, please tell me it’ll be done soon.”

jun nods. “it is. go wash your hair out and then come sit back here.”

he does as he is told, keeps his eyes shut tight as he steps quickly into the shower. by the time he gets back, junhui has cleaned the room slightly and has opened another beer. jun pats the space in front of him and minghao sits again, not asking any questions.

before minghao really comprehends what is happening, junhui is brushing out minghao’s drying hair. he keeps switching between his fingers and a small hairbrush, and in any situation minghao would be mortified, but he’s just drunk enough to allow it for a few moments, junhui mumbling about how he does look cool, really really cool.

and maybe junhui is saying something more, but minghao isn’t listening. he can only think about jun’s hands, long fingers carding through minghao’s damaged hair, and he can only think about how something inside of him doesn’t want it to stop. he wants junhui to keep touching him. the thought makes him sick to his stomach, adding onto the butterflies he is desperately trying to ignore.

he shifts away and turns around, putting some distance between himself and junhui, who drops his hands and starts sipping on his drink. minghao is too busy pretending that his heart doesn’t ache at the loss of closeness, of contact, to notice that jun is staring at him.

“everything alright?”

jun’s voice is soft and minghao’s heart drops, a sensation that makes him feel more nauseous.

“yes, i’m fine, just had too much to drink.”

“poor lightweight hao hao” he teases, then reaches forward to press the back of his hand against minghao’s forehead.  the gentle touch and the way that junhui is looking at him turns the butterflies into lions and he barely makes it to the sink before he starts vomiting.

V.

he is sixteen, now, and junhui is going away for college next year. in a few months minghao will be left all alone, but they have become skilled in the art of not talking about the things they don’t want to. so, his best friend is leaving soon but really all he can think about is how he’s lost his cigarettes.

“junnie… do you have a pack?”

minghao asks, quietly. they are standing outside under a street lamp, next to the park where they first met, but everything is darker now, bathed in the dim, blinking light.

“yeah, hold on a second.”

in a few moments, jun is pulling out a cigarette and handing it to minghao, who perches it between his lips and starts to search for his own lighter. junhui watches, half amused as minghao goes through his pockets, then his book bag, then back through his pockets again, until eventually groaning.

“i got it, i got it.” jun says before minghao even has the chance to ask. he pulls a lighter out of his back pocket and steps forward.

minghao feels his heart drop again, a feeling he has gotten used to but doesn’t understand or want. junhui holds the flame up to the end of minghao’s cigarette, using his other hand to block the wind that wasn’t all that strong.

they get closer, eyes meeting for a split second, and junhui wants nothing more than to pick the cigarette out of minghao’s mouth and then close the gap between them, but he can’t tell what minghao is thinking, so he waits, cautious and hopeful. minghao looks away and steps back.

“thanks.”

“no problem.” jun responds quickly, leaning back against the fence and taking a deep breath. a car passes by and junhui wants to scream, because minghao is always so so close, but never quite close enough.

VI.

it is raining out, softly but persistent, and minghao is doing school work at junhui’s desk. jun is sitting in his bed playing a game on his phone. his room hasn’t changed much over the years, minghao thinks, it’s still the same off-white walls, creaky desk and messily written stick-it notes on the walls.

minghao is trying to do math, which never really ends well, and he want to bang his head against a bunch of bricks but instead he sighs, and turns to where junhui is.

“calculus is a bitch.” minghao states, making jun chuckle before he sits up, crossing his legs on the bed in order to create more space on the mattress.

he waves minghao over, flashes a smile. “c’mere. i’m sure we can work out the issue.”

the younger boy nods, standing up and grabbing his textbooks and worksheets to go sit opposite junhui, laying out the schoolwork between them. he points to a problem with his pencil, launching into an explanation of his calculations thus far.

jun takes the pencil from him, and sets to work teaching about the errors. he keeps looking up at minghao, who is desperately trying to keep up. it doesn’t help that junhui talks so fast, and by the time he’s done explaining, minghao is completely lost.

“got it?”

“uh, yeah. i think so.” minghao lies. he takes the pencil back and sets to work on the problem again, no less confused than he was five minutes ago. he tries to solve it for a few moments, until he groans, throwing the pencil down in a show of dramatics that junhui appreciates.

“this is ridiculous and stupid. this is ridiculously stupid.”  

he sounds so frustrated that junhui says no snarky comment in return. they sit in a noticeable silence, but they are both used to this sort of lull in conversation. junhui shifts, ever so slightly, so that their knees are touching. minghao looks down at the contact. junhui doesn’t move back.

minghao thinks that maybe he should go back to the desk, to stop whatever junhui was planning before it even started. leaving the bed would be a clear sign that he doesn’t want this, but he doesn’t know what he wants. he doesn’t think he ever has.

he stays still, reasoning that all jun did was reposition himself. it was nothing to over analyze, he thinks, but a second later he is proven wrong.

they make eye contact when minghao looks back up, and it’s the same as when they were standing outside months ago, except now there are no cars rushing past and junhui is tired of waiting.

junhui shifts forward even more, laying the gentlest of hands on minghao’s cheek before connecting their lips. the kiss is soft, and to junhui it feels like heaven but to minghao it feels like absolute chaos, panic flooding through him as the blood pounds in his head. it feels too much like a confirmation, (him kissing a boy, him kissing junhui, him wanting it to keep going, wanting junhui to keep his hand, warm, on the back of his neck) for minghao to handle, and he shoves junhui away harshly, trying not to be sick. he stands up, stumbling away from the bed.

“what the fuck-”

“i’m so sorry.” junhui cuts him off. he sounds so quiet, that minghao stops short. he doesn’t want to fight, this he knows for certain.  “i should have…” he trails off.

“it’s alright.” minghao says. there is another stretch of silence, he’s still standing there, and jun is   still sitting with crumpled math homework in front of him.

“do you want me to drive you home?” jun’s words hang in the air, the question feeling unwarranted and abrupt but minghao nods anyway. he’s staring at junhui but junhui is staring at the ground, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

VII.

the drive is short, ten minutes at most, but it feels like decades. minghao keeps looking at junhui, who refuses to look back. he is trying to read jun’s expression but for once in his life he doesn’t have a clue what the other is thinking.

junhui has always been quiet, he knows, ever since they were kids, but this sort of quiet feels different. entirely unfamiliar.

minghao is smoking, hoping the nicotine will calm him down. the same words that have been repeating in his head for months now are louder than ever: he can’t like junhui like this, can’t love junhui like this, he doesn’t feel anything more than a strong bond of friendship, he can’t, not like this, wrong, wrong, wrong.   

“i’m sorry.” jun says again. he feels horrible, like he’s just ruined everything with one of the only friends he has ever had, and apologizing is the only thing he can think to do.

“stop that. you just kissed me, it wasn’t like you punched me in the face.” minghao tries to be funny but he falls short on the delivery, since he’s realizing that if junhui had just punched him in the face then at least he would have known how to react.

“i guess.”

they get to minghao’s house and minghao resists the urges to either rush upstairs to his bedroom and spend the rest of his life hidden under blankets or burst into tears in the passenger’s seat in his own driveway. instead, all he does is give the quickest smile he could manage to junhui before getting out of the car.

VII.

minghao can’t sleep. he keeps replaying the events that happened hours ago over and over again in his mind. his chest hurts but not as much as his head, this is confusion worse than calculus. he is desperately trying not to think, playing music as loud as he can without making himself go deaf, and he’s smoking his way through an entire pack, one that he stole from junhui earlier in the day.

he’s kissed people before. a girl at a school dance, a different girl during a game of spin the bottle, and now, to add to his repertoire, his best friend, sociable and handsome senior wen junhui.

the thought almost amuses him. he wants to brush this off, he is certain that jun wants to act like this never happened, too, and if they tried hard enough, they could pretend that it was nothing. a quick press of the lips, an experiment. but he knows that this has been building up for too long to be a split second decision. he thinks of hands in his newly dyed hair, or of dark brown eyes boring into his as they stand at the side of the road. he thinks of gentle words reaching his ears as blood gushes out of his nose.

he turns his music up a notch louder, and rolls over in bed, for the millionth time.

him and junhui don’t text or see each other for two days. in those two days, minghao doesn’t sleep, and he thinks he’s sick. in those two days, he also realizes that he would do anything for his best friend.

do anything for another kiss, to feel the butterflies again, to feel jun’s hands in his hair again. to feel jun again. he can work everything out later, just needs this now.

so it’s two thirty a.m. on a friday night, or a saturday morning, and he messages junhui again.

m: hey

j: hello

jun’s reply was quick. minghao wonders how well the other boy has been sleeping.

m: do you want to come to the creek with me?

j: you mean the one behind your house?

m: yeah. it’s warm enough to swim in.

j: be there in fifteen.

minghao smiles. it’s almost scary, how junhui asks no questions, doesn’t care if minghao forgives him or not, he just agrees.

true to his words, junhui is standing in the front yard in fifteen minutes. he looks exactly like he always does, loose shirt and tight jeans, dark hair pulled back into a small bun. minghao’s stomach turns, and he imagines that the thoughts that fly through his head are similar to the ones that school girls think of when they are going on their first date.

he slips downstairs with little regard to the amount of sound he is making, knowing his parents won’t care, that they never have. and he walks out the front door.  

VIII.

his eyes have adjusted to the darkness by the time they reach the stream. the forest is the same as it has always been, moon and starlight shining through the treetops above them.

conversation on the way there was scarce and things are definitely awkward and stilted, junhui occasionally telling stupid jokes and minghao laughing because he knows jun wants him to. but now they are standing at the edge of the water, and minghao doesn’t want it to be so silent anymore.

“i’ve been dying to swim recently.” he lies, stripping off his shirt and shoes.

“ah, getting scandalous are we?” junhui says in response as he does the same.

“shut up.”

junhui is quick to take his own jeans off and go into the deep, pulling the elastic out of his hair and sighing in the freezing cold water. the rocks hurt his feet but he doesn’t really mind. minghao rolls the ends of his pants up, but doesn’t go in past his ankles. maybe it’s because he’s too busy thinking about how to bring up an impossible topic, or how to communicate to his best friend that he wants him closer, or maybe he’s still afraid of the evil river monsters that eat young boys, of getting in over his head.

“junhui.”

“yes?”

“come here.”

jun is there in a matter of seconds, standing in front of minghao. he doesn’t look very happy, though minghao supposes that the other boy never does. minghao swallows hard and steps forward.

he’s never been very good with words, so instead he mimics what junhui did to him days ago. he rests a hand on junhui’s cheek and steps forward, leaning in slow enough so that jun could stop him if he wanted to. but he doesn’t, so they kiss slowly, rough lips with soft intent. jun pulls away after a while though, pulling them back to reality.

“minghao, you know we don’t have to, i mean, i wouldn’t…” junhui blushes as he tries to explain.

the younger boy nods, “yeah, i know. i’ve just been thinking about it for a while, and i think i want this. i mean, you just caught me by surprise.” which isn’t entirely true, but it was as much as an explanation as he could possibly give.

and then junhui smiles, wide and bright, eyes lighting up. he hugs minghao tightly for a few seconds, before he can stop himself.

they kiss again and again and again, and junhui is more relieved than minghao could possibly understand.

“jun, how long…” he hesitates, trying to find the right words. luckily, junhui meets him halfway.

“i don’t know. since forever. since we were children. since that kid beat you up in the middle of the street. you’re hard not to love, xu minghao.”

IX.

swimming in the middle of the night wasn’t their best idea. in a matter of days, junhui gets sick. physically, he feels worse than he has in ages, but it’s alright, because minghao is there, (which jun appreciates, even though all minghao does is tell him how stupid he is for getting so ill).

it’s okay, because minghao is there. (and there are no more secrets). 

#wen junhui #xu minghao #seventeen #junhao #seventeen fanfic #sorry i made it a childhood friends au too #i hope this is alright! #thanks again for the request #seventeen xu minghao #seventeen wen junhui #jun8 #mywriting #sweethearts

[minsugasnerd]

Nothing Else Matter part 7

Warning: mentions drinking

Word count: 4,634

Genre: fluff and a bit of angst

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

You felt the sting of missing your boyfriend, not just him but the six others as well. They only left a few days ago for their promotional tour, it was going to be the longest month of your life.

“How pathetic can I be?” you asked yourself while rummaging through the fridge for something to eat. “Not even gone for a few days and I already miss him.” You shook your head at the thought.

After settling on some leftover Chinese takeaway, you plopped down on the couch and returned to scrolling through the internet for a job that could cover all of your expenses. You immediately rejected Yoongi’s offer to pay for your rent until you managed to find a job.

“No. Absolutely not.” You stated. “I won’t accept it. I can’t accept it.”

“Just let me help you jagi!” He raised his voice at you for the first time since you met him.

“No.” You continued folding the clothes he was taking on his tour into his suitcase.

“Too late,” he mumbled quietly with his focus immersed in this dresser drawers.

“Excuse me?” You dropped the pair of pants into your lap and looked at him. “What did you say?”

The beautiful man with freshly bleached hair stood fully upright and looked at you. “I said. It’s. Too. Late.” He enunciated the three words that had you fuming.

“Min Yoongi, what did you do?!” You picked up his pants and threw them at him. Although the pants wouldn’t hurt him he moved out of the way and you ended up knocking over a few items on his dresser.

“Look you can be mad at me all you want, but I will not sit by and let you go without a roof over your head.” He looked at your form on his bed, your arms hugged your legs which were bent at the knees. Gaze locked in on your hands clasped together. “I would say just move in with me but...” He did’t finish his sentence cause you immediately raised your head and choked on your own saliva.

“Ummmm what? Uhhhhhh...” You sputtered.

“I knew that would have gotten you to look at me,” he chuckled. 

He came over to where you were sitting on his bed, you scooted over to make room for him. Even though you were extremely upset with him, you laid your head on his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around you.

“I know it’s too soon for that. I’m not even sure if the company would let me move you in.” He shrugged moving your head along with him. “I just know I don’t want you out there with no place to go.” He placed his chin on top of your head.

“I know and I really appreciate that, but that’s my problem to worry about, not yours.” You sighed knowing you weren’t going to get through to him.

“I’m always going to worry when it comes to you.” He pressed his lips to your soft hair. You loved when he was soft and caring like this.

“I can take care of myself you know. I have been since I was sixteen.” You told him, playing with the fabric of his shirt.

“I know but you you’ve got to let someone love and take care of you like you deserve. I want to be that person. I love you y/n.” His voice held sadness and you weren’t sure why. “I’ve never knew what a healthy love was, but being with you, even if you’re mad at me feels,” he tried finding the right words. “It feels right. I’ve never had feelings for someone so strongly before.” 

His confession made your heart soar. You knew he loved you but he’s never gotten the slightest bit deep when he talked with you. You sat up and took his handsome face between your palms and brought his lip to yours. You rested your forehead against his and closed your eyes. 

“I love you too. I was so used to being on my own and doing everything for myself. It’s hard for me to accept help but I’m working on it.” You kissed him once more. “Just discuss things like this with me beforehand okay?” He nodded and pulled you atop his lap. 

His hands made their way to the hem of your shirt, he gave you a “Is this okay?” look before pulling it over your head. He knew how to take care of you in more ways than just the one.

A loud knock at your door took you away from your thoughts. You darted towards the door and looked through the peephole.

“Jey?” You unlocked the door and pulled it open. “What are you doing here?”

“I knew you’d be a bit down with your man being gone and not being able to find a job yet so I came over.” She declared while wiggling a bottle of vodka in the air. “You know you can’t resist.” She smirked, knowing she was right. You loved and hated that about her. Almost everything she said was right, even if you didn’t want them to be.

When it came to Jey, she was that friend who was unalike anyone you ever knew or came across. She could persuade you to do just about anything, from having a few more shots than necessary, to doing something drastic with your hair. Even when you were unsure of her intentions, she never lead you wrong. You were grateful to have her in your life, it would be unbelievably boring otherwise.

“Well when you put it like that -,” you stepped aside to let her into your apartment.

“Told you,” she snickered. “Plus you need to come out of your sad as fuck shell.” You just looked at her practically dancing around your kitchen. She was grabbing shot glasses for the two of you and cups to pour the chasers into. “Stop moping around. He’ll be back soon enough.” She said as she filled the glasses to the brim.

“It’s not just that Jey,” you huffed knowing it was going to be a long ass night. Her hyper attitude never faltered until well into the break of dawn. You didn’t know how she managed to live like that. “I still haven’t been able to find a job. Literally no one had called me back. The only person who has is someone I don’t want to work for.” She stood on one side of the kitchen island and you were on the other. She slid you glasses to you and raised her shot of vodka up. You did the same and silently toasted to the friendship you shared. It stung your throat but it wasn’t unpleasant.  

“Whoo!” She loudly exclaimed. “That’s delicious.” She poured another for you. “Who is it?” She asked.

“Lucky.” You grumbled with disgust.

“Who’s that?” she questioned.

“He’s the owner of this club I worked at.” You downed another shot along with her. You never talked to her about you former employment, now you had to since she stared at you awaiting for more information. “I was a stripper at his club. He favored me above anyone else and made my skin crawl with all of the looks he gave me.”

“Hold up!” She raised her eyebrow, the confused and slightly angry look that was plastered on her face told you she was about to fight someone. “He never touched you or did anything inappropriate did he?”

You downed another shot before answering her. “No, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t creep me out any less.” You sighed. “I don’t know how to explain it. His eyes always held this ‘I can’t wait to get my hands on you’ look in his beady eyes. When I found out that Sydney had room for me to be full time rather than part time, I was out of that club so fast.”

“You know who should come over?” Jey asked and almost immediately answered her own question. “Kim.” You shot her an incredulous look. “Now before you say no, you know she’s the queen of making level-headed decisions.”

“True,” you didn’t even have a chance to say yes, Jey already had her on the phone.

“Momma Kim! We need you.” Jey spoke into the phone. She carried on a quick conversation before hanging up. Meanwhile, you were the one who poured your fourth shot of the night. “She’s on her way over.”

Not more than twenty minutes and two shots later, Kim showed up at your door with another bottle in her hand.

“Never fear, I am here!” Kim laughed.

“With more liquor! Yes!” Jey jumped for joy.

Kim had pulled a stool up to the island and sat on the same side as you, while Jey played bartender and busied herself with pouring drinks.

“So what’s the emergency?” Kim asked. You hesitated for a moment. “You know I wont judge you,” she encouraged you to speak up.

With a sigh, the words began to flow from your lips. You told her everything, from missing Yoongi, the little spat you two had, to still not having found a job, the offer from greasy Lucky. Kim sat there and listened intently. The three of you having had a few more shots of vodka coursing through your bodies. You began to feel more at ease with talking things out, drinking always did that to you.

“Well,” Kim began. “Have you exhausted every option for jobs?” She asked.

“Just about. I mean I looked into all the jobs I could, even ones that I’d have to relocate for. And you know that’s the last thing I want to do,” you sighed.

“Hmm. Have you talked to Yoongi about this?” Kim prodded.

“I mean we kinda got into it when he paid my rent cause I still hadn’t found a job. He knew about me and the club, he wasn’t that bothered by it.” You replied.

“But would he be if you returned to that job?” she asked and you shrugged. “If it’s honestly the last option you have, go for it.”

“I have an idea!” Jey nearly shouted breaking the few seconds of silence that hung in the air.

“What?” You asked her.

“Since I decided to go back to school, I have some free time on my hands.” She looked at the two of you hoping that the both of you would connect the dots but at this point you were becoming a bit sluggish. “I can be your personal bodyguard and work there with you.” 

“No, you can’t do that. You’ve got school to worry about.” You protested.

“It’s all online and it’s only a few classes. I can manage.” You knew very well she could but you didn’t want to subject Jey to having to work there. You also knew she could more than handle herself.

“Are you sure you want to do that Jey?” Kim asked. You both knew she wouldn’t have a problem with doing so.

“Of course. I’m not going to let her do this on her own. I’m not going to let her be alone in the presence of that skeevy bastard.” She retorted. It was in her quirky nature to be protective of those she cared for.

“So it’s settled?” Kim questioned, looking back and forth between her two friends. “But you’ll leave if it starts getting out of hand right?”

“Of course,” you answered her. You almost wanted to call this whole thing off and keep looking for other jobs, to let Yoongi keep paying for your rent until the, but your heart told you no. You couldn’t let him do that.

Jey poured a shot and the three of you raised your glasses in the air before letting the alcohol pass through your lips. Even though you had managed to figure out the situation with your employment, your heart wasn’t any lighter. If anything, it was heavier. You hated the idea of having to go back to the club and even worse; you hated to think about what your boyfriend would have to say when he found out.

You picked up your phone off of the counter; it felt heavy in your hands. You opened the message you meant to delete but never did.

[Y/n]: Okay. I’ll come back on one condition, you give my friend Jey a job too.

Kim and Jey carried on drinking and holding a conversation while you messaged Lucky. You looked at your two best friends and were glad you had them in your life. You wouldn’t know what you would do without them. They were your pillars of strength and wisdom. A ding sounded from your overturned phone, you had a text.

[Lucky]: Deal. Stop by on Friday so I can assess your friend and so you can get re-situated with the club. Some things have changed since you were last here.

You were about to reply when another message from him came through.

[Lucky]: You wont regret this Y/n ;)

A cold chill swept through your body at his last message. You had a bad feeling about this, but you desperately needed the job. Your friends shook you from your thoughts with another drink prepared for you. 

“Bottoms up!” Jey said, bringing her glass to her lips.

The rest of the night was a blur as the three of you emptied both bottles. You passed out in your bed, inhaling the lingering scent of your boyfriend’s cologne on his hoodie. It brought you more comfort than the liquor did.

You woke up, head slightly aching from the hangover you were going to be nursing all day. Rolling over to the right, you found Kim and Jey still soundly asleep. Without wanting to wake them, you slowly rose from the bed and got a change of clothes for the shower you were about to take.

You had a set routine for when you were hungover, first you took a steamy shower, made coffee and a simple breakfast that always included bacon. Ever since you found out bacon soaked up the liquor, you always ate it the morning after a night of drinking. Hoping that everything stayed and down and wasn’t rejected from the pit of your stomach, you then would consume all the water you could while lounging on the couch and alternating between watching movies and napping. 

The steam of the hot shower started to fog up the mirror and wrapped you in its comforting embrace. You scrubbed the entire span of your body trying to rid it of all the toxins. Sadly it couldn’t rid you of all of the thoughts that ran through your mind.

What was Yoongi going to say? Was he going to be okay with this decision? Was he going to be angry? Was everything going to work out with Jey being there at the club as well? Was Lucky going to be the same disgusting guy you knew he was? Was -

“Y/n?” a groggy Kim called out.

You pulled the shower curtain aside to shout that you’d be out in a minute. 

“Okay,” she replied.

You twisted the handle and shut off the water. Stepping out of the warmth of the shower, the cold tile beneath your feet sent a jolt to your senses. You were wide awake now. You hastily towel dried your hair and combed out the tangles before dressing and exiting the bathroom.

You found Kim near the front door shrugging on her jacket and lacing up her shoes.

“You leaving? I was about to make some breakfast,” you explained.

“Yeah I’ve got to go. My mom asked me to help out at the shop.” She grumbled. “Just what I wanted to do while hungover, help sell bouquets of flowers.” She pulled you in for a hug. “Don’t forget, no matter what I’m always here for you, whatever you decide to do.”

“I know you are, I’m so grateful for that.” you squeezed her hand before letting her walk into the bright daylight.

The smell of bacon being cooked in a pan made you feel a bit queasy but definitely had the opposite effect on Jey.

“Bacon?” she asked while rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s supposed to help with hangovers.” you told her, looking over your shoulder.

“You have a hangover?” she asked and laughed.

“Yah! It’s not funny,” you whined.

“I never get hangovers.” she boasted.

“Lucky me then, I get the bacon all to myself.” you joked as you placed a few strips on a plate for her, alongside the eggs and toast.

“Rude,” she jokingly stated. 

“There’s some coffee too if you want some.” you offered her. She hopped off of her stool to grab a cup from the cupboard and poured herself some.

After turning off the stove, you both moved into the living room with your breakfast and settled down in front of the tv. Turning it on proved to be senseless since she wanted to talk to you about your decision.

“You’re absolutely sure you want to do this?” she prodded.

“Do I want to? No. But I really need this job. I can’t keep letting him pay for my way through life. Paying for dinners and such is okay but I put a stop to him paying my rent. I don’t want to be that type of person who let’s their boyfriend pay for everything,” you explained to her in between bites of food.

Jey thought over your words while stabbing at the fluffy pile of scrambled eggs on her plate. “That doesn’t mean that you’re a burden to him.”

“That’s not the-,” you started but were silenced by the look she gave you.

“Let me finish,” she said before taking a sip of her coffee. “The way I see it, he just wants to help you out. He doesn’t want you to stress over something that is no doubt temporary. He loves you, y/n, he’s just trying to make sure you’re not having trouble getting by. It doesn’t hurt to let someone help you for once.”

“I know it wont,” you sighed. “I’ve just been so used to being on my own and having to do everything by myself.”

“You’ve got a family now. You’ve got Kim and I. You’ve got your boyfriend. The boys. Stop being so stubborn,” she nudged you.

“I know, I’m working on that.” you replied.

Jey left not too long after helping you clean up the kitchen, she agreed to pick you up on Friday before heading over to the club.

You grabbed the throw off of the back of the couch and wrapped yourself up in it and settled back onto the couch. You were watching some movie but not really following the plot, you were just too tired to care. That didn’t even matter because before you knew it sleep had you in it’s powerful clutches.

When you woke, it was mid evening, the sky has started to dim with the promise of the day ending soon. You sat there and flipped through the channels and was surprised to find that Almost Famous was playing. You smiled at the memory of watching it with Yoongi. He had said that it was a really good movie and glad you introduced him to it.

A knock at your door tore you away from the screen. No sooner than you opened the door a confused look washed over your face.

“A delivery for,” the pizza man looked at the receipt. “Y/n?” 

“But I didn’t order anything.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “There must be some mistake.”

“This is apartment 1429 right? You’re Y/n?” he asked while pulling the pizza from the bag that kept it warm.

“Yes, but-,” you began.

“Then it’s no mistake.” He could tell you were about to argue your point but he stopped you. “It’s all paid for. I just make the deliveries.” With that he handed you the pizza and turned to leave.

Utterly confused, you thought of who could have ordered a pizza and had it sent to your apartment. Shrugging off the confusion, you set the warm box on the table and opened it. Gasping at the heart shaped pizza you knew who it was. Yoongi. You two had talked about it before, how cheesy it was that couples did this. Shaking your head at that conversation, you sent him a text thanking him. You were about to set your phone down when it rang. Yoongi was calling.

“Too cheesy?” his muffled voice came through the speaker.

“Oh yeah, way too cheesy you dork,” you said putting a slice on a plate.

“And here I though I was being cute,” he fake cried.

“You didn’t have to you know,” you spoke.

“I know but I though it would be funny, plus Taehyung said that you were hungover so,” he trailed off.

“Wait,” you sat straight up. “How would Tae know?” you asked.

“He was on the phone with your friend Jey earlier and he told me,” he stated.

“I didn’t know that they were talking,” you confessed, taking a bite of the pizza.

“I guess they have been since we helped you guys empty the studio,” he said, not knowing that it was something out of the ordinary for her to keep something like this from you.

“Huh,” you hummed.

You two talked  for a few minutes before he had to go.

“I miss you,” he confessed.

“You do?” you asked stunned.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” he scoffed.

“I don’t know, I just never thought I’d hear that from you,” you confessed.

“Well I do,” his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Yoongi?” you said.

“Hmm?” he acknowledged.

“I miss you too,” you told him and you could practically feel his smile.

“It’s only a few more weeks y/n, then you’ll have me all to yourself,” he said and your heart felt lighter.

“I know,” you replied. “I can’t wait.”

“Me either,” he told you. “Listen they’re calling for me, I’ve got to go. I’ll call again as soon as I can okay?”

“Okay,” you told him. “Love you,” you could hear a sharp intake of air from the other end of the phone.

“I love hearing that come from you. I love you too jagi,” he said and it made your stomach flip with butterflies. “I’ll call as soon as I can, I promise.” With that, the line went dead.

You smiled to yourself and dug into the pizza and continued watching the movie.

A funny feeling had begun to settle in your stomach with each passing day. You were nervous for Friday, although this time around, you didn’t have to worry as much because Jey was going to be right there with you.

On Friday morning when you woke up, you laid out the dress you were going to wear and picked out a pair of heels to match before taking a shower. You had hoped that the shower would calm your nerves a bit but no such luck. Blow-drying your hair into it’s natural state, a knock sounded at your door. You tied the sash to your robe so that it showed no skin. Looking through the peep hole, you once again found Jey in your eyesight so you opened the door.

“Wow, you look -” you were speechless. You always found her beautiful but she was absolutely stunning when she was dressed up.

“Is this too much?” she asked smoothing her hands down the outfit she wore. It was a burgundy colored form-fitting dress. She had wore knee-high black boots and a leather jacket over it. “I was hoping it screamed classy yet ‘shes trouble’. What do you think?”

“I think you’ll fit right in,” you told her and closed the door behind her. 

She followed you back to your room where you resumed getting ready. You went to apply light make-up in your bathroom mirror when you heard her call out to you.

“Is this what you’re wearing?” she asked.

“Yeah why?” you asked peeking your head out out of the bathroom to see her eyeing your choice of outfit.

“It seems a bit frumpy for where we’re going.” she retorted.

“I’m not trying to attract any more attention than necessary,” you said as you applied some mascara. You heard the familiar sound of hangers being pushed and pulled against the bar they hung on.

“This!” You heard Jey exclaim. You exited the bathroom to see her picking a hanger from the closet. On it was a navy colored sweater dress that you had bought but never worn. “I think this would look much better on you.” She said and shoved it in your arms. 

You had learned early on in your friendship, that there was no point in arguing with her. After finding lingerie that matched, you went into the bathroom and closed the door to change. The dress sheathed the curves of your body, stopping a bit below the middle of your thighs. You smiled at your image in the mirror, she was right, it did look better.

You walked back into the room to find that she had also switched your heels for a pair of boots almost identical to the ones she wore. 

“I knew it!” she whooped.

“Yeah yeah,” you grumbled. You slid the boots over your calves and found the black colored pea coat that went with almost every outfit you had.

“You look amazing!” she whistled in appreciation.

“Oh shut up,” you laughed.

“Ready to go?” she asked picking up her car keys and twirled them in her hand.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” you said trying to kill any anxious thoughts.

You remained silent during the car ride, save for the directions you gave her. Slight music came forth the radio and did little to nothing to soothe your nerves. You got lost in your thoughts and before you knew it, the car had slowed and turned into a parking spot. 

The brick building still looked the same. Lucky’s Girls shined brightly in neon lights. You unbuckled your seat belt and removed yourself from the passenger seat of the car. Jey pushed the lock button on her door before slamming it shut. You followed her. You looked over at her and she had her head held high and you were determined to do the same.

The music that came from withing grew louder as you both approached the door. Once inside your eyes overlooked at the place you once worked at. You saw a few changes in the decor, but mostly everything had stayed the same.

“Can I help you ladies?” the security guard had asked with a slight smirk as his eyes raked over Jey’s body.

You looked at Jey and caught her winking at him. This girl...

“Yes, we’re here to see Lucky,” you answered him.

The security guard didn’t even need to give Lucky a call because he was making his way over to the three of you. His looked the both of you up and down, his gaze lingering on you for a second too long.

“You must be the friend,” he said shaking Jey’s hand.

“That’s me, Jey,” she said introducing herself.

“Y/n, always a pleasure,” he reached out to grasp your hand in his. He raised your hand to his lips and made a shiver of disgust run down your spine.

“Lucky,” you said trying to sound cordial and not at all like you wanted nothing more that to go home and scrub layer upon layer of skin off for just having been in contact with him.

“I knew you’d be back,” he said with a wink that made you feel like absolute filth.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! There may be only one or two parts left...

I have a lot of things outside of tumblr to work on, but I’m trying hard to write this next part.

Next Chapter [8] --> coming soon

#kpopwonderlandtag #bts #bts fanfic #bts suga #bts min yoongi #bts suga fluff #bts min yoongi fluff #bts suga angst #bts min yoongi angst #bts suga fanfic #bts min yoongi fanfic #suga #min yoongi #suga fluff #min yoongi fluff #suga angst #min yoongi angst #minsugasnerd

[dcbicki]

Things you said when I was crying - Dan and Amy please!

9. Things you said when I was crying | Set post-s6, heavily-pregnant Amy.

(It takes a while before we get to the actual crying.)

-

“Not that I’m against fuckin’ in a coat closet, but there’s a time and a place, Ames.”

She can’t tell if he’s teasing her or being serious, so instead she just grabs ahold of his tie and pulls him down to her height.

His brows raised, his eyes wide, his smirk evident, she grits her teeth, “Shut the fuck up.” She tugs at the knot of his tie then, loosens it until it hangs near open, purposely ignores the smug look he keeps plastered across his face as she grabs his shirt collar, “Do me.”

Letting go of his shirt, Amy backs one step away before spinning on her small heels and resting her hands against the thin shelves of the cleaning unit. There’s a bottle of bleach calling out to her and she’s half-tempted to soak a rag and shove it in his mouth.

“Eager for Egan?” He’s grinning again - that fucker - and she can practically hear his ego inflating.

With a look over her shoulder, she shoots him a look, “Fuck you.” Reaching back, she tugs at the zipper of her skirt, barely managing to pull it down an inch before he takes over, imposing and lean behind her, swatting her hand away.

Amy whips her head back around when the zipper gives way and she leans her forehead against her forearm when he draws closer, the coolness of his belt flush against her underwear.

There’s nothing attractive - at all, really - about her underwear these days, but he seems to have developed some kind of creepy fetish for her wearing maternity panties.

(She calls him a pervert for it, and he just laughs it off because he can.) (Because she’s not wrong, and he knows she’ll quite happily take them off for him anyway.)

They’re actually kind of good at this pregnancy thing. Well, the somehow-managing-to-have-sex part of it, anyway.

“We’ve got like ten minutes before someone comes looking for us.”

“Baby, you’ll be coming long before those ten minutes are up, don’t worry.”

Amy rolls her eyes, pretends she didn’t hear the pet-name she’s told him (repeatedly, daily) to stop using, “Well, hurry the fuck up then.”

Curling her fingers around the metal shelving, she rests her chin on her forearm, glances down at the clock as Dan continues to mess with his pants. “Jesus, did you forget how to do it?”

“You’re putting a lot of pressure on me, Ames.” His pants slip to his knees, one hand moving to her hip as the other glides up her back to wrap around her neck. Not in a rough way. Not in a gentle way.

“It’s not like we’re trying to get pregnant.” It’s her turn to smile, and she does so proudly, lowering her head when his right hand shifts from her waist to the waistband of her underwear. “Dan, you suck at foreplay and I don’t have time to teach you where to start right now.”

“Fuck off.” He groans, tightens his grip on her neck, thumb tracing her jawline, running over her skin casually.

Her eyes close - that fucker! - when his lips find her neck (strangely, softly), fingertips brushing her hair to one side. He’s going to tangle it up one day, he’s promised himself. He’s going to break her, unlace her, fuck up everything straight and sleek about her. And he’s gonna smile about it, and she’s gonna rage fuck him for ruining her perfect hair.

These fucking pregnancy hormones have driving her insane, making her all hot and horny and flushed whenever he’s around. She wonders if this happens to every woman who spends almost every waking minute (give or take some) with the father of the baby she’s carrying.

Or maybe it’s just her. Maybe expectant mothers - Amy’s skin near crawls at that word - don’t spend all day either fighting with, shouting at or angst fucking their baby daddies.

Great. Now she’s all hot and sweating again. She’s half a mind to tell him to back it up, pull his pants up and get the fuck out of the goddamn closet, but she stops herself. They’ve made it this far. And she’s due any day now, so who knows when she’ll next even want to-

Wait.

There’s something warm trickling down the inside her skirt then, running down her leg and she can feel Dan pulls his hand from her panties, wrist against her hipbone, fingers spread.

“The fuck?”

Yeah. Her water broke. Fuck.

She knew she was bound to drop, and that having sex could induce labour, but (fuck!) he hadn’t even pulled his dick out yet. Oh, well, poor Danny.

“What the fuck, Amy?” He frowns, brows knitting as he looks over her shoulder, his eyes cast down her body, over breasts and an overgrown bump, “Are you fuckin’ contracting?”

The blonde can only stare up at him, shoulder broad and neck muscles tense, “I might be. Not yet. I don’t know.”

Your water breaks, and then… what? There’s no pain yet so maybe-

Oh, no. There it is.

“Jesus Christ, you need to get to a hospital.” He draws his pants up, not even bothering to fasten his belt, and goes to reach for the doorknob then, creating several feet of space between them.

When he’s pulled the door open, he’s whipping his phone out of his pocket, already scrolling down through his list of contacts. “Where did you put the ba-” Dan pauses, cuts himself off when he hears her hiccup - and sniffle - behind him. “Are you crying?”

“No.” Amy shrugs, her face an unreadable picture. She does not do tears, so what the fuck?

He figures she’s in pain because that’s kind of a guarantee when you’re in early labour, right? He remembers (unfortunately) how Mike had told him all about how Wendy’s surrogate had gone into painful labour. Apparently giving birth to those Cheeto-mustach’d little bastards took well over ten hours.

It’s labour pains, obviously. That explains why she looks like someone simultaneously forced a cactus up her ass and squirted lemon juice in her eyes, “Amy.” He warns.

She’s not gonna take ten hours, Dan thinks. She’s on the fucking ball when it comes to this kinda crap.

She’s the Type A to end all others. She’s easily survived on less than an hour of sleep and somehow managed to hold her own, managed to run a semi-successful campaign. She’ll probably just get past the hospital doors, pop the kid out, then start shooting off work-related texts.

Childbirth is gonna be a breeze.

“Fine, I’m fucking crying, you prick.” She pulls her arms tighter around herself, raises her shoulders as she clutches the low of her stomach. If she could physically snap in half, she would. “I think I’m contracting.”

“You think?” His eyes are wide, and he’s got that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look on his face she recognises from that one time he passed out. “For fuck’s sake.” He breathes, runs a hand over his face, searches for his keys, “Sort your skirt out.”

Amy scowls, reaches down to grab the top of her skirt, but her breathing increases and she suddenly has to stop, chest heavy.

“Okay, fine. Look,” Dan groans (not in the way he had earlier, not in a hot way), and he makes his way back over to her to help pull the skirt up and over her ass, tugging on the zipper to close it. “Can you walk?”

“I’m in labour, Dan, I’m not dying.”

If he has a nervous breakdown again, she’s going to kill him.

“You might.”

“Oh, well, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

She’s following him out the door then, only a couple of steps behind him. He waits (for some reason) until she catches up with him. And then his hand is on her back, and she’s never wanted to slap him so badly. Fuck you, you prick. “If I die, then you get to raise the little bastard and use him to pick up unsuspecting college freshmen.”

She can see him roll his eyes at that, and she bites her lip to keep herself from crying out. Fuck, that hurts. “No, Amy. I wouldn’t like it if you died,”

It almost sounds sweet, decent.

“Because then I’d have to be on diaper duty until I could find an adequate nanny.”

“You mean a fuckable nanny.”

He doesn’t reply, just shoots her a look out of the corner of his eyes, and from her place beside him, she finally takes note of their height difference. Has he always towered over her? Has he always held the power? No. No, fuck that!

“Okay, ow!” She finds herself reaching for his arm then - despite herself, of course, because she only ever makes the first move when she needs sex - and she clutches onto him, as though for dear life, as though he’s going to support her.

Goddamnit.

He’s twirling his keys in one hand, and the other is resting over her own. It’s strange, surprisingly reassuring.

She won’t question it… Yet.

When they’re finally at the elevator, he’s texting with one hand, keychain swinging from one finger. He’s either gonna call the hospital or he’s letting Ben know what’s happening. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“Okay.” There are still tear stains on her face, and she’s so close to screaming, breaking, fucking crying out like a baby. Her eyes sting, but she refuses to let any more tears fall. She is not going to be thatgirl; the one so easily defeated by someone who’s only like twenty-two inches long.

Jesus, it hurts. There’s another contraction (she guesses), and it’s worse than the last. But she bites her tongue, lets a deep throaty moan escape past closed lips, and she tightens the grip on his arm until her fucking knuckles turn white.

“I mean it.”

Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he does give a shit, for reasons that aren’t completely selfish. Maybe he does give a shit about her well-being, about their child’s safety. She doesn’t really care at this point, though. She’d rather just be given an epidural, squeeze his evil spawn out, and then finally be free to strangle him to death. Christ, she’s gonna castrate him.

“Sure.”

#fic* #dan x amy #veep #dan egan #amy brookheimer #veep fic #ship: dan x amy #anon #answered

[luna-orlha]

Title: The Road of Hearts  Fandom: Naruto Genre: Angst ; Hurt/Comfort ; Romance Ship: Shikamaru/Sakura Characters: Haruno Sakura, Nara Shikamaru, Yamanaka Ino Word count: 8,281 Triggers(s): PTSD Rating: T  Additional Tags: major character deaths, Falling in love, developing relationships Summary: After the 4th Shinobi war, Sakura finds herself stuck in the past, unable to move on, not realising Shikamaru has always been there.

Ao3

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Sakura spends a good two hours every day at the memorial stone. The shadows in which she sits in never touch the stone. She visits so often that she now recognises the guards that guard the park.

It’s night time when she visits today. This time she pulls out a large bottle of sake and pours it into a cup, next to a cup of shochu that Kakashi loves. ‘Loved,’ she corrects herself.

The pinkette sinks to the ground in front of the two cups and takes a generous swig from the sake bottle. The moon above is thin and narrow, like how Kakashi’s eyes would crease when he smiled. Sakura can see small puffs of clouds as she exhales, taking another gulp of the sake. She can almost hear the incessant babble of Naruto talking about things that happened while she was in the hospital, the quiet flipping of the book that Kakashi never really read but pretended to anyway.

“It’s been two years, sensei, Naruto-kun,” she says, quietly. Two years since the war ended, two years since the fight that Kakashi and Naruto died in, since the traitor executed, since her parents died. It’s not the same for everyone. Some, like Ino and Shikamaru, only found about the deaths of their loved ones at the end of the war. Sakura might not have the sharingan-aided memory like Kakashi, but she held their cold bodies, remembers the fight that ended their lives, remembers the last conversation she had with them.

“I was going to be your best man, Naruto,” Sakura chuckles lowly. “Hinata would have looked amazing in the white kimono beside you.”

She takes a swig of the sake bottle, the clear liquid mixing with the salty taste of her tears. They were her family. How she loved them. She palms the tears away, tilting her face towards the dark star-specked sky.

“Team seven rule number one, never leave a man behind. Team seven rule number two, don’t die,” Sakura says to the crisp winter air, feeling a shiver run down her spine. “This is my home and I will defend it with my dying breath. See, sensei? I can still remember it. I still remember, yet why am I the only one left? You left me behind.”

Her face is pressed against a warm back when she wakes. She should recognises the scent of grass and dusty shadows, except she can’t. Sakura blinks blearily at the dark hair, her arms thrown over the man’s shoulders, the man’s arms looped around her legs as they trudge down the dark streets.

It’s been two years and even though Konoha is in a better shape as compared to a year ago, it is nowhere as prosperous as it was before the war. Streetlights are turned off in wee hours of the night to save electricity.

“Sasuke?” Sakura muses, half-asleep, then reels back mentally. It can’t be Sasuke, the bastard is dead, deader than the dirt.

“Still asleep?” the low baritone asks, not taking offense that she had just mistaken him for the one of the biggest traitors in Konoha’s history. “You know, when I promised Kakashi-senpai that I would take care of you, I didn’t think he meant coming out at two am to carry you home.”

Sakura hides her face in the man’s vest. “Then he shouldn’t have died.”

“No, he shouldn’t have,” he agrees. “Next time, you should just bring me along from the beginning instead. Or tell me where you’re going to be at least.”

Sakura could hear the worry in his voice, the tension in his body dissipating with each step he takes. With pretty much everyone that had cared for her dead, she can’t put a finger on who this person might be. Sakura lifts her head to squint at the man’s face. His dark hair hangs down and despite missing his usual spiky ponytail, she’s not even sure how she had mistaken Shikamaru for Sasuke. The height, the width of the shoulders and even the low burn of chakra from his core is different.

“Shikamaru?”

He sighs. His warm hand tightens around Sakura’s thighs almost painfully. “Ino was worried. She woke up in the middle of the night and you were gone. You didn’t even leave a note.”

The gravel beneath Shikamaru’s sandals crunches loudly. Sakura can feel the low hum of the patrols hopping past them, Shikamaru circulating chakra to keep his body warm. She understands now why Shishou had drunk so much now. The world without Kakashi, Naruto, shishou, her parents and all those she had considered precious to her, is a world not worth living for.

“You know, you still have us,” Shikamaru says. “Even without senpai and team seven, you still have Ino and me left. We aren’t going anywhere.”

No you aren’t, but you weren’t there from the beginning, she thinks.

It is New Year’s day and Sakura is lying against the tree when she senses Shikamaru land next to her, dropping a jacket over her. “You should bring your jacket out next time,” he sighs. He lights out a cigarette and sits down beside her like he has nowhere else to be. Shikamaru is clan head now. It’s traditional for the clan heads to visit their clan members on New Year’s day. Sakura remembers reading this in the books. It had fascinated her back then, back when reading was for leisure. She doesn’t ask, though. The warmth of his body beside her anchors her, holding her afloat so she’s not drowning. If she asks, she fears he might leave and she doesn’t want to be alone.

She scoots a little closer to him and he sighs. “Are you still cold?” he asks. Shikamaru puts an arm around her, holding her close to him, letting her siphon heat from his body. Pulling a bottle out from his pocket, he uncorks it and hands it to her.

“I thought you didn’t want me to drink anymore.” Her lips quirked as she sips on the sake that Shikamaru brought.

“Not alone. I don’t want you to be passed out alone.”

“Sakurrrrrraaaa, are you drunk again? What did we agree on drinking?” Naruto pokes her in the cheek. She grumbles and bats him away.

“Yes, no drinking alone.”

He heaves her onto his shoulder. “Are we going to be imitating our Shishous? Does that mean I should start peeking into bathhouse?”

Her hand clutches the corner of Shikamaru’s vest, trying to ride out the crest of emotions. Her favourite loud-mouthed person, her adopted brother, her best friend. She misses him so much that she can feel the ache in her chest. The more time passes, the less she remembers of him, of them. What did his laughter sound like?

“Ne, ne, Sakura-chan, what do you think stars are made of?”

“Fire, balls of fire,” she whispers out loud and finally remembers how Naruto chortled at her response. A low bellied snort, him leaning over, gasping and clutching his stomach.

“Really Sakura? Fire? That sounds more ridiculous than ero-sennin giving up peeping!”

“The year Jiraiya-sama died, we sat under this tree and shared a bottle of sake together. We did it every first Saturday of the month after that. As if to confirm that we were still alive, still… together.”

She trembles at the memory, trying to stop the heat in her eyes from escaping. Shikamaru holds her tighter, not saying a word when she presses her wet eyes into his vest. His warm hand rubs up and down her arm, the scent of his cigarette smoke enveloping her like a shield.

Sakura feels him press a kiss into her hair. “It’s okay. We’re here.” His chest rises as he takes a slow breath to exhale. “It’s okay. We’re here,” he tells her.

 Sakura completes her mission, dropping her scrolls off at the outpost. A hawk screeches above as she jumps from branch to branch. The sound of the trees swaying in the breeze seems to whisper her name.

Sakura-chan, Sakura-chan.

She thinks that her parents must have called for her when they died in the village. She left them to die instead of protecting them like she promised to. It wasn’t not her fault, Sakura reminds herself. She was out fighting for a war, not knowing the enemies that snuck into their camp. She couldn’t have known.

She crouches, placing her head between her legs. Her lungs burn, begging for a gasp of air that she can’t seem to find. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she reiterates to herself, even though the guilt that sits heavily in her chest belies her words.

Sakura runs. Not to Konoha. Sakura runs as fast as her feet would take her away from Konoha, from the memorial stone, from the memories. The sun sets and rises, and still she runs. Perhaps for three days straight, she runs, finally hitting the shore where she stops, panting. Her feet are burning, a jag of agony rippling through her when she collapses to her knees on the sandy beach.

“It’s not my fault!” Sakura screams to the waves. The waves swish and roar to her words. Even if she knows it’s not her fault, it still feels like her fault. She kneels, head pressed against the wet sand, and cries.

“Hurry up Sakura-chan! We’re gonna drag teme back!”

Her breaths are coming in harsh, stuttering gasps. Sakura claws the sand, her body now prone on the cold ground.

“Maa, there’s no hurry. My cute little genin has no need to hurry to become jounin yet. Sensei will be there for you when you need.” His single eye crinkles in his distinct manner, ruffling her hair.

“You p-promised…” She lies on the beach and falls asleep. 

Sakura doesn’t return to Konoha. Instead, she runs even more, this time putting her old sensei’s stealth skills into use. She dulls her chakra signature to a civilian's and hides her scent with a time-worn anbu skill. Days turn into weeks and before she realises it, her once shoulder-length hair is only short of a few inches off of the small of her back. Her once-vivid hair is now a very pale pink, bleached by the excessive sun she’s been under, and her skin has been darkened by the sun then lightened by the cold winter. ‘Almost silver like Kakashi-sensei,’ she thinks. She spends her time traversing the lands. She spends her nights sleeping on rooftops or trees or occasionally beneath rocks, stealing a bath from homes with no one around or a quick cold one in the stream. She sees how the Kumo Country is, through the various Kusa towns but it’s in Kiri when she finds a familiar orange book in a bookshop.

The book is new, the glossy cover still shiny with dark bold words printed on it.

“How can you prefer ‘Icha Icha Paradise’? Obviously ‘Icha Icha Tactics’ is far superior.” He levels an unimpressed dark grey eye at her.

“That’s the last copy of ‘Icha Icha Tactics’,” the bookshop manager says. “They haven’t been printing anymore. Heard the writer passed away, how sad.”

Sakura puts the last of her money on the counter and buys it. The book smells of new pages, white pages instead of Kakashi’s yellowed, dog-eared copy. She cries as she reads it and then reads some more.

 It is in Kiri that she spends the longest time. Not for the dreary weather or the equally dreary food. It’s the relative solitude in the mountains that lures her to stay there. The heavy mist providing a natural deterrent to any non-shinobis and any shinobis can’t detect her with the genjutsu seals she sets around her tiny cave. That only lasts until a wounded kiri-nin trying to get home passes out close to her perimeter. Unable to ignore the instilled medic code in her, Sakura picks the shinobi up and carries him to her cave. She heals most of his life-threatening wounds and returns to where she found him, wiping their presences from the forest.

His pursuers dash past her cave and circle the area several times, aware that there’s something there but unable to tell what. Sakura watches them from the tree branch, the hair on the back of her neck raising, her hand inching to her kunais. She might need to fight and she really doesn’t want to, far too aware that solo practice would never be good enough compensation for battle-honed instincts.

She flings herself off the tree even before the three shinobis could finish saying ‘kai’. “Now, now, boys,” Sakura drawls, projecting her best imitation of Kakashi. Her kunai digs into a shinobi’s throat as he swallows lightly. “We don’t want anyone to die, now do we?”

“Kenichi! What are you doing?” hisses a younger shinobi to the older one when he doesn’t move.

“Shut up, Ryoma!” Kenichi shoots back. “Can’t you tell? It’s Bone-smasher Haruno Sakura!”

The one called Ryoma snaps his head back to her in surprise. “I thought she had pink hair!”

“I fought beside her during the war! I recognise her chakra signature.” Kenichi bows. “Please Haruno-sama, let us talk this through. We have no grievances with you... even though you’re clearly on Kiri’s territory. We weren’t even aware that you were here. The last I heard you were… missing?”

He winces at his implied words and Sakura is immensely amused. When had they started documenting her presence? Was it when she became Tsunade’s apprentice? When she defeated Sasori? Or maybe when she defeated hundreds of Zetsu with her strength and earned her much dreaded title. The older shinobi shuffles uneasily under her stare but it serves to only irritate the younger one.

His blond hair is muted in the mist and like most ninjas with less experience, he lets off a loud roar as he pounces towards her. Sakura ducks, her hand catching Ryoma’s wrist. She tosses him into a tree, shunshining towards him.

It turns out, months of disuse in active combat doesn’t really dull her senses.

She dodges and evades the young shinobi’s jutsus and kunais with an ease and wonders if this is how Kakashi felt when he fought against team seven for the first time.

He corrects her stance and runs through them with her over and over again. “This is the Hatake kata. Firm and unyielding.”

She can see all the holes in the shinobi’s defense, all the strikes she could take in an instant to end him. She doesn’t take them, not all, at least. Her fingers weave a rapid pattern across his skin, each strike promising a bruise.

He is lucky to get away with just bruises and his teammates know that.

“Ego is the downfall to all shinobis,” she tells him when he’s lying on the ground, panting. Sakura lengthened the fight on purpose, to humble him, but ego always has been the hardest thing to beat down.

“Fuck you,” he heaves. His teammates grab him and run before she can decide to kill him - not that she would.

They will be back eventually and by then… she will be gone. Her time in Kiri has run its course. Two months of solitude. She stares into the mist covered forest, trying to remember Konoha’s forest. Would leaving the village be considered abandoning her teammates?

“Those who break the rules are scums… but those who abandon their friends are worse than scum.”

She thinks of the forest that surrounded her home. She thinks of the training sessions between Kakashi and her when she was the only one of team seven left. The warmth that filled her when he crinkled his eyes at her, assuring her that he wasn’t going to abandon her just because she was the last one.

“You are my heir, Sakura. Be proud.”

“Thank you, Kakashi-sensei.”

Sakura shoulders her pack when the injured kiri-nin is awake and suitably healed by the week’s end. “Thank you, I don’t-” She waves the kiri-nin’s words away and disappears into the mist.

Her feet pauses on the Great Naruto Bridge.They serve Great Naruto Ramen on the Great Naruto Bridge. Sakura bursts into laughter as she eats the large pieces of naruto from her bowl of ramen.

‘If only Naruto could see this now,’ she thinks. ‘The Great Naruto serving Great Naruto Ramen on the Great Naruto Bridge.’

Sakura dreams of Naruto that night, the twelve year old Naruto bounding down the road in his bright orange outfit.

“We’re not giving up on our mission. A shinobi never gives up!”

She had forgotten about Naruto’s shinobi motto and as much as she wants to deny it, she isn’t fixing her problems by running away from it. Naruto wouldn’t have run from it, or at least Sakura thinks he wouldn’t. He was the most headstrong ninja she had ever met. The brother she always wanted.

“We have to stop him, Sakura-chan. It’s our responsibility.”

Naruto, in the end, had to back down on saving Sasuke in order to save the rest of his precious people. She knew it hurt him deeply, but he never showed it. His smiles had brightened the medic shelters. Naruto who never stopped working towards being a Hokage despite everyone’s disbelief.

“Ero-jiji told me once that a shinobi's life is not measured by how they lived but rather what they managed to accomplish before their death. She’s… dead right? The fourth shinobi war has ended… right? I did… okay, right?”

Naruto wouldn’t have wanted her to waste her away like this, to pine for him, for Kakashi-sensei, for those lost and gone. How could she not?

Sakura sits in front of the grave of the first shinobis that team seven killed. The first C-rank mission that started them on their path. She was weak then, she is still weak now.

Sakura looks at her hands, the hands that saved everyone except for the people that matter the most. What was the point of having these hands if she was going to lose everyone anyway?

“It’s okay. We’re here.”

Shikamaru who came for her to make sure she wasn’t passed out somewhere, Ino who worried enough to prod him into doing so for her. Ino must have given birth by now, Sakura remembers belatedly, and she wasn’t there for the birth of Ino's first child. What a terrible friend she is. She looks up and catches the tiny patch of bright blue sky amidst the heavy clouds, the bright blue sky that reminds her of Naruto’s eyes. The days have been growing in length too, the leaves are turning into a lush green. Sakura can feel the heat beat down on her now.

Then Sakura stops running.

The first patrol that finds her stops and stares - like they’re surprised to see her and they probably are. She’s been gone without leave for a long time. Even though she’s never done anything against Konoha or scratched out her hitai-te, it is right for them to label her as a missing-nin.

“Haruno Sakura?” the one in the sparrow’s mask asks. She nods. The four exchange a flurry of hand signals, all too fast for her to catch - then again, Sakura isn’t even trying. “Mouse will escort you to the Hokage’s office.”

Tree jumping on the Hashirama trees is something she missed, along with Ichiraku ramen. A pang of grief crawls over her shoulders, reminding her that Ichiraku ramen doesn’t exist anymore. The large gate looms into the horizon as they approach it. It’s larger than she remembers - the painted green gates with the nostalgic ‘peace’ painted on.

Her anbu escort skips her over the queue, right to where Kotetsu blinks at her identification card and back at her face. “Haruno Sakura?” He opens his mouth to ask more questions but is stopped when another anbu drops from the trees beside him.

“Go ahead.” The newly arrived anbu waves her on.

Sakura follows the anbu’s instructions, except she can’t help but think that they should have had a different reaction.

It is like she was not even missed.

She swallows, trying to press down the rising bile in her stomach. Would she be trialed for her disappearance, was she labelled as a missing-nin? Cold seeps into her limbs the longer she thinks about it. Part of her insists on turning and running away, the other part reminds her of Naruto. Sakura looks down. She’s wearing a dark blue sweater and pants, civilian wear mimicking a jounin outfit for her jounin uniform had long been worn into threads. Her hair is no longer the pastel pink that once was her iconic appearance. She rubs a thumb across her ID.

This Haruno Sakura isn’t her anymore.

Mouse, her anbu escort, cuts through the training grounds, through training ground seven where she spent the better part of her teenage years training. Instead of the large fields and tall trees, the training ground is now filled with sand and large rocks. It’s different. Everything is different.

She falters on a branch as the city and the main administration buildings comes into view.

They’re still red with red roof tiles, but it’s different, all of it. Taller, larger, bigger, not the three storey sprawl of buildings that she was used to.

“Haruno Sakura?” Mouse asks, his low baritone breaking into her war of thoughts.

Everything has moved on without her and she doesn’t fault them. How is Ino? How is Shikamaru? How is Hinata? Has she found one else? How is the hospital and Shizune? Would she be accepted back? She laughs - a mirthless, hard laugh. “W-would they even take me back?” she starts, unable to hold back the tide of questions. “Is there space for me? This is all my fault, I shouldn’t have run, I knew that. I just couldn’t take it. Ino must hate me, Kage, she must hate me so much. That I wasn’t strong enough, that I wasn’t-”

Mouse shakes her so hard that her teeth rattles. “Sakura, stop it.”

“I wasn’t good enough, not enough for anyone. They must look down on me now, that’s why no one-”

“Sakura!”

Her words still on her tongue, the pain on her cheek shocks her from her word vomit.

“Are you with me now, or do I need to slap you again?” Mouse asks. She nods, unable to trust her voice. Mouse takes a deep breath and then curses. “Goddamnit Sakura. I had this whole tirade for you when you got back, you know?”

She recognizes his voice, the way he speaks. “Shikamaru?”

“You disappeared, Sakura. Do you know have any idea how we felt?” He grips her by the shoulders; bony, gloved fingers digging into her flesh, hard enough to bruise. “Do you have any idea how I felt?” Mouse shoves his mask up, scrubbing his face with great fury. He has lines of worry set in his face. Mouse - no, Shikamaru looks exhausted.

“It’s not like I asked you to!” she retorts. Guilt churns in her stomach as soon as she sees the look on Shikamaru’s face - like he had been slapped. “Shika-”

He waves her off, briskly setting their pace.

 They slide through the open window. The room is different from the time of Tsunade. Dark chakra-infused concrete lines the floor and instead of one table, there are four tables manned by shadow clones and one in the center that has to be the Alpha.

“Hokage-sama, Haruno Sakura has returned.” Shikamaru bows to the one sitting in the middle.

“That’s good.” Neji sighs and motions Sakura to come forward. “Are you better now?” he asks, instead of reprimanding her like she expects.

“I… I… yes.” Sakura purses her lips then asks the one question that has been on her mind since she started her way back. “W-what is my designation, Hokage-sama?”

His pale purple eyes sweep across her. Despite the fact that Neji had been the Hokage even before she left, Sakura is unable to get used to seeing him behind the desk. She has the feeling that Tsunade was going to bustle through the doors any minute now with a bottle of sake (or a lollipop, if Shizune caught her first) in her hand.

“Tsunade was gone from Konoha for over a decade. I’m sure we could have spared you a few years.”

“A- a… few years?”

“You were gone for two years, Sakura.” Neji pulls out several forms from a drawer and then stamps it. “Get a new ID done and fill out these forms. There are some temporary dorms you can use while you find an apartment. Mouse-” A smile spreads across his face. “Mouse will help you get settled, won’t you?”

“Hokage-sama-” Shikamaru says, and Neji cuts him off with a wave.

“Welcome back, Sakura. I’ll see you in a week.” 

The next morning, by the time Sakura is done with her new ID, Shikamaru is standing outside the room waiting for her in his normal jounin uniform.

“All done?” he asks, pushing off the wall.

“You know you don’t actually have to ‘get me settled’, right?”

His shoulders sag and he drags a breath from the cigarette. “I know that, it’s just that I don’t want to be volunteered to be Gai’s morning partner or Tenten’s weapons tester. I might be one or the other if I'm not with you.”

At his words, Sakura could not help but chuckle. All the time spent away from Konoha had made her forget about Neji’s ridiculous punishments for recalcitrant shinobis. “Is Konohamaru still Gai’s morning practice partner?” she asks, remembering how Konohamaru had frequently broken the rules while she was still in Konoha and how he had hobbled over to her apartment after every practice, begging to be healed.

“Well, thankfully no. I think Gai hasn’t had a morning partner lately. Even Kiba has been smart about it and picked two months worth of D-ranks instead.”

They turn at a corner and Shikamaru leans an elbow on the counter. “Obaa-san! Two coffees to go.” Shikamaru turns to her. “You still take your coffee black with two sugars?”

“Y-yes. I would like to know why you still remember that.”

“Well, eidetic memory, remember?” He shrugs and turns back to the old lady. “One black with two sugars and one with milk.”

Sakura hasn’t had coffee for so long, she forgotten how it tasted. Full-bodied, the dark tones melding with the molasses and slightly bitter aftertaste. Her last cup had been just before she left for that mission.

Shikamaru chuckles, breaking her out of her musing. “Sorry.” He hides his smile behind a hand, averting his eyes from hers. “I’ve never seen anyone lose themselves in a cup of coffee.”

“S-sorry-” Sakura flushes, taking another gulp of her coffee. “I- I just realised I haven’t had coffee since… since I left.” Taking another sip to distract herself, Sakura could feel her cheeks heat up. Her tongue, unused to talking, is constantly tripping on itself, and Shikamaru’s piercing gaze did not help her nerves.

The walk to the realtors is silent, nothing like the comfortable silence that Shikamaru and her shared before she left. Two years was a long time. Outside of Konoha, time had slipped passed her without realising it, but now that she was back, she could see all the differences - in the buildings, in the trees, in Shikamaru. His face is sharper now, baby fat replaced with lean lines and despite his slouch, Sakura could see his shoulders are broader.

She turns her face, keeping her eyes on the road in front of them when Shikamaru glances at her. What do you say to a friend you abandoned two years ago? Sakura searches her mind for something to say, only to turn up nothing.

“Have you thought of what kind of apartment you want?”

She hasn’t. The apartment she lived in before disappearing had been Kakashi’s, and even though she had stayed there for two years, Sakura did not change anything. She hadn’t wanted an apartment by herself. Team seven was supposed to come back and share a house.

Sakura shakes her head mutely, not quite trusting her voice.

“Well, that’s fine. Perhaps you’ll know what you want after we’ve looked at a few.”

It takes her two days to find a new apartment that isn’t too far from the hospital and is close enough to a marketplace. With two rooms and a large living room leading into a kitchen, it is nothing like Kakashi’s old apartment. Ino bustles in, barely an hour after Shikamaru left, carrying several potted plants with her husband, Genma, behind carrying a couch.

“You need plants to brighten the place up,” Ino tells her like she’s never left Konoha, then motions to Genma to place the couch down.

“Ino-”

Ino angrily taps Sakura on forehead with enough force to leave a bruise then pulls her into a tight hug. “How dare you leave us, Forehead! I won’t allow you leaving like that again!”

“I- I’m sorry,” she tells Ino, her face hidden in Ino’s shoulder.

“You’ve no idea how worried we were!”

Genma chuckles, “Sakura-chan. Shikamaru and I were ordered by Ino to find you. We even had to call in the Inuzukas and the Aburames. You’re pretty good at hiding your scent.”

Ino shoots her husband a look. “Of course she is. Had she not been an outstanding medic, Sakura would have been the next Anbu Commander.”

“Ino! You’re not supposed to tell people-”

“Genma’s Anbu too and there are no secrets between us,” Ino says indignantly and clasps her hands on Sakura’s shoulders. “There are no secrets between us. Do you understand that? I don’t care how you hid yourself or where you went, you’re gonna tell me everything.”

She flicks her hair over her shoulders. “After all, while you were out gallivanting, poor me was stuck in Konoha with swollen ankles! Without my medic to help ease them.” Ino fakes a sob. “You haven’t even gotten to see your godson!”

“You-you have a s-son?” Sakura smiles wistfully, trying to imagine how Ino’s son would look.

Ino’s eyes soften. “He has Genma’s hair and my eyes, of course. I can show you later, he’s having his afternoon nap now. But first, we need to get you new clothes.” She picks at the standard jounin outfit that Sakura had just received with a look of disgust. “Standard outfits are all fine and dandy for fieldwear, but you are not wearing that when you’re off duty.”

Gripping Sakura’s hand, she spins to the door. “We’re going-”

“-Shopping, I heard you,” Genma says. The senbon in his mouth lifts with his grin. “I’ll be here for when Shikamaru comes back.” 

There are boxes in her apartment when she and Ino return three hours later. Genma hefts another box off his shoulders and drops it onto a neat tower.

“That’s the last box,” he tells Shikamaru

“What are these?” Sakura asks, peering at the labels on the boxes. Written on the boxes are the words ‘Kitchen’, ‘Books’, ‘Clothes’ and all in Shikamaru’s scrawny handwriting. She traces the words out with a finger, turning her head to Shikamaru. “A-are these…”

“Well, you were gone for awhile and…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. Sakura knows what he is thinking even without him finishing the rest of the sentence, but the idea that her friends had kept her stuff surprises her.

They weren’t there from the beginning, but they were there for the end, she corrects herself.

“You kept them?”

Ino scoffs loudly, folding her arms. “The landlord wanted to throw your stuff out, so Shikamaru took them.”

“Ino didn’t have space for your boxes because of Inojin, so she forced me to take them in,” Shikamaru amends Ino’s conclusion.

Unsure of how to react to their consideration, Sakura turns to the boxes, missing the angry glare Ino shoots at Shikamaru. There is the team seven photo wrapped carefully in bubble wrap in the first box she opens. Not the team seven with the traitor in it, but the one with Captain Tenzou and Sai in it. She peels it open, rubbing a finger over Kakashi’s face. His face looking resigned, his hair partly singed while Tenzou was leaping into the air to get away from the ink lions that Sai had drawn.

She remembers that training session. She remembers Kakashi teaching Sai a fire jutsu, who then turned around and tried to burn Kakashi.

“Sai! We’re on the same team. Same team!” Kakashi yelps, quickly casting a water jutsu to put out the fire, but not fast enough as it burns half of his hair away.

“That is for the four hour wait for last week. Ugly says that revenge is part of team dynamics.”

“Good job Sai!” Naruto crows from the other side of the field.

“It wasn’t for you, Dickless.”

“Stop calling me that! Or do I need to show you my dick again- wait wait, Sakura. No! Let me explain!”

“Are you okay?” Shikamaru asks, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Sakura brushes the tears away and hugs him, then Ino. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Instead of being put back on the mission roster, Sakura throws herself back into fixing the hospital. It had been her responsibility after the war. Sakura doesn't think that being the most skilful medic means that she should be in charge of the hospital. Masashiro had been a far better administrator than she would ever be. Still, with politics and all, it means that because she was Tsunade's apprentice, Sakura is now the head of the hospital. Though she never wanted to be.

Sakura shuffles the papers, rifling through them as she rearranges them and stamps her seal of approval. The war and her subsequent departure had given her a taste of the field.

Still, Neji - Rokudaime - had requested her to be here. To heal, to set roots down perhaps, Neji had always been someone she couldn't read.

A bento appears on her table and she looks up blearily. "Shika?"

"It's dinner," he drawls. Shikamaru moves a stack of files from a seat and flops into it with a groan.

"Dinner? It's not dinner time yet..."

Shikamaru huffs an amused huff. "How troublesome, I knew you would forget to eat. It's eight pm, woman." He unpacks the bento and sets it in front of her before doing the same for himself. "Ino made your favourites and ordered me to make sure you finish your food."

Sliced lotus stir-fried with strips of pork and seaweed, thick slices of eggplant with fish and rolled omelette, the way she love it. When was the last time she had stir-fried lotus? She picks it up, stuffing into her mouth, and stuffs an eggplant in too. Not as good as how Kakashi-sensei prepared it, but it is very close.

Shikamaru quirks a smile and pushes his bento to her. "You can take mine."

"But what about you?" Sakura asks, swallowing a mouthful of rice.

"It's fine. I'll get ramen on my way home," he says, getting to his feet. "Don't stay too long here. If you stay too long, Ino will nag at me to drag you home. Workaholic!" Shikamaru claps her shoulder with a laugh and heat floods her face.

"I'm not a workaholic!"

"Yes, yes. You did not sleep here last night."

"How did you-" Sakura buries her face in her hands. "It's you! You're the one who tattled to Ino!"

"Don't stay too late!" He smirks, slamming the door behind him.

"Stupid Shika!"

 She skids backwards, launching herself at Kakashi even as he falls. To go up against a Goddess has to be on the top of the most insane things she had ever done, but insanity has always been what Team Seven deals in.

Sakura can see claws run through Kakashi’s torso. Too much, too deep. The possibility of Kakashi surviving is far too low for her liking. Her hands are gleaming with green medical chakra when she reaches him. Her heart sinks as she takes in his extensive injuries. Even with the Byakugo seal, there is a high chance of her failing.

“Kakashi-sensei...”

She reaches deep into her reserves, desperately trying to reconnect the pierced organs back together. She can do this. She can save him. She can-

Kakashi’s hand wraps around her wrist. “Sa- ku- ra…”

“Don’t talk, you idiot!”

She ducks as Naruto is thrown towards her. The blood on her hands makes it slippery and hard to hold onto the parts that she is trying to reconnect.

“Stay with me, sensei.” She channels more chakra into her healing, even releasing her Byakugo for the extra boost. Kakashi is the strongest shinobi she has ever known. If he falls in battle, then what about her? What about the rest of them? “Please, Kakashi-sensei… Rule number two. Don’t die.”

His hands slips off hers, falling limply to the ground, and she lets off a keening wail.

She has to- has to-

Sakura gets up to join the fight. It’s just Naruto and her left. The Goddess is gone, but Naruto-

Oh kage, not Naruto too. No, no, NO. Not him too.

She wakes with a sob at the back of her throat. Her gasps fill the silence of the room. Sakura leaps out of her window, her bare feet scampering across the rooftops.

“Sakura? It’s two in the morning,” Shikamaru yawns, shifting so that she can squeeze in beside him.

“There, there.” He pats her head sleepily. “Nara’s here to keep the shadows away,” he murmurs, eyes already closing before Sakura can even crawl under the blanket. Tucked in the blanket smelling of him, Sakura finally fades into a deep sleep.

“I was wondering whose cold feet was that on my calves.” Sakura wakes up to the low baritone sighing in her ears.

“Shika?” Sakura yawns, then realises that her arms are wrapped around him. “S-sorry!” She backs away quickly, almost falling off the bed had Shikamaru not caught her in time.

“Don’t start your day with a concussion. That’d be so troublesome.”

“Everything to you is troublesome,” Sakura says cheekily.

His eyes softens for a moment, his lips hitching up at the corner, and she felt the breath catch in her lungs. When she left Konoha, she had been too blind to see the things she left behind, too consumed in her grief to see anything beyond it. How had she missed it?

Shikamaru smirks, grabbing her by the waist and hauling her over his shoulder. “Too early for deep thoughts, Sakura!”

“I- I wasn’t thinking deep thoughts.” She could feel a flush start in her cheeks and climb down to the back of her neck. She had been thinking of the tug in her heart when she saw him smile.

“Yea, sure,” he drawls. “You weren’t.”

He dumps her at the kitchen table and tosses her a shirt too large to be anything but his. “Come on, since you crashed my bed, it’s time for you to pay rental fee in breakfast, troublesome woman.”

“I- Inojin really acts more like you than Genma.” Sakura smiles as she watches the brown haired baby drag his stuffed deer across the living room.

“Kage, I hope so. Can you imagine him having Genma’s personality? He would be breaking hearts before he even gets into academy,” Ino grouses, rubbing her growing belly. “Ahh, I swear Genma is trying to repopulate Konoha without my knowledge. The morning sickness is so bad.”

Sakura rubs some medical chakra across Ino’s stomach, carefully checking the fetus.

“Well? How is she?” Ino asks, a slightly anxious tone tinging her voice. “What’s wrong with my baby, Sakura?”

Sakura rubs her nose bridge. “Well…” she starts, trying to make sure she read the feedback properly. “There isn’t anything wrong with your baby per se. It’s just that you should be calling them babies instead of baby.”

Ino lifts an eyebrow. “Are you saying I might be having twins?”

“No, I’m saying you are having triplets. There are three growing chakra coils in your womb. I had to double check to be sure.” She shrugs, taking a seat beside Inojin.

Ino sinks into her couch, her face paling at Sakura’ revelation. “Oh… oh kage, I’m going to kill Genma.”

“It’s not so bad, at least you and Genma are going to be three steps closer to repopulating Konoha with your offspring.” She helps Inojin stack the blocks and he blabbers to her excitedly, pointing to each block.

“Then what about you?” Ino teases back, nudging a toe into her ribs. “I’ve seen the way you look at Shikamaru.”

Sakura holds her hand out, letting Inojin put his blocks into her hand and back into the container. Ino has seen the way she looked at Shikamaru? What does she mean by that? Sakura hasn’t looked at Shikamaru any differently from her usual way. Unsure on how to respond to Ino’s question after musing on it for awhile, she cocks her head at Ino with a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Ino grins. “For starters, you have that crinkle when you see him. Is there anything going on between you two?”

The memory of waking up to Shikamaru smiling at her, his hair spread out across the pillow. Her eyes wander from the domesticity of Ino’s house. It isn’t very hard for Sakura to imagine all this belonging to her. Out in the wilderness, while she was tramping across the continents, she had occasionally missed the Sunday afternoons in Ino’s shop and Friday evenings feeding the deer in the Nara forest.

Waking up next to Shikamaru…

Sakura tucks her chin into her neck, focusing on helping Inojin stack his blocks. There is a sense of contentment in that idea. An idea that she wouldn’t be unwilling to follow, but Shikamaru probably doesn’t see her that way. She has been Ino’s friend for the better half of their relationship and Shikamaru does consider Ino his unofficial sister.

Ino isn’t put off by her silence. Sakura knows she’s a far cry from her pre-shinobi war days or even her post-shinobi war period. It worries Ino, and when it worries Ino, she always sends Shikamaru over to harangue her into visiting or something. Sakura’s just used to not talking that much now and though she craved human contact during her travels, sometimes in the village the amount of people on the streets makes her nervous.

“You know, Ino. You should stop nagging at Shikamaru to nag at me.” Sakura feels bad for all the times that Shikamaru has been forced by Ino to come over. She knows Shikamaru would never really say ‘no’ to Ino, especially not how they had lost Chouji in the war.

Ino looks amused, hands twined on her stomach. “You think I do that, but I don’t.” Her lips twists wryly.

“Oh,” Sakura replies faintly, not really sure how to take in her words. Could she be overthinking it? She hasn’t even noticed Shikamaru until recently and Shikamaru has always been like that. No, she pushes the small bloom of hope in her chest. She has to be simply overthinking it.

“-you have to tell her!” Sakura catches Ino’s voice as she rounds the corner. Her feet still when Shikamaru’s irritated voice answers Ino.

“Tell her what?”

“Tell her you love her! She’ll never make a move if you don’t.” Ino’s reply jars the cracks in her heart. She had hoped that Shikamaru would come to like her as more than a friend, she hadn’t taken into account Shikamaru already loving someone else.

“I won’t. I didn’t do all those things because I wanted her to be with me, I did it because she would be happy. She’s not ready for a relationship. If I made a move and she rejects me, then she would have no one to lean on. I’m not going to do that to her, Ino.”

Sakura always knew Shikamaru was that sort of man. Her heart lurches at his words, wishing she had done something first. Maybe if she had stayed in Konoha, maybe if she hadn’t left- Her fingers claw into her white medic skirt.

“Shikamaru…” Ino’s voice murmurs and Sakura can hear Ino stepping forward. “I’ve seen the way she looked at you…”

Oh kage, the girl loves Shikamaru back. She-

Sakura takes a shuddering breath, the records in her hands falling onto the ground with a loud thump.

“Who’s there?” Shikamaru commands, slamming the door open. “Saku… ra?”

She’s not ready for this. If she had stayed in Konoha maybe things would be different! Coward, her mind whispers as she swivels around and leaps out of the window.

“Wait! Shit!”

If there’s anything to be gained from her… journey, it is that her speed and stamina are better now. She can feel Shikamaru chasing after her, rooftop after rooftop, but she’s not ready to look at him now. Shikamaru loves the girl with all his heart. There will never be space for her. She has to be happy for him. He’ll get a happy ending, especially with what Ino just told him.

So happy.

The thought brings hot frustrated tears to her eyes and she swipes them away with great fury. She should be happy for Shikamaru.

Eventually she senses Shikamaru’s presence disappear from her range. She wedges herself on a tree branch in an isolated training ground.

She’ll cry now, and the next time she sees Shikamaru, she will smile and be happy for him. Like a friend would, she tells herself.

Her shoulders shake with each stuttering gasp.

She will smile.

A fresh wave of tears rolls down her face and before she can tuck her face back into her arms to cry, her body freezes. Her head turns to look down at the lone figure delineated by the sunset.

“Come on Sakura, just… hear me out, okay?” He runs a hand down his face.

“No- leave me alone.” She wants to run away but Shikamaru has her trapped in a body paralysing jutsu.

“Just hear me out, and if you still don’t want to talk to me after that, I’ll go away and never bother you again.”

Her eyes heat up again with another wave of tears at the idea of Shikamaru never being in her life again. She doesn’t think she could stand that. He is the one she came back for.

“Don’t cry!” Shikamaru says in a panic. “Please don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it,” she sniffs, and he sighs loudly.

“Look,” he starts and then stops, pushing a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t know when it started. All I know is that one day you were there and the next you weren’t. And all I could think was of you. I didn’t realise it until you were gone, that I was… I was in love with you. But I- I didn’t want you to think that I was doing all that for something. I just-”

Shikamaru lets out an exasperated growl. “I just wanted you to be happy, okay? You were hurting and I wanted to be there for you.”

“You love me?” Sakura asks, not believing her ears.

“Yes, damnit Sakura. I love you. Maybe for three years, maybe since academy. I don’t know.” Shikamaru looks up and she can see the curve of his lips as he gazes her. “But there’s this warm feeling in me when I look at you that tells me everything is right.”

Even with the yellows and reds tinting the light, Sakura could see the blush all the way to his ears.

“Shikamaru… please release me.”

A disappointed look floods his face and he nods, placing his fingers together to form the jutsu release seal. Sakura stands, heart thumping loudly in her ears. Shikamaru has already confessed, she has to tell him too.

She lands in front of him and she opens her mouth for words she can’t find.

Shikamaru gives her a sad look and shakes his head. “It’s okay, Sakura. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same.” He turns from her, his broad shoulders casting a shadow onto her. Sakura grabs his vest, halting his steps.

“Shikamaru- I- I-”

He rubs her head. “It’s okay, Sakura. I knew it was a possibility that you didn’t love me back and if it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop. I just-”

“No! I- I came back for you. I came back to Konoha because of you,” Sakura says in a rush before he leaves. “Be-because you were always there and I never noticed. I came back for you but I stayed because I realised I loved you.”

“You love me?” He laughs and turns to pulls her in, tight. “She loves me!”

Shikamaru spins her around and then cups her chin, his thumb stroking her cheek. “May I kiss you?”

Instead of replying, she tugs him down by his jounin vest collar, capturing his lips with hers.

When they break apart, she rests her forehead against his collarbone and he strokes her hair gently. “I’m sorry I took so long,” she murmurs. “Why did I wait so long?”

“Because you’re troublesome,” he tells her, grinning.

She whacks him in the ribs and kisses him again.

#fanfiction #Naruto #Haruno Sakura #Nara Shikamaru #ShikaSaku

[themaninflannel]

‘you crochet?!’

Summary: Y/N is a hunter who gets her butt saved by the boys and later meets Dean in a bar.

Warnings: swearing, implied smut, douchey guy in bar, canon typical injuries, drunkenness 

Pairing: dean x reader

characters: dean, reader, sam, Rufus(mentioned)

word count: ~1000

i was in way over my head. i read all of the signs wrong, i thought it was just one but it was a whole pack. now, don't get me wrong: i can handle myself, but 50 werewolves is just too much for one person. they almost had me, i was on the ground my knife was out of reach. i thought it was over. but then two men came barreling into the barn swinging what looked like long silver blades. i could feel the wolves claws tearing at my arms.

 i was still kicking and screaming, if i was going to go out i was going to do it fighting. the men pulled enough of the wolves off of me so that i could get back on my feet and grab my knife. between the three of us, we took care of all the wolves without dying. 

"thanks, guys, but i can handle the clean up," i told them when we were all done. i felt a little bad dissing them after they helped me, but honestly, i was kinda embarrassed that i had fucked up so bad. 

"you sure? you're pretty beat up. we can help. its not a problem." the taller one said

"look, i appreciate what you guys did, really, but i can take it from here," i said sternly.

"whatever, come on Sammy," the other one said as he walked out of the big barn doors.

once they left i collapsed onto the nearest wall, i didn't want the boys to see how beat up i really was. it was nothing i couldn't patch up, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt like a bitch. i took a minute to wallow in the pain and then i started to pile the bodies outside, when i had finished putting them all in one place i found rocks and stones to create a circle around it so the fire wouldn't spread and set the bodies blazing. 

back at my motel room, i found my first aid kit and a bottle of whiskey. i poured the booze over my wounds to clean them, usually, i would use rubbing alcohol but i was out at the moment so i had to make due with what i had. i took the sewing thread and stitched up my legs and my arms, thankfully i didn't have anything that was too bad on my midsection so i wasn't in any real danger. but i was in pain so i decided i wanted a drink. i grabbed my crocheting and hopped in my car in search of the closest non-douchey bar.

i sat on one of the stools at the bar slowly sipping my drink working on the scarf i was crocheting. To me, that plus the utter lack of effort i put into my appearance was a clear sign that i did not want to be hit on. However, apparently not everyone got the memo, because before i could even finish my first drink i was approached by someone.

"hey, darlin, how bout i buy you your next drink?" i felt his hand on my back before i saw him, he was average height, blond hair that had been styled to stick straight up, muscular-but not in the cute way- and could not take a hint,

"actually im good with just this, thanks." i said curtly with a tight smile.

"come on! just one shot?" he leered, getting closer to me with every word.

"no. please go away."

"baby...dont be like that." now i was getting pissed

"look. first: not your baby. second: i dont want another drink. let alone from someone like you, so i suggest you go away so i dont have to kick your bleach-blond, jock-tastic, predatory ass." i was done being polite. fuck him. all i wanted to do was have a drink, is that really so hard?

"whatever, youre not that hot anyway!" he said as he walked away. i went back to my crocheting and finished my drink in peace, but right when i ordered another i heard a familiar voice.

"you crochet?!" he said incredulously with his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. it was the shorter man from the barn earier.

"yeah, so what?" i was so done dealing with everyone's crap.

"nothing, just didn’t peg you as the granny type. I’m Dean by the way." he chuckled as he stuck out his hand for me to shake.

"Y/N." i reached over and took the hand he offered.

"wait, Y/N? not Y/N Y/L/N? Rufus' old friend?" he asked as he ordered a drink for himself and sat himself on the stool next to me.

"that old bastard," i said softly as i took a sip of my drink.

"that he was" dean laughed, "how did you know him?" he asked me.

"friend of a friend. saved his ass on a hunt one time."

"is that why he always talked about you like you were a godsend?" that made me laugh.

"no, he was livid that i killed the Vetala instead of him. he liked me cause i made him a blanket to keep his decrepit ass warm in the winter."

"that sounds like him" dean acknowledged.

"so, since you know who i am, i think its only fair if you tell me a little about yourself."

"you haven't heard the stories?"

"I’ve heard them, but stories aren’t always true,” while we sat there he told me all about his time hunting and we traded war stories. by the end of the night, we were both quite drunk, although i was surprised that either of us could still get drunk. 

“we...we should leave. i gotta head back to the bunker,” he slurred

“maybe you could show me? I’m interested in one room in particular,” i whispered into his hear, when i pulled away i winked, just to make sure he got my incredibly obvious innuendo.

“anything you want, sweetheart” he flirted as we made our way out of the bar, his arm around my shoulder, my crocheting thrown haphazardly into my bag, and smiles plastered on both our faces.

#Dean x reader #dean winchester #reader insert #dean one shot #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester smut #supernatural imagine #supernatural #drunk!dean