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jvngkook97 · 3 years ago

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The Final Countdown

pairing; non-idol!kim seokjin, student!kim seokjin x non-idol!reader, student!reader ft. ot7

genre; angst, fluff, s2l, college au, soulmate au

warnings; cursing, jealousy, a lot of college stereotyping, jin is a nerdy fuckboy in this one, but taehyung is worse, reader is very blunt and has no filter, has moments of narcissism, all the boys will make an appearance at some point and interact with reader in…various ways, some flirty, some not

rating; 18+

w/c; 7,125 oops they just keep getting longer

a/n; it’s been awhile since jin has seen some love, so let’s give him some, yeah? having fun with these soulmate au’s, not gonna lie! hope y’all like this one just as much as the others! like + reblog if you enjoyed, and feedback is always appreciated. <3 ps. this wasn't proofread and done through mobile so be kind pls + ty

soulmate au masterlist ~ coming soon!

Kim Seokjin. Certified campus playboy extraordinaire. Known to woo his fellow classmates not only with his good looks, but also his quick wit. His style always stayed on trend. He kept good repertoire with all his teachers, especially with the Dean. He did a lot of community work to add to his stellar college résumé, keeping up his 4.0 GPA despite his nightly and weekend activities with his frat boys, BTS, as they called themselves. No one knew what it stood for. They always seemed to travel in a group, or pairs. Rarely ever were they seen alone other than when partaking in their daily classes.

Kim Namjoon was the right hand man of the playboy, known to have a good head on his shoulders despite his choice of company. He also made sure to keep up with studies and extracurricular activities alike. Always there to bail out his best friend in times of need, and was actually good at keeping decent conversation. Unlike some of the other group members, he was the most pleasant one of the seven. Very respectful towards women, so you’ll have to give him a great mark for that fact.

Keeping up with the Kim’s, there’s Kim Taehyung. He was known as the ‘grandpa’ of the group. His clothes mainly consisted of sweater vests, corduroy pants, and shiny dress shoes. His signature was his various style hats he wore. From Fedora’s, Derby hats, Bowler hats, Newsboy hats, you name it, he’s probably worn it. With his suave charm to match, he always has some girl on his arm. Definitely one to watch out for, despite his nickname.

Jung Hoseok was the labeled ‘sunshine’ of the group. Always sporting a sparkling, white smile on his face whenever you see him. Majority of the time you would hear his loud voice, before seeing his figure literally skipping over to you. He was always on the move it seemed, being a lover of dancing. He always had headphones secured around his neck, when they weren’t positioned on his head. Wearing extremely vibrant colored clothes, it was easy to spot him from a mile away. He was the life of the party, and flirty to boot. If he beckons you with a pick up line that’s ready to fall from his lips at a moments notice, you better beware, cause that meant you were in his line of sight and he always gets what he wants.

Park Jimin shared the same sentiments as his fellow dancer, Hoseok, when it came to dancing. But other than that, they were the complete opposite. He didn’t wear vibrant clothes, but he wore a lot of designer. His grades were average, passable. Which is all he cared about when it came to doing homework. Though, if we’re being honest, a lot of the time it was someone else doing it for him. His charm knew no bounds when it came to the freshmen girls who were oblivious to his underlying motives of sudden attention towards them. But worry you not, he never slept with any of them. He had higher morals than that.

Min Yoongi was the ‘quiet’ one of the group. Like Hoseok, his own pair of headphones were basically attached to his body in some form. Everyone knew that if they were over his ears, you had no chance of getting his attention. So don’t even try. Opting to keep to himself, it was rare to see him in conversation with anyone other than his teachers when needed and his fellow group members. But he had high marks in all his classes, so not even the teachers bothered the reserved student too often. There was even a rumor going around that he must not have any teeth, cause he never smiled. Always wearing the same blank expression on his face, no matter the mood or atmosphere that hung around him.

And last, but not least, was Jeon Jungkook. He was labeled the ‘bad boy’ of the group. Piercings and tattoos alike could be seen on various parts of his pale skin. He always wore his signature leather jacket, never letting it out of his sight on the rare occasion that he took it off. Other than his jacket, his outfit always consisted of his shiny, platform, combat boots and various clothes only in the colors black and white. He carried an aura around him that was intimidating to those that didn’t know the male’s true nature. Which you would soon find out was the complete opposite of what everyone pictured him as, much to your amusement. Oh, and he had the literal voice of an angel.

So there they were, the OT7, as fans of the group called them. The ‘one true seven’. How did you get to know so much about them, and more importantly, why? Well, fortunately for you, it’s because you were assigned to the group to be a mentor of some sort, due to your higher marks and pristine reputation that even surpassed Kim Seokjin’s. Him being none the wiser, still believing that he was the best in his class or of the school itself. The Dean himself appointed you to the position in discretion, his secretary being the one to fill you in on each member, unbeknownst to the seven men. The only catch being, they could never find out what your true intentions were. So it’s like you were undercover. A spy, you thought with glee.

The mission? To survey and get close to Kim Seokjin specifically, and see if he’s truly worthy of receiving the same full ride scholarship that you are to a company only two students get accepted to every four years. Both his dream company, and yours. Luckily, that four years is during your shared senior year. The information you received of his group of friends was solely to help you get close to Seokjin through them. All becoming extremely valuable assets to your cause.

And what the Dean didn’t know, was that you had your own motives. Glancing down at the invisible counter on your wrist that only you could see, you saw the numbers decreasing rapidly. It made your once giddy smile fall flat from your face in humbling realization. You needed to find your soulmate, and you needed to find them, now. Before it was too late and both you and your soulmate would cease to exist, or in other words, you would die. And you couldn’t tell a single soul, which means neither could your soulmate. So no one could help you, but yourself. How fitting. And equally as cruel.

Thankfully, the universe had other plans for you. One being, you were able to receive one hint as to where your soulmate was located. But that one hint could only be revealed when you had 48hrs remaining on your time left. Which is exactly what you had left, give or take a few hours less. And the hint you received?

It wasn’t BTS, it wasn’t OT7, it was just Kim.

That’s all you had to go off, literally. The only way to find out if they truly were your soulmate? A kiss. A fucking kiss. Getting past the fact that it’s so cliche it physically makes your body cringe, you now had to potentially kiss three different guys who shared the same family name. And you weren’t the type of person to just go up to a random guy you never met and kiss them. That’s insane!

With no time to lose, you collected the pile of Manila envelopes that were on the Dean’s desk. Carrying the various confidential intel in your arms, you bowed to them respectfully, and made your way out of the office.

It was time to get to work.

——————————————————————

Your first victim? Kim Namjoon. The one that could hold a decent conversation and was respectful towards women. And with your luck? Hopefully he would be the only one you needed to kiss. Plus, having someone like him wouldn’t be so terrible as a soulmate. He could fit well with your ideals and future plans, you thought with a subtle nod of your head as you approached the unsuspecting male.

He was lost in his own world, reading a book on a bench that was shaded by the tall, full, tree that was located a few feet behind the bench. His legs were crossed, one hand holding the book open in front of his face that adorned his reading glasses on the bridge of his nose and the other was casually leaning against the back of the bench. Your little bookworm heart swooned at the sight before you.

Looking down at your book of choice, ‘The Great Gatsby’, a classic, you walked towards the other side of the bench that was unoccupied and sat down. Sliding down your own reading glasses on the bridge of your nose that were haphazardly just resting on the top of your head previously, you pretended to start reading. And you waited.

“In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. ‘Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,’ he told me, ‘just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.’”

Grinning to yourself inwardly, your assumptions were correct. The male next to you took the bait you unknowingly dangled in front of him, and couldn’t help but quote the book you were currently ‘reading’. Perfect. Not the quote you would’ve personally went for, but it still works. Now, to turn on the oblivious charm, you thought rather maniacally.

“Excuse me? What was that?” You asked the male next to you with feigned confusion and just a hint of mock anger, making him believe that you thought he was judging you. He couldn’t help but find your expression cute. And your literature of choice made him all the more curious about you. He wanted to find out more.

“I was uh–I was quoting your,” he gestured with the hand that was settled a hair width away on the back of the bench from your shoulder, hand dangling from his wrist, he twisted it, pointing towards your book. “–book. I hope you didn’t think I was judging you.” his eyes went wide with sudden terror. Oh shit. You didn’t think that did you? Now becoming flustered, he tried backtracking his previous, seemingly rude, statement.

“I hope she'll be a fool–that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.” You quoted perfectly to the still visibly semi panicking male next to you, deciding to end his torment. Placing a hand over your mouth, you let out a small laugh. You think he had enough for the day.

His panicked face turned into one of relief, body sagging as he let his head fall into the middle of his opened book. Shoulders shaking lightly as he let out a chuckle of his own. Straightening himself up, he doggy eared the page he was reading to mark his place. Shutting the book with a satisfying sound only true bookworms would enjoy.

Turning his body to face you, he let out a dimpled grin. Moving the arm that once rested on the bench, he held out his hand towards you to shake and gave you the luxury of his full name. You returned the sentiment in kind.

“Nice too meet you, y/n. Hopefully, we can see more of each other in the future?” He not so subtly suggested, still wearing the same dimpled grin. How could you say no to that face?

——————————————————————

Having secured a contact with Namjoon during your first successful mission yesterday, where you put your phone number in his phone. You used reverse psychology on him that put the ball solely in his court if he wanted to see you again. He will, you thought confidently. And you know for a fact that they’re having a party tonight he can use as an excuse to hang out with you. Perfecting timing, considering you now have less than 24hrs to find your soulmate, no big deal.

He then calls, or texts. You’ll act like you can’t make it on the facade of having plans with a friend. Then you’ll give false hope that maybe you can, if so and so cancels on you, which they just so happen to randomly get sick out of nowhere. And BOOM. You show up in all your glory, surprising him at the party.

Which is where you were currently at, now.

Your plan working to a T.

With several bodies gyrating next to each other in the cramped house the party was located, your eyes catch sight of your next eligible bachelor, Kim Taehyung. He was leaning with his back against the wall, a random girl you’ve never seen before already pushing her boobs shamelessly into the side of his arm. You could tell he was both aroused, yet unamused at the girl’s antics. He was probably used to girls throwing themselves on him. You were about to change that fact.

Maneuvering your way through the crowd, you hiked up your already short school girl style skirt, showing more of your thighs, leaving what was almost visible to the imagination of wandering eyes. Thigh length, white, long socks encompassed your legs. Feet were clad in your black, red bottom, stilettos. Contrary to your skirt, your boobs were safely tucked away, yet still perky and full, beneath the straining buttons of your white button up, long sleeved blouse. A beige colored sweater vest was worn on top of the long sleeved blouse. And a perfectly placed, black ribbon, was tied neatly in the middle of the vest. You were the epitome of every guys sinful, school girl uniform wearing, wet dreams.

A look that caught Taehyung’s attention the instant you walked right past him, and outside into the almost semi-fresh air, if it wasn’t for the smokers that littered the backyard in groups. If only there was a designated smoking section, you thought bitterly. Not that you weren’t whole pro ‘your body, your choice’. No, you were. And some of the best people you knew chose to smoke, you just hated the putrid smell they emitted once burned. Turning slightly to make your way to the various alcoholic drinks that lay neatly spaced out by type on a large table, courtesy of Namjoon, you have no doubt, him being the perfectionist that he is, you glanced sideways. Sure enough, you could see that he was following you. Success. God, you were good.

Mixing yourself a random concoction of the various alcoholic beverages supplied, you placed the red solo cup to your lips, and taking a swig, you yet again waited. Sure enough, only a few moments later, he sidled up next to you at the table and poured his own choice of drink, whiskey. It suited him, you thought. As soon as he was about to open his mouth and address you, a voice could be heard calling out your name from behind you. Ah, two birds with one stone, you inwardly smirked at your luck. You immediately turned towards the voice, completely ignoring the presence of Taehyung next to you.

“Hey, y/n! Glad to see you made it!” Namjoon gracefully walked up to you, his dimpled grin on full display, one you never got tired of seeing. A smile could be seen on your face as well as you looked at the welcomed intruder.

“Joonie!” You replied with the unsuspecting pet name, hoping it would make the male behind you jealous. Your own smile on full display, only growing wider, upon further realizing a second body appear from behind his figure, flanking him. Jeon Jungkook. Seriously, how good was your luck right now? You should get a lottery ticket!

Mildly amused by the pet name, he laughed. Then proceeded to engulf you in a hug, where you realized just how tall the guy was. Your head barely making it a little below his chest, where his abs surely were. Returning the hug just as enthusiastically, you both pulled away from each other. In that split second, you saw how his eyes traveled down your body, checking you out. He gave another grin of approval, but didn’t outwardly say why he smiled. But you knew. Oh, you knew.

Introducing you to his shadow, who you already knew the name of, you feigned ignorance.

“This is Jungkook, or JK, as we like to call him.” He pointed behind him, where Jungkook still stood, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but this party. That’s something you two could agree on. Surprisingly, he gave you a small smile in greeting, nodding his head at you.

You gave a polite smile back. Glimpsing at his outfit, you saw a small, barely noticeable charm stick out from the black of his leather jacket, what with it being the same color. It was a symbol you only ever saw within the confines of your dorm room, where you played your music loud in your ears so as not to wake your neighbors. So it made no sense why you saw it displayed on Jungkook’s beloved jacket of all places. But, you figured you could use it as a talking point to get the guy to open up to you more.

Stepping to the side of Namjoon, you leaned forward towards Jungkook, making him eye you warily, wondering what the heck you were doing. Namjoon turned his body sideways to watch you himself, curious. And Taehyung just took the divine opportunity to stare at your ass cheeks that were now out in view for him to admire due to you bending over the perfect amount to stare at Jungkook. Much to his disdain, Namjoon noticed him doing so and smacked the pervert upside the back of his head, glaring at him. Taehyung just gave a shrug of his shoulders and gestured to your ass in a silent way of saying ‘well what do you expect, it’s right there’.

Squinting at the upside down font of the artist in question, you had to make sure you were correct before continuing with your plan. You were right. Straightening yourself back up you gave Jungkook a smile.

“I like your charm.” You stated casually. His eyes narrowed in confusion for a second, before widening in disbelief. No one has ever acknowledged the charm on his jacket before. He was starting to like you now, even though you were acting weird just a second ago. He’d look past it though for a fellow Ariana Grande fan.

The comment made Namjoon smile knowingly, and Taehyung scoff from behind his red solo cup he was currently drinking out of. Swirling the cup of whiskey in his hand, he decided to finally join in on the conversation.

“Don’t tell me you’re also a fan of hers? That’s sorely disappointing.” He sighed in disdain, looking at you with half lidded eyes, clearly feeling the effects of his choice of drink already. A lightweight, you thought in amusement. You expected a guy like him to handle his liquor better.

Jungkook was about to speak up in the singer’s defense, like the black knight he is. Much to everyone’s surprise, including his, it was your voice that spoke up before he could. Yeah, he definitely liked you now. Especially after the jab you sent at Taehyung that had him keeling over with laughter that was a rare sight to see. Namjoon joining him in the raucous laughter, gaining the attention of the rest of group members, making them start to walk over to your group.

“Now I get why they call you grandpa!” You snapped your fingers, proceeding to point at Taehyung with your pointer finger, widening your eyes in mock shock. “Cause you nag like one, grandpa.” You emphasized on his nickname, crossing your arms over your chest and popping your hip out to the side in a sassy pose.

You expected Taehyung to get upset and stomp off in hysterics. Not what he did next. Sauntering over to you, unphased, he leaned extremely close to your face. Getting dangerously near your slightly parted lips, he then pivoted towards the side of your ear at the last second. He sultry whispered in your ear something that had you letting out a quiet gasp only he could hear. Your arms tightened underneath your breasts, pushing them up subconsciously into his chest. The cocky bastard smirked knowingly at you.

“That’s not the only reason they call me grandpa, y/n. It’s also because with age, comes experience. And I have tons of experience I wouldn’t mind showing you, all you have to do is ask. I’d love the opportunity to slide your purple thong you’re wearing down those beautiful legs of yours.”

With a kiss on your cheek, he clinked his red solo cup with yours. Taking a swig of his drink, he walked off into the crowd of party goers.

“Sorry about Taehyung, y/n. He means well, just has a funny way of showing it.” Namjoon came to his friend’s defense, as he stared at your still turned back.

“That, and he’s just a cocky asshole.” Jungkook chimed in after him. That one, you could agree with. Just as you were about to turn and face the two, yet another unexpected guest made themselves known. And not the good kind.

Apparently, you pissed off the girl from earlier that was shoving her boobs into his arm. Having witnessed your interaction with him, she probably thought that Taehyung had a genuine interest in you, which, she would be sorely mistaken, you’re sure. She strutted up to you, attempting to look intimidating. Your eyebrows raising to your hairline, you went to ask her what her problem was when she suddenly threw her drink on you, successfully getting your entire top soaked through with what smelled like straight Vodka, unfortunately. What a waste.

“Stay away from my man, you slut.” She sneered at you with her average looking face, you’ll admit. Not even giving you time to reply back, she wandered off in the direction she saw Taehyung go before her little act of vengeance.

Some party goers stopped to watch the show, but most just ignored it completely. They’re probably used to shit like this happening on a daily basis when it comes to these parties.

Without thinking, you grabbed the hem of your sweater vest and pulled it off and over your head, before turning around to face the boys again. With a look of disgust on your face, you flung the soaked material on the beach chair next to you as you spoke your thoughts out loud. You’d collect it later when it hopefully dried up.

“Who the hell just drinks straight up vodka?” All you got in return was silence, which made you confused, so you asked.

“What? What’s wrong?” You asked oblivious to your now see through attire. Forgetting you only wore a long sleeved white blouse underneath your sweater vest. The only thought on your mind being to get out of what clothes you could that made your nostrils flare in disgust, and stomach turn from the onslaught of strong alcohol.

Jungkook wordlessly shrugged off his prized leather jacket, and walked towards you. He shuffled the jacket over your shoulders, gesturing for you to put your arms through the holes, which you complied just as wordlessly. He then proceeded to zip up the jacket with his tattoo clad hand, once again taking a step back from you and giving you your space, but still close enough to hear him whisper his reasoning to you.

“Your shirt turned see through when she threw her drink on you, and you took your vest off, so–,” he awkwardly raised one tattooed hand and gestured to his jacket. “You needed it more than I did.”

When you say that your heart just about burst from the warmth of his heartwarming action–

Not thinking clearly, you threw your arms around the so called ‘bad boy’ and gave him a gentle, but firm hug in thanks. He returned the hug politely, awkwardly patting your back. You could tell he wasn’t used to affection from the opposite sex. It was endearing. Who said chivalry was dead? A voice cut through your your moment with JK. One you’ve been waiting to hear all night. The last Kim on your list, Kim Seokjin.

“Does our JK finally have a girlfriend?” He asked to the embracing duo playfully.

Mutually pulling away from the hug at the same time, Jungkook turned to the older male with a roll of his eyes, just flipping him off with his ring clad finger in the air.

You don’t know why, but as soon as you made eye contact with the eldest member, your body felt like it wanted to turn to mush. You felt hot, and it was a decently cool autumn night. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth out of pure habit and bit down on it with little force. It’s just something you did when your anxiety started to go through the roof as a way to ground yourself again.

A pulsating feeling could be felt coming from your counter, and what felt like a bolt of lightning shot through your arm and straight to your heart, squeezing it painfully. Your counter being something you purposely haven’t looked at all day, in dread of seeing just how much the numbers are quickly changing as the day goes by. A shaky exhale made its way out of your mouth, and you suddenly felt lightheaded. Weird. Very weird.

Taking a small step forward in your heels towards Jin, your ankle decided it was the opportune moment for it to give out. Collectively, there was six pairs of hands out to catch your fall, which you were thankful for. And it was Jin’s that ultimately were connected to the arms that were currently holding the weight of your body up. Heavily leaning against the male, you breathily let out your worries.

“I think–I think something’s wrong?” Your statement came out more like a question when you were done, making all the male’s near you furrow their brows in worry at your sudden state.

“Is she okay?” Min Yoongi’s voice came from out of nowhere. Jung Hoseok’s chimed in voicing his concern as well. Jimin’s head popped up from behind Jin’s shoulder to look at your now dazed face.

Having already finished your drink of choice, you let it fall to the floor. So they couldn’t check to see if maybe someone spiked your drink. But Namjoon saw when you made your drink, and didn’t see anything suspicious happen. However, you made a mixed cocktail of various opened bottles that anyone could’ve slipped something into at some point during the party. Though, looking around, he didn’t see anyone else in the same state as you, so he was out of ideas. Then it hit him, like the genius he is.

Glancing down at his own invisible counter, seeing the numbers not changing much cause he still had a lot of time in finding his soulmate, it made him think of the different textbooks he read on the matter. All the symptoms you’re showing could very well occur due to a harrowing fact that your time was almost up, and your body was starting to shut down prematurely to your end time.

Namjoon cleared his throat loudly to gain the attention of the group of males that still hovered over you with worry on their faces. They looked to him instantly and watched as Namjoon subtly gestured to his wrist. All of their eyes now looking down at their own counters, except for Jin, whose arms were still occupied with holding your body upright. Even Taehyung, who came back to the group upon the whispers he heard inside of what was occurring outside with his friends. All of them shook their heads, silently letting Namjoon know that all of their counters were perfectly fine.

Now it was Jin who suddenly felt all hot and bothered as several pairs of eyes looked at him in wonder. It made him even more flustered, and equally as confused.

“Why are you all staring at me like that?” He asked nervously.

Surprisingly, it was the quiet one that spoke up first among the male’s. Yoongi.

“Jin, check your counter.” He remarked quietly so as not to gain the attention of party goers around him. Once again, he gave a look of confusion, and now frustration. Seriously? Of all things, they think it’s cause of the soulmate shit? Yeah, right. He scoffed inwardly. No way.

It was your pathetic sounding whimper that made Jin feel differently. He looked down at your now closed eyes and saw the visible sweat forming on your now pale face. His whole body reacting when Jungkook came forward to replace his arms with Jin’s in holding you up, stiffening before relaxing because it was just Jungkook, his brother. Except he opted for the ‘bride’ hold, with one arm secured underneath your legs, and the other behind your back. He grunted towards Jin in a ‘hurry the fuck up’ kind of way. You weren’t heavy by any means, no. And he wasn’t necessarily a weakling if the size of his biceps were any consolation. But he would rather not be the center of attention either, holding the now passed out girl in his arms. He didn’t want people to get the wrong idea.

Jin sighed anxiously and shoved the sleeve of the maroon sweater he was wearing up halfway to his elbow, letting him see his counter in full view. He involuntarily gasped in shock, making his friend’s around him stare at him with a look of equal shock. Cause–

“–no fucking way.” Taehyung stated bluntly. And loudly. Getting shushed by all six members and receiving a collective, scathing, ‘shut the fuck up, you idiot!’ said in various different ways. For once, he listened.

“You good man? What’s wrong?” Namjoon asked his best friend calmly, but his face showed his true emotions to the matter at hand. If this was real? They needed to help you as soon as possible. Jin needed to help you as soon as possible.

———————————————————————

Not giving Jin the time to stutter out a response, already knowing the answer to his own question by the look Jin still wore plainly on his face, Namjoon realized they should probably take this elsewhere, and away from the million pairs of eyes that surrounded them. Nodding his head towards the direction of the house, they all followed him in a single file line inside. Walking up the stairs that were always off limits to guests, he figured this would be the best bet for some privacy with what little amount of time they apparently had. Jungkook making sure to tuck your head further into the crook of his neck to avoid you hitting your head on the wall as he walked up the stairs carefully with you in his arms.

Opening the door to his master bedroom that could easily fit ten more people, he knew it was more then enough room for all of them to stand or sit comfortably while they figure this out. Filing into the room, Jungkook hastily, but carefully, made his way to the california king sized bed located in the middle of the room and set your passed out body on top of the covers with your head landing on the fluffy pillows. Heaving out a sigh of relief as he felt the weight lift off his shoulders, he stood back up straight and stretched. He needed to start working out more, he vowed internally.

Jin cautiously sat on the bed near your feet, making the bed dip underneath his weight, and your body shift towards him unconsciously. This felt wrong, how his body seemed to naturally want to gravitate towards yours. He physically had to restrain himself from brushing the hair that fell in front of your seemingly peaceful sleeping face with his fingers. He decided it would be best to just sit on his hands to rid himself of the temptation.

Then he spoke the answer everyone was waiting for with bated breath. They stood in a semi circle around him, Namjoon laid a comforting hand on his shoulder in support. Jin gave him a small smile in response to his kind gesture.

“I think she’s my soulmate, my time is almost–,” Jin winced with a sudden pain in his chest, his hand coming up to clutch the area around his heart. His breaths came out in shallow pants. Right, he thought bitterly, you’re not supposed to talk with anyone about it until after you were officially connected to your soulmate. Stupid universal rules.

All the males threw up their hands towards their hyung in worry. Namjoon now opting to kneel next to the inwardly wounded figure in front of him.

“Jin, you know what you need to do, so do it.” He demanded, not going to take no for an answer. Now was not the time for the male to suddenly become shy around women.

“I can’t do it while she’s asleep!” He gestured wildly towards your form on the bed.

“Then wake her up.” Taehyung bluntly said, as if it were that easy. Well, maybe it was just that simple for the grandpa of the group. His antics with the opposite sex clearly impacting his way towards women, making him too abrasive to the situation.

They all collectively deadpanned at Taehyung.

You shifted your body on the bed closer towards Taehyung, your own body wanting to be closer to his. His hands twitched underneath his bottom half of their own accord, making him groan in frustration.

“Jungkook, you wake her up.” Jin announced suddenly, making the maknae’s eyes widen in fear.

“Wh–what?!” He sputtered nervously, eyes meeting his fellow group mates, wanting them to vehemently deny the suggestion for him as if he wasn’t the only one who thought it was a ridiculous thought.

“I literally just met her 20 minutes ago, like the rest of you! Why does it have to be me?!” He pointed to himself to further make his point.

“I was the one that invited her–,” Namjoon meekly tried to input into the conversation, and failed, being ignored.

“You did give her your jacket.” Jimin stated factually, not helping Jungkook in the slightest.

“It’s called being a gentleman! I was just being nice!” He yelled in sheer frustration. Just about ready to pull his hair out of his own head.

“Jesus, can you all just shut up for five seconds!” A voice could be heard coming from the bed, and it wasn’t Jin’s.

Now in a sit up position on the bed, you stared at the men surrounding you with a calm look. In doing so, it halted their previous conversation and at the same time, resolved it. Jungkook plopped into the desk chair next to him, head laying against the back of the chair in relief. Thank the fucking lord, he thought inwardly.

The next words that came out of your mouth had them all flabbergasted, especially the one closest to you, staring at you as if you were some alien.

“Jin, just kiss me for fuck’s sake so we can get this over with. Cause if it’s not you, I desperately need to figure out who it is. And you two,” you pointed aggressively at Namjoon and Taehyung, “are next if it isn’t him.” You said so matter of fact that all three men nearly fell over in sheer denial and nerves for potentially getting to kiss you.

It was Jungkook who snorted in laughter at their faces from his sitting position on the wheelie chair. Karma was a bitch.

“If you don’t want to kiss her first, I wouldn’t mind.” Taehyung raised his hand, cheekily volunteering on first dibs. Jin’s eye twitched in a random surge of anger that came over him at the mere idea of you two kissing. Fuck that.

“I’ll do it.” He said more confidently than he felt.

Namjoon stood back up straight from his kneeling position, backing away from the two figures who were about to share their first kiss, on his bed, no less. He cringed at the situation, but knew there was no other choice.

“Let’s uh,” Namjoon awkwardly cleared his throat. “Let’s give them a bit of privacy and turn around, yeah?” He looked at each member next to him who nodded in agreement. Even Jungkook wheeled around in his sitting position on the chair to give you both the needed time to yourselves.

Nodding your head in determination, eyes glancing down at the counter on your wrist, seeing the numbers plummet drastically, made your body vibrate in anticipation of what’s to come. It was now or never.

Shifting positions on the bed, Jin turned his body to now face you properly, before leaning forward on his now free hands that laid flat on the bed on either side of your closed legs supporting his weight. You leaned in, in kind, using your own hands as leverage to propel your body forward in your sitting position.

“Are you sure?” He quietly whispered, a millisecond away from touching your lips with his, searching your eyes for any hint of hesitation or doubt.

“Positive.” You whispered back confidently. Looking directly into his eyes.

Being all he needed to hear to continue, he proceeded to kiss you, eyes closing. Yours soon doing the same. It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t sloppy. It didn’t even feel like it was a first kiss, if you’re being honest. Lips molding in a way that felt like you’ve done it together countless times in the past. And maybe you did in your past lives. Who knew?

A burst of air emitted from your bodies in a tidal wave towards the unsuspecting victims that still had their backs turned. Said victims stumbling forward on their feet, Jungkook’s chair even wheeling forward on its own from the sheer force of impact it held before coming to an abrupt stop as the gust died down.

All of them slowly looking back toward you both at the same time, had them all witness a once bright glow that formed around the outline of your figures, now fade into nothing as you both pulled apart from each other.

Eyes opening at the same time, you stared at each other with the same knowing grin. Both of you not even bothering to look at your now bare wrists, knowing it no longer carries the same weight it once did prior to your shared kiss. Though yours held more than excitement for finding your soulmate in time. It also held a secret you were about to share not only with him, but with the six males that also resided in the room you were in.

And thus you proceeded to enlighten OT7 with the mission you received, giving Jin another kiss once telling him that you’ll both be going to work at the same company at the end of the year when you graduated. All six boys erupting with cheers, high fives, and fist bumps for your soulmate’s bright future.

And then you donned a cheeky, albeit slightly bashful grin and look on your face as you recounted the ways you met a few of the members. Even telling Namjoon how you baited him with ‘The Great Gatsby’ on purpose, making him chuckle at his own obliviousness to the situation, giving you a fist bump of your own as kudos for your brilliant plan.

Then you told your reasoning behind your outfit, shamefully admitting you only wore it to gain the attention of Taehyung. Which had said male grinning in utter delight, him clapping theatrically for your outfit, giving you two thumbs up. And causing Jin to scowl at him from his position underneath you. You now choosing to sit on his lap while his arms wrapped around your torso possessively. Hand flying up in the air to give Taehyung the middle finger.

Angling your body to Jungkook you once again thanked him for being such a gentleman and lending you his beloved jacket in your time of need. You going to take said jacket off to give back to him, before he vehemently denied you, telling you that your shirt is probably still see through and you should keep it on until you find something else to wear. Jin smiled warmly in response to Jungkook and his actions towards you, before letting go of your torso to shrug his maroon sweater he was wearing off, holding it up in front of you in a silent way of telling you to wear it instead.

You inwardly cringed at your display of a lovesick schoolgirl when he handed you his sweater, blushing profusely at the sentiment. Unzipping Jungkook’s jacket, you shrugged it off carefully, and extended your hand out to Jungkook who took it with a fondness only he would have for the jacket, before grinning softly at you in thanks.

Tugging the sweater on you that was two sizes too big for you, you could’ve worn it as a dress. The sleeves dangling off your arms, you clutched the ends with your fingers and brought them up to your nose, shamelessly inhaling the scent that was wholly Jin. He stared at you with a look of love that didn’t go unnoticed to anyone but you. Before he thought back to something you said during your long rant of your mission that had his eyes narrowing at you playfully.

“Wait. So you’re telling me that you have a better relationship with the Dean than me?!” He asked flabbergasted, causing you to scowl at the insinuation that you shouldn’t be the one with the better relationship.

“Excuse me?! And you should?” You narrowed your eyes back at him, challenging him.

The six males in the room looked at each other with the same ‘let’s get out of here’ face, and quietly walked out of the room the same way they came in, in single file. Jungkook being the last one out, he carefully shut the door behind him cutting off your voices successfully and followed his fellow hyung’s down the hallway and back to the party that was still raging on.

Smoothing out the jacket he now donned again, he stopped midway down the stairs. All of a sudden a certain song came blaring through the speakers, one he knew all too well. Taehyung whined in frustration, the others snickering in amusement as Jungkook loudly belted out the lyrics to his musical crush and muse, Ariana Grande.

“All that you got, skin to skin, oh my God. Don't you stop, boy–“

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highdramas · 4 years ago

Text

bandit like me | criminal!bucky

warnings: language, violence, references to criminal behavior, allusions to sexy shit, bucky being a cocky asshole

word count: 2197

summary: if you and bucky are doomed, you want to see the glorious fallout.

note: this is the start of a bucky au series which will eventually be based on the heist from oceans 8! this is just an intro to bucky’s history with the reader, and their dynamic, but i’m so excited to continue!

enjoy! <3

god, you love vegas.

there’s a certain sort of dirty glamour that you can’t find anywhere else, you think-- and while you spend the majority of your time in new york these days, you find that your heart always has a certain tug to las vegas. after all, it is where you got your start as one of the finest pickpockets and swindlers on either side of the mississippi.

among other things.

it’s where you met james buchanan barnes for the first time.

you’d heard his name like a whisper in the wind for years before you met him in person. james “bucky” barnes, criminal extraordinaire. of course, you were young, and you had stars in your eyes and you had not yet been hardened by the world. you had not yet had to kill your way out of a shady job, had not yet conned a man of everything he was worth.

that was your favorite part, you think.

taking from men what they had earned unfairly.

if justice wasn’t coming for them, you would bring it upon them yourself. you would take it all and you would feel no remorse. their wealth, their assets, their connections.

sometimes, even their wives.

but those were petty games that you had played when you were young. you like to believe that you are more mature now; both in your swindling and in your personality.

sometimes, you miss those days. you miss running with natasha and chewing up men and spitting them back out. you miss the high of pulling off a real good job. you miss watching a man crumble beneath you, begging for mercy. of course, you would never give it. but you would make a show of thinking about it, and natasha would laugh, and she would say, “stop playing with your food, honey.”

that’s another thing.

you rarely reveal your real name.

not even to your closest confidants. not even to natasha.

no, you find that there are two ways that you introduce yourself. you either stare straight with a narrow gaze, murmuring something along the lines of, “your worst nightmare.” or, you smile sweetly with an outstretched hand and your head gracefully tilted. “call me honey.”

there’s only one person that you’ve worked with who knows your real name.

and he’s sitting at the hotel bar.

already, you can feel your annoyance begin to bubble. you can do one of two things-- you can saunter over there and properly ignore him, knowing that he will notice you instantly. or, you can go up to your room.

you decide you need a drink more than you need your sanity.

somehow, you’re sure that he already knows you’re here. you approach the bar and tap on it, smiling at the bartender. “cosmopolitan.” you turn your head to the right and he’s already looking at you.

“i thought you’d never show, doll.”

a smirk begins to play on your lips, and you thank the bartender as you slide your drink to yourself. “i should get a restraining order,” you muse as you lift your glass to your lips, taking a lengthy sip. “you creep.”

bucky laughs and he takes a sip of his own drink, and you don’t even have to look to know what it is-- whiskey coke. god, you always gave him shit for it. told him he should at least drink his whiskey neat. he would always give you that same stupid smirk and he would say, “what, i can’t have a little sweet, honey?”

“that’d be no fun,” he says and god you know that he’s right, but you hate to admit it. “who you here for?”

all the attempts of not looking at him are futile, and you throw a glance in his direction. he looks as glorious and handsome as ever. the man drips with luxury. from his suit to his hair to his beard which has grown out slightly since the last time that you saw him-- everything about him tells you that he is expensive. “you think i’d tell you?”

“i’m here for pleasure, darling. i’m not going to infiltrate on your job.”

you scoff. “i have a hard time believing that. when are you ever not thinking about work?”

bucky’s desire to work is the cause of all of his success, as well as all of his problems, you think.

part of you feels sorry for him, knowing how much stress he places upon himself. another part of you can’t help but resent it, knowing it is the reason that you two would never, ever, ever possibly work as something more than easy flirtation and a good night between the sheets.

“i’m a changed man, honey.” bucky gestures to the barstool beside him. “you gonna stand and drink that all night?”

a pointed look is thrown in his direction and you finally take a seat. “you knew i would be here, didn’t you?”

“heard from nat,” bucky takes a sip from his drink. “i’ve got some intel on your hit.”

your hit isn’t your normal vegas regular. no, your hit is alexander pierce, one of the highest ranking government officials you could sink your claws into. you’d met him networking at an event in dc and he had been quite interested in you, which you always liked to use to your advantage. luring him out to las vegas took little effort and much amusement, buying you time to do your research.

you’d clear his room of all his belongings and sell off the paperwork to your government contacts who would purchase them for a steep price, and you would be on your way.

without a trace.

you were good at that part. going off the grid. no social media footprint, nothing to track you by-- you were living in the world partially invisible. you like to keep it that way.

though, sometimes it gets lonely.

no one knows that better than the man who sits beside you now.

“spit it out, then.”

bucky smiles and for a moment, you think he might say something else, but he begins to divulge quickly. information about his security detail, shift rotations. information you could’ve found out easily, but don’t mind having handed to you. but you’re less interested in that. your brows furrow as you look at him. “how far out of your way did you go to get this intel?”

he gives a nonchalant shrug. “far enough.” he smiles. “gotta help out my girl.”

“i’m not your girl,” you say with a smirk. “if anything, you’re my bitch. getting me intel, following me around to tell me.”

this gets a laugh out of him and you look forward again, finishing off your drink. “now that’s my girl.” he throws a hundred dollar bill onto the bartop and follows suit, tipping his head back to empty his cup of its contents. “walk with me?”

you stare and watch as he outstretches his hand to you. despite your better judgement, you take it. the pair of you walk side by side until you’re stepping out into the still warm air, but the breeze offers enough of a chill that the hairs on your arms stand up. bucky looks over at you and begins to shuck off his jacket, making you immediately protest. “bucky, no--”

but he’s already draping it over your shoulders, and you are tugging it just a bit closer to you, and you note that it smells like him. like that stupid ysl cologne you bought him all those years ago.

well, you didn’t buy it. you’d stolen it.

no words are exchanged as you move along on the sidewalk, watching on at people busking and performing on the street, ignoring the elsa’s and spiderman’s who try to pull you in for photo ops. one of them gets particularly aggressive and bucky pulls you into him, as if you’re not a woman who has driven a dagger into the gut of a man for far less, saying, “move along, pal.”

“so touchy tonight,” you purr, leaning into him slightly when he doesn’t remove his arm from your waist. “like the good ‘ole days.”

“oh, you remember?” bucky jokes, and it already has you laughing. “you were acting so coy back there in the bar, i thought that you might’ve forgotten me altogether.”

you shake your head and you stop in the street. you wear his jacket and he straightens his tie and he smiles down at you. “of course i didn’t.” you jut your chin up. “doesn’t change anything, though.”

what doesn’t it change, exactly?

it doesn’t change that the last time you saw james buchanan barnes, you had told him that you loved him. and he had told you that he loved you in return. and you had both agreed that it needed to end now before either of you caused irreversible damage to the other.

criminals being with criminals never ends well.

“not a thing,” he agrees with you. he pushes a piece of hair back and it’s getting harder to remember why you were so stubborn when it came to him. why, exactly, you felt the need to push your feelings away so desperately. “wish it would, though.”

“yeah.” a small, almost shy, smile works its way onto your lips. “me too.”

bucky’s jaw slacks and his fingers trail your cheek, and you can feel the cool metal of his rings against your flesh. “it’s not like this with other people, is it, honey?”

“of course not,” you nearly hiss. “is it like this with other people for you?”

bucky has a knowing sort of smirk. “no.” he wets his lips, his eyes settling on your lips for just a beat too long. “it never will be.”

the tension surrounds the both of you, and you’re the one to break it. you press your hand to bucky’s chest and push on it slightly, pushing him away, pushing away all of the feelings and confusion that comes with him. “we’re not doing this tonight. i’ve got a job to do in the morning.”

you begin to walk, and bucky is on your heels. “so our pillowtalk can be about work,” he says, and you can practically hear the cocky and sly charm in his words. “i made sure to get a king bed. and a bottle of moet.”

again, you stop, and you turn to him. you’ve nearly walked a circle around the block, and you can see the hotel not far off. “you really got info from nat about my job, got me intel to butter me up, and then want to take me to bed?” you huff and even you can’t help but laugh. “nothing’s changed, barnes.”

you set off again and he groans, following after you. “you know it’s not like that.” he catches your wrist and he spins you, getting you to face him. “it’s never that that… simple with you.”

you rip your wrist from his hand and make your way into the hotel lobby, making sure your hips swing just a bit more than usual. you remember bucky laughing and gripping those hips on a late winter night in new york city, nearly three years ago now-- “such a tease,” he had said into your ear.

“bucky,” you say as you both approach the elevators. “it’s not happening.”

he sighs and he hangs his head. “yeah.” he looks up at you. “i do miss you, doll.”

“yeah, i know.” the elevator doors open and you step into them. bucky tries to follow after you, but you hold your hand up. “i’ll be seeing you, james.”

“see you, honey.”

the doors click shut and you practically collapse. the effort of pretending to not love bucky is exhausting.

in a blur, you go to your room and unpack your things. you take off your makeup and your expensive jewelry that you plucked off the wrists and necks and fingers of random passing civilians during all of your worldly travels. when you pick your phone up, you notice that you have a text from an unknown number.

floor 45, room 7.

you roll your eyes and toss your phone back onto the bed. you’re a strong woman-- certainly strong enough to resist the temptation of knowing exactly where to find the one person that you want.

one hour passes. you scroll through instagram.

another. you finally crawl into bed.

three hours. it’s nearly three in the morning and you cannot sleep.

by four, your feet are in slippers and you wrap a silky robe around your body.

you don’t move. 4:30am blinks at you on the clock.

at five, bucky is opening the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and staring at you.

“don’t say a word,” you hiss before you’re grabbing for him, pulling him to you, and pressing your lips to his.

but bucky is a smug asshole. as you move through his suite, his hands are everywhere, and he pushes you back onto the bed. once he’s hovering over you, his lips just a ghost above the shell of your ear, he can’t help but whisper…

“looks like nothing’s changed.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #bandit like me

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hollyand-writes · 4 years ago

Note

4 for the meta asks if it hasn't been done yet?

Thanks so much for this, Diz! What a fun thing to wake up to ❤️

From the “Fun meta asks for writers” post

I already answered number 4 here yesterday, but I can answer it again!

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like):

Right! So I’m gonna share something from a fic I wrote for last year’s Black Emporium Rare-Pair Exchange, “A Marriage of Convenience”, which is an enemies-to-lovers Carver/Merrill Spy AU set in a Modern Kirkwall with magic. Starring rubbish spy extraordinaire Merrill, who is spying on Evil Garrett Hawke, but is so hapless that she keeps getting lost and accidentally ends up arranged to be married to his ex-Templar brother Carver while she’s trying to complete the heist that’s assigned to her.

I was particularly pleased that I got to crowbar into this fic the (mean but kinda funny) British expression “body from Baywatch, face from Crimewatch” (albeit as Merrill describing Carver as “body from Rialto Bay-watch, face from Crimewatch” shortly after a failed heist in which she has to fight him -- while in disguise -- to escape), but I also want to share the start of Chapter 3:

---

The things Carver did to help Garrett get elected to Viscount of Kirkwall.

Carver had danced with many women that evening, and had been thoroughly bored by their company; but if it was all to help Garrett realise his political ambitions, he supposed it was a small sacrifice to make – especially given the much larger sacrifice Garrett wanted him to make in order to help him out.

And anyway, at least this ‘smaller sacrifice’ meant he was now dancing with the pretty, dark-haired elf girl who had walked in on Varric’s arm this evening, giving him a pang of jealousy and recognition he never thought he’d feel at such a fancy, foppish, posturing affair full of wine-drinking pinkie-extenders such as this one. When he’d first met her all those years ago, he’d been too shy to talk to her. He’d been too shy to even ask Varric about her when he’d next seen him, and was forced to put her out of his mind until she showed up tonight in that figure-hugging, shimmery black dress of hers and a filigree mask that framed her beautiful big green eyes and made him desperately want to know more of her.

Carver had always been unlucky in love. And he’d thought about Merrill a lot over the years, kicking himself for being too shy to ask her out when he’d had the chance. He told himself he’d ask her out if he ever saw her again, but the Maker played a cruel practical joke on Carver when he never did see her again. One of many cruel practical jokes the Maker played on Carver – although not as painful as the one that stole Bethany’s life away before they came to Kirkwall – and now that his brother was determined that nothing would get in the way of his election as Viscount, the Maker was about to play another cruel practical joke on Carver again.

‘I’ve decided you’re getting married,’ was Garrett’s announcement once Carver had recovered from his injuries after his fight with the elven blood mage. That was typical Garrett: he could turn on the charm when he needed to, he was handsome and well-dressed enough that people listened to him when he spoke, but underneath it all Garrett didn’t care about anyone but himself.

‘That’s it?’ Carver had barked, wincing as he removed the ice pack from a particularly nasty bruise; he’d considered himself lucky the blood mage he’d fought only used defensive spells, and didn’t outright kill him. ‘No “I’m sorry you got hurt”, Brother? You’re not even gonna ask me what I think of this?’

‘Our family needs to be seen as squeaky-clean and respectable if I’m to be elected Viscount,’ Garrett went on, as if Carver hadn’t spoken at all, ‘and you have a… a reputation. We need to arrange you a marriage, and then perhaps the scandal of you getting in fist-fights in my office headquarters – not to mention your numerous failed love affairs and your status as an ex-templar – can be distracted from.’

Carver had been outraged. ‘Wait. I’m not the one who’s a politician here. It’s not important for me to have a squeaky-clean image. Why don’t you get married?’

But Garrett merely shrugged. ‘The city already considers me its hero, and its champion,’ he replied in those infuriatingly smooth tones of his, and Carver bitterly wished that his own unswerving family loyalty didn’t mean he probably would end up agreeing to whatever hare-brained scheme Garrett negotiated to secure his own power. ‘A politically expedient marriage for me can be made in good time, perhaps even after I become Kirkwall’s ruler. But you – you need to clean up your act.’

Carver clenched his fists; he was aware he looked like a petulant child, but he didn’t care. ‘And what if I don’t want to get married?’

‘Well, you don’t have to remain married for long,’ Garrett said. ‘Pre-nups can be drawn up. You only have to do it until I ascend to the Viscount’s throne. Nobody needs to know your marriage is fake or arranged until after my election.’

‘And you’re arranging it,’ Carver deduced, through gritted teeth.

‘Exactly,’ Garrett had said, looking pleased that Carver understood him at last. ‘I am holding a masquerade ball just for the purpose of beginning your courtship. The finest grandees in Kirkwall and beyond will be in attendance; every person of class loves a good party, and this one will befit the best. You are therefore free to choose a wife from this suitable pool of attendees, or I can propose to one for you – whichever you prefer, Carver. Just – don’t do a Varric and start courting a married woman, whatever you do.’

And now the masquerade ball in question was taking place, and Carver was miserable. His one saving grace was the elven woman he was waltzing around the room with right now. She seemed nervous around him for some reason. Not that that bothered him – he was nervous around her, too, for she was very pretty and if there was one thing Carver didn’t know how to do, it was to talk to a pretty girl.

Even a pretty girl that was currently in his arms.

#dismalzelenka #replies #fun meta asks for writers #ask meme #also #tagging this as #carver hawke #merrill x carver #carver x merrill #Modern!AU #modern AU #carrill #carver/merrill #merrill/carver #merrill

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aroworlds · 5 years ago

Text

When Quiver Meets Quill, Part One

Alida Quill is just fine spending hir holidays alone with a book if it means freedom from hir family's continued expectation to court and wed. When hir co-worker Ede sets hir up with a friend and won't take no for an answer, Alida plots an extravagant, public refusal scene to show everyone once and for all that ze will not date. Ever.

Ze doesn't expect to meet Antonius Quiver, a man with his own abrupt, startling declarations on the subject of romance.

It isn't courting if he schemes with hir to pay back Ede ... is it?

Contains: One autistic, aromantic organiser extraordinaire armed with coloured ink; one autistic, aromantic officer a little too prone to interrupting; and an allistic friend in want of better ways to go about introductions.

Content Advisory: Aromantic characters pressed into dating along with casual references to general amatonormativity and ableism.

Length: 2, 261 words (part one of two).

Note: Posted for @aggressivelyarospec‘s AggressivelyArospectacular 2019.

I don’t date, court, woo or pay suit to anyone.

“Do you ever do anything but work, write and read?” Ede Thimble leans across the counter and stares at Alida with intent brown eyes, ignoring the crate of straw-packed ink bottles at her feet. Ten minutes ago, she offered to shelve them. “You come here, you spend the day looking things up and writing things down, and then you go home and do the same!” She sighs before waving her arms and the trailing sleeves of her dress with extravagant enthusiasm. “Yesterday was a holiday! You could have spent it dancing, drinking or gaming! Anything involving another person!”

Alida Quill sets down hir pencil, working to hold back a frown. Hir family owns the business—the name Quill is a byword in Elsten for fine stationery—but as the youngest of the three Quill siblings, hir thoughts on matters of hiring go ignored.

Did Jan select Ede because her inquisitiveness gets under Alida’s skin?

“I didn’t just read. I went to morning service, I baked...”

Spiced apple cakes, the sultanas conveniently “forgotten”. After which ze curled up by the fire, book in hand, and spent a glorious, undisturbed afternoon flipping through a collection of fairy tales for hir catalogue of stories that don’t end in marriage. Hir siblings and their wives patronised dance halls and gaming houses, granting Alida a rare half day with nobody to annoy hir about avoiding friends and family.

“Temple!” Ede rolls her eyes and leans against the glass counter, putting fingerprints over a surface Alida just finished polishing. “You’re not even pious! Do you go anywhere not home, here or services—”

The door opens, admitting a blast of chill air and a pair of damp student mages in brown robes, and Alida grits hir teeth at the thud as the taller lets it slam closed. Both carry empty string bags and a folded piece of cream paper—good cotton rag watermarked with the Academy’s crossed-wand seal. Why the Academy wastes expensive paper on yearly materials lists, ze’ll never know.

Ede straightens and gifts the students her warmest smile. “Good morning, sirs! I see you’re looking to get ahead of the winter’s commencement class. Smart! Can I first tempt you with our newest brushes, or would you prefer me to work through your lists?”

Alida permits hirself a sigh of relief and returns to inventorying the shelf of journals and ledgers.

Ze considers Ede no small trial, between her questions and a lackadaisical attitude to cleanliness. Yet Ede’s ability to charm and flatter, a gift Alida doesn’t wish to possess, frees hir to manage stock orders, shelving and the accounts book. Ze answers questions and handles sales when needed, but Alida prefers to leave the art of convincing customers to Ede and Jette. As if either will think to dust the shelf or turn the bottles labels-outwards when displaying!

By the time Ede sends the students back out into the weather, bulging parcels wrapped in spelled wood-pulp paper, Alida stands on a stool behind the counter, positioning the last of the new inks. Ze doesn’t know how to answer people asking, for the umpteenth time, about hir prospects; ze always knows how many nibs, pens and brushes are contained within the store’s array of redwood drawers and shelves. Hir hands give the glass counters their sparkle, the wood its gleaming richness, the leather chairs by the window their waxy softness and scent. Ze laid the fire warming the shop against the cold outside. What’s wrong with finding contentment in hir work? Why isn’t this a worthy life, hir days spent in labour enough for bed, food, clothing and a reasonable number of books?

Alida wonders, not for the first time, if ze should have tried to pretend belief and gender enough to join the Sisterhood.

“Rain!” Ede declares in the smug tones of a woman who charged an extra ten cents for the protective paper. That fewer people dare the streets in a worsening squall doesn’t diminish her joy; she claps her hands, swathes of blue wool and white lace shrouding her fingers. “I love when I can make rich mages pay for something extra!”

Alida takes up hir duster, steps down off the stool, doesn’t fall when hir toes catch the hem of hir skirt and moves to hir nook by the counter. Hir small desk, hidden from customers by a display case of envelopes, holds a ledger, a brass cup of pencils, a wad of cat fur and a tin of wax polish above a drawer that doesn’t quite close. Spell more wrapping paper sheets, ze writes at the bottom of the day’s list, nodding at Ede so she doesn’t think herself ignored. “Not all the students are rich. The Academy is expensive, but that doesn’t mean some people don’t save up. Or that those people can afford to replace a soaked journal.”

Hir parents sent hir, back when the family thought Alida to make something grander of hir life through magic.

“They’re richer than me.” Ede sighs again; Alida represses the urge to mention that Jette pays Ede wage enough to support her mother and fund a penchant for lace. “I tell you what—I’ve got a friend who makes those annoying corrections, and I can’t get his nose out of the newspaper, either. I bet you two’d get on like anything. Instead of temple and reading, how about I introduce you next Endday lunch?”

Alida twists the folds of hir skirt through hir white fingers, watching the wind hurl rain against the front windowpane. Didn’t Ede understand Alida the first time ze explained this? “I don’t date, court, woo or pay suit to anyone.”

“You’re just like Antonius, Alida. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before now!” Ede opens her mouth as the door admits a regular gentlewoman in a long coat, a sopping newspaper held above her head in a vain attempt to protect her dyed suede. “Good morning, good sir! Such dreadful weather out, and so early in the season! Should I help you now, or would you like to first stand before the fireplace a minute?”

Wet newspaper, coat and boots, along with the door the customer struggles to close, create puddles enough that Alida darts into the stockroom for a mop and bucket.

Please, ze prays as ze works the mop over the floorboards, let Ede forget this plan as easily as she forgot about the crate of ink bottles.

***

“You need to meet Antonius,” Ede says the next morning, entering the shop without a greeting or by-your-leave while Alida places two small logs above the flaming kindling in the fireplace. “My cousin brought him around last night, and I swear he said five words—and most of those were contradictions! Things he read about!”

Alida takes the poker and shifts one of the logs to get more air underneath, biting hir lip. If this Antonius discussed books or articles, he likely said more than five words.

“See? You’d get on like ducks on a pond!” Ede bustles towards the fire, peeling her gloves off her hands and tucking them into her belt before unbuttoning her cloak and hanging it on the hook beside Alida’s. “Like priestesses in the vestiary!”

“Like priestesses in a room for storing clothes?” Alida asks, returning the poker to the rack beside the grate. Is this an absurd double-entendre? If so, why the vestiary? Surely there’s better places for those goings-on than the religious equivalent of a cloakroom? “And what did I say to make you think that?”

“You had that look where you’re bursting to correct me.” Ede sighs and turns to warm her back, hiking up her skirts and inching as close to the fire as is safe. “You think I don’t know that look? Alida, you must meet Antonius. He’s perfect for you.”

Ze glances around the shop in search of distraction. The counter gleams, the table with scrap for testing pens sits cleared of yesterday’s samples and the shop cat, Miep, lies asleep on the armchair closest to the fire. The floor doesn’t look dirty, but Alida will sweep while Ede double-checks the paper inventory. That should redirect her from this horrible conversation.

“I don’t date, court, woo—”

“I know! Please, Alida, please. Just once.” Ede crooks her head, fluttering her long eyelashes. She’s pretty in an artistic, skilful way, never in want of admirers: this morning she pinned her myriad black braids into labyrinthine coils and knots adorned with white lace and ribbon. “You need to talk to people! Do something on a holiday that isn’t a book!”

Alida shaves hir brown hair to avoid prolonged morning ablutions. Ze’s always wondered, but never dared ask, how early Ede rises to groom, dress, eat and walk the ten blocks along the Wine Canal.

“You’re people!” Alida jerks hir hands in frustration. “This is talking!”

“Talking talking. Talking because you want to, because it’s fun, not because we’re stuck in a shop together six days a week. Please.” Ede drops her skirts, setting thick layers of wool and cotton to rustling, and turns to face Alida, her narrow hands outstretched. The fire gifts the underside of her dark fingers, protruding from their wreaths of lace, a rich, reddish shine. “Antonius needs someone, and you need someone. You’d get on so perfectly if you wet blankets dried out enough to try!”

“I don’t—”

“Think about it. Please!” Ede whirls away from the fire and heads to the counter, perhaps surmising that she’s pushed Alida past general annoyance into I-can’t-bear-to-look-at-you anger. “Do you want me to wipe the counters?”

Alida, fighting to calm hir voice, darts into the stockroom for the broom. “No. I need you to double-check my counts on the paper inventory. All of them.”

Even Ede’s strangled curse isn’t enough to make Alida feel pleasure in revenge—not after the stabbing betrayal of one more person failing to understand hir.

***

Over the next three days, Ede finds a wealth of excuses to mention her cousin’s cousin. He was top in penmanship at school, is an amateur historian, and once rescued a drowning kitten. Alida has to admit, past Ede’s tendency to deliver criticism as an enticement, that Antonius sounds more interesting than most. Similarity holds no meaning, however, when one partner wants what the other can’t offer. If Ede can’t accept Alida, how will anyone else?

“Please, Alida!” Ede leans over the desk, buttoning her green cloak. “Just talk with him! Just once!”

Alida, counting out the cashbox and checking the total against the day’s purchases while Miep rubs his grey cheek against hir boot, looks up, tired. If ze agrees, Ede will have learnt that she can badger Alida into anything with enough time and repetition. Just the thought makes hir shudder, given Alida’s struggle to correct that error with hir siblings.

“If you don’t like him or never want to see him again, I won’t say a word. Not one. Just once. Endday lunch. By the time we walk there and back, it won’t even be an hour!”

“Ede—”

Ede looks right at Alida, her brow furrowed, her hands fisted and raised to her chin in a gesture resembling praying or begging. “Meet him once and I’ll never ask anything of you again. And I’ll come early and shovel the ash from the fireplace for the next week.”

Miep yowls, looking up at Alida. Every evening, ze checks the books, counts out the money and feeds the cat, in that order. Never has their routine stopped Miep from demanding that Alida disregard human tasks in favour of his fish or mince.

“You’re supposed to also catch mice,” ze mutters. A cat’s badgering bears no unexpected consequences. Alida need not struggle to realise what will happen if ze feeds Miep when he requests. Acquiescing to Ede, though? Meeting someone Alida doesn’t know and can’t predict?

In the shop, strangers rarely deviate from standard forms of communication and intent. They ask questions about stock, prices, quality, delivery. At temple, services provide memorisable, rote shapes of interaction. Outside those worlds, where people new to hir can and do say anything? Ede, Jan and Jette desire the unexpected; Alida doesn’t understand why.

“Alida!” Ede waves her hand in front of Alida’s face. “Don’t just ignore me!”

Can ze agree in a way that means Ede won’t again harass hir? A public refusal, perhaps? A bold, dramatic declaration of Alida’s unwillingness to engage in romance, in front of Ede and this Antonius? One announced in such a way that embarrassment will keep Ede from thinking Alida suitable for anyone? Word will come back to hir siblings, but they already think Alida prone to shameful outbursts. Why not?

Alida writes down hir last total, releases a sigh of relief at the matching numbers and carefully returns the stacks of coins to the box. “Never ask anything of me again and shovel the ash for a fortnight.”

Miep meows as the lid clicks shut, butting his head against Alida’s skirts.

Ede bounces upright in a cascade of fabric, her sleeves flapping underneath her cloak. “Done! By blood and name and craft! Oh—please wear your blue, white and red skirt tomorrow! And your red coat with the long tails and brass buttons! And your good cloak with the satin lining, because the hood looks so pretty with your eyes, and...”

Alida will feed the cat and lock the shop behind Ede, but before ze goes go home, ze has some planning to do.

And a few signs to make in coloured inks.

#aggressivelyarospectacular #aromantic #aro writing #arospec creations #actuallyautistic #fiction #original fiction #original fiction and prose #fantasy #aromantic and autistic #autism #amatonormativity #romance mention #ableism #k. a. cook #long post #very long post #extremely long post

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ecfandom · 6 years ago

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I don’t have a good name for this headcannon or pairing yet. Maybe you all can come up with something clever...

So it imagine it this way. Lexa is the shiny, new chief operating officer (COO) of the Gustav St. Helen Metropolitan Hospital in New York City, the medical industry’s cutting edge leader in biomechanics. In dire financial straights, the hospital sought out two years prior to find the uniquely talented individual to save their hospital from financial doom. They had the incredible minds and innovation, but the prior C-level executives had managed investor money so poorly, the hospital was in major debt before any of their new pipeline products could make it off the ground. They began their year-long search and landed on biomechanics’ genius, prodigy extraordinaire, Lexa Woods.

Lexa had grown up inventing almost as early as she learned to walk. She had a brilliant mathematical, engineering mind that was constantly meddlin and tinkering, making new things and improving upon old ones. By high school, after being inspired by a dear family friend, Lexa had been accepted to nearby MIT to supplement her high school engineering curriculum. By 17, she was enrolled at Northwestern Univeristy in their accelerated dual degree program in biomedical engineering and medical school. By 22 she’d graduated with honors and had her own start-up engineering firm fully funded by venture capitalists, and was in her medical internship at one of Chicago’s top hospitals. By 25, after completing her residency in orthopedic surgery, she’d left th surgical world to focus on engineering, and by 27, she had three of the most successful patents for cutting-edge prosthetics, and her electronic wheelchair was being mass-produced in 15 different countries.

She loved what she did, and she was damn good at it, but by 30, Lexa was ready to get out of the lab and try a new way to help people. She wanted to teach, she wanted to guide and create protocols, to streamline processes and create efficiencies. She wanted to continue to make an impact, but she wanted to slow down. The fast, high-life of her multi-million dollar generating inventions had helped keep her mind focused when all it really wanted to do was lament the loss of her child-hood sweetheart to budding career paths and long distance strain. But by 30, she was ready to face the fact that she would never truly be over the girl next door that’d made her world go round, and no amount of focusing on her inventions would solve that. They texted and emailed on the very rare occasion, to keep each other updated—they were friends after all and had ended amicably...as amicably as one could when losing the love of their life—but it would never be enough. She had to face it, and she had to live her life anyways. Cue, her entry into the world of administration. From 30-35, Lexa kept an associate professorship at NYU while working in and out of various executive administrative positions at labs and hospitals, gaining knowledge and experience in how to run an organization. It wasn’t until Gustav St. Helen Metropolitan Hospital approached her with their COO position though that things really began to click.

One year into that position, and Lexa had finally found a sense of peace and contentment; the purpose, she had been longing for. Her colleagues were amazing, despite the overly aggressive flirtations of some of the residence and physicians, and the annoyingly obvious gold-digging intentions of others. Though Lexa was not much of a socialite, she enjoyed their company. There was only one thing that could have made it better, and she never could have imagined it would show up in her email 13 months after beginning her new positions at the hospital.

Clarke Griffin is an incredibly trauma surgeon in need of a new attending position after her hospital in Portland merges with another and her position is claimed by an older man with seniority and a brother on the board. Always keeping an occasional eye on Gustav St. Helen’s open positions, she nearly falls out of her chair the morning she sees the posted opening for a trauma attending.

She could hardly believe her eyes. There was no way the hospital the love of her life now worked at had the exact position she needed. There was no way. This was it, she had finally gone delirious from sleep deprivation and caffeine poisoning. And yet, when she refreshed the page, there the posting was, just waiting for her resume.

Rather sheepishly, the first thing she did, was email Lexa.

Two weeks later, Clarke walks through the doors of the beautiful, state of the art GSH Metropolitan Hospital for her first round of interviews, so giddy she can hardly contain herself. It’s not the interview that has her trembling with excited nerves, it’s who she hopes to see. The one person that had been on her mind every day for the past 4, 375 days. But who was counting? Certainly not her. And certainly not for the past 12 years. The occasional chats over coffee when their schedules lined up or they landed in the same city for more than a few hours had been nice over the years, but this? The prospect of being in the same city for days, hell months or even years? Clarke could hard keep still as she sat in one of the waiting rooms for someone from HR to collect her.

When a senior white coat came out to greet her with a warm smile and firm handshake, Clarke knew she was going to like it here. Fingers crossed that she’d make it to the next round of interviewing.

She was was walking down the hall with Taryn, her first meeting host, when her name came echoing down the hallway. She should chide herself for how disgustingly predictable and cheesy her reaction is to turning around to find Lexa jogging down the glass stairs from the atrium walkway, a beaming smile on her face. Clarke can’t help it when her walk turns into a jog and her jog turns into her body slamming into Lexa’s in a desperate hug laced with delighted laughter and a smile so wide it genuinely ached.

“Hi,” Lexa says to her and it’s so familiar, Clarke wants to cry. But she’s too happy to cry, so instead, she laughs and throws her arms around Lexa’s neck once again until the taller, always quieter, always subtler woman is laughing again and squeezing her tight.

“I missed you so much,” Clarke sighs into Lexa’s shoulder, smiling again when she feels Lexa’s squeeze in response.

Clarke can feel Taryn watching them, knows she should hurry back to her and not keep their meeting waiting, but Clarke finds herself glued to the floor when Lexa holds her at arms length, hands resting lazy yet possessive and familiar on her hips for a moment before slipping away to disappear into perfectly tailored business slacks.

“It’s so good to see you,” Lexa says, a smile on her face to rival Clarke’s.

“It’s good to see you too.”

“I don’t want to hold you up. Do you have plans after?”

Clarke can only shake her head, all her energy directed at attempting to keep her smile from growing any wider.

“Will you come find me after?”

“Yes, of course,” Clarke says too quickly to be casual or cool, but she doesn’t care. The greatest love of her life, her soulmate, was standing in front of her again, and it wasn’t a dream this time. She had no idea how Lexa felt about them, if she was with someone—that thought alone was enough to momentarily cause her smile to falter—or if had long since stopped loving her. But for Clarke, the feelings had never gone away, and simply having Lexa back in her life would be enough for now.

Lexa’s smile is adorable and shy and sexy all at once as she nods at Clarke’s enthusiastic response. “Good. My office is upstairs. Kind of a maze, but just ask someone. They’ll get you there.”

“I’ll see you then, then,” Clarke says, laughing at herself when she hears how insane she sounds.

Lexa laughs too and Clarke knows she’s in danger of floating away on cloud nine any minute now.

“See you then. Break a leg in there, I know they’ll love you,” Lexa days with the calm, understated charm of her voice Clarke had fallen in love with over and over again throughout the years.

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Lexa gives her a wink and Clarke melts like the 16 year old that had melted the first time Lexa had pressed her up against the rusty door of her ‘67 chevy pick-up and kissed her breathless. “You’re gonna do great. Come find me after.”

Clarke hugs her again, taking in the first full breath she’d managed in the last 4,375 days. But who was counting?

Stay tuned for part 2!

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masterofmunson · 6 years ago

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the pretty white dress

Cop!Bucky x Criminal Profiler!Reader AU

Summary: Masquerade! Paper faces on parade. Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you.

Or: A Halloween Masquerade Ball seems like the perfect time to stop a serial killer from killing their 15th victim. That, and you have an excuse to wear the white dress again.

Word Count: 10.2k (I would say that I’m sorry, but then I would be lying.)

Warnings: VIOLENCE, a serial killer running ramped through the streets of NYC, gun violence, blood, drug use, mutilating limbs, MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT, necrophilia is mentioned (this serial killer is a sociopath, okay?), angst, hospital visit, VAGUE smut--y’all, I tried, fluff, language, stalking, murder, brief kidnapping, alcohol, trauma, panic attacks, I’m pretty sure that covers everything, if I left something out, please tell me. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HAPPY HALLOWEEN MY SPOOKY SKELETONS! This took me two whole weeks to write and edit, holy shit lol. This is my longest one shot to date and I’m so excited to share this with you guys. Also, please don’t hurt me when you find out who the serial killer is… if the shoe fits… and it does so…. Please don’t send hate lol. This one is a little darker than what I’ve written before (pretty sure I haven’t written anything dark before, but still), so please be careful when you read this! Please tell me what you think! Have a safe and happy Halloween!

Entering the precinct in a hurry, you quickly step inside the elevator and press level two before the doors slide shut. You swallow hard. Bucky, your NYPD informant, called you in a hurry nearly 20 minutes ago. He sounded nervous and on edge—two things you rarely ever hear from him.

You swallow hard when the doors ding open. Your legs shake as you step out of the elevator and greet Rhodey with a small, nervous smile before hurrying past his desk towards Bucky’s. You set your bag on his desk before slowly approaching him, Steve, and Natasha near one of the conference rooms standing in front of a large, double-sided whiteboard. You gently place a hand on his shoulder. He spins around. You smile softly at him and his shoulders immediately relax. He lets out a nervous breath and his hands twitch at his sides anxiously. You know he wants to pull you into his arms, but he doesn’t. “Hey, Bucky,” you greet him, squeezing his arm twice, your way of tell him that you’re here and safe with him, that you love him. “What’s up?” He watches you with soft eyes and he relaxes momentarily. Now that you’re here with him, he feels so much better. Your eyes glance at the board in front of you. Various pictures and files are stuck to the whiteboard with notes in the remaining spots on the board. At the top of the board, the words sent chills down your spine. The words The Blind Date Serial Killer were written in big, bold letters. You hate that you still can’t help Bucky and the rest of the precinct close the case. Nearly a year and a half into the killings and murders of 14 innocent young women, you still can’t find the person responsible. The most you know about the killer is that it is a male in his mid 30’s and that he always went to smaller restaurants that don’t have security cameras before hand until he went on the actual date. He uses the blind dating app Take a Chance to lure his victims. He never looks the same and the app is entirely anonymous, only matching pairs based on their interests alone. Only, on the date do they see each other. The precinct has gotten numerous warrants to obtain the information and somehow, whenever they get the information that could reveal the murderer, another murder occurs. Your eyes glare at the photo of the the creator of the app and CEO of the company, Loki Laufeyson as a possible person of interest. Every time you’ve spoken to him, he seems so smug and charming, as if he’s proud to know that a serial killer is using his app to murder and mutilate innocent women. You know he doesn’t care. He’s still making money, even with a serial killer on the loose. You hate it. “We just received this from the mailroom,” Bucky states, avoiding your question entirely. He hands you a slip of paper addressed to the precinct and to you. It sends a shiver down your spine. You swallow hard as you read it. Greetings, 77th Precinct and Ms. Y/n Y/l/n, the supposed criminal profiler extraordinaire. By the time you receive this letter, it will be two days after I have laid out my plans for my second annual Halloween victim, but this time, it’s special, and I want you there for the show. I want you to be there when I kill my 15th victim. I want to watch you fail again. I want to see what desperate attempts you’ve made to make sure that no one will get hurt, even though you know someone will. This fantastic spectacle will occur at the perfect place for such theatrical events to occur. Don’t forget to wear your masks. May this prove as your only opportunity to succeed, or prove to me that I can do this again, again, and again. You know what to do. -TBDSK “Have you sent this off to cartography?” you ask, glancing at Bucky as he watches you nervously. He nods. “They’re analyzing it now.” You swallow hard. “Based on the verbiage, he wants to get caught. He wants his 15th victim to be special, have meaning. If we don’t catch him, he’ll most likely disappear. We won’t be able to find him because he won’t want to be found. We have to take extra caution. Have you figured out where this is going to take place?” Natasha hands you a slip of paper, the words Loki Laufeyson’s Halloween Masquerade Ball are in gorgeous print and it makes your heart stop. Of course. He wants to do where he knows it’ll matter, where it will leave a mark. Loki Laufeyson has been allowing these murders continue without giving you and the precinct the information you’ve demanded from him. All he wants is to make money. “Shit,” you curse. “Is there a way for us to get inside?” “Already a step ahead of you, Y/n,” Steve replies, handing you an envelope inclosed with two tickets to the ball. “Nat, Sam, and I will provide backup while you and Bucky remain on the lookout. We will all be wired and we will make sure to watch your every move. Wanda has our outfits covered as well as other gear needed.” You nod. “Sounds good. Bucky and I will arrive separately, of course, but we will remain in contact.” They nod. “Your primary goal is to find who the killer is, isolate him, and make sure no one gets hurt or killed. We must stop him before his list gets to 15,” Natasha states, looking at you. You nod. Bucky shakes his head. “She shouldn’t be taking most of the responsibility. She’s not a cop. I can do that too,” he argues, standing in front of you protectively. You grasp his hand gently and pull him to stand beside you. “I won’t risk her getting hurt.” “Bucky, it’s okay. You’ll be there to protect me if I need it. I’ll have my gun under my dress. I will be just fine,” you state firmly, letting your hand slide out of his hand. His eyes meet yours as he desperately tries to get through to you without saying anything. He knows you. He knows you better than anyone. He knows how stubborn and reckless you are. He knows that you’ll do anything to prove yourself worthy of the task you’ve been given. He’s known that since the two of you have been in college together. He just doesn’t want to lose you. He never does. Your eyes soften and Bucky sighs. He knows you’ll talk about this later when the two of you are alone together. “You’ll arrive close to when the party starts. We can’t risk him killing right when he arrives with or without a woman. We have no idea what he’s planning, just that this is special to him. We have to be incredibly careful,” Steve states. You nod in understanding and Steve hands Bucky a file before dismissing the two of you. You gather your things together at his desk while you wait for Bucky to finish up a conversation with Captain Stark and some last minute paperwork for another case he’s been working on before heading upstairs to grab your things from Wanda. He grabs his jacket and walks beside you to the elevator. He presses the button and the elevator dings as the doors slide open. You step inside and Bucky joins you as you press the button for floor three. The doors close and you glance at Bucky. You reach for his hand. His gaze moves from the floor to your face. His fingers lace with yours and he squeezes tightly. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t trust your ability to do your job because I know you can,” Bucky tells you, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing your knuckles softly. “I just hate the idea of using you as bait. I can’t lose you.” You smile softly at him and squeeze his hand tightly. You return the kiss to his knuckles and the doors ding before sliding open. You let go of his hand and step out beside him. “I know, Buck. I know you’re scared that something will happen to me, but I trust your ability to keep me safe. You always have. You won’t lose me,” you reply, approaching Wanda’s desk. She leans on the counter and smirks at you and Bucky. “Good afternoon, love birds. Have you come to claim your items?” Wanda asks, biting her lip. Even after all this time, the comment still makes your heart stutter. You nod. “Great! Y/n, you’re first.” You follow her into the room and down numerous aisles of clothing and gear until you can no longer see Bucky. Wanda peeks her head down one of the aisles before spinning around to face you. “Okay, so, Steve might’ve told an itty bitty lie for you to come up and see me,” Wanda states, biting her lip nervously. You raise your eyebrow at her questionably. “What do you mean? Do you not have a dress for me?” you ask her, crossing your arms over your chest. “No, not exactly, but I do have a mask for you,” Wanda answers, handing you a gorgeous, gold and white masquerade mask. The lace patterns woven into the fabric are gorgeous twirls and waves of gold and pink. She gingerly hands it over to you. “Wanda,” you sighed, shaking your head at her, “I don’t have a dress to go with this.” She smirks at you. “You do, actually. You just haven’t worn it in a handful of years. It goes perfectly with the mask.” Your eyes widen at her suggestion. The dress she’s implying that you should wear is five years old, and you’ve only worn it once. The last time you wore it, you were 24 and you landed your first criminal profiler job and Bucky was promoted to a detective after just six months as a police technician. There’s no way that the dress still fits you. You shake your head at her. “That dress is five years old, Wanda. There’s no way that I can still fit into it,” you tell her. She raises a brow at you, not buying your shitty excuse. She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m going to pretend that I didn’t here that come out of your mouth,” she states. “You’re in better shape now than you were five years ago. Even then, you were in great shape. You’re going to fit in that dress.” You glare at her, rolling your eyes. “I’m suppose to blend in, not stand out. Wearing a wedding dress will make me stand out.” “No it won’t. The dresses are suppose to be elaborate and extravagant. You’ll fit in just fine. People won’t know that it’s a wedding dress unless you tell them or if they come up to you and ask if it is. Stop being a baby,” Wanda states, shoving your shoulder. “Bucky will!” you argue weakly, pouting at her. It’s stupid to mention, you know this, but it’s the best excuse you have. You know he will know where the dress is from. It’s from the most important day of his life. She scoffs, rolling her eyes at you. “Of course he will, he’s your husband, you dingus. What’s the fun of going undercover when you’re not suppose to know who your husband is when you can easily show him who you are with what you wear? The vision of you walking down the aisle stays with him forever.” Your heart melts at her response and warmth floods your cheeks, but you know you can say the same for you. Walking down the aisle to marry him was the most important moment of your life. He wore a handsome black suit and tie that framed his body perfectly. His hair was pushed back and he shaved his scruff because you asked him to, even though you love his facial hair. “So what you’re saying is that if I wear something he immediately recognizes, he can protect me better?” you ask her. She grins at you, clapping her hands and tapping her finger to her nose. “Ding, ding, ding! Plus, you’re absolutely stunning in that dress! Bucky won’t be able to take his eyes off you which is even better!” You roll your eyes at her and scoff, hiding the growing smile you feel. Shaking your head at Wanda, you can’t help but feel giddy on the inside. Your heart races and your palms are clammy. It reminds you of how you felt five years earlier, nervous and excited to start a new chapter in your life with the man of your dreams. This time though, it’s different and the thought of it sends chills down your spine. The only thing you’re excited about is to wear your wedding dress again. You’re riddled with anxiety. You have no idea what to expect. You’re not certain if you’re going to live to tomorrow, and you’re still not sure what exactly your game plan is to gain the attention of the man who is responsible for killing 14 innocent young women. You take a deep breath and glance at the ground before meeting Wanda’s gaze one more. You swallow hard, feeling the tears well up in the corners of your eyes. Wanda reaches for your hand, squeezing it tightly before pulling you in for a hug. “I’m terrified,” you whisper, feeling the crack in your voice as you spoke. Your arms wrap around Wanda and you squeeze tightly. “Before the serial killer stuff started to happen, we were going to start trying for a baby, but then the killings started up and we weren’t exactly sure who exactly did he like to kill. We shouldn’t have stopped trying, but we did. He just doesn’t want to lose me on the job, and I get that he fears that, but we should still be living a normal life. I’m tired of living in fear. I want this to be over.” Wanda sighs sympathetically as she rubs your back. “You should tell him. I think it’s best if you do—“ “Everything okay back there?!” Bucky shouts from the front, interrupting Wanda’s thought. “Yeah! I’m almost done, babe,” you shout back, pulling away from Wanda and wiping the stray tears off your cheeks. She squeezes your forearm and hands you a small box with your communication devices inside. You thank her with a soft smile before joining him in the front again. He gingerly takes your hand in between his. His rough calloused palm meeting yours helps you breathe a little easier. He’s here with you. He’s present. He is home. He raises a brow at you as he looks at the mask in your hand. “Cute mask, but where’s your dress, sweetheart?” Bucky asks you, pulling you into his chest as you look at him. You blank momentarily. You forgot that Wanda lied to get you up here just to give you the mask and the box. “It was a bit of a misunderstanding,” you answer. “There wasn’t anything up here for me except the mask and the box. I’ll figure something else out to wear. I’m not concerned. I’ll be okay.” He hums and glances at Wanda. “Do you need me, Wanda?” She shakes her head with a growing smirk, and hands him a gorgeous black mask. “Wear that blue suit she loves. She won’t be able to keep her hands away from you,” she answers, winking at you. It makes you roll your eyes at her. She’s such a meddler. He laughs, the sound rings through your ears and makes your heart flutter as he takes the mask. He nods and thanks Wanda before taking your hand and returning to the elevator. The door opens and you both step inside. Pressing the ground floor button, you lean into your husband. He hums and you look at him. He grins at you mischievously. You raise a brow at him suspiciously. “What are you thinking, troublemaker?” you ask teasingly. “We should recreate that elevator scene from that one movie you watched with Becca while I was out with Steve. What was it called? Fifty Shades of Grey?” he asks with a sly smirk. You gasp in both shock and in embarrassment. Jesus. Bucky is such a little shit. “Bucky!” you exclaimed as you pushed at his chest. He laughs and traps your fingers with his hand against his chest. “You’re crazy.” He grins at your bashfulness and nudges your nose with his. “You’ve been with me for what, an hour today? I have yet to cash in on a kiss with my gorgeous wife,” he murmurs, breathing you in. Your breath stutters inside your throat and your fingers grasp at the fabric of his work suit. “Well, what are you waiting for, Sergeant?” you murmur as you lean closer to him. He grins, gently tilting his head as his mouth presses against yours. You both grin as your lips meet and he gently holds your face between his hands as he presses kisses onto your lips. “I—” kiss, “love—” kiss, “you,” kiss. It makes your cheeks squeeze against his hands as you smile against his lips and laugh in between. “You’re so romantic,” you laugh against his mouth as he continued his relentless attack on your lips. You let your eyes close as he let his mouth rest on yours in a slow kiss. The doors to the elevator ding and you pull away from your husband’s embrace. He reaches for your hand as you walk out of the building towards the police parking garage where Bucky kept his car. He unlocks the car door for you and you grin at him before kissing the corner of his mouth and sliding into the car. Your eyes follow him as he opens the driver’s side door and settles behind the wheel. You take his hand and kiss his knuckles before resting both your hands on the center counsel. He smiles, squeezing your hand and drives off.

Sighing as you enter your home, you glance at the digital clock on the stove. It’s almost 3:30, which means you have more than enough time to get ready for the party. It doesn’t start until eight, and it goes until three in the morning. You have enough time to rest up, shower, look at the files again, and get ready.

Pulling out your phone, you text Peggy, Steve’s wife, asking her to stop by so she can do your hair and help you into your wedding dress. You want the element of surprise against Bucky. She texts back almost immediately, giving you an enthusiastic yes.

Dropping your keys and your bag on the counter, you tug out the files, the masquerade masks, and the box with the ear pieces from your bag. You hear Bucky lock the door behind you and hear the sound of his footsteps against the aging hardwood floor. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of your neck, taking off your coat and hanging it up in the closet. You murmur a quiet thank you as you take off your badge from your belt loop and your gun holster before setting them on the counter.

Kicking off your shoes, you set them inside the closet before joining Bucky on the couch. You curl into him instantly and your fingers slowly unbutton his shirt. He sighs in content before shrugging off the shirt. You throw it onto the loveseat and lean back into him. His lips press against your shoulder. His fingers pull away the fabric covering your skin and he hums when he feels your warm skin beneath his lips. His lips travel up your shoulder, to your collarbone, and they rest against your neck.

“You know,” he states against your skin as he leaves his mouth planted on your neck, “just because we don’t necessarily treat each other as husband and wife at work, doesn’t mean that I still won’t go out of my way to make sure you’re safe. I made a promise to love and protect you until the day I die.”

You hum, nodding and closing your eyes. A soft smile finds its way onto your face. You grab onto his hand, resting your hand on top of his and letting it rest on your stomach. “I know, Bucky. Thank you,” you mumble sleepily.

He smirks against your warm skin. “Did I tell you you looked beautiful today?”

You hum, attempting to shrug your shoulders, “Probably. I don’t remember. You always do.”

“Well you looked beautiful today,” he states, kissing the corner of your jaw. You whine, attempting to tug away from his relentless kiss attacks on your skin.

“Stop kissing me,” you grumble with a pout. “I’m tired. Let’s nap.”

He laughs and the sound of his laugh warms your insides. You smile softly, turning around in his arms and resting your head on his chest, listening to the constant beat of his heart.

“Let’s get you upstairs, Sleeping Beauty,” he teased, mumbling in your ear. You hum and he sits up. He stands up, sliding out of your warm embrace and he takes you into his arms. You cling to him as he walks up the stairs to your bedroom and he gently sets you down. “Let’s get these clothes off of you,” he murmurs, pulling your shirt off your body. His warms hands wrap around your back as he unclasped your bra, leaving your upper body entirely bare to him.

Bucky turns around, grabbing one of his shirts and he presses a soft kiss to your diaphragm before helping you into his shirt. You shimmy out of your pants and Bucky does the same, as well as discarding his undershirt.

You climb into bed together and face each other. He lets his hand rest on your hip. Your eyes flutter as you stare at him and he presses a kiss to your cheek bone. You noticeably relax and he kisses you again and again. It’s the perfect time to tell him that you want to start trying for a baby again.

“James?” you utter gently as your eyes meet. You gently place a hand on his cheek, scratching his growing stubble. He hums as he looks at you. “I want us to start trying for a baby again.” He stares at you and his grip on your hip tightens.

“Really?” Bucky mumbles with a hopeful smile.

You nod. “Yeah. I don’t want this serial killer to dictate our lives. We shouldn’t be living in fear. Besides, I can still do desk work and help out while I’m pregnant. I’ll be okay.”

He grins, rolling over so you’re pinned beneath him. His fingers push up the t-shirt that adorns your body and he leans down to press kisses to your tummy. It makes you laugh and you thread your fingers through his hair.

“We should start practicing right now,” he smirks against your skin and he pushes the shirt closer to your bare chest as he leaned down to kiss you. Your smile grows against his mouth as he drags the shirt off over your head.

“Somebody’s eager,” you tease breathlessly as he kisses along your neck. He grunts against your skin.

“It’s been four days since I’ve intimately touched your body. I’ve missed you,” he grumbles against the shell of your ear.

You fake a gasp and giggle, running your hands down his spine. “You poor baby,” you coo. “Four days is such a long time.”

He nips his teeth into your collarbone. Your fingers squeeze his hair. “Should you be teasing your husband when you’re at his mercy?” he cooed in response. “I know you’re more than eager for me to get the show started, but I don’t know if I should.”

“Hey,” you chastised him, pouting your lips at him as he looked up you, “don’t be a sour puss. I’ll push your dry spell to a week if you don’t take off my nice, pink, silky undergarments with one of your fingers or with your teeth within the next ten seconds.”

He smirks at you as he lingers down your body. He presses a kiss to your abdomen. Your heart stutters right as he lets his head rest between your thighs.

“Like this?” he whispers, dragging his teeth over your underwear and pulling it down your legs. You sigh, letting your eyes flutter close. He smirks on the inside of your thigh, pressing a kiss to your skin. “Oh, so definitely like this.”

It makes you giggle and warmth spreads through your cheeks. Bucky can never fail to make you laugh, even while you’re having sex. You love it. The connection you have between your bodies is always present, but your actions and words have always been your strong suit.

He gently squeezes the inside of your thighs before pushing them apart. You sigh in anticipation as you feel his breath linger on the inside of your legs. His eyes flicker back to you and he grins. Your eyes follow his every move. He blows his warm breath up your body just to tease you and you whine as he settles his face in the crock of your neck.

His lips kiss the side of your neck slowly and you can’t help but thread your fingers through his wild, brown hair. The feeling of his scruff against your skin drives you wild. You feel his hips roll with yours.

“Bucky—fuck,” you whine, reaching your hands behind his back as your fingers tug his boxers off his hips, “please, please, please, for the love of all things holy, do something to please your very impatient wife.”

You know without looking that his smile widens tenfold at the sound of your desperation. Cocky bastard.

He leans down, letting his lips move around your chest. “You would think after having married me and being with me for eight years would make you realize that I like to draw things out to get the full experience. We’re trying for a baby here, pumpkin,” he grins, “this must be experienced.”

“If I didn’t love you as much as I do and want to bare your children, I would kill you because of that bullshit statement. You’re killing me here, Barnes,” you whine.

He laughs, and pulls his boxers down his legs and off the bed. He reaches for your torso and helps you sit up. Your legs cling to his waist and you wrap your arms around him.

He kisses you slowly and you sigh against his mouth as his hips meet yours. Every part of your body tingles and you kiss his shoulder, letting you lips touch the scarred flesh from his first encounter with a criminal that was armed with a knife. His hands run up and down your back slowly until they settle on your hips. He squeezes them tightly and you let out a sigh of relief.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he hums, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear. Goosebumps run down your spine.

“Yes,” you answer, humming in relief.

He grins, letting his hands fall from your hips to the inside of your thighs. You fall back against the pillows and his fingers tease your skin. You whine, letting out a desperate moan.

His fingers move in perfect tandem with his hips and it makes all the difference. You whimper his name, letting your fingers thread through his hair. He grunts into your neck and settles between your legs.

A few long moments pass and he rolls over to his side of the bed. His arms pull you close. He kisses you slowly.

“Do you think that one was the one?” he grinned at you.

You laugh loudly and it’s music to his ears.

After making up the four day dry spell that your husband had so religiously complained about, you both fall asleep. His arms are loosely wrapped around your waist as you slept together and his hands gently rub at your bare tummy. A content sigh escapes your lips as you sleep and dream of an itty bitty Bucky growing inside of you.

An hour or so later, you wake up to the blaring noise of the alarm you set on your phone. You groan into your pillow and Bucky kisses your bare shoulder. You roll over to face him and his smiles at you sleepily.

“Hi,” he mumbles in his thick morning voice. He reaches to kiss your cheek.

“Hi,” you reply back, letting your eyes close briefly before forcing yourself to sit up. “Sleep well?”

He hums. “Good. You?

“Me too. I’m going to take a fast shower before Peggy gets here,” you yawn.

“Okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I’ll make dinner and look over the files.”

You hum, pressing kisses all over his face before sitting up in bed and pulling the covers off of you. Your feet settle on the floor and you walk into the bathroom, blowing Bucky a kiss before shutting the door.

Turning the shower on, you turn towards the bathroom counter and set your wedding ring down until you wait a handful of seconds until the water turns warm to step inside. You sigh as the warm water rushes down your back in warm waves as it soaks your skin and your hair.

After you shampoo and condition your hair, you lather your legs with soap before shaving. Standing underneath the shower head, you wash away the soap covering your body before turning the shower off.

Drying off, you slip into a pair of sweats and tug on an old fleece jacket before blow drying your hair and sliding your ring back on your finger.

After, you tug on a pair of cabin socks before walking downstairs to join Bucky in the kitchen. The smell of whatever he’s cooking wafts through the front room and you find him sitting at the kitchen table with the files spread around the table. He’s rubbing at his temple and reads through the files. He looks up when he hears the floorboards creak under your weight. He smiles softly and you grin at him before approaching him.

He leans back in the chair and you settle in his lap. His arm cradles your back and his fingers move circles around your hips. You press a kiss to his temple.

“What’ve you been looking at?” you murmur quietly, threading a hand through his hair. He sighs, relaxing against your touch. He presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“Just looking over your file,” he mumbles.

You hum glancing at the pile of papers in front of him. “What does it say?”

“Your name is Caroline Stevens, you’re a photographer for the event. Your media pass is right there,” he points to the bright blue badge on the table. “You’re goal is to take as many pictures of the people there. We’re going to catch him.”

You nod, “What’s your role?”

“To make sure you’re safe. I’m only meant to watch and observe you and anything that might be dangerous.”

Your fingers scratch his cheek gently and he looks at you. His shoulders are tense and his eyes are full of worry. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he states firmly, “I promise.”

You nod, “I know,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his lips.

The stove beeps and you pull away from him, standing up. Bucky follows suit as you grab two dinner plates from one of the cabinets and you hand them over to your husband. You grab the napkins and turn to face him.

“Forks, spoons, knives?” you ask.

“Forks and knives,” he answers. You grab two sets of silverware and set them on the kitchen table.

You gently gather up the loose pieces of the documents into neat piles and place them back into the correct files. You set the files on the kitchen counter and move your badges and the earpieces for communication off the table.

“Whiskey, water, or wine, babe?” you ask him.

“Whiskey. We’re going to need it,” he answers, placing the dishes on the table. You laugh and pull two glasses out of the china cabinet. You grab the glass bottle of whiskey from inside the pantry and pour it into the glasses.

You set Bucky’s glass in front of him before joining him at the table. You hum as you dig into your plate, a grilled chicken breast with alfredo sauce and noodles.

After dinner and cleaning up the kitchen, Bucky heads up stairs to shower and get ready when Peggy arrived. He kissed her cheek and headed up stairs. She grins at you and hugs you tightly before you shut the door behind you. She walks into the kitchen and sets her bag down.

“I’m so glad you called me, Y/n,” she grins as you sit down in the kitchen chair again. “I haven’t pampered you in ages!” You laugh as she plays with your hair. “What are we going for today?”

“Something that screams that I want all the men to look at me,” you answer with a smirk.

Peggy giggles. “I can most certainly do that.”

Once Peggy finishes your hair, Bucky walks downstairs and you turn your head to look down the hallway. You’re speechless.

He’s wearing the navy blue tux from Steve’s and Peggy’s wedding and he looks incredibly handsome. It’s your favorite suit on him. You stand up from your spot in the chair at the kitchen table and place your hands on his chest.

“You look so handsome, Buck,” you murmur, gently caressing his cheek. He leans into your touch and presses a kiss to your lips.

He pulls away and grins. He plays with a strand of your hair. Your hair is in a beautiful braid around the back of your head that moves into one gorgeous braid down your back. Your hair frames your face perfectly. You look ethereal.

“I love your hair, sweetheart,” he grins, kissing your cheek. “I can’t wait to see what you’re wearing.”

You grin at him and he walks to the kitchen counter, opening the box with the ear pieces inside. He places the ear piece inside his ear and you nervously play with your wedding ring. You let out a nervous breath and slide the ring off your finger. You reach for his hand and place the ring in the palm of his hand.

“Keep this safe for me, would you?” you murmur, closing his hand around the ring.

He nods wordlessly, and places the ring in his pocket for safe keeping. He wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you close. His nose brushes against yours and you press your mouth firmly against his. He caresses your cheek and breathes you in. He pulls away and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispers so only you can hear. “I will see you soon.”

You nod, “I love you too,” you reply as you watch him grab his wallet, badge, gun holster, mask, and his ticket before heading out the door.

You sigh, feeling a 50 pound weight rest on your chest. You wipe a stray tear. At least he’ll be with Sam, Steve, and Natasha now. You can’t say the same. You’re going to be all alone in an attempt to lure the serial killer. Now you’ve become a potential victim. Single, young, and you have a successful (fake) career. You glance at the clock on the oven. You have another hour until you have to be at the Loki’s Halloween party.

You glance at Peggy and smile at her. “Would you mind helping me into my wedding dress?” you ask her. She screams in excitement and claps her hands together. It makes you laugh and you walk up the stairs to your bedroom closet.

Turning on the light, you head into the back of the closet, grabbing your precious wedding dress from its hanger and handing it over to Peggy. You strip out of your sweats and jacket, letting Peggy see all the marks on your hips and thighs. Warmth covers your cheeks and she raises a brow at you.

“Bloody hell, love,” Peggy breathed through a laugh, “these are fresh, aren’t they?” You don’t answer her question and her mouth drops. “You had sex before I came over, didn’t you?”

You swallow hard. “Technically we had dinner after we napped after we had sex,” you answer, hiding your growing smile.

She scoffs at you, rolling her eyes playfully as she helps you step into the dress. She pulls the sleeves up your body and stares at you through the bathroom mirror. “You know I’m not judging you, Y/n. I think I speak for Steve and I when I say that I am happy to hear that your sex life is thriving. We are antsy to become aunt and uncle, you know. I think Steve is getting tired of hearing that Bucky is the Fun Uncle when he doesn’t have a niece or nephew to spoil rotten,” she teases.

You giggle embarrassingly and hide your face from your best friend. “Peggy, stop it! This is a weird conversation,” you laugh as she zips up your dress.

“No, it’s not. I’m your best friend. I’ve known you since we were 18. I know everything there is to know about you. I am just saying that if you happen to find out that you’re pregnant two or three months from now, Steve and I will be very excited,” she grinned.

You laugh. “Okay, okay, I understand, Peg.”

She smiles at you through the mirror, admiring how beautiful you look in your wedding dress. The dress fits your frame perfectly. It’s an off the shoulder dress with sheer, white fabric covered in flowers. The fabric flows perfectly down your waist and it makes your heart flutter. You love your wedding dress. You’re so glad that it still fits.

“Do you remember when you walked down the aisle and when Bucky saw you, he started to cry?” Peggy asks you with a fond smile.

“Yes!” you exclaim with a laugh. “And then I started to cry!” Peggy laughs and forces you to sit on the toilet seat so she can do your makeup.

After Peggy does your makeup, you thank her and promise that she can pamper you again some other time when she leaves. Shutting the door behind you, you step into a pair of gorgeous, white pumps with flowers designed on the heels. Grabbing a clutch purse from the closet, you toss it onto the table before grabbing your gun and strapping it to your thigh holster underneath your dress. You fix your masquerade mask on your face and grab all the required ID’s for you to get inside. You fix the earpiece into your ear and toss your ticket, press pass, and phone into the purse.

Walking into your home office, you grab your camera and head back out to the kitchen when someone rings the doorbell.

Walking to the front door you unlock it and open the door. Standing on the porch is Jarvis, one of the other detectives at the precinct. You greet him with a soft smile and let him inside before grabbing your purse, camera, and coat from the kitchen table. Jarvis opens the door for you and you thank him before locking it behind you.

Helping you into the limo that the precinct has for undercover operations, he shuts the door and climbs into the driver’s seat before driving off.

Another 20 minutes pass until the limo stops in front of the Laufeyson property. Camera’s flash and there’s security everywhere. Jarvis turns around and looks at you. “Good luck, Y/n. I’ll notify the team that you’ve arrived,” he tells you. You thank him and climb out.

Walking through the property up the steps towards the house, you flash the media badge that was given to you and you walk inside without a hitch. You pin the badge to the sleeve of your dress and drop your purse and your coat off at the bag checking area. You press your finger to the ear piece.

“I’m here,” you state, glancing around to see if you can spot your husband or his team.

Your eyes gaze around the vast room. A gorgeous staircase is at the center and people in their costumes are in every part of the house. In the hallways, on the stairs, looking on from the rails on the second floor, they’re everywhere. You have no idea how you’re going to catch the killer.

You notice the stage behind the staircase and the bar area beside it. It’s all too much. The music is loud, too loud, and there’s smoke and drugs everywhere. It makes you want to vomit. There is no way that you alone can find him.

“Where are you?” Steve is the first to reply.

“Just in front of the staircase. I’m in white.”

Natasha whistles in the comms. “Damn, is Bucky lucky,” she laughs.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing your wedding dress,” Bucky utters in disbelief.

You spin around in an attempt to try and find him. “Do I look okay?” you ask nervously.

“Stop trying to find me, sweetheart. You look perfect.”

You let out a nervous breath, fighting back frustrated tears. “How am I suppose to find him when there’s this many people?”

“He’s suppose to find you,” Natasha answers.

You sigh, bringing your camera up to your eyes as you start taking pictures. People instantly gather around you when they notice that you’re taking pictures for the event. They smile and shout and sing. They dance, they kiss, they drink.

Men flirt with you relentlessly and you try your best to figure out if any of them are the one you’re looking for. They compliment your dress. They compliment your legs. They compliment your eyes, but not one of them praise you for your photography. You know then that the men yearning for your attention aren’t the one man you are looking for.

You move around the home. You take pictures at the bar. You take pictures on the dance floor. You take pictures on the stairs and in the hallways on the second floor.

You’re on the lookout for Loki. You still haven’t seen him and you know he likes to make a scene. He’s a total narcissist.

“May I dance with you?” some asks behind you as you stand in the center of the dance floor. You turn around and your eyes meet Loki’s. There’s no mistaking his stunning green eyes.

He’s in a gorgeous dark green suit with a matching mask.

You swallow hard, letting the camera strap tug on the back of your neck. “Can I get a picture first?” you ask him. He laughs, nodding at your request.

You bring the camera up to your face and focus in on his face. He grins at the camera lens as you capture the picture. The camera flashes and you let it rest against your stomach.

He takes your hand in his and lets his free hand rest on your hip. He pulls you close and leads you in the dance.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Loki asks, expecting you to tell him your name.

“Caroline, and yes,” you answer, “you throw quite the parties, Mr. Laufeyson.” He hums, nodding and laughing quietly at your response. “Although I did expect your entrance into your own party to be more extravagant.”

He laughs, “I can certainly see why you expect that.”

He twirls you around before dipping you so you have to grasp his shoulder tightly to keep your feet on the ground.

Your heart starts to race as he inches closer to you and you swallow hard. Your eyes move past him towards one of the men watching you and inching closer. A man walks up behind Loki and gently presses a hand to his shoulder. You have to hold your breath to stop yourself from panicking.

He whispers something into his ear and Loki nods, gently pulling his hands away from you. “Well, Caroline, it was lovely to meet you and dance with you. I must leave to take care of some business. Enjoy yourself,” he tells you before disappearing.

You let out a nervous breath of air and watch Loki disappear. You clutch your chest and swallow hard before moving off the dance floor. You step over to the bar and order a drink before sitting down. You take a long sip.

“You okay, sweetheart?” A voice whispers beside you. You turn your head to look right at your husband. He’s nursing a drink in his hands and staring at you.

You nod. “Yeah. I just danced with Loki, freaked me out a bit,” you answer, sipping your drink.

“Take a deep breath, you got this.”

You let out a nervous breath and you itch to touch him, but you don’t. Instead, you down the rest of your drink before walking up the stairs.

Leaning against the railing, you look down at those on the dance floor and at the bar. They’re kissing and drinking and sneaking off into the bathrooms with each other. It makes you sigh. You just want to be with Bucky. You look across to the other side of the house. Bucky’s staring right at you nursing another drink. You roll your eyes. At least he’s doing his job.

“Do you not like taking photographs at events like these?” someone asks, approaching you and leaning on the railing next to you. You tense and try your best to ignore Bucky inside your ear. You turn your head, looking at the man in question. He’s handsome. His curly brown hair frames his face perfectly and he has stunning green eyes. His mask rests on his forehead when he looks at you.

You shrug. “I just didn’t expect this many people, that’s all,” you answer, swallowing hard.

He nods, sticking his hand out for you to take. “I’m Ethan,” he introduces himself.

You smile at him and nod, avoiding his hand, “Caroline.”

He laughs, nodding his head and dropping his hand to his side. You stare down at the dance floor when the lights go off. People scream and you grasp the railing tightly. You can hear Bucky shouting your name into your ear, but it’s all background noise. You feel a sharp prick in your arm. It makes you scream and the lights turn back on. You turn to face him.

Your vision is blurry and your tongue feels swollen. Your head starts to hurt. You squint to face him. “What did you do to me?” your words are slurred as you feel him grab your arm, tugging you down one of the empty hallways on the second floor.

He shrugs. “It’s a fast acting drug to copy the effects of someone who is wasted,” he answers. “Loki uses it on all of the girls.”

“It’s Loki. It’s Loki. It’s Loki,” you chant, pressing your finger against your ear. “It’s Loki. It’s Loki. It’s Loki.”

“Y/n!” Bucky shouts in your ear. “Where are you? I’m coming to get you!”

You groan as Ethan pulls you through an unmarked door up another flight of stairs. A door creaks open and through your blurred vision, you see a figure in a dark green suit at a table with a candle.

Ethan pulls out a chair and forces you to sit down. You blink fast in an attempt to keep your eyes open. You squint, knowing that sitting before you is Loki, the man responsible for killing 14 innocent young women.

“Why?” you slur in an attempt from falling asleep. You have to stay awake. You have to stay awake. You have to stay awake. “Why did you kill all those women? Why create an app to lure them when whatever you put in me is just as useful?”

“Because, Y/n,” he states, leaning against the table to get a good look at you now that you’re entirely vulnerable in front of him without hiding behind a fake name. “Women lie. They are deceitful creatures, especially on dating sites. I just did what needed to be done to punish them.”

“Why kill me, then? I’m not on dating sites. I don’t fit in with the women you’ve killed.”

He smirks at you and it sends a shiver down your spine. He knows something. Loki knows something and it scares you. You hate it. He grabs something from behind his chair and pushes it onto the table. You have to squint to see it. Your heart drops into your stomach. You feel like throwing up. Loki has pictures of you and Bucky on your wedding day. “On the contrary, Y/n, you are. Did you not give me a fake name when I asked for it? You did lie, but that’s not why I’m going to kill you. I did some digging on you because I liked you, I still like you, and I wanted you. You’re strong, powerful, independent, someone I could see myself with. Every time I saw you in the lobby of my building, every time you spoke to me, I wanted you, but when I found out that you were married to one of the many cops that is trying to thwart my killings, I was furious. You tricked me with your charm and your wit to think that I could have you. He doesn't deserve you.”

Your heart starts to race. “What are you going to do to me?”

He smirks, reaching for your hand. His fingers lace with yours and your weak attempts to pull from his touch are useless. You’re too drugged up to do anything.

“Like I do with all my victims. We’re going to eat together, and then I’m going to drug you again, and then I’m going to have my way with you. Usually, I have my way after they are dead, but you, Y/n, are special. I cannot let such a warm, beautiful body, in such a beautiful dress go to waste. This is your wedding dress, is it not? I’m going to thoroughly enjoy having you to myself, knowing that your husband can’t do anything to save you. After, like all my other victims, I’m going to kill you piece by piece,” he answers.

You scream as loud as you can, hoping by some miracle that Bucky and the others are tearing the house apart looking for you. Loki just laughs, pressing his mouth to your skin. His lips trail up your arm and it makes you want to puke.

“They cannot hear you. These walls are soundproof,” he grins. He forces a bite of steak into your mouth, forcing his hand on your jaw, forcing you to chew and swallow the meat. Tears cover your cheeks.

“Please,” you beg, “please don’t do this.”

You take your free hand under the table beneath your dress. You slowly take your gun from its holster, dragging it up your body and into your lap. Loki just smiles at you.

“Why not? You’re in this gorgeous dress, I’m in this handsome suit, why don’t we see what’s underneath?” Loki questions, standing up from his spot at the table, moving closer to you. You swallow hard, gripping the gun as hard as you can, as much as your drugged up body will allow. You silently switch the safety off and aim it at his knee caps. You glance up at him.

“Your lackey should’ve checked if I was armed,” you sneer, pulling the trigger.

Loki screams in pure agony and you shoot his other knee so he falls to the floor. You fall off the chair and you can hear Ethan running up the staircase. You aim for the opening and don’t hesitate to fire when you see him step into the room. He crumbles down the stairs.

You press your finger to your ear. “Bucky,” you sob. “I’m in a hidden room on the second floor. I can’t—I can’t move. He drugged me but I shot him. I shot Loki. He’s the serial killer.”

“We’re coming, baby! I’m coming!” Bucky shouts.

You start to panic and you watch Loki writhe in utter pain on the other side of the chair. He’s covered in blood and it stains a portion of your dress. He snarls at you.

“I’m going to kill you,” he snears, crawling his way towards you. You scream. You still can’t move your legs. You’re lucky you were even able to shoot your gun in the first place.

You hear something break just beyond the staircase and you drag yourself on your forearms away from Loki. He pulls himself forward with his arms.

The stairs creak behind you and you hear shouting behind you.

“Y/n!” Bucky shouts behind you. Natasha and Steve run in front of you, dragging Loki away from you. Steve handcuffs him and Nat reads him his Miranda rights. Bucky gently pulls you up to your feet.

“I can’t feel my legs, Buck. I can’t—I can’t,” you slur.

“What did you give her?!” Natasha snarls into Loki’s ear. He smirks smugly, staring into Bucky’s eyes.

“I use it on my victims so that they’re too weak to fight back. It makes them feel slow, loopy, wasted. It’s easy to do whatever I want with them when they’re in such a state,” Loki answers with a smirk as Steve and Natasha drag him down the stairs. Other policemen canvas the area and start taking pictures and gathering evidence. Others take care of Ethan’s body.

“I’m going to get you an ambulance, baby. The doctors are going to help you,” Bucky states, fighting back his own tears.

He picks you up in his arms as he carefully walks down the stairs. Your arms are dead weight, hanging down your husband’s back as he takes you outside to one of the many awaiting ambulances.

Paramedics take you immediately and lay you on a gurney. They place an oxygen mask over your nose and you start to panic.

“Ma’am, you need to take deep breaths. You are okay. You’re safe. We’re going to the hospital,” one of the paramedics tells you, gently grabbing your arm.

“My husband,” you cry, “where is my husband? I need my husband.”

The paramedics glance at one another before one of them climbs out and walks over to where Bucky stood at the front of the vehicle.

“Sir, do you know where her husband might be? She’s in hysterics.”

Bucky’s broken from his raging thoughts and kicks his foot off the ambulance. “I’m her husband,” he states, hurrying to the back of the vehicle and climbing inside so he can be with you.

“Bucky,” you cry, your voice muffled behind the oxygen mask. Tears dampen your hair as you continue to cry.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. They’re taking us to the hospital so doctors can take care of you. You’re safe. It’s okay,” Bucky murmurs, gently threading his fingers through your hair as the paramedics do a number of tests before shutting the doors and taking off to the nearest hospital. You fall asleep to the beat of your heart and the feeling of Bucky’s fingers through your hair.

Some time later, you wake up and you gasp in a panic. You don’t know where you are. You don’t remember what happened. The heart rate monitor starts beeping in a wild rage. It causes Bucky to stir from his restless slumber in the chair beside you with his hand in his. You’re gasping for air.

Bucky climbs out of his seat, hurrying over to your side. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Breathe, you’re in the hospital. You’re safe. He won’t hurt you anymore. I’m here. You’re okay,” he tells you, threading his fingers through your hair.

You blink at him through your tears when you notice that he’s still in his handsome navy blue tux. You burst into tears and cover your face shamefully.

“I’m sorry,” you sob. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that he had others to collect his victims to give to him. I didn’t do my job. I’m sorry.”

Tears find their way to Bucky’s cheeks and his heart breaks. He prys your hands away from your tear stained cheeks. He kisses your knuckles and squeezes your hands.

“Don’t apologize, Y/n,” he sniffs through his tears. “You did do your job. You caught him. You stopped him from murdering even more innocent women. You did it, baby. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know. It’s over now.”

He gingerly climbs into the small hospital bed and cradles you in his arms. He kisses your forehead. “I’m sorry that I didn’t do my job. I was suppose to protect you and I didn’t. I let him take you. I failed you, I’m sorry,” he cries, hugging you close.

You shake your head. “No. No. This isn’t your fault. I don’t blame you. This is not on you. Neither of us knew what would happen. We took a risk knowing that something could happen because that’s our job. This is not your fault, James,” you state firmly, sinking into his touch as silence falls between you. Your fingers move gently against his chest. “I thought I was going to die without telling you that I loved you one last time,” you confess, closing your eyes in a weak attempt to stop the tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

He kisses your forehead firmly. A tear touches his cheek. “I thought I was going to lose you. I was so scared, but you? You were so brave, so fearless. It’s one of the many things I love about you, sweetheart. You’re so strong.”

You snuggle into his side and kiss his shoulder. He takes your left hand in his, pulling out your wedding ring from the safety of his pocket. He slides it back onto your finger and kisses your knuckle gently. He wipes away your stray tears damping his shirt. You sigh. “So what did the doctors say?”

“Whatever they injected you with was some variation of a roofie. They flushed it out of your system and ran a few tests, but you’re okay. You can still walk. You’re going to be okay,” Bucky answers.

You press a kiss to his jaw. “Thank you for saving me,” you whisper. “I love you.”

“I’ll do it again and again if I have to,” he murmurs.

You rest your head on his chest, letting your eyes close. This time, you’re not in a panic to fall asleep. You’re in the arms of the man you love most. He’s your protector. He’s your life. He is the biggest part of you.

His arms wrap around you safely. He kisses your shoulder and lets his hands rest on your tummy. You hum, opening your eyes so you can look at him properly before falling asleep again.

“When we get home, we’re going to have to start baby proofing the house,” he states with a growing smirk.

You sit up and stare at him with a raised brow. “What? Pregnancy doesn’t work that fast,” you tell him, laughing at him.

He smirks at you, brushing his fingers around your tummy. “After 11 weeks go by, it probably does,” he answers. You blink at him in shock. Tears of joy fill your eyes.

“Eleven weeks?” you choke out. “I’m 11 weeks pregnant?”

He grins at you, squeezing your hand. “Yes, baby, you are. They had to run a lot more tests just to make sure that the baby was okay with all the stuff that was in your system,” he informs you.

“We’re going to be parents,” you utter in awe. “I’m going to be a mom. You’re going to be a dad. We’re having a baby!”

He laughs, kissing you slowly. You gently caress his face and grasp onto his hair. “Once they make sure you’re okay to leave, we have eight weeks of paid leave to prep for Baby Barnes,” he states.

“Eight weeks? Isn’t two months a lot?”

“Tony insisted. He wants to make sure that we both get the services we need before returning to work after what happened. We’re going to be okay,” he answers.

You sigh, pressing your lips to his tummy, you let your hands rest on top of his that were on your own stomach. You sigh.

“I have a baby in me,” you mutter in disbelief. “A baby, our baby.”

He brushes his lips against the top of your head as you drift off to sleep in his arms as he held you. His grip on you tightens. Buck will do anything for you. He would’ve probably killed Loki if he had the chance. He’s willing to risk everything if it means that you’re safe and protected. Now, it’s not just for you, it’s for your baby, too.

#bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky imagine #bucky imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic #my writing #bucky barnes au #halloween fic

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darcyfarrow2005 · 6 years ago

Text

Coleslaw and Daggers for @rumbellebigbang. Art by Mrs.-Stiltskin, story by DarcyFarrow

Pink. The mansion of the richest man in town, the fortress of the world’s most powerful sorcerer, the lair of the dark beast, is pink.

Only a trickster would paint his house pink. The god Loki, the Trickiest of Tricksters, folds his arms across his chest as he stands, feet firmly planted on the concrete sidewalk traversing the edge of Mr. Gold’s lawn--Mr. Gold’s freshly manicured lawn, with a riding Lawnboy parked beside the garage and a swing set and a Little Tikes Rider visible in the backyard.

The King of Chaos chuckles humorlessly. Oh, a fine trickster this Dark One is, projecting the guise of ordinary family man. A deceiver extraordinaire. A worthy adversary. Under Loki’s arm is the latest issue of this hamlet’s news/gossip rag, The Storybrooke Mirror, upon the front page of which is a photo of local businessman/mage extraordinaire Mr. Gold, a. k. a. Rumplestiltskin, a. k. a. the Dark One. In the photo he stands beside Mrs. Gold, a. k. a. the mortal Belle, a. k. a. the newly re-elected leader of Storybrooke (her inauguration is the article’s subject). Mr. Gold, in his three-piece Dolce & Gabbana, smiles proudly yet sternly in the photo; Mrs. Gold smiles tiredly.

Scattered throughout the rest of the birdcage-bottom liner are more mentions of their names, Gold more frequently than his wife: articles about Gold’s activities with the Chamber of Commerce, Gold’s plans to build a new apartment complex, Gold’s donation of a computer lab to the public library—then there’s the odd one, a second-page article about the Dark One’s easy defeat of a flying monkey attack on City Hall. Second-page? From the placement Loki surmises that flying monkey attacks are no big deal in Storybrooke—or at least, the Dark One’s defeat of them. In the classifieds are advertisements for Mr. Gold Pawnbroker, Gold Real Estate and Gold Rentals. It’s through this newspaper that Loki has figured out who’s the Big Mage on Campus here. It’s through some subtle questioning (and a bit of flirting with the wait staff) at the local watering hole that Loki has learned Gold’s whereabouts.

And it’s through his own clever scheming that Loki of Asgard has come to this town after his somewhat embarrassing failure to bring New York City to its knees. Licking his wounds (and wincing whenever the TV news mentions the Hulk, which occurs disturbingly often) in a Manhattan presidential suite, Loki reassessed his battle plans: where he’d gone wrong was taking a strong-arm approach. How he’d let Thanos talk him into charging in with an army, he’d never know (oh, he has his suspicions: whenever Thanos is around, Loki’s mind tends to go blank). A head-on Thorian attack isn’t the God of Skulduggery's style. The needle, the pen, the fine point of a deal, that’s more his style. A puppeteer, that’s what he is, using his magic to pull the strings.

Re-strategizing has led the Rightful Future King of Asgard to the only magic-drenched community in Midgard, where witches, wizards, sorcerers, fairies and lesser magic folk abound, just waiting to be turned toward Loki’s glorious purpose, whether by deals or by force. These folk, he’s learned from their lunchroom gossip, are exhausted from magic fights and nervous for when “the next Cora, Zelena, Pan, Hyde or Hades” will upend their town’s peace again. They need real leadership, not this paper-pusher they just re-elected. It won’t take much to bring them crawling to the God of Manipulation’s feet. A quick, humiliating, public defeat of their most powerful mage will do the trick.

Loki snorts. The Dark One, the most powerful magic user in all the realms, they think their Mr. Gold is. The front-page photo says otherwise: short, skinny, middle-aged. Not even big enough for a god to wipe Main Street with. And a pink house and a Lawnboy? The God of Disruption won’t even work up a good sweat. Without blinking an eye, Loki changes from his Armani to his leather battle gear and transports himself to the top of the garage to study the battleground.

Loki’s mouth drops open in disappointment. He finds his opponent positioned beside a barbeque grill, a spatula in hand, a pair of sunglasses shielding his eyes, and a “Kiss the Cook” apron tied over his three-piece suit. Mrs. Dark One is setting dinner places at an umbrella-protected picnic table while a toddler in a high chair is blowing and splatting spit bubbles with his grubby little hands. With a hasty glance over his shoulder to assure himself that his wife isn’t looking, Gold tosses a magic fireball into the grill to light the coals, then proceeds to lay out the hamburgers. Oh, so the Dark One keeps up this pretense of innocence for his wife, the God of Mischief thinks –as the aroma of grilling burgers tickles his nose and his stomach growls. Gold’s either very very tricky or. . . he’s a nerd in sorcerer’s clothing.

Magically transporting himself atop the picnic table (disregarding the dish of Grey Poupon his boots land in) Loki declares himself. “Dark One! I am Loki, Savior and Rightful King of Asgard, and the God of Magic and Mayhem!”

The wife grabs a dishtowel from her waistband and swats at Loki’s boots. “Look out, Mayhem. You’ve ruined the mustard and you’re trailing wet grass all over my picnic table.”

Entertained—and not frightened in the least—by the new arrival’s magical appearance, the baby bounces and claps his hands. Rumplestiltskin merely pushes the sunglasses up onto his head so he can examine the visitor more clearly. “The new paperboy, I presume?” Turning back to the grill, he salts the burgers as Loki announces his intentions, rather annoyed by the unfazed reception he’s received so far: “Didn’t you hear me? I said I’m Loki of Asgard, a God. Mayhem and mischief and magic.”

The Dark Cook glances over his shoulder long enough to make a rolling motion with his free hand, urging the god to get to the point.

Is this feigned boredom another of the Dark One’s tricks? “I’ve come to conquer this realm,” Loki insists. “I have powers beyond your wildest imaginings.”

Still intent on his grilling, the Dark One throws over his shoulder: “I have coleslaw.”

“I will crush you, this very afternoon, and I will drag you, bloody and mewling, down the street that bears your nemesis’ name, and toss your quavering, broken body across the town square for all those who once feared you to laugh as you beg for my mercy. And then when I’ve stolen every last scrap of magic from your shattered soul, I will finish you off with my daggers.”

The Dark One—Rumplestiltskin is his human name, and Loki will remind him of his puny natural state by using that name from now on—glances over his shoulder at his wife, who’s mopping up mustard and scowling. “Talks a lot, doesn’t he?”

Belle sighs in aggravation as she swipes her cloth over Loki’s boots. “Again? I'd hoped our villain-of-the-week subscription had expired.”

“It has been a while since the last attack, sweetheart. We’re overdue,” Rumplestiltskin points out.

Belle comes around to her husband’s side and pokes his ribs. “Just as well. You could use the workout.”

He kisses the top of her head. “It's because you spoil me, my love.” Annoyed at being ignored, Loki clears his throat. “Hello, danger over here or have you forgotten?” Belle reaches up to poke Loki’s ribs. “You, on the other hand, need to put on a few pounds. When was the last time you ate?”

Rumple waves his spatula at the grill. “Look, Lucky–“

“Loki,” the god corrects.

“My family and I are hungry. Can we do this magic-fight after lunch?”

The baby claps his hands.

“Now Ruuuumple,” Belle says in a warning tone, “you’re not being a nice host. You know, I bet Lucky’s so crabby because he hasn’t had his lunch yet.”

Loki is flabbergasted by this mild-mannered spousal exchange. “I appear before you threatening to destroy you and you offer me hamburgers?” Belle shrugs. “My husband’s an excellent cook. See?” She points at his apron. “He has the apron to prove it.”

Rumplestiltskin twirls his spatula. “How do you want yours?” Loki sputters. “My—?” “Burger. Rare, medium rare, medium well—” The god huffs. “I am here to destroy you and take over your kingdom, you fool.”

Belle whacks at Loki’s boots with her salad tongs. “Get down from my table before you break something.” When he’s grounded, she advises, more sympathetically, “You really shouldn't fight on an empty stomach. Look, we've got plenty: burgers, coleslaw, baked beans, salad, apple pie and homemade ice cream. Here.” She tosses a plastic ball at him. “Play catch with Gid while I toss the salad.”

With a flick of his wrist, Rumple conjures a beach blanket and plants his giggling son and the intruder in the middle of it. Befuddled (and just a little bit nervous that perhaps he’s underestimated his opponent’s power) Loki seats himself open-legged on the blanket and rolls the ball toward the baby, who claps his hands before rolling it back. As the game begins, the god mumbles, “I am a sorcerer, you idiot. I can move planets, crush stars, summon legions of demons with a single thought.” Rumple shrugs as he flips the burgers. “Okay.”

“I am a prince.” With his spatula, Rumple points one by one to his neighbors’ houses. “A queen lives there; she now sells shoes. Over there’s a former king. Three blocks down in a walk-up flat lives the Savior. In a ranch house outside of town you’ll find Queen Snow White and Prince Charming. She teaches elementary school; he raises sheep. My wife's a princess.”

Belle clicks her tongue as she drizzles vinaigrette onto the salad. “You can't turn around in this town without bumping into a blue blood.” Rumple continues, “Frankly I'd have been more impressed if you'd said you're a podiatrist. We need one of those.” “I’m a shape shifter.” Without blinking, Loki changes himself into Bruce Banner (okay, a slight misfire there: he meant to shift into the Hulk), then when Gideon yelps a protest, he quickly resumes his Asgardian form.

Rumple snaps his fingers and suddenly Thor stands in his place, the spatula having converted into a miniature Mjolnir. Looking on, Gid yawns and tosses the plastic ball.

“I always preferred you with long hair, darling, but not that long. It looks unkempt,” Belle complains, and Rumple changes himself back.

“That’s what I keep telling Thor.” Loki is growing red in the face, and it’s only partially because the baby has hit him on the nose with the ball. He tries again to impress. “I have daggers.” Rumple rolls his eyes, summons his dagger and slices a block of cheese with it.

Loki persists, “I am immortal.”

“Boring, isn't it?” Rumple scoops up a burger and slides it onto a platter. “Hey, what do you do about the gray in your hair? I notice you don’t have any. Magic or Clairol?”

The baby, apparently regretting his misaimed throw, crawls across the blanket and plops himself into Loki’s lap, then reaches up to pat the injured nose.

Belle throws another cautionary “Ruuuumple” over her shoulder. “That’s too personal a question. Besides,” she stage-whispers, “it’s obvious: he wears a wig.”

“I do no such thing!” the god sputters. But his insult cools as the baby leans up to kiss his nose and inquire, “Aw bedder?”

Belle ties a bib around the baby’s neck before kissing his plump cheek. “Good boy, Gid.” She straightens, a fond smile spreading across her face. “Say, Lucky—”

“Loki.”

“Would you mind if he sat on your lap while we eat? He’s taken a shine to you.”

“I am the God of Chaos! I don’t hold babies!”

Belle pats his shoulder. “There’s a first for everything. Here.” She ties a bib around Loki’s neck. “He’s likely to spill on you.”

Before the god can complain further, a cloud of purple magic has enveloped him, and when it clears he finds himself seated at the picnic table with the giggling Gideon securely perched on his knee. “I’ll fix your plate for you. Onions on your burger? Ketchup? We’re out of Grey Poupon.” She tosses that last comment out with a blatant glare at Loki’s boots.

“I could conjure—”

“No, you don’t, Rumple. You know how I feel about magicked food.” She spears up a pickle for Loki’s plate. “Magicked food is all calories and no flavor, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know.” Loki grabs the baby’s fist just in time to prevent him from slamming it into the potato salad. As the baby blows a raspberry, the god pushes the potato salad bowl out of reach.

“Now don’t be rude, Gideon. I’ll make your plate next.” She smiles at Loki. “I have to cut his food into small bites. Baked beans? Jello?”

The god’s stomach growls and he blushes as he relents. “I wouldn’t mind a scoop of that potato salad, Mrs. Gold. The burgers smell delicious.”

“My own secret recipe.” With a slight smirk, Rumplestiltskin seats himself across from the god, then cuts one of the burgers into tiny bits. “I’ll fix Gid’s plate, sweetheart. You sit down and eat.”

“Thanks, darling. I am famished.” For such a petite mortal, Loki thinks as he watches her load her plate, she sure can pack it away.

Suddenly she stands. “I really do want some mustard. We have a bottle of French’s in the fridge. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Politely, the men pop up on their feet as she vacates the table for the house. Once she’s inside, Rumplestiltskin passes his glowing hand over the pitcher of iced tea and it transforms into a reddish-brown liquid, of which he pours out two glasses. “Grunhelian whiskey. I understand it’s a favorite of you Asgardian gods. Just don’t tell Belle.”

Loki raises an eyebrow (this Midgardian knows more than Loki thought he would). He thinks about tattling to Belle: a domestic spat between the Dark One and the Missus could be entertaining. But after his first sip he decides the whiskey’s almost as delicious as the burger, so he’ll keep Rumplestiltskin’s secret. As Belle jogs back to the picnic table with a mustard jar, Rumple hastily swipes his glowing hand over the pitcher again, then blinks innocently. As she seats herself, he pours her a glass, for which she thanks him, then he forks up a bite of burger for his son. The boy giggles as he clamps his tiny teeth on the fork to yank the meat off. Loki almost forgets to eat as he stares, flabbergasted, at the incredible sight of this realm’s most powerful mage forking food into a baby’s mouth. Belle nudges Loki, offering the yellow bottle. “Mustard?”

“No, thank you; I prefer my burgers free of condiments.”

“A purist, huh. I take that as a compliment to my grilling,” Rumplestiltskin nods. He pushes the platter of burgers toward his guest. “Have another.”

The meal is tasty and filling, Loki has to admit. He’s beginning to feel replenished. Maybe it was a good idea to eat before fighting. He gulps down the last of his tea, then tilts his empty glass toward his host. “May I have some more of that refreshing tea, Mr.—ah, Dark One?”

Belle being occupied with her mustard, Rumplestiltskin fills the glass, then passes his hand over it with a wink. When Belle glances up, biting into her burger, her husband blinks innocently again. Belle smiles at him, a smear of mustard crossing her cheek. Rumplestiltskin reaches across the table and dabs it away with his napkin.

The baby on Loki’s lap grabs up a handful of Jello and pops it into his mouth. He then reaches up to offer Loki a handful of the green goo. The god accepts the offering with a weak smile—as a god, he’s quite used to receiving lame offerings. He swallows, then introduces a topic of conversation. “What is a dark one, anyway?” Rumple licks up a drop of ketchup before it can escape his bun. “Kinda hard to explain. What is a god?” “Kinda hard to explain.” “I suppose I could have ruled a realm or two. It just seemed like too much trouble. Hard enough being the town’s primary solver of magic problems. You'd be surprised how much trouble a town of two thousand souls can get into.” “I was the king of Asgard for a while. Sort of. I enjoyed it immensely, except for the ‘help me, Your Highness’ part. Yeah. Too much trouble.” “So why do you want to defeat Rumple and rule Storybrooke?” Belle asks. Loki shrugs. “It's what I do.” “Why?” “To have people kneel at my feet, of course.”

Rumple scowls. “Sounds like something Cora would say.” “And look where that got her,” Belle points out. “So Lucky, what else have you accomplished in life?” Loki tries to think, but Gideon’s now stuffing a handful of lettuce in the god’s mouth. “I led an army.” “We don't have an army,” Rumple remarks. “I wrote and directed a critically acclaimed play.” Belle perks up. “Oh, now that we could use. Regina wants to start a community theater. It would pay minimum wage but we could cut you in on the box office.” Having watched The Lion King on Broadway three times, Loki understands the concept of box office. “A theater director?” “We could upgrade the title: King of Thespians or God of Stagecraft or something like that.”

It’s almost tempting. He did have a lot of fun staging The Tragedy of Loki. But he shakes his head to clear it of the pleasant buzz that’s creeping in. “Thank you, but no. I came here to conquer and rule.”

“So unoriginal.” Belle clicks her tongue. Then she brightens. “Rumple, I hate to send him away empty-handed though. If he really wants to run things in Storybrooke, maybe we could give him a trial run, see how he does.” Rumplestiltskin considers. “Sure, why not? Everybody else has had a turn at being mayor.” Belle waves her fork in the air. “I'm on my third term and frankly I'm bored with it. I'd rather go back to shelving books.” The Dark One suggests, “Suppose you appoint him Mayor for a Day.”

Loki gapes as his fate cavalierly ping-pongs between husband and wife. “That's a wonderful idea, Rumple. Then the three of us could spend a day at the beach.” “Fine for us,” Rumple agrees, “but let's see how he handles the garbage collectors strike, the collapse of the troll bridge, the graffiti sprayed on the sheriff's office and rising unemployment among displaced royals.”

“Maybe a fresh perspective is just what we need.” Belle stands, removing a slobbered-on hamburger bun from Gideon. “All right, young man, now you’re just playing. Time for your bath.” She cradles her son against her chest, and the men rise again until she’s walked back into the pink house.

“More Grunhelian ‘tea’?” Rumplestiltskin offers. Loki nods. In silence they polish off their burgers and the pitcher.

“Look, you folks have been quite hospitable, and I hate to be rude, but I’ve got a job to do and I mustn’t be dissuaded.” Loki waves his hand over the pitcher, refilling it. He pours glasses for his host and himself. “I am, after all, burdened with glorious purpose.”

“Intent is meaningless, dearie.” Rumplestiltskin nods toward the house, where, from an open second-story window, a lullaby can be heard. “That’s what means something. You’ve never been married, have you?”

“Haven’t had time for it.”

“I get it. Needed to get your career off the ground, make a little money first.”

“Glorious purpose, remember.”

“Remind me, what is that purpose, again?”

Loki’s feeling a little lightheaded and it’s hard to focus. “I have to prove. . . something. To my father. That he was wrong about me.”

“Daddy issues,” the Dark One drawls, his speech beginning to be slightly affected by the whiskey. “Let me tell you about daddy issues.”

“Oh no, let me tell you. You know what I found out, the day after I turned 1400? The man I thought was my father actually stole me. Took me from my people, when I was a newborn. My real father abandoned me because I was a runt.”

“Mine named me Rumplestiltskin as a way of getting back at me for being born. And then he dragged me along to every con game, card game and pocket picking he got involved in. He used me as a distraction, because I was a runt and people felt sorry for me.”

“Odin promised me I’d be king when he stepped down. Instead he chose my brother—or, rather, the guy he’d claimed was my brother, before Odin told me the truth. But he really wasn’t, because, you know, the stealing thing.”

“The big, blond muscle head,” Rumplestiltskin says sympathetically. “I have one too.” He pitches his voice in a mocking, nasal whine. “Charming!”

Loki helps himself to a refill. “It was right after he announced that Thor would be king that he told me about that. Odin lied to me all those years. He never intended to make me king because I wasn’t his blood.”

“At least you got a childhood. When I was seven, my father took me to Neverland, then abandoned me so he could magically de-age himself and become Peter Pan.”

“My foster father was ashamed of me, because I was a Frost Giant.”

“My father was ashamed of me because I existed. He said it was my fault that my mother ran off and became a fairy.”

Loki mumbles, “I did have a pretty good mother—foster mother. That is, until I caused her death.”

“I killed my mother. Because she kidnapped my son and made him her slave and would’ve killed my wife.” Rumple shrugs. “And a whole lot of other people, but who cares about them. Lay a finger on Gideon or Belle, though, and I’ll rip your heart out. Literally.”

“You’ll have to show me that trick sometime. Assuming I let you live after I beat you to a pulp.”

“You mean, assuming I let you live after I turn you into a snail. A signature piece of mine.”

“Snakes, that’s my signature piece.”

Rumple magically refills the pitcher, then pours out glasses for the two of them. “Hey, did you ever try changing sides, becoming a hero?”

“Well. . . .” Loki runs a finger through the condensation on his glass, making a little river of it. “Those roles were already filled. Besides, Thor made it look so boring, all those push-ups and power shakes and the weight-lifting.”

“You could join the Avengers. That looks pretty exciting.”

“I thought about joining the Justice League, just to piss off my brother.”

“I converted, for their sake.” The Dark One nods toward his house. “Being a good guy is boring, but having a wife and baby who look up to you makes it worthwhile. But damn it, sometimes it gets on my nerves, the way this town treats me. They’re always running to me when they have a curse they need breaking. You know what the last one was? One of the nuns accidentally cast it: the Curse of Ingrown Toenails. Everyone in town got ‘em. Guess who they all came whining to.” He points to his chest. “And what thanks do I get for fixing their little problems? Today’s a local holiday. Take a guess who it’s in honor of. It ain’t me, that’s for sure. It’s Grumpy Day. The dwarves’ version of Chicken Little. A dwarf gets a day named after him, but do they ever think to thank the sorcerer who cured their ingrown toenails?”

“My brother gets fifty-two name days every year. Thor’s Day.”

“They named a street Captain Hook Way. When Hook married the Savior, three hundred people showed up for the wedding.”

“Would you really want three hundred people at your wedding?”

“No, but Charming could’ve sent a card. I kinda thought we were bros, at one point.”

“Here.” Loki squints as he stares at his hand. It takes some doing, and it’s not exactly what he intended—he was going to conjure a jack-in-box, but it comes out as a Jumbo Jack Cheeseburger. “A belated baby shower gift.”

Rumple looks perplexed, but he accepts the present. “Thanks.”

“Having a street named after me would be nice,” Loki considers. “Loki Lane.”

“Same here. In gratitude for the toenails.”

“Your name wouldn’t fit on a sign.”

“‘Rumple Road’ would work. Not that I really care for the glory, but it would give my son playground bragging rights. You know, ‘My dad’s the most powerful sorcerer in the realm so they named a street after him.’”

Loki almost reminds Rumplestiltskin that after their magic fight, there’ll be a new “most powerful in the realm.” But he’s not so sure that he’s ready for that fight just now; he’s feeling a bit woozy. Besides, a more irritating thought nags at him. “They named a radioactive element after my brother. What did they name after me? Woodlice.”

The Dark One sighs. “I miss the old days, when being a sorcerer really meant something, you know. When people would trade you their favorite cow for a spell to cure a toothache.”

“Yeah. Or when turning yourself into a snake could a rise out of your brother.”

A shout is carried across the summer breeze: “Lucky! Lucky! Lucky!”

“That’s my wife,” Rumple informs his guest. “She thinks if she calls a sorcerer’s name three times, your magic will make you appear to her. An old superstition that I’ve never disavowed her of. I’d be obliged if you’d go to her.”

“Sure.” Loki ambles, a bit unsteady, across the lawn to position himself beneath the second-story window. “You summoned me, Mrs. Gold?”

She leans her elbows on the window sill. Behind her, he can hear the baby crying. “He won’t go to sleep. He wants his Uncle Lucky to tuck him in.”

He tries to remember what he came here for, and how fierce he needs to be to pull off the threat. “Me? I’m the God of Upheaval. I don’t do tuck-ins.”

“Please?” Belle urges. “He won’t go to sleep without a kiss from Uncle Lucky.”

“A kiss?!”

“And a story. Just a short one. ‘Snow White and the Eight Dwarves,’ ‘Emma and the Beanstalk,’ ‘Rumplestiltskin and the Big Bad Bear,’ it doesn’t matter. He loves them all. Please, Lucky?”

With a huffed “My name is Loki,” the god swings open the screen door and plods, leaning against the walls, up the stairs to the nursery, where the baby suddenly hushes and begins bouncing on his crib mattress instead. As Loki enters the room, slightly disoriented by the dancing pink elephants and the prancing white unicorns plastered on the walls, Gideon stretches out both arms, leaving the god no choice but to pick him up, cuddle him and brush away the quickly drying tears. Belle ushers them to a rocking chair. “Here, sit here. You look a little unnerved. When was the last time you had a nap?”

The baby plops himself down hard on Uncle Lucky’s knee. “Tory,” he demands, then remembers his manners and asks more sweetly, “Tory, peeeeese?” When the lad reclines his head against Loki’s chest, the god relents. “All right. This is one my mother used to tell me and my brother when we were small. It’s called ‘Clever Loki and Crybaby Thor.’ Once upon a time in a land far, far away. . . .”

Before the story is finished, Gideon is fast asleep, drooling on Loki’s leather. Not that the god minds—though he’d never admit that aloud. He secretly smiles as Belle ports the baby to bed. In unison they lean over the crib, watching the toddler’s tiny chest rise and fall in peaceful slumber. “You ought to have one of these,” Belle whispers. “Now that’s a glorious purpose.” She wraps her hand around his arm and steers him back downstairs. “Get a job, a place to live—Rumple has some vacant luxury apartments—and I’ll introduce you around. We seem to have an unusually high population of unmarried young women in this town.”

They find Rumplestiltskin lovingly scrubbing down his grill. He glances up at them. “Did you get Gideon settled?”

Belle nods. “Lucky would make a wonderful babysitter.” She’s reaching for the pitcher and her husband’s eyes widen in alarm, for his secret is about to be exposed. Loki leaps to the rescue, transporting himself over to the rose bushes. “What kind of roses are you growing, Mrs. Gold?” She forgets the tea to escort her guest through the garden. With a sigh of relief, Rumplestiltskin converts the contents of the pitcher to Lipton’s. He mouths something at his rescuer, something that appears to be thanks, buddy.

Buddy. No one has ever called the God of Mischief buddy before. As Belle stoops to sniff her roses, Loki ponders. “Who would I talk to about that mayor job?” He’s feeling all soft and warm and hopeful inside.

Maybe it’s just the tea.

FIVE DAYS LATER

“And we haven’t had a raise in two years! Do you know how much a quart of milk costs these days? We need a COLA!”

“What about our fire truck? We asked for a new truck a year ago. The truck we have now, we have to push it downhill to get it started!”

“If Gold gets to build a 40-unit apartment complex on the west side, why can’t I build a moat around my house?”

“You think you got trouble now. Just wait until the Sanitation Workers Union goes on strike!”

“These zoning laws are anti-business and draconian. Keep up with the times, Mayor!”

“Your predecessor did a weekly story time for the first-grade class. What are you going to do to support education in this town?”

Mayor for the Day Loki Laufeyson Odinson flips a switch on his desk intercom. “Ariel! Ask Granny to deliver a pitcher of Grunhelian tea, immediately!” Then he lowers his head to his mahogany desk and slowly, deliberately bangs his forehead against the wood.

#rumbellebigbang #Rumbelle big bang #rumbelle fic #mrs.-stiltskin loki

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inspiteofthewinter-blog · 6 years ago

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Aujourd’hui réhabilitée, cette gracieux Quandâtisse a conservé timbre aspect rustique après proposition au regarde seul vue exceptionnelle sur cela paysage environnant. Ces espaces commun alors privé sont connectés en unique contenance à sournois hauteur traversé en rare passerelle ensuite rare cour-piscine, élément richesse de cette maison. Déœil-de-perdrixée avec amour chez ses propriétaires, elle-même se vit pareillement seul écart en compagnie de sérénité, à l’égard de jeux, en compagnie de rêve puis en compagnie de lumière. d'un bardage Pendant mélèze, dont tranche avec ces menuiseries en fonte laqué black. Ces clôtures ont également été raccommodage Parmi mélèze contre en compagnie de souligner le hauteur Chez semence puis d'Pendant offrir rare déchiffrage homogènon. Nous avons vêtu Chez œuvre certaines règles basiques en même temps que l'Urbanisme bioclimatique. également ces baies vitrées ouvertes au Midi ensuite à l'levant près profiter des apports solaires, tandis dont'au nord après à l'ouest, les façades sont pratiquement aveugles. Mitri Hourani, ce créateur des frappe Boboboom ensuite Mixplus, nous-mêmes convocation à découvrir timbre intérieur décalé après underground, à tonalité reproduction. Les garde-organisme en compagnie de l'escalier et à l’égard de la trémie sont eux-mêmes-autant ratureés Parmi filets textiles montés sur avérés cordon Parmi kevlar, conférant souplesse ensuite légèreté visuelle à l'unité. Ce défi majeur du projet fut en même temps que réaliser l'cohérence avérés travaux en trois salaire après demi, sans tenir pu exécuter en tenant sondage destructif Pendant montée. Les structures du plancher élevé avaient nettement fléchie ensuite nécessitaient seul réparation complète, elles ont été renforcées dans l'addition en même temps que pourtourés métalliques, ce niveau du plancher supérieur a été rattrapé dans cette mise Parmi plazza d'seul couvercle sèche. facebook Twitter Pinterest agrandir 9 - Seul maison avec cité à trois niveaux parmi Agnès & Agnès Architecture (l'extérieur) - Les décoloréériaux soulignent l'évolution en compagnie de l'existant approximativement la nouvelle alourdissement : intégral la façade conservée a été correction avec bizarre enduit minéral gris clair, pendant qui les contingent neuves sont habillées Clause de débit Constat en compagnie de répérage assurés fadeériaux alors produits contenant en compagnie de l'amiante Certificat d'urbanisme Dossier de diagnostics façon Diagnostic à l’égard de performance énergétique Etat en tenant l'équipement intérieure d'électricité Etat assurés risques naturels, miniers et technologiques Récit avec l'état en compagnie de l'aménagement intérieure de émanation Plans interieurs de cette maison Tableau des mesurages Renseignements et visites Situé Dans remplie montagne, ce chalet orient un ancêtre ferme d'alpage où le bosquet ensuite cette Caillou sont rois. À l'état brut ou travaillées, ces une paire de matières instaurent rare apparence moderne alors confortable dans cet intérieur. Ces espaces banal ensuite privé sont connectés selon un mesure à sournois hauteur traversé en un passerelle alors rare cour-piscine, élément capital en même temps que la maison. Déœil-de-perdrixée en compagnie de affection selon ses propriétaires, elle-même se vit pareillement un distance avec sérénité, de jeux, de rêve après avec lumière. L'utilisation assurés lames de bosquet permet en même temps que créer unique Passe-temps avec transparences à la nébulosité tombée. ça Divertissement à l’égard de lamelles se retrouve également dans ce design intérieur. >> A feuilleter si >> Quel valeur contre un augmentation Pendant boqueteau ? Agnès & Agnès Logement Couloirs, paliers, escaliers ? Personne en même temps que ces espaces en compagnie de mobilité n’a été négligé dans la rénovation de cette maison alsacienne du déravissant du XXe siècle. Repas bleutée avec poutres apparentes - Alors pendant l'été ? Celui-ci arrive que la maison tantôt légèrement surchauffée. Le débordure à l’égard de toit sur le pignon sud levant Imparfait pour réellement protéger du planète aux heures chaudes. Seul casquette à l’égard de 3 m aurait été parfaite néanmoins n'entrait pas dans ceci balance avec bâtiment, après l'idée a été abandonnée. Nous avons néanmoins installé unique radiateur électrique à inertie au rez-en compagnie de-chaussée contre les jours où Icelui fait vraiment glacé. Alors la Pièce à l’égard de bains est équipée d'unique sèche-Sacoche.a

En compagnie de sa vue panoramique sur ce pesant en compagnie de la Tournette, cette maison contemporaine a de qui créer sûrs envieux ! Située Parmi Genève après Annecy, elle prend naissance au affection d'unique hauteur pentu en compagnie de 1000 m2 qui fait la particularité avec cette nouvelle construction. Rare logement avec 800 mètres carrés dans le Mi-journée parmi MMXI (l'extérieur) - Malgré unique dénivelé avec sept mètres Dans les centre élevé après fugace du terrain structuré Dans estrades successifs, cette tour dans le jardin protégé est savoureuse ; ponctuée en même temps que dalles Selon Pavé auprès-Semisées avec gazon après d'emmarchements Pendant Pavé au direct assurés murets avérés restanques anciennes. MMXI / Alexandre Nossovski alors Emmanuelle Gaudillat architectes

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Celui-ci ligne d’Assemblage Parmi ces deux mondes se poursuit dans ces espaces intérieurs dont marient l’intimité alors la défense naturelle offerte parmi la colline en compagnie de le thème en tenant cette jaillissementée ouverte sur l’Écart : ces contingent... Maison en compagnie de jardin puis terrasse Perigueux (24) Édifiée sur ces doyen remparts en même temps que la république, cette maison aux prestations haut à l’égard de série avance rare entrée, une Chère équipée ouverte sur haut Fête/sélumière d'environ 135 m², 5 chambres. À l'intérieur avec cette maison, une succession d'passage régulières permet cette collecte d'être hors. L'ensemble orient recouvert d'unique bardage minéral de teinte naturelle gris-bleu s'accordant en compagnie de ton environnement. La discrétion levant ce Vocable d'Agencement du projet. Ainsi l'cohérence sûrs abords a été naturellement repris Selon engazonnement après plantation additionnelles. L'apparence ultime du projet présente bizarre frimousse harmonieux, sobre et circonscrit. Les années 50 ont continuellement inspiré cette créatrice irlandaise Orla Kiely. Dans sa maison semblablement dans ses recueil, elle-même fait pétiller ce vintage. Découvrez bruit conformation 100% rétro aux couleurs vintage... Dormir au davantage profond de cette conscienceêt creusoise, lové dans des nids, avérés cocons puis certains terriers, c’est celui-ci dont propose Lou Fagotin à ceux-ci dont veulent demeurer cette naturel autrement dans sûrs cabanes extraordinaires. Bizarre concis Foire façje petit bureau, bizarre belle pièceci avec être lumineuse après conviviale après surtout rare décoration à cette fois caractère après Cruche lequel lui confère intégral timbre charme. Unique maison d'architecte ut'levant cette certitude d'tenir bizarre maisons différentes des autres, se démarquant sans forcément être extravagante. Restreint parmi ces réglements urbains, cette hauteur du Sinonâtiment est faible et s'insère parfaitement dans l'environnement. Vue imprenable sur les Invalides, beaux cubage alors déœil-de-perdrix raffiné font en tenant cet habitation d'architecte réalisé en Sylvie Blanchet, rare référence Chez matière en compagnie de design puis d'élégance. Couloirs, paliers, escaliers ? Personne en même temps que ces espaces avec déplacement n’a été négligé dans la rénovation en compagnie de cette résidence alsacienne du déplaisant du XXe siècle. Sandrine Zigler-Munk orient la créatrice de cette cette marque Mérésine. Elle nous-mêmes présente un maison à ton tableau, classique néanmoins modernisée en sûrs Peintures, sûrs photos, sûrs trompes l'oeil lequel enèment l'endroit.

Bizarre architecte nous-mêmes ouvre les portes en même temps que à elle maison en même temps que vacances de la côte Midi-africaine où se côtoient poutres apparentes, murs blanchis à cette chaux puis meubles vintage. Visite guidée d'un maison tournée alentour cette spontané.a

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phoebehalliwell · 3 years ago

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ladies & gentlemen we are officially one month out from the most pink-hued holiday of the year which can very clearly only mean one thing: the charmed rare pair extraordinaire is back! this is a little mini event designed to celebrate the couples that we simply do not celebrate enough. to vote for a pairing, click here! there is no limit to how many times you can vote / how many couples you can go for. you know what they say: all's fair in love & war. go crazy. & happy valentine’s day!

#i still haven't made a banner for the poll yet but that is bc rare pair edits are diffuclttttttt lol #like damn they aint got no scens together huh #anyways. it's time lads it's so time #i love valentine's day right up there w halloween & christman why u ask? wardrobe centric holidays <3 #all my outfits at wokr the like two week leading up to the holidays are like color coded fun headbands season earring the full nine yars #charmed #a charmed rare pair extraordinaire

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coolepowersthings · 7 years ago

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Practical Magic

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Note: So, this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, and it’s just a little imagine. Feedback always welcome. As with most things, I have no idea what I’m doing lol.

Sirius Black gave an annoyed sigh and pushed his hair out of his face. It was rare to see Black in the library, and even more surprising to see him actually studying. You had noticed him sit down at the table next to yours almost immediately, and since his entrance into your peripheral vision he had become quite the distraction, with all his hair flopping and exasperated noises. You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading, but clearly whatever it was had him frustrated.

“Those words too big for you, Black?” you asked. “I think they keep some early readers behind Madam Pomfrey’s desk. I’m sure you could ask her for them.”

Sirius just glared at you.

“Oh, sod off Y/N,” he said. “You know I can read. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be running circles around you in defense.”

You rolled your eyes. You and Sirius had bantered like this for years. You appreciated that he could be witty, and you were pretty sure he liked that you gave his sass right back to him.

“Defense is more practical magic than anything else,” you said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Potter teaches you without you having to read a bloody word. I already know that Peter writes all of your essays.”

“Wormtail is a fine bloke,” Sirius mumbled, looking back down at his book. “And, I would note, you didn’t argue about me getting higher marks in defense. Glad to see you at least have a bone of humility in your body.”

You scoffed and shook your head.

“Always delusions of grandeur.”

Sirius smirked then and looked up at you. “Always,” he said.

“Shhhh!” said Madam Pomfrey, shooting you both a look from her place behind the desk. You pretended to look abashed and mouthed a silent “sorry” in her direction. Then, you swooped up your book and your bag, and quickly redeposited them on the table where Sirius sat.

“I’m sorry, can I help you?” he said, watching as you sat down across from him.

“Well, let’s see it then.”

“Gosh Y/N, I never took you to be so forward. And in a public place! What will Madam Pomfrey think?” Sirius clutched at his heart with mock horror.

“Piss off, I mean that book that has you all annoyed. What is giving Sirius Black, wizard extraordinaire, such a hard time?”

Sirius wagged his eyebrows. “You know, I could give you a hard time.”

“Gah, I’m starting to remember why I avoid you at all costs. Hand it over, Sirius. If you’re going to huff and puff so obviously in the library, and distract a girl from her own studying, you have to be ready to face the consequences.”

Sirius frowned and then pushed the open text over to you. You weren’t sure what you were expecting. While you liked to tease him, you knew that Sirius’s grades were actually really excellent. You weren’t sure how, since he spent most of his time goofing off, but you supposed coming from the ancient and most noble house of Black must have its advantages, one of them being an inherent knack for magic. Having come from a purely muggle household yourself, you couldn’t imagine what it must be like to grow up knowing everything about the world that you hadn’t even known existed until age 11. Still, you were surprised when the book was under your nose and what you came face-to-face with wasn’t some high-level transfiguration work or even an especially tricky potions theory, but instead a picture of a ruffled looking plant.

“Herbology, Sirius? Really?” you asked.

His frown deepened.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, I don’t think I even knew you were taking herbology. I don’t remember even seeing you in class…”

Sirius shot you a look that made you stop midsentence.

“Because you haven’t been coming to class. Seriously? What were you thinking? I mean, we’re halfway through term and I haven’t seen you in class at all!”

“I was there the first day,” he said, sounding bored. “But come on! Herbology is supposed to be a cake class! I didn’t think I was really missing much.”

“Some people take herbology because it’s actually useful, you know,” you said. “Do you know that there are plants that can help skin regrow? Plants that can clear up rashes, and be used to counteract enchantments?”

“Yes, yes, future healer, plants are important for you. So far, though, I still don’t see what makes them so interesting.”

You thought for a minute.

“There’s a plant that lets you breath underwater.”

Sirius perked up.

“Really?” he said. “No wonder Pomona is threatening to fail me. Even the cool ones I don’t know.”

“Professor Sprout is going to fail you? I didn’t think she’d ever failed anyone.”

“Well I’m not reading this book for the fun of it, now am I? Wanted to fail me immediately, to be honest, but Prongs convinced her to give me another chance so long as I know the material.” Sirius smiled sardonically and gestured to the book in front of you. “I have to pass a test on everything that’s been covered so far this year. So, if you don’t mind, I have…”

“Let me help you,” you blurted out, not entirely sure where it had come from. You could feel your face heating, and you snapped your head down to stare at the book, hoping Sirius hadn’t noticed. Taking a deep breath, and plastering a smirk on your face, you looked back up. “Come on Black. You’re a smart wizard, but you’re no herbologist. There’s no way you’re going to learn half a terms worth of material by yourself, especially not in…how long do you have?”

“A week.”

“Pfft, especially in a week. You may ‘run circles’ round me in defense, but you know I have the highest marks in our year in herbology.”

Sirius eyed you wearily.

“Why would you want to help me?” he said.

“Well, for starters, I can’t let you be the first student Professor Sprouts ever failed. Honestly, I think you’d end up taking pride in it and be even more of an ass.”

Sirius smirked. “I suppose I would find some way to see the bright side of the situation, yeah.”

“And maybe, once you pass, you could help me with some of the DADA work from the term? I’m having a hard time with the last counter curse we learned and I’m worried I can’t get the stance right.”

Sirius looked a bit taken aback, clearly shocked that you’d be willing to ask him for help on anything. But slowly he started nodding.

“Yeah, ok,” he said. “We’ll help each other. Sounds fair. Thanks Y/N. Tomorrow night?”

You smiled and nodded.

“But for the record, I can still run circles around you. Sexy circles. Naked circles,” Sirius said, wagging his eyebrows

“Ugh,” you cried, putting your face down on the book to hide your reddened cheeks again. “Why do I even bother?”

***

You had agreed to meet Sirius in the common room, but with midterm exams on the horizon it was already full when you arrived. A group of fourth years were sitting in front of the fire quizzing each other on potions ingredients. A couple of first years were standing by the windows, trying to get what you hoped was a chocolate frog to levitate.

“The library is probably full by now too,” you said.

“Don’t worry, I know where we can go,” said Sirius, taking your arm and pulling you through the portrait hole.

***

“Sirius, we could get in so much trouble,” you whispered, slipping behind him into the classroom and shutting the door.

“Nah, Minnie won’t care,” he said, setting his bag down on a nearby table in the empty transfiguration classroom. “And if she does show up, I’ll just explain you’re helping me not fail a class. Believe it or not, Y/N, she does like me some, you know. Tutoring might be one activity she actually approves of.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” you scoffed.

Sirius smiled. “Some would call it charming.”

“Some would call it buffoonery. Come on, let’s get started.”

You spent the next four evenings with Sirius in the transfiguration classroom, reviewing your notes and quizzing him on plants. To your surprise, he picked it up fairly quickly. And spending time with him was not as terrible as you liked to make him think it was.

“I hate to admit it, but I’m impressed, Black,” you said, setting down your book. “I honestly didn’t think you had it in you, but I think you’re actually going to pass this test.”

Sirius beamed and stuck his quill behind his ear. “Like I said, I am a genius. You really should just take me for my word at this point, Y/N.”

“Yeah, yeah, ok genius, let’s go over the list once more.”

You went to lift the book back up, but his large hand was suddenly covering yours. “Nope,” he said. “I’ve had enough herbology. Probably enough to last me the rest of my life. If we look at these notes for one more second, I think plants might start to grow out of my ears,” he tugged on his left lobe as if to demonstrate. “I may have devilishly good looks, but I don’t think even I could keep it up with mandrakes sprouting out of my head.”

“So what would you suggest?” you asked, terribly aware that his hand was still on top of your own. You hated to admit it to yourself, but Sirius wasn’t lying when he said he was handsome. Most girls in the school went mad for him, his gorgeous smile and his intense, grey eyes. You swore that his long dark hair looked like it would be softer than even yours, and a part of you really wanted to take it out of the bun he had messily put it in on top of his head so you could run your fingers through it. You even found his cocky, annoying attitude secretly appealing, although you’d never tell him that.

“Well, you need help with your counter curse stance, yeah? And we have this whole, big classroom to practice in.” He wrapped his fingers around yours and pulled you up out of your seat.

“So, let’s see what you’ve got. Wand out, come on.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, grabbing your wand and taking a steadying breath. You shook out your arms and tilted your neck to either side.

“I’m sorry, do you need to limber up a bit before you stop the next death eater that comes your way?”

“Oh quiet you, I just need a second to prep.”

“I haven’t got all night, y/l/n.”

“Okay, I’m ready,” you said. You tried to remember the picture from the book, moving your right foot a smidge back, raising your wand arm just so.

“Stop, stop,” he said. “Merlin, y/n, it’s a defensive spell, not a ballet!”

“Well, I’m trying to get it right! You heard Professor Medley, you have to get the stance just right or it won’t work.”

Sirius walked towards you, and you were ready for him to yell again, but instead he circled you, placing his hands on your waist.

“You have to feel a spell like this in your body,” he said, a bit quieter than he’d been before. “This kind of magic isn’t about memorizing facts or recognizing elements. You just have to know. It has to be instinct.”

“O-okay,” you said.

“Take a deep breath and close your eyes,” he said. His hands moving your waist an inch to the left, than grasping your right arm and lowering it just a touch. “Now, don’t think about it too much, just do it.”

“Protego,” you said in a whisper.

“You have to mean it, Y/N,” Sirius said. His voice seemed close to your ear, his breath fanning across the back of your neck. “Don’t make me hex you to get it out of you.” He chuckled, and it snapped you out of whatever trance he had you in. His hands were still on your body, but you’d be damned if he bested you at this. You straightened your neck and opened your eyes, the soles of your feet shifting slightly as you focused all of your energy on the spell.

“Protego,” you said again, louder this time. You could feel the energy flowing through you, the beginning of something coming from the tip of your wand. You knew it wasn’t at full strength, and would honestly probably not shield you from much, but it was still more than you had managed on your own.

You could almost hear the smile in Sirius’s voice when he said, “That a girl. Come on then, do it again.”

***

It took everything you had not to pace outside the greenhouses while Sirius took his test. Instead, you waited for him in the transfiguration classroom, practicing your defensive spells and hoping that you had reviewed everything enough for him to pass. He had laughed at you when you had threatened to cut off his hair if he failed the class.

“You wouldn’t touch these glorious locks!” he had all but shouted on his way out the door. “And I won’t fail, I had an excellent tutor.”

Still, you were anxious for him. You weren’t focusing very well and you were having a hard time getting your wand to cooperate, even with easy defense spells.

“Come on,” you said to yourself, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes. “Focus.”

You took your stance, less ridged than it would have been a week ago, and raised your wand hand. But just as you went to cast the spell, you felt something heavy land on your shoulder. Startled, you turned and cast the spell that had been on the tip of your tongue already.

“Protego!”

Your wand pulsated with energy, and you could feel the shield, stronger than you’d ever produced, pulsating out of the tip of your wand and projecting outward. You almost laughed. It had actually worked! It took only a moment, though, for you to realize that whatever, or more importantly, whoever, had come up behind you was now sprawled several feet away on the floor.

“Sirius! Oh crap, oh no.” You ran towards the dark haired boy, kneeling next to his very still body. “Sirius?” You reached for his arm, and just as you wrapped your hand around him, you heard a loud, raucous laughter. The boy in front of you was laughing so hard he was shaking, his body twisting to the side, pushing you over with him as he went.

“Holy crap Sirius, you scared me half to death!” you said. Except instead of threatening, like you had hoped to sound, the words came out high and light as you started to join him in his infections laughter. The two of you lay there, giggling like idiots for several minutes more. Finally, when he could catch his breath, Sirius smiled at you.

“That was awesome, Y/N!” he said. “Don’t have to worry about you getting caught off-guard in a dark alley anymore, that’s for sure. Although apparently I should watch my back.”

“Well, you startled me! But oh my gosh, I actually did it!”

“You did at that. And, you’ll be happy to know, that you’ll have to keep studying with my sorry arse for the rest of the term, because I will be continuing my illustrious herbology career. Though I expect I’ll still need a tutor.”

“You passed!” you said, throwing your arms around his neck in a hug. “Oh Sirius, congratulations!”

Sirius chuckled, and you felt it vibrate through your body, realizing how close you were to him, still stretched out on the floor. You blushed, pulling back a bit, expecting to see his telltale smirk. But to your surprise, there was a look of fondness in his eyes.

“Thank you, Y/N. Really. I don’t think I could have done it without you.”

You felt your blush spreading, down your neck and across your chest. It was like your whole body was on fire.

“Of course,” you said. “What are friends for?”

“Friends, huh?” he said. “I don’t know, Y/N, my original offer still stands. Although with that shield, maybe you’ll be running circles around me soon.”

“Sexy, naked circles?”

Sirius guffawed, pulling you in closer.

“If I could only be so lucky,” he said, before his lips crashed against your own.

#fluff #sirius black #sirius x reader #myfirstfic

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