#heavy invited him as a joke since he lives so far away and so secluded from everything

[quotidianish]

Tf2 shipping. And the like. In the mood to ramble about some characters today so expect my take on the Swordvan dynamic under the cut ! Heavymedic thingy in the tags. Man I can’t stop talking about these hat guys.

Won’t be as long as the heavymedic breakdown I typed last time but I think their dynamic is also pretty silly, not exactly the tragic type yknow. Sniper’s a wet cat man, pathetic, eats anything he finds blah blah, but when demo and him first meet degroot’s under the impression that Mundy is somehow very cool. He has the shades, he doesn’t talk much, he shoots people from far away, and he’s Aussie. Doesn’t get sexier than that, apparently. Mundy finds that out from Jeremy (third wheel) and freaks. Avoids Degroot for the next month. Only makes Degroot fall harder (”man. He’s so independent and always knows what to say.” Meanwhile Mundy says shit like “chuck a u’ey”). Shenanigans ensue

#tf2 #art #tf2 demoman #tf2 sniper #swordvan #heavymedic #tf2 medic #tf2 heavy #quotidianish #tf2 fanart #also medic shows up at heavy’s house #heavy invited him as a joke since he lives so far away and so secluded from everything #no way this little German guy will trek through the mountains of Siberia right? #wrong medic shows up freezing cold and smitten as ever

[knchins]

Hunger - Todoroki S.

Summary: Todoroki Shouto doesn’t want to follow the footsteps of his father. On the brink of starvation, he hears the call of a witch who finds a way to fulfill both of their needs.

Pairing: Incubus!Shouto x Witch!Reader

Rating: E+

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Sm*t, v*ginal fingering, v*ginal s*x, oral s*x, c*nnilingus, choking, some mentions of (consensual) breeding, soft!dom Shouto, some begging ig, some mentions of sugar daddy/baby, Shouto is several centuries old and is of age, oh and some fluff

Notes: This was my very first request I think??? I got it months ago lol so idk if this person if even still following me RIP. But I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope they enjoy it wherever they are <3 I did deviate a little bit but not TOO much.Censored words is so I can show up in the gd tags.

 Dealing with demons had become sort of a pastime for her, the young witch living in the secluded wood out in the countryside. She greatly enjoyed the remoteness, though sometimes it did come to a great disadvantage. Travelers would come, asking for potions or spell-work, something to help them with their troubles in life. As a grey witch (one who practiced both white and black magic), she tended to be able to help just about anyone with anything. Of course there were a few lines she wouldn’t cross such as raising the dead or directly causing death. She did have some morals after all, albeit somewhat controversial ones.

 Whenever she needed an item that she simply had no access to, then she would call upon demons to aid her in her work. The first couple times she had been a little reluctant and she would be lying if she didn’t say she had a few close calls, but ultimately demons could be bartered with just as humans could. The lower leveled ones were rarely smart enough to outwit her or ask for something she just couldn’t give. So far, dealings were good and they only became better when she met him.

 On the fourth or fifth time she called out for help, this time she needed a rare desert root for a drying spell, she followed the same procedure as always. She lit her candles, drew a summoning sigil on the floor, and chanted the words that would bring her the closest demonic being that felt the urge to heed her call. She specifically did it in a way that powerful demons would not be attracted. In fact, she would much prefer to keep them away for they were much smarter and more conniving, and ultimately not worth the risk. This time though...this time someone with a little more juice than what she normally found herself bargaining with appeared before her.

 Todoroki Shouto was an incubus with the most prestigious lineage of any sex demon that resided in hell. His father was known by all demonic beings. He was number one in his class, The closest to king that anyone of them could truly be. He had also fathered more children than any other demon, enjoying ruining human women to the point that they could no longer be satisfied by mortal men. Shouto found it distasteful. The way Enji wold flux his hormones so that any woman within a few hundred feet would simply beg for him to fuck her, to breed her, to make her his. He had more half-siblings than he could count in addition to the three full-blooded ones. His mother had also been a high class demon with a pedigree, though her whereabouts were currently unknown.

 He was minding his own business, taking a nice walk through the woods in the mortal realm when he heard the call. There was a tugging sensation on his chest and a melodic voice ringing in his ears. It was not a call for someone like him. Someone capable of such true  power. Yet, something drew him in. Something about that voice had his interest piqued. He couldn’t resist answering her quickly, less some other demon came to her first.

 He appeared before her, hair split down the middle perfectly. One half red like his father’s, the other white as his mother’s. One dark grey eye and another a brilliant blue, his white button-down shirt loose fitting with a few top buttons undone to show off his chest. If he wanted to lure in the opposite sex then he could with ease, but Todorki Shouto had a secret. One that made him much less powerful than he could be.

 The witch was taken aback by the demon in front of her. He was certainly the most handsome she had ever seen, most lower level ones were not very pleasing to look at. It made them easier to deal with. Her curious eyes blinked as if to make sure he was really there. Immediately she could sense that something was off about him. Something wasn’t quite right, however she could not pinpoint what it was.

 Shouto regretted answering the call immediately. The witch he had been summoned by was possibly the most beautiful creature he’d ever set eyes on. She was pure beauty and grace, more stunning than anyone residing in hell or earth. In fact, part of him wondered if maybe she was an angel. However the various bottles of herbs and assorted animal parts quickly led him to believe that she was not divine. She was simply mortal and in need of help.

 “Oh an incubus.” She said, still looking very bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “What a surprise. I’m not sure if you can help me or not. You’re a little out of my league.” The last part seemed like a joke but Shouto wasn’t entirely sure.

 “Why did you call for me here?” He asked calmly, his face perfectly blank though his eyes were fixated on her.

 “I’m in need of something for a spell.” She said honestly, “Sometimes I call upon demons to help me gather items I cannot easily get.”

 “Is that not dangerous?” He asked, starting to look more intrigued than anything. “Do you not worry about your safety?”

 The witch let out a nervous laugh, “Well, lower levels ones aren’t much of a problem for me. You’re a bit more than I’m used to. I’m surprised you even heard it honestly.”

 Shouto knew immediately why he heard it. Because as it stood, his power level was that of some lower tier demon. He had only fed twice since coming of age. His hunger was almost maddening. It had been eating away at him for decades. But he would not be his father. He would not be a glutton for sex and breeding. He refused to follow in his very heavy footsteps.

 “I was simply within range.” He said, though she knew that him happening to be close by to her didn’t really mean much. The spell was designed to not be heard by anyone over a certain power level. Could an incubus really be below that? “What do you need?”

 “A root.” She replied, flipping through one of the many of her family’s grimoires. She found the page that had a drawn picture, name, and general description. “This one.”

 “You’re doing a drying spell.” He said out loud by mistake. He knew because he had had this particular spell cast on him many times throughout the years, though recently it seemed to be working less and less. It was to dry up sexual desire. It was one of the few things that helped him get by so long without feeding. Without it he would have been driven insane by lust many decades ago.

 The witch cocked her head at him curiously, “yes, I am. For a client. She’s tired of having children but her husband just won’t stay off of her. She’s hoping it’ll get him to stop.” She paused for a moment, “Can you get it?”

 “Yes.” he replied dumbly, as if it were totally obvious.

 “What is your price?” She asked then, realizing he didn’t catch the implied question.

 Shouto thought for a moment, it was about time to recast the spell judging by the lecherous thoughts that were starting to cross his mind. “Can you perform another one?”

 She looked perplexed for a moment before it dawned on her why he heard her incantation. He was starved. And he must have been for some time too. “I can but I think I can do something else for you that will be much more beneficial.”

 “And what is that?” Shouto asked, wondering if perhaps there was another spell or potion out there that was more powerful and thus would be more effective.

 “Just have sex with me.”

 That was how it started. Any time the young witch needed something, she’d do a more specific summoning spell, one that only Shouto could hear. And every time he’d come, no matter what he was doing, to aid her. She would often jokingly call him her demonic sugar daddy because he provided everything for her for the low low price of coitus.

 The first couple times had been a little awkward. Shouto’s abilities were almost dormant. He fumbled his way about her body which was quite embarrassing for a sex demon. However after a few practice rounds the two truly began to find what got the other off the most. And in half a dozen sessions Shouto was feeling power, but with power came hunger.

 When he appeared before her hearth one night, without an invitation, the woman nearly threw an old vase full of nightshade at him in terror. She only put it down when she realized it wasn’t just any random intruder, but her newfound lover. She hadn’t needed anything in quite some time now. Hadn’t called on him because business had been rather slow and the jobs she did get, she didn’t need anything from him. Perhaps it was a little cruel of her to not call on him regardless, but she honestly did not know how much his appetite had grown. How it began to consume him until all he could think about was her, naked and writhing beneath him as he pounded into her. He craved her and only her. It was not something that ever really happened to Incubi. After all they could have anyone they wanted. But he didn’t want anyone else. He only had eyes for her.

 “Shouto.” She breathed out, heart still racing as she set down the clay vase. “I wasn’t expecting you, did you need something?”

 His eyes were fiery as he stepped towards her and she could smell the faint scent of hell on him. She wondered if maybe he had another argument with his father. He had told her a little about his family life during post-sex cuddles. It wasn’t much but she knew he hated the demon that sired him. He always seemed to be wound extra tight after coming straight from hell, and that was usually the reason.

 “Go bend your ass over the bed.” He said, further unbuttoned the flowy shirt he typical wore. Her eyes grew wide, embarrassment heating her face as she took a small step away from him. It wasn’t really out of fear, just a simple reflex. He never really got demanding of her like this, maybe something was wrong.

 But the warmth pooling between her legs told her that despite the interruption, despite having not planned this whatsoever, hearing him order her to get into the bedroom had her flooding with desire, and he could smell it.

 Shouto didn’t really have to use his pheromones to seduce her. He was naturally attractive and had a body that looked as if it had been sculpted out of marble. No, he never used them before but he was definitely using them now and they had her weak in the knees as she trembled. She walked on shaky legs into her bedroom, keeping her thighs pressed together as she walked in an attempt to hide the wetness that was accumulating in her panties. It was pointless though. He could always tell.

 He left his shirt in the living room and kicked off his boots on his way to the bedroom. He lost his pants at the entryway, watching as she leaned over the side of the bed and resting on her forearms. Her eyes large and doe-like at the rush of adrenaline. Sex with with a sex demon was always an unforgettable experience. It was easy to see how people went mad over it. The way he made her feel, the orgasms he gave her, none of it compared to any other lover she had ever had. Perhaps that was one reason why she had been so willing to listen to him just now. She knew he’d make her feel good, and who didn’t like to feel good?

 Shouto padded over, dropping to his knees behind her as he pushed her skirt up over her ass so that the fabric could bunch at her waist. His nimble fingers hooked around the elastic of her panties and he slid them down with an odd amount of carefulness. He practically buried his nose into her sex, inhaling that sweet scent of arousal that had him feeling absolutely feral. His tongue came to prod at her clit, causing a small whimpering sound to come from her.

 He dragged his tongue over every inch of her pussy, savoring it fully until she was a quivering mess with shaking knees that threatened to make her fall down. “Let me breed you.” He said between kitten licks. “You can have anything in return.”

 They had been using protection until then. Sex demons were incredibly fertile and typically had no trouble creating offspring. But at the time when this started, Shouto didn’t want to sow his wild oats like his father had. This witch had him wanting to throw all of that to the wind. He just didn’t care. That drive to fuck without any sort of barrier was maddening.

 Anything from a demon was a very big price tag, and Shouto had never tried to deceive her. He had never been anything other than honest. And despite all her teachers to never trust a demon, she found herself trusting him. Every time their bodies intertwined she fell more and more in love, no matter how much she had tried to resist. She had thought some distance would have helped ease her feelings, but apparently it had been hard on both of them.

 “Y-yes,” She gasped out as he latched onto her clit to suck, “Ple-please, Shouto, fill me with your cum.” She was gripping the old quilt on her bed tightly to try and keep herself grounded, but the way he was eating her out, two lithe fingers now dipping into her dripping core made it impossible to even think straight. All she could think about was her simple need to have him inside of her.

 He didn’t stop working his fingers or tongue until she hit her first peak, moaning out for him in a way that had him nearly cumming prematurely. The strain in his underwear was painful now as he throbbed with need. After one long lick along her slit he stood up, grabbing onto the globes of her ass for pretend support.

 “Tell me what you want me to do, Little Witch.” He said as he pulled down his briefs and kicked them away as if they were the most offensive thing in the world to him. “You’re shaking like you want to say something. So say it.”

 “I need you,” She said, somehow sounding out of breath despite not having done anything besides orgasm. “Shouto, I need you so much.” He wrapped one hand around his cock, pumping in slowly as he watched her continue to tremble. “Please fuck me!”

 The amount of lust he was feeling for this one mortal woman was dizzying. No one had ever told him that one person could have this kind of effect on a demon. Neither his father nor his two older brothers. Was it that far fetched to think that something was happening to him that had never happened to them before? They all had a primal drive for sex but never towards one specific person. Shouto found that he desired no one else in any of the realms. He only wanted her.

 He pushed it without any hesitation, feeling her tense suddenly at his thickness stretching her out. He watched with fascination as he disappeared inside of her cunt, the warm, wet feeling enveloping him like summer rain. “Fuck,” He couldn’t stop himself from cursing and just how amazing it felt to be inside her. It was like taking that first breath of fresh air after being held underwater for an extended period of time. It was so damn freeing.

 The witch relaxed against the mattress, her eyes closed to focus on that beautiful feeling of him completing her with his cock. Shouto took hold of her hips to keep her upright and steady as he pulled out slowly before bottoming out all over again, her slick making for the best lubricant as he moved with ease.

 It started slow. Shouto wanted to revel in the heat. He wanted to drink in the feeling of her walls clamping down around him. The sound of her tiny whimpers when he pushed all the way in after pulling out. But this was much too slow for her, she couldn’t handle such a torturous rhythm. Shouto had eternity but his little mortal did not. Her time was limited and the thought of that made his heart suddenly ache.

 “F-Faster,” She dared to mumble to him, sometimes he’d punish her if she begged too much. If she didn’t let him enjoy himself properly. Today was not one of those days though. Today Shouto wanted to hear her cry for his cock.

 So he obliged, increasing his pace as his fingers dug into the flesh of her hips. His witch began to moan even louder as he hit that sweet spot again and again, making her dizzy with ecstasy. She never lasted long when it came to sex with Shouto, something he took great pride in. He loved nothing more than to give her multiple orgasms.

 But this view just wasn’t doing it for him. He pulled out abruptly, making her cry at the sudden emptiness. He flipped her over onto her back, ripping at her blouse so that it was torn wide open for him. Then he tugged down her bra to free her breasts before reinserting himself into her. He watched her face contort with pleasure, the glossy look in her eyes as he began to pound into her at a relentless pace. The hypnotizing way her tits bounced with every thrust, they were just so perfectly in sync with one another. It was the definition of beauty.

 Shouto brought a thumb to her clit, lightly pressing on it in a way that had her clamping down on him even more. It was as if she was trying to suck him in deeper, never wanting to be without him again. He grunted at this sensation, eyes burning with lust as her mouth made that perfect “o” formation with her eyes rolling back as her second orgasm overcame her.

 He never talked much during sex, choosing to be a silent observer. Every now and then he’d give a command or order, but that was about it. He had never been much one for dirty talk like his father or eldest brother. The witch was fine with this. He made it hard enough for her to think without adding the pressure of comprehending something as complex as language.

 Just when she thought he might be coming to his end, he increased his pace even more. She whined, still feeling incredibly sensitive from the first two orgasms. At least he had the decency to take his thumb from her aching clit. Instead he reached up and wrapped his hand around her bare throat, squeezing just enough to lessen the flow of oxygen and blood to her brain.

 She gasped for air, her moans less audible now as air came out in strangled puffs. He would loosen just enough to give her a small break before tightening back up again. She grabbed at his wrist, and he waited for her sign that it was too much. A double tap anywhere on his body with her pointer and middle finger, or their safe word if she could manage it was all he needed to tell him that he’d gone too far. But neither came and so he continued to abuse her pussy with a pace so fast no human could possibly keep up, and only when she was screaming his name a third time did he finally release himself.

 Shouto came inside her for the very first time. Normally he pulled out even with a condom on. He really wanted to take no risk. This time, this time he had to claim her as his somehow. If any other demon were to come to her then then they’d smell him all over her. They’d think twice before crossing a Todoroki, that was just how well known his family was.

 He removed his hand from her neck, before leaning down to kiss it softly. His nose nuzzled the underside of her jaw in a way that might have appeared to be loving if either of them knew what that word really meant. Her heavy breathing slowly calmed down, delicate fingers squeezing his biceps with care. A simple sign to tell him that she was alright and that he did good. She had found that sometimes he needed encouragement. Sometimes he wasn’t as confident as he pretended to be. But small reassurances were really all he needed to bounce back to normal.

 “Can you stay the night?” She mumbled. Any time she asked, any time she was feeling particularly weak for him, he would turn her down. Saying he had other things to do. Saying it just wouldn’t be proper. Making any excuse he could.

 This time Shouto did not move from on top of her. His mound clouded with the afterglow of such an intense orgasm. He knew then that he’d do anything for her. Anything at all. And because of that realization he hummed back a simple affirmative. He’d stay as long as she would have him.

#todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha #mha #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #todoroki shouto imagine #bnha requests

[wkemeup]

By Any Other Name (7)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 7.9k warnings: that montage in every romcom of trying on clothes, very soft moments with Bucky, the knowledge that a shoe is going to drop eventually.......  🌹series masterlist 🌹

Things between you and Bucky were different after that night.  

Neither one of you able to admit it aloud, but in the weeks since, he’d started to sit flush beside you on the couch when you’d hand him another one of your books. He started to walk a little closer to you on Sunday afternoons enough that your knuckles would brush one another and a blush would fill your cheeks. You started to text him when he wasn’t around, teasing jokes about how long it was taking him to get through the next installment of the Harry Potter series and when he was going to agree to let you show him your favorite loose leaf tea shop in Chinatown.  

Sometimes, you’d ask more serious questions about if he was safe on the nights Rumlow sent him off to do his bidding and you’d started to check in on him after he’d leave your home in the late hours of the night. Bucky didn’t necessarily like that you worried, but he couldn’t help the churn in the stomach at the thought of your nose scrunched up, brow furrowed into those lines upon your forehead he adored.  

But mostly, reluctantly, you’d ask how Peter was handling the new job.  

It was completely off the books as far as his team was concerned, but he was tailing Peter through Queens on nearly every run. He’d keep you on the line if he was able, distracting you with stories about Steve when he was a kid and how Sam had tripped and fell in front of the designer wedding dress shop downtown, leaving dozens of women laughing at his expense from the windows.  

He could hear the smile in your voice, but you were still tense until the moment he confirmed that Peter dropped off the package and was on his way home. There had been a few occasions he’d purposely dart into the streets and bump into Peter when he noticed wondering eyes of an Asgardian crewman following him down the street and he’d act surprised to see him. 

Peter seemed to like running into James Karpov, at least. He always smiled twice as wide, telling him what a strange coincidence it was, but there was something in his eye, like he knew more than he let on. Bucky didn’t tell you that part.  

It never got easier for you, knowing that Brock had thrown Peter into shark infested waters, believing he was standing safe in the shallow end of an in-ground pool, but Bucky did his best to reassure you.  

Getting you away from the house on Sundays proved to be the most help; distracting you with walks by the Brooklyn bridge, visiting the black cat in your favorite bodega sub shop in Queens, sitting by the gardens and drinking warm tea and coffee from Café Ramos while the owner’s son caught you up to speed on how rehearsals were going down at his high school’s production of West Side Story.  

Bucky didn’t mind what you did together, as long as he could manage to bring a smile back to your face.  

The first time he asked Peter to stick around on your Sunday afternoons, you’d turned to him in surprise, reached for his hand instinctively, squeezed it for a second in appreciation. A lifetime sat in the span of only a few seconds as you stared at him, a soft smile on your face, a kind of adoration in your eyes, and his hand with lit ablaze at the touch of you.  

His cheeks were still burning just thinking of it.

***

Bucky stood in the corner of the kitchen, observing quietly as Rumlow conversed with a tall, slender man at the table dressed in an expensive navy-blue suit. They spoke quietly, huddled over paperwork and black coffees. Every now and then, Rumlow would call for Bucky and ask his opinion on changing the imports of Cerberus to new docks within the city, and he would respond shortly, as if the information didn’t faze him at all.  

Add it to the list.  

Another piece of evidence, asshole.  

Rumlow and the man in the suit were nearly wrapped up when suddenly, the door to the kitchen swung open and you came strolling through.  

Hair braided down the back of your head and carrying down over your shoulder, tight compression leggings and a form fitting jacket, water bottle in hand and a slight glisten of sweat over your forehead, you paid no mind to your husband and his guest, though your eyes did flicker over to Bucky and that gentle, subtle smile pushed at your lips for only a second before you turned away.  

“Baby? What are you doing?” Rumlow called to you and Bucky watched as your shoulders tensed. Your back was to him while you filled up your water bottle and brushed the sweat from your hairline.  

Rumlow stood and crossed the room to you, running his hand from the base of your neck down your spine and you swerved out of his touch. He blew out a heavy exhale through his nose, teeth clenched as he shot back a glance at his guest to make sure he hadn’t witnessed your obvious rejection of him.  

“Councilman Ward invited us to the city’s annual fundraising gala,” he said to you, though the tone of his voice was tense, almost threatening. He gestured to the man in the suit sitting at the table. Ward offered you a wave and a cheesy political smile but you remained stoic.  

“We’ll be going tonight,” Rumlow ordered. “Be ready by nine.”

You pursed your lips, shifting in your stance as your arms came up to fold over your chest. Eyes darted over at Ward though your expression was cold, your mouth curving into a frown before you turned back to your husband.  

“I don’t have a dress.”

Bucky bit down on his lip to keep from chuckling. Your defiance against Rumlow was one of the things he enjoyed most about you; the way you so intricately taunted him with a smile that could fool just about anyone and played him like a fiddle whenever someone he wanted to impress was in the room. He cared more about optics than anything else.

“You have dozens of dresses, baby,” Rumlow shot back; a forced smile to match yours and his hands were grinding into fists.  

“Nothing that will fit, babe.”  

Bucky took a step closer, sensing the tension between you though he knew Rumlow would never escalate the power struggle with his wife in front of the city councilman he clearly had in his pocket. He had already offered to take on the slack in security Rumlow required for the gala that night, hoping it might give him a chance to observe Rumlow amongst the elite of New York and determine who he was paying off.

Though, if he was honest, he volunteered so you wouldn’t be so alone.  

“Karpov!” Rumlow barked, not taking his eyes off of you for a second. “Take my wife to find something to wear tonight. Only the best for my angel.”

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed over your chest and Rumlow leaned forward to kiss you but you side stepped away, leaving his lips to fall to your cheek. He pulled back, surprised and with an unreadable expression, but he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a dark grey, metallic card. He handed it to Bucky.  

“Whatever she wants,” Rumlow sneered, “within reason.”

Bucky nodded, sliding the card into his jacket pocket. “Yes, sir.”

You had already left the room by the time Bucky turned to follow you, the kitchen door swing between the hinges. With a final nod to Rumlow, he made his way into the living to find you were half way up the stairs, presumably to change from your running clothes.  

He flicked the card between his fingers, noticing the numbers listed on the side and took a picture of both sides before sending the images to Nat. Might be useful in tracing accounts. She’d get a laugh out of how easy Rumlow was making this on her.  

Only a few minutes later, you descended down the stairs in light wash jeans and a faded concert t-shirt you must have bought years ago because the ends were fraying and there was a slight hole in the shoulder.  

Bucky smiled, parting his lips to say something charming or witty or whatever came out of his mouth first, but you pushed right past him and out into the driveway without a word. It was unlike you to be so cold with him and he shoved aside the churn in his stomach to follow you.  

“You alright?” Bucky asked as he closed the front door behind him. You were already halfway to the car.  

“Don’t want to go to this stupid gala,” you grumbled. “Just another excuse to wear a dress worth twice a decent paycheck so my husband can flaunt me around on his arm for the first ten minutes and then toss me aside the entire goddamn night because he has ‘business’ to take care of!”

You shook your head, panting and chewing on your lower lip as Bucky unlocked the car door for you. You slid inside and he closed the door behind you before making his way over to the driver’s seat. He paused for a moment, giving you a second to breathe before he opened his side door and sat behind the wheel.

It was quiet for a moment as he turned on the ignition and the car roared to life. It had been a while since he’d driven anything this nice; probably since the assignment out in Vegas when his cover was some rich kid’s son. The buzz of the engine vibrated under his fingertips as he settled on the wheel before it lulled out to a near silence.  

He shifted the car into reverse and press a hand to the headrest of your seat as he turned to look out the back window. He could feel your eyes on him, like you were trying to find the right moment to speak, and he gave you your time. He had no intentions of pressing you beyond what you were comfortable with.  

It only took until he turned off the end of the long, twisting driveway secluding the home behind the woods, before you spoke up.  

“You know he does this every single time.” You sighed, but there was a strain there, like a lump in the back of your throat you couldn’t break.  

“It’s not that I want to spend the evening with him -- I don’t -- but I hate that he drags me along to these things just to abandon me once he’s made it clear to everyone in the room who I belong to,” you confessed, an ache in your voice. “There’s no need to keep me on his arm after that and no one dares to talk to me because they’re afraid of what he’d do. It’s just… lonely. To be in this massive room filled with people and still be as isolated and alone as I am in this goddamn house.”

Bucky’s hands gripped stiffly to the wheel as he turned onto the freeway. His knuckles were white. His chest tight. He might throw his fist through Rumlow’s face the second he walked back into that mansion and wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze until there was nothing left.  

But he forced out a breath to calm the tension in aching through him instead.  

“You don’t belong to anyone, Y/n,” he said quietly, gently. “Least of all him.”

You scoffed, though your gaze trailed out the side window, like you were having a hard time just looking at him. It wasn’t until Bucky started to notice you digging your nails into your thigh that he realized you were crying.

He tried to ignore the soft bated breaths and the sniffles and the brush of your hand over your cheeks. He imagined for a moment what it would be like to grab your hand and bring it to sit in his own, resting on his thigh, send you that smile that always seemed to make you blush, and tell you this would all be over soon. How he might help you find a way out of this, to take you far away from Rumlow and Hydra, to give you back your life and your choices. He’d tell you that he’d hand over his badge before he let anything happen to you.  

But Bucky did none of those things.

“Would it help if I told you I’ll be there tonight?” he asked quietly, stealing a glance over at you to find you shifting slightly in your seat. You turned away from the window, watching him carefully and he chuckled nervously under your stare, hoping to ease the tension. “Boss thought the extra security was needed, so I volunteered. Figured you might want some decent company after all the times you’ve complained about these things.”

“Really?” you exhaled, a semblance of a smile returning to your face.

Bucky nodded, grinning himself as he gripped onto the steering wheel to keep from reaching out for your hand. The smile started to lift up bright by your eyes and even though there was redness there, it was surrounded by laugh lines and dimples and a beauty he simply couldn’t get his fill of if he tried.  

“We can eat food in the corner and make fun of the guests,” he offered and it was enough to get you laughing. It echoed through the car and you nodded your head quickly. This was the woman he knew. The one he adored.  

“Guess that wouldn’t be a total nightmare,” you teased, the tension falling from your shoulders.  

You leaned forward and turned on the radio, eyeing for his reaction, and when something that made the very edge of his lips curve filtered through the car, you turned up the volume and sat back.  

The soft tones of your humming were all he could focus on.  

***

You’d been here before, that much Bucky was able to tell by the way you lead him down the streets lined with boutiques and jewelry stores he never would have dared to step within a few feet of in his younger years. There was no hesitancy in your stride, swerving in and around pedestrians, crossed the street before the light had even turned red, and took shortcuts down alleyways. You knew exactly where you were going and Bucky followed without question.

You’d spotted the shop you were looking for and Bucky darted forward to grab the door, his hand curling around the cold of the metal as he pulled it open for you. He smiled as you stepped past him with a giggle under your breath, eyes darting down under the heat of his gaze.

The store was filled with bright, vibrant dresses worth more than his apartment in Brooklyn and dispute your reluctance to attend the gala, you were grinning ear to ear. When you turned back to him, nearly glowing as you reached out to squeeze his forearm, Bucky swore for a second his knees might fall weak if it wasn’t for the red headed woman approaching you that suddenly made his blood run cold. 

“Can I help you?” Natasha asked, coming up on your left with a charming kind of grin on her face that was so incredibly unlike her. She wore a gold badge on the top right of her white blouse with her name engraved into the metal and the phrase ‘three years of service’ underneath. She glanced over at Bucky with a wink before she turned back to you.  

“Oh, yes please,” you laughed. “I’ve always been a bit lost in here.”

“Looking for anything specific?”

You glanced around the store, a devious smirk curving up your lips. “Something expensive.”

Nat raised an eyebrow at that. “Big promotion?”

Damn, she was a good liar.  

You shook your head. “Husband’s being an ass. I’d like to make a dent in his account.”  

That got Natasha laughing and Bucky wondered how much of her reaction was forced. She’d said she liked you in one of his first debriefings after she’d started to listen more intricately to the bugs he’d placed in the home. You were intelligent and witty and you didn’t take shit from Rumlow. Natasha admired that.

“Come,” she gestured to the back of the shop, “I’ve got a few in mind.”

You followed Natasha to the back corner of the shop, away from the other costumers, and she grabbed a few dresses from the rack, placing them in a dressing room for you. You tugged at the edge of your t-shirt, swaying on the balls of your feet, as she hustled around the store for a wide variety of dresses for you to try on. You’d certainly been here before, knew the routine, but it didn’t seem to make you feel less intimidated.

“Try the blue on first,” she advised.

Bucky, meanwhile, was shuffling his feet near the front of the store, unsure of what to do. He paced along an aisle of dresses by the window, glancing over the scratchy tool of a massive ballgown in the display, the sequined lined purple mini-dress handing off the wall, and a long, elegant train that could be affixed to a wedding dress it wasn’t such a bright yellow color.  

He paused as he came up to the end of the row, catching his eye on a dress as it hung tucked away between lace overlays and glittered covered fabrics. Pulling it from the rack, he ran his hand over the fabric of a satin, lavender dress, rubbing the material between his fingers. It was the softest thing he’d ever felt, like it had been handmade. So incredibly simple but purposeful and intricate all at once. Curious, he slipped his hand into the inseam in search of the price tag.

“James?” your voice carried through the shop, causing him to pause. He peaked out from behind the rack to find you waving him over with a bright smile on your face. “Come on! I’ll need an opinion.”

Bucky swallowed, pushing the dress back onto the rack and quickly making his way towards you. Along the line of dressing rooms was a two-seater couch sitting flush against the wall. He nodded at you, a tight smile of acknowledgement, as he sat down next to where Natasha was standing in wait.

When you were clear, Bucky swatted Natasha’s arm.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he whispered harshly, but she only shrugged, arms folded over her chest.  

“This is what we do, James,” she said simply. “We keep an eye on you. It’s how you’ve stayed alive all these years. Or did you forget?”

Bucky remembered well, though it didn’t frustrate him any less.  

It wasn’t unusual for the team to show up inconspicuously when he was deep undercover. He’d spotted Steve stationed at various coffee shops wearing baseball caps and reading the paper when he’d been sent on errands for Hydra in the city. Sam was once the valet attendant at a diner in the city Bucky had accompanied Rumlow for security purposes upon meeting with a potential new supplier.

Something was different about this, though. It felt like an intrusion, like a breach of something personal. He tried to push aside the voice reminding him that this was his job, that Natasha was doing as she always did, and it was his own pathetic excuse for a lack of boundaries that got him into this mess in the first place.  

Natasha watched him wearingly, noticing even the subtlest of gestures. She saw the way his eyes lingered on you even after you turned away, how his lips curved up into a smile every time you looked at him, how his cheeks burned a slight shade of pink when you called his name – his cover’s name – that was only half his to begin with.  

It wasn’t the name he wanted you to call him, anyway.

“You’re not on a date, you know,” Natasha said. There was a sadness in her voice, almost apologetic, and Bucky resented it. It made his skin hot and his chest tight.  

“I don’t need you to remind me of that,” he responded shortly, jaw clenched.  

“You sure?”

The curtain pushed open suddenly and you stepped out into the hall dressed in a floor length gown; deep navy blue, strapless to expose your collarbones, and puckering at your waist before extending out into voluminous tussled skirt that reminded Bucky of something out of a fairytale. You certainly looked beautiful enough to be one of the women described in the stories he heard as a child.

You were a little breathless, your hair a little misplaced in the effort of pulling on such a massive amount of fabric, but Bucky didn’t notice that much. He could only focus on the way you were looking at him; that slight pucker of your lips, the dimples in your cheeks, your hands clenching at the dress and lifting it up at the waist and letting it fall delicately back to your sides, amused by the extravagance of the design.

“Well?” you asked nervously, still waiting for his reaction.  

“You look incredible,” Natasha said in her best saleswoman voice, all high pitched and smiling. She wasn’t wrong, but your eyes were focused on Bucky.  

“James? What do you think?”

Bucky cleared his throat. “It’s... um... it’s nice.”

You pursed your lips, sharing a knowing look with Nat before you quickly disappeared behind the curtain again. The red velvet swung shut and he could already hear the zipper and the quick shuffling of fabric.  

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked Natasha and she only chuckled under her breath, shaking her head.  

“She’s not going for ‘nice.’”

Bucky shook his head, not quite understanding. “Y/n doesn’t care what Rumlow thinks. She doesn’t even want to go to this thing tonight.”

Natasha smirked, a slight shrug of her shoulders. “I never said it was Rumlow she wanted to impress.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was like sandpaper.  

“I think you know.”

He wondered if Natasha could hear his heart beat because it was thunderous in his chest. It echoed and pounded and suddenly his hands were sweaty. He’d been a sniper in the United States Army and nothing seemed to put him on edge like the confrontation that your affection for him might be more than he dared to let himself believe.  

The next dress you come out in was matted black and clinging tight to your curves down past your hips. It left little to the imagination and it reminded him of the red sequined dress he first saw you in the day he met you in Rumlow’s office. You had been uncomfortable in it, trying to adjust the fabric to pull it away from your body and force some give into the material. You pulled at the open slit running up your leg and tried to close the material over your exposed thigh.  

“Absolutely stunning,” Natasha commented and you nodded politely at her, though your expression was tense.  

Even as you stood in the frame of the curtain, Bucky could see you glancing back at your reflection, twisting around in the tight fabric and running your hands down your stomach and over your hips. You frowned.  

It looked like a dress Rumlow would put you in.  

“I liked the first one better,” Bucky spoke up suddenly, noticing your unease and as you turned to him, your whole body seemed to sigh of relief.  

“Yeah, me too,” you sighed, smiling again as you disappeared behind the curtain. Natasha didn’t say anything but Bucky could feel her eyes on him.  

***

Bucky wasn’t quite sure how long he sat in that chair, watching as you emerged from behind the curtain in dress after dress, playing with the fabric nervously as you waited for his reaction, though he never quite knew what to say. How could he? You were stunning in everything you wore from the most elegantly designed evening gown to faded jeans and oversized sweatshirts.  

After the fifth dress, a dark maroon color that dipped low on your back, you’d started laughing as you emerged from behind the curtains, dancing to the music playing softly above the speakers, and twirling around to get a feel for the dress.  

Bucky’s lips were damn near chewed raw just trying to keep himself in check long enough with Natasha so close, but he knew she could already tell how gone he was for you. It was hard to hide the grin on his cheeks when you’d grabbed his arm while wearing a burnt orange dress that laid just at the mid of your thigh and asked him to twirl you, you know, just in case it came up.  

There was a silver colored one with gem stones embedded down the lining that had you laughing hysterically, saying you felt like something out of your great aunt’s jewelry box and an emerald one that had you holding your arms over your chest to hide what little the fabric covered, and Bucky couldn’t stop smiling.  

“Think we might be here all day,” you laughed, plopping down on the couch beside Bucky in a red number with a skirt that took up the whole walkway and pushed out onto his lap as you settled in beside him.  

Bucky nodded, content to spend another twelve hours watching you smile and dance and look as beautiful as he’d ever seen you, but he found himself glancing up to the front of the store. He paused, licking at his lips.  

“Give me a second,” he said, oblivious to the way you’d raised an eyebrow at him, sharing a look with Natasha who only shrugged in return.  

He jogged up to the front, headed straight to the dress he’d been eyeing earlier, and pulled it from the rack. When he made his way back to you, you were standing again, watching him with a kind of awe he didn’t notice, because he was too wrapped up in handling the fabric of the satin delicately as he placed it in your outstretched arms.  

“Saw this when we walked in,” he shrugged, trying to be casual about it but his cheeks were bright red. “It’s uh, a nice color, and it’s soft. Might be comfortable for you, at least.”

You were smiling so wide, Bucky had to stop to wonder if the corners of your lips might touch your ears.  

“Yeah, okay,” you nodded, gripping the fabric tightly before you disappeared behind the curtain.  

Bucky dropped back down to the couch with a heavy sigh, shaking his head as he felt Natasha’s eyes on him. “Don’t say it.”

She only smirked, arms folded over her chest.

A few minutes later, a soft rustling came from behind the curtain.  

“Can I, um,” you called out nervously, “can I get some help please?”

Bucky looked up to Natasha, but she was gritting her teeth suddenly, the high pitched clicking of heels echoing from down the hall as a blonde woman in a form fitting pink dress peaked her head out into the dressing rooms.  

“Miss! Miss!”  

Natasha rolled her eyes, her hands clenched at her side. She turned to Bucky. “If I’m not back in five minutes, call for reinforcements.”

Bucky started to laugh under his breath until Natasha’s eyes darted to the curtain you stood behind. She sighed, features softening for a moment and she leaned down to him, just close enough to smell the slight fragrance of peppermint on her breath.  

“Be careful, Barnes.”

Bucky swallowed, nodding, and Natasha pressed a hand to his shoulder, squeezing lightly. Before he could say anything in his defense, no matter how useless it would be, she had already turned and reluctantly began making her way down the hall to assist the blonde woman waiting rather impatiently for her; a causality of undercover work in a high-end boutique.  

“Is anyone out there?” you asked, voice small, fingers curling around the edges of the curtain like you might stick your head out to look.  

Suddenly, Bucky’s throat was bone dry, as if he wasn’t a special trained agent of the most prestigious investigative government agency, as if he hadn’t faced war criminals and drug lords and put countless murderers behind bars. He’d been stationed overseas, been put through hell and cozied up to worst of humanity and wore masks that his mother would never recognize, but this? You? His hands were shaking.  

“Sorry, um, she had to help someone else,” Bucky replied, taking a step closer.

“Oh. I’m just having trouble with—ugh,” you groaned, and Bucky could hear you shuffling behind the curtain. “Would you mind just--”  

The red velvet of the curtain swung open, the rings sliding across the metal bar above pulling a gasp from his chest and he looked down to find your back to him. He nearly lost his footing.  

You held the front of the dress up at your chest with one hand, the other gathering your hair away from your shoulders, exposing the long arc of your spine down to where the zipper of the dress laid open by the dimples of your back.  

More skin than he’d ever seen on you, the soft curves of your frame, the freckles dotting like constellations, so smooth, so delicate and he longed to run his fingers over the trail of your spine. He wanted to feel you shiver under his touch, to memorize the places that made you giggle and the places that dipped and the places that were soft and ones that were taunt. He wanted it so badly, his whole body was aching.  

“James?”

He must have been staring too long.  

Bucky cleared his throat and quickly stepped forward. Hesitancy in his movements as he gathered the tiny metal zipper between his fingers, you hissed as he accidentally grazed your back and he murmured a rushed apology under his breath, cursing the ice of his skin. You giggled at that and it helped to ease the race of his heart as he slid the zipper up your spine until it closed just under your shoulder blades.  

You let your hair fall down your back with a sigh and you turned to face him, a slight nervousness in your movements as your eyes remained on the floor until you stood completely in front of him. Your eyes met his and Bucky took a step back, certain his heart might give out.  

Lavender satin glistened against the softness of your skin, form fitting at your waist until it pushed out in a thick, sweeping skirt that reminded him somewhat of a tulip. A slit ran up your right leg, stopping just at the upper curve of your thigh, but there was still room to hide behind it, where it was only noticeable when you walked. Thin straps at the shoulders and a trim that dipped at your chest just enough to display the silver pendent of a necklace he hadn’t noticed before sitting at your sternum; simple and plain, certainly nothing Rumlow would have bought you.  

You turned, giving him the full view of the dress, but the smile on your face was enough. You played with the waist of the skirt, twirling the fabric and twisting so it swooshed down by your feet. When you looked up at him again, you were practically beaming.  

“Better than nice?”  

“Nice? It’s... you’re... um...” he fumbled through his words, something he was entirely unused to. He took in a deep breath to find his mouth dry from how long his lips had been parted and he wondered how long he had stood there just staring at you before he added, “won’t be a single eye not on you tonight.”

You nodded, though there was more you wanted to say. A step closer to him and he could practically feel the heat of your skin. Cautious movements, the kind of nervousness that he used to feel as a kid before he kissed a girl for the first time, and you let out a steady breath, shaky on the way out as you found your courage.  

“I don’t care much for the attention,” you said slowly, your hands dangerously close to his, “but there is one person I'm hoping will like it.”

There was bile in his throat suddenly and he took a few paces back, wringing his hands on his pants. He should have known. You were married, weren’t you? How could he have been so blinded, so foolish to think that you might care for him in some deeper level he’d allowed himself to fall into despite his years of experience and training?  

It burned like charcoal in his veins as he muttered out, “I’m sure the boss would--”

“Not him.”

Oh.  

Oh.

He wondered if it was possible for his heart to beat right out of his chest, break through the cage of his sternum and rip him to shreds as it fell straight into your hands. He wondered if you’d cherish it and hold it as your own, if you’d nurture it and protect it, because he’d lay down his life for yours.  

“Did you find the one?”

You jumped back away from him with a gasp, frightened by a saleswoman’s sudden appearance in the dressing rooms. A petite, brunette woman stood at the edge of the hall, peaking over the frame. She wore that kind of giddy smile that sparkled up by her eyes, like she was genuinely happy to be working in customer service and seemed to be the type of person that it was exhausting to be around if you were anything but sunshine and rainbows.

“Y-Yes, I think I’ll take it,” you said quickly, nervously stealing a glance back at Bucky before your eyes darted to the floor, heat rising in your cheeks.  

“It’s a good choice. It’s from one of our most prestigious designers,” the woman nodded. “Apologies to your husband’s credit card,” she added with a teasing smile, having overheard your comment as you walked into the shop.  

You raised an eyebrow and she gestured to Bucky earnestly. It took a moment before her comment registered and when it did, your eyes snapped open wide and panicked; breath caught in your throat. You shook your head rapidly, flustered.  

“Oh! N-no, we’re-- he’s not—we're not—um--”

“Goodness, my mistake,” the woman quickly apologized before she retreated from the room without another word, leaving the space between you empty and tense.  

Bucky swallowed back the lump in his throat as he turned to you, expecting a redness in your eyes or a numbness in your expression because this woman had just broken the fantasy, the moment of relief, where you weren’t bound to a man you didn’t love, who kept you tied to an ivory tower, who controlled almost every aspect of your life, but instead, you were laughing.

Wait – what?

Echoing through the dressing rooms and bright and vibrant enough to make Bucky’s stomach twist to knots, you were actually laughing. It was infectious, the kind of laugh that had a smile wrinkling up by your eyes and aching down in your belly, and as you grabbed onto his forearm for support, Bucky found himself starting to laugh, too.  

The two of you must have looked insane to anyone who passed by. The tall blonde woman Natasha had disappeared to help passed by with a slight scoff under her breath and a roll of her eyes, which only seemed spur you on more. It took a few minutes before the laughter faded into content sighs and you wiped the tears from under your eyes.  

“Don’t know why that was so funny,” you chuckled lightly under your breath as you grinned over at Bucky.  

He could think of a few reasons.  

Maybe because of the irony of how in-sync the two of you were, how seamlessly you fooled this woman who’d only seen the two of you together for a few minutes before she assumed you were married?  

Maybe because you both kept yourselves from what you both wanted, shielding each other with thick, brick walls to hide the very real longing underneath?  

Maybe because he’d give anything to be able to be with you, to show you affection that wasn’t hindered by shadows, to hold your hand in public and kiss you, to know you intimately and to have you call him by his name – his real name?

But he nodded instead, smiling at you.  

“I should probably change so we can get out of here,” you sighed. Your hands slipped down the side of the dress, smoothing over the silk of the fabric.  

“You sure? You’d turn some heads walking down 5th,” Bucky teased, nudging your side until you were laughing again, swatting him away.  

“I told you, I’m not interested in everyone else’s opinion.”  

“Just one person’s, huh?”  

“Yup,” you grinned and Bucky clenched his hands to keep them from cupping the sides of your face and kissing you right there. His nails punctured into his palm and he smiled back for you.  

You turned your back to him, sweeping your hair over your shoulder and gesturing to the zipper. “You mind?”

Bucky reached out gently and slipped the zipper slowly down your spine as you held the front of the dress secure. The fabric parted all the way down to end of your spine, exposing the whole of your back and you thanked him quickly before turning to face him again, leaning against the wall of the dressing room. You pressed your cheek to the wooden frame, curling up against the curtain and he could see the curve of your bare back in the mirror behind you.

“I’ve, uh,” he started, clearing his throat. “I’ve got it on good authority that this person you’re talking ‘bout is going to think you’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Your cheeks turned a slight shade of pink and he could see you chewing on the inside of your lips. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “No doubt about it.”

“That’s a pretty quick judgement for someone who hasn’t given the other women a chance yet.”

“Won’t make a difference,” Bucky replied, pushing back a fallen strand of hair that had swept down into your face. He slipped it behind your ear and he felt your breath hitch. It was like instinct, like the most natural thing he could have done. “You could wear those ripped jeans of yours and a faded old t-shirt and you’d still take the crown, sweetheart.”

You shivered, mesmerizing the feel of his fingers gliding on your cheek before he pulled away. He hadn’t even realized the pet name slipped past his lips until he heard it in his own voice. He cleared his throat awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets as you took a deep breath and pushed away from the wall.  

It was a line he’d only ever stepped past once, the night you’d called him over after Rumlow enlisted Peter, a silent acknowledgement that there was more than just friendly banter and good books and Sunday afternoons between you. He’d felt the way you chased his touch, leaned into his hand, the softness of your skin, and the warmth of your breath. Your coded admission still ringing in the back of his head and he was already committing it to memory.  

“I’ll just be a minute.” You smiled nervously at him before you closed the curtains.

He told you to take your time.  

As he started to back away from the curtain, he could hear the fabric fall to the floor and the rustle of your jeans as you pulled them on. His heart was pounding, racing, he realized suddenly, and as he backed up to the wall, his knees caught on the couch and he fell onto the cushions. He exhaled in relief, though the feeling was short lived when he caught the scent of peppermint.  

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Bucky turned to find Natasha leaning against the wall next to him. She was looking at him the way she looked at Steve when he’d come back from an assignment covered in fresh bruises and scars; the same way she’d scold Sam for his light-hearted, care-free jokes in the middle of a war zone. It was their weakness.  

Steve’s recklessness on the battlefield.  

Sam’s reluctance to take the dangerousness of his job seriously.  

And Bucky... well, he supposed his weakness now, was you.    

He wondered how fast he’d be kicked off the case, reassigned, and thrown on desk duty. How long it would take before he was barred from seeing you again, before he was ripped out of your life without so much as an explanation and you’d be left alone to think the worst of him. He wondered if he’d even get a chance to say goodbye.  

“You gonna tell Fury?” he asked shortly, voice flat as he stared at the curtain.

“Of course not.”

That surprised him.

He narrowed his eyes on Natasha and she simply sighed, raking her fingers through vibrant red hair. She was a far more complex person than anyone ever gave her credit for.

“You’ve still brought us more intel in the last year than the Bureau’s ever had on Hydra,” she explained simply. “There’s no reason to pull out the best lead we’ve had in decades, but... you’re distracted when she's in the room. You’re reckless with your affection for her and you’re not as subtle as you think. We both know Rumlow’s a jealous man. He’d kill for you this long before he finds out who you really are.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “I know.”

“So, don’t risk it,” she tried to argue and he could hear the worry in her voice, the fear. “I know how much you care for her but--”

“You don’t.”

Natasha paused, shoulders slumping. Bucky shook his head.  

“You don’t know, Nat,” he continued, voice tense as he watched the curtain swaying as you bumped into it. He let out a heavy sigh. It burned. “I’m still doing my job, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but--”

“Then let it go,” he snapped harshly, but he winced as it came out. Natasha was one of his oldest friends and while she liked to present herself as cold and withdrawn, she was riddled with compassion and empathy and it was rare he heard even a trace of uncertainty in her voice. It was unlike her and he knew better than to disregard it.  

“Sorry,” he mumbled and she pressed her lips into a thin line in acknowledgment. “I just... I don’t know how to turn this off. I can’t, Nat. I’ve tried. But I’m careful. I promise. Rumlow doesn’t know anything.”

“Is there something to know?” she asked quietly.  

He knew what she was asking, if he’d crossed the line and gone too far, if he’d kissed you or slept with you, if it ran deeper than flirty banter and smiles from across the room.  

“No,” he replied, though he wasn’t quite sure if that was true. There were ways to be unfaithful without being intimate. He’d barely even touched you before he knew how he felt and it raced like heat and electricity through his veins every time you walked in the room.  

“Have you told Steve and Sam?” he asked.  

She shook her head. “Only on the surface level. Sam’s been teasing you relentlessly at HQ for your ‘crush,’ though.”

“Of course, he has,” Bucky chuckled tensely, arms folded over his chest. He paused, looking over at Natasha. She pressed her lips into a tight smile, thin and nearly straight across her mouth, but it was there. She was trying. “I’ll be fine, Nat. We only need a few more months and then I’ll be out.”

“A few months is a lifetime when you’re under. You know that.”

Bucky parted his lips to say something, anything really, to reassure her, but suddenly the curtain drew open and you stood in the frame with the lavender dress draped over your forearm, and you let out an exasperated sigh as you leaned against the dressing room wall, oblivious to the hushed conversation that had transpired only a few feet away.  

“Finally,” you huffed, blowing away a hair that had fallen into your face before you turned to Natasha. “Thank you for your help. This could have easily been a nightmare.”

“My pleasure,” she responded gracefully, a slight bow of her head. She really was a good actress.  

“Ready to get out of here?” you asked, turning back to Bucky. “We’ve got a few hours before I have to start looking presentable. Think you could finish Goblet of Fire before seven?”

Bucky grinned, nudging your side. “You underestimate me."

You slipped your hand into the outside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the silver card your husband had given him a few hours earlier. You waved it in the air, the reflection of it flickering through the room, and you laughed at the very prospect of cutting a hole into his fortune.

Bucky watched as you practically skipped over to the register, chatting idly with the saleswoman as she rung up the dress and you fist bumped her when she’d shown you the screen of the price.  

“I see why you like her,” Nat said softly, smiling as she watched you rush around the side of the counter to help the cashier hang the dress in the garment case after a few failed attempts.  

Bucky couldn’t say anything in response. There was no lying to Natasha Romanoff and if he was honest, it felt nice to not have to hide it.  

“When it’s time, I want to make arrangements for her. I don’t want her anywhere near the fallout of this case,” Bucky admitted. He didn’t dare tear his eyes away from you in fear he’d lose his nerve, but he could spot Natasha watching him from the corner of his eye.  

“I know.” Natasha was never one for displays of affection but her hand snaked down to his wrist and squeezed it. “Just be careful in the meantime. Don’t lose your head, alright? I can only keep this under wraps if you’re still able to bring us what we need.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, because he knew how much she was putting on the line for him.  

He should have been reassigned and thrown on desk duty months ago with the way he was feeling about you. It was reckless, dangerous even, to harbor feelings for a target in the field. It compromised his safety, the investigation, his ability to do his job. He had no business being anywhere near this case, and Hydra’s defense attorneys would have a field day if they knew his motives to take down Rumlow lied beyond just his criminal misdeeds.  

His career would be over.  

He’d be the reason Hydra was left unchecked for at least another decade.  

And even still, when it was you on the line, he’d give up anything and everything to keep you safe.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you

[letswritebangtan]

Brave Tender Heart 03 | The Duality of Secrecy

pairing: princess!reader x knight!jungkook

The prince massaged his temples roughly as he stared blankly at the script in front of him. An enthusiastic farmer believed he was enlightening the prince with his proposal of a new crop he had discovered. The farmer was proud to share his discovery with the prince in best hopes that it would benefit the kingdom. However, Taehyung was not convinced. Adding a new crop to the land was not an easy task. There were many factors to be considered, such as the type of soil, whether it grows collectively or if it liked to be secluded and rather snobbish. The prince tried to focus on the details of the script, but his head was pounding and he lost the will to concentrate. 

“Sir Kim!” he groaned and he was by his side in a flash. 

The farmer looked confused and worried at the prince’s unexpected reaction. 

“Inform the maids to make my bed and prepare mother’s herb recipe for a headache. A jug of water and a bowl of soup, I feel I might collapse at any second.” Taehyung sighed. 

Sir Kim immediately called upon the maids to take care of Taehyung. With all of the work Taehyung had to do, Sir Kim was very understanding of his plight. The prince had been overworked yet again and Sir Kim felt troubled in his heart as if it was his doing. 

“Not to worry, my prince. Let’s set you off for the bedroom. The script will be looked over by myself and only when you are willing to hear about it should the news reach you. Rise now my prince.” Sir Kim said carefully as he helped Taehyung stand. The pair left the room and the farmer remained standing in the middle of the meeting room. Disappointed with how the proposal turned out, the farmer sighed and moved forward to pick up his script. Once he finished rolling it up he placed it under his arm and began to head for the exit. 

“One moment, sir.” a man called out. 

The farmer continued to move not realising that it was him that the man was referring to. 

“Sir! The farmer with the script, halt.” the man called out again. 

The farmer turned around looking surprised as he saw a tall and healthy man stride towards him. 

“What is this crop you speak of?” the man ask. 

The farmer looked unsure to share the information. “I beg your pardon, what position do you hold here?”

The man’s eyes widened and he let out a knowing ‘ah’ and extended his hand. 

“My apologies I must have sounded extremely forward. I go by the name Kim Seokjin the head chef at this palace, I serve only the best to the prince and princess.”

The farmer nodded, “Ah, well pleased to meet you, Mr Kim. Jung Hoseok, I reside on the outskirts of the village and I have traveled a long way to present this proposal.” 

“Mr Jung, I might be able to help you with your idea. Is this crop of yours edible?”

“Of course, Mr Kim! It is a variation of the paddy rice and is less susceptible to heavy rainfall. It would do well on the palace grounds since this is the only place in the kingdom with soil worthy enough to allow these crops to live. If the kingdom is able to harvest more rice it would be much cheaper for us villagers and we might be able to sell the food item during monsoon season where rice grains are scarce.”  

“How terrific. But what’s your secret?” Mr Kim asked skeptically. 

Hoseok looked confused, “Secret? I do not have any reason to believe there is any.”

“Well surely this crop of yours has some faults. It can’t be perfect, can it?”

“I would not dare to term it as perfect, but there is no downfall that we should be concerned of. Some hard work and regrowing of crops is all the effort we need to put in and we will have no reason to miss having rice during the monsoon.” Hoseok concluded. 

“You build a strong case, Mr Jung. Therefore, I am offering you a place in a partnership. I happen to have a reserved plot of land handed to me by the palace, and I am allowed to use it to grow whatever I need to feed our dearest royal siblings. If you are willing to work with me, I shall allow your crop to grow fruitfully in it.” Seokjin said boldly. 

“And what is it you would like in return?”

“That you provide those crops to me with no cost at all.”

“Fair enough, Mr Kim, are you sure this will not make the prince unhappy?”

“Do you think the prince would be unhappy to have a large bowl of steaming hot rice during the rainy season?” Seokjin joked. 

Hoseok laughed and bowed to him as an act of saying goodbye. The two parted, happy to have made a profitable deal. Elsewhere in the castle, the princess was eagerly waiting for her brother to fulfil his promise. The prince, however, was dozing off in his room while the princess paced nervously in the corridors. Would Sir Jeon appreciate the plaque? Would it be a tad bit informal? Would it offend him so? The princess wanted to express her gratitude to his service, but why just his? Should he ask her that she was afraid she would not have a proper reply. It was because she liked him, and there was no knight she liked more than him. He made her feel comfortable and most of all, accompanied. Could she be acting selfish? It was rather unfair to award a knight with a plaque just because she liked him, what about the other knights? Though, it was just a plaque, however, at the same time it was not because the princess meant for it to have a large sentimental value. Her mind was going crazy. 

“Princess, what are you whispering?” Sir Park asked as he eyed her with amusement. 

“Whispering? You’re mistaken, I was not speaking at all.” y/n defended. 

“In fact, you were. Tension and worry is not worth anything, princess. Relax, it will be here soon enough.” he assured. 

“I am certain it will be here, Sir Park. That is not my concern.”

“Let me guess, this is concerning Sir Jeon.”

“He will not be mad, will he?” y/n asked worriedly. 

“Mad? Princess, if there’s one thing I have never seen Sir Jeon do, it’s expressing his anger. He is lively and fun, calm when he needs to be. Anger is an unfamiliar sensation to him, and to feel it towards you I’m sure he will be more than regretful. Besides, who would be mad at receiving such a thoughtful gift?”

“I suppose you’re right.” y/n nodded. 

“Princess,” a servant bowed. He held out the plaque towards the princess that was covered in a white cloth. Sir Park lifted the cloth slowly and this caused the princess to beam widely.

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” she gasped.

“Now you need not worry about upsetting him.” said Sir Park grinning at the plaque.

The princess thanked the servant and then carried the gift in her own arms as she made her way to the entrance of the garden. Sir Jeon had agreed to meet her there for their scheduled morning walk. 

“I shall leave you to it then, princess.” Sir Park said bowing. 

“You can’t stay?” 

“I’m afraid a knight’s duty calls. Let me know the details later, I’ll be waiting.” Sir Park smiled and then left the princess all on her own. 

y/n tapped her fingers nervously on the plaque she was holding, and looked around for Sir Jeon but he was not spotted anywhere. She felt someone bump into her shoulder from the back and she stumbled, clutching onto the plaque for dear life. 

“Oh dear, princess, I beg your forgiveness! I-It was completely unintentional, I sincerely apologise-”

“No worries, sir.” she said after she calmed down. “It was a mistake, that is well understood.” y/n said kindly. 

“My apologies once again princess.” he repeated bowing. The man held a scroll of paper under his right arm and the princess was intrigued. 

“And what might that be?” y/n asked curiously. 

The farmer looked alarmed for a second as if the princess had caught him with some sort of illegal good. Then he realised she was referring to his scroll with his plan. 

“It is a proposal I meant to discuss with the prince. He seems rather unwell, so I thought it would be best to return some other time.” 

“The prince is unwell?” y/n asked concernedly. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m not sure, princess. He seemed tired, but not to worry he should be resting at the moment.”

y/n frowned as she thought about her brother. He must have overworked himself again. Maybe it was because he was working to get that plaque done so quickly. Then she felt a pang of guilt and looked away.

“Is anything the matter, princess?”

“Oh, not at all.” she lied. She didn’t know if what she was feeling at the moment was because of her brother’s weak state, or if it was because Sir Jeon was late for their walk. The afternoon sun was peeking through the clouds and it would be terribly hot outside. 

“I shall take my leave.” Hoseok bowed and went off with his scroll tucked under his right arm. 

y/n sighed and started to go on the walk herself. She lifted the heavy plaque while taking small, slow steps forward, observing the scene around her. In the distance she could see the farmers working on the field, and in the other direction she saw the horse stables. y/n walked for longer until the afternoon sun rose, and she turned around to head back inside. The palace was a lot cooler than the outside. The main hall looked inviting so the princess sat on one of the large chairs after she placed the heavy plaque on the table, and turned on the radio for entertainment. 

In the meantime, Sir Jeon was struggling with saddening information elsewhere. He had woken up that morning feeling hopeful and positive for the first time in a long time because he was looking forward to spending his morning with the princess. However, life had other plans for him instead. He received a telegram just as he stepped out of his room at the palace. The jarring, red font alerted him that this was no simple matter. 

His father was missing. 

After a long quest in a kingdom far away, his father was defeated by the harsh brutality of the opposing army. Hundreds of them went into battle, and there were numerous bodies found, but none of them was his father’s. His father was not among those knights that returned either. There was no telling where and how his father was. 

“He can’t be dead.” Jungkook muttered. 

“Sir Jeon, we have reason to believe-”

“He’s missing, not dead. How could you so falsely accuse him of being so? It says so here in the letter that he’s dead but you just confirmed that he could just be missing.” he snapped angrily. 

“Calm down, Sir Jeon. We have not made any accusations. The news is that your father is missing, but possibly...” the messenger paused. 

Jungkook looked shocked, angered but also extremely hurt. 

“Has the news reached my family?” he asked lowly. 

“Just this morning, yes. We advise that you spend time with them, Sir Jeon.”

“You needn’t share any of your advice. It is written here on this telegram that my father is considered dead. What are you going to do if you find him alive?” he spoke angrily. 

“The chances are slim, Sir Jeon. We do not want to give you and your family any form of false hope, we understand that this grievance is a tough process to go through-”

“So you won’t change it?” he snapped.

“I am only following orders, Sir Jeon. If you want, you can take this matter to my superiors, they are the only ones who can help you. However, I suggest you take some time to let this information settle in. Go and visit your family, stay together in these tough times. If you still wish to correct the status of your father then come to us in a week’s time and we will help you sort it out. As for now, there is nothing we can do.”

“Are you searching for him, at least?” Jungkook said defeatedly. 

The messenger inhaled sharply, not sure of what to answer this poor boy that stood in front of him who had just lost his father. 

“We hope that these things sort themselves out. There isn’t much we can do-”

“Just, leave me be.” Jungkook muttered, tired of hearing all the excuses. 

After shutting the door he threw the telegram onto his bed and put his head in his hands. It was a lot to process, but Jungkook knew that being a knight was not a safe job. They were always thrown to fight, always exposed to danger that it shouldn’t be a surprise that his father was missing. He hadn’t spoke to his father in months since he had left for this quest which he probably should have thought about more since they usually wrote to each other each month. Jungkook felt depressed at one point, and he thought the best person to see right now was his mother. They probably needed to see him as well.

Jungkook went out early and jumped on his horse, Chingu, riding through the early morning mist. There were others gathered around his small home, probably seeking to offer some comfort. Jungkook went inside, and the atmosphere felt cold and empty. Chaeyong, his little sister was sat in the embrace of their neighbour. She didn’t look devastated, because she was too young to understand the impact of what had happened. 

“Chaeyong.” Jungkook called out to her, and his little sister beamed upon seeing her brother. 

“Jungkook oppa, you came back!” she exclaimed as she ran over to him.

Jungkook smiled and lifted his sister off her legs, twirling and tickling her so that she laughed until she couldn’t breathe, and he laughed along with her. 

“Chaeyong, don’t be too loud-” his mother appeared. She stopped when she saw Jungkook. Jungkook put his sister down carefully and smiled sadly at his mother. 

“I came as soon as I could, eomma.” 

“Oh, Jungkook.” she teared up and pulled her son into a hug. 

Although knights were taught to be tough and strong, Jungkook was a pure softie at heart. He couldn’t hold back his tears at the sight of his mother crying. 

“He’s only missing.” Jungkook reassured. “He’ll find his way back to us.”

His mother sighed, “Jungkook, I’ve confirmed with the messenger earlier. They will document your father as dead.”

“What? Why would you tell them that?” Jungkook asked confused. 

“He is not coming back, Jungkook. The odds are extremely low-”

“Don’t you have at least a little bit of hope for him? I can understand why the messenger didn’t, but he’s your husband!”

“They have not finished searching the site of the battle, he could be there. Even if he made it out alive, he was not found with the other knights. There is no way he could have survived in their land, they are murderous, Jungkook, you of all people should know that.” his mother scolded. 

“He can fend for himself and survive this!” Jungkook said exasperated. 

“That’s enough.” his mother snapped. 

Jungkook huffed and wiped the small tears from his eyes. 

“The sooner we accept this, the better. I know it’s difficult, Jungkook, but giving us hope that is non-existent will only hurt us more. Please, don’t fight this.” his mother calmed him down. 

“Don’t cry, oppa.” Chaeyong tugged on his sleeve. 

“I have to get back to the palace.” Jungkook lied. 

“So suddenly? Shouldn’t the prince give you time to-”

“To grieve? Grieve on what, eomma? Father is still out there so there is not grieving necessary. I’ll have to head back now.”

“We haven’t spent time together in months, Jungkook. Stay at least for the day-” his mother tried to persuade. 

“I have my duties to attend to, it’s my job. You knew from the very beginning that this was what my life was going to be like. You knew I could never spend time at home yet you pushed me into it, so now there is no room for complaints.” Jungkook said angrily. 

His mother didn’t know what to say, and let her son go. Jungkook hugged his sister goodbye and then took Chingu out for a ride around the lake. He needed peace of mind, time to think things through and accept things. The grass was slightly damp and Jungkook lay down on its thick bedding. He closed his eyes and opened them to find more tears spilling out. The time he lay there crying silently extended into the afternoon, and then he spent the evening in slumber. 

The princess switched off the radio. No matter which frequency she moved to all she could think about was: where the hell was Sir Jeon? She knew for sure he was not showing up, but she wondered if he was okay. The prince ascended the stairs and entered the living room to see his sister pondering deep in her thoughts. He spotted the plaque still on the table and could not help but to ask. 

“I’m taking things did not go well?” 

“Is he off on a mission? Did you send him to do things today?” y/n asked. 

“Sir Jeon? No, in fact most of my day has been a blur. It feels like it has only just started.”

y/n remembered that her brother wasn’t feeling well and her expression softened immediately. “Are you feeling better?”

Taehyung nodded, “Yes, a lot better.”

“You stress to much, Tae.” y/n said frowning. 

“Well, it’s not exactly a piece of cake to run a kingdom, I’m sure you would understand. You didn’t exactly succeed.” 

The princess felt a pang in her chest at that statement, but she ignored it. 

“All I’m saying is that remember that your health is extremely important. None of us would want to see you ill. And I apologise, I think I may have pressured you to get the plaque done in such a short amount of time.”

Taehyung looked confused and then shook his head. “Your plaque had nothing to do with this.”

“Are you sure?” y/n sounded surprised. 

“Definitely, I was just stressing over the increased fires in town. I would have to compensate the entire kingdom if this keeps up.”

“We’ll find a way to reduce them.” y/n assured. 

“Let’s hope we shall.” he nodded. 

The princess heard the palace doors open and shut, and she stood up immediately. The prince turned to look and looked back at the princess. 

“He’s back.” the prince confirmed. 

y/n grabbed the plaque and rushed straight to the entrance. Jungkook was removing some of his armor, he looked tired and worn out. y/n was hoping for a good explanation as to why he stood her up this morning. She stepped forward and Jungkook looked up at her. 

“Princess...” he said in a grateful tone, happy to see her. Then his expression fell when he saw her unpleasant one. 

“Good to see you too, Sir Jeon.” she mumbled. 

Then Jungkook remembered why he felt good when he woke up this morning. He completely skipped a walk with the princess. Well, guess who’s in big trouble. 

“Shit....I am incredibly sorry, princess. I meant to meet you for our walk but it completely slipped my mind.”

y/n sighed, “That’s alright. A walk is not the most important thing, anyway.” she said trying to hide her disappointment. 

Jungkook frowned and quickly took one of her hands in his. “No, it is not alright. I made a promise to you and I failed to live up to it. I was looking forward to spending this morning with you, princess, however the day took a drastic turn and I was caught up in it. If you let me, I’d like to make it up to you.”

y/n smiled softly at him, “Just tell me next time if you aren’t going to make it.”

Jungkook felt terrible, he can’t believe he upset the person he really, really liked. 

“If I could turn back time, I would have been there for you, princess.” he said sincerely, looking into her eyes. 

“And I believe you, Sir Jeon.” y/n confirmed. 

He smiled at her in relief and she laughed at his funny expression. 

“I have something for you.” y/n said pushing the plaque into his hands. 

Jungkook raised an eyebrow and took it from her gratefully. 

“And what might this be?”

“Reveal it and I shall explain to you.” y/n said nervously. 

He looked at her and laughed softly, “I should be the one giving you a gift since I wronged you, not the other way around.”

“Just stop talking and open it, Sir Jeon. I’ve been waiting all day to give it to you.” y/n insisted. 

He felt bad again and nodded, immediately pulling off the white cloth and reading the contents on the plaque. His frown only deepened as he went on reading. 

“I-It’s a gift from the prince and I. We want to thank you and everyone before you who had served us here at the palace. I heard that your father’s medals and badges got lost in a fire and I know that this can never replace that but hopefully it’s something you can now keep to commemorate how loyal you and your family have been to us over many generations.” y/n explained. 

Jungkook felt that upsetting feeling he felt earlier today. 

“You made this to commemorate my father?” he asked not sounding happy.

“Uh, y-yes you could say that?”

“For the last time, my father is not dead.” he snapped harshly. 

The princess looked surprised at his reaction and was confused at his response. “Excuse me?”

“He is just missing, not dead. If the entire kingdom wishes to give up on him there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s sickening and incredibly insulting. He will come back, and when he does all of you will feel ashamed. How can you speak all these lies without feeling any guilt? You’re crushing my family’s hopes, my hopes by constantly assuming that he is dead but I believe in that man and dead is the one thing that he is not. The sooner you realise that, the less stupid you will sound.” Jungkook said angrily. 

y/n couldn’t move. She tried to comprehend what he was saying but she failed. He sounded angry yes, but she could see that he was even more hurt. His father is dead? Or wait, he’s missing? What was he talking about?

“I-I’m sorry, I intended for this to be a gift, I had no idea it would offend you-”

“You’re just like the rest, princess. It’s highly disappointing.” he muttered.

Jungkook left the plaque on a table next to him and then walked off without saying anything else. y/n felt the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes but she held it back. Why was she even crying anyway? Some people just don’t like gifts, there was no harm in that. But why did he have to insult her in that way?

“He literally called me stupid and disappointing.” y/n complained to Sir Park. 

“Wow, you must have really struck a nerve, princess.”

“But I don’t know what I did! He started talking about his father who is apparently missing? And something about how the entire kingdom didn’t believe in him and ugh, he’s so confusing.” y/n huffed. 

“His father? Jungkook’s father was sent on a missions a few years ago and he never returned. He wrote to Sir Jeon every month, although if you come to think of it he hasn’t for a while. I would know because I collect his letters for him.” Sir Park said. 

y/n frowned, “So something happened to his father? That’s horrible, but I had no idea until just now. And how is that related to him getting upset over the plaque?”

“Maybe you should talk to him.” Sir Park suggested.

“I don’t think he wants to see anyone right now, Park. Especially me.” y/n sighed. 

It was bad she had to spend the day thinking about why Sir Jeon didn’t show up. Now she was going to spend the night thinking about his outburst earlier. Sir Park wished y/n a good night a while later and left the room for y/n to get ready for bed. She really wanted answers, but she could only get them from Jungkook. However, he was in no mood to speak right now. It was going to be a sleepless night for the two of them. y/n couldn’t lose Sir Jeon, he was an amazing person who made her feel comfortable and at home. After a long, long while she finally found a new friend, a companion. He understood her in so many ways, she would never be able to open up to someone else like that. She wanted to mend things as soon as possible, because her heart was not at ease that they were in a bad place. Which is why she decided she would sneak into his room, tonight. 

A/N: I have finally updated omg! It’s a really long chapter, I hope you guys enjoy part 3 <3

#jungkook #bts #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts fics #jungkook fics #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jungkook au #bts au #knight!jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #jungkook oneshots #jungkook imagines #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #kim taehyung #hoseok #jhope #princess!reader

[lady-divine-writes]

Husband, Guardian, Muse - Chapter 1/3 (Rated NC17)

Summary: After the untimely death of his husband and muse, Crowley tries to find the simplest, most foolproof way to join him. But in the days that follow, he discovers that sometimes what looks like an ending can turn out to be a beginning, and that no one is ever really gone if we find a way to remember them.

Notes: This was the piece I wrote for Celestial Harmonies Zine :) Go check it out. Human au. Warning for heavy angst, death, alcohol abuse and thoughts of suicide. But it does have a happy ending :)

Crowley hated working over his vacations.

Wasn’t the point of being a semi-famous artist that he got to make his own hours, work alone, and spend as much time at home with his husband as he wanted?

Not this time, apparently. Not since Alciston & Selmeston Village Hall decided to do a complete renovation, including replacing their hospitality-grade art with original work from local artists, he had been stuck in meetings and consultations all week while his husband occupied himself at their cottage.

Aziraphale said he didn’t mind since he was doing renovations of his own – a new work space for Crowley, an extension to his library, expanding the wine cellar. Being alone gave Aziraphale the opportunity to putter over fabric samples and color swatches in peace without his husband intervening every five minutes with his supposed “expert eye for nuance”.

But Crowley had enough of forgoing lunches with his husband (as well as afternoon delights) in favor of another discussion over whether or not a Monet-inspired acrylic of waterlilies would be appropriate for the treasurer’s office. He launched his escape when an argument over abstract sculptures for public spaces broke out. He grabbed a blank canvas under the guise of starting a new piece and slipped away in his Bentley. He hit the interstate and sped off like a bat out of hell, making it to their cottage in record time.

Crowley loved how secluded it was in their small patch of heaven. Tucked far and away from any other living souls, no one complained about their activities – amorous or otherwise - be it at three in the afternoon or three in the morning.

Crowley shed his jacket, his keys, and his phone at the front door, then he wandered the rooms, the canvas from earlier tucked beneath his arm, making as much noise as possible to alert his husband of his arrival.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley called, walking through the kitchen in search of his muse. “Aziraphale! Where are you, angel? I miss your ass!”

“I thought you had to work this afternoon.”

Crowley smiled. “I am working. I’m doing a portrait of a gorgeous man, as soon as I find him.”

“No …” Aziraphale chuckled. “You’re supposed to be doing a landscape for the city planner’s office.”

“No,” Crowley insisted, inspecting another empty room. “I’m painting you. Naked if I have my way.”

“You just want to snog,” Aziraphale teased.

“Nothin’ wrong with that. Now where are you? This cottage i’n’t that big.”

“Out here, installing the track lighting.”

Crowley turned the corner to the patio – a space they’d recently added to give Crowley a protected outdoor area to work. There was Aziraphale – his intrepid Aziraphale – braving their rickety, eighty-year-old ladder to install a row of lights. The chrome runner and bonnets gleamed in the midday sun, right in Aziraphale’s eyes, so he was installing them blind, his eyes shut against the reflected light, feeling around for the holes to put the screws in. Crowley winced when the ladder shivered beneath Aziraphale’s weight, but Aziraphale seemed oblivious, balancing precariously on his toes to screw the fixture to the wall.

Crowley put the canvas down and held the ladder secure beneath his husband. “I really wish you’d let me do that. Or wait till we buy a new ladder.”

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley with playful blue eyes. “This ladder is fine. Besides, I don’t have much more to do. It’ll only take a ---” Aziraphale leaned sideways. The ladder lurched. Luckily, Crowley reacted in time to keep Aziraphale from toppling head first into the retaining wall.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Crowley said, pulling on Aziraphale’s pant leg. “Get down now.”

“But I only have one screw left!”

That’s an understatement, Crowley thought bitterly in reference to the dozen or so times he’d asked Aziraphale to wait on this project. “I don’t care. Get your ass down off that ladder.”

“Geez,” Aziraphale huffed, carefully navigating the rungs. “You certainly have a fondness for my rear.”

“It happens to be a glorious rear.” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s behind and squeezed for emphasis. “I don’t want anything happening to it.” He drew Aziraphale close, relishing the way their bodies fit together, as if some higher power had carved them both from the same slab of stone.

Like they’d been made specifically for each other.

Aziraphale tilted his head, pouting in mock offense. “So, you only care about my rear?”

“Among other things.” Crowley captured Aziraphale’s lips, not waiting for an invitation, trying his best to kiss the pout from Aziraphale’s face.

If Aziraphale’s whimpers were any indication, Crowley was winning.

But Crowley’s cellphone, ringing where he’d left it, called a foul on his game. He had no intention of stopping, but Aziraphale annoyingly felt that job and responsibility came before snogging.

“You should get that,” he struggled to say, voice muffled by Crowley’s lips pressing insistently against his.

“Nope.”

“But it’s probably village hall, wondering where their artist is.”

Crowley frowned as his husband squirmed out of his arms while laughing at what Aziraphale called Crowley’s “sour mug”. Crowley narrowed his eyes at his husband.

“I’m going to go answer that, but just to tell them to get lost, and then I’m getting you naked.”

Crowley peppered Aziraphale’s cheeks with kisses to a symphony of his giggles. Then, with a heavy-handed swat to his backside, he reluctantly released his husband and ran inside to answer the phone.

Despite his frustration at having to put his escapades with his husband on hold, Crowley couldn’t help smiling. He loved his life. He loved his marriage. He especially loved the time they spent at their cottage in the South Downs. He’d always be a city dweller, but this place was paradise. He loved bringing his husband here and having him all to himself.

Crowley and Aziraphale had been blessed with a wonderful five-year-long honeymoon, and he didn’t see that ending anytime soon.

“Coming, coming,” he yelled at his insufferable phone, but he wasn’t exactly rushing to get it. By the time he reached it, it stopped ringing.

“Oh, no,” he joked. “I didn’t get here in time. Whatever shall I do?”

It didn’t matter to him anyway since no power on heaven or earth could have convinced him to leave his husband right as he was preparing to ravish him.

And to make sure they weren’t interrupted again, he turned his ringer off.

“Well, now that that’s settled …”

A sharp noise pricked at Crowley’s ears. Nothing too alarming. In fact, it could have been a bird chirping. But it filled him from head to toe with dread.

He didn’t know how he could possibly feel the ladder tilt from inside the cottage, but he felt the sway of it as if he was standing on it instead of Aziraphale. After a swoop of sudden and inexplicable nausea hit him, everything happened absurdly fast. He heard Aziraphale yelp, a loud metallic clatter, then a horrifying crack, like pottery hitting pavement.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called, and then he waited. When his husband didn’t answer, he started to panic. “Aziraphale!” He ran for the patio, having the sense of mind to start dialing 9-9-9, knowing in his heart that his husband would need an ambulance. “Aziraphale! Are you alri---?”

Crowley got his answer the second he burst through the patio door.

No, Aziraphale wasn’t alright.

Aziraphale definitely wasn’t alright.

***

It rained the day they buried Aziraphale.

This weather was such a marked change from the weeks of sunny skies and no clouds. Aziraphale had mentioned how they needed a good, all-day rainstorm to trap them indoors where they could snuggle together on the sofa with mugs of cocoa and listen to the drops fall. Aziraphale was a quintessential pluviophile. He found peace in the rain.

Crowley hated the rain. He hated getting wet. He hated when his soaked clothes stuck to his skin and cold water ran into his socks. He hated sloshing inside his shoes, and the way they never completely dried. But as much as he hated the rain, he loved Aziraphale, and the rain made Aziraphale happy.

So Crowley became a pluviophile for Aziraphale.

Crowley stood by Aziraphale’s casket beside his open grave and waited in the rain. He waited while the mourners paid their respects. He waited while everyone hugged and cried. He waited until the final mourner wandered somberly away. He waited until they lowered Aziraphale into the ground, and even after there was nothing left to witness, he waited until nightfall, when the rain stopped, the clouds parted, and the stars came out.

Crowley had painted stars hundreds of times. They were one of his favorite subjects to paint.

Now, he didn’t want to look at them.

Tracy, one of Aziraphale’s dearest friends, and her husband Sergeant Shadwell, returned to the cemetery a little before midnight in search of their missing friend, convince him to go home, but Crowley refused to leave. So they waited with him, not pressing the issue even though Crowley was sopping wet and stifling sniffles he knew would bloom into a full-blown cold later on.

At some point, Crowley finally came to the conclusion that Aziraphale wasn’t going to magically return, so he took Tracy’s hand and let himself be led away from his husband’s final resting place. Crowley’s forehead burned with fever by the time the couple got him back to the cottage, but Crowley turned down Tracy’s offer to stay. As much as Tracy objected, in the end, she didn’t have the strength to battle her own grief and Crowley’s, and they left the man alone.

Crowley walked through the unlit cottage, straight out back to the patio, shoving aside a morbid sense of déjà vu. He dropped heavily into a wicker chaise and looked up at the clear night sky, but his vision was obscured by something shiny hanging a few feet above his head.

The light fixture.

That stupid track lighting.

Crowley stared at it in shock as it dangled on its two screws.

The fixture was there, brand new out-of-the-box, installed except for one damn screw, but because of it, Aziraphale was dead.

Crowley snapped.

He spotted an abandoned hoe over by the retaining wall, a few feet from where Aziraphale had fallen. He grabbed it and, with a renewed vigor, attacked the lights.

“Goddamned lights!” he screamed. “What the fuck did we need these for, Aziraphale? Why did you have to put them up when I asked you to wait!? Why didn’t you wait, Aziraphale!? Why couldn’t you just sit on your ass and fucking wait!?”

The sound of the hoe hitting the lights and the brick behind it echoed. The force of the blows caused the hoe to vibrate painfully in Crowley’s hands, but he only tightened his grip and struck harder.

“Fuck you, Aziraphale! Why did you have to put up these stupid lights!?” Crowley screamed, shattering the bulbs and sending a spray of glass falling over his hair and clothes. “I told you to wait! I told you I’d do it! I don’t need the lights, Aziraphale! I need you, Aziraphale!”

He pounded the bonnets flat, chipped away a good portion of the brick wall, but it didn’t make him feel better. He didn’t feel avenged. He could pick those lights apart piece by piece, chop them up until they became dust, but that wouldn’t bring his husband back. And why was he taking out his anger on the lights? He should turn that hoe on himself. Why the fuck hadn’t he held the ladder till Aziraphale finished? He knew how stubborn his husband was, how determined he’d be to finish something he’d started. Why didn’t he take Aziraphale’s place and screw in the lights himself, get it over and done with once and for all? Those lights didn’t kill his husband, nor the ladder. And it wasn’t Aziraphale.

It was Crowley.

He was the only one to blame.

Panting hard and with blistered palms, he dropped the hoe on the ground at his feet.

He’s the one. He did this. He killed his husband.

He destroyed his muse.

He stumbled into the cottage and rifled through the cabinets, searching for a fresh bottle of whiskey. He couldn’t stand being sober any longer. His hand came in contact with a bottle that felt mostly full. He grabbed it and pulled it down. Except this bottle wasn’t his spare bottle of Jack.

It was a lone bottle of Hennessy … and it had belonged to Aziraphale.

Crowley’s first instinct was to toss the bottle up against the wall and smash it. He looked around for an open space to hurl it when he caught sight of his paintings - a new crop he had started working on for a show in the fall, all of them featuring his muse.

Aziraphale.

Crowley hadn’t set them up in here. Aziraphale had. He was so proud of them, he’d displayed them. That way he could look at them while Crowley toiled down at the village hall, wasting his talents painting hillsides and sunsets.

But Crowley couldn’t look at them. They represented everything he’d had and lost in an instant. Being in their presence made him realize that he couldn’t go on this way. He couldn’t keep being the artist he was when the only subject he enjoyed painting was gone.

He didn’t want to keep existing when the only man he’d ever loved was dead.

He took a swig of the Hennessy to steady his nerves. With his body burning hot and fire in his veins, he grabbed up the paintings, every last one, and carried them outside, dropping them in an undignified pile on a patch of bare earth a distance from the cottage. He doused them with the cognac, gritting his teeth as the liquid assaulted the paint, causing it to bleed, distorting Aziraphale’s face, twisting it, like Aziraphale’s body would eventually be, decaying inside his coffin.

When the bottle was just about empty, he rummaged through his pockets for his silver Zippo. He didn’t smoke, but he liked keeping a lighter on hand for emergencies. And why carry around a common plastic BIC when he could spend over a hundred dollars on something he only used once or twice a year? But that was the man Crowley was.

Frivolous.

Over-the-top.

Who in their right mind chooses to make a living as an artist anyway? He didn’t even want to be a painter initially. But when his trust fund matured and he gained control of it, he realized that he had more than enough money to live the life of a rock star and never work a day in his life. On a whim, he began to dally with watercolors and voila! He unlocked a secret talent.

But he should have done something respectable - gone to law school, or medical school. If he’d done either of those, Aziraphale might still be alive.

He’d give it all away, call a complete do over on his life, to get Aziraphale back.

He flipped the lighter open and an orange flame sprang to life. Crowley tossed the lighter into the pile. The flame barely touched the heap before the whole thing went up in a blaze. Crowley stood back and watched it burn, watched the past three months of his life go up in smoke. The paint melted, the canvas crackled, sparks of color went flying into the sky.

“There, Aziraphale,” Crowley grumbled, his throat raw from screaming. “It’s done. All of it. No more muse … no more you … no more paintings. I’ve buried it all with you. I’m done!”

Weak, tired, and sick, Crowley drank the dregs of Aziraphale’s cognac while fire devoured his paintings … and the love of his life.

It seemed too much work to trudge back to the cottage and climb into bed, so he lay down on the hard-packed earth next to the destroyed canvases. They maintained a slow burn, the air around him reeking of chemical smoke. Crowley hoped it would seep into his sinuses and suffocate his brain. Or maybe an errant cinder would jump onto his alcohol-soaked clothes and he would burn to death in his sleep; a sudden temperature drop freeze him to the ground where he lay. Either way, without Aziraphale, his bed wasn’t his bed, his home wasn’t a home, and Crowley wished more than anything that he could find the quickest and most efficient way to die.

Crowley had prayed that he would black out, surrender to an unconsciousness where time passed outside of memory, but he had no such luck. Locked inside sleep, he had the same dream over and over - Aziraphale falling from the ladder and cracking his head on the wall. And no matter what Crowley did, no matter how fast he ran, no matter if he didn’t go into the cottage to answer the phone, Aziraphale still died.

That was an absolute. It never changed.

Which meant that doctor, lawyer, or artist, Aziraphale would still die.

Before dawn, Crowley had no idea when, he heard a rustle, followed by footfalls on the ground, and he wrestled through the fog in his brain to open his eyes. If he was about to be mauled by wild animals, he wanted to know. But what he saw was a man – a beautiful man - approaching the charred pile, focused on it as if a sick, drunk, and urine-smelling Crowley wasn’t lying mere feet away. The man bent over the burnt canvases, a trembling hand pressed to his lips, and a gasp escaped his mouth.

Crowley had an overwhelming urge to reach out to the man, apologize for setting the paintings on fire, but why, he couldn’t explain. Crowley groaned, trying to form words with his sticky tongue. He rolled slightly, blinking to get a better look at his paintings’ solitary mourner, but when he opened his eyes, the man was gone, and Crowley fell asleep once again.

Crowley awoke after sunrise to the sound of laughter breaking through the haze of his fever-induced stupor. It was high-pitched, familiar. It sounded like heaven and home and the future Crowley had always dreamed of having, starting during those days when Aziraphale was completely clueless that Crowley had a crush on him. He could punch himself in the eye for the time he’d wasted not outright saying, “Aziraphale, I’m in love with you!”

Time he could use now.

Time he would never get back.

Back then, it took him longer than necessary to realize what he’d known from the beginning, from the first moment they met.

He wanted Aziraphale. Just Aziraphale.

Crowley peeled open his eyes and craned his head in search of the laughter, fixing his gaze on the cottage, and the patio he planned to tear out brick by brick by hand as soon as he was physically able. Somewhere in the midst of his pounding headache and the fog that refused to lift, he spotted piercing blue eyes – blue like the sky in summer – staring at him from behind a golden hibiscus. It was that exact spot Crowley had planned for his painting - the one he’d rushed home to start, of Aziraphale lounging on a chaise in front of the outdoor fireplace, the hibiscus behind him, its golden hue mimicking the highlights in his hair.

Crowley sat up too quickly to see who the eyes belonged to. His head swam, his stomach flipped, and before he knew it, he was on his hands and knees, vomiting over the ground. Crowley heaved until there was nothing left, eyes squeezed shut as his body wrung the past several hours’ worth of alcohol from him. As quickly as he could, he looked back at the cottage with watery eyes, but this time, he saw nothing. He dropped his head. It felt too heavy for his neck so he let it hang while he blinked what remained of his tears from his eyes. He caught a glimpse of his hands, filthy and paint-stained; the ruined cuffs of his suit reminding him that he still wore it. He pictured himself covered in dirt and vomit and knew that if Aziraphale could see him, he would be sorely disappointed.

Slowly, ever so slowly, with that thought lodged in his mind giving him an impetus to move, he crawled back to the cottage on his hands and knees. He felt lousy with fever, but his head began to clear. Small pebbles cut into the palms of his hands, but, unable to get to his feet, he continued to crawl, distracting himself by considering his options.

By the time he made it to the patio, his path seemed certain.

Crowley didn’t want to live, not without Aziraphale. His mind was made up.

He would settle his affairs.

He would finish his commissions, complete his obligations.

And when the cottage and his flat were put up on the market, and all was said and done, he would find the quickest, most foolproof way of being reunited with his husband again.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale

[smuttymess]

bts astro soulmate reading | for julia

sign: libra sun | libra moon | sagittarius rising

partner: jung hoseok | soulmate: kim seokjin

This reading is for Julia (@jeonjeonggukenergy), a double Libra with a Seokjin bias but a weakness for JK. This is my first double astrology reading and was really fun to write, especially since it is rare of a chart to align so nicely with her someone’s bias! please enjoy love (:

Lovely Libra, queen of harmony, beauty and romance. Ruled by Venus, you love and appreciate the all of the finger things life has to offer. Excess is not in your vocabulary, as you can never have enough love, attention, praise, chocolate, or champagne. You live to love and receive love - it is simply your way of life. 

Flirtation comes to you as easily as breathing, so it’s no wonder you have plenty of admirers vying for your attention when you are off on one of your many adventures. Never one to turn down an invitation to a good party, you are always game to step out in your best outfit and mix and mingle, taking your rightful place in the spotlight.

A particularly wild night out leads you to a secret members-only club. Immediately, you take notice of a man on the dance floor, his body moving under the atmospheric lights highlighting his undeniable, radiant energy. A friend tells you that its the Jung Hoseok, and immediately you’re intrigued - you are turned on and challenged by the idea of meeting a celebrity, someone who is so desired by others. It is not often that someone can match your ability to draw attention so naturally, and you meet eyes, moving closer to him to match his moves. Several hours and glasses of champagne later, you find yourself draped over him in the secluded booth, far away from the prying eyes of the rest of the club, igniting a months-long, hot and heavy, whirlwind romance.

What happens when a Libra and Aquarius - two fun, bold and adventurous air signs - get together? Sex. Sex everywhere. Hoseok turns you out, taking your intense, romantic, sexual nature and bridging it with his spontaneous spike. While you are more of the rose petals and silk sheets variety, Hoseok allows you to unlock a different, kinkier side of yourself. Initially, he loves your spoiled nature and you enjoy dom/sub play with him at the helm. He didn’t give you enough attention at the album release party? You will enjoy the company of another handsome stranger in a deliberate attempt to make him jealous, causing him to politely excuse you both from the party before whisking you away in his car, his hand moving in between your legs as he stares straight ahead into the dark road ahead. You’re a real fucking brat, you know that right? Couldn’t wait even two seconds without trying to find another cock to suck, hmm? I’m going to remind you who you belong to. You would never let someone talk to you this way, but the way his fingers move in and out of you, simultaneously working your clit until you cum harder than you have in your entire life, you’re essentially a slave to his touch.

A double Libra means double the romance, tenderness, affection, and care. You, my dear, are one needy bitch. There is nothing you enjoy more than being partnered with that special someone who can appreciate, worship and ravish you on a daily basis. This requires someone who can keep up with your moody, indecisive, entitled nature. This is not Jung Hoseok, an eccentric, unconventional soul who also needs the spotlight and does not enjoy being anywhere or with anything for too long - he is constantly on the move. You want to know him on a deep level, as few people do, and he just cannot reciprocate so much so soon. You come to find that, despite sharing an element,  The sex keeps you two involved way longer than you should, but ultimately - after several fights ending in tears and potentially an article or clothing or two thrown out the window - you realize that this is not a perfect match. 

What you desire most is a leader who can support you and treat you like a princess but also fuck you properly and cherish you with every fiber of their being. This is no small feat, but luckily you have Kim Seokjin, the Sagittarius man. He possesses a self-assuredness and a knightly persona which you find very sexy, alongside a positive outlook on life which you both share. In the early stages of dating, you find Jin’s goofiness different from the overtly sexy-serious men you tend to meet, and it sweeps you off your feet. You bond quickly, with him highly attracted to your charm but also that signature Libra spark. While he is more prone to be more decisive, sticking to a few core interests, he loves your curious and adventurous mind which is constantly seeking out new pleasures and hobbies and enjoys exploring them with you. Importantly, he is decisive, devoted and can anticipate your needs - all while remaining lighthearted and not-too-serious. 

In dating Jin, you realize quickly that you need to curb some of your superficial and occasional tactlessness (courtesy of your Libra moon) as well as your strong jealous streak. Dating a highly successful idol with a naturally sociable nature and the face of a damn god comes with its challenges, and unlike Hoseok he will not rewards your temper tantrums with dick. When you lash out, he will infuriate you with his calm, joking demeanor. Oh baby, don’t worry about her. She’s been trying to get me for years. Sure, she has huge tits but you have the bigger heart! He may not always know when he has went too far with a joke, which can send you into emotional overload. After a petty argument, he is always able to remind you that he is yours. It is not at all unusual for him to do silly things to appease you, such as waking you up with breakfast in bed wearing a maid’s apron which he immediately whips off in a dramatic way to make you laugh. When he moves to crawl towards you, licking his lips and spreading your thighs wide open before burying his face deep into you, you can hardly ever remember why you were mad at him in the first place. He loves seeing you smile and indulging your princess tendencies, devouring you like a delicious meal before positioning himself between your legs and fucking you until you’re spewing I love you’s repeatedly into his ear.

Despising conflict and any disruption of harmony in your fantasy world, you often resort to people-pleasing in order to conceal your truth. You also can be overly-self indulgent to an extreme degree. When caught in a lie or a moment of weakness, you can easily turn on your charm to deflect. Seokjin does not have any of this, advocating for you to be your most authentic self with the people around you, often forcing it out of you. This is not to say that he wants to change you, only bringing your best self forward, because he knows how freeing it can be to live on your own terms instead of seeking adoration from outside. When dating someone so direct and unabashedly himself, you will feel inspired to do the same. While he can fall for your charms on occasion - few people can’t - you will not be able to bullshit him or be frivolous, which helps you mature. You, in turn, give him a sense of sensuality that sentimentality that only your Libra self can provide, softening his occasionally hard edges and revealing the more sensitive soul beneath. Ultimately, you two make a very balanced, optimistic, popular couple that is never short on friends and loved ones who wish to soak in your company at any opportunity. Together, you make a great team.

#bts #bangtan #bangtan astrology #seokjin #hoseok #bangtan smut #romance #fiction #horoscope #astrology readings #libra #virgo #sagittarius #bts fic

[i4z-0892-il]

Monster House 3

Summary: Posing as Newlyweds Sam and Y/n set out to investigate what’s killing the visitors of a secluded Inn, and attempt to keep their working relationship professional.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word count: 6100 Oops, my keyboard slipped

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only, suggestive themes, language

A/N:  TROPES. 

Buy Sam’s Scent Here from @scentsfromthebunker (And damn does it smell goooooood)

I live for feedback, comments and reblogs! It is the fire that fuels me! The pep in my step! The Adrenaline in my veins! It is the tap of my fingers to a keyboard.

If you like my work consider buying me a Coffee, or leave me some Feedback!

Add yourself to my Tag List.

Masterlist stays updated with each new chapter.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

After following the main trail for nearly half a mile it was quickly decided that the most effective course of action would be to get off the path. Neither of you were exactly sure what you were looking for, but you could both agree that whatever it was you weren’t going to find it sitting like a silver platter on a main path. However, actually stepping off of it and wandering aimlessly through the dense forest surrounding you was another matter. There shouldn’t have been a reason to worry, after all you were in the company of Sam Winchester, one of the deadliest hunters alive. If anyone should have been worried it should be whatever you were hunting. Even still the chill that slid up your spine earlier never really faded away.

Realistically that unsettled feeling could have been a number of things. You were nervous. Even though you wanted to find the thing that was snatching bodies, you also really didn’t want to find the thing that was snatching bodies. The classic double-edged sword! If you find it you could stop it and kill it, or it could stop and kill you- always a gamble. And you did not like that shit at all. Dense wilderness also put you on edge, but that was from growing up in West Virginia where there was more forest than not, and from knowing exactly what was out there.

Certain parts of the wild should not be visited. Of that you were sure, beyond shadow of a doubt.

Since you could remember you were told to stay away from specific parts of the forests surrounding the tiny town tucked in the mountains where you grew up in. Everyone knew. No one talked about it, but everyone knew. The Wilderness to the North-West was home to something far older and more dangerous than any gun in that town.

There were rules everyone knew to abide by. And only the very stupid or very foolish chose not to listen.

Don’t go into the woods at night.

Never give out your real name- or anyone’s.

If you feel you’re being watched stay calm and get out without a fuss.

Take nothing from the forest because it will want it back.

When you see the fog, leave.

Don’t listen to the whispers, ignore the strange knockings.

Close the doors and windows, and don’t look outside.

If something is following you don’t ever turn around.

In your youth you were both stupid and foolish.

The rules your father tried to drill into your thick skull never stopped you from playing in the forbidden woods. When you were little you’d run through those trees like it was your own personal playground, it was magical and enchanted and it was all yours. Everywhere you stepped in those woods was warm and inviting, like a little bubble of safety all around you. You talked to the trees, and though they never talked back you felt loved and safe.

Until you got older. Sometimes it was inviting like it was when you were just a kid, other times it was warning you to stay away.

It was September and you were fifteen when it happened- when it turned on you. Walking home from school you cut through the trees. You knew that forest like the back of your hand and the idea of shaving nearly twenty minutes off of your walk was just a little too tempting. It was still warm, and everything was golden with that afternoon hue, just before the sun starts to set, and you weren’t afraid. You were just over half way home when the shift happened. That sudden change in the air that made you stop, body frozen on the spot. The air around you dropping to a temperature so cold you could see the puffs of air coming from your mouth. Everything darkened like the sun had disappeared, but dusk wasn’t for another two hours, and it seemed like the treetops had closed the holes in the canopy trapping you and claustrophobic.

Something felt wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.

Heeding the words of your father you forced your legs to move, to carry on your way. Don’t run, don’t panic, don’t be afraid. So you kept your head down, looked straight ahead, and kept going. It wasn’t long before you felt like you weren’t the only one in the woods. And up slithered that cold, creeping hand of fear gripping the back of your neck at the base of your skull, wrapping around your chest like a spider-web making your whole body vibrate in alarm. Your pace sped up as you tried to keep your breath from shaking; as you tried to keep the panic and dread that filled you from your head to your toes at bay.

The thudding of your heart all but stopped when you glanced up and realized you had no idea where you were. It was like you had run straight into a wall of Evergreen or the trees had uprooted themselves and moved just to throw you off. You knew those woods, there was no way you could have gotten lost on a path you had walked more than a thousand times.Yet there you were, standing somewhere that seemed foreign and hostile. Swallowing down the blooming anxiety stuck in your throat you willed yourself to keep moving remembering not to stay still for too long.

Thick rolling fog slid in along the sides of your vision appearing from nowhere and suddenly everywhere. It reached for you with wispy smoke-like tendrils threatening to snag your ankles if you weren’t quick enough. It whispered your name, your name which you had so ignorantly given in your youth. Your heart raced in your chest, blood pumping furiously with adrenaline. Lungs sucked in short, sharp shocks of air as you tried to remain calm to the best of your ability, but you were only holding on by a thread.

When you felt eyes on you it was your undoing. Overcome with dread and fright you took off as fast as your feet could carry you. And the wilderness did not like that. Tearing through the trees they tried to reach out with sharp branches snagging your clothes, and slicing fine lines in your face. But you didn’t slow down, you couldn’t slow down.

It was coming.

It was gaining on you.

The Thing in the Woods.

Your heavy backpack full of school books, binders and papers slowed you down. Without second thought you dropped the dead weight, praying to God or whatever was out there that you made it out alive.

The forest moved, uplifting a root and grabbing your foot taking you to the ground tearing holes in the knees of your jeans, scraping up your hands and splitting your cheek open on a rock beneath you. It didn’t give you pause though, in full flight or fight mode you scrambled to your feet kicking up a flurry of dead leaves as you did. The snapping of branches and footsteps behind you dropped your heart into the pit of your stomach, your nervous system short circuiting as every fiber of your being turned to stone.

Everything fell deathly silent, no rustling of leaves, no wind, no birds or insects. Just the sound of blood pumping in your ears and your ragged breath coming out in wisps of cold mist.

Every limb trembled, quaking with terror as you did what you could to swallow down your panic and turn your head in slow trepidation knowing you had broken nearly every cardinal rule. Dragging your eyes along the forest floor you turned them up and a silent scream caught in your throat.

“Hey, Earth to Y/n-” Sam said waving a hand in front of your face, snapping you from your trance. Like a deer in the headlights your attention was on him, he was looking at you curious and concerned. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” You answered shrugging off your discomfort. Shifting your weight from foot to foot, flustered under the scrutiny of his unsatisfied gaze, you turned your eyes anywhere but his face. Those damn hazel eyes would be the end of you, and you couldn’t stand him staring at you like he genuinely cared for too long. Only after you took a long look around did you realize that you had no idea where you were or for how long you’d been following behind Sam. You blamed it on the woods, they played tricks and you hadn’t been much of a hiker since your youth.

“So I think I saw a house or something just up ahead.” He continued, dropping the fact that you were so very obviously not good. That you hadn’t cracked a joke or made a comment you surely thought was witty for nearly fifteen minutes was clue enough but the spaced out, thousand yard stare plastered on your face sealed the deal. He wasn’t one to push, and you weren’t one to tell, you’d come around when and if you were ready. Even still it was a look he hadn’t seen before.

“Okay, lets go do a B and E.” You agreed with a clap before sweeping your arms to the side in a grand gesture. “After you good Sir.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head walking past you with an eye roll.

“You better be careful rolling them things that hard Sam.” You warned as you followed behind him. He turned his head, confusion creasing his brow. “You’re gonna roll ‘em so far into your head they’ll get stuck like that.”

That pulled a laugh from him, and those dimples you loved so much. You always liked to see him smile, and his laugh seemed to happen so rarely. So when he did it was like looking at the sun, radiant and warm, bringing life to all things.

He wasn’t kidding when he said he saw a house. Although “house” was a rather gracious term for what it was. It looked more like an old hunting cabin that had seen better days, held together by antique nails and the grace of god.

“Wow, this place is a dump.” You said stepping around him and into the small clearing to take in the sight fully, the fact that it was still standing on its own was impressive.

“Really? You don’t want to honeymoon here?” Sam asked as he dropped the strap of his backpack to his hand and knelt to unzip it. You stood with your hands at your hips studying the building that would surely crumble if someone looked at it the wrong way. After a short pause you turned your attention back to him.

“I thought about it, and no. I do not want to honeymoon here. As much fun as tetanus is- I think I’d rather not.” You stated. The corner of his lips pulled up as he grinned at you while extending a handful of silver bullets and a holster. He and Dean might have been content with tucking a loaded gun in the waistband of their jeans- but you were not. You knew how getting shot felt and you were not exactly the most graceful person on the planet either. The combination of the two was a recipe for disaster, and you were not trying to shoot yourself in the ass. It was a nice ass, you had full intention on keeping it that way. Strapping the holster around your thigh and snagging a silver blade from his small arsenal almost instantly made you feel better. Sam geared up and slung the bag over his shoulder again before standing and sweeping hair from his face.

“I don’t know. Clean it up a little, could be nice.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

“Yout sure? Hang some curtains over the boarded up windows there,” he said pointing to different areas on the house. “A porch swing there. And one of those little welcome mat’s that says ‘Leave’ at the door.”

Hand over your heart you turned charmed eyes up to him, sighing dreamily. “You’re right, it’s like a dream.”

“I knew you’d come around.”

“Oh, yeah Sam, let's build a summer home out of the cabin that’s at the epicenter of every single 80’s horror movie.” You snarked, nudging his arm with your elbow. “Maybe if we’re lucky a portal to hell will open in the basement on nights when the stars align.”

“You know that is exactly how lucky we are.” Sam stated with another laugh, and it cured your depression, acne, and alcoholism all at once.

“Alright, call the realtor. Make ‘em an offer they can’t refuse.”

From about a hundred feet back the place certainly looked abandoned enough. Boards covered nearly every window, most of which were missing entire panes of glass either broken in or fallen out. And it was in serious need of a new paint job, and probably an exterminator- there was no way termites hadn’t taken up residence. Thinking about bugs slowly eating away the foundation of an entire house might not have been the best way to calm your nerves, but it was a better alternative to what you were most assuredly going to find.

The heavy duty padlock and iron chain around the front door did nothing but confirm your suspicions. It was never as easy an explanation as say- a tool shed! No. It was never a fucking tool shed. It was always a house of horrors. Body parts stuffed into jars. Body parts sans the jars. Always body parts. You should have picked a better- less morbid profession.

“Think you can crack it?” You asked, obviously he could. It was dumb to even ask, but Sam gave pause to ponder anyway. He scanned the area, then back to the lock, weighing options.

“Maybe. You go left, I’ll go right, see if we can find a more subtle way in.” He answered finally. Nodding in agreement you walked along the wall looking for a point of access that wouldn’t be so obvious that someone had gone inside. Because that’s exactly what you needed, pick the lock, go in, monster-person-thing comes back to find the chain missing right off the front door. Good point Sam.

More boarded up windows, and fragile wall you might have been able to put a fist clean through if you were curious enough. And jesus fuck if you were not curious. Putting a hand on the wall you gave a little push, and there was enough give that it only granted credibility to your theory, and a little more excitement than maybe was healthy. But who didn’t want to just full on kick in a fucking wall? Crazy people. That’s who. Though that would have been arguably way less subtle than just cracking open the padlock. The argument being the cabin was falling apart anyway. The human foot sized hole would have been slightly more difficult to explain, so you tucked the urge away in the back of your mind. Begrudgingly.

Carrying on you reached a cellar door, and a set of tiny windows lining the bottom of the cabin, one of them was busted nearly completely open. Yahtzee. With a quick chirping whistle you drew Sam’s attention who rounded the corner of the house to meet you. A casual toss of your head to the side let his eyes trail to the window you were looking at.

“There’s no way I’ll fit in that, I’m way too big.” He commented without missing a beat. You snorted a laugh, biting the inside of your lips into a flat line, closing your eyes and shaking your head. How many times had he said that in his life? When you regained more control of your face and opened your eyes again he was looking at you with that perfected bitch-face, which while oh-so-judgy was still pretty damn hot. You shrugged, proclaiming your innocence.

“What? I didn’t say anything!”

He didn’t have to respond, it was clear as day what you were thinking. He moved to the cellar doors, like a normal thinking person and pulled to no avail.

“Guess it’s locked from the inside there Buckaroo.” You said peering over his shoulder, his eyes cut to you, there was that bitch-face again. With a huff he stood upright, you always liked standing close enough to him to really let his height sink in. Sam always made you feel so tiny and small, and little, like his huge frame could just swallow you whole. Not that you ever spent entirely too much time thinking about how easily he could crush you in his toned, muscular, perfectly sunkissed arms or anything. Or how he could lift you off your feet and over his head like you weighed absolutely nothing. Focus!

The cellar doors wouldn’t open which meant your plan was the most viable one on the table. And if Sam couldn’t fit through that little window it left one option. You were going to have to do it. A shudder of distaste and resentment snaked up your back. You were going to have to crawl through some busted ass window, in some creepy ass basement of a creepy ass cabin in the middle of some creepy ass woods. And god only knew what you might find inside- human jars, jars made from humans, blood paint. Eyeball soup. Buffalo Bill. Who the fuck knew. Suddenly your plan seemed a lot less fun than it did a minute ago.

“Okay, welp. Guess I’m going in.” You said shaking the jitters out of your body through your hands. Sam would never tell you that he enjoyed watching you screw your courage to the sticking place, but it was absolutely entertaining. You were kind of like a kid in a play getting ready to go deliver a monologue at the crux of the plot, who had stage fright and were bouncing up and down offstage with nervous energy. He had to hand it to you, you never backed down, and there was no denying he admired your bravery. In another life you probably would have been a Teacher or Optometrist, or some kind of niche artist. Definitely something softer, much less gritty and gory. Not that you couldn’t handle yourself, he had no doubts about you and your iron will. But if the life hadn’t found you and made the decision for you, he simply couldn’t see you as the dirt-under-the-fingernails, willingly-crawling-into-a-dingy-hole-towards-almost-certain-peril kind of gal. The sarcasm and your unabashed weirdness though? That would stay. No matter what life you wound up in, most assuredly, those two staples of you would remain. He wouldn’t have you any other way though, he loved your odd sense of humor, and eccentricities.

Crouching at the window you tilted your head at a near painful angle trying to get a better view of what you were getting yourself in to. Without asking Sam handed you a flashlight, tucking it into your hand unannounced bringing your eyes to scan him over quizzically.

“Where were you hiding that?” You certainly hadn’t seen it earlier.

“Backpack?”

“Boy scout.” You teased, because of course he would have packed for everything, he probably had a compass tucked away in there somewhere too. Sam rolled his eyes, a dimple creasing his cheek as he turned his attention back to the window.

No obvious dead bodies, so that was a plus. After shining the light around you set your mind in stone and handed it back to him so you could shimmy in through the narrow pane. There was a pretty steep drop from the window to the floor in the basement so you laid on your back, squeezing your head and shoulders through first, giving yourself a chance to grab a long wooden beam above you to hold onto for leverage, and so you didn’t drop like a rock to the floor. With a final huff you pulled the rest of your body through the open window, acutely aware of the sharp pieces of jagged glass that jabbed you with every movement. Don’t think about the spider web you just stuck your hand in. Or the other creepy crawlies lurking in the shadows just waiting to scurry over your fingers or up the leg of your jeans. And do not think about the inevitable squishing sound the floor is going to make when you step into a pile of human organs. Once in your dropped your hold and landed on your feet, kicking up a thousand years worth of dust as you did. With a hacking cough and a wave of your hand you brushed the dirt out of your face to little avail.

“Anything interesting?” Sam asked from the window, shining the flashlight directly in your eyes. Scrunching up your face you tried to block it with your hand.

“I don’t know Sam. I’m blind now, so it’s a little hard to tell.”

“Right.” He realized and reached an arm through the window handing off the light to you. Shining it around you were pleasantly surprised to find it more or less empty. Old dusty shelves lined the walls full of boxes, and tools. No mason jars full of eyeballs. Yet. Lighting up the doors to the cellar from your side you were relieved that it was just barricaded by a simple wooden beam.

Setting the light on a shelf, aiming it at the doors you went and freed the plank of wood from its slot. Sam pulled the doors open from the other side, and closed them silently behind him, taking a moment to replace the wooden board, ever careful to cover his tracks.

“Mind the dust.” You said, grabbing the flashlight from its perch. “Hey, Sam.” The second you gained his attention you flashed the beam of light in his face. “See anything?”

“Ha, ha. I get it.” He snarked snatching the torch from you hand as you stifled a giggle.

Following his lead you continued to search the basement, turning up bupkis. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a bunch of old shit that no one had probably used since the Inn was built. Save for the nice little stash of Moonshine tucked under one of the shelves.

“Yeehaw.” You said popping open the lid to the mason jar and taking a whiff, quickly turning into a sputtered cough as your eyes and throat immediately started to burn. “Good god, you could strip paint with this.”

“Yeah? Go ahead and try it, tell me what gasoline tastes like.” Sam replied with a chuckle.

“I’m not gonna drink it. You drink it.”

“No way.”

“I’ll give you five bucks if you drink it.” You insisted, there was that perfect bitch-face again.

“You’d don’t have five bucks.”

“Wow, rude. You don’t have to rub it in.” You said with a pout, screwing the lid back on the jar and tucking it back into it’s spot. Once the basement was clear you headed upstairs which was unsettling. Nothing but ratty old furnishings, more than apparent that a family had in fact lived there, but just up and left one day. Antique dolls on an old rickety shelf, children’s toys on the floor, deer heads mounted on the walls. There were still untouched plates sitting on the side table, and a book left open for place keeping. Easily the most alarming thing was the back corner which had a mess of iron chains and cuffs, and a few giant meat hooks hanging.

“Still wanna turn this place into a summer home?” He asked, the light glinting off the iron chains.

“Just remember my safeword.” You quipped, biting back a gag from the rancid smell coming from what you could only assume was at one point a kitchen. A large black mass situated in the center of the floor where the odor was coming from caught your attention, forming a pit in your stomach, and you grabbed Sam by the wrist directing the light to where you needed it.

A voice from outside distracted you from making out the shape in the floor, someone was outside. Sam cut out the light, which helped neither of you to figure out where to go from there. Hand on the grip of your gun at your thigh you waited for the inevitable stand-off as the chain on the outside of the front door rattled, lock falling away. Sam’s large hands covered your mouth and snaked around your waist as he pulled you backwards and into the crawl-space beneath the staircase. With a free hand you hooked your fingers around the frame of the slatted closet door and pulled it closed silently.

The storage area he pulled you into had to be the world’s tiniest storage space, if it were just you in there it might have been fine. But with Sam’s huge form crowding what little space was available it was awkward to say the least. The sharp incline of the stairs had his broad shoulders pressed against the flat of the ceiling, and the rest of him hunched over you practically bending you in half backwards. One hand pressed against the wall above your head, and legs at a crooked and unstable angle below you you were banking on him to keep you upright. With his arm tucked firmly at your back and his other arm outstretched to keep himself steady, hand flat against the wall behind your head it was all he could do to fit into the space with you. You were flexible enough, generally speaking, but you were not a contortionist and the Cirque du Soleil act he just crammed you into was… less than comfortable.

The front door opened and you could no longer lament about your tight quarters.

“No, I heard you.” Came a man’s voice, you tugged a finger on the slats of the door trying your damndest to sneak a peek through them, which was near impossible with Sam’s forearm against your jaw. Not that you minded so much, he was warm, and he smelled so nice it was distracting, like coffee, and vanilla, and cinnamon. He held you flush against him in a hard line down the length of his chest and abdomen, tucked between his solid thighs. Made you all tingly in the nether region, but there was no time for you to focus on his firm he was. Or the feel of his breath hot against your neck forming goosebumps on your skin. Or how the long strands of his hair tickled your cheek, and how you’d always wanted to know how soft it would feel knotted in your fingers. Or how hard your heart was pounding in your chest a little too excited to be so close to him.

“I said I heard you. It’ll be taken care of.” The Man said again, irritated. It was so dark in the cabin you couldn’t make out a thing, and you were trusting your instincts to tell you relatively where he was based on where his voice was coming from. “You just worry about your damn self, and let me do my fucking job. Or you can deal with it, but something tells me you don’t like getting your hands dirty...Yeah. That’s what I thought you’d say.”

Then there was silence, followed by a series of footsteps, heavy boots, going from the spot in the center of the room towards the kitchen. The sounds of rustling plastic, and a slow choppy drag of something weighty across the floor.

Your arm above your head was starting to cramp, and the way he had you bent backwards was already painful. Bracing yourself against the wall you twisted your body until your back was flush against his chest, careful to remain as silent as you could. Sam shifted to try to give you some room but, the poor man had nowhere to go. Under different circumstances he would not have minded your ass pressing against him in all the right places. But this was neither the time nor the place to get caught up in the scent of your shampoo, or the soft curves of your body moving against the hard lines of his. You shifted again, just trying to get a better view of what little there was to be seen through the slats in the door, but the friction of your movements was impossible to ignore. One large hand splayed out flat, low on your stomach between your hip bones keeping you still enough for him to keep his mind focused on anything other than the growing tension pooling in his core.

The feel of his hand sitting dangerously low over your jeans made heat bloom in your cheeks and elsewhere and at the moment you were grateful for the pitch black. The front door creaked open and the rustling plastic stopped long enough for it to shut again and be replaced by the sound of jingling chains and a padlock being reattached. Waiting until you were in the clear enough to make an exit from the tiny crawl-space was seemed to take forever, but at the same time it wasn’t like you were in much of a huge rush to move. After all you were a little more than content to stay exactly where you were. Sam let out a sigh, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of your neck, his warm breath sending a tingle down your spine.

“See anything?” His tone low and smooth, as if he was unbothered by the cramped quarters.

“Nothing.” There was no hiding your disappointment. The conversation you’d overheard was certainly of interest however. Pushing the door open you slipped out of the crawl-space. The drag of his long fingers over the bare skin peeking between the rise of your jeans and hem of your t-shirt sending sparks of electricity directly to your center. Sam stepped out behind you, having to adjust himself in his jeans, he could think more about the feel of holding you that close later, and he would be.

The flashlight clicked on and both of you moved directly to the kitchen which yielded- nothing.

Swatting your hands against your thighs in frustration you let out an irritated groan. The sink was backed up with blackwater, and the floor was mushy from water damage sourced from a hole in the ceiling. But there were no body parts. The lack thereof was starting to bother you, which was not a feeling you’d thought to anticipate. No one wanted to find human remains, but more than anything you just wanted to find some fucking human remains! Gank the bad guy, stop the killings, go home, take a hot bath and boom. You would be on your way to Netflix and sleep. But no! Of course it wasn’t that simple.

Upstairs was equally unfruitful. Although an unmade and dingy bed, along with some foul smelling clothes was more proof than needed that someone was living there still. Your money was on the guy you’d just heard downstairs.

The only problem left was how to get back out of the house without letting it be known they had been there. Someone would have to put the wooden board back in the cellar door-you. But you also weren’t quite tall enough to climb back through the window in the basement. There was, however, a wide open window in the bedroom, and Sam beat you to it.

“Ever thought about jumping out a window?”

“You read my mind.” You answered unenthusiastically. He pressed his forearm against the frame gauging just how far down the drop would be, deciding it was plenty safe. But you did not agree. “You’re kidding right?”

“It’s not that far.” He justified, but you were not having it. A twenty foot drop might not have seemed like much for him, but that extra foot he had on you made a hell of a difference. Not to mention the fact that he was a large wall of solid muscle, while you were small, soft and had squishy insides.

“Okay, sure- for you maybe, Gigantor. I jump down there I’m looking at a broken leg, or worse.”

“You’re not going to break your leg.” Sam reassured you, but the flat and unamused expression on your face was not something he’d be able to cut through that easily. A large hand slid along your jawline, warm and comforting. “I’ll catch you.”

You could have melted into a puddle on the spot. It really wouldn’t have taken anything more than a slight breeze to make your knees crumple beneath you. The genuine sweetness in his eyes made you forget how to breathe. Trying to get a handle on yourself, unless you drowned in those kaleidoscope eyes you scoffed. “Yeah right.”

“I promise.” He said, gaze intense and confident. Beyond shadow of a doubt you trusted him, you were sure you were also going to regret it, but you were about to find out.

“Okay.” You agreed, a little baffled that you were just going to jump out a window and trust him to break your fall. He turned to go out first, but you grabbed his arm, bringing his attention back to you, all nerves again. “Sam. You drop me and I swear once I’m out of the hospital you’re in for a world of hurt.”

Sam flashed you a dimpled smile and dropped out the window, landing on his feet, making it look easy. Of course, he always made it look easy. He was graceful and agile, like a cat. You on the other hand- not so much. You sucked in a breath and leaned out the window waiting for him to ready himself. It wasn’t the first window you’d jumped out of, not by a long shot. But any other time you were escaping with zero hesitation about what was on the other side, no time to think about it. Quick thinking jump, or die, so there was little room to question the best alternative. But you kind of just wanted to try to boost yourself through the window in the basement right about then.

“This is so stupid.” You hushed, rocking on your heels. He turned up to you, arms outstretched. Sucking in a breath you hoped you aimed right, and stepped out the window, slamming your eyes shut and bracing yourself for impact.

Impact came but it wasn’t you busting your ass on solid ground. Sam made good on his word and caught you, but you had a little thing called momentum and just kept going, practically tackling him to the floor below. He hit the dirt on his back, his arms wrapped firm around you. Eyes wide you sat up immediately, waiting for the inevitable ‘Oh god, I think you broke my rib!’ to come but he just laid out for a moment, and brought two thumbs up, head tipped back to catch the breath you surely knocked out of him.

“Hey, this was your idea.” You defended. He nodded with an exasperated grin, hands falling to rest high on your thighs where you straddled his waist. It didn’t take but a split second for you to relish the position you’d found yourself in, and took only another split second more for the wave of embarrassment to flood, as you scrambled to your feet. Not that you wouldn’t have minded staying perched on his hips a little longer, or much longer. But it was Sam, and you already shouldn’t have been thinking about him like that, and you were also a professional with a job to do, which meant you didn’t have time to wrap your brain in fantasies. No matter how mouth-wateringly tantalizing they were.

He took your outstretched hand to help him to his feet, and dusted off the foliage he picked up. When you turned away to look at your surroundings he took a moment to adjust himself once again. That was twice now he’d had you exactly where he’d wanted you, at exactly the wrong times.

Heavy fog began to roll in through the trees, and with it that sickening cold chill rolled up your spine, and you found yourself edging just a little closer to him.

“It’ll be dark soon. We should get back to the Inn.” You suggested, but it was more of a warning. The woods were telling you to get out, and you weren’t one to ignore the signs anymore.

Tags:

@heyitscam99

@mogaruke

@x-waywardaf-x

@alexwinchester23

@notnaturalanahi

@lydklein1

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@dontyouhearthewhispers

@littlegreenplasticsoldier

@witchy--owl (Your tag is broken??)

@saxxxology

#sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfic #sam fic #sam fanfic #sam fanfiction #monster house #jena writes

[warsstag]

                                             JAMES F. POTTER.

                                   twenty. order member. probable trouble maker.                                                 junior auror / in his last year of training.                                                  ex-gryffindor. rebellious. mischievous.                                                          cocky. courageous. moody.                                                                       pinterest.                                                           

BACKGROUND.

James grew up in a large and airy house situated by the beach in Norfolk, England. The house was painted blue, and was a little bit on the older side, which you could tell by the deteriorating panels, which needed constant upkeep. The house and the grounds themselves weren’t exactly suitable for children, with sharp cliffs close to the water, steep staircases inside the house and an attic with a window that just seemed to invite for someone to try to climb onto the roof. The house itself was also very cozy, though. Floorboards that creaked, paintings with a vast amount of personalities ( catch James bickering with the sailor in the painting in the living room, any day ), warmth from the fireplace, walls painted in soft blues and whites and browns, old furniture that has come to mean something over the generations. The house itself had a lot of personality - Potters ( on his father’s side of the family ) had lived in it for generations, all bringing something new to the place, a new touch. Since the house has been inhabited by Euphemia and Fleamont, new life has been breathed into its walls. Brighter colors have crept into the usually bleak decor. They’ve brought warmth, beautiful patterns and personality to the house.

James’ room was located on the second floor of the house. It was big, with walls painted in red and black, and the decor being very much influenced by his favorite Quidditch teams. He also has a flying carpet hanging over his bed.

When friends stayed over, they usually stayed in the attic. It had been kindly decorated by his mother to be a sort of guest room ( mostly with James + friends in mind, lbr ). James and pals sitting on the roof at night, counting stars, is an aesthetic too, I would say.

James grew up playing Quidditch on the beach and constantly scaring his parents half to death when pushing himself a little too far. Flying a little too close to the cliffs. Dipping his toes in the water. Doing backflips.

Was sort of a lonely child, because their house was a little bit secluded, and there weren’t a lot of kids around. James mostly played with his dogs.

His parents were a little bit on the older side of things. Euphemia, his mother, was nearing forty two when he was born. Fleamont, his father, was forty nine. They had both wanted a child for so long, and had most definitively given up hope by the time James finally came along. Homeboy is always late.

His mother was incredibly empathetic, compassionate and kind. She was also very driven, and so so clever. 

She moved to England after finishing her education at the best wizarding school in India ---- where she scored top marks, and used all of her free time to delve into muggle sciences. Mathematics, chemistry and biology would soon become second nature to her. She moved to England in order to work at a magical research institute, developing potions ( she was also the kind of witch to believe that muggle science and magic shouldn’t necessarily cancel each other out ).

So Euphemia Potter ( née Vaidya ) became a potioneer, and a highly educated woman - before James’ birth, she had taken several muggle courses and wizard courses, and held a pHD in chemistry. During her free time, she was also a popular children’s book author, and published several books that were well loved throughout wizard Britain.

Fleamont Potter was also a potioneer, like his wife, —- which is how they met. Working together, bickering about what the best approach to different remedies and potions would be. They challenged each other, constantly making one another better. Though he was more of a businessman, than a scientist, and launched his own successful hair potion company ( Sleekeazy’s Hair Potions ), which he eventually sold for a vast profit. Both Euphemia and Fleamont passed away from complications due to dragon pox shortly after one another, when James was eighteen. They left him a fortune, and their house ( which James doesn’t have the heart to sell, at least not quite yet / probably not ever ).

HOGWARTS YEARS.

James was the kid that somehow got into trouble at the Hogwarts Express during his first year. Before even arriving at the school. And then his second. And then his third. And fourth. At that point, it was basically tradition. That’s how he started every year, and that would also set the tone for the rest of the term.

Also somehow managed to always drag other people into his bullshit? It’s a talent.

His electives at the school were as following: care of magical creatures, alchemy and muggle studies.

Very Gryffindor™, but would have done well in Hufflepuff too, I think.

During his second year, he made the Quidditch team, and became a chaser. After that point, Quidditch basically became his life. Wouldn’t shut up about it. And he also knew that he was good, so his head grew about ten sizes probably.

Had zero impulse control. Was the type to punch first, ask questions later. On that note, James got into quite a few brawls with other boys at the school. Most fights were rooted in 1) James getting annoyed by their pureblood elitism 2) someone insulting one of his friends 3) possibly trying to show off, just a bit.

Emotional maturity, while at Hogwarts? Sorry, who?

May or may not have some sort of record in most detentions in a year. Every year. Which.... he was kinda proud of.... 

Was active in a lot of clubs !! His personal favorite was the dueling club.

Managed to keep his grades up without much effort. Teachers were lowkey perplexed as to why someone as bright as James would CONSTANTLY cause problems / trouble. James was mostly in it for the thrill, the fun, and the risk. Taking unnecessary risks ( often putting himself in danger ) was kind of his thing? And he’s still doing that.

Was infamous for having a mood that changed like the weather, often quickly and without warning. Could be smiling one minute, and be incredibly testy the next. Was unfortunately also infamous for showing off, mostly through hexing people that he didn’t like. He was also quite inventive, and made up hexes with the sole purpose of embarrassing his enemies further.

Sometime during his fifth year at the school, he became an animagus, mostly to help Remus during the full moons. He also saw it as a challenge, and a bit of a test — to see how good they truly were, how far they could push themselves. ‘Could they do this, too? Where’s their limit?’

Also made Quidditch Captain !!!! Can’t believe this man achieved all his dreams at the age of 15....

Eventually mellowed out a bit during his sixth year, grew up a bit, became a little less full of himself. Could see things clearer. Though the pranks and the mischief in reality became more elaborate ( as he was growing older, and also bolder ), he found other ways to entertain himself that didn’t always involve hexes.

Was also slowly growing out of his teenage angst, so that definitively helped. Though the occasional punching without thinking still… occurred.

In his seventh year, he was made Head Boy. Was probably not the best for the job, but he showed up to everything he was supposed to, and didn’t make a total fool out of himself either. Also decided it would be best to be more lowkey, so he stopped getting caught. He still sneaked out of the school, but he was more careful about it, you feel?

POST HOGWARTS.

James enrolled in auror training the day of graduation. With the war weighing heavy on his shoulders, he didn’t see any other options, any other futures. Though he had idolized aurors since he first heard of them as a child, there were still other roads that he could have taken, if there hadn’t been the urgency of war pushing him towards action – doing something good. He could have pursued playing Quidditch professionally, could have worked with dragons, could have been a hit wizard. Mostly, really, any action packed job would have suited him ( and he had the grades to choose any profession he would have liked ). In the end, the war chose for him.

Joining the aurors just felt right. He passed extensive aptitude tests (which made him a little impatient tbh, he just wanted to get out there, do stuff) and soon started his first year of training.

Auror training has been lowkey hard on him, though? It’s so exhaustive, very serious, no room for errors. Luckily, James is about as stubborn as they come, and is determined to get through it. It’s just another challenge, right?

Now, he’s one of those mini aurors lowkey following the older aurors around. Probably being annoying while doing it.

Joining the Order and the aurors has definitively sobered James up a bit. Made him more responsible, a little less impulsive. But unfortunately not less reckless with his own life. Taking dumb risks, all the fucking time, is still his brand.

Has somehow managed to not kill someone himself yet. Sure, he has wounded and hurt a lot of Death Eaters. There is blood on his hands for sure. But it will also 4 sure change James once he Kills Someone With Intent, u feel.

PERSONALITY.

James ultimately has a heart made of gold, and is constantly trying to prove himself by showing off just how good he is at what he does. This adds up to a bit of a hero complex, tbh.

Is 1000000% his son’s father and I try to play into that... a lot... 

James usually has a stupid grin glued to his face ( the cocky kind, often a little crooked, as if he knows something you don’t ). He never stays serious for long, and is in the habit of playing serious things off as a dumb joke.

Known for being highly unpredictable and volatile, and can change from bright and smiling to tense and sour in the matter of minutes. He’s usually the former though.

That fun mix between Atlas, Icarus and Achilles, tbh !!

Radiates energy ! He’s such a lively person, like a human espresso. Kinda short compared to his pals, definitively a little bitter, high energy.

Was raised to be polite and pleasant, so he has good manners. 

Pays little regard to rules in general though, and usually does not respond well to authority ( but it kinda depends on who it is too? Like. He can semi-behave while at the auror’s office, and respects them… but is also the guy who plays pranks on his co workers constantly ). WILL also get himself into trouble by mouthing off if he thinks someone is in the wrong at work ( common situation is that someone else suggests that they hold off on going in on a death eater nest & James is not a fan ).

Constantly taking things as a challenge! Even if they definitively aren’t a challenge.

Kinda moody.

Definitively that guy that tries to light up a shitty situation with an even shittier joke.

Bad at following orders. Usually winging it. There are only really two people that he will properly listen to, we all know who they are.

Very loyal !!!! Would die for his pals. : ~) Would kill for them, too.

A sentimental bastard.

Smokes way too much. Knows it isn’t good for him, but got hooked back in school, when he thought it made him look cool.

Loves teasing people. Can be a bit mean spirited at times, but he usually doesn’t mean any harm by it.

Doesn’t know how to pick his battles.

Known for being way too impulsive for his own good. He acts first, thinks later.

Has a Queen playlist on repeat probably.

James is so bright, but also so so dumb. I hate him.

Can be really confrontational. Will deadass fight u.

#semi recycled intros are my brand !!!! #maraudrs:intro #✦ ° • ☆ ◣ ▽ ┊STUDY • and you wake up with ichor in your mouth. spilling from your startled lips like prophecy. ) #✦ ° • ☆ ◣ ▽ ┊HEADCANON • heroes may win the war; but they rarely live through. )

[kidrauhlschik]

Venom .2

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

I’m being followed, and it’s not in my imagination this time.

I am legitimately about to get killed.

Couple: Mafia!YoongixReader + maybe more?

Genre: Cartel!AU, Mafia!AU, Druglord!AU

Warnings: Mentions of death

Word Count: 2,347

.

.

.

The phone slips from my hand, and I can’t be bothered to pick it up.  Everything feels strangely numb as if a bomb just exploded and I could hear the ringing in my ears.

My vision starts to blur before I realize I’m crying. I blink away the tears as the whole scenario replays in my head, with Taehyung’s voice in the background.

“If that phone is ever to ring, it will mean that I- that I was compromised… or killed.”

“You are going to have to hang up, turn off the phone, leave it on top of the dresser, and simply walk out. No matter happens, you cannot take anything with you. You have to leave your phone, the money, everything but the clothes you’re wearing, hell, don’t even take the key, you won’t be coming back anyway.”

“Run”

The last word plays in my head, and that is all it takes for my body to finally react.

I quickly pick up the phone and throw it on the dresser. I open my drawer and pull out the first articles of clothing I can find. My underwear, black jeans, a white tee, and a denim jacket will have to do.

Everything is happening so quickly and it probably takes me no more than two minutes to get dressed. Deciding against doing literally anything else to my appearance, I throw on some converse and head for the door. I walk straight out of the apartment without taking anything with me.

As I make my way to the elevator, I realize that the tears have not stopped coming. I’m not making a sound, and my body feels merely numb, but my eyes keep producing these goddam tears.

Pressing the lobby button is a success, which comes as a surprise because I fully expect ninjas or an earthquake to just kill me from how surreal this whole situation feels like.

The ride down takes no time, giving me no time to put my thoughts together.

As the doors open, I see a guy standing there waiting for the lift. He doesn’t spare me a glance as I eye him while walking out of the elevator.

The exchange couldn’t have been longer than two seconds, yet it seemed to go in slow motion to me.

He had ivory black, disheveled hair that made his skin look paler than it actually was. He was wearing a similar outfit to mine, except that he was wearing a leather jacket, and a button up dress shirt.  That is all I get to notice before my back faces his and I keep on walking. I hear the elevator close as I approach the front door of the building.

Just then I realize that I have no idea where I am going. The guy who called the phone should’ve given me some sort of instructions… Guess he didn’t have time.

I put my hands in my pockets as I keep walking. I have no idea what my destination will be; all I know is that I need to get away from here as soon as possible.

I try not to make eye contact with anyone as I make my way to the nearest bus stop.

Trying my best to keep my mind blank comes with ease with all the sounds and voices surrounding me. I wonder what I look like to people around me. A silently weeping girl with unruly wet hair, and won’t make eye contact.  How comedic. Four days ago I was screaming on a rooftop with the love of my life, and now I’m alone. I’m completely alone.

I realize that the tears come harder when my vision becomes blurrier than it already was. Why can I not stop crying?

I raise my head to catch my breath between sobs. Just as I lift my head, a guy with broad shoulders turns around. Call me paranoid, but I could’ve sworn he was looking at me.

I shove my hands in my jacket’s pockets as I walk past him in the sidewalk that seems to be getting busier the deeper into the city I go. As soon as I pass him, I begin speeding up my pace out of pure paranoia and anxiety. After I pass him, I can immediately feel as if I’m being watched.

This cannot be part of the paranoia. I literally feel eyes making holes through my skull.

After walking for about two blocks, I decided to turn around out of curiosity.

Have you ever heard the old phrase, “Curiosity killed the cat”?  Well, I always knew there was some truth to those words. I just never knew I would be the fucking cat.

If I hadn’t turned around, I wouldn’t have noticed the same broad-shouldered guy staring at his phone no more than ten feet away from me. He looked calm, and not at all out of breath, like I was after practically running for two blocks.

Shit.

I’m being followed, and it’s not in my imagination this time.

I am legitimately about to get killed.

The guy looks up from his phone, and this time I’m not surprised when the first thing he does is spot me. We make direct eye contact, and I am sure that I look like a deer in headlights, while he seems like the driver who gives no shits about said deer.

I turn back around and walk at a pace that is practically running once again. The difference is that this time around, I can hear footsteps to match mine.

My breathing becomes ragged as I start panicking.

Calm down. You’ll be fine. You just have to breathe and think through this Y/N.

Run.

That’s the first thing that comes to mind, and for once my body reacts in time.

I hear a distant “shit” as I start running, and suddenly I become unaware of my surroundings. The people begin looking the same, the buildings are all one, and I don’t even know where the road ends or begins.

No one seems to mind the scared girl quite literally running for her life.

My legs start to tire, and I have no idea how much I’ve ran by now, but I can hear still hear the heavy footsteps of the guy, which means that I have to push through the tiredness.

That is until I am pulled to the side by unknown arms.

I’m about to scream for help as I am pressed against a wall, and a large hand is pressed against my mouth preventing me from letting out a noise.

The stranger brings his pointer finger to his lips as if to shush me, and as he does this, I immediately recognize his face.

He’s the guy from the elevator.

My thoughts are cut off by a loud yell, coming not far from the alley the stranger and I are standing in.

“Dammit! Where the hell is she?” The male voice echoes through the alley, meaning that he’s not far from here.

Suddenly, the panic that never left my system takes complete toll once again as I analyze this bizarre situation.

The elevator guy takes his finger off his lips and just listens for a moment.

Just as he takes his hand off my mouth and gives me the smallest of breathing space, I decide to run. I run more in-depth into the alley away from the stranger.

I can’t trust anyone.

“Wait!” His voice rings in my ears along with the echoes of my footsteps.

There have been so many thoughts clouding my mind since the second that damned phone rang, but one thing is clear.

I can’t trust anyone.

That is the one thing Taehyung has always repeated to me day after day. It is almost impossible to forget so.

“Taehyung sent me!” Those three words are all it takes for the advice to fly out the window and for my steps to halt.

The air is sucked out of my lungs as soon as I hear his name said out loud. The fact that this guy was sent here by Taehyung gives me a faint ray of hope that somewhere out there he might be alive and this was just some kind of sick joke.

He jogs to me and stands a few feet behind me. My back is still facing him as the silence and our breathing envelops the both of us.

“Come with me” His voice rings in my ears, but I take no action.

“Where is he?” I had to ask. The chance might be small, but I still have to ask. My voice betrays me as it shakes with every syllable.

“Dead” He deadpans. No sugarcoat, no making it easier, just tells me as if talking about the weather.

There is a pang in my chest that does not help my situation at all. I can’t even form words, as all my thoughts have left my brain. The only thing I heard is that single word being repeated over and over again. It’s coming in through one ear and getting out of the other.

It’s confirmed. Taehyung is dead, and my brain is refusing to process such thing.

The pale stranger grabs my wrist as he pokes his head out into the street. He hesitantly takes a step onto the actual sidewalk, and once again everything and everyone surround me.

 .

His house is by no means small, but it is merely one floor. It looks nice; it is a bit secluded, but not in the middle of the woods. It seems nothing like the apartment. Taehyung furnished the condo with a futuresque kind of vibe, but the guy's house is more homely and comforting. It’s strange because I would’ve expected the most minimalistic style from him.

Walking through the door was foreign because a vanilla-coffee smell received me. For the past few years, I’ve experienced more of a cutting edge vibe from all of Taehyung’s acquaintances. This indeed makes me wonder what kind of guy has invited me to his home.

After walking in, he hooks his car keys on a hook beside the door. He seems to be as clueless as me on what to do next.

“I have a few extra rooms, but they’re a mess. This was kind of sudden, so I would have to clear them out first. But, you can stay in the living room for now if you want, I guess”. For the first time since I have met him, he seemed to relax a bit. His voice is still as cold as ice, but now his shoulders aren’t as tense as they were when we were passing each other in the elevator and in the alley

I couldn’t do more than nod and stay in place.

“Sorry for such the vague phone call by the way. I didn’t really have time to explain, and the other guys were already on the way to you. You didn’t have time to waste.” So he was the guy on the phone. I would’ve appreciated more explanation at the time. But I’m glad he did it the way he did. If I would’ve had more information, I might’ve taken time to process what had happened, and I might be dead by now.

“Thanks” It sounded more sarcastic than I intended that word to be, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.

He goes in a random room and comes out with a blanket and pillow, which I’m guessing will be my bed for a bit of time.

“I have to go somewhere. Don’t leave the house; I’ll be back before dawn. Don’t open the door, don’t open the windows, and don’t answer the phone. You have free range to every room in the house except for my room, which is the door with the random gray steak of pain through it. Don’t make any trouble” He started naming off rules as he grabbed a jacket and headed to the door.

Before walking out, he turned back, and with a poker face he said, “I’m Suga by the way.” He closed the door before seeing my expression or response, which I was okay with since my brain is functioning at snail pace as of the moment.

Suga

Doesn’t that mean he should be sweet? I mean, he did nothing wrong, but he seems like more of sour kind of guy.

After standing for god knows how long, I decide that exploring isn’t worth the effort while making my way to the sofa.

I don’t bother touching the blanket or pillow as I stare blankly at the TV in front of me.

The numbness that once made up my body is now lifting, and I wish it weren’t. The first thing that I recall is that night. The night Taehyung told me about that stupid phone might be the second worst night of my life, followed by today of course. Ever since then, I have gotten, and uneasy feeling from Taehyung and I can’t help but wonder if he knew this was coming up as soon as it did.

As I remember Taehyung’s face and voice, I can’t help but think that he’s gone. I don’t even know how or why exactly and that makes it that much worst. He can’t have a proper funeral because he basically doesn’t exist and aside from me, there is no one he knows enough to arrange such thing for him.

I’m never going to see him again, the last memory of him I will keep is me being half awake while he was telling me about a trip he would be back from in a day or two yesterday.

Liar.

I let out a sob as I come to full realization of the situation now. I have no idea what will happen to me in the future anymore, and I will never see the love of my life again. I cry freely for the first time since the phone call, and eventually I feel myself drifting to sleep,

I wish I were dead.

.

.

.

.

A/N: I lose faith with this story, and then I come up with more ideas for the future. There’s a shit ton of foreshadowing everywhere because I can’t keep anything to myself. It’s ridiculous. 

Anyway I have many plans and I hope no one will be disappointed.

I’ll end up hated though

#taehyung #yoongi #min yoongi #hoseok #seokjin #namjoon #jimin #jungkook #ot7 #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts imagine #angst #bts x you #bts x reader #x you #y/n #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #suga #jin #rm #jhope #v #bts #bts au #fanfic #mafia #druglord au

[darveyfics]

Can you write anything where Harvey is jealous ... I have read so many fanfiction about darvey but rarely about Harvey being jealous .... Thanks!

“Seeing Green”

His fist clenches as he watches her talking to him from the corner of his eye. No, not talking, flirting.

He takes another swing of his scotch, settling it down hard enough to shake the tall rounded table in front of him.

“You alright, man?” His current companion asks him, John something-or-other. He had been invited to some Harvard Law Alumni party and wasn’t even planning on attending until Donna suggested he should go.

“Who knows, you may actually have a decent time.” She had told him.

“Come with me.” Harvey had asked without thinking, and she had agreed just as quickly, just as surprisingly. It wasn’t an odd thing for him to do, invite Donna places, them doing things together. They are friends. But it was different this time, things have been different this time. They had been different.

Ever since their kiss, ever since he broke up with Paula because he couldn’t continue lying to her or himself.

But they hadn’t talked about it anymore.

He had confronted her about the kiss, they had argued, he broke up with Paula, he told Donna… and that was that. They kept skirting around the subject for a few weeks now, the air around them constantly thick with tension.

This is my own damn fault, he thought to himself as he saw Donna talking to that jerk. I should’ve gone after her, talked to her. She knows how I feel about her, right? Knows I still need time to wrap my mind around this before we jump into anything?

“Harvey, you ok?” The tall blonde man in front of him asked again.

Harvey’s head swiveled to face him, sharing a tight smile. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just going to-“ He picked up his empty glass and headed in the direction of the bar. John nodded and turned to talk to someone else Harvey didn’t recognize.

He waved the bartender over, asking for another drink. As he waited, his eyes landed on the back of fiery red hair again. He let out a frustrated sigh. What the hell was she doing talking to him? In truth, he would’ve been annoyed seeing her talking to any of these men, but Damien? Back in college, Damien had been in a couple of Harvey’s classes and he would run into him from time to time at events and parties. He seemed decent enough, smart, kind, but Harvey soon realized what a waste of a human being he was whenever he talked to women, constantly trying to add another notch to his bed post.

The bartender brought Harvey his drink and he quickly took another swing at it, wincing as it burned down his throat.

Eyes still on Donna and Damien, he watched as the scumbag in question touched her arm and laughed at something she said.

That’s it, Harvey thought, his blood boiling as he watched Damien flirting with Donna, with his- friend? Colleague? Soon-to-be more than friend? He knew she wasn’t his to claim- wasn’t anyone’s- but it still didn’t stop him from wanting to take this guy out.

He finished his scotch, taking one last courage gulp before marching over to them.

“…and then I told him, do you even know who you’re talking to? I mean, how could he not know that I- oh, hey Harvey.” Damien cut his anecdote short upon seeing Harvey approach. He flashed him a smile, green eyes bright and suit too tight against his skin. Harvey clenched his fists at the mere sight of him.

Donna turned around. “Harvey what-“ she stopped short when she felt Harvey’s lips on her cheek, lingering just a little too long.

“There you are, honey, I’ve been looking for you.” Harvey smiled, placing one arm around her waist, thumb gently massaging her over the black dress she wore that night.

Donna’s face held a surprise expression as Harvey held her close, giving her the most physical contact they’ve shared since their kiss weeks ago.

“Oh.” Damien’s voice held shock and disdain with just one word. “I didn’t know you two were-“ He motioned between them.

Harvey nodded, looking as proud as whenever he won a case. “Yeah, going on for twelve years now, actually.” He smirked at Damien. It wasn’t a lie, exactly either. They had been in each other’s lives for twelve years now….

“Thanks for keeping her company while I talked to some of my old buddies, Daniel.”

“It’s Damien.” Damien responded with offense at not being remembered properly.

“Right.” Harvey replied. “Anyway, we should actually start heading out now. Take care, Daniel.” Harvey took a still speechless Donna’s hand in his, leading her away from an annoyed Damien.

They gravitated through the large ballroom of alumni before finding a secluded area to the far right side of the room.

“What the hell was that?” Donna whispered angrily, hazel eyes alarmed and wide.

Harvey scoffed. “You’re welcome.”

Donna narrowed her eyes. “For what?!”

“For saving you….” Harvey said as if it was the obvious answer.

“From what, Harvey? A really nice guy who enjoyed talking to me?”

Harvey frowned. “You can’t be serious? That guys’s a total dick!”

Donna rolled her eyes. “How the hell would you know?”

“I know him, Donna. We went to school together. The guy is a complete ass.”

“Well he seemed nice.” Donna countered with a smile and Harvey saw her eyes twinkling with delight.

“You don’t- you don’t like him, do you?”

“What’s it matter to you?” She asked angrily.

“What- you’re kidding right?” Was she being serious right now?

“No, Harvey.” She crossed her arms, annoyance settling in her features.

“Donna you can’t- he’s not- I thought we-“ Harvey thought his head was going to explode, a million thoughts running through his mind all at once.

“You thought we what, Harvey?” Donna asked, softer now, but still frustrated.

“We kissed, Donna.” Harvey whispered. He subconsciously looked around the ballroom they were in, trying to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation, though he doubted anyone there would care.

Donna felt like someone threw ice water at her, but recovered just as quickly. “We did.” She stated plainly.

Harvey’s impatience was growing thin. “You kissed me.” He reiterated, emphasizing the point he was trying to make.

Donna sighed. “I remember, Harvey.”

“So, was that nothing, then? Did me breaking up with Paula not make things clear?”

Donna shook her head. “You never said anything else, Harvey. I kissed you, we argued, you broke up with Paula and then you just- you did nothing.”

“I thought that was the something.” Harvey said, exasperated.

“And what was I supposed to do then? You told me you broke up with her and walked away. Was I supposed to go running after you? Kiss you again? For what? For you to keep ignoring this?” She waved a hand between them.

“Donna….”

“No, Harvey, I’ve followed you for over a decade now, and I’m tired. I’m tired of me always being the one who does a damn thing about anything. I kissed you, I gave you the signal, Harvey. Again. And you missed it, again.” Her voice was on the verge of breaking, but she was trying her best to keep it together in public.

“But I asked you here, tonight, with me.” He told her, emphasizing each word.

Donna furrowed her eyebrows. “What are you talking ab- was this a date, Harvey?”

Harvey shook his head. “I- I don’t-“ He covered his face in his hands before taking a deep breath, collecting himself. Donna looked on, concern now on her features.

“I’m not good at this, Donna.” Harvey spoke softly.

“Not good at what?” Donna wondered, though Harvey had inkling she knew exactly what he meant.

“I’m not good at-“ He waved his hands between them. “Doing this- being- romantic-“ He practically spat out as if the word was taboo.

Donna almost laughed, but kept it together. “This was your way of being romantic? Inviting me to your Harvard Law alumni party? Which is, by the way, boring as hell.” She looked around the room unimpressed by the pool of middle-aged men drinking and making lame law jokes, bragging about their high class life.

“You didn’t look bored talking to Damien.” Harvey mumbled.

Donna looked back him. “Are you actually jealous?” She let a smile cross her features now, amusement fully settling in.

“I-“ Harvey couldn’t seem to find the words at the moment, looking at the ground, wishing it could just swallow him whole.

Donna decided to take pity on him. “I wasn’t flirting.” She finally spoke.

Harvey’s head shot up.

“I was acting interested, for his poor pathetic sake.” Donna moved her hair back, glancing in the direction of where she had been talking to Damien, now seeing him talking to some other woman.

“Acting?” Harvey prodded. He just had to make sure.

“Well yeah, you know I couldn’t pass a chance to put my best acting skills to the test.”

“So you weren’t actually… into him?” Donna rolled her eyes.

“No, Harvey, the guy’s a total dud. And quite frankly, no one should be wearing a suit that tight. Ever.” She shook her head, remembering her conversation with Damien.

Harvey smirked, relief washing over him. Donna smiled back at him and for once it felt like the old days, them hanging out, going to these rich parties that weren’t even all that enjoyable, but they always made the best of the night by sneaking out early to catch dinner, making fun of everyone they talked to that night.

The silence stretched out too long, their smiles fading, and suddenly they were just staring at each other. Harvey looked away.

He cleared his throat. “I- uh- I’m sorry.”

Donna furrowed her brow. “For what?”

“For not making it clear sooner.” Harvey stated, voice heavy with disappointment at himself.

“Making what clear?” Donna stood taller now, awaiting his response.

Harvey looked around the room. Upon finding a pair of French doors that let out to the garden terrace, he grabbed Donna’s hand and led her outside.

Donna shivered as the cool night breeze hit her suddenly. “Harvey what-” His lips were on hers no sooner than when he shut the door behind them.

Donna stood frozen for only a split second until she felt herself slipping, only to grab a hold of Harvey’s biceps to settle her. His lips were soft against her own, and she could taste the expensive scotch on his tongue as it protruded hers for more access. Her arms made their way around his neck, running a manicured hand through his hair, like she had done over two weeks ago. Only this time, she could feel his arms wrapped around her, holding her body so close to his she swore she could feel his heart beating alongside her own. Her mind was getting foggy, by his touch, his taste… She knew her lungs were screaming for oxygen, but she couldn’t seem to care, only pulled him even closer against her, kissing him harder still.

A moment later she felt Harvey’s lips part her own. She struggles to remember how to breathe again, as her lips remain parted, eyes still closed until she felt more than heard him speak.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner.” He murmurs, his breath tickling her skin. Her eyes flutter up to him.

“I’m just scared as hell to lose you.” He continues, hand reaching up to tuck a strand of red hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek in the process.

“Harvey….”

“And then I saw you talking to Damien and-“ Donna nodded in understanding. Because she knows that feeling too well. It’s what caused her to kiss him in the first place. She hates that they’ve both been too scared for too long.

Reaching up to caress his cheek, she spoke. “You’re not going to lose me, Harvey.” Her voice was soft and reassuring. He smiled.

He leaned again, meeting her lips for the second time in under five minutes and he felt like he was home. She was his home.

They kept their second kiss brief, lips merely brushing each other before they parted again, foreheads resting together.

“I want this to work.” He spoke against her.

“I know. So do I.” She whispered back.

“I just need you to be patient with me, I need you to call me out if I’m being an ass-“

“I already have a full-time job, Harvey.”

Harvey gave her a sarcastic smile. “Haha.” She laughed, turning his smile genuine.

“I just- I love you too much to screw this up.” Harvey told her, a sigh leaving him.

Donna looked at him sadly, wanting so badly to ease his worries, but she didn’t know how.

“Just do what you’ve always done, Harvey.” Her hands caressed his cheek, touching the corner of his lips where they were stained with her red lipstick. “Just be there for me.”

Harvey smiled. “I can do that.” Her grin matched his own, leaning up to kiss him one last time before she grabbed his hand, starting to lead him inside again.

“Good, now, what do you say we ditch this lame party and head back to my apartment?” She glanced back at him, eyes twinkling and smile teasing.

Harvey didn’t have to be told twice. “I think that’s a solid plan.” He caught up to whisper in her ear, making the hairs on her arm stand on end.

As they made their way outside, another thought occurred to Harvey.

“Hey, Donna?” She turned to look at him, seeing his puzzled expression.

“Yes, Harvey?” They made their way out of the lobby now.

“You said you were only acting with Damien, right? You weren’t really flirting?”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Yes, Harvey.”

“So… you were fake flirting, then?”

Donna tilted her head, looking at him with amusement. “I guess you could call it that, yes.”

They were now outside, waiting to call a cab. Harvey stood there for a moment, hand still holding onto Donna’s.

“Did you ever fake flirt with me?” He spoke at last.

Donna let out a loud laugh, head thrown back at his words. She heard a cab honking at them, signaling their impatience despite their quick arrival.

She grabbed his hand and lead him to the waiting cab, laughter still playing on her lips, and opened the door as Harvey stood there still with a quizzical expression.

“Well, did you?” Harvey asked again.

Donna only sent him a look as they made their way inside the cab. She gave the cab driver her address, ignoring Harvey’s wide innocent look of wonderment.

“No.” She finally told him, some minutes later. She felt him sigh in relief and she rolled her eyes in amusement. Seemed to be the theme of the night, she told herself.

Harvey smiled. “Good.” He nodded, sharing a smile with her.

The cab dropped them off five minutes later. Harvey paid the driver before stepping out to lend Donna a hand.

As they made their way to her door, Donna stopped walking, swiveling around to face Harvey. “Except one time.” She told him.

Harvey frowned. “Wait, what?” Donna gave him a teasing smile, continuing to walk to the inside of her building.

“Wait Donna, which time?” He jogged after her, stopping when they reached her apartment door.

As Donna began unlocking her door, he continued to prod. “Was it… the other time?” He whispered the last part, making her laugh again.

She unlocked the door, and turned around to face him. “No, Harvey.” She glanced down at his lips before meeting his eyes again, grabbing his hand to lead him inside. “Nothing about that night was faked.”

#Suits #Darvey #Donna x Harvey #darvey fic #jealousy #rated t #prompt #post episode #author: ali