this morning the small bird brought a message from the other side

The Other Woman (Part 6)

Pairing: Jensen x Reader, Jensen x Danneel

Word Count: 2927

Summary: You’ve always been a good girl. You did as you were told. But how did you end up as the other woman?

A/N: Little did I know I wrote close to 7k words for this chapter, wew amazing. It was too long so I decided to cut it here where I thought was best.  I more or less consider this chapter a filler before more angst commence. Thank you for waiting and the constant encouraging messages. Lots of love <3 


You had spent your next morning in bed, aimlessly scrolling through your phone before placing it back down on the pillow. You rolled onto your side and stared at the other side of the bed; his side of the bed.

You pulled the duvet over your nose and snuggled in, closed your eyes as it caressed your cheeks. It still smelled of him, his body soap and his shampoo.

It was a peaceful kind of day. The house was usually quiet in the mornings with only bird songs welcoming a new day with its sweet melodious chorus of seemingly repeated notes. You were thankful that you could stay in bed and waste away. And also have nobody come in and catch you in this embarrassing act.

A small chuckle from the door broke your brooding. You let out a surprised squeak and jolted up, turning your head to face whomever was sneaking up on you now. Much to your surprise and confusion, you were met with a fiery head and red lips. You leapt up of the bed in a hurry and nearly tackled the woman who laughed.

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mark tuan drabble

#35: “Have you ever considered me more than just a booty call?”

Originally posted by ceohan

Once again you woke up in his bed, tangled in the soft yet somehow cold white bedsheets. You were used to waking up to an empty bed by now, because Mark was always an early bird compared to you, who was able to sleep until two in the afternoon when you had the chance.

With a sigh you ran a hand through your hair and rubbed the sleep from your eyes before you looked around and sighed once again when you noticed the mess you created last night. Pieces of clothing were laying on the floor, bottles of soju throws next to the trash can.

You reached for your underwear and clothes, getting dressed before tying your hair up. You rubbed your face a few more times to awaken yourself and then you started picking up Mark’s clothes and cleaning up the mess. You heard the water running in the bathroom, so you knew he had to be taking the shower. Deciding to occupy yourself some more before he finished, you made the bed while you thought about where you could go for breakfast with him.

You always loved going out to grab some food, especially when Mark would accompany you. The memories of you two randomly going to out just for food brought smile to your lips.

Just when you were finishing making the bed, you heard a door being closed and Mark finally walked into the room in a pair of clean sweatpants, drying his hair with a towel. You smiled more.

“Morning,” you greeted him and straightened your back as you stood up properly again, after fixing the pillows on his bed. However, instead of an answer you received something between a grumble and a hum.

Everyone knew that you two were not in a serious relationship. Actually, you weren’t so sure if it even was a relationship. You always loved to spend time with him, because he seemed to really care about his friends and people who were dear to him. His smile make you feel warm inside and his laugh makes your heart flutter. He’s intelligent and hardworking. Whenever it’s needed and whenever he can, he helps his family and friends as much as he can.

Despite this all, Mark Tuan is bad when it comes to expressing his feelings. He likes to stay quiet and let others think whatever they want. His expressions are mostly neutral and he comes of as tranquil. Except when he’s with his best friends, then it can get really loud and you would be able to hear laugher and singing for hours.

Nevertheless, you always thought that he might feel something more towards you. Just like you had feelings for him. You just thought that he didn’t want to show it like in any other occasion. Because, how could someone repeatedly have sex with a friend without having deeper feelings than just physical attraction for that person, right?

You watched him rummage through his closet as he looked for a shirt to wear, the towel now resting over his shoulders even though his hair was still wet. You wanted to just walk over and dry it for him but you knew he’d scoff and whine about you treating him like a child.

“Why are you still here anyway?” he questioned suddenly, not sparing you a single glance. His question surprised you and made you frown. Slowly sitting down on the edge of the bed, you tilted your head to the side as you watched him with odd feeling forming in the pit of your stomach.

“Well, I thought we could go and grab some breakfast. We haven’t done that in a long time, we could catch up.” you suggested with a soft voice, a small smile appearing on your lips as he pulled a black shirt over his head. However it disappeared the moment he turned around and scoffed.

“Did you make my bed?” he asked instead of answering and with lazy steps walked over to the bedside table to grab his phone. “There was no need for that. What are you? My maid? My wife?” he sighed and shook his head, his fingers quickly moving across the screen of the small device in his hands.

You stared at him in disbelief, his words awakening many emotions inside of you and one of them being huge confusion. “I thought that-”

“Don’t think and go home, Y/N. I told you yesterday that I have plans for today, didn’t I?” he mumbled and you could see a small smile flash across his face as he looked at his phone again. “You already stayed the night, isn’t that enough?”

Ever since you met this boy, he haven’t been as cold to you as now. He seemed to be annoyed only by your presence and that hurt a lot. Were you even his friend at this point? You knew him for over two years and you’ve always appreciated his as much as you could and this is what you get in return?

You stood up with tears already creating themselves in the corners of your eyes. He still didn’t look up from his phone as he was typing yet another message. At this point you weren’t sure what you were feeling. Maybe anger, disappointment or maybe heartbreak.

“That’s how you feel then? After all these years, I’m a nuisance to you?” you forced the words out of your throat without shuttering as you watched him slowly lift up his head to lock his gaze with yours. You waited for his eyed to go wide at the sight of you crying, you wanted him to throw his phone away and step closer to you to confront you about him being an idiot for saying those words. You wanted him to do something that would show a little bit more affection towards you.

But he didn’t. He sighed. “Y/N, stop making scenes. The boys are still asleep, you’re gonna wake them up. Just go, yeah? I’ll text you again soon.” he mumbled but you didn’t move. Clenching your hands in fists so you wouldn’t scream at him, you asked another question.

“Have you ever considered me more than just a booty call?” you said in a surprisingly calm voice, something you probably learned from him. To talk calmly while the person in front of you could feel how furious you were. “Am I just a toy you use for sex when you’re frustrated? A momentary distraction?”

You watched him lift his head up from the device to lock his gaze with yours. You saw his eyes flicker as he took in the look on your face, the tears staining your cheeks. He licked his bottom lip and put the phone away before looking back at you. “You had to know that whatever this is, it’s always gonna be just about sex, Y/N. I have no interest in dating you,” he said, his tone of voice soft but the words felt like a knife in your chest.

He had no interest in dating you. Dating you. He had no interest in you.

Not knowing what to say, you just stared at him for a while, allowing yourself to get lost in the dept of his beautiful brown eyes. Then, just to reassure him that he had spoken clearly and you’d heard him, you nodded your head. Walking over to his chair and grabbing your bag, you wiped your eyes harshly and swallowed back the sobs that were threatening to rip from your throat.

“Y/N,” he called for you and just as you were reaching the door, he grabbed the back of your shirt. You stopped and closed your eyes, calming your breathing before turning to face him once again. His hand didn’t move and so his arm stayed wrapped around your waist and in the past it would create butterflies in your stomach, but now it just hurt.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times but never said a single word. You couldn’t stay there like that any longer and so you grabbed his hand and pushed it off you before walking about of his room and their dorm for good.

BokuAkaKuroKen Headcanons

Headcanons about the wonderful and beautiful pairing BokuAkaKuroKen from Haikyuu!!. These do imply situations where the four would be living together - taking place when they are in college. 

If there is a pairing that you would like to see headcanons made for, you’re welcome to request it!

Thank you very much and I hope you enjoy!

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three little birds [bucky barnes]

anonymous requested: Can you do 44 and 45 from the prompt list with Bucky? I love your blog and it’s totally okay if you can’t! 💖

tagging: @mattymattymerduck, @avengerofyourheart, @wakandasoldier@darlingbuchanan@bemystucky, @idorkish, @iwillbeinmynest@aubzylynn, @angryschnauzer​, @almondbuttercup (and just for fun) @bovaria, @buckyywiththegoodhair, @beccaanne814-blog

warnings: mentions of torture, some angst, pining, fluff

additional notes: so i don’t know about you guys, but shark tale was a huge part of my childhood, and i love that movie to death. gender-neutral reader. the prompts are taken from this list.

44. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

45. “I had a nightmare about you and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

you can listen to the end song here. it is titled “three little birds” by bob marley and is featured in shark tale.

Despite joining the Avengers five years ago, you were still a deep sleeper. You had yet to master the “get up and go” technique of jolting awake at the slightest sounds of danger. It often took several alarms and a friendly but authoritative shake from Steve to get you out of bed in the morning, especially for early training sessions. And once your day was over, you would retreat to your room and were lucky to even shower before you passed out.

That evening, after dinner, you hung out with Bucky in the media room for a brief movie marathon. Tonight’s pick had been animated films; you had chosen Robin Hood, and Bucky had chosen Shark Tale. “The fish look cool,” he’d said defensively when you laughed at his decision. You had spent most of your time half-draped across Bucky’s lap, his arm around your shoulder while you curled up against him, feeling the thrum of his heart beneath your cheek. His chest was a good pillow, you decided, as firm as it was with muscle. As the first movie began, you had remarked teasingly about how Robin Hood had been your childhood cartoon crush. Bucky had made comments once in a while, too: quips about how odd it was for you to find the anthropomorphic fox attractive and, when Shark Tale began, “Why does the fish sound like that Smith guy you like so much?” You had laughed and shushed him while you fought back uncontrollable giggles.

Afterward, the two of you had retreated to your rooms, with yours on the floor below Bucky’s. He’d ridden the elevator down with you and insisted on walking you to your door, ensuring you were safe and sound. You had hugged him goodnight, he had kissed your forehead fondly, and you had burst into a fit of giddy laughter as soon as you shut the door behind him. You had been friends with Bucky for three years, but lately both of you had been acting bolder than usual, making more suggestive comments and subtle gestures that implied there was something else between you two other than friendship. It wasn’t all physical either; in fact, the emotional connection between you two was infinite times stronger than the physical one. And you wanted that: you wanted to have more with Bucky, but neither of you would make the first move. Steve had elected to stay out of the predicament, but when you came to him with your feelings, he had insisted that you give each other time to warm up to each other even more, to take it slow and give Bucky time to feel absolutely comfortable around you. It was a sluggish process, but with the amount of time you were spending together, it was completely worth it.

One quick, lukewarm shower later and you were in bed, sleeping soundly. You’d been asleep for three hours when you felt a hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently. Someone was calling out your name. You opened your eyes at four in the morning to see Bucky bent over you.

“Hey,” you greeted him tiredly, slowly sitting up. You recognized the look on his face: the owlish, panicked look that made his eyes look more stormy gray than their usual piercing blue. “What’s up, Buck, what’s going on?”

There was a silent plea in his gaze. You scooted over, giving him room to sit beside you. He did, and immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you practically into his lap. He was breathing hard; you could feel his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest. His T-shirt was damp with sweat. It wasn’t like you hadn’t hugged Bucky before, but this embrace was different. It was desperate, charged with more emotion than any contact you’d ever had with him. “Bucky?” you murmured into his neck, tentatively hugging him back.

“I had a nightmare about you,” he replied, his voice breaking as he spoke. You felt him swallow before he added almost inaudibly, “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

You closed your eyes, letting his explanation soak in. You knew how terrible his nightmares were, filled with broken memories and torture from Hydra—but you had never been a part of them. You comforted him from time to time—when Steve wasn’t there—but never had Bucky told you about what he’d seen, what he’d felt, whom he’d lost in his dreams. You figured he hadn’t wanted to burden you with whatever twisted vision his mind generated. It hurt to know you could cause him so much panic, even if it was indirectly. You knew that, right after waking, Bucky had trouble telling dreams from reality, so you decided to reassure him. “I’m right here, Buck,” you said softly. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I promise. I’m real.”

Bucky laughed, but it was harsh and came out more as a grunt. You heard him sniffle, and he loosened his grip on you enough for you to pull back and look at him. His eyes were wet. He sniffed loudly again and smiled bitterly. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” he admitted, his eyes staring unfocused at the wall behind your head before fixating on you. He brought one hand to your cheek, and it wasn’t until he wiped a tear away from your skin that you realized you were crying, too. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he breathed, his eyes beseeching yours. “I can’t lose you, doll. Never.”

Your mouth fell open at his confession. He hadn’t strictly said “the words,” but you felt the sentiment all the same. You saw it conveyed in his eyes, in the way he beheld you like you were the answer to all his problems, in the way he framed your cheek with his metal palm, in the way his hand rested protectively on your hip. “You’re not going to,” you promised, leaning forward until your foreheads were touching. He hung his head, closing his eyes, while you watched him take deep breaths, his lips slightly parted. “Not me. Not ever.”

The right side of his mouth hooked upward into a lopsided grin, the one that sent warmth blooming from your chest and outward, the one that never ceased to make you smile back—which you did, right before he lifted his chin to press his lips against yours.

The kiss was soft and slow, and so were your caresses, as you rubbed Bucky’s back in slow circles, hoping to relieve some of the tension in his muscles. Gradually, he grew lax against you, his hands falling to grasp your waist and tug you even closer to him. He hummed into your mouth as your tongue met his in languid strokes, and you clutched at the back of his shoulders for dear life. He tipped your head back to deepen the kiss for just a moment, drawing a surprised gasp out of you, before he ended it, slowly pulling away from you. You tried not to stare at his lips, but all you could think about was how nice they had felt against yours, and how desperately you wanted to feel them again.

“Can I stay here, doll?” he intoned, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your sleepshirt and dancing across the small of your back. “Please?”

You nodded, smiling up at him earnestly. “Always, Buck, always.”

He grinned again and lowered you to the mattress on your back, moving to lie down facing you. His arms encircled your waist on instinct, while his legs tangled with yours. On impulse, your own arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers combing through his long brown tresses at a lackadaisical pace. It felt natural to lie with him nestled against you like this: his head resting near the scoop of your neck, his breaths coming in warm puffs against your skin, your hands in his hair, quietly existing in the close company of each other. You got comfortable against your pillow and started humming, improvising the rhythm as you went. After a few seconds of humming, you decided to sing.

“Don’t worry,” you crooned, “about a thing… ’Cause every little thing is gonna be alright.”

Bucky chuckled, and you paused, glancing down at him. “Keep going, doll,” he mumbled, nuzzling his face further into your neck, his stubble tickling your skin. “You sound cute.”

You beamed, carding your fingers idly through his hair. “Rise up this mornin’,” you continued, “smiled with the risin’ sun… Three little birds pitch by my doorstep…” Bucky dropped his hand to your bare hip where your shirt had ridden up, thumb-rubbing your skin as sleep began to overtake him. You kissed his forehead, feeling him go limp against you with a deep, breathy sigh of contentment. “Singin’ sweet songs of melodies pure and true… Sayin’, ‘This is my message to you’…”

Request: ScotEng, omegaverse (fluff)

I was requested to write my very first ScotEng and also my very first omegaverse by lovelies @gallifreyanlibertea​ and @mamin-the-troll​.
I decided the only way I could do it was making it very fluffy, since I’m completely inexperienced with omegaverse (that’s Mana’s job!).

Notes: I took inspiration from a dialogue Arthur had in the last published chapter of my longfic ‘The House in London’, but in this Alistair and Arthur are not brothers. Also, my favourite hc about Scotland is that he’s got stubbles.
Also please forgive me for my bad attempt at written Scottish accent >__<

House Intruder - (omegaverse, fluff, ScotEng)

Being all alone in Alastair’s house was a new, strange sensation.

Usually, when he’d came to visit in the evening, tired after a whole day of work, the lights would have been on in the kitchen and living room, the air would’ve been warm and cosy, smelling of baked goods or of dinner steadily cooking on the stove.

He would have been welcomed in with a cup of steaming tea, a warm blanket gently placed on the shoulders and a quick, bearded and itchy kiss on the cheek.

But the house was now cold and dark. The kitchen was silent and lacked any smell of food: instead it was kind of stuffy after a whole week closed and unused.

The blanket he was usually offered was neatly folded on his favourite armchair and the only sound filling the air was of the old wooden cuckoo clock on top of the stairs.

Alastair’s house was an old two storeys cottage in the Edinburgh area, with creaky wooden floors and stairs, big widows that frosted in the cold of winter and a roof where sometimes birds and dormice took shelter.

It reminded Arthur of his grandparents’ old house in Wiltshire, where he spent many weekends of his childhood chasing fairies and pixies in the garden and listening to the steady falling of raindrops on the windowsill at night.

Alistair had been in Dublin, visiting a cousin, for almost six days.

Arthur had made do during the week with texts, Skype calls and messages on socials, but with the weekend approaching and the realisation it would be the first weekend alone since they had gotten together, he felt like just waiting for a call suddenly wasn’t enough.

He needed to feel more of Alistair’s smell and presence to be able to finally sleep more and well and wash away the week’s stress and loneliness.

He had always prided himself of being a strong, independent omega, but that had been before meeting Alistair: now, with a partner as attentive (almost to the point of being silly, and always trying to look like he actually didn’t care) as the Scottish alpha, Arthur had somehow softened to the idea of getting a little bit more clingy.

Not that the other needed to know or even suspect he had had these kind of thoughts.

That was why Arthur had retreated the copy of the keys of Alistair’s house from a small box in one of his studio’s drawers, had went to the house late in the evening and had told no one, not even the owner of the house, about his mission.

It would have been very embarrassing explaining to his mate that he felt the need to sleep in his clothes, in his bed, hugging his pillow.

Which was exactly what he came to do: after lingering a bit in the entrance and living room, like a guest coming in for the first time, he had went upstairs, to the main bedroom.

The bed was old just like the rest of the house: king sized, wooden and with a canopy that Alistair didn’t even use.

It was soft and comfy and Arthur loved every single memory he had of spending late night and late mornings on it with his beloved.

He looked longingly at it, but first he went for the top drawer of the dresser and retrieved his favourite pair of pyjamas Alistair owned: checked, navy blue and white, of a soft and well worn cotton.

He put it on and took a long breath, eyes closed, tugging the collar of the shirt in front of his already very sensible nose. That was the smell he needed, the one he associated with all the memories inside that house, with his mate.

They were a young couple, it was true: but a bit less than one year together, as mates, was already enough for him to label memories, smells and sensations and recognise them so well.

With a satisfied smile, he let go of the collar and prepared to jump on the bed.

He landed right in the middle, making the mattress jolt and the bed creak and thump loudly on the floor, but it was all worth it: he was finally surrounded by softness, calmness and the heavy mix of other sensations the proximity of something belonging to Alastair always brought to him.

The best part was sinking his face in the pillow: Alastair had a favourite one, the one on the left. It was always the one thing in the room smelling more like the alpha, no matter if he had just changed the sheets. It was like Alistair: rain on a pine forest, a cigar slowly smoked on the sofa, the ocean foaming against a cliff, a warm fire crackling inside an old house.

Arthur sighed contentedly, finally home.

The exhaustion and stress left him immediately and he fell asleep, missing his alpha.

Dreaming of his alpha.

Dreaming Alastair right next to him, calling him, gently shaking his arm to wake him up…

“Runt. Ohy? Wake, little monkey!” he heard.

“Al… ?” he mumbled, still almost completely asleep. He turned around, stretching and yawning, when he suddenly realised he was being held by strong, warm arms in a very familiar hug.

He screeched and jumped, almost falling off the bed in the attempt of escaping his mate’s grip, all the while the other, very real and very much amused by the reaction, was laughing out loud and still holding Arthur safely by his side, on his bed.

“What? What are you doing… home?” asked Arthur, shocked.

He sat up and, seeing Alastair’s very amused look, he remembered he had fallen asleep in the other’s pyjamas.

“I can explain!” he cried, trying to quickly take the shirt off.

Alastair just laughed more and stopped him, closing his big hands on the omega’s ones and pulling him closer, almost on top of him: “I like it on ye, Art.” he snickered.

Arthur was blushing furiously and just made an embarrassed sound, defeated.

“I came home tae me little monkey,” explained the alpha, caressing Arthur face as the other pouted and tried to hide his face against the pillow: “And tae me GPS alarm ye set off breakin in me house.” he added.

“What?” asked Arthur: “You have a GPS alarm set for the house?”

Alastair just raised an eyebrow, still smiling.

“But I have a copy of the key!” protested Arthur.

“Aye… didn’t think bout that when it rang a’ eleven pm.” admitted Alastair.

Arthur grinned. He reached up to brush his lips over his mate’s chin covered in stubble and confessed: “I’m glad you hurried home.”

Alastair hugged him closer once again and kissed him on the head, one hand carding through short, messy blond hair.

“And I’m glad it was ye and not a thief!” exclaimed the alpha, before laughing again.

the world is ours to take (nc-17, 2.9k)


A cold mist drapes itself over the parking lot, heavy and thick, the sun not yet high enough in the sky to burn it away. It changes the bright red motel room doors into a faded, muted burgundy and hides the dirt and scuff marks that smudge the beige stucco walls. Salt hangs in the air, carried by the icy wind, and with it a bitter, briny tang that burns the back of Dean’s nose.

He should have stayed in bed.

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anonymous asked:

Modern CP au where Damen gives Laurent a massage 😉

Here you are anon! Hope you enjoy~ also, sorry I don’t really know how to write smut…you were probably imagining a sexy message but instead I give you science.

So I guess my inbox is open to prompts now? No promises that I will do it in a timely manner though, I should be studying…

(also sorry, it’s kind of long, I should probably also put this under a Read More but I don’t know how~) 

Damen/Laurent, Captive Prince, 1204 words. Featuring med student Damen because I support smart!Damen. 
Thank you @americancupsofbritishtea for helping me beta <3 

Damen looked up when Laurent returned from the shower, wearing nothing more than a pair of lounge pants. They dipped low on his hips and provided quite the enticing image, his damp blonde hair falling gracefully over bare shoulders.

Deltoid. Axillary nerve. Inserts on the deltoid tuberosity of the humerus. Oh. There’s an idea. “Hey sweetheart,“ Damen called, “come over here.”

Laurent raised a fine brow, but walked over to bed regardless after disposing of the damp towel and retrieving his laptop from his desk. “You have that lecherous look on your face. Focus. You have an anatomy practical tomorrow.”

Damen smiled wide. “I study better with you beside me.” He patted Laurent’s side of bed.

As soon as Laurent laid down, he pulled up his lab report for his cancer bio class. It wasn’t due until next week so Damen didn’t feel guilty trailing his finger across Laurent’s finely defined and sharp collarbone. Laurent froze. “What are you doing?”

“Studying,” Damen murmured. His finger hovered. “Acromioclavicular joint.” His touch trailed down soft, silky skin, following the curve of the bone. “Sternoclavicular joint.” Following the neck muscle softly upwards, he edged along the side of the sternocleidomastoid. Innervated by the spinal accessory nerve, C1-C5.

He could feel Laurent’s pulse quickened under his finger. Carotid pulse. Never palpate bilaterally.

Laurent was holding himself tense, and when he spoke, Damen could tell he was making himself breathe normally. “I believe,” his voice hard, “the models in your class are cadavers.”

“Hmm, yes,” Damen murmured. “But it’s always better to have a live-model, don’t you agree?”

Laurent made a small noise of protest when Damen gently put his laptop on the nightstand, and swung himself on top of Laurent, his strong thighs on either side of his hips. Laurent hitched a breath when Damen lowered his head and pressed his lips to Laurent’s chest.

“Pectoralis major,” Damen whispered to Laurent’s chest as it was rising and falling. “Clavicular head flexes the humerus, sternocostal head extends it.” He sucked at a sensitive spot on the side, just under his arm where he knew Laurent was ticklish. He tried to squirm away, but Damen tightened his thighs to keep Laurent in place. He knew the spot would blossom into a beautiful bruise by the following morning on Laurent’s fine skin.

He brought his attention to one of Laurent’s stiffened nipples and drew it into his mouth. Laurent gasped and his hand grabbed onto Damen’s bare thigh. Damen sucked happily as his other hand trailed up the side of Laurent’s waist, following the grooves of the intercostal spaces before flicking and playing with the other nipple happily.

Damen was broken out of his almost reverent ministrations when Laurent made a noise and pushed him back. Damen retreated. Laurent’s face was flushed, his chest was flushed, and he was breathing rapidly.

“You need to study.” Laurent forced the words from his mouth. Damen could see the emotion in his stormy blue eyes. He would face Laurent’s wrath tomorrow for this teasing. He couldn’t wait.

“You’re too tense,” Damen sighed. “Fine. Lay down on your stomach. I’ll look over your back muscles.”

Laurent hesitated.

“Please? It’s boring staring at images. This will help me more. You know I’m a tactile person.”

Damen could see the moment when he won. Laurent pushed him off, and flipped onto his stomach, grumbling something about abandoning Damen in the cadaver lab next time.

Damen grinned, and reached into the nightstand drawer for the chamomile oil. Just because he had to study doesn’t mean he couldn’t kill two birds with one stone. Which was exactly what he told Laurent when he turned his head to glared at the small bottle in his hand. “Wasn’t lying when I said you were tense. Have you been leaning over the microscope all day again?”

Laurent grumbled something affirmative into the pillow.

Lying face down, Laurent’s pale milky skin contrasted their dark sheets. He looked like a marble statue and Damen almost didn’t dare touch. But he could. He was the only one who could.

He started at the top, on the trapezius, where it was extremely tight. His touch was gentle, first just warming up the tense muscle beneath his fingers. The oil had a gentle fragrance and was calming as it also warmed up on skin and permeated the room.

He moved towards the erector spinae. A set of three muscles, Damen remembering the mnemonic: I love spinach. From lateral to medial: iliocostalis, longissimus, spinalis. As he followed with his thumb along each muscle, he kneaded with firm steady movements that drew a soft moan from Laurent. Damen begin to feel himself stir.

He moved to the large flat back muscle, the latissimus dorsi, innervated by the thoracodorsal nerve. He spread his large palms over Laurent’s sensitive sides, his external obliques. Laurent squirmed and tried to wiggle away. Damen swung his leg over Laurent and trapped him, preventing his escape. As Damen lowered himself to rest on Laurent’s bottom–careful to not lower his entire weight, putting most of his force on his own knees–he realized this was a mistake. His cock was more than a little happy to be nestled in the groove of Laurent’s ass, despite the layers of clothes between them.

Laurent tensed up and Damen continued kneading the hard muscle, even if it meant leaning down to reach, pressing his cock harder against Laurent’s ass. Slowly, Laurent relaxed again under Damen’s touch. He let out low purrs that did things to Damen. Happy things.

He slowly began to trail down until he reached the curve of his ass and Damen moved himself to hover over the back of Laurent’s knees. He reached for Laurent’s waistband and paused his hands there. “I don’t want to get oil on your pants,” he said innocently. That was true, for the most part.

“Really,” Laurent murmured, rubbing his cheek against the pillow. He had a look of bliss on his face, his eyes lidded. He looked relaxed and so beautiful. “My gluteus maximus, is it?”

Damen grinned. “Keep doing those squats, sweetheart.”

Laurent arched his back–holy shit, what a sight–to give Damen a playful swat. His hand landed near Damen’s upper thigh, which was near his, by now, straining cock. Laurent rolled around and Damen released his legs so he could turn until Laurent was now laying on his back again, arched up by his elbows. His eyes were wide open now, a playful look on his face. He lowered his head and peered through his lashes coyly, “Seems like my back isn’t the only thing that’s hard.”   

Damen couldn’t hold it back any longer. He leaned down and captured Laurent’s lips, lowering his body so they were pressed together, chest to chest, legs tangled. The hard kiss was long overdue, wet and heated. He pulled away just to ask, “Done with your report?”

Laurent surged up to meet his lips again and Damen grabbed Laurent’s long legs and wrapped them around his waist. Instinctively, Laurent thrust up. “It can wait. You’re done studying?”

Damen panted down into Laurent’s open mouth, grinding himself against Laurent’s hardness. “I think I can move onto other parts of anatomy.”

I Am Void. Part 2 of I Am Void.

Part 1

It had been going on a week that crazy Stiles, as you were calling him, had kept you in this weird underground cell. You were tired and sore and wanted a bed. 

“Morning song bird.” The door opened and there it stood. “We have to leave. Scott and Stiles finally noticed you’re missing and they’re close.” 

He grabbed your wrist and dragged you out of the room. You stumbled behind him as he pulled you through the woods at night. 

“(Y/N)!” Scotts voice echoed in the woods. You froze only to get pulled by crazy Stiles. 

He pushed you against a tree. 

“This is where it’ll happen.” Your eyes had adjusted enough to see gleaming metal on the ground. 

“Why are you doing this? We’re just kids.” His lips were on your ear. 

“You haven’t noticed that you know the people in your dreams.” Him saying that triggered a memory from a dream.

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Aphorism I (a ‘19 Days’ fanfiction)


The door opened. 

And they stared at each other. 

And then, slowly, they moved inside, a too-small apartment that had every possible room pushed into one. Jian Yi sat in an armchair that had socks over it and an old packet of crisps shoved down the side. Zhengxi sat on the edge of his bed, and rubbed his palms across his thighs, and he hadn’t blinked for a while.

He swallowed, loud enough for Jian Yi to hear his throat click, bone dry. ‘Where’ve you been?’ he said.

‘Oh, around,’ Jian Yi told him, shrugging, pulling at the hairband on his wrist. He’d bought it recently and it was still too tight, the elastic too strong, and it left red imprints in his skin. ‘Here, there. I went to Maui for a bit. Beautiful place. Awesome storms. And then Wales, which was kind of beautiful in its own way. Have you been? Russia was cold. No one smiled much. And Prague – I mean, the language was kind of odd but wow that architecture. Did you know—’

‘Where the fuck. Have you been.’

Jian Yi coughed, and scratched the back of his neck. ‘Er. I was kind of telling you.’

‘I looked for you. For months. A year. I thought I was losing my mind. Thought I’d made you up. The teachers wouldn’t say anything – didn’t know anything. Your mother just left. I thought – I thought you were dead.’

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flower boy

Wearing a sweater was a bad idea, the heat was almost unbearable, and it only made me more stressed out. I had been walking around London for the past hour, trying to find the cafe that I was supposed to meet my date at.

I checked the time on my phone, sighing at the fact that I was supposed to meet him in a mere 3 minutes. There was no internet connection or service where I was, so the GPS I had on my phone was useless. I just kept walking, maybe soon I’d recognize where I was.

I had moved to London two weeks ago, and was not the slightest bit familiar with anywhere outside of a one mile radius of my flat. I had one friend who lived here, but he was on holiday. So it was just me, and my now useless GPS.

I walked for about ten more minutes, and soon found an area with cell service. My phone beeped, and looked down at the messages illuminating my screen.

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An Angel’s Grace [Part Ten]

Gabriel x Reader

Author: justcallmeyourgoddess

Warnings: Swearing, Smut, Wing!Kink

Word Count: 2663

Description:  Reader is already officially mates with Gabriel with all the ceremonies, etc. and can see his wings. He wants to introduce her to his archangel brothers (saying as Lucifer and Michael and Raphael all live together peacefully in heaven). They discover something about the Reader in the process.

Note: Send me your requests for ideas for the next parts! PLEASE. i only have some ideas i need more.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

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Summary: Sam and Dean arrive in a town where the bodies of students start turning up, an unusual symbol grotesquely carved into their flesh. As the body count starts piling up, the boys receive help from a local Librarian.
Pairing: SamxReader
Words: 2172
Warnings: Me being a nerd (majorly in this chapter. I went ott). Language. 
AN: …guess what series finally has a NAME!!! YEEES!!! This is part 5 in my ‘The Eyes of Ra’ series! There will either be another one or two parts after this. Not sure yet. I’ll see how it goess.
Constructive Criticism Welcome!!!



“What do you mean she’s gone?!”

“She-she got a text while re-stacking shelves… then she-”

“And not a word about where she was going?!”

The terrified looking woman stared up into Sam’s murderous face, completely taken aback by his outburst.

He didn’t stop glaring at her until Dean finally found him, dragging him away by his upper arm and throwing the librarian and apologetic smile.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he whisper-yelled, confusion evident on his face. “You took off like someone lit your ass on fire, what did you find?”

Sam shoved the book with Sekhmet’s picture in it in Dean’s face. “Look at the symbol she’s holding” he growled, and watched as Dean frowned down at the little image. “Recognise it?”

Dean’s eyes flicked up to Sam and shrugged. “It’s another glyph, right?” he muttered, perplexed.

The younger Winchester snatched the book away with a huff. “Yeah, Dean” he snapped, ignoring how taken aback his brother was looking, “it’s another hieroglyph. Guess where we’ve seen it before. Y/N. Y/N has it tattooed on her wrist! Know what else Y/N has? A goddamn bow! The thing looked ancient, probably is if I’m right! And guess who’s so well clued in on all the Egyptian stuff… oh, right, Y/N! She’s been stringing us along!”

“Wait, are you really saying that-”

“Y/N is Sekhmet, Dean! No wonder she’s seen the goddamn pyramids, she was probably there when they were built!” he said, not bothering to keep his voice down. Several people looked over at them, but Dean slowly looked up from the book in Sam’s hand to his eyes.

“Son of a bitch” he groaned, “where the hell is she?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, “well, that’s what I was trying to find out. She’s bolted. Got a message, and bolted. No one knows where she went.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow, turning back to look at the nervous librarian Sam had yelled at. “For now, but we can probably track her down…”

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Itsy Bitsy Spider - Epilouge

Summary: Reader x Dean. 11 months after their run in with spiderman’s pissed off ex-girlfriend, the reader decides it’s time to pay the Winchester’s a little visit.

Triggers: None

Word Count: 3402

Y/N = Your name  Y/E/C = Your eye colour

Sorry this took so long DX But this is finally the end of the itsy bitsy spider storyline!

I’m trying out the whole no read more line thing since a few of you said you’d rather not have them disrupting your reading. However, if there are people out there that would rather have them back, please tell me :)

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3  Part 4


You stretched as you waited for your bag to arrive on the painfully slow carousel in front of you. Every part of your back popping as your spine realigned itself. Commercial airplane seats were the modern form of torture. Especially when you had to spend 12 hours in one. 24 hours travelling all in all. But you were finally done travelling, by plane at least. Sure, you could’ve probably contacted your angel friend and had him give you a hand with all the travelling. But that wouldn’t be as fun as surprising him by suddenly being in a completely different place with no actual explanation as to why.

It had been an impulsive decision, but then again, all your decisions were kind of impulsive. Just like it had been 4 years ago when you suddenly decided to go on a “study trip” around the world. You had just woken up one morning, listened to the hustle and bustle of the busy streets in India and decided it was time to end your travels. So after a few minor credit card scams and calling in some favours, you had scraped together enough cash to leave the humid, dusty streets of New Delhi, India for Kansas City, USA. Two stops, crappy airplane food and a lot of in-flight entertainment later, you had arrived at your destination.

But you journey wasn’t done, not yet. As soon as your bag appeared on the carousel you grabbed it and headed towards the exit. Finding an abandoned car in the long-term parking garage you quickly hotwired it and set out on your last stretch. Sure you could have just rented a car, or even taken the bus. But you were short on funds, and the bus seats were no better than the awful seats on the plane. Plus, the car should’ve been picked up a month ago according to the note in the window. So you were pretty sure no one would be missing it anytime soon.

The moment you hit the highway out of Kansas City you rolled your window down and turned up the volume of the radio. Letting the cold air and classic rock station crash, in waves over you as you drove with a purpose. A smile playing on your lips as you sang along to some of your favourite songs. Happy that you could understand every single one of them again, well, almost, some of the old rockers weren’t really the most eloquent bunch. But at least they weren’t in Indian, or Korean, or Japanese like they had mainly been for the last four years of your life. Having to deal with the more national music tastes of the hunters you ran into during your travels.


The drive would be a long one, since you wanted to take the scenic route and check out the small rural town where you had helped the Winchesters take down one not so “itsy-bitsy” spider. You had developed a habit whilst travelling around the world to always check in on your old cases if you ended up in the same country twice. Plus, you sucked at directions, so it would be easier to find your way to your final destination from there anyway. When the town in question finally passed in your rear-view mirror it was already late at night. But your reversed jetlag kept you awake as you settled in to drive throughout the night, a mischievous grin playing on your lips.

No one knew you were coming… Even Castiel, who had checked up on you from time to time, didn’t know you were on your way. It had been almost one year since you last drove down the small country road and into the town to help the boys kill a certain spider lady. And since then you had kept in contact through Castiel. Usually the angel would pop around once every two weeks. His timing wasn’t always the best, but he was always a sight for sore eyes since he brought news from the boys. But your decision had been rash this time, and hell, surprises were more fun.

The playful smile stayed on your lips as you drove your “new” car all the way up to the bunker. Not bothering to stay quiet since you would reach the door before them anyway. Quickly grabbing your stuff from where you had thrown it in the backseat you walked, no, skipped, up to the bunker door. Humming the continuation of the song you’d so rudely interrupted with your departure from the car along the way.

Ok, so you only liked surprises when you were the one pulling them. Made you feel like a naughty child. Grinning, your curled fist played a small drum solo with your knuckles on the steel as you waited for the boys to answer the door. Muffled sounds of hurried steps and an annoyed Dean coming from inside. It was early morning after all. You’d probably woken up both of the night owls inside with your insistent knocking. The thought of dragging the two of them out of their peaceful slumber only making your grin wider as you pictured Sam’s birds nest hair with a low chuckle.

The door shot up unexpectedly quickly and you smirked into the barrels of the guns facing you. Behind the guns were two of the best hunters you knew. Bleary eyed and with extreme bed heads maybe, but it was definitely them, the Winchesters. The guns lowered as the owners recognized their unexpected visitor with widening eyes and timid smiles.

“(Y/N)?” Sam said, putting the safety back on his gun as he lowered it.

“Hey boys, did you miss me?”


“You could have called y’know. I would have come over to pick you up at the airport,” Dean said as he handed you the cold lager after performing the series of tests necessary for you to prove that you were in fact yourself. His hand lingering on yours a little before he pulled away. For most people it was probably too early for beer, but hell it was night time in India, or somewhere else in the world. And you needed, nay, deserved a beer. And so naturally you’d forced the boys to have one too so you didn’t seem too weird.

“Nah… Thought it would be more fun this way. I like surprises,” You said before taking a large gulp of the icy cold beverage and grinning at the bewildered boys. Drinking in the sight of Dean in his AC/DC t-shirt and hastily thrown on leather jacket.

“Yeah, I could kind of guess that after that goodbye last time,” Dean said with a lopsided grin and one of his awkward “flirty” winks. Which looked even more awkward with sleep still visible in his eyes and his short sand blonde hair in an almost impressive mess on his head

“A girl’s gotta create her own fun in this crazy world we live in,” You said with a shrug. Leaving the poor man hanging as he tried to bring up that little part of your history with him. 11 months ago the kiss had been impulsive, just a spur of the moment thing. But after spending nearly a year on the other side of the planet things had quickly escalated past that. You might have been oceans apart, but that didn’t mean you didn’t keep in touch with Dean.

“Cas is gonna be happy to know you’re back,” Dean said, dropping the subject of the kiss smoothly as he leaned over the table. Emerald green eyes shooting bursts of heated electricity through your body as they locked with your (Y/E/C) coloured ones. He knew you well enough to know he wouldn’t get anywhere if you didn’t feel like talking about it. Your stubbornness was after all your best feature, so you had a habit of flaunting it. You let out a low chuckle around the mouth of your bottle as you thought about your mutual angel friend. Castiel had been acting in the role of carrier dove. Bringing small letters and other things back and forth since a phone wasn’t possible considering the costs alone would have been ridiculous. Plus, when you have your own personal angel you don’t need the electronic stuff.

And so Castiel, angel of the lord, had the honour of sending flirty messages between Dean and you, back and forth. As your feelings for the hunter went from just slightly interested to dangerously close to what normal people called love. What had started as just innuendos and dirty jokes had grown into long letters detailing your lives, your pasts and your dreams for the future. Not only had you gotten to know Dean better, you’d told him more about yourself than any other living person anywhere knew.

Maybe it was because it was just letters like a weird shared diary, or maybe it was the thought of Dean being the one reading them. But slowly you had fallen in love with the man whose messy handwriting could take days to decipher. All you knew was that it was thanks to Castiel and those letters you had come back to America a bit ahead of schedule. And as your heart beat in your chest whilst you tried to stay composed, you knew that the feelings weren’t going to fade away with time. It definitely wasn’t just the letters; you had fallen for Dean Winchester.


“Ah yeah, where is the lovable fool?” You said, shaking away your thoughts as you forced your jet lagged mind to stay on topic. Turning your head as if you were expecting him to pop up from just the mention of him in conversation. Actually, you kind of were, that was his M.O after all. But no angel poofed into the room as you looked around the immense bunker library.

“Some trouble in heaven, not expecting him back for a while,” Sam said as he settled down in one of the chairs around the large mahogany table. His words making you crease your brows with worry. You knew the big guy could take care of himself. But his utter cluelessness about human life still made you think of him as the little brother you’d never had.

“Hope he makes it back soon… I got him some gifts from India,” You said, breaking the heavy silence of implied “what if’s” that filled the room at the thought of what was going on upstairs. There was no use thinking of the ongoing war in heaven, nothing a rag tag group of human hunters such as yourself could do anyway.

“Gifts? That’s why you’re my favourite hunter! What did you bring me?” Dean said grinning from ear to ear as he eyed your bag where it sat abandoned on the floor beside your chair. The man somehow taking on the mental age of a five-year-old at Christmas, waiting for his new “toys” to be pulled out of your bag of wonders. Except Santa usually didn’t bring gifts quite as, unique, as yours.

“Whoa, calm down Dean, are you more happy about the gifts than me being here?” You said, mock astonishment clear in your voice as you took your time finishing off your drink before you reached down for the heavy duffle. “I seem to remember someone saying they just wanted me back here?” You added as you rooted through the mess behind the zipper. Dean’s eyes fell on the table in front of him, suddenly extremely interested in the pattern on the mahogany table as his ears betrayed him, showing a weak blush.

“I think that was Cas, or maybe Sam,” Dean shot back once he finally regained his cool.

“Well then Sam, I guess you’re getting your gift first,” You said, winking slightly at the big moose that was rolling his eyes at his brother. His head perking up at the mention of a gift he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide an exited grin. Watching you in poorly hidden anticipation as you dug through your bag. Feeling your way to the soft material of the specially made hunters jacket you got from friends in Tokyo.

“As promised, a new jacket. It has like a million and one pockets, silver threads, hidden demon warding symbols, and a lot of other cool stuff that kind of got lost in translation,” You said handing over the replacement for the jacket you had ruined during your last visit with the boys first. You’d promised him a new one, and you always kept your promises.

“Wow, this is a lot nicer than that old rag we lent you. You really didn’t have to…” Sam started as he looked at the piece of cloth in his hands. Finding some of the many hidden pockets easily before shrugging off his flannel shirt and putting the coat on over his t-shirt.

“It’s fine, I wanted to,” You interrupted, pleased to see that the coat fit his large frame. You’d had to guess when you were getting it made, so it had worried you a bit on the way over.

“Thanks anyway, it’s great,” Sam said with a grin, pleased with the gift, though it was actually not the one you’d had in mind. The coat was just a replacement for ruined property. Smiling as your fingers hit the hard, brittle leather of two huge tomes you caught Sam’s eye again.

“And your actual gift; two extensive lore books on Asian and European baddies. These were fucking hard to get my hands on. I had to literally pry them out of the dead hands of a demonic librarian,” You said as you handed over the leather bound works. Sam’s eyes widened in joy at the sight of the “light” reading material. Accepting the books from your hands he looked over them before jumping out of his chair and giving you and awkward bear hug. Somehow managing to do it all without dropping the big tomes.

“I’m gonna check these out straight away,” He exclaimed before leaving the room in a hurry, like a little boy who couldn’t wait to play with his new toys. Coat on and books in his arms he basically skipped towards the door.


Looking at his back as he disappeared out the door you let out a soft chuckle. Calmly ignoring Dean’s eager green eyes as they shot back and forth from your bag of wonders to you. You contemplated dragging it out a bit more when the man in front of you started moving impatiently in his seat. Fearing for the safety of your bag you decided against teasing the big kid any further.

“Alright Dean, don’t be such a baby. I didn’t forget you,” You said with an exaggerated eye roll before your hands disappeared back into the bag. Looking for the two gifts you had for the hunter. Your hands came into contact with smooth silk first. Pulling out the blade you somehow managed to smuggle into the country and handing it gingerly to an impatient Dean. His eyes lighting up as he saw the intricate design on both cover, blade and handle.

“It’s a katana, perfectly balanced and hella dangerous. The prefect weapon for slicing of a few vampire heads clean off. The carvings on the blade are charms filled with silver. Any monster, undead or otherwise, would be in a lot of pain after a slice with this beauty. A tad bit more effective than a splash of holy water,” You explained as Dean’s fingers traced the many designs. His eyes glowing in appreciation of the lethal artwork in his hands…

“She’s a beauty,” He confirmed. Nodding happily at the gift before putting it down to thank you. Before he had the chance though you pulled out the second gift from you army issue duffle bag. Holding the considerably smaller gift between your fingers as you showed it to him.

“And this… This is the guitar pick I caught from Kirk Hammet during Metallica’s Asia Tour,” You said holding it just outside of Dean’s reach as his emerald eyes widened.

“Y-You’re kidding right?” Dean stuttered, the beautiful blade lying forgotten on the table for the time being as he stared enraptured at the tiny piece of plastic. Something so cheap, and technically worthless was worth a lot more in the eyes of a music lover. Sure you loved Metallica yourself, but through your letters it had become apparent that they meant even more to Dean than to you.

“No I’m not kidding Dean, it’s yours. Take good care of it alright?” You said with a laugh as you handed it over. Dean carefully placed it in his open palm, handling it as if it was the most valuable item on the planet.

“Thanks man! Seriously the best gifts ever!” He exclaimed. His hand wrapping securely into a fist around the small pick before he pulled you into a hug.

“No problem, I’m happy you like ‘em,” You grinned. Fighting the uninvited blush that threatened to rise to your cheeks from his proximity. You could deal with quick, flirty goodbye kisses, but actual intimacy wasn’t your strong suit. You were a hunter, born into the life, not exactly the type of 9 to 5 job that usually went along with romance, family and perfectly manicured lawns.

“Yeah, and the best gift a man like me could ask for is having you back here. Ready to help us kick some more freaky demon ass,” He said, not letting go of you as the hug went on, longer than any normal thank you hug should. His strong arms tensing as he pulled you closer. The smell of whiskey and leather reaching you as your head rested in the crook of his neck. His heart beat almost tangible as the sound of it filled your ears and beat against your own chest.

“Ah yeah, that reminds me, I have another gift for you,” You said, regaining your composure and teasing tone before slowly, reluctantly, pulling out of the hug. Intimacy was scary, but with Dean it felt right. And if you’d been hesitating about the next more or less impulsive plan of yours, your wildly beating heart at his proximity had pushed away any lingering doubt. That was how you did things. Do or die. Dive head first into any situation or end up fearing it for the rest of your life. And you wouldn’t let this be any different.

“Really? I think I’ve gotten more than enough gifts today to last me a lifetime,” Dean said, pulling away with a toothy grin and a soft tint of redness colouring his features.

“Well… If you don’t want it…” You started looking from Dean to your bag and back again, waiting for him to take the bait.

“No of course I do,” Dean said, still as fired up as a kid on Christmas morning. Eyes landing on your bag again, eagerly awaiting the next surprise to pop out from the dark material. Though his hand strayed to your thigh and rested there, keeping some contact between you as you readied yourself for your main “gift”.

Without another word you dropped your bag haphazardly to the ground and curled your fingers into the soft leather of his jacket. Before pulling him into a kiss. This time not disappearing seconds after your lips hit his. You weren’t planning on running away from it this time. Slowly you felt him respond to you as his lips moulded against yours deepening the kiss. Teeth grazing against your bottom lip as he sought permission to further deepen it. He didn’t have to ask twice as you let go of his leather coat to wrap your arms around his neck, parting your lips.

“I take that back. That was the best gift ever,” The gorgeous man said breathlessly as your lips left his. Impulsive or not, returning back to America was probably the best decision you had made in quite a while. You could even see yourself staying in one place for a while. Smiling at your own thought you let your expression soften and your eyes flutter closed as Dean leaned in to give you a little gift of his own.

“You really are my kind of lady,” He said in between kisses as you exchanged an immeasurable amount of “gifts”, catching up on the time spent apart.

“The Devil’s Own” Part 6: Ghost Stories

Bucky has found you at the club, desperate for answers that you aren’t willing to give him. In the past, you spend a fateful New Year’s Eve with the Soldier in Volgograd.

The Winter Soldier x Reader (Black Widow)

31 December, 2002 - Volgograd, Russia. Night.

You knew the Soldier, James, sat at one of the windows of the old industrial building across the street, his rifle assembled and ready for use. You peered out the window of the hotel room you were waiting in, across the snowy street and into the dilapidated concrete building; you located where he was, fifteen floors up and six windows from the right. True to form, he was hidden from your view. You were used to being on dangerous missions, often alone. Knowing he was there, with a straight view and a clean shot, made you feel safer. Safe wasn’t something you felt often, but it was a feeling that was beginning to creep up whenever James was nearby.

You waited, silently, in the hotel. The mark, a man named Luke Cage, was supposed to check into the room adjoining yours. The Program, Hydra, Alexander Pierce, and the SVR all wanted this man gone for some reason, and had sent the two of you to do it. You’d read his file; he seemed like an okay guy to you, but he was a threat to someone. You’d once again resolved yourself to do your job and not ask questions; information that was above your rank had led to him being next on your hit list.

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Just Like Mr. Darcy

In which Crane is obsessed with Pride and Prejudice, gets a nasty surprise from Zoe and kisses Abbie for the first time. 

Crane insisted on watching Pride and Prejudice again for the second time that week after thumbing through her bookcase and discovering its tattered covers lost between FBI career guides and protocols, a thick layer of dust covering its surface. He had finished the book in a day and then proceeded to discuss the volatile relationship between Miss Bennet and Mr. Darcy over a dinner of well-done steak and potatoes. When he had discovered there was a screen adaption he begged Abbie to buy it. Abbie carved through the tough meat, a careful and considerate smile plastered on her face as she tentatively chewed away, Crane merrily gloating about his newfound favorite piece of literature. It seemed rather fitting to Abbie that Crane connected so easily to Mr. Darcy- after all, they both had their insufferable and long winded tendencies.

Abbie was too tired to fight with him, that damned finger always wagging in her face, so she surrendered and let Crane watch it again. She propped up her aching feet on the ottoman as Crane dimmed the lights, the chirping birds and morning sunrise of the opening scene illuminating their dark living room. Abbie peered over at Crane, repressing a giggle as he sat at attention, his face aglow with flashing lights. “Hey. Relax, will ya’?” She smirked, sliding a leg over the length over the couch and pushing her foot against his chest, his body pressing snug into the couch.

“Lieutenant, must you?” He chastised her, grabbing her big toe between his forefinger and thumb and dangling her foot in the air before letting it drop. He straightened out the imprint of her toes from his shirt and brought his attention back to the screen. Abbie noticed a small smile dance across his lips and she folded her legs back up on the ottoman triumphantly. It was frustratingly hilarious that Ichabod refused to wear normal clothes except behind closed doors. It was even more hilarious that Abbie wished he would do the opposite. 

She loved how she could smell his oaky, brandied scent inches away, tempting her to stuff her face into the lapel of his coat. Right now there was only a whiff, a remnant of his woody fragrance. Elizabeth Bennet appeared on the screen, head in a book, so much like the Crane she found herself coming home to. She wasn’t complaining though. She’d rather have him doing nothing than be gone again. She wouldn’t be able to endure that loneliness. “Mrs. Bennet is a vision. This Keira Knightly is quite a talent.” Ichabod sighed, his face rested between his palms like a school boy in love. Abbie couldn’t help but scoff.

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