When a mission goes sideways, you and Bucky find yourselves holed up in a cramped safe house with no backup, no extraction, and no space - not even to breathe. You're injured, he's worried, and the tension is thick with more than just adrenaline.
There's only one bed. One blanket. One long night.
You're not sure what's more dangerous - the HYDRA agents outside, or the feelings threatening to surface inside.
644 words
The safe house was smaller than expected - one room, a barebones kitchenette, and a bathroom with a door that didn't close all the way. You dropped your bag onto the couch - the only other seating besides the floor - and let out a sharp breath.
Bucky was pacing near the window, checking the blinds every few seconds. "Still clear," he muttered, more to himself than to you. His jaw was set, his fingers locked in that tense, coiled posture that meant he was wound too tight to rest.
Your shoulder burned from where the bullet had grazed you, the fabric of your sleeve now sticky with dried blood. You winced and tried to roll it out. "Good," you said, trying for casual. "Maybe we can actually relax."
Bucky turned. "Relax? You got shot?"
He crossed the room in three long strides. Before you could wave him off, he was already reaching for your arm, inspecting the torn fabric. His touch was gentler than you expected. "Should've let me check this earlier."
You sighed, resigning yourself to the inevitable. "It's just a scratch, Buck. Barely grazed me."
"Doesn't look like just a scratch." He didn't wait for more protest. "Sit. Don't argue."
You sat with a huff, unbuttoning your shirt and sliding it off your injured arm. "Wasn't arguing, nurse."
You caught the way his eyes briefly flicked to your bare shoulder before he cleared his throat. His fingers were cold and careful, dabbing at the wound with antiseptic that stung worse than the bullet itself. "Sorry," he murmured when you flinched.
Once it was wrapped, he looked up, his expression unreadable. "That should hold."
"I'm fine," you said. "I'll rest when we're extracted. Gotta stay awake in case someone followed us."
He didn't love that answer. You could tell from the way his jaw clenched.
"You're not invincible," he muttered. "But fine. Just let me keep an eye on you. I'd rather not drag your unconscious ass outta here."
You smirked. "Good luck with that. I haven't been in one piece in a long time."
Bucky gave a low chuckle. "Guess I'll just have to work harder to keep you together, then."
He eased onto the couch beside you, careful not to jostle your arm. "You don't have to do this alone, you know. Not anymore."
"I've been doing this for decades, Buck," you muttered. "I can handle myself. But... I appreciate the help."
There was a pause. Then - quietly - "I care about you."
You blinked. "You... care about me?"
His cheeks flushed. He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly the most awkward version of himself.
"Yeah. I know I didn't make it obvious. Back then I was still... figuring things out. Didn't really know how to show anything."
"Well, you didn't."
"I know."
You shifted uncomfortably on the couch, trying to avoid the sudden weight of everything hanging in the air. The silence turned thick, heavy. You couldn't meet his eyes.
"Yeah. Gotcha," you murmured. "Just - damn, my arm hurts."
Bucky inched closer, brows furrowing. "Let me help you get comfortable."
"I'm okay," you said. "Just need a minute."
He nodded, gently draping the blanket over your legs. Then, hesitantly, he opened an arm to you. A silent invitation.
You tucked yourself into his side without a word.
He wrapped his arm around you slowly, carefully avoiding your shoulder. "You take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."
The safe house was silent. You could hear his heart beating beneath your ear.
"Buck?" you said after a while, voice small in the dark.
"Yeah?"
"I care about you too. I just... can't think straight right now. Between the pain and the adrenaline and everything else." You paused. "That make sense?"
He didn't answer at first.
Then his thumb brushed over your arm. "Yeah," he said softly. "Makes perfect sense to me."
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Close to midnight the shop was finally open. You had observed it since the morning, waiting for the sign to flip. It was well known that the “owner” kept the opening hours obscured. Still, you’d hoped for a little more luck. But luck was not on your side. And that was the least of your problems. Well, you were here to change that. Quietly humming along to the beat of “The devil within” by Digital Daggers from your headphones, you entered.
Nodding at the man behind the counter, you stepped directly toward the nearest shelf. His presence had felt somewhat heavy to you. But you weren’t here for him. There had to be something about transformation magic in here. So, you went through book after book then moved on to the next shelf. The entire time you felt him watching you. It was disturbing. You rolled your shoulders and glanced toward the staircase. Maybe you’d have better chances upstairs.
When you headed over, he stepped in your path. With an annoyed look, you paused the music and pushed the headphones down.
“Yes?” you asked sharply, both of your hands making the universal “What do you want?” gesture.
“Good evening, my dear. Are you looking for anything in particular?” He looked honestly concerned.
“Transformation magic,” you replied. He might as well make himself useful.
“And what you are trying to transform?” he asked, while slightly elevating his eyebrows.
“Knives,” you hissed, irritated.
“Knives. Hm, what do you want them to turn into?”
“Why would you need to know that? You sell books. I need a book. So go, find it,” you snapped at him. It made your stomach turn, but your patience had run out.
“My dear please, I promise I am only trying to help you. The kind of enchantment you are aiming for is a rather complicated and delicate task.” His voice didn’t raise a single notch; it got softer instead. “Let us take a seat and see if we can find a less difficult path to your goal.” He pointed towards the plush, heavy chairs in a corner.
“Oh, to Hell with it! Fine.” You stomped over to the chairs and dropped into one of them.
The shopkeeper sat down in the other seat. Before he could say something, a man came down the staircase. You blinked and angled your head. There was something there. Somehow, he reminded you of Henry—your Boa constrictor—impossible.
“Aziraphale, what did you do now?” the newcomer leaned against Aziraphale’s armchair.
“Crowley, I am trying to help here!” he replied offended. “We are going to find a solution for this witch’s problem.”
“And that problem is?”
“Everybody my age and some even younger carrying a knife around. And they are using them too! This has to be stopped!” you threw at them, slapping your hands down on the armrests.
“I see. And you were going to solve this by transforming the knives into...?”
“Snakes,” you supplied. Correcting yourself, “Well they prefer serpent—especially the big ones.” You ended up looking at the man named Crowley.
“Very true,” he stated, “But what happens then—with them?”
That was a good question. One you had no answer to. Cause animals getting hurt on your behalf was unacceptable to you.
“Witch?”, Aziraphale addressed you gently. “Have you thought about using an illusion for this?”
You froze. An illusion? Illusions were simple—relatively speaking. And nobody was going to get hurt—serpents or humans.
“That sounds picture perfect,” you perked up. “So, every time someone grabs a knife, they see a serpent in its place.”
“You want all restaurants to close?” Crowley drawled. “You know, they use knives rather often.”
“Ähm,...” you stammered.
“Certainly, no one here wants that!” Aziraphale cut in. “There is a simple solution. Bind the spell to the intent, with which people are holding a knife.”
“That’s it! Only humans, who want to hurt someone will see serpents.” You were bouncing with excitement, which made your seat squeak.
“And what kind of serpent will they see? A poisonous one or a harmless one? Big or small?” Crowley fired questions at you.
“Corn snakes, they are harmless, small and common enough to cause shock but no panic.” You reasoned—more to yourself than to them.
Smirking at Aziraphale, Crowley commented, “Oh, the irony of serpents disarming humans.”
Aziraphale shot him an indignant look and got up.
“Let me get you the right book then.” He went behind the counter.
You angled your head again and decided it was worth a try.
Addressing Crowley, “On the topic of serpents: Why do you remind of my Boa constrictor—Henry?”
He smiled at you and said: “That’s not for you to know.”
So, you went over to Aziraphale to collect your book and pay. You swallowed. “Thank you, Aziraphale. For your time and your patience—you’re an angel.” You went to hug him.
He took a quick step back, holding up his hands, “That’s quite all right my dear. It was a pleasure. Have a wonderful day.”
“You too.” You waved at him and left the bookshop. You put your headphones back on and chose to “Power” from Songs of Legion from your playlist. The song now matching your mood.
The scene could be mistaken for a beehive at first sight. The constant humming of soft voices underlaid by the clacking of keyboards filled the air. Seemingly everybody worked, at their stations, headsets on their heads and fingers on the keyboards, half smiles on their lips. A logo on the wall stated *Vive Securitas Inc.* in white on a green backdrop under a tree. Cold overhead lights added their shine to that of the winter light flooding through the windows along one wall.
A young woman rubbed her neck, took a breath and sat up. She puts her headset back on and wakes up her screen. A login screen appeared: Username - Sabrina8H, Password -. After the login the menu appeared; the mouse button went to NEXT CALL. Ringing came through the headset.
“Smile, just smile, they can hear that,” Sabrina mumbles to herself.
“Yes?”
Lines of text appeared on her screen under the caption INTRODUCTION.
“Good day, Sir. This is Vive Securitas Inc. My name is Susann. Am I speaking to Mr. Crowley?”
“Why would you need to know that?”
“Because we have an offer for Mr. Crowley personally.”
“And what are you offering him?”
“That I can only discuss with Mr. Crowley, Sir.”
“Hm, well that’s me.”
“Good, thank you Sir.”
She takes a breath and clicks PRESENTATION on her screen.
“I am calling you today to provide security for your family, Sir. Unfortunate events occur every day to hundreds of people. Many of them leave their loved ones with nothing. And that’s where Vive Securitas steps in.”
“So, you’re an insurance company?”
“We provide a number of services. Insurance policies are one of them. We have a long-standing history of clients satisfied by the safety we offer them and their relatives.”
“What do you insure your clients against?”
“Any of the common threats to their standard of living really—Accidents, disability and of course death. When you can no longer provide for your family, Mr. Crowley—we will!”
“Uh, I’m not sure any of those scenarios apply to me, Miss.”
“You don’t have anyone dear to you?”
There’s a pause.
“Well, I do...I think.”
She opened the next tab on her screen BACKGROUND.
“See, everybody has somebody they don’t want to leave hanging. If you don’t mind me asking: How old are you, Sir?”
“Older than you.”
“That’s a little unspecific. Could you give me your year of birth?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Uh, how about your approximate age?”
“I’m legal.”
Susann blinked and locked down on her keyboard before she tilted her head towards the ceiling.
“Well, that’s helpful, Mr. Crowley. Do you have any known health issues?”
“No.”
“Nothing, not even an allergy?”
“That’s correct.”
“Uh, how remarkable. Are you engaging in dangerous hobbies?”
“Dangerous hobbies...Can you give an example?”
“Sure, sky diving, racing other extreme sports?”
“Does fighting Armageddon count?”
“Pff, unless it’s some kind of enactment or stage play with professional stunts, no.”
“Well, then that’s a No.”
“What’s your profession, Mr. Crowley?”
“I serve the Lord of all evil.”
Tap—a red light signalled the call had been muted. Susann started to fake cough into her elbow. While she unmuted the call, she dapped at her eyes with a tissue.
“I can absolutely relate to the feeling, Sir. What’s the corporation’s name behind your boss?”
“Hell.”
“Hell? As in Hell and Sons, Hell Inc., Hell’s SE or SA?”
“No, just plain old hell.”
“Sir, I’m not sure I’m following.”
“You never heard of hell?”
“Not as a corporation. I am sorry Sir. What’s the company’s address?”
“25 Canada Square, London E14 5LQ”
“Good. I will lock this up later, to verify. And you work there under what job title”
“Jack-of-all-trades, I suppose.”
“Are you sure that is the job title on your employment contract?”
“I don’t have an employment contract. I’m more of a freelancer.”
Tap, she muted the call again and took a drink from her water bottle.
Her supervisor came over to her, “Everything all right Sabrina?”
“I think this maybe a hoax call. The answers I’m getting seem strange. Especially when I combine them,” she points at the screen.
He followed the entries with his finger, then shook his head, “That guy can’t be serious! Transfer him to me.”
He put on a headset and started to walk back to his office.
“Hello, Mr. Crowley. This is Thomas Marshall speaking. Please forgive the abrupt transfer, but we need to clarify a few things.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Well, your answers are...unbelievable.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate. I can assure you, they’re all true.”
“Are you a journalist or influencer?”
“No.”
“Mr. Crowley, I highly doubt that your answers are true at all. We understand our calls are perceived as a nuisance by many people. But we are all just trying to do our jobs. There is no reason to waste your Agents time and energy with hoaxes.”
“Well then you and your Agents shouldn’t waste other people’s time and energy by your cold calls, Mr. Marshall.”
Marshall ended the call. He uttered, “Damn it all! I hate these hoax-callers, may they all go to hell. At least it wasn’t a journalist this time.”
Warnings: discussion of violence and intent to harm, de-escalation of threatening behavior
Close to midnight the shop was finally open. You had observed it since the morning, waiting for the sign to flip. It was well known that the “owner” kept the opening hours obscured. Still, you’d hoped for a little more luck. But luck was not on your side. And that was the least of your problems. Well, you were here to change that. Quietly humming along to the beat of “The devil within” by Digital Daggers from your headphones, you entered.
Nodding at the man behind the counter, you stepped directly toward the nearest shelf. His presence had felt somewhat heavy to you. But you weren’t here for him. There had to be something about transformation magic in here. So, you went through book after book then moved on to the next shelf. The entire time you felt him watching you. It was disturbing. You rolled your shoulders and glanced toward the staircase. Maybe you’d have better chances upstairs.
When you headed over, he stepped in your path. With an annoyed look, you paused the music and pushed the headphones down.
“Yes?” you asked sharply, both of your hands making the universal “What do you want?” gesture.
“Good evening, my dear. Are you looking for anything in particular?” He looked honestly concerned.
“Transformation magic,” you replied. He might as well make himself useful.
“And what you are trying to transform?” he asked, while slightly elevating his eyebrows.
“Knives,” you hissed, irritated.
“Knives. Hm, what do you want them to turn into?”
“Why would you need to know that? You sell books. I need a book. So go, find it,” you snapped at him. It made your stomach turn, but your patience had run out.
“My dear please, I promise I am only trying to help you. The kind of enchantment you are aiming for is a rather complicated and delicate task.” His voice didn’t raise a single notch; it got softer instead. “Let us take a seat and see if we can find a less difficult path to your goal.” He pointed towards the plush, heavy chairs in a corner.
“Oh, to Hell with it! Fine.” You stomped over to the chairs and dropped into one of them.
The shopkeeper sat down in the other seat. Before he could say something, a man came down the staircase. You blinked and angled your head. There was something there. Somehow, he reminded you of Henry—your Boa constrictor—impossible.
“Aziraphale, what did you do now?” the newcomer leaned against Aziraphale’s armchair.
“Crowley, I am trying to help here!” he replied offended. “We are going to find a solution for this witch’s problem.”
“And that problem is?”
“Everybody my age and some even younger carrying a knife around. And they are using them too! This has to be stopped!” you threw at them, slapping your hands down on the armrests.
“I see. And you were going to solve this by transforming the knives into...?”
“Snakes,” you supplied. Correcting yourself, “Well they prefer serpent—especially the big ones.” You ended up looking at the man named Crowley.
“Very true,” he stated, “But what happens then—with them?”
That was a good question. One you had no answer to. Cause animals getting hurt on your behalf was unacceptable to you.
“Witch?”, Aziraphale addressed you gently. “Have you thought about using an illusion for this?”
You froze. An illusion? Illusions were simple—relatively speaking. And nobody was going to get hurt—serpents or humans.
“That sounds picture perfect,” you perked up. “So, every time someone grabs a knife, they see a serpent in its place.”
“You want all restaurants to close?” Crowley drawled. “You know, they use knives rather often.”
“Ähm,...” you stammered.
“Certainly, no one here wants that!” Aziraphale cut in. “There is a simple solution. Bind the spell to the intent, with which people are holding a knife.”
“That’s it! Only humans, who want to hurt someone will see serpents.” You were bouncing with excitement, which made your seat squeak.
“And what kind of serpent will they see? A poisonous one or a harmless one? Big or small?” Crowley fired questions at you.
“Corn snakes, they are harmless, small and common enough to cause shock but no panic.” You reasoned—more to yourself than to them.
Smirking at Aziraphale, Crowley commented, “Oh, the irony of serpents disarming humans.”
Aziraphale shot him an indignant look and got up.
“Let me get you the right book then.” He went behind the counter.
You angled your head again and decided it was worth a try.
Addressing Crowley, “On the topic of serpents: Why do you remind of my Boa constrictor—Henry?”
He smiled at you and said: “That’s not for you to know.”
So, you went over to Aziraphale to collect your book and pay. You swallowed. “Thank you, Aziraphale. For your time and your patience—you’re an angel.” You went to hug him.
He took a quick step back, holding up his hands, “That’s quite all right my dear. It was a pleasure. Have a wonderful day.”
“You too.” You waved at him and left the bookshop. You put your headphones back on and chose to “Power” from Songs of Legion from your playlist. The song now matching your mood.
Summary: The two journalists meet in not so great circumstances.
Tags: Young Daniel, Might be OOC, could be read as platonic, weird perspective going on, but it is third person, mostly dialogue, Jimmy being submissive is a go here!
Notes: Came up with this idea one fine morning and knew I couldn't pass it up.. so here you go! Please try not to cringe too much, this is my first time finishing a fanfic so its lowkey shit.
Give kudos on A03 too if you extra enjoyed :)): Probably a good idea to not photograph vamps - Mynamestartswita_R - Superman (Movie 2025) [Archive of Our Own]
Jimmy pushed himself against the dingy alley's wall. Heart beating rapidly, he tightened his hands around the camera strung to his neck, shut his eyes, caught a breath and hoped his death wouldn’t be too painful.
Auto flash.
The only thing he could think of as the figure felt at his neck, sharp fangs getting dangerously close to penetrating his skin. He felt the piercing feel of its claws slowly scraping at his flesh, then all at once, he could feel nothing at all.
Soon he heard what seemed to be a laugh, though it felt hollow and slightly detached from whoever it was emitting from. He opened his eyes slowly, mostly reluctantly and was met almost immediately with the sight of a ghastly man.
The man's brown curls cast a shadow over his face, one so dark that his face was almost completely covered. Except, for the unnatural glow of his eyes that seemed to light his face in a way that most people could only dream of.
It left Jimmy feeling swollen, he was mesmerized with the man who only seconds ago was planning to be his demise. Jimmy was fascinated by everything he could spot on the man’s face, cheekbones that seemed to sink further than humanly possible, eyes that were of youth yet full of dreariness and teeth strong enough to break skin.
“The teeth, their pretty awesome right?” The man asked, looking up cheerfully.
It was almost like he could read his mind, Jimmy thought.
“I Can.” The man asserted, though Jimmy noticed his mouth wasn't moving and the words he was hearing seemed to quiet the sounds around him.
“How ca-“
“Magic, or a mix of drugs I houdinied into your system before you noticed.” The man’s face kept eerily still as he said this.
“What” Jimmy breathed, eyes going wide.
“Joke.” The man muttered, face clearly filled with a weird sense of embarrassment.
There was an awkward pause and Jimmy could only think of his own mortality. He’d thought about what would have happened if he had just met Clark at the restaurant like he promised. Not gotten a big head and decided to stroll on over to Gotham to find the next fresh scoop. He’d thought about what he could of done instead of trying to snap a photo of what he thought was an act of cannibalism.
“Youre a journalist, right?” The man asked. His face showed more emotion than Jimmy knew he could have.
Jimmy nodded, swallowing the fear he clearly had.
“And the newspaper you write for, is it any good?” The man questioned.
“Uh.. huh.” Nodded Jimmy aimlessly, like he was under control of hypnosis.
“And you wanna live, right?” The man pressed.
“Yes.” Jimmy casually pleaded.
“Interview me.” The man expressed cheerfully
“Uhm, im kind of more a photojournalist..” Jimmy murmured. Hands fiddling with the camera strap.
“Shit, should have figured with the camera and all that..” The man sighed heavily as he said this.
Jimmy thought about his options.
“I mean it’s not like photojournalists don't write. I'm sure I could write something?“ Jimmy said frantically.
“Just don't brutally kill me.” The man joked.
“Right.” Jimmy smiled nervously. Though he felt himself warming up to the prospect of spending more time with someone so intriguing.
“Probably should go to my place before the sun comes up?” The man looked at his sleek watch a few times.
How can I trust you?, What even are you?, Jimmy thought.
“You can, really.” The man started. “Besides, Im a journalist…somewhat, it’s just a little complicated.”
“Can I at least have a name? Jimmy asked.
“I go by a few names.” The man answered quickly.
“Your first name then?”
“It’s Daniel.” Answered Daniel flatly.
“Well, Daniel, do you mind if I have a day before our interview? I have a lot of questions about everything now.” Jimmy trembled, trying to make his words not a convoluted mess.
“Yeah, fair enough.” Daniel moved from his position, leaving Jimmy with just enough space to exit.
“See you around, bud.” Daniel joked, putting his hand on Jimmys shoulder.
Jimmy couldn’t even speak. Just relished somewhat in the cold of Daniel’s hand and tried to stop his head from exploding.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead ** (1990, Gary Oldman, Tim Roth, Richard Dreyfuss) - Classic Movie Review 9727
Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead ** (1990, Gary Oldman, Tim Roth, Richard Dreyfuss) – Classic Movie Review 9727
Writer Tom Stoppard turns director to supervise the 1990 film Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, the movie of his wordy (or dialogue driven) play about two of the minor characters from Hamlet – courtiers who are mysteriously summoned to Elsinore Castle by Hamlet (Iain Glen)’s Uncle Claudius (Donald Sumpter) to await their fate.
Gary Oldman (as Rosencrantz), Tim Roth (as Guildenstern) and…
The Outer Worlds DEALS
* Microsoft
$59.99
VIEW
* Epic Games Store
$59.99
VIEW
* PlayStation Store
$59.99
VIEW
When New Vegas showed up nine years ago, I wasn’t a fan.
Read more
The Outer Worlds DEALS
* Microsoft
$59.99
VIEW
* Epic Games Store
$59.99
VIEW
* PlayStation Store
$59.99
VIEW
When New Vegas showed up nine years ago, I wasn’t a fan.
Read more
