forties hair

Aw.  Shout out to fellow hindi-grandpa aficionado @nochenails for always leavin’ me the nicest comments <3 <3

Also what’s this i hear about people bagging on ff12 just ahead of the rerelease?  Kids, if you don’t like it, don’t buy it/play it.  I don’t like 8 but i don’t crap a big turd on anyone who is super into it.  Sometimes it just comes down to personal taste when it comes to different ff.

I mean just sayin though, you’ll miss out on that guy ^

with the fancy hair

which would be like too bad

anonymous asked:

Okay but now i'm really gonna need the story of you summoning, meeting and befriending Satan when you reach the optimal follower count. Pretty please with Jenny on top!?!?

IT’S TIME (I’ve literally been waiting for this moment for a week)


The coffee shop is nearly empty, patrons heading home to dinner and family and sleep. The parking lot outside is quiet and dark, cars silently gliding towards the road, sweeping their headlights briefly over the store front before sliding away. The baristas are more often in the break room than behind the counter, scheduling next week’s shifts and discussing how exactly they’re going to distribute the closing tasks today. They know that the customers who are left are fine, fresh refills in their cups and the knowledge that another is but a holler away.

The author has been observing the slow trickle of people for a while now, casually flipping between the novel she’s supposed to be writing, a bullet point list of interesting facial features, and a crockpot recipe she’s trying to convince herself she really wants to try.

(She does not know why she think she should enjoy crockpot shepherd’s pie. She just knows that she should enjoy it.)

She is one of three customers left in the store. There is a man she’s affectionately named “The Wizard” for his tendency to drape his coat over his shoulders like a cape. He is huddled over his tablet and might be near tears as he scribbles something out. The other customer is a woman the author knows quite well, but will not acknowledge. It is not because of her needle-like teeth or the script written carefully across her shirt or even because of the off-putting cackle the woman seems fond of.

It is because there is some trouble the author knows she should not engage.

So she ignores the woman-who-will-not-be-named and focuses on her computer.

It’s as she’s typing out “charming slouch, neck extended, a home out of his spine” and “add twice amount of onion” that she gets the notification.

The notification.

“Oh fuck,” says the author. She has not prepared for this at all. (This is pretending that she would have prepared for it with prior warning.)

(She would not have.)

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“I Just Want This To Be Over.” // G.D Mini Series Pt. III

MASTERLIST 

A/N: Part 3, not my best and definitely not my favorite. Hope you guys like it though..

Previous Parts & Next Chapter 

: Pt.I , Pt. II  , Pt. IV


Today was your baby shower that your mom had planned out two months back. The entire house was filled with an animal theme and surrounded by browns, yellows, and blues. Everything around the house was re-arranged to have more open space for the part guest. The weather outside was partly nice, as it was now summer time. Half of the party would be held outside and the other half inside because of how hot it was expected to get later on in the day. Lisa was currently over helping your mom cook and bake the food for the guest. Cameron and Ethan were helping with the decorations. You were currently bouncing up and down on a pregnancy ball watching all of them run back and forth. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to help them, you just physically couldn’t. You got tired by just walking a few feet down the house or felt like you ran a mile from just hanging a single balloon up. 

You were now eight months along and looked like you had swallowed a watermelon. Your feet and hands had swelled up a bit, but that was expected with pregnancy. You were just glad that your face hasn’t gotten extremely swollen. 

“Have you heard from Grayson yet?” You overheard your mother ask Lisa as they took out trays of cookies from the oven. 

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Broken

Ten years ago I was a student on my own in NYC. The price gouging of insulin in the US was just beginning. I have been type1 diabetic since the age of twelve. When I think of the struggles I’ve gone through in the past twenty years just to stay alive, a few memories stand out like shards of glass: clear, pointed, and bloody. This is one of those shards…

I am twenty. My alarm wakes me at six to get ready for class. It wakes me at six to begin the strict and unforgiving regimen that keeps me alive.
Before anything else I test my blood sugar – blearily, groggily, automatically. The meter is a crappy drug store brand. I miss my old meter but I can’t afford to use that one anymore – the test strips were $75 a bottle. $375 a month. $15 a bottle for this one.
Slide the strip into the meter and prick my finger. This meter requires more blood than my old one, so the poke has to be deeper, and I squeeze until a gory crimson pearl forms on my fingertip. The dull lancet hurts: you’re supposed to change them out after each use, but I change it out more like once a week, because a box of lancets is $20, and who can afford that?
This is the first of between 8-20 tests I am supposed to each day: when I wake up, before and after each meal and snack, before, during, and after exercise, before bed, any time I feel “off”, and maybe a middle of the night check because I’m afraid of dying in my sleep.

Dead In Bed Syndrome is the number one cause of death for young type1s.

Truth be told, I don’t test as much as I am supposed to anymore. I can’t afford that. Once, when I tried to refill the script for my strips a week too early, the pharmacist told me coldly, “You’re testing too much.”
“I’m type one,” I replied, nonplussed, thinking he should recognize the obvious implications of that statement.
“You test four times a day. Prescription for four times a day,” he said patronizingly through a thick accent.
In a rare moment of assertiveness fed by desperation, I slammed both hands on the counter, “Do you even know the difference between type one and two?” I asked, “You’re not a doctor! I’m testing exactly as much as my doctor told me to.”
That was when I realized it was the insurance company I must defer to in matters of health, not my doctor.
During class in the morning I feel hazy. Prof gets a bit blurred around the edges. Can’t make out the diagram of a neuron projected on the screen.

My meter beeps quietly when I test, and the bro next to me grunts, “Do you have to do that now?” having assumed I was fiddling with a phone or PDA. I crumple and say nothing. Time to calculate a correction.
My entire life is math. I calculate how much insulin I need to correct – to bring my blood glucose down to the normal range. I calculate how many grams of carbohydrate are in anything I eat, and how much insulin I’ll need to compensate for them. I subtract for the insulin that’s still in my system. I subtract for any exercise I’ll be doing. I add for lack of sleep. I add for emotions: for anger, for sadness, for fear. I add for hormones: menstrual, cortisol from the stress of school, of working two jobs, and ironically, from the stress of not being able to afford my insulin.
Surreptitiously under my desk, I draw the insulin up into a syringe and jab it into my belly. I don’t swab with alcohol first, because I can’t afford alcohol swabs. The shot hurts despite the needle being a hair’s thin gauge and only a half-inch long. It hurts because it is dull from overuse. Insulin syringes are single use only, but I can’t afford that. I put the biohazard orange cap back on and save the syringe for next time as another bruise forms on my belly. My belly is a constellation of pinpricks and bruises.
I got into the habit of skipping meals to save money. I’d contemplated going low-carb, not because it’s trendy or healthier or better for type1 diabetics (it’s not), but because low carb means less insulin – I could save money! But the diet itself is expensive, so that evening I start boiling water for plain oatmeal. Five bucks for the extra large carton; a meal a day for a month! I could eat like queen if I didn’t spend all my money on prescription copays. But I remind myself as I stir my soggy beige repast that I am lucky to even have insurance.
I am one of the lucky ones, I think, as I roll my vial of insulin gently between my palms to warm it and mix it when it slips from my hands and falls to the floor. I am one of the lucky ones. It shatters on the rust colored tiles and the reek of the hormone that keeps me alive (imagine concentrated Eau de Band-Aid) surrounds me like the Worst Cologne In the World.

The puddle on the floor is a week’s wages.
The puddle on the floor is worth half a month’s rent.
The puddle on the floor is worth two months’ food.
The puddle on the floor is my life.

I sink to the floor next to the puddle and sob. And I am one of the lucky ones.

Some people let themselves go into DKA (Diabetic Ketoacidosis, a near-death state) so they can be taken to the ER. There they will be chastised for not taking their insulin – the term doctors use is “non-compliant”, like we’re parolees failing to meet the terms of our release. Like we’re snorting sugar like blow. But at least with the contempt and the upbraiding comes a free vial or two.
For some this is the only way they know how to get insulin; each incident of DKA doing just a little more damage to the tiny blood vessels that feed their kidneys, to their eyes, their nerves, to their hearts, to their lungs. If they don’t die this time, they’re gambling with their future.
But I’m still a coward. It’ll take another few years before I get pushed far enough to boldly (stupidly) play those odds myself. This time…this time, after three hours of sobbing, I walk to the pharmacy.
Swollen face and red eyes. The cacophony of traffic and sirens and catcalls blend together into aural soup. The buildings, traffic, people around me blurring together too, unreal and waxy like a swirl of melting crayons. I’m not truly seeing or hearing: I am mathing.
What if they won’t refill my prescription early? How much food can I afford when the currency is units of insulin? How long will I last? Maybe a few days? Maybe a week? I don’t actually know exactly how long I’ll live without it, but I’ll start feeling the effects within hours: my vision will blur, my thirst will become unquenchable, nausea and hunger will battle for reign supreme over my tummy. I’ll lose weight rapidly; I have an athletic physique now, but that will disappear almost overnight. I’ll get weaker. I’ll be winded walking a few blocks or climbing a flight of stairs. My muscles will twitch. I’ll vomit. I’ll faint. I’ll hyperventilate as my lungs desperately try to expel the toxins building up in my blood. My fingers will wrinkle until my hands look like a striga’s. My heart will pound. Then something will give way. Maybe a heart attack first. Maybe suffocation. My organs will fail in one order or another. I will die. And it will hurt.
Maybe I can last long enough to scrounge up the money – borrowing, working extra shifts, saving: hey, I think darkly, “If you can’t afford to eat, at least insulin will last longer!” Silver fucking lining.
The florescence of the drugstore rescues me from my mind. I head straight to the pharmacy, and to a pharmacist I’ve never met before. Thank god there’s no line. She is a woman in her forties with wavy auburn hair. In her white coat, she is the first thing I see with clarity. She is pretty. She has freckles.
I ask for a refill. I tell her I broke my bottle. “You’re not due for a refill for a month,” she says.
“Please?” I say…I don’t have anything else to say. I don’t have anything else at all.
She consults her computer.
She makes phone calls.

I pace and try not to look at the fitness magazines, with their diet and exercise advice. I try not to think about how people micromanage their nutrients, count their calories, and run, run, run from the Reaper. I will never be healthy. I am what they fear. I am what they are running from.
The pretty pharmacist tells me there’s nothing she can do. Insurance won’t fill it for four more weeks.
I don’t cry because I have no tears left, but I don’t know what to do, so I collapse against the wall in desperation, my arms wrapped around me, trying to think and trying not to think.
How can insulin cost so much? How can they refuse me when my life literally depends on it?

How can my life be worth so much and so little at the same time?

I don’t know how long I stand frozen (or am I shaking?), against the wall when I feel the hand on my shoulder. I look up at a halo of auburn hair, but I can’t meet the eyes that look at me. She slips a refrigerator-chilled box into my hand, inside, a vial of insulin. “Don’t tell anyone,” she says, and walks away.

The Kanadovs Part 3

Summary: In order to retrieve some important documents, Y/N has to pretend to be the wife of the person she hates the most; namely Pietro Maximoff.

WIP List

Chapter List

Master List

Originally posted by e-dna-e-mod-e


Part Three

You arrived at their house half an hour later, and a butler showed you into their main room. You had to force yourself to conceal your gasps as you took in the sight before you. Their house was tremendously huge, and you were astonished by the beautiful ornaments and sculptures that were displayed in every room. Pietro had to nudge you in the side in order to pull your attention back to the present, and you reluctantly obeyed.

The butler opened a pair of unnecessarily huge doors, and a man stood up to greet you. He was a handsome man in his forties, with rich, dark hair and a goatee that complimented his jawline to a tee. His wife followed him, and she was even more stunning. She, too, had chocolate brown hair, and my, oh my, did she have the eyes to go with it. You suddenly felt a tad insecure about yourself, as appearance seemed to be very important to the both of them.

Pietro was annoying as hell, and he made you sick to your stomach, but he was a handsome fella. Credit is to be given where credit was due. He also had an amazing body, and these things combined were the root of his constant arrogance. But even with both of these things in one man, you did not want to be anywhere near him if you could help it. The constant feeling that you were seen as no more than a sexual object, the sexist jokes, the flirting that only existed so he could get you into bed. You had no intention of letting him get away with it whatsoever.

“Ah, Mr. Kanadov,” the man said, shaking Pietro’s hand. Pietro smiled and relaxed into the calm atmosphere.

Keep reading

The Night Ahead (Part 4)

summary: bucky came out of cryostasis after just a few months. with the help of steve, he’s trying to piece the fractions of his mind back together. while flipping through old HYDRA files, he remembers something from his days as the winter soldier: you.

pairing: bucky x reader (sort of?? it’s complicated)

series contains: angsty angst, sadness, bucky reliving memories as the Winter Soldier, violence, people die a lot, bucky trying to cope, really awful translations of German, Russian, and Romanian (thanks to google translate i apologize in advance)

a/n: as always, thank you for the comments and reblogs. any kind of feedback is loved and appreciated. MASTER LIST | PART THREE

Originally posted by khalblogo

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Bucky x Reader Drabbles

This is my 300 follower celebration post! These are various drabbles, sorted by the [completed] fic I imagine them being a part of.

I just want to say thank you to everyone who’s been liking and reblogging my posts and following me. You guys are absolutely amazing and I thank you for your continued support and love of my writing.

Featured: Running from the Past, Impossible, and By Chance.

Warnings: Swearing, sexual themes/mentions of sex, blood.

Originally posted by there-and-always-back-again

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Truth Hurts

Part Two

Bucky x Reader Fic

A/N: Wrote this part on another whim when I got back to campus and had a minor surge of inspiration and motivation. 

!!! Important !!! This story is going to be dark. It’s going to go down a dark road and it’s going to include a lot of angst. However, for those who adore smut, there will be some in later parts. This is just a warning that this story is going to be dark, depressing, and difficult.

Warnings: Angst, Dark Themes, Mentions of Murder/Death

Part One


You eyed Steve’s room as you stepped down the hall. You paused outside his door for a few moments, hesitating and questioning your actions. Your jaw clenched. You never questioned yourself. Your eyes widened and you tilted your head towards Bucky’s door. You never questioned yourself until you met him. Hatred flowed through you and you flung your fist against the solid wood of Steve’s door. 

“(Y/N)?” Steve peeled his door open with worrisome eyes. “How’d it go?”

“Perfectly.” You spat the words at him. “He’s angry, depressed, confused; he’s every negative emotion possible. Your plan to mutilate your best friends mind worked perfectly.”

“You know that’s not what we did.” Steve’s voice dropped to a stern whisper. “He needed a push and you were the only one he’d listen to.”

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “Sure, that’s it.”

“You were-”

“No. I was the only one who could face a broken man and rip him to shreds without feeling any sense of remorse or mercy. Or without showing it.” You shook your head.

“(Y/N)…” Steve’s voice faltered.

“It’s over.” You adjusted your stance and clenched your fists. “You asked me to do the unspeakable, Steve. In doing so you’ve terminated what minuscule friendship we had. We’re done.”

“(Y/N), I-I’m sorry. Bucky was-”

Done.” You turned your back to Steve and left, slamming his door on the way out. 

Your mind raced as you left the Tower. You swore you’d never return, you’d promised yourself that you’d never go back. They only caused you pain; every action done, every word said, every person in the Tower, it all chipped away at who you were. And it all started with Bucky. 

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In An Instant: Part Eight

Summary: A romantic comedy about what happens when love literally falls through your window.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Ash (aka me), Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark

Warnings: Language, general gross cuteness, some angst, bad writing, bad storylines, possible cheating, but mostly major fluff and feels

Word Count: 3.2Kish (SORRY)

A/N: Three long months you waited. I hope you enjoy. And I’m sorry. 

CATCH UP HERE

Originally posted by jeremydooley

Bucky couldn’t shake the image; you giggling like a schoolgirl as the females won yet another hand of strip poker. He’d watched you as he pulled at the fly of his jeans, smiling to himself as he witnessed the pink filling your cheeks, the exact second he knew he wanted you.

“Wanna grab a drink? I think we’re about done here.” Sam turned to survey the room, and when he looked back to where Bucky was all he saw was the front door swinging shut. “Guess not.”

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Falling for You was easy

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

Word Count: 7,434

Warning: Mentions of torture, pain, cursing, violence, blood, fluff?

(A/N): I didn´t plan on posting this, but it´s been on my mind for a while now. I   didn´t separate it into multiple ´parts´ either simply because I suck at cliffhangers. I don´t know yet whether I´ll continue writing and posting, and must ask you to bear with my terrible grammar and spelling. Enjoy!

Translation: (Y/N): Your name, (L/N): Last name, (H/C): hair color/ brunette, blonde etc., (E/C): eye color


Originally posted by torturezone

Madagascar?

She raises a brow, slender finger tracing the outlines of the map before her.

“Madagascar”

Fury confirms with a nod, turning to the screen behind him.

“You are to meet and extract Dr. Lara Martin.”

A picture appears on the screen, showing a woman in her mid-forties, brown hair tied into a messy bun, green eyes sparkling behind a pair of old glasses.

“Your team has been already briefed and is waiting in the jet.”

She quirks her brow once more, lips pressing into a tight line.

“Team?”

Fury affirms with a nod, turning his attention to someone behind Natasha. She spins in return. Sparkling [E/C] eyes and an unreadable expression greet her, set into perfect contrast on the flawlessly beautiful face of the woman before her.

“[L/N]”

Fury acknowledges her with a small smile, she greets him with a two-fingered salute and pushes of the wall.

“Shall we?”

She arches a brow at Natasha, who merely narrows her eyes ever so slightly.

“A trainee?”

Both turn to Fury, the young female looking as unimpressed as before while the red head hardly manages to contain her annoyance.

“They have to learn somehow.”

A shrug is all she gets in return before Fury wishes them luck and walks off.

“If it helps, I offer my sincerest condolences​ to you.”

The statement is accompanied by a slightly raspy chuckle, a thick British accent manifesting and cutting the silence that befell the two of them. The [H/C] offers her hand and lets the corner of her mouth twitch upwards.

“It’s [L/N], [Y/N] [L/N].”

The name rolls off her tongue effortlessly, eyes seeking and finding their green counterparts.

“Natasha Romanoff”

She accepts the hand, shakes it briefly and keeps walking, sending a quick sideways glance at the young trainee. She can almost feel the strength her lithe body possesses, even while walking. For a moment, she lets her eyes wander further, past her standard SHIELD uniform and towards her neck, where she can see a small scar stretching along the place where the trachea is located, barely hidden by the black collar of her uniform.

“Finally!”

She avoids her gaze to the two males before them- twins, she idly notices- who stand bouncing on the balls of their feet almost impatiently.

“The Castillo twins.”

[Y/N] nods towards the pair and Natasha could have sworn she saw her roll her eyes in annoyance at the males.

“Mark to your left and John to your respective right.”

Two grins match the introduction, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Wheels up in five!”

They turn and Natasha is somehow glad to see [Y/N] stand next to the pilot, nodding towards her with a knowing look on her face.


The hours spend flying to the island Natasha uses to study the location of the extraction point, along with the team given to her. She is pleasantly surprised to discover that the three are the highest ranked trainees, both twins having shown to be especially good at marksmanship and hand to hand combat during training.

It is [Y/N]’s file that sparks her interest however. Both family and past held classified, the only thing she is left to look at are her skills. And those are- should the files be believed- exceptional to say the least. She lets her eyes wander towards the female in question, watching her every move as she loads her guns. She will be the one she’ll go into the base with, while the twins will stay behind and keep their backs covered.


They land on a patch of grass a couple of miles from the extraction point and leave the jet with the pointed look of the pilot burning into the back of the twins’ skulls. The walk to the base is silent, eyes trained on the building that protrudes from the canopy of leaves and branches.

“A church?”

Mark’s voice is tense, confusion etched onto his face.

“More like a monastery.”

[Y/N] mutters, facing the building.

“They gave us the wrong blueprints”

She continues after a while, sending a glance towards the red headed woman who too tensed up at the sight of the monstrous structure.

“What now?”

John clutches his rifle tighter, looking around.

“We go in and scope out the monastery for the Doctor.”

Natasha begins and faces the two males.

“You stay here and keep watch.”

Three nods are all the affirmation she needs to begin walking, [Y/N] close in tow. They pass the gates and slide inside, eyes trained on the large crucifix before them.

“I think now would be a good time to mention that I despise-”

The [H/C] stops and turns, releasing the safety on her gun, alarmed by something that Natasha had trouble making out. A few tense moments later she lets her arm drop to her side, taking a couple of steps forward. The red head follows, watching the female kneel and inspect the edges of a door with narrowed eyes.

“What the-”

Her eyes widen, Natasha’s ​following behind mere seconds after as she sees a thin wire snap.

“Bloody hell!”

They sprint behind the nearest corner, pressing close to the wall just as an explosion shakes the building.

“Of course, it’s a bloody trap.”

[Y/N] sighs, pulling out a knife and bracing herself for the fight that is sure to come, while Natasha contacts the twins.

“They’re under attack.”

The [H/C] nods curtly, eyes tracing the outlines of a flash grenade before she throws it back with a small snarl.

“If it’s any relief to you boys, we are too.”

She breathes into the com, just before the first Hydra Agents make their appearance known with heavy fire. She returns the pleasantries and empties her magazine in an exhale, narrowing her eyes when they close in on them, forcing the two females back to back. They function like a well-oiled machine, flawless and fast, relentless and lethal, reducing the enemies number swiftly, despite it being just the two of them. Both would have lied had they stated that they weren’t surprised by that themselves.

“Damn it”

The red head ran out of bullets, eyes widening as [Y/N]’s shoulder met hers, pushing her harshly a few steps back while the woman herself shot an Agent in the chest.

“Here”

She tosses Natasha a gun that she held stored in her chest pocket, throwing an incoming male over her shoulder before shooting him.

“Thanks”

The [H/C] could almost feel her smirk, and frankly it was enough for the corner of her lips to quirk upwards too.

“Don’t mention it”

A bullet whizzes past her and she hisses, shooting the offender before clutching the wounded limp. Natasha takes notice of it, turns to make sure the coast is clear and briskly walks over to the female to check up on the injury herself.

“It’s just a flesh wound”

[Y/N] mutters once the woman is close enough to hear her, coughing at the smoke and dust that covered the entire place and obscured their view.

“A gaping, bloody, hurts-like-a-motherfucker flesh wound, but a flesh wound at that.”

She adds some time later, earning a smirk and small chuckle from the red head in return. She slumps against the wall and watches as Natasha contacts the boys, attempts to at least.

“Their coms are off.”

She states and in an instant [Y/N] is back on her feet, reloading her gun and handing Natasha another magazine. The red head gets the hint, takes it and reloads her own gun, already on her way to the gate. She pushes it open and prepares for another fight, narrowing her eyes when she is met with a deserted yard.

“I think now would be good time to point out that this is bloody strange.”

Natasha nods in agreement, motioning for [Y/N] to follow her back to the jet. They set into a hurried jog, weapons still drawn and more alert than ever. The patch of grass that the jet once stood on is abandoned, both vehicle and team gone.

“Those assholes…”

She lets her arms fall limp to her sides and watches with barely hidden resentment as the Hydra Agents circle them.

“Fight?”

Nonetheless the futility of that proposition, she nods, standing back to back with the infamous Black Widow once again.

“Absolutely”

They were faring well enough for some time, killing every Agent in sight. But they were outnumbered. Ridiculously so and slowly but surely, they tired. [Y/N] was first to go down, having received a kick to the chest that send her tumbling before being restrained by three Agents. Natasha came second, falling face first into the grass after a male managed to hit her strongly on the back of her neck. Her face was the last thing [Y/N] saw before her own world went black.


Ironically enough Natasha’s ​face was the first thing she woke up to too, her green eyes flitting between the dizzy [H/C] and two men in obnoxiously white lab coats.

“Good morning, dear.”

She sighs at the greeting and grunts in response, shifting so she is facing the males too. She feels the metal around her wrists as she does so, uncomfortably cold and tight around her skin, probably tight enough to leave a bruise. Her back arches slightly as the freezing metal rod she was chained to rubbed against her burning back, making her realize that those bastards in front of her dragged her all over the ground by her hands, scraping off some of her skin if she had to guess while at it too. With another sigh she leans backwards slowly, hissing at the harsh contrast the icy rod provided her with.

“No need to get comfortable”

She watches him chuckle and step forward, taking a fistful of her hair into the palm of his hand and yanking it towards him with a smirk. She meets his gaze and scoffs, seemingly unimpressed by the sudden terseness of his actions. He doesn’t move for a while, accepting the silent challenge and staring into her stunning pools for a moment before snarling and standing upright once again.

“We have some questions for you, lovely ladies”

He begins, grinning widely as he pulls on a pair of dark leather gloves before turning to face Natasha.

“Questions you”

He nods towards the red head

“will answer unless you want her”

He sends [Y/N] a fleeting glance

“to pay the consequence.”

He turns to his partner and nods once more, crossing his arms over his chest as the slightly shorter male takes out a notebook and flips it open.

“Your names?”

He reads out after a while, taking out a pen. His voice is gruff, holding a rasp to it that only lifelong smokers possess.

“Your names?”

He repeats again to make sure the question was heard, eyes wandering between the unreadable duo. With a shake of his head he watches as the slightly taller male takes matters into his own hands, taking a swing and kicking the [H/C]-haired female right into her chest. They watch her gasp, coughing a couple of times as the wind gets knocked out of her lungs. Absently they notice the red head tense, green eyes fixated on the coughing female to her immediate left.

“Whom do you work for?”

Silence and another kick

“What was the objective of your mission?”

One more kick to the chest and a splatter of blood follow the tense silence, female hunched over with blood running down her chin. She is wheezing for air by now.

“Your names?”

He repeats the question once more, waits a few seconds and strikes. He doesn’t stop this time, punches and kicks her over and over, satisfied to see Natasha turn her head from the gruesome display before her. At least they’re getting somewhere. When he finally stops, [Y/N] is hanging limply at the rod, passed out and bloody. Both grin and turn to the red head, offering her one last chance by repeating the second question. She doesn’t answer and they close the door.


The second time the [H/C] wakes up, she is facing Natasha, whose face is resting between two gloved palms. It’s her turn now. The questions stay the same, the treatment too, only that unlike the red head [Y/N] doesn’t turn away from the scene when the tall man refuses to stop his assault, knowing fully well that if she does they would continue switching her and Natasha’s positions daily- for as long as it would take SHIELD to find them. She had been right, of course, and over the course of the next twelve days it is her who gets beaten into a bloody pulp over and over again. She takes the beatings silently, not giving them the satisfaction in seeing her scream and cry, only allowing the occasional hiss to escape her busted lips when the males leave the room for good.

“You alright?”

Her voice is but a whisper in midst of the night- or maybe day, it was hard to tell while being held in a cell-like basement- raspy, sounding hardly concerned to the untrained ear, yet the [H/C] knows better.

“Never bloody better”

A cough breaks loose as if to mock her statement, a small sigh escaping the red head in return.

“I’m sorry…”

[Y/N] merely shakes her head, dragging her tongue over her lips absently as she stares at the ceiling.

“I should be the one saying that”

She simply states, idly noticing that this is the first time the assassin had spoken to her since they were captured.

“Why should you? You did your best.”

[Y/N] chuckles weakly in return, avoiding her eyes to her lap once more.

“Makes it even sadder, doesn’t it?”

Their conversation is interrupted by a sickeningly loud laugh, eyes trailing upwards to meet the bemused face of the tall male before them.

“How sweet.”

He exclaims with a voice so sweet it makes them physically sick, marching closer to the handcuffed duo. He watches their faces for a while before taking out a syringe out of his coat pocket and raising it up for them to see.

“This, my lovely ladies, is a syringe”

He begins in a singsong voice, grinning widely at them as he shakes it lightly, watching the blue liquid inside the capsule move with glee.

“Inside that syringe is a serum- my personal favorite.”

His eyes sparkle as he softly caresses [Y/N]’s left upper arm

“It’s better known by the name Fire and Ice, and does, just as the name states, only those two things. Burn and freeze.”

He pauses, showing his white teeth as his grin widens some more.

“Burn and freeze what, you wonder? It’s simple, it gives you the impression that you’re being burned alive from the outside, while making it feel like your blood is freezing over from within.”

He lets the syringe float centimeters from [Y/N]’s arm, chuckling lightly as he does so.

“It was often used by the KGB, for a while even by Hitler’s pathetic subordinates, yet none managed to utilize it as perfectly as Hydra does.”

Another soft caress and sick grin follow

“Last chance. Whom do you work for?”

He shrugs his shoulders at the silence, plunging the needle into [Y/N]´s shaking shoulder with far more force than necessary before letting the serum into her system.

“Have fun”

With that he walks out, closing the large metal door behind him with a cruel grin. The red head is left watching as [Y/N] bites down on her lip, sweat slowly forming on the crease of her brow while her body convulses. It was working. Gradually her self-control begins to slip, blood seeping from her lip at the force with witch the female bites down. The deafening​ silence is now filled with grunts and whimpers, minutes later growls and yelps that continue filling the room with sound until much later, accompanied by a few stray tears that escape while the [H/C] twists in pain. Natasha​ turns her head away once again, shutting her eyes tight and gritting her teeth in hopes of it all ending soon.


It does some time later- hours, days she’s not really sure. But it does, allowing the female to slump forward and release a shaky sigh. As if the almost insignificantly small exhale was some sort of cue, the door swings open. Three males in white lab coats take their places in front of the cuffed females, while two more roll in an old water tank and leave, shutting the door behind them with far more force than necessary. Their patience has run out. The one closest to [Y/N] crouches down behind her after taking a few steps forward, unfastens the cuffs and yanks her to her feet. She wobbles, loses her footing and falls, hissing when the formerly hardly moving men get her back on her feet by her armpits. They drag her to the tank, cuff her wrists behind her back again and jolt her forwards, face first into the water before her. Natasha is left watching as the [H/C] trashes around in the men’s arms, who stand above her with smirks on their faces, waiting. Still waiting. They don’t plan on releasing her. Natasha realizes in horror, eyes widening as she watches [Y/N]’s attempts to escape the water cease gradually.

“Stop it!”

The words leave her mouth with no filter, raspy, high pitched and unexpectedly terrified. They don’t listen, [Y/N]’s body growing still.

“Please stop!”

A sickeningly wide grin is all she gets in return before the female is jolted back, gasping and coughing. Her eyes sting and water, mouth opening and closing as if to say something. But they don’t give her the chance, simply jerk her right back in, ignoring Natasha’s pleas.

“Please…”

It comes out as nothing but a ragged pant, the second time they pull her out. Tears are flowing down her bruised cheeks and they know they broke her.

“I’ll give you anything”

She sends the red head a look that speaks louder than words ever could and she understands. She can’t take anymore.

“just please stop…”

They nod in silent agreement, the third male- the one that had previously uncuffed her- reaching into his pocket to retrieve a syringe. She flinches at the sight and they are quick to ease her concerns with feigned sympathy.

“It will merely put you under sedation for a while.”

The one to her right explains, loosening his hold on her arm.

“After you give us the answers we want, we’ll release you.”

The one to her left adds and steps back, closer to Natasha who can only watch helplessly. Her green eyes stay trained on the battered female who nods in understanding and shuffles closer to the man with the syringe.

“It will prick a little”

He warns, taking of the cap and kneeling next to her, ready to inject the substance within.

“I sure hope it will”

Her voice changes suddenly, broken [E/C] orbs hardening to cold greyish [E/C]. She kicks the man in the face, tearing the syringe from his hands and forcefully plunging the needle into the tight of the shocked man to her immediate right. He collapses to the floor, while the last man attempts to retreat. She is faster though, jumping high enough for her knees to reach her chin, while moving her cuffed hands underneath her. Once back on solid ground, she strikes, flinging her arms over his head and pushing him back towards her, solid metal chain around his neck. He yelps, struggling to break free, yet his attempts are futile. She is stronger. Life leaves his eyes gradually, body sinking to the floor softly. She allows herself to her knees with him in her arms, yanking harder as he makes one last effort to break out of her hold.

“I really hope it does”

She repeats in a whisper, releasing the corpse with a small grunt of pain. Her eyes flick towards the moaning mess that is the remaining man.

“Keys”

She outstretches her hands and in that moment Natasha is sure, if it weren’t her actions that convinced the pathetic mess of man than it surely was the air of finality, tinted with an unspoken threat, that accompanied the one word order, that did. He scrambles to his feet, reaches for his fallen comrade’s coat and pulls out the keys, handing them over with trembling hands. The gratitude comes in form of a punch to the neck. She spares his life.

“Are you alright?”

The question is unnecessary, both know, yet Natasha answers anyway.

“Yes”

She knows the ulterior though behind the simple inquiry. And briefly she muses that it should be her asking [Y/N] that. Such thoughts are cut short however as she is freed from her cuffs, carefully standing and stretching while the [H/C] gets a hold of two scalpels that lay forgotten on the table in the far corner of the room.

“Let’s go”

She earns a nod in return, the red head walking towards the door with narrowed eyes. She opens the door and follows the female outside, surprised to see the attached room deserted and the from them taken gear on the table right in the middle of it.

“This is either bloody convenient or a trap”

[Y/N] voices the obvious with a grunt, stepping closer.

“Let’s find out”

They don’t get to however, an alarm startling them and howling throughout the base. Both hurry to the table, grasping guns and some essentials before hurrying towards the door on the far end of the room. They are met with resistance, Agents appearing from doors that both could have sworn weren’t there before. They are outnumbered, but both would be damned if they gave up now. So they fight. And for a while the odds seem to be in their favor, Agents retreating to wherever they came from, leaving them a moment to catch their breath. Only that Natasha’s comes out painfully gurgled and shaky. The [H/C] turns, regarding her form with well-hidden worry and confusion. Nothing seems to be wrong with her, so [Y/N] takes a step forward and narrows her eyes. The answer comes to her in a bitter flash of epiphany, when the red head slumps against the wall. She has been shot.

“Where?”

She rasps, kneeling in front of her, eyes skimming over her body. And for a moment she curses the black clothes for concealing the wound. Natasha doesn’t answer, merely raises her right hand to cover her abandonment, hissing in pain. Has she been- No. [Y/N] dreads the possibility, yet the amount of blood that gushes out of her wound is horrifyingly close to what she would consider appropriate for a shot wound there.

“Let me see”

She orders, voice dropping low and becoming strangely comforting as she removes the red head’s hand from her blood-soaked abandonment. It looks worse uncovered and the amount of blood is enough to make HER nauseous. Quickly shaking those thoughts aside, she reaches for the pouch, she’s insisted on taking from the table, and digs into it, retrieving a small tube from within.

“That’s morphine”

She states, raising the tube for Natasha to see before slowly taking it back down and removing the cap, showing a needle beneath.

“It will help”

She continues, injecting her with it and throwing it away once again.

“It has to”

Her eyes drop to her hands, covered in blood and trembling and she curses, reaching for her pouch again and pulling out a piece of white cloth.

“Put pressure on the wound”

She presses the cloth to Natasha’s abandonment, waiting for her to do as told before she scrambles to her feet and digs into the chest pockets of her jacket. She manages to pull out a phone, her phone, Natasha idly notices as she watches her dial numbers in a haste.

“Barton!”

She practically barks, pressing the phone between her shoulder and ear and kneeling to the red head’s level to pick her up.

“Barton, we need an extraction team! Romanoff has been shot, she’s losing blood bloody fast!”

Her voice contains drops of urgency, not nearly enough to paint her as panicked, yet more than enough to convince them that she doesn’t have everything under control like her barely changing facial expression would have implied.

“Where are you?”

Natasha faintly manages to make out Clint’s voice at the other end of the line, he sounds worried, angry too and briefly she wonders why he would be.

“I have no idea, they moved us”

They round a corner and [Y/N] is swift to takes the stairs even with Natasha in her arms.

“I can’t activate the beacon, Barton. It’s gone.”

She slams her shoulder against the door and nearly stumbles when she’s met with the cold night air and snow.

Snow?

She freezes for a while, whips her head around a couple of times and continues on, setting into a hasty jog for the thicket of trees.

“Just trace the phone signal!”

Gunshots follow and she ducks, slamming her back against a nearby tree.

“We’ll be heading south!”

With that she hangs up, reloading her gun with Clint’s reassuring ‘Just hold on, I’m coming for you’ still ringing loud in her ears.

The last thing Natasha sees are [Y/N]’s eyes.


She awakes to the steady crunching from the snow beneath, squinting her eyes shortly after opening them at the sheer brightness of her surroundings. She’s resting on [Y/N]’s back, her arms draped over her neck, while she in return is holding onto her legs.

“Where are we going?”

Her raspy voice startles the female into halting for but a second, and even though the action is subtle it is also enough to tell Natasha that she has been out for long enough for her sudden state of consciousness to serve as a surprise.

“No bloody idea”

The woman grunts slightly and shifts, repositioning the red head ever so slightly. Had she been able to see her face then, she would have seen her face set into a grimace of pain.

“Away from them”

She adds after some time and Natasha nods, resting her cheek on the [H/C]’s shoulder when her eyelids begin to drop once more. Vaguely she notices the trail of blood that they’re leaving behind, shifting slightly and realizing with somewhat of a jolt that it is not her blood anymore.

“Stop squirming, will you?”

She wills her green eyes to look over [Y/N]’s shoulder, mouth opening and closing a couple of times as if to say something. She doesn’t find the right words and settles back into her original position, tightening her hold around the female’s neck insignificantly.

“It’s just a flesh wound. I’ll survive”

Is the last thing that reaches her ears before she blacks out again.


The next time Natasha awakes, she is lying on some sort of sofa, covered by the [H/C]’s slightly tattered jacket. The sound of fire crackling fills the air and if she turns her head to the left and focuses hard enough she can see the flames licking at the wood, turning it into a dark charcoal.

“Where-”

She manages to croak out before erupting in a coughing fit.

“Somewhere”

[Y/N]’s voice is calm, steam escaping from past her lips as she kneels next to the red head. Dried blood is coating her skin, the once fresh bruises now a nasty blackish blue.

“Drink”

She reaches for a flask and helps the red head into a sitting position, watching her cringe and moan in pain. Carefully she presses the flask to the assassin’s lips, who merely grimaces and reaches for it to hold it herself. The strong smell of whiskey assaults her and for a moment she contemplates on not drinking the, what she is sure is, hard liquor. She does however, blinking in surprise when she is met with lukewarm water instead, green eyes meeting a pair of sparkling [E/C] ones.

“Don’t tell me you really thought I’d give you whiskey.”

She chuckles airily and stands, reaching for a thick stick that stood leaning against the sofa previously disregarded.

“How long was I out?”

She watches [Y/N] lean on it, biting her lip in an obvious display of pain.

“Two days”

Is all she says before making her way over to the fire, she limped heavily as she moved and the red head couldn’t help but frown.

“It’s a miracle that they haven’t found us yet”

She adds and kneels back down, outstretching her hands towards the fire.

“Then again with the storm outside, it’s no real surprise.”

Once again [Y/N]’s voice is the last thing Natasha registers before she loses consciousness once again.


It’s some time later- minutes, hours she’s not sure- when the tranquil darkness is replaced by an unbearable pain and the suffocating silence by [Y/N]’s reassuring voice.

“Hold on, Romanoff. The morphine will kick in any minute now.”

She forces her eyes open and wills herself to focus on the female’s face. It’s hardly illuminated by the light the fire provides, yet undoubtedly beautiful and effortlessly seductive. Even in her state of mind, she has little to no trouble in tracing the outlines of [Y/N]’s lips, labeling them as perfectly kissable and soft-looking. Her eyes are next. Piercing and stunning, drawing her into their endless depths when the [H/C] finally looks up to meet her own green pair. When [Y/N] breaks the contact, she is left regarding her face as a whole, idly noticing the two prominent scars there. One just above her left brow, deep and uneven and yet somehow still lovely adding to the masterpiece that is the woman’s visage. The second slightly cutting into her lips, slowly fading and small yet in spite of that still visible and strangely enough entirely alluring to the red head.

“Take a picture, Romanoff, it will last longer.”

Her soft chuckle breaks her trance, green eyes snapping back to meet hers. Pain seemingly forgotten for now.

“Maybe I will”

She regains some of her wit and [Y/N] chuckles yet again, brushing a hand through her hair.

“Maybe you should”

She reaches for the flask and hands it to Natasha, who takes it wordlessly and gulps down the lukewarm liquid.

“because gawking at subordinates surely will be frowned upon back at SHIELD.”

The red head chokes and coughs, leaning forward and allowing herself to send the female a playful glare. The small mischievous smirk on her face brightens in return and she laughs, softly and genuinely and Natasha has trouble naming a sound more beautiful than that.

“I’m just kidding”

She states after her laughter subsides, lips still stretched into a smile that the assassin has trouble not mirroring.

“I bet they won’t even care to begin with.”

She joins her on the laughter with a chuckle of her own, eyes slipping closed when the morphine begins to kick in, while [Y/N] takes it as her cue to stand to her feet once more. The soothing warmth of her fingertips against her cheek, as she brushes a strand of hair back behind her ear, is the last thing Natasha makes out before she falls into a long, dreamless sleep.


The clicking of a gun and a hiss of discomfort are the first things she hears when she awakes once again, eyes flying open and flitting across the dimly illuminated room in alarm. She catches the outlines of [Y/N]’s figure as she disappears behind a door and manages to make out the click of said as the [H/C] closes it. Her footsteps grow steadily quieter before she is left alone in a sea of suffocating silence. Her fingertips grasp at something cool just above her hip and when she clasps her hand around it, she recognizes it to be a gun. Why would she need one now? Her thoughts are a mess of foggy imagines and sounds, so when years of training kick in and she takes the safety off, all she can think of is the blindingly beautiful face of one [Y/N] [L/N].

“Nat? [Y/N]?”

The voice conveys insecurity and alertness, and for a split second the female freezes in place. Could it-

“Over here!”

Her own voice breaks as the adrenaline leaves her system in a rush that is all too familiar, body losing the strength it had gathered for a battle that she now is sure won’t ensue. The footsteps grow louder and in what appears to be less than a minute two blonds are by her side, eyes filled with worry.

“[Y/N]? Are you alright? Where’s Nat?”

The questions barely register in her mind as she slumps against the wall, yet she manages to point towards the door she just closed. Steve rushes towards said, while Clint takes it upon himself to pick her up and cradle her in his arms.

“You’re safe now, kid.”

His comforting words turn into white noise, her eyes glazing over and closing slowly as he walks towards the exit. It’s over. They’re safe. The words that she wanted to hear for so long are as sweet and warm as she pictured they’d be, and are more than simply enough to make her fall unconscious with a relieved smile on her face.


Natasha is first to wake up once more, yet unlike the countless times before that, she isn’t met with [Y/N]’s face or voice. Instead white walls and the obnoxious beeping of the heart monitor greet her. It takes her a while to get rid of the annoying voice in the back of her head, telling her that she’d rather be in pain and cold with [Y/N] by her side- smiling at her- than here, safe and sound, without her. It takes her even longer to focus on Bruce after he enters and chats her up, asking her questions she doesn’t care enough to listen to.

“Where’s ​ [Y/N]?”

She disregards whatever he’s been saying for god-knows-how-long and he smiles, motioning to the door.

“Outside, waiting for you to wake up.”

She nods at that, mood lightening considerably. Something that Bruce didn’t fail to register.

“Want me to call her in?”

The question is met with a curt 'Yes’ and one would have to be an utter fool to miss the excitement and anticipation in the red head’s eyes. He does as told and leaves, closing the door behind him softly. It opens again a few minutes later and Natasha is met with a mop of messy [H/C] hair and a sleepy [Y/N], whose forehead is wrapped in bandages, while the rest of her face is covered in plasters.

“Morning’ ”

She greets her with a small wave and pulls a chair up to take a seat at Natasha’s bedside.

“Morning to you too. Sleep well?”

The female chuckles at that and shakes her head, carefully leaning back into the chair. Natasha manages to catch a glimpse at the bandages that wrap themselves around what appears to be her entire chest, glancing down to find the woman’s hands too covered in white wrappings up to her knuckles.

“Yeah, not enough though”

A yawn escapes her as if to prove a point and before Natasha can think twice about it, she’s yawning too. It draws a small chuckle from [Y/N], whose eyes are now skimming over the red head’s body just like Natasha’s had been moments before.

“It is inappropriate to check out superiors, while they’re yawning.”

The female merely raises a brow in return, looking around the room.

“Pardon my question, but where is that superior that thou speak of?”

Her eyes shine with mischief and before Natasha can throw a witty remark, she has reached into her hoodie to retrieve a card. The red head takes it and narrows her eyes, reading out loud.

“[Y/N] [L/N], Avenger. Clearance level 7.”

She turns her head slow enough to let the woman know that she isn’t supposed to take whatever remark is thrown her way next seriously, yet when her green eyes meet their stunning counterparts her words catch in her throat. It doesn’t take much to acknowledge the fact that, even while bandaged up from head to toe, [Y/N] is breathtakingly beautiful.

“Like what you’re seeing?”

The teasing inquiry startles her out of her thoughts long enough to come up with a reply, lips turning upwards into a smirk of her own.

“About that picture-”

She trails off playfully and [Y/N] is left laughing once more, leaning her head back slightly as her shoulders shake lightly.

“How about you take one after I’m all patched up, eh? I’m sure I’ll look better then.”

She agrees with a nod, briefly surprised by the honesty and lightheartedness of the offer. Bruce enters the scene with an apologetic smile, scratching the back of his neck somehow awkwardly.

“Miss Hill wanted to see you about-”

He pauses, looks at the red head hesitantly and continues.

“you-know-who.”

[Y/N] stands to her feet in understanding and for a moment Natasha notices that she is no longer limping as heavily as before.

“You-know-who have names, Banner.”

She states casually enough for him not to take her curt reply as an insult. She sends Natasha a small apology over her shoulder and offers her a small two-fingered salute as she leaves, closing the door softly behind her.

“Who?”

Bruce merely shakes his head, taking a seat by her side as [Y/N] had moments before.

“The Castillo twins.”

He answers and watches her eyes harden. To say she looks mad would be a grand understatement.

“They had not only left the two of you behind, but also shot the pilot when he refused to go without you.”

He explains and gently brushes a hand through his hair.

“They said you had been killed. We went back for your bodies, but found nothing. And without the beacons we didn’t even know where to search.”

She nods in understanding, suddenly reminded of how angry Clint had sounded when [Y/N] managed to contact him. As if reading her mind, Bruce continues.

“When [Y/N] got a hold of Clint a couple of days back we locked them into a cell opposite Loki’s, just so he could mess with them while we retrieved you. The base was as good as abandoned when we arrived, so we were left wandering the woods, heading south, just like [Y/N] said.”

He smiles slightly and scratches at his neck.

“We found you in a partially destroyed orphanage”

He turns to the sound of footsteps and smiles brighter.

“I decided to leave the twins at your mercy. Whatever happens to them will be your call to make, hell knows those motherfuckers deserve it.”

Fury opens the door, stepping inside with Clint, Tony and Steve in tow.

“The best part is”

Tony chirps all to gleefully

“their fate is an 'accident’ or 'unfortunate mission’ no matter what you do to them!”

He makes air quotes with his fingers and grins, while Clint and the ever so righteous Steve don’t even bother hiding their satisfied smirks at that statement.

“Thank you”

They nod, offering her smiles in return.


Natasha is released three days after that, still rehabilitating, but out of the terrible hospital ward at least. She’s positively surprised when she discovers that Tony had given [Y/N] the floor directly above hers, even more so when she bumps into her in the elevator.

“Out already?”

She smirks at the [H/C]. The bandages covering her forehead are gone, so are some of the plasters, but aside from that her face is the same as it had been the day she visited.

“You sound surprised.”

She states and watches her type in the security code before pressing the button of the floor she wants to be taken to.

“I am”

She regards the red head with a smirk of her own, arching a brow in an unspoken challenge.

“I thought you'd​ give me more time to doll up.”

Natasha chuckles at that, watching the numbers sink with her green eyes.

“No such luck, it seems”

The doors slide upon and both are met with the lobby, a guard waving a hand at them in a friendly greeting.

“Where are you going?”

She follows the woman outside, catching her small smirk as she rounds the corner.

“A café.”

[Y/N]’s reply is as nonchalant as her smirk is innocent when she reaches out to pull Natasha’s hoodie over her head.

“Why the sudden interest in my personal life?”

Her British accent thickens as she regards the red head from behind half lidded eyes, dragging her tongue over her lips seemingly absently. It does wonders though, Natasha’s cheeks growing warmer as she avoids her eyes to the ground for a moment to steady her heart.

“Who says I’m interested?”

She watches her throw a hand over her chest in mock hurt, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

“You hurt my feelings, Romanoff.”

“Nat”

She raises a brow, turning to look at her from over her shoulder.

“You can call me Nat if you want to.”

Natasha clarifies, watching her eyes soften slightly.

“Thanks, Nat.”

She reaches for the door handle of the café shop and holds it open, offering the red head a teasing bow.

“After you”

Natasha plays along, thanking her with a small bow of her own.

“Thank you”

They reach the counter with a small chuckle, ordering and paying before taking a seat in the far-off corner.

“Thank you”

Natasha repeats quieter, all traces of a smile gone. She’s serious, her eyes convey so much and for a moment [Y/N] is confused, titling her head to visualize said confusion.

“What for?”

The barista brings them their drinks with a friendly smile and leaves, offering the duo some privacy.

“For saving my life. I would have bled out, had you not been there.”

She sighs and avoids her gaze to the polished table between them.

“And even if I didn’t, there aren’t many people who would drag me along. You did though, even though I was nothing but a liability to you.”

A small chuckle forces her to look up, eyes meeting the bemused pair opposite her.

“Don’t mention it, Nat. You would have done the same for me.”

“But-”

She raises a hand to silence her and smiles just a tiny bit brighter.

“Enjoy your coffee, it tastes best when it isn’t as frozen as your-”

She stops herself and turns her attention to the counter once again, eyes sparkling with childlike curiosity as the barista brings a plate of cookies over to their table.

“They’re on the house.”

She states with a giggle and leaves, sending [Y/N] a small wink as she does so.

The Agent doesn’t seem to care enough to react to it and averts her eyes to the cookies and coffee in front of her instead. Natasha follows the example, upholding the small banter in between bites and sips. It is after a particularly​ witty comeback that [Y/N] nearly chokes on her coffee, setting the drink down with a chuckle. Foam is resting on the tip of her nose and her cheeks have gained an adorable red tint to them as she leans back slightly with a hand in her hair, to keep unwanted strands out of her face. A small click gains her attention and before she can question the sound, Natasha’s phone lands in her line of sight. Camera pointed at her.

“Turned out good?”

“Perfect”

It did, the rays of sunlight hit her face just right as the sun began to set behind the horizon. It bathed her face in a reddish glow, reflecting in her hair and sparkling in the coffee foam on the tip of her nose. It captured her effortless beauty perfectly and if somebody were to ask what her favorite picture ever was, she’d easily state it was this one.

Because, truthfully, the easiest thing for Natalia Alianova Romanova was falling in love with [Y/N] [L/N] and her mesmerizing beauty.

athousand-times  asked:

•We’re both teachers and I ship these two students but you ship one with another student so let me just tell you why my ship is meant to be OMG PERCABETH AU PLEASE

“You need to stop pairing those two up for projects.”

Annabeth looked up from the paper she was marking at Percy Jackson as he sat down opposite her in the staff room, dropping his over-stuffed messenger bag on the floor. She fought back a self-satisfied grin.

“They work well together,” she insisted.

“Bullshit,” he said without apology. “You’re screwing me over on purpose.”

Annabeth set the papers in her hand down and picked up her coffee mug leaning back in her chair to roll her eyes at him. “You’re being dramatic.”

Percy scoffed. “You know full well I have money riding on Sarah getting with Monty by the end of the year.”

Annabeth took a sip of her coffee, considering that. “Is this slightly immoral?” she asked of their strange bet which had been running since the beginning of term.

“No,” Percy said, like it was a ridiculous suggestion. “And I’ll tell you why. That kid you keep pairing her up with is a pain in the ass.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes, but she found herself smiling as she settled in to hear exactly why Percy thought Sarah and Monty belonged together. Honestly, as if he needed to be any more of a dork, he was already a history teacher for the love of god.

While they continued their maybe-a-little-immoral debate about their students, they failed to notice the English teachers placing more money on their own bet about the History and the Math teacher.

Creepypasta #1049: I Am A Truck Driver, And I Will Never Forget The Time I Broke Down At 4 In The Morning

Length: Medium

Being a trucker means constant travel. Constant travel means constant change, and constant change means constant danger. This was something I had to accept when I took the job all those years ago. But back then I though that nothing would ever happen to me, there was no chance of me running into danger. I was completely invincible behind the wheel of my rig. But hell was I wrong.

I’d crossed the state border a while ago and my eyes were starting to get heavy. I hadn’t seen anyone else on the roads for miles and I was getting bored of listening to chat show after chat show. Suddenly, the truck started slowing down. I pressed my foot down hard, on the pedal but it had no effect. I shook myself wide awake and sat up. My truck rolled a few more meters, then came to a halt. I just sat there for a minute, confused, before I unclipped my belt and climbed out.

I quickly came to the realisation that I had run out of fuel. I was pretty pissed at myself for not paying more attention. Thinking about it, I did hear the warning bleep some time ago. I was about to call my boss when I heard a voice from behind me. I spun round real fast, holding my phone as if it was a weapon. A man slowly approached me. He looked to be in his early forties, with grey hair and a mustache. He seemed to be chewing a lump of tobacco and walked with a slight limp.

“Looks like you’ve run outta gas”, he croaked, still approaching me. I shrugged and told him that I’d fine and started to walk back towards the truck. 

“I gotta place not so far from here where I could get you some fuel." 

I didn’t believe him. Too many things didn’t add up. Why was he out here, at this location, at this time, just as I broke down? I repeated that I already had some fuel in the back and that I didn’t need any help. I got in and locked the doors. I just wanted this man to go away. I saw him walk off into the tree line and disappear.

I called my boss and he said he’d sent some one out to tow me, but they might take some time. I ended up falling asleep where I sat, feeling much more secure with my doors locked and the man gone.

I woke up some time later and realised that I was moving. I was confused at first but then remembered that someone had been sent to tow the truck. I wondered why they didn’t wake me up. But maybe they had tried - I’m a deep sleeper and the doors were locked. I noticed that it was still dark outside, and tried to work out where we were on the map. I couldn’t see any signs along the side of the road and had no clue where I was. 

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Killing Kryptonite (A Toshinko Story)

“shoutothehandcrusher” Asks:

Howdy! Im sorry to be a bother but I was wondering if I could ask for a fic request with Toshinko with #17 (Watching a Movie).

Ur like my fave toshinko writer and gosh im always so excited when you update What a Hero Wants!! Im sorry I couldnt send an ask, my phone is a bit fritzy!!

You sure can! And it isn’t a bother at all!!!! <3 <3 <3 I’m just honored and excited that I’m your favorite! Oh goodness!

This prompt evolved into a complete one shot. I at once apologize and absolutely do not. >:3

As with my full story What A Hero Wants, this one shot takes place with the assumption that All For One has not taken All Might’s health from him early. I like to play with the “what ifs” in this world and give him weaknesses in other ways. Toy with the character a little.

All Might did not have weaknesses.

He was a steadfast pillar of society– Atlas with the universe on his shoulders. Unwavering in his resolve. A smile like the sun. A man that laughed at danger and faced it with the courage and strength of Hercules. Perfection. A god in the form of a man. No… just a god.

Toshinori, however, was none of those things. Toshinori did have weaknesses.

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