#A note i wrote john smashed underneath

[mezmer]

Love my friends so much

[direwombat]

tagged by so many people over the past few weeks, but most recently @simplegenius042 on this fine wip wednesday (thank youuuu~). been a while, but here are some sneak peeks at katc ch 7 that's fairly hot off the presses (ie, i wrote them today, they're super rough, and will see the red ink of an editing pen at some point in the near future). syb finally made it to the ranger station in the whitetails, only to find that there's no sign of her brother to be found. just a chatty jacob calling in via radio, and some consequences of the van crash that saved her from john in ch 5. Also tw for passing references to childhood abuse

“Trying to call someone, Deputy?” 

She scowls, glancing around for the source of his voice, if only to disable it. 

“Gotta say, watching you clear out an outpost on your own was impressive. Waltzed into a den of wolves like it was nothing.”

Her blood runs cold. He was watching her the whole damn time? Her eyes dart up to the ceiling, scanning for security cameras. There are none inside, but as she carefully moves to the door, she spots one on the porch outside. According to Augustine, the rangers had security and trail cams set up all over the Whitetails. The cult must have co-opted those for themselves. She grits her teeth. Moving outside, her hand curls around the handle of a baseball bat left leaning against the exterior wall and smashes the camera. 

The pinch in her gut sharpens, white hot and piercing through her like she’s been stabbed. The skin of her abdomen pulls taut and tight as she lifts her arms to swing. 

When she returns inside, low, sinister laughter fills the room. “Clever little jackrabbit, ain’t ya?” 

A growl slips from between gritted teeth and with one hand pressed to her side, she lurches behind the reception desk. Resting on one of the shelves underneath the tabletop, is a HAM radio. She makes note of the frequency it's attuned to, jotting it down in the margins of her map before picking up the transceiver. “The fuck you want?” 

“Got someone who wants to say hi to you.” For a brief, fleeting moment, hope kindles in her ribcage -- Augustine -- only to be snuffed out when Jacob continues, “Ain’t that right, Peaches.” 

Her brow pinches together in confusion, mouth open, ready to ask what the fuck he’s talking about when Staci’s voice comes through. 

“Syb?” His voice is rough. Raw. As if he’d spent the past God knows how long either screaming or crying. He sounds scared. 

All of a sudden her aches and pains and fears are pushed aside in favor of trying to soothe his. “Yeah, I’m here, Stace. You alright?”

She hears his breath hitch and grow shallow, as if he’s hyperventilating. “Don’t listen to him. Whatever he tells you, whatever he says, it’s a --” He’s cut off by the sharp sound of a hand striking skin and he cries out in pain. She gasps, flinching as if she had also been struck. The phantom burn of her Daddy’s hand on her cheek makes the fine hairs on her neck stand on end.  

When Jacob speaks next, his voice is low and threatening. “Alright, that’s enough.” 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Sybille growls.  

“I’m sure you will, sweetheart,” he says condescendingly. “But until then, here’s what’s gonna happen: you’re going to surrender. You’re going to do exactly what I say. And if you behave, maybe I let you see your friend here.” 

“Kiss my ass.” 

“I’m being gracious here, Deputy. The rangers at the station didn’t get as generous an offer.” 

Her lips curl back, exposing all her teeth in a predatory snarl. “You sunnovabitch, I’m gonna --”

But, before she can finish her threat, he’s talking over her. “You’re not feeling well, are you, Deputy? I see the way you’re moving. Slow. Clutching your stomach. Abdominal pain?” He clicks his tongue and she can practically hear him shaking his head. “Nasty things can happen if you let that go unchecked. Do your little buddies in the Valley know? Can’t imagine they do if they let you come up here all on your own.”

Her silence must speak volumes, because after a moment’s pause, he begins to laugh. 

“They don’t know you’re here, do they?”

Her molars grind together so hard her jaw creaks. The pain in her abdomen is getting worse. A pressure builds  Her heart is racing so fast she can barely hear him over it rushing in her ears. Through heavy, labored breaths, she grits out, “You listen to me --”

“No. You listen to me. My Chosen will come get you. You’ll play nice. And maybe -- if i’m in a good mood -- maybe, I’ll humor you with a negotiation. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like you can take my boot and shove it -- ah!” Another sharp stab of pain lances through her stomach, and her shaking knees buckle, sending her to the ground. Her vision tunnels, darkness rapidly closing in from the corners of her eyes. Her body lands on the hardwood floor with a solid thud. Boomer is rushing to her side just as she hears the motor of an ATV approaching from a distance. He whimpers, nosing at her and trying to nudge her back to her feet, but her weak and trembling limbs won’t let her. “Go,” she hisses at the same time Jacob’s voice calls to her from transceiver now dangling by its cord. “Go!” 

Boomer whines again, but follows her command, and slips through the door she’d left slightly ajar. 

She groans, clutching her stomach and curling her knees close to her chest. The roar of the ATV grows louder and louder as it approaches. She rests her sweaty forehead against the cool floor and waits. Waits for Jacob’s Chosen. Waits for the dark embrace of unconsciousness to finally deliver her from her pain. Waits for God to show her the Pearly Gates where Mamma and Augustine are waiting for her before the Devil grabs her ankle and drags her down the Hell.

And for funsies, here's the snippet from a sequence featuring syb's recurring guilt dream

Gravel crunches under heavy boots. Each shuffling step kicks up dust behind her. Sweat clings to her skin, beading at her brow and slipping down her neck to soak into the collar of her shirt. The humidity is suffocating, heavy and oppressive as the Louisiana heat beats down on her. She lurches forward with slow, shambling steps, her head light and nodding back and forth as her exhausted and aching body soldiers on.  

One foot. 

Then the other. 

Again, and again, and again, and again. 

A chorus of cicadas screech -- or maybe that’s just the ringing in her ears -- as she’s pulled like a dog on a leash towards the grave she helped dig. 

A lazy breeze cuts through the stagnant air, but it does little to wick the sweat from her brow. Blades of tall grass in the fields around her bend and sway, whispering softly and echoing the words that pour out of her mouth. 

“O Lord, I beg Thy forgiveness for havin’ offended Thee, and I detest all my sins…”

The moon hangs low, fat and full, on the horizon, illuminating her way with silver beams of light. Every breath she takes is a struggle, every step she takes causes an ache so deep she feels it in the marrow of her creaking bones. Her hair clings to her forehead and the back of her neck. Blisters have formed and popped several times over, the soles of her feet squishing out blood that pools in the dusty footprints she leaves behind. 

She’s walked this lonely dirt road more times than she cares to count, nothing more than a shambling corpse, making a pilgrimage to the same Unholy spot every time she goes to sleep. 

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she adjusts her grip on the shovel slung over her shoulder. Its wooden handle warped and stained with the blood and sweat of her calloused palms. She swears that each time she returns to this road, that stain gets a little bit bigger. 

As she passes a pond, a creeping bit of the bayou that threatens to overtake the road with each passing summer, the back of her neck prickles as a pair of unseen eyes lock onto her. Clouds drift overhead, blotting out the moonlight and she’s cast into darkness. A shadowy figure swoops past her with a heavy beat of its wings and fluttering of feathers. She gasps and her gaze snaps skyward, some wild prey instinct sends her heart racing, urging her to run. 

An owl glides through the air, following the path of the road towards the weeping willow that towers on the horizon. It’s the only tree for miles, standing sentinel at the crossroads where she helped bury a man. 

Underneath its swaying boughs stands a single grave marker, one that her Daddy hadn’t bothered to make. She comes to a stop in front of it. It’s an old thing, nothing more than two planks of wood bound together by rope. Its white paint is chipped and weathered. It bears no name, no dates -- nothing to indicate who has been laid to rest here. 

With a heavy sigh, she turns her shovel around to sink the blade into the soft, sandy soil and begins to dig. Time slows, the only sign of it marching ever onward is the pile of dirt that grows larger with every shovelful. The owl watches her work, offering a scornful hoot whenever she stops to catch her breath. 

It’s only when the tip of the spade makes contact with something solid -- a hollow thunk reverberating through the air -- that she tosses the shovel to the side. She falls to her knees and begins to rip into the earth by hand. Her nails chip. Her fingers bleed. She catches sight of curved pieces of keratin caught in the churning soil. Her hands are caked in dirt and blood. 

But still, she digs. 

Off in the distance, a coyote chitters -- a sound that morphs into the rough and rasping cackle of a heavy smoker as another breeze rolls through, hot and humid like breath on her neck. The smell of tobacco is carried on it. “Gotta move faster than that, Billie,” her Daddy barks. 

And still, she digs. 

But she isn’t digging fast enough. 

The angry wind whips and curls around her. The exposed skin of her arms alight in burning pricks of pain. The faded circular scars pockmarking the underside of her forearms burn, throbbing in pain as the familiar sting of ashes rains down her neck. “Y’ain’t got all night, girl,” Daddy snarls. “C’mon, move it!” 

Panic sets in. 

Nonetheless, she digs. 

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[coureirsix]

Chicago

[ wrote a little bitty about two baby boys. || read on ao3 ]

Dutch takes John out on a heist one day and Arthur’s going to die mad about it. 

Chicago.

Let’s go to Chicago, he’d said. It’ll be fun, he’d said. There’s no fun quite like seeing the feeble attempts at rising a city that will never last, he’d said. You like doing things quietly, Arthur, he’d said. Dutch said a lot of things. And he wasn’t necessarily wrong. But, there was a difference this time.

This time, they brought Marston around. Good-shot little Johnny Marston. John Marston who cleared a cabin before Arthur could get his gun up. There were only two people in that cabin. It wasn’t that impressive. Arthur had done things much more impressive in his time as an outlaw. And he hadn’t been riding with Dutch and Hosea for very long, either.

But, Dutch had said they were to bring Marston along for this ride, and that was that. Arthur sits in the back of a wagon Dutch had secured for getting around town, the frown on his face permanent since they got off the train station in Chicago. The city was barren, for the most part, but there were skeletons of buildings, roads being planned as well as the odd structures already completed. They stand out like blood in water as they ride through the city.

Arthur peers over the top of the wagon’s sides, taking note of the routes they could potentially use as escape routes should there be any issue. He was careful like that. He was useful like that. Marston’s atop of the wagon. With Dutch. Marston’s talking about some hunt. Something useless. But, Dutch is laughing along. Inciting the boy, asking questions. What Dutch should be doing is watching for the lawmen that may be around. Placing them on the map in his mind, should things go wrong.

But, Arthur’s already doing that. Arthur has the tiny plot of land mapped out and he’s ready to go at Dutch’s command. He looks down at his gun, clean as can be, thanks to Hosea teaching him how to clean the metal. Marston’s isn’t as clean.

When they’d been back at the little camp they’d set up for themselves, Dutch brought up robbing the first national bank of Chicago. They’d have to bring funds into the upcoming town, Dutch had said. He’d heard word of a decent enough amount being brought in and there were too few of them for a decent train robbery, so the bank itself would have to do.

Arthur had been excited, as excited as he always was whenever something that had come up. He was usually entrusted with hunting, petty thievery or holding up men on horses. Little things. But, as of recently, Dutch had taken him for a few proper robberies. Arthur had held up a gunsmith, a couple of small time banks, and several stagecoaches. Marston was left to do some of the little things. Hosea did the hunting whenever Arthur couldn’t and Dutch remained a master of stealing right from underneath people’s noses. Marston only barely earned his keep.

In a way, Arthur could rationalize it to himself that this was how Marston was to earn his keep. But, Marston was inexperienced. He hadn’t held up more than a woman on the streets before. Marston couldn’t handle what was coming. He wouldn’t be able to. Arthur looks up at the back of their heads and he gets an idea.

“Hey, Dutch?” Arthur finally says from his spot in the wagon’s cart.

“Yes, Arthur?” Dutch calls back.

“You sure we should be bringing Marston? You’re not afraid he might run right into the line of fire?” Arthur asks. He knows there’s no going back on this decision, but it might just be enough for him to get a rise out of Marston.

“I’m not stupid, ‘course I won’t do that,” Marston snaps back before Dutch can respond.

“You sure, Marston? Coulda sworn I saw a lady disarm you back down south,” Arthur says, without missing a beat.

“You saw wrong, Morgan,” Marston responds.

Arthur opens his mouth to respond, another jab at Marston’s incompetence ready when Dutch tugs at the reins of the horse a little, causing them to come to a stop.

“Now, boys,” Dutch says, turning to look down at Arthur, “ain’t nothing going to go wrong with this. We’re doing it quietly. You remember the safe Hosea had you pick?”

“Yeah.”

“Same thing this time around. We’ll be just fine,” Dutch says as he climbs off the wagon. He goes around, past Arthur, and helps Marston come down from his side. Arthur slides his way off the back of the wagon as well, following Dutch and Marston on the side of the road where buildings are being constructed. They’re a step or two ahead of him, but he catches up quickly, walking to Marston’s right while Dutch is on the left.

“So, what’s the plan, boss?” Marston asks.

“Not so loud, boy. You want everyone to know what the hell it is we’re doing here?” Arthur snaps.

“Now, Arthur. It’s alright,” Dutch reaches over Marston’s head and puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Dutch speaks in a lower voice when he answers Marston, “we’re gonna go in there. And you’re gonna stay calm, alright? No matter what happens. I tell you to shoot, you shoot. I tell you to wait, you wait. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Marston says as he reaches for his gun. Arthur reaches down to slap Marston’s hand away in a flash and hisses, “you listening at all, boy? You wait for Dutch’s call.”

Marston jerks his hand away from Arthur’s reach and glares up at him. Those tiny dirty eyes bother Arthur. They’re shit coloured. Any pile of horse shit could be Marston’s beady eyes looking up at him. Arthur glares right back.

“We’re here boys,” Dutch says as they arrive at the completed bank building that rests on a empty street corner. Dutch looks down at Marston and says, “John. You wait out here and keep lookout. Lawmen come, knock on the door three times loudly. Anything else happens you run and start screaming that you lost your momma. As loud as you can, son and get somewhere safe. We’ll meet up at the bridge we saw about two miles out.”

Arthur breaks into a smile at the sight of Marston’s face dropping.

“Yes, sir,” Marston says, the disappointment clear on his face.

Arthur drops his smile as Dutch turns to look at him now, “you ready, Arthur?” he asks.

Arthur nods. He’s as ready as can be. Dutch opens the door and slips his bandana over his nose. Arthur follows along and does the same.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen. This is a robbery!” Dutch yells and the few people by the counters scream and cower.

A woman tries to run pas them and Arthur pulls his gun from his holster and jams the barrel into her stomach, “now, miss. I don’t think that’s a wise idea,” he growls from beneath the mask. The woman whimpers and backs away.

“Now, everyone, stay calm and no one shall get hurt. We want what’s in the safe, not your lives. We can end this amicably,” Dutch says, guns still pointed out at both sides of the building. He continues, “this is how things are going to go. The kind teller, what’s your name, miss?”

“M-Madeline…” the woman behind the counter says, backing away.

“Great, well, Miss Madeline, this is my friend Mister M,” Dutch gestures to Arthur and continues, “and you’re gonna be a kind host and show him to your vault, right? Would be such a shame if any harm were to come to these other kind folk because you chose to be rude.”

The panicked woman nods and Arthur follows her into the safe, gun raised. When she steps into the vault, three safes line the wall. Arthur shoves her forward toward one of them and says, “Open it.”

She kneels and begins to open. It occurs to Arthur that he could open another and save them some time. Do this faster than Marston ever could. He drops down beside her and presses his ear to the safe, turning the dial. He hears a soft click and turns the dial another way. He hears another soft click and Dutch steps through the doorway.

“What’s taking so long?” he asks.

Arthur looks up at him and says, “it’s going!”

The woman unlocks her safe and Dutch steps forward, moving her aside to grab the stacks of bills inside the safe. He tosses her aside and she lands on the ground with a thud as Arthur hears the final click of his own safe and opens it. He steps over to the other safe as Dutch bags the rest of the cash.

Arthur leans down and picks up the woman, leading her to the final safe. She starts on the dial and has the safe open within a few more moments. Arthur shoves her aside and has taken most of the bills when three loud bangs come from outside the vault doors.

“Shit,” Dutch says with a grunt. Arthur finishes bagging the cash when a lawman’s voice comes through.

“We’ve got this place surrounded! Come out with your hands up and we won’t kill you!”

“As mighty fine as that sounds, officer, I don’t think we’ll be doing that!” Dutch yells back, motioning for Arthur to get low and follow him behind the teller’s cage. Both Dutch and Arthur peer up behind the desk and get a look at the lawmen outside pointing guns at the cage.

“You got five seconds before we storm in there! This is your last chance!” the lawman yells.

“Five seconds to run, Arthur,” Dutch says in a lower voice as he dashes out from the door at the side of the teller’s cage and uses his entire body weight to smash through a window. Arthur follows, only just missing the gunfire behind him. Dutch breaks into a sprint and Arthur manages to keep up long enough for them to find horses to get away on.

It didn’t go as smoothly as it could have, but it went well enough, Arthur thinks. They got all of the money and the lawmen were lost a ways back. He’s proud of himself. They hitch the horses around the bridge Dutch had mentioned. They had to wait for Marston.

Arthur sits down and rests his back against a pillar holding the bridge up. He looks up at Dutch with a look of disdain and asks, “we can’t just come back for him later?”

“No, Arthur. Would you have preferred I left you those years back when you tried to jump what you thought was a well dressed construction worker?” Dutch asks, giving Arthur a knowing look.

“No..” Arthur mutters softly, but Dutch continues over him.

“And turned out to be a lawman? And I got away, but you were going to be arrested?”

“No, sir,” Arthur says, a little louder now, looking down at the heels of his boots.

“Then we wait,” Dutch says, leaning on the same pillar besides Arthur. He looks in the direction of Chicago, expecting Marston to come around at any moment.

They’re there for about an hour when they see a horse coming in the distance.

“Only took him the longest god damn time!” Arthur yells as he stands up and heads for the horse he’d stolen.

“That’s John, alright. But, he’s not driving,” Dutch says, still standing by the pillar. Arthur takes a look again and sure enough. John Marston, little fourteen year old John Marston, is hog tied and riding on the back of a man’s horse. Marston screams as the horse approaches them and doesn’t stop. They ride past Dutch and Arthur at an alarming speed.

“Shit,” Dutch and Arthur say simultaneously. Arthur’s on his horse in a second, with Dutch following just a bit behind. Arthur tugs at the reins of his horse, seeing the distance between him and John shorten. When he’s good and able to, he jumps from his horse directly at the rider of the horse John is hog tied to. The man lands on the ground with a loud thud and Arthur’s bodyweight atop of him. They struggle around as John screams in the background.

The man reaches for Arthur’s hair and tugs at it, making Arthur grunt and throw blind punches. Some connect, some don’t. The man scrambles to get up, tossing Arthur to the side. The man comes to a halt at the sight of Dutch, giving Arthur the opportunity to come up and tackle the man from behind.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Arthur yells as they hit the floor again. They flip around, so Arthur is sitting on the man’s chest, connecting punch after punch.

“That’s just a boy!” Arthur yells, “what in the hell were you thinking?! Just robbing a boy like that? What the hell were you going to do with him?!”

“That’s enough, Arthur,” Dutch says, the authority in his voice prominent. Arthur drops the man’s bloody head and steps away.

“We’re not killers,” Dutch says, coming off his horse. He steps over to the man on the ground and holds out his revolver, pointing the barrel directly at the man’s head. The man cries out.

“P-p-please, sir. Didn’t mean the boy no harm- just know a friend who relocates lost boys…” the man says through a bloody mouth.

“All those boys end up servants!” Arthur yells, moving to kneel down to punch the man again. Dutch holds an arm out, stopping Arthur from moving any further. Dutch instead kneels down and touches the barrel to the man’s forehead.

“We’re not killers,” he repeats, “but we could be. Remember that next time you want to try and pick up a boy off the streets. Many boys out there got fathers like me. I can’t promise they won’t shoot.” Dutch stands upright.

The man makes a sound, but is cut off by Dutch giving his head a swift kick, knocking him unconscious. Dutch leans down to grab the body, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Arthur, get John from down there. He rides with you,” Dutch says, walking off to the side to leave the body off the road. Arthur does as he’s told. He picks John up, puts him down, and unties him.

John pulls the gag out of his mouth and takes a deep breath, saying, “I thought I was a goner!”

Dutch laughs as he approaches them, responding, “no, boy. We never leave a man behind. Never. If we don’t got each other, what do we have?”

“Nothing,” Arthur answers.

“That’s right, Arthur,” Dutch says, hoisting himself up onto his horse. He continues, “now, come on, boys. I’m sure Hosea will be real happy to hear about how this went.”

“Yes, sir,” Arthur and John say in unison. Arthur motions for John to follow him as he jogs the bit of distance that his horse was left in. He climbs up with ease and holds out a hand for John to climb up behind him.

“You’re alright, Morgan,” John says, while holding onto Arthur’s side with a hint of teasing in his voice.

“You’re not, Marston,” Arthur responds, not missing a beat as he kicks at the horse, following behind Dutch.

[gaybvckybarnes]

not the normal apple pie life

@badthingshappenbingo 

Square Filled: CPR

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: T

Word Count: 2201

Summary:  Sam has a secret, John is gone, and Dean just wants the family to stay together.  When a vamp hunt goes wrong, he fears his entire life may fall into ruins.

A/N: my first Bad Things Happen Bingo fill!  i’ve been wanting to get around to this and actually started another fic for a different square but i haven’t finished it yet.  i got hella inspired for this one before work, wrote most of it and then finished it off after.  [can be read as wincest or just gen]

It was supposed to be an easy hunt.

Sam was eighteen and beginning to show a lack of interest in the family business.  Dean had snuck onto his computer for porn but had found much more.  Things that shouldn’t have been on a hunter’s laptop.  College applications.  He yearned to drill him with questions once John left after finding a lead on whatever killed their mother and was about to when his phone began ringing.

“Couplea vamps.  You and Sam can take ‘em out, right?” John asked.

Dean hesitated, looking back at Sam sitting at the small motel table, chewing his fingernails as his eyes moved over the computer screen.  He wanted to say no and just sit Sammy down and talk about all of it.  Talk him out of going to college.  It’ll only be a couple more years until we find mom’s killer, Sammy.  Hold out.  But Sam wasn’t that stupid.  They weren’t any closer and knew the trail John had found would just be another dead end.  So he sucked in a breath.  “Yeah, dad.  Send me the details.”

“Yup.”  The line went dead and Dean let his arm drop to his side.  He let his head hang for a moment.  Surely Sam wasn’t actually thinking about leaving them.  It was research or him needing to go undercover.  Maybe he’d found a lead of his own and didn’t want to raise any suspicions or get John’s hopes up.

He tried to convince himself of that as he turned to Sam completely.  “Dad’s sending us on a hunt.”

Sam rolled his eyes.  “Of course he is.  D’you want to take care of it?  I’m kinda busy right now.”

“What, filling out college applications?”

He froze, eyes shooting to the ground at Dean’s words.  “H-how did you know about that?”

“Your passwords easy to crack, little brother.  I’d change it if I were you,” Dean said sharply, more venom shining through his words than he’d intended.

“Did you tell dad?” Sam asked softly.

“No.”  His phone vibrated.  John.  He checked the location of the vamps.  Not far at all, they’d be back at the motel in a few hours, tops, and then they could continue their conversation.  “Now suck it up and follow me or I’ll call him right now and let him know.”

“Blackmail.  Very mature,” Sam muttered, but stood and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair.  He pushed past Dean and walked out into the chilly November night.

Dean sighed, running a hand over his face and glancing at Sam’s laptop before following him out the door.

The drive to the abandoned building was quick, though they drove in silence.  Dean wanted to keep pestering Sam about the college applications but knew it would only cloud his head even more and distract both of them from the hunt.  They needed to focus.

Dean parked the shitty car a few blocks away, making a mental note to steal a better one next time.  One like the Impala.  He pulled himself out of the car, making sure his blade was secure on his belt.  Sam came up to his side, weapon already in hand as he looked on to the run-down house.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

“You take the back, I’ll deal with the front and cause as much hell as possible,” Dean said.

Sam nodded and took off while Dean held back for a moment, eyes on his little brother.  He wondered what it would be like without having him around.  All his life had revolved around the hunt and keeping Sammy safe.  Without the latter, what was the point?

He shook his head of those thoughts.  Don’t get distracted, he scolded and headed after Sam.

The windows of the house were completely blacked out, a sure-fire sign of vamps.  He tiptoed over to the front door, twisting the handle, unsurprised when he found it turned easily.  They were blood-suckers, it wasn’t as if a break-in was the worst thing in the world - unless those entering were hunters.

Dean pushed the door open and crept inside.  Dust covered almost everything aside from sets of footprints on the floor, proving that the home had uninvited guests that didn’t bother to dust.  He looked around, noting a few pieces of furniture that had long since been covered with plastic.  The contents underneath could hardly be seen due to years going untouched.

He moved to take another step when a hissing sounded from behind him.  Dean turned quickly, just in time to see a blonde vampire jump at him, pinning him roughly to the ground.  He growled and smirked.  “Y’know, I’m not against being pinned by a sexy lady.  It’s the blood-sucker part that I just can’t get past.”

The vamp scoffed, backhanding him across the face before closing her hand around his throat.  He choked, trying to suck a breath in, to no avail.  She leaned over him, baring her fangs and inhaling deeply.  “You don’t smell too bad… for a hunter.”

Dean’s hand moved gradually down to his blade.  As soon as the pads of his fingers touched the hilt, he moved as fast as possible, knowing he only had one chance before the bitch knocked it out of his hands and sunk her fangs into his flesh.  He held the blade up to her throat, the sharp edge cutting into her neck and drawing blood.  She drew back slightly and he moved to turn the tables, pinning her and taking off her head, but a voice rang out in the otherwise silent room.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Dean looked up and over to find a male vamp with his arm around Sam’s chest and his own blade to his throat.  He tightened his grip on the blade, rolling over and pinning the female underneath him, his weapon still to her throat.  “She’s your mate, isn’t she?”

The male growled.  “And isn’t this one yours?”  He pushed the blade into Sam’s neck, blood blossoming from the wound and a small sound escaping his throat.

He decided to ignore the comment, hoping he could get out of the predicament with both of them alive and the vamps dead.  “Seems I have somethin’ of yours and you have somethin’ of mine, huh?”

A smile spread over the vamps face, but it wasn’t kind.  It was teasing.  “A fair trade, hunter?  It’d be a shame if this ended in death.  Though I would so love to drain your mate right in front of you.”

“And trust me, I’d love to cut this bitch’s head off.  Fine.  A trade.  Let my brother go first.”

The vampire snorted.  “Let him go and then trick me by beheading her?  I don’t think so.  You first.  Trust me, I’m a creature of my word.”

Dean bit his bottom lip softly, looking down at the female before grunting and climbing off her.  She stood quickly, spitting at him before returning to her mate’s side.  The male kissed her quickly before looking back at Dean.

“I suppose a deal’s a deal,” he said lazily, dropping his arms.

Sam relaxed slightly and began walking toward Dean, but the vamp grabbed him by the arm, nails digging into his skin.  Everything else happened quickly.  So quickly it went by in a blur.

The vamp smashed the hilt of the blade into Sam’s temple, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.  He didn’t move, but Dean didn’t notice.  With a yell, he ran forward, swinging his blade blindly.  In two swipes, he had removed the female’s head.  The male screeched loudly, jumping toward him.

But Dean was ready.  He swung back, his blade digging deep into the vamp’s chest.  Another screech - this one of pain, another swing, and the vamp’s head landed a few feet from his body, which fell forward.  Blood spurted from the stump, soaking Dean’s front.

His chest heaving, Dean dropped the blade with a clatter and ran to Sam’s side.  He turned him onto his back, trying not to notice the blood oozing from his temple.  “Sam?  Sammy?” he said, gently slapping his little brother’s cheek.

Sam’s head just moved to the side limply.

With a shaking hand, Dean pressed his fingers to Sam’s throat, under his jaw.  He waited a few seconds before panic overtook him.  There wasn’t a pulse.  Oh, god, there wasn’t a pulse.  Sammy wasn’t breathing.

He sat back, heart racing and adrenaline pumping through his veins.  There was no time to contact the police or John.  He was alone, not even with Sam’s advice to guide him through it.  He couldn’t lose his brother or let his dad down.

Then there was a light at the end of the darkness.  A class Sam had forced him to take a few years back when he was worried about their victims and bringing them back.  CPR.  He wasn’t even sure if he could remember the proper steps.  Chest compressions.  Pinch the nose, breathe into their mouth.  He had to do it.

“I’ll bring you back, Sammy,” he whispered before placing his hands on Sam’s chest, locking his fingers together and pumping.  He heard an audible crack - ribs breaking? - but kept going, putting his body into it before stopping, pinching Sam’s nose and breathing every breath he could into his body.  “C’mon, goddamnit, don’t you dare leave me!”

When Sam still didn’t move, Dean yelled in grief, fearing he had lost everything in one fell swoop.  He pushed his lips against Sam’s, their teeth clacking together and let forth a gust of air that fell into a sob.  Tears tracked down his cheeks as he fell back.

He had failed to save him, failed to keep the family together, failed his father.  Everything began falling into darkness.  Dean couldn’t go on without Sammy, couldn’t function without him.  There was no point in even trying to consider carrying on.  “I’m sorry,” he choked out.  “I’m so sorry.”

A sharp gasp followed by a loud cry caused Dean to jump.  He looked up, watching as Sam came to life, his large hands moving to his torso.  

“Ah, it- it hurts.  Dean?”  Their eyes met and Dean couldn’t stop himself from scooping Sam up in his arms, holding his body close to him, only loosening his grip when his little brother whined softly.

“Sorry.  Shit, sorry.  We need to get you to the hospital.  I think I broke a few of your ribs,” Dean said, pushing Sam’s bangs out of his eyes gently.  “And your head needs to be checked out.”

“What happened?” he asked as Dean helped him stand, supporting most of his weight.  He didn’t care, as long as it was living weight.

Dean focused on getting out of the house and off the porch before answering.  “The vamp tricked me.  Bashed your head in.  I ganked both of ‘em and when I went to you, you…  you weren’t breathing.  I remembered that dumbass CPR class you forced me to go to but I think I broke a few of your ribs.  I only remembered the gist of it.”

Sam stayed quiet.  “Thank you… for saving me.”

“Hey, you’re my pain-in-the-ass little brother.  I’ll always save you.”

They finished their trek to the car, Dean helping Sam into the passenger seat before running to the other side.  Once inside, he sped to the hospital, pulling into a parking space and stopping.  “Sammy, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but…” he trailed off, running a calloused hand over his face.  “Are you leaving us?”

Sam fidgeted slightly before answering.  “I want to live a normal life, Dean.  I can’t- I can’t do this anymore.  It’s not because I hate you or dad, I just need to get out.”

“You know hunters aren’t cut out for the apple pie life, though, Sam.  It’s all gonna come back to you sooner or later.  Wouldn’t you rather it happen with me and dad around?” Dean asked.

“It’s worth a shot.  The constant near-death experiences, death, and just- I don’t have friends.  I don’t have a girlfriend.  I want that.  I look at people that have that and this- this feeling overcomes me and it feels like I’m choking.  I’m sorry, but you can’t talk me out of this.  I was accepted to Stanford and I’m going.  I just need to figure out how I’m going to tell dad,” Sam said, avoiding Dean’s gaze and staring down at his hands.

Dean opened the door.  Sam’s mind had been made up and the only thing he could do was support him, especially since he knew damn well how John would react to the news.  “We’ll worry about dad when we get ya patched up.”

“We?” Sam asked, a small smile making its way to his face.  He looked happy and… relieved that Dean was on his side.

He returned the smile.  “You and me against the world always, little bro.”

[girlbetweenryosuke]

“Pull The Trigger.”

Note: This was a request from an anon!! So yes!! Here it is!!! I’m kind of really proud of this one because I really don’t write anything very explicit (kind of). But, I stepped out of my comfort zone and wrote this so here it issss!! I hope u like it and enjoiii

Warnings: guns, drugs, cursing, and kissing.

Teaser:

“...I don’t use my ‘feminine wiles’ to get my answers, but since you are a pretty fucking hot guy, I guess I won’t hesitate.”, she smiled, and he gulped.

In a dark room with only one old lightbulb providing light, a group of nine people were drinking while sitting around an old circular wooden table. “He was kinda easy.”, Kota slanged, and the others laughed, “Kind of easy?? You came back here with a bruised-ass face!”, Kei commented. “How about you, Yuri? How was your target?”, Kota dodged the comment as Yuri chuckled. “He thought I was a no-harm high school student!”, he laughed, and the group laughed with him.

“How about you, Ryosuke?”, Keito asked Ryosuke who had his hood on, his arms crossed in front of him and his head tilted down, casting a dark shadow on his face. He remained silent despite the question and the other members hushed Keito for bringing up such a topic. “I haven’t had anyone to kill in 15 days,”, he grumbled, and the other members widened their eyes, preparing themselves for a rage. “And you’re asking me how the fuck was my last killing?!”, he slammed his fists on the table, causing the bottles of beer to shake, and some, to tip and roll off the table, smashing on the concrete floor.

“I’m sorry.”, the shy person apologized. Ryosuke looked at Keito with rage until he calmed down and slumped back into his seat. “It’s not my fault I killed the wrong person.”, he grumbled. “You’re such a baby.”, Yuri laughed. Yuri was the only one who could tease the moody guy, but if anyone else did it, they’d have a gun pointed to their forehead in a picosecond. “It’s alright, Ryosuke, boss will get you another killing soon.”, he patted his shoulder, and Ryosuke slapped his hand away, earning a laugh from Yuri.

“How did you kill the wrong person anyway?”, Hikaru asked, and Ryosuke grabbed a bottle of beer from the table and took a sip before answering, “The guy had a twin, and turns out the twin didn’t even know that his own twin was running a drug business.”. The minority that didn’t know began to burst out laughing, “You didn’t know he had a twin?!”, Keito laughed, “Yeah and you didn’t know how to shut the fuck up?!”, he slammed the beer on the table and grumbled as they calmed down from laughing.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door, and all of their heads swiftly turned to its direction. Kota stood up, grabbed a gun from the table and loaded it. He looked through the peephole and found a short man in a suit with his head nearly balding as he cheekily smiled at the peephole. “Who is it?”, Kota sighed and rolled his eyes, his hand already on the knob. “Satsujin.”, he gladly replied, and Kota immediately turned the knob and opened the door for him.

“Why do I have to listen to the password all the time when I can already see him through the peephole?”, Kota complained, shuffling back to his seat and slumping. “Because you might not know if it’s a person in disguise or not.”, the man said as he took a chair and turned it backward, sitting with his legs on each side, and his chin resting on its backrest. “Why would someone sacrifice their face to look like you?”, Kei said, and the rest laughed.

“So, what’s new, Shisha?”, Yuto asked. Shisha, as his name explains, is the messenger from the boss to the assassins. He’s hired to relay a new mission to them every week, without anyone else hearing it, which is why they cannot rely on telephone calls, or text messages, because anything that is not orally relayed, will be recorded by the people who are hunting them down.

“Boss has quite a number of missions for all of you this week.”, he said, as Ryosuke grumbled and rolled his eyes. It was fixed in Ryosuke that Boss meant 8 people, not 9 people when he said, “all of them”. It’s been like that for 2 weeks. “So, shall we start our meeting?”, he asked, and the nine of them rolled their eyes, “Can you stop talking so formally? You’re having a meeting with a bunch of street rats, anyway.”, Yuri said. “Listen boys,”, he said as he stood up from his seat and headed for the dirty chalkboard on the wall. “I’m a salaryman by day, and a street rat like you guys at night, so I can’t just drop the act or else I might talk like you potty-mouths in the office!”, he said, which earned a light laugh from the group.

“Anyway, I’m just going to briefly run through this.”, he said, erasing the old chalk writing on the board. “Kota Yabu, your mission is to kill John Newman, a foreign guy who’s threatening a CEO from some telecommunications company.”, he said. Shisha briefed through the boss’ orders as the 8 of them wrote their orders on a simple pad of paper. Ryosuke sat there, beer in one hand and the other, fiddling with a cap opener.

“And that will be all.”, he said as the 8 of them dropped their pads on the table, and stretched. It took around an hour for him to finish explaining in detail each and every person they were to kill so that they wouldn’t make a mistake. “Oh, and I forgot.”, he added, “There’s another person.”, he said, and the 8 sighed, picking their pad of papers up again.

“Ryosuke Yamada.”, he called him out with a sly grin as Ryosuke’s head popped up. “Your mission is to kill Y/N. Notorious for owning an underground illegal drug business. People don’t even know where they are at day, let alone where they are at night.”, he said, as Ryosuke grabbed a pad and pen from Yuri to write down the orders. “And by the way,”, he added,

“It’s a she.”.

Then, all of them burst out laughing, of course, except for Ryosuke. “No job for 15 days and then he gets to kill a girl?!”, Kota laughed, “You have it too easy, Ryosuke!”. “Go get it, boy!”, Yuya teased, as Ryosuke began to get irritated. “Oh well, maybe someone has got it… harder.”, Shisha commented, as the 8 of them burst out into more laughter, hitting the table as they ran out of breath.

“Seriously?”, he huffed in irritation. “I could kill her in one second, this is what I get after 2 weeks of waiting?!”, he slammed his fists on the table. “Now, now, now.”, Shisha calmed him down with his hands. “It isn’t an easy task to kill this girl.”, he said, and Ryosuke listened in. “Because you might fall in love and have pity on her!!!”, he laughed as the other 8 followed. “Don’t fall for her feminine wiles!!!”, Keito added.

Ryosuke pulled a handgun out from his pocket, and pointed it at Shisha’s forehead. “Give me the details, and I’ll be on my way.”, he sternly said, as Shisha raised his hands up over his head. “Boss only told me that she stays in the top floor room of an abandoned building in Akihabara.”, he said. “That’s it? No picture?”, Ryosuke asked, he was vexed. Shisha took a picture out of his pocket, and threw it onto the table. Ryosuke took it as Shisha raised his hands again, “He also told me that you only have 3 nights to complete the task, or else you’re fired.”, he added.

Ryosuke pointed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger. He headed over to another table to grab a box of bullets which he then stuffed into the pockets of his cargo pants. “Where are you going?”, Shisha asked, as he headed for the door of the room. “Hey, hey, hey, reply.”, Shisha once again ordered an answer from him. Ryosuke turned right before exiting the room, and he pierced him with his eyes full of irritation.

“I’m about to kill a bitch.”

It was 1 o’clock in the morning, his surroundings were pitch black, with only a few streetlights providing light to guide him. It was raining then, and he’d forgotten to bring an umbrella—plus it looked cooler if he let the rain drench his oversized sweatshirt and hair. He calmly walked up the stairs to the front door of the building where supposedly the lobby is.

Everything was dark and eerie—he didn’t like it. He had a tough exterior, but the young man didn’t like things that were paranormal. He walked up the stairs, his two hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt, trying to calm himself down. “I don’t get work for 15 days and now I’m in a fucking haunted shithouse?!”, he grumbled to himself as he reached the top floor.

He took silent steps to the door, and he pulled out a hairpin from his pocket. He heard the voices from inside. He gulped and fiddled with the lock of the knob. It finally opened, and he slipped the pin back into his pocket. He took a gun out from his pocket and slid the gun’s chamber slowly to avoid making too much noise. He turned the knob and opened the door slightly, peeking in to see that the voices he was hearing was just a show on the TV.

He slipped through the door, and creeped up into the living room. The room was filthy, with bags of white powder-like substance overflowing everywhere. There were crates with bags of pills inside, and clothes were everywhere on the floor. He walked up to the couch where in a person was covered with a fuzzy blanket, lying down, presumably sleeping. He pointed the gun at the body, and smiled to himself, “What an easy target.”. He pulled the trigger twice, sliding the chamber between both of them. He noticed that not a whimper came out of the body—nor a sign of blood.

Suddenly, he felt his arm being twisted behind him, as someone grabbed the gun off his hands. “What the fuck!”, he cursed, as they grabbed his other arm and twisted it behind him too, pushing him over the couch’s backrest. He struggled underneath them, as they chuckled, looking down at him. He turned his head to see that it was a girl in a simple sweatshirt, and pajamas that defined no shape on her body.

“Easy target? Seems so.”, she sarcastically commented.

“Fuck.”, he cursed. She pulled him up as he struggled in her hold, “Will you stop struggling, you’re like a damn wriggler.”. She looped his arms through the holes on the backrest of a chair one-by-one, and tied them up in an instance—it was like she was so used to doing so. He was out of breath from struggling, and she was out of breath from trying to stop him.

She leaned her back on the kitchen counter, and examined him. Black hair, brown eyes, beautiful skin—ah, but very short. “Who are you?”, she interrogated him, “Who are you?!”, he asked. “What, you come into people’s homes to kill them and you don’t know who they are?”, she chuckled, pushing off of the counter to lift herself up to sit on it. “You’re Y/N?!”, he asked, still not believing that she was the girl in the photo.

“I’m guessing someone gave you a photo of me, but I’m also guessing you didn’t know that no one knows where I am at day, and where I am at night. So, it is impossible to take a picture of me.”, she smiled, explaining the misunderstanding in his brain. Ryosuke knew it wasn’t the time for this at all, but looking at her, she doesn’t look harmless at all. Not that that was derogatory, but she… looked beautiful.

His eyes were locked with hers as she tilted her head, confused as to why her captive was looking at her in that way. “It’s only been less than 10 minutes, honey, you can’t have Stockholm syndrome yet.”, she laughed. She was right, Ryosuke shouldn’t be falling for his own captor. But that smile was very contrary to the situation he was in. It was soft, and it was beaming.

“But anyway, your boss must be a great researcher to find where I live.”, she slowly clapped, as she crossed her legs, and pressed onto the counter behind her, her arms supporting her weight. “So, who’s trying to kill me now?”, she nonchalantly asked. “I don’t know.”, he said. “Ugh, I hate those three words. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know—my ass.”, she whined. “You must know something if you’re accepting a damn job, right?”, she said.

“I said that I don’t know.”, he persisted. “Listen, honey, you have a pretty face, and I’d hate to waste it and beat you up, so please don’t test my patience.”, she said. “Y/N, I don’t know.”, he said. She then pushed herself off of the counter, and walked up to him. She leaned forward, their faces only inches apart as she looked into his eyes, examining them. “Ah, I guess you really don’t know.”, she said.

She stood back up, with her arms behind her back, circling him. “So, what’s your name?”, she asked. He gulped and remembered the rule of the thumb for him. It was to never reveal their true name. Giving their real name can reveal the company they work for, therefore jeopardizing its security from the government. “Shunsuke.”, he said, as she took a piece of paper and wrote it down. “Last name?”, she followed it up. “Mori”, he said, and she hummed, nodding as she walked back to him. She showed him the piece of paper, and the word written on it made his stomach drop.

“LIAR.”

“Shunsuke Mori, I don’t use my ‘feminine wiles’ to get my answers, but since you are a pretty fucking hot guy, I guess I won’t hesitate.”, she smiled, and he gulped. She turned around, grabbing a pill from the counter and put it inside her mouth. She then turned back to him, and sat on his lap as his eyes widened. “Please tell me your real full name, sweetheart.”, she smiled, and grabbed onto the back of his head, pulling him in for a kiss.

His eyes widened for a second, until he slowly felt himself being pulled into her as he kissed back. Their lips were synchronized with each other. Her lips were soft on his, and he’s never felt lips like hers before, making it even more impossible to hold back. She slotted her lips in between his, and passionately kissed him. Ryosuke felt ripped in half. He needed to stop, but he wanted to keep her on himself. She slowly slipped her tongue through, and he felt himself fall deeper into her.

He didn’t know a single thing about this girl that could make him fall for her this much. But she had this kind of aura that he was so attracted to. She was danger in a nutshell and he liked it. He couldn’t say he loved her, but he could say he loved the feeling of being with her.

Until suddenly, the pill was passed into his mouth. He tried to stop the pill from slipping down his throat, but Y/N pushed it behind his tongue with hers where it slowly slid down. He gulped as a reflex and he felt the pill slide down to his stomach. He opened his eyes wide as Y/N pulled away, both of them trying to catch their breath. “You’re pretty good. Do you have a girlfriend?”, she flirted, “No…”, he stammered as she hummed. “So, what’s your name again?”, she leaned her forehead onto his as he felt his vision blur and his body numb.

“Ryosuke… Yamada…”

She sweetly smiled, and then his vision went pitch black.

His eyes slowly opened, the morning sun’s light made him squint at its brightness. He turned his head to look around and found himself on the wet ground beside a dumpster. He pushed his back off the ground with his arms behind him. He rubbed his eyes and as his vision started to clarify, as he found a frog beside him. His eyes widened as he cursed as a reflex, holding onto the garbage bin, and pulling himself up. He looked at the frog, holding onto the bin for dear life. It croaked, and he ran away into the side walk.

He realized that he doesn’t exactly know why he was there, or what he did last night. All he could remember was that he was drinking with the gang, and Shisha came in to give them missions. Everything after that was a blur, if not completely blank. He held his hair in his hands, as he squinted, trying to refocus and figure out what he was doing.

People walking along the streets looked at him weirdly, judging him, assuming that he had just woken up from a night of drinking. His hair was a mess, moist and had dirt all over it from the ground. His sweatshirt was wet, wrinkled, and his cargo pants were plain dirty, pockets empty, with no bullets to be found.

He stumbled around the streets, making his way back to the mezzanine to meet with the guys. After 20 minutes of walking around, he found the old building he was very much familiar with. He walked to the side of the building, his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He nodded to the guard that was standing right beside the basement staircase. He slowly stepped down the stairs, and was met with the door of the room he spent most of his time in.

He knocked, as a voice immediately replied, “Who is it?”, a familiar voice said. “Satsujin.”, he replied, and the door immediately opened, revealing that Shisha was the one answering the door. “Why are you here? Where are the others?”, he coldly said, walking inside as Shisha closed the door behind him. “Don’t you have a day job?”, he followed up, walking to the table and removing his watch and dropping it haphazardly. “Everyone has a day job, and I have a free day, so I thought I’d do the guarding today.”, Shisha chuckled, following Ryosuke as he made his way to the small kitchen.

Rats and cockroaches infested the place. This wasn’t a work environment at all—much less a living environment. The whole place only had concrete flooring, the walls were concrete too, with bullet marks infesting each corner as a result of nights of frustrations from the 9 men. Ryosuke opened a cupboard and took a cup of instant noodles from the shelf, and then closing it after.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be eating those if you want to stay healthy.”, Shisha said, as Ryosuke’s eyes shot back to him, “Who said I wanted to be healthy?”. He then microwaved a cup of water in a mug and poured it into the cup of noodles. While waiting for the instant noodles to be ready, he took a bottle of beer from the mini-fridge and opened it. He leaned against the kitchen counter, and took sips from it.

“Listen Ryosuke, we need to talk about something.”, Shisha’s tone changed, as Ryosuke’s eyebrows furrowed. “It’s about Y/N.”, he continued. Ryosuke paused, his head tilting and his eyes narrowing, “Who’s Y/N?”. Shisha’s eyes widened, as he breathed in. His eyes moved down to the floor as he exhaled, shaking his head slowly, “So it is true…”. “What?”, Ryosuke began to get curious.

“The pill.”, Shisha said, as Ryosuke’s head tilted, “Did you take the pill?”. “What, a birth control pill??”, Ryosuke joked, as Shisha’s face kept stern. “Can you remember anything from that mission?”, he asked, “What mission??”, he replied. Shisha sighed, his hand on his forehead, somehow disturbed by what was happening. “Shisha, what’s happening??”, Ryosuke asked.

“The pill…”, Shisha said, “Once you take it, your memory from an hour before is removed.”. Ryosuke gulped, looking down, trying to recollect anything that had happened that night—and there was nothing. “Do you remember any girl?”, Shisha brought that topic up as Ryosuke’s eyes widened—he did. “Now that you mention it, there was!”, he said. “Who was it, was it Y/N?”, Shisha asked, as Ryosuke tried his hardest to remember anything.

His lips quivered, and his eyes squinted, as he held onto his hair, trying to remember. His mind was a whirlpool of things he tried to remember. Every time a vision appeared in his head, it got sucked down and he couldn’t remember them again. A striking pain began to form in his head, as he bent over, scrunching his hair in his hands.

“Woah, woah, woah, what the fuck is happening?”, Shisha softly pressed his hand on Ryosuke’s back as he flicked it away. “I just need some rest…”, he stammered and took his cup noodles and some chopsticks as he stumbled his way to the couch. He sighed, exhausted from all the thinking as he opened the lid of the cup and stirred it. “What the fuck is going on…”, he murmured to himself.

“I’ll be going now since you’re here.”, Shisha said. “Go get some rest and take a damn shower you stinky-ass dick”, he joked and waved goodbye to him as he left the room, closing the door behind him. Ryosuke chuckled, surprised that Shisha, the most decent man who’d ever stepped into this room was swearing. He set the cup on the ground, as he slumped his back on the couch, tilting his head up and resting it on the back rest. He stared at the blank ceiling, trying to reorganize his fucked-up thoughts.

As he stared at the ceiling, he realized that he can remember how he felt that night. He knew that at some point he felt irritated, and then he felt scared, and then he felt shocked, and then he felt… lustful. “Fuck, I better not have had sex with my target.”, he cursed. He licked his lips, remembering the sensation of something being pressed onto it. He lightly touched his neck, remembering that something had touched it.

He quickly realized that this could be a way to remember if something happened that night. He looked down at his crotch, his hand slowly moving towards it, as he touched it over his pants—nothing happened. He sighed in relief that he didn’t have sex that night.

But somehow, it was like he was missing something. It was like he was missing the feeling of a certain someone on him, sitting on his lap. He missed the feeling of someone’s hands on his nape, tugging on his hair from the back. He missed the feeling of someone’s lips on him, stimulating him, and making him feel pleasure. He missed the feeling of their warmth, their body so close to his.

He missed someone he couldn’t remember.

He was there again, at 12 midnight, in front of the building he didn’t know but was somehow also familiar with it. He went up the eerie stairs again, each step made a creaking sound on the tiles. “What am I doing.”, he murmured to himself. He just wanted to do his job; he just wanted to kill, but somehow something was stopping him, like his conscience was telling him to turn back and run because this is nothing but trouble—but then again from the first day of his job, he had already signed up for absolute chaos.

He unlocked the door with a hairpin, and peeked into the room, pulling a gun out of his pocket. He opened the door just right enough for him to slip through. The TV was off, the couch was empty, and he felt no presence around him—this was the only thing that felt strange and unfamiliar to him.

He walked towards the sofa, looking to see if somehow someone was hiding, but there wasn’t anybody. His eyes shifted to the chair in the middle of the room. He began to walk towards it, feeling as if it was a magnet, and something told him that something would happen if he sat on it. He laid a hand on the chair’s backrest, feeling its familiar texture, and then slipping his gun back in his pocket. He then sat on it, and sighed, closing his eyes, and tilting his head down.

He tried to remember who was the person who made him feel that way. He tried to remember who was the person he was tasked to kill. He tried to remember who was the person he longed for the most. He grunted in pain just thinking as he opened his eyes. He then looked up and his stomach dropped realizing that a girl was standing about a meter away from him.

It was Y/N.

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure that it was her, but the look in her soft eyes made it seem like she was the one. “Hi Ryosuke.”, she said in a low tone. She was wearing shorts that only covered a quarter of her thighs. She had a tank top on, and it didn’t seem like she was wearing a bra underneath, making Ryosuke gulp. “Hi…”, he sheepishly replied, as she chuckled. “You’re quite shy for a person who kills people for a living.”, she smirked, slowly walking towards him. He gulped and followed her as she stood right in front of him. Her torso was right in front of his eyes as he gawked at it. “She looks so hot…”, he thought to himself.

She laid her hands on his shoulders as she lowered herself on his lap. She examined him, he was wearing another sweatshirt, and another set of cargo pants, nothing new. But she was curious to see what was the body underneath all of that clothing. She hovered her lips over his as she looked down on them. His eyes were on hers, and his chest was beating fast, his cheeks a vibrant color of pink.

“I missed you.”, he suddenly said, which made her curl her lips into a smile. She used one hand to lean his head in as she softly kissed his forehead, “You can’t miss me that much.”, her breath hot on his forehead. Her hand shifted to his jaw, holding it gently and pulling him in, her lips hovering over his again, teasing him. “Oh, but I do…”, he smirked as his hands snaked around her hips. Her eyes shifted down to where his hands were as she touched her lips onto his cupid’s bow. “Would it be wrong to say that…”, she hung off her words, her breath hot on his lips, making him want to pull her in.

“I missed you too…”, she whispered.

She pulled him into a kiss. They both closed their eyes, and let infatuation do its thing. The touch of her lips on his sent tingles down his spine, causing him to pull her hips forward, him leaning on the backrest, and her hovering over him. They started slow, breathing in after every kiss, and exhaling in between them.

Slotting his lips in between hers, her hand travelled to his nape, holding him there as she rubbed his chest in slow circular motions. “Where have you been all day?”, she said in between kisses, and he smiled as they kissed. “Figuring out how to come back to you.”, he whispered onto her lips, and then bit her bottom lip as they kissed.

She moaned as his lips travelled down her jaw and to her neck. He started circling his tongue in an 8 as she giggled, “That tickles.”. She grasped onto his hair as she rolled her hips onto him, causing him to grunt. “Why are you here?”, she asked as he started to kiss the other side of her neck. He didn’t reply, only focusing on giving her the pleasure he wanted to give.

She tugged on his hair, pulling him up to kiss him on the lips again. “Why are you here, Ryosuke?”, she said in between kisses. “It’s my job.”, he replied, mumbling it against her lips. Her lips then curled into a smile as she changed the mood from a level 1 to 2. She held his face with two hands, kissing him passionately. As their lips touched, their tongues followed. Ryosuke wanted more, and more, grasping onto her hair the more he wanted to kiss her.

And then he felt it again.

A pill was slipped into his mouth as she used her tongue to push it back into his throat. He opened his eyes wide, as he quickly pulled away, and turned his head to the side where he spat out the pill. Y/N’s eyes widened as she watched him cough it out.

“Is this pill here so that I’d lose my memory of you?”, he croaked out, and she smiled, “Are those the rumors that you’ve been hearing?”, and Ryosuke nodded. She then took a piece of his hair and put it behind his ear as she whispered, “Then the rumors are correct.”. “Why… do you want me to forget you?”, he grunted, his hands travelling down to her waist.

“I wouldn’t want to be killed, am I right?”, she nonchalantly said, combing her fingers through his hair. “But I don’t want to forget you.”, he said, squeezing her waist as they looked into each other’s eyes. She circled her thumb on his cheek as her expression turned blue. “Ryosuke…”, she hung off her words,

“You have no choice…”, she said.

He chuckled in disbelief, shaking his head and tilting his head down. “Do you want me to forget you?”, he asked, combing her hair out of her face and kissing her cheek. “Do you not want me to come here again?”, he asked, kissing her other cheek. “Do you want me to miss you without knowing how to see you again?”, he asked, kissing her forehead.

“Don’t you want me to love you?”, he asked.

He pressed a soft kiss onto her lips as her eyes fluttered down. In one swift move, she took the gun from Ryosuke’s pocket and held it against his forehead. His eyes widened, and his skin grew pale in shock. “It’s either you forget me…”, she pulled the chamber of the gun, standing up, hovering over his lap.

“Or I’ll shoot you.”

Ryosuke laughed in disbelief, as Y/N stood her ground, pointing the gun at his forehead. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”, he said. “Why do I have to forget you anyway?!”, he began to get irritated at his persistency. She sighed, rolling her eyes, “Just pick one.”. “Can’t you at least tell me why you’re making me pick? What the fuck kind of shit is this?!”, he whined, and the irritation showed on her face.

She moved the gun to point at the wall and shot at it, and then, holding it back against his forehead again, making him freeze. “Can you shut up?!”, she said. He gulped and nodded. “I’ll tell you the fuck why, it’s because I don’t want some stupid ass relationship to stop me from doing what I want to do. What am I going to do with you, huh? Yeah, okay, love me—so what? You’re just going to follow me around like a puppy, and I have to take up the role of protecting and taking care of you.”, she said.

“I won’t…”, he uttered, and her eyebrows relaxed. “I won’t follow you around like a dependent animal. I’ll only stay by your side.”, he truthfully said. “But if that’s how you feel, then just kill me.”, he continued. “It’s better than living a life not knowing that you are the only one I need to complete it.”, he cupped her cheek and circled his thumb on it. “So please, Y/N…”, he said,

“Pull the trigger.”

Y/N pulled the chamber, an empty bullet flicking to the side as she breathed in. She exhaled and laid a hand on his shoulder. That hand travelled from there, to his neck, then to his jaw, and his cheek where he rubbed his own cheek against it. “Pull the trigger, Y/N.”, he said. Y/N gulped, and Ryosuke closed his eyes, getting ready to meet with death.

Suddenly, she threw the gun to the side. Ryosuke’s eyes widened when he heard the sound, until she wrapped her arms around his neck, and sat on his lap again. She pulled him in for an embrace, her face finding the crook of his neck. “I can’t…”, she mumbled against his skin. “Y/N…”, he stammered. “I…”, she hung off her words,

“I want you to love me.”, she admitted.

“I don’t know who the fuck you are, what the fuck you do, who the fuck you love.”, she said, pulling away from his neck and pressing her forehead against his, and closing her eyes. “But I want to fucking love you.”, she giggled, cupping his face and pressed her nose against hers. She pressed her lips on him, they inhaled through their noses at the same time. She pulled away, hovering her lips over his, him wanting to kiss her more. She teased him, pretending to go in and kiss, but only kissing his cheek instead. He giggled and held her lower back and her upper back for support as he leaned her back, causing her breath to hitch and to giggle as he stared into her eyes.

“The feeling is mutual.”